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The theme for this Saturday Story was Athos.

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Athos sat with his face in his hands. If he kept his eyes closed, he could imagine that he was alone in the room…that no one else was there…but no. Nothing could change the fact that he wasn't alone, and nothing could change the fact that the room's other occupant was currently unconscious.

Aramis had taken a bullet for him.

Athos knew very well how much his friend cared for him; Aramis was never shy about showing love for his brothers. It was often exasperating to see how quickly Aramis would throw all caution to the wind when it came to protecting one of them, and they'd all lectured him on the subject of self-preservation. Each time, Aramis would smile and nod…and the next day be throwing himself on a bomb to save their lives.

Athos sighed and scrubbed his hands over his face. He hadn't even seen the man who'd pointed a pistol at him; he'd simply been thrown to the ground just as a *bang* filled the air. Something heavy had landed on his back and he'd gasped a few times to regain the breath that had been knocked out of him. When he turned over to push the object off himself, he found that it was Aramis, who was bleeding heavily.

Athos sighed again. He knew that he shouldn't've been surprised, but the shock had yet to wear off. He'd thought that his friend had been shot in the chest but it turned out to be his shoulder; the left one, thankfully. He'd brought Aramis back to the garrison and a doctor had skillfully removed the bullet and stitched the wound, instructing them to notify him if Aramis developed a fever. So far, he hadn't.

The incident had happened the afternoon before, and Porthos and d'Artagnan had been forced to stand guard duty in the palace that morning. Athos remained behind to care for their wounded friend, as he felt it to be his responsibility after Aramis' sacrifice.

The room was so quiet.

Too often over the years, he'd wished that the talkative Aramis would close his mouth so Athos could hear his depressing thoughts. Aramis never took offense…rather, he rarely showed it, even when Athos had snapped at him often early in their friendship. But in times like these, Athos wanted to hear the sound of his friend's voice more than anything.

With a sigh, he eventually stood from the chair and stretched before walking over to the window and looking out on the day. The temperature was pleasantly warm and it was bright and sunny…Aramis' favorite kind of day.

Athos leaned against the wall with a sigh. He hated when one of his friends got themselves hurt or in trouble because of him.

A sudden, soft cough got his attention and he turned towards the bed, seeing Aramis move his head slightly. A groan was the next sound that he heard and he quickly strode back to his chair and poured a cup of water. "Aramis," he said. "Stay awake."

A mumble was the only answer he got.

Gently, Athos lifted his friend's head and placed the cup to his lips, waiting patiently as Aramis slowly drank it. Once he was finished, Athos put the cup down and stared at his friend. "How do you feel?"

Aramis' eyes were still closed; he was wincing and breathing heavily. "Happy," he whispered.

Athos frowned. Had he heard wrong? "I don't understand."

"Happy," Aramis repeated, weakly. "Glad that you…weren't hit."

Athos sighed. "I would've rather it be me."

Aramis finally opened his eyes slightly. "I'll never let it be you…if I can help it." His eyes closed again and he fell back to sleep.

Athos' heart sunk at those words, but at the same time, it warmed his heart to know that he had such a loyal brother. With a sigh, he shifted to sit back in his chair, vowing to himself that next time, he'd ensure that the bullet hit him instead of Aramis.

THE END