Summary: A mission to stop an assassin turns deadly.

A/N: Thank you Laureleaf and Uia for your reviews! Shameless whump here. And outdated medical practices.

"Kiss of Death"

Aramis twisted and rotated his hands, trying to work them free of the ropes lashing his arms behind the chair he sat in. The coarse hemp fibers abraded his wrists with each futile effort. Frustration over his capture made him tug harder despite the uselessness and pain it caused. They had been investigating a potential assassin, and Aramis had been sent to sweet talk the suspected man's mistress to gain information.

As it turned out, the mistress was the assassin.

She had offered Aramis some wine and he'd taken a sip to be polite, but that was all it took for whatever drug she'd laced it with to knock him out. He'd woken tied to a chair, arms wrenched behind the back and the rope secured to the bottom rung between the back legs. His ankles were lashed to the two front ones.

Elaine stalked around the chair like a lioness appraising its prey, one hand trailing across the back. "How much do the musketeers know?"

Aramis shrugged as much as his bonds allowed. "They know everything."

She smirked. "I doubt that. But they are getting close. Do the others know you came here?"

Aramis didn't answer. Of course they knew he was here, but they were busy following Monsieur Lavigne, the one they thought was the assassin. So they'd have no reason to come looking for him any time soon.

"Will I be arrested when I try to enter the palace?" she asked.

Aramis held his tongue. Lies could sometimes be detected, but silence cast doubt. And he needed to buy as much time as possible.

Elaine gave him a simpering smile. She went to a round basket on the other side of the room and removed the lid to reach inside. Aramis stiffened when she lifted out a snake, draping the long sinuous body over one arm and cradling the neck. She walked back over, stopping in front of him and stroking the serpent seductively.

"The adder is such an elegant creature," she remarked. "Did you know most snakes are docile? But incite them and their wrath is vicious. Being bitten results in a long, excruciating death." She leaned forward with the creature.

Aramis jerked his head away, his breaths hitching harshly as the snake's tongue flicked across the side of his neck.

Elaine drew back. "How much do the musketeers know?" she asked again, petting the adder.

Aramis's heart pounded painfully against his rib cage. "Your ploy failed. The musketeers are arresting Lavigne as we speak."

Her mien cracked into a smile. "The poor fool doesn't know anything. So my cover is still intact. I'll just have to move quickly."

She brought the snake closer again, and Aramis leaned back as far as the chair allowed from those beady eyes piercing right through him.

"It's a shame I have to kill you," Elaine mused.

Aramis forced himself to remain as still as possible. But then Elaine withdrew the adder again and moved away. It looked like she at least wasn't going to kill him with it, though he wasn't keen on any other method of execution either.

A thudding reverberation stopped her in her tracks a split second before the door burst open and Athos stormed in, followed by Porthos and d'Artagnan. Aramis had only a fleeting moment of relief at their arrival. Elaine spun and threw the snake at him as she fled down the hallway. Aramis jerked violently, throwing the chair to the side and landing on his left shoulder hard. He couldn't see the snake, couldn't twist enough to know where it was.

Then he felt a pair of fangs jab into his leg just above the knee, and he threw his head back with a scream as molten fire coursed into his veins. Someone shouted his name. He felt the snake sliding over his legs and squeezed his eyes shut, gritting his teeth to keep from making a sound and inciting the snake to bite him again. Even though the death sentence had already been dealt.

o.0.o

Porthos was about to follow Athos down the corridor after the real assassin when he heard Aramis's guttural scream. He quickly changed direction, rushing toward where his friend was lying on his side, tied to a chair.

"Porthos, watch out!" d'Artagnan shouted.

He faltered, eyes immediately whipping around in search of a secret accomplice. D'Artagnan surged past him, swinging his sword down. The blade cut through the head of an adder a mere foot from Porthos's boot. He recoiled sharply, stunned for a moment by the unexpected sight. But another grunt from Aramis snapped him out of it and he hurried to his friend's side.

"Aramis!"

The marksman was shaking with pain and Porthos searched for a knife wound or something. Instead he found two thin trickles of blood on his trousers leaking from fang marks.

Porthos whipped his gaze back to Aramis's. "What do I do?"

Aramis just gazed up at him with unbridled fear and resignation. Porthos shook his head in the face of it. No, Aramis was their medic; he always knew what to do.

"Athos!" he bellowed.

"We need to make a tourniquet," d'Artagnan said, joining them after having kicked the dead snake away.

Porthos yanked his bandana off and quickly wrapped it around Aramis's thigh above the puncture wounds, tying it as tightly as he could. Aramis let out a strangled sound.

"We need to cut the wounds," d'Artagnan said next, shifting to slice the ropes around Aramis's ankles. "Try to drain the venom." He moved around to the back of the chair to free his arms.

"We'll get 'im back to the garrison an' call a doctor," Porthos said.

"There's no time," d'Artagnan snapped. He severed the last of the ropes and pulled the chair away.

Porthos grabbed Aramis's shoulders and rolled him onto his back, careful to get his arms out from underneath him. The marksman had yet to say anything, too consumed with the writhing pain.

Athos finally returned. "What happened?"

"There was an adder," Porthos said. "Aramis got bit."

Athos stiffened, blanching in a rare expression of horror.

"We have to bleed the venom," d'Artagnan repeated, snatching a bowl from a nearby table. He knelt next to Aramis and cut a slit in the pant leg and braes underneath, then ripped the fabric the rest of the way to reveal the wound, which had rapidly swollen and the skin around the punctures looked puce.

Porthos leaned over Aramis. "Is that right?" Not that he doubted d'Artagnan's conviction and determination, but Aramis was the medic.

Aramis gave a jerky nod. "An' mu-mustard- poultice," he gritted out. He clamped his jaw shut and choked on a cry as d'Artagnan made a cut between the fang marks. Blood spilled out into the bowl held underneath.

Porthos squeezed Aramis's hand as his friend convulsed on the floor. He tore his eyes away from the agony and looked up at Athos. "The woman?"

"Dead."

At least there was that. Porthos couldn't believe they'd been so misled into thinking Lavigne was the assassin. When they'd followed him to a mill and overheard him talking about bread making business, they'd realized he had absolutely nothing to do with a plot against the crown. The information they'd been going off of was too much of a coincidence though…unless they took into account his mistress, whom Aramis had gone to talk to, alone. They'd rushed to the woman's house after that, but had arrived too late.

D'Artagnan finally pulled the bowl away and pressed a cloth to the wound. "I'm afraid to bleed him more."

Aramis was still shaking, pained sounds garbled in his throat.

"What about wine?" Porthos asked. "Clean it like wit' other wounds."

D'Artagnan pursed his mouth. "The mustard poultice would be better." He jumped to his feet, uttering something about how a woman who kept venomous snakes surely had precautions in stock.

"There's a bed two doors down," Athos spoke up. "We should move him."

Porthos nodded wordlessly and shifted so he could pull Aramis up over his shoulder. The movement brought forth more cries of pain. Porthos maneuvered down the hallway and into a bedroom as carefully as he could and eased Aramis onto the bed, heedless of getting blood on the plush coverlet.

"This isn't how you like to enter a woman's bed, is it?" he muttered.

Aramis didn't respond, taken past the point of awareness but not fully released into unconsciousness. His muscles kept trembling and his pallor was flushed. Athos left momentarily and came back with a bowl of water. He soaked a cloth in it, then squeezed it out before wiping it across Aramis's brow. Porthos didn't think it looked like it was offering any relief, but he didn't know what else they could do.

D'Artagnan finally returned carrying a bowl with a yellow, pungent smelling poultice mixed within, which he quickly set to pasting over the wound. Aramis arched in agony but didn't wake.

"You've seen bites like this before?" Athos asked their young Gascon.

"Yes. Growing up on a farm, you come across venomous snakes."

"An' people survive?" Porthos said.

D'Artagnan's jaw looked tight. "Sometimes."

A lump settled in Porthos's throat, threatening to cut off his air. He swallowed hard. "Aramis will survive. He's too stubborn to die."

D'Artagnan's throat bobbed and he wrapped a strip of linen over the poultice.

Athos left to send word to Treville and to have a physician come to them.

Porthos remained by his best friend's side, silently willing him to live.

o.0.o

D'Artagnan stood in Madame Elaine's bedroom and watched Aramis shudder in his restless sleep. A doctor had come and gone, declaring that what d'Artagnan had already done was all that could be done. The poultice had begun to dry, so they'd cleaned it off and the physician had bled Aramis one more time, just for good measure. The procedure had been excruciating to watch, and was ten times worse for the one under the knife. D'Artagnan knew increased pain was an effect of the venom but that didn't make it any easier and he was secretly glad when the doctor left.

The captain and some other musketeers had come and taken the assassin's body away. Since Elaine was dead and Aramis couldn't be moved, the rest of them had simply settled in to stay until…until the venom ran its course one way or the other. D'Artagnan had heard of people surviving being bitten. But more often than not it was fatal.

Athos entered the room after seeing Treville off. "The tourniquet needs to be loosened."

Porthos straightened. "What about the poison? Doc said it's still in 'im."

"And his body is fighting it. But losing his leg would be as good as death."

Porthos looked away but didn't argue. D'Artagnan reached to loosen the tourniquet a bit. Aramis was still in pain and feverish, so d'Artagnan went to make more mustard poultice. Athos followed him into the kitchen and rummaged around until he found the house's stash of wine. So d'Artagnan wasn't going to get much help from that quarter. Porthos hadn't moved when he returned, didn't offer to do much other than steadfastly remain at Aramis's side. Which meant it fell to d'Artagnan to take up Aramis's role as medic and monitor the marksman's condition. He tried to ease his suffering with cool cloths and loosened the tourniquet every hour until it finally just slid off.

Treville came back that evening to check on them, but there was nothing new to report. It was a waiting game.

"You should take turns getting some rest," the captain said.

No one said anything to that.

"I can make it an order."

Athos moved, wine bottle dangling in one hand, and without a word he coaxed Porthos to finally abandon his self-imposed post and guided him from the room. D'Artagnan and Treville settled into an uncomfortable silence broken only by Aramis's pained moans.

It was a few more hours before he finally went silent and still, and d'Artagnan's heart seized as he lurched from his chair.

Treville reached Aramis first and leaned over him. "He's still breathing," he announced.

D'Artagnan placed the back of his hand to Aramis's brow and found he was cooler. Aramis's eyes cracked open at the touch and d'Artagnan couldn't help but let out a relieved smile. "Hey." He grabbed a cup of water from the nightstand and lifted Aramis's head to help him take a few sips. "How are you feeling?"

"Like I've been through hellfire," he rasped. His gaze roved around the room, brow furrowing in confusion.

"We're at Madame Elaine's house," Treville explained. "She was the assassin and was killed when she tried to flee. Apparently she kept an adder on hand and you were bitten."

Aramis swallowed. "I didn't think I'd survive," he said softly, voice as wrecked as he looked after such an ordeal.

"You have a knack for defying the odds," Treville said with a trace of fondness. "And also good friends who fought just as hard to keep you here."

Aramis lolled his head toward d'Artagnan. "I owe you a great deal of thanks."

He smiled. "It's nothing you wouldn't have done for any of us."

"I'll be back in a moment," Treville said, bowing out.

With his captain gone, Aramis let some more of his discomfort show with a pained grimace and hitched breath.

"We've been doing the mustard poultice," d'Artagnan said. "It looks like it worked, but what else can we do now?" He hesitated. "The, uh, doctor who came by wasn't very helpful."

Aramis hummed. "He probably didn't put much faith in my survival either."

D'Artagnan felt some of that lingering fear tighten his chest. "You're past the worst of it though," he said staunchly.

Aramis gave him a wan smile. "There's a foul concoction you can mix up to help with the symptoms. While the venom may not kill me, I expect the next few days will not be entirely pleasant either." His mouth turned down. "And as comfortable as these accommodations are, I think I would like to return to the garrison."

"Maybe later," d'Artagnan said. "The kitchen is fully stocked and I think we should take advantage of the herbs. Call it hazard pay."

A ghost of a smile tugged at Aramis's mouth. "Very well. I suppose the softer bed would do me well."

Multiple footsteps in the hall announced Treville's return with Athos and Porthos.

"You're awake!" Porthos exclaimed, rushing to Aramis's side. "How you feelin'?"

Aramis mustered a brighter smile for him. "Better."

Athos stopped at the foot of the bed and looked him over, his manner of course more composed, but his expression was soft with obvious relief as well. "You sound horrible."

"Nothing some wine can't remedy. If there's any left," Aramis rejoined pointedly.

Porthos grinned and d'Artagnan shook his head with a smile.

Athos's lips twitched. "I'll see what I can find."

A/N: Next up I've got a short chapter fic to take up the next few Wednesdays and Saturdays.