AN: Here's some Chandler-torture for those of distinguished tastes.
I pray that you all are still enjoying this story.

Please review, I greatly appreciate it!

Running, always running. From his childhood, from his friends, from his relationships, everything.

Chandler was never a fighter. He always stepped back and let nature run it's course, even if it stampeded its way through his heart. For so long through his childhood, all he could do was bottle it up until he was ready to burst. Then came the day of his parents' divorce. That day, his rage had boiled over, but instead of hitting something or screaming at the top of his lungs, Chandler began laughing. Out of the blue, just laughing as hard as he could to drown out the dysphoria and fury that had engulfed him. To anyone else, he was mad. To himself, he was trying to make the best of a bad situation. To his friends? They can never know. Chandler would not be discarded like trash again. His best friend and the love of his life were hurt, and it was all because of him. He had caused all of this, and yet he chose to turn his tail and flee. Chandler could never face himself, let alone the ones he called 'friend'.

So he ran. Speeding past the various patients and staff in the halls, who yelled in an attempt to appease their conscious by offering directions to the poor bastard running through the halls like an escaped mental patient. Passing through the double doors, Chandler left the hospital, going so fast that he had to stop in the middle of the street. As the headlights flew past him and the screeching of car horns drilled into his brain, Chandler headed for the safety of the median. The flashing high beams did not scare him once his foot landed upon the large concrete island. Instead, they became peaceful, like a transition scene in one of those sitcoms that take place in New York. Soon, however, he just wanted to become lost in the ocean of asphalt. To disappear from the face of the earth. He deserved it, after all, for causing everyone so much pain. But he could not bring himself to do it. Something kept him on this plane of meager existence. A mere thread that could not be broken by natural means, no matter how much he just wanted to let go. Chandler sat down on the pavement, trying to forge a mental image. Maybe everything that has happened to him was his fault, in one way or another. He tried to laugh, but sobs came out. Tears flowed down his cheeks. The jackboot of misery had finally thrust itself onto him, pushing Chandler into the hard gravel. He didn't care if his clothes were dirty; they suited him that way. The bitter February air felt nice, and he could just freeze to death and it wouldn't bother him. In fact, that's exactly what he wanted. A fitting end. Closing his eyes, Chandler waited for the curtains of his life to fall. His final likeness was that of the weeds in the cement fluttering in the darkness.

After awakening in the on the median to the bright and shining sun, groggy from not succumbing to the Grim Reaper, Chandler decided to face his fears. What did he have to lose? Absolutely nothing. Luckily, there were no cars on the street, since he didn't bother to look anyway. It was probably around 6 o'clock in the morning, but even then it was surprising for the area to be so devoid of life. It didn't matter to him, however, as he walked through the double doors and stepped forward to the receptionist.

Mumbling under his breath, Chandler put his hand coyly on the counter and, steaming with hesitation, he whispered with a stutter. "R-Room number for a Monica G-Geller?" His eyes crawled to the floor, ready to fall apart that very moment.

The receptionist peeked just over the glass that withheld her soft face and small figure, and, after finally hearing his request, began flipping through a binder that laid on the counter. Placing her tiny finger on what Chandler believed was Monica's name, she looked back up to him and spoke with a squeaky, almost child-like voice.

"Ms. Geller is in room R227, sir."

Chandler nodded and restlessly headed for the elevators, pressing the up button almost a million times, in an attempt that it would somehow come faster. Once it did, it dwelled for quite a bit before opening, only intensifying Chandler's anxiety. After a minute or so, the dull silver doors casually opened and he stalked into the elevator. It felt like walking into a prison cell; small and uncomfortable. No stone walls, only mirrors. Waking up to his own tired and sunken face every day, the thought of it made him think that it was possible to rip the metal apart and gain freedom. Chandler didn't even question as to why he was feeling like this. The watched pot never boils, and the watched doors never open. The metaphor stood. Staring at himself, Chandler noticed his blank face. Nothing. Completely empty. However, the reflections standing behind him were nothing short of perfectly lucid. The expressions on their faces were a blend of seasoned hatred and sadness. Ross and Monica. They looked so broken; so wooden. Like wax figurines, they stood motionless. Unable to turn around, Chandler leered at them. He saw the pain he had caused, and it made him nauseous. He wanted to end it so badly, but he couldn't. Looking at their faces filled with suffering, he begged for their forgiveness. It meant nothing in his mind, as he needed to vocalize his thoughts. Chandler closed his eyes, and built up the willpower that he needed- that they needed- and his lips parted. The only thing that came out was air.

The doors had opened. Looking back up, they had vanished in the wind. Ross and Monica, gone, instantly. Chandler bit his tongue in hopes that he would awaken from this nightmare. It would not be so. He clenched and stormed out of the elevator, skimming the wall for a sign toward her. Right, into the recovery wing. There was no one in the halls now, which expedited his search. For once in his life, Chandler was not running from something. This time, he was running towards something- Monica. He ran headlong into the fire, the bulls, and the firing squad. Sure, he would probably never make it out, but he had to try. For him, for her, for Ross, and for Rachel, Joey, and Phoebe too. Chandler stopped at the dead end that cradled Monica's room, screeching to a dead halt. The green number 27 attacked him, branding itself into his psyche. Ignoring the gnawing sensation, Chandler pushed the door open without even checking if she was awake or not. She was awake, and she was not alone. Ross was holding Monica's beautiful hand, and her head tilted to the door, where she saw a very grimy and exhausted Chandler. She didn't speak; Ross followed her gaze instead. Unlike the empty expression on her face, however, his was that of volcanic ferocity. His glare caught Chandler in his sights, like a sniper marking his kill. With a low and a malicious world-ending voice, Ross boomed over to Chandler.

"You did this to my sister."

It was not a question; it was a declaration of war.

Chandler couldn't find words. He was frozen in the doorway, completely out of fear. When he believed he couldn't become any more frightened, Ross stood up from his wheelchair, like he had never been injured. It was so forceful that the chair fell over, crashing into the floor like a meteor into the earth. Ross's fists clenched as he stepped forward toward Chandler, steady as a rock. Chandler took one last look at Monica, who held her hand out as if she were asking for help. As much as he wanted to, he could not. Ross's towering form now blocked his path. He was certain of what was coming next. As he prayed toward various deities, Ross lunged forward and slammed his fist into Chandler's stomach, growling like an animal. There was no attempt to defend himself. Chandler accepted his fate, and fell to the ground in agony. As he blacked out, his eyes caught the glistening sapphires that dominated his very soul for so many years.

In the blackness that surrounded him, Chandler felt a sharp pain in his side. It stung horribly, and he could hear the crunching of his ribs. Another gust of pain, and his bones shattered into smithereens. However, he managed to open his eyes. Light. Not the warm, soothing light that he wanted it to be, but the strong and irritating buzz of the fluorescent bulbs overhead. He simply laid there, losing the willpower and strength he had gained only a few minutes earlier. The light eclipsed the silhouette that stood over Chandler's limp body. Again, the figure kicked him hard. Chandler couldn't even brace the impact, not that he would. He shut his eyes to help block out the pain, but it was hopeless. All he could do was weather the blows against whom he presumed was Ross. After several minutes of withering from the beating, Chandler slowly opened his eyes again. His vision was blurry and it took a while for him to focus. Ross. His worst nightmares had come true. Despite knowing that he deserved every minute of it, Chandler had doubted whether Ross would really beat him like this. But here he was, on the ground, defeated. He couldn't speak earlier, and he couldn't speak now. The words he had so desperately wished to utter were kept in his throat. It was a terrible taste, not unlike the organic rainforest wax he had eaten on that terrible night.

I'm sorry.

If only they could hear him.

The pain he had caused left a scar that ran right across the face of his spirit. The light from the nefarious heavens above grew brighter with each passing second, and Chandler could no longer breathe. Ross's bloodied hits grew harder and harder, until they nearly broke Chandler in half. It became unbearable, and soon Chandler screamed in harrowing dolor. His tears could not be contained any longer; they flung about with each torturous kick. The nipping embrace of death made it's way around Chandler's fragmented soul, and as his eyes closed for the last time, the burning lights above lifted Chandler into Nirvana. He would be an angel soon.

The voice that greeted him at the gates was not that of beauty nor beast.

"Sir?"

The voice mumbled once more, and the harsh radiance pierced his eyelids.

"Sir? You can't sleep here, sir."

Chandler roared under his breath. It was a dream. A stupid, pointless dream that sought to piss him off. It succeeded. Instead of bringing his animosity out further, however, he laughed. For the first time in what seemed like forever, Chandler laughed at his own misery, and it felt so good. Better than sex with Janice, who, unfortunately, was the best he'd ever had. Even when the officer violently shook him and pulled him up, the laughter drowned out any feeling whatsoever. The breathalyzer test was rendered essentially impossible by his wide and growing grin. So, Chandler decided it was best to cooperate for a few seconds to prove that he wasn't drunk or crazy, just a bit sad.

It wasn't until Chandler strolled across the street did he notice that there was a vacant bench, which was much safer to sleep in. He smiled at this notion, praising his foolishness once more. Only he was capable of doing that, and he was damn proud of it. He sat on the cold wood, and leaned back to bask in his glory over absolutely nothing. Chandler leered at the various shrubbery around him. What a life; grow, die. The cycle repeats. Nothing to worry about in a world where the only thing you feel is hot and wet. He chuckled at his prey known as the English language; it never ceased to amaze him.

The clickity-clack of high heeled shoes and the flowery aroma of perfume pulled him from his thinking.

"Chandler? What are you doing out here?" Rachel's eyes widened as she bent down to get in Chandler's face, who was giving the trademark thousand yard stare. She placed her purse on the bench next to him, and began gussying up.

Chandler sighed in a troubled repose."Just, y'know, hanging out. What about you?" He looked up to her usual shining face, something that she could pull of flawlessly, in even these dark times.

Rachel flipped her hair behind her ears and flung her scarf around her neck."I thought I'd stop by and see Ross before I go to work."

Chandler replied in the most placid way possible. "Cool." He frowned warily, as to not alert Rachel of his distress.

She picked a piece of gravel off of his cheek, before skimming him from top to bottom. "Why do you look so... dirty?"

"I kinda slept out here. Didn't feel like heading home." Chandler wiped the dirt from his shoulder, now aware that he was less-than presentable.

"Honey... Why?" Rachel moved her purse and sat down next to him, putting her hand on his arm, concerned for her friend. Usually, he was upbeat. Since the accident, he's been aloof. But now, he was trying to shield himself. He was hiding something, and Rachel would not be hard-pressed to find out.

Chandler groaned, rubbing his eyes, trying to stay awake. Facing her, his tone dropped to grave levels. "You have to promise not to tell Ross."

Rachel took his hand in hers, insecure of whether she could handle what was about to come. "Okay, I promise. Tell me."

Chandler inhaled with all of his strength, and spoke the words that still chilled him to his very core. "I have feelings for Monica." His voice staccatoed through the proclamation. It still hurt to think about it.

"That's not-" Rachel was cut off from her attempt at easing the weight on him.

"Let me finish."

Chandler put his hand up to disarm her. He could already feel the tears welling up inside of him. He knew that he had to finish telling his side of the story as fast as possible, otherwise he would have to suffer her look of disappointment; something he had seen and felt for much too long.

"Yesterday, she told me that she had feelings for me too."

Rachel was stunned. Monica had never mentioned this. In fact, she told Rachel that after Richard, Monica wouldn't chase love again. However, this was not love; it was infatuation at best. Still, the news had hit her like a ton of bricks. Chandler? It was pretty hard to imagine. Shocked but unwavering, Rachel quietly affirmed to comply with his earlier wish.

"Uh huh..."

Chandler fondled with his words and attempted to regain his emotional footing. "She asked me if I felt the same way," He had failed again. His voice fractured as if he was hitting puberty for a second time. "And I said no." Chandler buried his face in his hands, trying to wipe the pieces of his heart away.

"What? Why? Honey if you feel-" Rachel was interrupted yet again.

Chandler continued, oblivious to Rachel trying to reason with him. "She also said that she wasn't sure if her feelings were real, or if they were just because of all that's happened." His tone became nothing more than desperate gloom.

Rachel intently recalled that sentence over and over again. It began to make more sense, little-by-little. Her suspicions about the current circumstances becoming large factors in this situation were proven true; at least by Chandler, anyway. But she now knew that she would need Monica's confidential version. It's a shame she had to wait for more answers.

"O-Okay..."

"I didn't want to hurt her anymore," Chandler had to pause. It had become apparent that this was taking quite an emotional toll on him. It was hard enough to feel this way, let alone share it with someone else. "She was so sad over what happened with Ross, and I couldn't do it to her. B-But then..." He shut his eyes again. Despite not having any effect in his nightmare, it helped a bit in guarding his sanity.

Rachel continued for him, coming to a villainous epiphany. "She hurt herself..." She looked down at the cold pavement, wondering if this is was actually happening. It couldn't be. Monica hurt herself because of Chandler? That was not like her at all. Even in a time like this, she stood stronger than anyone. There had to be more to it.

After several minutes of silent brooding, Chandler stood up violently, which terrified Rachel. She had never seen him so brazen, yet here he was, unpredictable, just like everything else. He tossed his hands up into the air, screaming.

"I-It's all my fault, all of this!"

Rachel's jaw dropped. "What? No! No! None of this is your fault!" She hollered in return.

"Yes it is! I-I-" Chandler stuttered as he switched between placing his hands on his hips or crossing his arms.

"You what, honey?" Rachel stood up with him and put her hands on his rough and dense cheeks. This was not the Chandler she knew; and she was scared. Not for herself, but for Chandler. He was slipping away, and she would not have it.

He pulled her hands off of him and threw them to her sides. Rachel's suit ruffled from the force. "I-I could've stopped him! I could've stopped Ross from sleeping with Chloe, and none of this would have happened!" Chandler turned away from her, disgusted with himself.

"Chandler..." Rachel's attempts to console him were met with despair.

"It's all my fault, Rach..." His shoulder's shrugged repeatedly, and his breathing turned into sobbing. Tears stained the pavement next to his feet. It was official; Chandler was actually crying. It was physically painful to watch. Chandler was the last person Rachel had ever expected to cry. He always made it through with humor, but now he was just as vulnerable as anyone. This caused a bad domino effect. Rachel began choking up, as she placed her hands on her chest, pushing the emotions down. She walked over to Chandler and threw her arms around him, without worry that the dirt from his clothing would get on her's.

For several minutes she was embroiled in grief, but finally Rachel stepped back and shouted at him, shaking her head. "No, no Chandler it isn't your fault. You didn't know..."

Chandler faced her again, this time with glistening eyes full of sorrow. "Yeah? Well, what about Monica? Huh? I made her do that!" Jerking his hand around in a fashion only he could, Chandler exhaled. He didn't have the energy to yell much longer.

She placed a hand on his shoulder. Her shirt was now moist from the tears. "Chandler, stop. You don't know that."

Chandler laughed sarcastically, with a bit of mania sprinkled without. "Oh, really? I lied about my own feelings for no good reason! And look where she is now!" His laughter turned into more yelling. The anger in his tone was evident. He didn't want to take this out on Rachel, but unfortunately, she was the only one to hear him. She was the only one who could understand.

Stepping forward, Rachel placed her head into his chest. It wasn't supposed to be this hard, for any of them. Rachel whispered, and the beauty that came with her hushed words only pushed him further away.
"Stop, Chandler, please..."

Chandler smiled a fake smile. He looked toward Rachel once more, and she could see the sparkle in his eye that contrasted with the morbidity of his words.

"I don't deserve to live."

Rachel could not believe what she was hearing. Chandler too? This was unacceptable. She would never allow it. She would not lose another one. Her cries for help were not heard in her mind. Chandler was on the other side of the spectrum.

Rachel impulsively spoke from her heart, even if it destroyed them all. "Don't you dare say that." The words were thunder, booming from the heavens, enough to shake him in his loafers.

Using all of his remaining strength, he shouted back at Rachel. "I've forsaken them. They are in there because of me!" He resumed his crying, unable to turn away this time. Rachel just wrapped her arms around him again.

All she could do was hold him tight. Words were useless. With one last breath, Chandler murmured in the darkness that surrounded them.

"I've failed them. All of them..."