A/N: I don't think anyone is even still reading this, but I found this chapter hiding on my hard drive and figured I may as well upload it, despite its suckitude. "Enjoy."

I'm fiddling with Phoebe's birth story slightly for my own purposes. Only slightly. Some story and dialogue taken from canon, where necessary. As always, I don't own these characters. I barely own myself.

In the event that anyone is still reading, I have a request for you, at the bottom. Scroll away.

Chapter 16: Duck L'orange

"Ross?" Monica's voice broke the uncomfortable silence in the hospital's waiting area. "Phoebe's asking for you."

"Sure." Ross practically leapt from his seat, blatantly relieved for the opportunity to escape the suffocating tension. Rachel and Chandler exchanged a worried glance despite the fact that they were both equally relieved to see him go.

Monica sunk down into a chair opposite them and sighed. "Pheebs said to tell you that you can thank her later," she said. She glanced up at the clock on the wall and groaned upon seeing the little hand straddling the one. "God, we've been here for hours. How much longer is this gonna take?"

Rachel sighed, alternating her crossed legs. "I don't know. I'm gonna have to go pretty soon, though; I love Phoebe to pieces, but I've gotta be up for work in like…" Her exhaustion made the mental arithmetic an even slower process than usual. "…five hours?"

Chandler rested his head against the wall at his back. "Me, too. I can't afford to miss any more work. Shockingly, I'm already on my boss' shit list."

Monica stifled a yawn. "Well, I'm off tomorrow. Again." She grimaced. "God, I'm gonna be broke next month. Anyway, why don't you guys go on home? I'm sure Phoebe will understand. Hell, it's not like the birth's gonna be a magical Kodak moment, anyway. Which part will she want us all to share? The one where Frank, Jr. and Alice start making out on the bed at her feet? Or, or the one where they take the babies away from her right after she pushes 'em out?"

Rachel prodded at her temples; the fluorescent lights coupled with the antiseptic smell of the hospital had given her a splitting headache. "Are you sure, Mon?"

The dark-haired woman nodded. "Tomorrow's when she'll need us the most. Go home. Get some rest. Ross and I will be here."

Grudgingly, Rachel and Chandler stood, hugging Monica goodbye. Chandler cleared his throat. "Don't want to interrupt Ross'…whatever, in there…can you tell Phoebe we love her?"

Monica nodded. "No problem. Night, you guys."

Forty-five minutes later, Rachel trudged into her apartment, not even bothering to turn on a light. Chandler had stopped over at his place to check on the animals, and she had changed into a nightshirt and finished her bedtime rituals before he joined her in her bedroom. "Can I come in?" he asked, faux-coy.

In the dim light of her reading lamp, Rachel batted her eyelashes at him. "But of course."

Shedding his freshly donned sweatpants and t-shirt, Chandler slid in between the sheets and draped an arm across her tank-top-clad torso. "Gonna be a short night, huh, Rach?"

She groaned, ignoring the screaming red numbers on her alarm clock, which had far too many "2"s in it for her liking. "God, I wish I hadn't called in sick this morning."

"Nothing else for it, though. You were traaa-aashed last night."

"So were you, and you managed to make it."

"Yeah, well…I've had a lot of practice."

She smiled faintly, threading her fingers through his. "So since we're already gonna be useless tomorrow…care to make it a little worse?" She turned on her side, facing him, and traced his calf muscle with her toes, nudging her knee between his thighs, grinning at his body's near-instantaneous response.

"Don't have to ask me twice," he growled, and crushed his mouth against hers.

Once again, she marveled at the effect he had on her. Her brain was immediately foggy, the world and all of the chaos with Ross faded away into nothingness. She'd never felt this kind of heady passion before, never with anyone, and it was impossible to control. She responded eagerly to his caresses, arching her back, pressing her hips into his. Her pulse quickened at his muffled moan, and she reveled in the feeling of power his pleasure inspired in her.

And then she was underneath him, his hands tangled through her hair, threading the silken strands between his fingers. His kisses were a welcome assault, blotting out all consciousness, and before she knew it, she was lost.

Wednesday

It seemed to Rachel that only fifteen minutes had passed when her alarm buzzed at 6 a.m. Reluctantly, she rolled out of the warm circle of Chandler's arms, slapping resolutely at the infernal voices coming out of the devil box on her nightstand. Her head was blurry with exhaustion; it was all she could do to pull on her robe and stumble into the kitchen to make coffee. From the bedroom, she heard the grumpy sounds of Chandler's awakening, and she couldn't help but smile. Unbidden, memories of the previous night thundered into her consciousness, and she felt herself grappling for the countertop to steady her weak knees. She frowned at her own reflection in the kitchen window, knowing she should feel at least a little bit guilty for feeling so damn happy at Ross' expense, but her heart wasn't in it. Besides, she told herself, the guilt'll still be there in a couple hours. Let me enjoy this while I can.

Chandler trudged into the living room, a mirror image of her own reluctance to prepare for a day at the office. "Remember the other day," he mumbled, "when I told you I had a little money saved? It would probably be enough to live on here in the city for at least a month or so. We don't necessarily have to go to work today."

Rachel smiled sympathetically. "As appealing as that sounds, you know as well as I do that no savings account could support my shopping habit for that long. Besides," she continued, crossing to him and wrapping her arms around his neck, "I wouldn't want you to get sick of me."

He buried his nose in her hair. "After what you did to me last night? Unlikely."

She grinned into his shoulder, then grudgingly stepped away from him. "I made coffee. Help yourself; I have to get started or I'll be late."

"Thanks. If we absolutely have to go, you wanna share a cab?"

"You bet."

"'K." Chandler rubbed the sleep away from his eyes and aimed his exhausted body toward the coffeepot.

An hour later, they were sitting amiably at the kitchen table, Chandler perusing TheNew York Times while Rachel sifted through the previous day's mail. The door swung open as a visibly exhausted Monica dragged herself into the apartment. "Hey, you guys."

"Mon!" Rachel exclaimed. "Did everything go OK? Is Phoebe all right?"

"Yeah, she's fine. She was sleeping when I left. Ross is still there; he's camped out in the room with her." She dropped into one of the mismatched chairs. "Didn't want her to wake up all alone. I think it was harder than she expected, handing over the babies."

Chandler folded his paper and leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. "How's little Chandler? Strapping and manly, in manner of me?"

Monica's peal of laughter startled the other two. "Ironically – or maybe not so much – the third baby turned out to be a girl."

Chandler reddened. "So what are they going to call her, then?"

Monica smiled at him guilelessly. " 'Chandler.'"

"Seriously?"

"Well, yeah! Why would they change it?"

"Well, it's kind of a masculine name for a girl, don'tcha think?"

Monica grinned. "Phoebe thought you might say that. She said to tell you…what was it? Oh, right: 'Works on you.'"

"She's gonna pay for that."

"Don't be too hard on her. It really was a rough night." Gratefully accepting the cup of coffee Rachel had poured for her, she continued, "Can you believe she tried to talk me into asking Frank and Alice if she could keep one of the triplets?"

Rachel sighed. "Poor thing."

"I know," Monica agreed. "I really admire her; I could never go through with it."

Chandler drained his mug and stood to place it in the sink. "I guess it's that time. You ready, Rach?"

"Yeah. I'll meet you downstairs."

"OK. See you later, Mon." He grabbed his briefcase and disappeared out into the hallway, closing the door behind him.

"So," Rachel said. "What time's the big date?"

"Oh, that," Monica said, nonchalant. "Gosh, I'd almost forgotten."

"My ass you had. A hundred bucks says you haven't thought of anything else all night long."

"That's not true," Monica denied. "I had the pleasure of being heartily distracted by one, Phoebe bearing her brother's children, and two, Ross complaining all night about you and Chandler."

"Oh, Mon, I'm so sorry. I was really hoping he wouldn't try to stick you in the middle of all this."

"Yeah, well…" Monica waved her hands noncommittally. "Anyway, the 'big date,' as you so charmingly referred to it, is at 7:30. What the hell am I gonna wear?"

"Don't you worry about that. I'll be home at 6, that's plenty of time for us to obsess over it together. Just get some rest – my money says you're gonna need your energy tonight – probably more than you're going to need the clothes." Her blue eyes twinkled.

"We'll see."

"Yeah," agreed Rachel, smirking. "We will. I'll see you tonight."

"Have a good day."

"No, that won't work either. Dammit!" Monica's voice was taut with annoyance as she discarded what Rachel estimated to be the seven hundred and third ensemble of the night.

"Mon, you know, we've been going at this for like, an hour now, and you still haven't mastered your hair or your makeup, and you have to leave like, now." Rachel grabbed her friend's arm and propelled her towards the big room. "Go, now, to the bathroom, and work on your hair. Do not pass 'Neurotic,' do not collect 'unprovoked freakout,' and do not come back in here until clothes are all you are lacking. I do this for a living. I will pick something for you, you will wear it, you will like it, and Richard will want to rip it off of you the second he opens the door to his apartment. Go. Get."

Protesting only in theory, Monica disappeared into the living room, leaving Rachel to wade through the pile of perfectly acceptable clothes on her roommate's bed.

OK, OK. What happened to that cute little black skirt? The one Monica dismissed because it was "too skirt-y?" Where is it…where is it…a-ha! Triumphantly, she tossed the skirt in question to the top of the bed. Now. OK. We need something blue, to accent Mon's eyes. She stepped over the chaos of Monica's floor and riffled through the clothes remaining on hangers. Almost immediately, she found it: a pale-hued sleeveless number in a flowy, airy chiffon. The cowl neck was a flattering cut, and the color worked perfectly as a complement to Monica's ice-blue eyes. After digging out some simple black sandals, she rummaged around in her friend's jewelry box before settling on some simple, periwinkle-colored drop earrings and the matching silver necklace. As a final touch, she dashed to her own room, reaching confidently for a handmade bangle bracelet with red beading, something she'd picked up on a whim the day she'd spent shopping in London. It was a little bohemian for Rachel's usual taste, but it was a lovely accoutrement to the relative simplicity of the outfit she'd assembled.

She was extremely relieved to find Monica already wearing the skirt and tugging the shirt over her head. "Are you sure about this skirt? I mean, absolutely sure?"

"Monica. I'll be sure to ask you that next time you make me dinner. 'Are you sure about this duck l'orange? I mean, absolutely – "

"OK, OK," Monica interrupted. "I get it."

Rachel passed her the accessories and pushed her toward the sandals. "OK, let me see you."

Monica turned, and Rachel stopped just short of applauding. "You look amazing, Mon. Richard won't know what hit him. Now. Go! You're going to be late!"

She followed Monica toward the door, trying her level best not to giggle aloud at the brunette's undeniable anxiety. "Monica. You. Are. Going. To. Be. Fine."

"But – "

"No."

"But – "

"No!" She shoved Monica's purse into her hands. "Get out, before I physically remove you from this apartment." She swung the door open and guided her friend out into the hall. "And do not even think of calling me from downstairs. Go get you some Richard."

And then she closed the door in Monica's face, waiting until she heard retreating footsteps before releasing the knob.

A/N: OK, you guys, here's the thing: I've written myself into a corner. I saw it coming several chapters ago, but I didn't know how to get around it, so I've continued to write, and as a result, much of this chapter and the last one is just filler. I really am sorry about that. The trouble is, I've kind of pre-empted my conflict by having Rachel's answer to Ross be an unequivocal "no." And it's time I admitted this: I have absolutely no idea where to go from here. I want to finish this godforsaken thing; I've been writing it for a frillion years, and even I am astonished that 1) I'm STILL working on it and 2) it's STILL not finished. Very annoying all around.

Anyway, I'm desperately trying to avoid the usual plot twists (i.e. somebody gets pregnant, somebody gets in an accident) but damned if I know of any other options. If I can't come up with something soon, this story is doomed forever to incomplete fanfic hell. I really don't want that, but it's starting to seem unavoidable.

So. With that in mind, if there is anyone out there who has any ideas for where I could possibly take it from here, I'll gladly accept suggestions at scarlettbgonya (at) gmail (dot) com. I can't promise to use them all, but I can promise to listen with an open mind and to gratefully credit anyone whose idea I use. Thanks, y'all.