A/N: This one shot is dedicated to the lovely See Me As I Am 101. I was going to put something like this in my other story 'Till Kingdom Comes,' but then I realized that all my ex-special forces lawyers were too bad ass to get hurt. I was sad to have to rewrite that part because See Me As I Am had asked for a scene like this one specifically. So here's the promised hurt Porthos, with pissed off caring Aramis. Have fun. :)
Warnings: Language. Aramis cusses.

PID: Porthos in Distress.

It was an unusually easy mission. No threats against the king, no false treasonous charges to be disproved, and no wanted criminals escorted.

All they had to do was ride out to a distant village, talk to the inn keeper about the people who kept getting sick after staying there and then ride back. Aramis had even complained they did not need a four man unit on the mission, Porthos and himself were enough. Had Athos and d'Artagnan not been occupied with another one, he wouldn't have had a problem with those two accompanying them. The duo had taken to politely giving Porthos and Aramis their space. But with two other musketeers, his plans of spending some nice happy times at the inn with Porthos would have to be put on hold.

They wouldn't eat the food. They'll just make use of a room.

It would have been an unusually easy mission. That is, if nearing the village, a couple dozen men hadn't attacked them for no apparent reason except yelling 'musketeers!'. The fight had been short but brutal. The musketeers each trained highly in combat, had fought fiercely but the bandits had made up in numbers what they lacked in training. There was only so much you can do when while swinging your sword at one man in front of you and ducking a mace from another beside you, someone jabbed you in the back.

When the fighting was done, Porthos was holding his side, standing. But another musketeer, Charles de Vilar was prone on the ground, breathing heavily, clutching at the cut that bled freely from his stomach.

Aramis, being the only one trained to handle injuries turned first towards Porthos as he was wont to do. But Porthos waved him off, telling him that he was fine and instructing him to tend to Charles, and seeing the man walk to the nearest horse which hadn't run off spooked, Aramis had relented, hurrying over to the wounded man.

The wound was deep, the cut having sliced through a lot of muscle. Aramis could sew back skin and close it, but if it had nicked something important, then there was nothing that could be done. Still Aramis had to try to do everything he could.

He wrapped several strips of cloth over the cut, securing it with tight knots. It would have to do until they could find a place clean enough for him to perform his needlework.

"Porthos, get one of the horses here!" he called out, picking up his injured comrade bodily. He put him on the horse, before getting on behind him. "We have to get him to the village fast. He needs attention, and he needs it soon."

Porthos and the Dominique, the other musketeer, nodded and got on their horses as well. They rode as fast as they dared, reaching the village half an hour later. Aramis wasted no time in getting the injured man to a room in the inn. Berating the innkeeper and investigating the case could come later, first the man's life needed to be saved.

Aramis worked desperately, barking orders at Porthos and Dominique while he stemmed the flow of blood and stitched up the cut.

It was messy, bloody work which required intense care and concentration and by the time Aramis finished and sat back, he was utterly exhausted.

"Is he going to be okay?" Porthos asked.

Aramis shrugged his shoulders. "I've done all I can, now we have to wait and see if he will make it."

"Alright… Yeah we'll wait here. Why don't you –" Porthos trailed off, his knees buckling. Aramis shot up from where he was sitting on the ground.

"You're hurt!" He was at the man's side in an instant, face going pale at the amount of blood which the dark shirt had hidden. "You ass! You told me you were fine."

Porthos shrugged wordlessly and winced when Aramis raised his shirt slowly.

Aramis swore.

Aramis swore like he wasn't usually prone to, loudly and furiously, cursing everyone from god to Porthos' nonexistent common sense.

"For fuck's sake I have half a mind to let you bleed out from that nice gash that you have. This is what you call being fine, you dimwitted idiot? You would expect a grown man to have more brains than a grass munching goat but no, that is too much to ask apparently!"

All the while Porthos remained silent, as Aramis looked him over, gesturing for Dominique to help him on to the other bed which wasn't being occupied by an unconscious Charles. He started cleaning away the cut, which wasn't very deep, but which had bled a lot.

"This will need stitches. Don't move, I'll get my things." Aramis hurried to where he had left his bag, and settled down on the floor besides the bed, before looking at Porthos.

"This time love, I'll do this myself." He raised himself a little and punched the man.

Hard.

Porthos' eyes rolled back and he passed out. "That'll teach you to lie to me, you bastard."

Dominique stared at him, looking distinctly afraid. "What?" Aramis snapped, sending the young musketeer scurrying from the room. Aramis shook his head and got to work on the stitches.

XXX

Porthos came to, a nice headache making its acquaintance with him even before he opened his eyes. He mumbled trying to lift an arm to shield his eyes against the light which was hitting his face. There was something warm on his hand. He cracked open an eye, blinking blearily to clear his vision and stared.

Aramis' head was on his hand, his face towards him, his eyes closed. He had gone to sleep sitting against the bed, after, Porthos noticed, having sewn up his wound, cleaning away the blood and changing his torn up bloodied shirt.

The man must have been tired. Still the way he was sleeping right now could hardly be comfortable and there was enough room on the large bed for two people. Porthos traced a finger on Aramis' cheek causing his eyes to open and a hand to shoot up and grab Porthos'.

"Don't move. You'll pull your stitches." The curt command made Porthos frown.

Aramis noticed. "What, I am supposed to forget your blatant disregard for your physical and my mental health and the way you heartlessly lied to me and the anxiety I felt at seeing you almost faint like some damsel in distress and… "

He was a cut off by a hand on his mouth. Porthos looked at his lover contritely. "I'm sorry…?"

The apology was as much a question as it was a statement. With Aramis, sometimes apologizing too soon got you punched in the face instead of forgiven.

Though if Porthos' somewhat hazy memory served and his headache was anything to go by, he had been dealt one punch already.

Still better safe than sorry. Not that he wasn't sorry. He was, but… Porthos shook his head a little, trying to focus.

"Charles was a lot more seriously injured than I was and I thought that you didn't need to worry about me while tending to him and then I was going to tell you, I swear..."

"But you almost fainted and I found out anyway." Aramis concluded, a frown marring his sculptured features.

Porthos nodded and sighed. "I'm sorry."

Aramis stared at him for a long time, before nodding. He got up from the floor and kicking off his boots, slowly got into bed with Porthos, taking care not to jostle the injured man. Charles was too unconscious to question their far too friendly intimacy and Dominique was nowhere to be found.

"Where's Dom?" Porthos asked, wrapping a careful arm around Aramis and pulling him closer to his uninjured side.

"He disappeared several hours ago." Aramis shrugged, laying his head on Porthos's shoulder. "I think I might have scared him slightly."

Porthos nodded sagely, pressing a kiss to his lover's hair. "I don't doubt it. You can be quite scary, love."

Aramis grinned but then turned somber, turning his head so that he was staring into Porthos' eyes. "Listen to me very carefully." The tone of his voice left no place for jests and Porthos found himself nodding. "I will never stop worrying about you. When you are gone on some mission without me I worry, when you foolishly incite a man into challenging you to a duel, I worry; when you casually stride into battle armed with nothing but your quick fists, I worry; when you aren't in my sights for even an instance, I worry. So please never ever lie to me again if you are hurt. I don't care if everyone else dies, you are not allowed to be injured on my watch. Is that clear?"

Porthos was about to make some smartass comment about Aramis being a needy maiden, when a single eyebrow raised in warning made him change his mind. "Crystal clear, love," he mumbled instead.

Aramis nodded and settled back on his shoulder with a small grim smile, "That's what I thought."

Porthos dozed off to sleep soon after, assured by Aramis' close presence. Aramis however lay awake, unable to sleep.

Everytime he closed his eyes, he saw Porthos falling to his knees, he saw his shirt covered with blood, he saw the ugly gash bleeding sluggishly, he saw the deathly pale look on Porthos' face.

Aramis shuddered, laying a hand on his lover's chest, feeling the heart beating beneath his palm. He calmed his breath until he could feel his heart beat match Porthos'.

Smiling he closed his eyes.

God, I've never typed out something this fast before.:P
I think I'm addicted to writing. God.