AN: This chapter is dedicated to 2good2betrue - I'll be there for you too.

Enjoy!

When the rose petals brush the still waters
When the sun grazes your skin like blades of grass
Will you still love me?

When the sand shifts upon the camel's stride
When the wine spills in a never-ending spiral
Will you still fight for me?

Another failed attempt at poetry. Ross crumpled the paper in frustration, and tossed it into the wastebasket. He should never have given up that career in basketball. Follow your dreams, they said. Stupid. Falling back into the jagged rocks that were his bed, he glanced at the analog clock perched above the door: 2 a.m.. Two hours since he felt Rachel's seductive lips on his, pulling him into a meadow of lust. The Shangri-La of love. It was absolutely sublime, and he didn't want it to end. He had to send her home, however, as it was apparent that she needed as much sleep as possible. Even though she resisted, Ross told her it was for the best, and that he and Monica would be fine. Still, he missed Rachel. The next time she came in, he would surprise her with a poem, labored by him with passion. Yet, one after another, each piece of written art was tossed into the trash, as it had to be perfect, just like her. She had been through so much, and it was only customary that Ross take the burden off of her as her boyfriend. A surplus of grief plowed through Ross's heart at that moment, however. His sister. He hadn't seen her since she had stormed out of the room that afternoon; no one would reveal anything to him yet. Not even Chandler, who spent most of the day with him. They were all hiding something, and Ross needed to know what.

Ribbons dance through the fissure
Eroding the scarlet quarry
My angel lies
Fireflies frolic
Forgotten
I shall lead the charge
To glory
To fame
To your love

Again, a three-pointer into the trash. It's a shame that there is infinitely nothing romantic about dinosaurs.

A nurse walked into Ross's room holding an IV. "Mr. Geller, why aren't you asleep yet?"

Ross dropped his pencil into the tray in front of him and glimpsed at her, peeved. "I've been asleep for almost two days! If it weren't for you people, I'd be doing laps around the parking lot!" He crossed his arms and fell back into his bed, breathing under a low growl.

The nurse quickly shot him out of the sky with her glare. "Calm down, Mr. Geller. If you want, later you may go see your sister in once we put her in recovery."

Ross rolled his eyes. "Yeah, alright." He picked up his pencil and began trying to write as his caretaker left.

Soon. Very soon.

The air became stagnant. The stench of blood still hung around, making breathing almost impossible in this thick zephyr. Or, perhaps, it was all in her mind. Either way, Rachel stepped into her now atrocious apartment, spotting the crimson floor in front of her. Dropping to her knees, she speculated as to why Monica would ever hurt herself like that. Was it Ross? No… there had to be more to it. Crawling to the couch, Rachel placed a finger on the small steel razor that rested on the now dyed-red rug. Wet to the touch. Rachel's wailing could not be stifled. Things were becoming more and more complicated, and Ross was no longer the only victim. Despite him getting better, he was in emotional hell between the influx of bad news. He would still be Ross, but not the Ross that she remembered. It was painful to even think of it. They needed to push through, otherwise no one would be happy again. As the group fell apart, the thread of hope kept them on the edge of the cliff. They had to hold on for just a little longer.

Cleaning up the mess that threatened to break down her walls, Rachel sat on her bed, pulling out Ross's drawing. This was the strangest black magic. He knew about her dream. He had drawn exactly what had happened. How the hell was that even possible? It had to be an outrageous coincidence. It had to be. Unless all of this was just her imagination. The sad part was that it was not.

Putting the heartwarming picture on her nightstand, Rachel pulled the fresh covers over her feeble body. They were cold and almost alien. Knowing that Monica would not be there when she woke up, it scared her beyond belief. After several minutes of gazing at the photo of her, Ross, and Ben, however, she slipped off into the land of Nod.

The Promised Land was lit ablaze with light green fire. Stepping down the polished sterling silver steps, Rachel immediately realized this was another dream; hopefully a good one, since these were the only things keeping her going at this point. Stepping through the barrier, the room she had descended upon carried large portraits upon it's marble walls, each adorned with bright red tapestries. Oil paintings of her and her betrothed, kissing in the church of doves. As she strolled forward in her duchess satin wedding gown that hugged her curves ever so lovingly, she caught two gorgeous cherry oak thrones ahead of her. They sat atop even more large steps, which were now aureate golden and engraved with blossoming lilies. What seemed like millions of people rubbernecked toward her, raging with envy. Rachel could not tell if she was smiling or not; but it did not matter. She was happy. She thought of this moment for years, and now she was experiencing it, even if it is only a dream. Sauntering towards her knight in shining armor, who, of course, was none other than Ross, she melted the glossy steps beneath her like the ice the night before. It was all because of him. Her champion. As they reached arms-length, the heat made her skin crawl. He took her into his embrace for a final time, and as he smiled, a cacophony of screeching noises penetrated the pearly gates of the church. Rachel never wanted this to end, but sadly, it had to.

Rousing instantly to her cold room, Rachel quivered in her pajamas. Her meager clothing did not bring the warmth that he did. She strenuously picked up her blaring alarm clock and slammed the dismiss button. It was just not worth it anymore to wake up. Grudgingly, she made her way towards the bathroom and began getting ready for work. Another long day of being Joanna's slave. The only thing that Rachel could cling onto was seeing Ross tonight.

Soon. Very soon.

"Are you ready to see your sister, Mr. Geller?" The nurse pulled in a wheelchair for Ross, who was more than ready to see Monica. Pulling it over to him, Ross's doctor walked in, writing on his clipboard.

"Yeah." Ross grunted in return. The nurse positioned the chair for him so that all he really needed to do was fall off the bed, but even that would take all of his strength.

"Remember, Mr. Geller, this is not hospital protocol. Usually it takes more than four days for someone with an injury like yours to even come out of comatose, let alone try and move around so quickly. Since you do seem to be doing better, though, we have made an exception." His doctor began rambling on about procedure, which Ross simply drowned out and focused on moving into the wheelchair.

Ross flung his legs off the side of the bed, which caused excruciating pain. He needed to tough it out, however, as they would keep him in that stupid bed if they saw through his façade. Wheezing, he lifted himself into the chair. The cheap vinyl leather felt rough against his hospital gown, and the cold aluminum clashed against his scalding hot hide. After several seconds of torture from shifting positions, his body began to calm down. As Ross was wheeled to a room to the back of the ward, the atmosphere became foggy. The dozens of hospital staff walking past him looked and felt like zombies. He tried to ignore their seemingly haunting expressions, but could not. Luckily, they had already reached Monica's room. Ross took the deepest breath he could as the nurse opened the door for him. A chilling rush of air blasted him, sucking the warmth from the hallway. Once he entered the room, the smell of bleach and formaldehyde revolted his senses. Craning his head slowly to the left, Ross spotted Monica, and stiffened. She was asleep, or possibly unconscious. Her normally soft face was now firm and gaunt, and her lips were now rose-colored, which was obviously not the result of makeup. Ross rolled himself over to his sister, holding back sobs. He soon began to question the reason behind all of this. He placed his hand on her arm, and felt the strangest feeling. Turning it over, his malady veered out of control. Twelve stitches going up her arm, keeping the deep laceration from causing more complications to her frail form.

As he squeezed Monica's arm, Ross could not stop bawling. This was much more agonizing than anything; even than watching Rachel cry.