This is for Coolbreeze who wanted a back story to Athos's injury in Chapter 104. Athos's near-death experience appeared to be haunting Aramis and Coolbreeze wanted to know why. So this is the companion chapter. Hope it fits the bill.
oOo
106. When I Was A Boy (3)
One Week Earlier:
Athos gripped Aramis's wrist.
"No."
"What?" Aramis said, eyes wide.
"Enough," Athos managed.
"I'm almost there ..."
"Leave it," Athos said, through gritted teeth.
"I can't!" Aramis hissed, looking over Athos to Porthos, who's expression was grim, to say the least.
Porthos tilted his head to the other side of the room and Aramis, hands bloody, stepped back from the table and stared down at Athos for a moment, before moving away and walking on weak legs to join Porthos.
"He doesn't want his death on your conscience," Porthos whispered, a deep frown on his face, his eyes full of concern and something else.
Love for his brothers.
"It will be on my conscience whether I get the musket ball out or not!" Aramis responded, his eyes locked on Porthos.
"I know that," Porthos replied. "What do you want to do?"
Aramis took a breath. Porthos was not going to stop him too. There was still hope.
"I'm nearly there," Aramis said then, casting a look over at Athos, pale and shaking on the table, the wound in his side still sluggishly bleeding, despite Aramis's best efforts.
The musket ball was lodged, he could almost see it, but Athos had had enough. Porthos was right, but if he could not reach it, Athos would die.
"We can't drug him any more, his system fights it and he has already had too much," he replied.
"I can't knock 'im out," Porthos said. "The ball might shift, or I could do more damage."
Aramis was almost bouncing on his feet with the need to find a solution.
"Porthos," he said, "I cannot leave it! I can't watch him die."
"Me neither," Porthos growled.
"There is another way," he said then.
"What is it?" Aramis said, reaching out an gripping his sleeve with a bloody hand.
"Seen it done a couple of times, done it myself, and had it done to me once," Porthos said thoughtfully.
"Porthos …?" Aramis began, but Porthos cut him off, by raising two fingers to the side of his neck and pressing, without saying anything.
Aramis had seen Porthos fighting over the years. A few times, his opponent had crumpled at his feet, momentarily giving Porthos enough time to disarm him, or for them all to escape.
"Thing is," Porthos said, his eyes on Athos, "You will only have a few minutes at best. They wake up almost as soon as they go under."
"What after effect does this have?" Aramis said, urgently, aware of time passing.
"Confusion, blurred vision," Porthos replied, pursing his lips before looking at him once more; "I was alright after a few minutes."
A strangled groan came from behind them and Aramis quickly moved to Athos's side.
"Athos ..."
"No," Athos growled. "It is too deep."
"I can ..."
Athos gripped his wrist again, what little strength he still had making Aramis flinch.
"If I leave it you will die," Aramis tried, one last time.
"Then it will be my decision," Athos gasped, fierce as he was weak. "Not your failure."
Aramis's eyes suddenly blurred as he swallowed. It was a hopeless situation.
At that moment, he looked up at Porthos and an accord passed between them.
Aramis nodded once to Athos as he leant over him, his hand tightening on the pincers he now held behind his back.
Athos relaxed slightly and closed his eyes.
At that moment, Porthos reached out and put his fingers firmly on the side of Athos's neck.
"Now," he said, as he pressed.
Athos's hand briefly tightened on Aramis's wrist, before it went slack and fell away.
He was completely unconscious.
Aramis brought his arm swiftly forward and bent to his task, the ends of the long pincers disappearing into the wound.
"Now," he breathed, as he made one last effort to grasp the musket ball.
Porthos held his breath.
Time seemed to cease, though Athos would wake at any moment. It was now or never.
Perspiration dripped from Aramis's forehead onto Athos's chest as Porthos rested his hands on his unconscious friend's shoulders.
Suddenly, Aramis withdrew the pincers, the musket ball held tightly.
"Yes!" Porthos breathed, his knees almost giving way.
Aramis grinned in sheer relief and dropped the ball on to a metal dish before reaching out and pushing Athos's damp hair from his forehead.
He poured wine over the wound and the effect was instantaneous. Athos's eyes flew open and he raised his arms. Porthos was ready for him and held him down easily.
Aramis picked up the dish and rattled it;
"I have it, Athos!" he said, triumphantly. "It's over."
Athos blinked several times, before looking up at Porthos above him, upside down in his vision.
"How?" he whispered.
Porthos patted his shoulder and looked at Aramis.
"You passed out and I was quick," Aramis replied simply, though the seconds it had taken seemed like hours. He dropped the dish back on the table.
Confused, but feeling no pain in his jaw from an upper cut, Athos frowned.
"Thank you," he murmured, his eyes closing.
"Don't thank me yet, I have to stitch you up," Aramis replied quietly.
Later, without complaint, Athos took the sleeping draught Aramis offered and sank into an exhausted sleep. Aramis was able to put careful stitches into the wound and with Porthos's help, wind a bandage around his stomach.
"It was remarkable," Aramis whispered, as they stepped back.
"Well, don't go thinkin' you can do that every time one of us needs knockin' out," Porthos grunted.
"Why not?" Aramis said. "There are no adverse effects from what I can see."
"Too dangerous," Porthos said, not making eye contact. "Have to time it just right, or they don't wake up."
Aramis felt his blood run cold.
"You never told me that," Aramis said, staring at him.
Porthos sighed.
"Didn't want it on my conscience that I knew somethin' that could help, and didn't offer it," he said.
"You took a hell of a chance," Aramis replied, bluntly.
"So did you," Porthos said, tightly.
"Yes," Aramis sighed, acutely aware he had gone against Athos's wishes. "I suppose I did."
"We got lucky," Porthos replied.
"Let us hope he does not need our services for a long time," Aramis said, patting Porthos's arm.
oOo
Porthos's services were needed later that night, when Athos was caught in a nightmare and started to thrash.
Once quietened, Porthos left Athos to Aramis to tend to any damage he may have caused himself.
He needed a drink.
They didn't call his earlier manoeuvrer the "death press" for nothing.
Another thing he hadn't told Aramis.
If he had pressed harder, if he had pressed just a few seconds longer … it may not have gone their way.
Between the two of them, their consciences weren't clear, but Athos was alive.
