Chapter 11: The Fight and What Followed

Author's Note: Cress, my best critic and faithful reviewer (broad hint here; thank you, teacherchez, also. I feel bound to say that I have reviewed a great many of those who write fanfics – 789 signed reviews and who knows how many anonymous – and they might consider returning the compliment sometimes), has pointed out that I have been neglecting the other characters. Well, this includes some attempt to focus on Ross, but if I am to do justice to the others, there will have to be another chapter after this (cue for cheers or groans).

Anyone who doesn't catch the reference to Emily's dinosaurs monologue should check out The Pursuit of Janice Chapter 7, where the original version appears.

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"J-janice, can I come up?" came Rachel's voice hesitantly.

"Why, sure, Rachel," said Janice, pressing the door release. She turned to Emily, whose eyebrows were raised in curiosity. "Rachel – and she doesn't sound at all happy." Emily looked concerned.

When Janice let Rachel in, she was quite shocked at her appearance.  Her usually neatly combed hair was all over the place, she had clearly been crying, and she looked absolutely miserable.

"Why, Rachel, whatever's the matter?" she said in real alarm.

"Oh Janice, we had a f-f-fight!" Rachel wailed as she almost threw herself into Janice's arms and burst into tears on her shoulder. Now less alarmed than embarrassed, Janice looked across to Emily for help. Emily jumped up and came over. She put an arm round Rachel and led her, still sobbing, to the couch, while Janice went into the kitchen.

"Now, Rachel," Emily said in a kind but firm voice, "what kind of fight was this? Monica's reaching the stage where she may have mood swings, and I would expect her to, if anyone did. You have to try not to take them seriously."

Any reply Rachel might have made was interrupted by Janice arriving with a glass of milk. "You probably need a drink," she said, "and I remember Phoebe telling this story about you putting away milk when you were upset."

Gratefully Rachel took the milk and drank thirstily. Looking a little better, she ran her hand through her hair distractedly; she had obviously been doing this a lot, to get it to its present state.

"It blew up out of nothing, really," she said. "I had, um, taken the phone pen to do a crossword, and Monica was looking for it, and when I asked what she was looking for and she told me, I said I had it, and she started yelling at me, how I kept moving things around and she couldn't keep the place straight. So I said, she didn't have to be so mad about it, and she said, I had no consideration for her feelings, and I said, well, she oughtn't to take something as trivial as that so seriously, and – "

"Yes, yes, I get the picture," Emily broke in a little impatiently. "We don't need a blow-by-blow account. So in the end you ran out of the apartment, and … walked around the streets replaying the argument in your head and keeping on bursting into tears?"

"How did you know?" said Rachel, looking at her in surprise.

"Because I did it once, with Ross," said Emily. "I went to Monica, in the end, and she calmed me down. She told me that Ross had a low flashpoint when it came to losing his temper, but it never lasted long, and he always felt very bad about it and apologised later – which he did when I went back. Well, remember, Monica is Ross's sister and shares some of his characteristics, and she's pregnant."

"But we've never fought since we got married!" Rachel wailed. "I remember telling you that."

"Yes, but … have you never felt irritated by something Monica's done, or some habit of hers that gets on your nerves?"

"Well, yeah," Rachel admitted, "but those aren't things to fight over." She looked at them unhappily. "I don't like fighting. I saw enough of it between my parents. Oh, I fought with Ross, and with Monica before we fell in love, but I hated it." She sighed. "It was so great not fighting with Monica."

Emily nodded sympathetically. "Did you perhaps bring up some of the things that irritate you, in what you said to Monica?"

Rachel hung her head. "Yes," she muttered. "It all came out – and so did what she found irritating about me. I – I'm so afraid, she may not love me any more." Her voice trailed off into a sob, and she seemed on the verge of breaking down again.

But now Janice intervened. "Of course she loves you," she said bracingly. "No way could she have changed from what we saw only the other day. Now my guess is, Monica has been keeping stuff in, because she knows you don't like fighting, but it is in her nature to be critical, and the more she keeps it in, the stronger it is when she finally reaches critical mass." She seemed to notice that she was getting more and more emphatic in her old way, and paused, taking a breath, then went on, more quietly, "Now what you both have to learn is how to criticise each other's annoying little habits without yelling about it." She glanced at Emily humorously. "I had to tell Emily to stop singing the same songs every time she was in the shower. I mean, I don't mind singing in the shower, I do it myself – "

"Sure you do," Emily interjected spiritedly. "She loves to sing sad songs, and she takes Ole Man Ribber so slowly I keep wanting to wind her up, like an old gramophone, and she goes so deep, you wonder, how low can a girl get?" she said to Rachel, who could not help giggling.

Janice gave a bark of laughter. "Yeah, well, somehow I like to sing mournful songs when I'm happy. But you – it was the same songs every darned time, and in the same darned order!" She grinned at Emily, who had succumbed to a fit of the giggles.

"What were they?" asked Rachel, momentarily distracted.

"She would always start with In The Early Morning Rain," said Janice in tones of deep disgust. Emily's giggles increased. "And then That's What You Get For Loving Me, which I always thought was kind of inappropriate, since it's a real cynical song, and then Tell Old Bill, and then, if she was in the shower long enough, a version of Stewball by some old bunch called Peter, Paul and Mary. Any longer than that, and it did begin to vary."

She pretended to glower at Emily, who was still helpless with laughter, but waved a hand to indicate that she wanted to speak. She choked down her giggles and said, "You should understand, Rachel, she was very nice about it. She only hammered on the door, making me jump half out of my skin, and threatened to disembowel me if I sang In The Early Morning Rain once more." She collapsed on the couch, overcome again. Her laughter was so infectious that Janice and Rachel broke down and joined in.

"They're great tunes," Emily said, finally recovering and wiping her eyes, "and we did negotiate a settlement – any time she sang Ole Man Ribber or Folsom Prison or something like that, I could sing one of mine. Anyway," she went on, turning a more serious look on Rachel, "I'll bet you anything you like that Monica's feeling really sorry now – and Rachel, you're entitled to expect her to apologise and not feel it's all your fault and try to apologise yourself, because you love her so. And you must both find ways of letting off steam a little at a time, so it doesn't build up. Criticism doesn't have to be conveyed in a harsh tone of voice. You can make a joke of it, as Janice did – though she yelled loud enough!" She chuckled again at the memory.

"My parents used to yell stuff like that at each other all the time," said Janice, smiling in reminiscence. "And they would call each other the most outrageous things. But it was so over the top, you couldn't take it seriously. It's like they competed to come up with the worst insults. They would often break down laughing."

Rachel nodded. "Thanks, you guys. I … I feel much better."

"You still look terrible," said Emily bluntly. "Your face and hair need a lot of attention."

"Oh, right!" cried Rachel, and fled to the bathroom. While she was there the phone rang. Emily and Janice raised their eyebrows at each other.

"Monica?" said Emily.

"I'd bet money," said Janice.

But it was Ross. "Hi, Janice," he said cheerfully. "Do you have Rachel there, by any chance?"

"She's here," Janice confirmed. "She's in the bathroom tidying herself up at the moment."

Ross breathed a sigh of relief. "I tried the guys, and Phoebe, and even Julie … Well, I've got Monica here, and she's in a dreadful state. If you could get Rachel to the phone, to reassure Monica that she's not going to walk out on her – "

"One moment," Janice interrupted, for Rachel was looking into the living room,  a comb still in her hair.

"Is it Monica?" she asked eagerly.

"No, Ross, but Monica's with him," said Janice. "She wants to talk to you."

Totally ignoring the comb in her hair, Rachel virtually ran to take the phone. "Ross!" she cried. "Is Monica okay? Yeah, put her on … hi honey." She listened intently for a few moments, then burst out, "no, no, honey, of course I forgive you … don't cry, I'm not mad any more … What? Honey, of course I still love you – look, I'm coming over right away."

She put the phone down and grabbed her purse, looking as if she was going straight for the door. But Emily barred her way.

"You're not going out looking like that, Miss Rachel Karen Green," she fluted in a parody of her family's housekeeper. "You might as well wear a placard saying The Wild Woman of Borneo! Go and tidy your hair at once. There's a comb still in it, for one thing."

Janice chuckled, and Rachel felt her hair, cried, "Oh my God!" and hurried back to the bathroom. In two minutes she was back, looking reasonably presentable. She stood in front of Emily as if for inspection.

"Very good," said Emily, grinning at her. "Now go and make it up with Monica, and mind you talk it all over. Don't just say you're sorry and fall into each other's arms."

"You bet," said Rachel, looking determined. "Love you guys." She blew them a kiss and was gone.

Janice and Emily looked at each other. "We done good," said Janice, smiling.

Emily nodded. "Phew!" she said, sprawling back on the couch. "I have to say, that rather took it out of me. If I was really much of a whisky drinker, I'd have a stiff one this minute."

"Sure you wouldn't like … something else?" said Janice slyly. "Maggie won't be back for a good hour yet. Her nice aunt Phoebe is picking her up from the playgroup and taking her to her place for a while."

"It's great that they're so fond of each other," said Emily. "Well, since you mention it …"

They rose simultaneously and made for their bedroom, arms round each other.

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Ross patted his sister's hand. "She's on her way, you told me," he said calmingly. "But you have to allow time. Even a cab would take a while at this time of day …"

Monica sniffed and nodded. "I suppose. Oh Ross, how could I do that to her!"

"Now, Mon, you mustn't make too much of this," Ross said. "From what you said, it sounds like she's over it already. And I know only too well, she can be irritating sometimes."

"But we really got into it," Monica said. "Yelling at each other just like Mom and Dad did sometimes …" She stopped as if struck by a sudden thought.

"Yeah," said Ross gently, when she looked at him, "and they still get along pretty well, don't they? Sometimes you have to let it out. Done the right way, it shouldn't leave scars."

"But Rachel's parents used to fight a lot, and now they're separated," Monica objected.

"Not just because of fighting," said Ross. "There was that mysterious incident in Hawaii that Mom and Dad would never tell us about. I guess Leonard Green got caught with his hand in the cookie jar or something."

"Yeah, female cookie jar," said Monica, grinning.

Ross was pleased to see her show signs of cheering up again. He had felt very sorry for her, she was in such distress over her fight with Rachel, but he also felt a little relieved to know that even in the apparently perfect marriage there were flaws. In fact, he was surprised that they had gone this long without more than very mild disagreements, for he knew his sister's temper, and he remembered from his time with her that Rachel could get mad, too.

Then the door buzzer went, and it was Rachel. In moments she and Monica were embracing and crying on each other's shoulder, but only briefly. Then they separated, and Monica led Rachel to the couch and sat down, holding her hands and gazing into her eyes.

"Let's never fight again, sweetie," she said soulfully.

Rachel seemed to square her shoulders. "Mon, that's what we need to talk about," she said quite firmly. "Emily and Janice have shown me that we need to tell each other about the things that irritate us, not bottle it up because we love each other and don't want to hurt feelings. That's how a big fight like that happens. So if there are things you want to say, say them now, because I'm ready to take it." Her lips twitched. "Maybe just three things to start off with."

Monica looked at her seriously, then smiled. "Yeah," she said. "They're right. I've been too worried that you would associate any kind of fight with how your parents went on."

Rachel shook her head. "I can tell the difference now. So lay it on me."

"Well," said Monica thoughtfully, "it would be good if you told me when you'd taken the last juice from the fridge … if it's you that's taken it," she added. "In general, putting stuff on the shopping list, so I don't always have to find out for myself that we're out of something, would be good."

She kept her voice low, and Rachel smiled and nodded. "I'll try to bear that constantly in mind."

"Talking of drinks, do you guys want something?" said Ross. "It's no trouble."

"Thanks, Ross," said Rachel, smiling at him. "I could use a juice, actually."

"Me too," said Monica, also smiling.

Ross went to the fridge, thinking how nice it was to have them there, even if Rachel was forever beyond his reach. He always felt the ghost of the old passion when she was around and he could see her dear, expressive face, but he knew that a ghost was all it was. When he returned from the kitchen and found them in a hot clinch, however, he did feel a powerful emotion. But it was not jealousy of Monica; rather it was envy of what they had. Would he ever feel like that again? His life was running through his fingers, with nothing to show for it except another child to whom he would be only a part-time dad.

He coughed meaningfully, and they pulled apart, looking a little embarrassed.

"Sorry, Ross," said Rachel, trying to tidy her hair, which was not in great shape. "We, ah, were making up properly."
"That's okay," said Ross casually as he passed them the drinks. "It doesn't bother me."

"You're not jealous at all?" said Monica sceptically.

He saw no point in denying it. "Well, yeah. Who wouldn't be, if he was single and without anyone to get close to?"

"So," said Rachel, taking a swig of her drink, "you're, um, not still seeing whichever of Sita and Mary it was that you scored with?"

Ross grinned. "That was … just a one-off. A very nice one, but … They're definitely not interested in anything serious. And, you know, maybe that's just as well. They are a bit too like Bonnie, and I think now, if I had continued with her, it wouldn't have gone anywhere in the end."

"Yes, poor Ross, you really want someone to be serious about," said Monica. "It's so sad it didn't work out with Phoebe."

Ross sighed. "In the end, our world views are just too far apart, and it … well, I just couldn't take it. And, you know, there was always that feeling, at least I had it, that it was like I was having a relationship with a sister. She and I have been too close for too long."

"She didn't seem to see it like that," said Rachel lightly, "but I understand what you mean. Well, Ross, maybe you really should make some more effort with your colleagues in the museum. Or, aren't there any nice graduates in the U. who study your stuff and who you meet sometimes, like at lectures?" Suddenly she giggled. "If you can pull whichever it was of Sita and Mary, you can pull anybody."

Monica giggled too, and Ross smiled, not at all put out by this mild dig, for what Rachel was saying was making him think. Of course there was somebody, who had returned to his life and become his friend again. Maybe she would be willing to be more than a friend. He had sometimes thought that she was giving off signs that she was ready to be approached. He promised himself that he would try to follow this up.

"Thanks for your endorsement," he said cheerfully. "I thought I was supposed to be the guy that couldn't flirt."

"You're not so good with the light touch," said Rachel in an assessing way. "But when you try, you should be able to get anyone's heart beating fast. I guess Sita or Mary caught one of those great serious looks from your dark eyes and went totally weak at the knees."

"Yeah, believe in yourself, Ross," said Monica, suddenly serious. "Okay, you have had a series of relationships fail. But think about it: all were with really attractive women who had a lot to offer." She smiled at Rachel. "If they saw lots in you to be interested in, so could plenty more."

Ross could not resist banging his hands together. "Boy, you guys should fight more often, if I can get all this great ego-boosting stuff out of it …" He stopped when he saw their expressions freeze. "Uh, that was the wrong thing to say, wasn't it?"

"It was," said Monica a little frostily. "We're telling you all this because we're concerned for you, not because we had a fight. But I'll forgive you, because I know you've been through a hard time, and I couldn't be mad at anyone right now." She squeezed Rachel's hand, which she had been holding since their clinch.

"I feel the same," said Rachel, smiling at him. "Thanks for being a good brother to Mon, Ross." She turned to Monica. "Shall we go home now?"

Monica drained her juice bottle. "Yes, sweetie, let's do that." She turned to her brother. "You've been a great help, Ross, and it's so good to see you feeling so much happier. We'll see you again soon."

They each hugged him and left, hands firmly clasped.

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Two evenings later the group was beginning to gather in Central Perk. Rachel and Monica had bagged two of the seats on the couch, and were being so openly affectionate that Ross, the only other there, felt it was embarrassing, as well as slightly depressing. He was rather relieved when Gunther himself came over and gently asked them to cool it, saying, "After all, this is a family place."

Looking a little chastened, they turned down the heat. In a weird way, perhaps through the connection of their having had a fight for which they were still making it up to each other, Ross found himself thinking of Julie and how, until he had told her about Rachel, they had never had a fight. He wondered where she was; usually she had got here by this time. He was anxious to see her; they had not met since his discussion with Monica and Rachel, and he felt strongly that that was far too long. Once he had begun thinking of her as a woman he would be happy to date again, he found he could hardly stop. He had spent a happy evening after Monica and Rachel had left him, just remembering all the good times they had had together.

The door opened, but it was not her, rather Chandler, Kathy, Joey, Emily and Janice all together. Janice seemed in particularly high spirits, and soon they all knew why: she had just received a generous payment for some contract work, and Maggie had gone to sleep over with Janice's parents, leaving her and Emily free for the night. Then Phoebe arrived. She was beginning to show now, and Ross had to admit that she looked rather sexy, but although in a way he was tempted, he knew that it would be foolish to try to start anything again. Likely Phoebe wouldn't want it, and anyway he was much more interested in the possibilities of starting something again with Julie. He asked Phoebe how the pregnancy was going, and tried to pay attention to her reply and take part in the conversation, but he couldn't keep his mind on it and kept looking at the doot.

Finally, when he had begun to wonder if she had forgotten or been detained somewhere, Julie came rushing in, looking as if she had been running. She beamed when she saw him, and said apologetically, gasping a little, "Sorry I'm late, Ross, but I was on a website. Have you heard what Paul Serreno has found now, out in Niger?"

"No, what?" said Ross, and Janice sat up and took notice. Paul Serreno's expeditions had uncovered numerous new dinosaurs in different parts of the world, and anything he found was almost bound to be exciting.

Julie burst into an enthusiastic babble incorporating unpronounceable names, of which most of them only caught comments like "ninety-five percent complete skeleton", "crocodile-like" and "Cretaceous", a word they had perforce become familiar with and knew to mean the last age of the dinosaurs. Janice was leaning forward to hear all this as eagerly as Ross, occasionally asking questions, but all that most of them understood was that some new dinosaur remains had been discovered. For a while everyone else accepted their enthusiasm with good nature, but when it seemed to be going on a bit, Monica sighed, caught Emily's eye, and jerked her head at them. Emily grinned and winked. She leaned forward and tapped Janice on the knee.

"Yes, sweetheart?" said Janice, turning round.

Putting on the hoarse whisky-drinking Irish voice, Emily said, "D'ya know what I'm goin' ta tell ya?"

Janice grinned. "Now how would I know, before you tell me?" she said, in a voice clearly intended to sound Irish.

"They ruined manny a man, the same dinysaurs," Emily went on, not at all fazed by Janice's varying the script.

"And why is that, would you say?" said Janice, leaning back in a way that suggested resigned acceptance that she was going to have to hear this one out. Julie had stopped talking and was paying attention by now, as was everyone else, waiting to see if Emily would vary the monologue this time.

"Faith, isn't it obvious?" said Emily, spreading her hands. "'Tis the nightmares." She gazed around as if confident she had stated a self-evident truth.

"The nightmares?" Janice repeated, echoed by several others. This was a completely new departure.

"Sure, the nightmares," said Emily, drawing hard on an imaginary cigarette, then leaning forward to tap out the imaginary ash. "When you do be studyin' such awful things as thim dinysaurs – of course you knew that diny means 'terrible', like in dynymite, ya know …" Ross nearly collapsed at this point, but tried to keep in his laughter because he didn't want to miss a thing. "Well, annyhow," Emily continued, "the study is bound to be giving you nightmares, isn't it? I seen pictures of thim lads once, and, do you know what it is, I had to get a few jars inside of me just to take away the memory. There was no other way." By now Ross had a handkerchief over his mouth. "And I had to do it again the next night, for to take away the memories of things I seen in the night. So, well, don't you think your man the palonteologist" – here Julie, who had been listening intently, made a bursting noise, evidently an inadequate attempt to stifle a laugh – "the palonteologist, I say," Emily continued with a stern look at Julie, who put her hand over her mouth and began to shake, "is goin' to need somethin' to steady him when he gets the nightmares, and, sure, what could that be but somethin' soothin' like the whishky? But of course, the more he studies, the more he does be needin' to steady himself, and isn't that the very road to ruin?" she finished triumphantly.

The undercurrent of giggles and smothered laughter that had been growing throughout this now broke out unrestrained. Julie collapsed in her seat and shrieked so loudly that everyone in Central Perk turned to look, thinking something had really happened.

"You kept that one under wraps very well!" cried Janice, and she gave Emily a hug.

Affected by the general hilarity, Emily suddenly broke into giggles herself. "I like to s-surprise you," she spluttered.

She had been the last to laugh, but she was one of the first to recover. "Guys, thanks for being such a good audience," she said, looking round with a grin.

"Oh God," said Julie, sitting up again and pulling out a handkerchief to wipe her eyes, "I've never heard anything like that."

"I'm taking off the kind of thing that Flann O'Brien, a well-known Irish comic writer, would put in his Myles na Gopaleen column in the Irish Times, which was aiming to show the kind of pub bore who is for ever holding forth on subjects he knows nothing about," Emily explained. "That's the flip side of the well-known Irish love of good talk. He did all kinds of other things in the column too, including a Catechism of Cliché. I once ran across a pastiche of that, called How To Begin Your Article/Thesis/Book, which might amuse you."

"Yeah, lay it on us," said Ross enthusiastically. "I could use something like that."

He and Julie were the most appreciative of this recitation, though others recognised the hoary clichés that it was guying. But after that Julie sat quietly for a while, appearing to be deep in thought, while the rest conversed animatedly. She smiled at Ross when he attempted to engage her in conversation but only responded monosyllabically, so he laid off.

Then, at a pause in the conversation, Julie suddenly leaned forward and said to Emily, in a ludicrous fake-Chinese accent of the kind used in old Charlie Chan movies, "You know what I go tell you, foleign lady?"

"I do not," said Emily in her Irish voice, eyebrows raised in interest.

"They luin many man, same dinosaur," Julie continued, "but maybe, not luin man and woman together, what you think?" She looked mischievously at Ross.

There was a stunned silence, and then everyone burst out laughing, even Ross. His and Julie's eyes met, and he realised, with a great lift in his heart, that she was not simply joking.

"Well, I never thought I'd say this," said Rachel, seizing what seemed like a good opportunity, "but Ross, don't you think Julie might actually be the person you were meant to be with all along?"

"Yeah!" cried Julie, beating herself on the chest. "Me Julassic Julie, only ploper mate for Tylannosaulus Loss!"

This sally produced more laughter. But Ross was now looking at Julie so intently that she blushed slightly, though holding his gaze. Everybody held their breath. He looked around at them, grinned at their expectant faces, and turned back to Julie. His grin turned to a gentle smile, and he held out his hand. Julie, smiling back, took it.

"Shall we … start dating for real, Julie?" he asked.

"Ross, I'd love to date for real," she replied simply.

Phoebe burst out, "Yeah, let's hear it for Julassic, I mean Jurassic, Julie and Tyrannosaurus Ross!"

She stood up and pulled Julie into a hug, as the others cheered in delight and unspoken relief. There was further hugging all round, and shortly a very animated group of women swept their menfolk off for a celebratory meal, hoping that at last they had got Ross settled.