Wow, thank you for all your reviews! They really made my day

I hope this chapter lives up to expectations. I'm not really sure about it, but figured I might as well post it, and see how everything goes.

I do not own Friends.

Chapter Two

"Innocent's Trust"

"Hey, Rach," Monica greeted her friend cheerfully, looking up briefly from where she was busy stuffing a chicken. "Hope you came prepared to eat. I cooked a little too much."

"No kidding," Rachel replied dryly, amusement dancing in her eyes as she took a good look at the kitchen. "Mon, honey, I know it's Joey's birthday, and food is probably the best gift you could give him, but…there is a fine line between sincerity, and insanity. I gotta say, right now, you're dancing on that line, stark naked." Her comment was undeniably justified, as there was literally food lined up on every inch of space in the kitchen. The table was practically groaning under the sheer weight of what was to be their dinner, and also breakfast, lunch, and snack for the next two days.

Monica blushed, pausing slightly to look around at her creations. "Oh come on, it's not that bad!" she defended, before faltering before Rachel's incredulous look. "Alright, well, originally I was just cooking enough for us." She shrugged, thumping the chicken down on a tray. "I made some gravy, and as it turned out there was way too much for the mashed potatoes, so I decided, what the heck? Why not make some ham while I'm at it? But then the ham was rather small, and I had some salmon in the freezer, so I decided to put that in. Then I realized that fish went well with rice, and rice went well with stir-fry, and that went well with –"

"Okay, okay, I get it! Stop!" Rachel threw up her hands in a desperate attempt to stop the woman before she went any farther. Once Monica got going, she had a tendency to spiral straight out of control, as their over-sized dinner was proof enough. Thankfully, the oven chose that moment to ding! , providing all the distraction Rachel needed. By the time Monica turned around again, she was long gone.

Five steps took her across the hall, where she reached for the doorknob without even bothering to get her keys, knowing the door wouldn't be locked. "Joey, you home?" she called as she stepped into their shared apartment.

"Hey, Rach!" three different voices greeted her in unison, causing her to jump slightly, as she had not been expecting so much company. "What are you guys all doing here?" she asked when as she spotted Chandler and Ross sprawled on the floor, while Phoebe's head poked out over the back of the barcalounger. "Shouldn't you be over at Monica's scavenging food, or something?"

"Eh, she kicked us out," Chandler replied nonchalantly, shrugging as best he could while propped up on his elbows.

"Why, what'd you do?"

"Why do you automatically assume it was me?"

Rachel only rolled her eyes at him, while dropping her coat on a stool and tossing her purse on the counter. "Well, why are you all here like you have no lives?"

"We're playing dress-up!" Phoebe announced excitedly, with a grin bright enough to light up a city. For emphasis, she held up an old duffle bag messily stuffed with random articles of clothing – everything from a bandana to a toe ring that had somehow gotten entangled in a silk scarf.

"Hey!" Rachel yelped, spotting a familiar piece of clothe. "Is that my shawl in there?" She grabbed it and held it up for examination. Apparently it passed, because she proceeded to hug it possessively. "How'd you end up with that?"

"Yeah, Ross doesn't share his sister's gift for organization," Phoebe shrugged. "See, he claims this is a bag of Ben's clothes, but so far, we have found…let's see…" She disappeared from Rachel's sight temporarily as she reached down. "Yes, we have an old boxing glove…a hot pink t-shirt that says 'Hot dudes wear pink,'…a pair of funny glasses with a goldfish to put in the mouth…and…oh! And here's one of your old bras!"

"What?" Rachel yelped, face rapidly turning a shade of red that would put a tomato to shame. "My…Ross! Why the hell do you have my bra? And…ohh, that was one of my favorites, too! I thought I lost it! You are so indecent!" She snatched it from where Phoebe was dangling it in the air like a long-dead fish. "Do you have NO respect for my privacy?"

"Hey, it's not my fault you left it over at my place that one time!" Ross pointed out. "It's your responsibility to remember your underwear in the morning –"

"Ross! Shut up!" Chandler hissed, whacking his friend upside the head. "Young ears, young ears!"

Rachel blinked, taken aback. "What? Pheebs, what the hell is he talking about?" she asked, completely baffled, looking back and forth from Chandler to Ross, who was now rubbing his head and muttering a string of what sounded a lot like…words that would be inappropriate to write down.

"Oh! Oh yeah, you haven't met him yet! Ooo, wait till you see–" she spun the barcalounger around in one fluid movement, and the next instant Rachel found herself looking at what had to be the cutest child she had ever seen.

The boy sited on Phoebe's lap, a comically confused expression on his baby-round face, was currently dressed in what had to be a miniaturized version of a "gangster." His gray sweatshirt completely hid his hands, and fell down to his knees. Baggy jeans pooled pass his too-big shoes, and had to be held up with a child-sized belt. His hood was, unsurprisingly, too big for him, and fell to a point where it half-hid his eyes, forcing him to tilt his whole face up to see what was going on. To top it all off, a sliver rectangle pendulant swung around his neck on a leather string.

"Oh my god…" Rachel gasped, pressing her hands to her heart. "Oh my god, oh my god…" she took him from Phoebe, lifting him up and holding him at an arm's length so that they were face-to-face. "Oh, my goodness, you are so cute!"

"I know!" Phoebe laughed, watching Rachel cuddle the boy like a stuffed animal.

"Lucky boy," Ross scowled enviously, glaring at the way Rachel held the child to her breast. "Wish I could turn back to a kid."

"You are a sick, sick man," Chandler replied in disbelief.

The child, however, did not seem to be appreciating the rather rough treatment so much. He squirmed, twisting around to stretch a small hand out in the direction of what he must have considered to be his savior. "Chandwer!" he wailed pitifully. "Chandwer, down! Want down!"

"Aww, do you not like Rachel hugging you?" Chandler crooned, desperately trying no to laugh at the way Rachel started to sputter indignantly. He picked himself up off the ground, and went over to scoop the boy into his arms. "There, there, is all right! I'll protect you."

"Ha!" Ross snorted, and Phoebe added, "Yeah, you wish," in agreement.

"Whaaat? I can protect him! I'm a grown man – don't you think I could protect him?"

Ross rolled his eyes. "Please. Remember that one time those two guys challenged us to a fight?" He chuckled. "I mean, I know I wasn't so tough…but dude, you didn't even get to throw a punch!"

"Hey, that was not my fault!" Chandler said icily, taking a step forward in what was supposed to be an intimidating manner. "I was not wearing the right shoes for the occasion, it was not my fault that I kept falling!"

"Seriously, don't kid yourself," Phoebe flapped a hand airily at him. "You wouldn't last a day on the street, Bing. Take it from me. You're lucky you scored Monica, and not, y'know, Rachel."

"Hey!" the insulted woman protested.

"Oh, sorry Rach, forgot you were there. Don't worry! I was just using an example. I meant, 'any woman like Rachel,' not you specifically," her friend explained patiently.

"Oh, well that makes it a lot better, thanks," was the sarcastic reply.

Chandler frowned, and turned the conversation back to himself before it shot off into some tangent. "Hey, I will let you know, I am a man, and I can fight when I need to, and when the time comes, I swear I will have the guts to pick up my sword –"

"Yeah, yours isn't long enough to scare a kitten," Ross smirked naughtily, quite proud of himself for having come up with such a snappy interjection.

"You take that back!"

"Chandwer?"

Chandler blinked, taken off guard at the sudden interruption, and looked down at its source. Blue eyes interlocked with liquid, chocolate-brown orbs, and he could only stand by and watch as all his anger fled from his mind, and he lost himself in that innocent gaze. "Chandwer, I think you can pwotect me!"

"You-you do?" the man stuttered in disbelief. "Really?"

"Rea-wy!" the boy grinned, hugging him.

For once, Chandler found himself at a loss for words. There were no terms into which he could put his feelings at hearing that simple statement, that childishly naïve declaration of faith. It was absolute confidence, a complete conviction such as he had never before in his memory given or received.

And suddenly, he was sacred. It was an unexpected fear, though, in hindsight, it really shouldn't have been, given he infamous personality. He was frightened by the fragile little life that he held in his arms. Frightened because the boy's faith in his guardian's perfection was so enormous that it was overwhelming.

He did not speak, because there was truly nothing he could say.

And so, he simply hugged the boy close in response.

I could talk all day, and still my talk will only be just talk.

I wish…I really wish…that my faith in myself was even half as strong as that which you have placed upon me. That alone would allow me to do anything imaginable.

Xxxxx

"It's so strange to think that that's Joey," Rachel mused, observing her miniaturized friend bemusedly. Said friend was currently settled on the couch, curled up around Hugsy and fast asleep under a blanket someone had grabbed from his room.

"Yeah," Monica agreed, leaning back in her chair. She, like everyone else, was almost half-asleep, drugged by a super-sized dinner. "But y'know, he doesn't really act all that different. It's just that now his personality matches his age."

"True that," Ross rolled his eyes. "Plus the fact that he's no longer able to clear half the table in one setting."

"Yeah, it's kinda weird that he wasn't able to finish even one helping," Phoebe said, joining in their conversation. "And you notice how he's small for his age? I mean, the kid's three and I guessed him to be two. I'd never have pegged him to be the small type growing up."

Monica nodded, frowning thoughtfully. "That's true," she murmured. "You know how he's always saying that he weighed like sixteen pounds when he was born. But then again, he is Italian. Even if he wasn't born big, he would certainly be eating enough to make up for that." Then she grinned, eyes lighting up like a child's on Christmas morning. "Which means that now, I get the job of putting some meat on him! Do you think he'll like pancakes or sandwiches for breakfast tomorrow?"

Rachel raised an eyebrow. "Mon, this is Joey we're talking about. I think he'll eat just about anything if he's hungry enough, and he's a growing boy." Murmurs of agreement rippled through the group, before she continued, "What I want to know is, what are we going to do with him?"

Ross looked at her from where he had been busy trying to decide whether or not it would be worth the energy to get up and go to the bathroom. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, what are we going to DO with him?" Rachel repeated herself exasperatedly. "We all have work, and it'd probably be a bad idea to leave a three-year-old home alone! And what're we going to tell his boss? That he can't make it in to work because he's lost twenty eight years of his life?"

They all looked at each other, each expecting someone else to speak up with some sort of brilliant solution to this obvious but somehow-overlooked dilemma. However, whether it be due to their exhausted state or some other factor, none had a sudden flash of inspiration. Not even a flame, or a tiny spark.

"Look, I feel as though I'm falling asleep sitting up," Ross groaned at last, when it became apparent that there wasn't going to be any sort of plausible ideas springing up. "How about we just all go home and sleep on this, alright? Maybe we'll figure something out when we're all actually able to process thoughts."

"Sounds good," his sister nodded, forcing herself out of her chair. "So where are we going to put him? Leave him here or put him in his room?"

And again, as if by default, they all turned to look at each other.

"Oh, for goodness' sake!" Rachel grumbled after a three-minute stretch of silence. "Just leave him here, he's settled in anyway."

"And we all know Rachel can sleep through the Apocalypse. She'll be next to no help if he decides to wake up in the middle of the night," Ross deadpanned, moving to get his coat.

"Hey, you take that back!" Rachel snapped, scowling. "That's totally not true, Geller! And at least I don't sound like a herd of elephants with nasal congestion when I sleep!"

xxxxx

Someone was crying.

Someone was crying, and it was very loud.

Someone was crying, and he was trying to sleep.

Because the crying was very loud, his sleep was being disrupted.

In conclusion, whoever was crying had better stop before he was forced to get up and kill them.

Those were Chandler's thoughts, in chronological order, when he was rather rudely awakened in the middle of the night. He groaned, cracking open en eyelid. Through sleep-fogged eyes, he was able to make out the fact that it was dark, and nothing else. Nothing else mattered, because it being dark equaled it being night, and it being night equaled it being sleepy-sleepy time. He shut he eyes again and burrowed under the covers, hoping that the crying noises that filled the room were either part of his dream, or would simply stop and go away.

There was, of course, no such luck, and it soon became apparent that the crying wasn't going to stop itself.

And so, with no other option, he forced he eyes back open, and focused in the direction of his alarm clock. Two seconds later, a red blur solidified into three blinking numbers. 3:46.

3:46. It was three in the morning. Great. Just wonderful.

Beside him, the covers rustled, and a leg brushed past his own, causing an instinctive tingle to rush up his spine. Monica rolled over before groaning slightly and, without opening her eyes, muttered, "Chandler, shut up."

"It's not me!" he hissed in injured protest. There was a paused, before his still-awakening brain finally figured out what it might actually be. "I – I think it might be Joey."

"Well, tell him to shut up, and go back to his own apartment to cry," Monica grumbled, drawing the covers over her head.

Another fifteen seconds later, his brain (which was speeding up) came up with the answer that Monica must not remember the events of the previous day. "Monica, I think it's the little Joey."

There was another pause before the sleepy reply came, muffled by the blankets. "Well, then go out there and get him to quiet down!"

"I don't want to!"

"You're gonna want to, because you don't want to make me want to!"

Chandler blinked. "What?" he asked in confusion, since that sentence was a bit too complex for him to be able to figure out at three a.m.

"Just go, you fool!" the disgruntled Monica snipped

Which brought him back to his first point. "No! I don't want to!"

"Why?" was the increasingly exasperated (and dangerous) woman's retort.

"Because! I…I'm scared, okay? Look, I was the first one to find him when he woke up last morning in a strange room, right? So that marked me as some sort of… I don't know, some sort of savior. And now, if I go out there, then he's really going to start associating me with a reliable, responsible, omnipotent adult! Which I am not, and will never be!"

"Chandler, you idiot, NO one can ever be. And when he grows up, he's gonna know that. Just go and stop his crying! There are many people who would love to get adored by a kid like that!"

"So YOU go. You can handle the pressure. You don't get it, Monica, I don't want to be in the position where I…where his expectations get so high that I can't match them anymore." He looked down, grasping the covers tightly, trying to fight the onslaught of shame he felt as he spoke these words. "I just…I don't want to be given the chance to fail." Ross and Phoebe had been right. He was a sorry excuse for a man, a train-wreck of a disaster when it came to anything resembling commitment.

Monica could only sigh softly, easily picking up the pain in her fiancé's soft, shaky voice. "You know, if I didn't love you, I would slap you," she informed him bluntly. "One day, that boy out there crying is going to be your own. And one day, you'll be backed into a corner where your only choice would be to either climb up, or give up."

She saw his shoulders drop. Saw as he cringed away from her words as though they were tongues of fire that burned him with every touch. And once again, doubt filled her heart. She wanted children. She wanted her children to have a wonderful father who would care for them through every trial, every dark valley, holding their hand past every shadow. And, not for the first time, she wondered if Chandler could ever be that father.

She spoke again, voicing exhaustion that was not merely the result of the ridiculous time. "Chandler, sweetie, I know this is going to be a very interesting discussion we will no doubt need to have one day. But right now is not the time. I'll go, but you owe me."

"Thanks," the man murmured, guilt gnawing at his heart as he watched his fiancé struggle out of bed and walk out the door.

A moment later, the crying dimmed down, though it did not cease completely.

Monica reappeared. "Chandler, honey, he had a nightmare. He wants you to go to him." Her tone was pleadingly, begging him to step up to answer the child's simple request.

Only it wasn't so simple. Not in Chandler's mind.

"Chandler's asleep. Chandler has work tomorrow, so please don't wake him," he begged hoarsely.

Monica didn't reply. Silently, she turn on her heels and walked back out.

She didn't come back for a good while. By the time Joey's wails and sniffles finally halted completely and she was able to crawl back into bed, dawn was only an hour away.

Tired as she was, she didn't notice that Chandler was still wide awake. Morning's first light would find him in a sleepless, emotionally-torn mess.

The tone got pretty serious in the end, but I tried to weave some humor into the beginning. The rest of the story (and I promise, there WILL be a rest to this story) should, if all goes well, be a good balance between drama and humor.

I'm sorry it took so long to update. But this fic is so stubborn! I finally realized (after the first five drafts) that I wasn't going to be able to spring off an all-humor story as I had intended this was going to be. I guess humor just isn't my forte – what I write usually ends up so dry that even if people catch the joke, it's not really funny. I do enjoy writing it, though, and so I'm going to do my best to incorporate it in this story.

Hope you all liked it, and please leave a review! Even if it's just one word, or something like "I managed to get through the whole thing without falling asleep," I'd really appreciate it :)