The One With The Indecent Proposal

By: Jana~

Chapter Fourteen

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--Ross clicked off the phone, sighing as he stared up at the castle in front of him. "He says the police are on their way, and to not just let ourselves in, or we can be arrested for breaking and entering. Or at the very least, trespassing."

"My, God," Rachel gasped softly. "This place is amazing."

"Yeah. The property is so massive, gotta wonder how many bodies are buried out here," Ross muttered cryptically.

Rachel huffed, then smacked his arm. "That's just great, Ross! So much for reassuring words to keep the women-folk calm. What ever happened to consoling comments like, everything's gonna be ok?"

"But I don't know that everything is going to be ok, Rach. What, do you want me to lie to you?" he asked.

"No, Ross, I'm not saying you should lie, it's just, usually, when a stressful situation presents itself, one would-"

The sentence ended abruptly when the door to the elaborate residence flew open, revealing a blond woman on the move.

"Who are you?" the woman asked, seemingly annoyed.

"Um," Ross wavered, his thoughts scattered for a moment. "I'm Ross, this is Rachel. We're looking for Monica."

"Don't know any Monica," she snipped, then moved past them with the large bag she was carrying.

"You, need some help?" Ross offered, but she didn't even pause to respond.

"Nope," she said shortly, continuing towards a yellow cab parked not too far away. "You have the wrong house or something," she muttered, adding, "Go away."

"How rude," Rachel whispered, watching as Ross followed the woman to the car.

"Pretty sure we have the right address," he said as he trailed behind. "What about Chandler? Is he in?"

The woman knew the name, Ross was sure of that, by her reaction. There was a very noticeable pause in her pace, and a soft scoffing sound he could just barely make out.

"Can we talk to him, please? It's important."

She threw the bag she was carrying into her car, then spun around, indignant. "He's not home right now. He's out on a date."

Ross scowled. "At…" he checked his watch, "Twenty after one in the morning?"

"Well," she returned snottily, "You're out after one, aint'cha?"

"Only because we're trying to find my sister," he said in response. "Monica Geller? Dark shoulder-length hair, blue eyes?"

"I'm not Chandler's babysitter, ok?" she shot back, then climbed into her car. "And if this Monica gal is an adult, she doesn't need one either, right?"

Ross was getting irritated with the woman, and with a slightly tense jaw, asked, "And what's your name? How do you figure into all this?"

Turning over the car, she shot him a dirty look, snapping back at him, "My name is Ur- uh, Phoebe. And how I figure into this, is none of your business." Before the sentence was even finished, she threw the car into drive and dropped her foot onto the gas pedal.

Shaking his head, Ross moved from where he had been standing, back towards Rachel, glancing over his shoulder as the cab's breaklights became smaller and smaller.

"Something's not right here," he told her, then pointed towards the front door as he realized, "It's open. She left it open."

"Who was she?"

"I don't know for sure. She didn't seem to know anything about Monica, but she said Chandler was out on a date?" He was definitely disbelieving of that, as his tone strongly indicated. "I also think she was lying about her name," he added.

"Why do you think that?" Rachel asked, stepping up behind him as he peeked through the open door, peering in as well.

"When I asked her name, she started to say one thing, but then stammered before answering. I mean, what, she doesn't know her own name?"

"What are you doing?" she asked as he inched the door open slightly. "Pete said not to go in."

"It's not breaking and entering when the door is left open. Besides," he added, taking a step across the threshold, "I'll just tell the police that the Ur-uh-Phoebe person told us to go on in."

Nervously, Rachel linked her arm with Ross', moving with him as they entered the elaborate foyer.

"I would be so into this place," she whispered, "If I wasn't so worried."

"Focus, Rachel," Ross instructed. "I need you to remember everything Mon told you."

Struggling to remember, she muttered, "Dark corridor, uh, big wood door. Cage with a padlock! And, uh, shackles hanging from the wall."

"The corridor, did she say anything else about that?" he asked. "Like, where it was located? How they got to it?"

"No," she answered, shaking her head. "Oh!" she suddenly remembered, "Ya'know what? When she was talking about it, she was whispering, like she was trying to keep someone from hearing her."

A deep sigh escaped as he tried to decide how best to proceed. "Ok, dungeons would, theoretically, be located downstairs. Like, in a basement or something."

"Doubt this place has a basement," Rachel countered. "Places like this don't have basements."

"No," he returned, "They have dungeons."

"Fine," she whispered back sharply, "So, what's the plan?"

With a shrug, he told her, "Find stairs that go down."

***

--There was no way of knowing what time it was, but it felt like hours had passed. The soft sounds of Joey snoring made it known that he was asleep, and he was fairly certain, by the occasional mumbling noises, that Phoebe was too.

Monica seemed to be asleep, though fitfully, and like she could wake up at any moment. Chandler, however, couldn't sleep, for many reasons. Some were obvious, and expected, like the fact that he was locked in a cage, and because of the coldness of the room, other reasons weren't as clear.

He viewed her as she reclined against him, curled up on his legs, not unlike how a young child might on a parent's lap. Tenderly, he brushed her bangs from her face, wrapping his arms around her to provide her with the little warmth he possessed. He had this inexplicable urge to protect her.

This was so not how he envisioned his time with her would be. After this, she would never want to see him again, the sight of him probably being enough to bring bad memories to the surface she would obviously want to bury.

"I'm so sorry," he whispered, startled when she answered back.

"You don't have to be," she murmured. "I told you, I don't blame you for this. This isn't your fault."

"I didn't mean to wake you," he said as he shifted slightly, his legs fast asleep and aching.

"I wasn't really sleeping," she confessed, "I just didn't want you to know I was awake."

"Why?"

"I didn't want you to blame yourself for that, too," she explained. "Ridiculing yourself for being the reason why I couldn't sleep."

He sighed. "You could be home, in a bed with Pete Becker right now, if it wasn't for me."

"I wouldn't be home in bed with Pete Becker, if I hadn't come here," she told him with certainty. "And if given the choice, I wouldn't be there now."

Wincing slightly, he asked, "That bad?"

"Well, let's just say that this room, is warmer than his bed."

"Wow."

"I'm sorry," she apologized, embarrassed, "I don't know why I just told you that."

"It's ok that you did," he assured her, the comment an indication that she could continue the subject, if she wanted to.

"It was like, once he had me, in his eyes, he didn't have to try anymore."

"So things got lukewarm in the… romance department."

"Exactly. And 'lukewarm' is being generous. He probably cared about me, you know, on some level, but, sometimes, that's just not enough."

"Yeah. You want to fall in love with someone that will continue to love you passionately, even after being married for fifty years. Not one that loses interest after a few months."

It was like he was reading her mind, her very soul, and as he gazed into her eyes, she could feel her heart flutter and her breath catch.

"Would it be considered totally inappropriate, under the circumstances, if I were to kiss you right now?" he asked carefully, not wanting to upset her.

There was only a slight shake of her head before she reached up, entwined her fingers into his hair, and reached for his lips with her own.

TO BE CONTINUED…

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