AN: An AU fic. Takes place after TOW Chandler in a box. So he's still with Kathy.

Entering the apartment, Chandler threw his keys down on the counter and made a beeline for his bedroom, shrugging off his jacket as he went. He did a double-take as he caught sight of Joey, sitting in his barka-lounger and staring at him, sandwich forgotten in his hand.

"You and Kathy have another fight?" Joey asked from around a mouthful of ham, and Chandler was struck by how grave Joey seemed. It left Chandler feeling child-like a petulant. He nodded slowly.

"Hey, it'll be all right," Joey muttered, seeing the deer-in-headlights look Chandler wore. "You guys are made for each other." Joey didn't expect Chandler to believe him; not when he didn't even believe himself. Kathy and Chandler had an extremely…passionate relationship. More even, then Joey and Kathy had. And everything suggested that they would work well together. They liked the same books, and tv shows, (if you didn't count Baywatch) and had the same sense of humor, but in Joey's opinion, they were too alike. A fear of commitment that led to doing something irrevocably stupid. And they were often unable to admit when they were wrong. Even when they weren't fighting, Joey could sense that something was about to happen that would blow their relationship out of the water.

Not that Joey would tell Chandler any of this. Chandler was still worried about how Joey felt about their relationship, and would surely see any negative remarks as an attempt to get them to break up.

Joey knew he wasn't clever like Chandler or equipped with an unhealthy amount of knowledge like Ross, but if he learned anything from the whole "Kathy Incident" it was that he was the only one of the three who would never betray a friend. He'd always known that Ross wasn't as saintly as he made himself out to be- he had cheated on someone who was supposed to be his soul mate, for God's sake. Joey had never been in love, but he was never less than honest with his one-night stands. If they expected more, he would just have to tell them he wasn't looking for a serious relationship. Or Chandler would- preferable armed with witty banter and pancakes.

And Chandler- Chandler had made the ultimate betrayal. A while ago, he'd kissed Mary-Angela and then couldn't remember which of his sisters she was, but kissing Joey's girlfriend was just crossing the line. He'd forgiven Chandler, but their relationship now seemed tainted, not at all like the brotherly bond they had shared before.

At times like this, thought, it didn't seem to matter. The bottom line was that Joey didn't want Chandler to get hurt, and right now, it seemed that was exactly where Chandler was headed.

Monica was worried. This was not unusual in itself; she always managed to find something to worry about. But worrying about Chandler because of something other than his relationships was new. Joey was convinced they were having another fight. If they were, Chandler wouldn't hesitate in telling them. He never missed a chance to complain about his love life. But now he was sullen and silent, and had even missed several opportunities for a sarcastic rejoinder in the past hour alone.

It was ridiculous.

She chanced another look at him. He was hiding behind his newspaper, but Monica hadn't heard therustle of paper as he turned a page for at least twenty minutes. Discreetly leaning over so she could see around the paper confirmed her suspicions: he wasn't even looking at the paper, but instead staring gloomily at the ceiling. The dark shadows under his eyes suggested he hadn't slept properly, and his mouth was set into a straight, hard line. As if sensing her eyes on him, he looked around suddenly, frowning when he caught her gaze.

"What?" he asked impatiently, and Monica frowned back.

"Nothing," she said flatly, narrowing her eyes at him. Didn't he care enough to tell them if something was wrong? Or did he expect him to wallow alone in his misery? It was when he got up abruptly and left the coffeehouse that Monica decided it was time to call in reinforcements.

"I'm telling you, Ross, it's not just another fight." Monica sighed impatiently. Surely Ross should know the symptoms of a fight by now? Instead he was being a typical guy: using any excuse to avoid talking about "feelings."

"Well, what am I supposed to do?" he asked in exasperation, carding his hands through his hair.

"I don't know! Get him to open up."

"Yes, I- I know that. But how?"

Monica glowered at him.

"You've known him since college. You'll think of something."

"So, how did the peacock bite you again?" Ross asked desperately. He had tried to get Chandler either nostalgic or defensive with college anecdotes, but the most Chandler had produced in the past hour was a weak smile.

"Chandler?" Ross tried, when it became clear that Chandler had stopped listening altogether. He was staring at the black tv, absent-mindedly twirling a pencil around his right fingers.

"Um, some feat." Ross muttered, for lack of anything better to say, rubbing his temples.

"What?" Chandler finally responded, brow furrowed in confusion.

"To do that, when you're left-handed." Ross, said, gesturing lamely to the pencil. Chandler stared at him.

"I'm not a lefty."

"Oh. Right." Ross shoved his hands in his pockets and scuffed a shoe against the floor. "See, you learn something new about someone every single day."

"Ross I'm fine. Just go home, will ya?" Chandler rubbed a hand across his face, faintly surprised to see Ross glaring at him when he looked up.

"No, you are not fine! We're worried about you- all of us! Now what is going on? Can't you trust us enough to tell us?"

Chandler stood suddenly, almost knocking the stool over. "Do you really want to know, Ross? The past week, I've been thinking that you guys are the best friends I've ever had, and I might lose you guys, because my white blood cell count is abnormal, and I'm going to get a bone marrow exam next week. I am going to get a FREAKIN' LONG NEEDLE STUCK IN MY HIPBONE!"

Ross stood frozen. His first thought was that this was April Fools' Day, but a quick glance at Chandler's deathly white face proved that this was no prank. He looked horrified that he had told Ross that, and after a moment, sunk back down onto the stool.

"Chandler, I-"

"You don't have to say anything, Ross. Just- just promise me you won't tell the others, yet, all right? Y'know, it's not a sure thing, and I'd rather not-" Chandler's voice broke, and he paused a moment to collect himself before attempting a joke. "It's kinda nice, y'know, for them to think I'm having difficulties with Kathy. I get the good ice cream."

Ross resisted the urge to yell at him again (this was not the time to be making jokes, but it also wasn't the time to have a falling out with Chandler), and just nodded, not trusting himself to speak around the lump in his throat. He made his way to the door, and, with only a slight hesitation, exited.

Once he'd left, Chandler rested his head in his arms and fought desperately not to let the tears in his eyes fall.