Author: Patrick
Title: She Didn't Get Off the Plane
Disclaimer: I don't own them.
AN: Still more dialogue. I find it funny when I look back over this fic and see how the writing style seems to change every few chapters. I hope it's not detracting from the story. I'm going to ask for the favor of overlooking any anomalies in the medical details of my story. I'm trying to make it as believable as possible yet make it compatible with my story. I don't know how most of those issues would really play out anyway. Hope you all are enjoying this story, and I have appreciated all of your reviews, so keep them coming!
Chapter 14
"So how's Emma?" Rachel inquired. The question left an excited smile on her lips as she asked it. Phoebe and Joey looked at each other nervously, silently battling over whom should answer Rachel's inquiry.
"Guys, stop it you're scaring me!" pleaded Rachel, alarmed at the serious discomfort her companions exhibited in an all-too-apparently. Phoebe reached out and took her friend's hand in hers.
"Oh, it isn't bad news," Phoebe assured, "just…no news." Rachel made no effort in concealing her confusion and disappointment as she withdrew her hand from Phoebe's.
"What does that mean?" Rachel asked, her hands gesticulating wildly in front of her.
"Well, she seemed good at the funeral," Phoebe explained. The word funeral caused Rachel to wince as if she'd been punched in the stomach. There was something about the idea of a child realizing that its mother had died that, to Rachel, had suddenly become devastatingly real. Phoebe, finally sensing the weight of her statement, decided to spill the full story.
"Okay, you're probably not going to like this, but, aside from hearing from Monica that she spent some time at Jack and Judy Geller's afterwards, the funeral was the only contact we've had with Emma since you left," said the zany blonde. "And that was almost a week ago."
Rachel stared at Phoebe in disbelief. A week might not have seemed like a long time to go without contact to an average group of friends their age, but for them it was an unprecedented anomaly. She looked at Joey, hoping that he would have something different to report, but he simply nodded, dolefully confirming that he knew nothing more on the subject than Phoebe did.
"I don't get it. I mean she's just at home with Ross, right?" Rachel queried.
Bingo.
Rachel had hit the heart of the matter and she knew it at once by the accents of concern and uneasiness that assaulted her friends' faces at the mention of her old flame's name. The overhead light fixture's obtrusive hum dominated the conversation for a moment, filling the tense silence that had gripped the other three participants.
"Well that's the other thing," Joey quickly interjected, not wanting to keep Rachel in any more suspense than was necessary. "A couple days after your funeral Ross kinda…had an accident."
Rachel's eyes widened as she cupped her hand over her mouth, which was agape at Joey's news.
"Oh my God!" she cried, "Is he…?" She trailed off, fright disallowing her from forming the grave verbiage.
"Oh, no, nothing like that!" Joey quickly proclaimed, feeling guilty for not having anticipated her intense reaction. Rachel let out a huge sigh of relief and clutched her chest with one hand as if to confirm that her heart hadn't stopped beating.
Joey proceeded to share the account Monica had given him of Ross's collision with the Central Perk door and his consequent trip to the hospital. Under any other circumstances, Rachel would've found the whole thing humorous in a kind of way that screamed 'Classic Ross.' Moments like her first night at Laund-o-rama with him when he'd hit his head on the dryer door played on her inner screen for a few bittersweet moments before she realized how untimely her nostalgia was and swiftly returned her attention to the matter at hand.
"…So Monica dropped him off later that night after the doctors gave him the 'all-clear,'" Joey said, still reciting. "He picked Emma up from his parents' house the next day and that's the last time anyone's seen or talked to him."
"Well why doesn't someone just go to his place? I mean you guys have a key to his apartment, right?" Rachel asked crossly, clearly displeased with what she'd perceived to be a lack of effort on the part of a group of people who were supposed to care for Ross.
And even if they didn't care enough to do it for his sake alone, they should've certainly done it for Emma's. Or, hell, even for Monica's, if that's what it took.
"Well, other than you, Monica's the only one who had a key, and apparently hers somehow got lost in transit. Very un-Monica-like, you know," Phoebe said, mocking her friend's compulsion for all things organized. "But she and Chandler are still looking for it, I'm sure she'll find it soon!" Phoebe cheerfully affirmed.
"You don't happen to have your key, do ya?" Joey asked, the blatant dumbness of his question evading him.
"Yes, I tape the key to Ross's apartment to my chest for all my international trips!" Rachel sardonically replied. Joey started to grin mischievously until he saw Rachel glowering at him.
"I can't believe this is happening," Rachel sighed, her voice heavy with defeat.
At that moment there was a knock at the door and the metal latch started to turn. All heads turned as the door opened. A man entered. He was middle-aged, with brown-gray thinning hair and crow's feet that made his eyes seem even older. He had an athletic build and a friendly smile that had a way of disarming those whom it fell upon.
"Look who's awake," he said proudly, smiling at the frail beauty who was occupying the bed in front of him. "I'm Dr. Harris, by the way," he stated, introducing himself. Rachel weakly returned his smile.
"Hi," she said faintly. The doctor's gaze fell on Phoebe and Joey, although they seemed to be oblivious to it.
"I'm going to examine your friend now," he said, addressing the two visitors, "so maybe a little privacy is in order if you would be so kind." They both looked at Rachel who nodded and smiled, reassuring them that she would be okay if they stepped out for a while.
"We'll call Chandler and see if we can find out anything," Joey decided, hugging his friend one last time. Phoebe hugged Rachel quickly as well before she and Joey exited the room.
The examination was relatively quick and painless, and Rachel even managed to surprise herself with her good behavior when Dr. Harris examined her eyes.
"Everything looks good," he announced, concluding the examination, "With a wound like that, you're lucky to have survived. You're one of the most resilient people I've met." Rachel was shocked at the doctor's compliment. A decade ago she was one of the most dependant people she knew. She knew she'd changed a lot since then, but never really realized how much so until now. And it was certainly more a matter of the way she handled things changing than it was a matter of actual things changing her life. The only two that fit the latter category were the company she kept and having a daughter, the second undeniably a result of the first, yet unequivocally more important.
"Doctor?" she asked, "Can I try getting out of this bed and walking a little bit?" The doctor was pensive for several moments, and then finally nodded.
"We can try it if you think you're ready," he said, acquiescing to her request. She smiled gratefully at him.
"I'm ready," she declared.
"I've got too much to do to be off my feet"
Rachel rolled the covers off of her legs as the MD cleared away his chair from her bedside. With a fluid motion, she swung her legs over the side of the bed and looked down at her legs anxiously, praying that they would have the strength to carry her. The doctor watched as she pressed her hands down into the mattress, bracing herself as she lowered her feet to the floor. With slow movements, she raised herself to a standing position. The doctor looked on with his hands slightly in front of him, prepared to catch her if the need arose. His eyebrows rose as a thought occurred to him.
"Hold on a second," he instructed, walking towards the corner of the room. He opened a tall cabinet and withdrew a portable IV stand. He walked over and switched the bag that was connected to the catheter in Rachel's arm from its immobilized hook by the bed to the portable stand.
"Now you can actually move more than a couple feet," he said, chuckling a little, "And, you can use the stand for a little support if need be."
Rachel wrapped her hand around the metal pole of the IV stand and took a step. And then another. The process was slow and bit more tiring than normal, but she and the doctor both agreed that it was a success. After a few minutes, she decided that it was enough for the time being and sat down on the bed. Dr. Harris returned the IV bag to its fixed hook on the wall, and returned the portable stand to its place in the cabinet.
"Do you feel up to trying to eat a little something?" asked the doctor. Rachel had almost forgotten how long it'd been since she had eaten. She was hungry, she had to admit, but her concern for her child had made her stomach a little unsettled. Still, it would likely help her regain some strength, and that thought made it more enticing.
"Okay, I'll try," she said, giving a slight nod. The doctor turned to leave but was halted by Rachel's voice.
"Doctor Harris?" she asked, beckoning him. He turned around, looked at her, and awaited whatever it was she wanted to say.
"What's going to happen to me when we land? Am I going to have to stay in the hospital?"
"You probably won't have to stay there long, but yes, you will have to go in for a CAT scan. You sustained a moderate concussion and we have to make sure that there was no brain trauma," replied the doctor. Rachel's face fell in disappointment at this news. She wanted to see so many people, but especially Emma and Ross.
"Don't worry," the medicine man said, noting her sadness at his response, "I've called ahead to set everything up. It should be quiet expedient."
"Great," she said, thanking him with a smile as he made his exit.
"Because there's something I have to do, and it can't wait."
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
Clouds hung like giant balls of gray cotton over the New York skyline. It was chillier than normal for a spring day in the city. New-Yorkers and tourists alike donned sweatshirts and light jackets as they traversed the busy streets of the urban metropolis.
A few miles outside the city, a plane was coming to rest on a private runway. The plane was still for a few moments as uniformed men walked around it in circles, each performing some menial routine task and occasionally communicating with a faceless voice over handheld radios. From the right side of the aircraft, a group of men ushered a large gangplank into position by the frame of the cabin door.
The door opened with a popping sound revealing two men in uniform who spent several moments inspecting the gangplank to ensure that it was properly affixed before descending it themselves. A moment later another man emerged and descended the first stair and turned 180 degrees so he was facing the open doorway. He signaled with his hand. Another uniformed man exited pushing a wheelchair that held a weary-looking, yet attractive woman. A brown-haired man and a blonde woman, both dressed in casual attire, followed a few seconds behind, catching up as the group reached a car that was waiting several yards from the plane. Its engine was already running and its driver had already been given instructions. The woman in the wheelchair stood up and climbed into the back seat and was joined by her two casually dressed companions before the doors swung shut and the vehicle pulled away from the scene.
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
A man stepped out of his apartment building in the Village. He was dressed in a handsome black suit, his hair was meticulously gelled, and his face was clean-shaven; the façade of perfect composure betrayed only by a sizeable gash over his left eye. In one hand was a car seat, the other cradled a little brown-haired girl, who was nestled cozily against his shoulder. He stood with his back against the wall of the lobby for a few moments until he spotted a particular sedan approaching. It pulled to a stop at the corner only yards away from him. He closed the remaining distance with his feet.
"Hi there," he said to the attractive blonde behind the wheel. "Thanks for coming. I owe you one."
"That's true," she smiled. "Get in so we can stop blocking traffic."
The man climbed into the back seat, buckled the car seat in and placed his child in it. After several moments of double-checking, the man was finally satisfied that the little girl was properly situated. He kissed her on the forehead, closed her door, and took his seat next to the driver.
"All set," he reported, giving a 'thumbs-up' to the driver, who nodded in acknowledgment.
The car rolled away from the curb and, after only a few moments, disappeared into the bustle of the New York City streets, its passengers totally unaware of the man that had been chasing after them.