A/N: I hope you guys haven't forgotten about me! I'm sorry it took me so freaking long to get this posted. I thought I would never finish. Every time I sat down in front of the computer, my mind just went completely blank.

Thank you for the periodic encouragement, all of you who left reviews in my absence. I hope you aren't disappointed with what I'm giving you today. And I swear, it won't take me three months to post Chapter 14.

Chapter 13:

All or Nothing

"Hi, Rach."

It took all of the control Rachel had to force her voice to sound normal. "H – Hey, Ross."

For a moment, there was silence on the other end, and for one blissful second, she thought that perhaps they'd been disconnected. But then Ross spoke again. "Ah…how are you?"

Willing herself to form entire words, as opposed to non-syllabic squeaks, Rachel replied, "Good. I'm good! You? Having a good time? How's Mon? What's Greece like?" She grimaced, recognizing her rambling for what it was: a vain attempt to postpone the inevitable.

In typical Ross fashion, he addressed her questions methodically. "I'm okay, thanks. Yeah, we're having a good time. Mon's good. Greece is beautiful, really amazing. I'd…ah…I'd like to come back again someday, when…you know…things are…better."

Rachel murmured understanding and began to pace the kitchen. She was painfully aware of Phoebe and Joey watching her with undisguised interest. "Well, that's good then, that you're having fun." Please, she thought, don't make me do this right now.

Ross, of course, pushed on, determined to finish the task he'd set out to do. "So, I was, ah, I was wondering…" He trailed off, clearly unsure how to continue. Rachel made no attempt to make it easier. "Wow, this is really hard."

She massaged her right temple, squeezing her eyes shut as she did so, trying to imagine herself someplace else, anywhere but in the kitchen, listening to Ross fumble for such unwelcome words. "What is?" she inquired, failing miserably at her attempt to sound nonchalant.

"Well, you know, you and I, we've…well, we've been through a lot together…" He paused again, and Rachel suddenly felt like she was going to be sick. She racked her brain frantically for a distraction, anything she could do to get off of the telephone, and fast, before he could go any further. Her eyes flew wildly between her two friends; Joey's face was a mask of concern, Phoebe's complacent and knowing. She silently screamed at the both of them: For the love of God, get me out of this!

Ross was speaking again. "…really meant a lot to me. And then, when I, ah, when I, you know, during the ceremony, well, I, I just wonder if maybe, you know…someone was trying to tell me something."

Yeah, she thought, feeling cruel. Maybe someone was trying to tell you that, oh, I don't know, you should have paid more attention to the minister? Instead, she said, "Trying to…tell you something?" She fumbled behind her for one of the kitchen chairs, trying to center herself in the room, or, more accurately, the universe. Oh, God, please, this isn't really happening.

"Yeah. That maybe, maybe you and I…maybe we were too hasty, before. Maybe – "

Without warning, Phoebe let out a yell that could have rivaled any primal scream, surprising Rachel so much that she dropped the phone to the floor with a crash. Joey was at her side instantly. "Phoebe! Are you alright?"

Her blonde friend's face was pinched and red with pain as she apparently struggled for breath. "I…think…" she huffed, "I'm…having…a contraction…."

Rachel felt her heart rate accelerate as the adrenaline began to pump through her veins. She hurriedly stooped down, grabbing for the phone. Ross' voice was audible even from several feet away. "Rachel!? Rachel?!? What's going on!??"

"Ross, I'm sorry – I think Phoebe's in labor! I have to go!" She dropped the phone and scrambled around the kitchen, searching for her purse and keys. "OK, Pheebs, where is that bag you packed to keep over here? Oh, wait, there it is. OK. OK. Calm, I'm calm. Totally calm! OK. I'll just - I'll go downstairs and hail a cab, and you and Joey can take your time and meet me down there. CALM! Where's my cell phone? We need to call Frank and Alice. OK, what else, what else?" She turned to her friends, forcing herself to breathe. To her surprise, Phoebe was seated again, cheerfully peeling a banana. "What the hell!? Phoebe! What are you doing?! We don't have time for a snack! We have to go!!"

Phoebe looked up, a patronizing smile sliding across her face. "Come on, Rachel, seriously. Even if I was really in labor, we'd have plenty of time for a snack."

Rachel's forehead wrinkled, confused. "But – so you aren't really in labor?"

Phoebe rolled her eyes. "Duh-huh."

"So – you were just…faking that?"

Phoebe's eyes glimmered.

"But – wh – " Rachel eyes widened with realization. "Phoebe!!"

Phoebe grinned, her mouth full of banana. "You're welcome."

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Chandler tripped up the last couple of stairs towards his apartment, grumbling under his breath as he searched his pockets for his matches. Successful, he paused in the stairwell and brought the flame to the tip of his cigarette, momentarily distracted by the way the fire danced in his unsteady grasp. He gasped as the flame singed his fingertips and then, startled, he dropped the smoldering match to the floor, crushing it underneath the toe of his sneaker. He edged the freshly-lit cylinder to the corner of his mouth and squinted into the dim hallway, making his way toward the door to apartment 19. His vision was blurred from too much whiskey, a liquor he rarely touched, and his stomach was feeling less than reliable after the long walk back from the bar. All he really wanted was to get out of his clothes and into his bed – or at least into his bed - hopefully before the buzz wore off and the powerful mad he'd managed to drink off returned.

He staggered into the dark apartment, stumbling over a pair of Joey's tennis shoes and banging his hip into the corner of the foosball table, which caused him to howl silently in pain, dropping the lit cigarette onto the floor. Cursing, he resisted the urge to kick the offending object in retaliation and dropped to his knees, crawling after the bright red circle as it rolled across the linoleum and into the kitchen. He snatched it from the floor just before it disappeared underneath the refrigerator and, breathing a sigh of relief, he collapsed, his back against the cabinetry, and inhaled from the cigarette until he thought his lungs would burst.

After several long, quiet moments, he stood, ran the butt under the faucet to ensure that it was fully extinguished and dropped it into the trash can. His eyes had adjusted to the dark now, and he found his way into his bedroom with limited difficulty. Without bothering to remove his clothes, he fell into bed; he was asleep before his head hit the pillow, completely oblivious to Rachel's silent form on the mattress next to him. Sighing softly, relieved that he was safe, she curled her body around his and willed herself to sleep.

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"Mr. Bing?"

Chandler slapped frantically at the extremely loudly buzzing intercom, making a mental note to throw it out the window at the first opportunity. "What!?"

He tried to ignore the smirk in his assistant's voice. "Ms. Green on Line 3."

He exhaled violently and pressed the phone to his ear. "Rach?"

"Well, hello there, sunshine."

"Unnngggghhhh…."

"Have fun last night? You didn't seem to want to talk about it before work this morning."

"Unnnnnnnggggggghhhhh….." Chandler buried his face in his hands, blocking out the returning images of his solitary bar-hopping the previous evening. Mostly solitary, he corrected himself. "Made some new friends."

"Oh, really?"

He grunted affirmatively. "A couple of really nice guys. From down south. I think one of 'em was wearing cowboy boots. Maybe both of them. They introduced me to another friend of theirs, name of Jack Daniels. There was, well, there was hootin'. And, I daresay, some hollerin'."

Rachel chuckled sympathetically. "You must be feeling pretty rough, then."

"One might say that." He stared at a nondescript spot on the wall opposite. "How are you?"

She paused briefly, just long enough for him to deduce that she, too, had heard about Ross' decision. "I'm okay."

"I gather you heard the great news, too." His fists clenched involuntarily at the mere memory of Joey's revelation.

"Ross called."

Chandler quelled the urge to run upstairs and fling himself from the rooftop. "He called."

"Twice. Left a message the first time, saying nothing, saying everything. I planned to avoid him, but unfortunately Joey grabbed the phone when he called back."

He squeezed his eyes closed, bracing himself for the bad news. "And?"

"You can relax, sweetie. Phoebe saved me before he could say anything telling."

He felt his entire body unclench. "I love Phoebe. Remind me to buy her something pretty."

"We can go in on it together. Look. We need to talk about this, form a plan of attack. Strength in numbers. I really don't know what the fuck to do, I – hang on – " He heard a commotion in the background. "Holy shit. I gotta go. My mother is here. Security is involved. Come over tonight?"

"You got it."

"Okay, honey. Feel better." The phone clicked, and she was gone. Chandler replaced the handset and pressed his forehead against the cool surface of his computer screen. He grappled blindly for the intercom button on his phone. "Helen."

"Yes?"

"Please. Stop screaming. And could you get me some coffee?"

"Sure thing. Should I bring some aspirin while I'm at it?"

"Helen, you're a goddamn angel."

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"Honestly, darling, I don't see what the big deal is. I just wanted to have lunch with my daughter. Is that a crime?"

"Only when you completely ignore the front desk clerk and plow upstairs with no permission or credentials. Those security guards can arrest people, you know. Didn't you see the handcuffs?"

"Please. Those handcuffs have probably never even been opened. Although – " Sandra Green looked around cautiously before motioning for Rachel to lean closer. Lowering her voice conspiratorially, she murmured, "I wouldn't mind if the blonde one wanted to test his out on me."

"Mother!!"

"What?! I'm just saying…" She batted her eyelashes flirtatiously in the direction of the guard in question. "He's very handsome. You should ask him out. Want me to get his number?"

Rachel sighed in exasperation. "Mom. I don't need your help finding dates. Besides, he's really not my type. I'm not interested in pursuing a relationship with a man who doesn't know a single three-syllable word."

Sandra's eyes sparkled. "Who said anything about a relationship?"

Rachel buried her face in her hands, groaning. I'm not having this conversation. This isn't real.

The older woman's laugh tinkled daintily from across the desk. "You need to lighten up, dear."

----------

Rachel dropped her purse onto the counter and kicked her shoes across the room. The day had been a complete wash. After the fiasco with her mother, she'd had to help two nattering debutantes pick out gowns for some upcoming country club gala. It had taken every ounce of willpower she'd had not to tell the both of them to get the hell over themselves and take a peek at the real world. Then she remembered her previous life, before she'd left Barry at the altar, and berated herself for being a hypocrite. She'd maintained a perfectly cordial façade, that is, until the smirkier of the two girls had called her "ma'am". After that, she'd politely excused herself, convinced a co-worker to take over for her, and spent twenty minutes in the ladies' room, screaming into a wad of paper towels. No doubt the janitorial staff thought she was off her rocker, but the only other – albeit more appealing – alternative had been begging off sick and she'd spent too much money in London to lose a half day's pay.

She pointedly avoided looking at the answering machine and shed her clothes on the way to the shower. God forbid Monica should come home early – clothes on the floor, wine glasses in the sink – her head would probably explode at the mere sight of it. And then she'd most likely come back to haunt me for not cleaning up the bits of her brain thoroughly enough.

Easy, Rachel. Now you're just being a bitch. She sighed and turned the hot water on. Calgon, take me away. And bring me a beer while you're at it.

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Across the hall, Chandler himself was just stepping out of the shower. It had taken twelve extra-strength aspirin and a twenty-minute nap in his desk chair, but his headache had finally dissipated sometime around 3:00. Now that he was clean, he felt almost like himself again. He threw on jeans and a t-shirt and flopped down into one of the Barcaloungers, shooing the duck away with one of his bare feet just as Joey opened the door and dropped his keys on the counter. "Hey, man."

"Hey, Joe."

His friend's face was sympathetic. "You okay?"

Chandler sighed, rumpling his still-damp hair with his fingers. "The doctors say I'll live."

The dark-haired man sauntered across the apartment, dropping into the second recliner. "Talk to Rachel today?"

Chandler nodded. "This morning."

Joey toyed with the remote control, unable to meet Chandler's eyes. "She tell you…?"

"Yeah. She told me." He pulled his legs up, crossing them Indian style. "We're really in a tight spot."

Joey nodded, but remained silent.

"In case you missed the cue, this is the part of the conversation where you give me advice."

Joey smiled wanly. "I wish I had some for you, dude. But this is…it's just such a…I really have no idea what to tell you. I'm sorry."

Chandler rested his head against the chair back. "Don't be. It's not like you didn't warn me."

Joey opened his mouth to speak, then seemed to reconsider.

Chandler raised his eyebrows. "Go ahead, Joe."

His roommate cleared his throat, dropped the remote onto his lap. "I just, I was just wondering…what is it that you're looking for? With Rachel. I mean, I know you said that you thought it was more than just the sex, I just…I mean, is it? More than that?"

Chandler studied the ceiling. "This thing, it's so weird. It's like it's been staring me in the face for years, and I never even noticed it. It should feel strange, I know it should. But…it doesn't." He counted three, four cracks in the tile above his head. "And she's my friend, man. A good friend. And God knows, there're a lot of…complications. But I just, I don't…I don't notice that, or think about it. When I'm with her. None of it matters."

Joey considered the words. "You're walking a line, man. There's more than one relationship at stake here. You've just gotta figure out how important this Rachel thing is, dude. What it's worth to you."

"I know, Joe. Believe me I do." He lowered his gaze, met his friend's eyes. "With this kind of situation, it has to be all or nothing."

Joey nodded silently, his eyes betraying his concern. "All or nothing," he repeated.

Chandler dropped his feet to the floor, toed the carpet. "But honestly, Joey, the thing is, that's not really true." He sighed heavily. "The nothing? That isn't an option anymore."

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A/N: Hot DAMN it feels good to get that out! Even if it sucks, I'm thrilled: I finished a whole chapter – short though it may be. Writer's block is such a pain in the ass! Reviews are welcome, but I'm out of practice, so please, be kind....