Author's Note: My first Friends fic! This is so not gonna be funny, partly because it's not supposed to be funny, mostly because I am not funny. So please bear with me. It's a bit short, but it's gonna be longer in later chapters. Reviews and Criticism are appreciated! Enjoy.

Edit: I have decided to revamp this story a bit. Don't worry, nothing will be changed much, except for the what age is Ross stuck in. And maybe I'll make the chapters longer.

Chapter One

By the time she got to the hospital, all that Phoebe could make out is a blur. Aflurry of white-wearing medical personnel running back and forth, a dash of silver from trays carrying either medical supplies or questionable mush, and the vivid, bloody red continously flowing from her friend's body – his face, his clothes, everything. She was forced to a bed, a group of nurses and doctors fixing her own wounds while Ross was taken to the emergency room.

The taxi was a wreck, but that didn't compare to the breakdown she was having right now. She doesn't even care about the cab anymore. She doesn't even care about herself. All she wants to at this moment was to see how Ross is doing. And to call Monica and the others.

Monica. Monica's gonna kill her. So will Rachel. And then everybody else. But not if she does it first. How come she did not swerve any further? Why did she let Ross cry his heart out on the backseat? Why, of all cars, did the drunk driver hit her taxi? And most importantly, why isn't she the one in the emergency room? Why is she the one practically unscathed?

"Hold still, ma'am," one of the nurses held a firm grip on Phoebe's arm. Another one placed a bandage on her forehead. Phoebe continued to resist, but to no avail.

"I wanna see my friend!" Phoebe shouted. "And I want to call our friends!"

"Well," the nurse gripping her arm said, taken aback, "you are not allowed in the emergency room, but you'll be able to call your friends after we fix you up. So, close your eyes for a moment. Everything is gonna be okay." This did not make Phoebe feel better at all. Everything is not going to be okay. How did this day come from being bright and beaming to downright devastating?

"Fine," Phoebe spat out, before surrendering to slumber. It was a long day.

Monica couldn't believe it. The idea couldn't sink in. It can't be. She can't move. She can't speak. She can't function. She doesn't know what to do. And same went for everybody else.

They were celebrating the eve of moving day, and everybody was hoping that Ross and Rachel would finally, FINALLY, get back together again. Monica opened champagne, and Joey ordered pizza. It was just the four of them - Monica, Chandler, Phoebe, and Mike - waiting for three people to open the door. But instead they got a phone call.

"Mike, honey? You have to come to the hospital. Quick. Bring the others. This is pretty big..." Then all they heard for the next ten seconds were Phoebe's sobs. That was ten minutes ago, and somehow, it is still fresh in Monica's brain.

The phone was on the floor, everyone still stunned by the news. Jack and Erica were crying noisily on their crib, but no one was paying attention. Somehow, Chick Jr. and Duck Jr. managed to waddle their way to Apartment 20, but no one (not even Joey) cared.

Finally, Mike broke their trances with a whisper. "I'm gonna go there. Anybody else?"

The others nodded solemnly. Monica and Chandler took Jack and Erica out of the crib, Joey closed the door, and Mike called Phoebe that they're on their way.

And yet none of them said a single word to Rachel Green.

The next day, Rachel Green stepped foot on Paris soil. But something didn't feel right. A lot of cute French guys with wonderful accents were offering to carry her luggage, but she didn't feel the slightest hint of spark. She ate a croissant, but she couldn't taste anything. French people, smiling, waving, giving her a warm welcome. But instead, she was sulking. Her cab passed by the Eiffel Tower, and she didn't even notice. Jet lag, she decided as the excuse for her cranky behavior.

Street artists playing guitars and keyboards. A coffee ship. A restaurant with a lobster logo. A small billboard featuring Days of Our Lives. A little girl clutching on to her dinosaur stuffed toy. Then the song playing on the cab. "With or without you... With or without you ohh..." Bono cried out. Rachel groaned.

"Monsieur! Monsieur! Can you please turn down that racket?"

Now it was the driver who groaned, muttering something in the lines of "America" and "whiners".

She shook her head, trying not to miss Monica and the others. Especially Ross. But everywhere she looks, all she sees is New York. And her friends. And Emma. And Ross. And Newark Airport. Where Ross declared his never-ending love for her. But still, she got on the plane.

She loves him, she does. She loves him with all her heart. But she can't do that right now. It's time for them to move on. It has been ten years of push-pull, on-off, migraine-inducing, heart-fluttering moments with him, and it has come to a halt. It's finally off the table. The idea just sunk in right now. And a part of Rachel couldn't believe it, but a larger part of her decided that it's time.

Suddenly, her phone rang, breaking her flow of thoughts. Monica. Crap! She said she'd call first. And she didn't. What is wrong with her?

"Rachel?" Monica croaked from the other line. She seemed to be crying.

"Mon?" Rachel asked, concerned. Monica rarely cries. It must be really something devastating or joyous to make her cry like that.

"Ross is in a coma."

And just like that, Rachel felt everything crumble right in front of her.