Just a short chapter today. We're getting close to the conclusion of this story now. Today, hurt/comfort,and a little angst, as well. As Always, thanks so much for reading my story!
Aramis was beside himself, tears trickling down his face as he knelt in the dust of the street. It was his fault! If Bernard was after him for some unknown reason, he should have tried harder to keep his distance from his brothers to protect them. Now, his greatest fear had come to life. Porthos! His brother had shoved him out of the way,making himself a target instead.
His hands clenched in his brother's shirtfront, Aramis was oblivious to anything going on around him as a crowd gathered. His thoughts were only of his brother, and of his own sense of guilt.
He wasn't thinking clearly, Athos thought, as soon as he and d'Artagnan turned back to return to their brothers. Aramis was always cool and calm in an emergency, especially if one of them were injured. His 'medic mode' took over immediately. That it obviously hadn't told him much about the state of Aramis' mind at the moment.
Approaching him quietly, Athos laid a hand gently on Aramis' shoulder. "Aramis, he needs medical attention," was all he said, but it seemed to get through to his brother, who after a moment shook his head, wiping away tears with the forearm of his jacket, as he finally began hurriedly to find where Porthos had taken the bullet.
When he found it, his body seemed to sag in relief. Porthos had been hit in the shoulder. The blood still pouring from the wound had covered the exact location, and it looked far worse than it was. Still, they needed to stop the bleeding before he lost much more blood, or they would have another problem on their hands. He pressed the flat of his right hand against Porthos' wound to try to stop the bleeding.
Turning to Athos and looking up, he said softly, "He'll live. It's his shoulder. But we need to stop the bleeding quickly."
Athos nodded his head, then turned to d'Artagnan and said, "Go back to the garrison and tell Treville. Bring back two wagons." D'Artagnan was already moving before Athos even finished, heading down the street at a rapid pace towards the garrison.
Pulling his shirt free of his pants' waistband, Athos tore two strips from the bottom and handed them to Aramis. Then, crouching down beside him, he took over applying pressure on the wound so that Aramis could wipe away more of the blood and start winding the makeshift bandage around it tightly.
He was nearly finished when they both noticed Porthos beginning to stir. Laying a hand on his shoulder, Aramis leaned down towards his brother's ear and said quietly, "Lay still. You've been shot, and we are taking care of you."
Porthos' voice, still groggy from having been unconscious, said, "I'm fi..."
Aramis' eyebrows went up when he heard that. He replied, "You most definitely are not fine, my friend. You've been bleeding like a stuck pig all over the street. Now lie still."
Unbelievably, a chuckle emanated from Porthos. "You are telling me I'm not fine? Isn't that what you always tell us when you've been hurt? And didn't it take the three of us to hold you down to stay in bed last time, when you thought you could just get to your feet and carry on as normal?"
Athos' lips were beginning to twitch now. Looking over at Aramis, he said, "He has you there, brother."
For once not having an suitable answer, Aramis resorted to becoming very busy with finishing the wrapping, his very quietness telling them what he felt. Athos and Porthos just looked at each other, grinning.
xxxxxxxxxxxxx
A servant had already reached the palace relaying the message that a Musketeer had been attacked and wounded in the street not far from the grounds. Philippe felt a sense of deep satisfaction, as he thought, 'may the deed be true this time at last'.
But a little while later, his hopes were dashed when a second servant's message told the palace that the Musketeer was wounded, but not dead. The message even included the name of the Musketeer.
Porthos! he thought incredulously. The man couldn't even hit the right target?
He himself didn't care if Aramis or Athos was taken out. Either would give him immense satisfaction. But he knew Bernard had a deadly vendetta against Aramis for a reason only known to the man himself.
It was when he heard that a man named Bernard had been killed in return after the ambush that Philippe exploded in the privacy of his rooms.
'That complete fool!' he raged to himself. 'He couldn't even get the target right, then gets himself killed into the bargain. A very poor partnership indeed.' Then, he thought to himself, as the saying goes, if you need something done, you have to do it yourself'.
Settling himself into his gold and blue brocade chair, he began to ponder just how he would put an end to the whole affair once and for all.
xxxxxxxxxxxxxx
Porthos put up quite a fuss when the two wagons arrived. He knew as soon as he saw them that one of them was for him, and he had no intention of playing the invalid by riding back to the garrison in it.
"I'm perfectly capable of walking myself," he said to his brothers.
Aramis calmly and quietly replied, "Like you were capable of keeping out of the line of fire, mon ami? Or of keeping all that blood under you from seeping out, and risking bleeding to death?" ignoring the glare he was receiving by now from his irate brother.
Athos just put an end to Porthos' arguments by saying, "Porthos, you are riding in that wagon if we have to knock you out and lay you there."
Porthos finally capitulated, but not with any grace or humor. Athos, Aramis and d'Artagnan, who had come back with the wagons, lifted him with absolutely no cooperation from the patient, carried him to the wagon and laid him down. All they heard was an indignant huff from their now silent brother, and they grinned at each other, knowing they would all have behaved very much the same way if the situation was reversed.
After depositing Bernard's body in the other wagon (Athos figured earlier that it would be difficult enough to convince Porthos to ride in the wagon without his having to ride in it with a dead body), they took off, reaching the garrison a short while later.
xxxxxxxxxxxxx
Aramis continued to tease Porthos after they got him settled in the infirmary, and while he exchanged the makeshift bandages for real ones. First, he had rechecked the wound, finding that the bullet had gone straight through, for which he was very thankful. Then, he spread some healing salves on it while Porthos complained about the awful smell of them. Pothos tried to tell him he didn't need the pain meds, too, but again, Aramis wasn't haivng any of his brother's foot-dragging.
Within minutes of also being given a med for sleeping from his insistent mother hen brother, the big man was sound asleep.
It was then that Aramis sagged into the nearest chair, not because he wanted to but from his body's persistence in reminding him that he needed to do so. He had been on his feet far longer today than at any time since his injuries had occurred, and his body was demanding some rest now.
He tried to ignore it and get back up, only to find a familiar hand come to rest on his shoulder.
"Aramis," Athos quietly chided him, what would you say to one of us if we ignored the fact that we were so weary, we could barely stand up?" quirking that eyebrow of his up, like only Athos could do so expressively.
With a dramatic sigh, Aramis just looked up at him, got wearily to his feet, and settled down on the bed nearest to Porthos.
Athos just gazed at his two brothers for a few moments with a relieved smile, then took the seat Aramis had just vacated.
When d'Artagnan returned from seeing Constance and came through the door a short time later, he saw that Athos, in his turn, had tilted his head back and had joined his brothers in sleep.
We are getting close to the end now. Next up: Bernard's motive, and Philippe's vengeance.
