Scene Two: The Bombshell

'Forget it!' They glared at each other. 'Okay, I'm not giving up my bachelor pad for some basketball seats!'

Rachel's eyebrows rose, incredulous. 'Your bachelor pad?'

Monica, almost pitying: 'Have you even had a girl up here?'

For a moment his gaze flicked to Rachel; he saw the slight widening of her eyes. 'N-'

'Yeah he has!' Joey grinned at him proudly.

'Wh-wh-what?' It felt endless, that time where his brain and his mouth tried to catch up with each other.

Joey leant towards the two girls, stage-whispered at them: 'Some girl left her underwear in his room.'

'What?' His voice had become a yelp.

'What?' Rachel tossed the hair out of her eyes, leant against the table, arms folded, trying to force a smile across her face that trembled slightly at the edges. 'I mean, uh, what kind of girl does that?'

'Maybe the kind who sneaks out first thing in the morning.' The retort came out harder than he had intended; he saw her eyes widen again, a flash behind them. He rounded on Joey. 'And what were you doing in my room?'

'Hey!' Joey held up his hands. 'Don't blame me - the duck was the one who got hold of 'em.'

'Ew!' Monica, her face wrinkling.

'Who was it?' Joey was eager, his face bright. So easily pleased, Chandler thought, and so damn relentless at all the wrong moments.

'She, uh...' He smiled suddenly. 'She was one of the flight attendants. Yeah, a flight attendant on the ... flight. From Yemen. She was on the flight from Yemen.'

'Dude, nice!' Joey put his arm around Chandler's shoulders, squeezed. 'My little boy's all grown up!'

Monica rolled her eyes, stalked out of the apartment. When Chandler slid his gaze to Rachel she was standing very still, arms folded, a tight, white, look stretched across her face. They stared at each other until she moved away; the door closing behind her was almost soundless.

He caught her up in the hall.

'Rach - I'm sorry.'

She rounded, her hair whipping around her shoulders. Hey eyes were too bright. 'You kept my underwear?' It came through clenched teeth.

'Hey, you left it behind and I didn't even know about it.' He paused and let the points of anger settle: anger with her, anger with himself. 'If you want, I can get the duck to reimburse you.'

She glared at him. 'Just forget it. And, F.Y.I., I did not sneak out.'

He held up his hands. 'Whatever.'

'I didn't!'

She pulled her clothes on quickly, making as little noise as possible. He kept his eyes on her; shafts of sunlight caught the dust moats, turning them into a shower of lazily-rotating gold flecks around her.

'Leaving the scene of the crime, huh?'

She didn't start, didn't seem surprised that he hadn't really been sleeping. She turned and smiled slightly through a curtain of messy hair, smoothed it back with one hand. Her head tilted.

'I just really need my own bed,' she said softly, 'I never sleep well anywhere else and, God, I am so tired.'

If it was a lie, and he knew it was, it was a sweet one.

He shrugged. 'Okay.'

Rachel stared at him miserably. 'I hate this. I hate fighting with you.'

'We're not fighting.'

'It feels like we are.'

He studied the patch of wall behind her head again. Switzerland - not all it was cracked up to be.

'This isn't a fight,' he said, firm. 'Fights involve furniture being thrown and the pool-boy trying to slit his wrists with a corkscrew.'

She frowned. 'What?'

'Right... That was just my parents, wasn't it?'

A variety of emotions flitted across her face. 'I can never tell when you're joking about that stuff.'

He shrugged again. 'I'm not joking.'

Her face was white again, eyes sombre. 'I- That's- I'm sorry.'

His eyebrows went up. 'For what?'

'For-' Her shoulders sagged. 'I don't know.'

It had never been difficult before, not with Rachel; strange, really, because she was the sort of girl who ordinarily would reduce him to a stuttering incoherent mess. Rachel was far from ordinary. She was far from a lot of things and now so far from him it was as though she had never really been there at all.

'For the record, I hate this too,' he told her.

'Haven't done so well at just being friends, have we?'

'Then we will, okay?' He drew a line in the air. 'From now on, we are the best friends ever. The rest of it's all in the past and we-we don't have to talk about it again. Deal?' He held out his hand; she hesitated for a moment then took it.

'Deal.'

ooOoo

Ross' voice seemed to echo through every corner of the apartment, finding its way into every nook, every inaccessible part and write itself into the fabric of the building. His voice bubbling with happiness and excitement, this new life he was starting for himself, so suddenly, and she-

Rachel's legs gave way and she sat down on the edge of the bed.

And she had what? A job that she didn't particularly like but was still far better than what she had had before; she had the apartment back and an hour ago - hell, five minutes ago - that had been the best thing to happen all week; she had Chandler-

She pushed it away again, that nagging inconvenient pain. She had messed that up so completely. She swallowed it down. It wasn't real; that pain wasn't real, she was insistent on that point; the real pain was Ross. Ross and Emily. Numbness swept in. It had gone quiet out there.

She should go to him, she thought, and stood before she had realised it; she should congratulate them.

ooOoo

Chandler tapped at the door, pushed it open cautiously. Rachel was standing in the middle of her room, staring aimlessly at nothing, the blouse in her hand trailing on the floor.

'Hey.'

Her eyes moved to him and her features rearranged themselves. She smiled, forced, too brightly. 'Oh, hi!'

He eased into the room, closing the door behind him. 'I, uh, I brought this back.' He held up the paperback book. 'You left it in my room. Didn't want the duck to get hold of it.'

He smiled had dropped, washed across her face again. 'Thanks.' She didn't move to take it.

'I'll just leave it over here.' He put it on her bedside table. He kept his voice low, gentle, the way you would talk to an invalid. Empty of their burden, his hands slipped into his pockets. 'So... Ross. The marrying man.'

'Yeah. Yeah, that's, uh... That's, wow, it's great, isn't it? I mean it's really great.' Her hand gripped the blouse hard, knuckles whitening.

'Are you okay?'

'Me?' Eyes wide. 'I'm good, I'm great, I'm just ... I'm just great.' One hand waved. 'Got the apartment back, Ross getting married... It's all great. Everything is great.'

'Well, that's great,' he said flatly. Some of the brightness in her eyes dimmed.

'It's just- It's sudden.' There was a catch in her voice. Chandler sighed.

'I'm sorry, Rach.'

'What? No... No. It's fine.' She blinked rapidly, shook her head. 'It's fine. Emily's ... nice. They'll be happy and-and I want that for Ross.'

Lucky Ross, he thought, just like always, and added in an extra spear of anger for him. And then let all of them go. None of this was anybody's fault.

She was fragile standing there, the unexpected reserves of strength she carried with her suddenly depleted. It was exhausting, he realised suddenly, this yearning for another person. No wonder she looked so drained. Chandler crossed the room, put his hands lightly on her shoulders.

'Hey.'

She looked up at him.

'If you need anything, I'm here - anything at all. You know that, right?'

She swallowed, hard, and nodded. 'I know.' Barely a whisper.

And she leaned into him, her blouse falling to the floor in a whisper of silk; she pressed both hands against the wall of his chest, laid her head on his shoulder. He held her. When she raised her head again he smoothed the hair back from her face, felt its satin catch against his fingers. Her smile was softer, more familiar.

'Thanks.'

It was becoming their ritual.

'Anytime.'