This is an idea I've had percolating in my mind for some time. I don't own the characters, and although the CCATT and Air Force Pararescue teams are real, this story is purely fictional. The title of the story is the motto for the Pararescue Service. Numerous brave men have given their lives over the course of its history so that others may live.

CHAPTER I

Except for the odd crushed beer can or crumpled McDonald's bag, the parking garage next to the hospital was empty at 0430. By 0800, it would be full, with office staff hurrying to clock in while dodging the cars cruising for parking spaces. Heavily pregnant women, in the first stage of labor, would be gingerly making their way along the sidewalk as they leaned on their partners' arms, counting the steps to labor and delivery admission.

As Athos pulled his black Lexus into the physician's aisle, he smiled ruefully to see that his usual space—the first one on the left—was free, along with most of the slots, except for the two occupied by the ER physicians on duty. Parking his car, he closed his eyes for a moment, gathering his thoughts before he started the whirlwind of Surgical ICU rounds. It was Friday, and he was nearing the end of the week from hell. His stomach was churning from the bottle of cheap wine he'd consumed with leftover Thai food last night, and he felt vaguely nauseous. He fervently hoped that his usual morning routine on the treadmill would dull the roaring headache he had developed on the thirty minute drive.

It was the the middle of July, well into the lazy hot days of summer. Families around the area were vacationing on the Virginia coast or flocking to the mountains of North Carolina. Most physicians with specialities that involved sane business hours had similarly slower schedules. However, for the physicians at the busiest trauma center in Washington DC, the pace of admissions inevitably picked up as gang wars heated up and people indulged in more reckless behavior on holiday. Although the Joint Military Medical Center's primary purpose was to care for active duty personnel, it served civilian trauma victims as well, thus enabling the military physicians to keep their skills sharp for the critical injuries they would need to treat in any combat situation.

Typically, large amounts of alcohol and drugs were involved in triggering their patients' injuries-often both. This was a toxic mix in any situation, but for a patient in hypovolemic shock after a knife wound to the chest, it made the risks of surgery often astronomically high. And to be honest, the thrill of taking that risk-and often beating the odds-was exactly what had led Athos into trauma surgery.

The decision had enraged his father, and had estranged him from his family to some degree, but it had saved him from a future of taking over his father's enormously successful plastic surgery practice. Every time he thought of what it would have been like living out his days providing breast implants for trophy wives and sucking cellulite from their executive husbands' waists, he shuddered.

Eyes still shut, he tried to focus his thoughts, concentrating on the diaphragmatic breathing that his ex-wife, who was a ardent practitioner of yoga, had had taught him. Anne. He suddenly thought of her lithe body and exotic green eyes, and felt the all too familiar pain. Don't go there. Not this morning.

It was ironic that in his quest to escape his father's control, he had joined the military, thus trading one master for another. His medical school classmates had thought him insane when he had decided to accept a scholarship from the Air Force for his last three years of medical school. Three years of free tuition was enticing, they argued, but it would mean he would have to serve three years on active duty after his training was completed. Those years were some of the most important years in a physician's career, and he would be gathering dust in a decrepit military hospital. But for Athos, the decision had been made for him the day his father had refused to continue to pay for his schooling unless he committed to a career in plastic surgery. I'll be damned if I will cave in to him or take out $150,000 in loans.

So he had signed the commitment papers, taken the oath as an officer in the United States Air Force, and had never looked back. His seven years of training had flown by, as had his three years of active duty. As a trauma surgeon, his skills were in demand for the CCATT (Critical Care Air Transport Team) program. The CCATT teams had been the brainchild of several Air Force ICU physicians in the late 1980s. They had envisioned a mobile ICU that could rapidly transport the most severely injured soldiers from the fiercest battlefield conditions, providing the high-level care that would keep them alive until they got to a hospital. As one of the best trauma surgeons in the military, Athos had been recruited for one of the elite Pararescue CCATT teams.

Athos had been surprised to learn that the Air Force had a Special Operations program, as he had only ever heard of the more well-known Navy SEALs and Army Delta Force Special Operations teams. However, the more he had read about the program, the more it had fired his imagination. The Pararescue service, he had learned, was the only U.S. Department of Defense combat force specifically organized and equipped to conduct full spectrum personnel recovery. As he did more research and toured some of the training facilities, he had quickly realized that the Air Force Pararescue Jumpers (PJs, as they were nicknamed) more than matched the the SEALS and Delta Force operatives in terms of physical and mental toughness.

When he had been briefed on the training process, he had been informed up front that although he was a physician, he would be expected to meet the same exacting standards as the non-medical airmen. The training was extensive and grueling, preparing the men to work as operatives asked with recovery and medical treatment of personnel in humanitarian and combat environments, often under impossible conditions. It included intense physical training, scuba school, SERE (Survival, Evasion, Resistance, and Escape) training, parachute certification, and weapons training.

In addition, the training would add two years to his commitment, as he would only be working in the hospital one week out of the month. The rest of the time, he would be at "Superman School," as the PJ training program was known. The fact that the program had an attrition rate of around 87% only added to the attraction for Athos.

During PJ training, he had met his the two men who had become his closest friends, and together they had formed a CCATT unit that had a track record that was second to none. The fourth and most senior team member, Bazin, had recently retired, and they were actively seeking a replacement for him. Porthos, the pulmonary/critical care specialist, was a quiet tower of strength, able to handle difficult airways or raging infections in primitive conditions with aplomb. Aramis, the anesthesiologist, was a different sort altogether. Athos smiled as he thought of his comrade. Somehow, the man was able to combine laser-like intensity in the operating room with a carefree, charming personality outside of it. Within three short months of meeting Aramis, Athos has lost count of the women the Spanish-born physician had been involved with.

"What can I say?" Aramis would shrug with a grin. "I'm irresistible...you are the moody intellectual, Porthos is the friendly jock everyone loves, and me? I'm more the romantic hero type."

As he made his way to the back entrance of the hospital, Athos crossed his fingers that he would not cross paths with Colonel Treville. As a newly-promoted Lieutenant Colonel and the head of the trauma surgery program, Athos was expected to be the best of examples for his troops. Treville had scolded him roundly the last time he had caught him arriving to work in his dark grey PT uniform rather than his dress blues and spit-shined shoes.

Slipping through the sliding doors, he breathed a sigh of relief. Treville was nowhere in sight. As took the elevator up to the fourth floor and entered the call room he habitually used, he heard a faint mew to his left. Looking down, he saw the tortoiseshell kitten that he had rescued several weeks ago from a storm drain. The animal had been emaciated and sickly, and he had half expected it to die. However, he had smuggled her-it was a she, although he had refrained from giving her a name as of yet-can't get too attached- into one of the rarely used call rooms on the eighth floor.

Somehow, he had managed to slip a 24 gauge IV into the cat's tiny paw. He had marvelled how placidly the cat had laid still, allowing the intravenous fluids to work their magic. Rehydration had done wonders for the animal, and as the kitten regained her strength, she had taken up residence in the chief of trauma surgery's call room. She had taken up residence in his his heart before he knew what hit him. Just like Anne.

He sighed and picked up the kitten with a smile, holding her close to his chest and stroking her fur as she purred in delight. "What am I going to do with you? A call room is no place for a kitten to live…but neither is my apartment, since I am….barely ever there, except to sleep or change clothes." Anne's bitter words echoed in his head, and he pushed them to the back of his mind. Refusing to allow the memories to make an early morning assault on his emotions, he settled the cat down on the bed.

"I'm going to work out," he informed her gravely. "And can you please stop looking so adorable? If anyone finds you here, it will completely ruin the tough-as-nails image I've carefully cultivated with the medical students."

Thirty minutes later, he had run five miles on the treadmill. Shedding his grimy, sweaty PT uniform, he jumped into the uninviting shower in the locker room, and swore under his breath. No hot water. Again. Sometimes I think Treville shuts it off on purpose.

As the clock registered 0530, he strode into the physicians' so-called "lounge." The room had seen better days, and was graced with peeling green paint of a particularly nauseating hue. A battered coffee pot was brewing a dark liquid which Athos knew would likely taste like liquefied ash when it made its way into his mouth. No matter. At least there will be caffeine, and lots of it. He grabbed one of the chipped blue mugs that sported the logo of the United States Air Force Medical Corps, and set to filling it.

A sudden raucous laugh drew his attention to the rickety table that squatted next to the ancient refrigerator. That applicance was currently humming at a decibel level that led one to believe it was about to launch itself into orbit. No, not now, he groaned internally. No one should be gambling this early in the morning unless they are in Vegas. Which we are not.

"You cheated!" came the indignant shout.

"What's going on, Porthos?" he inquired, using his most detached voice as he topped off his mug. Without turning around, he already knew the answer.

A burly dark-skinned man, his biceps bulging in his dark green scrubs, grinned as he stood up and gathered up the money in the center of the table.

"Dujon and I were just havin' a discussion about personal integrity." His nonchalance only enraged the gaunt, red-eyed kidney specialist sitting across from him. Athos sighed. This was going to be one of those mornings.

"Your friend, Colonel, is playing with marked cards," hissed Dujon, spittle flying out from between his large, crooked teeth as he jumped up from the table.

"Oohh, that's slander!" The big man roared with laughter again, sending his opponent into a fury. "I have never played anything but fair. Tell him, Athos!"

"Don't involve me in this," the surgeon intoned, a model of boredom as he leaned against the refrigerator, sipping his coffee.

"There is only one way to resolve this," shrilled Dujon. "I was a champion wrestler in my high school days. The best in all of Loving County, Texas!"

"And how just how big is the population of said county?" inquired Porthos innocently. "More or less than 50 souls?"

"I'll have you know we hit 82 at the last census," growled his opponent.

Porthos smirked. "Is that humans or cows?"

Without warning, Dujon barrelled into him. For a thin man, he had surprising strength, although Porthos clearly outweighed him by fifty pounds.

Athos watched calmly as they grappled with each other, bouncing from table to broken sofa to wall. One man would gain the upper hand for a few moments, then the other would fight back doggedly. Finally, the surgeon looked at his watch and sighed. Seizing a ceramic flower pot that had been sitting on the counter since Aramis had been sent some geraniums by one of the elderly nurses on Valentine's Day, he hit Dujon square on the head, causing him to fall to the floor, stunned.

Porthos, breathing heavily, looked up and grinned. "What happened to being an officer and a gentleman?"

"Who has time? Besides, Treville wants to see us." Refilling his mug, Athos glanced at Porthos. "Where's Aramis? He knew there might be an early morning meeting today."

Porthos suddenly looked uncomfortable. "No…" Athos put down his mug and scrubbed his face with both hands. "Don't tell me he's that stupid."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

As dawn was breaking over the penthouse suite of the historic building at one of the most sought-after addresses in Washington, Aramis sighed in contentment. Every morning should start out this way.

"This one?" The gorgeous, willowy model stroking his chest looked up at him, her eyes slanting seductively as she ran a finger over a scar to the right of his sternum.

"Rescue of a downed Navy SEAL from the waters off Sudan." His voice lowered as he smiled at her. "It was top secret. Never made the news."

Her sparkling blue eyes widened in admiration. "And this one?"

"Firefight in Afghanistan. Got hit while trying to rescue three kidnapped aid workers." He slipped an arm behind his head nonchalantly. "Adele, it was barely a scratch. We got them out safely, that's what matters."

"But the scar is 10 inches long! You must have been badly hurt!" Her long auburn hair spread out across his bare chest as she suddenly slipped her arms around him. "What if you had been killed? We would never have…" Her voice trembled.

Her eyes drifted to an irregular red mark below his left ribcage. "What about that one?" she whispered.

He smirked. "Your nails…from last night."

She rolled her eyes and playfully pushed him away. "You should probably think about leaving. Armand will be home soon. His flight was supposed to arrive at 0530."

"The Chief of the Office of Special Investigations is lowering himself to take the red-eye?" Aramis raised an eyebrow.

Adele sat up, hugging her arms around her body. "He says he hates to be away from me for longer than absolutely necessary. Plus…" she smiled ruefully. "It's cheaper. And Armand is all about saving money."

A door suddenly slammed shut from the far reaches of the apartment. "Adele? Adele, darling! Are you up?"

"Oh no! He's early!" Panic showed in her face. "You've got to get out of here!"

"And just how do you propose I do that?" he hissed. "You live in a penthouse!"

She thought for a moment. "The pool!"

"What?!"

"Get your stuff!" She pushed him off the bed, frantically gathering up his flight suit and beret as she threw on a silk dressing gown. "There's a drop-off from the edge of the infinity pool. If you are agile, which I believe you demonstrated quite nicely last night, it will get you safely to the patio of the apartment below us. Now hurry!"

"My boots!" He lunged under her dressing table, hitting his head as he stood up. "Ow!" He scrambled for the sliding glass door, then looked back at her in despair. "My pistol! Where is it?"

Footsteps could be heard nearing the door. "Darling! I'm home!"

"We can't worry about it now!" she hissed.

"There!" He sighted it across the room, several feet from the bed.

"There's no time!" Adele pushed him out the door, then frantically kicked the pistol under the bed. Just as she did so, the door to the bedroom opened, and Colonel Armand Richelieu stood staring at her, his eyes hazy with desire.

"Armand!" She pasted a smile on her face, and went to him immediately, throwing her arms around his neck. "I missed you!"

His eyes flicked past her to the sliding glass door, which was still several inches ajar.

"It's rather chilly in here, isn't it, my love?"

She looked up at him, her blue eyes a picture of innocence. "Do you think so? I'm rather hot..it's why I just opened the door a bit—the cold breeze always cools it down so quickly. I'll go close it."

A hand shot out and seized her arm, causing her to wince. "Leave it, darling. I can't stay for long." His blue-grey eyes narrowed, causing her heart to beat wildly with fear. "That is, you won't have a chance to entertain me for too long. I have a meeting in a little over an hour."

Adele bit her lip, affecting a pout that she knew from experience that Richelieu found very enticing. "But I hardly ever get to see you anymore!"

"I somehow suspect that you are quite skilled at finding ways to amuse yourself."

"But I'd rather amuse myself with you!" she protested prettily, forcing a smile as his hands eased the dressing gown off her shoulders.

"Would you now?" he asked, his tone cool. "Well, you have ten minutes to prove it to me. The clock starts now, so I hope you are ready to perform at your best. Go."

Meanwhile, Aramis had shimmied off the edge of the pool onto the patio below. Stealthily making his way to the sliding glass door, he had found it unlocked. Sliding it open a trifle, he cocked an ear, hearing the strains of thumping techno music coming from the far end of the apartment. Looking down at his flight suit, he ripped off his Velcro name patch and stuffed it in his pocket. If I'm seen, I sure as hell don't want anyone to be able to read my name. Easing himself inside the kitchen, he darted for the main door, and was out in a matter of seconds, closing it softly behind him.

Elevator..too obvious. Can't risk the security camera catching me in uniform. It was a godsend it was down for a few minutes last night when I came in. He made for the end of the hallway, sure he had seen an old fire escape on the side of the historic building. Testing the door gingerly, he pushed it open once he had managed to deactivate the alarm. Emerging onto the 15th floor section, he swallowed as he looked down at the succession of ladders snaking down the building.

God, how I hate heights. Why the hell did I let Athos talk me into staying in PJ school? This is almost worse than parachuting. Making his way down the ladders, he had reached the last one when he realized that there was a ten foot drop to the ground. Easing himself down to the last bar, maroon beret between his teeth, he gripped the bar tightly and swung his legs down, dangling in the air.

"Aramis, you are so predictable," called a familiar voice. "It's a very bad habit. What is it that Treville always says? Predictability will ensure a quick path to an early grave?"

Aramis scowled, then let himself drop to the ground, landing awkwardly in front of Athos and Porthos.

"Mornin', lover boy," drawled Porthos. "I'm gettin' tired of having to hunt you down for these last-minute meetings. You may not know this, but your mobile has an amazin' little feature called text messaging. You might want to try checkin' it out. Treville won't be pleased you've ignored his texts."

Aramis glanced at his phone, then groaned.

0600. My office. Acknowledge receipt.

I'm waiting.

I'M NOW MORE THAN ANNOYED. Expect an hour of monitored PT at 0400 for the next two weeks with Master Sergeant Irma. Enjoy."

"No! Not the Irminator!"

Athos grinned. "I think she has a thing for you, Aramis. There was a definite gleam in her eye when she had you doing shirtless pullups the last time you had mandatory PT."

Porthos roared with laughter. "Now that would be worth gettin' up early for. Keep an eye out for me in the bleachers on the parade ground, Athos..I'll be the one in the front row with my Starbucks, watching as the Irminator puts you through your paces."

This is my first attempt at an AU...if you have a moment, let me know what you think. Have I kept everyone in character?

I have a rough plan of following the episodes of the show as they can be adapted to this modern setting...this will take a bit of thought, so updates will not be nearly as frequent as with my other stories. Thank you for reading!