CHAPTER 6

Ross was sitting on his bed and reading a book that he was having a hard time getting into. He wasn't too discouraged to be interrupted by a knock on the door.

"Come in." he called. There appeared Rachel, still dressed in her funeral clothes. She gave him a warm smile and slowly walked over to the edge of his bed, where she sat down.

"How are you doing?" she asked, placing a hand on his knee.

Ross shrugged. "As good as can be expected. You?"

Rachel nodded. "Same, pretty much. I just put Emma down, by the way. Do you want to talk about anything?"

Ross was quiet before answering. "Not right now. I'm really tired."

"Okay," Rachel replied. She then bent forward to kiss his cheek. "Goodnight, Ross. You know where I am."

"You know what, I really don't want to be alone," Ross informed Rachel as she was about to stand up. His brown eyes bore seriously and somewhat seductively into hers. Rachel instantly grew uncomfortable. She knew that look.

While Rachel was frantically contemplating how to respond, Ross all at once leaned in toward her face. She reflexively backed up. To conceal her reaction, she pulled him against her. She hoped the hug would clear his mind and the attempted pass would slip by unnoticed. However, when they broke the embrace, he leaned in to kiss her again, and she jumped off the bed.

"Ross, honey, listen, under the circumstances, I don't think that sleeping together tonight would be such a good idea. It's been an emotional time, and I understand completely that you're feeling vulnerable and sensitive. Besides, I don't want to feel like I'm taking advantage of you."

"You won't be taking advantage of me! I'm giving you the advantage," he pointed out. "Come on, Rach, it'll be fun. You know how good we are."

"Yes, good point, we are certainly...adept. But Ross, we're adults and we have a daughter. We're pretty much past the point where we can be fooling around anymore." Ross was staring down, and she couldn't read his expression. Rachel sat back down in front of him and lifted his chin gently so their eyes met. "Please, honey, I don't want to lose you over something that can be avoided and worked past. You mean too much too me."

Ross's dark eyes filled with tears and he looked away from her, silently resuming gazing down. "Okay," he answered after a while. His voice sounded choked and emotive, which concerned Rachel. She took his hand.

"You all right?"

"Yeah, sure." He replied unconvincingly, wiping under his eyes with the back of his hand.

"Honey, you're crying," she said gently.

"Okay, you want me to be honest, Rachel?" he yelled hysterically. "No, I am not all right! My sister's dead, and I, on the other hand, have no damn life to show for my thirty-three years! Okay?" Tears were streaming non-stop down his cheeks, which he had tried to hide from Rachel by turning away. The smallest things were causing him too lose it lately, which wasn't something he was proud of or comfortable with.

"No, no," she contended, softly rotating him toward her and looking into his watered eyes. "It's far from okay, Ross. I don't want to make you miserable, please. I could never live with myself if I knew I was doing that, intentionally or involuntarily. All I want is to be there for you." Ross just stared at her, struggling to seem impassive, but with fresh tears welling. "Sweetie, you look so exhausted. Why don't you get some rest, and we'll talk about this in the morning. Everything will be okay, I promise." She kissed him again, this time on the forehead. With a final, sympathetic smile, she turned around and, within just a few footsteps, closed the door behind her.

Ross was left staring into space for the stretch of several minutes. His eyes slowly wandered over to a framed photograph on his bedside table. It was of him and Monica at her wedding reception several years ago. The jovial picture alone caused Ross to break down for the nearly the fiftieth time since his sister's death. He turned himself so his face hid in the depths of his pillow and sobbed himself to sleep in just a few draining minutes.

The next morning, Rachel was seated at the round kitchen table, drowsily swirling a spoon in her bowl of soggy cereal. Beside her, Emma was settled in her highchair, scrappily munching on dry cheerios. At the moment, the baby could be described as the exact converse of her mother.

Rachel had slept horribly the night before. Although she knew on some level that she had done the right thing by refusing Ross's invitation, that didn't obliterate the gnawing guilt she had felt while lying there in the dark. She had heard his sobs coming from the other room and wanted more than anything to go take him in her arms and tell him how sorry she was. Yet restlessness and unbearable confusion had restrained her.

She loved Ross. There was no doubt in her mind, and in a subconscious part of her brain, she had known all along. Unfortunately, she had refused to listen to and accept it. She had taken advantage of this man who was madly in love with her and only mistake was being there for her unconditionally over the years. Because Ross had always been so good at putting up a strong exterior, she was fooled that certain things didn't affect him. That day several months ago when she had come home to him in tears by the window showed her that she couldn't have been more wrong. It hadn't been until the death of his sister, her best friend, that she realized how awfully he could hurt.

Rachel felt like kicking herself for being the stupidest person she had ever known. Ross deserved better than her, which she decided she was going to make herself. Once Ross woke up, she would tell him everything that had been going through her mind. She was unable to stand him being hurt by her, along with harboring the truly unshakable pain that had come with Monica's death.

Coming to think of it, Rachel saw that it was past noon and Ross still wasn't up. This worried her. He never slept in this late, even on the weekends. Forgetting momentarily about her daughter, Rachel stood up and hurried to the door of his room, carefully pushing it opened. When it was fully ajar, she found the answer to her query.

Ross was gone.

Ross stood directly in front of the tombstone marking his sister's body six feet below. The brisk Manhattan wind whipped at him, making him shiver unconsciously.

A lodge of tangled emotions subsisted inside him, although any passerby would never have noticed. Well, maybe one. But she would never come here.

She didn't love him.

Rachel. The only woman he had ever truly loved, even during his other marriages. The woman who had continually been by his side for the past few days, and weeks, and also was the mother of his daughter. He must have been so frazzled the previous night that his signals had come off wrong, making her think him out of sorts.

But he had meant it. And now he had freaked her out too much to sit down and tell her properly.

A lone tear slid down Ross's cheek. He had lost his sister and the love of his life in the same few days, and he wouldn't be surprised if this indescribable anguish wasn't over for him. He felt torn between throwing himself in front of a car to land him in the ground next to Monica and going home to face Rachel. He was still in a daze when suddenly a coat wrapped about him from behind. Rachel then stood in front of him.

"Oh, my God, Ross, you're shivering." Ross' eyes watered as he recalled when his sister had admonished him with the same concerned phrase when Emily, yet another woman who refused to love him back, had shot him down. "Come on, you should come home, it's not good to be here so soon." Rachel rubbed his arms and held her coat tightly around him. He reached over and grasped her arms.

"Rachel, please tell me," he begged, on the verge of tears. "Do you love me, or not?"

Rachel gazed into his deep, pained eyes with sympathetic, loving ones of her own. Then she placed her hands on his face, brushing away the tears that had fallen. Subsequently, the distance was closed.

Ross's hands released her arms and slid down the sides of her torso. In his mind, he was taken back nearly ten years ago when she had provided him with this treatment for the first time. It was one of the few things in his life that felt just right.

When they were both out of breath, they broke the kiss and just hugged tightly, shielding each other against the cold. One of Rachel's warm hands rested at the nape of Ross's neck, gently fingering his hair. His hands bunched her lighter coat she had worn underneath in tight fists, holding on for dear life.

"I'm so sorry, Ross. I'm so sorry, sweetie," came her whisper. "I love you more than anything. I'm so sorry about everything, and I promise that I will be here for you until the day I die."

"Rachel..." was all he said in reply, drowning in her presence and ardor. "Rachel, I love you..."

The couple remained in the cemetery, holding one another for what seemed like forever. Above them, they were sure that a certain spirit was smiling down.

THE END