(A/N) Hi all! Okay, so I struggled with deciding whether to post this chapter or not. First of all, I snuck in writing time when I should've been studying for my final (as we speak -er, type - I should be engrossed in thermodynamics), so this means that I probably can't update for a while after this chapter. Second of all, I originally thought last chapter was a good leaving point for a while because it was such a big ending (proposal, yee :]). So I hate leaving you guys with this less than exciting chapter right before my final and vacation, but such is the result of procrastinating for physics, haha.
Thank you's go out to BluEyes, Laurie M, friendsfan101, dramaticwriting, and sneaker89! Thank you for the kind words of encouragement; they are very appreciated! You guys rock, as per usual :)
Notes/disclaimers: September 1994 is based on The Pilot. Okay, onwards!
September 2004
"And I," Rachel smiled and turned to rummage through her purse, "…have something for you, too." Her hands closed on the metal box. "Happy anniversary."
Architect Geoffrey Dubois smiled when he saw what was inside. "Mon dieu," he murmured, taking out the unique, minimalist watch and inspecting it. The face was a blank rectangle, and the time was written out in tiny cursive in the right corner. "The Frank Gehry watch. My favorite architect; I can't believe you remembered." He spoke in a low, lilting French accent. "Rachel, you truly are the most wonderful woman."
Rachel grinned and scoffed modestly. "Oh. Pft. I wouldn't – I mean – yeah, okay." She picked up her wine glass and took a long swig to hide her blushing.
With one smooth motion seemingly only perfected by European men, Geoffrey swiped the glass from Rachel's hands and replaced it with his own. He fixed his deep brown eyes on hers – which made Rachel melt a little bit. "Happy 2 - month anniversary, mon amour."
"Joyeux anniversaire," Rachel smiled back, leaning in for the kiss.
October 2002
Transportation engineer JP Williams suddenly realized that all eyes in the New York City traffic commission board meeting were on him.
"It's up to Mr. Williams," the plump chairman smirked, smug that the responsibility was removed from him. JP decided that, if he hadn't hated the chairman before – he did now.
Sighing in defeat, JP lit up a cigarette (to the shock of the conservative suits in the room) and perused the map of the given city block again.
After a while, he looked up. "No," he finally exhaled, smoke wafting from his mouth. "No, we shouldn't implement a pedestrian crossing there."
"On what grounds, Williams?"
"Urban design. Shared space concept. And the fact that there's another crosswalk less than a 100 feet from it. People can't be that damn lazy that they can't walk to the next crosswalk."
"But," a mousy woman piped up, "there's a motel right where we want to put the crossing. All the residents would use it quite frequently! It would be much easier for them to get to the bank or that cute little bakery across the street. And it's a large motel. It's simple utilitarianism."
Other voices murmured in agreement.
"No," JP responded brusquely. "No, people – it's not safe. Traffic goes by fastest in that area, and, look, there's a bus stop less than three miles away that also has to use that lane. It's just stupid to stick a pedestrian crossing in the middle of all of that."
"Are you saying that our idea is stupid?" the chairman barked.
"Yes! Look, you hired me for a reason."
"Well, let's put it to a vote!" the mousy woman interrupted, newly incensed. "All for the pedestrian crossing, raise your hands!"
Several tentative hands went up. Then more.
"Fine," JP growled, angrily stubbing out his cigarette on the table. "Fine. Do what you want, but I'm not going to be part of this mistake. Don't say I didn't warn you." He grabbed his messenger bag, stormed out, and slammed the door behind him.
x
Five minutes later, the board was drawing up the implementation of a pedestrian crossing, right across from Bobby's Bakery.
December 2007
Rachel shrugged on the last of her clothing (the white trench coat she had arrived in), feeling oddly serene for having just awoken from such a milestone. Her first time sleeping with Chandler. After more than fifteen years of friendship. God, I've known him since his hair looked like Ace Ventura's. She gently pulled her hair out of her coat, then turned to him.
He was still lying in the covers, staring up at her in comically dramatic wistfulness. "Please don't leave me," he said in a funny falsetto. "I'm going to be lonely."
Rachel laughed, then sat back down on the side of the bed. Chandler scooted over to her, and she ran a hand through his hair.
"Chandler, last night was… really great."
"Really great."
"Really great," Rachel repeated. "But… do you think things will be… I don't know, weird, from now on?"
"What do you mean?"
Rachel sighed, mentally editing her next words. "You know… we've been friends for so long and everything. Just friends… you know? Like, I've never slept with a man who I have so much history with before."
"What a coincidence, I've never slept with a man who I have history with before either."
A glare. "I'm serious, Chandler."
"This is a heavy discussion for 7 am."
But Rachel was persistent. "What do you think this mean for us?" She leaned in anticipation, hand now running through the back of his hair.
Chandler sighed.
"I think," he started slowly, "it means that two friends who have loved and cared for each other for a very long time… took a very natural step in their relationship. It happens, and this just… happened. Naturally."
Rachel nodded, obviously waiting for more.
"And… maybe it wasn't so unexpected?"
"Unexpected?" Rachel echoed.
"I mean, you can't say that – over all these years, you'd never – thought about it? I mean, let's be honest, I have before."
There was a long silence.
"…and now I feel like a tool."
"Oh, no," Rachel cut in. "Sorry, honey, I didn't mean it like that. I was just thinking. You know, everything we've been through. And Mon."
"Yeah, I know what you mean." Chandler sat up now. "For so much of my life, it was Ross and I, and you and Mon. Best friends. You know? You two were always my girls." He smiled here, eyes crinkling. "Sometimes it was you and I, sometimes it was Mon and I. It just happened to turn out Monica in the end, but I think – I think that, it probably would've always come down to you two."
Rachel let that sink in for a while. A sweet smile played across her lips, the picturesque scene topped off with the tranquil chirps of birds and bustling din of traffic outside the window. Then, as if deciding that that was a good stopping point in the conversation, Rachel exhaled deeply and smiled, "Thanks, sweetie." She gave Chandler's hand a final pat, then stood and tightened her coat. "Dinner tonight?"
Now that she was up, she seemed to be moving in double-speed – applying lipstick without a mirror and tying her hair back into an chic ponytail.
"Of course, but no more Arch-climbing. My legs still hurt." He grimaced at his sore muscles from last night's activities (all of them). "Do you really have to go now?"
She shot him a jokingly reproachful glare. "Yes, Chandler – some of us actually have to work on a Thursday. Not all of us are abroad on business and just landed a successful Telecom client for our corporations." She quickly regarded herself in the mirror. "Oh God, I didn't realize I'd be Walk-of-Shaming the same clothes I wore to work yesterday. Maxine is going to give me such crap."
"Why are you even wearing a Gucci coat to work anyway?" Chandler asked. "Isn't that, like, against the rules of fashion rivals?"
Rachel turned around, brow furrowed in surprise. "How did you know this was Gucci?"
There was a long pause.
"I feel like this bears repeating, but I don't sleep with men."
Rachel laughed and opened the hotel door. "Oh, I know that now," she smirked. "See you tonight."
"See you." Chandler smiled back, and Rachel was surprised at how this simple, innocuous act could convey so much love and fill her heart with such warmth.
She closed the door behind her, and both of them could no longer question whether they had ever just been friends.
September 1994
When Monica got up to get a drink at the counter, Chandler practically leapt over the armchair and was by her side in seconds.
"What is it, Chandler?" she asked sharply, picking up her coffee.
"The runaway bride? That's Rachel."
"It is."
"Rachel, your high school friend, my college Thanksgivings, Rachel. She came back."
"Nothing gets by you."
"Mon?"
"I know, I know." Monica sighed. "You want my permission to ask her out."
"What –" Chandler stammered. "How did you know?"
"Chandler, you spent her entire story gawking at her. Then, when she mentioned Mindy, you asked her if they ever had pillow fights in their underwear."
Chandler smirked to himself as his mind began to wander, but it snapped back. "That's a legitimate question!" he replied defensively.
Monica folded her arms. "When she asked if anyone had any gum so she could get the bad taste of Barry out of her mouth, you said you would volunteer your tongue."
"It was a joke!"
"Chandler, no." Monica jabbed a stern finger at him. "Rachel just left her fiancé at the alter; she's way too vulnerable right now. For God's sake, she's still wearing her wedding dress! Baggage much? You need to back off."
"Please?" Chandler whined in a faux-childish plea. "Please?"
Monica picked up her now-lukewarm drink and brushed past Chandler on the way back to the couch. "No, Chandler. And I don't think it's me from whom you should be asking permission." She jerked her head in Ross's direction. "Hello? Did you just meet Ross? He'll never forgive you if you ended up with Rachel."
June 2010
"What are you doing?" Chandler entered the Le Marais kitchen, where Rachel was sitting unresponsively in front of a tall pile of blank white cards.
"Writing wedding invites, what does it look like?"
Chandler picked one up. "Well, I'm glad you invited Mr. and Mrs. Blank to the wedding of Insert Names Here," he quipped. "Where should we seat them?"
"Hey, it's hard, okay?" Rachel replied defensively. "I mean, I don't know whether to write in cursive or block letters… and I don't know how to start it... like, do I write, 'Hey there!' or 'You are cordially invited to'… I mean, 'cordially inviting' someone like Joey just doesn't seem right."
Chandler massaged her shoulders and kissed the top of her head. "Why don't you just start with someone you know won't care? Who will be happy regardless of what you write on it or how you write it?"
"Hm," Rachel considered. "Yeah, okay. Yeah, that seems alright."
When Chandler left the room with his coffee, Rachel pulled one blank card towards her. Her calligraphy pen hovered hesitantly over the paper for a split second before she scrawled out two familiar names – in a loopy cursive font. From Appartement 37, 218 Rue de Rivoli.
And at the last second, Rachel drew in a heart where the 'O' in 'Phoebe' should've been.
December 2008
"Oh, I'm sorry."
"Perdon."
Chandler held up a hand in acknowledgement and offered the man a nod. They had run into each other pretty hard, but luckily, the bottle of expensive wine Chandler had been clutching remained intact. He held it up for inspection.
"Ah, Pinot Noir," the Frenchman said. His English was tinted with a low, lilting accent. "I couldn't help but notice. Very good choice."
"Ah, thank you," Chandler smiled, trying to match the man's sophisticated tone. He always felt slightly emasculated next to European men… even if this one seems to groom his eyebrows. "My girlfriend loves it." Here, Chandler paused, reflecting on how oddly pleasant yet unfamiliar that word was. Girlfriend. Rachel – my girlfriend. Rachel Green. He mouthed the strange phrase over and over, enjoying how it sounded. He hadn't had a girlfriend in so long… and not to mention – it was Rachel. Chandler realized that it'd probably be a long time before he could get used to saying that.
"Anniversary?"
"Uh, yeah, kind of." Of a… certain milestone, at least.
"Would it be alright if I could see the bottle? I was about to buy some wine myself."
"Sure." Chandler handed it to him, and when the man extended his hand, Chandler got a glimpse of the unique watch around his wrist.
"Hey," Chandler exclaimed, forgetting sophistication. "Neat-o watch! I've never seen one like that. Where did you get it?"
The man smiled, wistful lines appearing along his rugged jaw. "It is nice, no? My ex-girlfriend gave it for me, but I could not get rid of it. It is a Frank Gehry. Beautiful." He squinted at the wine label a bit longer, then returned it to Chandler. "Well, thank you. Your girlfriend must be very lucky that you have such good taste."
"Nah," Chandler smiled. "No, I'm the lucky one."
(A/N) How was it? I hope you liked it. Again, sorry for leaving you with a less-than-awesome chapter before Hawaii. Thank you for reading, and as always, feel free to leave a comment/question/review/anything! Thanks. :)
