AN: Me again.  Gonna try to get through the writer's block, but we'll see.  I'm only doing this for Sal ;).

Anyhoo, if you are interested (and golly gee whiz why wouldn't you be?) I finally updated my bio, so that now I will try to post up what I am updating, and what is in progress.  Doubtful that this will always be accurate, but hey, it gives you a chance to check out the first pic from the film (Big Fish) my dream-husband Ewan McGregor is working on right now, down in Arkansas…or Alabama…er, one of those southern states, anyway, lol.

Anywayz, on with the, uh…fic.  It's kinda crappy, but I can fix it later if it makes no sense…heh.

Regression

~Realities~

"Are you watching this?  Because this show is horrible, honestly, Chandler," Monica and Chandler were sat on Monica's sofa, two days after Chandler's revelation to the rest of the group.  Chandler had put up with an exhausting list of questions from his friends, most of which he didn't really know the answer to.  That morning, Monica had insisted that the group leave the two of them in peace, so that Chandler could get some rest.

Monica picked up the remote, and began flipping through the channels.  When Chandler didn't reply, or protest, she looked over at him.

"Chandler?"

Chandler jerked his head toward her, the momentary fog passing over his eyes.

"What?"

"Are you okay?" Monica placed the remote on the coffee table, and turned to face Chandler fully. 

"Y-yeah, I just…" Chandler sighed deeply, and looked over at the television blankly.

"What's the matter?"

"I…I've been thinking about what Rachel asked me.  About whether or not I was going to try to find Harold."

"Is that…is that something you'd want to do?" Monica asked curiously.

"I…I'm not really sure.  I mean, I think it could be helpful, in some ways…but then I wonder if I am strong enough to…face him."

"Well, if it's something you feel you need to do, you don't have to go alone.  I'll go with you…and I'm sure the others would too."

"I don't know what I want…or what I need right now.  I'm sorry Mon, I'm just sort of still confused, I guess."

"It's okay…take your time.  I'm not going anywhere," Monica smiled, and laid her head on Chandler's chest.  He wrapped his arms around her, and rested his head on the back of the couch, his exhaustion overwhelming him.

"Shhh, stop crying, you little baby."

"Stop it!"

"Shhh."

"No!  No, get away!"

Monica was startled awake when Chandler's body convulsed, and she sat up and looked at him, concern lining her eyes.

"Chandler," Monica sat up on the sofa, and placed a comforting hand on his chest.

"No!" Chandler cried out desperately.

"Shhh, Chandler, it's okay!  Shhh," Monica soothed, as she tried again to rouse him from his dark dream.

"Stop!" Chandler's eyes shot open, and he shoved Monica off of him violently.

Monica fell onto the floor, as Chandler curled up onto the couch.

"Don't touch me!  Just get away, get away!"

Monica sat up slowly, slightly dazed by her fall.  She pulled herself up slowly, and reached out to Chandler, who was still clearly in the midst of a horrible regressive dream.

"Chandler, wake up!" Monica said again, and reached out to touch him.

Chandler felt an intrusive hand near him, and shoved it away, before kicking the intruder away from him.  He suddenly felt the darkness lift, and he blinked rapidly, as his eyes adjusted to his surroundings.

He wasn't in his mother's old house—he wasn't in his old bedroom.  He was—at Monica's.  He took a deep shaky breath, and struggled to sit up.  Belatedly, he wiped the tears from his face, and scanned the apartment, looking for Monica.

He found her immediately, curled up on the floor, and sobbing.

"Mon…what's wrong?" Chandler slid off of the sofa, and placed a hand on her back.

"It's nothing," Monica sniffled, her sobbing abruptly halting when she realized that Chandler was finally awake.

"Mon—" Chandler moved to pick Monica up, but she cried out in pain.

"What's going on?" Chandler whispered.  "Are you okay?"

Monica sniffled again, and sat up slowly.  She struggled to look up at Chandler, and when she finally did, she saw the confusion in his eyes, and she knew that he really had no idea what he had done.  She didn't know what to tell him—if she told him the truth, he would be devastated.  She knew he would never hurt her intentionally, after all.  But what could she say? 

"Chandler, I…I don't know what to, um, to tell you," Monica stuttered, as a small shudder ran through her.

"Mon, please just tell me what happened," Chandler pleaded, and the look of desperation on his face forced Monica to relent.

"I—I think you were having a really bad nightmare.  And when you pushed me away, I should have just backed away…I just wanted you to wake up…"

Chandler's eyes widened, and he felt his throat close up.  He backed away from Monica, and she began regretting her decision to say anything.

"I—I did this to you?  I hurt you?" Chandler choked, his eyes welling up again.

"Chandler, it wasn't your fault.  I knew that you were fighting him off in your dream—"

"What did I do?" Chandler asked softly, as he stared at his own hands.

"You just pushed me off of you…and then I—I tried to wake you up...and I knew I shouldn't have—"

"What did I do?" Chandler's voice was more forceful, but it cracked under the strain, and Monica could see, as he looked up, that he was breaking down.

"You—you kicked me away…but it wasn't your fault, Chandler!" Monica said quickly, hoping to cushion the blow.

But it wasn't enough.  Chandler broke down, his body shaking as he let out the inevitable sobs of regret.

"Chandler, it's okay—"

"Did I hurt you?  Are you okay?  What did I do?" Chandler asked quickly, his words staccatoed by hiccups.

"I think you just bruised a rib.  I'm fine," Monica said reassuringly.

"Oh, God," Chandler shook his head, and stood up abruptly.

"Chandler—"

"I have to go," Chandler said, as he gathered his shoes and coat.

"No, please don't leave like this, Chandler, please!"

"Mon, you need to stay away from me!  Look at what I did to you!  No, it's better if I go."

"Chandler, please, I am begging you—"

"Mon, I hurt you!  I kicked you!"

"Please don't leave me!  Please," Monica begged, as she crossed the room to where he was now standing.

A long, stiff silence filled the room, as each person studied the floor.

"You don't want me like this," Chandler whispered at last.

"Yes, I do.  This was my fault, Chandler—"

"No, it wasn't!  And stop saying that it was!  Please!" Chandler yelled, his frustration with himself shining through.

Monica started, and stepped back unconsciously.  The wounded look on Chandler's face made her realize what she had just done.  He thought she was afraid of him now.  And maybe deep down, she was, a little.  Her bruised rib was throbbing, a sad reminder of what he had done.  But she saw the look of defeat in Chandler's eyes, and she knew that stepping away from him, at that moment, was the worst thing she could have done.

She couldn't find her voice to protest, when he turned and walked out the door.