A/N: The next prompt was guilt. This time Athos and Aramis find mishap in the kitchen. Porthos and d'Artagnan are left to sort out the mess.


In a Pickle

When Porthos walks into the house he immediately senses the tension in the air. Then he hears the noise from the kitchen, the awful clattering of someone doing something without much of a clue of what they're doing. It can only be Athos. d'Artagnan is right behind him and Aramis would never be so clumsy.

So, he goes to investigate and d'Artagnan follows wordlessly. They pick up their pace when they hear a loud crash and strangled cry from the kitchen. Then a loud curse from Aramis. Entering the kitchen, they find Athos flat on his back, the remains of a plate of food on and around him. Aramis, moving awkwardly with a casted arm, bandaged ankle, and a crutch, is trying to get to the floor while talking to Athos.

"You need… to relax, Athos. Take… a few… breaths," Aramis coaches, straining for breath from his efforts to help.

Athos mutters something that is likely a nasty curse, but with the grimacing and lowness of it, it's hard to know for certain.

"What happened here," Porthos asks, kneeling down near Athos' legs. Athos is situated awkwardly between the island and the counters.

d'Artagnan goes to help Aramis, but is seconds too late when his efforts give way and he slips to the ground with a loud smack, landing with his head near Athos'.

"Aramis," Porthos and d'Artagnan cry out. As much as Porthos wants to go see to Aramis, he keeps himself next to Athos, leaving d'Artagnan to deal with Aramis.

"Athos, what hurts?"

When there's no response, Porthos tried again.

"Come on, Athos. We need to know. Do you need us to call an ambulance?"

"He's hurt… his back," Aramis says, breathing rough and pained as he lies perpendicular to Athos.

"And how did he manage that?"

"He did it helping me in the house."

"And what happened to you that you needed help?"

"I'm still not really sure. One minute we were sparring, nothing out of the norm. Next thing I know, I'm on the ground, the hard ground not the mat, with Athos' looking down at me, on the phone, worry and panic clear in his tone and face," Aramis says.

"He," Athos begins, taking a deep breath as he works past the pain, "had an acci…dent during… sparring." Athos looks away, uncharacteristically nervous.

"How bad?"

"Sprained ankle, … broken arm, concussion, … and bruises, most of them to his abdomen."

"That's some accident," d'Artagnan says, eyes wide at the list of injuries.

"It was an accident," Athos insists, looking straight at Porthos now.

"Never doubted it," Porthos says.

"Nothing terrible, really," Aramis adds. "He won't stop doing things and take a rest himself." Aramis tries to point at Athos but instead manages to knock the man's head with his casted arm. Athos grumbles, turns his head, and winces at the pain from the movement.

"Maybe he just needed to work through his guilt." Porthos looks to Athos for confirmation. Athos gave a slight nod.

"Yeah, well, I needed him to stop," Aramis grinds out, frustrated.

"So, why aren't you resting, Aramis," Porthos asks.

"He needed to eat something to take his painkillers," Athos explains.

"And I told you I was fine with crackers or chips," Aramis says.

"You haven't eaten much all day. You know how you react to painkillers. You needed something more in your stomach before taking them."

"But you didn't need to go through all of this. You're hurt, too."

"From the same sparring match," d'Artagnan asks.

"No, the stuff they gave me in the ER left me out of it for hours and was still in me when we got back. I could hardly keep my balance, especially with just a single crutch." Aramis holds up his casted arm as explanation for the single crutch. "He tried to hide it, but I've been spending all day trying to get him to lie down and rest."

"What was he doing getting you something to eat," Porthos asks.

"He was sitting in the den when I woke with a startle. Old memories. The startle caught my injuries and the medicine wore off. I tried to hide it, knowing that he needed to rest, but he heard it and started getting me something so I could take the painkillers. I tried telling him some chips or crackers would be fine, but he insisted."

"So, what're you doing in here instead of resting?"

"Trying to help," Aramis answers, fully aware of how pathetic his voice sounds. "I knew he hurt himself and even on a good day, he's a terror in the kitchen. I was just trying to help him, make it easier."

Porthos looks from Aramis, noting the clear guilt on his face, to Athos, still pained, then to d'Artagnan and sighs.

"I think they were lucky we came home when we did, d'Artagnan," Porthos says at last.

"Why do you say that," Aramis asks.

"The way the two of you were going on your own guilt trips, you two'd've been halfway around the world hobbling along with your own injuries, doing everything to help the other without realizing that you were only making your own injuries worse."

"Should I call an ambulance," d'Artagnan asks.

"What do you think, Aramis?"

"How's the pain now, Athos," Aramis asks.

"Better," Athos says, voice strained with pain.

"Better enough to stand?"

"Umm," Athos hesitates.

"Call an ambulance, d'Artagnan," Aramis says.

"I can get up," Athos says quickly, voice tight. "Stop, d'Art…"

"d'Artagnan, call the ambulance," Porthos interrupts Athos. "He's not going to be able to shake this off. You might as well call it in for the both of them."

"I don't need an ambulance," Aramis protests, trying to sit up. The way his face pales at the movement and his inability to hold back a loud gasp of pain belie his claim.

"Another trip to the ER?" Porthos gives a slight smile. Aramis doesn't know that there was a pool going for how many trips he'd make to the ER this year and at the rate he was going, Porthos would win the sizeable pot.

Aramis glares at Porthos. Only Constance knew that Aramis knew about the pool, but she hadn't told him. He'd overheard some people talking about it. Aramis knew his track record and gave Constance money to bet on him. He didn't actively or passively try to land himself in the ER, but he knew his track record and was sure he would win. And all of the money was going to the local Boys and Girls Club.

"I'm fine though," Aramis adds.

"d'Artagnan, don't listen to them," Porthos says. "With you, we're better safe than sorry." He fixed Aramis with a pointed glare.

d'Artagnan moves to the other end of the kitchen to make the call. Athos sighs heavily, wincing at the pain from the movement.

"I'm sorry, Athos," Aramis says from his prone position. Their heads are nearly touching.

"Not your fault," Athos grinds out.

"If I hadn't been so doped up."

"And if I hadn't hurt you."

"If wishes were horses…" Porthos trails off with an exasperated sigh.