AN: Yeah, I know, I'm a bad, bad author.  I really want to update all my stories, but apparently, I have to pay all these things called "bills", and in order to pay them, I have to go to this thing called a "job"…it's very annoying, so I think that I am just going to have to win that billion dollars that Pepsi is giving away.

If that doesn't happen, then expect some more delays, as I am also in the middle of moving. 

This fic is almost done, I swear.  Is anyone reading this?  LOL, doubt it.  Which means I am talking to myself.  But my mom always says "You can talk to yourself, as long as you aren't answering yourself, dear."  So, I won't do that.  Oh, are you sure you won't?  Well, I don't have to answer that here, do I?  No, but I will need your answer in the form of a question…

Regression

~Fallen Angels~

I can see an angel walking,

Someone else is by his side,

I can hear an angel talking,

And he looks so satisfied....

I can see an angel smiling,

By his side I'll never be.

In my heart I'll go on crying,

Only tears are left for me.

("I Can See an Angel", by Kay Adelman)

"Thank you for meeting with me Monica," Charles smiled, as he and Monica took a seat at a small table near the back of the hotel restaurant.

"Oh, of course," Monica smiled, "but why did you want to talk to me alone?"

"Well, I—"Charles looked down at his lap, "I was hoping Chandler had told you why he's so angry with me."

"No, he hasn't said anything," Monica replied honestly, "but I am getting worried.  He's closing up again.  He just hasn't been the same since Harold attacked him."

"I just—I wonder if Harold said something to him…to upset him?"

"Maybe," Monica shrugged, "but he won't tell me anything."

"Do you think…I mean I know it's a lot to ask…but do you think you could talk to him again?  See if you can get anything out of him?" Charles asked tentatively.

"I—I can try," Monica smiled.

"Thank you," Charles grinned and looked down to focus on his menu.

Monica watched Charles for a moment, and wondered why Chandler had reacted so violently to this man last week.  A fleeting, dark thought fluttered through her head, but she quickly shook off the notion.  No, she thought, Chandler's father was simply trying to help.

Only nothing really seemed that simple any more.

Corrine leaned against the doorframe, a small smile playing on her lips.  Several yards away, Chandler was seated under a towering oak tree, with two other patients; Carrie, a young girl Chandler's age, and with her cinnamon hair and bright blue eyes, could have easily passed as Chandler's sister.  The other patient, Erik, was fourteen, and had jet black hair, and chocolate brown eyes.

The patients were all here for different reasons, but had one common thread.

All three children had tried to end their own life.

The fact that Chandler felt comfortable enough to socialize with other kids his age meant that he was healing, and that warmed Corrine's heart.

What disturbed Corrine, was that she and Chandler had yet to get to the root of his problems.  He still refused to talk about the abuse that had lead him down his dark path, and Corrine knew that if he didn't let it out, if he didn't talk about it, he would never be completely healed.

The extraordinary sound of children laughing pulled Corrine from her reverie.  She looked over, to see the three children giggling, as though they were sharing some kind of inside joke.

To hear children laugh…to see three children with such dark pasts smile so brightly…it was the greatest thing Corrine could imagine.

"This looks great," Chandler smiled, as Monica placed a plate full of food in front of him that evening.

"Thank you," Monica smiled warmly, and sat down across from him.  She watched Chandler pick at his food for a short moment, and then picked up her own fork.

They ate in silence for several minutes.  Monica swallowed down a bit of food, and looked up at Chandler again.  He was looking at his plate, and had yet to notice Monica watching him.

He'd stopped eating lately.  He would spend the majority of his meals pushing his food around, and only occasionally would he take a small bite of food.  Monica knew this, and wondered if he really thought she hadn't noticed. 

Monica needed an opportunity to bring up Charles.  She suddenly decided that this was her opening.

"Is the food okay?" she asked casually.

"Yeah, it's great," Chandler smiled tightly, and reluctantly shoved a forkful of food into his mouth.

"You're not eating," Monica commented flatly.

"Well, what do you call this, then?" Chandler replied, his mouth still full of food.

"I mean in general.  You don't eat like you used to."

"What?" Chandler swallowed down his food, and put down his fork.

"Ever since that incident with your dad, and with Harold, you've been…withdrawn," Monica said quietly.

"I don't want to talk about this," Chandler pushed himself away from the table, and stood abruptly.

"Why?  Why won't you tell me what's going on?" Monica stood up, and followed Chandler into the living room.

"Monica, I told you, this is—"Chandler shook his head, and shoved his hands into his pockets.

"None of my business?  Not for me to worry about?  Well I'm sorry Chandler, but I love you, and I do worry about you, and I'm not going to leave this alone this time!"

Monica stood there, rooted to her spot behind the sofa.  She watched, as Chandler dropped his head, and stared at his shoes.  He scuffed his toe into the floor, and shook his head, before looking back up at her.

"What if I'm wrong?" he whispered.

"Wrong about what?" Monica furrowed her brow, and crossed the room.

"Harold.  What if…what if it wasn't him?" Chandler's whisper was raspy and barely audible.

"You think it was your dad?" Monica felt her stomach turn.

"I don't know.  I don't want it to be him," Chandler sighed, and ran a shaky hand through his hair, "I'm sorry, Monica.  I didn't want to put you through more of my psychotic shit, I guess."

"Chandler," Monica grasped both of her boyfriend's clammy hands, "I'm not going to tell you again!  What happens to you happens to me.  You have to let me in."

"I'm sorry—"

"And for the love of GOD, stop apologizing!" Monica mock yelled, before pulling Chandler into a hug.

"Okay," Chandler mumbled into Monica's shoulder, eliciting a short giggle from the latter.

"So, I've been doing a lot of thinking about how to figure this out, and I was…I was thinking that I need to go upstate this week," Chandler said, an hour later.  He and Monica were curled on Monica's sofa, sipping tea, and talking out Chandler's latest problem.

"What's upstate?" Monica sat up and turned to look at Chandler.

"Not what, who," Chandler smiled, and ran his index finger down Monica's face.

"Okay, who's upstate?" Monica giggled.

"An old friend," he replied softly.

"Can…can I come with you?" Monica ventured.

"I was hoping you would," Chandler whispered, as he pulled Monica toward him.

"Good," Monica smiled, as Chandler kissed her cheek, chin and neck tenderly.

She promised herself she wouldn't cry.  But when he turned around, launched himself into her arms, and wrapped his skinny arms around her waist, she could no longer hold back the flood of salty tears that had been threatening to cascade down her face all afternoon.

She had always been taught that getting personal with her patients would destroy the treatment.  But she never quite understood how people in her profession couldn't get personal, particularly when children were involved.

Some of these children had no one else to love them.

Corrine crouched down as Chandler pulled away from her, and wiped the tiny tears from his shiny cerulean eyes.  She was constantly amazed that anyone could ever hurt this child; that anyone would want to mute the beauty and wonder that shone so brightly from the sea of blue that she found so utterly captivating.

"You are going to be just fine," Corrine whispered softly, and combed her hand through his soft brown hair.

"I'll miss you," the boy whispered shyly.

"And I will miss you, so much," Corrine replied honestly.

"Can I come back and visit you sometime?" Chandler wondered.

"You can come back anytime you want to, sweetheart, and in fact, I hope you do!"

Chandler smiled, and the smile lit up his face like Corrine had never seen.  She pulled him into one more tight hug, as Charles and Nora Bing approached.

She watched him walk away, flanked by his parents, and the smile on her face faltered slightly.  She knew it was time to let him go, but deep down, Corrine felt that Chandler needed much more than his parents were capable of giving him.  She watched him get into the car, the same car he'd been drug to nearly six months earlier, and she wondered what would become of Chandler Bing.

She would receive only one letter from him, several months after his release.  The letter would be sent from a small private school not far from the center.  In it, Chandler would tell Corrine that he was happy, but that he missed her, and wished her well.

Corrine would cry that night, because she knew that Chandler's happiness was superficial, and that eventually, he would have to face his demons again.

Alone.