Story Summary: Winter, 1966/1967. By year's end, U.S. troop levels reach 463,000 with 16,000 combat deaths to date. By this time, over a million American soldiers have rotated through Vietnam. The capital city of Saigon is under fire, and the VC's Tet Offensive will turn the tide of the entire war.
In Vietnam, Chandler has been left to fend for himself, after getting a severely injured Joey to safety, and Ross has found two new vices in Saigon. In San Francisco, the house the girls were staying in was firebombed, and Monica has a baby boy.
The Age of AquariusChapter Sixteen: Funeral For a Friend
"Let us strive to find a way to make all hatred cease. There's a man over there what's his colour I don't care. He's my brother let us live in peace."
--"Border Song", John/Taupin
"We still have a choice today: nonviolent coexistence, or violent coannihilation."
--"Beyond Vietnam", Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., 4 April 1967.
San Francisco, steps of City Hall, two weeks later
"We can not stand by, and allow those who would oppress us walk freely. We will overcome, we will stand tall, my brothers and sisters…"
Phoebe stood just behind Chris, as he delivered his speech with grace and passion. They had been working on the speech over the past week, as a way to avoid resolving the arguments that they had had soon after the house fire. In one of the fights, Phoebe had accused Chris of being paranoid, and he had stopped talking to her for three days. But she apologized, and they moved on, working on his speech day and night, neither of them willing to address the issues that the arguments had raised.
It seemed that the racial tensions that surrounded them were beginning to wear on their once-solid relationship.
Phoebe sighed, and scanned the interracial crowd nervously. She was hesitant to admit it to Chris, but ever since the fire, she was reluctant to be seen in such public settings with him. She feared that Chris' outspoken nature, combined with his controversial relationship would be enough to put them both in danger.
Or maybe she was just being paranoid.
She turned to look at Chris, as the crowd erupted in wild applause. He raised his arms victoriously, and pumped his fists into the air, before turning toward Phoebe, a large grin on his face.
"It was perfect!" Phoebe gushed, and threw her arms around Chris.
Chris kissed Phoebe quickly, and led her down the steps, and toward their waiting car.
"I couldn't have done it without you, baby," Chris yelled over the crowd.
Phoebe paused, and turned to look at Chris, her eyes glistening.
"Really?"
Chris smiled, and snaked his arm around her waist, "Really. I love you Phoebe Buffay. And I think we should get married!"
Phoebe smiled, and wrapped her arms around Chris' neck, all of her previous concerns forgotten. "Okay!"
A moment later, the unmistakable popping of gunfire shattered everything.
*
New York
Charles leaned heavily against the window pain, the ice in his half empty glass rattling softly.
The rain snaked down the glass in long, slow streaks.
He lifted the glass to his mouth, and let the last of the Scotch burn down his throat.
It was quiet. Too quiet, in this house these days.
He sighed heavily, and rubbed his throbbing temple slowly.
Things had been…altered since he'd sent his only son to war. Nora had withdrawn completely, eventually drinking more than her tired body would allow.
Charles had found her, sprawled across her bathroom floor, vomit pooling around her head.
He'd done his best to save her; but she was dead by the time the ambulance had arrived that night. Her dying words had been whispered, and slightly gurgled. She had whispered her son's name, and Charles did the only thing he could think of in his panicked state; he'd told Nora that Chandler was okay—that he was coming home.
The truth was, Charles hadn't heard from Chandler in a long time. He was beginning to fear the worst, as Chandler's assigned tour of duty had ended a week ago.
And he had heard nothing.
Guilt, sorrow, and loneliness was overwhelming him, driving him to drink, sending him to an early grave.
Just like his wife.
Just like his son.
No, he shook his head angrily, Chandler was okay. He was coming home.
He'd told Nora as much. He needed to believe that it was true.
Charles sank into his chair, and flipped absently through the day's mail, praying that he would find a letter from Vietnam.
There was nothing. No word, no telegram, no word that he was coming home, no word that he was gone forever.
It hurt his heart—he would rather bury his son, than live the rest of his life not knowing.
There was a letter, however, from San Francisco. Curious, Charles tore open the envelope, and unfolded the off-white, lined stationary slowly.
Dear Mr. & Mrs. Bing,
I hope that this letter finds you well. I know that you hardly know me, but I do know you, and I know and love your son Chandler.
I am writing this letter for two reasons. The first is out of concern. I have not heard from Chandler in a long time, and I am hoping that he has at least contacted you. Can you tell me if you have heard from him? Is he coming home?
The second reason I am writing, is to let you know that Chandler is a father, and that you are grandparents. I know that you said you wanted nothing to do with me, or the baby, but there is no doubt in my mind that Jakob is Chandler's. Jakob is the spitting image of his father, in so many wonderful ways.
I can only pray that you read this through, and that you consider letting your grandson meet you when we return to New York in the next few weeks. I love your son dearly, and I want nothing more than for Jakob to know his father's parents.
Sincerely,
Monica E. Geller.
Charles set down the letter gingerly, and closed his eyes. A small smile pursed his lips, as he picked up a blank note card and a pen.
He was a grandfather.
And now Jakob was all that he had left.
*
San Francisco
They fell to the ground simultaneously, but only one of them was screaming.
The next several minutes were a wild blur; Phoebe felt faint, and weak, and nauseous.
She looked up into the sea of concerned faces, and squirmed away from someone who was checking her for bullet wounds.
But she wasn't hit—she knew she wasn't.
The blood and skull fragments she wore on her face and dress did not belong to her.
"Chris! Chriiiis!" Phoebe tried to fight past the arms that held her securely, but her eyes never left the hunched form that lay bleeding on the steps of the government building.
Moments later, the shock overwhelmed her, and she felt her knees buckle.
Then everything went black.
AN: It's kind of short, but I have no time to write anymore…it's awful but true.
I'll try to finish this up as fast as I can…but I make no promises!
