Sorry for the delay in posting this chapter. We are now totally off the storyline as seen in the show. As we move farther away I am having a harder time writing because before I had the show to base chapters on, now it's all up to me. I will try to get the next chapter up sooner as it is already partially written. I have already written an Epilogue too. I see this story as going to about 15 chapters, but don't hold me to that … The one thing I do promise is that I will finish this story, and soon.

I dedicate this chapter to those great authors who started fantastic fanfics and never finished them. Some of my most favorites are:

Can't Fight the Night by Tina

Crazy Love, a FANTASTIC story by Silverseahorse

And Sometimes the Best Secrets Are Better Left Unsaid by Rachgreengeller

And as always, reviews are very much appreciated ...

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Ask yourself this question: Have you ever truly been in love? The kind of love that conquers all problems, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres, no matter what? He thought that he had … he was wrong. Lately, he had found his foundational beliefs shaken to their very core. He thought he had loved only three women in his lifetime. The last four weeks of living in her midst had shown this fallacy to be self evident … it had only ever been one, her. When you are fortunate enough to get this close to someone you get to know them intimately, their little quirks, their moods, those things that make them the way they are … the reason you love them. As each day passed he seemed to love her more, if that was at all possible. But he knew that something was wrong. The more his love for her grew, the more she distanced herself from him.

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It is 9 PM …

Ross sits on his couch, alone; his only companions are a nearly empty glass of wine and a book in his hand. The book was opened to page 1,240. He read to himself:

"Trust, noun - Total confidence in the integrity, ability, and good character of another. To depend upon, rely. To believe in. To rely upon or depend on confidently."

He then moved his finger further down the page. Finding what he was looking for he continued …

"Trustworthy, adjective -To be worthy of trust".

As he sat there considering the words he allowed his mind to recall their last conversation. She had left him only an hour before. The place seemed so cold, so hollow and so empty without her.

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Two hours earlier … 7 PM

The sun was preparing for its long nights slumber as Ross entered his apartment. The exhaustion that he had normally felt had been replaced by feelings of anticipation every night that he came home from work. For four weeks he had felt an urgency, like a salmon swimming upstream, to hurry; to get home at all cost. He wondered what they would eat or watch or talk about in those hours between his arrival and that moment when they had to sleep. Those few precious hours made the rest of the day worth living. As he entered the apartment he was not prepared for the scene before him. The screaming smoke alarm was the first indication that something was wrong, followed by the smoke exiting the kitchen. As he entered the kitchen it was all he could do not to laugh. Throwing his coat and briefcase on the couch her came to her aid. He ran to the oven, the source of the smoke and turned it off. Grabbing oven mitts he grabbed the burning mass that was their dinner and set in the sink and ran cool water over it. He then ran around the apartment opening windows in an attempt to let the smoke escape. Returning to the kitchen he found a tearful Rachel, struggling to maintain her composure.

"Rachel, it's all right. We'll clean this up and order some takeout, or we can go out if you like."

"No, Ross. I wanted to make dinner by myself … I should have known that it would have been a total disaster. "

"Don't be so hard on yourself. This could have happened to anyone." He replied, somewhat insincerely. Ross knew how bad of a cook she was. It took skill to make dinner this badly.

She raised her eyes from the floor and looked at him. Instead of stopping, her tears only increased. As he watched her condition degrade he stared, in what appeared to be slow-motion as her lips parted and she began to speak.

"Ross, we need to talk."

Time stopped. Those words, those terrible words. "We need to talk." Anyone who has had any experience with relationships knows the significance of those words. 9 out of 10 times it usually means bad news, very bad news. He had deluded himself into believing that things were going well. Those four words brought him back to reality. "We need to talk". This conversation required that they sit, facing each other. They moved to the couch.

"Alright Rachel, what would you like to talk about?"

As a lawyer you are taught never to ask a question that you do not already know the answer to. Ross would have made a good lawyer. He already knew the answer to his question; he just wanted to hear it from her lips, those beautiful lips. She carried a large manila envelope, one that he recognized all too well. It had sat in his bureau for quite some time. He had gotten to the point where he had never thought they would ever be needed. Again, he was wrong. He kicked himself for not throwing them away.

Rachel could not look into his eyes, instead looking down at the envelope. She opened it and pulled out the instrument of their destruction. This time there would be no impassioned plea for mercy, there would be no reasoning it out. There would be no last-minute revelations of love or desire. She knew how much he loved her. She had to save him … save him from himself and from her.

What happened next had to be rehearsed … but it wasn't. The pair had been down this road before. The whole scene played out like an old silent movie. They knew what was happening and what was going to happen without saying as much as a word. She handed him the knife and he took it. He looked at the instrument in a business-like fashion, making sure that it was complete and ready to be thrust into their hearts. Convinced that she had signed correctly he placed them on the table and looked at her, his eyes pleading with her to look at him, to tell him that it would all be alright. She failed him … she couldn't do it; she didn't have either the strength or courage to alleviate his grief. He looked down and lifted the pen in his hand. Twice he signed his name, twice he shed a tear. His dream of reconciliation was at an end. He gathered up the instrument of death, inserted it into the envelope and closed it.

The future that he had hoped for had vanished, replaced by the coldness of both the unknown and of loneliness.

He again looked up at her, hoping she would meet his eyes. This time she had built up the courage to do it and for the first time met his. Her eyes were red, her face streaked with black tears.

"I'm sorry" is all that she could say.

"I know."

"Ross, please forgive me."

"Why should I forgive you, you've done nothing wrong. You have to do what is best for you. We both want what is best for you.

"Ross, do you think this is best for me?"

He looked away and cried, silently. All of his energy went into trying to conceal his condition. She put her hand gently on his back. He was electrified at the feeling of her touch.

"Ross, are you OK?"

After a short pause he whispered to himself, barely audible to her "To thine own self be true …" He had to be honest with himself. He had to tell her the truth.

"No. No, I don't think this is best for you and no, I am not alright. I'll get you a copy of the papers from my lawyer. You will have written proof of our divorce this time."

She couldn't do it anymore. She had to lower her eyes. If she hadn't he would have seen through, into her soul, into the depths of her sadness and despair. It was something she could not allow him to see. She loved him. To see it would have killed him. He saw her eyes and knew. He rose from the couch and headed towards his bedroom. It only took him a moment to return.

"I have something for you. Please take it."

And at that he handed her an envelope. It was small and sealed with a wax seal.

"Rachel, I know that you have to go. Please don't read this until you get back to Monica's, please." He begged.

"What, what is it?" She asked.

"It's for you. I know that you are hurting. Please let me help. I wrote this the day you moved in and had it sealed ever since. I knew when you moved in that this could happen. Do you remember the conversation we had that night you moved in?"

"I remember." She replied.

"Let me help you pack your things …"

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An hour earlier … 6 PM

"Rachel, would you like some cream and sugar?"

"Thanks Monica, just cream please."

"What about you, Phoebe?"

"No thanks, I'll take my tea straight. So Rachel, it's been a month since you moved in with Ross, how is it going between the two of you?"

Sitting around Monica's kitchen table the three friends eyed each other. Rachel's eyes traveled between her friends who intently waited for her reply.

"Things are going great. We've not fought or even had an argument since I moved in."

"So then you've decided to live with Ross permanently?" Asked Monica.

Rachel had never been very good at keeping secrets from her friends, especially her sister-in-law. She eyed them and then looked down at her coffee. Monica had her answer.

"Rachel, NO! Please tell me that you are not going to leave him! Why would you do that? You said that things were great and you love each other so much!"

Rachel sat there like a young girl, guilty of some parental violation, unable to look her mother in the eye. It was as if she felt guilty about having done something bad or at least for being caught doing it. As usual, she tried to deal with a difficult situation in her own way … to run.

"Monica, I ... I have to go."

"Rachel! Please for once stop and deal with your problems instead of running away from them!

And into the New York dusk she ran … she had to prepare. She had to prepare for their execution.

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The present time … 9 PM

Ross was brought out of his reminiscence by a knock on the door. He rose to answer it, naively hoping that she had returned. As he opened the door he found his sister … and his returning roommate.

"How are you doing Ross? We were worried about you." Replied Monica.

"Monica, look at me, look at my eyes. What do they tell you?"

Monica felt saddened by his abruptness. She looked into his eyes for a moment and then dropped hers to the floor.

"Monica, I am sorry, so utterly sorry. I just got divorced for the third time, and I'm only in my early 30's! To top it off I just got dumped by the woman of my dreams, the woman I thought would be with me until death."

He looked down and rubbed his forehead …

"How is my ex-wife doing?"

"She's doing as well as can be expected I guess. Rachel told us what happened."

With genuine concern on her face she approached her brother and raised herself on her tiptoes, struggling to get her petite arms around his lofty neck.

"I'm so sorry Ross. I had so many hopes and dreams for you both. I love you both but I have to be honest, I'm a little pissed at Rachel right now. How could she do this to you? She was the one who suggested that you get married in Las Vegas! She was the one who gave you false hopes by not signing the divorce papers! Now she unilaterally decides to break your heart, again! How many more times will you be able to stand up again after you fall down? You and Rachel have been through more in four years then most people go through in a lifetime. How Ross, how are you going to survive this?"

"You know Monica, I don't know why I was so lucky to get you as a sister. I love you so much."

Turning his head he addressed Phoebe …

"… and I love you too Phoebe. You are also my sister."

Giving his sister a gentle hug he released her and wiping a tear asked them to sit on the couch while he sat on the apothecary table. He looked at his sister and gently took her hand in his. Turning to Phoebe, he took hers too. Gently caressing the back of their hands he asked them for help …

"Monica, Phoebe, I need to talk to you. You both know how much I love that woman. I told her that I loved her and I wanted the best for her. If I really meant what I said then this is the time that I need to show it. We talked about the possibility of this happening when she moved in, now we have to deal with the consequences."

He looked at Phoebe and then back to Monica …

"I need you to be her best friends and be there for her, regardless of what has just happened here. On the surface this may seem like Rachel left me because she can't trust me but I've got a feeling there more to this than meets the eye. There is something that she will not talk about. I can't help if she won't tell me what's wrong. I just hope that Rachel can get the help she needs. She deserves to be happy …"

His eyes then turned downward signaling his acknowledgment of the present and the implications of them not being together. He continued …

"Do you remember when I slept with Chloe and how angry we were at each other? Well that is not going to happen this time. We have changed and matured." He looked at Monica. "Do you remember how you were caught between your brother and your best friend? I realize that Rachel and I put you all in a very uncomfortable position … that is not going to happen again."

Ross then paused as he looked between them into space.

"When we discussed the possibility of getting a divorce we also talked about what the consequences would be. While this has been difficult on both of us, the hardest part is yet to come. Rachel is a beautiful woman; she can have any man she wants. I just don't want to be around when she decides to "move on". I've watched in dread as she dated other men. It's just too damn painful! I want to be with her and I can't be! It will torment me to watch it happen all over again."

Ross then imagined how Rachel would react to him dating other women …

"If I really do love Rachel then I would not want her to see me dating other women either. Don't you remember how she reacted to Julie, to Bonnie and Emily? I don't want to cause her any more pain. I have no desire to be with anyone right now but if I ever do I'll have to be discreet about it. This may inevitably cause some of us to have to distance ourselves from our group of friends."

Phoebe chose this time to interject …

"Ross, yes, it was hell watching the both of you fight and being in the middle of it but we want to be here for you. If it was alright with you I was going to come back and stay here but if you want to be alone, well, I'll understand."

"Phoebe, I said it before; you are like a sister to me. You are always welcome in my house. Please think of it as your own. You can stay here as long as you want, even after your apartment is fixed if you wish. Heck, I could really use the company right now. You make a wonderful roommate. Do you need help getting your stuff?"

"Ross, thanks, but Monica and I can handle it. Rachel is over at Monica's … maybe its best if just the two of us went over. You understand, don't you?

"Of course. I'll see you later. Here is your key. Welcome home Phoebe."

At that moment the phone decided to ring …

"Hello."

"Ross, its mom, we need to talk. We have a problem …"

Ross looked at his sister with much concern. Monica knew something was wrong. He had thought he was ready for what lay ahead. Instead, life would ask much more of him, much more. He would be asked to serve, to sacrifice, to comfort … until it hurt and then some. He turned to his sister …

"It's Mom. Something's wrong with Dad …"

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Exhausted, sad, guilty; these are all terms that could be used to describe how she looked and felt as she sat on the balcony, thinking about the homicide she'd just committed. She had suggested the marriage in Las Vegas. She had not signed the papers. She had agreed to move in with him. She had decided to end their union. Now she reaped the whirlwind, alone.

The air was chilly; she was ill-prepared for the cold. Instinctively she reached her hands to the pockets of her jeans, hopeful that they would warm her hands. As her right hand entered her pocket she felt it … the envelope. She removed it and looked at it. "For Rachel" is all it said. She was tired but curious as to what he had given to her. She gently opened the wax seal and removed a simple one page letter, written the day she had moved in with him. His writing could be best described as a combination of that of a doctor and a 6 year-old child. She read the letter to herself …

"Rachel,

If you are reading this it is safe to assume that our marriage has failed. I hope it wasn't because I didn't try. I pray that I have caused you no more hurt. I do not have to tell you how I feel about you … I think that you already know. When we first started dating four years ago we took a leap of faith. Unfortunately, it did not work out and I hurt the one I loved. Our breakup caused our beloved friends much pain and misery. I will hope that we will not let that happen again.

We have been friends for a long time and for a while you honored me by calling me your best. After an appropriate period of mourning I hope that you will once again be able to call me your best friend. Whatever happens I want you to know that I will always be there, I will always be your friend … until you tell me that I am not.

At least we can say that we gave it our best shot …

Ross"

It was fortunate for Rachel that he had used a ball-point pen to write the letter, her tears would have washed anything else away. The last few words of his letter would haunt her "…at least we can say that we gave it our best shot."