Sleight of Hand

A/N: Well, I must say, this chapter is incredibly special to me. Its a very rare instance where I really, really love how it came out. This chapter is probably one of my favorite things I've written. I wrote the second part last week in my notebook after waking up one morning and it just all came out while I was in bed. And I just wrote the first part a few hours ago. And I must say, Im so incredibly happy with this :-) And that almost never happens! But I just hope that you guys like it as much as I do.

This chapter rated R

He didn't want to approach her at her apartment. That seemed too prodding, an invasion of her territory. He needed neutral ground, somewhere where a meeting could be considered random, even if he had carefully planned it. So the next evening, he staked out at the only place he knew he'd see her; the mail room.

He paced the room, leaning against the counter every-so-often to look out the doorway for her. He listened for any sound of her entering the building, but heard nothing but silence. After nearly fifteen minutes of deliberate waiting, he heard the front door creak open. The footsteps inevitably leading toward his direction. He was almost scared to see her again, but he knew he had to say something.

She entered the room, and he let out a breath that he hadn't even noticed he'd been holding. Two steps in, she noticed him. She stopped cold, staring at him, fighting to find words but failing. Her mouth opened, but nothing came out. He noticed she looked a bit more haggard than usual- her hair in limp curls, falling out of a messy ponytail. Bags under her eyes- she must not have gotten any sleep. But one thing stood out to him.

She wasn't wearing her wedding ring.

"Rachel," he began, taking a step forward. Everything he'd rehearsed in front of his mirror, the whole speech of apology beseeching her forgiveness for ever starting what happened last night slipped out of his mind. He could only think of one thing to say. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be," she said softly, shaking her head. "Ross . . . I'm just as much at fault here as you. You don't have to apologize."

"But you were so upset," he said before he could stop himself. He sighed, and looked down at the ground. No matter what she said, he still felt guilty for last night, and he probably always would. But he felt a soft fingertip lift his chin up, and found himself staring right into her eyes, her face mere inches away.

"It wasn't you. You didn't upset me."

He pulled away, still not convinced. She looked away from him, and he noticed that her eyes became glossy. She was fighting back tears. All he wanted to do was embrace her, but he couldn't. He needed to hear more, and she sensed that.

"Look, you know how I said I was fine with Barry leaving, and that I didn't care anymore?", she asked. He nodded. "How I was 'numb'?"

"Yes . . ."

She looked down at the ground, looking almost embarrassed to continue.

"Well I'm not," she whispered. "I'm not okay that my life has fallen apart. I'm not okay that I live alone in a stupid fucking apartment with not one goddamn person to talk to." Her voice was gaining volume. "And I'm not okay that one night with a guy I just met showed me so much that I've been missing out on for my entire life."

And with that last statement, she broke down. He immediately moved forward, letting her fall limply against his chest as he encircled her in his arms. He stroked her hair and rocked her back and forth, whispering to her that everything would be alright, that it would all work out. Even if he wasn't sure of that himself.

He wasn't sure how long they stood there. It felt like hours- days, even. It was quite awhile before the sobs that shook her body melted away into quiet sniffling. Her face was pressed against his chest, and her arms had eventually found their way around his middle, squeezing for dear life. He felt as though she'd be a mess on the floor if he wasn't there to keep her up. But when she sniffed away the last of her tears, she looked up at him.

"Thank you."

They stared at each other for a few seconds, before he tentatively bent down and kissed her. He meant it to be a quick, soft kiss, but she surprised him by deepening it. It felt like CPR; like they could finally breath again. Like they were coming back to life. After a few moments, they pulled away, keeping their arms around each other.

"Will you come upstairs with me?" she asked quietly. He nodded, and taking her hand in his, he led the way.

-----

"I'm gonna take a shower," she said weakly upon entering the apartment. He followed her into her bedroom, since she seemed to need his support just to walk the twenty feet there. She left for the adjoining bathroom, closing the door behind her, and he sat back on her bed as he heard her turn the water on. He felt far beyond uncomfortable in this situation. Why the hell had she asked him to come up if he was just going to sit there?

Almost as an answer to the question, she emerged from the bathroom, fully naked and wet from the shower. Just staring at him. He was a bit startled, but also a bit disgusted that he couldn't keep his eyes off her. He stood up from the bed, and watched as beads of water slid down her body, over her shoulders, between her breasts, against the curve of her hips . . .

Her face looked determined, defiant. Suddenly, she moved forward, grasping his hand in hers, and pulling him back into the bathroom. The skin of his hand tingled with the contact. She shut the door behind them to keep the cool air out, letting the steam from the shower fill and warm the room.

Her eyes drilling holes into his, she slowly wrapped her arms around his neck, urging him down to meet her lips. He obliged, capturing her lips with his, settling his hands on her waist and letting them run up and down her wet back. She felt so . . . real. He wasn't even sure what that meant, but it had been the first adjective to enter his mind. She felt real. Honest. Genuine.

She pushed her tongue into his mouth, deepening the kiss but maintaining a slow, easeful cadence. It wasn't so much about any heat or passion of the moment as it was about them both surrendering in defeat. To everything. To their lives. Their tongues weren't fighting for control over the kiss, but rather massaged each other carefully and deliberately, searching out the other's mouth. It was as though they were creating their own form of sympathy for each other.

When he felt her hands slide down his chest and begin to finger the buttons of his shirt, he halted his actions.

Was this right? Would he be taking advantage of her?

"Rachel . . .", he breathed, breathless from the kiss. He meant it as more of a question than a statement, begging for some sort of explanation as to why she was doing this. She didn't have to, she had nothing to prove to him.

All her got in reply was her looking into his eyes, showing a bashful plea to continue. With a simple nod, and still a bit uncertain, he bent his head back down and reattatched his lips to hers, letting her continue to undo the buttons of his shirt. After rolling it off his shoulders and removing his white undershirt, she ran her hands over his chest until her hands slid further down and found his belt. After fumbling around, trying to undo it while still making out with him, she pushed both his pants and his boxers to the floor, sighing in relif when he was fully unclothed and she could return to just holding him.

With her arms around his waist and gripping at his back, she subtly pulled them towards the shower that continued to run. His hands finally got bolder and she moaned out loud as he pulled her towards him, pressing his groin into her stomach.

She somehow managed to walk them backwards into the shower, knowing when to stop only when she felt the cool tile of the wall press against her back. They continued kissin gunderneath the warm downpout from the showerhead. He ran his hands slowly up her sides, grazing the sides of her breasts with his thumbs. She pulled him closer to her.

In one motion, he let his hands slide down, underneath her ass, picking her up and leaning her against the wall. She wrapped her legs around his waist as he broke their kiss to nibble and suck at her neck. One of his hands moved between her legs and played with her.

"Ross . . . please," she begged, barely even able to control her breathing enough to form coherent words. He pulled his head up, looking at her closed eyelids and the way her chest rose and fell heavily with her erratic breathing. He rested his forehead against hers, their noses almost touching in the space between them, and he closed his eyes as well.

He pushed into her with a solid thrust, causing her to bite her lip and throw her head back against the wall. He bent his neck and kissed her chest as he began thrusting in and out, unable to help increasing speed so quickly. She tried to move her own hips to meet him, hugging him tightly to her body, feeling like it was impossible for him to be too deep. Within a few minutes, they were both already gasping for air, fighting to hold on to each other at the water continued to drench them.

With one last hard, deep trust, she was gone. As he heard her final, resounding moan and felt her involuntarily contract around him, he was sent off the edge as well, his muscles giving way as he relaxed against her like dead weight, pinning her to the wall.

After a few minutes of recovery, Ross regained his strength and shut off the shower. He was surprised when Rachel, her eyes looking as though she were in some sort of daze, simply left the bathroom. He followed her into the bedroom and saw her sitting on the edge of her bed, staring forward into space, not caring that her sheets were getting soaked. He sat down next to her, and felt her release her weight into his side. He bent down and softly kissed her, lingering for a second.

"You want to go to sleep?", he whispered carefully, his lips grazing her ear as he choose his words. She nodded.

He pulled back the covers, situating himself beneath them and bringing her to rest atop himself. He ran his hands over her slick body, beginning to feel sleep overtake him. But before he could fall completely under, he heard something. A muffled noise.

Rachel was crying again, softly, attempting to smother her sobs into his chest. He almost expected himself to immediately feel guilty again, until he realized that she could not be crying because of him taking advantage of her. This wasn't his fault. This had to be something about her.

She hated that she was crying. What awkward timing. And yet, she couldn't help it. No one had ever made her feel like that before. In all her years of marriage, she'd experienced anything this passionate, this desperate, this hungry. She felt like a fool for being married to Barry for so many years, for losing out and missing everything she could have had. And she had to learn it from this man that she barely knew. Only she knew it was no longer that simple.

"Shh," he cooed, rubbing her back consolingly and kissing the top of her head. "It's going to be okay."

In seeing her unravel, in so many different ways, Ross himself came undone. His tears came silently as he held her, protected her, for fear that his own sobbing would only upset her more.

If only everything could be easier. If only they didn't have all this fucking baggage weighing them down.

If only everything was okay.