AN: 1966.  The US has sent over 300,000 troops to the war in Vietnam.  On the home front, tensions are mounting, as support for the War continues to diminish.  President Johnson makes his first trip to South Vietnam, and the Soviet Union announces its intentions to support North Vietnam, arousing anger among war supporters and moderates. 

As for our favorite sextet, Monica, Rachel and Phoebe are seniors in high school.  Ross, Chandler and Joey have just graduated high school (Joey and Chandler went to a different school, though).  Rachel and Ross are dating.

~The Age of Aquarius~

Chapter Four: Revolution

Throbbing, heavy, persistent pain wracked through his head, as Chandler was lifted into consciousness.  He slowly opened one eye, and then the other, but found that the sickeningly green glow of the florescent lights burned his eyes like fire.  He squeezed his eyes shut, and let out a low groan.

"Chandler?"

Chandler took a deep breath, and for a moment, could hear nothing but the low buzzing emanating from the lights.

"Chandler, you okay?" Joey placed his hand on his friend's back, steadying him as he struggled to sit upright.

"Joey, my eyes are burning…and my head…what happened?"

"Those damn cops attacked you!  Don't worry, they aren't pressing charges.  They already let the girls out."

"Are they okay?"

"Yeah.  Can you stand up?"

"Yeah, give me a minute, though," Chandler sighed, and leaned up against the cold painted brick wall heavily.

"I figured you didn't want me to call your Dad, so Phoebe's hanging out to take us home," Joey said after a long minute of silence.

Chandler nodded numbly, as his memories came back to him full force.

"I hate my Dad sometimes," Chandler said quietly.

"What'd he do now?" Joey asked.

"He wants me to go to Vietnam.  He doesn't realize how much I hate all of that stuff.  He doesn't even know me."

Joey nodded, and swallowed down his doubts.  He hadn't told Chandler that he'd received his draft card the day before, and he hadn't told anyone that he was considering going over.  He knew the consequences that went with dodging the draft, and deep down he felt like it was his duty as an American to go.  His father had fought in World War II and had served in the Korean War.  His Grandfather had fought in World War I.  Joey felt like he would be letting his family down, if he didn't go.  But as he watched his best friend struggle to recover from his injuries—injuries incurred because he had been fighting against a war he despised so much—he wondered if his friendship with Chandler would survive, if he left.  Joey decided that now was not the best time, and he gingerly helped Chandler up.

"Your Dad can't make you go fight in a war," Joey smiled reassuringly.

"Yeah," Chandler shrugged.  Inside, he wasn't so sure.  His Dad had a strange way of buying the right friends, at the right time, to get what he wanted.

~*~

"I don't want this moment to end," Rachel sighed sadly.  She was sat on the Geller's porch swing, in Ross' arms, staring out at the eerily quiet neighborhood streets.

"Neither do I—but we'll have many more moments like these, when I get back."

"Yeah," Rachel whispered, fighting her urge to scream at him; What if you don't come back?  What if this is our last moment together?

"Are you coming with us to the airport this afternoon?" Ross asked quietly.

"Of course I am," Rachel sat up, and looked at Ross, "I want to be with you until the very last minute."

"Great," Ross smiled, and kissed Rachel's forehead.  He pulled her toward him, and sighed.  It would not be their last morning together.  Ross had to keep telling himself that.

That was the only way he was going to get through this.

~*~

"Come on, Monica, we're going to be late!" Judy yelled from the bottom of the stairs.

"I thought I wasn't allowed to leave the house," Monica retorted bitterly, as she emerged from her bedroom.

"Young lady, get down here, now!  You will see your brother off today—he is going away to fight for our country, and—"

"Yeah, yeah," Monica grumbled, and thumped down the stairs.  He looked at her brother, who was standing proudly in the driveway, Rachel on his arm.

"The family hero," Monica sighed, and followed her parents out the front door.

The ride to the airport was filled with nervous chatter; Jack was telling old War stories, and Judy kept talking about all the heroic things Ross was going to accomplish.  Ross and Rachel sat next to each other quietly, their hand intertwined, neither of them quite ready to let go.  Monica tuned out all of the chatter, as she stared out the car window.  Her mind was on Chandler.  She hadn't seen him since the night before, and even though Phoebe called to tell her he was okay, she was worried about him.  She sighed heavily as the car pulled into the short-term parking lot, and her family and Rachel climbed out of the car.  She needed to find a way to see Chandler tonight—and while the rest of the family was busy seeing Ross off, Monica was formulating an escape plan.

Ross wrapped his arms around Rachel, and pulled her close, in a futile attempt to quell her tears.  She hiccupped as her sobs subsided, and Ross rubbed large circles into her back, as he whispered in her ear.

"Shh, it's alright Rach, I'll be back before you know it," Ross smiled, and gave her arms a reassuring squeeze.

"Just…don't go," Rachel pleaded softly, before sniffling loudly.

"I love you," Ross said sadly, and backed away, knowing that it was time to board the plane.

"I love you too.  Take care of yourself, okay?"

"I will, I promise," Ross smiled, and gave his parents and sister one more hug, before walking onto the skywalk.

And just like that, he was gone.

~*~

Monica feigned a headache, and went to bed shortly after dinner.  She knew her parents would be consumed with Ross' departure, so she waited for them to settle in front of the television—to watch the nightly footage that was being fed from Vietnam—before she climbed out the window and headed for Phoebe's waiting van.

The girls met up with Joey and Chandler at a party that was being held in an abandoned warehouse near the docks. 

"Chandler, are you okay?  How's your head?  Do you need anything?" Monica had one arm wrapped around Chandler, while the other hand was busy caressing his hair and face.

"Monica, I'm fine, really," Chandler laughed, and pulled her in for a kiss.

Monica and Chandler weren't at the party long.  At Monica's request, they left early, and found a quiet spot to talk. 

"How are you holding up…you know, with your brother leaving and all," Chandler asked, as he brushed stray strands of hair from Monica's eyes gingerly.

"I'm fine," Monica smiled, "I was thinking about you all day, actually," she smiled seductively.

"Oh, really?" Chandler smiled incredulously, and pulled Monica closer to him.

"Mmm-hmm," Monica nodded, then moved to steal a kiss.

Chandler took the hint, and led Monica back to the van.

They settled into the back of the van, and resumed kissing for several minutes.  Chandler pulled away, and looked at Monica tenderly.

"Mon…are you sure?" he whispered.

"This time, I really am," Monica smiled, and pulled Chandler toward her.

Their second attempt at sex was much more successful than their first, so much so that for the next few days, Monica found herself spending more and more time at the Bing residence.

They almost always arrived late at night, and she would typically leave long before anyone in the house was awake.  But one morning, she was shocked to wake up in Chandler's bed; why hadn't he wakened her up to take her home?  He knew that she needed to sneak back into her house before daybreak.  Panicked, she quickly pulled herself out of bed, and dressed.

She was nervous about walking around the house looking for Chandler during the day, as she had not yet been introduced to Chandler's parents, and she didn't want them to get the wrong impression of her:  Hi, I'm Monica, and I'm having sex with your son.  The image was not a pleasant one. 

She was also upset with Chandler, for being so careless.  Intent on giving her a piece of her mind, she straightened her shoulders, smoothed out her hair, and walked downstairs, to look for Chandler.

She heard voices, coming from her left.  She turned, and looked through the open doorway of the next room.  She spied Chandler's profile, framed by the large kitchen window.  His lips were set tight, and his eyes were bloodshot.  She saw a man, Chandler's father, she assumed, standing across from Chandler, his arms folded, and a cross look on his face.

"Chandler, I'm not going to go through this again.  If the government wants you to go, then you will go."

"I thought we lived in a free country," Chandler said coarsely.

"We do, and that's why you need to go.  You need to fight to keep our freedom!"

"That's ridiculous!  There's nothing I can do there…I need to be here, to—"

"You are going, Chandler.  End of discussion."

"Fine, send me to a foreign country to die.  It won't change a thing, though.  It won't change the fact that you're a failure, and a—"

Monica gasped, as Chandler's father turned, and shoved Chandler into the wall, before slapping him hard across the face.

"You will watch your mouth.  And you will pack up.  You're leaving as soon as possible," he said, before stalking out the back door of the house.

Any anger or frustration Monica felt toward Chandler melted instantly, as she watched him slide down the wall, trembling visibly.

She walked into the room, and knelt down in front of him.  He looked up at Monica, and sighed sadly. 

"I hate him," he said, his voice trembling with tears he stubbornly refused to shed.

"He loves you, Chandler, he just doesn't understand you," Monica whispered, and rubbed his arm comfortingly.

"Right," Chandler chuckled, and stood up.  "C'mon," he said, wrapping his arm around Monica's shoulder, "I'll take you home."

"Are you really going to Vietnam?" Monica asked quietly.

"Not if I can help it," Chandler smiled, though something in his eyes told Monica that he was already resigned to the fact that he was going.

~*~

Ross rolled over on his bed, and settled himself deeper into the thin mattress.  Just a few more minutes, he told himself groggily.

The United States Army, however, had other ideas.

A glaring light filled the room, and Ross felt his thin blanket being ripped from his body.

"Alright you lazy scums, get your Asses out of bed!  Front and center, this instant!"

Ross' eyes shot open, and his brain took a second to register his surroundings.  Where was he?  Suddenly, he remembered—he was in…Georgia—at boot camp.

"Geller!  Are you deaf, boy?  Get up!"

Ross shot out of bed, and joined his fellow recruits in the center of the long room.

"Nice of you to join us, Private!"

"Sorry, I—"

"Sorry, what?"

"Sorry…sir!"

"Well, Geller, I think it's time we all learn our very first lesson!  Since it took you, oh, about 54 seconds to get yourself front and center, your platoon has just been assigned 54 push-ups!  Welcome to the Army!"

Ross grumbled, as he climbed onto the ground.

"You're gonna pay for that, Geller," the large redhead next to him growled, as he pushed himself off the ground.

Well Ross, he thought to himself, looks like you're not in Kansas anymore.

You say you want a revolution

Well you know

We all want to change the world

You tell me that it's evolution

Well you know

We all want to change the world

But when you talk about destruction

Don't you know you can count me out

Don't you know it's gonna be alright

Alright, alright

You say you got a real solution

Well you know

We don't love to see the plan

You ask me for a contribution

Well you know

We're doing what we can

But if you want money for people with minds that hate

All I can tell you is brother you have to wait

Don't you know it's gonna be alright

Alright, alright, al...

You say you'll change the constitution

Well you know

We all want to change your head

You tell me it's the institution

Well you know

You better free your mind instead

But if you go carrying pictures of Chairman Mao

You ain't going to make it with anyone anyhow

Don't you know know it's gonna be alright

Alright, alright

Alright, alright

Alright, alright

Alright, alright

Alright, alright *Revolution (John Lennon, Paul McCartney)