Because of the technical issues on Thursday, I'm posting chapter 10 today to get caught up with AO3. Will update again on Monday! Thanks for your patience and for reading and reviewing!

"Oh God, no!" Aramis yelled as he ran over to the table where Athos lay. Doctor Jarreau was already checking Athos's pulse and listening to his chest to confirm there was no heartbeat.

"There's no heartbeat!" Doctor Jarreau confirmed.

Aramis pounded on Athos's chest, careful to avoid the right side where his ribs had just been mended. He pounded with his fist again and again over the heart, then pressed down hard in a massaging motion, before stopping to listen to his chest for a heartbeat but heard nothing.

"Dammit, Athos," Aramis yelled. "Don't you do this, damn you!" The medic took his fist and pounded it down over Athos's heart, then pressed his palms into his chest again and again, repeating the compressions multiple times over, stopping only to allow Doctor Jarreau time to listen for a heartbeat.

Once again, the doctor shook his head as he heard no heartbeat; the medic only intensified his actions, repeatedly switching between hitting Athos's chest with his fist to compressing with his palms.

"Aramis, stop now," Minister Tréville ordered as he placed a heavy hand on the medic's arm to stop the compressions. "Let him go, son."

"No!" Aramis jerked the hand away and continued with the compressions, "come on, Athos!" Beads of sweat dripped from the medic's face like tears onto Athos's face, rolling along his cheek to disappear into his hair.

"Aramis, stop!" d'Artagnan cried out. "He's gone… he's gone!"

"No!" Aramis stopped his reviving efforts and hung his head in defeat. His chest heaved from the exertion of the compressions; he panted heavily as sweat streamed down his face. "God no, no!" Aramis gulped in a deep breath. "Athos, no…"

Doctor Jarreau placed his ear one more time on Athos's chest, straining hard to listen over the crying coming from the surrounding men. "Quiet, please!" the doctor yelled out as he strained harder to listen.

Everyone held their breath, watching as the doctor pressed his ear against Athos's chest and closed his eyes in concentration. "I hear something…" the doctor paused. "I hear a faint heartbeat," he whispered to himself, as though in awe. "I hear a heartbeat!" he stated louder for everyone to hear.

There was a collective release of apprehensive sobs, as if all were too afraid to believe the news. "Are you sure?" d'Artagnan's shaky voice asked as he wiped away the tears.

Aramis jumped into action and placed his trembling fingers under Athos's bandage, searching for a pulse. He panicked as he couldn't find any movement underneath his fingers. "Dammit, doctor, I don't feel anything! Are you sure you heard a heartbeat?"

"Listen for yourself," the doctor moved aside to allow Aramis room to listen. Doctor Jarreau snaked his fingers under the bandage to push down hard over the artery in Athos's neck while keeping his eye on Aramis.

The medic pressed his ear against the bare chest of his friend and listened as he held his breath. He closed his eyes and released the breath he was holding as relief flooded through him in a wash of happy tears. "Thank you, God," Aramis whispered over and over as he listened to the sweet sound of a heartbeat beneath his ear.

Without thinking, d'Artagnan pulled Minister Tréville into a hug as his own relieved tears flowed. The minister squeezed the Gascon tightly then clapped him on the back as they pulled apart. "Thank God," Tréville echoed the medic as he let go of d'Artagnan to wipe the tears from his eyes.

"Aramis, can you detect a pulse now?" Doctor Jarreau asked, snapping the medic back into action.

Once again, Aramis pressed his fingers against the artery in Athos's neck and waited, nodding yes as he felt the soft thumps running against his fingers. "Yes, he has a steady pulse, but it's weak."

"His body has been so badly damaged…" the doctor's voice trailed. "There's really nothing more we can do for him but wait."

"Wait for what, doctor?" Aramis snapped. "Wait for him to die, is that what you are saying?"

"Aramis," Tréville gently warned.

"No, I'm not going to stand around doing nothing while waiting for Athos to die!"

"We've done everything we can, 'Mis," d'Artagnan placed a hand on the medic's shoulder. "What more can we do?"

"Aramis," Doctor Jarreau started, "his body just came through a terrible ordeal; his body is in shock from the trauma—it's going to take time to recover from this."

"Have faith, Aramis," Sister Thérèse smiled as she placed her hand reassuringly on the medic's arm. "If it will help, I will have Father Christophe and the Sisters pray for your captain. There is great power in prayer, Aramis… God still works miracles!"

Aramis fell asleep draped over Athos, still holding his hand. He was roused awake hours later when the doctor came by to check on his patient, testing his pulse to see if the captain's heart still continued to beat. Finding a pulse, Doctor Jarreau sighed with relief.

Aramis's tired eyes filled with tears, thankful Athos was fighting to hang on. He turned as he felt a comforting squeeze to his shoulder, nodding as he looked up into d'Artagnan's questioning eyes.

"How is he, 'Mis?" the Gascon asked. d'Artagnan's haggard appearance told of his exhaustion, though he was unwilling to admit it.

Aramis turned back to Athos, absently smoothing back the loose strands of sweat-soaked hair from the pale forehead. He shook his head, "not good, d'Artagnan, but…" he paused to collect himself. "He's made it this far, which is a good sign. How's Porthos?"

"He's holding on also," d'Artagnan replied wearily. "He still hasn't regained consciousness yet, though it's been hours. Aramis, how long could he be unconscious with a skull fracture?"

"There's no way to really tell, d'Artagnan, with a head injury such as his—he had multiple places hit by falling stones," Aramis sighed. "No doubt he has a concussion, in addition to the skull fracture—and all the other injuries he's suffered. Dammit if only we could have gotten help from Castelnaudary sooner—this might not have happened!" Aramis's temper returned.

"Aramis, we've been through this before," d'Artagnan countered, shaking his head. "It doesn't do either of them any good to get upset over circumstances beyond our control."

Aramis nodded quietly and closed his eyes. He felt so tired…

"Look at you, 'Mis," d'Artagnan whispered, frowning as he looked at his bone-weary friend. "You're exhausted; maybe you should get some rest, huh?"

"No, I already fell asleep," Aramis chided himself. "I should have been watching him but I fell asleep. If he had…"

"Aramis, you can't fault yourself for being human," the Gascon pinched the bridge of his nose and shook his head with quick motions to wake himself up. "I know you're worried about Athos, but you're also exhausted. I think he would understand," he tipped his chin toward the captain.

"I'm not the only one who's exhausted," the medic smiled at his young friend. "Why don't you sit with Athos for a while," Aramis stood and stretched as he yawned. "I'll go check on Porthos and see how our big stubborn ox is doing."

d'Artagnan sat down beside Athos and let out a huff of amusement as he thought of his friend, Porthos. If ever there was a time when he was grateful for the large man's stubborn tendencies, it was now. The severe injuries Porthos suffered from the collapse of the bridge would certainly have claimed the life of a smaller, less determined man but…

The Gascon's thoughts were interrupted by a string of sneezes, which he covered with the sleeve of his shirt. Damn, I can't breathe through my nose and my throat feels scratchy. He wiped at his face with his other sleeve, suddenly feeling worn out and cold.

"Porthos wanted to go downriver too, remember?" d'Artagnan shuddered as took hold of Athos's limp hand and began talking to the captain, "it's a damn good thing you didn't let Porthos go," he huffed. "He would have frozen to death in that icy water, as sensitive as he is. He would have hated the water—well, Aramis and I hated it too—but you were right not to let him go. No, I'm glad Porthos stayed with you instead."

"We ran into a former Musketeer, his name is Alexandre. Oh, we found your horse, Athos!" the Gascon exclaimed, excited at the memory. "Kim is just fine, can you believe it? Alexandre said he'd take good care of her until you come back to claim her," he paused to sneeze. "It's a miracle we found our way to his farm. I mean, what are the chances, huh?"

The Gascon rubbed his hand over Athos's bandaged chest and sighed at the lack of response. "Alexandre gave us a dry change of clothes; you should have seen the pants on me," the Gascon laughed. "I know Porthos would have died laughing—I could just hear him now," he paused to collect his emotions. "Alexandre also gave us hot soup to eat by the fire, which really warmed us up nicely. I don't think we would have made the ride to Castelnaudary in our wet clothes; we would have frozen to death or caught pneumonia," he paused as he sneezed again… and again.

"When you are better, we have to go back to Alexandre's to collect our horses and our uniforms. It feels terribly strange wearing these civilian clothes," he shook his head disapprovingly. "Anyway, I'd love for you to meet Alexandre—I think you'd like him, Captain."

"Athos, you know that I've had so many of these one-sided conversations with you that I've lost count. I guess you could say the same of me too," he bit his lip sheepishly. "We all need to stop having these kind of conversations—they're getting really old," he frowned.

"Aramis is worried about you," d'Artagnan paused as he became emotional again. "He's gone to visit with Porthos for a while; I hope you don't mind my company instead. Dielle told us what you did for the men, running up that hill… and why. Oh, Athos, if only we could have gotten back sooner," he hung his head.

"Please get better, Athos," he rubbed his fingers over Athos's hand. "Please don't leave us," d'Artagnan rested his head on Athos's chest and closed his eyes. "I'm so tired, so tired. I'll just close my eyes for a little while and rest…"

Aramis smoothed away the unruly curls from the newly wrapped bandage which Nurse Aurélie changed just moments ago. "I always joked that you had a hard head, Porthos, but this is one time I'm glad you really do!" The medic settled in beside his friend and took hold of a limp hand in his own, intertwining their fingers.

"Athos was right in not letting you go downriver, Porthos," Aramis shivered as he remembered the icy water. "You would have frozen to death. Besides, I know how much you hate the water; when it's that damn cold, it's almost unbearable."

"You know how much I hate the cold…" Aramis's voice trailed as his mind wandered to another time and place. "I hope I never have to get into cold water like that again but… I'd do it again in a heartbeat to save you and Athos and our brothers. I just wish…"

Aramis sat quietly holding Porthos's hand as he hung his head with self-reproach. "If only we could have made it back sooner—maybe if we hadn't stopped at the farm. Lord help me, I know we never would have made that ride in our wet clothes, but still…"

"Oh, guess which horse I rode to Castelnaudary? You would never believe it, Porthos, but I rode on Flip!" Aramis let out a huff of breath, still in wonder over the luck of finding Alexandre's farm.

"We came across a former Musketeer, his name is Alexandre—I can't wait for you to meet him. He said that he has two sons serving in the war; he loaned us their clothes to change into since we were soaking wet and frozen."

"Alexandre said that he hasn't heard from his boys in a while, I hope they're both okay. But he's been collecting our horses, keeping them safe on his farm as he finds them—that's how I came across Flip. He also has the captain's horse, Kim…" Aramis paused to sneeze.

"He asked if I wanted to take Athos's horse, but I said no. I took yours instead—I hope you don't mind," he smiled. "Come on, Porthos, I feel like I'm talking to myself here," he sighed. "Please, brother, wake up for…"

Aramis stopped suddenly. He watched in shock as Sister Thérèse walked to Athos's table followed by Father Christophe. "Excuse us, d'Artagnan," the nurse shook awake the sleeping Musketeer.

d'Artagnan was stunned as he was awakened abruptly by the nun. He groggily stood and backed away at the unexpected interruption, glancing back at Aramis in horror. "What's going on?" the Gascon asked the nun.

Sister Thérèse gathered Athos's hands and folded them together, then placed them on his stomach. The nun stepped back, made the sign of the cross to herself and began to pray. Father Christophe approached the table dressed in his surplice, carrying a vessel containing Oil of the Infirm in preparation of giving the Last Rites. He stood at the head of the table and quietly prayed; the words barely audible, as the Gascon couldn't understand what was being said.

"Oh God…" Aramis stood, horrified as the priest dipped his fingers in the oil and then made the sign of the cross on Athos's forehead. The medic's jaw dropped in shock as he fully understood what was taking place with the priest and his friend. He stole a glance at d'Artagnan, who stood unmoving as he was every bit as shocked at the frightening scene in front of him.

"Per istam sanctam unctionem et suam piissimam misericordium adiuvet te dominus gratia spiritus sancti." The priest dipped his fingers again and laid his hands on Athos's folded hands. "Ut a peccatis liberatum te salvet atque propitious allevit."

"Amen," Sister Thérèse whispered. The pair stood quietly praying beside Athos, finishing with the sign of the cross. Sister Thérèse then followed behind Father Christophe once the Last Rites ritual was complete.

Aramis and d'Artagnan started at each other in horrified silence, frozen in place as each were seemingly unable to force their limbs to move.

Finally, Aramis moved to stand beside where d'Artagnan still stood frozen, stunned from watching Last Rites given to their captain, friend and brother. "But we're not ready to lose him," the Gascon choked as tears filled his eyes. "Is he going to die, Aramis? Is Athos going to die?"

Aramis shook his head before falling into the vacant seat beside Athos and collapsing over his friend as the dammed emotions inside of him were released in a flood of tears. "God please, give Athos strength—strength to fight; strength to survive—strength to live."

Aramis tried hard to keep from falling apart. "Athos gave of himself willingly for the good of his men but… we're not willing to let him go. Please, let him stay—don't take him away from us." Aramis's breath caught as his chest and throat constricted with emotion, "God, let Athos live!"

"Don't you leave us Athos," d'Artagnan wiped the tears from his face. "Don't you dare leave us!"

A/N

Chest Compressions:

Around 500 AD people realized that the body became cold when lifeless and connected heat with life. Around this same time would-be rescuers would actually whip the victim (flagellation) in an attempt to stimulate response in a lifeless body. These and other methods had been applied for years as documented in Thomas Willis's reports, such as with Anne Green's hanging of a baby upside down to resuscitate the infant in 1650. Other methods of revival included physical and tactile stimulation in an attempt to 'wake up' the victim by yelling at and slapping the person in the hope of reviving the casualty.

Thomas Willis (1621-1675) kept writings of casenotes, giving us a fascinating insight into 17th century medical practice. Most of Willis' patients came from the villages around Oxford and give us a unique insight into early medical practice, as well as an understanding of 17th Century medicine as a whole. This was a time of revolution in medical and scientific thought. In his notebooks, we see a practitioner early on in his career trying to develop his art, knowledge, and acumen while discovering his vocation in medicine.

Last Rites ritual and terminology:

Surplice: The surplice is a vestment worn over a cassock by priests and clergy. It is of white linen or cotton fabric, reaching to the knees, with wide or moderately wide sleeves. The surplice belongs to the vestes sacrae (sacred vestments), though it requires no benediction before it is worn.

Oil of the Infirm: Oil of the Infirm is used in the ritual treatment of the sick and near-death. Anointing of the Sick, also called, Extreme Unction is a sacrament of the Catholic Church given to those who are in danger of death due to sickness or old age. In danger of death, the occasion for the administration of Viaticum is also given in the onset of a medical condition considered to be a possible prelude to death.

The word viaticum is a Latin word meaning "provisions for a journey," from via, or "way."

Latin Translation of Last Rites:

"Through this holy anointing, may the Lord in His love and mercy help you with the grace of the Holy Spirit."

Laying on hands—"May the Lord who frees you from sin save you and raise you up."

UPDATE ON MONDAY!