Author's Note: So, I haven't figured out how to continue this story yet, but there's a bunch of scenes I wanted to write about the guys and their kids, and instead of making another fic, I thought I'll just affix this. Not so much of a plot going on as mainly just how I imagine them going about their lives as parents. Focused on the dads and the daughters as filler. I hope I'd get an idea for an actual chapter soon, but here's this for now.

FILLER 1: THE ONE WHERE THE MOMS WERE AWAY FOR A DAY

Erica read the box a fifteenth time, but could barely see the instructions with the soapy water stinging her eyes. The color was supposed to have set already, and she had already applied and rinsed enough times for all of her hair to fall off – which she hoped wouldn't happen, but at this rate, who could say anymore? The sink was covered in black splotches and her mom would definitely kill her if she came home earlier than expected.

The doorknob turned and got stuck midway, prompting Chandler to knock.

"Hello? Who's in there? Dad's got to use the bathroom-," he called out.

"Dad?" Erica answered with a slight tremor, "Erm, could you… could you use the one downstairs please? I can't get out yet."

"Oh, okay, honey, sorry—"

Chandler turned around, away from the bathroom door, but almost crashed into Ross.

"Jeez, what the hell, man?"

"What, you didn't hear me?"

"No, I actually like crashing into people who sneak up behind me," Chandler quipped before rolling his eyes. "Of course, I didn't hear you!"

"You know it would be easier if you just answered the question," Ross retorted.

"What do you want?"

"I can't get my computer to connect to the Internet," he pointed to the laptop tucked under his arm. "Can I use yours? I just… I promised Ben I'm gunna give him a call today."

"So, call him on the phone—"

"No," Ross let out a small laugh, as if holding his patience in. "No, no, I meant video call."

"Really? It's 11AM on a Saturday. You sure he wants to talk to you?" Chandler teased, walking over to get his laptop from inside the dresser. "Password is M-O-M-M-Y-C-A-"

Ross took a second. "Mommyca?"

"Yea, that was Erica's first word," Chandler smiled.

A scream from inside the bathroom threw them both off; hurriedly, they ran toward the door and knocked furiously.

"Erica! Honey, what's going on in there?! Open up!" Chandler worriedly called out to his daughter. Ross was yelling at her to open the door as well.

"No! Erm—I mean, erm… I'm fine! It's nothing," her voice was trembling, clearly stifling back sobs, Chandler can tell.

"Open the door, honey, please! What's going on?"

Erica didn't answer for a while but her dad and Uncle Ross kept knocking. Her hands were shaking as she stared at the disaster in the mirror opposite her, but she didn't know what else she could do. Sighing, she looked at the doorknob and decided she needed help.

"Okay, but promise not to laugh—"

Chandler was taken aback by the statement, still worried but somehow less so after hearing it.

"Okay, I… we promise. Open the door please."

She stepped out of the bathroom, her eyes welling up and her lip quivering. Her natural blonde hair was now a deep, dark black at the roots to almost mid-length and still noticeably dirty yellow at the tips. One of Monica's pristine Pottery Barn cotton towels hung around her shoulders, stained with black dye.

Chandler stared in disbelief.

"I'm sorry… I'm sorry, dad. What am I gunna do?" Erica sobbed.

"Oh my g—," he whispered in reply, "—the… the bathroom. Your mom's gunna kill me."

"Huh?" Erica wiped her tears with the back of her hand, "Daddy, my hair… look at my hair."

Chandler shifted his eyes toward her and seemed to study her head before sighing.

"Yea, okay, honey, I get it. Your hair looks fantastic, but what are we going to do about this mess?"

"Erm… okay…" Ross piped up awkwardly, making his way to the door, "I'll be er—I'll be at the den. You look cute, sweetheart," he smiled at his niece and patted Chandler on the back. "Good luck, man."

The other two followed him with their eyes quietly as he walked out of the bedroom.

"What, exactly, were you doing in here?" Chandler turned to his daughter once Ross was gone.

"I was just… I thought of dyeing my hair," Erica replied, sniffling, "I swear I was gunna clean up after, Dad, but—"

"But what?"

"Well, look at me!"

"I am looking at you!"

Erica tugged at her blonde tips and whimpered, stunned at how oblivious her father was.

"I messed up my hair!" she began sobbing again.

Chandler stared at her, mouth agape, completely clueless about what to say.

"This-," he finally attempted after a moment, "—this wasn't the style you were going for?"

"No, of course not. It was supposed to go full brunette. I wanted to-" she bit her lip before she could finish her sentence.

"You wanted to…? Speak up, young lady," Chandler raised his voice, uncharacteristically stern now that he was totally confused.

"I wanted to… look like mom…" Erica mumbled in reply.

Chandler stood unmoving when he heard the words come out of his daughter's mouth. The look on her face was a blend of embarrassed, disappointed, and utterly frightened – all summing up into sad tears streaking down from her eyes.

"The kids at school—"

"What about the kids at school?"

"They were making fun of me…"

"What are you talking about?"

Erica sighed, a little hesitant but answered nonetheless.

"The kids at school… they said Mom and you would be better off returning me because I'm not pretty. They said I don't look like either one of you because I'm adopted. So, I thought… I mean, Jack has brown hair like you so he can stay but I'm… I don't-,"

She sighed.

"—I thought if I dyed my hair black, I could pass off as Mom's daughter… because then, I'd be brunette like her. Even if I can't be pretty like her."

He could have sworn he felt a big shard of his heart fall off, hearing her.

"Now, I look stupid…" she cried, burying her head into her hands.

Without another word, he kneeled down and scooped her in his arms, her shoulder shaking against his chest. He wanted so badly to ask her which kids she was talking about so he can go to their houses right then and give each one a good slap against the head, but that wouldn't help anyone, and Monica was capable of worse things if she knew about this. The school would definitely be hearing from them on Monday, though, he resolved that.

"I'm sorry, Daddy…" she sobbed, prompting Chandler back to his senses.

"There's nothing to be sorry about, sweetheart, and you don't look stupid. Listen—," he held her gently by the shoulders so she would look at him eye-to-eye.

"—first, you are our daughter, okay? You are my daughter and you're your mom's daughter. There's no question about that and there will never be, do you hear me?"

Erica nodded with a sniffle, wiped her eyes with the heels of her hand.

"Second, you are not as pretty or as special as any of those other kids because you are a heck of a lot more than they are. You are more special, more intelligent, more beautiful—,"

Chandler smiled at his daughter, his eyes welling up a little as much as he tried to fight it.

"—and you have the most wonderful heart any girl could have. And that's something Monica, remember her? Your mother? That's something you've inherited from her. Maybe not her face or her hair color, but her heart, and that's so much more important. You are everything and more than we could ever ask for…"

A spark of gratitude glimmered in Erica's eyes, assuring Chandler. She embraced her father tightly and gave him a kiss on the cheek.

"I love you, tyke," Chandler sighed contentedly.

"I love you, too, Dad," she whispered in his ear.

"I actually think it looks really cool. You're setting a trend," he said encouragingly after she finally let go.

His face suddenly turned playfully stern and he looked over his shoulder toward the bathroom.

"That said, we still have this mess to clean up, young lady."

#

Sophie raised her face toward the sun, warming herself with the bright, yellow rays as they fell gently on her skin. She shut her eyes tighter and stretched out her arms to her sides, opening her palms wide and catching the light, like her mommy would say. 'Catch the light, Sophie,' she would tell her, 'Vas-y! Vole vers le ciel, ma chèrie!'

On a lounge chair just a couple steps away, Mike felt himself reflect the smile on his daughter's face as he watched her proudly. Little fingers stretching out and curling back into her palms, and he laughed a little knowing exactly what she was doing. The beams shone about her, settling comfortably on the fibers of her strawberry pink sweater and on the loose yellow curls sticking out from her pigtails; she looked as though she were emanating the sun. Back in the city, spring was about as good as any season seemed to be, which was obviously not saying much. But here, in the Bing family's backyard on a Saturday morning, he actually felt and saw the difference.

He grabbed a handful of almonds from the deck table beside him, contemplating about moving to the suburbs when Chandler stepped out onto the patio, a can of beer in each hand. Chace came running out after towards Sophie. Electric blue eyes shining in excitement and wavy chestnut hair plopping as he went - 'like Chandler's hair used to,' Phoebe always remarked.

"Here you go, man," Chandler proffered him one.

Mike popped the tab open, watching along as Chace plucked a daffodil from Monica's collection of perennials and handed it to his daughter. He raised an eyebrow at Chandler, who choked slightly on his beer.

"Hey, don't look at me. That's all him," Chandler raised both hands.

Mike rolled his eyes, snickering. "Right," he took a swig of beer.

"Does that look like something I would have been able to pull off? You know me, Mike."

He let out a little laugh. "I'm not saying anything."

Chandler chuckled, reclining on his chair. "That confidence is all his mother's," he nodded encouragingly at his son and turned to Mike, winking. "So, if you've got a problem, bring it up to her."

Mike shifted his attention back to the toddlers playing tag across the yard. Happy squeals merging with the chirruping of birds in the background, and his little girl, running around the garden, across the bright colors of the flowers about her.

"They're growing so fast, huh?"

"Too fast, actually."

"Right? I mean, just the other day, I saw the kid looking at the classifieds—"

"Chace can read those already?" Mike asked, a little surprised.

"No, I don't think so. I'd left doodles on the paper. He told me he thought it was the comic page."

"Oh—"

"Still, he knows what he wants enough to get it himself."

Mike smirked, shaking his head. Across the lawn, Sophie carefully coerced the butterfly that had landed on Chace's shoulder onto her finger. 'Un papillon, Dada,' she mouthed to him, excitedly, and he beamed in response, before casting his eyes to the ground.

"Sophie's seemed to be taking on the best of you guys, too, every time you bring her around. Sweet girl," Chandler smiled.

"Thanks," Mike took a swig of beer.

"Like Brianna at that age, huh?"

Mike raised his head, a thoughtful look on his face. Chandler swiveled his head, letting out a nervous laugh as he immediately realized what he just said. He shook his head, as though trying to erase the uncomfortable silence.

"Sorry, man, I didn't mean to—"

"It's fine. Don't worry about it," Mike smiled weakly. "And she is," he added, in an effort to alleviate Chandler's discomfort, "—she's a lot like Brianna was. Both of them are more Phoebe than me, which is great," he laughed.

Chandler patted him on the shoulder, hesitating.

"You still think about her?"

"I do," a beat, "Everyday, I still do. Makes me scared everyday that I'd lose Phoebe or either one of the kids again but…it's become a bit easier now, I guess."

He turned his attention away, effectively cutting the topic, and nodded instead toward the kids, holding hands while walking toward them.

"Seriously, man, I'm telling you, this kid better not be making the moves on my little girl—"

"Wh-what?"

"If he didn't look so much like you, I'd swear he's Joey's kid."

"Hey, she's Phoebe's daughter, okay? You're one to talk."

"J'ai soif, dada," Sophie said, resting against her father's leg.

"Still speaking French, huh?" Chandler remarked and Mike nodded with a smirk.

Chace pulled at Chandler's arm to whisper something, while Mike pulled out two juice boxes from the bag right by his chair.

"Okay, sweetie, which one'll it be? Orange or apple?"

Sophie pointed at one and he obliged, peeling off the paper wrapping from the straw and handing it to her.

"She's just thirsty," Mike shrugged. "Would you like some orange juice, Chace?"

He turned toward Chandler, as he offered the other juice box to the little boy.

"What was he whispering about? Is he thirsty too?"

"No, he says he doesn't understand what Sophie's saying."

Mike snickered. Chace grabbed the other juice box and started peeling off the wrapping himself.

"Oh, would you look at that? Big man setting up his own juice box right here!" Chandler exclaimed, giving his son a high-five, before turning his attention back to Mike.

"So, I take it you guys are still in the French phase? I mean, can she speak at least a little English?"

"I talk English, too, Uncle Chand," Sophie piped up.

"Yea, she talks in English, too, Uncle Chand-" Mike backed, causing his daughter to giggle. "-but, yea, we're slowly getting her back to English. She's going to preschool in a couple months so Phoebe finally let up."

"Jeez," Chandler shook his head. "I remember when you guys had us babysit MJ that one time. I had to buy a used foreign dictionary just to understand him. Cost me more than 30 bucks!"

Mike snickered, his eyes unintentionally glued to his daughter who was sipping on her apple juice quietly.

"To be honest, I don't even think she needs to go yet."

"You nervous?" Chandler smirked.

"Tsk. Always-"

"You'll get over it. You got over it with MJ."

"I guess," Mike lightly pressed a kiss on his daughter's head, "Still doesn't make me any less worried."

"What? That she'd grow up too fast and wouldn't need you anymore?"

They watched as Chace ran back to the grass and called out for Sophie to follow him. The little girl started to walk toward him before Mike noticed her untied shoelaces. Quickly, he moved to help her, but her tiny hand held onto his before he can start.

"J'peux, dada—" her smile curved as though she was keeping a secret from him.

Mike stared on as her little fingers fiddled with the laces, shakily looping them into each other until she finally pulled them into a little bow. Sophie stood up and giggled at her astonished father before running away toward Chace. He stayed kneeling on the ground, wordlessly surprised.

Chandler patted him on the back, smiling. "Your face pretty much answers my question."

#

Emma gave herself one more look in the mirror before deciding she looked fine. Fine enough? She wasn't actually sure, but this was pretty much everything she can do at the moment. Her mom had picked out her clothes, but she insisted on doing her own hair and makeup, and now there was no turning back. She didn't do a bad job, probably not as good as her mom would have done, but all the same. It was a miracle she even allowed her.

'Well, here goes…' she whispered to herself.

The phone in her purse started ringing, throwing her off her thoughts, and she laughed a little when she saw who it was on the caller ID.

"Hi, mom—"

"Hi, sweetie!" Rachel greeted excitedly on the other end. Phoebe and Monica chirped their hello's in the background as well.

"How's it going?"

"Good…"

"Did you wear the dress I picked out?"

"Yes, mom, I did."

"Well, take a picture and send it over so I can see. Is your dad there?"

"No, I'm still in the bathroom actually."

"Oh, okay. I thought your date was at 3."

Emma glanced at the chain watch her Aunt Monica gave her. 3PM.

"Yea, erm, I'm just waiting for him to call. He hasn't… called yet."

"Alright, well, put your dad on the line so I can talk to him about this chaperoning thing. Trust me, honey, it's gunna take another—"

She hesitated. "I actually erm… I haven't told him about the date."

A slight fuzz on the line before she heard her mom's voice again.

"I'm sorry, honey, what was that? The reception's a little bad here."

"I haven't told… Hello? Mom? Can you hear me?"

A second of fuzz again.

"Honey, are you still there?"

"Yea, mom, still here."

"Sorry, what were you saying?"

"I said I haven't told Dad that I'm going on a date yet."

A beat.

"Emma…"

"Well, I was gunna tell him…"

"When?"

"Right before you called. I was about to go out of the bathroom."

She heard her mother sigh at the other end.

"Honey, you just got us into so much trouble."

"You think he'll be upset?"

"Oh, sweetheart, you don't even know half of it—"

The line garbled before completely cutting her mother's voice, and Emma could almost swear the last thing she heard from the other end was 'He will be.' She let out a deep exhale and looked at herself one last time, grabbed her purse and went out of the bathroom.

In the kitchen, Ross fiddled with the wires one more time in an effort to get a clearer picture on the screen.

"Okay, I think this would fix it," he grimaced, plugging a cord into the laptop again.

"Listen, Dad, I gotta go. We'll do this again soon, okay?" Ben said from the computer screen.

"No, wait. It's fixed now, see?"

The screen crumpled and broke again into pixels, and Ross cursed under his breath.

"Hug Emma and Nicky for me, okay? I love you guys. I'll talk to you again soon."

The picture suddenly became clearer and Ross finally saw his son on the opposite end, smiling at him.

"Hey," Joey greeted loudly as he walked into the kitchen, "—is that Ben?"

He got a Snapple from the fridge and walked over behind the barstool Ross was sitting on to give a quick wave to the screen.

"Hey, Ben! Told your dad already, huh?"

Ross turned toward Joey, confused. "Told me what?"

"Uncle Joey!"

Joey's eyes widened into shock and he immediately scooted away to leave the room.

"Nothing. I didn't say anything."

"Joey!" Ross called out after him.

The computer screen was already blank by the time he turned around to ask Ben. He didn't even notice Emma walking into the room.

"Hi, dad."

"Hi, sweetie," he said without looking up, "Listen, do you know something about Ben that he's not telling me?"

He carried on trying to connect to video conference but the reception wasn't letting him anymore. 'Damn internet!'

"I don't… think so," she hesitated.

"The stupid thing won't connect," Ross sighed, "I'll just give him a call again later."

He looked up finally at his daughter and was slightly taken aback. Emma looked exactly like Rachel, he noted, smiling. Hopeful eyes, shy smile, and pretty much everything. She was all Rachel.

"What?"

Ross beamed at her tenderly. "Nothing, it's just that you look—," he coughed, "— you look really nice, sweetheart."

Emma smiled sweetly at him in reply.

"Aren't you too dressed up to go to the movies though? I mean, it's just you and a bunch of friends, right?"

He closed the lid on the laptop and made his way to the foyer to get his keys, Emma following after him.

"Yea, dad, I've actually been meaning to talk to you about that-"

"Yea?"

"I'm not going to the movies with friends. I'm going with Logan."

Ross took a second and Emma gulped in her nerves.

"Wait, I'm sorry, what?"

"Logan. I'm going to the movies with him," she said nervously, adding, "His mom will be there as chaperone."

Ross stared at her in disbelief, his mouth agape, and she stood in front of him with her eyes pinned at her feet. The multicolored metallic polish Aunt Phoebe applied to her toenails the night before glittered in the sunlight streaming through the windows, and looked really cute with the white designer sandals her mom let her borrow, but she couldn't think about that right now. She had to think of something to say to fill the silence. Something else to say.

"I'm really sorry, dad," she finally whispered and looked up at him. "I didn't want to tell you before because I knew it would upset you."

Ross let out a deep exhale and started pacing the room. "You didn't tell me because… you thought you'd upset me… huh."

"Dad, I know this wouldn't help anything but—" she took his hand, "—I promise I'll be good, okay? I really, really like Logan, but I swear I'll be good."

The doorbell rang before he could think of anything to reply with. Emma's eyes were all but pleading him to say something. He turned around and sighed, managing a straight face before he opened the door.

"Hi!"

A petite African-American woman dressed in jeans and a caramel-coloured cardigan stood on the porch in front of him. She smiled graciously, hand neatly placed on the shoulder of the teenage boy beside her. He was tall, with tight curls, grey eyes, and dimples.

Ross felt his heart pumping against his chest.

"I am Cynthia, Logan's mom. You must be Emma's father."

"Yes, I am… Ross, Emma's dad."

Logan stretched his arm out for a handshake. "Nice to meet you, sir."

He looked back at him intently for a moment, thoughts of Rachel's dad suddenly swirling in his head. Logan seemed like a behaved-enough young man, he thought.

'They all seem behaved-enough,' Dr. Green's voice bellowed in his head, and he snapped himself out of it.

Ross shook the boy's hand in return. "Nice to meet you, Logan. Give me a second, I'll just call Emma."

He turned around and smiled weakly at his daughter. Emma felt her heart skip a beat.

'Go,' he mouthed quietly, and nodded toward the door.

She beamed and walked over, exchanging greetings with Cynthia and Logan.

"So, should we go?" Cynthia piped up, cheerfully, and the two teenagers nodded in reply.

Ross watched as his daughter walked off, his heart practically in pieces over his feet. The car sped away and his eyes chased after it as it turned around the block.

"Tough, huh?" Joey's voice sounded behind him, and he turned around toward his friend.

"I didn't think anyone else but her mother could break my heart," Ross sighed.

"I know," Joey nodded. "Wait, until she gets married though."

#

Joey closed his eyes and exhaled – theatrically, perhaps, but he was in no mood to overanalyze it. Gingerly, he closed the book and whispered.

"The end…"

He opened his eyes, beaming, expecting the three boys were all soundly asleep by then. They were staring at him, bored, instead.

"That's it?" Nicky asked, raising his eyebrows.

"What do you mean? I think it's a good book. I've never read this to you guys before—"

"It's 'Green Eggs and Ham,' Uncle Joey. Everybody's read it like a thousand times," Jack replied, matter-of-factly, "Besides, we're too grown up to fall asleep to some bedtime story."

"Uh-huh, yep. I second that," MJ nodded, giving Jack a high-five.

"Hey, you were asleep a minute ago," Joey exclaimed at the boy in reply.

"No, I was listening to Bach," he raised his earphones as proof, "I already know this story."

Joey sighed in defeat. "Listen, you guys, your moms are gunna be here any minute and it's already way past your bedtime—"

"How about another game, Uncle Joe? That'll make me fall asleep!"

Jack stood up from his bed, casting the comforter away, and was about to walk toward the closet to get the game console out, but Joey stopped him in his tracks.

"Nuh-ah, no. No more videogames. You promised your dad you won't be this difficult."

"But-"

"We're not sleepy yet, Uncle Joey," Nicky piped up.

He looked at the three boys who were silently pleading at him with their eyes, suddenly finding it very hard to say no again.

"Oh, man! Erm—" he thought of something else to distract him before he could say yes. "Erm… how about… how about we just put Bach on speaker, huh, MJ?"

"I won't fall asleep to that!"

"Yes, but they will," Joey nodded toward Jack and Nicky, "then you won't have anyone to play with and you'll fall asleep, too."

"Just one more game, Uncle Joey," Nicky pleaded.

"Er—" he fidgeted from his position, scared about losing his 'Cool Uncle' title if he denied them this. He took a moment to think.

"Alright, tell you what. If you guys give me this one tiny request that you fall asleep now, I will…" he paused, "… let all three of you take a spin on my Ferrari in the summer. How's that sound?"

"Really?" the three boys asked, wide-eyed and excited.

"Sure! And hey, whoever falls asleep first, gets to drive it around the block!"

"Awesome!"

"Right! First one to go to sleep wins, okay?" Joey grinned at them as he turned off the light. "Good night, you guys."

He shut the door closed and exhaled in relief. Mission accomplished. He raised his head up and saw Mike resting with his back against the hallway wall, head tilted in curiosity.

"Do you really have a Ferrari back in L.A.?"

Joey looked at him, at a loss for what to say, before settling with the truth. "Pft… no."

"Ha, and what are you planning on telling them in the summer?"

"They'll forget about it by then… right?"

Mike smirked in reply.

"I'll… I'll think of something. Don't worry about it," Joey waved him off.

They went to the kitchen and grabbed a couple of beers from the fridge before walking out and sitting on the porch. Joey's phone vibrated in his pocket and he took it out to read the text message.

"That Chandler?" Mike asked, taking a swig.

"Yea, he's stuck in traffic."

"Oh, he hasn't picked them up yet?"

"No, I don't think so," Joey snickered, "Monica's not gunna be happy."

"Well, he did leave thirty minutes after she told him to pick them up," Mike agreed, "Safe to say, we can all guess what's coming."

Joey glanced at his watch. 10:00 already. A rundown Chevy drove past them down the street and parked in front of the house next door. He eyed it for a second, but paid it no mind. He never stayed in New York long enough anymore to actually get to know the neighbors anyway.

"So, where's Ross?" he asked, shifting his attention back to Mike.

"In the den, talking with Emma."

"Oh," Joey let out a little laugh, "how's she taking it?"

"I don't know. They seemed fine. What, you know what it's about?"

"Let's just say someone didn't tell her dad she was going on her first date today," Joey shrugged.

Mike raised his eyebrows in concern. "Oh… that's harsh."

"You should've seen the look on Ross's face. He didn't take it well."

"I can imagine—"

"You guys have it tough," Joey gulped the rest of his beer down, "I think I'd be able to raise sons, but little girls?" he shook his head, "I can't even begin to think about it."

He crushed the can of beer under his foot and was playing with it, when Mike's phone suddenly started ringing.

"It's Phoebe. I'm gunna take this inside," Mike excused himself.

"Yea, sure, go ahead."

Joey stared at the pavement, the compressed metal sliding in between his fingers. He thought about home, and suddenly felt like he didn't want to go back to L.A. the following week. He'd missed New York, missed his friends, missed his friends' kids, and he knew he was gunna have to deal with a bout of homesickness anew once he flies back there. New York wasn't his home now, L.A. was, but the thought of living in an empty house all by himself again made him nothing but miserable. He'd miss the noise again, miss the kids running around yelling his name.

"Joey Tribbiani?"

A voice suddenly sounded, throwing him off his thoughts, and he realized there was a pair of Converse-wrapped feet right in front of him. Joey looked up.

"Yea?"

She was a pretty girl – average height, with dark brown eyes, cropped jet black hair, and a huge, warm smile. She looked no more than nineteen, twenty tops, in a green flannel shirt and ripped up jeans.

"Wow, you're… you're really Joey Tribbiani, huh?"

"Yep, that's right, I am," he smiled hesitantly, standing up from where he was sitting.

"I am such a huge fan."

"Really? That's… that's great to know," he turned his head sideways, checking if she came over with someone. "You from around here?"

"No, actually, I'm from Chicago. But my mom's from New Jersey, used to work in Manhattan."

"Oh," Joey nodded, a little suspicious, but he managed to beam nonetheless. "Don't get me wrong though, but isn't it a little late to be hunting down celebrities?"

She looked back at him for a second, something in her eyes glimmering, before she glanced away.

"Right, yea. I'm sorry. It's just that… I saw you and I wanted to say hello and…" she shifted her gaze slightly behind her, "…actually, that's my car back there so… I just… I just really wanted to say hello."

Joey recognized the Chevy that drove past a few moments ago.

"Okay, well… hello," he smiled warmly at her, reaching his arm out for a handshake. "Sorry, I don't think I got your name."

She stared at his hand for a good long moment before clasping it in her own.

"I'm Meagan," she said, shaking his hand firmly. She stared intently into his eyes, her face now completely expressionless.

"I'm your daughter."