Aramis sat watching his friend sleep. Athos was finally relaxed enough to sleep through the minor bumps in the road; his head bobbed side to side with the bounces of the wheels. If the remainder of the road was this smooth he could sleep all the way to Paris. The rest would do him good.

Aramis suddenly realized his headache was almost gone. "Athos was right, maybe I'll get some sleep while I can." The medic smiled as he closed his eyes but just as Aramis began to fall asleep, the wagon hit a deep hole.

BAM!

The jarring and the pounding of the wooden wheels seemed to reverberate through Aramis' bones, chattering his teeth.

Athos woke with a gasp, "damn!" he cried out. He squeezed his eyes tightly shut against the pain coursing through his body, his breath hissed through his teeth. He grabbed the sides of the litter with shaking hands, as if trying to still the tremors shaking his entire body.

Aramis quickly placed his hands on Athos' shoulder to calm him. "It's alright—I'm here. Easy, Athos, just take it easy."

Beads of sweat began forming on Athos' forehead and temples. The drops of sweat pooled and rolled down his face like streams of tears. Soon, his skin was covered with a sheen of sweat. His hair dampened and clumped, sticking to his face; his shirt plastered itself to his chest and back.

"I can't take any more of this," Athos blurted, a desperate tone in his voice. "J-just let me out. Leave. . . leave me by the road. . . please."

"What?" Aramis was stunned. "What kind of crazy talk is that? I am not letting you out of here. And I'm certainly not leaving you beside the road, Athos!"

"Dammit to hell," Athos hissed through clenched teeth. "Let me r-ride my horse then. It'll be. . . be better than this damn wagon. Aramis . . please!"

"Athos, you need to calm down." Aramis tried to soothe. "The captain said that you cannot ride—you're in no condition to be on horseback. You couldn't sit upright in the saddle—not with those wounds in your sides."

BAM!

"God, please stop!" Athos hissed. The lieutenant squeezed the sides of the litter so tight his knuckles turned white. "S-stop the wagon. . . we need to stop. I will not do th-this. . . do this anymore!"

"Athos, you know the captain will not stop; he's trying to get us back to Paris before nightfall. Can you hold on just a little while longer? Maybe he'll let us stop for a break soon."

"Athos!" Porthos called in to the wagon. "We canno' stop now. We're clearing the edge of Torfou. No way are we stoppin' near here. We have to keep moving."

"Torfou? No. . ." Athos' eyes grew wide.

"'Mis, isn't there something you can do to calm him down?" Porthos growled.

"Do you want to get in here and do this, Porthos?" Aramis snapped. "Don't you think I am trying to calm him down?"

"What if. . . they're waiting. . . in the trees?" Athos loosened a hand from the litter to grasp Aramis' hand.

"Athos, there is no one in the forest." Aramis said matter-of-factly. "We're already out of the forest now."

Athos was not hearing Aramis' reassuring words. In his mind, they were in imminent danger among the trees of Torfou. "They might be hiding. . . in the t-trees. 'Mis, we have. . . we have to be ready."

"Athos, we are ready." Aramis reassured his friend. "Why do you think Tréville brought along a dozen armed brother Musketeers to escort us home? If you don't have faith our brothers can handle raiders without us. . ."

"I know their strategy for attack. . . how they c-catch travelers off-guard. . ."

Athos was always the brilliant strategist. Even when sick, he was a Musketeer ready to do his duty.

"Athos, my friend, you are in no condition to fight anyone—let alone any raiders. They have enough help out there without you and me. Besides, I believe he said we were out of the forest."

"Aramis, I n-need. . . to get out. . ." Athos began to panic, his breaths were coming in rapid gulps. He tried to rise but he was too weak.

Aramis placed pressure on Athos' chest to keep him from moving. "Athos, dammit, hold still. You need to calm down, you're not going anywhere. Lie still before you hurt yourself."

The medic looked to his brothers riding outside the wagon, sending them an unspoken plea for help. Aramis silently shook his head, helpless to do much in the back of a wagon. He raised his hand up, only to have it fall limply back to his lap in resignation.

His brothers outside were watching, worry etched on their faces. "Someone should be in there helping Aramis," d'Artagnan said to Porthos.

"Yeah, we're clear of the forest now, d'Artagnan. Maybe just a lit'le bit further and we can ask the cap'n to stop." Porthos looked nervously over his shoulder at the forest behind them. "Torfou, I hope to never see that damn forest again."

BAM!

Athos gasped with a sharp intake of breath. The Musketeer no longer had the strength left to curse the bumps in the road. The pain pulsing through his body consumed even the air in his lungs and he found it difficult to draw breath.

"Athos. . . breathe. Come on, look at me, Athos! Breathe!" Aramis took slow breaths breathing in and out, once again coaching Athos to get his breathing under control.

"Aramis. . . I'm going to. . ." Athos' face paled and began turning green.

"Oh no," Aramis groaned as he quickly turned Athos onto his side. He cupped his friend's head, holding him as he vomited over the edge of the litter, splashing on Aramis' boots.

Athos vomited and gagged, heaving violently again and again until his protesting stomach was empty and nothing was left to come up. The painful dry heaves continued until he was out of breath and left feeling as though he may have vomited up his lungs.

Adding to his misery, Athos felt an overwhelming burning sensation filling his entire torso. If he didn't know any better, he thought he had combusted into flames. An unbelievable pain radiated and burned from both of his sides, as though he had been shot through-and-through.

"Ar'mis. . ." Athos squeaked just as his eyes rolled in the back of his head and he fell limply into Aramis' arms.

"Athos, no! Athos!" Aramis gently returned the wounded man to lying on his back so he could check his pulse. Placing his shaking fingers against the neck, he waited for a beat. Finding one, he let out a breath of relief then swallowed the sob rising in his throat.

"Athos? Talk to me—tell me what's wrong." Aramis put his ear to Athos' chest to listen and could plainly hear the breaths taken in and out in labored wheezes. "Not good."

"'Mis, what happened?" Porthos yelled, standing in his stirrups to see Athos lying motionless inside the wagon.

"He vomited and then passed out," Aramis called back. "Something is very wrong here. Hold on a minute. . ."

The medic leaned back over Athos' body and replaced his trained ear to his chest, listening to the pounding beat of the heart. He placed his hand on Athos' side then quickly sat up at the touch.

"Damn." Aramis' heart sank with dread as he suddenly felt his hand wet; he knew what it meant without looking. To confirm his suspicion, he raised his hand to find it covered in blood. "God, no. . ."

He stood, leaning over Athos to get a better look at the bleeding wound on his left side. He found the shirt already soaked in blood. He peeled away the linen to find the sutured wound torn open, the stitches having been pulled out with the violent vomiting. The edges of the wound were ragged and sharp where the sutures had once been so professionally and delicately sewn.

Instantly, he thought of the duplicate wound on the right side. The incision made to access the kidneys were the same; as were the closing sutures sewn by M. Berteau exactly the same on each side. Did the right side fare any better than the left, he wondered?

"Oh damn." His heart sunk when he saw the stain of red already spreading on the shirt. Carefully, he lifted the shirt to find the stitches pulled away the same as on the left side. Both wounds were now torn open wide and bleeding.

"Porthos, where are we now?" Aramis yelled with alarm.

"We just passed a little village—its name started with an 'A.' Why, what's wrong? Aramis, what's goin' on in there?"

"Tell the captain we need to find a place to pull over, now! We have an emergency in here. Athos has pulled his stitches on both sides and he's bleeding badly. I need to repair the wounds or he'll bleed to death. Athos cannot wait until we get to Paris!


A/N:

Transporting the battle wounded soldiers in ambulance wagons oftentimes became torture for the wounded riding inside. These wagons were quite primitive and did jar the patients miserably on bumps in the roads, which would aggravate and even worsen an injury.

From stories that I read regarding the American Civil War, in particular, many of the men would beg to be let out of the wagons due to the pain it caused them. In extreme cases, there were men who did not survive wagon transports on the longer journeys. These wagon transports were brutal, painful... and sometimes deadly!