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A/N: One day, I'd like to write a fic about Phoebe maybe. I love her character. How she seems so air-headed and downright weird, and you just don't get it, but she sometimes reveals herself to be the wisest member of the group. She knows so much. This sounds really random, but you'll see when you read the chapter. I love writing Phoebe. Anything goes, and in the end, she's not weird- she's the most helpful person. She's real. She gets it. She's the puppetmaster :-P

So this is the very last chapter of this fic. I really hate ending fics, I get really attached to my stories. But I've been having kinda of a shitty week, so I decided that maybe posting the end to this would cheer me up. Like the reviews from it. Those always make me feel better. :-) I just really hope you guys have enjoyed the story, because it's my favorite one I've written. I just adore Ross and Rachel and love putting them in different situations and figuring out how they might handle it. I've been told that I really understand the characters, and I dont know if I do, but I sure as hell try my best to get them. Try to be the puppetmaster :-P Hehe.

Seriously, though, thank you for following my story. I hope you join "Feels Like Tonight", which is in chapter 2 :-) I just hope this ending is good enough, because I liked it. I dont wanna let you guys down.

Also, I have a tendency to put my fic titles into my fictions. I like to do that. So that might sound corny but its one of my personal favorite lines :-P hehe

3 Caity

Rachel stared at the small living room of her new apartment. So empty, impersonal, cold . . .

Nothing at all compared to how hollow she felt.

At the time, leaving Ross had been all she'd known to do. She'd been screwed over in the past, and she always managed a narrow escape. When she realized that she held no feelings for her ex-fiance Barry, she'd climbed out the window at the wedding to get away from it all. But where did she have to go? No where, but shamefully walk the streets in full wedding dress garb, staring at the ground until she found her way home.

Now, she didn't even have a home to escape to. What she'd known to be home for the past six months- not only the apartment, but Ross himself- was now a part of the past. It was hard, but she knew she'd have to work on putting it behind her. Even if it became increasingly evident that she didn't want to.

However, it had been a full day, and she still hadn't been able to think about anything else.

She tried to watch TV, but any man with dark hair or eyes brought up memories. Any documentary reminded her of the late nights they'd watch random shows together, chowing on Chinese food and laughing at nothing in particular. Her romance novels made her think of everything she could have had, if either of them had ever worked up the courage to say their feelings out loud.

This new apartment slowly turned into a prison.

There was the tiny front room, connecting to a kitchen. There was one bathroom and one bedroom. One large window encompassed her bedroom wall, the only thing she could find remotely pleasant about the place. From up there, she could stare down from the fifth floor she lived on, watching the innocent faces of the lovesick teenagers walking hand in hand, fumbling over words and shaking through awkward pauses. Of course, other passerby were present, but these were the couples Rachel always watched. So naive, so new to the word of love . . . 'They have no idea,' she always thought.

And neither did she.

-----

Ross sat on the ratty orange couch, solomn and heartbroken. Two days, and the pain hadn't lifted. He wasn't even sure why he left for coffee, because it sure wasn't making him feel better. Mostly because, sitting at one of the tables behind him, he could hear a young couple giggling. The same infectious giggle as the couple he'd seen at the bar. The same sting flowing into his veins like a poison.

He heard the door open, almost instinctly knowing it was one of four possible people. He prayed it wouldn't be his sister, filling his head with encouraging remarks or sympathic looks. He hoped it wasn't Chandler, eager to tell a joke to lighten the awkward mood. And, above all, he hoped it wasn't Joey, who was already asking for Rachel's phone number.

He looked, and instead saw Phoebe's bright smile. Ah, Phoebe. He hadn't even thought of her . . . and now that he was, he realized that she seemingly had nothing to do with any of this. She hadn't particularly given him advice, she hadn't teased him . . .

"Hey there," she chirped brightly, sitting down next to him. "Don't look so happy to see me or anything."

"Hey Phoebs," he offered, his voice full of his feelings. His emotions were right on his sleeve, and Phoebe took the opportunity to tug at them.

"You really loved Rachel, didn't you?", she asked in a low tone. He looked her in the eyes, and instead of seeing a comment for a comment's sake, or pity, he saw true sadness. But why?

"Yeah," he answered unsurely. "More than even I can understand."

Phoebe lightly rubbed his arm to comfort him. "She really loved you too, you know."

He looked up at her, in surprise. Rachel had said "love" in their fight, but . . . had she talked to Phoebe about this?

"Did she-"

"Yeah, she talked about it," Phoebe answered before he could even finish asking. She sensed that she'd have to do a lot of the talking. "Ross, you have no idea how completely confused this has left her. I mean, she was borderline floopy. She was head over heels for you!"

"But then, why didn't- why didn't she-"

"Ross, she was scared. Just like you've been. You kept coming up with excuses 'cause of your own insecurity, and that just fed her insecurities. And then you guys never discussed it! I always told her that all these things she would tell me, about her feelings and you guys sleeping together-", Ross raised his eyebrows,"-Yeah, she told me. She said they were two of the most amazing nights she's ever had, Ross. But she was too scared to jump for talking about it, and when you said everything about taking things slow, she thought that meant you'd be the one to bring all this up. But you never did."

Ross looked sadly at her.

"And I can't believe you're not now," she added.

He looked up at her. Sure, his mind had been filled of different ways he could make it up to Rachel. He could find her apartment, immediately take her in his arms, throw her against a wall, and kiss her with all his might. He could find some intricate, creative way to express everything he was feeling for her, and try to take her breath away. Hell, his thoughts ranged from these complex situations to a simple "I'm sorry" card. But he was never a good one with these things, and he was always too big a coward to ever go through with them.

"She hates me, Phoebs," he said, using that as an excuse, but not being able to help feeling it was true. "I mean, I know it was just for Chandler, but I went on that date. I went on that stupid date. I didn't even get to tell her how much I love her! How, even though we haven't dated, and we've only known each other a few months, I want to be the guy! The one who protects her, takes care of her, marries her. I want to wake up every morning, and look down to find her next to me. I just . . . want to go back home."

He trailed off, staring out the front window behind Phoebe's back.

"Whoa, I have a massage client in like five minutes!", Phoebe suddenly exclaimed, looking at her watch. She gathered her things, and Ross stood up at the same time as her. "I have to go! But, listen." She put her hand firmly on Ross's shoulder. "You need to face your fear. You need to talk to her. You need to tell her everything you just told me."

With one more reassuring gaze, and a strong smile, Phoebe gave Ross a hug before leaving the coffee shop, her blonde hair whipping behind her in the wind.

Ross stood there, unable to move. Was Phoebe right?

Then, he heard it. That giggle of the couple that was behind him. He turned to look, and his eyebrows raised. It was the same couple as at the bar. The young man, his features dark but his look sweet and gentle. The girl, her hair golden, her eyes sparkling as he tickled her. He now saw that these two people weren't showing up in his life to make it a living hell. They were telling him something.

Something that he was now hearing, loud and clear.

-----

Rachel entered her apartment, still quite empty on her second night there. She just couldn't bring herself to unpack anything, or to attempt to make herself at "home". That would only finalize everything . . . it would feel permadent. It would mean he was officially part of the past.

She threw her keys on the counter by the door, and watched them as they slid over the surface and onto the floor. Even that wasn't right here. Nothing was.

She went to her room, pulling open the drawer that held nothing but an old pair of pajama bottoms and a tight tank top. She undressed silently, not turning on the TV to disturb the tranquility of the room. After she pulled the pants and tank top on, she retreated to the bathroom, but decided she was too tired to take a shower. She'd just do it tomorrow morning.

Sighing, she sat on the small couch in her lonely front room. She couch was small, the television was small. It was like she was making this place so unenjoyable on purpose. Maybe it was just to mirror her feelings. Maybe it was to, somehow, push her to go back.

Rather than do anything at all productive, or even mindlessly entertaining, she sat back in the couch. She closed her eyes, hoping maybe she'd just fall asleep, and let today be over.

Let tomorrow come with it's new problems and new level of hurt.

Just as she felt herself drift into an uneasy sleep, one that would no doubt be filled with dreams of "what if" and "maybes", she heard a feeble knock on the door.

Immediately, she sat up, staring in the utmost confusion. It was ten at night. Neither Phoebe nor Monica had called to say they were visiting, she hardly saw Chandler and Joey in the past few days, she didn't have many other friends . . . unless . . .

No, it couldn't be him. Monica had promised to not give out her address. Especially not to him.

But . . .

She was brought out of her thinking by another knock, this one more confident. Whoever it was, if they weren't entirely sure about coming in before, they definitely were now.

Slowly, she got up, crossing the room to answer the door. Taking the door knob into her hand, she took a deep breath. She turned it quickly, opening the door fast to get it over with.

And there he was.

-----

"Do you want to come in?", she asked weakly.

They'd been standing, her in the doorway and him in the hallway, almost an entire five minutes. Minutes full of tension, wondering, curiosity, and longing. Yet neither moved to do anything. His gaze was kept strong on her, while she was looking at anything but him. Neither knew what to do.

"No," he stated. She winced upon hearing his voice, which sounded cold and harsh.

"Then why are you here?", she asked.

"Look at me."

Slowly, she raised her head to see him. He looked terrible. He had bags under his eyes, which looked bloodshot, and his hair was windswept. His clothing looked tattered, his face held a five o'clock shadow . . . and yet, she still got the chills.

She stared at him, straight in the eyes.

"I don't care about my sister's advice, that stupid date, or any of this shit anymore. Okay? I don't care that we don't make sense. I don't care that no one, not even us, understands what the hell this is."

He seemed to be finished, but Rachel was still confused.

"Okay . . .", she answered, uncertainly. "But then why . . ." She trailed off, looking at him helplessly.

"I'm not letting you get away."

The second he said these words, they simultaneously rushed forward, meeting in the middle. Rachel threw her arms around his neck, as his went instinctively to her waist. Their lips met, surrendering into the most passionate, depraved kiss they'd ever experienced.

They staggered back into the apartment, as he kicked the door shut behind them. They hurriedly began clawing at each other's clothes, littering them around the apartment in a pile. She led them towards her bedroom as the kiss intensified, their tongues battling fiercely for control over it. All that was in Rachel's room was a mattress, which they fell onto upon entering the room.

With the soft contact, they broke the kiss. The room was dark, with no lights being on, but Ross could catch the gleam from Rachel's eyes in the soft light from her bedroom window. She was breathing heavily, staring into his eyes, delving into his very soul.

He leaned back in to kiss her again, feeling her arms slide around his middle and her hands on his back. They slowed the pace from their initial starved kissing, taking their time to relish in the fact that this was real. It was honest. It was them.

For a long while, they lay together, doing nothing more than kissing, touching, basking in each other's presence. Ross kissed everywhere he could reach, redisvocering her body and taking time to convert every slope and curve to memory. If she was tired before, she certainly was awake now . . .

They lazily made love all night, never quite ready to drift into sleep. Everytime it would end, it only gave them another reason to start again. Their bodies were exhausted, but they would not let themselves give in. Giving in was what broke them. This would make up for all that.

At one point, everything went silent. They lay next to each other on the mattress, muggy air rising in the room. Their breathing was heavy. He'd taken a deep breath before rolling back on top of her, kissing her neck up to her ear, before going back to her mouth. She raised her arms to his sides, rubbing them affectionately.

"I love you," he'd whispered. "More than you'll ever know."

"I think I know," she whispered back. "Because I do too."

With that, they'd joined as one, for the final time that night. Slowly, unendingly, in a long, dreamy haze. She hugged him close to her body, kissing his shoulder, biting his skin. They were too tired to make any noise, keeping the moment quiet and serene. He couldn't hear her, but he could feel when she'd come, and he followed in suit, collapsing on top of her, nuzzling his nose against her cheek.

He rolled to his side, letting her adjust herself so her back was to his chest. They pulled the thin sheet from the mattress around them, cuddled warmly against each other's skin. He wrapped his arms around her, protecting her, just like he always imagined. Finally, there was no fear of tomorrow. No fear of the morning after. Because the morning after, they would still this. It would still be them.

Seven months ago, Ross had seen an advertisement in the newspaper that read, "Selling something? Need something? Looking for someone? Your ad here."

Never had he known an innocent little blurb in the paper could change his life so much.

He buried his neck into the curve where her neck met her shoulder, kissing her lightly there. She bought her arms to cover his where they lay around her middle, entwining their fingers.

They finally surrendered to their fatigue, falling asleep the the rhythmatic sounds of each other's breathing, and the comfort of knowing they would both still be there when they woke up. Because now, there was no backing out.

They were home, this time for good.