A/N: Hey guys. Sorry for the delay once more. Real life really can be a pain. I am not sure at all with this chapter if its even remotely good. It's a longer one this time and I am taking liberties with details of extracting a tooth in the 1600's. Either way it'd be horrible. That much we know right? I hope this isnt completely horrible and I apologise for any typos or mistakes.
Chapter 4. Extraction.
In all his time living in the court Porthos had never gotten near a horse. No-one really had the money, the space or the need for such animals in the slums of Paris. Porthos hadn't really thought much about the beasts. It hadn't been until he'd left that world and became a soldier that he'd had his first real introduction. Even now while he could ride, he wouldn't have considered himself the best rider in France. But he couldn't help but be concerned. He'd developed a bond with his horse. He was his friend.
How the hell had they been foolish enough to allow their horses to be stolen? He'd been so preoccupied with getting back to Aramis that he hadn't thought twice. His heart had sunk when upon their return their mounts had been nowhere to be seen. Who had taken them and for what purpose? Their horses were of fine stock and would fetch a hefty price if sold. But losing his horse to a merchant or a farmer was not what concerned Porthos the most. Horse meat would be better than nothing when you had nothing to begin with. The thought was too horrible to consider.
"How did you learn to be a healer?"
d'Artagnan's question interrupted Porthos' morose thoughts. He glanced over his shoulder at the two men behind him. d'Artagnan walked beside Maynard, his attention squarely on the old man. The boy was all fire and curiosity and he wasn't afraid to use either.
Maynard responded with a sigh. "That was a long time ago."
"We've got some time to kill," d'Artagnan countered.
They had too much time to kill as they walked through Paris. They would have already been back at Bonacieux's by now had they had their horses. This little endeavour had taken much longer than Porthos would have liked and he was almost regretting the whole mission. So far it had done nothing but dredge up misguided anger and delayed Aramis' treatment. Bloody Aramis an' his stupid stubbornness, Porthos mentally cursed his friend.
Maynard sighed again. "Very well. I was not much older than Porthos was when I first met him. I met this enchanting woman. She showed me many great things. She told me I was a natural."
"She taught you?"
Porthos looked back again just in time to see Maynard nod. "In exchange for teaching me everything she knew, I brought her trinkets, gold, anything I could pocket. These hands are deft at thievery as well as healing." Maynard proclaimed proudly. "Her hands were like magic. I once believed there was nothing and no-one she couldn't heal."
"Only once?"
"You soon learn, my boy, that magic belongs in fairytales. Life and death isn't as forgiving."
"What happened to her?"
"She fell ill and for all her magic and all of my talent she died."
"How did you meet Porthos?"
"Porthos came to me after a rather unfortunate incident with a tavern patron. Do you remember it, Porthos?"
"How could I forget?" Porthos grumbled, continuing his pace. He didn't want to talk or rehash old memories, not anymore. He wanted to get back to Aramis and put this whole thing behind him.
"I was passing the tavern on my way home and saw two young boys tearing out of the tavern like the devil himself were after them. A few rather angry men chased after them."
"It was Charon they were after." Porthos didn't know why he felt the need to contribute to this story. He had nothing to prove.
"I found Porthos and Charon hiding in an alley as the men ran passed. Charon was injured and Porthos begged me ..."
"I didn't beg," Porthos objected.
"He begged me to help Charon. I agreed and in return, I had the boys work for me."
"Work for you?"
"Doctoring doesn't pay all that well when all of your patients don't have a cent between them."
"We were his side project," Porthos supplied with a sigh. There was no point in denying it.
"And let me tell you, no-one was better than Porthos. What he didn't have in raw talent? He made up for under my tutelage. To be honest, I always thought Charon was jealous. But he was a good boy. He didn't deserve to die."
Porthos stopped short, almost causing d'Artagnan and Maynard to run into his back. He rounded on the smaller man and backed him up into a wall of a nearby house. His hands held the doctor there, fingers clenched in the moth eaten fabric of his cloak. "And I didn't kill him," Porthos hissed.
He felt hands on his shoulders, pulling him away from his old mentor. "Porthos, stop. We don't have time for this." Athos wrapped an arm over his shoulder and pulled. "You can settle this later," he whispered in his ear.
Porthos released his hold on Maynard and with an angry huff he shrugged away from Athos. He turned and continued in the direction of the Bonacieux home. He was frustrated and angry and hurt and he wanted to punch something ... hard. This had been a terrible idea. What had he been thinking? He didn't even know why he was so angry. He'd never really been one to care about what other people thought. But for some reason with Maynard he felt enraged. Charon had gone against everything their brotherhood stood for. He'd betrayed them all and yet the blame was being laid at his feet? Worse yet, the blame was being laid by a man that Porthos had looked up to, a man he had trusted. It didn't sit right with him to have the man think so lowly of him.
"Porthos, slow down." Athos called to him. He clapped a hand on his shoulder to pull him to a stop.
Porthos turned to face the smaller man. "We've wasted enough time 'avent we?"
"I agree. But unless you want the old man to keel over before he gets to Aramis, we should slow down."
Porthos looked to where d'Artagnan was walking, pulling Maynard along. The doctor wasn't as young as he used to be. Porthos sighed, although it turned into more of a growl. If Aramis ever got himself this sick again he wouldn't have to fear a bloody doctor.
"Come on," Porthos stated as he fell into a less angry, more purposeful gait next to Athos. "Aramis must've driven Constance insane with all his whinin'. She'll be glad to see us."
"Or she'll wish to hurt us for leaving her alone with him in the first place."
Porthos glanced sideways at his friend. He hadn't thought of that. Constance was a frightening woman when she was angered. He glanced behind him again, checking that d'Artagnan still had control over Maynard. He turned back to Athos with a smirk. "d'Artagnan's the one that 'as to live with 'er." He didn't miss the rare slight smile that forced its way onto Athos' features.
Porthos had never been gladder to see the familiar building that was the Bonacieuxhome. It was still quiet but dawn teased the horizon. It wouldn't be long until the sun rose and with it the citizens of Paris. "Finally," Porthos muttered.
His relief was shattered in moments as shouting could be heard loud and clear coming from the house. Porthos and Athos shared a look of alarm before they both bolted the remaining distance separating them from Aramis. Neither man bothered knocking. Porthos was pretty sure they were beyond the point of pleasantries and politeness. Constance would forgive them, somehow she always did.
Porthos followed Athos through the house, trusting that d'Artagnan could handle Maynard. Raised voices could be heard coming from d'Artagnan's bedroom, tension and stress seemed to leak from the walls of the Bonacieux home doing nothing to settle Porthos' apprehension.
"Stay back!"
Athos threw a concerned look over his shoulder, catching a matching expression from Porthos. That was Aramis' voice. It was strained and muffled, but loud and angry all the same.
"I ... I mean it!"
"Aramis ..." Constance called to him, her tone cajoling like she was trying very hard not to spook a frightened animal.
Porthos followed Athos into the room and stopped dead in his tracks as he took in the scene before him. Aramis was at the far end of the room, backed into a corner by Constance and a man that Porthos had never seen before.
The man looked to be in his forties, light brown hair and despite obviously having dressed hastily, his clothes were impeccable. The stranger was holding a hand to his clean shaven face, drops of blood could be seen on his sleeve and on the front of his pristine shirt.
"Please … calm down." Constance held her hands up in a placating manner, her voice was soft and while Porthos couldn't exactly see her face from where he was standing he could picture the smile on her lips.
"No!" Aramis shouted; his voice was ragged and scratchy. "He's a …a fucking barbarian..." he muttered under his breath. He closed his eyes and took a shaky breath. His face broke into a painful wince. He looked so tired. Leaning back against the wall seemed to be the only thing holding the ailing Musketeer upright. "I'll give him more than a broken nose if he comes near me again!" He warned.
"Aramis ..."
"What's goin' on in 'ere?" Porthos demanded, having had enough of the show before them. His protectiveness spiked as he gaged his friend's condition. Aramis was dressed in only his breeches, his skin flushed and his damp hair stuck to his head in a mess of tangled curls. In his hands, gripped tightly was a reel of fabric complete with wooden panel.
Constance jumped at the sudden intrusion. She turned to look in his direction and relief instantly filled her features. "Porthos, Athos... thank God you're here." Constance didn't move, keeping herself in between Aramis and the stranger.
"What's happened? Who is this?" Athos asked, gesturing to the stranger.
"This is Doctor Corbin," Constance supplied, looking almost sheepish. It wasn't a look that Porthos was accustomed to seeing on her face.
"A doctor? What's he doing 'ere?" Porthos asked, stalking towards the doctor in question. He grabbed the man by the shirtfront and slammed him into the wall. "What'd you do to 'im?" Porthos snarled. He had no patience. Not now.
Constance jumped at the sudden violence. "I was getting worried. His fever was getting worse and you weren't back yet," Constance attempted to explain. Porthos' eyes were locked onto the wide blue eyes of the doctor.
The man struggled in Porthos grasp to no avail. "Unhand me, Sir!" Corbin's English accent sounded strained in the French language, his tongue tripping over foreign words.
"Answer me!" Porthos growled, shaking the man. His frustration had built over the long night and his need to protect his friend was now paramount. This man was a threat and Porthos didn't like him.
"Porthos!" Constance called in alarm. "Please …"
A hand gripped his shoulder once more, much like it had when he'd been about to throttle Maynard. Athos was close, pulling at his arms in an attempt to free the squirming English doctor. "Porthos, let him go! Now." Athos hissed, insistently tugging on his arm. "Porthos!"
Porthos made a frustrated noise at the back of his throat but reluctantly let the wiry man slip from his grasp. Taking a step back, he watched as the man fell to the floor before scrambling to his feet. "What is the matter with you all? I came here to help and this is the way I am treated?"
"Count yourself lucky, Monsieur, that Porthos here has more pressing matters." Athos voice was even toned and calm but his tight grip on Porthos' arm hadn't eased as if he was waiting for Porthos to attack once more.
Constance was still hovering between them and Aramis. "I'm sorry, I didn't..."
"It's okay, Madame. We'll handle things from here," Athos assured her in a calm tone that bore no judgement.
Porthos shrugged out of Athos's grip and looked over at his friend. Unlike the fire and fear they'd witnessed upon first entering the room, Aramis just looked pained, the wall was the only thing keeping him standing. He was bent forward, hands on his knees as his head drooped between his shoulders. "Aramis?" he asked hesitantly, moving forward past Constance to get to his friend.
Aramis startled, straightening, glazed eyes sought out his and he raised the reel of fabric in a defensive move causing Porthos to stop just short of touching him. He raised his hands in much the same manner as Constance had. He wasn't naive enough to think that Aramis wasn't dangerous in this condition. He'd known the Spaniard long enough to know that Aramis could turn anything into a weapon. He'd seen him use books, hats, cloaks, pots and pans and even a pillow against a rather irate husband once. Having his friend in a fever crazed state only made the danger so much worse and Porthos had no intention of having his head knocked from his shoulders by a roll of fabric.
"He hit me!" The voice came from behind him and Porthos wanted to throttle the doctor once more when Aramis' gaze was deviated from his. "And this one threatened me. Is this how I am repaid for my kindness at this late hour?"
"Oh do shut up before I clock you one as well," Constance threatened before Porthos could do so, causing him to inwardly smile.
"Outside." Athos instructed, brokering no argument. "Now." Shuffling could be heard behind him as Athos obviously manhandled the man out of the room. Porthos would thank him later.
Porthos kept his eyes on his friend. "Aramis, look at me," he demanded, waving a hand to catch Aramis' attention.
Aramis blinked at him. "Porthos?"
"Hey ... how 'bout you give me that?" Porthos asked, indicating to the roll of fabric in Aramis' death grip. With confusion etched on his features Aramis lowered his gaze to the fabric in his hands. Porthos held out his hands and inched a little closer. "That's it. Just pass it over to me."
"I-I'm not letting him near m-me."
"Neither am I. He's gone. Look, see, Athos took care of 'im." Porthos glanced over his shoulder to clarify that he had indeed been correct. The only person in the room with them now was Constance. In the brief moment that their eyes met Constance looked beside herself with worry. He winked at her to try and reassure her and then turned back to his friend.
Aramis sagged against the wall again. The roll of fabric dropped from his hands and landed on the floor with a dull thump. The marksman groaned as he folded forward, cradling his head in his hands, fingers flexing as if he might pull his hair out. Porthos moved into his friend's space and pulled him into a standing position again. He looked miserable and leaned into Porthos, his body shivering. "What ... what took you so long?" he muttered with a pained grin.
Porthos chuckled. "You miss me already?"
With Constance's help, Porthos managed to get their fevered friend back onto the bed. "He was quite worried about you," she commented, brushing Aramis' damp hair back away from his face.
"Worried, huh?" Porthos asked, trying to ignore the heat in his friend's skin as he settled him on the bed. He understood Constance's concern even if he didn't agree with her choice of doctor. He took a seat on the edge of the bed and rested a hand on Aramis shoulder as the man curled up on his side. "I'm not the one lying 'ere all pathetic like."
Aramis shuddered, squeezing his eyes shut as he huffed. "P-Pathetic?"
Porthos squeezed Aramis shoulder as his friend tensed. He kept his eyes clenched tightly closed and pressed his face harder into the pillow. The low moan that came from Aramis' throat, made Porthos wince. He looked up, wondering where the hell d'Artagnan and Maynard were and caught Constance's anxious expression.
"I'm sorry, Porthos. I..."
Her face was filled with worry and uncertainty. It looked foreign on her. "You were worried," he finished for her. She didn't need to apologise for that.
"His fever was getting worse. I feared he couldn't wait any longer," Constance continued as she reached for a cloth that had been lying on the floor beside the bed. She dipped it in the bowl on the small table next to bed and then wrung it out, handing it to Porthos. "I'm afraid Doctor Corbin might never come back here again."
"Where'd you find 'im?" Porthos had never seen or heard of the man before.
"He's new to Paris. He'd met with my husband about a new cloak. He was the closest doctor I knew of."
"Pompous git!" Porthos found himself growling again at the thought of the man.
Constance conceded with a sheepish look. "He doesn't have the greatest bedside manner, I agree."
Porthos sighed. "Not the best patient either, our Aramis," he mused as he pressed the cold compress to Aramis' forehead, noting the shudder it elicited from man.
"I couldn't blame him," Constance admitted. "If he'd come at me intent on sticking a burning piece of metal in my mouth I might have punched him too."
Porthos looked up at Constance incredulously. But anything he was about to say was interrupted by another shudder coming from the man in the bed. "Aramis?" Porthos called softly. "It's gettin' worse?"
Aramis' laugh was ragged and anything but humorous. "It hasn't s-stopped." He paused, swallowing with a wince before opening his eyes. "I should have ..."
Porthos sighed, resuming the cool clothes movement. "You should 'ave bloody listened to me in the first place." Leaning forward he moved Aramis' hair away from the back of his neck and placed the cool compress against the hot skin. Aramis made a sound that almost sounded like contentment.
"I …" Anything he was about to say was interrupted by a groan. Agony rushed over his face, making his features crumble. "God."
Porthos felt helpless. His friend was pale, his skin burning; and he was trying so hard to keep it all together. Porthos could see the strain in the other musketeer's body to keep from completely unravelling. Despite what he'd seen earlier, Aramis was not pathetic but even the strongest man could only take so much.
Sitting back, Porthos pulled his hand away. His intentions of standing up were halted by Aramis' quick reflexes. Even in agony his friend was impressive. Sweaty palms held his wrist in a white-knuckled grip. "Don't."
"Don't what, Aramis?"
"D-Don't leave."
Porthos pried Aramis' grip from his wrist and took hold of his hand instead. "You're safe, my friend. I'm not goin' anywhere." Where the hell was d'Artagnan and Maynard?
As if reading his thoughts, Constance turned towards the door. "I'll go and see what is keeping the others."
xxxxxxAll4Onexxxxx
Athos bee-lined for the front door, dragging Doctor Corbin with him. The man grumbled and whined about his treatment and Athos found himself sorry that he had stopped Porthos from rage-punching him into the wall. As soon as they stepped outside, Athos released his hold on the man and pushed his medical bag – that he'd collected along the way – into his chest. He stood back, not waiting to see if the man's reflexes were fast enough to catch it.
Corbin stumbled with the loss of momentum as soon as Athos released him but managed to right himself before crashing to the ground. It was a shame. Frustration and anger filled the air around him and Athos had no time for ignorant men who were the cause of such distress to one of his brothers.
"What is the meaning of this?" Corbin questioned indignantly, wrapping one arm around his bag. His free hand tested out his nose with a pained wince. It was no longer bleeding but it looked tender.
"Your services are no longer required, Doctor." Athos thought that much should have been obvious.
"Am I to be paid for my services?" Athos tilted his head and looked at the man as if he were crazy. Maybe he was. He was English, after all. With Athos' lack of verbal response Corbin continued. "I came out here in the middle of the night by the kindness in my heart and was attacked for my trouble. Twice." He held up two fingers as if to back up his complaint. "What kind of brutes does the King employ?"
Athos sighed and took a step forward, grasping the man's upper arm. "I can assure you, Doctor, the longer you stay, the more you'll learn and that is a lesson for another day. Go home. I have a sick friend to get back to." Athos manhandled him out past the well situated in front of Constance's house. He was not going to argue with this man.
A short distance away, Athos spotted d'Artagnan and Maynard approaching. He released Corbin once again with a little push. "Leave. Now. Before I show you what kind of brutes the King of France employs."
Corbin huffed, his hand still hovering over his broken nose. "You're all a bunch of fools. You're friend needs a doctor. Those worms will continue to fester if not dealt with and his fever..."
Worms? Athos raised an eyebrow but decided not to ask. He just wanted the man gone. "I am not going to repeat myself." His gaze slid to d'Artagnan as the young man approached, confusion etched on his features.
"Have it your way, Musketeer. I'll be taking my quarry to your superior. I expect payment." Corbin turned in a huff and began walking away. Finally. Athos breathed a sigh of relief. That was one problem sorted.
"What was that about?" d'Artagnan asked as Athos fell into step with him.
"Don't ask. It is nice of you to join us though," he replied dryly.
"It is not the boy's fault. These old legs haven't seen such exercise in a long time. I held him back." Maynard was puffing with exhaustion.
"How's Aramis?" d'Artagnan asked as they approached the front door.
Athos entered the dwelling directing the way back to d'Artagnan's room. "As charming and deadly as ever."
d'Artagnan smiled slightly, shaking his head. "Good to see some things never change."
As they entered the room, Athos' attention was drawn to the bed. The smell of stress and sickness was thick in the atmosphere and he found himself swallowing thickly at the sight before him. Aramis was curled up on his side, a picture of pure misery as the other Musketeer tried valiantly to bring his fever down with nothing more than a wet cloth.
For as long as Athos had known Aramis he had always been strong and charismatic. Right now, as he lay there, clearly overtaken with agony, Athos thought he looked much younger than his years. His eyes were squeezed shut and his jaw ridged, pressed into his hand and pillow in a useless effort to stop the ache that obviously resided there.
Constance turned from her hovering and her eyes lit up as she saw d'Artagnan. She moved to the boy's side, reaching for his hand. "It's about time you got here."
d'Artagnan gulped as his eyes locked on the same scene Athos was witnessing. It took a good few moments before he allowed his eyes to be dragged away to meet Constance's. "We brought help."
Maynard moved around both Athos and d'Artagnan, not hesitating in the slightest as he made his way to the bed. "What are we dealing with?"
Porthos startled at the intrusion. "'is tooth. It got broke in a fight. I think … I think it's killin' 'im."
Maynard reached out and touched the back of his hand to Aramis' forehead, wincing at the heat he found there. "His fever is dangerously high. How long ago did this happen?"
"A couple of weeks. The fevers only recent ... I think." Porthos paused, frustration clear on his features. He growled. "I should've bloody known something was wrong. Damn 'im." Athos felt the same regret. It was hard not to. Aramis should have seen to it sooner. Aramis shouldn't have let it get this bad. But as his friends, his brothers, Athos felt they should have acted sooner to save the stupid marksman from himself.
"I need to see the tooth," Maynard stated, wisely waiting for Porthos to help achieve this endeavour.
Porthos nodded, reached out a hand and lightly shook Aramis' shoulder. Aramis groaned, his face contorting further in pain. "Aramis, we need to look at your tooth."
Aramis' eyes opened to mere slits as if the effort to hold them fully open was too hard. "No w-worms …" he muttered, blinking a few more times as he tried to gather his bearings.
What was it with the worms? Athos shared a glance with d'Artagnan but the boy just shrugged, not any more knowledgeable than Athos was on the matter.
"Doctor Corbin diagnosed that worms were festering in his tooth and gum and had planned to burn them out with a hot poker," Constance explained, squeezing d'Artagnan's hand. "Aramis didn't take to that very well."
"I can't imagine why," Athos remarked dryly. Now he understood the reason for the Corbin's broken and bloody nose. Aramis was defending himself against a burning hot poker. Athos couldn't help but think that was fair enough.
"No, I doubt worms are your problem, lad. I never really believed in that nonsense and I've seen my fair share of toothaches and abscesses and I cannot promise this won't be unpleasant. But I really do need to see the problematic tooth." Maynard's voice was gentle and he didn't make a move without approval from his patient. He waited, giving Aramis a chance to come to terms with what was happening. Maynard was much more tactful than Doctor Corbin. Hopefully that would pay off.
Aramis looked at him for a few long moments before looking to Porthos, questions burning in his eyes.
"Maynard's 'ere to help. I promise," Porthos assured him with a nod. "You trust me, right?"
Athos was ready to hold the fool down if he didn't comply but to his relief Aramis slowly nodded. It was a start.
"Good, good. Can you lay on your back for me?" Maynard asked and waited as Aramis nodded once more and resituated himself on the bed. "Good. Porthos? Could you give me some space?"
"Don't go." Aramis voice was strained, but no less desperate. His eyes opened fully as the idea of being left alone with the doctor gained purchase in his sluggish mind. Aramis was stuck between wanting relief so desperately and fear of what was needed to gain that relief. It was bizarre to watch his normally brave and reckless friend so addled by fear. Athos folded his arms across his chest, feeling uncomfortable with the whole scene.
"I'm not leavin' 'im." Porthos' statement came in the same moment as Aramis panicked reflexes grabbed fist full of his leather sleeve. "I'm not goin' anywhere," Porthos reiterated. He patted the hand attached to him, reassuring his friend.
"I was not asking you to leave, Porthos. Just to move aside. I cannot tend to him if I do not have the space to do so," Maynard huffed. "Perhaps you could sit on his other side."
Porthos expression didn't lose its edge but his fight reflex visibly calmed. "Fine." He extracted Aramis tight grip on his sleeve, squeezing the trembling hand briefly. He met his friend's eyes. "Not goin' anywhere, okay?"
The tension in Aramis' quivering muscles was rising but he nodded, closing his eyes. He pressed his head further back into the pillow and clenched his fingers in the bed linen. His breathing become louder, in and out through his nose as he tried valiantly calm himself. At this point Athos wasn't sure whether it was pain or fear he was contending with. More than likely both, he thought.
Porthos moved to the other side of the bed and shrugged out of his doublet, shucking it to the floor. He sat down on the edge of the bed, one leg bent at the knee resting against Aramis' side. The large musketeer wisely kept himself in Aramis' line of sight.
Maynard rinsed his hands out in the bowl of water beside the bed and turned to look in their direction. "Do you have another lantern, Madame? We could use some more light in here."
"Of course!" Constance pulled herself away from d'Artagnan and left the room, coming back only moments later with a lantern. She moved over to the bed near Porthos and hung the lantern on a hook above his head.
"Much better," Maynard said. Plucking a candle from its perch on the lone candle holder in the room, the old man approached the bed. "Only for me to see better, my boy," he explained when Aramis eyed him apprehensively.
"Let's jus' get this over with, yeah?" Porthos asked impatiently.
Maynard handed the candle to Porthos and hovered over Aramis."Hold this close to his mouth so I can see what I am doing."
Athos felt awkward now as Constance returned to stand between him and d'Artagnan. He felt like a voyeur and with nothing to do that actively helped he couldn't help but wonder if the three of them should leave the room. But his feet felt like lead. He glanced at d'Artagnan and found that he wasn't the only one that seemed to be struggling with inner turmoil.
"Maybe we should give them some space?" Constance suggested quietly, looking up between them both. The younger man met his gaze as if silently asking for his opinion. d'Artagnan lifted a shoulder in question.
Athos found himself sighing. "I need a drink."
"Come on," Constance turned and walked to the door. "I think I hear my husband's wine calling our names."
Athos and d'Artagnan exchanged a look between them before d'Artagnan's lips tipped up into a smirk. "You've never been one to argue with a bottle of wine. Let's go."
With one final glance back at his hurting friend, Athos nodded. There was nothing for them to do right now but wait. He followed d'Artagnan out of the room. In fact, if he listened carefully enough he thought he really could hear the wine calling to him … and who was he to argue?
xxxxxAll4Onexxxxx
Aramis shuddered. Nausea was swirling around his stomach, threatening to evacuate and the last thing he wanted right now was to be sick. He wanted to swallow but it was hard to do so with his mouth stretched wide open. Hands were on his face, holding his mouth in place. He felt trapped. Panic seized his racing heart and the need to get away surged its way past any thought or reason.
"Stay still."
There was a large hand on his chest. His eyes slid to his right. Porthos' face swam into view, his gaze never faltering. Porthos was like a rock. There was a measure of safety he felt when his friend was around. There was a trust there that he didn't bestow to just anyone and right now he was showing a whole lot of trust.
"uhh..so..rru," Aramis spoke around the fingers probing his mouth. He needed Porthos to know he was sorry, that he hadn't meant for all of this to happen.
"No talking," Porthos ordered, sternly.
"Hmm..." The foreign voice startled him. He'd almost forgotten there was someone else in the room.
Aramis tore his gaze from Porthos. The old face hovering above him moved in closer, careful not to get too close to the flame that Porthos was holding near his open mouth. On instinct Aramis tried to back away but with the pillows and mattress at his back he had nowhere to go.
"Uggh..." He needed to swallow but he couldn't properly with his mouth was still held wide open. His throat felt thick with the need to be sick. He couldn't remember what it felt like to feel normal and pain free. He closed his eyes, feeling more unsettled with the strange wrinkled face so close to his.
"It's okay. You're okay," Porthos stated, soothingly. Aramis wanted to believe him but the sharp never-ending ache coming from his jaw contradicted that. "You done?" Porthos directed his question to Maynard.
The doctor released his jaw and stood back. Aramis swallowed multiple times trying to quell the sick feeling at the base of his throat. Don't throw up, don't throw up, he thought. He couldn't go through that again right now.
"It's quite a mess in there," Maynard commented as he rinsed his hands in water once more. "The area around the broken tooth is quite inflamed and swollen. An abscess has formed in the infected area. It's no surprise that he feels so awful."
"But you can fix this." Porthos' toned dared Maynard to tell him differently. It was more confidence than what Aramis could muster. It was taking all his strength not to let the moisture collecting in his eyes betray him completely. "You can just take the tooth out."
"I'm afraid it's not as simple as that. Removing the tooth while infection is rampant could be dangerous. It could hinder his healing and make him worse."
"Then treat the infection first."
"I know of a remedy against infection that might work but..."
"But what?" Aramis asked, determined to stay a part of the conversation, determined to have a say in what was going on. "W-What?" He asked again, impatient for an answer. The room wavered in front of him, his temperature was rising to a suffocating level.
"It could take days for the infection to recede, if it does. The reason for the infection would still be there."
Porthos made a frustrated noise in his throat. "So 'e's damned if you do and damned if you don't? Is'at what you're sayin'?"
"It's a risk eith…"
"P-Pull it out." There was no point in arguing over the matter. Agony spiked through his jaw causing him to groan through clenched teeth. He was so tired and over the pain. "Jus' … pullit… out."
Porthos placed a hand on his arm. "Are you sure?"
"No," he replied honestly. The thought still terrified him which was stupid considering how much he wanted the pain to stop. But the thought of spending possibly days with his tooth feeling like it was in a vice was too much too take. He took a long breath before continuing. "s'no choice, P'thos."
"Once we have the tooth out we can flush out the wound, clean it and treat the infection. With any luck he should heal perfectly fine. But …"
The man's assessment seemed logical and there had been no mention of acid or worms, or fire, or burning and Porthos was there and he'd promised him that this man knew what he was doing. That promise and trust meant everything, because he needed this dealt with. His jaw twinged again, making him want to scream. Instead, he clenched his jaw so hard he thought it might snap. His concentration was on Porthos. He could trust Porthos. "D-do it."
"Can we knock him out? It'd be kinder," Porthos suggested and Aramis wondered why his friend was so keen to knock him out now when he'd been asking him to do so all night to no avail.
"No. We don't want to risk anymore damage, I'm afraid. But if Madame Bonacieux has some wine?" Maynard inquired.
"Is everything okay in here?" d'Artagnan's voice could be heard from the doorway.
Aramis kept his eyes closed and breathed through his nose. His tooth ached to the beat of his pounding heart. Surely ripping the angry tooth from its gum couldn't be any worse than the constant throb, throb, throb. It was torture, plain and simple. Of course he'd done this to himself. Even with the heat of his body bearing down on him and the constant ache, he knew that. That ridiculous fear born years ago had brought him to this point right now. He'd always maintained his teeth as well as he could and yet still he found himself about to visit something he'd always tried his best to avoid. A dentist.
He'd always thought that he'd rather be shot or stabbed. He had, in fact, experienced both at different times in his life and he had the scars to prove it. He could remember distinctly the feel of a musket ball ripping through his shoulder, tearing muscle. He'd yelped as he'd gone down, an involuntary noise that was as much from the shock of being knocked off his feet as it was from the sudden pain bursting from the entry point. His memories were rushed and hazy but it had been bearable, shock possibly numbing the whole experience.
Memories of his opponent's blade plunging into his torso just below his chest had stolen his breath. It was different. He'd felt each sliver of cold steel as it had moved through his body. The immediate effect was long and drawn out compared to being shot. The memory of the blade slicing through his skin and muscle caused him to shudder. But again he'd found the memory was foggy as if his brain had protected itself. He'd shut off as he'd laid there on the battlefield waiting to die.
"You'll need to brace him. This isn't going to be easy."
The bed dipped and Aramis forced his eyes open once more and found himself looking up at Athos. When had he returned to the room?
Athos helped pull him into a sitting position and then Porthos was holding a bottle of wine to his lips. "Drink," he ordered, tipping it ever so slightly upwards.
Aramis reached up a clumsy hand to help and chugged at the bottle. The wine ran over his tongue and he made a conscious effort of keeping the liquid to the unaffected side of this mouth. The wine was warm as it hit his empty stomach and for a second he thought it might come straight back up. The bottle was pulled away momentarily, forcing him to take a large breath. He choked on a gasp as cool air hit his infected tooth, igniting the fiery pain there once again. The bottle was placed back to his mouth and Aramis happily welcome the liquid as it burned down his throat. He coughed as the bottle was dragged away once more. Porthos grabbed him by each shoulder and looked him in the eyes. "This is going to be over before you know it." He allowed himself to be manoeuvred back to the mattress, fighting the urge to knock his friends out of the way and run for his life. It took every ounce of internal strength to stay where he was.
Aramis looked up; he could see Athos sitting at the head of the bed. Their self-appointed leader leaned closer and placed his hands on his face, one hand on his forehead and the other under his chin. The pressure was light but as his lower legs found themselves pressed against the bed Aramis felt that irrational fear build itself back up again. He glanced down as best he could in his position - to the end of the bed - and found d'Artagnan's gaze meeting his. It was apologetic. The young man was leaning over the end of the bed, holding his legs against the mattress.
"Breathe, Aramis." Porthos was there again. This time he was kneeling on the bed next to him, one hand on his shoulder, the other still soothingly resting against his chest. "It's gonna be fine. Right, Athos?"
"Of course. You'll be flashing those pearly whites and getting yourself in trouble again in no time," Athos agreed, lightly patting his uninjured cheek affectionately. "You're going to be fine."
Athos gaze locked onto his from above. The older man nodded encouragingly as his grip on his head became more firm. Aramis tried to feel some measure of comfort in his friend's presence. It was going to be okay. It's going to be okay became his silent mantra.
Maynard approached the bed, tools in hand and Aramis couldn't stop the tension from spreading through his limbs. He could hear his racing heartbeat in his ears. Strong hands became even stronger, forcing him to remain still.
"Look at me," Athos coaxed softly.
"Listen to Athos," Porthos agreed, a steady presence at his side.
d'Artagnan remained silent but the slight squeeze of his ankles reminded him that their young friend was privy to this embarrassing display as well. Aramis wasn't sure to be thankful for the support or completely ashamed at the predicament he'd put himself in. Both sounded about right.
"I won't lie to you, lad. This is going to hurt, but as long as your tooth doesn't crumble I should be able to extract it fully," Maynard explained as he set some items down on the bed beside him.
Crumble? The healer's words didn't enthuse confidence and Aramis' need to fight became stronger. He shifted, trying to back away from the doctor before he even realised what he was doing. His chest heaved as his lungs fought against his panic.
"It's okay," Athos told him. "Just concentrate on me and this will all be over with."
Aramis tried to focus on his friend's voice. He tried to focus on his friend's grim features. He could do this. He was better than this and he had faced far worse. He tensed as hands invaded his mouth, forcing it open. Aramis closed his eyes, not wanting to see the doctor above, or Athos' worried expression.
A piece of metal was pushed into his mouth. It was cold against his tongue and Aramis found himself squirming. The Pliers opened and then closed around his damaged tooth. Fire ignited from the raw and swollen gum, causing him to groan loudly as he attempted to back away from the intrusion. He had nowhere to go. Athos held his head in a vice-like grip and his upper arms were now held against the mattress, preventing him from defending himself.
He changed his mind. He didn't want the healer near his tooth. A white hot pain spiked from his nerve-endings, sending stabbing sensations throughout the whole top of his jaw. "Arghh!"
There were people talking. He could hear them in the background of the white noise that had taken up residence in his head. He didn't know what they were saying and he didn't care. He struggled against his restraints, unable to keep silent as the metal jaws in his mouth continued to pull and twist. The bed dipped as the doctor attempted to get better leverage. His tooth was yanked harder, the pliers slipping, bruising his lip in the process.
"Apologies …"
The pliers found purchase once more fitting around his tooth and yanked hard. Pain shot from his tooth up into his temple and he growled long and hard, his fists flexing into fists. The moisture that had been filling his eyes slipped from beneath closed lids and slid down the side of his face.
Pressure was building and Aramis wondered if the Doctor was attempting to push the tooth up into his head rather than pulling it free. "Argg …uhhh!" he cried out, panting for breath that seemed short and hard to come by.
"Nearly there," Maynard commented, grunting with effort.
"Arghhhhh!" Aramis screamed as the pliers pushed and pulled, igniting an agony that he had never thought was possible. It was all encompassing. Low in his throat he felt a rumble and it took him a couple of seconds to realise that the rumble was vocalised. Another tear slipped past his defences as his tooth was yanked, jarring it up into his gum with a crack. The pliers wasted no time in pulling on the damaged tooth once more. He screamed again, as his world whited out.
Aramis was pulled into darkness, blessed relief finally arriving as he slumped into oblivion.
TBC ...
A/N: God i am sorry if this is dreadful. I have already started on the next chapter which will deal with Porthos :) Thanks for reading :)