you and me, alright [roschel]

invisible/string

INVISIBLE

Ross has his duffel bag tight across his chest and the kiss he'd given Rachel this morning still on his lips when he rounds the corner into Dr. Phalange's hallway. He doesn't make it to the office though because at the same moment their therapist exits her door, her designer purse dangling on her wrist and turning to lock up.

"All the women in my life leaving me alone, it's like college all over again," Ross jokes exasperatedly and walks towards her.

"Speaking of college, monsieur Geller, I've decided to hold our class outside - to Rachel's suggestion, actually," Dr. Phalange clarifies with a slight nod. "She'd mentioned a bistro near her office, thought you'd appreciate a meal after a five hour lecture and also so you can pick her up quicker after her work meeting."

Ross can't help but grin impishly at the thought of Rachel thinking of him even while at work. He should've known. He should've always known...

"So who's picking up the tab at this place, you or Louis Vuitton?" Ross asks, falling into step with their therapist, noticing how much she looks like Pheebs, if Pheebs traded hair clips for a sleek bob and hippie skirts for a functional trench coat.

"Technically, you and Rachel are," Dr. Phalange replies with an uncharacteristic snicker. "But okay, as long as you two grown adults start calling me Fiona already."

"Okay, Fee."

"I explicitly said Fiona."

Fifteen minutes and a Line 28 line ride later, they're seated at a window table at Le Table de Lucie overlooking the imposing, bustling building that is LVMH, with two black cups of coffee and an untouched tray of canapes.

"I realize I don't eat at all on Fridays until after our sessions are done," Ross confesses to the smoke emanating from his cup.

"I figured, that's why I volunteered for the check," Dr. Phalange - Fiona - replies dryly as she puts in a single drop of milk in her coffee.

Ross chuckles, his right hand twiddling with his left ring finger.

"So, how's the week been?" Fiona asks, and compared to Dr. Phalange, she sounds like a friend. So that's how Ross answers.

"This move is hurtling at lightning speed," he says, putting his cup down gingerly after a (hot! very hot!) sip and eyes it suspiciously. (Fiona laughs.) "I'm happy, yes. But everything's happening all at once, it's a whole new country and and a baby and work and French and lather, rinse, repeat. And when I close my eyes at night, it's the Benny Hill theme remixed with wedding bells and Rach always comes into the forefront and I end up holding her tighter when we sleep."

"Do you want to expound on that?" It's definitely Dr. Phalange asking this time, but Ross doesn't really care.

"I do," he answers, thinking of how much he must have talked Chandler's and Joey's (and Mon's, and Carol's, and a great part of the West Village's) ears off over this matter. "I say it's easy to expound when Rachel is the explanation, but I'm always lacking words beyond that. She's so...she's so...she's everything, you know?"

"I understand," Fiona nods. "But aside from being a licensed therapist, I also married the love of my life, and he did manage to propose without me running for the woods - or the nearest coffee shop, in your case, so like I've said before, I'm here to guide."

"Is it obvious?" Ross asks.

"That what?" The therapist replies.

"That I do want to marry her," Ross murmurs thoughtfully.

"How do you Americans say it - duh?" Fiona almost scoffs. "You're no subtle man, Ross Geller."

"I know that, so why is she acting oblivious?" Ross nearly pleads.