This one is for Helen.
Stay safe everyone.
oOo
95. ON COMING BACK (2)
Athos:
Athos slowly woke and looked around.
His brother's faces indicated his whereabouts. That, and his prone position.
"It seems, I have been poor company," he murmured.
Relieved laughter, of sorts, greeted his words, echoing around the sparse Infirmary room.
"You have been more entertaining in your time, it's true," Aramis said, running his hand through his unruly hair as he leaned over him, fussing with the sheets.
Athos's focus drifted, as Aramis sat down beside him.
"Stay awake, my friend," Aramis urged.
Athos blinked slowly.
"Is it important?" he whispered, sluggishly, eyes unfocused but catching Aramis's tone.
Aramis leaned forward from his sitting position. He reached out his hand and laid it on his friend's cheek, so gently. He then turned Athos's head toward him and earnestly fixed his eyes on him.
"It is," he replied firmly, his face now mere inches from Athos's, filling his whole field of vision.
It made Athos frown, and he pulled his head slightly back so that he could focus, as was Aramis's intention.
"Remember Percault?" he said, dropping his voice so that only Athos could hear.
Athos felt Aramis's fingers press a little firmer, as he applied pressure to his cheekbone and jaw; his fingers splayed, his breath on his face.
"Percault?"
Athos struggled to focus his mind, vague memories of a tall, young man flitted through, only to disappear as quickly.
"Justin Percault," Aramis clarified, his voice a low, but insistent murmur.
Athos's eyes drifted slowly across Aramis's face, lingering, and then held by the intensity of the marksman's gaze. The effort was costing him dearly and for the life of him, he was thoroughly confused now.
"Sleep ..." he murmured, losing sight of Aramis as his eyelids began to close.
"Percault, Athos!" Aramis almost shouted, and Athos heard movement behind him.
"Aramis ..." Porthos said, warily, stepping closer.
"Be still!" Aramis barked, turning his head to glare at Porthos.
For Athos, the room was shifting, his head pounding, but something stirred in the charged atmosphere.
"Percault," he said, softly, opening his eyes once more. The name had been unspoken for some time and now, it brought forth a flood of memories.
Athos looked from Aramis to Porthos, who was now looking aghast.
"Aramis?" Porthos said his voice edged in panic.
"Who is Percault?" d'Artagnan said now; quiet up until now, but unnerved by the atmosphere. Something was happening here that he didn't understand. There was something Aramis wasn't saying.
Whatever it was seemed to have worked. Athos was focused on Aramis once more and Porthos was now sitting on the side of his cot, talking quietly to him. Aramis left his side to prepare a mixture and d'Artagnan quietly slipped to his side.
"Who's Percault?" he repeated, his voice firmer now, demanding.
Aramis sighed, and his hands stilled.
"Justin was a cadet," he began, quietly.
"Was?" d'Artagnan interjected.
Aramis looked around at Athos, relieved to see that he was still focused on Porthos's soft, but firm words.
"He had an accident," he continued, absently. "Hit his head."
"Like Athos?" d'Artagnan said, following Aramis's gaze toward Athos.
"Exactly like Athos."
"What happened?" d'Artagnan urged, as Aramis uncorked the small bottle on the table. Lost in memories.
"He died?" he continued, before Aramis could reply.
"Not at first," Aramis murmured.
d'Artagnan laid a hand on Aramis's, preventing him from beginning to pour. Important as it was to give Athos some medicine, this seemed more so. Aramis sighed and drew him aside and out into the other room.
"He woke," Aramis continued. "And he was … fine," he half-smiled at the word, though he had hated it ever since. "We were all, obviously, relieved."
"What happened?" d'Artagnan asked, tentatively, needing to draw Aramis out now.
"We talked," Aramis said, dipping his head. "We laughed. We welcomed him back," he said. "As we just did with our friend there," he added, turning to look back into the room. Taking a step closer, drawn to the company of Porthos and Athos, d'Artagnan grabbed his arm, stopping him.
"Aramis, tell me!" he said.
"And then," Aramis said, his voice so dull, devoid of life itself, "We let him sleep."
He looked up at d'Artagnan then, his face a mask of sadness and regret.
"He never woke up."
d'Artagnan frowned, but could not bring himself to speak, as there was obviously more.
"I spoke to Lemay about it later. It was before his time, but he and I often compared our experiences. He said, never let them sleep. Keep waking them."
He ran a hand across his eyes before looking at d'Artagnan once more.
"Until then, I didn't know. I thought men died naturally from their head injuries. I didn't know there was something that could be done to prevent it. Something so simple," he said. "Until I spoke to Lemay."
He gave d'Artagnan an anguished look then, which took d'Artagnan's breath away, before he spoke once more;
"We three let him sleep."
"You three?"
"He had promise," Aramis continued. "He would have made a good Musketeer. We were guiding him. We let him down."
"But you weren't to know!" d'Artagnan said, incredulously.
"But we do now, d'Artagnan!" Aramis all but growled. "Now we do."
"So we keep him talking?" d'Artagnan said, putting his hand lightly on Aramis's arm, bringing him back from a dark place.
Aramis nodded.
"We keep his attention, until he is a little clearer, and then he can sleep. But we wake him, often. We engage him before letting him sleep once more."
"For how long?"
"All night, if necessary," Aramis confirmed. "I will not have him go the way of poor Justin."
Turning, they both watched as Porthos continued to engage Athos in gentle conversation.
"He won't let him sleep until I say so," Aramis said, before turning back to look at d'Artagnan. "We should organise ourselves. It may be a long night."
In response, d'Artagnan rolled up his sleeves and patted Aramis on the shoulder.
"Then, for Justin," the young man said, "Let's get to it."
oOo
Thanks for reading! Aramis & d'Artagnan next.
