I own them not.

Some people come into our lives and quickly leave. Some people stay a whie and leave footprints on our hearts. And we are never, ever the same. Anonymous

Joey stood, mouth part-open, horror-struck at what he'd done. No. This wasn't right. This wasn't happening.

And the blood swam in front of his eyes, making it hard for him to think clearly. To do anything clearly. He laid his hand against the counter, willing himself not to be sick. His mind slowly, unwillingly began to register what had just happened. Knife. Onion. Blood. Chandler.

Chandler was holding his hand, a string of words Joey didn't recognize coming out of his mouth as he accepted the towel Monica offered him as she began to guide his hand towards the sink.

Phoebe had stopped playing, her eyes watching the scene, her lips pressed together as she looked worriedly from Joey to Chandler, then back to Joey. "It's okay, Joe. He's not going to die."

Joey nodded without speaking, his eyes trained on Chandler's cut hand. It was his fault...all his fault...and Chandler was hurt because of him. Chandler, who had been so nice to him, who had explained everything to him even as he tried and failed to be the Joey Chandler had once known and loved.

"Breathe, Joey!" Phoebe's command pierced through Joey's near-panic and it was only at her words that he realized he hadn't been breathing. He drew in a breath, the world automatically righting itself as he did so.

He heard Monica talking quietly to Chandler, who's curses had turned back into English ones as his pain subsided. "You'll have to go to the hospital. It's too long and deep to not get stitches."

Chandler nodded, looking over his shoulder at Joey. He saw his friend's stricken face a moment before the man doubled over, his hands clutching his head.

"Joey!" Chandler barely remembered to keep pressure on the now-red towel as he rushed to his friend, kneeling beside him as he looked for a reason for this new pain. "Joe, are you okay?"

Joey nodded slightly, his hands gripping his head harder as a low moan escaped his lips. Why did he hurt so much? All he could think of was the pain...the crushing pain inside his head, as if all of his brains were being squeezed out of it...or in.

Joey's hand grasped Chandler's uninjured one in a desperate attempt to anchor himself to the world of reality, of the world beyond the pain. He barely registered Phoebe's gasp or Monica's scream. The only thing that was real to him was the hand and the pain.

As quickly as it had come, the pain passed. The first thing Joey noticed as he tried to focus was the blood-drenched towel wrapped around Chandler's hand. His friend had forgotten his own pain to help Joey.

Looking up, Joey blinked in surprise. He knew who it was that was kneeling in front of him. This was the man who had stayed with him through thick and thin, his roommate and partner in crime. How could he have forgotten?

"Chandler." He said, quietly, desperately, the one word holding pain and relief and remembrance before he passed out on the hard floor.

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