Title: The Open Road

Author: Kaitlyn

Summary: "I've got some beer and the highway's free, and I got you and baby you got me."

Rating: PG-13

Warning: This chapter is rated R for language and sexual situations, not appropriate for readers under 16. (I'm being reasonable...there's probably not a junior in high school alive who hasn't either seen people having sex or had sex themselves. Besides, it's nothing graphic.)

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How do we ever REALLY know anyone? The people we work with. The people we went to school with. The people we grew up with. The people we live with. The people we love. How, really, are the personal lives and thoughts of these individuals anymore accessible or perceptible to us than the strangers we pass on the street every day? Worlds can be created and destroyed inside a human's heart and mind, without anyone but them ever knowing of their existences. Passions can burn, like flames licking at heated skin. Lovers can risk clandestine trysts, blanketed by the murky unknown of a miniscule thought. A thousand different lives, each the size and shape of a single raindrop, will erupt and disperse against cold pavement with every decision- every passing moment- in the secret, inner life of everyone you've ever loved. And you will never know.

Pausing for light-years to consider this mind-boggling detail, Rachel arrived at the conclusion that she was but mere evidence that this theory was true. She was living it. As soon as those 3, simple words had passed his lips, steered by a tongue that had professed a love so profound as to weaken and render her breathless...she became living proof that no one will ever know anyone. Humans will continue to live in one another's presence, without ever sharing the entirety of themselves with anyone.

To be fair, she had not asked for the entirety, but perhaps she had secretly expected his voluntary divulgence. Maybe that's what made the bits and pieces she was now receiving so much more horrible.

Something almost equally horrifying, Rachel was rapidly discovering, was the fact that he had yet to utter a word since his bombshell-of-a-revelation. He simple sat, seemingly content to watch her unravel. His hands folded in his lap and his eyes fixated upon her face, he watched the impact that his words had on her. 'Damn sadist', she thought to herself. 'He's got to be fucking enjoying this.' Then, her anger turned to paranoia and a rushed dizziness overtook her.

'Why isn't he saying anything? Doesn't he see how much this is killing me? How could he tell me something like that and then just sit there, happy to watch me wiggly and squirm?' She found herself growing increasingly uneasy at his silence. Then, the utmost bizarre feeling of claustrophobia sent her jumping from the bed and crossing the carpet towards the bathroom. This got him talking.

"Rachel?" he asked, standing anxiously. He didn't move to chase her. He wasn't sure if it was because he intuitively knew that she would not accept his help or presence right now, or if it was because he was just too confused and scared to. When she didn't answer him, but instead slapped the bathroom door, a light switch went on inside his brain, triggering his legs to move. He stood outside the door.

"Rachel? Are you okay?" He had not expected it, but a voice far from her usually soft, composed tones penetrated the wood.

"Okay!? OKAY!? How the HELL could you even ask me that right now!?" Obviously she had outgrown the 'discreetly unhappy' phase, having matured to the 'how could you have done this to me' stage. He sighed deeply, running a hand through his hair and pressing himself up against the door, perhaps in some emblematic gesture, but perhaps just for the sake of his own comfort.

"Rachel, you wanted to know the truth. So, I told you." He knew that he wasn't going to get out of this on a technicality. He was good when it came to finagling his way out of tight situations, but he was no Bill Clinton. No amount of sweet-talking or tongue-and-cheek was going to get him out of this.

"Yeah? Well why couldn't you have told me, I don't know, maybe before we had been DATING for 4, goddamn years!?" This wasn't good, nor was it normal. He had never known Rachel to be this volatile or offensive.

"Look, I told you she meant nothing to me! She was a summer fling; that was it!"

"Yeah, well, I guess I shouldn't really be surprised. It's not like being in love with someone is high on your lists of requirements before you propose." That was it. That was just one too many sarcastic quips over the quota. Impulsively, Ross hammered his fist against the wood, hitting it with enough force to crack the frame.

"Dammit, Rachel! What the hell do you want from me?! I didn't marry her, did I?!" He paused, hoping this would provoke some sort of reaction from her. It did not. So, he continued, but at a slightly lowered tone and ferocity.

"We were young, and rebellious, and thought we knew everything. Well, as it turned out, we didn't know anything. At least, I didn't" Maybe it was that hint of familiarity in the velvety caress of his tone. Maybe it was her genuine curiosity to the true implications of his last sentence. Either way, Ross heard the metallic clicking of the lock unset as the doorknob turned. When she emerged, her face was tear-streaked, but he knew instantly that they had been tears of anger, not sadness. The fact that he could recognize that so easily made him want to smile. He didn't, however.

Her hair was in disarray, and her skin was bronzed and shimmering against the backdrop of halogen lights, as they radiated from the bathroom behind her. Her arms were crossed over her chest, and her bottom lip stuck out in a pout. It was quite an inappropriate time to feel anything sexual towards her, but he couldn't control the primitive attraction that he was feeling for her, as she basked in an inextricable femininity that, he was certain, was unique to her.

"What do you mean 'especially you'?" Curiosity had overcome her, after all. He shrugged, taking a deep intake of hair through his nose, and sitting back down on the side of the bed.

"I mean she broke my heart." That had obviously not been the answer Rachel wanted to hear, and in seeing his, he continued quickly.

"Not in the same way you could break my heart. Not because I loved her." Rachel raised her glance to meet his, having found that statement to be perplexing, yet intriguing.

"If you don't love someone, they can't break your heart, Ross," Rachel stated, matter-of-factly. He shook her head.

"Not true. She broke my heart, because..." it was obvious that he was searching for the right words. He had never been one for eloquence, but he needed to explain this perfectly if he wanted it to make sense to her. He decided to start again.

"I had all of these disillusionments, Rachel. I was young, and naive, and such a sickening romantic. I believed all of the movies, all of the books, all of the song lyrics. I was so ready for it, Rachel. I wanted to taste it so badly, and I was so sure that, when I DID fall in love...it was going to be the biggest fairytale you'd ever heard." She moved slowly but deliberately over to where he was sitting on the bed.

"You said she broke your heart." She posed it as a statement, but he knew better. It was a question. He nodded.

"She did. She showed me that it just wasn't true. You can't make something out of nothing. You can't force love. No matter HOW badly you want it...no matter what you'd sacrifice to have it...you can't create it where it doesn't exist. In meeting her, I discovered that, when dealing in love, you have absolutely no control over when or where it happens. That scared me. It striped me of all my idealistic, romantic values...and it broke my heart."

They were quiet for a long while. There was really nothing left for him to say, and there was nothing appropriate for her. So, they said nothing. Finally, something occurred to Rachel. Her voice cracked when she asked the question, in that way voices tend to do from a combination of lack of use and tear-strain.

"Did Monica ever know?" Ross shook his head, simply.

"No. We never told her. We decided it would be better not to, and really, there was no point. We met, and a month later, I gave her a ring. She kept it for 2 weeks before giving it back. At the end of the 2 months, I went back to NYU...and I hadn't seen her since, before tonight. But, if nothing else, ONE good thing did come from it." Rachel turned her head to look at him.

"What's that?"

"A greater respect for the loves that DO pass us by." He said it with a paradoxes mixture of simplicity and grandeur that only he could pull off. She smiled, grabbing his hand and squeezing it. For the first time since they'd pulled into the hotel, he felt the heated confidence that usually proceeded their kisses, and decided not to squander it. Leaning into her, he closed his eyes, taking in the feeling of her lips against his. When they pulled away, she smiled and opened her eyes.

"So," he began, "you still mad at me?" The boyishness of his statement was enough to make her laugh out loud.

"Oh, Ross, I was never MAD at you." He gave her a doubtful look.

"Okay, well, maybe I was a little mad at you. Mostly, though, I just heard the word 'engaged', and I immediately got this image of you and some other woman in this house together, raising a family."

"You do realize that being engaged and married are two different things, right?" They both smiled.

"Well, you would know." This joke hadn't been made with the same underlying bitterness that the last had, so it didn't bother him. He stared at her for a few moments, not feeling so guilty now about being overwhelmingly attracted to her.

"What is it?" she asked.

"Nothing," he replied, shaking his head. "You are just...amazingly beautiful." She smiled from ear to ear, blushing slightly, which was an unusual reaction for her. He put his hand on her thigh, squeezing it affectionately.

"No, really. I don't think you understand exactly what I mean when I say that. The first time I ever saw you, when we were in high school, it honestly felt, to me, like time had just stopped. I mean, I saw you as, literally, this breathtaking girl. And now...well, my feelings for you have changed, obviously. It's no longer about some unrequited, obsessive admiration. I have a genuine respect for you; a mutual, genuine love." Rachel smiled, the light catching and reflective off of the beginning of a tear that was formulating in the corner of her eye. He licked his lips before he continued.

"But even now, after all this time..." he shrugged, smiling as if even he was amazed at what he was about to say, "you still manage to take my breath away. Sometimes, I still see you as that beautiful, unattainable, girl-next-door, high school goddess."

Rachel's demeanor turned swiftly from touched to aroused. Ross didn't say things like that often. She knew he thought them. She could tell by the way he'd hungrily stare at her from across a crowded room, or the delicate yet intensified way in which he'd touch her, when no one else was around. She knew he was attracted to her, but his methods in letting her know were subtle, which was nice, but made the verbal recognitions that much more enticing.

She scooted nearer to him on top of the mattress, sliding her hands up his thighs, to the bottom of where his shirt clung to his stomach. In one, hurried motion, she pulled the fabric up and over his head, tousling his hair along the way. This sudden action caught him obviously off-guard, but in a pleasant way, and he showed no objections when she went for the metal teeth of his zipper.

Before things escalated too much more, he leaned into her, catching her mouth with his. He noticed immediately how aggressive she was being in all of this, and how suddenly her interest had been captivated. If he didn't know any better, he would have thought that she was taking revenge for some abstract, metaphorical loss that she had experienced over Lindsay. She was attempting to regain something that had never been lost to her. Softly, he placed his hands on her shoulders, breaking their starving kiss.

"Rachel..." he managed, in a whimpered plea. He swallowed. "You don't have to prove anything to me." She seemed frustrated, both with the abrupt halt of their actions, and the riddle in his statement.

"What are you talking about?"

"I mean, nothing's different. This didn't change anything." She still seemed confused. They were both struggling to catch their breaths.

"Do you not want to?" she asked, shyly. He hated that. She was never shy about things like these, and he hated that his ill-timed, vague allusions had made her that way. She had no reason to ever be shy or unsure around him.

"No! Rachel...sweety...that's not-" he cut himself off, realizing that the moment was affectively gone. He fell back against the mattress in frustration. Rubbing his temple, he searched for the words. He had been doing that a lot, lately. Finally, he sat back up.

"Look, Rach, you NEVER have to worry about me 'not wanting to do it', okay? I assure you, that will never be a problem." This caused her to smile a little; blushing in a small victory. He rubbed his fingers up and down her arm.

"I just didn't want anything to happen for the wrong reasons. You seemed rushed- like you were afraid you were going to lose me. That's not, and never WAS the case, though, sweety. I assure you, when tomorrow comes around, you are still the ONLY person I want to walk down that aisle with." She nodded. Ross realized that she had not said anything in a very long while.

"So, are you okay? I mean...are things okay, now?" She smiled again, for the countless time that night, at the naivety and boyishness of his charm. He was always so worried about her, she realized. If he had it his way, she would probably never be upset or uncertain about anything, ever again. She nodded to reassure him.

"Yes, everything is wonderful. It's fine. But, Ross..." She narrowed her eyes on him, running her tongue along the inside of her lips.

"Yeah?"

"Can we continue?" A smile crept across his face, starting in his eyes, like it always had. He nodded, but she was already moving herself onto his lap. He recaptured her lips, moving his hands over her back before pulling her shirt up over her head. Their touch and kiss was still intensified, but in a way that was less about victory and more about surrender.

They made love hurriedly, that first time; rushing through with an urgency that could only be justified by the brilliancy of it's ending. They needed that absolution- that freedom- that was unique to the feeling of being on the inside the other. In the middle of the night, he awoke her with a series of soft kisses on her neck. They made love a second time, but slowly, in an unending dreaminess.

When it was over, she crawled on top of him, resting her head directly above his heart. In that moment, as she felt his hands tracing circles against her lower back, she found that absolution that they had so desperately been searching for. Maybe she even found it for the both of them, that night. It occurred to her, though, that the ghosts of women who had once lived inside his heart had long sense vanished, and if it were not for her, there would be only a sad grayness left. She was the one who was staying for good, and all of his possible pasts were but lanterns that marked their path together with experience and wisdom. Those women would never know the value of their work on him, and how beautiful a creature they had made him into. They had woven a blanket that's comfort would only ever be felt by her and Ross, and that made her sad. She cried quietly for those women that night, but when she finally succumbed to sleep, a knowing smile sealed her lips in acceptance.

End Chapter 13. To Be Continued In Chapter 14.