Happy Easter!

Chapter 3

Blood Values

"No," Athos said. "We will never let this happen." He rose and stepped up to Aramis, putting a hand on his friend's arm. "There's evidence and we'll find it. We'll just have to intensify our efforts. Neither Rochefort nor Grimaud defeated us in the old days, and they will not now. We're stronger and we're cleverer. They will never get the better of us. Autriche may have smart lawyers, but we'll bring forward proof not even they can discount."

Aramis looked at Athos for a moment and nodded, thankfully, encouraged. "I'll go and speak to Anne. I'll be back as quickly as possible."

"Don't let this get you down. He may have an ace up his sleeve, but we've been through worse, and we've always prevailed. Right?"

"That we have," d'Artagnan said, rising from the couch. "I'll return to the footage from Courville-sur-Eure. It's only a matter of time until I'll spot Rochefort in connection with Autriche or Grimaud. He must be somewhere on the tapes."

They filed out of Athos' office, Aramis to leave the firm and Porthos and d'Artagnan to return to their computers and the research waiting for them.

Athos walked to the window from where he could watch Aramis cross the street, heading for the metro station. He stared down rue Dante for a few minutes, mulling over the things Porthos had reported. The faint feeling of uneasiness spread further deep down inside him.

x-x-x-x-x-x-x

Once Aramis was back in the office they discussed Anne's visit to the hospital, brainstorming Autriche's behaviour and their strategy in the case until late in the evening. Tréville joined them, but he had nothing to report that would lessen the gloomy mood. He was still waiting for the confirmation they'd been assigned to the case. Until then, he could only get access to what the other police departments were willing to share with him. Furthermore, he could not assign any of his officers to look into this case and therefore had no influence on the determination with which the police pursued a trace.

"Porthos is more versed than me in legal matters, but I do agree with him that the guilty party doesn't necessarily get convicted and the innocent obtains justice. And it's really sad that I, as a police officer, have to say so, but it's a plain fact. If we don't find proof that bears examination in court, watertight proof, Autriche may be able to convince the judges that Anne and Aramis at least worked together with Rochefort or Grimaud. The fact that it was Aramis who shot Rochefort could even be interpreted by clever lawyers as trying to dispose of an unwanted conspirator. They might try to argue Rochefort wanted to back out or let Autriche go, and Aramis killed Rochefort to cover his tracks. The possibilities of constructing something are thousandfold. I don't know what lawyers or law firm he has hired, but I'll try to find out." Tréville looked around. "But, I'm still determined to unearth proof. We know Rochefort planned this all along, and we know what Grimaud is capable of. They will not win. We will not let them win. What's even more important now than ever is to find Grimaud. We cannot wait until he approaches us, we're running out of time. He's the only one who can testify that Anne and Aramis had nothing to do with anything."

Porthos laughed dryly. "And you believe he will do so? If he's only half as evil as he was back then, he'll rather cut off his tongue than testify in favour of Aramis."

"This may be true, but I'm still convinced he's the proof we need. Once we can link Grimaud to Rochefort we can link Rochefort to the abduction. Nowadays we have so many possibilities of getting evidence. A hair we find at the crime scene or a deleted voice message on a mobile dumped somewhere in the province. We'll find it and we'll be able to filter out every bit of information and evidence we need. If with no one else, Rochefort was at least in contact with Grimaud and Grimaud was in charge of everything at Courville-sur-Eure. If we have Grimaud, we have the proof we need." With the same conviction Tréville had displayed as captain of the Musketeers or as Minister of War, that everything he did was for the well-being of France, he now conveyed the firm belief in the authority he worked for. The confidence that the work they did would be crowned with success was a calming thought for his former subordinates, a hope for their troubled minds they only too willingly absorbed.

x-x-x-x-x-x-x

Aramis slipped into the bed, gently snuggling up against Anne's sleeping form. He planted a soft kiss on the skin beneath her ear, her hair tickling his nose. He found the gap in the sheets, his arm slowly sneaking its way around her slender waist. His mouth moved down a fraction, kissing again, and he could scent the fragrance that was Anne; love and light and warmth, like fresh cotton with a touch of flowery sweet and tangy sandalwood, and baby oil.

"You're late," she mumbled, turning her head so she could kiss him on the mouth.

"I'm sorry," Aramis murmured in reply between two kisses. "Tréville came by and we had to work out a strategy." He inched closer and his hand started to rub small circles over her belly and hip. "Henri is sound asleep." Aramis had checked in with the child before going to the bedroom. It was a habit he had adopted whenever he came home late and had not been there to say good-night to Henri. He had to see for himself his son was safe and sound before he could go to bed; if he had ulterior motives for checking if Henri was asleep, well... His hand moved further down.

Anne shifted so she could look at Aramis properly. "Do you remember what you once promised me?" she asked quietly.

"I promised you many things, and I stand by every single one." Aramis' mouth moved down along her neck, caressing her warm skin with soft kisses, while his hand moved up, petting her body all the way up until it reached the hollow of her throat where he could feel the pulse under his fingers. His mouth run along her collarbone to the smooth spot at the end, lightly scraping his teeth over the skin.

"You promised me you would always protect us. That you'd always watch over me and the Dauphin."

She swallowed, and Aramis could feel it under his fingertips. She was not talking of the present time, he realised. She spoke of the times when he had been bound to protect her, by oath and by love. The recollection brought a stab of pain to his heart. He had not been able to watch over them for long.

"And you did, you stood true to your word as long as it was given to you."

"And I still stand by this promise. Without hesitation, I will lay down my life for you and Henri. Always," Aramis said, looking up at her. He cupped her cheek with his hand, his thumb slowly stroking the top edge of her lips. His eyes lingered where his finger touched. "Though I have to confess, this time I would prefer to spend the rest of my life with you two, rather than sacrifice it for king and country. I love you, Anne, more than I can ever tell."

She raised her head to kiss him, raking her fingers through his curls, and dragged his head down with hers when she slowly brought her head back to the pillow. They kissed long and deeply until she finally broke away from him. "Promise me you will never leave us, Aramis. Promise me you will protect our son and let nobody take him away from us." Her voice dropped to a mere whisper. "Promise me this will end well for us."

He knew he could hardly promise things he had no influence on the outcome. He could not promise to stay alive when Grimaud was still somewhere out there; he would rather fight till death to keep away harm from those he loved most. He could not promise the crisis they were facing would not engulf them all in the abyss and tear them apart. What he could promise was that he would fight with all his might to retain their happiness, the life they shared. "I promise," he breathed with deepest confidence. And this time he was bound and determined to see his promise through.

He kissed her, gently and feathery. And then again, and this time there was more heat and less tenderness. Anne opened her mouth a little more and he deepened the kiss, demandingly, his tongue exploring what he knew so well, and his desire resurfaced. Aramis' hands moved down again, teasing slowly, and he pushed up her sleeping shirt, sensing the light shudder it caused when his hand ran over her bare skin. "I love you," he whispered again and prayed with as much fervour as the monk Aramis had when he had spent hours on his knees enveloped in his dialogue with God, that little Henri would sleep through the night, or at least the next three hours or so.

x-x-x-x-x-x-x

Two days later

"Aramis, aren't you well?" Charlène looked worried when she saw Aramis rush by her desk in the morning.

"Excuse me?" Aramis looked up surprised. He had been deep in thought and only heard half of what the secretary had said.

"You look a little tired and pale. Are you ill?"

"No, I'm just sleeping badly these days. Maybe I caught a cold." It wasn't entirely a lie, so Aramis hoped the elder woman would buy it and let it pass.

"I can brew you a tea if you'd like," Charlène called after Aramis.

Aramis paused for a moment. "That's kind of you, but first of all I need caffeine. Like, lots of it. Maybe I'll come back to you later, if your offer still holds." He smiled one of his most charming smiles. "Thanks, ma douce."

The older woman smiled back and turned to her computer screen again, sighing silently. If she could be half the age she was, she would most definitely not only offer tea to Aramis...

x-x-x-x-x-x-x

An oppressive atmosphere dominated the morning work in the office. While Charlène filed papers and repeatedly walked to and fro between her desk and the copy room, trying to be as silent as possible, the older Musketeers worked quietly in their rooms. Athos had his door closed to make some phone calls and Aramis came out of his office twice to get a coffee, but he didn't say much. Charlène wondered if there was a reason why they didn't speak much with each other, but she guessed it was plainly because none of them had any new information to share on the current case.

Around ten o'clock, Athos came out of his office to get a coffee. He stopped by Charlène's desk and asked for a list of each man's appointments for the next few weeks. As much as each of them wanted to solely concentrate on this case, they could not neglect everything else. What he could do, though, was trying to reschedule some of the assignments and appointments; most of the clients would probably be more forthcoming if Athos called them himself, though he would leave the female clients to Aramis, once he had checked the list. Turning around, he hesitated for a moment as if deciding whether to go to one of his co-workers' room, but finally he returned to his office, leaving his door open this time.

x-x-x-x-x-x-x

Porthos' fingers danced across the keyboard. He had promised Tréville to write a short verbatim report about their visit to the hospital and Monsieur Autriche's rant, as well as his own thoughts and estimation on Anne's husband. He was already two days behind with his promise. Angrily he hit the Enter key; the longer he wrote and recalled the situation at the hospital, the more his mood dropped. He was rereading the last couple of sentences when he heard a thud from the room next to his, followed by loud clattering. He turned his head in time to see Charlène rise from her chair, the look of alarm on her face morphing into an expression of fright. Porthos rose and was at the door with two quick strides, his gaze following the secretary's line of sight.

Athos appeared in his room's doorway as well. "What was that?"

In the room next to Porthos, which was arranged rectangular to his and occupied by Aramis, Porthos could see his friend lying on the floor, seemingly unconscious. The window was open and the chair in front of the desk was knocked over. The small display case on the wall opposite the desk, where Aramis kept an ancient musket and pistol, had fallen down, the glass lying shattered on the floor. For a short moment of complete bewilderment, Porthos felt his heart stop beating, then he rushed at his friend's side.

Seeing Porthos hurry into Aramis' room, Athos quickly walked over as well. Once he had passed by the reception desk, he had an unobstructed view to Aramis' room and could see the mess on the floor. "Oh no," he breathed. Pushing his way past Charlène who stood in front of the door now, he stepped into the room. Aramis on the floor and Porthos kneeling beside him occupied most of the space, but Athos managed to squeeze by, carefully approaching the window. He peered out but could see nothing he would rate as dangerously. No sniper or other threat that might be responsible for Aramis lying on the floor. He closed the window and turned around.

"Aramis," Porthos called, lightly patting his friend's cheek.

"He's bleeding. What happened?" Athos asked while stepping closer to the two men on the floor. He knelt down across from Porthos

"I don't know, I heard a thud and clattering. I think he cut his brow and cheek while falling. Look," Porthos answered, gently picking a small piece of glass from Aramis' skin. On his brow was a deep gush oozing blood and another, smaller cut graced his left cheek. Other than that, they could see no obvious injuries.

Athos grabbed Aramis' wrist, feeling for a pulse rate. He slowly exhaled relieved once he felt the steady beat against the tip of his fingers.

"Aramis," Porthos called again. "Wake up, come on, you've given us enough of a scare." One hand ghosted over Aramis' unruly hair, picking pieces of glass out of it on its way. The other hand lay on his friend's neck where Porthos could feel the pulse, the constant rhythm reassuring the bigger man.

Aramis remained unresponsive.

"Tell me, does this have to do with his odd blood results? You mentioned a few days ago there is still an issue with them. What is it?" Athos asked.

Porthos had started palpating his friend for hidden injuries. "I don't know. A while ago he mentioned the results were still not as they should be, though none of the doctors could tell him what it was. As far as I know he wanted to see a specialist and get another blood test, especially after he felt a little unwell and weak over the course of the last few weeks. He was anxious about it."

Athos was astonished. "I didn't know, he never said a word." The paleness he had observed on Aramis and his own lack of addressing the topic with his friend resurfaced his mind. "And did he go? What did the doctors say?"

Porthos looked up. "I don't know. I haven't asked him."

"What do you mean, you haven't asked him!" Athos voice had picked up a cutting tone, the question accompanied by a piercing look. Unconsciously, he still held Aramis' wrist.

"Well, look, I really had-," Porthos started defensively but was cut off.

"There is something amiss with his blood values ever since Rochefort injected him that crap, whatever it was. And you didn't think of asking him if he had it checked again? Made sure he went to see a doctor?"

Porthos' frosty stare and Athos' look of reproach clashed somewhere in midair over their friend's body, both looking daggers at the other. The temperature in the room seemed to have dropped a few degrees.

"Do you suggest I'm the one responsible for his health? Is it my job now to babysit everyone here because our fierce leader-"

"Maybe you've just been too busy with wherever you're disappearing to every evening to only once worry about a friend's health issue? Shouldn't you-"

"Say what? I must be hearing things. Did you ask him? Did you only once tell him to have this issue sorted out once and for all? Make sure he sees a doctor again?" Porthos' voice gained volume as well.

"Who's the one hanging around with him all the time?" Athos' voice was soft and quiet now, but there was a cutting shrillness to it. "If you had only once-"

"Whoa! Come off it! Are you jealous? Are you going to tell me I'm his best friend and you're not, therefore it's my responsibility to see to that he –"

"Are you two out of your mind? Would you stop bawling each other out and tell me what's going on?!" D'Artagnan stood in the doorway with an astonished Constance in tow.

Athos looked up. "Oh, look who finally turned up and is gracing us with his presence!"

Constance gasped, and then there was a moment of utter silence, the women throwing awkward glances and the men staring at each other.

"Stop being an arsehole, Athos," d'Artagnan finally said. "What happened to Aramis?"

"Wha-?"

All eyes turned away from d'Artagnan to Aramis.

"Why am I lying on the floor?" Aramis asked.

"That's what I'd like to know from you," Porthos replied with a relieved sigh. "What happened?"

Aramis raised his hand to touch his brow. "Ouch. What happened?"

"Well, this is evidently getting us nowhere. You apparently crashed to the floor and managed to bring the display case down with you. Did you stumble? Or faint? How are you feeling?"

"Faint?" Aramis stared at Athos. Then a thoughtful expression appeared on the marksman's face. "I felt a little unwell and opened the window for fresh air. I turned, saw Charlène at her desk and thought I might ask her for a cup of tea. That's it. Can't remember anything else."

"Have you been to the hospital recently to have your blood checked again?" Athos asked in a harsh voice.

Aramis looked from Athos to Porthos. "Erm. Can we have this discussion on a more equal eye level? I'm feeling a tiny bit like being in an unfavourable position down here."

"Serves you right, Sleeping Beauty," Porthos muttered, rolling his eyes. He offered Aramis a hand to haul him up.

Athos huffed and picked up the chair where Aramis took a seat a moment later.

D'Artagnan stepped into the room and with the four of them in the small office, all trying to avoid stepping on broken glass, the office was as good as crowded. D'Artagnan glanced at Constance and nodded slightly.

Charlène let her gaze sweep once over the men, then she grabbed her niece around the shoulder. "Come, love, best we let the boys sort this out. You can take care of the telephone and see if the mail has arrived yet, I'll brew some tea for Aramis." Charlène knew at least Athos long enough to know it was best to leave them alone for the discussion that would follow. She had never before heard Athos lash out at others like that, especially not to his closest friends. From this behaviour she deduced that the current situation was most severe. And not only in regard to the accusations against Aramis and Madame Autriche.

x-x-x-x-x-x-x

"So, did you have it checked again or not?" Athos asked as soon as d'Artagnan had closed the door.

Aramis peeked sheepishly at Athos. "You know I had it checked repeatedly, don't you?"

"Yes, immediately after the incident with Rochefort and again, when it turned out that some of the results were diverging from the norm. And when they still showed deviations and no one could tell you what it was, you had a full blood count and what? A scintigram? MRI?"

"An MRI. The results were negative, they found nothing abnormal."

"But the blood results still turned out to be abnormal, right?" Athos gazed down at Aramis with a cold stare.

"Yes."

There was a pause during which Porthos and d'Artagnan shared a couple of quick glances. Athos seemed most irate. Seldom had they seen their friend making swipes at them as venomously as he did at the moment, and this certainly not on account of lacking justifiable occasions in the past. It was disturbing.

"And you went to see a doctor again?"

Aramis didn't answer.

"Did you?"

"Well, no. Not yet. I'll go and get it checked again, okay? It's only that no one can tell me what it is, they can't find anything and I'm feeling okay. I don't have any health issues, so there's not really a need to... ," Aramis trailed off. He knew nothing of what he said would convince Athos. He wasn't convinced himself, but in lack of a better alternative, pretending he was healthy was better than thinking the worst.

Athos took a deep breath, exhaling slowly afterwards. He felt like he was dealing with a petulant child, but then he called to mind it was Aramis he was dealing with, and dealing with Aramis had never been easy and probably never would, no matter how old the former marksman grew. When he spoke again, Athos' voice was like a knife cutting glass. "You're telling me sudden fainting is not a health issue? You look pale and tired, you sometimes lack concentration and complain about dizziness. And now you are in all seriousness telling me everything is okay and your abnormal blood values are not alarming?"

"Ummh..."

"I'm not even going to bring up your friends here, we are of minor importance. But if not to yourself, don't you think you have some kind of responsibility towards Anne and Henri?"

That stung, and Athos knew it. The moment the words had left his mouth he knew his reproaches were coming from his own lack of care and concern for Aramis and not so much because he disapproved of Aramis' behaviour. Athos would have dealt with the health issue in the same way, he even had to admit to himself he wouldn't have gone to see a doctor in the first place as long as he had felt fit, and certainly not because some blood results showed some out of the line numbers.

"Hey, look, such a low blow was not necessary!" Porthos stepped into the breach for Aramis.

Abashedly, Aramis studied Athos. He knew his friend was right, but having the truth thrown in his face in such a harsh way was not nice.

Athos' gaze pierced Porthos for a moment, then he left the room without another word. He stalked to his office and closed the door behind him.

"He is pretty pissed off with me, isn't he?" said Aramis.

"I think he is more pissed off with himself for letting the issue with your health slip his mind," d'Artagnan replied, still looking across the office space to where he could see Athos' head just above the line that parted the frosted part of the glass from the looking-through-part. The head disappeared when Athos took a seat behind his desk.

Porthos grimly shook his head, darting Aramis an angry glance. "Don't think you're off the hook yet. I'll get the first aid kit and patch you up." He turned around and stormed out of the office, a tad more vigorous and louder than Athos' departure.

Aramis grinned sheepishly at d'Artagnan. "And what have you done to incur Athos' wrath?"

D'Artagnan turned, looking at Aramis in surprise.

"I came around in time to hear him scolding you for being late. So?"

The young man shrugged his shoulders. "I've no idea. Constance has the day off, and Athos knows this, so it's not that she was late or anything. She just decided to accompany me and say hi to her aunt. And I'm certainly entitled to start later, I was in the office way past midnight yesterday. Athos knows this full well, too."

Aramis chuckled. "Well, it's better you than me who takes the brunt of his anger."

D'Artagnan shook his head, an evil smile crawling up his face. "You're miles away from being off the hook yet, believe me."

Porthos returned and started dabbing Aramis' wounds, regardless of Aramis attempts to push away the bigger man's hands. "Will you just stop behaving like a baby?" Porthos growled angrily. "Do you have any idea how hard and nerve-racking it is to continuously look after you? It's going on ever since the day you stepped into the garrison."

"For the record, I was a Musketeer long before Tréville brought you along, and as far as I remember it's always been me who's had to patch you all up, and more than once. So don't tell me anything about worrying."

"Doesn't change all the sorrow you cause us," Porthos muttered and grabbed the first aid kit.

Just as Porthos plastered a band-aid on the cut on Aramis' brow, Athos returned and held out a paper to Porthos. "You'll go with Aramis and see this doctor straight away. He's waiting for you, don't hang about."

Porthos stared at Athos with puckered brows, but he held back the gruff reply he had on the tip of his tongue about being ordered around. Instead, he whipped the paper out of Athos' hand and studied the name and address. "Who is this Professor Bellamy?"

Athos glowered for a moment. "A favour I'm calling in. He is a specialist. Go and get yourself a full medical examination. He'll find out what's wrong with you." The last words were addressed to Aramis, and with an undertone that left no space for objections.

"An expensive specialist from the address you've written down, I would presume. I bet he only accepts wealthy private clients in his fancy private clinic." Porthos said.

"Professor Bellamy? But he's one of the leading lights in clinical immunology and a brilliant serologist. We can't afford him, not to speak of the fact you'd have to wait months if not years to get an appointment with him. He's simply the best in his field," Aramis said, with no small amount of awe in his voice.

"Well, he owes me a favour and is waiting for you, so I suggest you better get going. He doesn't take kindly to having to wait for a patient. Owing a favour or not."

Aramis rose from the chair. "Thanks," he said quietly to Athos, then nodded to Porthos to signal he was ready to go.

Porthos darted a last glance at Athos, following Aramis out of the room.

"Well," d'Artagnan said after they had watched the other two leaving the office.

Before the young man could continue, Athos spoke. "I'm sorry. I beg your pardon for what I said."

For a moment, d'Artagnan looked surprised. "For what you said earlier? Don't fret, it's already forgotten."

"No, it wasn't right. I had no right to make such a harsh remark and it was uncalled for."

D'Artagnan sighed. "It's okay, Athos. I know you didn't mean it. Besides, I think it's rather Porthos you should apologise to, from what I heard he took the brunt of your anger."

Athos studied the younger man. "Yes, I guess you're right, though I was not angry with Porthos. I had-"

"I know, you're angry with yourself. For not being more observant, for not having asked Aramis to go and get his blood checked again, for not having ordered him to do so. Am I right?"

Athos didn't reply.

"Look, I know you're always worried, more than is good for you. You're not responsible for a whole Musketeer regiment any more, nor are you responsible for our well-being. We're all grown men who can take care of themselves. We're old enough to decide what's good for us and what's not."

Athos raised his brow in a way only a Comte de la Fère was able to do.

"Okay, okay. What I meant to say is that while you and Porthos and Aramis are old men and I'm still a greenhorn, it doesn't mean we can't look after ourselves. Me included."

"You're calling me an old man?"

"Well, yes!" D'Artagnan grinned.

Athos shook his head, sighing. "If I haven't said so before, I'll do it now. One day, you'll be the death of me. Come, let's get something done while Aramis and Porthos are away."

They returned to their computers. While d'Artagnan continued with sifting through CCTV footage and loading down illegal patient data from English hospitals, Athos stared at his computer screen, dreadfully awaiting the return of Aramis and Porthos. He was convinced Dr. Bellamy would get to the bottom of what was wrong with Aramis and produce acceptable results. He only hoped that along with the results came an effective cure for his friend's problem, and that it was not already too late.