A/N: OK, so I totally lied. It took me three months to post Chapter 14. I won't make any promises about 15, since I'm apparently terrible at keeping my fanfic promises, but I will tell you that this is the part of the story that I have been struggling with since day one – how to get here, how exactly to handle it – so hopefully now it'll be easier to continue. Of course, if I'm not mistaken, I've said that before...anyway, here it is.
Many thanks to anyone reading this, for even bothering to read it after all this time.
Disclaimer: Since it's been so long, I guess I'd better remind you that I am not in any way affiliated with Warner Bros. or BKC. Not that it would matter anyway, at this point, seeing as they live only in syndication and on DVD these days. Anyway, these characters aren't mine. If they were, the show would have ended rather differently, and there would be a LOT of really pissed-off fans out there. I'd be happy though. And rich, too.
Chapter 14:
Untruths
"So, we're agreed, then," Rachel began, leaning back against Chandler's T-shirt-clad torso, threading her fingers through his. "We do whatever we can to keep this whole thing from Ross until he gets back."
Chandler nodded, studying her long, graceful fingers. "Whatever we can."
"Even if we have to lie."
She couldn't see his face, but she felt him nodding – albeit reluctantly - against her hair.
"And then, once he's back in the States, we sit him down, together, and we tell him exactly what's going on."
Chandler nodded again. "Unless he's miraculously reunited with Emily, in which case we leave well enough alone and ease him into it."
Rachel smiled silently. You're not saying it out loud, Chandler Bing, but I still hear you. You feel it, too. The thought gave her a little thrill, but she kept that to herself.
"So," Chandler said, "if – when – Ross calls you again, what do you do?"
Rachel sat up straight, at mock-attention. "I tell him I'm running late for plans with a friend," she recited robotically.
"And what if he calls you at work?"
"I tell him I'm too busy to talk."
"Very good. Anything beyond that, you'll just have to wing it. It isn't really important that he really believes you, just that he doesn't force you to tell him anything important over the phone."
"Got it." She paused, thoughtful. "What if he calls you? Shouldn't we have a plan for that?"
Chandler scoffed. "He won't. Guys don't do that."
"Ah. I forgot. The Manly Man's Manual to Maximizing His Manliness prohibits any such behavior."
"Exactly."
Rachel turned her face into his chest, relishing the moment when his arms pulled her closer.
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Rachel counted herself fortunate when Sunday arrived and she'd only been forced to dodge Ross twice, each time at home, in the evening, and each time, using the "I'm really late" lie. The second time, she'd detected a hint of doubt in his voice, but she'd managed to sidestep his inquiries nonetheless. She and Chandler spent most of Sunday quietly, and Rachel used the time to play in her mind, over and over, the way she hoped the conversation with Ross would go – if it took place at all, which she was praying it wouldn't. By the time Joey left to meet the Gellers at the airport, she was sure she would collapse with mental exhaustion.
After Joey had been gone for nearly two hours, Chandler looked up from his book and warmed her slightly with a sympathetic smile. "Wanna go downstairs and get some coffee?"
"Or we could, we could just go downstairs and never come back. I've got a little savings account. It's not much, but if we live cheap, and like, get a really small apartment or – or - buy a tent, I bet we could spend the next six months hiding out in North Carolina. And then, once it's safe, we could get both jobs, start all over. We got skills. We're educated. We're employable. What do you think?"
"That sounds great, Rach. I love camping. And what a great career move for you! I hear the Carolinas have a booming fashion industry. 'The American Milan', I've heard some say."
Rachel buried her face in one of the sofa pillows, screamed into the thick cushion. "This is a nightmare," she moaned, her voice muffled. She sniffed, studied the pillow. "Aw, crap."
"What?"
"There's a wine stain on this pillow. Monica's pillow."
Chandler feigned terror, shrinking against the back of his chair before leaping to his feet and hurrying towards the door. "That settles it. I'll get my backpack." He laughed as the offending pillow hit him between the shoulder blades. "Get dressed, Rach. Central Perk. I'll meet you in the hall."
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Twenty minutes later, Rachel was sipping a macchiato and half-heartedly reading People. She'd gotten about halfway through the "Is he right for you?" quiz when Joey sauntered into the coffee house. "Hey guys...just thought I'd give you a heads up. The Gellers have landed. They're just dropping their bags off at your place, Rach, and then they'll be down here."
If Chandler stiffened slightly at the other end of the couch, Rachel pretended not to notice. Joey helped himself to a cup of coffee from one of the air pots at the counter, then sat down at the two-top beside Rachel.
She cleared her throat nervously. "How did, um, how did Ross seem?"
Joey's eyebrows knitted together. "If you're asking me what he's thinking, then the answer is I have no idea." He paused. "He was really, really quiet in the cab, though."
Chandler frowned. "Great. Introspective Ross. My personal favorite." Instinctively, he edged closer to Rachel.
"Maybe he's just tired," Joey suggested hopefully.
"Here's hoping," Rachel replied.
As if on cue, the door to the café opened, and in stepped the dark-haired siblings. Greetings bounced between the friends. Rachel couldn't help but notice that when she and Chandler sat back down after the round of welcoming hugs, there was no longer room for anyone to sit between them.
"So!" she began in a too-high voice. "Tell us all about Greece!"
They all sat quietly, as Monica, aided only occasionally by Ross, regaled them with the highlights of the trip. Rachel struggled to look interested, eventually admitting to herself that she was fighting a losing battle. Guiltily, she allowed her eyes to glaze over, retreating back into her mental rehearsal of the inevitable Conversation With Ross. Luckily, Monica didn't seem to notice. After what seemed like an hour, she paused long enough to signal Gunther for a new cup of coffee. "So what did you guys do all week?"
Rachel shifted nervously at the innocent question, tried to sound natural when she replied. "Oh, you know, the usual. Work. Hanging out. Coffee. Boring ol' New York. Same old, same old. Nothing exciting." Shut up, shut up, shut up!
Ross cleared his throat. "Really? When I talked to you, it sure seemed like you were having a busy week. Socially." He raised his eyebrows questioningly.
Rachel ignored the heat she could feel rising into her face. "Oh, yeah, well, you know, my mom was in town a couple of days, so I spent some time with her."
She thought she saw Ross' eyes narrow imperceptibly, but he said nothing.
Monica, re-energized from her coffee, resumed her diatribe about the trip. By the time she began to slow, it was closing in on seven o'clock. "Wow," she said, yawning. "The time difference is really catching up with me." She drained her mug and stood, stretching. "I think I'm gonna go upstairs and take a shower, get to bed early. I have to work tomorrow afternoon."
Rachel nodded as Monica left, not moving from her seat beside Chandler, ignoring Ross' penetrating stare, memorizing the cover of the magazine in her lap. Don't make eye contact, don't make eye contact. Wow, looks like Meg Ryan's been dipping into the plastic surgery fund.
After a long moment, the elder Geller stood as well. "Monica's right. It's getting pretty late for me. I guess I'll see you guys tomorrow?" At his friends' murmured assent, he turned his attention directly to Rachel. "Um, Rach? Can I, can I talk to you for a second?"
Fuck. Nodding numbly, she stood, and knew she'd found new meaning for the phrase "my blood ran cold". Fighting off a shudder, she followed Ross out onto the sidewalk, feeling Chandler's eyes burning into her back. "What's up, Ross?"
Ross studied her for a few seconds, before rounding his shoulders and leaning against the apartment building's brick wall. "Listen, I, uh, I have some things I want to talk to you about, but, ah...well, it's too complicated to get into right now. It's been a long day – a long week, no matter what Monica says – and right now I just want to get home and get to bed. But I do need to talk to you."
Rachel opened her mouth to protest. "Ross, look, I don't – "
"No, wait," he interrupted. "Just, before you say anything, let me get a good night's sleep. I have a lot to tell you, and I'd rather not hash it out right here in front of everyone in the city." He toed the concrete, turning his woeful brown eyes to hers. "Will you have dinner with me tomorrow night? Nothing fancy. In fact, I'd like to just order in and eat at my place. That way, we can talk. Just the two of us." His voice was only one note shy of begging. "Please, Rach. It's been a really...tough week, and it would make things so much better if you would just hear me out. It would really mean a lot to me."
Sighing, she relinquished her hold on the all-for-one plan she and Chandler had developed. "Dinner. Sure."
Her agreement seemed to lift his spirits somewhat, and he pushed off from the wall with a tired smile. "Thanks, Rach. You won't regret it. What do you say, 7:30 tomorrow?"
She forced a smile in return. "Sure."
"Great. Great!" He leaned toward her, pressing a kiss against her forehead before she could step back. "I'll see you then. 'Night."
"Night," she murmured, defeated. As he disappeared upstairs, she wrenched open the door to Central Perk.
Chandler made no attempt to hide his curiosity. "So? What's the plan? When's our little pow-wow?"
Rachel waved dejectedly to Gunther for a refill, sinking onto the sofa next to Chandler. "Pow-wow's a no-go. I'm having dinner with him tomorrow night. His place. 'Just the two of us', so 'we can talk'." She pressed her face into Chandler's shoulder, Joey looking on. "Damn!"
Chandler circled her with his arms, swallowed hard. "It's gonna be okay, Rach," he said, injecting confidence into his voice. "You'll be fine."
"What if I'm not?" Her voice sounded small, afraid.
His jaw clenched, unclenched. "Well," he said, his voice flat, "The American Milan isn't going anywhere."
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"Thank you, Mrs. Karakas," Rachel forced a smile at her final customer of the day. "Enjoy the cruise."
"Thank you, dear, you're a miracle worker." The elderly woman disappeared into the hallway, leaving a deflated Rachel behind with only the clock for company. Whereas each day the previous week had crept by as she anticipated her evenings with Chandler, today she had watched in horror as the hours flew by at warp speed. Now she had only ten minutes until she had to head home and prepare for the dreaded dinner date, or The Meal of Torture, as she had not-so-affectionately dubbed it to herself. She finished the small amount of paperwork that remained and reluctantly gathered her belongings. May as well get a move on.
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At 7:35, she found herself staring at the door to Ross' apartment, fighting the urge to turn on her heel and run home as quickly as her feet would carry her. After battling with herself for several long moments, she hurriedly rapped on the door before her cowardice sent her careening down the stairs.
Ross opened the door almost immediately, smiling warmly at her as he ushered her in. "Hi, Rach." He attempted to plant a welcoming kiss against her cheek, caught only air as she wriggled out of the light jacket she was wearing. Frowning slightly, he silently closed the door. "Can I get you something to drink? I've got wine."
Rachel nodded absently as she lowered herself timidly onto the sofa. "Actually, I'll just have some water. Thanks." She folded her hands in her lap as he disappeared into the kitchen, trying to ignore the nauseous feeling in her stomach. Deep within the anxiety-induced fog enveloping her brain, she heard Chandler's voice, murmuring reassurances. Don't fidget. Stay calm. You're going to be fine. After several hours of deliberation the night before, the two of them had settled on a final version of her side of tonight's conversation; a well-rehearsed, detail-limited explanation. It gave Ross enough information to make him understand where he stood with Rachel, but left unsaid what was necessary to spare his feelings. For the moment.
"How was your day?" Ross asked, re-entering from the kitchen.
She accepted the glass of water, breathed an inward sigh of relief when he seated himself in the club chair to her left instead of the empty sofa space on her right. "It was fine. Yours?"
Ross studied his knees, his nervousness apparent, perhaps even more so than hers. "Also fine. I slept late, which I needed, then I tried to catch up on some work, but..." Despite her dearth of romantic feelings towards him, he was still her friend, and the emotional fatigue so apparent in his voice still tugged at her. "Anyway, that's not important. I ordered Chinese, I hope that's okay?" At her nod, he continued. "It's in the kitchen. Do you want me to get you a plate?"
She forced herself to relax, settled back against the sofa cushions. "Actually, I'm okay right now."
He nodded, leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "So."
She eyed him nervously. "So."
"I've been doing some thinking. About you and me. Everything that's happened between us." His discomfort no longer hidden, he stood, walked over to the window, began to pace slowly, methodically. After a few laps, he stopped, his back to her, and turned his eyes to the street below. "Do you ever think about us, Rachel?"
Here we go. She closed her eyes, counted to ten. "Well, I mean, sure, occasionally. We had some good times, made some nice memories. Of course I think about it now and then."
Still he kept his back to her. "Well, sure. We've got quite a history. But that's not really what I meant." Now he turned, facing her, bathing her in that chocolate gaze of his, eyes like a mournful Labrador, telling a million sad stories. She squashed the sympathetic twinge in her chest. He pressed on, "I meant, do you ever think about us, now, in the present tense."
She sighed, leaned forward, lowering her eyes to the floor at her feet. "I used to, Ross. I really did. But then...you know, things changed. We changed. You got engaged. It seemed silly to keep hanging on to the past." She raised her chin, looked up at him. "I had to move on. It was for the best."
Ross ran a nervous hand through his slightly mussed hair, dropped himself onto the couch beside her. "But what about now?" His tension was palpable; combined with her own, it was nearly unbearable.
She swallowed, stifled the urge to slide away from him. Further down the couch. Through the apartment door. Down the hall. Into the street. "Nothing has changed, Ross."
Hurt flashed in his eyes, clear as lightning. It burned for a moment, then ebbed slightly. "Everything has changed, Rachel. I'm not getting married, for one." Before she could protest, he slipped his hand around hers, continued. "I know what you're going to say, that it's too soon, that I need to take some time, but I just, I don't think that's true. I think we've wasted too much time already."
"Ross, I just – "
"No, wait. Let me finish. I've loved you for a long, long time, Rachel. Even when things got really ugly between us, I still loved you. Maybe that's why things got so ugly. Losing you, it was the one of the worst things I've ever experienced...sometimes I think it was worse even than my divorce. Because it was my fault, all of it. I was so stupid, so afraid of losing you, I just, I couldn't stop myself from smothering you. I knew it was wrong, I knew it was hurting you, but I couldn't stop. And then, when you pushed me away, I was so upset, I didn't know what to do...if I could go back and erase what happened, God knows I would. In a second. But I can't." He cleared his throat, took a long, slow breath. "I know I hurt you. I know I ruined the trust we had built. But you have to believe me, I never stopped loving you. I thought that I had, I thought I was over it, but after what happened in London, it's pretty clear that I was wrong. Standing up there with Emily, it just felt...I don't know...it didn't feel the way it was supposed to. The way I thought that it would. I think – no, I know now that I jumped into things with Emily. I went too fast, didn't think it through. If I had, I would have known that I was making a mistake." He paused, stood again, his edginess more pronounced. He shoved his hands in his pockets and settled his gaze on her once more, studying her, gauging her reaction to his words. "I don't know, Rach, I just, the only time things have ever felt right for me was when I was with you. I've been trying to get that feeling back, you know, with Bonnie, and then with Emily...but it just hasn't been there. Something has always been missing."
Silently, Rachel studied her hands, pressing the clammy palms against the coarse fabric of her jeans. She knew he was waiting for a response, but she wasn't sure how to begin. How best to tell him that it was too late, that she'd moved on for good, that she was in love with someone else. In love. Holy shit. I'm in love with Chandler. It was the first time she'd really acknowledged what she was feeling. The weight of it seemed to descend upon her all at once, squeezing her heart until it ached. She suddenly felt guilty just sitting there, felt that she should be on her feet, announcing it to the world at top volume, instead of hiding it carefully away in her every move, cautiously ensuring that it didn't show through in her eyes, or in her manner. "Ross, listen." She turned her face upward, towards his baleful stare, and measured her words. "Please, sit down."
Reluctantly, as if sensing that he wouldn't like whatever it was that she was about to say, he eased himself onto the sofa without speaking.
She took a deep breath. "Everything that you've said, it means a lot to me. It really does. What I said before is true, I did think about us a lot. I used to wonder what would have happened if I'd been more understanding about your fears, if I'd reassured you, instead of prickling every time you expressed concern. But," she hurried along, as he started to interrupt, "I also meant the other part. About moving on. I'm sorry, Ross, but I could only hold out hope for so long. And once I worked out that we weren't meant to be, I closed that chapter of my life. I don't think it would be a good idea for me to reopen it." Now it was her turn to take his hand. "And the truth is, there's someone else."
Ross' eyes clouded over, and she knew the full effect of her words had penetrated his fragile façade of optimism. He swallowed, cleared his throat. "Someone else. When did this happen?"
She faltered here, for a moment, knowing that it was imperative to avoid specifics. "Recently."
"Only since Joshua?" he asked. "It can't be very serious. If you'll just – "
She silenced him with her eyes, forced herself to keep her voice even. "Ross, you were ready to marry Emily after just as short a period of time."
Here he frowned, his eyes pleading. "And I was wrong. Rach, maybe – "
She shook her head resolutely. "I'm not wrong about this."
Sadly, and with effort, he slid his hands from her grasp.
"I'm sorry, Ross. I don't like hurting you. You have to know that."
A muscle twitched in his jaw. "I know."
"I had to be honest. Anything less wouldn't be fair to...to anyone. Least of all you."
Silence fell, and remained for several long minutes. Finally, Ross spoke again. "So, this guy. What's his name?"
Hating herself, she repeated the words she and Chandler had decided on, knowing this question would eventually come. "That isn't important right now. He's just a person." The untruth burned at the back of her throat, threatening to choke her, tasting unpleasantly like the General Tsao's chicken that sat, untouched and unwanted, on the kitchen counter. She started to reach for his hand, stopped herself. "Ross? Are you okay?"
His tired eyes glided back to hers, unfocused, bleary. "Can you just tell me one thing? If...if it weren't for this guy, this person...do you think...?"
She cringed inwardly at the horrible hypothetical question. "I don't know, Ross. I just...I don't know." No longer able to stop herself, she leaned toward him, tugging at his shirtsleeve until he gave in, allowed her to pull him into her embrace. "I will always love you, you know. You'll always be important to me." When he didn't respond, she pressed on. "I know it's hard to believe right now, considering everything you've been through in the past week, but these things do happen for a reason, Ross. It will all work itself out, you'll see."
Purposefully, Ross disentangled himself from her arms and pushed himself to his feet. "You're right about one thing. It is hard to believe."
She stood, too, sensing that it was time for her to leave. She reached for his hand again, but he pressed his palms flat against his legs, his body language leaving no question about his feelings.
She cleared her throat, picked up her bag, then her jacket. "I'm going to go, Ross. Give you some time." She turned, stepped toward the door. "If you need anything, you know where we are."
He nodded curtly, seemingly frozen to his spot on the floor.
Her hand was on the doorknob, turning it. "I'll see you soon." She was in the hallway, and still he hadn't moved. She turned back to him one last time. He inclined his head, ever so slightly, and she understood. Everything that needed to be said, had been. Now he was left, all alone, to pick up the pieces of all that had happened. Bowing her head, she eased the door shut.
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The trip up the stairs leading to her apartment seemed to take an eternity, her feet heavier with every step. The only thing that carried her all the way to her floor was the knowledge that Chandler was waiting in his apartment, anxious to hear from her. She approached his door with a heavy heart, the knowledge of how her admission had hurt Ross inescapable. She knocked lightly on the door and then opened it, dragging herself into the apartment and directly into Chandler's arms.
Relieved, he squeezed her until she thought she would suffocate. Still it wasn't enough to erase the mental image of Ross, standing alone in his living room, his heart in pieces at his feet. "Tighter," she begged. Chandler obliged, tugging her backwards to the sofa, not loosening his grip on her for a second. As he sat, he pulled her onto his lap, smoothing her hair with one hand and gripping her shoulder with the other. When she lifted her face from his neck, he said, "Tell me." She did, her head resting against his collarbone, his fingers fluttering reassuringly over the curve of her shoulder. She felt his tension as she relayed the conversation, heard the tormented sigh that gushed out of him, ruffling her hair, as she described Ross' demeanor as she was leaving. After she finished, they sat silently, lost in their own thoughts.
Exhausted, she burrowed deeper into his embrace, absorbing his body heat as it chased away the cold glove that had gripped her progressively tighter since Ross' arrival on Sunday. "Thank you, Chandler, for being here, for doing this. I'd be ruined if you weren't here."
His arms tightened around her infinitesimally. When he spoke, his voice was gruff. "You wouldn't even be in this position if I weren't here. Or hadn't been there, rather."
"But thank God you were." Suddenly she was so full of Chandler, overflowing with him, with so many contrasting emotions that she wasn't sure where one stopped and the next began. Gratitude, affection, desire, love, all mingling together, but most of all, the love, so thick and all-consuming that she was dizzy with it, with the power of it. The need to tell him, to say the words, so desperate that she didn't even stop to question herself. "I love you, Chandler," she said, raising her eyes, brimming with sincerity, to his, wide and flashing with shock, just as the door to the apartment opened and Ross slipped inside, his arms full, calling out as he turned to close the apartment door. "Joey? Chandler? Is anyone – "
There was no time to react, no time to keep him from seeing. She watched in horror as Ross turned, as if in slow motion, and processed the image of them, wrapped around one another, Chandler's hand buried in her hair, hers locked around his neck. His eyes filled with disbelief, fading into bitter understanding. Although it was a pointless gesture, she slid off of Chandler's lap, perching herself uneasily beside him on the edge of the sofa.
Chandler spoke first. "Ross, look, it's – "
"No, dude, don't. Just...fucking don't." His gaze settled on Rachel. "Just 'some person', huh, Rach?"
"Ross – "
Dropping several cartons of familiar-smelling Chinese food onto the counter, he wrenched open the door. He paused in the doorway, as both Chandler and Rachel rose to their feet hurriedly, instinctively wanting to stop him, to explain. He pointedly avoided Rachel, locking his fiery eyes on Chandler instead. "Well. Well." A statement, not a question. One word, so condemning.
"Ross, let me explain – "
Ross all but snarled in reply. "Not much to explain, is there? It's pretty clear." He appraised his old college roommate as he backed out of the apartment. "I hope it's worth it, dude." His eyes fluttered to Rachel, lingering for only a second, scorching her with anger and hurt and betrayal.
And then he was gone.
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