In My Blood Like Holy Wine

Oh you're in my blood like holy wine
You taste so bitter and so sweet
Oh I could drink a case of you darling
And I would still be on my feet

The beer in his hand and in his belly does little to fade the longing and the pain, but then he hadn't really expected it to, though he had hoped it would deaden it a little. He is in Chandler and Monica's backyard, at their big house in Connecticut. Joey is alone, but this is by his own choice. The stars were brighter in Connecticut.

He takes a long sip, lazily lifting the bottle to his lips. He had hoped that being away for two years, that sticking it out in California would have given him the space he needs to finally get over Rachel Green. But that hope had begun to fade the moment he set eyes on her at the airport, the first time seeing her into years, and continues to fade with each passing moment in her presence.

Joey left New York originally not for the "newer opportunities" but because he honestly wanted Rachel and Ross to be happy, but he couldn't stand seeing the happy little family all the time and always picturing himself in Ross' place. Joey knows he has never been able to compete with the lobsters, with the idea that Ross and Rachel were meant to be and that Joey falling for Rachel had just been a small blip on the map, but that doesn't stop that feeling that he is getting the short end of the stick. Now, he has come back to find that nothing had changed, the feeling for her, the way his heart and stomached always lurched when he saw her, is still the same.

He hears footsteps behind him and turns to see Chandler approaching, looking surprised.

"What are you doing out here Joe?" he asks, joining his best friend on the edge of the deck, both of their legs dangling off of the ledge, their feet inches away from the ground.

Joey shrugs, throat tight. He feels pathetic, tied down by the love that he apparently can't get over, and he doesn't know how to tell his best friend, brother, that he is lost. But like always, Chandler knows him better than anyone.

"Is seeing her… still that hard?" he whispers, glancing at the sliding glass door that separates them from the family room.

"Yeah man, it's still that hard." Swallow.

Chandler sighs, running a hand over his face. "Wow. I thought that you had gotten over the Rachel thing a long time ago."

Joey shakes his head. "Nope."

Uncomfortable silence descends. Chandler clears his throat. "Well, where's a hideously inappropriate joke when you want one?"

Joey lets a grin spread across his face and his best friend slaps him on the back, but Chandler's expression is solemn. "Don't spend all night alone out here, everyone else was starting to wonder where you disappeared to." Chandler grabs the side of the railing and pulls himself up to a standing position. "Monica and Rachel are putting the kids to bed and then we're gonna watch Weekend at Bernie's, you know, for old times sake."

This time Joey laughs. "You wanted to watch Miss Congeniality didn't you?"

"Well, YEAH," he exclaims, as if to say of course he did, "but I was outvoted."

"I'll be there in a minute."

Chandler nods and leaves, disappearing back into the house. Joey finishes his beer and stands. He turns away from the Chandler and Monica's backyard and looks through the sliding glass door into the house. Everyone is gathered and Chandler is putting in the DVD and fiddling with the TV. Rachel and Ross are on the sofa, cuddled together, Ross is laughing at something that Phoebe had said, but Rachel isn't laughing. Her eyes are on him instead and her expression is concerned, pained even, and suddenly loving Rachel never hurt so much.

The apartment above Chandler and Monica's garage is roughly half the size of the old apartment, complete with a tiny kitchen, bedroom, and bathroom. Chandler had joked that when he was ready to return to New York permanently that they would decorate it just like apartment 19, but for the moment it has Monica's name written all over it.

Joey falls back onto the bed and kicks off his shoes, letting them fly across the room until they hit the opposite wall. He doesn't know why but the day has drained him; it probably has something to do with the sudden awkwardness of being with his friends again after two years, of feeling like an outsider for the first time ever – and of realizing that his love for Rachel hadn't faded over time.

He doesn't bother taking off the rest of his clothes as he turns over onto his side, his arm tucked under his head, acting as a pillow even though there is a perfectly good one at the head of the bed. With his feet dangling over the end of the mattress, Joey falls asleep, missing the sounds of the city.

I remember that time you told me you said
"Love is touching souls"
Surely you touched mine
'Cause part of you pours out of me
In these lines from time to time

He is woken an hour so later by timid, unsure knocking at the front door of the apartment. Joey staggers out of bed, clothes wrinkled and black hair sticking up, and answers the door, eyes squinting out into the darkness. It's Rachel, shivering in nothing but her pajamas.

"Geez Rach are you crazy? It's freaking freezing."

He tugs her inside and closes the door behind her, shutting out the night's too cool breeze.

"I couldn't sleep," Rachel offers as an explanation, biting her lip in a way that floods his mind with ideas. "And… I also need to talk to you."

"Okaaaay, shoot."

She doesn't wait and doesn't beat around the bush, but dives right into it. "Why are you acting weird?"

He chuckles nervously, his inability to lie, or for that matter keep a secret, making him anxious – what if she pushes for an explanation? "I'm not acting weird."

"Yes you are!"

"Uh, no, I'm not."

Rachel sighs, her head bowed a little and her thumb and forefinger pressing against her temples. "I've missed you more than you can possibly imagine and when you finally come home for a visit, after I've begged you for ages, you barely look at me, or talk to me." Her head lifts and then it's like she's looking into him, not just at him. "Are you mad at me or something?"

"No, of course not! I've never been mad at you – not for anything," he whispers, hurt that she'd think that.

"How am I supposed to know that any more Joe? You leave for two years and then when you come back you act like a totally different person! You're closed off, aloof, and it's like you don't even want to be around any of us anymore. What? Are your LA friends better or something?" She's mad now and he can't understand why, but the way he's feeling, the emotions running through him uncontrollably, he becomes angry too, it's the easiest thing to feel completely.

He scoffs. "I didn't change you're the one that changed! And what the hell does aloof mean anyways?"

Rachel growls and stamps her feet in frustration. "I have not changed," she hisses through gritted teeth.

"Yes you have, you all have!" he yells suddenly, and her eyes widen, stunned that easy going Joey had raised his voice in anger. He's gesturing wildly now, letting the Italian out. "I come back and there's no space left for me anymore. You're cuddly with Ross, Monica and Chandler have babies and diapers and mortgages, Phoebe is with Mike and planning babies and diapers and mortgages, and where does that leave me? Alone! And…" he swallows hard, catching his breath, "every time I see you it's still like my heart is being ripped out of my chest. I had you to myself for one week, and you were really never even mine! And I have to pretend that it doesn't bother me, I have to pretend that I don't love you…."

He's breathing hard by the time he's done and he can't bring himself to look at her; his hands are on his hips and he can't fight the angry, hurt tears that are building behind his eyes. "I want you to be happy Rach, more than anything, and Ross he's my best friend too, and I never want to get in the way of that but it's been four long years and I can't make it go away. And I am just so tired Rach… so tired."

Joey doesn't realize that he's put as much space between them as he can until his back hits the wall adjacent to the bathroom door. He still hasn't looked at her since his rambling, tirade began, and the sound of her silence, a horrible empty buzzing in his ears, makes him feel nauseous – until she finally speaks.

"Oh Joey," she murmurs, her voice thick with tears. "I'm so sorry honey."

He feels dazed, sick, he doesn't notice her approach him until her arms are wrapped around his waist and her cheek is pressed warmly against his chest. His mindlessly wraps his arms around her too, enveloping her completely like he had so many times before. He buries his face into her hair, breathes in before he can stop himself. "Please tell me how to get over you, because I don't know how, and it would make everything so much easier if you were just my extremely hot friend Rachel again."

Rachel half sobs, half laughs once into his chest, and his fingers dig into the soft material of her pajama top at the feeling of her so close to him.

"Maybe, you just need to get it out of your system…" she murmurs, so softly that he almost doesn't hear her, but he knows precisely what she means that exact moment that she says it.

The sudden feeling of her lips against his chin, his neck is intoxicating. It's never been like this between them before. There's no over thinking anything, in fact there's no thinking at all, just action as his fingers lift her shirt until he can feel the bare, warm skin of her back. When he tips his head down and claims her lips, it's all warm, slick heat like sex. It's like before, that one week two years ago, but ten times better, more desperate. She's sucking his tongue into her mouth and he's nibbling on that same spot where her teeth were digging down into just minutes ago.

Seconds pass in blinding heat, like flashes of light. Suddenly it's her that is against the wall, and it's her legs that wrap around his waist, and it's his hands that tug up her shirt until her breasts are bared, and it's his mouth that explores her nipples, and it's her rubbing against him like a cat in heat. It's her moans, and his answering thrusts – she can feel him hard through their layers of clothing – and it's the desire that has never gone away for her either, it's just been dormant, in hiding. She's clawing at his back, ripping his shirt up and off, arching and begging, as his hands grip her hips and ass, bringing her down hard against his denim covered erection.

The sudden realization that if the clothes were gone he would be buried balls deep inside her, fucking her, is both thrilling and horrifying. Get it out of your system, suddenly echoes through his mind like a gunshot, ripping through the haze of lust. It's just gonna be one night, he realizes suddenly, a dirty, wrong one night stand that they pretend never happened later on. And it's all like an ice cold bucket of water being dumped over his head.

He rips himself away from her without any warning, just as Rachel was struggling to unbuckle his pants. She falls to her knees with a cry of surprise, landing thankfully unharmed on the soft carpet. Rachel is shaking and panting, eyes unfocused and glazed as she struggles to think and see straight. Her eyes clear when the look on her would-be-lover's face becomes apparent; the sob sticks in her throat and she collapses to her stomach, curling into a ball, her own bucket of cold water hard and violent.

"I—I want forever, not just one night," he gasps, trying to explain, trying to understand himself. "I don't want to be that guy, and I don't want you to be that girl."

And then… he's running. He's out the door and down the stairs in the dark, almost slipping and falling before he catches himself. He's opening Chandler and Monica's front door with the brand new key that they gave him, stunned and confused that he even remembered to grab his keys and his wallet on the way out of the apartment. He finds Monica's keys to the Porsche, and scribbles a quick note to Chandler, wondering if his friend will even be able to read it given his shaking hand.

Chandler,
Have to get away for awhile, tell Mon I'll return the car back in a couple of days, tell her I'm sorry. I won't scratch it I promise.

-Joey

He's back out of the house in under two minutes. The keys jingle in his hand as he runs back towards the garage, bypassing by the stairs to the little apartment that was designated as his. He unlocks the side garage door and climbs into the Porsche. Thankfully he remembers to open the big garage door with the little remote on the dashboard before starting the car and accidentally blasting his way through the metal door. The moment the door has risen enough for him to drive through, he hits the gas and tears out of there. He glances in the rear view mirror for a split second and it's just long enough for him to catch sight of Rachel at the top of the stairs, looking like a ghost in her lavender colored pajamas, and the tears still falling down her flushed cheeks, glisten like the stars. Joey was right the stars were brighter in Connecticut.