A/N: It has been pointed out to me that some readers might not approve of my use of the f* word in the last chapter. It was not my intention to annoy readers and I apologise to anyone who doesn't approve of it. I had given the matter a lot of thought before posting if I would let Aramis choose this kind of wording and in German I would have chosen another term, but I couldn't find a fitting equivalent in English to show what Aramis wanted to express. Hence, the use of the f* word. In this moment, Aramis is under great pain, he can't think clearly anymore, but he is well aware that his decision to not let himself be used as tool to lure Athos to Grimaud's hiding place, is equivalent to a death sentence. He has only a few, last words to hurl at Grimaud and he's channelling all his feelings from the last few weeks + the current state he's in into these words. So I'm sure even Aramis would choose an expression more rude than 'damn you' or 'back off' or something.

Also, another reader pointed out to me that in the light of recent events like in Manchester I might want to give a warning for terrorism, terrorists or the like. I can't tag here on FFNet (like I did on AO3), so I'll give a Warning now for this story for mention of (Islamic) terrorists and implied/referenced terrorism. There's really not much of it in this story and far less from what we read in the papers every day. There'll be a graphic scene in one of the following chapters relating to terrorists, but I'll give a special warning in that chapter then.

Chapter 11

Beyond Hope

Athos stared at his phone. He had heard Aramis' voice, and a shot, and then someone – most likely Grimaud – hissing "Bloody Musketeers". After that, the line had gone dead. Athos hit redial and the call was answered almost immediately.

Before Athos could say anything, Grimaud spoke. "Come and bring what is mine. Then you can collect your dead comrade." Grimaud hung up without giving Athos a chance to reply or ask something.

For a short moment, the horror of what he had just heard threatened to overwhelm Athos and his heartbeat quickened, fuelled by the sudden burst of adrenaline. His limbs turned cold. The shot he'd heard and Grimaud's words left him rooted to the spot, his hand clenching the mobile. Eventually, he forced himself to calm down and sort his thoughts. He flexed his fingers and told himself that Aramis was not dead, he outright refused to believe it. Aramiscouldn't be dead and he wasn't willing to even consider such a thing or let his thoughts stray further into that direction. He looked down at the mobile in his hand.

He had no idea what Grimaud meant when he'd said to bring what was his, nor did he know where to go. Athos' thumb hovered over the redial button, but he knew calling back would be fruitless. An idea formed in his head, a sudden notion where Grimaud might have taken Aramis and Athos cursed through gritted teeth for not having thought of it before. In any case, it was his best chance and he hoped against hope that it was not already too late. Grabbing what he'd need for the drive, Athos rushed through the office, wondering if he should call one of the others, or Tréville, and at least tell them where he was heading. Finally, carelessly, resolutely, he decided against it. He was sure it was Grimaud's plan to separate them and haul Athos in on his own. He would do Grimaud the favour. The others had more important tasks to see to, making sure their friend's beloved ones were safe.

He intentionally disregarded the small voice in his head telling him he was deceiving himself.

He scribbled a note for Charlène who had gone to do some Christmas shopping during her lunch break, informing her he'd be away for the rest of the day. Constance had been ordered to stay at home until the case was solved, and would therefore be safe, so Charlène would have to hold the fort alone now. The elder secretary had refused to shy away from any danger and had insisted on doing her job as usual, muttering that she had worked under worse conditions before.

Like Porthos, d'Artagnan had been torn between leaving Paris to get his mother out of harm's way, and staying where he could continue the search for Aramis and protect Constance if need be. D'Artagnan had finally agreed to go to Lupiac after Athos had asked Tréville if Constance could join Anne in the safe place only he knew of. Tréville had picked up the young woman in the afternoon and confirmed her safe accommodation even before d'Artagnan had reached his home in Gascony.

Since Athos had spoken to Porthos and d'Artagnan that morning, he hoped they wouldn't call again later unless there was an emergency; this would leave him enough time for his undertaking without worrying them. Both his friends had been delayed with their flights the previous day due to a snowstorm that had hit the airport, but both had reached their destination by evening. On arrival, Aramis' family as well as d'Artagnan's mother had been unharmed, and Athos was sure as long as Porthos and d'Artagnan were with them, they would be safe.

Athos checked his pistol once again and tucked it into the holster, stuffing an extra magazine into his pocket. Then he left the office.

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

"Why didn't you kill me?" Aramis was panting. The shot had only grazed his head, just above his left ear, it had not even hit his skull. But his ears were ringing from the close discharge of the weapon and the grazing shot had increased his headache, pounding like a sledge hammer inside his head. He felt blood seep into his shirt collar.

Grimaud gazed coldly at Aramis. "I'm not sure if I'd get what I want if he finds you already dead. Among the lot of you there's a sickeningly overwhelming willingness to take the bullet for each other. He will go to great lengths if he thinks he can still save you."

"You know nothing of us, Grimaud."

"Sleep well," Grimaud said, hitting the marksman hard on the temple with the butt of his pistol.

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

Athos cautiously approached the ruins where Grimaud had held Aramis captive once before, almost 400 years ago. He had left the car behind at the end of the dirt road, hoping his intuition had been right and his march was not in vain now. The bad weather conditions had cost him more time than hoped-for and the drive had taken over three hours. It was late afternoon and the sun was on the verge of disappearing behind the trees, lengthening the shadows that covered whatever was hiding in the building. Time and weather had further contributed to the decay of the ruins and some of the walls that had been standing in the time of Louis XIII were gone, while others had been erected, more clumsily, less solid. A cottage had been added to one of the walls, more shelter than hut, made from brick and mud, but parts of it had collapsed, too. He could see neither cars nor movement on the outside.

When he stepped through the inner wall's archway, Grimaud stood opposite, already awaiting him, his hand firmly gripping the pistol. "And so, we meet again."

"I could've done without the pleasure. Where is Aramis?"

Grimaud grinned, and Athos realized in the tiny fraction of time before he was hit on the back of his head and his vision blackened, that he had walked right into Grimaud's trap like a green novice.

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

Athos recovered his senses the moment he was pushed headfirst into a dark void, hurtling through the air like a puppet.

Pure instinct made him bring up his hands and feet in time to soften the landing, though he only just managed to save his face from making contact with the floor. Immediately he felt the rising cold. He pushed away from the damp soil, slowly coming to his full height, careful to not bump his head on a low ceiling. He stood still, listening for any sound, waiting for his eyes to adjust to the dark. No sliver of light cut through the darkness and he wondered if this was a window-less room deep beneath the earth's surface where no light ever shone. Before his eyes finally adjusted to the dark and could make out a slight difference in the various states of blackness, he heard something and held his breath. Again, he heard it, a distant wheezing sound, like wind rustling through the high vaults of a barn. Only, it was not a faraway sound coming from above, it came from close beside him. All of a sudden, he realized it was the sound of someone's, or something's, laboured breathing, rattling and weak. He waited longer, listening to the repeated wheezing, the harsh sound of breath drawn in with great effort and pushed out again far too soon. Someone was with him in the room, and that person was far from being well. He was certain he already knew who it was.

A few feet away from him, down at nearly floor level, he could make out a rectangle that was a little lighter than the rest of the darkness, but however hard he tried, he couldn't make out anything else, neither form nor figure. Athos lowered himself to his knees again and called softly, "Aramis? Is that you?" When no response came, he slowly made his way into the direction the breathing sound was coming from. Soon his fingers brushed over something soft and warm. He hesitated before running his fingers up and down on whatever it was he had found. Very quickly his guess was confirmed, someone lay on the floor, remaining unaffected by his probing and patting, and the person was breathing. Still living, then.

"Aramis," Athos tried again, convinced it was their missing friend he had found. Athos' fingers continued moving up and down, taking in the sticky liquid that covered fabric and skin, the heat and the sweat covering the body. When he came across a warm pool of liquid, sticky and viscous under the touch of his fingers, that had gathered under Aramis's left thigh, his heart dropped further. Carefully he followed the trail of dried and half-dried blood and found its cause. A wound, probably a gunshot, probably at close range. The leg under his hand twitched and he noticed a change in the rhythm of the laboured breathing. "Aramis?"

The breathing stopped. Then, quietly, "Athos?"

"I'm here, my friend. How are you?"

There was another noisy intake of breath. "I'm f-"

"And don't say fine, I've had time to examine your body."

"Athos," Aramis tutted with a weak and coughing laugh, "I can't believe you took advantage of my current situation."

Aramis couldn't see the smile spreading on Athos' face, but there was a hint of it in his tone. "How bad?"

Briefly, Aramis weighed possible answers before he replied honestly, "Baddish."

"Do you think you can walk? Have you been shot? I heard a shot over the phone."

Before Aramis could reply, they heard noises from the entrance and a moment later the door swung open. A glimmer of light fell into the room and Athos seized the moment and took a closer look at his friend. His eyes roamed over the injured body, taking note of the big wound at the thigh, the colourful bruises and ugly cuts, the split lip and puffy eye, the unnaturally swollen wrists, bound by handcuffs, the rope around the ankles, the wet and blood-smeared hair plastered to Aramis' face and the sheen of sweat covering the skin.

"A heart-warming scene," Grimaud commented without any warmth to his voice. "How touching."

Athos looked Aramis straight in the eye for a few seconds before slowly turning around to face Grimaud.

"Have you brought the key? Where is it?"

"Of course I brought it, do you take me for a fool?" Athos replied without the slightest hesitation.

Aramis felt a stab of betrayal piercing his heart, but he dismissed it before it could settle. He turned his gaze on Grimaud.

Grimaud stretched his hand towards Athos, taking one step into the cell. "Give it to me."

"I'm not that stupid. I've brought it, but it's not here. You would already have found it when you searched me."

An acknowledging grin spread on Grimaud's face upon Athos' cognizance that he had been searched thoroughly while he was unconscious. He had expected no less from the former regiment's captain. "There are two possibilities. You tell me where it is and I fetch it. Or I give Aramis the choice to decide which of his beloved ones my men should shoot first. It's only a phone call away. And then he'll get a bullet between his eyes himself. Oh," Grimaud added, putting his index finger to his lips in a gesture of contemplation. "Naturally, if he can't decide, I'll do it for him. So, no point in stalling. The key, Athos. Now."

"It's in my car. Driver's door compartment. Small, unlabelled blue envelope. The car's at the end of the dirt road to the east, you can't miss it. You've already relieved me of the car keys, so don't let me keep you."

Grimaud studied Athos for a moment. "If I don't find it there, I'll shoot him and let you listen over the phone to his sister begging and screaming when she sees her kids die. And then I'll have a go at you." He turned and left the cell.

"You have the key?" Aramis croaked as soon as the door shut, keeping any emotion whatsoever away from his voice.

"Of course not, I've absolutely no idea what he's talking about."

"But you just said..."

"He asked and I gave the answer he obviously expected. My car is about one and a half kilometres away at the end of the forest road, that'll give us roughly a quarter hour to escape."

Aramis laughed and shook his head, trying to get up from the floor. "And how do you plan to do that? This door is solid, and I'm sure he's not alone."

"He isn't, there's at least one other man here with him," Athos replied. "Wait. Let's get you out of the handcuffs first." Athos slipped out of one of his boots, producing a tiny key he had kept hidden there. A short moment later the handcuffs snapped open, releasing Aramis' abused wrists.

"Where did you get this key from?" Aramis asked astonished.

"Police standard key. I had hoped that if you'd be handcuffed it would be the handcuffs Marcheaux had used. Or at least a pair Grimaud had stolen from police stocks. Believe it or not, all handcuffs in use by the Paris police prefecture have the same key. Piece of cake."

Aramis started fumbling with the ropes around his ankles, but his numb fingers failed to have any success.

Athos took over in trying to unravel the knots but was equally unsuccessful. "We'll need a knife for those. It can wait for a moment. Come," he said, aiding his friend when he made a move to rise. "Easy, you're not in the best of shapes, if I'm not mistaken."

"Your observation skills are amazing, mon ami." Aramis groaned from the effort of getting up.

"You've no idea," Athos muttered, supporting his friend's weight with his left shoulder. "There, can you keep upright for a moment if you brace yourself against the wall?"

Aramis nodded, his face bathed in sweat. Heavily he leaned against the cold stones.

Athos checked his watch. Four minutes had passed since Grimaud had left the cell. "Hey, Grimaud," Athos shouted on top of his lungs, "I forgot to tell you to switch off the self-destruct mechanism before you open the car door!" He waited a few seconds, then called again. "Grimaud, do you hear me?"

They could hear shuffling outside and a moment later the door opened, revealing a hulk of a man under the archway. He had a pistol pointed at Athos. "What's all the shouting?"

"You're not Grimaud," Athos said in a deadpan voice.

A flicker of uncertainty flashed over the man's face.

Aramis had to suppress a snicker.

"Hey, Grimaud," Athos said, gazing past the huge man who blocked two thirds of the door.

Surprised, the man turned his head to see whom Athos was talking to.

Within a fraction of a second Athos covered the short distance and aimed a karate chop to the man's neck, felling him immediately. The man dropped to the ground like a puppet cut from its strings. Athos turned and smirked at Aramis. "It always works." He wrenched the pistol from the unconscious man's hand, grabbed his arms and dragged him into the room. He regarded the body in front of him for a moment. "I know I'll regret it later, but I have qualms about shooting an unconscious man."

"At least use the handcuffs."

Athos nodded and grabbed the handcuffs from the floor. He searched the man's pockets and produced, with a grin on his face, a Swiss Army knife. "Here." He handed it to Aramis who cut through the ropes around his feet while Athos handcuffed the unconscious man.

When Aramis came up he swayed dangerously, groping at the wall for support. The movement had made him dizzy, dark spots danced before his eyes like flies in the summer sun.

"Wait," Athos said, about to walk over to help Aramis. He was stopped part-way by a sound coming from the open door. Turning, he brought up the pistol in his hand a fraction too slowly. The shots fired almost simultaneously and Athos was hit in the shoulder a split second before his bullet reached its goal and killed the man who had appeared so unexpectedly in the door frame, with a shot through the heart.

"Bloody damn...", Athos cursed, gripping his shoulder. "I didn't reckon on another one so fast."

"Merde alors!" Aramis wobbled towards Athos.

"We have to hurry now, Grimaud will have heard the shots and will come back before he has reached the car. Can you walk?" Athos abandoned gripping the entry wound on his shoulder and stuffed the pistol into his pocket. He started pulling the jacket from the dead man. A long-sleeve T-shirt was revealed, slowly soaking with blood, and Athos ripped at it with brutal force until it tore and he managed to pull it off completely, albeit in shreds. "Go," he urged Aramis, shoving him out of the door. On his way out, Athos frantically searched for the handgun that must have fallen from his opponent's hand when he had been hit, but he couldn't find it in the dim light. Cursing, he stopped searching and hurried after Aramis. One weapon would have to suffice.

They turned left and followed a low corridor, finally coming to an unlocked door leading to the back of the complex. The forest stood dark and dense, slightly sloping up before them. The sun had set and it was almost dark. They could just make out shadows of trees and bushes, silhouetted against the darkening sky. "Go!" Athos urged again, leading the way into the thick underbrush.

Mobilizing his last, practically non-existing energy reserves, Aramis stumbled after Athos. From afar they could hear rustling and twigs snapping under someone's feet, someone who was evidently running fast. They knew who was after them. They had three or four minutes' narrow lead, and it would shrink soon. With the noises they were making, Grimaud would easily be able to follow them. Nevertheless, they pushed on.

Whether Grimaud had decided not to follow them immediately or was sneaking up on them soft-footed and with a stealth they stood no chance against, they did not know; however hard they tried, they heard no sound any more coming after them. They slogged along for more than twenty minutes, in great pain, always uphill, without encountering Grimaud. Athos didn't trust the fortune they might be favoured by, he was sure it was a trick.

After another five minutes of panting and stumbling through the forest, Aramis, leaning heavily on Athos' good shoulder, announced, "We need to bandage your wound."

Athos stopped and looked around as well as he could in the thick darkness. The moon stood low, spreading only sparse light over the trees and brushes, but it was reflected by the snow covering the landscape, and so there was enough light to make out a couple of shrubby mountain pines standing close enough to make a suitable cover. "Over there."

They slumped down, panting heavily with pain and exhaustion. "Here." Athos thrust the jacket he had dragged along into Aramis' hands. "Put that on before you freeze to death. With the shirt, we can make a makeshift bandage. You'll need to bandage your leg."

Aramis laughed hollowly. "I'll see to your shoulder first, then we can look at my thigh. It's not so bad, really." Aramis had great problems shrugging into the jacket, he was shivering so hard it took him almost a minute to get his arms into the sleeves.

"Where do you think he is? Why is he not following us?" Aramis asked while busying himself with Athos' shoulder. He examined the gunshot wound as best as he could under these conditions. Not seeing much in the falling night, he had palpated and probed as much as his shaking fingers had allowed. It looked like a clean through-and-through wound, much like his own leg wound, and Athos had confirmed that despite the soaring pain it didn't feel as if a bone or muscle had been shattered. Or if either had happened, the older man had added, then there was only minor muscle damage. Aramis firmly pressed folded cloth from the dead man's shirt onto the exit wound and wrapped the longest shred around to keep the makeshift pressure bandage in place.

"I don't know. Maybe he didn't hear us running away and checked on the cell first. Maybe he waited for his companion to come to again before coming after us. Or maybe he has just decided to let us run away. He probably knows this area better than we do and knows we don't stand much chance. If he waits until daybreak and comes after us with more men, he will have a better chance than he has now."

"We should try to reach your car."

"There's no point in that. By now it will not be where I left it, or if it is, it'll have flat tires."

"It has a first aid kit."

"Yes, but it would also mean bumping into Grimaud."

"I know." Aramis sighed. "How much time has passed since I was captured?"

Athos looked up, trying so see his friend's expression which was hard to read in the pale light the moon provided. "Four days, almost five now. Why?"

For a moment, only Aramis' chattering teeth could be heard.

Finally, Aramis asked surprised, "So long? I thought it was two days, three at the most. I must have been unconscious more often than I thought."

Athos didn't like what he had heard, but didn't remark on it. He used the last of the shirt's shreds to cover Aramis' leg wound, securing the bandage with his belt which he had taken off with some difficulty. "It's not the most suitable way to treat a wound but it'll have to do."

"What about Anne? Henri? Are they-"

"They're safe. Tréville is looking after them, guarding them with his life. You know what a fantastic bodyguard he is. There's no need to worry, he saved the lives of Anne and your son more than once."

"Yes, that he has. They could not wish for a better protector," Aramis said fondly. "I'm worried about my sister, though. Grimaud said-"

"They're also safe," Athos interrupted. "Porthos is with them, in Spain. He'll see that no harm comes to your family." Athos reported how Aramis' sister had called, and how they had immediately reacted, realizing that everyone close to them would be in danger, too. "Why else do you think I came on my own? Porthos and d'Artagnan and Tréville are making sure everyone is safe, including Constance."

"Oh I don't know, maybe because it would be so like you to do something rash and self-sacrificing to save others? You shouldn't have come," Aramis added quietly, seriously.

"No, probably not. Now we're both sitting here in the cold, feeling miserable, injured and with little chance of surviving the night, when I could be ensconced in my chair right now watching telly. Silly me," Athos dead-panned.

They sat in silence for a while until Athos announced, "We need to get further away if we want to stand a chance against Grimaud. We've the Swiss Army knife and probably nine shots left, if the magazine was full," Athos added, eyeing the Glock in his hand, one of the smaller versions with less ammunition in the magazine. "It's not much, but we've had less."

Aramis grunted. He knew his fever had now risen to an alarming degree. The biting air created the impression that he was cool and shivering from cold, but his skin was burning. Along with the lack of food and drink and the blood loss from the shotgun wound, not to mention the nagging pain, it left him in a rather poor condition. But none of this would stop him from staggering after Athos for as long as it took until they were either safe or confronted by Grimaud. Or until one of them had no strength any more to go on.

After three-quarters of an hour of stumbling and slipping through the dark forest, a bank of clouds robbed them of what little light the moon had provided. Even before the disappearance of the last moonbeams, rotting leaves and cones under the fresh snow had made it hard to move, their feet had slipped every third or fourth step, always jolting their wounds; now their vision was practically non-existent, making moving on almost unbearable. The wind had increased, bringing with it piercing cold and more snow from the north. It howled through the trees and tugged at their clothes.

"Athos," Aramis wheezed.

Athos immediately stopped a few paces in front of Aramis and turned. He knew exactly what the other was about to say.

"I can't go on any more. Leave me behind and move on, try to get yourself into safety. I'm sorry." Aramis gasped for breath. "There's no use beating around the bush, I'm finished. Leave me here, it's your only chance if you want to survive."

A/N

I have no idea where Aramis' captivity in S3Ep8 'Prisoners of War' took place. I picked an area close to the Belgian border, which, in the times of Louis XIII, was Spanish Netherlands. It makes sense to me that the exchange of the Spanish soldiers would have taken place somewhere near the Spanish border, and Spain itself was for obvious reasons too far away for the short ride/drive the Musketeers undertook, respectively the rides Aramis undertook to hand over the negotiation notes from Anne to her brother. Hence the assumed proximity of the place to the Spanish Netherlands/Belgian border (in this story located in the parc naturel régional de l'Avesnois).