Chapter I

"Chandler, come on." Joey's veins were starting to bulge as the young man of twenty six slammed the bare flesh of his knuckles repeatedly against his roommate's bedroom door. He could feel his epidermis beginning to quake with fractures, splitting between his fingertips as blood began to form around the drier patches. "I know something's wrong, man. Just open the door. I've already been out here for an hour, don't think I can't do this all night," he warned sternly with his thick city accent. Quickly he took a momentary break, swabbing his barely bloodied hands against his sweatpants and allowing his palms now to bang in repeated succession. He twisted at the knob, but found it still to be locked.

" - go away," came the muffled and slightly sniffled retort of his roommate. Joey heaved a grand sigh of aggravation.

"Chandler, I can't understand you when you've got your pillow against your mouth." In defeat he pressed his forehead against the door, simply tapping at it now with a lilting rhythm. "Please, just come out here and talk to me," he muttered with a tiny groan. The clock read a number he refused to acknowledge. Every muscle in his body was aching to give up this losing battle and crawl right back under the covers of his bed. It was one of the rare nights he was sleeping in it alone and without the feminine company he rather enjoyed his space to sprawl out and just relax.

"I said go away," Chandler screamed rather hysterically, though much easier to understand. Joey lifted his forehead from the varnished wood and nodded slightly.

"Good, good. You put the pillow down. That's a start. Now just unlock the door and tell me what the hell is going on," he pleaded with the second young man. He had been serious when he'd said he could stand there all night. He couldn't count the number of times Chandler had been there for him in their short time as friends. Chandler was family to him, and practically closer than family at that.

"Joey, just leave me the fuck alone," Chandler called out with a rasping cry. Joey had never heard him so out of control. He could hear Chandler moving about, shuffling around the bed and then a sudden series of crashes and thuds emanating from behind the door. The fact that his knuckles throbbed meant nothing at the sound of glass shattering suddenly. Joey slammed his masculine frame against the weight of the door, in hopes that it would fall down before him.

"Chandler, I'm not playing around," he warned through grunts and gasps of air, still trying to push his way through the wall. "You're freaking me out man. This isn't like you." And it wasn't at all. It had come out of nowhere, even. Normally Joey could sleep through anything, save the wonderful scent of one of Monica's delectable and steaming creations. But tonight, no – something had been different about tonight. Even in the morning as Joey had sat over his bowl of flaky cereal while sinking his teeth down into the sugared pieces, Chandler had seemed different. There was a distance that speckled his gaze and he'd barely remembered to mumble a farewell as Joey had called after him to remember to pick up paper towels on his way home.

"Do you want me to go wake up Monica? Because I will and then - then you'll have to deal with her," Joey continued, his voice rising in both agitation and panic. He couldn't understand how an hour ago everything had at least a semblance of sanity and now it was as though their apartment had bathed itself in quicksand and survival was out of the question. But then he just had to get up for that glass of milk, didn't he? It hadn't been more than a minute after silently opening the refrigerator door when the sound of soft panting sobs had echoed from underneath Chandler's door, flooding the apartment with their distraught tone. He could hear Chandler hiccupping noisily, kicking at his mattress and the feet of his bed. In a matter of seconds he was trying to open to the door to check on his friend, but of course Chandler had locked it well before Joey had even woken up.

And so here they were. "Go ahead," Chandler replied angrily. Joey could hear a soft thud and could only assume that he had begun to slam his pillow into the wall as he sometimes did when he was upset. "Go ahead," he repeated. "It doesn't matter because I'm not going to let you guys in here."

"Dude, just let me in. Whatever's the matter can't be all that bad. Did you like crap your pants while you were sleeping or something?" Joey attempted to make light of the situation, hoping his friend would begin to settle down. Clearly un-amused, Chandler did not reply. "That's it. I'm getting Monica." And with obvious chagrin, Joey stormed off.

"What's going on?" Ross inquired with sleep lingering in every syllable as he spoke. Monica's living room was crowded for almost three in the morning as Phoebe, Rachel, Joey sat around the coffee table with mugs all clutched within their grasps. Monica stood by the kitchen sink, absently stirring her own drink with a small silver spoon. Everyone, including Ross, wore nothing more than pajamas and robes though he had managed to throw on a coat on his way over. "Why did you need me to rush over here so fast?"

"Oh honey, you look exhausted," Rachel mused empathetically.

"That might be because I was asleep, you know, until Monica called me and woke me up," Ross replied with a hint of unkindness.

"We're all tired Ross, there's no need to be grouchy." Phoebe glared from her spot upon the couch, bringing her mug to her peach lips as she sipped slowly. Rachel nodded as she pulled at a loose thread at the seam of her shirt.

"Yeah, Mon – honey? Are you going to tell us what's up anytime soon?" Monica opened her mouth to speak with a tiny nod but Joey quickly interrupted with panicky wavering eyes.

"Chandler's flipped out," Joey cried. He was met with incredulous stares. Incredulous and fatigued stares.

"Flipped out? How – how, how, how do you mean?" Ross stammered in his usual way. Rachel and Phoebe seemed to be sharing glances back and forth between Monica and each other, unsure of what to say at the present moment.

"He's gone berserk – totally out of his mind," Joey continued with his hands moving about emphatically. "I woke up to get something to drink and he's locked the door to his room and all I hear is stuff breaking and him crying and things hitting the wall. It was awful." Hurt resonated in his tone and his lashes lifted and fell as though on the verge of tears himself.

"Well did you try talking to him?" Ross asked a moment later.

"Yeah," Phoebe said. "I mean, how do you know you weren't dreaming? I used to sleepwalk when I was a kid and I thought I heard stuff happening all the time but you know, it was all in my head." Joey shook his head.

"No, no. I'm sure of it. I just spent almost an hour and a half trying to get him to come out of his room but he won't even talk to me. He just kept making all these crashing noises and crying and stuff."

"So, Joey came over to get me to see if I could get Chandler to come out but he did the same thing when I tried to talk to him so," Monica trailed off with a slight shrug and a stifled yawn. "I scared him into unlocking the door for a moment," she continued sleepily. "But he locked it right back up again a second later."

"He's freaking me out," Joey exclaimed through furrowed brows. "You guys need to do something."

"Do something? Us – us, us?" Ross said as his slippers squeaked softly against the floor. "What exactly do you think we should be doing? If Chandler doesn't want to come out, I say just let him stay in there for awhile. Why make it worse?"

"Well I thought we could all go talk to him together," Monica suggested as she curled her fingers towards the palms of her hands briefly. "You know, show him that we're all here for him through," she paused with a blank look upon her face, "- through whatever the hell this is."

"I just think you guys are going to upset him more," Ross argued. "Look, Chandler was my roommate too and I've seen him get upset before. You've just got to let him blow off some steam and give him some space. We'd just be embarrassing him by bringing attention to it."

"Ross, I heard him talking in some babbling made up language and smashing his alarm clock against what I can only assume was some part of his body as he kept screaming every time pieces of it went flying off," Monica said with a soft graveness. "Joey heard him throwing his body against the wall and saying he was going to paint his room red."

"Red? Red, red – as in like wow that's some red blood you've got there?" Ross stuttered as he gazed at the floor, his feet shuffling left and right.

"Maybe Phoebe should talk to him," Rachel offered as she tucked her legs up against her chest, gesturing to where Phoebe sat.

"Me? Why me?" Phoebe spluttered. Rachel paused for a moment, nestling a strand of hair behind her ear as she examined her recent pedicure intently.

"Pheebs, why not you? Out of all of us you're the most in touch with how other people are feeling? And you do all that you know," she stopped with an apparent loss for the correct vocabulary term, "- that stuff, that you, you know that stuff that you do." Phoebe smiled brightly as though Rachel had paid her just the most dear and loving compliment. Monica snapped her fingers all of a sudden.

"Oh, what about that girl who lives in the apartment downstairs? Oh, god, what's her name again?" She glanced upwards in thought, her tongue lolling to the corner of her mouth. "I remember talking to her one time when we were both waiting for the bus. She's studying to be a psychologist, I think."

"I know who you're talking about," Phoebe squealed as she clapped her hands together with a jolt of noise, her blonde hair swaying as she shook from excitement. "Yeah, she's like a floor down from you. I should go get her. Oh, this'll be so much fun," she tittered as she hastily began to gather up her purse and the few belongings she had brought with her.

"You seem awfully excited Pheebs," Rachel noted gently.

"Yeah, I just – I don't know." Phoebe's grin was too wide for her to speak and with no further warning she ran out of the apartment. Monica wrapped her arms around herself; the tense worry upon her frail countenance matching that of Joey's who was now visibly fighting off the pearls of salty saline tears that threatened to drip down the apples of his cheekbones.

"I guess we should all head over to Chandler and Joey's apartment then," she proposed hesitantly. Ross nodded slowly, no longer dulled by a lack of sleep but rather the shock of what he had awoken to.

"Yeah," he whispered. "I guess we should."