Monica leaned over the soup and took a good whiff. It smelled just fine, although Monica was tempted to add more pepper. She decided to let it simmer another minute more and make up her mind then.

She stepped back, picked up a towel, and carefully dabbed the perspiration from her face. Working in a large kitchen was sweaty work, and Monica was not about to let a drop of sweat poison any of the food she was making. The other chefs had at first teased her about it but now seemed to accept it as one of her quirks. She hoped someday she'd be made head chef just so she could show them exactly how quirky she could be about cleanliness.

Monica looked around for other things to clean or quickly prepare while she waited for the soup. She got the eye of another assistant chef who was tossing a salad. The other chef smiled. "I'm trying to be as neat as I can."

"I know." Monica flashed a smile. "Just checking, Frannie."

Frannie quickly stowed the salad away and walked up next to Monica. "What are you doing to the soup?"

"Er, nothing." Monica took another whiff. "I'm just letting it simmer a bit so that the flavor gets soaked in."

Frannie nodded. "You're such a perfectionist, Monica, I always admired that about you. I'm just not sure this is the best place for it. They like things done fast and good, not slow and perfect."

"Well, they'll just have to wait," Monica said firmly. "When-"

"Geller!"

Monica couldn't help cringing as she turned towards the office door. That had been the voice of the shift manager, a man who she had yet to see cook a single thing. He was irritating at best, and today he seemed to be in a much worse mood. "Yes, Mr. Shurtleff?"

He stormed up to her, thrust a comment card in her face. "What's the meaning of this?"

Monica had to practically cross her eyes to read it. "Looks like they enjoyed the manicotti."

"And what else!"

"Uh, nothing."

"What about the cheese?"

"Um... loved the mizithra, it says."

Triumphantly, Shurtleff lowered the comment card. "Does our recipe call for mizithra cheese on the manicotti?"

"Well, no. But I thought it would bring out the flavor of-"

"We have a recipe, Geller, prepared by people with more experience than you," Shurtleff interrupted. "You are to stick to that recipe from now on. Do you know what it would do to our costs to add mizithra to all our pasta dishes?"

"I, I don't use it in all our pasta dishes, but the manicotti has-"

"Enough of your excuses," Shurtleff thundered. "You stick to the recipes from this point forward or you find yourself another job. Is that clear?"

Monica felt like she was shrinking. She managed a meek, "Yes, Mr. Shurtleff."

"Get out of my restaurant." He whirled and stalked back to his office.

Monica stood there, her cheeks burning. She was afraid to breathe for fear of bursting out crying.

A hand reached up, squeezed her shoulder. "Ignore him, he's a jerk who doesn't know how to cook, everyone knows that. Take the rest of the day off, I'll handle the soup."

Monica looked over at Frannie and managed a nod. "Th-thanks." She managed a steady walk out of the kitchen, feeling everyone's eyes on her the whole time.

Once she got outside she stood in the cold evening breeze. It was past ten at night but the city was still busy and bustling, a little to her relief. After a moment she began walking home.

The whole while she replayed the incident in her head. A thousand things she should have said sprang to mind. It wasn't his restaurant, he was just a shift manager, and a lousy one at that. Hadn't he noticed that the comment about the mizithra came on a positive comment card, and that usually meant more business for the restaurant? Didn't he trust the chefs that worked for him to handle the cooking using the best means at their disposal?

Monica had managed to convert the shame to a kind of righteous anger by the time she walked up the apartment building. Tomorrow was payday, and while she didn't have to work she could go down and pick up her paycheck and talk to the real owner of the restaurant. Then she'd give him what-for. Maybe.

She opened the apartment door and stopped dead in her tracks. All the cushions had been removed from the couches and chairs and piled into the center of the living room. Gritting her teeth, Monica slammed the door closed and practically ran to the living room. Doing so allowed her to see that the cushions had been formed into some kind of structure that had a hollow space in the center. In that center, lying on her stomach with her head propped on her hands was Phoebe.

"What's the meaning of this!" The words were an echo of something someone else had said to her but Monica didn't care at the moment. She was so angry she was almost trembling.

Phoebe looked up at her. "Oh, hi. Are you a deer?"

"A what?"

"A deer. See, I'm a bear cub and I've prepared this cave so I can hibernate for the winter. But it's only just begun to snow, and maybe my friend the deer has come to visit before I go to sleep."

Monica gaped, furious and astounded. Phoebe just looked up her with a look of pure and simple innocence. Monica wanted to strangle the innocence right out of Phoebe.

Except Phoebe wasn't innocent. Monica paused, studying the woman who had built a bear cave out of cushions. Phoebe had seen her mother kill herself and had been homeless for years afterwards. She'd had her innocence ripped out of her at fourteen. Monica could only guess at what had happened to a young, attractive woman like Phoebe during her homeless years.

So. Either she had retreated to a child-like persona in order to cope with a harsh and unforgiving world, or now that she had a home again she was trying to recapture some of her childhood.

Either way, Phoebe didn't need to be yelled at just now. No matter how bad a mood Monica was in.

Slowly, Monica sank to her knees. "I, I could be a deer."

"Oh, yay." Phoebe smiled. "Are you going to hibernate, too?"

"Uh, deer, deer don't hibernate. I, I'm just going to have to munch on a few leaves during the winter."

"Oh, that's too bad." Phoebe pouted, then brightened. "Maybe I have some berries stashed away that I can share with you!"

"That... that would be nice."

Monica did her best to respond to Phoebe's world of bear cubs and deer. It was hard, perhaps the hardest thing she had ever done in her life. But for the sake of innocence lost, Monica kept playing with Phoebe.

Monica opened the apartment door, fearing what she'd find. Phoebe was there, but just sitting on the floor in front of the television. Phoebe looked over he shoulder and smiled at Monica. "Hi? How'd it go at work?"

"Well, good and bad." Monica hung up her coat. "I still have a job, but they're transferring me to the lunch shift."

"Oh. Isn't that better? I mean, you don't have to work until two in the morning any more."

"The hours are better, yeah, but the dinner shift has more prestige. People who are promoted to head chef always come from the dinner crew."

"Oh." Phoebe seemed to think that over. "Want me to give you a massage? I can clean your aura so you'll feel better."

Monica tried not to grimace. She was in no mood to deal with Phoebe's new-age nonsense. She'd put out extraordinary effort last night in dealing with the bear cub thing; she felt perfectly justified in blowing off Phoebe now. "No thanks. Are Chandler and Kip coming for dinner."

"I don't know." Phoebe turned back to the television. "I don't think Chandler's back from work yet."

Monica nodded and left the apartment. She knocked on the door opposite, which was soon answered by Kip, who smiled to see her. "Hey, come on in."

"Thanks." Monica wandered in, her eyes automatically looking around the apartment. As always, she was surprised at how neat it was, relatively speaking. For all Chandler's jokes about their lack of cleanliness standards, he and Kip managed a moderately dust-free environment. Still, Monica saw a hundred things she would have immediately begun cleaning before declaring the apartment fit to live in.

"Sit down, make yourself comfortable." Kip sat on the couch and patted the cushion next to him.

Monica responded with alacrity, sitting quite close to him but not quite touching him. "I, I was just wondering if you two are coming over for dinner tonight."

"Were you?" Kip looked at her with a sympathetic puzzled frown. "You usually just call us or wait until we arrive before fixing dinner."

"Well, maybe." Monica wrung her hands. "I, I just wanted to... to talk to a friendly face, I guess."

"And Phoebe isn't friendly?"

"Oh, she's friendly. But, but sometimes it takes too much work." Monica found the words spilling out. "She's so bright and happy and joyful, most of the time, but she acts like such a child. And, and I don't want to be her mother."

Kip nodded. "You want someone to take care of you."

Monica looked up into his eyes. "Yes. Just once in a while, yes, I'd like to be the one someone else has to comfort."

Kip put his arm around her shoulders and smiled. "Look no further. Whatever happens to you, I'm willing to help you find what you need. Just say the word."

"Th-thank you." Monica suddenly felt breathless. "I, I've wanted to say the word for a long time."

Kip just looked at her, with that handsome face and those gorgeous eyes. He moved his face slightly towards hers and then suddenly they were kissing passionately, and Monica had her arms around his back and her tongue fighting his for all it was worth.

She felt light-headed, wonderful, good. So Monica barely noticed when the front door of the apartment was opened, and she wasn't exactly certain how much time passed before it closed again. She was acutely aware of the feeling of Kip's lips on hers, his chest pressed against hers, his hand stroking her arm, her anticipation growing as to where it would travel to next.

With great reluctance, with her body screaming for more, Monica broke off the kiss and pushed Kip away. "We can't do this."

"Uh, uh, sure we can." Kip's eyes were practically on fire. "It sure seemed like something you needed."

"It was. It is." She placed the palm of one hand on his cheek. "But we can't keep Chandler out of his own apartment. That isn't right. He's our friend."

"If he's our friend, he'll understand." Kip leaned forward again.

Monica used her free hand to keep him at bay. "Not like this. I don't, I don't want him to ever feel like we're excluding him. He, he has to feel comfortable coming into his apartment whenever he wants. We, we can do this some other place, some other time."

Kip looked irritated but let out a sigh. "All right. Where and when?"

"I'll call you later tonight. We'll set something up." Monica put her other hand on his face. "Okay?"

Kip smiled. "Okay."

Monica smiled back and drew him in for one last, lingering kiss. Then she stood and walked out of the apartment, feeling alive and wonderful and regretful.

She stopped in front of her apartment and found that a bit of shame had crept in. Monica hoped Chandler had come here instead, and hoped he wasn't angry. She wasn't certain how she'd react to his anger and didn't want to find out.

Quietly, Monica opened the apartment door. Phoebe was still watching television and Chandler was sitting on the arm of the chair directly behind her. They were watching a cartoon involving tiny blue people and making some sort of game out of it.

"A taxidermist?" Chandler asked.

"Stuffy Smurf!" Phoebe replied instantly. "A dentist?"

"Ouch Smurf. A dog-trainer?"

"Heel Smurf! An airplane pilot?"

Chandler frowned as Monica walked up behind him. She ventured, "Flyboy Smurf?"

His head snapped around. Phoebe kept watching television as she said, "Ooh, that's good. Now you come up with one."

Monica found herself matching gazes with Chandler. He looked surprised. And, maybe, just a touch pleased and gratified. Monica's smile was for him as she said to Phoebe, "A chef?"

"Monica Smurf!" Phoebe paused. "Er, Monica Smurfette, I guess."

Chandler grinned. "I like Monica Smurfette. A lot."

"Cool." Phoebe was still watching the television. "A deep-sea diver?"

Monica sat in the chair that Chandler was perched on. She reached up gripped his arm in a friendly fashion. "Jacques Cousteau Smurf, do you think, Chandler?"

"Nah," he said in a friendly manner. "Sharkbait Smurf."

Monica joined Phoebe in laughing, and Monica knew she had done the right thing. Being with these people was almost as good a feeling as being with Kip.

Perhaps even better.

Monica put thoughts of Kip out of her head for now and let herself have fun with Phoebe and Chandler.

(to be continued)

Author's Notes: Just to be absolutely clear, this is not an alternate universe story. This is all about stuff that happened before the series started, trying best to stick with that continuity. So that means that Monica and Kip are destined for each other, sorry to say. :(