Beautiful Stranger

A/N- Ok, I confess this is a bit of a weird one. I don't even know how to categorize it other than it's a major major AU. It's not a proper 'completely set in a different setting' type of AU in the sense that for everyone but Chandler their lives up until now is as cannon. Chandler however, wasn't ever part of their lives…he and his background are completely AU.

It's set season 4 (even AU I apparently have a comfort zone, go figure) when Monica has just started at Alessandro's.

Confused? Me too. It's random but once I got the idea I just had to roll with it and it pretty much just wrote itself. It's 6 chapters which are all written but will probably need a good rewrite before actually posting...

She could feel their eyes on her. Hear their sniggers.

Why did they hate her so much?

"I'm, um," she tried to keep the tears from entering her voice, aware of them smirking at her. "I'm just going to, uh, take my break now."

"Don't bother coming back," she heard one of them shout after her as the rest of the Alessandro's staff laughed.

Hanging her head she quickly left the kitchen, annoyed at the tears that had started to fall. She tried her best, she really did. She'd worked so hard to get this job and Lord knows she'd paid her dues at that damn diner. But what was the point of having your dream job if everyone was determined to turn it into such a nightmare? They deliberately set out to make her life hell and were so spiteful towards her. At least the diner people were friendly.

But she'd only been here 2 weeks.

She wasn't a quitter, she was a Geller.

Wiping at the stubborn tears, she paused at the entrance to the small back room that was for the staff to take their breaks. She didn't want to go in there. It was her break and she didn't want to have her food sneezed on, or water 'accidently' spilt over her book or something poured down her back... again.

Instead Monica headed for the doors to the fire escape, finding them already slightly open. She pushed her way through, closing her eyes as the cold air hit her face, chilling the fallen tears. She took a deep breath of fresh air, letting it out slowly. At least out here by the dumpsters she wouldn't get picked on or teased. She could have 10 minutes to rebuild herself and strengthen her walls before she went back in there and tried to look like their behavior wasn't getting to her.

That they weren't wearing her down.

That they weren't winning.

Suddenly feeling as if she was being watched her eyes snapped open and landed on a sandy-haired man that sat silently on the other end of the step. A small notebook was balancing on one of his knees, a pen poised in the air mid-stroke, whilst in the other was a lit cigarette. His blue eyes were on her, watching her curiously.

His crisp white shirt stood out against the darkening sky and he was wearing some smart black pants; he was one of the waiters here. Monica thought she recognized him, not that she'd spoken to him much. He hadn't caused her much grief but she wouldn't be surprised if he hated her anyway.

Everyone here seemed to.

"S-sorry," she stuttered, furiously wiping at her face and praying he wouldn't notice or at the very least wouldn't tell the others; they had enough ammunition without this. "I didn't realize someone was out here. I'll just go-"

"It's ok," his voice was soft, gentle even, a stark contrast to the harsh sarcastic tones of her laughing colleagues just moments earlier. "The step's big enough for two."

He raised the cigarette to his mouth, inhaling deeply then blowing it out in a lazy puff of smoke. His eyes stayed on her for another beat before turning his attention back to his notepad. She watched him scribble a few things down as she debated what to do. She didn't want to go back in there yet, not like this, but she had wanted to be alone.

Her brow furrowed as a thought came to her. Was this a ploy to lure her into a false sense of security? Was another cruel prank waiting for her? Had they smeared the step with something unpleasant which she couldn't quite see in the shadows? Or were they planning to ambush her from behind and throw her into one of the dumpsters. She shivered at the thought.

As if feeling her gaze the man's pen paused its writing and he glanced up, an eyebrow raised, "Ya know you don't need a parking permit to sit here. It's free of charge."

He seemed genuine. God she hated how this place played on her mind. With a small appreciative nod she settled onto the other end of the step, her arms wrapping around her knees, hugging them close to her as she stared across the small concrete parking lot. They stayed silent for a while until in the corner of her eye she noticed him turn his face just a fraction towards her.

Her stomach started to tense, waiting for the snide remark.

Nothing came.

He continued to discreetly study her.

"What?" she finally asked.

"Nothing," he said quickly, uncomfortably looking back down to the paper in his lap. Seconds later his eyes were back on her and she didn't like the scrutiny. She didn't like being around people when she was upset. It was a sign of weakness that she didn't like to show. Especially not here.

"What?" she asked again, frustration entering her voice and he jumped a little, a faint flush coming to his cheeks.

"It's just…" he trailed off as he struggled to find the right words, "just don't let them get to you. They're idiots."

She swallowed hard, surprised at his words. She waited for the punchline but none came. He seemed actually genuine. There may be one person here that didn't hate her. She felt the constant weight she carried around on her shoulders ease ever-so-slightly.

"T-thanks," she tried to smile a little, "I try not to but it's not always that easy," she admitted looking down at her shoes.

"Your review was bang on; Chef Emillio sucked. He was an awful cook, he was lazy and the place was badly run," he informed her, stubbing out his smoke. "From what I've seen you're a brilliant chef and deserve to be here. They're the ones with the problem, not you."

With that conclusion he stood up, folding the notepad closed and stuffing it into his back pocket.

"Thank you," she swallowed, trying to stop the new tears suddenly pressing against her eyes. What was wrong with her? What was it about this place that put her on such an emotional edge? Just because one guy showed a little compassion she was gonna cry?

He just nodded, studying her for a long moment before disappearing back through the fire escape.

Monica hugged her knees closer to her as she let a little smile spread its way across her face. Closing her eyes again she allowed herself to enjoy the crisp evening air, listening to chaotic sounds of New York around her as she replayed the guy's words.

She did deserve to be here.

The next evening around the same time, Monica headed for her little piece of sanctuary in this hellhole. Seeing the door was already slightly ajar she wasn't surprised to see the man out there again. He was in the same spot smoking, furiously writing something down.

"Hey," she greeted somewhat hesitantly, "is it alright if I join you? I mean I can always-"

"Although it may seem it, this step doesn't actually belong to me. You don't have to ask permission," his cute smile took any sting out of the words.

With a grateful grin she settled herself on the opposite end of the step.

"I'm sorry about the specials thing," he said out of nowhere and she blinked confused.

"What 'specials' thing?"

"That I let that couple order the Salmon. I missed the pre-dinner huddle thing and when I asked Johnno he told me it was Salmon. I didn't realize he'd made it up and was playing with you, making you cook extra things."

"Oh," she was a little touched that he cared enough to apologize, "that's ok, I'm used to it. Keeps me on my toes I guess."

He looked at her, his eyes soft as he looked thoughtful.

"What?" she frowned.

"I…no," he shook his head looking away quickly, "it's not my place."

"What isn't?" she probed, "Tell me?"

"Why do you let them treat you like this? Why don't you yell at them or fire them?"

She blinked surprised, "Oh, um, I guess I don't really like confrontation and I, well, it's only been two weeks. Give them time and they may actually get to like me."

"You're their boss," he pointed out, "they aren't supposed to like you."

"Oh," she looked down.

"I mean I like you, of course, but they're your employees. It shouldn't matter if they like you or not, they should do the job they're paid to do."

Monica shrugged a little, not really agreeing or disagreeing. She didn't want to let him know how much she craved people liking her. How much she needed to be accepted. How all this just made her feel like a fat teenager again.

He stubbed out his cigarette, tucking the ever-preset notepad back into the pocket of his dark pants, "Talking of jobs I should really get back to mine. See ya."

"See ya," she repeated softly as she watched him disappear.

"Hey," she greeted, taking the same spot as the previous two evenings, this time without asking permission.

"Hey," he offered her a quick grin before his eyes fell onto her ruined chef jacket and he cringed, "sorry it got so burnt. I had to wait until no one was looking before I could rescue it- I'm, uh, not much of a confrontation fan either."

"That's ok and thanks," she smiled, "I appreciate that you did that."

He shrugged a little his eyes returning to the pad in front of him. She watched as he scribbled something down onto the paper.

"I don't even know your name," she commented softly and he blinked up at her in surprise. "I mean I've heard them call you 'Bing' but I'm kinda assuming that isn't your first name. If it is you have interesting parents."

He chuckled, a large smile on his face, his blue eyes dancing, "Oh, believe me, I have very interesting parents alright but no they aren't that mean. My name's Chandler."

"Monica."

He nodded offering her a small one-handed wave, "Nice to meet ya, Monica."

"You too," she told him sincerely as he glanced down at his watch.

"Damn, well, that's me done," the notepad was once again tucked into his pants' pocket. "See ya… Monica."

"See ya, Chandler," she grinned a little as she watched him go back indoors. At least now she had a name to put to the rather cute face.

Monica hummed to herself a little as she diced the tomatoes. She didn't know what had changed but the staff were actually smiling at her tonight. Maybe they were finally warming to her or perhaps Chandler had put in a good word for her?

The kitchen door swung open and she glanced up seeing the man at the front of her thoughts coming in with some empty plates. When he spotted her he frowned, stopping abruptly and staring at her.

"What?" she asked confused.

He shook his head, his mouth a thin line as he ditched the dirty china into the large sink. Glancing around, seeming relieved that the only other two people in the kitchen were at the opposite end, paying them no attention. "I'm sorry, Monica," he said in a low voice, "but, uh, you may wanna change your hat."

Her frown increasing, she plucked the current hat from her head and took in the bold black letters staring back at her. Quit Bitch. She couldn't believe she had been stupid enough to think they were starting to like her. They'd actually let her walk around like that all evening, laughing at her. She hadn't been this bullied since high school. She could feel the tears forming, her cheeks flaming as she quickly disposed of the hat.

"Monica?"

She shook her head, wanting to be alone. "I'm going for some air," she informed him hurriedly and dashed out of the kitchen and out of the building.

Sitting on the cold concrete step she pulled her knees up close, a tissue between her fingers as a silent sob broke free. Why her? What had she done to deserve this campaign of hatred?

"Hey, don't cry."

Embarrassed, she scrubbed at the tears as he settled close beside her, hesitantly placing an arm over her shoulders, pulling her against him.

"Don't let them get to you," he whispered. "They're just mean horrible people."

She nodded, although the tears continued. She barely knew this guy and now she was crying on his shoulder. Just how pathetic was she? She couldn't imagine Rachel or Phoebe doing this. She was stronger than this…normally. God, she hated this place and what it was doing to her day by day.

"I'm sorry," she started trying to pull away but his hold on her tightened.

"Don't apologize, if I was having to take the amount of abuse that you do every night, I'd have quit by now, run away. The fact that you have stuck it out shows just how strong a person you are."

"I'm thinking maybe it's time I do quit," she admitted quietly.

"No, don't," he said softly but firmly, his thumb rubbing her shoulder. "If you don't wanna cook anymore or you've found a better job then fine, go for it. But if it's just because of them then don't do it because then they've won and you'll feel crap about yourself for giving in."

"I feel like crap now," she confessed.

"Don't value yourself on their opinions," he advised quietly.

How was he so good at reading people?

"You're right," she agreed nodding, wiping the tears away. "I guess sometimes it gets a little much and I need to vent a bit. Sorry I cried on you, God," she apologized thoroughly embarrassed.

"Hey," he chuckled, not removing his arm from her shoulders; she found she enjoyed its reassuring weight. "You can have my scrawny old shoulder to cry on anytime you need it...providing I'm not already using it for something."

"Thanks Chandler," she chuckled, turning her head to face him and offering him a genuine smile. She was glad he was on her side on days like this.

"You're welcome," he promised, squeezing her shoulders slightly before slowly standing up, "I guess I better get back out there before they wonder where me and my shoulders are. You gonna be ok?"

"Yeah, I'll be fine. Thank you."

He met her eyes and smiled before leaving her alone on the step. She left it another few minutes, making sure the tear tracks had well and truly vanished before she stood back up and quietly made her way back into the dreaded kitchen.

A few of them glanced at her but remained quiet. Apart from Huwie; he was the one of loudest.

"Hey, you haven't lost your hat have you? We personalized that specially."

She refused to rise to the bait, walking past him towards the storage closet. She could feel his gleeful eyes on her and was wondering what else he'd done. She cautiously opened the door, relieved that nothing fell on her but not surprised to find the shelf completely empty of any hats.

"Ok, very funny, now where are they?"

"Where's what?" he asked, his eyebrows set in a challenge, a horrible smirk on his horrible face.

"The hats, where have you put them?"

"I don't know what you mean."

How childish were they?

"There was plenty of them here earlier," she pointed out, trying to remain calm.

"What can I say?" he shrugged, sharing a knowing look with the small audience that had gathered around to watch. "We must have needed a lot of hats today."

They all laughed as he started to walk away, leaving her in front of the empty store.

"I can't cook without a hat," she shouted after him. "It's against the health regulations."

"You can't cook in a hat," one of them commented causing the others to laugh and high five him before moving away and leaving her alone.

Monica sighed miserably, opening a few of the drawers in case they hadn't moved far. No luck. What was she meant to do? She wasn't allowed to prepare food without a hat, it was one of the official rules and she wasn't about to route through the bin for her 'modified' hat.

"Here."

Suddenly Chandler was there, stuffing something discreetly into her hands. Looking down she almost wept in relief at the hat she was holding.

"How?"

"They stashed them down behind the wine racks," he shrugged. "I figured you might need one."

"I seem to be thanking you a lot lately," she commented lightly and he shrugged easily.

"Just pleased to help," he smiled, his eyes staring into hers for a moment longer than necessary. "Anyway, I gotta run. Hungry people to feed and all that," he waited a beat, "remember, Monica, they're just a bunch of idiots."

With that he was gone and with a little smile she placed her newly acquired hat firmly on her head. She went back to her work-station still grinning, thanking whoever was up there for letting her life cross paths with one Chandler Bing.

TBC...

A/N- it gets moving a bit more in the next chapter...they may even leave the step!

Anyhow, as it's a little different to the norm I would really really love to hear your thoughts…and if you need another reason to review...it's my birthday tomorrow...so go on ;o)

Thanks again also for all the reviews and kind comments on the Secret and Revelations series and for continuing to read my random ramblings - you guys are awesome.