A/N: Let me mention here that I don't claim to know anything about the geography in NYC as it pertains to the show, so if there are any glaring contradictions about the location of things in this chapter, I do apologize. Also, you can assume from here on out that if I mention a restaurant, that said restaurant is a figment of my imagination. I suppose I could find suitable real-life places on the Internet, but frankly, I'm just too lazy for that. After the wordless misery of the past two weeks, I'm just thrilled that complete sentences are forming on the paper in front of me. This chapter isn't what I wanted it to be, but I absolutely cannot edit any more without going certifiably insane.
Anyway, read, enjoy, and review.
Many, many thanks to Sam and MusicCityDiva (goreadherstorynow) for their invaluable help, and to everyone else who sent positive thoughts and ideas! You guys rock!!
Disclaimer: I think I may have forgotten to say so in the past couple of chapters, but I still don't own these characters, no matter how much I wish it wasn't true.
Chapter 10:
Reach Out and Touch Someone
Rachel flipped over onto her left side, fluffing her pillow for the twelfth time in less than two hours. The red numbers on her alarm clock glared at her unsympathetically, cruelly reminding her that she had to return to work first thing in the morning, like it or not. Out of respect to Joey, she and Chandler had cautiously avoided one another all afternoon. She'd used the time to catch up on her laundry, then spent the evening with Phoebe, who was so pregnant she looked ready to burst at any moment. She had no idea what the boys had gotten up to; she'd stopped by their place on her way to Phoebe's but had found the apartment empty.
Desperately craving the buzz of caffeine that her pregnancy forbade her from having, Phoebe had prepared some sort of herbal tea concoction for herself. Rachel had accepted a cup against her better judgment, and whatever natural ingredient it was that provided the kick in the tea was now keeping her wide awake. She checked the clock one last time and groaned, realizing she had only five hours left before she had to get up. Sighing, she clicked the lamp on beside her bed and stacked both of her pillows against the headboard in resignation. She grabbed the copy of Wuthering Heights that she'd been trying to read for three months, and opened up to her bookmark on page 47.
Moments later, she was fast asleep.
***
"Mr. Bing?" Chandler's assistant's voice buzzed over the intercom. "Rachel Green on Line 1."
Chandler snatched the telephone from the cradle with glee, happy for the distraction from the monotonous columns of numbers mocking him from his computer screen. "Hey, Rach," he grinned into the receiver.
The smile in Rachel's voice crawled through the telephone wires and flooded his entire body with warmth. "Whatcha doin'?"
"Oh, you know. Changing the world, feeding the hungry, everyday run-of-the-mill data processing business. What about you?"
"The same. The fashion industry is very concerned with the plight of the less fortunate. Why, just ten minutes ago, I watched my boss carry three shopping bags full of designer handbags downstairs to the homeless people huddled by the front entrance."
"Well, it's good to know that Bloomingdale's is doing its part." Chandler leaned back in his chair and propped his feet up on his desk. "How's your day so far?"
"Terrible. Yours?"
"As good as can be expected after having a five-day weekend."
"That bad, huh?"
"Worse."
"Well, I was wondering if you might be able to sneak away for a lunch date in say, half an hour?"
Chandler pretended to check his schedule. "Let me see…I've got a meeting with the French Ambassador at 2:00 and a conference call with the King of Spain at 2:45, but I think I can squeeze some lunch in beforehand. Did you have someplace specific in mind?"
"Not really. Any place near you that's good?"
"Yeah, there's a deli around the corner, Alex's. You know it?"
"I think so. Meet me there in thirty minutes?"
"See you then." Chandler hung up, dropped his feet back to the floor and refocused his attention on his computer screen, his grin stretched so widely that it almost hurt.
***
Half an hour later, he pushed open the door to the delicatessen and spied Rachel standing by the counter perusing the menu. Taking advantage of the fact that she hadn't noticed him, he headed over to her and slipped his arms around her waist, pulling her back against him and nuzzling his face into her hair. "Hey, you."
"Hey, yourself." She relaxed into his arms, unable to suppress a soft sigh of happiness at his embrace.
He released her reluctantly, settling instead for the less-satisfying contact of her fingers entwined with his. "See anything you like?"
Her sapphire eyes sparkled as she met his gaze. "Yeah I do." She winked at him saucily, pulling him closer to her side. "Oh, you meant, anything I'd like to eat."
"Wow, Rach, I never pegged you as someone who would specialize in cheesy lunchtime come-ons."
"Well, I guess you just bring it out in me." She contemplated the items on the menu board. "I think I'm just gonna have a salad."
Several moments later, they were seated at a small, wobbly table in the back corner of the rapidly filling dining room. Having skipped breakfast in favor of twenty extra minutes of sleep, Rachel was famished; she dug into the salad with gusto. "So," she began between hastily ingested mouthfuls, "you didn't get to tell me what happened with Joey yesterday after the breakfast fiasco."
Chandler bit into his pastrami sandwich and chewed thoughtfully for a moment. "Well, turns out you were right on about him and Monica. I guess they haven't really spoken since the wedding, and he's worried that she's avoiding him deliberately. I think he kind of projected his feelings about that onto our situation."
Rachel stared, her fork midway between the plate and her mouth. "So they did sleep together. Is it serious?"
"No," Chandler replied, relaxing into his chair and pausing for a sip of water. "I got the impression that she was lonely and sad, more or less, and basically propositioned Joey for a…favor, if you will." He set his glass back down onto the cracked tabletop. "Anyway, it seems now that Joey thinks he should have said no."
Rachel considered. "Well, if Monica initiated it, then he really shouldn't feel guilty about it. I'm sure she's not avoiding him on purpose." She frowned into her salad. "Poor Joey. No wonder he got so upset yesterday."
"Yeah. He's pretty torn up about it, but I'm sure it'll be fine." He returned to his lunch. "So anyway, I was thinking. Do you have plans tonight?"
"Not a thing." She loaded her fork with romaine and cucumber, speared a crouton. "This is really good, by the way."
Chandler smiled at the simple pleasure of having chosen a satisfactory venue for lunch. "I'm glad you like it."
"So, you were saying. Tonight?"
He popped a potato chip into his mouth and watched her for a moment, taking joy in the fact that she wasn't shying away from food in his presence. He'd always hated that about women, how they acted like it was a sin to eat in front of a potential mate. It was refreshing to see a woman he was interested in actually enjoying a meal for once. "Weeell…I was thinking. Joey is going over to stay with Phoebe tonight, just in case she decides to spit those babies out. He doesn't want her to be alone when it happens. So, I was wondering if maybe you'd like to order some food in, maybe rent a movie, curl up on the sofa, torture ourselves to within an inch of our lives? Whaddaya say?"
Rachel felt her insides turn to jelly at the thought. "I can't think of any way I'd rather spend a Tuesday night."
Chandler beamed. "Awesome. I'll pick up a movie on my way home. You have a preference about what I get?"
Her indigo gaze washed over him in waves. "Nope. Something that'll be easy to ignore."
The corners of his mouth turned upward lazily. "Anything, then."
Rachel flushed. "That pretty much sums it up." She slid a grape tomato from her fork to her mouth, the specter of Ross drifting further and further away by the minute.
***
Chandler tossed a goodbye to Joey over his shoulder, staring at the television without having any idea what he was watching. He knew Joey wasn't fooled, and that he had no reason to pretend, but still he waited five minutes, then five more; when he was certain his roommate wasn't coming back, he grabbed the copy of The Princess Bride he'd rented and scampered across the hall and through Rachel's unlocked door.
"Rach?"
"Hey! Just changing clothes. Five minutes." Her voice was muffled from the other side of her bedroom door.
He dropped the movie onto the kitchen table and grabbed the telephone. "Pizza okay with you?"
"Sounds great." He thumbed through the phone book until he found the number he was looking for, dialed. He was in the middle of ordering when Rachel's door opened and she appeared in the living room. She was dressed simply: barefoot, in jeans and a small, nondescript, white button-down cotton shirt, but the top several buttons of the shirt were undone, revealing a tantalizing swell of cleavage and catapulting his mind straight into the gutter. His mouth went dry, he lost his train of thought, and only when the young girl on the other end of the phone line cleared her throat did he realize he was standing in silence with his mouth hanging open. He hurriedly finished his order and pressed "off" on the cordless phone, dropping it back onto the charger as if it had burned his hand. Pull yourself together, man.
Rachel looked amused at his reaction. "Wow, if that's how you feel about jeans and a plain shirt, I'm gonna save a bundle on lingerie."
"Oh, God, Rachel, don't say 'lingerie'. My thoughts are impure enough as it is."
She laughed and brushed past him into the kitchen to retrieve a bottle of red wine. She uncorked it and extended the bottle questioningly in his direction. "You want?"
"Oh, yeah."
She poured them each a glass and handed one to him. Taking a sip from hers, she picked up the video case and read the label. "God, I haven't seen this in years."
Still struggling to regain his composure, Chandler teased, "If I had my way, you'd still be able to say that tomorrow."
Rachel raised one eyebrow and sank into the kitchen chair in front of her. "What's the matter, Chandler? You sound like a man who's been trying to score with a woman for a week but keeps getting thwarted by one thing or another."
He groaned and plopped down into a chair opposite her. "Or one Geller or another."
Rachel made a thoughtful sound as she took another swallow of wine. They were quiet for a few moments, lost in their own thoughts. She listened to the white noise of the faucet dripping in the bathroom, plop, plop, plop, and marveled at the incredible level of comfort she felt sitting at a table with Chandler and speaking so frankly. "You know, if anyone had told me two weeks ago that I'd be here, like this, with you…." She trailed off, not wanting to offend him.
He nodded his understanding. "I know what you mean. It's funny how quickly things can change."
Rachel traced the rim of her glass with her forefinger, weighing her words. "I wish it wasn't so…complicated."
His eyes sought hers, held her gaze. "Are you sorry? About this?"
She shook her head vehemently. "No. Absolutely not. It feels…I don't know. It's like you said, it's such a sudden change, but…it doesn't feel…that sudden. I guess that doesn't make any sense, huh?"
Chandler relaxed visibly. "Actually, it makes perfect sense." Clearing his throat, he pushed his chair away from the table and pulled his cigarettes out of his pocket. "I'm gonna step outside for a minute."
"I'll come with you."
He nudged the window open and took Rachel's wineglass while she climbed through, then handed her both glasses and stepped through the opening himself. He lit a cigarette and took his glass back, exhaling a fine stream of smoke into the sultry, early summer air. She watched him with undisguised interest, rubbing her glass back and forth across her bottom lip. He took another drag and tilted his head. "What is it, Rach?"
She blinked, blushing at having been caught staring. "I'm sorry. I was just thinking. It's a disgusting habit – "
He grimaced. "I know, I – "
"You didn't let me finish," she interrupted. "It's a disgusting habit, but, damn, you look sexy doing it."
Reflexively, he opened his mouth to defend himself, then stopped short. "Well, that's one I haven't heard."
She sipped her wine, relishing the relaxing feeling of warmth that coursed through her veins alongside the alcohol. "It is a dangerous habit, though. Of course, you know that already." Her forehead wrinkled. "What's so great about it, anyway?"
He rested his elbows on the railing, crossing one foot over the over, and stared down at the traffic several stories below them. "I can't explain it, really. It's comforting – and not just the nicotine – just the act of inhaling." As if in demonstration, he perched the cylinder between his lips and took a long draw. "Haven't you ever tried it? Not that I'm encouraging it," he added quickly.
She pursed her lips, thinking, and then shook her head. "Not really. I mean, once or twice in college, but I don't think I did it right. I didn't like it – I just coughed a lot." She perched herself on one of the small folding chairs. "I only did it because I knew it would piss my parents off if they found out."
The ghost of a smile floated across his lips. "Yeah. I know a thing or two about that."
The sound of knocking drifted through the open window. "Oh, pizza's here." Rachel clambered inside and grabbed her purse. "Just a second…" Finding her wallet, she opened the door and paid the delivery guy, closing the door just as Chandler stepped into the apartment and shut the window. She tucked the wine bottle under her arm and carried everything into the living room, settling down on the floor beside the coffee table. Chandler popped the tape into the VCR then lowered himself onto the sofa.
***
Fifteen minutes later, Rachel dropped her third crust into the open pizza box and leaned back against the couch, groaning in contentment. "God, I made a pig of myself."
Chandler scoffed. "You did not. I live with Joey. Trust me, I know pigs."
She giggled as she stood, pouring herself another glass of wine and climbing up onto the couch beside him. He finished his last piece and relaxed against the pillows, throwing his arm around her shoulder and pulling her close to his side. She nestled her head to his chest and sighed contentedly. "This feels nice."
"Here's to that." He drained his glass and set it on the floor, throwing his feet onto the coffee table and crossing his ankles. His fingers slid languidly up and down her bare arm, tracing tiny, lethargic circles on her warm skin. She snuggled closer to him, pressing her face into his neck, her warm breath sending ripples of anticipation all the way down to his toes. "God, Rachel, I've been thinking about this all day."
"Mmmmm…." She brushed a series of kisses along his jaw line, tempting him, moving torturously close to his lips, then dancing away to his earlobe, his temple, across his cheek, and then finally settling against his mouth.
It was the merest of kisses, intended only to tease him, but she found that once she started, she couldn't pull away. Her lips parted, and their tongues met, gently, a whisper-soft prelude of what could happen if they allowed themselves to let go. Chandler twisted on the sofa until his back was against the armrest, then settled Rachel gently against his chest, wrapping both of his arms around her, his mouth never leaving hers. His fingers slid up and across the cool fabric of her shirt, massaging her neck, threading through her long hair. She moaned quietly against his lips and he suppressed the urge to crush her to him, forcing himself to keep it light, not wanting to venture into the dangerous territory his mind was already contemplating. Remember what you decided, his one logical brain cell was scolding. Remember Ross.
Ross who? murmured the rest of his brain.
He felt Rachel's hand sliding underneath the hem of his t-shirt, across his stomach, and he discovered that he didn't have the willpower to stop her. Her fingers drew laboriously slow spirals on his chest, sending chills down his spine. His breathing became shallow, and he knew that he should stop her, slow things down, before everything got out of hand. He knew that if she continued, things would happen, things that he would likely feel guilty about when the sun rose on Wednesday morning.
But he wasn't sure he cared anymore.
Somewhere in the back of his mind, he had the image of a tiny white flag raising itself behind a battle-scarred, crumbling wall.
I surrender.
He lost himself in her; ten minutes passed, or an hour, or a week – he had no idea how long. All he knew was that he was with Rachel, in the way that had consumed his thoughts for days, had kept him awake at night, had prevented him from getting any work done all day long. His hands traveled down her back, urging her closer to him, forcing away any sliver of oxygen that struggled to maintain its place between their two bodies. He ran his tongue along her bottom lip, whispering her name mantra-like, clinging to the word as if the sound alone was keeping him sane. Her breath caught in her throat, and he knew she had abandoned the fight as well.
Her lips moved from his, caressing his chin, trailing down his neck as she fumbled with the hem of his shirt, tugging at it, helping him to sit up so that she could pull it over his head. The garment was discarded, settling with a sigh of submission onto the wooden floor. He stared up at her in awe, mesmerized by the simple beauty of her swollen mouth, and extended his hand to brush his thumb across her lower lip. "Rach…."
His hand slid down her neck, along her shoulder, gliding down her arm, entwining her fingers with his. He caught himself mentally cataloguing every detail, committing it all to memory, wanting to brand every breath, every touch, into his mind, wanting every exquisite detail forever emblazoned across his subconscious so that he could revisit it at any time.
His fingers found the buttons on her shirt, fumbling ever so slightly, drawing a nervous giggle from Rachel, and then that barrier fell to the ground alongside his own. He cupped her shoulders in his hands, admiring her beauty, and then drew her face back down to his, stroking her cheek, cradling her against him.
Somewhere in the background he became vaguely aware of the ringing of a telephone. It sounded far away, as if in a dream, and he ignored it as such. Rachel seemed content to do the same, and then the answering machine clicked on.
"Hi, you've reached Monica and Rachel. Leave a message." The machine beeped, and from halfway across the world, Monica's voice crackled into the apartment, filled with the static of thousands of miles of telephone wire.
"…Rach…just got in…. …like 1 a.m. here, I'm not sure…there. …bad connection. …just wanted to…here okay. Ross is…but a little…. He told me…feelings…he still loves Emily…. Greece is amazing…hot guys…gotta go. Tell the boys…. Talk…soon."
Chandler's mind ground to a halt. His heart thumped against his ribcage. What did she say?
Rachel seemed to be caught off guard as well, her fingernails digging into his forearms. When she spoke, her voice was hoarse. "Did she just say…what I think she said?"
Chandler cleared his throat. "I think…I think she did."
Rachel sat up, stared down at him, searching his face, trying to decipher his expression. "Chandler?"
Wordlessly, he slid out from under her and extended his hand in her direction, helping her to her feet. Without letting go, he turned toward her bedroom, leading her silently along behind him.
***
Thousands of miles away, in a Mediterranean hotel room, Monica cringed at the sudden burst of static on the telephone line. She barely made out the sound of the answering machine beeping on the other end, and pressed on to finish the message before she was disconnected.
"Hey, Rach. We just got in from having drinks. I think it's like 1 a.m. here, I'm not sure what time it is there. I hope you're getting this, it sounds like we have a bad connection. Anyway, just wanted to let you know that we got here okay. Ross is all right, I think, but a little confused. He told me he still has feelings for you, but he still loves Emily, too, so…. Greece is amazing, there are so many hot guys! OK, I gotta go. Tell the boys and Phoebe we said hello. Talk to you guys soon."
Her task complete, she replaced the handset on the cradle and kicked off her shoes. She contemplated calling Joey, but a light tapping on the door caught her attention, and she turned just in time to see Ross slipping inside the room. She smiled sympathetically at his hangdog expression, silently counting her blessings that he hadn't shown up sixty seconds earlier; she wasn't sure how he would feel about her leaving a message for Rachel that mentioned anything about his feelings. "Hi, sweetie. How did it go? Did you speak to her?"
The look on his face said it all. "Yeah, but as soon as I mentioned Rachel, she hung up on me. She didn't even let me finish. I didn't get to tell her that I still love her." He tugged his fingers through his hair, leaving it wildly askew. "I don't think she'll ever be able to forgive me, and who can blame her?" He dropped onto the bed, burying his face in his hands. "God, why do I always screw things up for myself?"
Monica eased herself down beside him and slid a reassuring arm around him, weighing her words carefully before she spoke. "Maybe it's just…not meant to be, with Emily. Maybe this whole thing is for the best."
He raised his head to stare at her incredulously. "For the best?? How can you say that? I love Emily. I love her. She's wonderful and kind; we have so much fun! And Monica, she gets me. In a way that no one else ever has. And I've hurt her, so badly. How can that be 'for the best'?!"
Monica frowned severely. She'd been trying to get him to focus on what he wanted for the future, instead of dwelling on what had happened on Saturday. "But…what about Rachel?"
Ross heaved a great sigh; his shoulders slumped with the weight of the past week. "Rachel is…Rachel, you know? I thought I was over it, but…obviously I'm not. I don't – " He broke off, seemingly at a loss. "I don't know what to do."
Monica squeezed his hand. "I don't know, either," she replied, speaking as much about her own problems as his.
***
