A/N: Sorry it's taken so long to update! Thank you to everyone who left comments on the last chapter. I hope you like this one!
October 2005
Monica and Chandler's first Halloween party at the new house turned out to be fairly successful.
According to Chandler, though, success – as usual – came at a price.
"Wow," Phoebe said after Chandler greeted her and Mike, "you must be the saddest-looking lion I've ever seen. And I was just at the zoo last week."
Chandler shrugged. "It's better than a pink bunny costume."
"But not as good as a pink fairy costume," Phoebe said, right before twirling around to show off her dress and waving her wand.
"Hey, man," Chandler said, nodding at Mike's long-sleeved black shirt and jeans. "I may be speaking too soon here, but you'll be a shoo-in for first place in our costume contest."
"I wasn't about to dress up," Mike admitted, "but Phoebe talked me into it."
"Really? Who're you supposed to be?"
"Ray Charles."
Chandler squinted. "Again, really?"
"Oh, I almost forgot." Mike took out a pair of sunglasses and put them on. "There."
As he raised his eyebrows, Chandler said, "Wow, now the resemblance really is uncanny!"
After Phoebe and Mike left to go get some punch, Ross and Rachel came in, Ross carrying Emma on his shoulder.
After greeting Emma, who shyly buried her face into her father's shoulder, Chandler appraised Ross's boxy, metal getup and said, "Looking good, Prime Optimus."
Ross rolled his eyes. "It's Optimus Prime. And I'm not him – I'm the Tin Man!" With his free hand, he raised his fake axe with enthusiasm.
Chandler stared at him. "You just get cooler and cooler every year, don't you?"
"Said the guy who keeps dressing up in cute little animal costumes his wife picked out for him," Ross scoffed.
"'Cute?' I'm ferocious. If pink bunny me were here right now, I'd devour myself."
"Hey, speaking of which, what's up with all the zombies tonight?" Rachel asked. "We saw, like, five of them running around outside."
"Oh, that fad's still going strong since the Dawn of the Dead remake came out," Chandler said. "There's about three of them in the kitchen."
"Huh."
"Yeah, I don't get it either. So 1970s."
"Where's Mon?" Ross asked.
"Putting the cubs to bed. After that, she's gonna go hunt some wildebeest."
"She dressed up as a lioness?" Rachel said with a grin. "Oh, this I gotta see."
"Yeah, it was part of our deal. I said that if I had to go lion, we'd all have to go lion. Lion down."
Ross watched him snicker at his own joke, then asked, "What happened to you?" He passed Emma off onto Rachel, told her he was going to get them drinks, and clanked away.
Chandler looked at Rachel's Dorothy hairstyle and checkered blue dress, then at Emma, who was dressed in a furry black jumpsuit and tugging at her dog ear headband. "Looks like we weren't the only ones who decided to go the corny, but sentimental, family themed route."
"Well, see, Ross really wanted us all to match, and I figured that this way, I get to wear a cute new dress and shiny red shoes," Rachel said as she displayed her sparkly heels. "Emma's not too thrilled about being Toto, though. Oh, no, honey. Don't tear the ears off." She hitched Emma up on her hip and and re-positioned the dog ears with her free hand.
When Phoebe came back with Mike and hugged both Rachel and Emma, she said, "Oh yay, this is so exciting! Look, we could be almost the entire cast of The Wizard of Oz!"
"Or the rulers of Loserville," Chandler muttered.
Ross came back and handed Rachel a cup before taking Emma back. "What's going on?"
"Phoebe just said we could star in our own version of The Wizard of Oz."
"Really?" Ross said, his eyes lighting up already. "Can we do it tonight? I'll go get my video camera from the —"
"— No," Rachel and Chandler said in very vehement unison. Ross let his axe droop in disappointment.
"It wouldn't work, anyway," Phoebe pointed out. "We're missing the scarecrow, right?"
"Too bad Joey's not here for this," Rachel said, handing her cup to Emma so she could take a sip. "He'd make a good scarecrow."
They all stood around a little awkwardly, until Chandler broke the silence by saying, "If he only had a brain, he would've flown back just for this party."
The others looked at him and he added, "What? Did you all really think I was gonna let that one slide by?"
Someone knocked at the front door, and Chandler went to open it.
When he did, he saw a scarecrow that was eerily silent and that been lit on fire.
"Sorry," Chandler said, "We ordered zombies. You must've gotten the wrong house."
The scarecrow nodded, and walked away.
Chandler closed the door, shaking his head.
"Well, I don't remember that happening at our party," Chandler said, and when he turned to face the others, he
October 2006
woke up.
Chandler sat up like a shot, his heart racing and his palms sweaty. He took a second to remember where he was: some stranger's house, in bed with Monica, the twins thankfully slumbering even though they had to be crammed into one crib. Sunlight streamed through the window, and Chandler could hear the faint groaning of zombies outside.
"And I won't be sleeping for a week," he said.
Next to him, Monica started mumbling and shifting around, clearly having her own nightmare.
"Monica, wake up," he said, gently shaking her while trying not to wake the kids. "Monica!"
"Monica!" Rachel said, waving and walking toward Monica on the empty street in front of Central Perk.
When they stopped in front of each other, Rachel didn't smile, but she still looked like she thought something was funny.
"I miss you," Monica said. It was the only thing she could think of to say, in the moment. "We used to hang out every day, remember?"
"I know," Rachel said. "I miss you too."
When she blinked, she did it very slowly, almost lazily. It took her about a whole minute.
Then she said, "I'm dead, Mon."
"What?" Monica cried. "No. No, you're not. I just saw you two months ago. You can't be dead."
"Then how come I am?" Rachel asked in a tired voice. She turned her head around, craning her neck as if she were listening for something, or rather, waiting for someone to join them, before appearing to give up, and looked back at Monica.
"Well, there you have it. Looks like you get Emma after all," she murmured, the faint smile in her eyes finally reaching her mouth.
"Rachel..." Monica said as her gut twisted in panic. "You know I love Emma with all my heart, but I can't – she's yours, you need to be here to teach her all your bad habits! Okay? And I have Erica and Jack; I can't handle three kids at once!"
"Sure, you can." Taking a step forward, Rachel put her hand on Monica's shoulder and looked her directly in the eyes. "You can do anything, remember?"
It wasn't until then that Monica noticed it: about half of Rachel's face was missing.
Monica jerked awake in a cold sweat, Chandler shaking her shoulder.
"Oh, good," he said, relieved. "You were starting to scare me, and with everything that's been going on, that's saying a lot. Bad dream?"
Monica took in a deep, shuddering breath as she gripped onto Chandler's arm. "The worst. I hope it doesn't turn out to be like Phoebe's."
"Wait." Chandler furrowed his brow as he rubbed Monica's arm comfortingly. "You think... maybe they had something to do with both of us having nightmares?"
Monica sighed as she flopped back down on her pillow, looking up at the ceiling. "This is making less and less sense."
"I know," Chandler said before kissing her forehead, and she smiled as his warm presence slowed her hammering heartbeat. "I just hope the others aren't letting all of this get to them. Especially Joey."
"And Rachel," Monica murmured, as she thought back to her best friend's half of a face.
Rachel saw more decay and destruction, things that she couldn't even truly comprehend, as she slowly made her way to Manhattan.
Then, miracle of miracles, she saw Joey.
He was with several other people, and he sauntered down the same street of the house in which Rachel had temporarily set up camp. She switched her attention over at her daughter, curled up on top of what used to be another couple's bed, then looked back down.
She could see him from her vantage point on the second floor, the lights from the streetlamps shining down on him, and she thought that it would be nice, so very nice, if she could call out to him and have him turn around. If she could see him break out into a wide smile, stop in his tracks and then run up to the house, to her, and wrap her up in one of his warm, comforting hugs. It had been far too long since she'd received one of those.
"Joey," she said, but it came out in a whisper. She tried again after swallowing, her dry throat clicking quietly. "Joey, I'm here. Please look up."
Then, almost as if he had heard her, Joey stepped forward a little so she could get a better look at his whole face, even though he wasn't looking directly up at her. The lights from the moon and lamps hit his face, and…
It wasn't him.
Her eyes drifted downward, and she wondered why she even assumed the man was Joey in the first place. He was a lot leaner than Joey - and a lot meaner than Joey - and was decked out in torn, faded green army fatigues.
Plus, he was holding a very large gun.
If this were any other situation, if this were only a movie, Rachel might have blushed at the sight of the man. But as she looked upon him and gave into the devastation and disappointment that had been building up inside her, all she felt toward the man was fear and resentment.
No, this wasn't her friend returning home. Besides, he couldn't have made it all the way across the country so fast.
She stepped away from the window, turning from the imposter, and tried to push her grief aside as she went back to bed.
April 2006
Mike came up behind Phoebe as she was making pancakes, distracting her by kissing her neck first, then her shoulders.
"I love you, Phoebe Buffay," he murmured. "More and more, every day."
"Oh, that is such a line!" she said, turning around and grinning widely. "You really think that's gonna get you lucky, mister?"
He wiggled his eyebrows a little. "Well, I think it's gonna get me some awesome Chef Buffay pancakes, at the very least."
"Okay, well, don't tell Monica that I'm thinking about getting this recipe patented."
She began to kiss him then, drawing it out nice and slow, and fighting the urge to grin when he started slipping his tongue into the mix. While he was preoccupied, she reached out behind herself and grabbed the ladle that was sitting in the bowl of batter, and, when the time was right, she flung some at him as she broke away from the kiss. He took a couple of steps back as he laughed, wiping the thick, gooey trail that had landed on his arm and chucking it back at her.
"You are in so much trouble," she said.
She grabbed the bowl and he bolted in the other direction, sprinting out of the kitchen and back to the bedroom as she followed him, hot on his heels.
It was a pain in the ass to clean up all the mess later, but it was totally worth it.
"Mike's dead," Phoebe said in a conversational tone. As if she were telling Ross that she wanted the soup, not the salad.
"You don't know that."
"Actually, I do," she said, feeling much too calm. "He's just not here anymore. I can feel it. Or, I can't feel it… Him. I can feel him missing from this place."
Ross didn't say anything.
"He uses his cell phone more than the six of us did, combined." She paused, then, her voice coming out much more husky and hollow, she started to add, "Well, Mike used to use his..."
She buried her face in her hands before she could make it to the end. She sensed Ross tensing up where he sat, but after a while, when she'd already given him up for being an insensitive jerk, he pulled her close to him, and held her until she stopped crying.
"Monica, you have got to stop this."
"What?" she asked as she was putting bandages on her hands, which had swollen up because of all the hours she'd clocked with her rifle.
"This is the fifth house you've cleaned since we got off the highway. Enough is enough! What are you trying to do, scrub the whole block? Because I don't think we'll be driving away any zombies with the power of Mr. Clean!"
Monica finished taping the last bandage in place. "Well, these houses are really dirty! I'm just trying to fix what I can before we move on."
"I'm not worried about how some other people maintained or failed to maintain their living conditions, I'm worried about you. Dusting every surface you can, stopping to shoot as many zombies as possible..."
Monica gasped. "Are you saying I'm not a good leader?"
Chandler opened his mouth, then shut it, looking at the kids. They'd struck gold with this house and found two high chairs to feed the twins; before that, they'd had to feed them on counter tops. The twins were busy painting their trays with pudding and cracker crumbs, so Chandler jerked his head to the living room, and Monica followed him.
"It's not that I don't trust your judgment," Chandler said when he felt the kids were out of earshot. "But we're almost there, Mon. Are you scared of what we'll find? Because it looks like things have held up okay to me."
"No, I'm not scared," Monica said, putting her arms around herself in a comforting gesture. "I just need to... to do something. And you need to just stay out of my way while I do it." She turned back around to go to the kids.
"Okay, Ross," he said, and Monica whirled right around to face him.
"What did you say?"
"I said, 'You're the boss.'"
"Chandler."
After glancing over to the kids, Chandler lowered his voice. "Ever since this whole thing started, you've been trying to take control of everything. Okay, you need to let me make the decisions for us once in a while, or you're going to crack under all the pressure. And I'm just going to crack, period."
"Okay, Funny Man, what you suggest we do?"
"I think we need to get out there while it's still dark, get across the bridge, and find the others. This is the best time to do that, and you know it."
She brushed her hair out of her face, looking around the dusty house. Then she turned her gaze back to Chandler and said, "Okay."
"Oh, for the love of..." He froze, his arms halfway thrown up in mid-air in exasperation. "What?"
"I said, 'Okay,'" Monica said with a small smile, stepping closer to him. "Don't make me say it again."
"You - you agree with me?"
"Yeah. I think you're right. I do like to wear the pants in this family, and I appreciate how okay with that you are, but I'll... try to take them off once in a while. And I'll admit it: I am so, so scared of what we might find in the city, and I've been trying to stall us so we don't have to go in there unless we have to. But we do, and we will. Tonight."
"All right. Thank you," Chandler said, letting out a sigh of relief. "By the way, the pants metaphor? Total turn on."
She smiled. "I knew I married you for a reason."
"So it really isn't because of my sizzling good looks or bulging biceps?" Chandler asked with a grin, and Monica wrapped her bandaged hand around the back of his head, pulling him in for one of the most intense, heartfelt kisses they've ever had.
"Where's Daddy?" Emma asked after she and Rachel entered another house. "I wanna see Daddy."
"I told you, honey, we're going back home. Okay? Won't be much longer now. Then you'll see him."
"But I'm tired!" Emma said for the fiftieth time.
"I know, I know. That's why we came in here." Rachel said, smoothing down the top of Emma's head. She knew it would be better to be outside now, but she figured they could rest for a couple of hours. "Let's take a nap."
After rapping "Baby Got Back" to put Emma to sleep and tucking her into bed, Rachel looked down at her hand.
Her engagement ring was missing.
A rush of panic took over, breathing new life into her, and she scanned the carpet, searching everywhere, but she couldn't find the ring.
When she was back upstairs, having scoured the whole house twice, she slowly lowered herself down on the bed next to Emma, pulled her knees up to her chin, and stared straight ahead, digging her fingernail in the spaces between her teeth like she always did when she was nervous. She didn't sob, or even tear up, because she had no more tears to cry out. She ran out of them already, having used them all up since this mess started.
It's a sign, she thought dully. This must mean that Ross is dead. And if he's dead, Joey is, too. So's Mon, and the others. All my friends are dead.
No, they're not, she argued. Don't you dare start thinking that way. They're not dead.
"But what if they are?"
It took her a couple of seconds to realize she'd said that last thought out loud.
When Phoebe was ready and Ross found he could walk with a little more ease, they left the apartment, taking a motorcycle Phoebe had found earlier to the baseball stadium. Ross held onto Phoebe for dear life the whole way there.
"How come you know how to ride a motorcycle, but not a bike with just two wheels?" he yelled as the cold night air whipped past them.
"What'd you say?" she called back. "I can't hear you!"
Ross rested his head back on her shoulder, shutting his eyes. "Never mind."
When they arrived at the stadium and went inside, the look on Phoebe's face worried him a little. He knew that look; he'd felt it etched into his own features more than a couple of times before. It was the expression he'd worn when he had nothing to lose.
"Phoebe," he said quietly, reaching for her arm when they reached the doors just on the other side of the field. "Phoebe, you sure you're feeling —"
"— I'm fine," she snapped, jerking away from him. "I'll be even better once you see what I'm about to show you."
"Okay," Ross said, raising his arms and backing off, "I understand. But please make this quick, all right? We need to get out of the city while it's still dark out."
"Just trust me on this," Phoebe said, and he followed her out into the stands.
When he saw what she wanted to show him, Ross clutched onto Phoebe, despite the promise he'd made to himself to be the strong one.
"Oh... my... God," he said.
There were hundreds of zombies lying in the field, the stadium lights shining down on them. There must be a generator nearby that's keeping them on, Ross thought vaguely.
His next thought was to run, but Phoebe's reaction time was quicker than his, and she held him back. He shook her off, still wondering why she would endanger both their lives like this. "Seriously, are you trying to get us killed?"
"Ross," she said, raising her arm and pointing at the undead masses. "Look."
When he did, Ross could see that they weren't surging out of the field to run up and slaughter him and Phoebe. In fact, the zombies weren't moving at all.
They remained flat on their backs, and when Ross squinted, he could swear that all of their eyes and mouths were wide open.
"What the..." he stammered. "Are they... Is that —"
"— Yeah," Phoebe said. "I think the music is coming from them."
"So..." Ross struggled to think, but it was already difficult enough with the obnoxious, upbeat music blaring from the demons down below. He put his hands over his ears to muffle the sounds, and tried again. "So, are they... charging? Like cell phones?"
"Yeah, some really gross ones."
The constant poppy beat that practically vibrated throughout Ross's body was making his head swim. Even though he knew he and Phoebe were safe for the time being, Ross felt ill just standing in the stadium, and not only because of the music. The sights of ripped flesh and decaying skin, this bizarre realization, the smells... Everything was making him nauseous.
"Okay, great," he said. "Look, as much as I don't appreciate you showing me this, we still need to get out of here."
Phoebe looked at him and said, "Hang on a second. I wanna check something out."
She turned back to face the field of monsters and lifted her arms above her head.
"Hey!" she yelled, jumping up and down. "You missed us! We're still alive! Yeah, that's right. What're you gonna do about it, huh? Huh?"
Ross grabbed onto Phoebe's arm, ready to make a run for it, but she stayed rooted to her spot, and Ross relaxed his grip when he noticed that none of the zombies had so much as batted an eye.
"They really are recharging," he said, as Phoebe lowered her arms and panted a little. "In this state, they're completely vulnerable.
"Are you thinking what I'm thinking?" he asked her.
"Yeah. They've got awful taste in music."
Just then, the song ended, and the studio version of "Smelly Cat" started blaring out through all the zombies' mouths.
"Oh, no," Phoebe groaned.
"No, that's not what I'm talking about," Ross said. "Look, this could be our chance to get rid of them."
She looked at him, puzzled. "I thought you wanted to get to Long Island and find Rachel."
"We will," he said. "But I want to come back after that, and I want these creeps long gone by then."
"Do you have an idea?" To add to the utter weirdness of their current situation, Phoebe started to grin. "Ooh, can we do the plan laugh?"
Ross let go of her arms. "What?"
"Oh, that's right," she said. "You weren't there. I'll teach it to you later, but only if you promise not to ruin it."
"Let's go," Ross said, turning to leave. "We don't have much time."
"Why did you think it was a good idea to head toward the music?" Monica hissed at Chandler as they rolled the babies in two brand new strollers down the sidewalk a block away from the stadium.
"I told you: I just feel like we need to go in this direction."
"Okay, well, be careful. We don't want to arouse any suspicion."
"Heh. Arouse," Chandler said, snickering.
Monica rolled her eyes, then froze as she heard footsteps approaching them in the distance.
"Did you hear that?" Chandler whispered.
"No," Monica said just as quietly, reaching around behind her back to grab her rifle. "But whatever it is, I'm going to shoot it."
"Hang on there, Mugsy." Chandler put his hand over hers, halting her movement. He pressed his finger to his lips and moved up to the building they'd been walking beside.
Keeping his back pressed up to the wall, he moved toward the sound and the stadium. Monica looked on from her spot as he slid along the wall, until he reached the end of it. He paused, exchanging a look witht Monica for a second, then whirled around the corner.
"Aah!" Chandler yelped.
"Hi-yah!"
A tall figure came flailing out at Chandler around the corner, making wild karate-chop motions with his hands. Chandler ducked out of the way, causing the figure to careen right into a parked sedan at the end of the sidewalk.
"Oh my God," Monica whispered, then yelled out, "Ross!" as she ran toward him.
Rachel got to the Williamsburg Bridge and groaned when she caught side of all the parked cars trapped on it. It'd take such a long time for her and Emma to pick their way through the empty spaces between the vehicles, and she didn't want to risk getting injured on the way across the bridge. She figured the same must have gone for the Brooklyn Bridge, and she was ready to deflate again, ready to let herself get beaten down by the unfortunate events that had befallen her, but she stopped and turned when her eye caught the sight of a dock nearby with several boats idling in the water.
"Come on, Emma," she said. "Let's go sailing."
The reunion in the street had to be cut short when Monica pointed out that it would be daylight in a few hours. They decided to meet up again at Ross's, and on the way back home, riding behind Phoebe on the motorcycle, Ross didn't keep his eyes shut.
When he and Phoebe neared their apartment, Ross swore he could see not the vague outlines of Monica and her family, but...
"It's Carol," he said, holding himself from jumping off the back of the bike in his hurry to embrace his other family.
Carol, Susan, and Ben had apparently arrived in the city the night before, having learned about the safety of darkness, and they came to see Ross. He hugged Ben until he said, "Okay, Dad, now it's getting uncomfortable," and caught up with Carol and Susan, feeling, for once since this whole thing started, that things were finally getting back on track for him.
"Wanna helps us get rid of the monsters? It'll be fun!" Ross heard Phoebe say to Ben as he talked to Carol and Susan in the kitchen. The city was still occupied by vicious cannibals, and Ross's injuries were still on the mend, but after looking back at everything, he figured things could be a lot worse.
As Ben and the twins slept, Ross told the others about his theory and the stadium of zombies Phoebe had shown him. Monica was unsurprisingly ready to test out his idea, and when Susan said she'd be willing to see if it worked as well, Ross and Carol exchanged equally surprised, but amused, looks.
They talked everything out for another half hour, looking at maps and a crudely drawn layout of the stadium that Ross had provided. It was only when Ross looked over at his sister and noticed that she was constantly rubbing her eyes, when he suggested that everyone should try to get some sleep and meet back at his place around two the next afternoon. The other parents left with their children in search of abandoned apartments in the building, digging another inch into the hole in Ross's heart when he thought about his daughter.
When they left, Phoebe stood next to his door.
"I think that went well," he said. "At least we aren't the only people in the Village anymore."
Phoebe nodded at that, her gaze angled toward the ground.
"Monica seemed to be okay when she saw the apartment," Ross said. "Or maybe that's because she's already started planning how she's going to fix it back up." He didn't know how that would be possible, since, from his vantage point, her old place looked beyond repair.
Phoebe lifted her eyes up to his. "Could I stay here?" she asked. "I kinda don't want to be alone right now."
"Yeah," Ross said, "of course you can. I don't want to be alone, either."
She gave him a grateful smile. "Thanks. Now, where's your booze? Never mind, I'll find it."
She walked past him and went into his kitchen, rummaging around until she came up with a bottle of something strong and old. Then she made her way back into the living room, taking a swig straight from the bottle, then another, and then about three more before Ross made a pained sound at the back of his throat.
"Don't you think that's a little too much?" he asked, falling silent only when she pulled the lip of the bottle away from her lips and fixed him with a steady gaze.
"My husband is dead, Joey and Rachel might be dead, and pop-loving zombies have taken over the streets. There's no such thing as too much now, Ross."
He sighed, relenting, and she put the bottle in his hand, goading him to take a swig. When he happened to glance at the label, he said, "Uh, Pheebs, seriously, are you really sure you can handle this? It's almost eighty percent pure alcohol."
She pulled the bottle away from him after he took a careful sip. "I can handle it," she said, her words already slurring. "What I can't handle is you not handling my handling of it." She tipped back the bottle and wiped her lips as she made a sour face. "So there."
Ross moved to take the whole thing from her, thinking he could at least pour her a glass, but she jerked it away from him, showing him her shoulder. He sighed. "Give it to me, Phoebe. I don't even know why I'm letting you drink all of it."
"Duh, because I'm dainty," she said, throwing back the bottle like a sailor.
Bedford Street stretched out before Rachel and Emma, wretched and ghostlike. As the first few rays of sunlight peeked over the horizon and the sky began to take on a lighter hue, she snapped her flashlight off and tucked it in her bag, then surveyed the neighborhood as she quickened her pace.
Dark stains marked the areas of vanished victims every few yards, and though most of the cell phones seemed to have been cleaned up as much as the corpses did, Rachel saw a couple of them here and there, lying upside down and sideways as she gazed up and down the main road. Papers fluttered in the early autumn breeze, along with the scattered leaves that rustled and dragged along the sidewalk she and Emma were walking down.
She repositioned her scarf around her mouth, checking to see if Emma's was still in place as she held her tightly by the hand and guided her down the road, walking cautiously past crashed cars and avoiding the odd piles of debris, broken furniture, and other things Rachel didn't want to examine.
She heard a few shotgun blasts in the distance, less than a quarter mile away, and in the moment, while pressing her trembling hands against her daughter's ears, Rachel believed she would never forget the sounds.
"Here we are, Ems," she said as Central Perk loomed ahead in the distance. "We made it. We're finally home."
Ross sat up on the couch, hung over beyond belief. He stumbled into the bathroom, favoring his good leg, and splashed his face with water that, fortunately, was still running from the sink. He went back out into the living room, fully prepared to die from alcohol poisoning, but he stopped when he saw his camcorder one one of his shelves, and on a whim, he picked it up.
Wiping his face and running his hands through his hair, he turned it on as he sat down, rewinding back to the video of when he and Rachel taped Emma taking her first steps.
On the small screen of the recorder, Rachel laughed, sitting on the floor and catching Emma as she fell over, and Ross rewound the tape to the beginning, during Emma's first birthday.
Phoebe came out of the bedroom, looking just as hungover as Ross, and he barely heard her saying she thought that Rachel and Joey had made it back as well, because she could hear their voices on the video.
They watched the video of Emma's first birthday together, chuckling at Phoebe's song, but when Ross turned to look at Phoebe, he noticed that she was crying. After a moment, he realized that he was as well.
"It's not fair, is it?" Phoebe said, dabbing at her eyes. "We were all so happy, and alive, and..."
"If Monica and Chandler made it back, that means the others could," Ross offered, but even he could hear the lack of hope in his voice.
It had simply been too long. They were closing in on nearly eight days following the afternoon on which human technology backfired on its makers in the worst way possible, and it wasn't like Rachel had gone to Canada. Ross had always sort of worried about her, whether she could really take care of herself, much less a child. It didn't hit him until then that she would have made it back by now if she were still alive, which must have meant that...
Ross reached out and took Phoebe's hand in his, squeezing it and drawing just as much strength from her as he was trying to give.
"Pheebs," he said in a hoarse, thick voice. "I..."
She gave him a small, grateful smile.
"I know. And I am too. About Emma and Rachel."
"Thank you," he said, and his breath hitched in his throat before he confessed, "You know, I think it was over between us, when she left. Long before she left."
"Don't say that," Phoebe said, wrapping her arms around him. "You don't know that. You always worked things out."
"Yeah, that's what people keep telling us," Ross said, leaning into Phoebe's embrace, finally allowing himself to admit the truth, to stop living in denial. "Even if she did come back... I don't think we would, Pheebs." He drew in another shuddering sob when she patted his back and let him talk. "And I... God, I think us getting back together might've been a mistake. I don't know."
Phoebe quietly shushed him, but Ross went on. "No, I mean it. You and Mike, y'know, sometimes when we were all out together, I'd look at you two, and I'd look at Rachel, and once or twice I'd think, why doesn't she look happy?
"And I think I know why, now. I was so focused on getting everything perfect, that I couldn't even realize we were right back where we started. Just angry at each other, all the time. I hated her being away, and she hated being around me. It wasn't good for Emma. It wasn't good for any of us, but I didn't see it - didn't want to see it - until it was too late. And ever since this whole thing started, I've been thinking, maybe if Rachel and I called it quits a year ago, she'd be here. Emma would be here, and at least they'd be okay."
Ross's eyes were red and blurred with tears, he reeked of alcohol, his throat burned and he had never felt so clear-headed, so certain. "They're dead right now. And I would give anything, anything, to bring them back."
"I would, too," Phoebe said, hugging him tighter to her.
"I mean it," Ross said against her shoulder. "I'd take it all back. I'd give up the last two years. The last ten. I would do anything, just to know they're both okay."
He squeezed his eyes shut and sobbed on Phoebe's shoulder.
"Don't cry, Daddy," he heard, then, and felt a small hand on his face.
He stilled.
Then slowly opened his eyes.
Rachel was standing right in front of him. She looked exhausted and dirty, but she was there, holding Emma, who was touching his face.
"... What?" Ross said, loosening his grip on Phoebe as she made a shocked gasp.
"You're so dramatic, Geller," Rachel said, smiling through her tears.