A/N: Thanks once again for reading and reviewing. Not long to go now.

In the meantime, Porthos wants a quiet word or two:

oOo

CHAPTER THIRTY SEVEN

In the late hours of the afternoon, there was a commotion in the compound.

Porthos, Anne and Nkosi - exhausted, dusty and anxious - rushed into the kitchen where Treville and an equally-exhausted Aramis, still in his scrubs, were waiting.

"Are you all alright?" Treville asked, after Porthos had drawn Aramis into a hug and then shaken Treville's hand, patting his shoulder for good measure.

"Naaji is dead," Porthos confirmed, speaking for all of them. "It's over."

Treville turned to Anne, who was standing a little apart from Porthos and Nkosi. She was dishevelled, and there was a dark bruise on her jaw, but she looked as defiant as ever. He noticed that she was still sporting her trademark red lipstick. He suppressed a smile at her chutzpah. How alike she and Athos were in their sheer bloody-mindedness. After her trial, he had prayed that she would never reappear in Athos's life. She would have killed him in the end, had she not killed his brother. Looking at her now, he looked forward to hearing about her part in this drama.

"I'd like a quiet word when you have time, Madame," he said formally. She frowned but asked no questions.

"Very well," she replied, resigned to another challenge. Taking the truck had probably been a bad decision, but she would stand by it, Treville be damned. She walked over to the sofa and sat down heavily. None of her previous gracefulness was evident, her body language shutting them out, denying them any further contact for the moment.

Across the room, Nkosi was staring at Aramis.

"What has happened?" she asked quietly, glancing at Anne, who turned her head and now looked equally concerned.

"You'd all better sit down," Aramis said.

oOo

Aramis explained everything that had happened since he had brought Athos and d'Artagnan back to the Garrison. He brought them up to speed with their injuries and said, when they all started talking at once, that they could see them both for a few minutes, once they had all cleaned up, but that d'Artagnan was asleep and Athos still had to regain consciousness.

Then, they followed Aramis over to the medical facility and stood in the corridor, outside the door to d'Artagnan's room; looking through the glass.

"He's on strong painkillers. He's been in and out for a few hours," Aramis explained. "I've scheduled him in to sew up his exit wound."

They moved along the corridor to the next door, too look through the glass at Athos. Nkosi put both hands over her mouth and Porthos put his arm around her shoulders. Anne leaned on the wall, staring through the window, but Porthos knew she would not accept comfort and so he let her be.

"Can I go in?" Nkosi asked Aramis, without looking at him, still staring through the glass.

"Clean up first, Cheri," Aramis said. "We need to keep him safe."

They all fell into silence for a few moments, before Anne suggested she and Nkosi go back to the hotel, shower and change and then come straight back. Aramis agreed that was a good idea, saying he would have food ready for them when they returned.

He kissed Nkosi on both cheeks and she turned and walked, straight-backed, down the corridor. Anne's eyes slid across to Aramis and she held the look for a few moments. Aramis nodded slightly, and she pushed off the wall and followed Nkosi, at first slowly, but then suddenly walking more purposefully, aware perhaps that Aramis and Porthos were watching her. When she had gone, Porthos asked a question, still staring through the glass.

"Can I 'ave a few minutes with him, Aramis?"

Aramis sighed;

"You heard what I told them, my friend."

"I know," Porthos whispered. "But ... he's my mate."

Aramis followed his gaze, before relenting;

"Of course," he murmured. "But you must gown-up, including the cap," he said. "And make sure to wash your hands thoroughly in the basin," Aramis said, squeezing Porthos on his arm.

Porthos nodded gratefully and followed Aramis into the outer room, where he showered and put on scrubs, a cap and a face mask.

Aramis was waiting for him when he emerged and nodded approvingly.

"You look the part," he smiled.

"Good job he won't see me," Porthos grumbled. "I'd not live it down."

The gentle humour helped as Porthos followed Aramis into Athos's room. Despite the shower, he walked softly over to the sink set into a unit in the corner of the room and started to give his hands and forearms a further, thorough wash.

Aramis followed him in and stood quietly at the end of the bed until he had finished.

"How's he doin', really?" Porthos asked, over his shoulder as he pulled paper towels from the dispenser and quickly dried his hands.

"I'd be happier if he woke," Aramis replied, picking up the chart from the end of the bed.

"Wait," Porthos said. "He's not sedated?"

"Only lightly now," Aramis said quietly. "He should be able to fight his way through it."

"He is goin' to wake up though?" Porthos asked, his eyes wide.

Aramis hesitated for a second and Porthos bristled.

"Tell me, he's going to wake up, Aramis," he growled.

Aramis gave a careful reply; "I cannot see why he wouldn't."

"That's not an answer," Porthos said, tersely.

"It's the best one I have," Aramis replied, firmly.

They stood looking at each other, before Porthos broke eye contact and looked down at Athos.

"What are all the tubes and wires?" Porthos asked. He knew from past experience of course, but was a little lost for words at Aramis's statement and the sight of his friend.

Athos lay flat, which, Porthos knew, he would hate. He was breathing for himself, but it was slow and Porthos couldn't take his eyes from his friend's chest, watching the slow rise and fall. After a few moments, he realised that he had fallen in step with it, breathing slowly and steadily. He felt his anger diminishing, though he would have happily punched something if he had been alone.

"The clear one is feeding him," Aramis was saying. "The red one ..."

"I know what the red one's doin'" Porthos interrupted abruptly, though he seemed calmer.

"The wires are monitoring," Aramis continued. "Forewarned is forearmed," he added, "And his kidneys are working," he murmured.

"Yeah, I can see that," Porthos muttered. He briefly smiled then, before turning to glance at Aramis. "He's gonna love you.

"Why is he still unconscious?" he asked.

"Blood loss. Shock. Exhaustion. Dehydration," Aramis replied. "The list is long. "Both he and d'Artagnan were in poor condition when they arrived. In Athos's case, it's taking a little longer than I would like for him to come back to us. His body is taking advantage of the enforced rest."

"You reckon?" Porthos grunted, as he walked slowly over. Passing behind Aramis though, he rubbed him gently on his back as he went. All was forgiven.

"Thank you, Aramis," he said softly.

"Just doing my job," Aramis said, with enforced lightness.

Porthos stilled him with a hard glare.

"Nah, seriously, thank you. You're doin' much more than that."

Aramis conceded and tilted his head in acceptance of the compliment. "I'll give you a few minutes," he said. "Then, my friend, you need food and rest."

"Don't think that'll 'appen," Porthos huffed.

"Neither do I, but I would be failing in my duty of care if I did not suggest it," Aramis smiled as he left Porthos alone in the stillness of the room.

Porthos had been here before with Athos. Then, it was bad. Now, he had no idea. What he did know, was that he wanted to see his friend's eyes. He wanted to feel his glare. Hear his grumbling when he realised what a predicament he had gotten himself into. Athos didn't do recuperating well. Aramis would have his work cut out for him. They all would.

"Hey, tough guy," he said, gently, pulling up a chair.

"You're lookin' a bit more comfortable than the last time I saw you. Aramis says he got the bullet out, eventually. You gave 'im another scare, though," he said, looking down at his friend. "An' you seem to be collectin' scars."

He sat down heavily and gently lifted Athos's hand, sucking in his breath at the limpness of it, resting on his large palm.

"Naaji's dead. So it's new day," he said quietly. "We can put this all behind us.

"So you can wake up now.

"Please."

oOo

A short while later, with a heavy heart, Porthos slipped next door and carefully let himself into d'Artagnan's room. Thinking he was still asleep, he was surprised when d'Artagnan opened his eyes.

"Hello, Porthos!" d'Artagnan sighed, happily, a big smile on his face.

d'Artagnan patted the sheet next to him. "Come and sit with me!" he said, earnestly.

Porthos looked at him cautiously, before eyeing the chair at the side of the room.

"I think it'll be best if I sit 'ere," he said, in amusement, as he dragged the chair across.

d'Artagnan was stoned.

"You on the good stuff?" Porthos asked as he dropped into the chair.

"Don't know, don't care," d'Artagnan said, dreamily, holding out his hand.

Porthos laughed and reached across, taking hold of his hand. It was cool. That was a good sign. Aramis had said he had been running a slight fever during the night, but all looked better now.

The Gaborone Hospital medical team had gone now, though Treville had taken him aside and said Dr Weiss had been reluctant to leave Aramis alone here, as he had looked exhausted. The last forty eight hours had taken its toll and Aramis had been increasingly unwilling to accept any help. Finally, Treville said he had taken matters into his own hands, threatening to order one of the nurses due on duty to stab him in the bum with a sedative if he didn't go and rest. But then, Porthos had arrived and that hadn't happened. He had made a mental note to add his voice to Treville's when he finished here. The girls were due back soon, so Aramis could catch some rest. There were enough people around now to let Aramis know if anything happened.

"Where's Athos?" d'Artagnan asked now, watching Porthos with unfocussed eyes. "What happened?"

Damn. Either he couldn't remember what had happened in the tree house or he had forgotten. In any case, Porthos could not fill him in completely, as they had both been unconscious when Aramis and he had arrived. d'Artagnan had obviously shot an arrow into Koslov, but perhaps he didn't know that Athos had engineered his fall through the trapdoor, after having been injured himself.

Cautiously, Porthos gave him the best answer he could.

"He's next door."

Hopefully, d'Artagnan would not pursue it and they could inform him later, when he was more compos mentis. But it was not to be.

d'Artagnan frowned, his eyes clearing a little as he took in his large friend.

"Hurt?" he asked, his eyes wide.

"Hurt, yeah," Porthos replied.

d'Artagnan started to push his sheets away.

"Whoa, whoa!" Porthos cried, reaching forward and pinning him to the bed with one hand.

d'Artagnan's leg was raised in a contraption of some sort. He wasn't going anywhere soon, but he seemed oblivious of the fact.

"Porthos," d'Artagnan said, suddenly taking hold of his wrist in a surprisingly tight grasp.

"Sshhh," Porthos soothed, "Tell me what you remember, an' I'll try and fill in the gaps."

d'Artagnan let go and leaned back on his pillows. Porthos poured him some water and handed him the glass, which he sipped, a frown on his face.

"Koslov's dead," d'Artagnan said, dully.

"Yeah, dead as a dodo," Porthos said, encouragingly.

d'Artagnan's eyes suddenly filled with tears and Porthos quickly took the glass from his hand and set it down. He had to remember, d'Artagnan was high on medication and this may go one of many ways.

"Is Athos dead?" he asked then.

"No!" Porthos said, "No! He was shot, like you, but he's alive!"

"Yeah?" said d'Artagnan, sniffing. Porthos was suddenly touched by the sight of him; more boy than man. High, confused and now, very upset.

"Yeah," Porthos replied, nodding, watching as d'Artagnan matched the movement of his head, until they were both doing the same action.

"He was shot?" d'Artagnan frowned.

"Yeah. It's a muddle, and Aramis and me, we didn't get there until the firefight was all over," Porthos said, being careful to speak plainly so the young man could follow. Though he doubted d'Artagnan would retain the information he was giving him, looking at him.

"You were in the livin' room," Porthos said. "Looks like you fell into it from the roof."

"Controlled leap," d'Artagnan corrected, sagely, before staring at Porthos.

Porthos laughed.

"Yeah, that's right. You seem to have controlled your leap into the livin' room real well. The door wouldn't open when we got there, so we didn't see you at first."

d'Artagnan nodded, waiting for more.

"But Koslov seems to have fallen through the trap door," Porthos continued, carefully. "He was impaled on the fence. Athos was on the walkway, shot, but we reckon he set the trapdoor to fall. "Only," he added, "Koslov had a poisoned arrow in him and you had a bow next to you. So you must have done that bit."

"The San People," d'Artagnan muttered, nodding. "They gave us a bow. Had to be verrrry careful, Porthos," he added.

Porthos smiled, his previous concern for Athos giving way in light of this strange conversation.

"I killed him," d'Artagnan suddenly said, the memory of seeing Koslov menacingly filling the doorway seeping in.

"Well, I think you both had a hand in it," Porthos said.

"And Athos?" d'Artagnan asked.

"Aramis got the bullet out," Porthos said, skipping the full story and trying to make it as simple as possible. "He's in recovery."

"Can I see him?"

"When Aramis says you can get up. In a day or two, perhaps."

"Or he can come see me," d'Artagnan said, eyebrows raised.

"No," Porthos said gently. "He can't."

"Why?" d'Artagnan asked, his voice very small.

"Why what, love?" Porthos asked.

"Why can't he visit?"

Porthos swallowed.

How could he tell him that Athos hadn't woken up yet? And that they had no idea when he would. He couldn't. So he lied.

"You know why. You're a vet, remember? Cross-infection and all that," he said.

"Oh yeah," d'Artagnan nodded.

"You rest, now," Porthos said, squeezing d'Artagan's hand. "I'll be back later."

"Night, Porthsss," d'Artagnan managed, before his eyes fell shut.

Porthos watched him for a few moments, before slowly standing. All his muscles hurt. He'd lost track of the days and he had a headache starting. The girls were due back anytime now and he needed to make himself scarce. He let himself out of the room, but instead of leaving, he looked toward Aramis's office. The door was slightly open and he could see Aramis sitting at his desk, his back to him.

So he headed back to Athos. He only needed a few more minutes.

He washed his hands once more and walked toward the bed, but he didn't sit. He went to the window that overlooked the compound. The lake in the near distance shimmered in the bright sunlight. He turned and looked at Athos and took a deep breath.

"I've just 'ad a chat with d'Artagnan," he whispered, as he took his seat once more.

"I was on the chair and he was on the ceiling," he laughed quietly, squeezing Athos's fingers.

"Drugged up to the eyeballs, he is.

"He's ok. Back in the OR tomorrow to get 'is leg sewn up properly. Laura's coming back soon. You'll like her, Aramis says. He likes her. I know; he likes every woman who looks at him. And some that don't.

"I'm ramblin' Athos. Just not used to you not rollin' your eyes at me or smirkin' - makes me nervous.

"So wake up soon, yeah? d'Artagnan wants a visit. Haven't told 'im you're bein' a lazy bugger."

He looked up and saw Aramis in the corridor, quietly watching. He pointed down, silently asking if he wanted to come in. Aramis nodded and Porthos turned back to Athos.

"Looks like I have to go now. Boss's orders. You know what he's like. Nkosi will be here soon. She's been through a lot. Just making herself beautiful for you. That won't take long, will it? You got a good one there, mate. And, you were right about Rach. He's a good kid. I'll tell you all about it when you grace us with your presence. Soon, yeah?"

His eyes raked over Athos's face. He could see his friend's eyes moving beneath his lids, his lips slightly parted as he breathed steadily. But he suddenly felt very lonely in this white, sterile room and so he stood, pushing the chair back. It scraped along the floor and he flinched, before realising that Athos wouldn't notice.

"I just came back to say," he said, "With every hurt, Athos, with all that's 'appened to us, I know that there was not a minute that any of us ever thought of giving up. Heshima's our dream. It's been our salvation. With every sunrise, that dream's reborn."

He wiped his hand over his stinging eyes and walked to the door, before turning, his hand on the door handle;

"So come back, Athos. Heshima won't run itself. And I can't be without you."

With that, he opened the door and, head down, he quickly pushed past Aramis and walked down the corridor.

To be continued ...