Chapter Text
Author’s note
this is inspired by two things: Matthew Perry's book, especially him saying he’d been in therapy since he was 18 and a deleted scene for TOW Ross’ Sandwich in which Chandler mentions seeing a therapist at work.
1979
Chandler didn’t know if he liked Miss Kim or not.
On one hand, she was nice, she always gave him her full attention, and her office smelled like vanilla.
But she asked lots of questions. He only saw her once a month. She always tried to get him to talk about his feelings.
This afternoon, Miss Kim was helping him build a Lego Bat Cave - fun! But she was also trying to get him to talk about the Cub Scout Incident.
“So the nanny dropped you off at Cub Scouts,” Miss Kim began. “Who was supposed to pick you up?”
Chandler shrugged.
“I don’t know who was supposed to pick me up, but dad did,” he said. “He said we’d go get pizza, then to the movies. But he was all….weird during dinner.”
Miss Kim passed him another Lego.
“Weird how?”
The little boy shrugged again, not looking up from the Legos.
“I dunno. Just weird. He kept looking around. He didn’t eat but he kept drinking really fast? He was acting mad, but he was being really nice to me," Chandler shrugged. "Can you hand me the blue one?”
Miss Kim passed him the blue Lego, then pushed several toward him.
“Your mom said you were upset when you got back to her,” she said.
“Dad said we’d go to the movies,” Chandler said. “But he brought me back home, then he and mom fought all night.”
“All night?” Miss Kim asked.
“They were still fighting when I went to bed,” he said.
“Wow,” she said. “That must’ve made it hard to sleep.”
Chandler shrugged, then kept building quietly.
“What do you call a cow with no legs?” Chandler asked, grinning as he looked up from his creation.
“I don’t know,” Miss Kim said. “What?”
“Ground beef!”
Chandler giggled to himself and went back to his building. Miss Kim laughed, then grew serious again.
“Chandler, you know, even when grown-ups fight, it doesn’t change how they feel about their kids,” she said.
“I know,” he said.
Chandler continued to build in silence as Miss Kim watched.
“Your mom said she caught you smoking,” she said.
“I wasn’t smoking,” he said. “I was just joking around.”
“What’s the joke?”
Chandler looked up abruptly and waved his arm, Lego in hand.
“Smoking? I’m 10,” he said. “I still have a nightlight.”
“Sweetie, both your parents are worried about you,” Miss Kim said. “Divorce is hard!”
Chandler avoided her eyes and kept building. "I'm fine."
Miss Kim watched him build in silence. She made a few notes, and that made Chandler nervous. His knee bounced, under the table, on its own accord. It continued to bounce, knocking over Legos. Chandler swallowed and looked around the cozy office to avoid Miss Kim's eyes.
"What do you call a fake noodle?"
Miss Kim frowned.
"I don't know," she said, sighing. "What?"
Chandler grinned. "An impasta!"
Miss Kim gave him a tight smile.
"Chandler, I've noticed you tell jokes when things get serious," Miss Kim began.
"What do storm clouds wear under their clothes? Thunderwear!"
"Chandler, if we could -" Miss Kim tried.
"What animal always knows what time it is? A watchdog!" Chandler had jumped up from his seat.
"Chandler, will you -"
He was bouncing on the balls of his feet.
"It's 4 o'clock! Time for me to go!"
He bolted for the door, leaving Miss Kim to rub her forehead and write yet more notes.
----
1982
There was a light knock on the door before Ms. Alexander poked her head into the classroom. All the boys looked up from their studies, and the homeroom teacher looked up from his grading.
"Could I borrow Chandler Bing?" Ms. Alexander asked.
Chandler gathered his stuff, put his jacket back on and followed Ms. Alexander to her office. She was young and good-looking, and as he followed her he tried to do the math. He was 15. If she graduated high school at 18, another 4 for college. Do counselors go for more than for years? She was at least 22 - that was only a seven-year difference and he knew enough from his mom's books that sometimes --
"I don't think we've officially met yet," Ms. Alexander began. "I'm Stacy Alexander, the counselor for freshmen and sophomores. I try to meet with everyone before the first quarter ends. How is everything going? Are you all settled into St. Thomas?"
"Everything's...fine. Everything's good," Chandler said.
"Your advisor said you were playing the clarinet in band?"
Chandler shifted in his seat and nodded his confirmation.
"What's the difference between the garbage and a clarinetist?"
Ms. Alexander looked puzzled.
"Are you making a joke? I don't know --"
"The garbage gets taken out once a week," he said, smirking. "Ba dum dum shhh."
The counselor frowned, as she studied him - she had read his file before pulling him from homeroom. Only child. Wealthy, divorced parents. Charming, but guarded. That described a large portion of St. Thomas' students.
"It can be hard to find a romantic interest at an all-boys school, but that should give you more time to focus on your academics," Ms. Alexander said.
Chandler sighed heavily, rearranged himself in his seat, and grinned at Ms. Alexander.
"Why was the egg kicked out of school?" Chandler asked.
"Chandler, I have a lot of students to see," she said. "While I'm genuinely interested in how you're doing, I don't think we have time for jokes."
"He kept telling yolks," Chandler said, raising his eyebrows. "C'mon that's good!"
Ms. Alexander closed her eyes briefly and took a steadying breath.
"Yes, that was a clever joke -"
"Yolk," Chandler interjected. Ms. Alexander silenced him with a look.
"Now is not the time," she finished.
Chandler glanced at the clock.
"Speaking of time," he said. "I have algebra in like five minutes. It's been fun. Catch ya next quarter!"
The gangly teen left in a whirlwind. The throw pillow smooshed where he'd been sitting against it. The table was slightly askew from where he'd bumped it in his hurry to leave.
Follow up ASAP, Ms. Alexander wrote next to Bing, C. in her case notes.
What else could she write?
-----
1988
After his high school graduation, his parents had insisted he continued therapy. Nora and Helena had been cordial, if cold, while interacting. The occasional barb, sure, but nothing like ten years earlier.
After the ceremony, at dinner, Chandler had been the drunk one. He was as jumpy as he had always been, but slower and clumsier and smelling of booze. He kept smirking through dinner, but his eyes were unfocused.
His jokes turned mean and increasingly self-critical.
Then he had refused to visit either parent at Thanksgiving -- well, that wasn't entirely true. He told his mom he was spending the holiday with his dad, told his dad he was spending it with his mom -- and then been caught in the lie. Angry, bitter phone calls with both parents after Thanksgiving after he'd been caught in his lie.
It was rare for Nora and Helena to agree on something, but Chandler's behavior was concerning -- that, they agreed on.
So that was how, just before the first semester at NYU ended, Chandler found himself in Dr. Davis' office.
Dr. Davis had a bushy beard and glasses. His walls had pictures of his family and his degrees. Sticky notes and books were on his desk - mostly professional reading but Chandler noticed a paperback copy of Misery among them.
Dr. Davis was chewing gum with an enthusiasm Chandler recognized -- he was chewing gum while he couldn't smoke.
"So, Chandler," the older man began, "What brings you to therapy?"
"Um - my parents are making me," he said.
Dr. Davis looked at him blankly for a moment.
"Right," he said. "But you're 18. A grown man."
Chandler nodded as he squirmed in his seat.
"They said I had to continue therapy if I wanted them to keep supporting me. Financially," he said, shrugging.
Dr. Davis looked at him blankly.
"Well, I get paid either way..." he said, and shrugged himself. He let the awkward moment simmer. "Why are they making you?"
Chandler chewed at his cuticle. What had his parents told this guy? His parents never agreed on anything, except to keep him in therapy. He had really fucked up.
Chandler shrugged. "A couple reasons, I guess."
Dr. Davis didn't flinch.
"Wanna tell me any of those reasons?"
Chandler swallowed.
"How about we start with why your parents are so worried about you?" Dr. Davis asked. "Why don't you tell me about that?"
"What do you mean?"
Dr. Davis huffed. "Chandler, I have my notes from what your parents told me. I want your version," he paused. "I want to help you, but I work with adults. So I need you to be an adult here. We can sit in silence for an hour - I promise I can deal with awkward silence longer than you can - or we can actually work together and help you grow. And heal."
Chandler looked everywhere but at Dr. Davis, biting his lip. He shifted in his seat, rolled his neck and looked to his feet. He sighed heavily.
"I told my mom I was spending Thanksgiving with my dad," he said. "I told my dad I was spending it with my mom."
Chandler cleared his throat and finally met Dr. Davis' eyes. Dr. Davis waited patiently, staring Chandler down until he looked away.
"When you spoke with your parents, had you been drinking?"
Chandler sighed, looked to the ceiling. "They're both big drinkers."
"And they both told me they've abused alcohol in the past, especially when they were still married. When you were younger," Dr. Davis conceded. "But that's not what I asked. Had you been drinking when you talked to your parents?"
Chandler nodded solemnly. Dr. Davis waited a moment.
"How does it make you feel, that your parents are so worried about you?" He asked. "From what they told me, your mom spoke with you, then called your dad out of concern."
Chandler shrugged and kept looking at his feet.
"How did you spend Thanksgiving?"
"I went home with my roommate," he said simply.
Dr. Davis nodded. "And how was that?"
Chandler rubbed his hands over his face and looked at everything but Dr. Davis. He shrugged.
"It was...fine," he began. "It was normal. Dull, even. Everyone was nice. Polite. Like the Bradys. Or, or the Beavers. The Cleavers? The Leave it to Beaver family." Chandler swallowed, hard, like he was trying not to cry. "Nobody fought. Nobody was drunk. Nobody was humiliated or traumatized. No one threw up. No one had a threeway," he paused for a beat. "I mean, that I know of."
Dr. Davis laughed. Chandler laughed as well - then coughed, and wiped his eyes.
"It sucks," Dr. Davis said. "When we're outside looking in, of course, everything seems rosy. I promise you, your roommate and his family have their share of issues. You may not have seen it in the weekend you were there, but things are never as good as they seem. They were on their best behavior, with company there. Sure, maybe they have a Normal Rockwell Thanksgiving, but that doesn't mean they have a Norman Rockwell life."
Chandler nodded, as he clenched and unclenched his jaw.
"Look, Chandler, you're 18. You're technically adult, but you're still very much a kid. When you're 30 or so, you'll look back and realize how young you really are. Never mind when you're my age."
Chandler laughed a watery laugh, and Dr. Davis passed him the box of tissues.
"The great thing about where you are, Chandler," Dr. Davis said. "Is that you can build the life you want. You can set boundaries. Figure out your values. Maybe meet the person you spend the rest of your life with."
Chandler scoffed, so Dr. Davis corrected himself.
"Or realize you don't want to spend the rest of your life with one person! Maybe two people, or a different person every few weeks."
Chandler blushed as he laughed and shook his head, burying his face in his hands.
"Chandler," Dr. Davis said. "I want to see you again next week. I'd love it if you take a week off from drinking, but I'm a realist. I can't tell you what to do."
Chandler looked at him blankly.
"Your parents told me you liked writing," he said. "Why don't you make some notes for us to discuss later?"
Chandler scrubbed his face again.
Dr. Davis stood.
"I know it may not seem like it, Chandler, but you're in a good spot," he said. "You're at a crossroads. You can build your own life. Figure things out for yourself."
---
1995
Dr. Davis shook Chandler's hand enthusiastically.
"Gotta be honest, Chandler," the older man began. "I didn't think I'd see you once you were on your own."
Chandler laughed and ran his hand through his hair.
"Well, I just missed you so much," Chandler replied, sarcasm evident.
Dr. Davis' face grew serious in an instant and he cleared his throat.
"I see you're still using sarcasm as a - "
"- As a defense mechanism," Chandler finished for him, rolling his eyes.
The two men sat opposite each other.
"Seriously, what brings you in? It's been a while - a year or so," Dr. Davis said. "I didn't think I'd see you after graduation, after you were off your parents' insurance."
Chandler ran his hand through his hair again, then down over his face.
"Oh God, I don't know," he began. "I took this temp job out of college - something to pay the bills, and get me off my parents' insurance! And then, I don't know?! It's five years later, I'm still there, and I'm good at it? But I hate it and I don't care. It's all numbers and boring. But the money's good! And it's easy!"
Dr. Davis nodded along, silently. Chandler ran both hands through his shaggy hair.
"But it's not like I know what I want to do?" Chandler pondered.
"I thought you wanted to be a writer?" Dr. Davis asked.
Chandler shrugged and gestured wildly.
"That doesn't pay the bills like a 9 to 5 does," he said.
"Was that a concern for you - being able to pay the bills?" Dr. Davis asked. "The last time I saw you, your parents were helping you out?"
Chandler scowled. "I don't want to be - I don’t want to owe them. Or anyone!"
“My kids are older than you, but I still help them however I can and I don’t feel that they owe me anything,” the doctor responded. “I’m sure your parents feel similarly.”
Chandler shrugged and stared out a window.
“What does that mean?” Dr. Davis mimicked Chandler’s shrug. “You don’t think your parents want to help you?”
“No, it’s not that,” Chandler said, gesturing. “I just - I don’t know if they’d want something from me.”
Dr. Davis nodded. “What would they want?”
"I don't know," Chandler said. "I would just feel like I'd have to answer to them.'
"What that be so bad? What did they ask of you in college?"
Chandler sighed in frustration.
"It's been a while, Chandler, but if I recall correctly, all they asked of you was, to be honest with them and take care of yourself," Dr. Davis said. "I don't know them like you do, but I don't think they'll expect you to have Sunday dinners with them and spend every holiday with them."
Chandler rubbed the back of his neck as he rolled his head from left shoulder to right. Dr. Davis' watch beeped.
"Let's make an appointment for a couple weeks out, OK?"
-------------
March 1998
"So, Chandler," Stefanie said, gesturing for him to sit in the chair across the desk from her. "How are you?"
"Uh - I'm fine. I'm OK." He cleared his throat. "How are you?"
Stefanie glanced at the file on her desk.
"To be honest, I'm concerned," she said.
Chandler felt the blood drain from his face. He knew this routine. He tried to remember every conversation he'd had at work lately. All the small talk. All the jokes he'd made. All the jokes Doug had made that Chandler had laughed at.
"The times we've talked in the past - it's usually been because of a joke that wasn't quite work-appropriate," Stefanie said.
"Yeah, I'm trying to think of everything I've said lately," Chandler said. "I'm sure I've stuck my foot in my mouth recently, but I'm not coming up with anything."
"Chandler, I'm concerned about some of your behavior lately," she said. "Frankly, some of it has been downright bizarre."
Chandler balked. "Um, what? What have I - I don't think I've -," he opened and closed his mouth, then shook his head. "I think my behavior has been normal for me. That might not be normal for everyone..." he trailed off.
Stefanie looked at her notes again.
"Chandler, when I read my notes, I'm gobsmacked," she said. "We've worked together, albeit distantly for years now. I know what's normal."
Chandler was scowling as he nodded. Bizarre behavior?
"I heard you missed work because you left the country - Saudi Arabia? Lebanon? I don't recall," she said. "Either that wasn't true, which is very strange to lie about. Or you left the country without letting anyone know. Or you impulsively left the country? And I don't know which one is stranger."
Chandler sighed heavily, wearily, and ran his hand through his hair.
"It was Yemen," he said. "And it wasn't planned."
Stefanie nodded and made a note.
"And it was very expensive." He shot her a smile. She did not return it. "I'm sorry. It's - It's a long story. It won't happen again."
"You missed a lot of work before that trip, too," Stefanie added. "The end of January, beginning of February. I just want to make sure you're OK. And put you in contact with any of our employee assistance resources, if you'd like them. Or loop in HR if you need some sort of accommodations or have some extenuating circumstances."
Chandler was adamantly shaking his head 'no.'
"No, no, nothing like that," he said. Chandler took a steadying breath. "I had a bad breakup, but I'm fine. I'm back. On my A-game. No more problems."
Chandler moved to stand but Stefanie raised her hand to stop him. He sat back down glumly.
"I saved the best for last," she said. "Or the weirdest. Or the one that needs the most explanation. Did you - Chandler, did you set up a friend with several coworkers?"
Chandler buried his face in his hands.
"No, not exactly," he said. "I - it's a funny story! My friend - she's this beautiful, fun, smart woman. She wanted to be set up, someone to hang out with over the holidays. She's great, a lot of my coworkers are great. Win-win!"
Stefanie frowned at her notes.
"Chandler, did you accept bribes from your coworkers in exchange for dates with your friend?"
His jaw dropped. He sputtered. He gestured aimlessly.
"You can see why that would be problematic, especially at work," Stefanie said. Chandler was unusually quiet for a moment, looking around the room, trying to figure out how he'd gotten himself into this mess.
"I sound like a lunatic when you put it like that," Chandler admitted. "It's been - I've had a rough couple months. Like I said, I've got my head straight now. None of this will happen again."
"Chandler, I want to be clear," Stefanie said. "I'm meeting with you out of concern, not to cause trouble or to be a stick in the mud. You're a valued employee here. But someone overheard some of your coworkers discussing how they could get a date with your friend. There was a concern of your friend being a.... a sex worker. "
"Oh God, no, nothing like that," he said. "She works at Bloomingdale's! She went out with Patrick!"
"Well, I'm glad to hear that, Chandler," she said. "I'm just confused as to why you'd accept so many outlandish gifts for something like setting a friend up."
Chandler floundered yet again.
"I just - it was fun, being popular," he said. "It was nice having everyone like me."
Stefanie sighed heavily. Chandler was not her most problematic client. He wasn't even the most problematic from his department. But she genuinely cared for him and worried about him. Chandler's issues were all pretty textbook. He was upfront about not liking therapy, but he had also told her he'd been in and out of it since childhood.
"Well, maybe your colleagues would like you better if you liked yourself better." Stefanie let Chandler sit with that for a moment. "I hope you think about that, because you really are a great guy. Your colleagues do like you, but you tend to -"
"Take it too far," Chandler interjected, matter of factly. "Keep talking until everyone's uncomfortable. Get people to laugh so they'll like me."
Stefanie smiled at him sadly. She liked her job, despite the fact that her clients often did not want to see her - her clients often came to her by way of HR.
"I know you have a big vacation coming up - Europe, right?"
"Yeah," Chandler nodded. "London. For a wedding."
"So, go to London, have a good time. Think about what I said," she said. "And I'll check back with you after you come back."