The air bit her skin, and the scarf wrapped around her neck slowly choked the life out of her.

Life was returning to normal, a bit too fast.

Rachel stepped through the front doors of Bloomingdale's, the cold disappearing like Houdini. Tossing and turning during the night didn't take an effect until now. She could have had a drinking binge and last night would not have been any less traumatizing. Every second her existence from this point on would be forgetting the events of this past week. Strength was needed more than ever. Although she would have trouble, she had her friends. She had Ross. She could do this.

The scent of fresh flowers, perfume, and varnished wood were intoxicating- almost too much so. The dozens of shoppers were migrating to the spring clothing line, which opened a path to the elevators. Waving at her fellow employees as she passed by, Rachel stepped into the red velvet interior of the elevator. She was alone, which was never good. There was not even any music. Unwillingly, she began remembering last night: Mark kissing her, as if that was going to end well; Monica, screaming in pain in what Rachel could only describe as the most horrifying thing she had ever seen; and then Ross, who, even in the darkest times, still managed to be her own personal painkiller.

But the perturbation she scanned within his eyes when she told him of Monica, the shock that flowed from his mouth, jagged and cleft, told her that part of his heart had been consumed with the tainted miasma of unobtainable vengeance. He couldn't protect her from the one who did that to her; it was her, after all. He then questioned as to why Monica would do something so stupid and without consideration to her friends. The agony that was tearing him apart was passed onto Rachel, who carried the baggage wherever she went. Yet, somehow, she had managed to withstand all of that without breaking down herself. Perhaps she was strong, or that her love for both Ross and Monica pulled her through. Or, she might have been broken long ago and didn't even realize it. But here she was, ready to work, able to put those things behind her and look towards the future. Their future.

The ding of the opening doors brought her from her abstraction. Luckily, there were not that many people here this early. Stepping across the rug into her office, thoughtlessly, Rachel walked to her desk, unable to meet Sophie's welcoming gaze.

"Hey!" She chirped towards Rachel, who sat down across from her, in another dimension.

"Oh, uh, hey." Rachel half-snapped back to reality, setting her bag down onto her desk and flipping her laptop open. She began typing, her eyes glued to the screen. Sophie pursed her lips, trying to create small talk with her distracted co-worker.

"…What's up?"

Rachel blinked rapidly. "Um, nothing." Although this was a blatant lie, she had a good poker face. Rachel just wanted to shut out the world and finish up her day so she could go see Ross. Unfortunately, her mind nagged at her to talk to somebody- anybody- about what had happened.

Without qualm, she faced Sophie, and blurted out. "Okay, I have to tell you something. It stays between us though, got it?" She was going to reveal one of her dark secrets, anyway. The one that she thought Sophie could actually help her with.

Sophie nodded back, surprised at the sudden change of mood. "Uh, okay. Of course."

"Last night," Rachel gulped, closed her eyes and painfully whispered. "Mark kissed me." Her voice became icy and her face twitched as she said those words; the moment still appalled her. At first, she was shocked. It may have been a dream, and she may have been seeing Mark, but kissing Ross. But it was not so. It was very true, and very wrong.

Sophie's jaw dropped, and she looked at Rachel in complete awe. "What? Really?"

She nodded in response, still extremely uneasy about the entire situation.

Sophie slammed the table, shaking her head in disgust. "What a sleazeball!"

Rachel's tone turned from fear to repugnance. "I know. I couldn't believe it. I mean, why the hell would he do something like that?" The last time she had talked to Mark before last night was when her and Ross were on a break; he was sweet and someone to talk to, so did he take that as a reason to make a move on her? As far as he knew, her and Ross were broken up. But that didn't make it right.

Sophie sighed, and frowned at Rachel. "I guess... there's no harm in telling you now."

Rachel looked back at her in cautious surprise. "Wha-? Tell me what?"

"Mark has like this major crush on you." Sophie looked down at her desk, unsure of whether it was a good idea to reveal that to Rachel. Her first day at work, Mark had called her later that night to tell her to he was going to miss that office- and Rachel, especially. He told her that he had feelings for Rachel, but hated how he had to leave, unable to act on them.

"...That doesn't make it right." Rachel crossed her arms and glared at Sophie, unable to believe that that was a verifiable excuse to kiss her out of nowhere.

"Of course. But I just thought you should know." Sophie played with her pen, hoping not to anger Rachel any further.

She simply exhaled, wanting to forget it all. "Thank-" She was cut off.

"Get back to work!" Joanna sped by them both into her office, cutting their chatter like steel upon flesh. Nothing forced Rachel to forget things more than Joanna's thunderous voice. Her heels clacked their way past them both, sewing their mouths shut.

As Rachel filled out her orders, she did not realize that three hours had passed since she had came in. Her complete focus on her work and nothing else made time fly, and apart from the occasional request from Joanna to fetch something, she didn't do much else besides mindlessly pound the keys on her laptop. However, her concentration was fragmented when the phone rang.

Without tone, Rachel picked up the phone and hastily answered. "Joanna's office."

A familiar voice brought her back to life. "Rach?"

She smiled, and replied. "Chandler? What's up?"

He took a long breath, of which expelled his body of 'negative energy' as Phoebe would say. "I just wanted to, uh, say thanks."

Chandler sat in his own office, smiling at how great he felt after talking to Ross. He went home and took a long, hot shower and put on clean clothes, deciding to go to work for real this time. Since Joey wasn't home when Chandler had returned, he had figured that he went to visit Ross and Monica, and therefore he himself was not needed.

Rachel stuck the phone to her shoulder while she continued working. "For?"

Chandler giddily laughed, and modestly replied to her. "Y'know... Ross..."

Figuring that their talk went well, Rachel smiled to herself and warmly replied. "Oh, um, your welcome Chandler."

There was a long pause. Chandler was busy talking to his supervisor, Mr. Douglas, who had waltzed in, demanding that the WENUS was not up to standard, and that it was somehow his fault. Once he managed to sway him out of the room, he returned to the phone.

"Sorry Rach. My boss apparently hates the WENUS." He laughed at the word he had become so accustomed to using for over 4 years now. It was still so funny to him.

"Uhh, okay, sweetie. Listen, I gotta go, I'll see you soon, alright?" She had just realized that every word she typed on her computer while talking to Chandler was Ross. It was like she was in high school, writing her boyfriend's name all over her notebooks.

"Yeah. Okay." He sounded a little sad, but he knew they both had work to do.

"Bye Chandler." She smiled one last time.

"Bye. And thanks again."

Rachel grinned, knowing that she had helped one person, at least. Chandler was, after her, closest with Ross, and second closest to Monica after Phoebe. Rachel knew that he didn't exactly have the ideal childhood, and thought that maybe these past days would bring back those bad memories. She wasn't exactly sure if they did or not, but he seemed much better than when she found him this morning.

One down, four to go.

"Pheebs!" Joey shouted, trying to get Phoebe's attention. The smell and warmth of coffee and pastries was a good contrast to the briskness outside. Central Perk proved to be a great heater when the winter snow blanketed the streets.

Phoebe was pulled from her daydreaming, disoriented. "Huh? Oh? What?"

Joey motioned towards the table beside her. "Could you pass me a cruller?"

"Oh, yeah. Okay." Regaining focus, Phoebe picked up the doughnut next to her and handed it to Joey, who promptly inhaled it. She resumed her deep thinking by staring at the pictures on the walls, many of which reminded her of her friends.

Mouth still half-full, Joey stared at her. "What's wrong? You've been weird all morning."

She tried to make up a quick excuse. "Yeah, um, just, y'know... thinking."

Joey swallowed, disquieted. "About?"

"Ross... Monica... the Revolutionary War..."

Phoebe began trailing off, once again being caught in an emotional whirlwind that would never relent on pushing her soul to the very limit.

Out of the six of them, Phoebe was the best at hiding her sorrow; however, the first time she saw Ross in the hospital, lying in that bed in so much pain, she could not contain herself anymore. The tears came out uncontrollably, and, for the first time since she moved in with Monica, no one could help her. It brought back the memories of her teenage years on the streets, fending off the world, and no matter how hard it was, she made it through that. This, however, was just as bad. Ten years of suffering were now condensed into almost 5 days. This was what is was like to lose someone. When her mother died, Phoebe was sad, of course, but her natural instinct from then on was to survive; she didn't have time to grieve, not like now.

A loud striking sound pulled her from her quiet mourning.

"Phoebe!" Joey was snapping his fingers right in her face.

"What, Joey? What!" Phoebe screamed back at him, which threw him into the depths of the orange couch. She had never yelled at him like that before, and it sent chills up his spine. Before realizing the austerity of what she had just done, Phoebe cursed under her breath, not being able to remember what she was thinking about. She took a long look at Joey, who was now cowering at the far end of the sofa.

"J-Joey, I'm sorry... I don't know what came over me-" Her voice was soft and loving now, but he sat up, interrupting her.

"No, I'm sorry. It was a bad idea to mess with you like that." Joey scooted closer to her, putting his hand up. He knew that it was a stressful time for all of them, and it was normal to be on edge. This didn't change his demeanor, however; that was saved for what was coming up.

"It's just- I hate this."

"We all do, Pheebs." Joey pouted and placed his hand on her shoulder, which calmed her a bit.

"Why, Joey? Why do bad things happen to good people? Why is that guy who did that to Ross still out there? Why did Monica do that to herself?" The last question made her cringe in her slippers. It was just like her mother's suicide; but Monica had to live with this. As much as Phoebe- and eventually Monica- would want to forget, it would be impossible. Another scar on their life, which, while lessening with time, would never be permanently erased.

Joey looked deeply into her graceful green irises. "I... I don't know."

Unable to find the solution, Phoebe rubbed her eyes, but that did not stop her tears.

Without hesitation, Joey set down his pseudo-breakfast and wrapped his arms around her. It reminded him of the night before, when their roles were reversed. They had to be there for each other, through thick and thin; through Hell and back. No one loved Phoebe as much as her friends did; this was proven. She would not lose them like she lost everything else. So, she put her arms around Joey, never letting go. His delicate whisper brushed her ear, and she was safe.

"You wanna go see Ross?"

She nodded into his shoulder as he petted the back of her head. Joey was so warm and welcoming, his arms around her made all of her thoughts vanish. He was such a caring person, and no one could ask for a better friend; a better shoulder to cry on. They held onto each other, knowing that they had to be strong, like Rachel.

Don't let go.

Yet, he had to. He pulled away, much to Phoebe's chagrin. But what came next blew her troubles away. Joey cupped her face in his hands, and, using his thumbs, stroked her cheeks, wiping the dew of woe that flawed her to the ground. He smiled, which melted her frozen heart, and took her shivering hand in his as they walked to the door of the coffeehouse.

Trembling, she uttered his name. "J-Joey."

He turned to face her. "Yeah, Pheebs?"

Smiling, her eyes red from sobbing, she whispered to him. "Thanks."

Joey nodded, and simpered back at her.

The streets were filled with people, and holding each other's hand served more than to keep them warm; it was so they would not get lost. As they turned the corner that rounded the east side of the hospital, they passed a small building. Painted red walls and blue curtains in the window, along with the darkness that coated the inside, many people paid no attention to it. The sign on the door read 'OPEN', but the door itself already had piling dust on it. Phoebe already knew what this was; a psychic.

Pulling on him tightly, Phoebe yelled across the chaos that is Manhattan. "Hey, Joey!"

He spun around to face her. "Hmm?"

Phoebe pointed at the building. "Let's stop in here for a second!"

Joey looked up at the sign above the door, and back at Phoebe, who was now giddy with anticipation. He shrugged, and followed her in as she opened the door. Many a time had they, together, went to a psychic to discuss their futures with the group. Now, it was not a luxury, but a necessity.

"Mr. Geller," Ross's doctor sighed, annoyed. "I cannot release you until we have an accurate diagnosis." He began flipping through his clipboard, looking for answers that were not there. Every injury is unique, and Ross's was at the end of the spectrum.

"Come on doc! You said it yourself! I'm not gonna die!" Ross shouted toward him, wanting to leave the hospital; if even for just a roll around the block.

The doctor sighed, trying to explain. "Yes, I know, but spinal cord injuries are nothing short of unpredictable-" But he was cut off.

"That's just it! The bullet didn't hit my spine!" Ross's voice reeked of derision.

"But any damage near it-"

Their 'conversation' was cut short by a knocking at the door.

"..Come in!"

The door opened to reveal Jack and Judy, both with tears welled up inside of them. They rushed over to Ross, dropping their small bags and hugging him tightly, unaware that this caused him pain. He did not understand what was going on, having been confused since yelling at his doctor.

"My baby...!" Judy shrieked, scared for her son, like most mothers would be.

"How are you feeling, son?" Jack casually stepped forward, but kept the aura of grimness that was appropriate.

Astonished, Ross tried to grasp the situation. "Wh- Mom? Dad? When'd you get back?"

"Just this morning. We tried calling Monica, but apparently she wasn't home. How are you?"

"G-"

"Let me explain," Ross's doctor reached his hand out toward Jack, smiling. "Dr. Rosenblatt. You are Ross's parents?"

"Uh, yes." Timidly, Jack shook his hand, which was firm and steady. Judy followed suit, as the three of them faced away from Ross, who was still dazed.

"Now," The doctor began flipping through the papers on his clipboard, and went to his displayed x-rays and CT scans. He used his pen to circle areas of importance. "Your son has suffered massive trauma here, as this was the point of entry. Since the bullet did not directly hit the spinal cord or the heart, there was no immediately fatal damage."

Somewhat relieved, Judy muttered quietly. "Alright..."

"But," Dr. Rosenblatt sighed. Bad news was part of his job, but not his forté. "Several small shards of lead mushroomed out from the original wound. They striked his thoracic nerve endings here. While that is not as bad as hitting the stem itself, it can still affect his motor skills. I'm also afraid to inform you that lead is toxic."

Jack glared at him, worried. "Well? Did you get it all out?"

"Yes, we did. But, as you may know, spinal cord injuries, even small ones, never completely heal."

"Okay, um, how severe is it?" Judy crossed her arms, unsure of whether this was the worst it could be.

"Ross has slight paralysis in his legs. This is with lead poisoning, mind you. Once it has left his system through chelation therapy, he should be close to normal again. If he isn't, we'll have to go through physical rehabilitation.

Another long and dreadful silence. After a while of looking at the tiled floor and holding back their weeping hearts, Dr. Rosenblatt spoke once more, in a pacifying tone.

"Of course, this is subject to change."

"Jeez, doc, I'm fine. I stood up yesterday!" Ross yelled across the room, hearing every word of what they had been told.

"Perhaps, but I'm sure it was very painful." He retorted, able to read his outspoken patient like a book.

Ross scoffed, and turned his head away from him.. After a short pause, he looked at his obviously concerned parents. He had to tell them about Monica right now, so that only the sun shall rise on the darkest day. Pulling his wheelchair, he sorely slid into it, stopping his parents before they tried to help him.

"Follow me, you guys."

Jack and Judy glanced at each other, and followed Ross out of the room. He chose to wheel himself down to Monica's room, which his parents understood at the first sign of moving faster when he felt a hand on him. As they reached her room, Ross scooted over to the side, and they both opened the door.

"M-Monica!" Judy swept in, running towards her daughter at the speed of light. Jack couldn't find words to express his antipathy, he became stone in the middle of the room. His little Harmonica, helpless. Feeble. Destitute. Forsaken.

"H-How...?" Judy held Monica's hiemal face, and, while it took awhile to notice her wound, it abhorred her. She almost threw up. It was the most disgusting thing she had ever seen. The titanium that was stapled into her arm felt so rough against her silky skin.

"She... She did that to herself." Ross turned his head down, unable to face his parents.

He was angry. At himself, at Monica, at Chandler, at whatever in God's name brought her to do this. This was not the Monica he grew up with, beating him up and playing restaurant with him; eating all of the cookie dough before she gave him his meal. Ross's parents were, on the other hand, were despondent beyond belief. They went through the eighteen years they spent as a family; it went much too fast. Jack and Judy hated how they did not cherish every moment together. Now, they were watching as Ross silently weeped over Monica, which broke their hearts. They were shattered. Destroyed. To make matters worse, neither of them spoke for a while; nothing could describe this anguish.

Both of their children were hurt, and they couldn't do anything to stop it.

A parent's worst nightmare.

A daughter's cry for help.