AN: I wanted to get a glimpse at the aftermath of "the River" through Aramis's eyes, especially in regards to the psychological toll the events took on Porthos. A huge thank you to everyone who read and reviewed that story. I hope you enjoy this!
Aramis woke slowly, trying to cling to sleep for a few more minutes. Waking up meant aching pain and stiffness and trying to do everything one handed. On the other hand, waking up also meant Porthos. Sighing into the pillow, he opened his eyes only to find the man in question staring at him. He started slightly. Porthos blinked at him.
"Were you watching me sleep?" asked Aramis, laughing as he recovered from the initial shock.
Porthos smiled, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. "How can I help myself?" Aramis pushed himself into a sitting position, biting back a groan. He could see Porthos reaching out to help him and subtly moved his arm away. He could handle this.
He knew Porthos worried about him and wanted to help, but these last few days he'd been treating him like a fragile flower, and Aramis was beginning to tire of it. After they'd broken camp the morning after he'd fallen in the river, Athos had decided it would be best if Porthos took Aramis to the closest inn he could find. He and D'Artagnan would carry on and rejoin Treville and the others, and Aramis and Porthos would return with them when they passed through on the way back to Paris. Aramis wasn't going to argue against a few days in an inn as opposed to a saddle. His entire body hurt and his head spun every time he stood.
They'd arrived at a small inn around midday. They'd had to stop frequently so Aramis could be sick by the side of the road; even slow riding was enough to make his head pound and his stomach roll. Porthos had watched him with a concerned expression and had been forced to all but carry him up the stairs once they reached the inn. There, Aramis collapsed on the bed and slept until the next morning. He'd developed a fever that had gripped him for a full day. It had broken two days ago, and while Aramis was still far from healed, he was alert enough at this point to dislike being coddled excessively.
Though, he thought to himself, biting back a grin, some coddling was nice every now and then. Like the washtub Porthos had filled with steaming water for them to soak in together last night before they went to bed.
"Shall we get breakfast?" he asked Porthos, who instantly leapt up and headed for the door. "Wait a moment. We can go down and eat in the common room."
Porthos fixed him with a stern glance. "Absolutely not! You've no need to be charging up and down stairs in your condition! I'll bring it up." And he disappeared through the doorway before Aramis could point out that he was hardly likely to go charging anywhere but he would like a chance to stretch his legs.
This was exactly what was bothering him. He was injured, yes, but not so severely that he could not fend for himself. He heaved a deep sigh and winced as a trail of pain laced through his bruised ribs. Moving carefully, he clambered out of the bed and began pulling his clothes one handed. He caught a glimpse of his face in the mirror cracked mirror over the washstand and grimaced.
No wonder Porthos insisted on treating him as if he would break. His face looked like he'd lost a fight with a giant. A half healed cut stretched down from his hairline. A massive bruise stretched across his head, though that at least was concealed. One of his eyes was surrounded by an ugly yellow bruise and a long scrape traced his jaw. He'd not be charming anyone until this all healed.
He splashed some water on his face with his good hand and wiped it off gingerly. He heard Porthos returning and took a step towards the door only to grab the wall for support as his right leg attempted to twist under him. He'd slammed his knee against a rock in the rapids and it had yet to recover. Naturally, Porthos chose this moment to walk in.
Aramis supposed he should be grateful Porthos didn't simply drop the food on the floor. As it was he shoved the plate onto the small table with a clatter and rushed to Aramis's side, grabbing his good arm gently and helping him to the bed. "I can manage, Porthos," Aramis told him with a sigh, knowing it was futile.
"You should be resting," Porthos informed him sternly, but his eyes were full of concern. Aramis felt like a cad for resenting Porthos's care. He knew it was only because he loved him that Porthos was being so overly gentle and concerned, and so he allowed Porthos to fetch him the plate from the table, noting as he ate that Porthos merely picked at the food.
"Aren't you hungry?" he asked curiously, and Porthos's eyes darted up and away with a guilty expression. He waved off the question and Aramis frowned, noting the dark circles under his lover's eyes. "Did you sleep at all last night?" Porthos had still been awake when he himself had fallen asleep, absently tracing patterns down his shoulder. He recalled the expression on Porthos's face when he woke this morning. "Something is bothering you."
"It's nothing, love," Porthos said, smiling and taking a large bite of porridge. Aramis was not convinced but decided not to push the issue just yet. Instead, he watched Porthos closely, noting he still did not eat more than a few bites. After he finished eating, he convinced Porthos he needed to stretch, lest he become stiffer than he already was. It was a painful process and he was panting by the time he was finished, but it was necessary. His head spun as he tried to walk and he let Porthos to help him back to the bed.
"You should rest," Porthos said, and Aramis didn't argue. He wasn't really that tired, but there was little else to do when he couldn't walk and Porthos had forbid the only interesting thing they could do in a bed. Porthos lay down with him, pulling him gently into his arms, and Aramis allowed himself to drift off.
He woke suddenly some time later, not entirely sure what had disturbed him. Glancing over, he noticed that Porthos was asleep beside him. The sun still shone brightly through the curtains, so he hadn't slept long. He was listening intently, trying to figure out what had woken him, when suddenly Porthos twitched beside him, arm tightening convulsively around Aramis's chest. He winced at the pressure and looked at Porthos's face. His lips were pressed in a tight line and his eyes were screwed shut. His breathing was slightly irregular. Suddenly he let out the faintest of moans, and Aramis realized what must have woken him. Porthos was having a nightmare.
Experience told him not to wake his lover when he was in the grips of a nightmare, and so he settled for slipping his good arm free of Porthos's restricting embrace and running it soothingly through his hair. He wondered what the dream was about. A moment later he got the answer in the form of his own name.
"Aramis," Porthos ground out, sounding lost and hurt. "No… please… not him… not dead… Aramis!" He lay frozen, unsure of what to do now. This had not happened before. Normally Aramis had terrible nightmares any time Porthos was seriously injured or a mission had gone wrong, but Porthos had been blessedly free of the terrifying visions. His nightmares were about his childhood. Now he was suffering as Aramis suffered after Porthos was wounded, and Aramis in his concern forgot he shouldn't wake him. All he could think about was ending whatever it was Porthos was seeing. He shook his shoulder intently.
The arm across his chest drew back wildly as Porthos shot upright and scrabbled up the bed. His elbow caught Aramis in the ribs and his fist slammed into his injured shoulder, sending pain shooting through his entire body and leaving him gasping. Of course. He should've known better than to wake Porthos from a nightmare. He always, always reacted violently.
Porthos recovered from the initial shock and gasped, one hand reaching for Aramis's cheek. "Are you alright, love?" he asked, voice stricken. Aramis nodded, unable to find his voice. He pushed himself upright, not disdaining Porthos's helping hand this time.
As he regained his breath, he tried to assure Porthos that it wasn't his fault, but from the expression of self-loathing on his lover's face it was not enough to convince him. Porthos seemed to desire to touch him and yet was simultaneously unwilling to, as if afraid his mere touch would hurt Aramis further. His breathing settled at last, Aramis reached out hand to draw Porthos closer, and to his relief Porthos came, allowing Aramis to nestle around him.
"I'm sorry," Porthos said brokenly. "I shouldn't sleep here anymore. I could reopen your wounds and-"
"Don't be an idiot," Aramis said, cutting through Porthos's apology. "I know what happens if I wake you while you're having a nightmare. It's my own fault." Porthos opened his mouth to argue, still looking guilty, but Aramis shushed him. "But you lied to me earlier, my love. You told me nothing was bothering you. You nightmare says otherwise."
Porthos would not met his eyes. Aramis sighed, putting a hand beneath Porthos's chin and tipping his face up. "Why will you not tell me what is upsetting you?" he asked, unable to keep the tone of hurt out of his voice. Porthos never kept things from him.
"It's nothing you need concern yourself with," Porthos said, still not looking at him.
"Whatever it is, it is affecting you. You are not eating, and when you sleep you have nightmares. Your well-being is my concern because I love you. Please tell me what is wrong."
Porthos drew a shuddering breath. Aramis waited, sensing if he spoke again Porthos would withdraw. He rarely allowed himself to be vulnerable. When at last he spoke, it was a whisper. "You almost died."
Aramis was rather confused. "But it's hardly the first time, is it?" he asked gently, trying to understand. "In our line of work, one of us is in danger of dying every other month."
"You almost died," Porthos repeated as if Aramis hadn't spoken. "And I couldn't do anything to stop it. I couldn't get to you. You might have been dead the whole time, and I didn't even know." And then Aramis understood.
Porthos was famed for his strength, but being so powerful made it difficult for him to handle situations in which his strength was useless. Porthos always thought he was strong enough to protect himself, but especially to protect Aramis, and usually this was true. But in this situation, Porthos had been rendered powerless by the uncertainty of Aramis's fate. He hadn't been able to save Aramis, hadn't even been able to find him. He had felt helpless in the face of Aramis's mortality, and it had terrified him. No wonder he was treating Aramis as if he might break. He'd spent the better part of a day facing the idea that he had already lost him. That was what his nightmare had been about. Of course he was clinging now.
"Porthos, I'm fine," Aramis said softly, curling closer to his lover, offering him the reassurance of his physical presence. "I'm not dead." Porthos buried his face against Aramis's good shoulder and drew another shuddering breath.
"You might have been," he whispered, and there was raw fear in his voice. "You might have been dead and I would never have found your body." Aramis could feel him shaking slightly and he held him tighter, trying to send him strength.
"But I wasn't, my love." Aramis nuzzled Porthos's hair. "You saved me, as you always do. I knew even as I fell that you wouldn't rest until you found me. I was not afraid." Porthos's next breath was steadier, and Aramis knew he had said the right thing. "The only time I felt afraid was when I saw that foul man pointing a gun at you."
He'd spent much of the time the others had been searching for him unconscious. He'd dragged himself into the trees only minutes before the arrival of the bandits. And then to look out at the sounds of fighting and see Porthos staring down a gun… He shuddered slightly at the memory, hazy with pain and exhaustion. Porthos's arms tightened around him reassuringly, and now they were each offering comfort to the other.
Porthos lifted his head and rested his forehead against Aramis's. "I didn't know what I was going to do without you," he confessed. "It was like Savoy all over again. I can't lose you, Aramis. I love you too damn much."
Aramis pressed against him. "You won't," he whispered. "I'm not going anywhere." They sat like that for a minute, breathing in harmony, until Porthos tugged gently at Aramis until they were lying down on the bed once more, Aramis's head cradled in the crook of Porthos's neck.
"Don't ever do something like that again," he murmured. "Please, Aramis, you'll drive me to an early grave with stunts like that."
Aramis smiled against his neck. "I will endeavor to be more careful in the future. I will not go after enemies alone, nor will I engage them in high places. Unless of course I miraculously gain the ability to fly." Porthos snorted and kissed his forehead. "You need to be more careful too, my love. Shame on you for allowing that man to put you in such a position. If I hadn't been hiding in the trees, you'd be dead."
"Good thing I have you to save me then, eh?" Porthos said, and Aramis could tell without turning his head that Porthos was smiling.
"Whenever you need me to," Aramis replied. "Though I'll tell you, we certainly gave D'Artagnan a surprise. You owe me ten sous. I told you he hadn't figured it out." Porthos growled good naturedly. "Did you see his face when he walked over? I hope he hasn't been too traumatized."
Porthos laughed, and it was a beautiful sound. "I told you I was going to talk to him that night. He didn't seem traumatized."
"That's good. I like him."
They lay in comfortable silence for a while, simply enjoying one another's presence, until Aramis raised himself on his good arm to look down at Porthos. His lover raised an eyebrow inquisitively.
"It occurs to me," Aramis began, smiling charmingly down at the other man, "that there are any number of things we could do that only require one hand and minimal exertion on my part." His heartbeat sped up when Porthos smirked cheekily, reaching up to draw him into a deep kiss.
"What did you have in mind?"
I hope you liked it. Let me know what you think!