"Aramis, that you?" Porthos' voice revereberated loudly though Athos' ear.
"Porthos," he heard Aramis respond. "You made it." A part of Athos joined Aramis in breathing a sigh of relief. While he had the utmost faith in each of his brothers' skills and firmly believed Aramis would do whatever it took achieve their objectives, Athos felt much better knowing that Porthos would be there to watch his back. Aramis could be quite...single-minded at times.
The reprieve proved to be extremely short-lived, however, as the conversation that followed wiped out whatever peace of mind Athos had bought. He was currently being stalked by two men that appeared intent on killing him, and the silence that he was compelled to maintain was maddening. He required more information. His pressing need forced his hand, and Athos stepped out into the open, briefly making a target of himself in a move that was much more Aramis' style than his own. Taking refuge first behind a tipped cabinet and then wheeled tub, Athos efficiently removed the two men from his path and then took off running.
"I need an update," he barked at his teammates. "What's the situation?"
"I'm moving the children out," Porthos said. His voice sounded off.
"Where are you?"
"Heading towards an exit on the eastern side of the building, first floor. We're almost there."
"Aramis?" Athos asked. There was a long silence when the man failed to respond. "Porthos? Where's Aramis?"
"He's still inside. You need to get to him, Athos, as fast as you can."
Athos frowned. "Why isn't he with you? Are his comms off?"
"I had to leave him behind." Athos finally recognized what he as hearing in Porthos' voice. It was anguish. And rage.
"Shit." Athos rarely swore, but sometimes nothing else would do. "How bad?"
"I don't know. I couldn't tell, but I think it was bad, Athos. Very bad."
Athos rushed towards the exit and sprinted towards the main building, his legs pumping and his heart pounding with something more than just exertion.
"Where is he, Porthos? I need a location."
One half of his mind absorbed the directions that Porthos gave him while the other half spun in circles, dizzy from the endless array of nightmare scenarios that it conjured up. He was about to send further instructions when another voice popped up in his ear.
"D'Artagnan reporting in. I've got Desailly and his men with me. What do you need?"
Finally, Athos thought. "Tell me you called in some buses," he demanded.
"I did, just in case. They're on their way," D'Artagnan replied. There was a short pause. "Do we need them?"
"I'm about to find out."
As Athos sprinted towards the area Porthos had last seen Aramis, he noted the dead bodies strewn across the floor. His brother's handiwork, no doubt. Sensing that he was getting closer, Athos slowed his pace.
"Aramis? Answer me," he called out, hoping against hope that his friend would be able to respond. "Aramis?"
Despite the intensity of his search, he nearly missed Aramis, assuming that he was simply another enemy corpse half-hidden in the shadows. As he came closer, Athos recognized the clothes and the dark, wavy hair. "No," Athos whispered, trying to deny what his eyes were telling him. A vice clamped painfully around his heart. "No."
Aramis was propped against the base of a wall, his long legs bent awkwardly in front of him and his chin resting against his chest. A dark smear painted the gray cement, rising up behind his lifeless figure like a grisly headstone. His hands were still loosely curled around his guns, one of which rested at the edge of a viscous puddle on the floor. Athos' stomach turned sour when he realized it was all blood. He rushed towards his fallen brother, his own blood pounding in his ears as his fear ratcheted to excruciating levels.
"Aramis? Can you hear me?" Athos crouched in front of him, gently brushing Aramis' hair off his forehead and pushing his head back. Aramis' relaxed face was white as snow; the stark contrast between his ashen skin and his dark hair was terribly startling. Athos pressed shaking fingers against his friend's throat and held his breath as he willed Aramis' heart to beat, to show him some sign of life. His friend's flesh was cool and clammy, and Athos tried to suppress the thought that it was like touching a dead man. There. There. The fluttering under his fingers was so faint and rapid that Athos wasn't sure if it was real, but for him, it was enough. The relief was so strong it made him feel lightheaded.
"Aramis is down, I repeat, he's down. I need a medic immediately."
"Is he...?" Porthos' question trailed off, as if he couldn't bear to finish it.
"He's alive." For now. Just barely.
"Hold tight. We're already on our way."
Feather-light puffs of air confirmed that Aramis also still breathed. Athos began to lightly pat at his unconscious friend, trying to figure out where the wound was. When his hands brushed against Aramis' back, Athos cursed again. The material of the black shirt was absolutely sodden. Athos pulled away and stared at the crimson smudges that coated his palm. There was so much blood. Athos couldn't quite understand how it possible for someone to lose so much and still live.
He gathered his brother's slack form into his arms and carefully laid him on the ground, wishing he had something place on top of the dirty, cold floor. Aramis' hold on life was so tenuous that it made Athos nervous to move him, but he needed to see where the wound was and stop the bleeding. Looking at the amount that already painted the area, it seemed laughable to think that his efforts would make a difference, but Athos was determined to do whatever he could. He pushed up the saturated shirt and found a small puncture staring up at him from between Aramis' lower ribs. Bright red liquid still flowed sluggishly from the half-clotted wound, trickling over pale, stained skin. Athos quickly yanked off his vest and pulled off his outer shirt, wadded it up tightly and pressed it firmly against his brother's back, hiding the menacing injury from sight. There was no reaction from Aramis, just utter stillness.
"Hold on, Aramis. Just hold on," Athos murmured, over and over. Perhaps if he repeated himself enough times, Aramis would actually listen to him. It would be a first.
"Athos?" He looked up at the sound of his name and same Porthos and three paramedics running towards them, carrying a backboard and bulky, black bags. Athos could see the fear and guilt written all over Porthos' face as they approached.
"Oh God." Porthos stared hopelessly at the carnage around them as he knelt down beside Athos, fists clenched at his sides. "Is that all his?"
Athos nodded. The three paramedics, two men and a woman, crouched down on either side of Aramis' body. One of the male paramedics, an unassuming looking man with a calm, quiet demeanor, spoke to him even as he shouldered Athos out of the way. Athos had to resist the strong urge to punch the man.
"My name is Jean, these are my partners Léa and Henri. I need you to give us some space, okay? We'll do everything we can to help your friend."
"His name is Aramis," Athos said numbly. For some reason, he thought it was important that they knew his name. Jean nodded in understanding before returning his attention to the wounded man now under his care. Athos gracelessly shuffled backwards until his back hit the wall, right next to where he had found his brother. Porthos joined him and they watched in silence as the paramedics worked quickly and efficiently, briskly strapping on a bagged mask and replacing Athos' shirt with a hemostatic dressing. Léa rhythmically squeezed the bag as they exchanged information in rapid-fire bursts. The words washed over Athos in an incomprehensible wave. Throughout it all, Aramis made no sound, no movement. The three paramedics carefully rolled him onto the board and lifted him as soon as they ensured he was stable. The entire episode took no longer than three or four minutes. To Athos, it seemed to take an eternity.
Porthos heaved himself to his feet and helped the three paramedics carry their unresponsive brother out and into a waiting ambulance. Athos followed, his gaze firmly glued to Aramis' peaceful, masked face. Porthos jumped into the back of the bus, his eyes briefly meeting Athos'. Athos nodded at him, silently charging Porthos to watch over Aramis until he and D'Artagnan could join the vigil. The doors slammed shut, cutting both Porthos and Aramis from his view, and the ambulance sped away, sirens wailing.
"Athos? Athos, what's going on? What happened?"
D'Artagnan came up to him, eyes wide with confusion and worry. Athos thought that the Gascon looked incredibly young at that moment. He opened his mouth, but then realized that he had no idea what he wanted to say. Should he tell D'Artagnan that Aramis had finally found the children? That he had been shot while rescuing them? That he had looked dead when Athos had found him? Should he tell D'Artagnan that there was a very real possibility he may lose one of his brothers today?
Grief suddenly overwhelmed Athos and he had to turn away for a moment. He bent over with his hands on his knees, trying to blink away the dry burning in his eyes. He felt D'Artagnan lay a tentative hand on his shoulder, offering what comfort he could. Athos reached up and tightly grasped the young Gascon's hand. He was grateful for the support of his friend, his brother. After what happened with Anne, Athos didn't think he'd ever be able to trust anyone, to lean on anyone ever again. He'd never been more pleased to be completely wrong.
Taking a deep breath, Athos composed himself and straightened up. "Aramis was wounded. I'm not certain as to exactly what happened, but I'm assuming he was shot trying to get the kids to safety."
"Oh my God," D'Artagnan breathed. A deep furrow appeared between his brows. "Is he...will he be okay?"
"I don't know." Athos began to walk towards their vehicle, his strides long and determined. D'Artagnan scrambled to follow him.
"What do you mean you don't know? Is he going to live?"
"I don't know."
"Oh." D'Artagnan's steps faltered before he caught back up with Athos. "'Where are you going?"
"Hospital. Call Porthos, find out which one they're going to."
"I'm coming with you," D'Artagnan said as he pulled his phone out.
"I know. Get in the car."
Athos was about to get behind the driver's seat of the vehicle when Desailly, their police liason, flagged him down. He had a girl with him. She was wrapped in a light blanket, her dazed face smudged with dirt and her hair tangled. Athos got into the car anyway, slammed the door shut and turned on the engine. He was fully prepared to ignore the lieutenant and pull away when Desailly knocked on the window, demanding attention.
"I don't have time for this right now," Athos coldly said by way of greeting as he rolled down the glass. He generally liked the man and found him to be a competent, efficient officer of the law, but at the moment he was keeping Athos from where he needed to be, which made him the enemy.
Desailly nodded, not offended at all. He was a tall, lanky man with mousy brown hair and sharp, hawk-like features. "This will only take a minute. This is Mariam, she wanted speak with you." He brought the teenager around to stand in front of him.
Athos leaned forward and peered carefully at the girl. The young lady stared back at him. "Monsieur de la Fère?"
"Athos."
"You are one of Monsieur Aramis' friends, yes?" Athos nodded. "You came to help us. Thank you, sir. Thank you," she repeated, her voice breaking. "I don't...I don't know what happened to Monsieur Aramis, but I'm so sorry." Her eyes welled up with tears and they streamed down her face as her expression crumpled. It took a long, precious moment for Mariam to gather herself. "My prayers are with him."
Athos' frigid expression warmed up a fraction. "He'll appreciate that," he said. He recognized the name - this was the girl that Aramis had been so concerned about.
Desailly gently pulled Mariam back and rapped his knuckles against the door. "Go. We have matters we need to discuss, but it can wait."
Athos didn't need any more encouragement. He stomped on the accelerator and peeled away as D'Artagnan gave him directions towards the nearest hospital.
"He's going to be fine. It's Aramis, he's always fine," D'Artagnan muttered quietly from the passenger seat, almost as if he was talking to himself. He looked at Athos. "Remember when we were escorting the Bourbons during that riot and we thought Aramis had blown himself up?"
Athos did remember. They could laugh about it now, but at the time, all Athos had felt was heart-wrenching terror. It had been quickly followed by outrage when he learned that the reckless, courageous fool had come through the event without a scratch.
"Or remember when we were dealing with that hostage situation and he got pushed out a fourth-story window? If it was anyone else, they would have landed splat on the sidewalk, but not Aramis. Of course he manages to land on a grocer's awning. He's seriously the luckiest person I've ever met. He's going to be fine."
Athos remembered that one too. While Aramis had survived that episode as well, he had not come through it unscathed. After the dust from that particular snafu had settled, they'd discovered Aramis had suffered a multitude of lacerations from landing on broken glass. It had been a miracle that the man hadn't managed to accidentally sever something important.
As much as Athos wished he could share D'Artagnan's determined optimism, he just couldn't. D'Artagnan hadn't seen the state Aramis had been in before he'd been hauled away by the ambulance; Athos had. Aramis' colorless, lifeless ghost haunted him even now, and he already knew that it would give him nightmares for a long time to come.
When they reached the hospital, Athos hurriedly parked the vehicle in an empty spot along the curb, not caring whether it was a legal parking space or not. Before they got out, Athos grabbed the younger man by the arm.
"D'Artagnan. I don't want to discourage you from hoping for the best, but you need to understand that this time is not like the others. Aramis was not in good shape, and you need to ready yourself for all possible outcomes."
The Gascon jerked his limb from Athos' tight grip. "I'm not giving up on him," he said, chin jutting out stubbornly.
Athos sighed. "No one is giving up on him. Like you said, if anyone can pull through, it's Aramis. I just don't want you to be caught unprepared."
D'Artagnan frowned at him. "I already know what it's like to be blindsided by the death of someone I love," he said quietly. "But it's not going to happen this time, because Aramis is going to make it." With that, D'Artagnan exited the vehicle and made his way to the entrance of the trauma center. Athos sat in his seat for another beat before getting out. Of course he's going to make it, Athos thought. Aramis will be just fine and we'll go home, have a glass of wine and he'll tease me for worrying too much.
It was a beautiful fantasy. Athos wished he could believe it.
tbc
No one is having a good day, really. Thanks for reading!