Waking up in the Infirmary can be interesting, for all concerned.
Here is a trio of such experiences. 1. Porthos. 2. Athos and 3. Aramis & d'Artagnan.
Stay Safe.
oOo
94. ON COMING BACK (1)
Porthos:
Porthos woke up.
Not, in a puddle.
Or on a dirty, cobbled street.
But in a bed. With a mattress; his back against pillows.
Looking blearily around, his gaze fell on Aramis and d'Artagnan, across the room. Both asleep at the table. He allowed himself a low chuckle at their lack of stamina, before realising that normally, they did have stamina for vigil duties, as this was obviously what it had been.
The table where they lay their heads was littered with cups and empty bottles. He looked hopefully at the plates, but there was no food on them. Just crumbs.
Then he frowned, looking around for Athos.
He had been on patrol with Athos, in the marketplace. When everything had suddenly and unexpectedly descended into chaos.
Stalls were overturned. Coins scattered under his feet, traders yelled and women screamed.
Then, the sound of Athos beside him, unsheathing his sword. Pushing his cape over one shoulder, freeing his sword arm.
Porthos remembered he had grinned at him. He loved a good fight.
Athos had returned his grin with a raised eyebrow.
Which had made Porthos laugh.
He could see it now;
He had punched and kicked his way through the gang with abandon, not concerning himself where they fell, as long as they went down. Most of them did. Whirling around, he calmed when he saw Athos easily driving an unsuspecting thug backwards into the wall; the assailant's untrained flailing with an inferior sword no match for their swordsman, even on one of his worst days.
Porthos had emitted a low chuckle, before catching sight of a shape in his peripheral vision. Turning, he came face to face with a snarling hulk of a man. Instinctively, he brought his forehead with force into that of his opponent.
And everything went black.
oOo
Where was Athos, he thought now, as he reached up a hand to his forehead, feeling a line of tight stitches in his hairline.
Hissing, he dropped his hand and levered himself up, just as the door quietly opened.
Athos stood there, jug in hand and such an open expression on his face that Porthos's heart lurched in his chest.
"Athos," he breathed, in relief. "Not dead, then?" he managed, which made Athos's face soften. He looked down at himself, before raising wide green eyes back to Porthos.
"It would seem not," he said quietly, placing the jug softly on the table. Looking over at their two sleeping friends, he took a step toward them, intending to wake them.
"No," Porthos whispered. "Leave 'em to sleep."
He patted the chair next to him, and Athos nodded, pouring two cups of wine before padding quietly across.
Porthos assessed him as he did so, assuring himself that all was well with him, before reaching up and accepting the offered drink.
Athos sat, his turn now to assess;
"Don't do that again," he finally said; sitting back, his leathers creaking.
"Do what?" Porthos challenged.
Athos sighed and looked away.
When he looked back, his face was a mask of tight restraint.
"Do not use your head as a battering ram. Or, at least, choose smaller opponents."
"Yeah, well," Porthos replied, sullenly, "He snuck up on me."
"And you acted without thought," Athos replied, tersely.
Porthos bristled. His head hurt and Athos was mithering.
"Instinctive," he replied, truculently. "I was bein' instinctive."
"Instinctive?" Athos shot back. "You call what you did "instinctive?""
"What would you call it?" Porthos grunted.
"Reckless in the extreme," Athos replied, flatly.
Porthos held Athos's steady glare admirably well, all things considered, but said nothing.
"It took six men to get you back here!" Athos pointed out, bluntly.
Porthos paused, concerned that he had been the cause of their discomfort, but impressed, in no small way.
"Six?" he said, a smile slowly spreading across his face.
Athos stared at him, before turning around and looking at their sleeping friends.
"Seven, if you count d'Artagnan," he replied dryly.
When he turned back to Porthos, he had an amused look on his face. His eyebrows slowly rose and the ghost of a smile played on his lips.
Porthos started to laugh.
The sound woke Aramis, who sat up suddenly, a confused look on his face. d'Artagnan woke as Aramis suddenly stood, his chair scraping along the floor.
Looking sleepily around, d'Artagnan looked at Porthos and grinned.
"Porthos!" he cried. "You're awake!"
Porthos looked at Athos and caught the look of relief they all felt when one of their own was returned to them.
"Yeah," Porthos said, sobering as he looked back at the dishevelled young man.
"Thanks for helpin' to bring me back."
d'Artagnan rubbed the small of his back, as he, too, rose to his feet.
"Yes, well, don't do it again any time soon," he groused.
Porthos reached up once more to the line of stitches in his head.
"I'll definitely give that some thought," he said.
"It is all we ask," Athos said softly.
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Thanks for reading! Athos next.
