Off Again Chapter 5: Five, a friends fanfic

Author's Note: Well, another chapter up before the New Year. I'd hate to leave you on yet another cliffhanger, but what the hell? Ah, the song used in this chapter is Taking Back Sunday's "Ghost Man on Third," so I don't own it… just like the characters. You know, I don't know how it fits the story (it kind of does, then again, it kind of doesn't), but I've been listening to it and it's stuck in my head. Anyways, on with the next chapter…

Five

Jinx me something crazy
Thinking if it's three
then I'm as smooth as the skin
rolls across the small of your back
It's too bad it's not my style.
If you need me,
I'm out and on the parkway,
patient and waiting for headlights,
Dressed in a fashion that's fitting to the
inconsistencies of my moods

The message had cut off, which caused Ross to freak out. "What the hell was on the rest of the message?" Ross screamed at the top of his lungs. After she didn't call back, he naturally assumed the worst, thinking that it was that Rachel was telling him that she didn't love him anymore. "That's why she left for Paris, right?"

He tried calling her back, but her cell was shut off and he really didn't want to leave a message. He didn't have her number in Paris either, not that she'd have a phone line set up that quickly. Eventually, he'd given up all hope. "She's over me" was all he could say.

XXX

A couple weeks had passed, but Rachel hadn't received a call from Ross yet. She had been so sure that this message would've worked. "Maybe he's still helping Monica and Chandler move," she assumed. "They did have a lot of stuff to move into their new home, but two weeks?" She went over to check her cell phone and saw that her battery had died. "Shit," Rachel exclaimed, then covered her mouth hoping Emma hadn't heard. Luckily, Emma had been distracted by the blaring noise of cartoons on the television.

The past couple of weeks had been even more stressful and chaotic for Rachel. Even though she liked her job, work was a pain in the ass. There was so much of it and so little time or so it seemed. She barely had a social life in Paris. All of her energy went into her Louis Vuitton job and raising Emma. Emma had been talking a lot more lately although some of the words weren't necessarily coherent or intelligible. She had also been moving around a lot, which now Rachel knew what Sandra had been talking about. While her daughter was adorable, it was hard for Rachel to stare at Emma too long; after all, she had inherited Ross's brown eyes. Everything about Emma had been the exact replica of Rachel, except for the eyes – only Monica and Rachel would ever really notice the resemblance.

Rachel ran to the phone, "Huh, how could I have been that dumb not to notice that?" She dialed Ross' apartment. No answer. She would've tried calling Monica and Chandler's but she didn't have the number to their home in Westchester. She tried calling Joey's apartment, but she got a recorded response that said the number was no longer in service. So, she called the only person left: Phoebe.

"Hey," Rachel started awkwardly, not quite sure of how she'd react.

"Hey Rachel," Mike responded, "How's Paris?"

"It's great," Rachel lied. "I don't mean to sound rude, but is Phoebe there?"

"No, it's totally cool," Mike assured as she heard him calling Phoebe's name and him telling her that Rachel was on the phone.

"Oh, Rachel," Phoebe responded, coldly.

"Well, hello to you too, Pheebs. Anyways, I was wondering if you know what Monica and Chandler's number at Westchester or where Ross is," she grilled. "I tried calling him, but there was no answer."

"Why? So, you can break Ross's heart again," Phoebe spoke snidely, obviously referring to the incident, "because if it is, I'm not going to let you."

"What?" Rachel asked defensively, "No. God, no, it's just I can't reach get through to his number and I don't know the number for Monica and Chandler's new home."

It's times like these, where silence means everything
And no one is to know about this

Phoebe added sternly, "Look, you don't love him anymore. Since when do you give a shit about where Ross is? You've played nothing but mind games with him. Let's be honest, Rachel Karen Green, most of the time you've only cared about Ross when he wasn't available – when he's not able to be at your constant 'beck and call,' then you dispose of him when you're done using him. Ross is one of my good friends, and I'm not going to let you fuck with him… at least, not anymore. It probably would've been better off if I hadn't busted my ass to get him to the right airport if you were only going to reject him. You don't know what it was like having to console him during the ride home or…"

It's times like these, where silence means everything
And no one is to know about this

Rachel had had enough, cutting her off, "So, that's what this was all about. You honestly think that I don't love Ross anymore? It's everything but that. Phoebe, you're not the fucking puppet master of the group. You don't know shit about my aura. You want to know why I got on that damn plane: I didn't know what to say or how to react. It's not a one of those awfully clichéd romantic comedy where the girl simply bursts into his arms, saying that she does love him too. You think I was expecting him to tell me any or all of that? Getting over Ross was the hardest thing I've never done. You don't know what it's like to have your daughter there, look into her eyes – and see the same fucking set of eyes of your ex. The fact that he is her father doesn't make it any easier."

It's a campaign of distraction
and revisionist history, oh

Emma popped out from her room to see what the yelling and commotion was about. Rachel noticed, left the room, went into her master bedroom and on the balcony. "Let me know when you show up at the airport, waiting for the man who loves you a lot after being revealed the obvious, but only to find his arms wrapped around another woman. Or the fact that your ex-boyfriend proposes to some English bitch after six weeks of dating when you dated him for a year, and not the slightest mention of even a proposal. Tell me when you idiotically accept a proposal from one of his best friends that you didn't want in the first place because of hormones and that you've been convinced – by quite possibly the most annoying person known to mankind – that the father of your child would eventually leave you. Let me know when the one person you think you can trust the most starts hiding messages from you because he's jealous of some asshole from the bar that I could care less about and realizing the God-damned reason why he hid it, but were both too much of spineless cowards to admit that we both loved each other."

Rachel continued, "Let me know when you are at a job and pretty much half-ass it because you're torn and haunted by the constant image of the heartbroken look on that face, knowing damn well you're the cause and cure for it. Let me know when you leave a message, the rest of it doesn't get heard because my piece of shit cell phone 'conveniently' dies on me at the most inconvenient time. Most of all, you don't know what it's like to have been cheated on by the one guy you love more than anything else in this world… with some random fucking copy place whore and find it out from someone else all because of one meaningless word. So, please, save me from that bullshit rhetoric about fucking mind games, Phoebe. All I asked was for a simple favor, that's it," Rachel finished, tears running down her face. All the pent-up frustration of over-working herself and stress was vented towards one of her closest friends.

It's a shame I don't think that they'll notice
(It's a shame I don't think that they'll notice)
It's a shame I doubt they even care
(It's a shame I doubt they even care)
No one is to know about this

There was a long silence at both ends of the phone, noticing that Phoebe had the tears going too, remorseful for jumping to such conclusions about one of her closest friends. Rachel resumed, gaining some composure, "So, are you going to tell me either?"

It's a shame I don't think that they'll notice
(It's a shame I don't think that they'll notice)
It's a shame I doubt they even care
(It's a shame I doubt they even care)
Don't let me down

XXX

"Eh, a C-," Ross scolded, grading one of the final exams that he'd given a week ago. Something inside him had become bitter. Most of his life he'd been somewhat of a hopeless romantic, but he had become a broken shell of a man in that department. He'd dropped all those optimistic ideals, thinking that only the naïve and weak bought that crap. He'd wondered what he'd done to deserve such a twisted and complicated love life, all of the baggage that had accompanied him in every single relationship. Was it punishment for being the much-preferred child? Was it cheating on Rachel and lying about it? Was it because he lied about getting the annulment in his drunken marriage to Rachel? Was it because he hadn't seized the day enough? Yet, when he tried that, it backfired and ended up with his second divorce…

But whatever I have getting' myself into
maybe has been slicing inches from my waist
It's my fist vs. the bottle
(And thank god you weren't there...)
And that's how bad could this hurt
or against I won't feel a thing
(And thank god you weren't there...)
I tell you all about it
It's just not working out
(...to watch me hit bottom)
not working out

It's a campaign of distraction
and revisionist history, oh

Against his will, he had grown to resent and detach himself from Monica and Chandler. Well, not his sister and brother-in-law, just the fact he was jealous that he didn't have what they had. It seemed ironic that all the dreams and aspirations that he had and hoped for Rachel were what actually happened for them – the suburban home, the two children, the wedding, the proposal, and everything else. Yet, here he was grading papers for a final he couldn't care less about and for a job that had grown hollow, his children whom he loved so much yet both of them were barely around him, the only woman whom he loved more than anything – if not for Carol – was on "on the other side of the globe" as only Joey could put it, etc.

Ross tossed another beer bottle at the wall, shattering the glass, not caring about the mess that he had made. He hadn't spoken to Monica and Chandler since helping them move a few days after the incident. He was no longer in the mood for Chandler's sarcastic remarks. And when he did hang out at the coffee house with Joey before he moved, he seemed distant. He hardly spoke to Phoebe when she was at Central Perk but she assumed that he was still coping over losing Rachel. His stubbornness and pride got the better of him. He had given up on going to Paris when he heard her message, still presuming the worst, and the fact she didn't call back sealed his assumption and fear that she wasn't in love with him anymore.

XXX

"Are you serious, Phoebe?" Rachel asked. "He was going to quit his job for me, but held back because he thought I didn't love him anymore. Well, there's one thing I've got to do, but don't tell Ross about this. Thanks, Phoebe. And again, I'm so sorry about yelling at you." With that, she hung up and dropped Emma off with her sitter.

This is why we were taught so much better than this
This is why we were taught so much better than this

She drove her car to Louis Vuitton with resignation papers in hand. Sure, she was going to quit her job, but it wasn't even a job that she had earned necessarily on her own merits. Like almost everything else in life, it had been handed to her. Central Perk was given to her because Gunther had a huge crush. Mark had some feelings for her – which resulted in Rachel getting the Bloomingdale job – and that he had patiently waited and picked his spot to make his move. She distinguished the only job she had earned on her own was Ralph Lauren. Ross was sort of right, it was in fact just a job, wasn't it? It's not like there weren't plenty of other jobs in New York, right?

This is what living like this does
This is what living like this does
This is what living like this does

Just then, she'd spotted a familiar face, walking into the same building… and that person had a child with them, about five or six years old. It couldn't be, could it? No, it has to be a look-alike, Rachel confided to herself. She walked up closer to the person, shocked and aghast. It was like some kind of sick joke that she would be standing to this person.

This is what living like this does
This is what living like this does
This is what living like this does

"Just what the fuck are you doing here?" Rachel demanded, scaring the child.

"You know, I should be asking you the same question, but to answer your question, I work here… or have been working here for six years," the voice replied. "Now, what are you doing here, Rachel? And I don't appreciate you yelling and cursing in front of my son."

Looking into the eyes of the child, Rachel gasped. If it weren't for the child, who knows what Rachel might have done to this person…

This is what living like this does
This is what living like this does
This is what living like this does