"Aramis, I think your friend was lying about the number of men here." Athos' dry comment filled his ear.

The muffled explosions of gunshots sounded through Aramis' earwig even as a few staccato beats filled the air around him. He was currently hiding in a large, dense lattice of pipes, crouching behind one of the large, long sinks that were connected to the network. He was waiting for a pause in the gunfire that was long enough so he could get back out of the room without being shot full of holes. Or at least shot full of bruises. Kevlar was wonderful material, but getting hit still hurt like hell.

"Shocking, isn't it? You can't trust anyone these days," he whispered back. The red-headed man had definitely not been telling the truth about the number of men they'd be facing, but Aramis had assumed that would be the case. Along with the two men that followed him into the room in which he was currently trapped, he'd already taken down three others - quietly, as Athos had requested. It was a bit difficult to tell where his pursuers were in the shifting shadows of the room, but he thought that they might be trying to flank him.

"You think D'Artagnan will be mad that he missed out on the fun?" Porthos murmured. Another pop sounded through his ear piece.

"It depends on how deeply the two of you have corrupted him," came Athos' reply.

"Aw, come on now Athos. Don't pretend like you don't enjoy this," Porthos quietly ribbed their team leader. Aramis smiled but stayed quiet. Athos was a refined gentleman with what they assumed was a very posh background, but the three other men knew that he enjoyed the thrill of danger as much as they did.

Aramis was currently hiding in what appeared to be a large wash room. He tried not to think too hard about exactly what had been washed here when the meat-packing plant had been operational. He had just descended into the basement of the abandoned slaugherhouse when two men had crossed his path. With nowhere to go, Aramis had yanked at the first door he saw, which thankfully swung open under his touch. The two men had followed him in, and Aramis could hear their careful footsteps as they came closer to his hiding spot.

A small bit of light streamed in from the narrow windows that lined the eastern wall near the ceiling, enough so that at least one half of the large space was weakly illuminated. Breathing as quietly as he could, Aramis crept forward, stopping only when his foot hit something hard. Whatever it was skittered away a few feet, making a small clattering noise on the cement floor. Looking down, he discovered that the floor was littered with bones. He'd accidentally kicked something that looked like a dismembered hoof.

Holding his breath, Aramis stayed low and kept his eyes wide open. He assumed that the two men had heard the noise and would be converging on his position, and he wasn't disappointed. A figure moved cautiously towards him to his left, and Aramis released a slow breath, waiting for a clear line of sight. It was difficult to find one between all the pipes, but when one appeared, he took it without hesitation and pulled the trigger. The shadow immediately disappeared from sight, but there was no time to admire his handiwork. Aramis ducked down low silently raced for the next sink, being careful not to disturb any of the debris scattered on the ground. Loud, rapid footsteps told him where the other gunman was, and Aramis efficiently picked him off as well. He waited a few heartbeats and then knocked loudly on one of the metal pipes. As expected, there was no reaction. He cautiously made his way back into the aisle and after a few cautious steps, Aramis ran for the door.

The old slaughterhouse was an unsettling place. If possible, it was creepier on the inside than on the outside, and the basement was like a set from a horror film. It was dank and dark, with large metal pipes that lined the walls and doors that were placed sporadically along either side of the large, mostly open space. The ceiling was frequently interrupted by stained metal grating and large, open pipes that hung down almost to the floor. Several pieces of large, rusted equipment were placed throughout the space, standing silent like sleeping metal monsters. It was also one the few places that was not liberally painted over with colorful graffiti, as if the intrepid artists that had tagged the rest of the building had decided it wasn't worth subjecting themselves to the menacing gloom.

Aramis walked quickly but carefully, his eyes darting and alert as he swept his sidearm from side to side. He wound himself between all the machinery, carefully checking part that looked as if it might be hollow and large enough to hold a group of small children. It was frustratingly slow going as Aramis explored every possible inch of the large basement. The place was eerily quiet. The thought that perhaps they were too late and that the children were long gone crossed his mind, but he shook it away. He refused to entertain that possibility.

To make things worse, his headache was steadily growing more intense. What had been a controllable, pulsing pain behind his left eye had slowly leached out and was now encompassing the entire side of his face. He blinked a couple times, ineffectively trying to relieve the pressure that was ever so gradually building up in his head. It's fine, he told himself. Just need to find them and everything will be better.

He reached the other end of the basement without finding anything and climbed back up the stairs to the first floor. When he reached the top, he carefully peered out the doorway into the corridor, and what he saw made his breath catch in his throat. Three tall, shadowy figures were escorting four smaller shadows from one of the rooms off the hallway. These men were more heavily armed, with each one carrying what looked like military-grade assault rifles. They roughly shoved the children forward, moving away from Aramis' position. Finally.

The relief that flooded through him was short-lived, however. Aramis quickly considered his choices and decided that they were all terrible. The corridor was long and narrow, and there was no way for Aramis to get between the guards and the children. The kids were simply too vulnerable and too exposed, and Aramis couldn't see a way to free them without subjecting them to inevitable gunfire. His best bet was likely to take down the three men as quickly as possible. Quietly checking his magazine to make sure he had enough ammo, Aramis silently gave chase, pressing himself closely against the wall, wanting to get as close as possible before taking his shots. There could be no room for error.

He fired three times in rapid successsion when he was less than fifteen meters away. Two men dropped to the ground, dead. The last man turned and as Aramis fired and instead of a kill shot, the bullet clipped his shoulder and buried itself into the concrete wall. His target cried out in alarm, screaming into a walkie talkie as he swung his rifle around at Aramis. Aramis calmly fired once more and this time, the man obligingly took the bullet and fell to the ground, dead.

"I've found them. Repeat, I've found them," Aramis reported as he ran towards the children. Some of the kids had begun to sob loudly, terrified and confused by the sudden, loud gunfire. They huddled together in one frightened mass, trying to hide behind one another. The largest figure gathered up the smaller ones in her arms and tried to hush them.

"Oh, thank God," came Porthos' reply.

"Roger that." Athos' response was more formal, but Aramis could hear the profound relief in his voice. "What's your position?"

"Near the north end of the main building. We're going to try and get out as quickly as possible."

"Porthos, where are you?"

"Close, I think. I'm heading over now."

"Keep you eyes open," Aramis warned. "I don't know whether they kept all the children together, there could be more."

"Porthos will provide you with support," Athos ordered. "I'm further away but I'll rendezvous as soon as I can. Head towards the vehicle when you get out." Their car was reinforced like a mini-fortress.

"Roger," Aramis said breathlessly, his mind already on the small group of kids. He holstered his weapon and slowed down as he approached them, not wanting to frighten them even more. He'd done his best to wipe away the dried blood smeared on face during the car ride to the site, but he guessed that he probably did not look his best.

"Please don't be scared," he said softly, his hands out in front of him in a gesture of peace. "My name is Aramis and I'm here to help you. I'm not going to hurt you, okay?"

"Monsieur Aramis?" The older girl that had comforted the frightened children stepped forward. "Is that you?" A thick accent accompanied the words.

"Mariam!" The teenaged girl threw herself at Aramis with a small cry as he crouched down and wrapped his arms around her tightly. The back of his eyes prickled with joy and relief.

"You found us," she whispered brokenly. "I didn't think anyone would look for us. Thank you. Thank you."

"Of course we looked for you," Aramis murmured. "We were all so worried. Rami misses you." He felt Mariam nod into his shoulder.

They held the embrace for a moment longer before the need to move overcame Aramis. He released the girl and took a hold of her shoulders, his eyes quickly surveying her for any signs of injury or maltreatment. "Are you alright? Are any of you hurt?"

Mariam shook her head and swiped at her eyes. She was a very lovely girl, with smooth olive skin, long dark hair and wide green eyes. It made Aramis sick to think of what her fate might have been had they arrived too late. She met Aramis' gaze with a brave, resolute one of her own. "No, Monsieur. The young ones are scared, and maybe a bit hungry."

Aramis smiled. "We'll make sure to take care of that once we get out here," he said. He sighed as he regarded the three other kids that stared back at him, less wary now that Mariam had recognized him and treated him as a friend.

"Is this everyone?" he asked Mariam.

The girl nodded. "There were more when I arrived. They are gone now."

Aramis bit back a curse as regret filled him, but there was nothing he could do about it at the moment.

There were two little girls and a boy, all of whom were younger than Mariam. One of the little girls looked as if she was no more than six or seven years old. They needed to move quickly and quietly, which was going to be difficult with young children in tow. Aramis stripped off his armored vest and draped it over Mariam's shoulders, fastening it tightly around her slight frame.

"Mariam, I'm going to need you to help me. I need you to hold onto these kids, okay? Keep them by your side as close as you can. We need to stay together, and we need to move fast." He hated to ask, but he needed someone else to help him herd his young charges. "Can you do that?"

The girl nodded firmly and Aramis marveled at her courage. He guessed she'd already experienced quite a bit of violence in her young life, as she seemed unfazed by the gunfire and dead bodies. Aramis lifted the youngest one into his arms. Much to Aramis' surprise, the frightened little girl, an adorable child with rich dark skin and incredibly large brown eyes, clutched tightly at his neck, nearly strangling him with the strength of her terror. Aramis placed a soothing hand on her short springy curls, his heart breaking as he witnessed her fear.

"I've got you," he said softly. "You're safe now." The little girl didn't respond, but Aramis thought he felt her relax a little bit. He carefully bent and picked one of the discarded assault rifles off the ground and nodded at Mariam. "Let's go."

Aramis had originally planned to take the kids out the nearest exit, which was behind them. The plan was rapidly undone when he heard the shouts and pounding footsteps of men approaching from a side corridor that met up with the main one just a few meters from the exit. Swearing under his breath, Aramis did a rapid about-turn.

"Go back! Run, run!" Aramis yanked Mariam back by the collar of the vest and herded the children in the direction from which they had just come. Gunfire chased them, and Aramis' heart nearly stopped when Mariam stumbled next to him with a yelp of pain.

"Shit! Mariam?" He roughly grabbed her by the arm before she could collapse to the ground and hauled her forward, desperately dragging her towards what he hoped would be safer spot.

"I'm okay," she gasped. The girl found her feet and kept going under her own power, matching Aramis' frantic pace.

With his hand free, Aramis took hold of the assault rifle dangling from his shoulder and fired blindly at the men following them. A scream of pain greeted his ears, indicating that he'd hit at least one of them. He was very aware of the fact that they were being corralled towards the center of the building, where escape would be very difficult.

They came across a long room off one of the split corridors. Rails ran across the tall ceiling, and hooks hung down from what appeared to be a conveyor belt. A second-story grated metal walkway extended down the entire length of one long wall, and more heavy machinery lined the floor beneath it. Aramis spotted a small opening cut into the back wall that was partially covered by two metal flaps. He led the children towards it and crouched down by Mariam, frantically searching for any sign of a wound.

"I'm okay," Mariam repeated, chest heaving as she tried to catch her breath. "I think it hit the vest."

Aramis turned the girl around and found a deformed bullet flattened against the armor. There were no other holes and no blood. "Thank God," he murmured. He briefly closed his eyes and allowed himself to enjoy a brief moment of gratitude before his attention snapped back to the danger following them. Aramis shoved the children into the small alcove, praying that it would be enough to hide them. He tried to set down the child in his arms, but she clung fiercely to him, quietly whining "no no no" over and over into his ear. Mariam quickly pried open the girl's arms, murmuring something soothing in Arabic and forced the small child to release her hold on Aramis.

"Wait here and stay quiet," he instructed. "I'll be right back." Mariam nodded and positioned herself in front of the other three kids.

Aramis quietly sprinted away to cut off their pursuers. Adrenaline surged through him, gifting extra speed to his steps and pushing back the pain that made his head feel like a pressure cooker. He came face to face with two of the men as he turned a corner. Aramis jumped back to safety just as a rain of bullets hit the wall by his head and peppered his face with stone chips. He could hear the traffickers shouting instructions to converge on their position. Biting back a curse, Aramis waited for a pause in the gunfire before leaping out into the open, greeting the men with his own spray of bullets. Aramis heard one of the men scream as he ducked low and ran forward. Shots fired at another figure rewarded him with another grunt.

After ensuring the men were dead and whispering a small prayer for their immortal souls, Aramis raced back to where he had hidden the children. Something felt off, as though he was in the wrong place. Heart pounding loudly in his ears, Aramis retraced his steps and breathed a sigh of relief when he found the area quiet. He was about to call out to Mariam when something made him pause. Up on the walkway, a dark shadow stepped out deliberately, gun in hand. He raised his weapon and pointed it directly at Aramis, who immediately ducked between two pieces of equipment with a curse. It was Grimaud.

"I see you're still not dead," the other man called out flatly. "I suppose that means I get the satisfaction of finally killing you myself."

"Better men than you have tried," Aramis said lightly, his gaze flicking about as he tried to find a better vantage point. He was disappointed to find that there was none. "So good luck with that."

"I warned you to leave it alone," Grimaud said furiously. "Now, you've not only thrown away your own life, you've wasted the lives of my merchandise and cost me a fair amount of leverage. A life of servitude would have been no worse than the things they were running away from."

Aramis growled, sickened by Grimaud's words. "It's not servitude, it's slavery. They're not trinkets to be bought and sold," he ground out between gritted teeth. "They are children, with every right to live free lives no matter how difficult those lives might be." He peered out from behind a large stack of barrels and was met by couple of bullets that slammed into the metal containers right by his head. Aramis sucked in a deep, quiet breath. He needed to move, needed something to change. Grimaud held the better, more secure position, and Aramis was either going to have to do something very bold or very stupid in order to shift the situation in his favor.

The decision was made for him when he saw a little face peek out from the alcove. His stomach sinking with dread, Aramis watched as the little girl that had latched onto him so desperately ran out of her hiding spot, dashing towards him as she sobbed with fright. He saw Mariam lean forward from between the two metal flaps, a horrified look her face as she reached towards the child, grasping at empty air as she tried and failed to haul the girl back to safety. A quick glance towards the walkway showed Grimaud shifting his aim from Aramis' general direction towards the terrified little girl.

Aramis' eyes widened as time seemed to slow. His brain automatically realized he didn't have a clean shot at Grimaud even as he burst from his hiding spot and darted out to meet the child. He raised his rifle and took one anyway, buying himself a few precious seconds with a sharp crack of gunfire that momentarily pressed Grimaud back. Aramis bent as he slid to a stop and roughly scooped up the child. Placing himself between the girl and Grimaud, Aramis ran for cover as bullets flew, firing wildly up at the walkway.

The shot that struck him felt like a sledgehammer blow across his back. Aramis stumbled from the force of it but kept his feet and maintained a tight grip on the child in his arms. Fear for the little girl's safety and that of the other children flooded through him as he skidded behind a large pipe from rose from floor to ceiling. Pressing himself against it, he glanced back, expecting to see Grimaud leaning over the railing, eager to loose another hail of bullets. He instead found empty space. The man had disappeared.

Aramis bit back a groan as he crouched, setting the little girl down. "Are you hurt?" he asked breathlessly as he carefully pat at her. The girl mutely shook her head, eyes wet with tears. The front of Aramis' black shirt was dry, assuring him that his body had done its job in protecting the child from harm. The back, however, was a different story. The thin cloth was soaking through quickly. Too quickly.

There was no pain, at least not yet. His nerve endings were still numb from the shock of the wound. Aramis knew from experience, however, that it wouldn't last and he knew that he needed to move while he still could. He took the girl by the hand cautiously led her forward, his senses hyper-alert for any more signs of danger.

"Mariam? Are you alright?"

The teenager crawled out from the alcove, the other two children in tow. "We are fine," she whispered. "Monsieur Aramis, I'm sorry, I am so sorry. It was my fault, she got away from me, I couldn't stop her and - "

Aramis lay a gentle hand on Mariam's hair in a fond gesture and hushed her. "Mariam, stop. It's not your fault," he said soothingly. "You are an incredibly brave young lady and you're doing very, very well."

The girl looked away, blinking back the moisture that had gathered at the corners of her eyes. Aramis could tell that she was starting to break down from the stress of her experience, and he couldn't blame her. "My friends are here, and they're going to find us, but I need your help until they do. You have to be strong for a little while longer, okay? "

Mariam nodded. "I can be strong."

"Good. Let's get out of here."

They were on the move again. Their quest for escape remained the same but Aramis' goals were now drastically different than they were just five minutes ago. All he needed to do was to hang on, to protect them, until Porthos or Athos found them. After that...he didn't presume to guess.

A pit of fire was steadily building in his lower right back, and each step he took stoked the flames until he found himself at the mercy of a raging inferno. The adrenaline that had been insulating him crumbled under the onslaught of combined agony between the gunshot wound and the pain in his head. He pressed a hand against his back to try and stem the flow of blood but it was a futile effort. It pulsed out unrelentingly with every beat of his heart and he simply could not stop it. Aramis had to release the meager pressure he'd placed on the wound in order to brace himself against the wall when he faltered once, then twice. Mariam threw worried glances in his direction and Aramis tried to give her a reassuring smile. He wasn't sure he succeeded.

Blinking heavily, Aramis found himself staring up at an faded exit sign when he heard shouts from behind them. No, not now, not when we're so close! He shoved roughly at the children, urging them forward. The youngest girl clung to his leg, refusing to leave, and Aramis nearly cried with frustration. He needed them to go.

Gunfire broke out again and Aramis whipped his rifle around, grimacing as the motion pulled harshly at his injured back. But then he heard something unexpected. There were screams of confusion and shock behind him, and the voice that joined the cacophony made him sag with relief.

"Aramis? That you?" Porthos' voice sounded through his earpiece, but he also heard it echoing down the hallway. It created an odd stereo effect.

"Porthos," he breathed. "You made it."

Aramis watched as the big man charged towards them, and he gestured at Mariam, urging her to come closer. "Mariam, that's my friend Porthos. He's going to help us. He'll get you out of here."

Her wide green eyes were alarmed. "What about you?"

He turned away without answering. Aramis watched as his brother approached them. Porthos' frown grew deeper as he came closer.

"Aramis? What's going on?" Rough anxiety strummed through Porthos' demand, his voice stretched taut with dread even as he reached for Aramis and clasped his shoulders. "What's wrong?"

"Porthos. I need to you get these kids out of here," Aramis replied, his voice low and urgent.

The big man caught on immediately, much to Aramis' dismay. "We can get them out, 'Mis. I'm not leaving you behind."

Aramis swallowed hard, fighting to keep the pain at bay. It was threatening to devour him, and the effort it took to beat it back was exhausting. He started to shiver as an inexorable chill crept out from his core. "You'll have to, brother," Aramis murmured as he rested his head against the wall. "I'll just slow you down."

Porthos' face darkened as he gave the half-Spaniard a furious glare. "Absolutely not. I'll carry you if I have to."

Aramis' expression softened. "I know you would. But it'll take too long, and I'm not going to let you risk your life or these kids' lives. You need to go. Now."

"But you'll risk your own? This is ridiculous, you're coming with us."

"No." Aramis shook his head. His ears picked up on the sound of distant footsteps and he pushed weakly at the big man. "You need to go, Porthos. Our only priority is to get these children to safety. I'll cover your exit." Aramis gave the big man a pleading look, putting all his conviction behind it. "Please, Porthos. Please. I'm begging you. Just get them to safety."

Porthos' face twisted with disgust and sorrow as he quickly weighed his options and Aramis could see the moment he gave in. Porthos pointed a trembling finger in his face. "When we get through this, you and I are going to have a little talk about your stubborn foolishness."

The corners of Aramis' lips lifted with affectionate amusement. "If you insist."

"I'm coming back for you."

Aramis nodded wearily. He expected no less.

With one last aggrieved look, Porthos squeezed Aramis' shoulders before tearing himself away. He tugged at the little girl who was still attached to Aramis' leg, observing their conversation with curiosity. She screamed as Porthos brusquely yanked her away, his worry and haste leaving no time for patient coaxing. Aramis tried to comfort her one last time as she reached for him.

"It's going to be okay, little one. Porthos will keep you safe."

He watched for a second or two as Porthos led the children away. Mariam glanced back at him as she ran. Porthos did not. Before they could disappear from view, Aramis shakily pushed himself away from the wall and staggered after them, determined to cover their backs for as long as he could.

He didn't have to wait long for his resolve to be tested as more men came running after them. When he pulled the rifle's trigger, it clicked on empty. He allowed the useless weapon to drop carelessly onto the floor and drew his pistols instead. Despite the fact that his vision was blurring badly and his weakened limbs were shaking from cold and fatigue, everything seemed to steady and crystalize as he took aim. Training took over and the guns in his hands fired in tandem, never failing in their duty. When the last man was dead, Aramis found himself outlined by bullet holes that had been punched into the concrete behind him. Another shot had found its way to him, grazing his arm and leaving behind a bloody gash. As far as Aramis was concerned, it was a mere drop in the ocean.

When his legs finally decided they couldn't support him anymore, he collapsed heavily against the wall and slid down, closing his eyes against the sickening wave of dizziness that washed over him. He thought he could hear Athos and Porthos yelling at each other over the comms, but the only thing that really registered was the flow of their familiar voices. D'Artagnan's voice joined the mix and Aramis smiled faintly. Success.

The pain, which had seemed so inescapable just a moments ago, was slowly starting to recede, pulling its fiery claws out of his flesh and slinking back into the depths. The cold that replaced it was achingly deep, and just as inescapable. Aramis found himself floating in detached silence as the voices in his ear began to fade and oblivion beckoned. He was just so tired. Without the strength deny the darkness seeping around the edges of his vision, Aramis gave into it, and allowed himself to tumble into the soft, welcoming void.

tbc

Aramis is really not having a good day. Thanks for reading!