Chapter 13

Being Back

"I've found them," Porthos said quietly, crossing the distance to the two men on the ground.

Athos, who wondered briefly if Porthos was speaking to himself for he saw no one else nearby, was trying to get his head around the fact that Porthos was here. Right in front of him, kneeling down now before them.

"Are you completely out of your bloody mind!?" were the next words coming from Porthos and the volume had increased tenfold, despite the two men's proximity. "Didn't I say Don't do anything on your own? What part of it didn't you get? Do you have the first idea how utterly stupid you acted?" Porthos took a deep breath and continued more gently, already touching Aramis' cold skin. "How is he? Is he alive? Aramis, can you hear me?"

"Yes, he's alive, but in a bad shape," Athos rasped, momentarily taken aback by having his own stupidity thrown so blatantly into his face. Porthos was, after all, right. "How-" he started but was interrupted by a distant sound. Someone else was running towards them. The loudness increased, and a moment later d'Artagnan broke through the shrubbery, bright torchlight blinding Athos once again.

"Oh thank God we found you. Thank God you're alive. Is Aramis alive? Are you okay? No, obviously not, are you injured? What's wrong with Aramis?" The words tumbled from the young man's mouth like rapid fire, a sure sign of the Gascon's tension and worry. He knelt beside Athos, his hand hovering over the injured shoulder. "Were you shot in the shoulder? There's a lot of blood on your jacket. Are you in pain?"

Athos opened his mouth to answer, but at this moment far away gunfire echoed through the night. He looked quizzically at d'Artagnan, but for once the young man ignored him and turned his eyes on Aramis.

"How is he?" the Gascon asked Porthos.

Porthos still had his fingers pressed to Aramis' neck, feeling for the pulse. "Not good, I'd say. He's clammy and cold, his pulse is weak. Aramis, can you hear me? Will you wake up for me?" He tried to arouse his unconscious friend again, gently stroking Aramis' cheeks.

"We need medical aid immediately!" d'Artagnan demanded loudly. "Two men injured, one unresponsive, presumably bullet wounds, both in critical condition." He looked at Porthos.

"We need to get him warm, he's frozen stiff. Both of them," Porthos added with a sideways glance to Athos.

Athos had just noticed the earpieces both men were wearing and the tiny microphones attached to their coat collars. He realized, when he saw d'Artagnan read from his mobile, that the young man was radioing their condition and location to someone.

"We're at N 50° 9' 39.449'' E 3° 42' 53.701''. Hurry, please!"

"How did you find us?" Athos asked. "How, I mean..."

Another volley of gunfire could be heard in the distance, momentarily interrupting Athos, who was having problems articulating understandable words with his stiff jaw muscles.

"And what's going on? Did you find Grimaud? Who is after him? Who is with you?"

Porthos just darted an angry glance at Athos, his left hand cradling Aramis' slack head, his right hand still gently trying to arouse the unconscious man.

"Your wristwatch."

Athos looked at d'Artagnan, uncomprehending. "What?"

"Your watch. You do know it has a GPS-tracker, right?" d'Artagnan asked.

Athos, who was glad he had managed to master and use five of the 38 functions his watch offered, replied nonchalantly, "Yes, of course am I aware of it, but it needs to be activated to deliver data. And I never activated it, so it makes me wonder how you were able to track down our location with the help of my watch."

"Um," said d'Artagnan sheepishly, pushing his wet hair out of his eyes. "Erm, you know, I activated it. When I stayed with you I saw it has GPS function and when it wasn't activated I thought it would be a good idea to do it."

"You mean to say you're tracking all my movements?" Athos asked in his ever-stoic voice, despite the anger he felt rising. He knew he shouldn't feel angry and was determined to not let it show. D'Artagnan's act had saved their lives, had helped their friends to track them, but he felt it an intrusion into his private life nonetheless.

"No! Of course not," d'Artagnan replied hurriedly, "I would never do that! You must believe me. I simply activated it and tried if it worked, if I could access the data if need be. I never tracked you. Not until today. Please, you must believe me."

"Gentlemen, now's not the time!" Porthos hissed grimly. "D'Artagnan's prudence just saved your ass! Get hold of yourself!"

Athos felt shame and anger flaring up due to the reprimand, but he couldn't bring himself to let the matter rest. "Sorry, I didn't mean to offend you, I should be glad you activated it. It's just that I don't like being observed. As soon as we're back you'll switch the function off, all right?"

D'Artagnan nodded. "Promise."

"You just can't let it go, right? You can't just admit it is useful to have such a tracker, that it was good d'Artagnan did what he did," Porthos growled. "For your own sake, you should at least consider activating it when we're working on cases that tend to cloud your good sense. Like this one." Porthos' voice gushed with scoff and reproach.

Now Athos glowered at Porthos. "I never let any case cloud my-"

"Stop it, will you?" Aramis' weak and slurred voice was heard through the angry quarrel.

Athos and Porthos immediately stopped, all eyes turning to their ailing friend. Aramis hadn't moved, his eyes were still closed and nothing hinted at him being conscious again.

"Aramis?" Porthos asked softly, stroking his thumb over Aramis' brow. "Are you with us again?"

The hint of a smile graced Aramis' lips. "Porthos?"

"Aye, I'm here and we'll get you out of here. Just hang on a little longer. Help will soon be here."

No sooner had he uttered the words than the noise of more people approaching could be heard. A moment later the Inseparables were joined by five men from the rescue service, heavily laden with live-saving equipment and portable folding stretchers. They immediately set to work.

Shortly after, Aramis lay on one of the stretchers, wrapped in thermal blankets. He had three different infusion bags attached to his arms and a respiratory mask to his face supporting his slowed respiration. One of the rescuers had dressed the gunshot wound provisionally with a pressure bandage and the doctor was preparing another injection to stabilize the patient for the transport.

Athos had refused to be laid on a stretcher but had allowed one of the paramedic to redress his shoulder wound and inject him with a small dose of morphine as well as something to stabilize his circulation. In addition, he had accepted a rescue blanket and hot tea from a thermal flask.

"Please, monsieur, I beg you once more, lay down on the stretcher. You're weak, you've lost blood and you have incipient hypothermia. While your condition is not as grave as your friend's, the distance we have to cover is still unsuitable for an injured man like you."

Athos glowered at the paramedic. Before he could bark another cutting answer, someone else spoke.

"Leave him be. I'll take responsibility." Tréville stood at the edge of the area illuminated by multiple torches now. Little white clouds rose from his mouth with each word, mingling with the falling snowflakes. A lopsided grin dominated his face. "It's good to see you, Athos. And it's even better to see you both alive. If I was still your commanding officer you'd be shovelling horse muck for the next month for this."

Athos looked at his former captain and for the first time in a week a genuine smile appeared on his face. "And rightly so, captain."

"Doesn't mean I won't have a word with you once we are back in Paris." Stepping a little closer to the scene, he asked the leader of the rescue team, "Are we ready to leave? The helicopters are waiting."

The paramedic nodded. "In a minute, sir."

"Did you catch Grimaud?" d'Artagnan asked.

Tréville shook his head. "No, he escaped, but he's injured, one of the men hit him. Hopefully, he won't get far. One of the teams is chasing him."

Athos, bursting with curiosity, knew now was neither the time nor place to demand a full report. It would have to wait until they had reached safety, until Aramis had got the proper medical care he needed so urgently. He grabbed the hand d'Artagnan offered willingly and let himself be hauled up by the younger man. A sideways glance to Porthos revealed that the bigger man was obviously still angry with him, so Athos decided to keep his mouth shut on the way back and wait until Porthos' anger had dissipated. Which would likely be the case as soon as Aramis was safe and not in a critical condition anymore.

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

At the behest of Tréville, the responsible emergency doctor had given green light for Aramis and Athos' transport back to Paris, instead of rushing them to and treating them at a local hospital. Both men had been stabilized so the helicopters could take them to the capital in less than two hours.

One hour after they had been admitted to the military hospital Val-de-Grâce in Paris, dawn sent its first rays of light over the Parisian rooftops and Athos was rolled back to his room after surgery. Beside a light hypothermia, he had been diagnosed with a through-and-through wound on his upper left shoulder which had been cleaned, disinfected, stitched and bandaged. Provided with painkillers and an intravenous saline solution, he now lay in his bed and wondered how to get information about Aramis. No sooner had he thought that than his door opened and in marched Tréville, followed by Porthos and d'Artagnan.

"How is Aramis?" Athos asked, even before the men had fully stepped into his room.

"Still in surgery, but his condition is stable. The doctor told me he is not critical any more. As soon as he is out of surgery we can see him," Tréville answered. "Well, at least Anne might be able to see him. She's waiting at the ICU for him."

"How are you feeling?" asked Porthos, and it was the first time since they had found Athos and Aramis in the woods, that Porthos had spoken to Athos without suppressed anger or reproaches.

"Like an idiot."

"Then all's well."

"Porthos..." Tréville muttered.

"No, he's right. I acted like an idiot and I apologise for my behaviour. I had the best intentions, but when I heard over the phone how Grimaud supposedly shot Aramis, my old resentment got the better of me. I should have planned this through."

"I'm sure you did in the minutest detail, including the fact that all of us were allegedly unavailable, entrusted with the protection of Aramis' closest family. So I can understand your motivation," Tréville said. "You still should have let one of us know what your plans were. You had more luck than judgement, but somehow that's something inherent to the four of you ever since you earned your commissions. I'll never understand how it works," Tréville muttered, shaking his head.

"I walked blindly into Grimaud's trap when I thought I would be able to defeat him."

"That's why you have me and d'Artagnan, right? It's not the first time we've saved your sorry behind." Porthos grinned, and it was obvious his earlier ire had gone. "How are you really?"

"I'm okay, the painkillers help. What I don't understand, how could you all be back so fast? I mean, I understand the thing with the tracker, which was, on balance, a damn clever thing to do, d'Artagnan. Thanks," Athos added quietly, looking at the young man. "When I spoke with you yesterday morning you were both otherwise engaged, a few flight hours away from Paris. There was no word you'd be back before today at the earliest. What happened?"

On the flight back to Paris, Athos had given a short summary about how he and Aramis had been able to escape and what Aramis had reported about Grimaud's assertion and demand for a key. Tréville had nodded, feeling confirmed in his opinion that the men they had spotted with Grimaud at the ruined building could very well be Islamic terrorists. They had certainly not been friends with Grimaud, that much he had realised during the melee. The rest of the flight Athos had spent in a state of drowsiness caused by the morphine. Aramis had remained unconscious during the whole flight.

Porthos grinned. "Damn right, we were all otherwise engaged, at least until Charlène called me after her lunch to tell me she found your note. She read it out to me and we both knew that out of the office for the rest of the day certainly meant something totally different. She's clever, too, you know? She knows you better than you think. Anyway, I immediately called d'Artagnan who logged into the GPS tracker programme and alerted the captain. D'Artagnan found your signal quite fast, showing us the direction you were heading in. First I thought it was Éparcy, but then you drove on, further north, and I remembered the incident with Aramis and the Spanish prisoners."

"My mum and I were already about to leave for the airport. I didn't want her to stay alone in Lupiac any more and urged her to spend the next two days in Paris with me until she leaves for Quebec the day after tomorrow. We had already booked the afternoon flight back to Paris."

"The captain was able to organize protection with the Spanish police for both Aramis' mother and sister and half an hour after Charlène's call the personal protection was already under way. I would have stayed another day or two, but with you apparently being intent on self-destruction, I booked the first flight back. Tréville had a helicopter waiting for me and d'Artagnan at Charles-de-Gaulle and organized a police escort for Madame d'Artagnan. It felt very royal, being picked up at the gate and escorted to a military helicopter." Porthos' smile broadened. "The pup was a little green around the gills when we took off."

"Hey," d'Artagnan protested, but was interrupted by Tréville's chuckling and Porthos' laughing.

"Anyway, that way we were in Landrecies around 23 o'clock and half an hour later we had reached the place where you had left your car. We missed the chance to catch Grimaud and the men with him unawares, it seems they had posted guards outside with nightscopes. There was a short fight and Grimaud was able to flee, as were some of the men with him."

"Men? There were more?" Athos asked. "I saw only two, and killed one."

"Yeah, these two we found. One dead in a cell and another who tried to flee with Grimaud but was wounded and arrested," said Porthos.

"The other men were neither friends nor helpmates, they belonged to a group I assume were Islamic terrorists demanding their money. We apparently interrupted them in their negotiations. Two were shot on the spot, three of them were able to flee with Grimaud. While Porthos and d'Artagnan immediately made their way towards where we hoped to find you, two units chased after the fleeing men. One of the assumed Islamic terrorists was caught and wounded badly. I hope we'll be able to interrogate him soon, though."

"And Grimaud?" Athos asked.

"Still on the run, but there are two teams out there to search for him, and we have assistance from the army. Road blocks, border security and so on. The Belgian border is only 25 kilometres away from where Grimaud disappeared." Tréville's mobile started ringing and he pulled it from his pocket, taking the call immediately. While listening to what the caller had to say, he strolled over to the window.

"What about Anne? Did you see her? Tréville said she is here."

"We met her in the surgery's waiting area. She's collected. Happy you're both alive. Happy Aramis is back." Porthos eyed Tréville, who still listened to the call without saying one word. "I hope they let her see him when he comes out from surgery. You know how they can be when you're not family."

"I think Tréville saw to it, he spoke with the doctors earlier," d'Artagnan said. "He can put his foot down if he wants."

"I'll see to it, thanks." Tréville ended the call and turned around. "They caught another man. He's severely injured and it's uncertain if he'll survive." Tréville paused for a moment. "There's a chance Grimaud has crossed the border. I need to contact my Belgian colleagues, they won't be happy to have French military and police swarming about in their territory. I don't want to cause an international incident." He walked to the door and turned around once again before he left. "Let's hope we catch him before he can cross another border. I'll see you later."

After Tréville had left, they talked about the recent events a while longer until Porthos left to see if Aramis was still in surgery. D'Artagnan took his leave a few minutes later to check on his mother. He promised to come back during the day when he had had a proper meal and a nap, not necessarily in that order.

As soon as the door had closed behind d'Artagnan, Athos let his head sink back on the pillow and closed his eyes. He felt dead tired. He wanted to rest for a moment and then call one of the nurses to ask if she could get him information about Aramis' condition.

He was asleep within thirty seconds.

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

Aramis kept his eyes closed and listened to the sounds. Like the other two occasions when he had woken, the room around him was quiet, except for the usual noise filling an ICU room. He listened to the beeps and soft whirr of the machinery surrounding his bed. Somehow, it had a soothing effect on him. Suddenly, however, he knew he was not alone in the room, even though he heard nothing specific, not even as much as a person's breathing. It was just the unmistakable sense of danger honed over the years. And he knew it was not Anne who was here.

When he had come around after the surgery, the first thing he had been aware of was that someone was holding his hand, stroking the back of it gently and tenderly. The sensation had been like an anchor for him in a sea of noises – beeps, whirrs, murmur – and the fog in his mind. It had taken a moment to remember what had happened and where he was and why he was here. Then he had opened his eyes and looked straight into Anne's smiling face. He had seen the trails of dried tears in her face and the lines of worry around her eyes, but she had smiled at him and whispered something, and then they had kissed. It had probably been the best kiss in his life so far. Or at least damn near the mark.

Anne had stayed until Tréville had suddenly materialised beside his bed and whispered with her. He had told Aramis it was time to escort Anne back and that Aramis needed to rest. Tréville had promised to bring her by again later when Aramis was feeling better and would be more alert. It seemed, Aramis had not been the only one realising he couldn't keep his eyes open any longer.

Tréville had been beside his bed when Aramis had woken the next time. He had given him a very short summary of the recent events, and told him he should get better soon. Tréville's short monologue had included words like'son' and 'glad we found you in time' and 'I'm too old for this' and Aramis had been deeply moved by the words and the warmth in his captain's voice. Tréville had also told him that Porthos had spent some time at the side of his bed until the big man's snoring had grown too loud and a nurse had put down her foot and more or less thrown him out to get sleep elsewhere.

All this came to Aramis' mind, and he knew that whoever was in the room with him now, keeping suspiciously quiet, was neither Anne nor Tréville nor a snoring Porthos.

"Haven't I suffered enough? Have you come to torture me further?" Aramis asked quietly, keeping his eyes closed. He didn't have to look to know who had come to see him.

Someone gasped, and it was the first hint Aramis had been right in his assumption that he was not alone in the room. When no reply came, he added, finally opening his eyes, "It was a joke, okay?"

Athos stared at him in consternation.

"Admittedly, it was a bad one, but it was a joke nonetheless. You saved my life, remember?"

"No, I nearly killed you," Athos answered in a rasping voice.

"Grimaud nearly killed me. You saved me."

"No, I didn't. Porthos and-"

"Okay," Aramis interrupted, rolling his eyes. "Maybe it was not you in the first place, but it was at least your watch, according to what I've heard. So can we just agree that your watch saved me in place of you?" A smile slowly spread across Aramis' face.

Athos stared at his friend until his own features softened and the hint of a smirk appeared at the corners of his mouth. "I guess I can live with that." Athos dragged his chair nearer to the bed. "Aramis, I'm sorry." He held up his hand to stop the protest he could virtually see forming in the other's mind. "No, let me speak, just a minute. I want to apologise for my ill-prepared plan. It's hard to admit, but even I obviously do make a mistake now and then. I'll try to avoid them in the future." Athos' voice grew more serious now. "Forgive me. I'm glad to see you on the road to recovery. The doctor says you'll have to stay in hospital for at least a week, maybe ten days. How do you feel?"

Aramis seemed to ponder the question for a moment. "I don't know. If I didn't know better I'd say it feels like I had been abducted, tortured, shot, dragged through a snowstorm and gone down with a dose of pneumonia. Crazy, isn't it? As if that would ever happen to me!" He winked at Athos.

One of the rare, true smiles appeared on Athos' face. Aramis' joie de vivre was infectious. "You are a cat with nine lives, Aramis."

"I know." Aramis grabbed Athos' hand and squeezed it. "Thank you. For everything." For keeping my family safe. For keeping Anne safe. For coming for me. For staying with me.

Athos filled Aramis in with more details from Tréville's report. When a nurse came to softly rebuke Athos for having stayed too long, Athos rose. "He's not tired and he's only listening to my report, this is hardly too exhausting for him," Athos told the nurse.

"I'm not speaking of him. It's you who should be in bed by now. You're post-op, hypodermic and weakened," the nurse replied, winking at Aramis. "I said a quarter of an hour, not longer."

Athos rolled his eyes expressively. "Porthos and d'Artagnan want to see you, too, but I'm not sure when they'll be allowed in. There's a dragon guarding this hoard, err, room," he stage-whispered. Then he followed the nurse out.

A/N

Historical background, if you're interested:

The military hospital Hôpital d'instruction des armées du Val-de-Grâce was built by order of Queen Anne of Austria. After the birth of her son Louis XIV after 23 childless years of marriage to Louis XIII, Anne showed her gratitude to the Virgin Mary by building a church on the land of a Benedictine convent. Louis XIV himself is said to have laid the cornerstone for the Val-de-Grâce in a ceremony that took place on April 1, 1645, when he was seven years old. Later, Anne retired to the convent of Val-de-Grâce where she spent her last years and died of breast cancer on January, 20, 1666. During the French Revolution, the Benedictine nuns provided medical care for injured revolutionaries. Following the Revolution, the buildings were converted into a military hospital. Val-de-Grâce was the traditional burial place for members of the House of Orléans, cadet of the House of Bourbon.

I thought it would be just and fitting that Aramis recovers in a hospital Anne had founded and -in line with the show- his son had laid the cornerstone for, and where Anne had spent the final years of her life.