Rain continued to fall down one drop at a time from the large leaves in the trees above as Chandler scratched his back against the bark behind him.

He'd just finished cleaning his weapon, again, and was looking over at some of the other soldiers in his unit. Makeshift stools and tables were being dried off by a few of the guys after the usual afternoon downpour, and that meant a game of cards was about to commence. It was the rainy season In Country, and as wet and relatively cool as it had been the last hour or so, it would be that steamy and humid in no time at all. His shift to help man the perimeter of the camp later in the day would be an oppressive one.

He'd learned that being in a warzone meant a lot of "hurry up and wait." After the "skirmish" - as his sergeant major called it - six days earlier his platoon was in a holding pattern, essentially waiting for their next set of orders.

Chandler closed his eyes and leaned back against the trunk behind him.

His first experience with combat had been a shock and left him momentarily rattled. Ironically, though, his life-long experience finding ways to cope in horrible situations actually helped him. He was able to regroup and not completely lose his mind in the last few days. While most of the other men seemed to be coping just as well, some of the other guys weren't so lucky. One guy was ordered to have his mouth duct-taped shut for two days because he couldn't stop screaming. Many of the soldiers couldn't sleep.

Chandler opened his eyes again and glanced over again at the card game. It was a simple activity that reminded him of home, and the few times he, Ross, Joey and Kip played poker. He smiled a sad smile, digging a stick into the mud in the ground next to him.

He'd thought a lot about Ross and Joey over the last few days, wondering if they'd seen action already. He was sure Ross was already helping save lives, but he didn't have any idea where Joey ended up. All three of them were just getting started in this new reality of theirs and he did miss them, though he tried hard not to linger on the thought for long. He fleetingly wondered if Kip was ever drafted, but thinking about him now made him angry all over again, so he quickly banished him once again from his mind.

At the moment he really missed Charlie, and he knew he would have to get used to that feeling - simply adding him to the short list of friendly faces who briefly came in and went out of his life.

It helped that while Charlie was badly wounded, he was still alive. He actually was in relatively good spirits when Chandler went to visit him in the field hospital the day before, and for that, at least, Chandler was grateful…

Chandler crossed his legs as he sat on the floor at the head of Charlie's bed, a smirk on his face.

"You've given a whole new meaning to the phrase 'taking it up the ass,'" he grinned, then chuckled outright as Charlie glared at him, his head resting on his crossed arms as he laid on his stomach.

"Ain't you da funny man, now, huh?" Charlie spat back. "You'd be a fright more understandin' if yous was on dis bed here, ya son-of-a-bitch…"

Chandler put up his hand, quiet chuckle subsiding.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he said, grin still on his face. "Is it bad?"

"Hell, yeah, it's bad," Charlie said, grin coming over his face now. "I got shot all up in my dumb ass."

Chandler smiled. Charlie actually had never been shot, but the explosion from the grenade behind him fired bits and pieces of metal, shell casings, stones, sticks and other material from the ground with such force that they embedded instantly into his skin through his uniform. His back and butt were scarred with hundreds of tiny fragments, the deepest ones requiring rows and rows of stitches on his hind side. None of the injuries from that final grenade were fatal to the men close to it, but they were no less painful.

"When do you think you'll be able to sit again?" Chandler asked.

"Don' know," Charlie sighed, "but when I do my ass is gonna be on my rocker in the shade of ol' magnolia at home."

Chandler cocked his head, then nodded, swallowing the lump in his throat.

"You're going home?"

"You bet your sweet, smooth ass I is," Charlie replied and Chandler grinned.

"Good for you, man," he said softly. "I'm sure…everyone will be happy to have you back."

"Feels like I's been gone too long," Charlie said wistfully, then looked a little guilty at his friend. "I knows I only just got here…"

Chandler shrugged.

"Not a man wouldn't take a ticket home over staying here," he said.

"You talkin' about yous, too?" Charlie asked, eyeing Chandler carefully. Chandler just shrugged again, averting his eyes.

"Lis'en," Charlie finally said quietly, casting a glance around the room before his dark eyes landed on the top of Chandler's head. Chandler was looking to the ground.

"If she feelin' ya like you feelin' her," he nodded. "She be waitin' on ya, no matter when you get home."

Chandler grinned sadly at him, then slowly rose to his feet.

"Chandler?" Charlie said, trying to crane his neck to look at him. Chandler squatted down to face him, putting a hand on his arm.

"You go home and hug your girls," he said, a catch in his throat, then he nodded. "You're a good man, Charlie Brown."

Charlie nodded, too, tears in his eyes.

"So are you," he whispered, placing a hand over Chandler's and squeezing tight. "Godspeed, brotha."

Chandler nodded one more time, then stood up and walked away - leaving the only friend he had in Vietnam behind to go home…

"Bing!"

Chandler looked up from his spot under the tree to see the sergeant major heading in his direction. He quickly scrambled to his feet, saluting him.

"Sir, yes, sir," he said, standing at attention. The sergeant major saluted back.

"At ease," the man said, nodding in the direction he'd just come from. "Follow me - lieutenant wants you."

"Yes, sir," Chandler said, furrowing his brow and following behind him in the direction of the officers tent.

###

Monica's eyes darted around as Phoebe quickly led them to a small medical office in Harlem. Phoebe had it from a reliable source that the…procedures done at that office were safe, despite outside appearances. Monica wanted to have it done somewhere she'd hopefully never have to see again.

"You've got your money?" Phoebe asked quietly.

Monica nodded, wrapping her arms tighter around herself. She was shaking and the pit in her stomach was getting larger and larger. Making the decision to have her little "problem" taken care of had been the most difficult thing she'd ever done in her life, but actually going through with it was proving to be much, much harder.

Her heart was pounding hard and she felt like she was going to be sick. It didn't help that the streets were crowded and there was an unfriendly vibe in the air. It wasn't so long ago the protests at Columbia University had set this entire area on edge and she wondered if what she felt was lingering tension.

Or maybe it was just the weight of her own heart breaking causing her to be filled with anxiety - she wasn't sure. Still, all the people milling about in the Harlem business district this late in the day caught her off guard and made her even more nervous. Several sets of eyes landed on her and Phoebe as they made their way down the sidewalk. She wished more than anything that she was invisible. It felt like all the eyes on her were judging her.

Phoebe glanced at her friend, a worried look on her face. Except for asking for her help, Monica hadn't said much of anything else about the situation. She could tell by the look on her friend's face and her pensive body language that she was nervous. She also suspected Monica wasn't 100-percent sure of her decision to terminate the pregnancy. Phoebe was sure the baby's father had something to do with her hesitation, and as much as Phoebe could no longer stand the sight of Kip, she did think he had a right to know Monica was expecting his child.

They finally stopped in front of a nondescript, one-story white building with a small alley running the length of it to a larger alley in the back.

"Monica," Phoebe said, facing her and placing a hand on her arm. "I hate to ask, but does…does…Kip know about…it?"

Monica, who had been staring at the building trying to find her courage, snapped her head around and stared at Phoebe, momentarily startled. She hesitated a moment before answering.

"No," she said. "It's none of his business."

Phoebe nodded.

"I understand why you feel that way," Phoebe said. "I do, I really do, but don't you think…"

"It's none of his business, Phoebe," she said more forcefully, tears stinging her eyes. "He…he has nothing to do with this. It's on me. It's no one else's…decision. It's…it's mine."

Phoebe nodded her head quickly, more worried about Monica's physical state than anything else at that moment. Her face was drawn and her watery eyes look scared.

"OK, OK," she said, rubbing her arm. "Monica, are you sure?"

Monica just nodded, taking a deep breath. Phoebe's heart was pounding as fast as Monica's as they walked toward the back alleyway. She couldn't shake the feeling that something was terribly wrong.

"I promise we can leave if…" Phoebe started as she came to the back door entrance.

Breathing rapidly, Monica just shook her head again.

"Phoebe," she said "Just…"

She gestured to the door. Sighing, Phoebe pulled hard to opened the door, which was initially stuck. It led to a small, sparse hallway. Suddenly, a man wearing a lab coat appeared out a side doorway.

"What do you need?" he said, somewhat breathlessly as a woman who looked to be a nurse came out of the same side door.

"We need," Phoebe said. "My friend is in…trouble, she needs…"

"A riot's about to break out in the neighborhood and you want help now?" he said tersely, shooting a somewhat incredulous look in Monica's direction.

The nurse stepped forward and took Monica's hand, which was shaking.

"Come with me, dear," she said sympathetically. With a backwards glance at Phoebe, Monica followed the nurse into a small room.

"Wait here," the nurse said as she gave Monica a sad smile and closed the door. Before it shut Monica heard Phoebe tell the doctor "she can pay in cash…"

Monica stumbled back toward the exam table, swallowing the vomit that had risen in her throat. She glanced at medical instruments she didn't recognize on the tiny table next to her. She felt a wave of disgust come over her as she started to hyperventilate.

Suddenly a shadow passed outside the closed curtain of the window in the room against the bright yellow glow of the late afternoon sun. Someone was hollering angrily and not too far away she heard similar voices answering in kind.

She put a hand on her heaving chest and squeezed her eyes closed, her head beginning to spin - only one question whirling around and searching for clarity in her confused mind:

What in the hell was she doing?

NOTE: "White Rabbit," Jefferson Airplane, 1967.

While neither Monica nor Chandler are on an artificial trip in this chapter, I think the experiences they're both going through would make them feel like they've fallen down the rabbit hole.

Thank you for your reviews. Just…thank you…you're all amazing…