A/N: Just a little reminder that I am not a medical professional. Apologies for any inaccuracies.

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Chapter Twenty-four: Damage Control

By the time the horses carrying his three friends arrived, Athos had almost everything ready to receive his wounded friend. The only thing that wasn't ready was the one thing Aramis would be most unhappy about – there was no physician available to attend to d'Artagnan. The village's physician was out dealing with a medical emergency of some kind, but no one knew exactly where he had gone or when he would return. Athos had spoken with some of the villagers, and their best guess was that the physician must be over at one outlying farms. Regardless, the man was too far away at present to be of any help to d'Artagnan.

They would just have to make due, and pray that Aramis could still help d'Artagnan despite his earlier words. Athos had never been let down by Aramis's skills as a medic, and had confidence his friend would be able to do something to save the younger man.

When he heard the sound of horses arriving, Athos stepped outside in time to see Porthos carefully receiving d'Artagnan into his arms from atop Aramis's horse. He rushed to help, and the two of them, with Aramis trailing behind carrying his kit, rushed their unconscious friend to the room that had been provided for them.

Gently, as if they were handling a newborn, the three of them laid d'Artagnan onto one of the beds stomach side down.

Aramis straightened, and asked him the question he'd been dreading, his friend reading the answer on his face before he could utter it. The marksman's hands wrapped around the golden cross hanging around his neck, and the man bowed his head a moment, a voiceless prayer no doubt being uttered on the swiftly moving lips. From Porthos's expression, the larger man had deduced what hadn't yet been said aloud, and a particularly nasty curse swiftly followed.

With a quiet "Amen," Aramis lifted his head, and quickly divested himself of his weapons belt and doublet before rolling up his sleeves. His friend then unsheathed his main gauche and, murmuring a quick apology to d'Artagnan, Aramis carefully cut through the Gascon's doublet, shirt, and temporary bandage. The oozing wound was now exposed, its placement making Athos wonder anew if survival was still possible.

After ridding themselves of their own weapons and doublets, he and Porthos helped to remove the remains of d'Artagnan's clothes, carefully sliding the material out from under the torso, before removing the breeches and boots, leaving the younger man in only his braies. It was a shame to have to completely destroy such a fine doublet, especially since it was one of the few articles of clothing his friend owned, but he could understand with such a wound why Aramis would not want to risk moving d'Artagnan around anymore than they already had. Athos made a mental note to see if he could get another doublet made to match the old one; it was the least he could do for someone he had continuously wronged while he'd had amnesia.

Meanwhile, Aramis had begun cleaning and examining the wound in d'Artagnan's back. It was still seeping too much blood from what he could see, but it was the medic's grim expression which gave him pause.

"Aramis?" he asked when his friend continued to remain mum about d'Artagnan's condition.

"You're absolutely certain the physician won't be back soon? Or that there isn't another one available?"

"I'm certain."

Aramis ran a hand over his eyes, letting it slide down until he was stroking his beard. The action spoke volumes to Athos, but he wanted to hear it aloud.

"I'm not sure I can do this," Aramis said, shifting to grab his cross once more.

"Yes, you can," Athos said, certainty lacing every word.

"You don't understand!"

"Then tell us!"

"Come on Aramis," Porthos said, laying a hand on Aramis's shoulder. "Tell us what's wrong."

"While I've taken out many bullets in my time, this bullet has entered d'Artagnan's body in a very delicate place. Depending on the angle it went in, there could be more damage than I could ever possibly repair. There is also the possibility I could do more harm or irreparable damage if I'm not extremely careful."

"You keep sayin' damage," Porthos said. "What damage?"

"His spine. His kidney. Nicked blood vessel. It's impossible to know until…" Aramis gestured towards d'Artagnan's wound.

Athos felt as if his heart had dropped into his feet and had just as quickly bounced back into its proper place, making him feel slightly dizzy and more than a little nauseas. He bowed his head and closed his eyes while trying to steady his breathing. His head was still hurting, but he refused to give into the pain for there was no time for it at present. His main priority at the moment was d'Artagnan's well-being; Athos felt his own well-being did not and should not matter any longer.

"Athos? You alright?" Porthos asked.

Was he alright? He couldn't answer that question for fear of snapping at his friends. He couldn't take his anger – and now guilt – out against two of the people he cared most about in all the world. Besides, he needed them focused on d'Artagnan – not him.

"I'm fine," Athos replied in what he hoped was a convincing tone. Neither of his friends looked very convinced, but he ignored that. "He'll die if you don't do anything, right?" Aramis nodded. "Then you must do what you can."

When Aramis seemed about to say more, Athos said, "No. Enough talk. While we stand here discussing this, d'Artagnan's life is ebbing away!"

"Athos," Porthos said, his voice taking on a tone of warning.

"No," Aramis said with head bowed and shoulders slumped. "He's right. I will do my best."

"It will be enough. I know it will," Porthos said as Aramis began preparing the tools he would need for surgery.

Porthos began to pace back and forth across the length of the room, obviously trying to work off some of his nervous energy. Athos watched for a moment before finally noticing the blood on Porthos's forehead which had trickled down the left side of his face.

As he made his way to d'Artagnan's uninjured side and carefully sat on the chair he'd moved next to the bed, he said, "Porthos, you're bleeding."

"Nah. I don't think it's my blood. Head butted one of them, but I'm good."

Aramis whistled a warning as he tossed a damp cloth at Porthos, who easily caught it. "Clean up. I'm going to need your help in a minute. I'll check your head afterwards."

"I told ya, I don't need—"

"I'm not going to argue with you. Not now. Just…please."

Porthos raised his hands in surrender, and apologized before starting to clean his face.

Athos returned his attention to d'Artagnan. He could see that every breath pained his young friend as the muscles in his back expanded and contracted with each inhale and exhale. D'Artagnan's breath would occasionally hitch, and his facial muscles would tighten in response to the unceasing pain stimuli.

Athos shifted his hand with the intention of gently laying it on d'Artagnan's upper back, hoping the familiar touch would help in some way. His hand started to lower of its own accord, but before it could actually touch d'Artagnan's shoulder blade, he suddenly withdrew it. After all he'd done, did he even have the right to think the gesture would be welcomed?

He began to stand, but Aramis's words stopped him from rising.

"No, Athos. Stay right where you are, and keep d'Artagnan's upper body from moving."

Aramis arranged d'Artagnan's left arm so that is was curled around the younger man's head and out of the way of the surgical area.

"Porthos, you can hold his lower body down. I can't stress enough that you need to keep him as still as possible. He's definitely going to feel me poking around…One wrong move – from any of us – and well…"

"Got it," Porthos said, moving into place to do his part.

Acknowledging the words with only a nod, Athos positioned himself so that he could keep d'Artagnan from moving. One hand grabbed the wrist of the arm which had been moved to curl around the young man's head. He then repositioned d'Artagnan's other arm so that when he leaned on his friend's upper back and shoulders, it would hopefully be trapped and kept from moving by his body weight.

Meanwhile, Porthos had positioned himself so that the bulk of his weight was across d'Artagnan's upper thighs. When he was ready, he looked at Aramis and gave a brief nod. Athos shared a look with Porthos, whose forehead had the beginnings of a spectacular bruise, but thankfully no actual wound.

Aramis grabbed his cross and quickly muttered a prayer, ending by saying aloud, "And the prayer of faith shall save the sick*. Amen."

Porthos repeated the Amen, and Athos found himself unexpectedly doing the same.

Aramis took a deep breath and slowly released it as he picked up a slim metal rod.

"I'm going to probe for the bullet now."

When Aramis inserted the long, thin tool into the wound, Athos had to briefly look away when blood trickled out as a result. He could feel d'Artagnan's body tensing on occasion, but thus far—

Suddenly, d'Artagnan flinched badly enough that Athos was confident Aramis had found the bullet. Thankfully, he and Porthos had kept the young man from moving too much.

A moment later, Aramis confirmed his thought. "I'm now going for the bullet. Hold him absolutely still."

Athos tightened his grip, and noticed Porthos doing the same. Aramis picked up some tweezers and very carefully inserted them into the wound. D'Artagnan suddenly gasped and his upper back arched as if he were trying to get away from the pain of what was being done to him.

As he tried to exert even more pressure to keep d'Artagnan from moving again, he saw that Aramis had retreated from the wound without extracting the bullet.

Porthos relaxed his grip slightly. "Did you—?"

"No," Aramis said, though it sounded like a question. He bent over to inspect the site of the wound more closely, wiping away some blood, and then straightened. "No. Just a small scratch on the outside of the wound as I pulled the instrument back."—Aramis sighed in relief—"You need to keep him still."

"And you need to be more careful," Athos said with the same amount of venom lacing his voice.

Aramis opened his mouth to reply, when Porthos interrupted, "Hey! Stop it. Both of you. Argue later; help d'Artagnan now."

"I apologize," Athos said, knowing he had been unfair.

"Me as well," Aramis said with a slight smile. "Shall we try again?"

"Athos, do you want to switch places? D'Artagnan is barely moving his lower half. It might be easier if I'm where you are."

"I've got it."

"You sure?"

Athos leveled a glare that clearly expressed his thoughts on the matter, which had Porthos briefly raising his hands in surrender.

They each readjusted their grips on d'Artagnan, and Aramis nodded once in approval as he adjusted his hold on the tweezers. Athos could feel d'Artagnan tensing up again, hearing a quiet, almost whispered moan of pain. He looked down and noticed d'Artagnan's eyes were slightly open before they closed once and then slowly opened again to half-mast.

Athos could see the eyes were unfocused, yet full of pain, and he started whispering nonsense he would never be able to completely recall to d'Artagnan in order to distract the younger man from what was being done to him. After a moment or two, d'Artagnan' eyes fixed on him briefly before they closed tight, likely due to the pain.

Aramis's voice interrupted the relative quiet, momentarily distracting him from d'Artagnan. "Come on….Come on. Just a little more and…"Athos heard a pained inhalation of breath and a sickening squelch from the area of the bullet hole just as a triumphant voice said, "There!"

Aramis held up the bullet briefly before tossing both it and the tweezers he had been using down onto the rickety-looking chair that was being used as a table. Athos watched as Aramis pressed a thick pad of linen against the seeping wound. "Thank God! I don't think the bullet hit any organs or major blood vessels."

A modicum of relief crept over Athos as he focused back on d'Artagnan and saw that the Gascon was still stubbornly awake. He missed whatever Porthos and Aramis were saying to each other, but could tell by the look on d'Artagnan's face when Aramis began stitching the wound closed. He knew it was unseemly to stare, but he couldn't help but be entranced by the fact that d'Artagnan was remaining conscious, and dearly wished he could take the pain away.

By the time Aramis had finished, d'Artagnan's eyes were blinking owlishly, like he wanted to pass out but couldn't for some reason. Athos hoped it was not some misguided desire to not appear weak in front of the three of them. Though, after everything that had happened between them recently, he could understand why the younger man might feel uncertain and attempt to stay awake.

"It's alright," he said. "You can sleep now."

D'Artagnan's bleary expression came to rest upon his face, and the accompanying confusion was easy to see. Athos would address that confusion later, when his friend was on the mend, but for now, d'Artagnan needed to rest and heal.

"Sleep," he said, putting a touch of command in his voice, hoping the Gascon would respond to it if nothing else.

D'Artagnan's eyes briefly met his for once again before closing, the younger man's body suddenly going slack. Athos's heart leapt into his throat as mild panic set in, because he thought d'Artagnan had let go and was now forever lost to him – to them – and beyond the reach of any attempt at reconciliation. When he saw and felt d'Artagnan's back rise and fall barely seconds later, relief went through him as though a dam had burst, its water flooding the surrounding land.

Athos knew it was selfish, but he couldn't bear to lose d'Artagnan before they'd had the opportunity to settle things between them. So far, it seemed God had no intention of taking that chance away from them.

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To be continued

Next time: Chapter Twenty-five: Window of Opportunity

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Story/History Notes:

"And the prayer of faith shall save the sick": Aramis is referencing James 5:15 (KJV). The full verse is: "And the prayer of faith shall save the sick, and the Lord shall raise him up; and if he have committed sins, they shall be forgiven him."

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A/N: Many thanks to Celiticgal1041 for proofing this chapter for me. Remaining mistakes are my fault.

Thanks for reading!