Notes:
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Blood Pact
Chapter 2
d'Artagnan had woken up in some horrific situations before, but being shaken violently awake by men in masks was certainly up there with the worst. He let out a strangled shout, the white masks looming over his mind. Hands gripped his shoulders, tugging the young man into a sitting position. He attempted to fight the hands off, it was only when commands came from a familiar voice did he still.
"Easy, d'Artagan, easy!" d'Artagnan took in the familiar blue eyes above him which shone out from above a white mask. The gaze of his mentor. The other two faces were strangers, so d'Artagnan just focused on the eyes he knew, the eyes he trusted without reservation, "It's okay."
"Athos, what's going on?"
Arms pulled him up from the sofa he had been sleeping on, gloved hands beginning to roll up one of his sleeves.
"Sharp scratch, Sir."
"Wha-" d'Artagnan broke off with a curse as a needle slid into a vein in the crook of his arm. Someone else pressed a thermometer into his ear. When he tried to pull away he felt his head being held in place.
"Athos!"
"It's just a precaution," Athos's eyes flickered to the side. d'Artagnan's gaze followed. On the other side of the room Aramis had been woken from his own slumber and was receiving much the same treatment. Two strangers were gathered around his sofa and d'Artagnan noted the dark curly hair of Porthos, face covered by a similar surgical mask. There was the rumble of his deep voice, eyes focused on Aramis' stressed features, but d'Artagnan couldn't focus on what was being said. His eyes flipped back to the two strangers around him, who's hands were still pawing at his face and body.
"A precaution for what?"
"We believe you might have been exposed to a harmful airborne virus," The stranger who was taking his temperature explained. He was tall, half a head taller than Athos, with glasses and dark hair, "Who have you been in contact with since you returned to the Garrison?"
"N-no one?" The thermometer beeped and was blessedly pulled back, "After I was dismissed I collapsed in here, with him." He nodded in the direction of Aramis.
The man nodded, squinting at the digital display. It seemed he was only have listening.
"37.7," The man muttered, "Slight fever."
"Constance has had a cold!" d'Artagnan realised fairly quickly that no one was listening.
"I've got 37.9 over here!" A voice called from the group around Aramis.
The man who still held the thermometer nodded, as if a decision was made.
"I'm placing the room under quarantine. If you have you're your samples I want you back in your labs. This is priority one. Any none essential staff out!"
d'Artagnan, although he was ashamed to admit it, felt a stab of panic when he watched Athos take a step back.
"You can't just quarantine us! I'm fine! Athos you cannot let them just –"
"It will be fine d'Artagnan. Once your blood is tested –"
The dark haired man stepped between the two men, "Athos you need to leave, now."
The older man's eyes creased in frustration, but turned to do as he was told.
"Keep your phone on you d'Artagnan. I'll be in touch. Everything will be fine – don't worry."
d'Artagnan fell back onto his sofa as the masked men filed out. The door was shut behind them, although thankfully there were panels of clear glass on either side of the wood, both about a foot wide, which gave him a snapshot of the outside world. He could see the tall man talking to Athos, who tore his mask off angrily. He jabbed a finger into the man's chest and then pointed savagely at the closed of door. With a stiff nod the man turned on his heels and hurried off, Athos stalking behind him moments later.
He shot a look at Aramis, who looked just as stunned as he felt.
What had just happened?
"It was in the vial you brought back from the lab…" Athos explained later. Aramis had left his phone in the office, so when Athos had called d'Artagnan's phone had been put on speaker phone. The iPhone was sat on a table, the two men facing it. d'Artagnan's arms were crossed over his chest, fingers resting on his lips in concentration. Aramis, on the other hand, stalked around the phone like a caged animal.
"RN6X is a chemically altered influenza."
"Influenza," Aramis frowned, his feet pausing as he stared at the phone, "They think we have flu?"
"Most influenzas are harmless enough. Headache, fever, congestion," Athos' explained, "They only hold real danger to the young, old, or sick."
d'Artagnan swallowed, worried he knew the answer to his next question, "So we can go?"
The silence before Athos' answer was a fraction too long.
"This isn't normal flu, d'Artagnan. Lemay is trying to map out the pathogen signature. We know it has been altered in some way, we just don't know how yet. Until we do –"
"We're stuck in here," Aramis went pack to pacing again. His hand rose to his hair, tugging at it in frustration.
"It won't be for long… You're both tired anyway. Get some sleep, by the time you've woken up Lemay will have some good news."
"Easy for you to say," Aramis shot a glare toward the phone, "You're not the one stuck in quarantine!"
"Aramis please," d'Artagnan could hear their leader's groan in his words, "Take this as some enforced rest time."
"It's fine," d'Artagnan cut in before Aramis could keep complaining, which earned him a glare, "We're fine in here. We feel fine. Just keep us in the loop, please?"
"Of course. You two will be the first to know of any developments. Perhaps you should call Constance? Let her know?"
d'Artagnan shook his head, "Why worry her over nothing? She is in school. I-"
A different voice was picked up by the phone and Athos cursed.
"I have to go, sorry. The moment I know anything, I will be in touch."
Before either man could reply the call was disconnected. D'Artagnan frowned, although looked up just in time to see the older man pull his eyes hurriedly away. Aramis let out a growl and stalked away from the table, back to the far corner and his sofa. d'Artagnan watched him go, before settling back on his own.
It was clear Aramis didn't want to talk to him – well fine. d'Artagnan was just as happy to comply with his wishes.
There was an unsettling silence in the research building. It made Athos nervous, or rather, more nervous. The labs were full, but the only noise coming from those rooms were the tapping of keyboards and the clicking of shoes. Lemay had talked Athos through what he could, but had then kicked him from the lab so he could continue his tests on the vial. Over the next two hours silence descended. It made Athos tense, though it was nothing compared to watching Porthos, who seemed intent on digging to the Earth's core with his relentless pacing.
"Porthos…" Athos muttered when he could finally take no more.
The man gave no indication that he heard as kept up his incessant pacing. Athos pushed himself away from the wall he had been propped against.
"Porthos," Athos reached out and pressed a hand against the man's shoulder. He knew Porthos could easily shove past him, but the physical touch of a friend stilled his feet – finally, "You need to stop this."
"I should have been there," Porthos eventually looked up, his eyes were creased with a mixture of anxiety and guilt, "Aramis wouldn't have been near that vial and I could have stopped d'Artagnan from opening the stupid thing."
"Or you could be in there instead of them," Athos gripped his shoulder a little bit harder, "Our lives are dangerous. It's a risk we all run every time we go out in the field. They know that as well as either of us. We all accept that risk."
Porthos shot a savage look at the floor, as if this whole situation was somehow the laminate's fault. He didn't look convinced.
"And besides," Athos pressed, "We have no idea whether they are in any danger. This could all be one huge waste of time…"
"That's what I'm hoping for," Porthos scrubbed a hand across his curly dark hair.
"It's what we're all hoping for."
The pair fell back into a silence, although it wasn't long before footsteps broke the atmosphere. Athos glanced up to see Lemay in the doorway of his lab. The deep etches of worry on his forehead and around eyes made the man's heart racing.
"Athos I… I have some news. If you could both –?" Lemay broke off and gestured towards the door. Athos followed the direction, Porthos close at his back.
They were met with a few large pictures up on LCD screens. Although neither man would consider themselves fluent in any scientific field, they did recognise them as viruses.
"What is this, Lemay?"
"The left is H3N2, an influenza A subtype, more commonly known as Hong Kong flu. It caused a pandemic in 1968 and killed an estimated 1 million people in Aisia…"
Athos nodded a little jerkily, "And the right?"
"That is the strain your men were exposed to from the infected vial," Lemay tapped a few keys on his lap top and the photograph zoomed in, "There is more testing to be done, we have in no way completed an extensive make-up of the pathogen but-"
Athos held up a hand, "Lemay. What are you trying to say?"
Porthos bounced nervously at his side, arms crossed over his chest.
Lemay swallowed. His hand fluttered against the lab bench, "Our preliminary tests suggest that the virus has been engineered with four times the contagion rate of Hong Kong flu and, right now, it is showing a resistance to all vaccines which have been introduced."
Cold realisation crashed over Athos as he stared up at the screen, apprehension rising through his throat.
"We still don't know your men have been infected," Lemay stressed, although his voice sounded oddly disconnected, far away, "I have my best team testing their samples, their results should be with us within an hour."
Unsure of what else to do, Athos just nodded. He couldn't pull his eyes away from the images until he felt a hand land heavily on his shoulder. He turned and attempted a grateful smile, although he as fairly sure it came out a grimace. Instead he reached up and gripped Porthos' wrist with a silent thanks. The big man nodded in understanding. Porthos always knew how to ground him back to reality.
"So," Athos turned back, feeling minimally more pulled together, "If they are infected, what are they looking at? What should we expect?"
Lemay looked at little uncertain, "I can only speculate, but we can expect it to begin like any influenza; congestion, cough, that sort of thing. We can expect fatigue. What worries me is the fever and the risk of pneumonia. Of course they're both healthy men, but if the primary infection sufficiently weakens them either could be… hazardous…."
Porthos's hand tightened to a death grip on his leader's shoulder as he spoke.
"How hazardous?"
"You have to understand," Lemay began, "It is impossible to say for certain with an unknown strain-"
"Lemay don't bullshit us," Athos snapped at him, "It serves no purpose. You're a smart man, give us your best estimate."
The Englishmen puffed out a breath and ran a hand over his shaved jawline in discomfort.
"If the virus is sufficiently aggressive then in theory it has potential to become deadly."
And there it was. Laid out before them in the lab. Athos nodded stiffly, ignoring the voices of panic which begun to scream murderous thoughts inside of his head. If he ever came face to face with those responsible for this…
But then, a dark voice reminded him, wasn't that him? Wasn't it him who had ordered those men, his friends, straight into this danger?
"I," Athos dug into his pocket, ignoring the bile rising in the back of his throat, "I promised d'Artagnan an update. If you'll excuse me-"
"Athos, you cannot tell them," Lemay frowned.
"And why not?"
Lemay blinked, as it was obvious. But, he had to remind himself, he wasn't talking to other doctors.
"The brain is a powerful thing. You cannot tell them for the same reasons we use placebos in drug trials. If you tell them the symptoms we are concerned they may develop, there's every possibility their brain will begin to create them."
"If you think I am going to lie to my men Lemay –"The rest of Athos' threat was lost as his phone, still in his hand, began to buzz. Athos held up a finger the moment he read d'Artagnan's name flashed up and hit answer.
"d'Artagnan? What's going on?"
"Athos? Where are you?"
There was panic in the younger man's voice. Athos' stomach twisted nervously.
"I'm in the lab with Lemay. Why? What's wrong?"
"I'm, I'm fine, but there's something wrong with Aramis."
"Athos is coming," d'Artagnan promised as he hung up his phone, "He's bringing that doctor, Lenny."
Aramis groaned. He had fine only hours ago. Better than fine in fact. The quarantine had frustrated him to no end, being suck in close proximity with someone you weren't currently talking to was far from ideal, but he had only expected it to last a few hours before being released.
But now his body ached. He couldn't decide if he was hot or freezing, it seemed to switch from moment to moment. One instant he huddled into the sofa, coat wrapped around him like a blanket, the next his skin felt like it was on fire. When he'd awoken from his nap it had felt like his someone had left a boulder on his chest, leaving his breath shallow huffs and his throat dry.
"It's Lemay…" Aramis coughed around the words.
d'Artagnan nodded. He ducked down next Aramis and pressed a hand to the elder man's head. He huffed half-heartedly at the fuss, but he had to admit the boy's cool hand felt wondrous on his feverous skin.
"You're burning up…" d'Artagnan muttered. He dug into his back pack and tugged out his half empty water bottle. "Drink, idiot."
Aramis wanted to throw some insult in return, but the water was too tempting. He took the bottle with a nod and gratefully downed what was left inside. It served as a relief from the razorblades in his throat, but all too soon the coughs and wheezes were back.
The young man rocked back on his heels, waiting for Aramis' latest string of coughs to subside before he spoke. "So what do you think the chances of you getting sick is just some twisted coincidence?"
Aramis grimaced, "It would surely be appropriate. God has not been kind, why would I expect him to start now?"
The loaded words made d'Artagnan frown. Clearly something was hidden behind that half-truth, he couldn't decide whether Aramis intended him to press for information. Thankfully, the conversation was interrupted by a knock at the door, followed by the sweeping of the door opening. Someone had added a plastic seal around the edges for the quarantine, which dragged along the laminate floor as it was opened.
The tall man – Lemay, d'Artagnan reminded himself - closed the door firmly behind him. He tugged a fresh lab coat over his suit, a mask encompassing his nose and mouth.
"Where's Athos?" d'Artagnan frowned.
"I am the only one with access I am afraid, d'Artagnan is it?" Lemay placed his medical bag on the small table, "We need to keep contact to a minimum until we know what we are dealing with."
Of course, he should have known Athos would not be permitted into the room, but d'Artagnan couldn't help feel a pang of disappointment in his stomach.
Lemay didn't seem to notice as he hooked a stethoscope around his neck and stepped forward. His eyes slid passed d'Artagnan to the man stretched out on the sofa.
"Aramis, I wish I was seeing you under better circumstances. Do you mind if I examine you?"
When he gave a shrug of consent the doctor set to work. d'Artagnan took a step back, watching the man set about his work, but a rap on the window made him turn. Athos and Porthos stood by one of the small windows, a phone held between them. In that moment his own began to buzz against his leg, which he answered gratefully.
"How is he?" Was Porthos' first question.
"Coughing, fever, wheezing…" d'Artagnan shrugged, "We will know more once Lemay is finished, but it seems like normal flu."
"For all we know it could be," Porthos pressed, but Athos didn't look so convinced by the man's optimism.
"And you?" Athos pressed, "How are you feeling?"
"Fine… I mean, as fine as I can stuck in quarantine," The young man's eyes travelled between his two friend's on the other side of the glass, "Has our blood come back?"
D'Artagnan couldn't help but feel disappointment when Athos shook his head.
"Soon. It can't be long now. What happened in there? You two were fine when we left…"
What had happened indeed? D'Artagnan sighed, scrubbing a hand through his hair.
"I fell back asleep after we hung up. Must have been a couple of hours before I got woken up by Aramis coughing. He was fine when I went passed out but now… He's burning up, shivering like he's cold," d'Artagnan glanced over his shoulder to where Lemay was listening to Aramis' chest. "But isn't this all quick? Flu take days before you start feeling ill. It's not even been twelve hours."
Athos and Porthos shared a look, one which was not lost on the young man. They knew something he didn't…
"This isn't normal flu, d'Artagnan," Athos sighed eventually, "It's stronger than the normal virus. Maybe it acts faster. And-"
Porthos gave his leader a pointed look, although it was promptly ignored by Athos as he continued.
"I was told not to tell you this but it is only fair you know. The techs have done tests on the strand of flu you were exposed to. Right now it's showing resistance to all vaccines which have been tested."
That revelation hit heavily in the pit of d'Artagnan's stomach.
"Well," He sighed finally, "It's not as if a vaccine would have helped me now."
There was a flash of emotion across Athos' face, but as soon as the young man noticed it, it was gone.
"That is very fair. You really are quite the optimist."
d'Artagnan, despite the situation, was relieved to see Athos' half smile through the glass partition.
"I learn from the best."
"d'Artagnan!" Lemay's call made the younger man turn. The medic gestured to his side, "I need an extra pair of hands."
Shoving the phone back into his pocket, d'Artagnan returned to sofa. A cool icepack had been placed on Aramis' forehead and an IV had been placed in the back of his hand.
"Could you hold this for me?" Lemay pressed an IV of clear liquid into his hands, "Up high, good lad."
D'Artagnan did has he was told, watching as the doctor connected the open tube to the port in Aramis' hand.
"How, how is he doing?" d'Artagnan asked, ignoring the nervous twisting in his stomach.
Lemay didn't look up from his work.
"Well I think the blood tests are a little redundant now…" Lemay checked the IV line for kinks, "The infection rate had been greatly accelerated. I've never seen a virus work this quickly."
"Do I get a prize?" Aramis mumbled, eyes still closed under the ice pack.
"Yes you do," Lemay opened the valve at the bottom of the IV and squeezed it to begin the medication, "Your prize is lots of antivirals hooked straight to your veins. Congratulations."
Aramis "mmm"ed in response as d'Artagnan looked back to the doctor.
"And they will work? Athos said –"
The sharp look Lemay gave d'Artagnan made the words shrivel on his tongue.
"The antivirals will do you the world of good, Aramis. I suggest you get some sleep, when you wake up you'll be well on the way to your normal self."
A cough erupted from deep inside Aramis' chest but he settled quickly after it relented.
"Whatever you say, Doc…"
Lemay took the IV bag from d'Artagnan's hand and placed it high on the bookshelf behind Aramis' sofa.
"d'Artagnan? A word?"
Lemay motioned away from Aramis' bed side, and led the younger man away out of earshot.
When he turned, d'Artagnan could he had said something wrong. Lemay's eyes were thunderous as they narrowed over his mask, effectively nailing the younger's feet to the floor.
"What, exactly, did Athos tell you?"
"Not much…" d'Artagnan had the sudden feeling dropped Athos in it. "He told me the vaccines you have tested have had no effect. It's true isn't it?"
Lemay pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration and mumbled a couple of dark words in English. Although d'Artagnan didn't speak the language, the tone the words were offered in left little doubt that they were curses.
"Athos was asked not meant to share that…" He muttered in French finally.
"But it's true?"
Lemay sighed, "Yes it's true…"
d'Artagnan frowned, his gaze shooting over to the man on the other side of the room, before returning to the doctor.
"But we know the antivirals will definitely work," He pressed, "Right?"
Silence passed over the pair. Lemay rubbed a hand over his forehead, avoiding the younger man's gaze.
"No," He admitted finally, "I honestly have no idea. The virus is so new, right now we are just making stabs in the dark. The medication won't do your friend any harm, but I'm afraid I can't make any promises beyond that."
d'Artagnan let out a shaky breath as he digested the information. Eventually he nodded.
A beep from Lemay's pocket sent a gloved hand digging into his lab coat. He pulled out a phone and d'Artagnan watched as his thumb scrolled through whatever was on the screen.
"Your bloods are back," Lemay looked up, "Congratulations, you're clean."
A breath of relief rushed out of him. d'Artagnan sagged back against the wall at his back.
"And Aramis?"
Lemay shook his head, "You know the answer…"
D'Artagnan nodded. Aramis' wheezy breath had evened out in sleep, dark curls slick against his head and pale skin tinged unnaturally pale. His hand was still stretched out, the IV connected to the needle in his vein, pumping medicine into his body which might be useless.
"You can go," Lemay's voice jarred d'Artagnan out of his musings.
The man looked back with a frown, "What?"
"Your bloods are negative, d'Artagnan. You're not infected, there's no need for you to stay in quarantine."
"What about him?"
Lemay shook his head.
"I can't risk moving him. It would put the whole Garrison at risk. We have to contain the threat, right now Aramis is a serious risk."
Of course… d'Artagnan nodded a little absently.
"What are the risks to me if I stay? I've been around the vial, around Aramis, I'm not infected. Is it likely to happen if I stay?"
The question took Lemay aback for a moment. He frowned, considering the question.
"That's a question I can't answer. It is possible, if you have come into contact with a similar virus before and lived, you may have natural antibodies which can fight off the infection. But it's just as possible that you have just been very, very, lucky. That, after prolonged exposure, you will become infected like Aramis."
d'Artagnan swallowed, looking between Lemay and his sick friend in the bed.
Were they even still friends? They had spent the last week ignoring each other and truth be told d'Artagnan was still nursing hurt from his pin ceremony. Aramis hadn't been there for him, why should he stay now?
But d'Artagnan knew what decision he would make. Their fight didn't matter. His hurt didn't matter.
What mattered was that Aramis, beyond anything else in the world, hated two things. One was sushi (which to be honest d'Artagnan agreed with) but the other was being alone. The man's pride would never allow him to admit it, as Porthos had pointed out to him one night in his Apprenticeship. They had been stationed as look outs, stuck in an abandoned warehouse while Athos and Aramis had infiltrated the building opposite.
"He'd never say it himself," Porthos had muttered to d'Artagnan as he watched their teammates through his binoculars. It had been in response to d'Artagnan's question about Aramis' many lovers. "And he'd likely shoot me for saying it, but he's terrified of being alone."
"But wouldn't it be better," d'Artagnan thought back to his own wife, to Constance, "To be with one person who you knew wouldn't leave, rather than a dozen who might?"
"And that is easy to say from the other side looking on. But imagine he found that person. Someone who he could trust not to leave. So he showed that one person his true self, he pulled back the layers of bravado and humour, let them see what's underneath," Porthos paused, shooting their youngest a sideways look before going back to the scene through his binoculars. "And Aramis would then run the risk of watching that person walk away because they didn't like that they saw." Porthos let out a sigh, "What could be more painful than that?"
"So he would rather be surrounded by people he doesn't care about, just in case the one which he does leaves him alone?"
"I never said it was a good strategy," Porthos passed the binoculars to d'Artagnan to have a look, "But that's Aramis…"
No matter how angry d'Artagnan was, no matter how hurt he was, he wouldn't leave Aramis alone now. Not while we was sick, not while he was in danger.
d'Artagnan shook his head, "I have to stay. I can't leave him alone."
He had expected Lemay to fight him, but instead he clapped the younger man on the shoulder.
"You're a good man, d'Artagnan…"
"Or a stupid one."
"Perhaps both?"d'Artagnan offered the smallest of smiles as Lemay stepped back. "I'll have some food sent up to you. Make sure Aramis keeps drinking water, if he worsens let me know."
Lemay turned away, towards the door, although stopped at d'Artagnan's parting words.
"Don't tell Athos, please Lemay," d'Artagnan swallowed, "Don't tell him about my bloods. He will only worry."
Lemay gave the young man a long, hard look, before finally nodding, "If that's what you wish. Be safe, d'Artagnan."
d'Artagnan nodded and watched as the doctor retreated from the room. As the door shut behind him he turned back to face the room he was now voluntarily stuck in. Instead of returning to his sofa, d'Artagnan opted for an arm chair nearer to Aramis' sleeping form.
Or supposedly sleeping.
As d'Artagnan collapsed onto the upholstery Aramis coughed again and cracked one eye open.
"What did the good doctor want?" Aramis asked. There was a crackle to his voice, a wheeze which made the younger man uncomfortable. The shallow breaths did not sound healthy. "Did our bloods come back?"
"Hmm?" d'Artagnan pretended to be preoccupied with his phone before looking up, "Yea they did. Nothing we didn't already know. Both positive. Guess we're stuck with each other…"
Aramis nodded, although frowned around another cough.
"Then why aren't you sick?"
d'Artagnan offered a shrug, "Who knows. It's only a matter of time. Maybe it's just because I'm younger, stronger?"
"Come over here and say that…" Aramis muttered, although there was no bite to his words, "The cheek of youth."
"Just go to sleep," d'Artagnan kicked his feet up on the arm of the chair, "Give the meds a chance to work. I'll wake you up when they bring up some food…"
"Kay…" Aramis turned over on the sofa, his eyes closed once again.
d'Artagnan watched the man for a few moments, before looking back down at his phone. Maybe it was time to tell Constance what was going on…