AN: There is adult language here.
You've been warned.

Enjoy!

You can do this.

You can tell her.

Chandler's mind wandered to the possibilities of how this confrontation would go. His face was soaking wet, having flushed it with cold water. As his palms rested against the bathroom counter, he smiled a coy smile. After this, everything would be so much easier. Or, at least that's what he thought.

God, she was so beautiful.

Her livid skin only accentuated the twinkling blue diamonds that sat between her long, luscious eyelashes.

This was going to be one hell of a rollercoaster.

Chandler had stepped into the room only a minute earlier, after looking at himself in the bathroom for twenty minutes and waiting in front of the door for about ten. To his absolute horror, Monica was not only awake, but having small talk with Phoebe, who promptly left as he walked in, his solemn demeanor giving off the biggest hint a person could give.

Joey was, like always, in the cafeteria, now eating with Ross and Monica's parents.

Lucky bastards.

He'd rather get chicken bits spat on him by a hungry Italian than see her.

But, with all things in life, there was no turning back.

So, Chandler and Monica were now alone together; with Phoebe intently leaving the door jarred open so she could eavesdrop. The tension was incredible. A katana could not cut through it. As genuine as possible, and hoping to get this out of the way so he could rest (whether it be in his bed or in the soil), Chandler whispered softly, giving her a kind and caring smile.

"...How're ya feeling?"

She coughed, clearing her rugged throat. Her voice was still a bit hoarse. "Better."

He smiled, taking a few steps forward, shoving his hands into his slack pockets. "You, uh, gave us quite a scare."

She choked a bit, her eyes growing sadder with each passing second.

Chandler stood at the foot of her bed, and his expression had become serious, if only for a moment. "Why'd you do this, Mon?"

Monica didn't have an answer to that; at least not one that would satisfy his desires. Anything she said had the potential to place the blame directly on him; something that he didn't deserve. So, believing that the solution lied in obscurity, she took the opportunity to dumbfound him in the safest way possible.

She remained silent, her gaze still locked on him.

Chandler folded his lips into his mouth, and closed his eyes. Slowly, he whispered, croaked. "It's because of me, right?"

Her plan, like the rest of her life, had backfired.

"What? No, Chandl-" Her voice became softer as she held out her good arm, hoping he'd listen to her plea.

"Monica," He alternated between raising his arms in the air and holding them towards her. His despair had transformed into anger, littered with denial. After flailing about like a fish out of water, the three magic words came out in a thunderous voice, rocking her to her core. "I love you!"

"W-What?" She managed to lift her head off of the pillow, supported by her elbows, taken aback by his declaration.

What did he just say?

"You heard me. I love you. I'm in love with you, Monica!" The words came out faster than he could process them; it was his heart speaking, not his mind. The fear that loitered within was released, all at once, in one giant burst that ripped him apart at the seams. He didn't understand what he said at first, but when he did, he just wanted to lay down and cry.

Did that really happen?

Monica had no words. Her heart stopped beating, and her mouth was agape in total shock.

It was still a dream to her.

"I love you, Monica. I've been in love with you for almost, what, ten years now?" Chandler laughed gently, trying to detain the overwhelming sadness. It was hard, even harder than telling her he loved her. To see her mouth jitter in shock, to see the tears cascade down her milky face, made him regret everything.

His laughter drowned in it's own sorrow.

No matter how much Monica wanted to tell him that she loved him too, it would not come out.

"Monica..." His voice became the epitome of dysphoria. Any attempt to get her to respond with words was met with a longing gaze; the meaning of which was lost to Chandler. He stared at her, and began to break apart, piece by piece. His cries grew, and his knees buckled. Despite the enormous pain, he managed to keep on his feet.

For several minutes this went on, until Chandler decided that this was going nowhere.

So, as they tearfully looked at one another one last time, unable to speak, Chandler turned around, and left the room.

He pushed the door open, knocking Phoebe to the ground. He whispered a very sad 'sorry', and walked away.

Never again.

Her body and mind were failing rapidly, and the increasingly repetitive sound of the stamp stamping was beginning to drive her crazy. Thinking back, she should have went home when Ross told her rather than make out with him on his hospital bed, despite how enjoyable that was. It was already 6:00 a.m., and Rachel was drowning in paperwork, of which she had barely made a dent in. This was crazy. This was unreasonable.

It was enough to make her quit.

She hated being under Joanna. She was much too callous about everything. Seeing poor Sophie getting belittled and scorned at every little thing broke Rachel's heart; she would not end up like that. It was enough to motivate her to end the tyranny, and bring peace to the office. Joanna's attitude was not that of a leader, but a dictator.

A leader inspires; a dictator controls.

Rachel remembered Ross quoting that while they watched a documentary on World War II, together. It didn't make sense- until now.

So, Rachel slammed the stamp onto the table, and put her messy hair into a ponytail. She'd had enough of being Joanna's slave. Picking up her work, she busted out of the apartment, in her tanktop and pajama pants, and headed straight for Bloomingdale's. It was time to make a stand; not for herself, but for all those who are too stressed to file three-hundred and forty-two papers in one night.

She burst through the sliding doors, without care or regard to those who stared at her storm by in her nightwear. Many papers flew about, which helped Rachel only prove her point. Rachel managed to hold onto the entire stack with one arm as she pressed the button to the third floor; and she was alone, which, this time, was good. As the doors flung open, she hurriedly walked forward, once again ignoring the gaze of her co-workers. As she reached her desk, the stack of forms crashed onto the poor varnished wood, causing a booming thud that could shake the foundations of the building.

Sophie sat at her desk quietly; this was going to get good.

"Rachel, are those finished?" Joanna opened the door to her office, surprised, and peeked around, pointing to the stack of forms.

"No. And I'm not going to finish them!" Rachel shouted, clenching her fists.

"Excuse me?" She furrowed her brow, somewhat impressed with Rachel's outright defiance.

She gestured toward her pile of paperwork, screaming. "This is too much fucking work, Joanna! It's bullshit! Ya know, even a tight-laced hard-ass like you should know that no human can do this much in one night! God! I can't even take time off for an emergency! I quit!" She didn't even bother to take the her special muffin out of its desk; she just turned around and hiked her way out of the office.

"No, Rachel, wait!" Joanna gave chase, pulling on Rachel's naked arm.

Reluctantly, she faced her former boss, seething. "What?"

Hastily, Joanna tried to persuade her to stay."Okay, um, how would you like a raise?"

"Not worth it." She ripped her arm away, and turned around again, walking towards the elevators.

"Okay," Joanna clapped her hands together, making sure Rachel could hear her. "What if I make you an Assistant Buyer? Here?"

"And why the hell would you do that?" Rachel crossed her arms, spinning around.

"Y-You're a hard worker. The best assistant I've ever had. I would've put you up for promotion sooner, but you're so good at being at my side, do you understand?" Joanna stuttered, trying to make a good image for herself and Rachel. She managed to get her to listen, anyway; something that she did very well.

"...Go on." Rachel pondered, wondering if she would sweeten the deal.

"You'll have a corner office. An expense account. Sophie can be your new assistant. Thirty days paid vacation for the rest of the year. Effective tomorrow. How's that sound?" It was everything an Assistant Buyer could possibly want, other than another promotion. Rachel really was a great worker, and deserved to be in the higher echelons of the company, but Joanna was too selfish to let her go- until now.

"Take it, take it!" Sophie hissed through her teeth.

"...It sounds wonderful, Joanna." It was too much of a good offer to pass up. Rachel wouldn't have as big a workload, and she'd make twice as much as she did now. That took her rage and killed it, leaving only a smidgen of respect and happiness.

"Okay. Good. How about you take the rest of the day off?" Joanna sighed, grateful.

"...Thank you, Joanna."

With that, Rachel quietly left. She couldn't believe that she had just threatened her way into a promotion.

Maybe things weren't so bad, after all.

As she carved a path through the crowd of people herding around the entrance to Bloomingdale's, Rachel debated on either going to see Ross and Monica, or to go home and get some much needed sleep. Deciding to kill two birds with one stone, she headed to the hospital, where she'd sleep in Ross's room.

It was a clear morning, and it was a little warmer than it was before. Spring was right around the corner, and the trees and flowers would grow again, ready to preserve the natural order of life. It would always be so stunning, sitting in Central Park, smelling the freshly cut grass while the hundreds of people went past. It was like a dream, being one with nature inside a huge metropolis.

New York City. As Chandler would say, could it be any better?

Along the way, Rachel was sidetracked. She wanted to feel that natural feeling of warmth that emanated from the park; she wanted to think, just like the day after the accident. The emotions she felt that day were nothing short of powerful. To think that all logic and reasoning could be crushed by love, or anger, or even sadness, staggered her.

So, as her flip flops crunched the grass beneath her, she was reminded of how great her life truly was. She had her freedom. She had a family who loved her, friends who cared about her, and a boyfriend who would die for her. Rachel had it all; but it took the risk of losing the one most important to her to realize it.

Was this true happiness?

And, when she came to that same pond, the one that she watched, engraved in her memory. Four days, was it? Since she'd looked into it, watching the ripples collide with the cement wall? It seemed like four lifetimes, ever since that damned night. They didn't need to break up. They both said things that they didn't mean. None of this should ever have happened.

But, a saving grace. The accident taught them that of which they would never learn without an experience like this. To move on, to persevere in the face of adversity, to learn that the bond of love and friendship is stronger than any bullet or razor.

It came as a flurry, the memories, the feelings, the images that popped into head like toast from a toaster. The children next to her, skipping rocks across the sparkling water, shining from the sun, created dozens of ripples, each falling in suit with the ones that followed. Like always, they spread out like a wildfire, until they dissipated, one wave at a time.

One child, a small, fair skinned boy, skipped one which sank before it hit the wall .

It created six ripples.

Six.

They rose and fell, together.

Until the very end.