Disclaimer: I don't own any of the Friends stuff as specified in my first chapter. The lines below from The Last One are also under said ownership.

The fronds on the numerous palms were an unusually brilliant shade of emerald. During the day the trees became the defining characteristic of the island as they broke the sun's rays into a myriad of playful shadows that danced with each passing breeze that rolled off the sea. When night fell, they intensified the darkness and made one feel particularly isolated and alone, save the almost-haunting echoes the leaves created as night winds swept through them. Few insects roamed visibly in this untamed wilderness and not a single bird had come to pass; any body of land from which they could have departed was presumably too far away for their means to facilitate. The trees and various shrubs notwithstanding, this remote locale was all too devoid of life, save a woman who was presently seated in repose on the warm sandy shore.

Rachel sat on the beach in a trance-like state, gazing out towards the horizon. She had regained consciousness about 5 days ago now – she had judged it by the rising and setting of the sun. Since that time, spending her mornings by the shore had become her daily ritual. She couldn't decide if it was hope for a passing vessel drawing her there or if it was something about the soothing drone of the sea keeping her in touch with her sanity. In truth, the monotony of it was killing her inside. She wasn't desperate – that phase had come and gone. She was something more now and something less at the same time. Some moments she would feel hopelessly distressed, others strangely apathetic towards the whole situation, perhaps a feeble attempt to be more accepting of this most cruel fate that had been handed down to her.

She had nearly drifted off when a voice broke her silent reverie.

"Hey there," boomed a strong male voice. Rachel turned with a start, then instantly relaxed as she recognized the approaching figure.

"Hey Tim," she said, smiling faintly at the stocky blond-haired man who was now standing next to her. "I suppose it's not worth asking, but is there any news?"

Tim looked at the woman in front of him for a moment before answering. He still couldn't believe she'd survived the crash. When he'd found her she was hanging on to life by a bare thread but some indomitable force inside her refused to yield. He hated seeing her in pain when she came to, but those signs of physical agony had since given way to those of hopelessness and depression which was worse in a way. Dark circles had formed under her faded blue eyes, which were bloodshot from weariness. Her already slim figure had become noticeably thinner over the last few days. Her golden brown hair was disheveled and matted where blood from a serious head injury had soaked it. The poor woman was a mess. Still, she was beautiful, even during what Tim surmised to be her worst moment. He was intrigued by the thought of what she would look like on a good day.

"Not a thing Rachel, I'm sorry," announced Tim. His tone was very calm and genuine. He wanted to be strong for her; for his own pride as much as for her sake. He certainly didn't covet the chore of bearing these disappointing briefings to his captivating companion either. He was relieved to see his latest report hadn't brought a frown to Rachel's face as it had other days. "Do you mind if I sit with you for a bit?" he timidly asked, indicating a spot in the sand next to her with an outstretched hand.

"Pull up some sand Tim," she replied, patting her hand on the grainy golden surface next to her. He lowered himself gently onto the warm sand and sat "Indian-style" next to her. He looked down at his hands, his fingers now spiraling little patterns into the tan grainy canvas below him.

"How are you feeling?" he inquired. "How's that head of yours?" He didn't look over as he asked; he'd sensed she was a little self-conscious about its effect on her appearance and didn't want to act obtrusively about it.

"Well, it still hurts, but I'm getting used to it," she answered flatly. "I've finally gotten all my senses back about me I think. The headaches come and go and the only thing that still bothers me is that I can't remember the days surrounding the crash on either side. At this point I think I'm probably not going to." With her last sentence she shrugged dejectedly. In truth, something was really bothering her about the point at which her memories ran dry. She hadn't quite figured it out yet, but there was a discernable discomfort surrounding whatever it was.

Tim swiveled around so that he was facing Rachel a little more directly. "What's the last thing you do remember?" he queried, hoping that maybe some outside probing would help bring back the hours forgotten.

"Well…," she started. She proceeded to tell Tim about the going away party, and saying individual goodbyes to her close friends. Smiles and tears waxed and waned during Rachel's narration as memories coaxed them each in turn. The smiles diminished as she approached the end of her recounting. "I had said individual goodbyes to each of my friends," she continued, "Except one. And that didn't go over well."

"Well I hate to play Devil's Advocate but I think I'd feel left out too," admitted Tim. He didn't want to take opposing sides against possibly the only person he'd ever see again, but he liked getting to know her better. Talking about something other than being stuck on the island was nice too.

"Oh honey," she said ruefully, "it's so much more complicated than that. This particular man and I have a past. He's…he's the father of my child." Tim looked shocked. "Yes, we have a daughter together. But, Tim, he's so much more than just that. We have so much history together; I guess I just thought it would be too much and I'm not sure if I'd have been able to leave if I talked to him." She stopped, seeing Tim's surprised expression, worrying that she'd revealed too much.

"Bet you're wishing you'd had that talk now, huh?" joked Tim with a big smile. They both laughed in spite of themselves for a moment.

"Thanks, I needed that," said Rachel sincerely. "I don't think I've smiled in days."

"I know," Tim revealed bashfully. "I'm really proud that I could finally coax one out of you." They both sat silently staring out at the sea for several moments. "Is that where you stop remembering?" Tim asked, finally breaking the silence.

"There's a little more. Ross and I -that's his name by the way- he came to my apartment after the party, hurt by the fact that I didn't say anything to him. We argued and he stormed out. I went over to his apartment a little later and I think we started arguing again- but that's where it gets cloudy." Rachel closed her eyes in thought. She remembered the two of them standing in his apartment. Nothing else would come. She opened her eyes again to see Tim staring at her. "What?" she asked innocently.

"This guy is really special, huh?" he asked, smiling half-disconsolately.

Rachel nodded her head somberly before speaking. "Yeah…" she said, "I guess he is. He thought I didn't say goodbye to him because he didn't mean as much to me as the others. The truth is, he meant more to m—"

The words trailed off as Rachel's jaw dropped slack. It's because you mean more to me! So there! There's your goodbye!

Those words.

She remembered them.

She remembered the humility in Ross's face as she yelled them at him, as she herself turned to leave his apartment.

Rach!

What?

You keep—you can't—

What?!?!

"Rachel what is it?" Tim asked, concerned by the look of absolute shock on her face.

"Huh?" she asked, not remembering at first where she was. "Oh," she said, seeing Tim's expectant demeanor. "Oh, it's, it's nothing," she said, feigning a smile. It was far from nothing. Ross had kissed her. She felt a sudden wave of intense desperation sweep over her. She had to get home again. That could not be their last kiss.