Rachel stood up from the beaded chair and walked across the room, snapping off the TV. She glanced at Monica dozing on the couch then walked over to the big picture window, looking up at the moon. They'd made it. The astronauts of Apollo 8 had orbited the moon, the first humans in history to accomplish that feat. It was a great day in the American space program.

The much-anticipated Christmas Eve broadcast from the spacecraft had just ended, leaving Phoebe and Rachel with tears in their eyes. Monica had laid on her side, on the couch, and watched one of the biggest news events of the year unfold from the confines of her living room with half-closed eyes, remembering what a buzz there had been in the newsroom when NASA had decided a few months back to orbit the satellite a few months earlier than expected.

She didn't think then that she would be anywhere other than the CBS studios, watching it all play out, being in the middle of history.

Instead she was barely awake most days. Sluggish didn't begin to describe how she felt. The baby was moving around, taking in the nutrients from whatever food she could force herself to eat. She lived with a dull ache in her head all the time. Yet she kept willing her body to cooperate and some days she felt like it was listening to her. She'd have good days - days when she could walk around the apartment a little and even fix herself some breakfast or lunch, if Phoebe and Rachel would let her.

She hadn't been out of the apartment in weeks, though. Even she knew she'd never make it back up the six flights of stairs again if she tried in her current condition.

Still, she wasn't about to give up. Their baby needed about six more weeks. He needed his Momma to hold her own for six more weeks, then he would be ready to make his debut. And she would be fine. She was young and, until now, healthy. She'd bounce back. She knew she would. Her body would have no choice. The baby would need her. Chandler. Chandler would need her. They'd need her as much as she needed them.

She'd push her body to do what it needed to do, come hell or high water, because the alterative just tore her heart apart. The thought of losing their little baby to a preterm birth, and then possibly losing Chandler to the war, was completely unbearable.

Monica knew she'd never survive that so she controlled what she thought she could - she could keep their baby safe, no matter how hard it was. She reasoned that it was nothing compared to what Chandler was facing every day. If he could be a warrior for them, she could be, too.

She opened her eyes as she heard the familiar sound of Phoebe at the sink cleaning up the dishes. She sighed. She knew Phoebe and Rachel cared about her and she loved them for it, but the worry in their eyes each time they looked at her was beginning to weigh on her. In some ways she really wished they'd leave her alone.

Monica took as deep a breath as she could and pushed herself up to a sitting position as Rachel turned from the window and rushed to her side. She smiled weakly at her.

"I have to use the bathroom."

"OK, " Rachel said, tucking her arm under Monica's and lifting her off the couch. Her eyes widened as she looked at Monica's feet. The swelling around her ankles was getting worse.

She swallowed hard.

"There ya go," she whispered, holding Monica's hand as she stepped up the one step to the bathroom. She watched her closely as she disappeared inside and closed the door.

Rachel picked up the remaining popcorn bowls off the coffee table and walked over to Phoebe, dropping them in the soapy water of the kitchen sink. She stole another glance at the closed bathroom door.

"I swear she's going to give me a heart attack," Rachel whispered, putting the unopened bottles of Coca Cola back in the refridgerator. "She won't go to the doctor, she won't go to the hospital, she won't even let my father take a blood pressure reading!"

Phoebe nodded.

"She's just scared…" she said quietly.

"I know she's scared!" Rachel whispered harshly, her eyes watering. "But Pheebs, she's sick. She's really sick…"

"I can see that!" Phoebe snapped quietly, drying her hands on dish towel and turning to her distraught friend, her own fears coming to the surface. "But as long as the baby is still moving she's not going to budge, you know that. She's stubborn as a damn mule, that one."

Rachel cast another glance behind her at the bathroom door.

"We have to make her, Phoebe!"

"But how…."

"She's barely eating or even drinking anything, her ankles are swollen," Rachel interrupted in a quick, hard whisper, crossing her arms. "I know her head hurts but she won't tell me. She sleeps all the time. Eventually her…her kidneys will shut down or she's…she's gonna have a stroke…"

"What?!" Phoebe said, more loudly than she meant to. "What are you talking about?"

"She's killing herself," Rachel gasped quietly, tears now falling down her cheeks as the worry and stress she'd tried to hold back for weeks came spilling out of her, finally saying out loud what she hadn't even written to Ross or told her future in-laws. "She's killing herself to keep her baby alive. The only sure way to cure preeclampsia is for the baby to be born. If she stays too…stubborn for too long she could die, Pheebs."

"Oh my God!" Phoebe said, putting her hand over her mouth. She'd been worried, she knew Monica's body wasn't handling the pregnancy well, but she had no idea she was in such bad shape - and she knew Chandler would be insane if he knew.

"I don't know how," Rachel said earnestly, grabbing onto Phoebe's arm, "but we've got to find a way to make her go to the hospital and deliver the baby and…and get better. You've got to help me."

Phoebe nodded then glanced past Rachel's shoulder and froze.

Monica was leaning against the wall outside the bathroom, staring daggers at them both with hurt in her eyes.

"My baby will be born when he is ready to be born," she said evenly. Rachel jumped at her words, then turned and took a deep breath.

"Monica, will you please listen to me," Rachel said as she slowly walked toward her friend. "You…you are not well at all…"

"I'm fine," Monica said quickly, raising her head.

"You're not fine!" Rachel pleaded. Throwing her hands in the air and then putting them over her mouth to stop herself from saying any more.

"Rachel's right, you're making yourself sick," Phoebe said as calmly as she could as she walked over to Monica, really examining her for the first time. She looked ashen, her forehead fixed in a permanent pinch. She was thin where she wasn't swollen, but her eyes were bright. They seemed to be the only remainder of the ball-of-fire of a women Phoebe had met earlier in the year. Monica looked like a shadow of her former self. A very pregnant shadow.

"Look, Chandler…Chandler wouldn't want you to sacrifice yourself…" Phoebe started before choking on her words. She put her hands on Monica's arms and watched her eyes fill with tears.

With watery eyes Monica searched Phoebe's face. This was the woman who saved her from herself, who helped her escape the clinic when she found out she was carrying Chandler's baby.

And even she didn't understand.

"He deserves to live on," Monica croaked out after a moment, her voice thick. "You said it yourself. Don't you remember? This is how he lives."

"But Monica…" Phoebe whispered.

"Pheebs, we have lost so much," she whispered, her cracking voice pleading with them both as her eyes darted between her two friends. "I've lost my job, I've lost my parents, Ross is gone, and Joey and…and Chandler. Don't you see, if I lose Ch-Chandler. If I lose him and…and the baby…oh, no…no, no. no…"

She took a deep breath and shook her aching head, trying to forget even the thought of losing Chandler. Trying to forgive herself for even saying the words. She swallowed heavily.

"I will…I'll be fine," said she as confidently as she could, trying to straighten her spine. "The baby is…is going to be healthy and…and I…I will be, too."

Phoebe and Rachel looked at each other, tear tracks lining their faces.

"The only way to make sure that happens…" Rachel started.

"No!" Monica said, taking a small step back from them both. "He's…he's not ready yet. I will not put him in jeopardy, I just won't! No! If…if you can't handle that then, then I don't need you. I…I…"

Monica wrapped her arms around her stomach and began to cry in earnest. Both Rachel and Phoebe reached out for her, their hearts breaking, not wanting to upset her anymore. They looked at each other, each with fear written all over their faces.

"OK, OK," Rachel said quietly as Monica leaned against her, she looked at Phoebe on Monica's other side. "We'll do whatever…whatever you need us to do."

Monica took a couple deep breaths, trying to find her voice again.

"Just be my friends," she whispered, suddenly very, very tired. "Help me through the next six weeks. Please, just promise me you'll help me keep him safe until then. Please."

Phoebe pursed her lips and looked at Rachel, who closed her eyes and whispered "OK" as they helped Monica back to her bed.

###

Chandler walked along a trench that ran the length of the airstrip the Army Corps was currently constructing, shuffling the final blueprints between his hands.

The project was a day or two away from completion and the weather had, miraculously, cooperated. Though the sky was overcast, it seemed that the rainy season was drawing to a close.

He passed by Joey and his group doing the physical work of linking the pieces of the airstrip together. Their eyes met briefly. Joey gave him a thumbs up, which Chandler returned, not breaking stride. There were at least a hundred soldiers working in and around the site today, everyone working double-time. It was Christmas and many of the men were just trying to keep their minds off of the fact that they weren't back home with their families.

As Chandler walked along he meticulously looked over the work being done and compared it to the blueprints in his hand.

Everything was going damn near perfectly, but he couldn't fight the feeling that something wasn't right. It had been hanging over him for days now and he couldn't shake it. He chalked it up to just being where he was and doing his job in the middle of a war. He tried to remember Joey's mantra - "day-by-day" and maintain his focus.

Though Monica and the worry he read in her latest letter was never far from his mind.

He'd sent her a letter in return just six days earlier, trying to calm her worries and cheer her as she had always cheered him. After a sleepless night mulling over her last words to him, he finally accepted somewhat reluctantly that Joey was probably right. She was emotional and needed his support, so he did all he could do, hoping his letter would make her smile a bit, letting her relax as much as their current situation would allow.

And make her realize that no matter what surprises came their way in the future, he'd always, always love her.

"Sir?" he heard Private Bird say behind him. Chandler turned to him.

"Here are those last prints you wanted, Sir," Gary said, handing the papers to Chandler just as big drops of rain began to fall down all around them.

"Thank you," Chandler said, squinting up at the sky. "Looks like we haven't escaped the damn rain yet."

"No, Sir," Gary said with a chuckle, as the rain started to fall harder. Chandler swore he could hear thunder in the distance, but it wasn't thunder.

Chandler jerked around and looked at the sky as a small brigade of American choppers came screaming over the construction site, shooting into the tree line not 50 yards from where he and Gary were standing. Then, out of nowhere, gunfire and grenades sprang from the trees next to them.

And all hell broke loose. Screams, curses and bullets were flying - everywhere.

Men were scurrying from their position on the airstrip and reaching for their weapons. Many of the men were carrying little weaponry on their bodies. Most had to run to get their guns, having been assured the large perimeter around the construction zone had been safely secured. They'd been sitting ducks.

Chandler dropped the blueprints and swiftly brought his riffle from its sling on his back and into his hands, his eyes wide as he tried to look through the rain and shoot into the forest.

He fired one round and watched in horror as Gary, not 10 feet from him, was shot through the neck and collapsed face first into the trench below. Chandler barely had time react when a pain like he'd never felt before ripped into his left shoulder, knocking him and his rifle back and twisting his feet around themselves on the edge of the trench. He heard a loud crack, as if lightning had bolted through the trunk of a sturdy tree.

Then everything went black.

###

Rachel knocked quietly on Monica's bedroom door.

When she received no response she slowly opened it up and walked across the room to push back the curtains and let in the morning light of Christmas Day.

"Monica?" she said quietly as she turned around and walked back towards the bed. Monica was laying on her side away from the window. Rachel gave her shoulder a little shake.

"Monica? Honey? We have some milk and toast…"

Phoebe came into the doorway and gasped, dropping the tray she was holding to the floor.

"Rachel!" she gasped, hurrying to Monica's side and kneeling down. "Rachel! Call for an ambulance. Now!"

"What? What?!" Rachel said, hurrying to the other side of the bed.

Monica didn't stir even a little bit. Her breathing was shallow and she was as white as a ghost, but with a fine sheen of sweat covering her body.

Rachel raced out to the living room and picked up the phone. Phoebe took Monica's wrist in her hand to check her pulse. It was racing.

"They're on their way," Rachel said a moment later, her voice shaking as she stood at the bedroom door.

"Call her parents," Phoebe said quickly. "Call everyone you can."

Rachel briefly stared at Monica then squeaked out a sob and ran back into the living room.

"Judy?" Phoebe heard Rachel say brokenly a minute later. "Judy it's…it's Rachel…"

Monica remained motionless as Phoebe stroked her hair with one hand, placing the other hand on Monica's stomach. She could feel the baby moving.

A tear ran down her nose as she cocked her head to the side and studied her friend's face.

"Hang on," she whispered to her, her voice thick. "Please, just hang on."

NOTE: "Let It Be," The Beatles, 1970