AN: I'm so sorry for the delay. I know where I want to go with this, but I am having a little trouble getting to that place. And between this nasty cough that just won't go away, and my war protesting, I've been one busy little hippie. So I apologize for this chapter in advance.
Story Summary: Winter, 1966. The US has sent over 300,000 troops to the war in Vietnam. Air Raids, Chemical Warfare, and strained international relations are affecting domestic opinion more than ever.
Ross ponders his own existence in Saigon, while Chandler makes a startling discovery while in a Viet Cong prison. In San Francisco, Phoebe struggles with the prejudices against her new relationship, and Monica faces the realities of her pregnancy.
The Age of Aquarius
Chapter Eleven: The Sound of Silence
~North Vietnam~
Chandler squinted, as his eyes struggled to adjust to the dark. He made out a hunched, lifeless form—it was a man—perhaps another prisoner? The man looked up slowly, and Chandler started, as his eyes locked on his cellmate's.
"Joey."
"Chandler?"
"Yeah. A-are you okay? I thought you—you were dead," Chandler's voice was raspy, and filled with concern.
"Funny, I was gonna say the same thing to you. They brought me here…I don't know what they want. I…I just wanna get out of here," Joey said, before a set of coughs racked through him.
"I'm gonna get us out of here," Chandler said, his voice full of confidence. Inside, he wondered just where all of this confidence had come from. He had no idea where they were, much less where they'd go.
Behind the walls that held them, time seemed to stand still. Chandler guessed that it must have been winter, judging by the cold air that filled their cell late at night.
Like they had with Chandler, the Viet Cong had tried to heal Joey's initial wounds, in hopes of getting information out of him. But Joey's injuries had been much more severe, and Chandler feared that he would not last much longer without proper medical treatment. He did his best to keep Joey warm during the chilly, foggy nights, and he did his best to draw attention to himself, in hopes that the Viet Cong would leave Joey alone.
Whenever they weren't being interrogated or tortured, Chandler and Joey worked on their escape plan. The fact that Joey was unable to walk was a huge hindrance, and both soldiers knew it. But Chandler was determined to get them both out of the camp alive.
No matter what.
Two weeks later, Chandler felt that he was strong enough to implement their plan. It had been several days since he had been tortured, and Chandler took that as a sign that their captors had been distracted by something else.
And he was right. Late that night, as Chandler worked his wrists out of the tightly knotted ropes that bound them, he heard the familiar popping of gunfire, far off in the distance. He pulled his right wrist free, wincing when he aggravated his deep rope burns. Slowly, quietly, he untied the bindings on his ankles, then scooted toward Joey, and freed his wrists.
Careful not to aggravate Joey's injuries, Chandler pulled his friend onto his shoulder, and tugged at the thin wallboards that he and Joey had loosened over the past several days. He pushed his way through the small opening, and crouched down onto the ground, unmoving, so as not to attract attention to himself and Joey.
Chandler scanned the area quickly, and noted that they were a mere fifty yards from the perimeter of the jungle. He steadied himself, scanned the darkened area once more, and then made a break for it.
Fifty yards felt more like fifty miles. Chandler heard more gunfire, as he and Joey entered the thick foliage. He moved swiftly through the trees, his breathing heavy and steady.
More popping. Chandler turned, and headed toward the gunfire.
"Chandler," Joey whispered, "Are you heading toward the noise?"
"Yeah," Chandler huffed.
"Uh, do you think—"
"The Viet Cong are clearly fighting someone. If we head that way, we may come upon a friendly platoon," Chandler explained between breaths.
"Unless they find us first," Joey argued, and ducked his head as they came upon a low-lying tree branch.
Chandler didn't reply. He knew that he was taking an enormous risk, but he didn't have a choice; he had no idea where they were, and he couldn't carry Joey around forever.
Twenty minutes later, Chandler realized that he could no longer sustain a steady pace with Joey on his shoulders. He found a small clearing, and gingerly placed Joey on the ground next to him, before dropping to his knees.
"Are you okay?" Chandler asked.
"Yeah, fine. How are you?" Joey asked, as Chandler struggled to catch his breath.
"Tired. You are really fucking heavy," Chandler grinned.
"Chandler, I—" Joey stopped suddenly, when he heard a small rustling in the trees.
It was then that Chandler realized their fatal mistake; they were totally unarmed, and deep in enemy territory.
The rustling grew closer, and Chandler stood up, his head spinning and his heart pounding furiously. He placed himself in front of Joey, and prepared for the worst.
~San Francisco~
"The baby's movement is completely normal Monica. You are doing just fine," the clinic doctor smiled reassuringly, and watched as Monica and Rachel visibly relaxed.
The baby's constant movement had kept Monica up all night, and eventually, Monica decided that she needed to see someone. Bonnie had given her the name of a doctor that worked in a small clinic in the Mission District, and Rachel had accompanied her to the clinic the next morning.
"But I'd like to schedule some regular checkups with you, and I want you to start drinking more milk. You're entering your final trimester; it's very important that you take extra-special care of yourself, okay?" The doctor stood up and helped Monica to her feet.
"I will doctor, and thank you!" Monica smiled.
"Is everything alright?" Bonnie asked, as Monica and Rachel walked into the house an hour later.
"Yeah, everything is normal," Monica huffed, the trip up the front steps wearing her out.
"C'mon into the kitchen; Becca is making lunch," Bonnie smiled.
**~**
Rachel sank deeper into the ratty brown sofa, one eye on her book, the other surreptitiously, watching Carol and Susan. The couple was sitting on the other side of the room, holding hands and speaking softly.
She missed that. The loving gaze, the comfort of warm arms wrapped around her, the feeling of love that surrounded her, whenever she was with him.
She'd struggled not to think about Ross constantly. He had been dead for months now, yet she couldn't seem to let him go, and she couldn't understand why.
Carol giggled, and Rachel's attention once more focused on her friends.
Perhaps it wasn't just Ross she was missing; perhaps she just really wanted that companionship again.
She closed her eyes, and let her mind drift to better times.
"What are you doing?" Ross chuckled, as he watched Rachel press her hand against his.
They were laying on a blanket, under a towering Oak tree in Central Park.
"Your hands are so much larger than mine," Rachel grinned.
"Well, I am a guy," Ross laughed.
"Yeah," Rachel sighed, and snuggled closer to Ross. For a long moment, they lay together in a comfortable silence.
"It's starting to cool off," Ross muttered a minute later, his arms tightening around Rachel.
"Yeah?" Rachel whispered honestly, "I hadn't noticed."
Carol stood up, and walked into the kitchen. Rachel shook herself from her reverie, and tried to concentrate on her book. Susan stood up, and crossed the room.
"Hey Rachel," she smiled, and plopped down on the sofa.
"Hey Susan," Rachel put her book on her lap, and smiled.
"I know we haven't known each other long, but I get the feeling that something is disturbing you, and I wanted to see if I could help."
Rachel was taken aback by Susan's offer, but eventually shook her head and looked back down at her closed book.
"Does mine and Carol's relationship still bother you?" Susan asked softly.
"What? No, no, nothing like that," Rachel shook her head vehemently.
"Is it Ross?" Carol asked. Off of Rachel's confused look, she clarified, "Monica told me. I'm so sorry."
"Thanks. I—" Rachel shook her head.
"What is it?"
"I guess I just thought…I'd be able to move on out here. I thought that eventually…it would hurt less, ya know?"
"Maybe…maybe you need some kind of closure," Susan shrugged.
"Closure…yeah, maybe you're right," Rachel smiled broadly.
"I mean, it may help, it may not…but you'll never move on until you resolve your feelings for Ross, and for his death."
"You're right, Susan. Thank you," Rachel pulled Susan into a fierce hug.
"Hey, get your own girlfriend Ms. Green," Carol laughed, as she walked back into the common room a moment later.
Rachel and Susan pulled apart, laughing.
~North Vietnam~
The trees seemed to be rustling all around them. Chandler's eyes darted around the jungle, while his heart raced.
The rustling grew louder, and Chandler scanned the ground, and found a large stick. He grabbed it quickly, and held it in front of him as if it were a sword.
A moment later, a tall man pushed through the foliage, his gun extended and his eyes wide with fear and anticipation.
Chandler relaxed slightly, and lowered his stick.
"Private, you have no idea how happy we are to see you," Chandler grinned at the soldier.
"Name and rank?" the soldier asked robotically. Chandler noted tensely that the man had not lowered his weapon.
"Lieutenant Chandler Bing, and this is Private Joey Tribianni. We were with the 42nd infantry unit up until our capture several weeks ago," Chandler said sternly, his eyes never leaving the soldier's.
The Private lowered his weapon and stood at attention. Chandler found his automated behavior mildly disturbing.
"Sir, my apologies sir," the man saluted.
"Are you nuts? Put your arm down, Private!" Chandler hissed.
"S-sorry sir," the Private muttered, and lowered his arm.
"You never salute out here. Are you trying to get me killed?" Chandler whispered irritably. When the man didn't reply, he sighed deeply.
"Is this your first mission, Private?"
"Y-yes, sir-uh, yes," the man stuttered.
"What's your name?" Chandler's tone softened.
"Private Paul Hughes, sir," the man replied.
"Okay Paul, look, my friend Joey here is seriously injured. I need you to take us to your commander, or to whatever unit is closest, okay?"
Paul looked down at Joey, and his eyes widened in horror. He stood, frozen in place for several moments more.
"Private, please focus, okay? How far to your unit?"
Paul broke out of his trance, and looked back at Chandler.
"There's uh, there's a chopper coming in about uh, 20 minutes to pick up some of our unit. We encountered some Charlie's and sustained heavy casualties. I can take you to the planned rendezvous point."
"Perfect," Chandler smiled, "take us there."
~San Francisco~
Rachel stood at the cliffs overlooking the Pacific Ocean, her arms wrapped tightly around her. She closed her eyes, and let the wind sweep through her, as memories of Ross overwhelmed her. Opening her tear-filled eyes, she looked down at her right hand, and opened it slowly.
The locket glimmered in the fading light of day, and Rachel recalled the Christmas that Ross had given her the precious gift. They had only been dating for a few months, but Ross had insisted that it was perfect for her.
The locket had faded a bit with time and wear. But it was still beautiful, and still carried with it wonderful memories.
Memories that Rachel needed to let go of, if she was ever going to move on.
Kissing the locket gingerly, Rachel looked up at the setting sun, her eyes scanning the brilliant display of reds, oranges and purples that covered the sky. Her heart contracted, and her eyes filled with tears, as she took a deep breath, and threw the locket into the wild waters below.
~North Vietnam~
The chopper arrived as scheduled, and Paul, Chandler and Joey arrived at the small field just as the medics were loading the last of the passengers.
"Wait! We have three more," Paul waved, as the trio approached, an unconscious Joey on Chandler's shoulders.
"There's no way, Private. We can fit two at most."
Paul looked back at Chandler and Joey, as Chandler looked up at the medic.
"You need to take this man, he's lost a lot of blood, and has been imprisoned for several weeks."
"Lieutenant, you should go too," Paul yelled over the choppers engines.
Chandler looked at the Private, and realized that this man would never make it out in the jungle alone.
"Captain," Chandler yelled into the helicopter, "Give me the coordinates for the next nearest unit, and tell them I'll be coming."
"But sir," Paul argued.
A sudden stream of bullets cut the conversation short, as one of the bullets hit Paul in the chest.
Chandler threw himself to the ground, and grabbed Paul's weapons and rations. He helped get Paul into the chopper, as the Captain tossed Chandler a walkie-talkie and the coordinates to the next closest unit. Chandler found cover behind a nearby tree, and watched as the chopper began to lift off.
"I'm sorry Lieutenant," the medic yelled, as the chopper turned and flew off, leaving Chandler behind.
Hello darkness, my old friend,
I've come to talk with you again,
Because a vision softly creeping,
Left its seeds while I was sleeping,
And the vision that was planted in my brain
Still remains
Within the sound of silence.
In restless dreams I walked alone
Narrow streets of cobblestone,
'Neath the halo of a street lamp,
I turned my collar to the cold and damp
When my eyes were stabbed by the flash of a neon light
That split the night
And touched the sound of silence.
And in the naked light I saw
Ten thousand people, maybe more.
People talking without speaking,
People hearing without listening,
People writing songs that voices never share
And no one dare
Disturb the sound of silence.
"Fools" said I, "You do not know
Silence like a cancer grows.
Hear my words that I might teach you,
Take my arms that I might reach you."
But my words like silent raindrops fell,
And echoed
In the wells of silence
And the people bowed and prayed
To the neon god they made.
And the sign flashed out its warning,
In the words that it was forming.
And the sign said, "The words of the prophets
are written on the subway walls
And tenement halls."
And whisper'd in the sounds of silence.
("The Sound of Silence", written by Paul Simon, ©1964)
