CHAPTER THIRTY SIX
"Oh God," d'Artagnan groaned.
Where was he?
It was daylight; the sun was shining through the window. Window. Not the tree house. The walls were white, not wooden logs. Mopane tree logs. He screwed up his eyes as the nagging pain made itself known. Where was it? Hip. No. Leg. It was his leg. He tried to bend his knee but nothing happened. But the pain was thrumming now. There was something … he raised his hand and swiped at his face. Tube. Nasal tube. Oh.
A warm hand took hold of his fingers and pulled his hand away. They gently squeezed. Who? He turned his head and the room swam and then settled as he met eyes he had never seen before. Blue. Blue-green. Beautiful eyes. A voice then. A gentle voice, but firm. Husky. A nice female voice. The words flowed over him. Around him. He couldn't catch them. The room swam once more as he turned to look down at himself. A white sheet. His leg. In a contraption. Hoisted. He moved his toes, and nothing hurt. Not there anyway. His thigh, for that was where the pain had settled, was held tight in a circle of fire. It felt like a circle of white hot metal, though that wasn't right. They wouldn't do that to him. Would they? And the nice voice kept floating, just out of reach because of the damned pain.
"Don't try and move," the voice said, the words finally settling.
Another voice then, deeper. Male. Not Aramis. Where was he?
"d'Artagnan, my name is Peter Weiss. This is Laura. We have been helping Aramis to treat you."
"Ar'mis?" he managed, before the pain lanced, sharp again and took his breath.
"Lie still, we'll get you some pain relief."
Hurry.
It seemed to take an age as he lay immobile, his muscles taut as he listened to them moving around. And then fingers took his and a warm rush seemed to flow into his hand. Seconds later, the room gave a shudder and he gratefully let go. The last words he heard were, "He's under." There was no time to say thank you.
oOo
Both Peter Weiss and Laura Moulier joined Aramis back in the OR as he was about to staple Athos's wound. Eric Forte was still in position, monitoring his vital signs until Aramis finished and they would move him out to the room next to d'Artagnan.
Aramis had put in a whole mix of non-absorbent sutures together with staples. The external staples would remain for seven days. Weiss assisted on the final part of the procedure, before humming his approval.
"You are one of the best plastic surgeons I know, Dr d'Herblay," he said quietly as he admired his friend's work.
"Only one of them?" Aramis smiled, without looking up.
"Well," Weiss said, glancing a Laura with a smile, "There was than Argentinian surgeon we met in Rome," he said.
"Ah yes, that was a good Conference," Aramis murmured.
"As I recall, you always had a weakness for la bella signore."
Aramis looked up and met his eyes, before giving Laura an apologetic look.
"No more so than any other nationality, mon ami," he replied, neatly sidestepping the good-hearted accusation.
Laura coughed and brought the banter to a halt, as she intended.
"How is he?" Aramis asked. He had wanted to finish the stapling before hearing their report on d'Artagnan, but he could see they were both looking relaxed. He could not endure much more. He was still worried about Porthos. He had seen Treville watching through the glass and the Captain had given him a tight nod, but he would not relax until he and the others were back.
"He woke briefly," Weiss replied. "But was confused and in pain. I've dosed him up. It's all on his chart when you are ready."
"That's excellent news. Not the pain part, obviously," Aramis murmured.
"In a day or two, when you're ready to close his wound, let me know if you require assistance," Weiss said.
"Thank you, Peter," Aramis said. Dropping his implements into a nearby dish. "I am grateful to you all."
"Well, we may call on you at some point," Weiss said. "We have that arrangement."
"And I will be happy to oblige," Aramis said, straightening his back.
He turned to Dr Forte in silent query and was given a nod of assurance.
"Time to get you tucked up in a nice comfortable bed, my friend," he said, as he removed the thick green sheet that had been covering Athos from head to foot.
Seeing his face now, Aramis pressed his lips together.
Athos was pale, his face in repose made him look younger than his years. A few dark hairs were plastered to his forehead, having escaped the surgical cap. Aramis reached down and gently pulled the cap forward from his friend's head, releasing his mop of thick dark hair.
As experienced as he was, he would never get used to the sight of someone he loved in such a helpless state.
oOo
Treville was waiting in the outer room for word.
Leaving Athos in Eric Forte's care, Aramis and Weiss hurried through to change out of their scrubs, while Laura headed for the coffee machine in Aramis's office. Aramis was changing his scrubs for clean ones, as he would be spending time with his two friends. Weiss changed into his outer clothes, as he and his team would be leaving soon.
Treville had been under tremendous strain over the past week, relegated to waiting for news of them and liaising with Interpol. Aramis gave him a succinct report on the condition of his two men, and in return, Treville explained what he knew of what had happened at the Tswana village. The main thing, was that Naaji was dead and their friends were returning. There was a complex tale to tell, but they would both wait. Treville then told Aramis that he had called in two of Aramis's regular nurses and they were due to arrive within the hour. He expected that Aramis could rest, but he knew he would not, until his friends were out of danger and Porthos had returned.
oOo
When Aramis slipped into the room where Athos would be spending the next week, he was pleasantly surprised that Laura had beaten him to it in setting up the room. There were two infusion stands next to the bed ready for bloods and IV fluids for the next twenty four hours. The monitor was in place. There was also a clean gown on the bed. The window was open, allowing a breath of air into the room. She had filled the water jug and filled the plastic cup receptacle, anticipating the number of visitors who would soon spend time here.
She was standing by the open window, sipping her second cup of coffee.
"That stuff is no good for you," Aramis said gently as he looked appreciatively around the room.
"There are worse vices," she smiled.
"Thank you," he replied. "For this."
She turned then and looked at him. She looked tired herself, but there was a brightness to her that he appreciated.
"You must be exhausted," she said. "Will you be able to get any rest?"
"Two of my nurses are on their way. Once they know it's Athos, I won't get a look in," he laughed, before cutting it off.
"You are allowed to laugh, Dr d'Herblay," she whispered.
"Sorry," he murmured. "It's just beginning to catch up on me, I think."
Was it ever.
"You have had an awful time," she agreed. "I spoke to your Captain."
"We all have, Laura," he said, wearily. "Right now, I cannot wait to see Porthos and Nkosi."
"Nkosi?" she asked, the cup poised halfway to her lips.
"Athos's ...well, I'm not quiet sure what they are to each other now. They parted under difficult circumstances."
"Parted?" she repeated. "Forgive me, I don't mean to pry."
"When I say "parted," he continued, " I mean the last time they saw each other, before Athos disappeared in the plane."
"Ah. So there is unfinished business," she smiled. "Never go to bed on an argument."
"I'll remember that," he laughed. "Although, it was more than an argument. His ex wife showed up," he finished, aware he was overstepping confidences, but needing a sympathetic ear, even if it related to his friend. He had purposely said "ex wife" as otherwise it would have been too complicated to explain.
"Oh!" she exclaimed. "I wasn't expecting that!"
"Neither was he," Aramis smiled. "It will be interesting to see what happens when they reunite."
When she threw him a puzzled look, he elaborated.
"She showed up. And then went with Nkosi to try and find him."
"Goodness," she said softly. "What complicated lives you all lead."
"Speaking of that," he said stepping forward and taking the cup from her hand.
"Would you like to go for a drink, or something, when I am next in your area?"
She gave him a look and he almost apologised.
Then she smiled.
"Well, I would like to see how Athos and d'Artagnan are fairing," she said. "So … perhaps."
"Good!" he said, relaxing. "Good."
"We're ready for him, then," he stated, stepping away and looking around the room once more.
"We're ready," she replied.
oOo
Most of the fixtures and fittings in the facility were on lease. It meant Aramis could have state of the art equipment that their visitors and tourists would expect. In the last year alone, he had performed two emergency appendectomies and delivered a baby. Added to that, were countless minor injuries, some a little more serious – bites and stings that could turn very problematic if not treated. There was also Athos's "accident" last year which had taxed him to the core. He had ambitions for the future, but at the moment, in view of what they had accomplished overnight, he was satisfied and relieved.
Now, they wheeled Athos in and body-boarded him gently into the bed. Laura helped hook up the drips and wires and Aramis deftly removed the surgical gown he had been wearing through the operation and reconnected the monitor wires onto the stickers on his chest. Then, he manoeuvred Athos into the fresh gown. Laura gently lifted his head while Aramis velcroed the tabs in place at the back of his neck. The last thing was the nasogastric tube that would deliver nutrients and medicines and the pulse oximeter, that clipped to his index finger.
Finally, he peeled off the tape that had kept Nkosi's bracelet sterile and twisted it around so that the stones sat on the top of his wrist.
"Pretty," Laura said, as she watched.
"Christmas present from Nkosi. He's never taken it off," Aramis said, a lump forming in his throat.
"That's why you wanted it taped up," she replied, smiling. "Even though he wouldn't know."
"This is Athos," he said, recovering. "Of course he would know."
Half an hour later the sound of the helicopter blades beating through the air were heard, and the dust outside started to fly as it landed once more.
Weiss was waiting outside with his bags, phone clamped to his ear, as Laura and Eric joined him.
"One more stop, and then we're off duty," he said, putting his phone away.
"Busy, busy, busy," Laura said and she and Eric climbed into the rear of the helicopter. She gave Aramis a cheerful wave, holding his gaze a few minutes longer than necessary and then Weiss turned to pull him into a firm embrace.
"I meant what I said," he said. "Call me if you need me. Otherwise, I will see you soon."
"Thank you, Peter," Aramis said fiercely, and the two parted.
Aramis ran back to stand with Treville in the entrance to the infirmary and together, they watched as the beast took off, nose pointing downward, before gaining height and banking away.
Treville clapped Aramis on the shoulder and they turned, heading back inside.
oOo
Some miles away, Porthos saw the helicopter against the clear blue sky in the distance. He recognised it, and his heart sank. He did not know whether it was taking one or both of his friends for emergency treatment at the regional hospital, or worse.
He gripped the wheel tightly and pressed the accelerator to the floor.
Musket was curled up on the passenger seat next to him, seemingly oblivious to the uneven motion of the truck, his belly full of stewed goat; a parting gift from Rach. That, and the woven strand of leather he now wore around his neck. Rach had accepted the huge bearhug he had bestowed on him and, over his shoulder, Porthos had caught sight of a certain young lady looking at Rach in an interesting way.
Nkosi and Anne were talking quietly in the rear and if they noticed the increase in speed, they said nothing.
"My business with Athos," Anne was saying, "is to ask for a divorce."
Porthos tuned back in. He was glad that Anne had told her at last. He had wondered if she would change her mind when she saw him again, but she had said it now. And from what he now knew of Anne, she was true to herself. He watched in the rear-view mirror as Nkosi turned her whole body toward Anne.
"Really?" she asked, her eyes wide. It made him smile.
"It's the right decision," Anne said firmly, patting Nkosi on the hand, before catching herself and withdrawing it.
Nkosi had been bereft when he told them of the shooting, dissolving in his arms. He had tried to comfort her, as Anne walked away, seemingly unmoved, but he had seen the tension in her shoulders; the twisting of her hands.
Watching as the helicopter disappeared on the horizon, Porthos pulled his thoughts back to the present, his hands tightening once more on the wheel.
Behind him, Nkosi and Anne had fallen silent. Any thoughts on the future depended on what was happening in the Garrison, which was now visible in the haze ahead.
To be continued ...