Title: The Beginning Of The End

Author: Kaitlyn

Rating: R

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.

I introduce to you...(drum role)...The Chapter Which Puts All Previous Chapters To Shame With Its Many Allusions To The Actual Show (And To Movies The Six Actors Have Been In).

Let's see how many allusions you can spot :-)

Also, just to let everyone know, a lot of the drama is going to be saved up for the last chapter or two. For the next 2 or 3, I'm just try to focus on the joys of being young and on your own. Proud and fancy free :-)

Also, some of the lingo that is used and the pictures that are painted will be done so to keep in time with the mood and tone of the situation. For instance, some of this chapter takes place in a nightclub and some in an upscale restaurant. The situations will be quite different, as will the characterization. The vernacular will change. Roll with the punches :-)

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At dawn the next day, the sextet piled into Chandler's Explorer for an early start at what would undoubtedly be the most eye-opening and soul-clenching trip of their lives until that point. Surprisingly, all six managed to pack extraordinarily light- even the girls.

This trip was not about 5 star hotels (as if they could even afford that) or all-day Caribbean princess cruises. This was not the kind of vacation you take with mom and dad and grandma to the Grand Canyon. It was not about preconceived expectations or itineraries or souvenirs. The only things they'd take would be absolute necessities and the only things they'd bring back would be memories and absolutions. It was about six people taking in the symphonic range of their collective youths. It was about seeing the sun begin to blaze over the horizon of some nondescript dessert at 6 am. It was about everything from lustrous neon lights to dusty, lonely tumbleweeds. Most importantly, though, it was about being young and in love and crazy and stupid and emotional and idiotic and naive and full of potential and life.

It would be their last "hurrah" together.

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"Okay, so the 1 million dollar question is: Do we stop in Indianapolis or keep trucking through until Chicago?" Chandler asked from behind the steering wheel.

The rest of the car was somewhere between sedation and exhaustion. In the middle column, Phoebe and Joey were sprawled out over their seat like two etherized mental patients. Eyelids fluttering open and closed and chests rising and falling steadily, neither of them were conscious enough to muster any sort of insight. In the very back, Ross sat with his back against the window and one leg propped up on the back of Joey and Phoebe's seat. He rested his head against the pane and let the melodic stylings of John Coltrane lull him to sleep. Meanwhile, Rachel sat facing him with her back against the opposite window and her legs lounged across his. Being the only one conscious in the car besides Chandler and Monica , she took it upon herself to answer.

"Let's stop. We've been driving for almost 10 hours."

9 hours and 48 minutes, to me exact. It was now approaching 4 pm and the skyline of Indiana's capital could be seen poking up over the horizon. While quite an enormous city, it was still worlds away from New York. Rachel smiled to herself as she looked out the window. That's exactly what she needed- something worlds apart from New York. She couldn't get far enough away. When they finally hit California, she knew something inside her that had been caught in a groove would finally shift into place and she'd be different forever.

"Hey," she heard him coo from across the seat. She looked over and saw him smiling groggily through half-open eyelids back at her.

"Hey you," she whispered in turn, tapping his foot with hers in recognition and smiling warmly. "Enjoy your nap?"

"I did," he nodded. "Where are we?"

"Almost to Indianapolis. We're stopping there for the night."

"Ah," he replied, nodding and peering through the window at the city's skyline. "Their Museum of Art is supposed to have the best Summer Nights Concert of any other city in the country."

"Ross," she enquired, her mouth agape and shaking her head, "how do you know all this stuff?" He smiled back at her mischievously, exposing his pearly white teeth in a big toothy grin.

"Oh, I have my sources."

"Oh really?" she provoked, sliding across and seat and situating herself with her back to his chest. He slid his arms around her and kissed the top of her head.

"Yup."

"Tell me more about all the great cities of our country, then, Mr. Geller."

"Alright," he continued, nuzzling his nose into her hair and thinking. "Well, there's New York..."

"Not New York," she insisted immediately.

"Okay," he promised. It was a promise. He knew it was a promise as soon as her request left her lips. From that moment on, he promised to do everything in his power to make her forget New York. Even if it were only for a week, he would make the life she knew there disappear for her for as long as he could. "Not New York," he repeated.

"Well," he continued, only pretending to rack his brain for an impressive plethora of information on some seemingly (but not actually) random city. "There's Vegas."

"Tell me about Vegas, then," she encouraged, stroking her arms that were embracing her so strongly and securely.

"In Spanish, it means 'The Meadows," he murmured into her ear.

"Not like New York," she confirmed.

"Nope. Not like New York."

"What else?" she whispered, letting her head fall back against his chest and closing her eyes.

"The Flamingo Hilton was originally just the Flamingo. It was built by infamous mobster Bugsy Siegel, and was the first official carpet joint on the strip."

"Uh huh."

"Uh...the MGM Grand is the nation's largest hotel with over 5000 rooms."

"That's a lot of rooms."

"Lot of rooms...Elvis and Priscilla Presley were married at the original Aladdin hotel, which was torn down in 1998, rebuilt in 2000, bankrupt in 2001, then sold to OpBiz in 2003 and renamed Planet Hollywood."

"Damn corporations buying out the little guys," she whispered, rubbing back up against him.

"Damn those corporations," he chimed in, enjoying every undulation of her body as it moved against his.

"Tell me about Mexico City," she requested.

"Scientists claim Mexico City is slowly sinking due to the depletion of the water level beneath the city. Giant aquifers that serve as water reservoirs are being emptied faster than they can be refilled, causing the earth to be submerged," he rattled off robotically. She couldn't help but smile. She was constantly impressed and amazed at how inextricably intelligent he was. His knowledge seemingly knew no boundaries. He could take her anywhere she wanted to go. And he would.

"Chicago," she demanded.

"More than 1.5 million tourists visit the Sears Tower Skydeck each year., the Adler Planetarium on Chicago's Museum Campus was the first planetarium in the Western Hemisphere, it's the railroad capital of the world and the Art Institute of Chicago holds the largest collection of Impressionist paintings outside the Louvre in Paris," he recited, without missing a beat. She wasn't through, though.

"Seattle."

"Seattle?" he abruptly blurted out. "Who the hell would ever want to go to Seattle?" She smiled.

"Just go ahead and finish showing off, Mr. Dictionary."

"Fine. Absolutely the most miserable city in the country," he contended, deadpan and monotone in his delivery. She actually laughed aloud at that one, reaching back and pinching his ribs.

"Hey, hey, hey!" he shouted, squirming and laughing under her touch. "Alright, you win! Jeesh! Uh...If you lay the Space Needle down, it will just barely fit inside Safeco Field by 50 feet."

Before she had time to reply, Chandler's voice interrupted the relative peace of the car.

"Alright, here we are!" he announced, taking an exit ramp off Route 66 and preparing to turn right at the traffic light. The off-ramp landed them in the middle of the city, but Chandler steered the car down Washington Boulevard at the heart of the capital city. "Keep your eyes pealed for hotels, everyone!" he commanded. Shooting up on either side of the street, sky-scrappers and office buildings peered down at the street. Up-scale restaurants and shopping strips, donned in and lit up by spectacular lights, attracted hundreds of buzzing consumers as they rushed into and out of the stores with bags and purses slung over their shoulders and across their backs. As it was nearing dinner time, lines were beginning to form outside theaters and bars. All in all, much like a toned-down New York.

"What's going on?" Phoebe asked groggily, lifting her head from Joey's stomach and panning her half-open eyes across the windows. "Where are we?"

"Indianapolis," Ross offered from the back seat. "We're staying here for the night."

"Where's Indianapolis?" Joey chimed in.

"Indiana, Joe. Probably the only place worth stopping for in the entire state," Chandler answered. "Ah-ha!"

He pulled the car into a quaint little Holiday Inn tucked discreetly between a pawn shop and a Blockbuster. It seemed lost to the hustle and bustle of the rest of the buildings on the street. It was L-shaped and 2 stories tall, with an outside hallway on both floors underneath an overhang. The office was located at the nearest end to them, so Chandler parked the car and ran inside to book 3 rooms for 1 night. When he emerged from the building, he was clasping 3 keys in his hand.

"We're in 25, 26 and 27," he informed the car. "He reduced the price of the rooms to $30 each because I agreed to take smoking."

"Smoking?!" Monica wined.

"Honey, it's not like the room's FORCING you to smoke," Chandler consoled. "Isn't EVERY room non-smoking if the people in it don't smoke?"

"But it's going to be in the curtains and the bed sheets. Our CLOTHES our going to smell like it," she complained.

"Stop being such a baby," Ross commanded. He had gotten out of the car and was standing at the trunk, gathering his and Rachel's suitcases to take them up to the room. "It's only for a night and it's saving you $20."

"That doesn't mean I have to like it," she protested, defeated and climbing out of the car. "And let me tell you something, mister," she threatened, pointing at Chandler's chest. "YOU are not getting ANY tonight if you don't find some air freshener pretty damn fast."

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Ross balanced their suitcases underneath his arms and in his hands while fighting with the key in the lock.. He pushed in the door with his foot and it swung wide open, revealing a typical hotel room. It was fairly spacious with one, double-sized bed against the right wall, a television sitting atop a dresser against the left, a small breakfast table with two chairs and an end table. The bathroom was coming off the back wall and a connecting door beside the dresser lead to Monica and Chandler's room.

"Ugh," Rachel complained, pushing her way into the room past Ross. "Hotels are gross." Ross threw the massive pile of luggage, most of which was Rachel's, onto the bed and exhaled deeply, rolling his eyes.

"Well, it may not be The Plaza, but it's only $30 and it's only for a night," he assured. She sensed the disappointment and irritation in his voice at her complaint. She sauntered over to him and wrapped her arms around his middle, stroking his back with her hands and resting her head on his chest.

"I'm sorry, Sweety," she apologized, looking up at him. "It's fine. It's good." She smiled sweetly for emphasis.

"Good," he stated simply, nodding his head and placing his hands on her waist. "Because, you know, this is how it's going to be with me. No more week-long stays at the Trump Towers on daddy's dime. No more Princess cruises. This'll be our life- just one long stretch of Holiday Inns and Indianapolises." Rachel crinkled her nose at him, pushing away a bit.

"One long stretch of Holiday Inns and Indianapolises? What're you talking about?"

"Oh, not literally. You know what I mean," he answered, sounding a bit exasperated. She still looked confused.

"I'm not sure I do." Frustrated, he pulled away.

"I just mean that this is the kind of thing I have to offer you, Rach. You know, our lifestyles are kind of different. I'm not like 'daddy'. When you and I end up together, our life is going to be pretty mediocre." Rachel folded her arms across her chest, looking furious and hurt at the same time.

"Mediocre? So that's what you think we are?" Tears were already welling up in her eyes. Realizing immediately what he had inadvertently said, he rushed to her and began rubbing her arms, trying to consol her.

"No, no, that's not what I meant at all..." She backed away from him.

"I KNOW what you meant, Ross. I just can't believe you said it." His demeanor changed quickly from upset to confused and aggravated.

"Why not? You KNOW it's true. I'm not going to be able to give you all the nice things you have now."

"Yeah," she nearly yelled, "I DO know it's true. Do you think THAT'S why I'm with you, Ross? Because I want you to buy me pretty things and move into a big house and have lots of money?"

"No, Rachel, you know that's not what I meant. I just-"

"No, Ross, I DON'T know that." Tears were threatening to fall down her cheeks, but she wasn't actively crying. She was hurt, though, and stood a defensive several feet away from him with her arms still folded tightly across her chest. "Do you know how it feels to hear you say that our life together is going to be MEDIOCRE? After everything we've been through? After everything both of us has sacrificed and all the shit we've had to put behind us to be here?" She shook her head, lowering her voice. "How could you say that? How could you even THINK that?"

"Look...Rachel..." He waked towards her slowly, taking her hands again. This time, she did not pull away. "I'm sorry. You're right- I shouldn't have said it like that. It didn't come out like I meant for it to. All I meant was...you know...things will be different. They won't be like when we were kids."

"I know that," she answered feebly, giving into him and going to hug him again. She rested the side of her head tightly against his chest. "But, Ross...that's not what I want. I don't need the boat in the driveway or the swimming pool out back or the summer house in Tahoe. We will NEVER be mediocre, and it won't be because we have lots of 'stuff'."

They stood like that in silence for a few minutes. Then, Ross realized something and it made him smile.

"Hey, do you realize we just had an actual ARGUMENT about our hypothetical future, and neither one of us even questioned the fact that we'd end up together?"

"I guess there were just too many other things wrong with what you said. I can tear that one apart, too, if you'd like," she teased, looking up at him and grinning. He smiled a big, charming smile at her, moving his hands from her waist to her arms.

"Don't take that tone with me, woman," he kidded, shaking her playfully a bit. She giggled loudly and swatted him across the chest. For atonement, he lifted her up by her shoulders and threw her onto the bed, causing her to emit a high-pitched squeal as she landed square in the center of cushiony mattress. He crawled slyly up the bed and positioned himself over her, grinning mischievously and placing one hand and one knee on either side of her body. He bent his head at the neck and placed his face directly over hers. She grinned widely, trying desperately not to laugh and to match his stern face. They always did this- competed to see who could stay serious longer. She never won. Sneakily, she hooked her pointer fingers inside the waistband of his pants, causing him to cock an eyebrow and smile impishly.

"I win," she whispered.

"Cheater," he whispered back, moving in to kiss her. He changed his mind at the last moment, though, and bit her lip instead.

"Ross?" she asked between kisses.

"Yeah?" he answered, moving down to kiss her jaw and neck.

"We'll be together forever, right?" He stopped what he was doing and looked down at her, brushing some hair behind her ear and smiling.

"Even longer," he whispered.

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Despite their exhaustion, the six met in the lobby of the motel that evening to begin their first night of exploration on the road by themselves. They dressed up in fairly nice fatigues, prepared for an evening of classy restaurants and up-scale clubs. With the money Chandler and Ross had gotten out of their parents for graduation, the money Joey's earned at his mechanic job and the money Phoebe had stolen from her grandmother, they'd be able to afford at least a somewhat refined trip.

"Okay," Chandler announced, clasping his hands together dramatically. "Where to?"

"Oh, we passed this really cute little restaurant a few blocks back on our way in. There's open-air seating on this little patio landing about 20 stories up. I think it was called "Top Of The Hill", or something like that," Rachel offered. "It looked pretty fancy."

"Well, we're all fancied out, so let's get going! I'm hungry!" Monica declared. They walked together out into the comfortably warm air of the evening and down the street towards their destination. To the naked eye, they were like 6 pieces of metropolitan eye candy. The girls were fashionable and sexy and the three boys were as metrosexual as they come.

Rachel wore a pair of black, low-rider, pinstriped pants and a silk, green and navy halter top with an expressionist print that tied low on her back. Her hair was crimped and wavy and bounced around her shoulders. Monica wore a light brown, "saloon style" mini-skirt with pleated rows and tiers with pink and orange trim and a plain, dark brown tank top. Phoebe, who had initially resisting going out to begin with, due to her slight car sickness and tiredness, cleaned up in a pair of tight white pants with blue, yellow and pink ribbons tied about the waist and a matching white tube top. Heads turned on the streets of Indianapolis that night for those three girls- eyes blind to their naiveté and adolescence. For at least that one night, they were whoever they wanted to be. They were as old and as mature and as confident as anyone.

The guys, on the other hand, were gods among the mortals. As they escorted the three girls down the main drag, past the restaurants and the clubs and the bars- past the crowds of goggling eyes and cat calls- they chuckled to themselves. They knew the truth. These girls were beautiful and sexy, no doubt about it, but they were THEIR girls. These poor strangers, shameless in their gawking and ogling, had no idea how impossibly out of reach they were. Ross, Chandler and Joey, stylish in their Banana Republicesque outfits, remained happy to show them off for tonight, though.

Ross, in a pair of navy dress pants, a light blue dress shirt with white pinstripes and a navy blazer, didn't hesitate to place his hand on Rachel's hip or lower back or over her shoulder. He would playfully grab her arm or walk behind her with his hands on her waist, watching the other men stare in contempt and jealousy and smiling in content smugness. 'That's right', he was silently boasting. 'She's mine.'

The other two men- Chandler in a similar outfit to Ross', only with a charcoal gray suit and a dark green shirt, and Joey in a pair of nice jeans, an untucked white dress shirt and black blazer- watched their friend do the classic, possessive, "he-man" act and rolled their eyes and smiled in amusement. They knew he was enjoying every minute of it. This was nothing like the sleazy pedophile men from the clubs and bars back home that drooled and touched themselves when Rachel entered a room. Ross was not disgusted or jealous or concerned for her safety. Out here, submerged in the lights and sounds of a foreign metropolis and a cool summer night, they were both getting just what they needed- for her to be someone and somewhere else, and for him to just be there with her.

"Ah, On The Hill!" Rachel exclaimed, pointing up to a massive Neon sign protruding from the 15th story landing of a fancy, glass office building. "I knew it had SOMETHING to do with a hill! Come on!"

She grabbed Ross' hand and the six made their way to the elevator beside the concierge's desk in the main lobby. After the 15th "ding", the doors opened up directly to the patio.

"Uh oh," Chandler joked, "we're outside again."

The patio was dimly lit, with only strands of small white Christmas lights and candles emitting any light. A small jazz band was playing softly in one corner, while a showy bar tender was flipping bottles behind his back and through the air, egged on by a quiet applause on the other side.

"Six?" a tall man with dark features and the beginnings of a 5 o'clock shadow asked from nowhere.

"Yes," Chandler confirmed, discreetly placing a $20 in the man's hand and winking. Monica rolled her eyes, but they were soon seated at a booth located right next to the railing on the side of the roof. They could look straight down or out over the city.

"Best seats in the house," Chandler gloated, throwing Monica a smug "I told you so" look.

"Wow, Chandler," Rachel praised, "I must say, I'm quite impressed. We're really highfalutin here in Indianapolis."

"I know, you don't really notice how expensive New York is until you go somewhere else," Ross agreed. "We're like high society here."

They stayed there for hours, eating and reminiscing and laughing. Chandler slipped the waiter another $50 to overlook the fact that they were minors and bring them a bottle of Château Lafite Rothschild Pauillac 1996. The man threw him a curiously reluctant eye, but eventually took the extended offer and brought the ridiculously overpriced wine to the table.

"Oh my God, Chandler," Monica nearly yelled, "this stuff is over $200! Where are you getting all this money?"

"Relax!" he yelled in a whispering voice, placing a finger over his mouth to motion for her to speak more quietly. "My parents gave me a bunch of graduation money. It was going to get me a new laptop, a new car and maybe TV for the form room next year, but I decided to spend it on this trip instead."

"Jeez, dude, that's a lot of money," Joey pointed out.

"Yeah, and if you keep spending it all, we're not going to have enough to make it to California!" Ross reprimanded.

"Would you guys chill out?" Chandler pleaded, sounding somewhat perturbed. "Look, I just wanted this trip to be special, alright? It's like out last big thing together before we all head off our separate ways."

"To be fair, WE'RE not heading anywhere," Phoebe interrupted. "We've still got another year at that place. You two are the only ones moving on."

"Don't remind me," Rachel whispered disgustedly, rolling her eyes and turning her head away from the table to look out over the city. Ross, concerned but wanting to remain tactful, placed a hand on her thigh underneath the table. She turned her head back abruptly to look at him, her gaze serious and sad. An awkward silence fell over the table.

"Hey, look you guys," Chandler bided, "it's not like that much is going to change. The four of you'll be going to the same school, and Ross and I'll come see you all the time."

At this, Ross shot Chandler a disapproving, weary look. Immediately, Chandler realized what he had done. Everyone knew that Ross had yet to decide where he was going to college. For all they knew, he could end up in Boston or Manchester or Albuquerque. Ross kicked him swiftly under the table. Rachel turned her head away again, and that same taxing silence that had been alleviated so briefly filled the air.

"Why don't we get out of here?" Joey suggested, standing up and reaching for his wallet to throw $40 on the table. The other 5 followed in suit, waiting for Chandler to pay the matron up front and then disappearing from the restaurant to descent back down to the street.

It was now a little after 10:00 pm, and the clubs and bars down the main strip were really beginning to attract lines and crowds of people at their doors. Taxi cabs littered the streets and men and women of all ages, mostly in their late 20's to early 30's, walked determinedly along the sidewalks and across traffic. The air was getting chillier and a light breeze was blowing, casing the men to put their blazers back on and the women to tighten their arms over their chests. As the night went on, the conurbation began to look more and more like New York.

"Where to now?" Joey asked, lighting up a cigarette and narrowing his eyes to gaze in both directions down the street. "Looks like we've got our share of clubs we could probably get into, as long as Chandler keeps those tips coming. Otherwise, this city's a piece of shit. You can't do anything unless you're 21. It's like New Orleans."

"It's like NEW YORK, too, Joe," Ross reminded, slinging an arm over Rachel's shoulder. "We find plenty to do there, though."

"Come on," Chandler commanded, beginning to walk further down the boulevard in the opposite direction from their hotel. They passed several nightclubs, all of which were clearly packed and emanating some weird form of techno trance music that told the six they should probably keep walking.

Finally, they reached what looked like a cross between a club and a bar. Through the tinted windows, pool tables, a bar and a dance floor could barely be made out. Smoke didn't cloud the air, though, and the people loitering around out front, talking on their cell phones or obviously waiting for someone, weren't dressed like they'd just come from a rave.

"This is the place," Chandler confirmed, nodding convincingly. "Joe, let me see that for a second." He took the half-burned cigarette from Joey's mouth and placed it between his fingers, taking a long, drawn-out drag and reaching into his back pocket for his wallet. Confidently- way more confidently than was normal for Chandler- he stepped to the bouncer and displayed his fake ID. He waited for the tell-tale confirmation nod, which came eventually, after what seemed like minutes of waiting, before sliding it back into his pocket.

"You're alright," the bouncer confirmed, stepping aside for Chandler to enter.

"Thanks, my good man," Chandler charmed, reaching back into his wallet. "Here's the thing, though. You see those 5 kids over there?" The bouncer nodded, deadpanned and uninterested. "The guy in the navy blazer- he's okay. Those other 4, though...well...they're okay, too, right?" With that, he slipped the $50 into the man's hand and prayed. The bouncer looked down at the money curiously, like he had never seen a $50 before in his life. Then, back up at Chandler.

"What's your name, son?" he asked, in a deep, burly voice that matched his physical appearance perfectly.

"Chandler," he gulped, trying desperately not to lose his cool. After a very intense stare-down that had the Chandler and the other 5 shaking in their boots and ready to run at any moment, the man smiled.

"You're alright, kid," he confirmed, motioning for the others to enter as well. "Check it out. The guy serving drinks now is a real asshole. My buddy Martin comes on at 11. You tell him Luther said you could have all the free drinks you wanted."

"Seriously?" Chandler asked, regretting the boyish hopefulness that plagued him voice immediately. "I mean, why?" Luther shrugged and smiled.

"It's not every day a kid'll come here and not only use a fake ID, but try and bribe me to get his punk friends in, too," he stated simply. Chandler smiled and nodded, thanking the man and waving the other 5 in.

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By midnight, the 6 had broken off into pairs. Joey and Phoebe had made friends with a group of college students and were sitting with them in a big booth near the back of the club, taking shots and smoking cigarettes and making toasts to nothing and no one. Chandler and Monica had been at the bar all night, chatting it up with Martin, requesting bar tricks they didn't know existed and drinks they'd never heard of. Meanwhile, Ross and Rachel were playing pool near the front, completely wasted on countless shots of straight Vodka and laughing at their already terrible pool-playing capabilities.

"Baby," Rachel slurred, using the term of endearment that she did so least frequently and usually just when she was drunk, "we've been at this for almost an hour and we haven't even finished a game." At this revelation, they both began to laugh almost hysterically. Ross was not nearly as gone as her, but he'd definitely had a few drinks under his belt and was feeling very nearly to nothing. He'd taken off his blazer and placed it over the back of a nearby chair, having rolled up his shirt sleeves and undone the top button. His hair was a bit disheveled, so he at least LOOKED like he knew what he was doing when he was making the shots, even if he rarely sunk them.

"I don't have anywhere to be," he rebuked, lining up the cue with the solid 6 and knocking the crap out of it but accomplishing nothing. Rachel laughing.

"You're terrible at this," she giggled. He stood up from where he was bent over the table, leaning against the stick in his one hand and smiling crookedly, prepared to defend himself. Before he could, though, she was already ambling towards him, swaying her hips, licking her lips and narrowing her eyes lustfully.

"You look..." she began, placing her hands on his hips and sliding up his body to whisper in his ear, "...so hot when you play pool." To punctuate her point, she pressed her stomach into his crotch and just barely licked his ear. He closed his eyes and moaned, letting the pool stick rest against the stool and running his hands down to cup her ass. She smiled.

"You are soooo drunk," she drawled out, giggling and smiling wildly. He nodded and chuckled.

"It's okay, though, because so are you. No one's taking advantage of anyone else," he assured, reveling in his intoxicated logic, which, of course, made perfect sense to him. Suddenly, he became very aware of her rubbing herself against him and the back of his throat went instantly dry, his dick getting hard with arousal.

"Rachel," he whispered, trying to push her away a bit. "I just realized that we're in public."

"So?" she asked, reluctant to move away from him. Her eyes were still closed and she was pulling him to her by his collar.

"So you're not in a position to get extremely embarrassed," he concluded, gesturing towards his crotch. She laughed, still grasping at his shirt and waist.

"Everyone gets horny when they get drunk, honey. It's okay." She batted her eyelashes at him and licked her lips again, making it increasingly harder for him to keep pushing her away. Though what she said was true, and most of the people around them probably had no idea that they even existed and were paying them no attention, he still thought it'd be a better idea to go someplace more circumspect.

"Come on," he offered, taking her by the wrist, grabbing his jacket from the chair and leading her to a small nook tucked away near the back of the room. There were black leather couches and coffee tables and partitions to allow for private conversation away from the noise of the dance floor, though there was only one other couple seated in one of the sections and they were most definitely not talking. Ross had to steer Rachel to the couch (which was actually more like a simi-circle booth) and helped her sit down.

"I'm so dizzy," she yelled into his ear, still laughing and giggling and completely unable to control her voice or most of her motor functions. He just nodded and got her situated, sliding in beside her and drawing the small curtain that partially blocked them off from the rest of the club. It was almost completely dark with the drape closed, but it didn't shut all the way and strobe and disco lights from the dance floor seeped in and gave them some illumination.

"Hmm, what is this?" Rachel asked, looking confused and like she'd forgotten where she was.

"It's just somewhere for us to talk where it's not so loud," he answered. "Jesus, how much did you have?" he asked, chuckling at her floopiness and taking her hand on top of the table.

"Not enough to believe that you brought me here to talk," she rebutted, smiling slyly.

"Ah, touche," he grinned, winking and smiling even more widely.

"Are you going to come onto me, Ross?" she asked sexily, almost daring him to do so.

"I don't know," he answered, leaning back and putting his hands behind his head casually. "I might not have to if you pull another move like you did out there."

She smiled and crawled, almost feline-like, across the booth to seat herself right next to him. Slowly, she ran her hand up his thigh and over his crotch, never taking her eyes off his and watching as his pupils dilated with arousal and desire.

"Jesus," he groaned, leaning his head back and closing his eyes.

"Well," she smiled, licking her lips, "I guess someone isn't as cool and collected as they'd like for me to think."

"Guess not," he rejoined, taking a deep breath and hoping to God that she wouldn't take her hand away. He grabbed her wrist and held it tightly, not entirely sure what he was asking her to do. His breath was coming faster and he could feel the burn of the alcohol on his stomach and the weight of it in his head.

"Are we too drunk to do this?" she asked into his ear, leaning over him now.

"Ah, don't ask me that," he begged, shaking his head and keeping his gaze fixated on her. "If you ask me that, I'm going to have to be the responsible one and say 'probably'."

"Screw responsibility," she declared, diving in and kissing him ferociously. They both let out simultaneous moans, battering the other with their tongues and tearing roughly at their clothes. Before long, Rachel was on his lap, straddling him and toying with the buttons of his shirt.

"My, you're in a hurry," he teased between kisses, holding firmly to her hips as she wound them rhythmically into his crotch.

"You're not stopping me," she pointed out, reaching for his belt.

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"Where're Ross and Rachel?" Monica slurred together, nearly falling off her bar stool. Chandler caught her at the last second, having always been able to handle his liquor and rendered unaffected by the mass amounts of alcohol they'd taken in.

"I don't know," he confessed, helping her to sit back up in her chair. "Probably doing what they're always doing," he kidded, knowing that it was probably true, nonetheless. "No more for her, okay?" he asked Martin.

"Right," Martin nodded, reaching for one of the dozens of shot glasses sprawled across the bar in front of Monica and cleaning it with a rag. "I'd say 24's her lucky number."

"24? Seriously? Jesus, how the HELL did I let her have so much?"

"Don't worry, man," Martin assured. "They were just Rum and Coke's- not nearly as strong as the stuff your other two friends were having."

"Ross and Rachel?" he asked. Martin shrugged.

"I guess. The tall guy and the hot girl who were playing pool over there not too long ago. They came in with you all. I must have given her somewhere close to 8 shots in a half hour. I'd be surprised if that boy didn't take her back home by now."

"You think they went backta tha hotel?" Monica rambled.

"Wouldn't be surprised, either," Chandler answered to both, knowing good and well what his friends were most likely up to now, regardless of where they were.

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"You roll your own?" the blonde man asked Joey, bewildered.

"Sure," he answered, shrugging it off. "My uncle taught me how when I was 10." With that, Joey pulled a small, thin sheet of paper from a canteen in his back pocket and sprinkled some of the tobacco from the baggie in the center of the table over it. When he was done rolling it, he lit it up and took a puff.

"That's pretty badass," the blonde man admitted. The group of college kids that Phoebe and Joey had made friends with had been questioning them all night- mostly about being from New York and their smoking and partying habits. The blonde man was Tony, the pretty brunette to his right was his girlfriend, Millie, and the his three frat brothers, Tom, Rodney and Jeff concluded the bunch. They were 22 and hadn't seen half the things Phoebe and Joey had.

"So how many places did you say you've lived?" Tom asked Phoebe.

"Six," she answered, "but I don't remember most of them."

"Jesus," Tom replied, "I've never been out of Indianapolis."

"Are you shitting me?" Joey asked, coughing a bit on some smoke. "We're just here for the night. We're on a road trip with some friends. We leave in the morning."

"Oh, those kids we saw you with before?" Tony intervened.

"Yeah, what's the deal with that little blonde number?" Jeff asked excitedly. "You know, with the tight black pants and kind of wavy hair? Looks like just about every guy's wet dream?" He chuckled. Millie rolled her eyes disgustedly.

"Ah," Phoebe answered, "you mean Rachel." She took a quick shot from one of the half-full glasses on the table. "Yeah, she's, um, taken...to say the least."

"What? Is she like married or something?" Jeff inquired.

"Might as well be," Joey interrupted, crushing the butt of his cigarette on the bare tabletop. He took another from the pack and tucked it behind his ear for later. "I kind of had a thing for her when I first moved to the neighborhood, but you can forget it, man. She's so in love she can't see straight."

"With who? That guy she was with? Rob, or Ron or something like that?"

"Ross," Phoebe clarified, "and yeah. They've been together for almost a year. Trust me, there's no breaking them up. They've been through more than most married couples."

"Where are they now?" he asked, looking around the club. Joey and Phoebe exchanged knowing glances.

"If you can't find them, you probably don't want to," he answered, knocking his flip-open lighter against the side of the table and holding the flame up to Phoebe's cigarette for her.

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"We're so going to get kicked out of here," Ross pointed out, groping at Rachel as she clawed and pulled at his shirt, attempted to get him out of it.

"What are you talking about?" she asked innocently, grinding her crotch against his now and kissing his jaw neck. "We're not doing anything wrong."

He moved his hands down around ass, smoothing his palms over the tight fabric of her pants as she arched her back, then moved them up to untie the knot in her halter top. He fumbled drunkenly with it, but even if he had opened his eyes, his vision would have been blurred and all he would have seen would have been her face.

"Fuck it," he mumbled into her mouth, leaving the knot and simply moving his hands around front and up the loose shirt, kneading and rubbing her breasts with the palms of his hands. She reached down to his pants again, unzipping them and guiding him out of the opening of his boxers and between the metal teeth. Then, he reached for the zipper and button of her pants.

"Wait, wait," he warned, pulling away from their ceaseless kiss, moving his hands from her pants and catching his breath. He steadied her on his lap with his hands on her hips. "We can't do this here."

"What?" she asked, obviously confused and frustrated. "Why the hell not?"

"Because," he puffed, demonstrating his own frustration as well. "You're too drunk and we're in a club."

"So?" she asked, grinding her hips again and grabbing his shoulders, trying to convince him. "No one can see us. There's a curtain."

"I know, I know," he admitted, nodding in agreement. "But you're still drunk and we could get arrested if we got caught. You're 17. I could go to prison for jailbait."

"Ughh," she groaned.

"I know," he whispered, nodding and placing a hand on her face. He exhaled deeply and kissed her softly on the lips. "Even if we were both 20, though, I'm not going to have sex with you while you're drunk." Another soft kiss. She hesitated to pull away, grabbing his face in her hands with he moved to do so, but finally let go disappointedly.

"Why do you have to be such a goddamn gentleman?" she asked sarcastically, smiling and leaning her forehead against his.

"I'm asking myself that almost daily," he answered.

"You know," she suggested, "we don't HAVE to have sex..."

With that, she smiled craftily and slid down his body and onto the floor beneath the table. Before he had time to tell her that it wasn't necessary and she didn't have to, she had already parted his legs and had her hand down his pants. When she placed her mouth on him, he had to grip the tabletop firmly to keep from moaning, closing his eyes and hissing a long steam of air between his teeth.

"Rachel," he whispered to no one, not trying to get her attention or anyone's. He was just saying it because he didn't know what else to say. He didn't know what to do. His whole body went tense, like every time before, and he always felt like he should be doing something. SOMETHING. ANYTHING.

"Relax," she ordered from below him. "It's okay," she assured in a soothing, velvety voice. He closed his eyes and gripped the table and clawed at the leather of the booth and flexed every muscles in his body and then relaxed them and groaned and moaned and beat his fist against the wooden slab until he couldn't take it anymore and had to warn her. She told him to go ahead.

Afterwards, she came back up and sat beside him at the table, smiling coyly and knowing fully well what she had just done for him. He would be putty in her hands for the rest of the evening. He cleared his throat, a bit embarrassed, and zipped up his pants and fastened his belt. Even in her drunken state, she saw the embarrassment and the red in his cheeks.

"Why do you get embarrassed every time?" she asked, smiling and taking his hand in hers. He looked at her like she was crazy and missing the obvious.

"Well...you know...you have my...in your...it's just..." She laughed loudly at his fumbling. She was just messing with him and they both knew it, but he wouldn't deny her anything- any act or answer- right now. He sighed and blushed, looking down at his lap.

"You're welcome," she answered, leaning her head against his shoulder and knowing he had no idea how to express his gratitude.

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They all stumbled back to their respective rooms that night around 2:00 am. They'd be leaving that morning close to 7:00 am, so they said their goodnights quickly and retied to their bedrooms to go immediately to sleep.

Ross striped down to his boxers, throwing the dirty clothes into a separate bag and brushing his teeth and washing his face before tending to Rachel. She was just beginning to sober up, but was still exhausted and he let her just lay on the bed as he undressed her. He removed her make-up for her with a warm washcloth and handed her toothbrush.

Once they were done, he tucked her into bed and climbed in beside her, pulling her to rest on top of him and sliding his hands around her waist and over her back. He buried his face in her hair and closed his eyes, wishing that she weren't so drunk so they could have their usual talk before falling asleep. Instead, he settled for asking a simple question.

"Rachel?" he whispered into the dark, unsure that he'd get a reply.

"Uh huh?" she mumbled, already half asleep.

"We'll be together forever, right?" he asked.

"Even longer," she whispered distantly. He did not see her smile as she said it.

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End Chapter 17. Continued In Chapter 18.