A/N: Apologies for the long delay between chapters - I'm struggling between all of the fics I have going but I promise I will get them all finished. I really appreciate your comments and I'm grateful to hear when people are enjoying this fic - I'm really enjoying writing it!
As a reminder, my knowledge of anything and everything medical is purely from google research and I know more about 1630s musketeers than I do about anything that happens in a medical emergency! Constructive feedback welcome, but poetic license is in play.
My gratitude as always is to Issai for her careful reading and constant support. She makes all the fics better. The remaining mistakes are wholly my own.
PART THREE
"You know a surgeon?" Porthos huffed, "Ain't it convenient you just turn up here with all the answers."
"I say for your friend, it's lucky," CB snorted, "Don't see you being much help. Kinda squeamish for a field agent, aren't you?" CB smirked as his cruel comment hit home. Porthos shook his head and gave the kid a smile, the kind of smile that suggested he was about to rip his head off of his body. Athos sighed. There really wasn't time for this.
"Porthos, leave it." Athos commanded his friend, trusting that the big man would listen. Two years together had to mean more than this moment of rage, no matter how on the edge he was because of Aramis and no matter how deeply the kid's comment had stung. Athos was impressed though that the kid had picked up on Porthos's issue. He generally hid it well from all but them. CB was pretty intuitive to have pieced that together from the brief exchange they had while he worked to stabilize Aramis's wound.
"How long do you think until those teams from the Garrison get to Florence?" Athos asked, pulling the musketeer's focus back to the situation at hand. Porthos continued to hold the kid's gaze, his eyes narrowed and calculating, but he answered Athos's question calmly.
"We have 2 hours tops, possibly less if they already have clearances to land at Peretola," Porthos replied, "Let's assume worst-case and they are taking off now, we've got about an hour till they turn up here."
"Alright, we need transportation out of the city that can't be traced," Athos said, knowing Porthos would understand that as a command to him, "And you," Athos turned his gaze to CB, "Get it set up with this surgeon and then let's get Aramis ready to move. 2 hours in the back of a car is not going to help him."
"You're just gonna trust 'im…" Porthos sounded incredulous and Athos had to question if his own judgement was compromised in this. He knew his concern about Aramis was coloring his decision-making but with Musketeers on their way, there just wasn't time to sort himself out. He had to make a choice, trust his gut, and then hope to hell he could get them all out of this if he was wrong about this kid. But he just didn't think he was.
"He's right, we are out of time and out of options," Athos said, "Hospital is out of the question and if there is a chance we can get Aramis somewhere safe and with medical care, we have to take it."
Porthos was not happy. It was all over his face. But as he met Athos's cool stare there was something desperate in his eyes. Athos was right, they had no other options other than going to the hospital, revealing that Aramis wasn't dead, and making all three of them a target for whoever had orchestrated the raid in Turin. And whoever it was, had to have power and a long reach to have pulled it off. Porthos needed hope because it was looking rather bleak as the pathway out of their situation narrowed. Athos gave him a reassuring nod, grateful to see the acquiescence in his friend's eyes. But also a raised brow and a glance to CB. Porthos would be keeping an eye on the kid and expected the same from Athos. Athos nodded in agreement. He might be throwing his lot in with this stranger, but he wasn't fool enough to ignore that things seemed to be falling into place a little too easily.
"You two a couple or something?" CB said, throwing up his hands, "Can you stop making eyes and let's go?" Athos and Porthos both couldn't help the smile that tugged at their lips. Their silent communication was well known, and well mocked, throughout the regiment. The kid would figure out was going on between them soon enough if he was as intuitive as he seemed, but for now, they left the statement alone. No need to give away all of their secrets.
"I've got some spare clothes in my bag," Athos said, gesturing toward the foyer where they'd dropped their gear, "Let's get Aramis dressed while Porthos finds us some transportation. Thirty minutes, I want to be ready to head out," Athos issued the order and happily he got no pushback from CB. The kid nodded and headed toward the foyer. Athos turned to follow but Porthos put a hand on his arm to stop him.
"Something I didn't tell you," Porthos said quietly in Athos's ear, "I ran what I could on the kid. He's INTERPOL but he's currently on leave - bereavement leave. His father was killed two weeks ago while they were on vacation in France. They were on their way to Paris and got on the wrong side of a robbery. The kid was with him. Guy died in his arms."
"That's hard," Athos said, shoving down his own memories of dead family.
"Yeah and sad but think, Athos," Porthos said darkly, "If the kid is on bereavement what is he doing at an INTERPOL safe house with Aramis?" Porthos gave Athos a meaningful look. They needed to address this soon, because the more they found out, the less either of them liked it. Athos gave Porthos a nod of understanding and the big man let him go. They were going to have to watch their backs.
They ended up putting Aramis in a pair of sweatpants and a soft blue oversized t-shirt, hoping the loose fabric would not interfere with the bandages. Aramis roused slightly as they dressed him, fidgeting and making small sounds that might have been words. Athos thought this could be a good sign, but CB reminded him that it might just be the pain kicking in as the morphine wore off. Athos frowned, not liking the idea of Aramis hurting, but it was a little too soon for the fentanyl. The narcan worked quickly to reverse the effects of morphine, but still the body needed some recovery time between the use of those intense drugs.
"There are some blankets in the bedroom," CB as he walked toward the door, "I'll grab 'em and maybe some pillows so we can prop him somehow while we travel."
Athos gave a nod to the young man as he walked off. With Aramis, CB was caring, gentle and careful. With Porthos he seemed to want to pick a fight or insult the man at every turn. With him . . . well Athos wasn't sure. CB seemed wary on one hand but then, when they got engaged with something about Aramis's care, they worked together seamlessly, as if they had known each other a much longer time than a few short hours. Athos rarely found this kind of rapport with anyone. It's part of what made Porthos and Aramis so important to him. With them, he fit. It was strange to find he was fitting with CB too. At least when the guy wasn't looking at him suspiciously out of the corner of his eye. Although Athos could hardly blame him, he was just as suspicious of Aramis's unlikely rescuer as CB seemed to be of him.
The kid returned with the blankets and Athos took a grey comforter from the pile and draped it carefully over Aramis, tucking the edges carefully around his body. Aramis made no sign if he recognized the softness enfolding him. His breathing was better but still more labored than Athos was comfortable with. Without thinking he brushed aside the mop of curly hair surrounding Aramis's face, letting his hand linger a moment on his friend's forehead. Athos didn't believe in god, but Aramis did - at least whatever version of god Buddhists followed. He wasn't sure if you were supposed to pray to Buddha, but Athos sighed and just said please. Please heal him. He figured that was a worthy request of just about any deity that might be out there watching over his friend.
"He means a lot to you," CB observed from where he had retreated to a chair by the other end of the table. The boy's eyes were hooded, his face a mixture of unidentifiable emotions. He seemed to be putting forward compassion but still that wariness. Athos sighed and moved his hand from Aramis's head, taking up another chair and straddling it, folding his arms over the back.
"He is my brother-in-arms," Athos said simply, "As is Porthos. They are like family."
"Surprised a man like you cares about family," CB's comment was flip but had a sting nonetheless.
"A man like me?" Athos queried, wondering what the kid was getting at.
"Well you're a musketeer, right?" CB said, "the most elite fighting force in INTERPOL, possibly the world. Ruthless, I hear."
"Well don't believe everything you hear," Athos replied, shaking his head sadly, "I've never taken a life casually, never without cause. And I remember the names of the men I've killed."
"How would you know who your victims are?" CB said.
"Victims? I take out purps," Athos said, "Criminals. Child traffickers. Drug and arms dealers."
"Yeah, we all know what the musketeers do," CB answered tipping up his head and giving a dark smile,
"but we don't really know who you are. What kind of men are you? Do you really live up to your adopted motto - all for one, one for all? Cause it looks to me like another musketeer is who sliced up your friend here."
Athos wasn't sure what this line of questioning was about, or the dark and accusatory tone he was taking, but it sent a flicker of electricity along his spine. Something was just not right about this guy.
"Why are you here, CB?" Athos asked, shifting forward to wrap his arms over the chair, "Why are you helping Aramis?"
"I'm here because of a coincidence really," CB said, blinking off into the distance, "I have been on the hunt for a man and the search lead me here, just in time for your friend Aramis there to pretty much fall into my arms."
"The man who killed your father?" Athos asked softly. CB flinched at that and licked his lips nervously, shifting his long fingers to rake through his hair before answering.
"You know about that," CB answered with a disingenuous smile. Or at least Athos thought it was disingenuous as the easy upturn of his lips did not match the pain that darkened his eyes.
"Porthos checked," Athos said simply, "I'm sorry for your loss. I've lost family too."
"So I'm supposed to feel pity for you?" CB asked.
"No," Athos said, "It means I feel empathy for you." He held the young man's gaze, searching his dark eyes for some sign further of the boy's intentions. He seemed scorched and raw, then flip and confident all in the space of a moment. It was hard to get the measure of the man, but Athos knew too that grief cast long shadows on the soul. One thing was certain to Athos, CB was not himself in this moment, even if the kid didn't realize it himself. That made him a risky ally, but they had little choice.
"Look, you asked if I was ruthless," Athos said, never dropping his eyes from the man across from him, "Yes, I'm ruthless. If you harm the people I love, if you hurt the innocent, if you threaten the security and sovereignty of the nations we serve, then yes, I am ruthless."
"Like a musketeer of old," CB said wistfully, "I wish it was always that simple."
"It is simple. You said you became a cop to help people," Athos answered, "I joined the military for the same reason. I couldn't sit on the sidelines any more. I had to be in it. I had to have a place where I could make a difference." It wasn't completely true. Athos had joined the military in hopes of at least dying for a cause, but dying was the ultimate goal. Self-destruction after what had happened to his family. But then Treville intervened, and Aramis and Porthos, and with the musketeers, Athos found something to live for and to fight for. He had an urge to tell all of this to CB because if he knew one thing well it was grief and he knew the abject despair that had to be eating at the kid's heart just two weeks after his father's death. But Athos was not Porthos with his easy conversation or Aramis with his deep intuition. Athos was a problem-solver and CB and his presence here was a situation to be understood. He was not one to offer comfort easily. Athos wanted to press the kid further but CB's phone rang and he stood as he answered.
"You're all set?" he asked, then nodded at the answer, "Good, good. That's perfect. We'll be there soon, a little over two hours," he said giving a confirming nod to Athos. This was the surgeon he'd called earlier, confirming he would be ready for them. "Yeah, I know I'm asking a lot. But I need you to trust me . . ." the words trailed off as CB left the room to finish the conversation in private.
Athos considered following him, trying to eavesdrop on the rest of the conversation but where would it really get him other than to undo the trust he had been trying to build in the kid since he'd held him at gunpoint. Athos didn't want to rock the boat further with Aramis's life in the balance. But all of this trust, It was asking a lot of all of them.
Athos sighed and rubbed a hand over his face before pushing himself up from the chair. He paced distractedly between Aramis laid out on the table and the window overlooking one of the crooked streets of Florence. He was having trouble thinking things through clearly and he knew it was because he was worried for his friend. He wished for a moment he was as ruthless as the kid thought him to be - then maybe whatever it was he was feeling would stay buried with his memories in the black pit that was his heart.
Athos considered that he really needed a drink.
Before he had time to act on the impulse and scour the cupboards, Porthos came back. The big man stepped beside Aramis, giving his comrade a worried look before his eyes flicked up to find Athos and give his report.
"We're set," Porthos was clipped and efficient. Athos knew this to signal he was on edge, on alert, watching over them all like an eagle defending the nest. "Transport is downstairs. Are we ready to move him?"
"Yeah, we've patched him up as best as we can, CB alerted the surgeon and he's prepared, just need to get him out. Not sure we'll be able to rouse him enough to walk."
"Not a problem," Porthos said, "I've got 'im. You get the gear." Porthos shifted to untape the IV from the broomstick. He laid it on Aramis's chest then tucked the man's hand over it. He slid one hand under the sharpshooter's legs, the other under his back and picked him up as tenderly as one might a child. Porthos was strong - something Athos and Aramis we're eternally grateful for.
"Get the gear, get the kid, let's go," Porthos's terse command was not to be ignored. CB was just finishing his call in the hallway when Athos strode in to pick up the bags. He gave the kid a look and CB nodded, slinging on a black backpack and taking up two more blankets while Athos got the door open. Just outside, a cargo van was waiting.
Athos scrambled in the open back first, setting the gear bags to the side and then reaching out his hands to get Aramis from under the shoulders. Working with Porthos, they eased the musketeer into the back of the truck.
"Why does it smell like dinner in here?" Athos asked as he got settled.
"Restaurant laundry van," Porthos said with a shrug, "better that than diapers."
CB tossed in his bag and passed the blankets to Athos who spread them over Aramis. They would do their best to make him comfortable, but they all knew this would not be an easy journey for a wounded man, particularly in the back of a van. CB moved to climb in beside Athos but Porthos put a restraining hand on the kid's shoulder.
"You're with me," Porthos said, handing the kid a cap and a uniform jacket, "You know the way."
"You still don't trust me," CB said, shrugging on the jacket.
"Not for a minute," Porthos said, flashing a pearly smile that was all teeth as he pulled his own cap onto his head. "Let's go," he said and gave one final look to Athos. Athos nodded, he had Aramis as settled as he was going to be. With a grim nod, Porthos slammed the doors shut and left Athos and Aramis in the dark in the back of the truck. A lot of trust going around, Athos thought again, but with Porthos, there was no risk. Only Athos's complete faith that the musketeer would get them safely out of Florence.
The first 15 minutes or so of the journey were rough. The twists and turns swayed Athos and Aramis from side to side, the bounce of the tires over cobblestones and rough roads was jarring. In the dark in the back of the cargo van it felt to Athos that they might be in the hold of a ship, swaying on the swells and falls of ocean waves on some journey into the unknown.
Athos had made Aramis as comfortable as he could, cushioning him with the linens from piles in the van and padding his side with one of the rolled up blankets and two pillows that CB had found in the safe house. Miraculously the musketeer had remained quiet and seemingly asleep. The bumpy ride smoothed out considerably and Athos assumed they were on the A1. They wouldn't be for long though. Even though it would add time to their journey, he and Porthos had decided it was better to stay off the main highways. Too easy to spot their stolen vehicle from a traffic cam on those roads. No, the risk of the slightly longer ride through the central mountains of Italy was worth it to evade notice. Secrecy was still their best defense against their unknown enemy.
It was as they started the climb into the mountains that Aramis began to stir, noticeably shifting under the blankets and starting to mumble in his sleep. Athos fished in his gear bag and found some glow sticks, cracking three of them to lay around him and Aramis, turning the darkness of the van an eerie but clear blue. It's cool glow was oddly comforting to Athos, having used the glow sticks often in tents and abandoned houses during his time in the military. It felt to Athos like they were a step out of time, bathed in a protective light that somehow preserved a place of calm and respite from the dangers of the night beyond. Athos knew this was just his imagination generating these feelings, but he had learned to welcome the peace and clarity during his tumultuous days as a soldier. He welcomed it again now and hoped Aramis too would recognize the blue glow as a sign they were safe and secure.
As much as he wanted to let Aramis try to slip back into some kind of rest, Athos needed him to wake. Without the influence of morphine it was the best opportunity they had to question Aramis about what had happened and to assess what he could tell them of his condition before Athos gave him more pain medication. After they got to this surgeon there was no telling how long it would be before the sharpshooter would be lucid again.
"Aramis," Athos called to him, putting a hand to his friend's cheek and tapping lightly, "Aramis, wake up," he urged. The musketeer groaned, rolling his head as his eyes fluttered beneath their lids, "Come on, Aramis," Athos said, pulling down the blankets to Aramis's waist and shifting his hand from Aramis's cheek to his chest. Athos clenched one hand to rub a knuckle along Aramis's sternum, "Wake up."
Aramis fidgeted and rolled his head again but Athos kept up what he knew from his own past experience was an unpleasant pressure on Aramis's chest, stroking with his knuckle along the bone that ran from the hollow of his throat down the center of his chest. With a small gasp Aramis opened his eyes, blinking owlishly up at Athos as he he panted heavily and tried to get his bearings.
Athos immediately stopped the painful stroking to rub his hand gently over the same place he had caused his friend pain. "Aramis, it's alright. You're alright," he repeated, trying to capture his friend's gaze as his eyes darted wildly. He could see the panic and confusion on Aramis's face and he reached his other hand to take his cheek again, forcing him to look toward Athos, "Look at me. Look at me," Athos commanded, relieved when the dark brown eyes finally settled on him, "You're safe. You're alright," he reassured, sliding his hand over Aramis's shoulder and giving it a gentle squeeze.
"Athos," the word was spoken like a sigh.
"Yeah," Athos smiled and nodded, "Yeah, that's right."
Aramis gave a little hum and a vague sort of nod, and closed his eyes a moment, his breathing steadying. Athos didn't move his grip on the musketeer as Aramis took a few more breaths before opening his eyes again, this time finding him easily, something more lucid in his gaze than when he'd first woke up.
"Porthos. . .?" Aramis said, his gaze wandering again but not as wildly as before. Athos knew what he was asking.
"Driving the van," Athos said, "We're both here. We're okay." Aramis hummed and nodded, then his face scrunched as he let out a soft moan.
"Ow," he winced, looking up accusatorially at Athos as if he was the one who was causing him pain.
"Yeah, Ow," Athos couldn't help but smile, "You did a real job on yourself there."
"Mmmm…" Aramis answered, breathing through the pain, "What 'appended?"
"You were stabbed with a k-bar I think, got a knock on the head, some other cuts and contusions," Athos cataloged the wounds, "Do you remember?"
Aramis groaned and shook his head, worry playing across his face.
"It's okay, it's gonna come back," Athos reassured, "What's the last thing you remember?" Aramis looked up at him, eyes narrowing as he tried to remember then widening as a smile tugged at his lips.
"You… the Wren . . . darts. I beat you," Aramis said.
"You more than beat me, you beat everyone in the bar," Athos said with a fond smile, "Then what. You had a mission, remember?"
"A mission . . ." Aramis repeated as he closed his eyes and searched for the memory, "SVOI . . . A SVOI mission," Aramis said, opening his eyes to get confirmation from Athos.
"To Turin, yes. You and Marsac were deployed to . . ." Athos stopped as Aramis was suddenly trying to push himself up, looking frantically around him.
"Marsac!" He breathed in a panic, "Where . . . I was wounded. . . I couldn't get out . . I . . . Owww, god . . Athos . . ." Aramis had pushed himself up on his elbows and as Athos gripped him by the shoulders the sharpshooter moaned, curling in on himself and rolling toward Athos as the pain became too much.
"Aramis, relax, settle down," Athos encouraged, trying to get the musketeer to lay back down. "Marsac is not here, he's not with us. It's just you. You're the only one." Aramis shifted and Athos took more of his weight as the sharpshooter got his left hand onto Athos's arm, clutching it tightly as he fought against the pain in his body.
"Boomer and Dutch?" Aramis asked, naming two of the musketeers who had been deployed to Turin, "Maeve was there . . . We were going to have dinner . . ." Aramis trailed off, looking up desperately at Athos. Athos couldn't bear to say the words, he just shook his head. Aramis took in a deep and painful breath, squeezing his eyes shut as the memories of what happened washed over him.
"All of them?" Aramis asked softly,although Athos suspected he already knew the answer.
"I"m sorry," Athos said, shifting his hold on Aramis to support his back and neck, "I'm so sorry," he said as he felt the tension slipping from his friend's body. He took the opportunity to gently ease him back into the nest of blankets.
Aramis let himself be placed down then turned his head away from Athos, tears leaking from beneath his closed eyes. Athos left his friend a moment for his thoughts while he rearranged the blankets and pulled them up over Aramis's chest. He watched his friend wrestling with his emotions and imagined he was reliving whatever part he played while his friends and comrades were massacred. After a short while, Aramis's breathing started to slow, a practiced and measured rhythm taking over from the ragged choking breaths he had been struggling with. It was his way, Athos knew, to still his mind. Whether he had learned that method through his training as a marksman or through his spiritual practice of meditation, Athos did not know, but he knew that Aramis was working to find some peace in his own mind. The breathing was a gateway to that, one that Athos often envied him.
"Can you tell me what happened," Athos said, a comforting hand on the marksman's shoulder. When he received no answer, Athos tried again, this time speaking as Aramis's commander in the field, "Aramis, I need your report," he said formally. Aramis responded to that, nodding and then rolling his head back toward Athos and opening his eyes. It was all Athos could do not to react to the deep pain he saw there, but he needed to know what had happened if he was going to not only keep them all safe, but root out a traitor to the musketeers.
"We were still setting up, hadn't even gone live on surveillance," Aramis said, "And they were just there, everywhere. It was an ambush - we were set up. They were in the building. Had to have been there, someone had to tell them we were going to be there. They were ready,' Aramis said, his words punctuated by heavy breaths and sighs. Athos knew his wounds had to be troubling him, but he just need a little bit more information.
"Who was it? What do you remember?" Athos pressed.
"Masks . . I couldn't see them," Aramis said, frustration in his voice, "I hit their leader. A strike to the back . . . He'll have a wound, deep," Aramis breathed, "Ravens . . . They were everywhere…" the marksman trailed off, eyes roaming again.
"Ravens?" Athos was confused and maybe Aramis was too. Your mind played tricks when you were in pain, and the morphine earlier probably didn't help. When Aramis didn't respond, Athos tried a line of questioning he was far more interested in.
"What about Marsac?" Athos had to know about the other musketeer. Had he saved Aramis or was he a traitor to them all? "What happened to Marsac?"
"Was by my side at first," Aramis said, closing his eyes as he searched for details, "then something hit me over the head, I don't know . . . I don't remember . . ." Aramis said, trailing off. He shook his head and hummed, then his eyes found Athos's again, "the server room . . . I woke up there," Aramis said with certainty, "my wound was bandaged, Marsac . . . Marsac was gone, his badge on the ground next to me. I um . . .I got up, but the door was locked - I heard gunfire...screams . . Ummm.. I picked the lock and . . . Athos, they were killing them, executing them. They had them on their knees . . I…" Aramis's voice cracked as he fought down his emotions. Athos gripped his shoulder, giving him a reassuring squeeze, grateful, so grateful, to someone that his friend had lived to tell this story. He waited until Aramis could continue.
"There were only two men left in the room, I had no firearm but . . . But there was a knife, Spider's, on his belt. I took them both out . . . But the second one had a knife too. I didn't care, I didn't even notice til later . . . I checked … all of them dead. There were twenty people Athos, twenty . . ." Aramis's voice trailed off unable to say more.
"I know," Athos said, and he did, having seen the pictures Treville's men had taken of what was left of the scene. After the explosions, the fire had not completely washed away what had been done to twenty INTERPOL agents, many of them his friends.
"Do you think it was an inside job?" Athos asked, "Did someone betray the musketeers?"
"I don't know," Aramis said, sounding weary, "But how could it not be? They were waiting . . ."
"And Marsac?" Athos said.
"Don't know," Aramis said, his breathing growing heavy again, "Where is he?"
"No one knows," Athos said as he reached into the medic bag, "Apparently after he saved you, he abandoned you. He's in the wind. Treville's hunting him."
"And me. . ." Aramis asked, "Are they hunting me?"
"No," Athos reassured him, stroking a hand lightly over his friend's shoulder, "no, they think you are dead too. You are safe as long as whoever orchestrated this believes that."
"You found me," Aramis said, "and Porthos. Someone else could . . ."
"No one else could," Athos reassured him, "We are the only ones who knew what to look for. You did very well."
"Mmmm . . ," was all Aramis could respond. His face looked strained like he was exerting great effort.
"Aramis are you hurting?" Athos asked.
"Excruciating," he breathed.
"Dammit, you should have said," Athos admonished, reaching to find the medical bag.
"Had to tell you. . .," Aramis said as he let out a sharp exhale, "God, this hurts, hell Athos."
"Hang on," Athos said, as he found what he was looking for in the kit. He pulled down the blanket and took Aramis's right arm out from under the covers. They'd prepared the syringe before they'd gotten in the back of a bouncy cargo van but as Athos tried to figure out how he was going to find a vein he realized this was not going to work. He put the syringe in the bag and instead banged three times on the wall separating the cargo from cab. Porthos would stop as soon as he found a spot.
He took up Aramis's hand and his friend squeezed it, hard. Hard enough for Athos to wonder if CB had been exaggerating about how weakened the marksman was. No, he had seen all the blood himself, this was more a testament to the pain Aramis was bearing. His side had to be on fire.
"It's okay," Athos reassured him as Aramis let a miserable whimper slip past his lips, "just hold on a little longer." As he said it, he felt the van slowing. Porthos had found a place to pull over.
A moment later the doors were opened and Porthos's bulky figure was silhouetted by sunlight behind him.
"What happened," Porthos asked, "He okay?"
"Port'os, I'm 'kay…," Aramis slurred clutching Athos's hand. Porthos immediately heaved himself into the van, slipping to Aramis's other side.
"He's in pain," Athos said, passing Aramis's hand to Porthos. The brawler took it as he gave Aramis a smile, gently stroking his hair away from his face with his other hand. "Hold on to him while I get that syringe ready. I couldn't do it in the back of a moving van."
"Port'os . . .," Aramis said between gritted teeth, "I stole your bank card . . .".
"Yeah, ya did," Porthos smiled and let out a little chuckle, his large hand now resting on Aramis's head,
"As soon as you're better, you're gonna pay for that," he joked. Athos caught the thin smile that Aramis gave him in return before his face dissolved in agony and he let out a ragged moan.
"Please, …. ow," the marksman groaned.
"Stop bein' a big baby," Porthos chided, but the look he gave Athos suggested that the commander might be the one needing the pain shot if he didn't hurry up and get on with it. Luckily, all was ready and Athos tapped around quickly to find a vein and then expertly slid the needle into Aramis's arm, releasing the syringe of fentanyl into his bloodstream. From past experience, they knew it would work quickly.
Athos put the empty syringe back in its place in the kit, then reached to put a reassuring hand on Aramis's chest while Porthos continued to hold his hand and stroke his hair. They said nothing, but then they didn't need to. Aramis was their brother and he was hurting and nothing would pull either man from his side until he found some relief. It took only a few minutes and then both men saw it as the furrows of pain smooth from Aramis's face. Aramis's hand slackened its grip and Porthos gently laid it by Aramis's side and pulled the blanket up around him while Athos pulled down the shirtsleeve he had pushed up to give him the shot.
"Where we goin'," Aramis asked, eyes fluttering against sleep.
"I'm taking you to the beach," Porthos joked.
"Too cold . . .," Aramis shook his head.
"Cold?' Porthos said, raising in inquiring brow to Athos, "Are you cold, buddy? Aramis nodded weakly while Athos reached to feel the man's check.
"He's like ice," Athos said, worry coloring his voice.
"It could be the blood loss or a side effect of the fentanyl," CB's voice floated to them from the open doors. He'd been standing there silently, watching the two of them tend to Aramis.
"What can we do?" Athos asked.
"Not much," CB said, "I think he will feel cold until he gets a transfusion or the fentanyl wears off. Make him as comfortable as you can. We should get moving," Athos nodded his thanks, appreciating CB's guidance but also appreciating that he had let the three men have a moment together. For all CB had done for Aramis, Athos felt oddly remiss for having left the young man mostly forgotten outside of the door.
"How much longer do you think?" Athos asked Porthos as he made his way out of the van.
"Kid says we are less than an hour away," Porthos answered. Athos looked at Aramis, he was starting to visibly shiver.
"Let's make it a lot less, alright?" Athos said. Porthos gave him a nod and clasped Athos on the shoulder.
"How's it going up there?" Athos asked as Porthos started to close the doors, "With the kid?"
"Oh it's peachy," Porthos said with one of his smiles that was not a smile, "We're makin' friends."
"Porthos," Athos warned.
"Don't worry," Porthos said, "I haven't thought about kicking him out of the van even once," and with that he closed the doors, leaving Athos and Aramis in their cocoon of fading blue light. The engine started up with a gentle rumble and then they were on their way again. Athos positioned himself by Aramis's side again, his back leaning against the partition of the cab. Beside him, the marksman continued to shiver, his teeth beginning to chatter.
"I don't want to die in the snow," Aramis begged, struggling to sit up again.
"Easy Aramis, there is no snow," Athos said.
"Hell is a winter forest … the dead stare back with empty eyes," the marksman whimpered.
"Aramis, no," Athos tried to comfort him, "It's not snow, we are in the back of a laundry truck. Those are table linens you see."
"Athos . . . please, it's so cold," Aramis looked up at him, tears in his eyes. Athos knew the cold, the visions of the snow, the over-emotionality were all effects of the fentanyl but that did not prevent his heart from hurting at the desperation in his friend's voice. He needed to do something.
Carefully, he slipped his arms behind Aramis's shoulders and gave a small tug, pulling the marksman up toward his chest. He slipped a leg to the other side and tugged again until the marksman was propped against him, resting his back against Athos's chest. Athos reached around them and pulled the pillows around Aramis's wounded side then pulled the blankets up over them both. As the marksman shivered in his arms, Athos hoped this would work, providing at least enough warmth or physical comfort for the marksman to be comfortable enough to drift back to sleep. Athos sat quietly, loosely holding Aramis against him and thinking again that if he was a praying man, he'd be asking for his friend's relief.
"Athos," Aramis broke the brief silence.
"I'm here," Athos said, giving the marksman a small squeeze."
"Athos . . . are we cuddling?" Aramis said sleepily.
"Yes, Aramis, we are cuddling," Athos chuckled.
"Don't tell Porthos . ." Aramis breathed.
"Alright, now go to sleep," Athos said. The body in his arms gave a mighty sigh and melted heavily into Athos's hold. While his skin remained cold to the touch, Aramis stopped shivering and secure in the arms of his friend and commander, he slept.
Thank you so much for sticking with this fic! If you can, leave a comment and let me know what you think . . . this modern world is a big departure for me but I still hope it rings true to the characters and relationships.