Helping Hands

Disclaimer: I don’t own them! (Yet)

Things went a bit better after Monica decided to get help. Chandler and Monica started seeing a counsellor three times a week. Steffie Jackson was very friendly, and really helpful. She said that she understood that Monica wasn’t a violent woman, and that she wasn’t abusive by nature.

"I know," Monica replied, smiling.

"But," Steffie continued, "You will have to try and keep a hold of that temper."

Monica nodded. "I’ll help her," Chandler suggested. "I can’t bear seeing her like this."

"Monica, you must know, however, that, if anything else occurs, I will have to notify the police," Steffie added. "I can’t let things like this just pass by without my noticing."

"You can’t!" Monica gasped.

"You have two young children, am I correct?" Steffie asked.

"Uh huh. Robyn is just gone four and Mark’s fifteen months old," Monica replied. "But, Steffie, I’d never hurt them!"

"But you would hurt your husband, the love of your life?" countered Steffie. "You love your children now, maybe, but what about when they are older, if they disobey?"

"Sure, I’d be angry, but I wouldn’t—" Monica broke off suddenly.

"You never imagined that you would hit me," Chandler whispered. "And you did."

"But Robyn and Mark are my own flesh and blood!"

"But Chandler’s your husband," Steffie protested. "You married him. You’ve loved him for longer than you’ve had your children."

"I can’t help it," Monica said. "I just need help, Steffie!" Chandler nodded in agreement.

Steffie smiled. "Well, how about, um, stress-relieving exercises?"

"Like how?" Monica queried.

"Uh, what, like punching a pillow?" Chandler suggested.

"Precisely."

"And that will help?" Monica said, doubtfully.

"It might. Different things help different people. Punching a pillow might work for you, but maybe writing down your problems in a diary might be better. Some people attach onto a teddy bear, or a doll, to remind them of childhood, when things were happy. You could have a ‘quiet room’ in your house or apartment – doesn’t have to be a special room, just somewhere like the bathroom, where you go when you feel stressed. Or even something as trivial as just taking a deep breath and counting to ten…"

Steffie’s list of remedies went on and on. Monica made a note of all of them, and promised to try them.

* * *

The next day, Chandler dropped a plate on the floor. Robyn was out at a birthday party, and Mark was taking his afternoon nap. He visibly shook as he lent down to pick up the five pieces of smashed china. It had been one of Monica’s favourite plates.

Monica could feel the anger welling up inside her. She took a deep breath, trying to count to ten inside her head. She reached six, and then the urges to hit Chandler, to harm him in some way, became too strong. She ran to the sofa and grabbed a cushion. She pummelled it fiercely, Chandler watching in amazement.

After about ten minutes, her anger faded. The demon inside of her crept back to where he belonged, and Monica was back.

"Wow," she murmured. "I did it, Chandler, I did it!"

Chandler was pale and shaking as he looked at the torn pillow, imagining if he had been it. "I can’t believe it," he whispered, again and again.

Monica jumped up and down, joyfully. "Hell, I’m back!" she cried. "I’m back, baby!"

A knock on the door answered her. Chandler, still pale, went to answer it. Monica didn’t notice, she was so overwhelmed by her success.

"Steffie, hi!" she heard Chandler say. "Mon, it’s Steffie." The short, dark- haired woman, with a face covered in freckles, entered the room.

"Steffie, you will not believe what just happened!" Monica exclaimed.

"What?" Steffie asked, somewhat apprehensively.

"I just hit a cushion," Monica announced, triumphantly.

"Instead of Chandler?" Steffie checked.

"Uh huh," Chandler himself replied.

"Congratulations!" Steffie smiled. "Well, I just popped in to see how you were doing."

"We’re doin’ fine!" Monica said, happily.

"I guess I’d better go then," Steffie said. "’Cause Gundam Wing starts in twenty minutes, and I want to see the beginning," she added, laughing.

"Seriously?" Chandler asked. He was beginning to get his colour back now, and even looked healthier.

Steffie nodded, overcome by giggles. "Bye!" she called, still laughing, and managed to get to the door.

"Wasn’t that nice of her?" Monica said, rhetorically.

"Yeah," Chandler agreed. He paused. "So, uh, well done, I guess, Mon."

She smiled. "Thank you. I’m so glad I’m getting over this."

"I just couldn’t help worrying," Chandler began. "If I had been that pillow, I’d have been dead by now."

"B-but," Monica stammered. "You weren’t the pillow." She sighed. "Somehow, hitting the pillow isn’t as satisfying as hitting you."

"Thanks," Chandler quipped.

"No," Monica murmured. "Don’t take it the wrong way, it’s just, uh, well, when I’m angry at you, it feels better to be doing something to you." She paused. "That, that sounded just as bad, didn’t it?"

"Yeah."

"Well, if you were angry with me, wouldn’t you prefer to yell at me, rather than, say, yelling at Robyn?" Monica tried to reason.

Chandler sighed. "I guess, yeah. But sometimes, I wouldn’t do either. I’d rather just go and think about it, before I said anything I’d regret."

"I’ve never actually seen you get really angry," Monica pondered.

"That’s because I don’t. I try to count to ten, or I make a sarcastic comment, or I leave the room," he told her. "I guess it all stems from when my parents were getting divorced. I couldn’t exactly yell at them, could I? So I just developed little anger management courses for myself."

"When you were nine?"

"Yeah."

"God, if you could do it when you were nine, how come I can’t do it when I’m thirty-six?" Monica asked, frustrated.

"Dunno. Ask Steffie," was Chandler’s helpful suggestion. "I’m sure she’ll be able to help." He paused. "And she’s helped a lot, anyway. We’ve only seen her once, and she’s done wonders. I mean, a week ago, I’d be lying on the floor bleeding, wouldn’t I? Now, well, there’s just a rather dead- looking pillow."

"I guess." But Monica still sounded discouraged.

"Hey, Mon, chin up, okay?" I’m always cheering her up, he thought. "You can’t expect everything to go right in just a few days. And some people find it harder to keep a rein on their temper. I mean, look, when Adolf Hitler had that problem, he started a war! At least you’re only hitting your husband."

"But I’m hitting my husband!" Monica rephrased his statement.

"But at least I don’t get angry and hit you back," Chandler reassured her. "And there’s no way that I would do that, I promise you."

"I believe you," Monica said. "You don’t have to insist so much." She paused, the competitive look in her eyes. "And I doubt that if you hit me, you could do much damage. I mean, I’ve always been so much stronger than you. Now, if it were Joey…"

"If Joey was hitting you, you’d be calling the police," Chandler laughed. "And if you didn’t, then I certainly would. I would not let anyone hurt my wife."

"Yeah, I could tell when I gave birth to Robyn!" Monica giggled. "The way you spoke to that doctor!"

"He was making you push when he could see that it was hurting you!" Chandler protested. "Could anyone BE more insensitive?"

"If he hadn’t told me to push, I would’ve done it anyway," Monica said. "I mean, that was the only way to stop the pain – and to get Rob out. Did you know anything about labour?"

Chandler considered. "Nope. Just think, right? The three births that I had attended before Robyn’s. Carol had Ben. I was barely there, was I? Phoebe had the triplets. We were with Joey and his kidney stones – oh, and we were fighting cos Rachel set you up with some nurse guy. Rachel had Emma. Well, we were occupied, weren’t we?"

Monica thought for a moment, and laughed at his innuendo. "Well, yeah. But hadn’t you ever seen any births on TV – like on ER, or, uh, Days of Our Lives?"

"Hey!" Chandler protested. "I’m not Rachel, you know! And I can’t stand Days of Our Lives, I only watched it when Joey was around."

"You’d better not let him hear you say that!" Monica giggled.

"I won’t," Chandler replied. "I don’t have a death wish, y’know!"

The conversation continued like this for a while, and only stopped when Chandler left to pick Robyn up from the party.

That night, all the Bings were in one room, Mark’s. They had recently moved to a three-bedroom apartment, so that both kids could have a room. Monica had another reason for being glad for living there – she was pregnant, and thought that if the baby was a boy, he could live with Mark, and if it were a girl, it could live with Robyn. She hadn’t told Chandler yet. She had no idea how he would react, but inside, she was sure that this baby would bring them closer together.

As little Mark drifted off to sleep, and Robyn began nodding sleepily, she smiled at Chandler. She knew that they could overcome anything, as long as they stuck together.