A/N: New Year's Eve! I wish you all you wish yourself and your loved ones as we approach a new era. Here's to better days!
oOo
Chapter Six
Finally, in the early hour after dawn, Athos began to stir.
Aramis reached out slowly and laid a hand over his, careful of the needle in the back of his hand.
It was not an easy awakening.
Aramis lifted his hand to run it gently over his friend's head, aware that his hair was clean now, and free of debris. He felt suddenly grateful to the nurse who now stepped behind him. She had kept her word. He was in good hands.
"Talk to him," Kate had said then, jolting him from his thoughts. "I won't be far away," she added, giving them both some privacy with their friend.
"Ath?" Porthos said gently, standing up and leaning over. "It's Ok, we're here, we've got you. Wake up, mate."
Athos opened his eyes and stared at the ceiling for a few moments as his friends both held their breath. This was a moment they had both wanted but dreaded. Would he be alright? They had seen the wreckage of the car. They knew he had hit his head. Would he remember what had happened?
Athos slowly turned his head toward Porthos's gentle entreaty, wincing when the muscles in his neck protested. He gradually became aware of the dull pain that thrummed around his chest. He couldn't move, his body felt too heavy. But mostly, he couldn't take a deep breath. A feeling of utter vulnerability flooded through him, tinged with no small amount of anxiety. And anger. He felt so angry. His eyes were wet, he couldn't help it as all these feelings crashed upon him, culminating in one half word;
"Men ..."
At the mention of the name, Aramis relaxed a little. Athos was aware of what had happened, of who had done this to him. It was a start.
Porthos pulled out a tissue from a box on the wall and wiped it gently over Athos's face. Wiping it dry; murmuring as he did it, Athos staring up at him.
"Mend ..." he said again.
"Sshh," Porthos murmured, looking across at Aramis, his face breaking into a grin as Aramis nodded, his hand resting on Athos's shoulder.
"You hurtin'?" he said then, at Athos's tightening expression.
Athos blinked once, their sign in the field for "yes," and Aramis hurried off to find Kate.
Athos closed his eyes, aware that Porthos was now holding his hand, a comforting warmth as he began to shiver.
Later, he was aware of being manhandled, inspected, washed. That was nice once he got over the fact that other people were doing that for him, Aramis taking over at some point.
Breathing was still hard, but the tube now in his nose helped, and the slight change in bed position took the pressure off lying flat.
Flashbacks brought him back to awareness every time he closed his eyes.
Athos knew the face.
He had seen it earlier in a photograph. In the office?
Mendez. It was Mendez.
So soon? He had come for him so soon.
He struggled to wake, to get away but the face remained and a blade suddenly appeared, the street light shining on the cold steel.
The blade was pressed to his throat, as he lay immobile in the twisted metal. The engine hissed and he was trapped by the air bag, his arm wedged through the steering wheel. Moving was impossible.
There were noises somewhere, but they were muffled and distorted.
A bright light was abrasive against his closed eyelids. He could feel the firm surface he was laid on.
He had been dreaming, he knew now. But the face seemed so real, as did the knife.
He struggled to open his eyes and eventually, his body co-operated. His eyes narrowed at the bright light above his head. Someone turned it down, thankfully. The face disappeared, the menace now gone, but the new reality was equally disturbing.
The constant beep of machines around him, the tangle of wires.
He looked up to his left and saw a clear bag on a stand. His eyes followed the line down to his hand. Lifting it took a little while, but his breath hitched as he saw the needle taped into the back of his hand.
Movement around him made him flinch but he had nowhere to go. He felt as if he should flee but his body was unresponsive. There was a dull ache in his back, but he knew now that the pull of drugs was keeping the rest of his pain at bay. He could not turn his head comfortably, so he used his eyes and the face now suddenly above him was not a familiar one.
She was blonde.
Leaning over him.
This time, he flinched violently as he was once more in the crumpling car, desperately trying to shift away from the central pillar that threatened to crush him.
She saw him struggling and smiled, bringing him back.
"Hello, Athos. I'm Kate," she said. She had a nice voice.
He blinked and frowned.
"You're in the ICU. I'm looking after you. Are you comfortable?"
He blinked once, and she seemed to understand.
"That's good," she murmured.
She had the bluest eyes.
His eyes followed her as she reached overhead.
He caught a gentle perfume. The lull of freesias.
"Go back to sleep," she said, gently. "Just for a little while."
He had no voice to protest as he felt a quick lurch as something cold hit the vein in his hand, and then the room fell away.
oOo
That night, Aramis explained in simple terms what had happened. He listed his injuries as Athos appeared to listen. Consciousness was a snatched affair however, and it was only the efficient manner and reassurances of the nurses that kept Porthos and Aramis grounded as their friend's eyes fell closed once more.
It was the nurses who shooed them out, telling them to go home, shower, eat and sleep. Athos was on the road to recovery, they assured them. Finally, they had complied, saying they would return in the morning.
"Not too early," Kate had smiled.
A few days later, Athos could turn his head when someone approached. He could smile a greeting with his eyes, his lips and jaw still sore from the numerous cuts brought about by broken glass and the deployed airbag. Whoever invented the airbag had not considered that unforeseen implication. The lesser of two evils, perhaps.
The morning he moved his leg, they celebrated - both getting drunk and staggering back to their office, where they were forgiven; Treville had, after all, done the same after first receiving the news that his Lt would live all those weeks ago.
He could stretch the tips of his fingers that were free of the white cast in greeting. In response, Aramis and Porthos would gently slide their own fingers beneath his and allow his hand to rest there, careful not to squeeze.
A doctor came by, telling him he would heal, if he was careful with his after care and kept his physiotherapy appointments. Porthos will do it, Athos thought as the doctor disappeared. The last time he had physio, they were too careful. It was Porthos who had forced his leg to straighten, often causing great pain and frustration, but Porthos knew what he was doing,experienced from another life. Porthos pushed him that time. That is what would happen with this. Once they let him out of this damned hospital, Porthos would do it.
They all helped each other.
It's what they did.
He looked a little better now, in a low sitting position, some of the machines gone. Soon, he would be moved into a private room and they could touch him without seeking permission or being afraid of dislodging tubes and wires. They could celebrate, not be lost in fear or shock. They could help him heal; bring him out of himself as his physical care diminished.
Porthos, in particular, looked forward to that day, because he had made a decision.
To be continued ...
