Small streams engulfed the smooth glass of the window, mirroring the face on their inside. The tears could go unnoticed, so clear were they against the fair skin. Down below, the familiar voice of the city faded from her ears, replaced by the more familiar voice that she so terrifyingly embraced.

She must have done something wrong. After all, he had said over and over that it was her fault; that she was to blame for what happened to her.

Desperately she strived to be the perfection he pushed her to be. Yet with each passing day, it seemed as though his standards fluctuated wildly, along with his anger.

Her head hung to her chest, and she cried freely. She cried for the life that she had come to depend on, for the past that tormented her mercilessly, for the future that she could not see.

The front door opened, and she whipped around, a small gasp escaping from her lips.





"Mommy!" her six-year-old daughter cried, as she broke free of the hand that held hers and rushed to her mother's arms.

The tears were brushed quickly away with the back of her hand as she knelt and held out her arms. The giggling child lunged forward, colliding with her mother as she threw her small arms around the slender neck. "I missed you!"

Her mother laughed. "Sweetie, you were only gone for four hours. But I missed you, too," she finished as she kissed the little nose.

"Hey, Mon," the voice came softly from the door, as he walked through. Her eyes relaxed noticeably when she saw him, and she rose from the floor and greeted him. "Hi, Chandler."

"Jesus, Mon, what's wrong?"

She shook her head. "Nothing," she mouthed.

He shot her a look of disbelief as he knelt down. "Okay, cutie, I'll see you later," he smiled at the little girl.

"Bye, Chand-ler!" Emily ran to hug him farewell. "I'll miss you!"

"Ditto, sweetie," he told her as he kissed her forehead. "Be good to your mother." He stood and looked pointedly at Monica as he turned to leave.

When the door closed, Monica turned to her daughter. "Okay, Emily, what do you want for dinner?"

"Hmm," she thought with her hand to her chin. "Macaroni and cheese with cut-up hot dogs!"

"Chandler is a bad influence on you, you know that?" Monica smiled as she walked to the refrigerator and began to pull out the hot dogs, milk, butter, and broccoli. Emily groaned at the sight of vegetables.

"Broccoli, Mom?" she protested.

"Absolutely. You need to eat vegetables, too. Of course, we could always change the menu to brussels sprouts."

"I like broccoli," the six-year-old proclaimed.

Monica chuckled. "You don't have to go that far, sweetheart," she replied as she filled the pot with water and set it on the heating stove. "Why don't you go over to Chandler and Joey's while I finish dinner?"

"Okay," Emily said excitedly. "When's Daddy getting home?"

Monica stopped in mid-stir. "Um, I don't know, sweetie."

"Can Chandler come over for dinner?"

"Sure."

"Yay!" Emily hopped to the floor and rushed out the door and across the hall.

Monica sank into one of the chairs and allowed all the worry to rush back. Where was Paul? Probably out drinking. Her heart dropped at the thought of him coming home drunk. Shaking her head slightly, she got up and finished cooking.

Twenty minutes later, Emily returned, dragging Chandler with her. His eyes lit up when he saw the steaming pot. "All right! Mac and cheese with hot dogs!" He hi-fived Emily, who giggled.

"You're a kid at heart," Monica teased as she set the plates out on the table.

"True," he replied as he opened the cupboards and set out the glasses and silverware. Monica poured water with lemon, and Emily placed napkins in the center of the table while Monica set out a casserole dish of macaroni and a bowl of broccoli.

They laughed and talked throughout the meal, and Monica couldn't help but notice the closeness between her daughter and Chandler. It was almost like they were a family. They almost were, she thought. Paul was never home to see his daughter. He worked constantly, and drank continuously. This was the picture she had in mind when she married Paul, not the nightmare that she lived through everyday.

Emily put her plate in the sink. "Mom, can I watch some TV?"

Monica checked her watch. "Sweetie, it's already 8:30. It's your bedtime."

Chandler knelt beside Emily. "Please?" he pled, his lower lip quivering. Emily watched him for a moment, then pressed the side of her face to his and mimicked his expression. "Please, Mom?" she added.

Monica looked at the two and fought to keep a straight face. "Oh, all right, Emily. But just ten minutes."

"Okay!" she ran to the couch and reached for the remote control.

Chandler looked to Monica. "I'll help you do the dishes," he offered.

"Thanks."

Once the dishes were done, Monica turned to Emily. "Ten minutes is up."

"Aw, Mom!"

"Uh-uh, love, it's time for bed," Monica reinforced.

"Chandler!" Emily complained, looking to him for help.

"Sorry, Em, your mother's right. Bed."

"Okay," she moaned as she walked to her mother and kissed her. "Goodnight."

"Goodnight, Em."

"Goodnight, Chandler," Emily hugged him.

"Sweet dreams, punkin," he replied, then watched her walk into her room. "She's a great kid, Mon," he said as he turned around to face her.

"She sure is," Monica smiled in the direction of her daughter's room. "And she loves you so."

"Yeah," he replied wistfully. "It must be nice."

"What?

"This," he gestured all around him. "All of this. Having a family. A daughter who is just like you, in every way. A husband who loves you."

Tears sprang to her eyes at that moment, and he noticed. "What? Did I say something?"

She shook her head, inside vehemently denying her true feelings. "No, nothing. It's just that I am lucky. And happy." She forced her lips to widen, showing her teeth in a false smile.

"I'm glad," he said softly, then pulled her into his arms for a quick hug. "I better get going. Joey has an audition tomorrow, and as his roommate, I have the honor of being his reading partner." He grimaced and Monica laughed, the first time in a long time, he noted. "Bye," he raised his hand slightly as he released her and walked out.

Monica stood for a moment, looking at the door, and then went over to the couch where Emily had been, picked up the remote, and turned the television on to the news. Watching only halfheartedly, her thoughts were a million miles away, wandering back to when she was first married, before Emily. It was only after the wedding, a result of the quick courtship, that she and Paul truly began to have problems. They would argue constantly, usually ending with Paul storming out and not returning until early the next morning, hungover and subdued.

Her eyes grew heavy, and she allowed them to close. She would rest for just a minute.





Several hours later, the door opened swiftly, crashing against the opposite wall with a bang, and a man with sandy blond hair and a tall stature stumbled in, waking Monica. "I'm home," he slurred.

"Paul," Monica only stated.

"Yes, dear?" he snorted, and then laughed loudly.

"Shh, Emily's asleep," she whispered, gesturing for him to do the same. "Where were you? I suppose down the street again."

"I don't have to tell you nothin'," he mumbled, then trudged to the kitchen and opened the refrigerator. "Where's the beer?"

"We're out."

"Then get me some!"

"Paul, it's one o'clock in the morning!"

"Shut up!" he cried, pushing her away from him. "Just go get me some!"

"But Paul-"

"I said shut up!" he yelled again, swinging his hand and hitting her squarely on the cheekbone. She cried out softly as her head whipped to the side, the momentum causing her to fall. He muttered something as he slammed the refrigerator shut and wobbled to the couch and flopped down.

Monica rose slowly, looking at her husband, who was now snoring lightly. She walked quietly over to the bedroom and shut the door.

Once inside, she rested against the sturdy wood, tears spilling from her eyes and streaming down her cheeks.

Clearing her eyes with her fingers, she quickly changed into pajamas and crawled under the covers, bringing them up to her neck, desperately seeking comfort. Her cheek ached. She brought her fingers to the skin and winced. The site was swollen and tender, and she was sure it was bruised. She buried her face in the pillow and cried.

A couple hours later, her eyes opened when she heard the bedroom door. Paul walked in, somewhat sober, stripped down to his boxers, and slipped under the comforter beside her. They lay silently for several minutes, then he turned to her, looking over her shoulder. "Babe, you asleep?"

Her eyes remained closed, but her ears listened. "Babe, I'm really sorry. You know I love you, and wouldn't ever hurt you. It's that damn Conkel that keeps pissing me off with his merger shit at work. He's pushing me too hard. It's just been a hard week." He looked at her once more. "You're asleep, I guess," he observed as he lay on his back again and closed his eyes.

Only when his snores could be heard did her eyes opened slightly to dispel silent tears.





She woke early and immediately saw that Paul had already risen to go to work. A small sigh escaped involuntarily, and she sat up, looking at the alarm clock at the bedside. 6:30. Swinging her legs over the side, she stood up and walked into the kitchen to start breakfast.

The door opened, and she turned to see Chandler walk in. "Good morning!" he smiled as he walked to the table and sat down. "We're out of coffee, and I was wondering if I could borrow some," he explained his presence.

"Sure," Monica smiled as she poured them both a cup, and then sat down beside him.

"Oh, my God, Mon!" Chandler cried as he spotted the bruised cheek. "What happened?"

Her fingers immediately flew to the offended area. "I got up during the night to get a drink, and bumped into the doorframe."

His eyes searched hers intensively. "Mon," he warned.

Her eyes filled with tears when she saw his face, and he sprang from his chair and gripped both of her arms. "Is Emily up?"

"What?"

"Is Emily up?"

"No, not yet."

He took her hand and pulled her up and out the door. "Wait, what about Emily?" she cried.

"Don't worry," he stated, opening his door. "Hey Joe!"

The black barca lounger swiveled around to reveal a sleepy Joey in his bathrobe. "Yeah."

"Can you go over to Monica's and wait for Emily to get up, feed her breakfast, and make sure she gets on the school bus?"

"What? Why?"

"Monica and I need to talk. Besides, there's breakfast over there and…"

"Yeah, baby!" Joey lept from the chair and walked out the door. "See ya!" his voice came back.

Chandler looked at Monica. "Sit," he instructed, and she sank into the bright yellow cushions of the couch. He sat beside her. "What happened?"

"Nothing, Chandler, I was just getting a drink…"

"Don't give me that bullshit, Mon, what happened?" he said seriously, taking her hand in his own and rubbing it comfortingly.

Again her eyes grew wet, and this time, she did nothing to prevent them. "He.." she whispered. "He…hit me," she finished disbelievingly.

"What!" Chandler jumped up as he roared. "That good for nothing, scum-sucking, son of a BITCH! Where is he? Where is he? I'll kill him!"

"No, Chandler!" her hand shot up and pulled him back down. "It was my fault." She hung her head as she said it.

"Monica, no!" he said forcedly, as he lifted her chin with his fingers. "It was not your fault. Nothing that you could have done would warrant this kind of behavior from him. Nothing, do you hear me?"

She nodded, a doubtful look in her eyes. He read it perfectly and pulled her to him, stroking her hair gently. "It's okay," he soothed her fears as she clung to him and let her tears soak through his shirt. "Everything's going to be okay. You'll need to report this."

She pulled back. "No! I can't do that! There's no telling what he'll do if I go to the police."

"Monica, you have to!"

"No, I wont!" she insisted.

"Then I can't help you," he stated sadly.

"Please, Chandler? I need you. You can't tell anyone. Not Joey, not Phoebe, or anyone else. Especially not Ross or Rachel. I need you to be there for me." Her hand went to his face deploringly.

He looked into her eyes for a long time, before he sighed, "All right. You have me."

"Thank you," she whispered, and he smiled as he kissed her in a friendly kiss.

Monica didn't know what happened inside her at that moment, but she wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him to her, deepening the kiss. The surprising thing was, he responded in similar fashion, opening his mouth over hers and pressing her against him. Monica moaned and ran her hands through his hair, then Chandler came to and pulled away, looking into her eyes, trying to read the expression that rested there.