Title: The Quiet Things

Author: Kaitlyn

Rating: PG-13

Summary: Burning lungs, dirty dancing, nightswimming and second chances...Loud music, tainted smoke, fiery kisses and racing hearts. Everyone remembers what it was like to be 18. Established R/R and eventual C/M.

Sorry it's been so long since I updated. I received a few emails asking when the next chapter would be installed, and the answer is now :-)

I'm going to try REALLY hard to include some Monica/Chandlerage. Bare with me still, people. They're not my forte- Ross and Rachel are, obviously. If Monica and Chandler see rushed then I'm sorry. I'm trying here :-)

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"Do you want anything to drink?" she asked, getting up from the couch and crossing the living room into the kitchen.

When they'd exited the woods that night, Joey told them that Ross had taken Rachel home minutes before, essentially leaving then stranded. After cleaning up, they'd hitched a ride in Phoebe's van, accompanied in the back seat by at least half a dozen of her more-than-suspect groupies. They'd finally arrived at Monica's around 3 am, though, and had somehow managed to stealthily sneak in through a downstairs window under her parent's radar. They were now watching TV in the Geller living room, pretending not to be affected by their solitude and close proximity and furtively fidgeting at the other's every move.

"Yeah, I'll have some water. I think I drank a little too much tonight," he added, only slurring his speech together slightly. Monica smiled and retrieved two waters from the refrigerator before rejoining him on the couch. It wasn't until then that Chandler noticed Ross' absence.

"Hey, did you notice that it was like 3 am? Ross isn't home yet," he noted. Monica looked around, almost as if she didn't believe him.

"Yeah, you're right. Maybe he slept over at Rachel's," she suggested, smiling insinuatingly. She knew that they'd done that on several previous occasions. She couldn't help but be both amazed and slightly jealous that they'd never been caught. She just knew that the second she ever tried to pull something like that, her parents would find out and she'd be grounded until graduation.

She suddenly became very aware of the fact that Chandler had slid his hand over the back of the couch and his fingers were now softly stroking the skin of her shoulder.

"So, uh, what do you think they're doing then if they don't have sex?" Chandler asked, trying failingly to scoot nearer to her without her noticing. She was very aware, however, and she could feel her heart speeding up. Before she knew it, his leg was pressed up right against hers. She answered with a silent shake of her head.

"Oh, hm, I don't know. She's told me before that they just fall asleep with each other. She says it's, you know, comforting and stuff." Okay, his nose was DEFINITELY nuzzling his ear now. She wasn't sure that he'd heard everything she'd just said. SHE couldn't even remember everything she'd just said. His breath was hot, though, and that was about the only thing she knew in that moment.

She did not anticipate the first kiss. It had not been proceeded by an especially memorable or romantic line like she'd been used to seeing in the movies. His breath smelled faintly of alcohol and his hands were shaking with all the combined nervousness of 20 hormonal adolescents. There was no romantic music, but rather a grainy infomercial hosted by a too-tan, middle-aged man flashing across the television screen in front of them. It was nothing like how she imagined it would be when they finally crossed that line between innocent kisses between friends and unmistakable intimacy between two people who were rapidly becoming more.

They kissed long into the night on that couch, totally unaffected by the flickering of the sad and lonely characters across the silver screen and completely unaware of their surroundings. When it was time to say goodnight from fear that her parents would discover them, he found it surprisingly hard to leave. He had known all along that Monica was far too special and respectable to just use her as another means of getting some action, but even after they'd spent a night and morning together, he was aching inside to be closer to her. After kissing her cheek and climbing out of the first-floor window, he contemplated during his walk home about just how he was going to do that.

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One day and a lifetime away, he left her sleeping in bed to go jogging at dawn. Even though the entire night had been in upheaval, he clung to that old habit to comfort himself.

Jogging was a way for him to get away and think, because the moving of his muscles as they pounded again the pavement was such a constant- so automatic- that he didn't need to waste any of his concentration on it at all. His thoughts that morning keep returning to the one thing he couldn't tell her. Though he told her that he understood and respected her decision, privately he worried that she might not ever be ready. He knew that would never change the way he felt about her. He would- COULD- never stop loving her because of something like that. It just wouldn't leave his mind, though, and every step he took just pounded the fear deeper and deeper into his head that she may never be ready to accept him- to let him in, mentally and physically. Reluctantly, his brain began to make a terrifying connection.

Feet against the pavement. Blood in his ears. Breath robbed from his lungs...

He remembered that night so many months ago that had been one of the worst in his life; it was the night that Rachel had first told him about her dreams. He had tried to repress the memory far back into his mind, but sometimes it crawled out and escaped like a hungry wildebeest, dragging it's heavy belly against the Earth. They were just dreams, he had told her. How sorry he had been.

**Dreams don't do this to you, Ross. Dreams don't make you hate yourself.**

In every dream, she had told him in hushes tones that dripped from her tongue and poured onto the floor, included her rape. Every single one of them. And she hated herself afterwards.

**They make me feel disgusting.**

No amount of consoling ever helped, and sometimes he still found her in his bed in the middle of the night when the dreams would return to kill the prey whose necks it had only snapped during it's previous visit.

They hadn't talked about it for months after she told him, pretending that it hadn't happened- that the conversation had never taken pace- and it humiliated her to the extreme that someone somehow knew. Monica was the only other one who knew.

**It's stupid...no one will understand...**

And they didn't- not even him. He always listened, though, and he had never thought it possible to want to hurt something as abstract as a dream until he held her sobbing and torn against his chest. It was beginning to make sense now, though. Perhaps this was the answer she was seeking. This was why- why she couldn't let herself get close to him.

As his feet beat mercilessly into the pavement, he couldn't help but wonder if the faceless intruder that plagued Rachel night after night had a name after all.

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Before anything else, she felt the familiar pull on her shirt sleeve before her eyes were even given time to flutter open. When they did, she was met by his familiar smile and a modest kiss on the forehead.

"Hi," he whispered, smiling warmly and nudging her cheek with his nose. She smiled in return and her first thoughts were of how much she regretted her actions last night and how much she wished she could just take them back. Lying there with him, she couldn't think of one good reason for why she'd stopped things last night. Not one.

"What time is it?" she asked groggily as he moved his head to rest it on her chest. He glanced over at the cock.

"8:20," he answered as she ruffled his hair with her hand and wrapped the other arm around his back. She nodded and he tucked both of his arms underneath her, effortlessly encircling her small waist. They laid like that for moments upon moments that stretched out over the comforter like rays of gentle sunlight.

"This feels really nice," he finally stated, muffling it into the soft patch of skin on her stomach where his head was resting. She bent her legs a little, disrupting his position and triggering him to scoot up the bed so he could see her. He rested his head up on a bent elbow and looked down into her eyes, smiling and tickling her stomach with the pads of the fingers on his other hand.

"Yeah," she confirmed, resting her hands over the one on her stomach. "Yeah, it really does." She seemed pensive, though, and a little detached, and that worried him. He narrowed his eyes and moved his hand to run it up and down her arm.

"Is something wrong?" he asked.

"Why are you dressed?" she asked randomly, obviously trying to divert the conversation. He didn't fall for it.

"I went running. Now, what's wrong?"

"Sorry. I was just, um, wondering about something..."

"Well what is it?" he inquired, still a little worried.

"I'm still trying to figure out what came over me last night," she admitted. He hadn't really expected that. He was under the impression that they were just going to forget that it had ever happened.

"You don't owe me an explanation, really, Rach."

"Well, it bothers me," she answered abruptly, somewhat rushed in her speech. He sighed and sat up in the bed. Her attention was momentarily captured by the way the soft sunlight that came in through the closed blinds was dancing across his skin, bronzing it and hooking itself around his pronounced muscles. Her thoughts were circuitous and refused to quite plaguing her. The wind picked up, making her white linen curtains billow and her hair stream behind her.

"Well, it shouldn't. Look, I know that sex can be really serious for a girl. Your entire life, all that you've been told is that you should wait until that 'perfect' guys comes around to do it. It's normal for you to-"

"But you ARE him, Ross! I know you are! There's no doubt in my mind that you're supposed to be the one! And still, I freaked out! I mean, I have NO idea why! You know I'm not usually this uptight about...sexual stuff." She lowered her voice on the last part and subconsciously bunched the covers up around herself more. He nodded but was reluctant to mention what he knew to be true. He felt it was a form of self-incrimination. He was being selfish, but he just didn't have the heart to mention her dreams.

"I know you aren't. This is different, though, and I understand that." She shook her head and looked down at the flower pattern on her down comforter. She knew she shouldn't regret her decision, but some moments were worse than others. Now was one of those times. She had stopped because she thought it was safer for him- for them- but there were moments she worried that she might have done the worst possible thing.

"That makes one of us."

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"So, we kind of...you know," Monica giggled, arching her eyebrow. Rachel offered up a weak smile to her best friend.

"Oh yeah? Wait, you didn't have sex, did you?"

"Noooo, no, no, no. We did...other...stuff. Oh, you know what I mean. Anyway, it was really great!" Monica was practically squealing now, provoking a genuine smile from Rachel. She was happy for her friend- she knew how much she liked Chandler and what an upstanding guy he was. She was finding it hard to concentrate, though, with all of her mixed feelings over Ross flying around. Apparently, Monica noticed.

"Rachel, what's wrong, because you're like really putting a damper on this whole thing!"

"God, I'm so sorry, Mon. I know how important this is to you. I'm not meaning to seem so distant and uninterested. It's just..."

"Ross stuff?" Monica asked knowingly. Rachel nodded and looked down, almost ashamed. Monica scooted closer to her on her bed and rubbed her friend's arm.

"What is it?"

"Ugh, I don't know. It's just this whole stupid Ross thing. We almost had sex last night..." Her voice trailed off at the end. She wasn't sure if it was from embarrassment or regret. Monica looked both excited and worried.

"Really? What happened?"

"I- I don't really know," Rachel admitted, wrapping her arms tightly around her legs and sitting in a ball on the bed. "I just...freaked out, I guess."

"Well, that's understandable, Sweety. It's a big step for you guys."

"I know that," Rachel agreed, nodding. "It's just that...there's something else- something I haven't told him. I don't know if I can, Monica. I mean, I don't even know if it means anything, but I don't know how to mention it to him without breaking his heart."

"God, Rach, you're not going to break up with him, are you? Because you know how much I love you, but I don't-"

"No, no, that's not it! It's...remember those dreams I kept having a few months ago? When I first started dating Ross?"

"Yeah. What about them?"

"I've been thinking about it nonstop since it happened last night and...I'm starting to think that maybe they're about him."

"WHAT?" Monica yelled, causing Rachel to smack a hand over her friend's mouth.

"Shh! He's right upstairs!" she whispered, bringing a finger to her own lips to signal Monica to be quiet.

"Okay, I'm sorry," Monica whispered in turn. "Continue."

"Alright, well...I think I figured it out. You know how the...guy...in my dreams never had a face?" Monica nodded. "I think maybe it was Ross all along."

"What? That doesn't make any sense. Ross is the last person in the world who would EVER do anything like that. Ever. Especially to you. You know that."

"I do." Rachel nodded, swallowing deeply. "I do know that. That doesn't mean I'm not still scared, though. Maybe I'm just subconsciously making up excuses for not doing it."

"Scared of what, though?" Monica asked, looking visibly confused.

"Scared that after it's over, he'll treat me like all the others."

There, she thought. She had said it. She had never dared utter that fear before, but she had finally just said it. It was out there now- free for God himself to hear and judge her for it. She sighed and leaned her weary head on her hand for a moment, staring at her best friend's face from across the bed. She didn't even want to think about the words that she had just spoken or the sudden stomach-twisting drop that sent her head spinning.

"You're afraid that Ross is going to stop loving you for YOU after you have sex with him?" Monica asked, making sure that she was understanding what her friend was saying. Rachel made an upset face but nodded, burying her head in her hands. After another quiet moment, she spoke.

"I guess I'm just afraid he's going to turn into...another one of those guys like from the club the other night. He's going to start...expecting things. Even if he doesn't know he's doing it, I think I'm afraid he's going to forget why he really loves me." Rachel was obviously upset, and on the verge of tears now. On top of being confused, she was deathly scared that she was right.

"Oh, honey," Monica cooed, patting her friend on the leg. "I think you really need to talk to him about all of this. All I can really say is that I don't believe for a moment that he would do that, but if this is really bothering you that much-"

"I can't do that, Monica," Rachel stated simply. "I could never do that to him. It was bad enough just telling him about the dreams. How am I supposed to tell him that I think they were about HIM!?" She shook her head from side-to-side. "No, there's just no way."

"Do you think he has any idea?"

"No, none at all."

"Well, maybe you should give him some more credit," Monica suggested. "He's smarter than he looks." At this, Rachel looked up and grinned for the first time during the conversation.

"Maybe," she whispered, sniffling softly and smiling weekly.

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Morning light slanted through the cracks of the vertical blinds in Ross' room. Strips of hazy sunlight fell across the two bodies on his bed, both lying tranquilly on their backs. Each was panting slightly and sporting a skin tone that indicated recent vigorous activity: pink, flushed and gleaming with beads of sweat. They lay only centimeters apart, hands clasped in the space between their bodies with her head resting on his shoulder. Even the traces of sun weaving their way in through the blinds suggested a hazy, hot, and humid afternoon. And because she hated really strong air conditioning, he'd turned it down when they'd entered. As a consequence, they were lying without covers and had foregone much more cuddling after hooking up. Their eyelids fluttered from time to time, but mostly remained closed.

The angle of the light indicated that it was at least mid-afternoon. That morning, after rushing back to his loft from the swimming pool, they'd ordered collapsed immediately on his bed. It had taken him by surprise, the way she'd wrapped her arms around his neck and pushed their bodies simultaneously back onto the mattress. All the while, he had a sinking suspicion that her aggression was some brazen attempt at making it up to him from the past weekend's incident. That made him feel repulsive and excited, all at once. Once it was over and they were left to lie there stoically and panting in unison, she had been the first one to speak. She sat up next to him to do it.

"Ross," she began, taking his hands in hers, "there's something I want to talk to you about. I'm not really sure how to, though."

"Just say it- no matter what it is." He massaged her hands with his long, elegant digits, transfixed by her eyes and hanging on her every word. He found himself to be considerably more eager and attentive after getting drunk on her body and tongue.

"Well...before I say anything, you should know something."

"What's that?" he asked, a little nervous and skeptical. The feeling fleeted quickly, however, when she leaned down and placed a sweet yet firm kiss against his lips that lingered there for several seconds. He smiled when she pulled away.

"Okay, I think I'm prepared for the worst, now."

Her hand now tightened on his. Her voice was rough, slightly hoarse. "Well...do you remember those dreams I told you I was having a few months back?"

He froze. Oh God, he thought. The unmentionable had happened. The one thing that he had sworn he would never reveal to her- would never mention- had occurred to her entirely on her own. She had made the connection, and he loathed himself for not having been the one to suggest it.

"Yes..." he answered tentatively. He had no idea what to expect. He was grasping for dear life at the handlebars and praying to not be thrown overboard head-first .

"Well, uh...I think I might have an idea about what they meant." Pause. "I think that, um...maybe...they were about you."

The most awkward of pauses proceeded her last line. The mother of all uncomfortable silences landed smack-dab in the middle of them, steadily erecting a wall that was becoming exponentially more powerful by the second and would surely require more wrecking balls and explosives than could ever exist to break it down.

"Ross?" she whispered, squeezing his hand now out of fear.

"Yeah..." he trailed off, obviously lost in thought. "No, um...no, I understand...I think." At this, Rachel's stomach dropped and her knees buckled. Had she been standing, she surely would have fallen.

"God, I knew I shouldn't have said anything. It really doesn't mean anything, Ross. Really, I was just rambling. I have no idea what my dreams mean."

"Of course you do, Rach," he chimed in, his voice 100 times more calm than she'd expected. "You know what your dreams mean more so than anyone else. If you think they were about me...then they were."

"Yeah, but I don't WANT them to be about you, Ross. I don't want to be afraid of you. I don't want to categorize you with all the others. I don't want to believe that you'll leave me, or stop loving me, or, or...objectify me. I just...it's too hard not to. It's all I've ever known. How am I supposed to just KNOW that you're the one? That...that you're different?"

Ross nodded and got up from the bed, pulling a plain white shirt from the floor over his head and turning to face her. She noted his defensive stance, as did she note that he wasn't meaning to make it. She slid over on the bed and got up on her knees so that she was at least somewhat at eyelevel with him. She groaned and reached for his hand, upset when he refused to remove it from where it was sitting locked on his hip.

"Please, Ross..." she pleased, shaking her head. "I can't handle you getting upset about this. I need you to help me, here. You're the only one who can. If you could just...just..."

He sighed deeply, not from exasperation but from a sort of tired, weak surrender. "Just what, Rach?" His question wasn't rhetorical. It was obvious that he genuinely wanted to know, but at the same time knew that it would only lead to more heartache.

"I mean, I'm with you here. I know what you're saying, and you're saying it for good reason. Yeah, guys have objectified you in the past. They've made crude comments...they've hit on you. I bet they've even sexually harassed you, though I know you'd never admit it to me. So don't think I'm incapable of understanding, because I'm not." She knew he wasn't done. She did not interrupt, but rather waited patiently for him to finish.

"I just don't know what else to do. 'I love you', to me, doesn't mean 'I want to get you into bed'. I'm not going to try and get you into bed with me with some Valentine's Day gestures, or flowers arriving at your locker, or romantic sonnets. I- I don't make affectionate phone calls to try and sway your decision- I like EVERY decision you make just because of how strong-willed it is..." He drew breath and continued.

"If we go out somewhere, I'm not going to pay a strolling violinist to play our song. If we travel somewhere romantic someday, I'll probably even find a way to mess THAT up. I'll probably forget the serenaded in the gondola, or- or the tossing of the coins into the Trevi Fountain while we look deeply into each other's eyes, or- or the pledging of eternal love in the shadow of the Eiffel Tower. I'm not your Prince Charming, Rachel! " He was getting more into it, raising his voice, gesticulating wildly and pacing back and front in front of where she was kneeling on the bed. He stopped after that last sentence, though, and reassumed his position with his eyes fixed intently on her, his hands on his hips and his jaw clenched tightly.

"But I swear to GOD that no one will ever love you as much for WHO YOU ARE as I do." He paused for affect after that sentence, having raised his voice sharply on certain words to allow them time to sink in. He was even pointing his finger now. "You tell me that you don't want me to turn into those other guys...Well, I guess I can't really convince you of that. You want to know how you can be sure that I'm different? I guess you can't be. But if you believe for just ONE second that you don't make me the goddamn happiest man alive just by walking into a room...then you really don't know anything." He saw the tears welling in her eyes now, and so he decided to bring down his tone. He stepped forward and closed the space between them, taking her hands in his.

"You're the only woman who's ever made me happy. The only times I've ever come close to being...content have been these past few months when you've been part of my life. I enjoy everything more when you're here. I even like pissing you off...telling you stupid jokes...watching you sleep...seeing the way your face light up when you're excited or the way you play with your hair when you're nervous. Everything's more exciting. More real.." She smiled at this, tears falling silently. He reached up with the pad of his thumb and wiped a stream of them away before they fell.

"I can only tell you that I love you in so many ways, Rachel. What this was all leading to is that I want to keep you in my life- I want to make you happy. I want to make you happy to be with me. If that means that we never have sex- so be it. If that means I have to get in a fight and get the shit beaten out of me with every guy that makes you feel like you deserve anything less than to be respected and cared for...then I guess I'll have to start wearing a helmet and kneepads wherever I go. That's all I've got, Rach. That's all I can tell you...is that I'll wait."

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End Chapter 9. Continued in Chapter 10.