A/N: I shamelessly borrowed a line in here from an episode on the series; can anyone point out which one? (There's also a line I stole from The Big Bang Theory, but maybe we can just let that one slide?)
~Chapter 2~
Porthos drops them off and drives on to find a parking spot.
Athos and d'Artagnan start zigzagging and pushing themselves through the crowd; the place is cramped, with contestants, crew members, onlookers.
And journalists.
Everywhere.
All waiting for a failure, one tiny miscalculation, to help get their name on the front page.
Bloodthirsty sharks, Athos thinks bitterly, as he grabs d'Artagnan by the arm to prevent him from bumping into the Canadian staff that hurries past them.
The wind has increased since they left the slalom course; alternatively, the change is more due to the increased altitude of the downhill course than the weather. It's not enough to really be an issue – at least not for a slalom skier – but Athos is more than aware that every change, no matter how seemingly insignificant, can determine the outcome of a race.
Glancing up at the starting board, he notes that Aramis hasn't had his run yet.
He can deny it to Porthos all he wants – although he knows that the big man would never believe him – but seeing Aramis race is as unsettling as it is entrancing. And it doesn't only have to do with the incident of 08.
It's widely known in the racing community that downhill is the most venturous discipline and therefore attracts most daredevils. Aramis is, by no means, an exception to this rule. It's nothing major, but turns that are just that side of too sharp: leaning just a bit too much forward: the minor increase in speed just before a jump or shallow dip – not to mention the small gestures he somehow manages to squeeze in during a jump that has Athos wondering who will be the first to suffer a heart attack: him or Treville.
Athos has seen him race plenty of times, both in competitions and during practice, and it still amazes him how any sane person can be willing to perform the little stunts Aramis does.
Then he remembers it's Aramis and suddenly it makes a whole world of sense.
Porthos finds them some time later, standing a few meters off on the left side of the fence.
"He race yet?" he asks, eyes darting to the scoring board even as Athos shakes his head.
"No. He's up after Busconi, who is currently taking the stand."
Porthos nods and crosses his arms over his chest, eyes traveling up to the big screen.
They watch in silence as the Italian skier takes off, and it isn't long until he reaches the standard 130km/h.
D'Artagnan shakes his head in wonder.
"Don't get me wrong, I love to go fast as much as anyone, but this is insane."
Porthos chuckles in dry amusement.
"You've met Aramis, right?"
D'Artagnan bows his head in mock-seriousness.
"Point taken."
There's applause when the Italian skier eventually crosses the finish line, but that's nothing compared to the noise that follows after Aramis' name is called.
Athos quirks his lips in a wry smile.
He doesn't have to turn to know that it's not only their fellow countrymen cheering on their friend.
Looking up at the big screen, they can all see their fourth at the top of the piste, readying himself. He hasn't pulled down his goggles yet and when the camera zooms in on his face, those familiar dark orbs, looking down the slope with eerie focus, fill the screen.
Athos doesn't think he's imagining it when, as Aramis momentarily breaks out of his daze and gives the camera a wink, there's at least a few sighs from behind them.
The familiar countdown starts, and then Aramis all but throws himself out of the stand, the energy vibrating off of him clear even from this distance.
It takes him no time at all to reach 130km/h. Soon, he's at 140 and, even then, he shows no sign of slowing down.
There are two things that everyone in the racing community knows about Aramis: the first is that he likes it fast, even for someone who's into downhill.
How else do I know I'm truly alive? he'd asked during one of Athos' more fervent lectures about the virtues of self-preservation.
The second is that he'll disregard almost every safety regulation in order to reach that desirable velocity.
Still, Aramis is rarely so reckless as to truly endanger himself. He knows the increased risks of every minor movement, of every little gesture he allows himself. Has had his fair number of falls and broken bones to knock him down to Earth and keep him tethered.
Most of the time, anyway.
So while it might look like nothing but careless exploits based on youthful arrogance, Athos knows that every move is carefully calculated. That their friend – generally – knows what he's doing.
There's one, terrible moment, during a flat, where he thinks Aramis might overbalance, and his whole body goes rigid in dreaded anticipation. But he rights himself and continues on as if nothing had – almost – happened.
Athos feels Porthos breathe out next to him, aware that he isn't the only one who noticed.
"Jesus Christ," d'Artagnan says, and when Athos turns to look at him his eyes are wide in equal parts astonishment and disbelief. "He really is insane, isn't he?"
Athos' lips twitch into a dry smile.
"He claims his mother had him tested," he drawls, recalling the number of times he himself has asked their friend that very same question.
D'Artagnan only shakes his head in puzzlement.
When Aramis' first intermediate comes up on the board, Athos cheers with the rest of the audience. It's hard not to, when watching Aramis perform – because that it, essentially, what he does – and Athos can feel himself starting to relax.
Considering how long he's been doing this, he really should know that that's a bad sign, by now.
It happens just before the second intermediate.
To be fair, Athos isn't sure what exactly happens, but he sees the result clear enough, sees that Aramis is an inch too upright as he takes on the jump when really he should be reclining more forward. It isn't much. It really isn't.
But the Devil is in the details.
For one, blessedly naïve moment, Athos thinks that he might actually make it, because it's Aramis, and he can swear to it that he's never met anyone with such devilish luck in his entire life.
But Mother Fortuna isn't smiling today.
There's a collective gasp as Aramis overbalances, and flies through the air more horizontal than vertical.
For one moment, no one breathes.
Then Aramis hits the ground, hard on his back.
He tumbles down the slope in an uncontrollable mess of limbs, skis, and white powder, the combination of high speed and gravity ushering him on.
All but flies into the safety net, where he stays.
Motionless.
At first, there's nothing but silence.
Not even the spectators make a sound.
Then the crowd disrupts in shouts and shocked exclamations, but even in the ensuing cacophony, all Athos hears is Porthos' agonized cry and the absence of his own heartbeat.
A/N: Yeah... This is the part where I apologize, isn't it?
