Chapter Three

Aramis was running.

The call had come as he was getting out of the shower and he had fumbled for his phone amongst his clothes, discarded on the bathroom floor, before pushing his wet hair from his eyes and trying to make sense of the unfamiliar voice coming through.

Someone, a woman, was shouting at him above the sound of sirens. She was describing Athos, saying his name. And then ...

He heard what he needed and threw his clothes on, running down the stairs two at a time and out of the house.

The hospital she had directed him to was not that far. They had seen signs as they drove through the city.

Quicker to run.

God, can you hear me?

He dodged around a woman with a pushchair and ran across the road, weaving between traffic, not hearing the resultant curses and car horns.

God still hadn't gotten back to him, but he was punching Porthos's number as he ran and repeating what he knew. Porthos was being stubborn.

"I don't know who she is!" Aramis yelled as he ran. "She says she's in the ambulance with him," Aramis panted. "You know as much as I do. Just get there, Porthos. Please."

It was a short call. He cut Porthos off, just yelling the destination again for good measure, and he kept running.

oOo

Her knee was grazed.

She rubbed absently at it, as she sat in the back of the ambulance.

She had picked up his phone in the alley and had scrolled through his contacts, standing back from the paramedics who had crouched in front of the man, Athos. All too soon they were loading him into the back of the ambulance, the knife still sickeningly in situ, and she was swept along with them. Casting a look over her shoulder, she shuddered as she saw the pool of blood they were leaving behind.

The door had slammed shut behind her as the paramedic unhooked a metal seat and guided her onto it. Looking down, she saw she still had his phone clamped in her hand.

What was the name he asked her to ring?

The driver hit the siren and pulled away as she reached the end of the contact list. Her mind was a blank. She didn't look at what the paramedic was doing. Athos was on his side, his sweater cut from him, his tee shirt going the same way. Eyes closed. Unresponsive.

She could smell his distinctive fragrance. She doubted she would forget it.

She scrolled back to the top and was beginning to panic when a name leapt out at her.

It was the first name on the list.

Aramis.

Tensing, she hit dial and waited.

The paramedics were shouting at each other, instructions going backward and forward between the driver and the one next to her, now pulling out an oxygen mask.

She squeezed her eyes shut, waiting for this Aramis to pick up.

And then, a voice. A kind voice.

"Athos! What is it, mon ami? Are you lost already?"

So she had spoken; ruining his day and most probably, shattering his world.

oOo

Athos was whisked away when they arrived and she stumbled from the ambulance. Directed to a waiting room on the first floor, she told them what Aramis had managed to yell at her while he was running, before he rang off;

"Tell them he doesn't react well to anaesthesia. His blood pressure will drop."

She sank onto a hard-backed chair.

Thankful that she was alone, she dropped her face into her hands and allowed the shock to finally take her and the tears to fall.

She had settled a little later when the door suddenly flew open and two men came noisily into the room. One, a doctor and the other, a man who looked not unlike Athos, with long dark wavy hair and a beard, who was talking animatedly to the doctor. She understood little of the medical jargon they were using. The doctor noticed her finally and put his hand on the other man's shoulder.

"This is the lady who came in with your friend," the doctor said. "From what she has told me, she probably saved his life."

The dark-haired man turned and saw her.

She pre-empted him by rising to her feet.

"Are you Aramis?" she asked, as she rose. "Athos's friend?"

"Yes …" he said, momentarily caught by surprise; realising he was staring.

"Ninon," she said, stepping forward and extending an elegant hand, "de Larroque."

Before he could react; hug her, kiss her, for what she had done, the door crashed open and Ninon took an alarmed step back.

"It's alright," Aramis said. "This is Porthos. He's a friend too."

oOo

Two hours later:

"Why is it takin' so long?" Porthos growled, as he paced the waiting room.

"These things take time, Porthos," Aramis replied, watching his friend cautiously. He had sought out the doctor assigned to Athos as soon as he had charged through the entrance lobby and obtained as much information as he could, before being shown to the waiting room, where he had met Ninon. "His lung has collapsed," Aramis added. "He's lost a lot of blood."

Ninon shuddered as her mind slipped back to the floor of the alley; slick red in the morning sunshine. Suddenly she remembered something and reached into her pocket and extending her hand to Aramis.

"His watch?" Aramis said, as he took it.

"That's why they attacked him," Ninon said. "He didn't want to give it up. It must mean a lot to him, so I thought I would look after it. These things can sometimes disappear in such circumstances."

"Thank you. It was his brother's," Aramis said softly, folding his fingers reverently around the watch.

"His late brother's," he added.

"Ah," Ninon said, sadly. "That makes sense, now."

"Thomas's death was sudden and brutal," Aramis said. "It has taken some time for him to come to terms with it. This watch is very precious to Athos."

"It's a wonder he didn't kill them," Porthos added, across the room.

oOo

"Tell me about him?" Ninon asked, now two hours into Athos's surgery.

The atmosphere had been very tense. Aramis had persuaded Porthos to go in search of something to eat, as the man was running on adrenaline fumes, fit to blow at any moment. Now, he was back, bringing sandwiches and coffee, looking a little more in control and just in time to hear Ninon's request.

Aramis looked up, startled by her question.

"He has an interesting face," she said, softly, by way of explanation.

Aramis appeared to gather his thoughts, before replying.

"We are all brothers, in all but blood," he replied. "He was our Captain when we were in the army. Now," he added, with a smile, "he is a diamond merchant."

"That's quite a leap," she offered, but she was curious to hear more. Athos had only uttered a few words in the alley; but his voice was beautiful; there was a refinement to it that intrigued her.

"We met in the military," Aramis continued. "Did our time, and now we have our own lives, but we meet up every few months. We each choose a destination. This was Athos's turn and that is why we are here. He wanted us to see a particular play."

Porthos had been quiet, staring out of the window, take-away coffee cup forgotten in his hand.

"What play?" she asked, tentatively.

"I can't remember," Aramis sighed, rubbing his fingers across his forehead.

"Somethin' high brow," Porthos muttered. "Always tryin' to culture us up."

"Well, you perhaps," Aramis smiled. "Some of us have poetry in our souls."

"I've got poetry," Porthos grumbled. "Just don't need subtitles for it."

Aramis permitted himself a laugh, before turning back to Ninon to continue his Brief History of Athos.

"Athos's family are old French aristocracy and can be traced back a long way," he continued, as he unwrapped a sandwich and offered another to her. She shook her head and he placed it on the small table between them, along with his own, which suddenly seemed unpalatable.

"But he don't care about any of that," Porthos interjected. "Won't hear mention of it."

"Though his wife enjoyed the title," Aramis added, darkly.

"His wife?" Ninon had asked, in surprise.

"Not our tale to tell," Aramis replied, his mood now a little sombre.

However, after a moment, he brightened and with a smile, he continued;

"He doesn't say much," he considered.

"He doesn't need to," Porthos interjected, as he and Aramis exchanged a look and a grin.

"You'll find out," Aramis said to her raised eyebrow.

"Does he have friends?" she asked. "Apart from you, I mean."

Porthos huffed.

"Doesn't need 'em."

"Doesn't want them," Aramis said.

"What sort of man is he?" she asked, rather puzzled now by their description of what seemed like a deeply private man.

"He is the best of men," Aramis said, softly.

"The very best," Porthos hummed in agreement.

She had thought these three were "more than" friends, when she first met Aramis and Porthos but it was obvious to her now that they were merely the best friends to each other she had ever met. There was such love in their words, such light in their eyes, she could only think that Athos must feel the same for them.

She had rarely seen a bond like it. It almost felt like an intrusion to be with them.

"You should know," Aramis said, gently, "He guards his heart. It was broken rather badly. But it still beats, despite his iron grip."

Aramis could see her interest was more than curiosity. Her "introduction" to their friend had been intense, terrifying. He had heard it in her voice that morning when he took her fateful call.

"And now, you have the measure of him," he finished.

But, rather than satisfied, she found herself wanting to hear more about Athos. To see him again and to hear his voice. Perhaps, even, to see his smile. The look they had shared that morning had shocked her in its intensity, despite the circumstances, and the memory lingered even now as she sat in the stark waiting room and Aramis continued to share a little of their history with her.

She tilted her head and looked at him carefully;

"I rather doubt that," she replied, quietly.

There was much to learn, she knew. And, she had been told many times, she was tenacious. In this it seemed, she would need to be very careful too. Or she would answer to his two equally tenacious friends.

To be continued ...