In this chapter, d'Artagnan rushes home after a phone call and finds that things have taken a turn for the worse.
Thanks to Issai for beta reading. Any remaining mistakes are my own doing.
When Treville questions them later on what happened Porthos, Athos, and d'Artagnan can't say exactly why it did. It might've been their frustration with the situation or having to spend long nights at work and weekends as their caseload picked up. From mid-February to mid-March, they are busy and get home late, often having eaten already at work. They know that Aramis still goes to his scheduled appointments. He does eat, though the signs of it are becoming less frequent, so they make sure to keep his desk in his room supplied with snacks and drinks because that's where he seems to spend his time. On occasion, he talks with them instead of texting, because that they do manage to do daily, but in their exhaustion, they fail to see his. They miss everything about his decline until Leslie calls Porthos because Aramis has missed his second appointment in a row. Porthos is in a meeting with Athos though, so the call eventually comes to d'Artagnan, who rushes home with trepidation burning his stomach.
He's sent Athos and Porthos a text on the train ride and called for an Uber to be at the station when the train gets in. The past few days have been a blur for them with their caseload. Working through the weekend, they stumble home more tired than before and mumble good nights to each other as they trudge to their respective bedrooms and Aramis, it seems, has gotten lost in their hectic schedule. Still, d'Artagnan thinks, Aramis is an adult and can fend for himself. He hasn't wanted their help or company lately anyway, growing further isolated and mysterious to them. And surely Aramis knows that they'll stop if he needs them, if he truly is in a crisis, they'll stop and Treville will find the quickest route for them. Surely Aramis knows that, d'Artagnan tries to convince himself as he stares out at the dreary winter landscape.
It's an hour and a half journey but it feels both too short and too long until he's in the door, running through the hall as he checks the downstairs for Aramis, calling for the man as he goes.
Predictably, he finds Aramis in his room, a lump under the blankets on the bed. As usual, the air is stuffy, though with a bit of a sour smell, and the room dark with the TV as the only noise, save for the nasally breathing and coughing from Aramis. They'd noticed last week that Aramis seemed to have gotten a slight cold but seemed to be fine otherwise.
He calls out again and doesn't get a reaction from Aramis. Normally, Aramis at least grunts or huffs to indicate that he's fine and wants them to leave, but this time there's nothing and that concerns him. Hesitant and concerned, d'Artagnan moves to the other side of the bed where Aramis is curled up under blankets. He first catches glimpse of Aramis' pale face, fever-red cheeks, and gaunt face. He takes a step closer to check on the man, halting when he nearly steps in a pile of yellow bile on the floor. It's then that he sees more than one spot and specks of yellow on Aramis' lips.
"Aramis," d'Artagnan tries again, louder. He risks touching the man's shoulder, which he knows might cause a dangerous panic. Aramis doesn't make a move, not even when d'Artagnan shakes him gently. That and the heat d'Artagnan can feel radiating off of Aramis alarms him. He gets the thermometer from the bathroom and waits for the device to read. The irritation in his ear makes Aramis grumble slightly, which dissolves into wet coughs. d'Artagnan holds him steady until the coughing fades, then checks the readout: 103.
His first call is to 911 and his second to Athos, as well as his third and fourth until he breaks through the emergency protocol on the phone. Athos answers, irritated, on the fifth ring.
"What is it, d'Artagnan? We're in the middle of an important meeting."
"It's Aramis. He's sick." d'Artagnan checks the man one more time to make sure that he's okay and then heads downstairs to wait on the ambulance.
"He was a little nasally last week."
d'Artagnan holds back his frustration. "Dr. Morel called. Aramis hadn't been to the last two sessions. So, I came home and he's coughing and he has a bad fever. And he won't wake up, not even when I touched him. Not even a jump."
"How'd he get so bad so quickly," Athos wonders aloud.
"I don't know. I've called 911 and the ambulance should be here soon."
"Good. I'll, um… I'll let Treville know what's happened. I don't know if we can get out of this meeting, but we'll be there as soon as we can. Keep me updated. Oh, and make sure to take his medications. They should be on the nightstand. He always kept them there when he didn't trust us," Athos adds just before they end the phone call.
d'Artagnan puts the phone in his pocket and is just ready to run back up to get the medicines together when he hears the familiar sound of sirens. They cut off quickly in the quiet neighborhood, but the flashing lights do enough to bring curious onlookers to their windows, peering out to ponder what's going on at the Inseparables household. d'Artagnan doesn't think about the disturbance the ambulance causes or what the neighbors must be thinking, instead greeting them at the garage door.
"d'Artagnan," Mark says and the young Musketeer has never been more glad to see some familiar faces. "Who is it?"
"Aramis. He's not looking good."
"Let's go take a look then. Would you grab the other case, Eric?"
d'Artagnan leads them through the house and upstairs to Aramis' bedroom. He's left the door open in hopes that Aramis would know he's not alone anymore. The man hasn't moved.
"The paramedics are here, Aramis," d'Artagnan calls out just in case Aramis is alert. "It's Mark and Eric, the usual ones. I'm going to turn the lights on so they can get a look at you, okay?" There's no response, but he didn't expect one.
"Has he woken at all," Mark asks as he and Eric move to Aramis' side of the bed.
"No. He grumbled a little when I took his temperature, but other than I don't know when he was last alert." d'Artagnan feels worse as he continues talking. "We haven't really been home since yesterday morning. It was so late last night we slept at work."
"Has he been sick? Taking any medications?" They get started on taking his vitals, be careful in their movements. As Mark asks d'Artagnan questions, Eric explains what they're doing in case Aramis might be slightly aware.
d'Artagnan tells Mark what he knows about how Aramis has been. Before he knows it, there's a stretcher in the bedroom and Aramis is being transferred to it.
"You going to ride with us," Eric asks. He's putting away their equipment while Mark finishes securing Aramis.
"Um… yeah." d'Artagnan looks at them, trying to catch up with what's going on. "Is he bad off?" He sees the oxygen mask on Aramis and the pulse ox monitor.
"The lack of response and fever are worrying. We'll know more once we get him to the ER but he's not critical." Eric leaves to take their kits to the ambulance.
"He'll be fine, d'Artagnan," Mark says. "Chances are that with the fever and dehydration, he's just not feeling well and once he's gotten a little treatment, he'll wake back up."
"Dehydration? I thought he'd been drinking enough. We made sure there was always something and kept an eye on things as much as we could."
"It could be from vomiting. It looks like he's thrown up a few times at least. I doubt he can keep anything down. It's not the worst I've seen, but he was difficult to get an IV going."
d'Artagnan nods blankly.
"Mark, you ready to take him down," Eric asks.
"Yeah. Let's get him taken care of. You might want to make sure you lock up," Mark adds, tapping d'Artagnan's shoulder to get the young man's attention.
"Yeah, yeah." d'Artagnan nods, moving out of the way as they work. He watches until they're out in the hallway and he hears them maneuvering the steps. Then he looks around the room, wondering if he should bring anything. What would Aramis want? It's then he spots Fidget, the sword-wearing Musketeer bear Ben got him one year. Aramis likes to have it when he has long stays in the hospital, so he grabs it and heads downstairs where he just remembers to close the garage door and take his keys before hopping into the back of the ambulance where Mark has Aramis secured.
Mark smiles when he sees Fidget. "He'll be happy to see him when he wakes."
"When do you think that'll be," d'Artagnan asks. He tries to stay out of the way as Mark keeps an eye on Aramis.
"It's hard for me to say. I'm sorry d'Artagnan. But I can tell you that he's stable and that's good. He's come through a lot and I'm sure this is just a small blip."
"It doesn't seem all that small. He's not even waking up." d'Artagnan gestures to the unconscious Aramis.
"I'm sure it seems like a big thing. But trust me when I say that I've seen a lot of cases like his and I'm sure he'll be fine. He's sick now, pretty sick, but he's getting help. And you didn't hesitate in calling. Doubting yourself now isn't going to do any good."
"Yeah. This is…" d'Artagnan is cut off as the doors of the ambulance are opened. He didn't realize they were there. He moves absently, following, as Aramis is pulled from the ambulance and wheeling into the ER. No one stops him as he goes back with the stretcher into the exam room. It's a real room rather than a curtained-off bed.
"We'll keep in touch," Mark tells d'Artagnan as him and Eric leave the room after they've transferred Aramis and updated the nurse on his vitals.
From then on, it's a blur for d'Artagnan. He answers question after question, sometimes with concrete information, other times with a guilty shrug and claim of ignorance. First, it's a nurse, then a doctor. They take blood and send Aramis out for a chest x-ray. Aramis wakes some, but he's not coherent and d'Artagnan has to work to calm him as the nurses threaten restraints and sedation.
At some point, Athos texts him that they can't get out of their meeting. Just as he's reading the text, after having calmed Aramis again, and feeling hopeless at being left here alone, Constance arrives.
"What are you doing here," d'Artagnan blurts out. "You shouldn't be here."
"Gee, thanks. And hello to you too." Constance teases back. She'd been prepared for his edginess. Porthos said he'd been having a hard time dealing with Aramis and worried how he would deal with this situation.
"I'm sorry. It's just surprising. It's just me and Aramis. Well, just me because he's not really here." D'Artagnan gestures weakly at the unconscious man.
"How're you doing? It must've been a bit scary to find him unconscious."
"I'm fine. The important thing is that he's getting the help he needs. They still haven't gotten everything under control. The fever keeps rising and he's not woken up. Not alert anyway."
"d'Artagnan," Constance says calmly but firm enough to stop him. He turns to her with a questioning look. "I asked how you are doing."
"And I said I'm fine. It's Aramis that isn't."
"Okay. You can stick with that for now, if you want. But I'm here to listen whenever you're ready." She takes a seat next to him, setting her bag down and rifling through it for her current research.
"I said I was fine. This is hardly the worse thing we deal with as Musketeers. I've seen much, much worse and been fine."
Constance remains quiet as she opens her work. She's not working so much as reviewing notes.
"Constance, I…" he trails off, running a hand over his tired face before sitting next to her with a loud sigh. "I don't know, Constance. I mean this should be easy. We're trained to deal with worse. I've dealt with worse. But…"
"Yes, we're trained to deal with this and worse but with strangers. They don't tell us what to do when it's our family, d'Artagnan. And I don't think anyone expects you to know what to do."
"Athos, Porthos, and Treville know what to do."
"Because they've done this before. And believe me, they're not perfect," Constance adds quietly.
D'Artagnan looks at her, wondering if he should defend them but finds he doesn't have the energy.
"It doesn't really matter though does it because they're not here. I am and I'm the one screwing it up."
"You're not alone anymore and from what you see, you're doing great. He's calm and being taken care of."
"Do you know how many times he's woken up delirious? And each time it seems worse and they want to sedate him or restrain him to keep him safe."
"Well, I don't see restraints. I'm not sure if he's gotten sedatives." She sees him quickly shake his head, no. "Well, then I think you've done well. There's no handbook in these situations, trust me."
He raises an eyebrow in question at here.
"Previous experience," she says in a tone that lets him know she won't be saying anything more.
"So, what now?"
"Now, I get some more research done because this thesis won't finish itself and you distract yourself with your phone or you can borrow one of my books. I might have something fun to read in here." She starts rifling through her backpack, finally pulling out a well-worn copy of The Three Musketeers.
"It's a long read, but I think we're going to be here for a bit," she says, looking at Aramis.
"The Three Musketeers? That's the book you have lying around in your backpack?" d'Artagnan feels like laughing, but he's not sure if it's the situation or stress.
"It's a good book and I was curious to see how much you all match up to your literary counterparts."
"And?" d'Artagnan smiles slightly.
"And do you want the book or would you like to keep playing that racing game on your phone, watching as the battery drops every minute until you don't have enough to get a text from Porthos?"
"I'm sure you have a charger with you."
"Of course, I do, but what makes you think I'm going to let you borrow it?"
"Constance," he mock whines.
"Take your pick."
He takes the book with a thanks and tries to focus on the words, on stringing them together into coherent sentences, but every shift, every noise distracts him. In the end, he hands the book back and returns to his phone. Contrary to what Constance thinks, he's not playing a racing game as it takes up too much space. Instead, he's got a stash of stories on there to read, stories that are shorter and more light-hearted than what Constance offered. He opens up the app and starts trying to work through them.
Eventually, Athos, Porthos, and the Captain arrive in a flurry of worry. There are apologies in place of greetings and then questions. D'Artagnan does his best to answer them.
"Anything changed," Porthos asks.
"Um, fever is still high, chest congestion is still there. It might be worse. The doctor didn't like the sound of it but didn't order any additional tests. He's still not alert either. He's woken several times but he's seeing other things. Sometimes speaking another language. They've wanted to sedate or restrain him," d'Artagnan explains.
"They can't!"
"They haven't. I've managed to get him settled. He's really too weak to fight much more than the first minute or so anyway. He apparently hasn't been eating. The doctor doesn't like the drop in his weight either. And I don't think he's pleased with us as caretakers," d'Artagnan adds quietly.
"We didn't know. How could we? He's always hiding and pulled away from us."
"I did my best to explain things to him. He seemed to calm a bit after that, but the nurses come in a lot to check on him."
"Why isn't he up in a room yet," Athos asks.
"There's some debate on where he's going. The doctor said something about ICU but there's question on if he needs that level of care."
"Is it just a cold or something more," Treville asks.
"Pneumonia. He threw around malnutrition but didn't say anything more about it. He was dehydrated too."
Porthos curses. "Is there anything that wasn't wrong?"
"I know it's a lot," Constance begins, "but at least he's here getting the help he needs."
"Yeah, there's that."
"We should probably give the two of you a break," Athos says. "It's not too cold out. Maybe walk around, stretch your legs."
"We could go get some dinner for us. Captain, are you staying," Constance asks.
"For now. I have to call Sarah to let her know what's going on. Do you two want a ride somewhere?"
"No. We'll walk around for a while and then figure out dinner. Any major objections to restaurants?"
No says anything but then no one really feels like eating but they know they need to. Constance leaves her bag and goes to wander around with d'Artagnan while Treville finds a quiet place inside to call Sarah leaving Porthos and Athos to look after Aramis.
"What's on your mind," Porthos asks after a long stretch of silence between them.
"This is quite a mess," Athos finally says. "And there's so much it seems we didn't know."
"Yeah. He should be fine though."
"You sure about that?"
"You're not?" Porthos turns to look at Athos. Before either can say anything more, Aramis wakes, muttering violently and twisting his body as if trying to shake off someone. Porthos and Athos are quick to move to his side, remembering with ease how to calm him. They don't force him to be still but let their presence be known through words, repeating their calming mantra until he calms. Out of the corner of their eyes, they see the nurses come in but ignore them.
"Move aside, please. We're going to have to restrain him," one of the nurses says. She's unfamiliar to them both and they refuse to move.
"That'll make him worse. We're calming him down," Porthos says. "Just give us another couple minutes."
"He's only making himself sicker. If restraints aren't good, we'll sedate him."
"No. Call him primary and talk to him about his treatment. He has PTSD and your methods are going to set it off." Even as Porthos explains he wonders if maybe sedation would be worth the risk in this case. In between Aramis' mixture of languages, the wet harsh coughs are growing worse and he's struggling to catch a good breath. Sweat is breaking out on his forehead from the effort. The only good thing is that with the weakened body, the moving has calmed down and the muttering is soon too as well. When healthy, this would've been much harder and last longer.
One nurse leaves while the other stays, on the edge of watching. When the other one comes back, she brings the doctor with her and Aramis is settling down. The coughing, sweating, and breathing are still there but whatever he was seeing he isn't anymore. Part of Porthos wonders if he even knew they were there. He never opened his eyes or turned to acknowledge them as he might've in the past. Instead, he's curled in against himself as he struggles with the need to cough and breathe. They force him to lie on his back. A nurse changes the nasal cannula to an oxygen mask and the doctor checks his vitals.
"How's he doing," Porthos asks, feeling the patheticness of the question.
"These delusions he's having aren't helping him. Between the fever and congestion, they're getting worse and then making both of those worse. I'm afraid there's little choice but to send him up to ICU. He'll get more consistent care and attention up there than we can give him here or on a regular floor. Hopefully, that will work to get the pneumonia under control. In his condition, it can easily become quite serious."
"How serious, doctor," Athos asks.
"It might prove fatal."