CHAPTER TWENTY ONE
Nkosi and Athos had spent the morning together in his room. It had not gone well. He had hardly spoken; staring into space for most of the time. Any attempt at conversation had been met with monosyllabic replies. Eventually, she had sunk into silence.
"I am a most unlucky man," he murmured. "Perhaps you are beginning to see that. Or are you going to tell me I will be reborn in the morning?" he added, cuttingly.
He had not looked at her, merely saying it with his eyes closed. He therefore did not see the tears forming in her eyes as she stared at him.
He kept his eyes closed as she left the room, quietly closing the door after her.
Porthos sighed when he saw Nkosi emerge. He could see the hurt as he came toward her.
"I do not know what to say to him," she whispered. She had not seen this side of Athos, but Porthos had and he pulled her toward the sofa and sat her down.
"It's a lot to take in; he has to sort it out in 'is head. Then he'll come back fightin'"
But she saw that Porthos's head was down and his body language betrayed the confidence he sought to instil.
"One thing I do know," he added softly, before looking at her. "He has a vicious temper and he'll use it to try and push you away."
She looked back at him with wide eyes, hanging on his words.
"But you gotta stand firm. You gotta look 'im straight in the eye. That undoes 'im," he continued, taking a deep breath. "See, it's an act. Granted, he's got plenty of fuel this time."
He reached out and took her hand.
"But don't let 'im burn you. He couldn't bear that," he said quietly.
She smiled then for the first time and he brightened as his small victory.
"Thank you, Porthos," she said, softly.
"S'alright," he smiled. "Chin up, yeah?"
And then, she experienced one of his hugs.
Wrapped in his arms, her face pressed to his chest, she felt secure and a little stronger.
"Good girl," he said, his voice rumbling in his chest.
"He can be a bit of a bad-tempered berk, our Athos," he said. "But he's our berk."
This brought a peel of laughter and a shocked expression from her, which made him chuckle.
When he looked up, Aramis and d'Artagnan had come into the kitchen and were standing quite still watching him. The look on their faces showed they had heard his words.
Porthos sniffed and met their gaze. He let go of Nkosi and she leaned back into the sofa.
"So now you all know," he said. "And Treville knows too. He always has," he added.
He stood then, before facing the three of them.
"So let's get 'im through this."
oOo
Porthos was proved right, as Athos's mood darkened over the next few days and much of what he said was hard to endure; until the final argument.
"This is not your fight," Athos growled at Porthos as he tried to bring him out of his thoughts. But Porthos just stared back at him. He was not Nkosi and he had known Athos a long time.
"Don't you push us away," Porthos said, his voice low; almost menacing.
"This is not a journey you would wish to accompany me on, Porthos!"
"How the hell can you say that, Athos!?" Porthos shot back. "After all we've been through? All the tours; all the crap we've taken over the years? We've seen each other at our worst, and did either of us decide to give up on the other? So why do you think so little of me NOW?!"
Porthos stood suddenly and the chair scraped back. Athos flinched, before raising his eyes to look at his angry friend towering over him, and his resolve fell away.
Athos's face crumpled and he suddenly looked wounded. For a moment, it seemed as though he couldn't breathe. He looked up at Porthos standing over him, and his eyes swam with unshed tears. He reached up a hand, and Porthos stared at it. For a moment his hand hung in the air and Athos almost withdrew it. Suddenly Porthos grabbed it and pulled him forward, wrapping him in his arms.
After a few moments he released him and held him at arm's length, fixing him with a glare.
"Don't push me away, Ath. 'Cos I ain't going anywhere. You understand? None of us are!"
Athos swiped a hand across his eyes and then he appeared to come to some decision. His face took on a more determined look, and he nodded.
"I understand."
"Atta boy," Porthos whispered, and gently pushed him back into the pillow.
oOo
Once that was settled, it was Nkosi's turn to understand.
"What were you thinking?!" she said quietly to him, as she sat holding his hand later that day.
"Nzuri," he whispered. ("I am fine.")
"You are not fine; look at you," she replied, letting go of his hand.
"I just wanted to check on Thamani," he replied, wearily. "I could not bear it if she were killed."
"I know," Nkosi relented with a sigh. "She is your baby, yangu mpendwa" (my dear friend)
"Yes, I suppose she is."
Athos had watched her being born. He had kept watch for several days and then on one glorious morning, it happened. It was one of the most wonderful things he had witnessed in his time on the reserve.
"Go to sleep," she said softly and Athos closed his eyes.
His face softened and she stood.
Impulsively, she leant over and kissed him.
When she pulled back, her breath caught as she saw he was looking at her with wide green eyes.
"I am sorry," she whispered, flustered.
"Please ...don't apologise," he said quietly, reaching for her hand.
oOo
It was a worrying time; not least for Treville, who was catching rumblings of disquiet amongst some of his backers. It had taken him back to London to give his reassurances.
d'Artagnan had had a long on-line conversation with Treville before one of his meetings. Both of them knew the fate of all the animals hung on whether Musket began to show symptoms. Steps would have to be taken and unbeknown to the others, Treville and d'Artagnan reached an agreement about the logistics of a cull, should the worst happen. After they had made tentative arrangements, Treville wanted to speak to Athos and d'Artagnan made his way to the infirmary.
"Someone wants to Skype-speak with you," d'Artagnan said, bringing his laptop to his side.
Treville's face appeared on the screen.
"How, are you, Athos?" he said, leaning forward, face etched with worry.
"I am sorry, Jean," Athos replied, ignoring his question; knowing what Treville wanted to know.
"But these men have been around for a while now. Then they baited us in the bar ..."
"A bait which you all took," Treville interrupted.
"They were threatening the locals."
"To get to all of you!" Treville replied.
"I concede your point, Jean, but hindsight is a wonderful thing. If I had not stepped into that damned snare, I could have baited them in."
"For what purpose?!" Treville ground out.
"Reconnaissance," Athos hissed. "Surely you understand that!"
"Athos ..." Treville replied, his voice low.
Athos knew he was pushing it, but he had a point to make.
"I saw at least eight of them on the river that time, and there were four in the bar. Was that half their contingent or does that make twelve of them? Because if it does, that is quite a force."
"So you sought to lure them to you?"
"Yes, at least to the cave."
"To interest them in crates and mirrors," Treville said wearily.
"The mirror was mine. The crates were not." Athos replied quietly.
That surprised Treville.
"So they know about the cave?" he frowned.
"It would seem so. What was in the crates?" Athos asked then.
He had barely registered them when he graced the floor of the cave with his sudden presence.
"They were empty," Treville replied, "I would suggest rations, perhaps."
"Or ammunition," Athos replied. "If I had not stepped into that damned snare, I could have investigated."
"That was very foolish," Treville said quietly, any anger he felt at Athos's action had dissipated after seeing his Head Ranger looking a little better, at least physically.
"We are soldiers, Jean," Athos hissed, angry at being spoken to like that.
"So are they," Treville sighed, suddenly looking his age. "They are Russian, Athos. You know what they are capable of. They took on the Russian mafia. Be very careful."
oOo
As Athos got stronger and began to look better, however, it only highlighted his predicament that he may soon be beyond help and they were all acutely aware that the incubation clock was ticking; no matter how much they avoided talking about it.
One evening, Athos wanted to talk and their peaceful time together came crashing down.
It had started when d'Artagnan had replied to Athos's concerns about Musket. He was off his food and was listless; he was missing his master, d'Artagnan had said, but it was too great a risk to reunite them. Under normal circumstances, if Musket had been a hearing dog, Athos could have recorded his voice on d'Artagnan's phone to reassure him.
"As soon as he is clear, I will bring him to see you," d'Artagnan had chatted on, nonchalantly.
This only served to make Athos more determined to bring them all back to reality. With the exception of Aramis, who Athos knew, watched him constantly, the others were beginning to act as if all was well, including their young vet, which surprised him. He had not realised how close they had become, as he shared his knowledge with the young man. d'Artagnan had kept him updated on his work, and had read to him when he could not sleep. He was now one of them, and Athos could not spare him.
His mind was made up and, therefore, in the end he was brutal.
oOo
A Moral Dilemma
It was a conversation they all had to have, and so at his request, they all gathered in Athos's room.
Athos, ever practical, was now beginning to contemplate the near future, should it not go his way.
"I will bash my brains out on that wall before I let you see me like that!" Athos had told them fiercely, as things got a little emotional.
They were offering platitudes. Athos didn't want to do emotional, and so he chose aggression. It was the only way he knew to get through to them. The alternative was unthinkable to them, but he had seen rabid animals during his tours of Africa. He had destroyed several. Once, he saw a rabid man.
No-one spoke for some minutes, all failing to meet his eyes, which sought each one of them out mercilessly.
"You won't have to do that," Aramis had finally replied, sighing. "There are ways."
"You swore an oath to protect human life," Athos shot back at him. He realised he was now arguing against himself.
"I didn't" d'Artagnan said quietly, before Aramis could reply.
Athos stared at him.
"This is the strangest conversation we have ever had," Athos smiled then at the ridiculousness of it. "We are talking about how best we can euthanize me."
Porthos was very quiet, "That's not even remotely funny Ath."
Athos looked at his friend, knowing he could never involve him in what he had in mind.
"I apologise, my friend," he sighed. "You are right, of course. It is not remotely funny."
Athos looked at Aramis and d'Artagnan; he was immensely affected by their offer.
"I cannot let you do that, gentlemen," he said quietly. "Just ... give me the means."
It was suddenly deadly quiet. The air seemed to have been sucked out of the room.
He had not expected what happened next.
"I can do that," Porthos said quietly, meeting Athos's eyes defiantly. He would not be swayed Athos saw, and so he nodded.
"Thank you."
"How is Musket?" he then asked, to break the awful tension in the room.
"So far, so good," d'Artagnan replied, tucking his hands under his arms, in the familiar gesture they had seen so many times now.
"He has not had a very good start in life," Athos murmured, staring down at his hands.
"Until he met you," Porthos replied gently.
"He knows all my secrets," Athos said quietly then, lost in thought.
They all shared a look at that.
He looked up and saw they were all looking questioningly at him.
"Sometimes," Athos said, "he comes up into the tree house by the lagoon with me,"
"We chat."
"I'd love to be a fly on that wall," d'Artagnan huffed, which brought a ripple of laughter and lightened the atmosphere a little.
"In your dreams," Athos smiled, before closing his eyes. "Out with you now," he said, and they all slipped out, each one touching his shoulder as they left.
Later, with a heavy heart, Porthos slipped into Athos's room in the staff lodge. He sat on the bed for a few moments, looking around at Athos's things; gathering his thoughts. His taciturn friend did not surround himself with sentimental things, but his room was ordered and what was there brought Porthos comfort. A certain book; an expensive paperweight. A stupid postcard Porthos had sent him from a stupid holiday that brought tears to his eyes as he picked it up and read his own stupid words. Athos had actually kept it; even propping it up on his shelf.
He thought about his visit to the Tswana. It was not the time to pursue it. It would all unfold soon enough. Right now, he had other things on his mind. Athos needed help, and he had promised to help him.
He leant across and slid open the drawer in the bedside cabinet. Taking the loaded gun from his holster in the small of his back, he reached across and placed it carefully in the drawer. He stared at it for a moment and then he gently closed the drawer and quietly left the room.
To be continued ...