AN: Can I just say, that I love it when people tell me stories in their reviews!  It cracks me up!!  (The gummy worm story killed me!) Anyway, the song I am using is by Creed, who I don't really like that much, because I think they are overrated Pearl Jam wannabe's, lol.  But this song fits this fic, so…there ya go.  (I had to put in this disclaimer, because if my brother knew I was using a Creed song, he'd kick my ass!)

Um, I used to own Friends, but then I sold them on eBay to Warner Bros., NBC, and Bright, Kaufman Crane for twenty bucks.  Man, I am SO bad at investing…

Regression

~Choose to Fight~

I lie awake on a long, dark night

I can't seem to tame my mind

Slings and arrows are killing me inside

Maybe I can't accept the life that's mine

"Alright, Mrs. Bing, why don't you tell me what happened?"

Nora nodded, and relayed the events of the past afternoon to the officer in full detail.  The officer nodded and took notes, and occasionally looked over at Chandler, who was staring at the wall in front of him.

"Mrs. Bing, we've already spoken with your ex-husband.  He is willing to drop all charges against you, on one condition."

Nora was shocked.  She looked at Chandler, trying to gauge his reaction.  He looked at her blankly, and she looked back up at the officer.

"He wants you and your son to promise not to try and pursue charges against him for child abuse and molestation.  He claims it never happened, and he wants you to take his word for it."

"I—I can't do that—I won't do that to my son," Nora said defiantly.

"Mom, you could go to jail," Chandler argued quietly.

"I don't care," Nora yelled, "That bastard needs to pay!"

"Mom—"

"I'm going to let you two talk," Officer Gaines said, and stepped out into the hallway.

Chandler watched the officer leave, then turned back to his mother.

"You have to take this, Mom," he said slowly.

"No, I don't.  He needs to be punished, and I don't care what happens to me."

"Well I do.  You can't do this.  I can deal with Harold—"

"Chandler, look at yourself," Nora sat up straight, and took one of his hands, "You're shaking right now!  You need to get through this, and you need closure, and letting that bastard off the hook is not going to help you."

Chandler stared at his trembling hands for a moment, and swallowed hard.

"But it will help you," he said quietly.

"Oh, honey, I appreciate it, I do.  But this is my decision, and I won't let him do this to you.  He will just have to face this…and so will I."

The darkness was stifling.  It surrounded him, consumed him, and seemed to be drawing him deeper into the unknown abyss.

He stretched out an arm, tentatively reaching toward the black shadows.

The air was cold, and damp, and it sent shivers down his spine.  He retracted his arm quickly, and felt his body begin to tremble.

He closed his eyes, and fought back the cold.

Then, like a beacon in the night, he heard a voice, soft and gentle, calling him, reaching for him.

He opened his eyes slowly, and saw a sliver of light, cutting through the inky blackness.

He reached out once more, grasping at the wispy tendril of light that beckoned him.

He was pulled into consciousness, still unaware of what had happened, unsure where he was, and oblivious to the hell he had put his mother through.

"Chandler?  Honey, can you hear me?"

His mother's voice was gentle, and softer than he'd ever heard from her.

"Mom?  Where am I?"

"You're in the hospital.  You—you fell, I think…though I am still not sure how.  What were you doing?"

Chandler swallowed hard, and turned away from his mother.

"Chandler.  Look at me."

He turned his head slowly; his eyes glistening with unshed tears.

"What were you doing on the banister?"

"I—I'm sorry," was his only reply.

"Chandler—"

"How is he?" Harold's voice filled the room, and Chandler felt his entire body tense.  Suddenly, he couldn't breathe—the memories seized him, stifled him, and refused to let go.

"He has some broken ribs, and a fractured arm…and he seems upset about something," Nora shook her head.

"Honey, why don't you go get him something to eat?  Let me talk to him for a minute."

"Okay.  Chandler, dear, I'll be right back," Nora placed her hand on Chandler's shoulder as she stood up to leave.

"No, Mom, please don't go," Chandler tried to scream, but it came out in a raspy whisper instead.

"I'm just going down the hall.  I'll be right back," Nora laughed, and turned to leave.

"Mom!  Mom, please…" Chandler cries became more desperate, as his mother walked away.

"Now son, don't worry, your mom will be back," Harold smiled sweetly, and sat down in the chair that Nora had vacated moments earlier.

"I'm not your son," Chandler hiccupped angrily between sobs.

"Chandler, you are being a very bad boy," Harold's smile turned down, as he extended his arm, and brushed sweat-soaked hair out of Chandler's pallid face.

Chandler flinched, and tried to move away, but the sudden jerking sent a jolt of pain through his ribs, and he cried out in pain.

Suddenly, Chandler felt a heavy hand come down onto his mouth, muffling his cries.  He struggled to move out from under his grip, but Harold stood, and shoved his face in Chandler's.

"You've already disappointed your mother so much, Chandler," Harold whispered menacingly, "You don't want to hurt her any more do you?  She thinks she's a bad mother.  And that's all your fault."

Chandler tried to shake his head, but Harold's grip had no give.  Harold's eyes bore into Chandler's and the boy had no choice but to absorb all that the man told him.

"You don't want to disappoint her again, do you?"

Harold released Chandler suddenly, and sat back down on the chair.  He watched, as the little boy fought back tears. 

The game was over.  Harold had won.

Chandler jerked awake, and saw that his mother had drifted off to sleep as well.  He sighed, and stood up slowly, before wandering out of the room, and down the hospital corridor.

The hallway was much quieter than it had been earlier, and Chandler felt a strange uneasiness settle on him, as he made his way down the hallway.  He inadvertently walked past the waiting room, and turned down another corridor.  As his mind pulled him out of his post-nightmare haze, he began to realize that he had taken a wrong turn somewhere, and he stopped to look around.

His gaze swept past the patient room that was in front of him.

And he saw him.

Harold was asleep in a bed near the door.  Monitors and machines beeped rhythmically, providing the only source of sound at that moment.

Chandler felt his knees weaken, and he fell back against the Plexiglas window that was behind him.  He struggled to breathe, but found that it was becoming increasingly difficult. 

And just like that, the entire world collapsed around him.

Monica opened her eyes slowly, and smiled, when she saw that Joey was leaned on her shoulder, mouth agape, and was snoring audibly.

The other three had left a few hours ago, when Monica had reported that Chandler was asleep in Nora's room.  Joey, however, was adamant about staying, a move that would have warmed Monica, had his insistence to stay not been so incredibly desperate. 

Monica moved out from under Joey slowly, careful not to disturb him.  She stood up, and stretched slowly.  She moved to walk out into the hallway, and looked up to see Chandler wander past the room.  He was walking slowly, and stiffly; as though he were sleep walking.  Curious, Monica followed him as he wandered down the hallway, and then turned suddenly.

She saw him stop, as though he had realized suddenly that he had overshot his destination.  She smiled, and walked toward him, her smile fading suddenly when she saw him collapse against the window behind him.

"Chandler?"

He was gasping for air, and tears were rolling down his face unchecked.  Monica knelt next to him, her heart racing.  She looked around, her gaze following Chandler's.

Inside the room across the hall, was an older man, asleep in his bed.  Monica's brow furrowed in confusion, until it came to her suddenly.

Harold.

Her attention flew back to Chandler, as his body went completely limp.

Monica scrambled to her feet, and ran down the hallway.

The darkness that had once been cold and disturbing was now his only source of comfort, his only sanctuary.

He pulled it around him, and warmed to it slowly.

Inside this safe haven, he was free from his guilt, free from his pain, and most of all, he was free from him.

He refused to speak his name.  Instead, he pulled himself deeper into the darkness, until it consumed him completely.

Nora was at a loss.  Chandler had not spoken since his release from the hospital.  She struggled to pinpoint the exact moment when Chandler had stopped talking, and had decided that it must have been the day after his accident.  He'd barely spoken when he'd woken up, and when she'd returned to his room with food, he'd refused it silently, and turned away. 

That was three weeks ago.  Chandler had since sat silently in his room, refusing to speak, eat, or even sleep.  Nora was at her wit's end.  She had scheduled an appointment with a child psychologist, in an attempt to get her son to open up about what was wrong.

What had happened that had disturbed him so badly?

"Chandler?  Chandler, wake up, please."

Chandler struggled to stay inside the darkness that had helped him escape so often before, but his will was weak, and he found himself being pulled into consciousness.

"Monica?"

"Hey," Monica smiled broadly, and gave his hand a squeeze, "You gave us quite a scare there, sweetie."

"I'm sorry," Chandler whispered.

"No, don't be!" Monica shook her head vehemently, "Are you okay?"

"Yeah," Chandler sat up slowly, and pasted on a forced smile.

"Chandler, let me help," Monica said sadly.

Chandler looked down at his hand, intertwined tightly with Monica's.

"You don't want to see what I see," Chandler muttered.

"I want to do whatever it takes to help you get through this," Monica whispered.

Chandler looked up at Monica, and saw that they were filled with concern.  He saw that her jaw was set tightly, the way it did when she was highly determined.  He smiled, and pulled her toward him.

"Get me out of here," he whispered slowly, and kissed her on the lips.

Monica smiled and nodded, before kissing him again.

"The doctor wanted you to stay the night, but he had no real reason to hold you," Monica explained, as she and Chandler keyed into her apartment hours later.

"I just wanted to go home," Chandler said softly.

"Oh, we can go to your place, I just—" Monica realized that she had given the taxi driver her address, without even asking Chandler where he wanted to go.

"No," Chandler stepped toward Monica, and took her hands in his, "This is where I want to be," he smiled, "This has always been home to me."

Monica grinned, and led Chandler to the sofa.  They sat down, and held each other in silence for several moments, Monica with her back to Chandler, his arms wrapped around her tightly.

"I saw him," Chandler said suddenly, and Monica tilted her head up to look at his face, "I saw him, and it freaked me out."

"I know," Monica whispered, "I'm sorry."

"He told the police he wouldn't press charges if my Mom retracted her accusations," Chandler said flatly.

"What?" Monica pulled away from Chandler, and turned to face him completely, "What did your mom say?"

"She refused, but—but I think she should do it.  She's gonna get jail time for this, and—"

"Chandler, he needs to pay for this.  And your mom knows that."

"I just—I don't want her to pay for my—"

"She is going to pay for her own actions," Monica said firmly, "This is not your fault."

Chandler nodded numbly, and looked down at the sofa.

"I wish I'd never gone to see Renee.  I don't want to know this anymore."

"I know," Monica wrapped her arms around Chandler, and pulled him toward her, "I know."

No I can't accept the life that's mine

Simple living is my desperate cry

Been trading love with indifference

Yeah it suits me just fine

I try to hold on but I'm calloused to the bone

Maybe that's why I feel alone

Maybe that's why I feel so alone

Me…I'm rusted and weathered

Barely holding together

I'm covered with skin that peels and

It just won't heal

The sun shines and I can't avoid the light

I think I'm holding on to life too tight

Ashes to ashes and dust to dust

Sometimes I feel like giving up

Sometimes I feel like giving up

Me…I'm rusted and weathered

Barely holding together

I'm covered with skin that peels

And it just won't heal

The day reminds me of you

The night hides your truth

The earth is a voice

Speaking to you

Take all this pride

And leave it behind

Because one day it ends

One day we die

Believe what you will

That is your right

But I choose to win

So I choose to fight

To fight

"Weathered" Written by Tremonti/Stapp (Creed)