Dawn
By Monnie
Welcome to (roughly) the third to last chapter of this story. I'm trying so hard to wrap things up without making it seem rushed, so, if you notice anything that you think I should pace differently, let me know, because I'm at a loss for how to bring it to a close and still do it justice. Oh, and there will be an epilogue on request. Just a heads up; I'll remind you on the last chapter anyway. There's a line in this chapter that the Mondlers will recognize. And one all of you will probably recognize if you've seen any good episodes. ;) PS guys, I got 6 reviews on the last chapter. And that's rather sad, methinks, considering I got 17 on the chapter before that. Oh please, why am I complaining? I have over 150 reviews! I'm a freakin' genius! Or...not.
This chapter is dedicated to Coco Arquette – happy birthday! And to her MOMMY, whose 40th birthday is in two days. Holy God, this month rocks.
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Chapter Fourteen – The Soldier's Sacrifice
"Shh – don't say anything."
"I won't!"
"You just did!" Chandler kept his hold on the back of her neck gently, while Joey walked on the other side of her, casting sideways glances in every direction to make sure she wasn't being watched. She felt like a prisoner of war. In a way, she was. But this wasn't what she had in mind.
All around her, the dust blew harshly up from the ground, reminding her of what she'd lost. It made her think about things she'd never stopped to think about since she'd arrived at the camp. Mostly, she thought about her life back in her hometown, Tarnów; her life with Michael. It was only two years ago that they'd been engaged to be married. Things felt so simple then. So happy, and so right.
She lived in a little cottage on ¯ydowska Street, with her mother and father and elder brother, attending the same synagogue as everyone else in the eastern part of the city. Until that fateful day, of course. She said her prayers every day. She helped her mother prepare for the Sabbath. She got to hold Michael's hand when they walked to the corner market together. She studied the Torah; her mother taught her how to milk the cow and chase foxes out of the hen coop with a broom. Why did things change? Why would anyone want things to change, when things were so peaceful?
But, as fate decided, everything WAS to change. It was almost as if – as if she knew something would happen that would change the way she lived each day. She knew it the very day that she found out what happened to the synagogue; the Schutzstaffel came in and destroyed it. Everything but the prayer room. Completely returned to the ashes from whence they were built.
Back then, she didn't know it was the SS that did that to her town. But now – now she knew exactly who were responsible. And she hated that she herself was under the control of those criminals. And there was nothing she could do. This place – this hell – she couldn't have even imagined it. It wouldn't even comprehend the intensity of this place, let alone predict that she would be imprisoned in it.
= = F l a s h b a c k [ N o v e m b e r 1 5 t h , 1 9 4 2 ] = =
"Monica? Monica, where are you?" Judy Geller's nasal tone rung clear as a bell across the yard, to where the young girl was resting, safely nestled in her boyfriend's arms.
"Oh, I have to go to dinner," she sighed, reluctantly sitting up in the frayed rope hammock. He did not move to let her from his grasp.
"No, no – stay," he mumbled lazily, pulling her back towards him. She whined and nearly gave in, as being pressed up against him for so long kept her warm, but still, she resisted with a heavy sigh.
"I can't, Michael. I'm going to get in so much trouble!" she gave him a kiss on the forehead, and started to leave, but he still had a firm hold on her arm.
"Wait!" He was instantly awake.
Judy called again. "Monica! Come inside, your supper is getting cold!"
"What?!" She asked him, impatiently.
"Marry me."
Her jaw dropped. "WHAT?!"
"Monica!" Judy distant voice sounded very annoyed.
"Marry me," Michael repeated, "I've been thinking about asking you for some time now, and I think I'm ready. I mean, I think WE'RE ready."
She blinked several times. "You serious?" A smile flickered across her face.
"Yeah, I'm serious. I love you, and I wanna spend my life with you."
"I love you, too." She whispered, helping him to his feet, lacing their fingers together.
"Monicaaaaaaaaa!"
"In a MINUTE, mum!" she shouted over her shoulder, and looked back again.
"So," Michael said softly, "do you want to? To – get married?"
"I um – I think I – I think I – do..." Monica surprised even herself.
"Really?"
She smiled crookedly. "Yeah! I mean, it's a little scary, but... maybe it's right."
"Oh Lord – this is incredible – um – uh –" he fumbled around in his pocket for something, and pulled out a golden chain, holding it up to show her the pendant on it: a small, white dove. "Well, I don't have a ring – we're not allowed to buy anything in the city because of all the stationed officers or something like that – and I couldn't find a long enough chain for a necklace in our house – uh – not to mention it's rather old and I think it might be gold PLATED instead of –"
"Michael," Monica interrupted gently, placing her hand on his cheek, "it's perfect." She smiled and let her palm slide from his face to his chest, where she held out her wrist, and he hooked the chain around it.
"It'll – uh – it'll protect you from people with ill intentions," he admonished her, blushing and kicking at the dirt. "And in-laws," he added with a grin.
She giggled and admired the tiny charm. It looked slightly worn, but more from time than misuse. She held it up to the sky. Dangling freely, it caught a ray of light and illuminated the dove's contour, shining brilliantly back into her reverent eyes. She felt her breath leave her at the sight; she was filled with an emotion towards the man in front of her. An emotion she suddenly felt she knew so well yet hardly recognized at all.
"Thank you."
"There's no need."
He stole a kiss and pulled her into his arms, keeping his fiancée close to him as they started up the grassy knoll for a supper of surprises.
= = P r e s e n t [ F e b r u a r y 2 2 n d , 1 9 4 4 ] = =
Monica brought her hands to her wrists, rubbing them gently as Chandler and Joey silently led her along. Those days, for all she knew, could have been a dream. Her world was turned upside down the night those officers closed their firm grips around her arms, leading her and her family out to the waiting boxcars; out to their death.
Death.
That's what seemed to surround her entirely. There were bones on the ground, blood on the walls, ashes on the ceiling. The abhorrent stench of burning flesh consumed her breath. Her heart was severed deeply, scarred from the shrieks that tore through her in the night. Some were in her mind; the rest were right outside the block. Her family was dead to her. One of the only friends she had left was killed naught but three feet from her. The love of her life – she wasn't sure if he was the love of her life anymore. She didn't know if she was the love of his life anymore, either, or if he had a life in which to love her.
The hope she clung to was the memory of her parents. They, at least, were safely nestled in her thoughts. The grief she had for them was merely that of an orphan – missing them. She did not dwell on whether or not they loved her, or if she loved them, or if they knew she loved them. She knew they understood. Even in the boxcar on the way over, just the way they were looking at her – they knew. They had to know. She and her mother hadn't gotten along very well, but those final hours...they were different from all the rest.
= = F l a s h b a c k [ O c t o b e r 5 t h , 1 9 4 3 ] = =
Monica peered out the window. The rain was pouring down, and some of the passengers were sticking their hands out to catch some to drink. The smell was overwhelming, and just the freshness of the breeze, nipping at her nose through the cold, was more satisfying than anything she could get now. She inhaled deeply, and began her shallow breathing techniques, savoring the clean air she had in her lungs, and headed back towards her family. Michael and Ross had gone to talk near another opening in the train, and Jack was dozing lightly, leaning back against the surface nearest him. Monica shifted uneasily, realizing she had to face her mother single-handedly again. It was never an easy task, dealing with her irreparable behavior.
It was at that moment that she noticed Judy watching her intently, her eyes filled with anguish and despair. Monica imagined it was the same look she wore in her own eyes.
"Mother?" She asked, hesitantly.
She was snapped from her reverie. "Hmm?"
"Are you all right?"
Judy shook her head dismissingly, her hand going to her cheek. "Of course I'm not all right, Monica. I don't know what's going on, and you know how I get when I feel uninformed."
Her daughter nodded in agreement. "I know. But mom..."
"Shh – I'll be fine. What about you?"
"What about me?"
"Are you okay?"
Monica wanted to lie to her. She wanted to tell her she was fine, so that she wouldn't have to endure the look of dissatisfaction from her that she knew so well. But she couldn't. The shiver she felt run through her gave her away. She couldn't lie to her. Bitterly, she shook her head, fighting back tears. With one shuddering breath, she whispered to her the truth. "I'm scared."
But before she could bear to look up at her mother's expression, Judy had pulled her into a hug. Not a warm, or a gentle, or a soothing hug, but one that told her she wasn't ashamed of her daughter's honesty. One that voiced what words could not express. Overwhelmed, Monica's tears spilled freely.
"I know," she whispered, "I'm here for you, Monica. Really, I am."
= = P r e s e n t [ F e b r u a r y 2 2 n d , 1 9 4 4 ] = =
He grinned cheekily when he saw them approaching, and strode in their direction, careful to look nonchalant, in case there was foul play.
When he was close enough to recognize their faces, he instantly felt a tic beneath his eye start to spasm; his skin crawled. She was the woman in – no. She looked familiar, but it couldn't have been her. Could it? He stared harder. That was definitely her.
Second Lieutenant Tribbiani put his arm on her shoulder, and she waved to Bing, smiling. What the...?
He stormed across the grounds, all in a fit.
= =
"You!" Chandler heard someone yell across the vast haze. He whipped around to meet the emerging silhouette of his superior. "What're you doing?" Kip barked, staring down Monica and Joey.
"I was taking this prisoner back to her block!"
"Right. Whatever. Bing – you take the girl. Tribbiani, you come with me." Kip gestured towards the clouds of dust, and barreled into it and out of sight. Joey soon followed, leaving Monica and Chandler with their mouths agape.
Joey eventually caught up to Kip, but had to take two steps for each of his monstrous ones. Kip was practically purple with rage, muttering obscenities in German, and clenching his hands into fists. They reached the cabin, and entered. Joey took a seat, and tried to appear indifferent. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Kip's bed and his bag. There was something lying facedown next to it, and he wanted to know what it was. But now was not the time.
"What the fuck is going on here?" Kip spat.
"Going on where? What is it?"
He laughed sardonically "You know perfectly well what I mean. Back behind the block, I saw what happened. I saw the way you two were behaving towards that woman."
"You do it all the time!" Joey argued, pointing his finger accusingly.
"The hell I don't! Look, Tribbiani, there's a difference between sex, and kissing, and I know what I saw. And that was against the policy. Now, listen here –"
"So there's a policy against kissing a Jewish girl, but there's no policy against raping one?!" Joey was practically clawing at the bedding beneath him.
"Shut up, Tribbiani!" Kip backhanded Joey across the face, and heard his head slam into the wall behind him as he recoiled. With a strangled cry, the second lieutenant managed to bring himself back up, and he stopped talking.
"Now, I want you to listen, and listen good, you got it? One of you kissed that prisoner naught but fifteen minutes ago, and they're gonna pay for it. Who was it? Huh?" He grabbed Joey by his jaw, causing already lost blood to flow from Joey's damaged nose. "WHO WAS IT?!" He shook him roughly, and Joey broke his head free.
"It was me, sir."
"Eh?" Kip stopped at the unexpected answer.
"I kissed the prisoner, I'm sorry. I didn't know how to handle the situation."
"That's repulsive." Kip spat at the ground.
"But treating a human being like an animal is perfectly understandable?"
"You sicken me." He turned his back to him. "I cannot believe I ever thought you had potential."
"What makes you think that I –"
"MAURER!" A voice called. Kip looked up towards the door. "LIEUTENANT MAURER – REPORT TO BLOCK TWENTY ONE AT ONCE!" The voice called again. Kip turned around, his eyes narrowed.
"This is not over," he threatened, and crashed out of the cabin, trying to gain control of his temper.
Joey looked to his left, and reached out his hand.
= =
"I don't know – one of the officers, Kip, actually, came by and took the Lieutenant away with him. It scared me, because about twenty minutes later, I heard a gunshot, and I haven't seen him, or Chandler since then."
"That's scary."
"What isn't these days?"
Phoebe nodded, and repositioned herself on the straw. "Are you going to see him again?"
"I don't know." Monica sighed, and her prayers were answered. Through the doorframe walked Chandler, a piece of parchment in one hand, and a menacing cane in the other. He looked at Monica, and she saw he had tears in his eyes. He gestured with his head towards the door, and Monica nodded quietly. He walked out of the block, and several minutes later, a tiny pair of feet padded softly after him.
"What is it?" She whispered, joining him on the stair behind the high wooden walls.
"I think you should have this." He handed her an envelope, and she took it, warily. Watching his eyes intently, she opened it, and peered inside. Out came a scrawled note, and a photograph. She picked up the photograph and studied the face on it.
"Is this...?" She answered her own question as she flipped it over, and read the faded handwriting on the back. Her hand reached her mouth quickly, and she looked up into Chandler's eyes.
He was watching her, a pained expression on his face. "Read the letter." He admonished her, and she nodded solemnly, unfolding the paper with shaky hands. Her tears formed and fell as she took in the words she was reading.
To my best bud,
This may very well be the last words I ever say to you – as I think my fate will be sealed any moment now, but I have to give you this piece of advice: get out. Take Monica, and – and Phoebe, and get out of here any way you can. Can you do that for me? I'm done for – it's no use worrying about if I'm okay or not. Just make sure that you're never EVER seen with Monica, or Kip will know I lied to him. He already suspects I tried to cover for you...
I know you love her. I know she loves you – and I don't want something so wonderful to be lost. I already knew I wouldn't make it out of this place alive, but you – you have what it takes to get out of here. You have something worth living for. And just knowing that you'll still have that chance for love... for me, that's something worth dying for. You've taught me what it's like to have a friend in a place where I thought no good could find me. I want you to go on living. Fight for her, Chandler. Fight for love.
Joey
PS – Please give the photograph in the envelope to Monica. I found near Kip's belongings. I think it might help her solve the mystery of what happened to her husband.
"No," Monica breathed, her mind swimming, "Kip, he – Joey –" She clutched the photograph in her hands, unable to stop her choking on her words, "and he k- he killed my–my–my-my-Michael..." Her eyes rolled back into her head, and she collapsed in a heap in Chandler's arms. Without another word, he rocked her softly, fighting his devastation.
Joey had given up his life for Chandler's sake. He'd sacrificed himself for the chance that his best friend would leave this place alive. And he wasn't going to let him down.
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