A/N: Wow...I am really, really out of practice. I hope it isn't a huge let-down. More on the way, soon.

Friends and the characters belong to BKC and Warner Bros., not me. Sadly.



Chapter 15:

Eggshells

Rachel stared in silent horror at the Magna-Doodle – swinging wildly from the slamming force of Ross' anger - as Chandler stalked over and wrenched the door open.

"It won't do any good to go after him," she said. "You know he's completely unreasonable when he's angry. It'll just make it worse."

At her words - and the sight of the empty hallway - Chandler reluctantly stepped back inside and resisted the urge to kick everything within leg's length. He shoved his fingers through his hair, hissing out a frustrated breath. "Well," he growled, "that went well."

Rachel sank onto the sofa, rubbing furiously at the sharp points of pain now thrumming in her temples. "Yeah. Great." Hugging a pillow to her stomach, she stared straight ahead, seeing nothing. "Now what are we gonna do?"

"I don't – " Chandler began, as the door to the apartment eased open and Joey ambled in cautiously.

"Hey, guys," he said. "I, um, I saw Ross downstairs. I'm guessing…?" The expressions on his friends' faces left no doubt. "Right. Well." He tugged open the refrigerator door, grabbed three beers. "Looks like you guys could use these."

Chandler strode over to the counter. "Forget the beer. We need the strong stuff."


Sometime around 3 a.m., Rachel stumbled across the hall. Trying her best to be as quiet as possible, she carefully picked her way through the apartment, grateful for perhaps the first time since she'd moved in that Monica was so meticulous about the condition of the apartment. With no obstacles strewn along the floor, she found her bedroom door without incident. Humming slightly drunkenly to herself, she tugged her jeans off and tossed them across the room, following quickly with her bra. Clad in only a tank top, she slid under the covers with a blissful sigh, determined to fall asleep before any of the night's events surfaced in her vodka-clouded mind. She closed her eyes and concentrated on convincing herself that the room was not, in fact, spinning, eventually dangling one leg over the side of the bed and planting her foot firmly on the floor. Just as the room righted itself, and she started to drift off, something…different floated through her subconscious, and her eyes popped open. Staring into the dark, she struggled to focus on the ghost of the memory. Something…before the Bad Thing happened…something else….

Shit.

I told Chandler I loved him.

Shitshitshitshitshit!


Across the hall, Chandler, too, was fighting the spins. He lay as still as possible on his back, not allowing his eyes to close, concentrating on the ceiling tiles suspended in the shadows above his bed. The liquor, however, had not dulled his memory of Rachel's revelation.

She said she loves me.

He fought the urge to smoke, stifled the craving, pretended not to notice that his fingers were tingling for the security of the familiar habit. Joey'll smell it. He'll come in here, he'll yell at me…

She said she loves me.

Fuck it.

He eased himself out of bed, fumbling in the dark for the light switch. Finding it, he located the half-smoked pack of cigarettes on his nightstand and wrenched open the window behind his bed. Perched uncomfortably with his knees on his pillow, hanging halfway out the window, he inhaled rapidly, exhaling into the humid May air.

She loves me.

Ross loves her.

What the hell was I thinking?

He closed his eyes, bracing himself against the windowsill with one hand. He thought of Rachel, lying there beside him for the past week, her hair fanned out across the pillow. Of lying awake at night, watching her breathe. Of resisting the urge to wake her up, just to hear her voice. Just to talk to her. Just to be with her. Of telling himself that it was useless, that she would come to her senses eventually, realize what a mistake she was making.

Of praying that would never happen. Of feeling truly hopeful for the first time in a long, long time.

And now….

Cursing Ross, cursing the past, cursing whatever entity it was that continued to toy with him, tempting him with happiness and then yanking it away as soon as he started to believe in it, he tossed the cigarette butt into the alley below, slid the window closed, and lay back down on the bed, lacing his fingers behind his head, not even bothering to turn the light off.

She loves me.

When the alarm went off, his eyes were as open as they'd been hours before. Exhausted and more than a little nauseous, he resolutely snapped the radio off and trudged towards the shower.


Several hours later, Rachel surfaced for the second time of the morning. Far too hung over for work, she'd awoken at 6 and stayed awake just long enough to call in sick, then collapsed back into bed for another three hours of sleep. After muddling through a quick shower, she padded into the kitchen to make some coffee. As she spooned cream and sugar into a mug, Monica popped cheerfully out of her own bedroom.

"Morning, Rach…what are you doing home?"

Blearily, Rachel squinted across the apartment at her roommate. "Had kind of a rough night last night. Alcohol was involved. I know it was irresponsible of me, but, well…." She shrugged and turned back to the coffeepot, bracing herself for Monica's usual lecture. Instead, she started as a cool hand wrapped around her forearm.

"When are you gonna tell me what's going on around here, Rach?"

"I…I don't know what you're talking about," she said.

"You barely spoke yesterday at the coffee house. You were all tense and distant…what gives?" Monica's voice was gentle, but firm. "Oh, come on, Rach. I've known you, how long? Twenty years? Give me some credit here."

Pouring her coffee over the small mountain of white powder in the bottom of the cup, Rachel chuckled half-heartedly. "All right, you win." She nodded towards an empty mug. "Want some?"

"I'll get it. You sit down and start talking."

Defeated, Rachel pulled out one of the mismatched kitchen chairs and sank into the seat. After Monica had joined her, she nervously traced the rim of her mug with her index finger for a long moment. "You're gonna be pretty…shocked…at what I have to say, Mon."

The dark-haired woman frowned slightly. "Shocked?"

"I mean, it's probably going to sound crazy to you." Rachel sighed again, pressing the heels of her hands against her eyes. "There's no way to say this that's going to make it any easier to accept, so…"

"You're making me nervous here, Rach. Forget the buildup. Just talk."

Staring into the brown liquid, she said, "Chandler and I are…well…we're…" She struggled for the correct phrasing. Having sex? Dating? Getting married within the week, if I have anything to say about it? "…together."

Monica gaped, thumping her mug onto the table in surprise, sloshing the strong liquid across the table. "To…together, together?"

Rachel nodded solemnly. "Together together."

Monica stood, sputtering, fumbling for napkins to clean up the spill. "But…but…but…" She tried to gather herself, swiping at the spreading brown puddle. "But…well, when?"

Rachel smiled ruefully. "In London. After the rehearsal dinner. That's when it started, anyway."

Monica sat back down, clearly at a loss. "Well, you were right. I am shocked."

"Told ya."

"I just, that was pretty much the absolute last thing I was expecting you to say, especially since…well…."

Rachel cast her eyes toward her friend. "I know. Ross."

Monica nodded. "Ross." She leaned forward, resting her elbows on the table. "Does he know…about this?"

Memories from the previous night flooded back, and the headache that had finally subsided after the fifth aspirin returned with a flourish. "Ah…yeah. He knows."

"Well? What did he say when you told him?"

Rachel flushed. "Well, I didn't, ah, I didn't, exactly."

"You didn't tell him? Did Chandler, then?"

"No, no, Chandler didn't tell him, either."

"OK, Rach, I know you've got a hangover here, but enough with the vague, already."

"Ross and I had dinner…well, we were supposed to have dinner, last night. I went over there, we talked, he told me he wanted to give us another shot. I told him that couldn't happen, that there was someone else. 'Just a person,' I told him."

"Oh, Rach…"

"No, no, it gets worse. He's upset, but managing, I guess, and I can tell he wants to be alone, so I leave. I go to Chandler and Joey's, and Joey isn't there, and I feel so terrible…I tell Chandler everything, and he's trying to make me feel better…well, we're trying to make each other feel better, and…Ross walks in."

"Ross walked in on you and Chandler doing it!"

"NO!" Rachel exclaimed, horrified. "We weren't 'doing it!'Oh my God, Mon, do you think I'm that heartless? We were just on the couch, I was in his lap, he was hugging me. That's it. But," she sighed again, "that was enough. Ross stormed out. He was furious."

Monica was silent. Belatedly, Rachel realized that she was talking to Ross' sister. "Aw, crap, are you mad now, too?"

Monica shook her head slightly. "No, I'm not mad. I'm just…poor Ross."

Rachel groaned, burying her head in her arms. "I know. I feel awful. We both do."

"But…?"

Slowly, Rachel raised her eyes to meet her friend's. "But…I love him, Mon."

Monica sat back. "Oh. Oh."

Rachel nodded. "That pretty much sums it up."

"So…what are you gonna do?"

Rachel rested her elbows on the table, pressing her chin into her hand. "Hell if I know."


"You got it, Bing?"

Startled, Chandler mouthed wordlessly at his supervisor. "I…ah…well…I…"

"Articulate. Look, naptime's over. It's 2:30 now. You've got a lot of work to do. I need those figures on my desk by the end of the day." His message delivered, the older man stalked out of the office.

Grumbling, Chandler turned back to his computer as the intercom buzzed.

"Mr. Bing?"

"Yes?"

"A rather…excited Joseph Tribbiani on line three."

"Thanks." Chandler grabbed the phone from its cradle. "Hey, Joey."

"Hey, man! Guess what!"

Chandler kneaded his temples with his thumb and forefinger. "Not really in the mood to guess, Joe."

He could almost hear Joey's frown. "You ruin everything. Phoebe's in labor!"

"Oh my God!" Fully awake now, Chandler stood up. "Where are you?"

"We're at the hospital, we just got here. They took her back into the delivery room to get her settled in. How soon can you be here?"

"I'm on my – ah, shit. I don't know. I've got work to do."

"Dude! Babies! About to shoot outta your friend! Can't work wait?"

"No, it can't, not today. Look, I'll be there as soon as I possibly can. Tell Phoebe I love her."

"Okay, we'll – oooowwwwwww!"

"What's wrong?"

"It's these damn sympathy pains. I – dammit!" He paused, panting audibly. "See you soon, man," he grunted.

Sympathy pains? Forehead wrinkled, Chandler dropped the phone back onto the receiver and returned to his spreadsheet, determined to finish within the hour.


"What can I get you, Pheebs?" Rachel smoothed her friend's hair back from her eyes. "Anything?"

Breathing heavily, the blonde grimaced. "No, I'm fine, I just…arrrrgh…want to get this show on the road."

Rachel smiled sympathetically. "The doctor said it wouldn't be much longer, sweetie. I'm gonna go check on Joey, okay?"

Phoebe only grunted in reply.

Two floors down, she wrapped her hand around the doorknob to Joey's room. Voices inside stopped her. Joey's, edged with pain, she recognized instantly. The other, quieter, more baritone…Ross. Instinctively, she took two steps back. What good would it do to go in there now? Would he confront her in the hospital? Or would he simply ignore her, filling the room with tension, making poor, uncomfortable Joey even more so? No, she told herself, it was no good. Sighing, she turned back toward the elevator, wondering how they would ever get this mess untangled.

She stopped at the payphone, inserted two quarters and dialed Chandler's work number. Joey had told her he had some things to do before he could get there, but it had been nearly three hours and he was nowhere to be seen. "Chandler Bing, please," she said, toying with the coin return slot on the phone. "This is Rachel Green." Musak filled her ears as she waited for him to pick up, an instrumental version of U2's "With or Without You," and she resisted the slightly crazed urge to smash the receiver against the wall. Relief washed over her when Chandler's voice ended the torture.

"Rach?"

"Hi, you. How's it going?"

He groaned. "I'm nearly finished, thank God. How's Phoebe?"

"She's fine," Rachel said. "Well, as fine as she can be, considering. Joey, apparently, has kidney stones. He's okay, too, though. I think, anyway. I went to see him, just now, but…well, Ross was there, and I didn't go in."

Chandler was quiet for a moment. "It's going to be hard, isn't it?"

She nodded silently, as if he could see her. "I don't know how we're going to handle this."

"We'll figure something out. I promise."

"I'll let you finish up. See you soon."

"Bye, Rach."

Back upstairs, she found Monica in the waiting room, freshly arrived, still clad in her work clothes.

"I just saw Pheebs, she wants to know - any word from Alice yet?" Monica asked.

"No, not yet. Did you hear about Joey?"

"No, what's up?"

"He got really sick not long after we got here. The doctor says it's kidney stones. He's downstairs, in his own room." Rachel sank into one of the uncomfortable hospital chairs and pulled her knees up to her chest, rested her chin there. "I just went down there to check on him, but…Ross was with him."

"Oh." Seemingly at a loss for words, Monica sat as well, focusing on the wall opposite them.

"Um, we weren't sure if you'd be able to get away from the restaurant."

Relieved by the topic change, Monica said, "Yeah, it took a while, but we finally got in touch with John. He needs the extra money, so he was happy to take yet another of my shifts."

"That's good." Rachel cleared her throat. "Listen, Mon, with all the stuff that's been going on, I, ah, I haven't had a chance to ask you…well, how are you doing?"

Her dark-haired friend blushed a deep red. "I guess that means that Chandler told you what happened in London, huh?"

Rachel smiled slightly. "Well, yeah, but he was only confirming my suspicions."

"Yeah. Well." She turned to Rachel. "I'm so embarrassed. I can't believe I talked myself into letting that happen. I was just, I was just so bummed out, so lonely. And Joey was so understanding, and I was drunk, and I took advantage of the circumstances." She frowned into her lap. "Silly, huh?"

"Oh, sweetie, it isn't silly to feel crappy at weddings. Everybody feels crappy at weddings."

"Yeah, but what I did could really have messed things up with me and Joey. And honestly…can I tell you a secret?"

Rachel leaned forward conspiratorially. "Of course."

Monica fiddled with a frayed edge of plastic on the chair arm. "The thing is, I was so depressed…I think I would have settled for anyone. Not just Joey, I mean."

Rachel's eyes twinkled. "Well, I guess it's lucky for me that I was with Chandler that night, huh?"

Monica snorted. "I know! Can you imagine?"

Surprised at the bright flash of possessiveness that coursed through her blood at the mere thought, Rachel said only, "Let's not."

"Yeah. Anyway, it's just so lucky that Joey understood. He's such a good friend, I would've been really upset if I'd messed that up."

"But, so, you haven't really answered my question. How are you?" Rachel watched, interested, as a dimple appeared in Monica's left cheek. "Monicaaaa…what's going on?"

"Guess who came into the restaurant for lunch this afternoon?"

"Who?"

Monica's emerging grin finally arrived. "Richard!"

"Oh my God, Mon! What happened? Did you talk to him?"

"He came back into the kitchen. I didn't have time to talk – I was trying to finish up so I could get here - but he said he had some things to tell me." She paused, reflective. "It's probably nothing, you know? Anyway, we're having dinner tomorrow night." Almost as an afterthought, she added, "At his place."

"He's cooking?"

"Yup."

"Oh, Mon. This is huge."

Monica huddled down into the uncomfortable chair. "I don't know. I don't want to get my hopes up."

"I understand. But I'm gonna go ahead and get my hopes up for you."

"Be my guest. I hope you aren't disappointed."

"I doubt I will be. That man was always crazy about you."

"Well, we'll see."

A scrub-clad Frank Jr. slid into the lobby, an enormous vein throbbing in his forehead. "The doctor says it's time! The doctor says it's time! Oh, God…." He disappeared once more, along with two nurses, into Phoebe's now-bustling room.

Monica stood. "I'm gonna try Alice again. You have the number?"

Rachel dug into her hip pocket, located the slip of paper bearing Alice's contact info and handed it to Monica, who immediately bee-lined for the payphone. Although she'd had next to zero experience with the process of labor and delivery, Rachel was fairly certain that it could still be hours before anything significant happened, so she riffled through the stack of year-old magazines next to her, settling finally on an ancient copy of Better Homes and Gardens. She'd just begun skeptically eyeing an article about scrapbooking when she sensed someone's eyes on her. Unnerved, she turned in her seat to discover Ross hovering in the doorway, his discomfort evident. Caught off guard, he seemed to battle with himself over how to behave, ultimately opting for a non-reaction and simply shoved his hands into his pockets. Eyes downcast, he turned his back to her, facing Monica as she hung up the telephone. Rachel turned back to the magazine, but it was no use; the article she'd already found boring failed to register, even after she'd re-read the first sentence six times. Giving up, she tossed the magazine back onto the rack and left in search of something to drink, subconsciously choosing the least convenient exit, which was incidentally not occupied by any angry ex-boyfriends.


Chandler rounded the corner, out of breath, and almost ran over Rachel, who was waiting for the machine to cough up her Diet Coke. "H – Hey!" he panted, "Did I miss anything?"

Rachel bent and scooped up her soda before she turned to press a chaste kiss against his cheek. "Nope. The show only got started about fifteen minutes ago. It's gonna be a long night."

"So I guess I can't get in to see Phoebe at the moment, huh?"

"Not likely."

"What about Joey?"

"I just stopped in there a couple minutes ago – he's sleeping," she said.

"Well, in that case, you wanna sneak back downstairs with me while I burn a few more minutes off of my Countdown to Cancer?"

She resisted the urge to smile. "How early in the relationship is too early to start nagging you to quit?"

"I don't have a lot of relationship experience to use as a reference, but I'd say…our thirtieth wedding anniversary?" Realizing belatedly what he'd actually said, shock and slight embarrassment paraded cartoonishly across his face. "I mean – "

Rachel smirked. "It's okay, Chandler, it was just a joke, I realize that. I promise not to order the invitations for at least another two weeks."

Relieved, he toed the ground sheepishly. "Thanks."

She threaded her arm through his. "C'mon, Mr. Green, let's go pump your blood full of toxins."


One cigarette dragged into two, and then three, and before long, ten minutes had turned into nearly forty-five, and Rachel realized that Monica was probably wondering where the hell she'd disappeared to. Reluctantly, she and Chandler found themselves swallowed up by the bustling hospital once more.

They found the Geller siblings huddled up together in the near corner of the waiting room. Their conversation ceased the moment Rachel and Chandler crossed through the doorway. Ross eyed them both disdainfully while Monica feigned an extreme interest in the cuff of her shirt. "Hey, guys," she muttered, clearly unsure of how to deal with the situation.

Ross cleared his throat and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. He didn't speak. Sighing inwardly, Rachel circled around and seated herself on the opposite side of Monica. Chandler muttered something about Joey and slipped back into the hallway. Rachel leaned back, irritated, and pressed her head against the wall behind her. The silence descended heavily around her shoulders, crept down her throat, settled somewhere behind her ribcage.

"Chandler didn't have to leave, you know," Ross muttered.

Rachel's head shot up. What the hell? "What?"

"I said, Chandler didn't have to leave, you know," he repeated sarcastically. "I could have."

She gritted her teeth, annoyed. "Oh, that's mature, Ross. Very adult."

"You know what, Rachel? Don't start with me about what's 'adult' here. It seems to me that an 'adult' wouldn't have lied about what was going on. An 'adult' would have been honest."

"Well, excuse the hell out of me for wanting to wait for a more appropriate time to break the news to you. Next time, I won't bother trying to be considerate."

"Please, spare me the considerate crap. We both know that being 'considerate' was not your motive for avoiding the whole truth" With each volley, the volume of their argument escalated.

"Oh, really? Well, tell me then, O Mighty Sage, He Who is All-Knowing, what exactly was my motive?"

"You know good and damn well that what the two of you are doing is wrong. Nothing more, nothing less. It's against the rules. And the only reason you didn't tell me about it last night is because you were feeling guilty, and you were too cowardly to be honest." A muscle in his jaw was twitching. "How could you do this to me, right now?"

"Okay, you know what, Ross? Believe it or not, not everything is about you. How dare you come at me with this self-righteous bullshit! A week ago, you were standing in front of a minister, ready to commit the rest of your life to someone else. How can you sit there and preach to me about these imaginary 'rules?' Tell me, would it be any different if you were married right now, the way you were supposed to be? Would you still be angry, would you still be sitting there, holding Emily's hand, all self-righteous, acting like somehow, what's going on between Chandler and me is some sort of deliberate attack on you? Huh?"

"My relationship with Emily is completely different! She isn't your best friend!"

"That's not what I meant, and you know it!"

"You guys," Monica timidly interrupted, "um, people are starting to stare."

Belatedly, Rachel realized once more where they were. Huffing, she sat back and forced herself to breathe, releasing the arms of the chair from her white-knuckled grasp. Ross stood and shoved his hands into his pockets, turning away from her. Slowly, activity in the waiting room returned to its previous pace, as the other visitors shook their heads in obvious disdain.

Ross turned to face her. "This discussion isn't over."

Two-thirds of her wanted to snap back at him, solely for the sake of arguing. The smaller part encouraged common sense. Think of Phoebe, it soothed. She choked back the words she wanted to say, said instead, "I'm going downstairs." Without waiting for an answer, she stalked out of the room and headed straight back to the ground floor. As she'd suspected, a haggard-looking Chandler was hunched just outside the front door, stubbing out a cigarette with one hand and lighting a second with the other. She stepped in front of him and snatched the freshly lit stick directly from his mouth.

"Hey!" he exclaimed. "I thought we agreed that the hassling couldn't start for several decades!"

In reply, she stuck the cigarette between her lips and inhaled deeply.

Chandler's eyebrows soared as she coughed out a puff of acrid smoke. "That was unexpected."

Her eyes watering from the burning in her chest, she slid down the wall and dropped to the ground beside him. "Just don't tell my Dad," she said, her voice raspy. As an afterthought, she added, "Or Monica."

Chandler fumbled in his pocket for the pack of smokes. "Deal."


"Rach?" Twilight was descending around them. After several hundred annoyed looks from hospital security, the pair had embarked on a search for a new place to loiter. Now they were seated outside a crowded coffeehouse a few blocks from the hospital, nursing tepid cups of liquid caffeine.

"Yeah?" Rachel slid her gaze from the cluster of teenagers huddled at the next table and focused on Chandler's exhausted expression.

"Um, I was wondering…what you said last night – right before Ross walked in – did, ah, did you mean that, um, the way it sounded like you meant it?" Before she'd had a chance to answer, he rushed on: "I mean, if you didn't, if you just meant, like, you know, you care about me, I mean, that's fine, it's totally fine, I'm not trying to rush you or anything, I just, it sounded like you might have meant something different, and I just wanted to make sure, because I really hate assuming anything, and, well, I just – "

"Chandler. Whoa. Slow down, there, tiger."

"Yeah, yeah, I figured. You didn't mean love love, I knew that, I just wanted to make sure we were on the same – "

"Chandler! Babbling! Time out!" She grinned at him, reached across the table to stroke the back of his hand, touched and more than a little amused by the blush creeping up his neck. "Honey, I meant slow down your speech."

"I know, I – wait, what?"

"If you'd take a break from the 13-year-old girl impression, I could answer your question."

"Notice here that I'm not laughing."

"Chandler," she began, affectionately, "what I said last night, I meant. Exactly the way I said it. And before you say anything, I know it's awfully fast. But I can't help the way I feel. It's just there, and I can't – no, I don't want to – hide it. I'm finished playing games."

"Wow."

"And hey, look, I didn't say that because I was expecting you to say it back. I know it's soon. I don't expect you to feel the same way. I didn't actually intend to blurt it out like that last night, it just happened. I felt it, and before I could stop myself, I said it." She nervously traced the pattern in the wrought-iron table with her index finger. "I've scared you, haven't I? I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, that's the last thing I wanted to do – I – can we just, can we just pretend I didn't say it?"

"Now who's the 13-year-old girl?"

"Very funny."

"Look, Rach, if you'd scared me, I probably wouldn't be sitting here right now. In fact, I'd probably be avoiding you at all costs. This is me we're talking about. Chandler. I'm not known for my brave, mature behavior toward women." He pushed his cup aside, leaning toward her. "Tell me: Do I look scared to you?"

"I just don't want you to feel pressured."

"I don't."

"Promise?"

"Swear to God."

"Good."

"Are we okay?"

Relieved, she smiled across the table at him. "Yeah, we're okay."

"All right, then." He glanced at his watch. "We should probably get back."

"Yeah. Back to the Waiting Room o' Fun." She dug in her purse for a couple of ones, tucked them underneath the napkin holder.

Chandler stood, offering her a hand, which she accepted. She took a few steps back toward the hospital, but he didn't move. At his resistance, she turned back. "What's up?"

"I love you, too, Rach."

Cold, bristling shock prickled at her pulse points. "Are – are you sure?" she asked, nervously hopeful.

He stepped closer, tugging her closer at their joined hands. "I love you, Rachel Green." She studied his face, so full of honest sincerity, and then timidly slipped her arms around his neck. His breath hot against her forehead, he continued, mantra-like, "I love you, I love you, I love you…."

As warmth rushed over her, she purposefully melted against him, pressing her face into his chest, his whispered chant drowning out all of the voices that swirled around them, all along the busy sidewalk.