HOSTAGE SITUATION
A Musketeers modern AU story

Sequel to 'Trapped'.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"Achoo!"

"God bless you."

*sniff* "Thanks." *yawn*

"You should take a nap."

Aramis looked at Porthos. "A nap? In a moving vehicle? I'll sleep in my comfortable bed; we're not far from home."

Porthos shrugged. "But you can't keep your eyes open."

Aramis suddenly realized that he'd closed them, so he quickly reopened them again. "Can too."

"Can not!" d'Artagnan quipped.

"It's still two hours away, Aramis," Porthos countered.

Aramis yawned again.

Treville glanced in the rearview mirror as he drove the NYPD prisoner transport van down Interstate 95S from Rhode Island to New York City. He could see that Aramis still looked pale and he wasn't surprised. They'd extradited a prisoner to Rhode Island and then been unexpectedly stuck there when a hurricane had changed direction and hit them. Not only did Aramis also have a nasty cold, but he'd accidentally suffered a drug interaction when an ingredient in the cold medicine interacted with his thyroid pill and caused a dangerous heart arrhythmia. He was hospitalized for two days until his heartbeat had returned to normal.*

"Achoo!"

"Listen to Porthos," Athos spoke up from the front passenger seat.

"At least lie down," Porthos said. "You can use me as a pillow."

"Aww, how nice of you," Aramis joked, shooting him a smile. He knew how badly his friends were worried about him, and he didn't blame them at all...watching his heart rate shoot up to 160 on the monitor had been frightening. He looked out the window and saw that they were approaching the Connecticut border. The scenery flashing by was hypnotic, and he found his eyes closing again.

A hand wrapped itself around his back and pulled him sideways. Aramis submitted and found his head lying on a blanket.

"Sleep," Porthos told him.

Aramis closed his eyes, and dozed off to the gentle motion of the vehicle.

Athos turned around in his seat and nodded at Porthos, who'd put the blanket on his lap to serve as a pillow.

Porthos gave him a thumbs-up.

The rest of the ride was mostly spent in silence, so as not to disturb Aramis, who eventually woke groggy and slightly confused after Treville got off the highway.

"We're we?" he slurred.

"Back in New York City," Porthos told him.

Aramis blinked bleary eyes, lifting his head and pulling himself upright to look out the window. "Finally!"

Minutes later, they were walking into Aramis' apartment. Without a word, he walked straight into his bedroom and plopped down onto his bed.

The others followed, and Athos pulled Aramis' sneakers off while Porthos covered him with a blanket.

"Mank fru," Aramis said, his words of gratitude made muffled by the pillow.

Porthos ruffled Aramis' hair with a chuckle and they left the room. "That's him down for the count," he told the others.

Treville nodded, closing the door behind them before pulling out his cellphone and dialing a well-used number as he headed to sit on the couch. "Hello," he said. "I'd like to make an appointment with Dr. Harris for tomorrow...Aramis D'Herblay. Did you receive a fax from Newport Hospital in Rhode Island? Good. Yes, ten o'clock is fine. Thanks." He hung up and glanced at Aramis' closed door before looking at the others with a sigh. "That boy is turning my hair gray all by himself."

"Not on purpose, though," said Porthos.

The others nodded somberly.

Treville sighed again and stood. "The chief wanted to see me once we got Aramis settled." He looked at d'Artagnan. "And you're coming with me; we want to get your health insurance set up with the department, now that you're an official employee...though I hope you won't use it as much as Aramis does!"

D'Artagnan shook his head. "I hope not too!"

"We'll come back later with takeout," Treville told the others.

"Or we can order pizza," Porthos suggested.

Treville nodded. "Good idea. See you later."

D'Artagnan waved and they both left.

Porthos turned to Athos, who was stirring sugar into two glasses of iced coffee on the kitchen island. He went over and sat on the barstool facing him and sighed. "That has me thinking," he said.

"What does?" Athos asked, sliding one of the glasses over.

Porthos sighed. "I wonder how many thousands of dollars our health insurance has had to pay out for Aramis." He said it without humor, lifting the glass to drink.

Athos drank some of his own before saying, "Hundreds of thousands."

They both looked at Aramis' door, and Athos went over and opened it.

Aramis was still lying in the same position, fast asleep.

"Maybe we should get him a guide dog."

Athos looked at Porthos, as if that had been the last thing he'd expected him to say.

Porthos smiled slightly. "You know, a dog trained to notice when something is medically wrong with its owner. Yeah I know, not very funny."

"A little funny," they heard.

Porthos winced at Aramis' voice. "Sorry for waking you."

Aramis yawned and sat up. "Not your fault; I should've gone to the bathroom before lying down."

The others watched as their friend weaved a stumbly walk.

"What kind of dog do you want?" Porthos called through the door, only half-joking.

"Ha ha," Aramis answered, before sneezing. He came out a minute later and gave him a stern face. "You better not really get me a dog; I'm too busy to take care of one. Besides, you know I'm a cat person."

"Yeah, we know," Porthos answered as Aramis shuffled back towards his bed.

Athos stopped Aramis and put a hand on his forehead. "Still feverish."

"I'm fine," Aramis told him. "It's just a cold." He laid down again with a sigh of bliss. "But thank you for caring!"

Athos rolled his eyes.

"How's your chest feel?" Porthos asked.

"My heart is fine," Aramis answered. "It won't flip out again now that the medicine is out of my system. Stop worrying and let me sleep. ACHOO!"

"Fine, we're going," Porthos told him. "If you need us, yell."

"Mmm hmm."

Athos and Porthos left the room and spent the afternoon being as quiet as possible. The lack of sneezing and coughing from Aramis' room told them that he didn't wake at all, and they were glad to see him looking more rested when he got up again.

"Feeling better?" Athos asked.

"Yes," Aramis replied, sitting beside him on the couch. He reached a hand to his forehead. "No fever."

"Your own hand won't work," Porthos said, before reaching over to check himself. "Huh, you're right."

Aramis grinned.

Treville and d'Artagnan came back and they ordered pizza and chicken wings, before eventually forcing Aramis to go back to bed.

"But I'm much better," he complained.

"You're barely recovered from the arrhythmia," Treville told him. "Don't be hasty; you need to rest."

"I'm taking a shower first," Aramis answered.

"Bath," said Athos. "Not a shower."

"I'm not gonna slip," Aramis said.

"Please," said Treville. "After what just happened to your heart, can't you humor us?"

D'Artagnan decided to throw in his two cents. "It was pretty scary."

"Very scary," Porthos clarified.

Aramis sighed theatrically...though the effect was ruined when it made him cough. "Fine *cough* I'll take *cough* a bath…that sounds kinda good, actually."

"Thank you," said Athos.

Less than an hour later, Aramis was clean and sleeping in his bed on fresh sheets.

All four of the others stared at him from the doorway.

"I think our hearts can calm down now," said Treville.

Porthos sighed. "I sure hope so."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Aramis woke coughing a few times overnight, and at nine o'clock the next morning, Porthos—who'd stayed over in case Aramis needed him—reluctantly woke him.

"Huh what?"

"You have to get up," Porthos told him. "You have a doctor's appointment that we didn't tell you about."

"Oh you're kidding me," Aramis moaned. He rolled his face into his pillow and mumbled something else.

"What was that?"

"I'm so sick of doctors and hospitals," Aramis repeated.

Porthos nodded. Aramis definitely had more than his fair share lately. "I know. You have to go, though."

Aramis sighed, which made him cough.

"Come on," Porthos said, whacking him on the arm.

Aramis reluctantly obeyed, and by 10am, they were sitting in Dr. Harris' office.

"I am so profusely sorry," Harris told him. "The trouble with thyroid medication is that it's hard to regulate a patient's dose at first...it often takes around six months to get it right. Your first blood test after starting the medicine had your TSH level down from 43 to 7, which is much better but still too high. The optimal range is 1.5 to 2, so I raised your dosage as you know." He held up the lab report from Newport Hospital. "But according to this, your TSH was under 0 that day. If you hadn't taken the Mucinex, you wouldn't have known there was an issue until your scheduled blood test next week and I would simply have adjusted your dosage again." He sighed. "I'm so sorry."

Aramis shook his head. "No reason; you didn't do anything wrong and it's not your fault that I caught a cold!"

Harris reluctantly nodded and picked up a syringe. "I'm sure this is the last thing you want to hear...but I need more blood."

Aramis gave a theatrical sigh, but it made him cough.

Harris waited until he was finished. "I can see why you took the Mucinex."

"Is there anything at all that he can take?" Porthos asked.

Harris shook his head as Aramis rolled up his sleeve. "I don't want him to take anything right now...it's not worth the risk."

The others were silent as Harris took Aramis' blood.

"With the original dose too low," said Treville. "But the second dose too high, how will you remedy that?"

"He was taking 50mcg at first," said Harris, taping a cotton ball over the hole in Aramis' arm. "Which is a low dose, especially with such a high TSH, so I rose it to 75, which somehow proved to be too much. I'll start him on 50 again once his thyroid swings back to hypo and then go from there." He looked at Aramis. "You might eventually end up alternating days with 50 and 75."

"Complicated," said Porthos. "That's our Aramis!"

"ACHOO!" was Aramis' reply.

"It sounds like someone's bedtime," Harris joked.

The four friends left the hospital and Aramis was soon napping at home again.

The next week passed slowly for him as he recovered, and he was very happy the day that he was allowed to return to work.

"How are you feeling?" Treville asked him after he walked into the door.

"I'm feeling fine and ready to catch some badguys!" Aramis told him, rubbing his hands together eagerly and sitting at his desk.

"We caught one while you were out," said Athos. "Bobby Madison."

Aramis had raised his cup of hazelnut coffee to his lips, and nearly choked on it. "Bobby Madison?!"

"Yup!" said Porthos. "Aren't you proud?"

Aramis was stunned. Bobby Madison was the brother of crime boss Biff Madison, a man responsible for most of the local crime, from murders to drug deals. "How did you do that and why didn't you tell me?"

"On Wednesday, someone left an anonymous tip that he was flying out of NY on Friday morning, so we went in and grabbed him," Treville answered. "After what happened with your heart, I forbade them to tell you; I didn't want you worrying while you were still recovering."

Aramis understood, slightly. "Was there any shooting?" Treville was right that he would've worried.

"No," Athos told him.

Aramis was relieved. "Did he divulge anything?"

"Nothin'," Porthos told him. "At all."

Aramis took another sip of his coffee, swinging his chair from side to side as he thought. "Does he want anything in exchange for info?"

Treville shook his head. "No, he simply refuses to talk."

Aramis licked his lips and put his mug down. "Biff might try something to get him out, especially if he has cops on his payroll."

Treville sighed. "I wouldn't be surprised. There are two guards at Bobby's cell at all times...I'm hoping that if one of them is on Biff's payroll, the other one won't be."

For Aramis, the day was filled with catching up on paperwork. It was an easy day—which he expected from Treville after what he'd been through lately—and when it was almost time to leave, he opened one of his drawers and saw the bottle of thyroid pills that he'd left there in case he forgot to take one some day before coming to work. They were the original 50mcg strength, so he figured he should take them home so he'd have them once the doctor gave him the okay to start taking them again.

Everyone went their separate ways after work, and Aramis pulled into his apartment's parking spot and got out of his car. Before he even had a chance to set the alarm, something suddenly slammed into the side of his head, but before he could fall, hands grabbed him and started dragging him away.

Aramis' head was spinning and splitting with awful pain but he struggled in the men's grasp. His efforts were weak and uncoordinated, and he felt blood drip down his temple.

A car door opened and he was pushed inside to lie on the floor. He fumbled for his gun, but it was gone.

"I wouldn't move if I were you," someone said.

The muzzle of a gun pressed against the wound on his head and Aramis winced. "Biff?" he said.

His answer was a chuckle.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"I wonder why he's late."

Athos looked at Porthos. "Why do you worry over everything? He probably overslept. Yesterday was his first day back."

Porthos sighed. "But I texted him and got no answer."

"Which may confirm my assumption that he's still asleep," said Athos.

Porthos looked at his phone again, to the texted "Sup?" that had no reply from his friend under it. "I just feel like somethin's wrong."

Athos opened his mouth to answer, when Porthos' phone suddenly rang.

"There he is," said Porthos, with relief. It was a video call and he clicked it. "What the?!" he exclaimed.

Athos went over to see what was wrong, and was shocked to see none other than Biff Madison on the other end.

"Good morning, gentlemen," said Biff. "Are you missing something? Or rather, someone?" The phone shifted to show Aramis tied to a chair, with blood in his messed-up hair. His head was lowered and he made no reaction.

Porthos jumped to his feet. "What have you done to him?!" he shouted.

"Temper, temper," said Biff, his face filling the screen again. "He's fine—for now."

"What do you want?" said Athos, though it seemed obvious.

"That's a pretty stupid question," said Biff. "My brother, what else? We'll make a nice, even trade; your brother for mine." He turned to Aramis for a second before looking back at the phone and shrugging. "Well, your guy might be in a couple more pieces."

"If you hurt a hair on his head, I'll kill you!" said Porthos.

"Another stupid thing to say, since it's obvious that we already hurt him," said Biff. "You detectives aren't very bright, are you?"

"Madison," said Captain Treville, who'd come out of his office at Porthos' yells. "You know that we can't trade your brother."

"I had a feeling you'd say that," said Biff. The phone was suddenly aiming at the floor as Biff appeared to walk somewhere, and then the phone moved up to show Aramis again. Biff's hand suddenly entered the picture as it grabbed Aramis' hair and yanked.

Aramis made a sound of surprise, showing the others that he was conscious. His eyes were closed with a wince, and he reopened them when Biff let go of his hair.

A gun suddenly appeared, shoved against the wound on Aramis' head again.

"You sure you can't make the trade?" Biff's voice said.

"We won't do anything if you kill him!" said Treville.

Biff laughed and pushed Aramis' head with the gun, making Aramis wince again. "I knew you'd change your tune. I'll call you back in an hour; you'd better have good news for me."

"Wait!" said Porthos, but it was too late; Biff had hung up. He looked around for his keys before grabbing them and sprinting for the door.

"Porthos!" said Athos, grabbing him before he could leave. "We don't even know where Aramis is!"

Porthos looked at him, breathing heavily. His panic calmed just enough for him to think like a cop again, and he moved away from the door and plopping down into his chair.

"We need to think clearly," said Treville. "I know you're upset and scared; I am too, but we need to do this right if we're to get Aramis back alive."

At those words, Porthos dropped his face into his hands. "Look at what he's been though lately!" he exclaimed. "And now this?"

Athos sighed and looked at Treville, just as upset but able to hide it. "What's our first move?"

"First, we tell the chief."

TBC