And here we go again... Thank you to everyone following and favoriting this, I really enjoy it. And as not to let you suffer any longer, here's the next chap! Enjoy!

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Chapter Seven

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"What the hell are you doing?" Aramis, awakened by his brother's shouts, suddenly stood at d'Artagnan's side, grabbing his arm.

"Let go," the younger growled, ridding the restraining hand. "I must..." He pushed the medic away with surprising power, making him stumble into the wall. "I must get him back."

Obeying his inner voice, d'Artagnan again slammed his fist onto the motionless man's chest. "Don't!" And again, punch. "Give.." Punch. "Up!"

"Porthos!" the medic yelled, struggling to get back to his feet. "Stop him! He's just hurting him further." He had not yet realised that Athos' heart had stopped beating, but feared d'Artagnan's uncoordinated hits would possibly kill his brother.

Without hesitation, Porthos embraced his seemingly insane younger friend, pulling him out of reach of Athos.

"No," the Gascon called out, fighting against the grasp. "Let me go... he's gone... I must get..."

The sound of feeble inhaling drove everyone's attention back to the bed. Aramis dove to Athos' side. Porthos released a no longer bristling d'Artagnan. And the youngest sagged back onto the stool. When they all heard the sound of shaky exhaling, made by the still unconscious man, followed by another breath, d'Artagnan let his tears flow again. Whilst Aramis searched for the heartbeat, Porthos squeezed his youngest brother's shoulders, not only comforting him, but also himself.

"Thank God!" Aramis relieved exclamation made the others flinch. "He's alive!" Making the sign of the cross, he stayed put, his left hand still resting at Athos' chest, reassuring himself of his brother's continued breathing.

"What, for god's sake, was that?" Porthos questioned.

Before the medic was able to give an explanation, d'Artagnan started to speak. "He... he..." not quite sure of his voice, he harrumphed, "..he stopped..." swallowing back another sob, he harrumphed again, "..Athos stopped fighting," he managed to say finally.

"What do you mean, he stopped fighting?" Aramis urged. "Surely Athos never would..."

"He said sorry," the younger interrupted him. "He saw me, recognized me, spoke my name," again he had to pause, breathing deeply. "And then he apologized and..." his voice broke, eyes watering again. "And he let go," he whispered. "He gave up."

Shocked by his statement, his brothers exchanged very concerned looks. "No," Aramis then stated, "Athos never would be that selfish. He would fight 'till the end of days, if necessary. He knows how hard his," stopping for a mere second, the Spaniard decided to use another word, "how hard losing him would hit us."

"But what if all this has been too much? The return to Pinon, dealing with that dark past of his again, and now the injury? What if he hasn't enough power left? If he just can't go on?" The Gascon paused sadly. "Wouldn't it be selfish of us, urging him to fight this battle?"

"Do you suggest we let him go?" Porthos growled.

"No!" d'Artagnan replied. "No... I admit to being selfish enough for forcing him to continue fighting," he croaked, struggling with tears again. "Selfish for not letting him go. Selfish to claim that I need him." While talking, he had laid his hand on his brother's chest next to Aramis', easing himself by feeling Athos' heart beat.

It was Aramis turn to swallow given d'Artagnan's sincere and desperate words. And Porthos, too, had to gulp back some tears, whilst hearing their youngest' confession.

Clearing his voice, Porthos squeezed the Gascon's shoulder once more, before also putting his free hand on the wounded man's chest. "I agree," he stated. "I am that selfish, too."

Aramis no longer hesitated. "And me also." Lifting his head he crossed eyes with Porthos first, then with d'Artagnan, then at last looking into his injured brother's face.

"We're sorry, Athos," the medic said, "but we will never let you go. I know it's cruel to demand you fighting all that pain, but we cannot let you slip away. Can you hear me? This will not be the day you're allowed to leave us. Not like this."

"We'll hang on and so must you," Porthos joined in. "This will not be the way you leave us. Not for such a stupid reason."

"I couldn't bear loosing you. Not after the loss of my father, my home and Constance," d'Artagnan admitted. "I need your dry humour, your silent support, your tutelage, even your bad mood. I need you."

Brushing away the single tear that had escaped him, Aramis repeated. "We need you, old friend."

"And I'm sure you know this. But you just must remember," Porthos added.

*14AAA41*

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It never ends... Pain... Darkness... Hollowness... Who pulled me back?... Why wasn't I allowed to go?... Why do I have to suffer again?... I can't stand this any longer... Why have I been dragged back?... Just let me go in peace... Please... I can't stand the pain, the loneliness... I don't want to be alone... Where are you?... Why have you left me?... I'm alone... No... Wait... Is there someone?... Who's there?... Can you help me?... I can feel someone... But it's not her... God... The pain is killing me... Agony... Darkness... Nothing...

*14AAA41*

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Aramis and Porthos had gone back to rest reluctantly. All the more scared after they had watched a desperate d'Artagnan bringing their brother back from death's door. If he hadn't seen it, the medic wouldn't have been able to believe it.

Porthos had thanked their youngest, trying to comfort him, grinning when he'd made him smile a bit. "You goin' on?" he had asked the Gascon, his question more like a statement. The brief but resolute nod he had gotten back, had been enough to let him go back to sleep a bit more relaxed.

D'Artagnan, for his part, continued his watch, one hand resting on Athos' chest, his other alternately stroking his mentor's hair and warming his icy hands or rubbing his arm. Simultaneously he had been talking all the time about everything and nothing until the garrison came back to life.

The Gascon had reluctantly abandoned his place at the sickbed when Aramis urged him to eat, and had walked over to the table like a shadow. Watching Aramis intensely while the medic changed the bandages, d'Artagnan anxiously waited for some comment. He had been remembering the medic's exclamation of hurting Athos further the whole night through, mentally kicking himself for his actions. When Aramis ascertained the former cracked ribs now being broken, he had felt a sting of guilt. But on the other hand... at least Athos was still breathing. They had gotten through the first night.

*14AAA41*

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Near midday, the Captain was called to the garrison gate. Patiently waiting outside stood Elinja, covered completely in her dark-blue cloak.

"I went out for a walk this morning and suddenly found myself here," she told him instead of a greeting. "How's Athos doing?"

"Mistress bint Amin," Treville greeted her, offering her his arm to escort her to the infirmary. "I don't know exactly, I briefly looked inside when I passed the sickroom this morning, I didn't want to disturb them. Athos seemed to be still unconscious and my men looked extremely wearily. Apparently it's been a hard night."

"Maybe we'll take a closer look together?" she suggested.

To his surprise, the Captain found himself smiling at her demand masked as a proposal. "That sounds good to me. Follow me."

*14AAA41*

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"Elinja!" Aramis' pleased call made his brothers look to the door.

All three men smiled when they saw the Persian enter the room, followed directly by Treville. "Aramis, Porthos, d'Artagnan," the woman greeted them while crossing the room.

Nodding briefly to his Captain, d'Artagnan shifted a bit to grant her access to the unconscious man, but still maintaining skin contact. "What are you doing here?" he asked curiously.

"My walk seemed to have developed a life of its own. I had arrived at the garrison before I realised I was heading here," she explained, smirking.

The Gascon chuckled briefly, as did his brothers, while they watched her checking Athos over.

"I'd never thought an unconscious Athos would be that attractive to women," Porthos jested. "Had I known that, I'd have knocked him out quite some times."

Snorting at the comment, Aramis joined Elinja at Athos' side. She looked up, her eyebrows furled. "What's happened?" she asked him directly. "You three look awful, even worse than yesterday."

Taking a deep breath, the medic was pre-empted by d'Artagnan. "Athos nearly died," he stated flatly, his voice hoarse, before he concentrated again on his mentor.

Seeing the question in Elinja's eyes, Aramis continued. "Some hours ago, d'Artagnan was taking care of Athos, and his heart stopped beating. He even gave some sort of good-bye shortly before that. D'Artagnan revived him by bashing on his chest... But now he refuses to leave his side longer than a couple of minutes."

Tilting her head, the healer checked her patient once more, discovering the now broken ribs. "I see," she said without blame in her voice. "You saved his life," she told the anxious Gascon.

"I broke his ribs," he retorted.

Putting her hand over d'Artagnan's, which still rested on Athos' chest, she repeated, enhancing every word. "You. Saved. Him." She held the contact until he looked her in the eyes, offering her a sad smile. "How did you know what to do?"

"I didn't," the Gascon admitted. "I just... Somehow I knew he was dying, I sensed him giving up... It confused me, I was distraught and angry... and simply out of my head, I guess. So I bashed on his chest."

She smiled back and squeezed his hand. "For what ever reason, you did the right thing. It worked, didn't it?"

D'Artagnan merely shrugged.

"You said you knew he was dying?" she asked, curious about the obvious bond between the young Gascon and the older man she had already witnessed the evening before, when the boy flinched repeatedly during the surgery . "How did you know?" She gripped his hands with both of hers.

"I can't explain," the young man tried to answer her question, "I just.. knew. I could sense that he was ready to leave, that he had given up. But I don't know how..."

Blinking and shaking his head against the sudden dizziness that had overcome him, d'Artagnan wondered why he felt lightheaded. Well, he hadn't eaten as much as he should have, and he most probably hadn't drunk enough as well, but he hadn't moved, so the sensation yet was surprising. Just as the fact that the dizziness vanished from one second to the other... With a frown he looked up, determined to find out, but when he met the Persians gaze he simply forgot what he had been going to ask. Instead he listened to her words.

"You're instinct is impressive. Just continue listening to it," she told him, briefly tightening her hold before finally breaking skin contact.

He still was confused and his feelings still were in turmoil, but Elinja's words, or her presence, or whatever, had given him a little bit more self-confidence.

*14AAA41*

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It's dark... It hurts... I'm alone... Where are you?... I can't feel you... But I know you're here... You wouldn't leave me, would you?... Why can I not hear you?... Speak to me... Please... Anything... Where have you gone?...

*14AAA41*

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Things went on quite similar the next day and the first part of the following night, the musketeers taking shifts in watching Athos and turning him now and again from his back to his side. Aramis had declared that changing positions would do only good to the insensate man, preventing him from getting bedsores and keeping his circulation up.

They once and again had dripped some liquids in Athos' mouth, very carefully and in tiny amounts, and Athos instinctively had swallowed them, but Aramis doubted it would be sufficient should the unconsciousness last much longer. Or in the worst case, should Athos catch a fever.

They themselves had eaten only the bare necessities, just enough to give them the needed energy. They didn't even notice what they were chewing on or what the food tasted like.

D'Artagnan had been unusually quiet throughout the day, lying on one of the beds when not sitting at Athos' side. He only spoke when directly approached, most times seeming to be far away in his thoughts. Also, he seldom left the infirmary, only to take care of his needs quickly. He simply refused to sleep in his own quarters, stubbornly persisting in not being able to sleep elsewhere.

They had stopped arguing with him as the Gascon nearly snapped in the late afternoon.

"I will not leave him," d'Artagnan called out, glaring at both of them. "I must not," he added barely audible, after breaking eye-contact and turning away.

But Porthos heard it. "Woah...easy lad... If you're goin' to stay then just do it. It's alright, you know? Even if I don't quite understand what your last words meant."

"I don't understand it myself," the younger muttered. "But..." he paused, searching for words.

"..but you just can't leave him," Aramis ended his sentence. "As neither can we. But you're wearing yourself out, I can see it clearly, and I simply wanted you to rest properly at least once."

"I wouldn't even come near to sleep... And I know I have to be around. Don't ask me why," the Gascon proceeded, lifting his hands, "I cannot even explain it to myself."

"So, it's like the day before yesterday? When you told me something was going wrong?" Aramis probed.

Shrugging, d'Artagnan nodded. "Sometimes I'm afraid of going mad," he whispered.

"Why should you go mad?" Porthos asked.

"Because I know," d'Artagnan started, sighing when he realised his answer was unsatisfactory. "I took the late-night-shift because I sensed something would happen, because I knew I would be needed. Just as it feels like that I'm Athos' link to life, that it's me who has to drag him back from the darkness... It feels like being two parts of the same coin, I can sense his condition almost as I feel mine. I simply know..." he let his voice fade.

Seeing the confusion in his brothers' faces, he continued, "I'm not saying that Athos doesn't need you two, you're his family longer than I am. But I cannot banish these feelings; that he needs physical contact, that he needs to hear our voices, and that I must not leave this room."

"Well," Aramis began thoughtfully, "I must admit, that sounds a bit crazy. But on the other hand, thinking how odd Athos sometimes has acted when you were in danger..." He took a short break, thinking.

"I remember very well the anger he'd shown after we lost track of you and Vadim, when the Captain declared your wellbeing secondary. Or when you and the king were lost, although we had to search for the king first, it had been you Athos was concerned about more. His relief was palpable when you two suddenly appeared out of the woods. So, why shouldn't it work both ways?"

"Hmm. Doesn't sound crazy to me, 'cause I often know when Aramis is doin' somethin' stupid. So why not you and Athos, too?" replied Porthos. "When we were on our way with Bonnaire, you went back to the house because you knew Athos would need help. And didn't he tell you about his wife that night? Somethin' he didn't tell us for years." He sounded a bit annoyed.

"Oh, yes, that was quite surprising," Aramis admitted. He then looked back to d'Artagnan. "So, what do you think about a compromise? You stop wearing yourself out and try to rest properly and we will listen to your gut concerning Athos' condition."

The younger man didn't even try to stifle his relieved snort and nodded thankfully.

Porthos, for his part, grinned broadly . "Well, it's listening to the pup's gut then," he shook his head. "But no word about that to any other musketeer... They'll bundle us into the madhouse."

*14AAA41*

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Some hours later, in the early morning, d'Artagnan suddenly awoke. After his talk with his brothers he had gone to rest, following Aramis' orders and trusting in his sixth sense, just as Aramis had suggested. Yawning, because he had barely slept enough to compensate for the last few days, he sat up and looked around the room. In the bed next to him Porthos was sleeping whilst Aramis was seated at Athos side.

Holding the injured man's hand and softly murmuring Spanish words, the medic ran his rosary through the other hand.

He's praying... the Gascon thought. Everything seems to be normal, so why...? Following his instinct, he rose and quietly walked over to the sickbed, again knowing that something was going wrong. "Aramis?"

"D'Artagnan," the medic acknowledged his presence. He let the rosary drop to his chest and looked up. The worry shown in his face frightened the younger man and now he was sure that something was amiss.

"Fever?" d'Artagnan asked tentatively.

Taking a deep breath, Aramis nodded. "Yes, and he's getting warmer every minute. Now you're awake, could you start cooling him down while I prepare a draught against the fever? And I'll need your help making him drink it. Afterwards we have to find out the cause of his high temperature. I hope it's simply a wound infection..."

Afraid of asking his brother about what else he possibly could mean with his words, d'Artagnan went to do as he was told, determined to fight for his mentor's life once more.

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Well... at least Athos is still alive, isn't he?