Notes:

Wow! Thank you everyone for so much feedback! You have no idea how much I looooove reading them! 3

Here's Chapter 3, I hope lives up to the wait!

Blood Pact

Chapter 3

Food and blankets had been delivered a little while later. d'Artagnan had roused Aramis who'd attempted a little soup before asking to sleep again. The sofa had been made into a makeshift bed with blankets and Aramis had curled up, arm poking out carefully so his IV wasn't obstructed. It was his breathing which worried d'Artagnan, the coughs often covered it, but his breaths were coming hard and laboured. There was almost a crackle in his throat, it reminded the young man of treading on autumn leaves.

Whatever it was, d'Artagnan thought from his view point on the arm chair by his friend's head, it wasn't healthy.

The pair stayed that was for a good few hours – well into hour 10 of the quarantine – when a knock on the glass window pane shattered the quiet in the room. d'Artagnan jumped. He turned, in his seat and his eyes focused on the intruder.

Constance held her phone to her ear, d'Artagnan's beginning to ring a moment later. He couldn't help but think beautiful she was, even with a nervous expression painted across her features. She had clearly come straight from class, he recognised her navy book bag at her feet. Her hair was wild around her face, loose and curly which gave d'Artagnan the urge to anchor his hands in it and breath in the scent which was Constance – honey and books and… Just her…

"Hi…" d'Artagnan answered his own phone when he reached the window pane.

"I just got your message," Constance's free hand slid up to the glass, her wedding ring glinting the over-head light. D'Artagnan reached up, lining his own jewellery up with hers, "I was in the library late, my phone was – well it doesn't matter… What happened? Are you okay?"

"Yes, yes I'm fine, please don't worry," d'Artagnan sighed.

"And Athos? What about Aramis and Porthos? What were you all exposed too?"

d'Artagnan shook his head, unsure of how much to tell Constance, how much without worrying her.

"Some virus… We were stupid. We opened a vial and… Well now we're here. Porthos and Athos are fine, they weren't with us, but Aramis…" d'Artagnan stepped sideways and looked behind him. Constance's eyes followed, a whine dropping from her lips when she saw the older man. There wasn't much of Aramis to be seen, just his pasty face and IV line.

"Is he okay?"

d'Artagnan didn't know how to respond, in the end he just shrugged, "I wish I knew… The doctors have never seen a virus like this one. They're trying their best for him, for us, but this is all unknown for them."

Constance nodded a little numbly, "But you're not sick? You're sure?"

"I promise," d'Artagnan nodded. It was true now, even if it might not be true forever. Constance didn't need to know that.

"Then come home?"

"I'm sorry…" He didn't like worrying Constance. He knew she worried about his work with the Musketeers. She might not vocalise it, but Constance was no fool. She knew the dangers her husband faced, hell d'Artagnan had been shot not 3 months ago!

Of course she worried… It was no surprise.

"I'm sorry," d'Artagnan repeated, "I can't leave him…"

Constance nodded in sad understanding, "Has anyone called Anne?"

"Anne?" d'Artagnan frowned, "Madame Royaline? Why would we have called her?"

Constance opened her mouth, her eyes narrowing in hurt, "She'd want to know… Hasn't Aramis told you-"

Constance's words broke off when an eruption of coughs exploded from behind her husband.

d'Artagnan turned, "Aramis?"

The older man was doubled over, coughs wracking through his entire body. It wasn't the first time that had happened, but the bloom of crimson over the blankets was alarming.

"Aramis!"

The man coughed again, blood dripping from his mouth to mingle with his beard and run down his chin.

d'Artagnan leapt from the glass as if scalded.

"Call Athos. Tell him to get Lemay here – NOW!"

By the time Lemay arrived at the door, hurriedly tugging his mask onto his face, d'Artagnan had Aramis sat up, bowl on his lap and water bottle in pressed to his mouth.

"When did this start?" Lemay demanded, down to business immediately. He swatted down next to the two men, assessing the situation for a moment before him.

"Fifteen minutes, perhaps?" d'Artagnan set the water bottle down, looking nervously from his friend to Lemay. Lemay however was focused his patient. He pressed a thermometer into Aramis' ear. The young man let out a shiver as Aramis allowed the invasion without comment or complaint, it was quite unlike the man d'Artagnan had come to know.

Sputtered, rasping coughs exploded again from Aramis, dark beads of blood dripping into the bowl he clutched.

"Thought I was meant to be feelin' better..?" Aramis muttered, just as the thermometer beeped.

"It seems the antivirals haven't worked," Lemay pulled the instrument back and swore, loudly, "39.6…"

"Always knew I w's hot…" Aramis' head lulled back. His skin was waxy, grey and frustratingly devoid of sweat. His fever seemed to be stubbornly refusing to break.

"Are you in pain, Aramis?" Lemay pressed.

Aramis "mmm"ed in a response.

"Where?"

"Chest, when I breathe…"

Lemay nodded. He dug into his medical bag, revealing a nasal cannula and a small canister.

"I'm going to give you some pure oxygen, it should help ease the strain on your lungs. d'Artagnan, can you..?"

The younger man nodded. He took the canister as Lemay expertly hooked the thin tube over Aramis' ears and into his nose. Once he had finished he took back the canister and unlocked the valve.

"Gentle breaths, Aramis," He instructed calmly, "In through your nose, out through your mouth. There you go… Better?"

Aramis nodded a little heavily. His eyes closed and his head lulled back against his pillows. Lemay returned to his medical bag, rummaging only for a few moments before withdrawing his stethoscope. He placed the buds in his ears and the metallic circle on under Aramis' shirt. d'Artagnan watched the doctor's lips move silently as he counted 10 laboured breaths, winced, then drew back.

"While it's impossible to know for certain without an x-ray," Lemay sighed, his tired eyes creasing over the top of his mask, "But it seems the virus has spread to his lungs. The crackle in when he breaths in and out suggests pneumonia…"

"What does that mean?" d'Artagnan asked for Aramis, since he seemed distracted with his deep breathing.

Lemay tugged another, smaller, IV bag from his medical kit. "Normally a progression of strong antibiotics, which of course we will still start immediately, but…" The doctor wiped his forehead on the sleeve of his lab coat.

d'Artagnan frowned, "But?"

"The antivirals had no effect. There's no guarantee the antibiotics will herald a different outcome."

The news sat heavily in d'Artagnan's chest as he turned to look at his friend. Aramis' eyes were still shut, it seemed he was concentrating hard on his slow breaths. The oxygen did seem to have helped, but the shuddering breaths were still laboured, still had a rasping undertone.

"We don't know that they won't?" d'Artagnan ventured, shooting a sideways look at Lemay.

Lemay nodded. He gripped the bag in one hand and pushed himself to his feet.

"Very true, d'Artagnan… Right, Aramis let's get this hooked up to you."

"I thought I'd find you here…"

Athos looked up from his spot on the floor.

"Where else would I be? Those are my men…"

Treville nodded. He took a step closer to his most trusted agent and offered his hand, which Athos reluctantly took. The elder man hauled him to his feet, before gripping his shoulder tightly.

"Now I know you're not out here, doing something moronic like blaming yourself are you?" Treville gave Athos a hard look, "Because that will solve nothing and would be a waste of time when it's not your fault."

Athos sighed. He had said as much to Porthos some 11 hours ago. He had meant it too, but now? Athos' eyes slid to the glass pane. Lemay had left half an hour ago, muttering something about needing to get back to his tests, leaving Aramis and d'Artagnan alone. He had meant to try and rouse their youngest by phoning him again, but he seemed to intent on Aramis' sleeping form to be disturbed.

How long will it be before he starts coughing blood aswell? A dark voice questioned Athos, Have you signed his death certificate too?

"I just…" Athos sighed. He shoved a hand through his hair, tugging it at the roots, "I want them safe. I want them out."

"We all do," Treville promised, "Every agent is thinking of your men in there, but you being a one man silent vigil out here isn't helping."

"Porthos and Constance were here too… He took her to get coffee…" Treville gave him a warning look, which made Athos sigh again. "Well that do you want me to do?"

"I want you to think like an agent. Those men are you friends, I understand, Athos believe me I do but I need my best agent with his head in the game."

Head in the game… Athos felt like screaming. How was he meant to do that when only one room away his friend was possibly…

Athos' head turned again, taking in the image in the next room once again. Aramis had settled it seemed; face still pale, tubes hooked into his nose, but for now at least the coughs had subsided. d'Artagnan was still sat on the floor, his head settled on the corner of the sofa cushions by Aramis' side. Perhaps they were both asleep, or resting, or praying the new medication to work.

"Athos!" Two strong hands fell on Athos' shoulders. Treville turned Athos' body until the man had no choice but to face his commanding officer. "That film your men risked their lives to shoot shows over 50 of those vials, 50 possible bombs waiting to attack the public. If we don't use that information, if we don't stop those bombs, then Aramis' sacrifice means nothing. He and d'Artagnan's bravery will mean nothing!"

He was right of course. Athos hated to admit it, but Treville was always right.

"Fine…" Athos nodded his head finally, "Fine. What do you need?"

"Units five and six are being dispatched within the hour to raid the lab," Treville turned, leading Athos with a strong arm still on his shoulder, "I need you to walk them through the footage in the briefing room. You saw it first hand, you know it best."

Units five and six, Ninon and Samara's teams. They were good, and more importantly they worked well together. Athos nodded joltingly.

"And I'm briefing," He shot his commanding officer a sideways glance, "Thanks all?"

"That's all," Treville nodded as he ushered Athos out into the corridor, "As much as I'd like to have you leading the raid team I have to be realistic. You need to be here, but they still need your expertise in briefing."

Athos nodded, as he watched Treville hit the button on the lift.

"So who is leading the units?"

"Ninon. She has more experience than Samara leading an inter-group operation." The lift opened with a ding and Athos stepped inside. Treville, however stayed in the corridor. "There waiting for you in Briefing room 2."

The metal doors began to close around Athos but he slid his hand between the doors. The lift halted. He held his Commander's gaze. The man had picked him up from the gutter, had given him a second chance which he, by rights, didn't deserve. Athos knew that, if nothing else, Treville would never lie to him.

"If Aramis' condition changes…" 'Gets worse' Athos added in his head, "You'll have me called?"

Treville nodded, "Of course."

Athos withdrew his hand, allowing the doors to shut between them.

"Thank you."

"I'm sorry…"

d'Artagnan frowned, only half awake. He raised his head from its place on the cushion next to Aramis' side, attempting to ignore the knot in his neck. Night had descended in the quarantine room while he had dozed. The young man supposed he should move to turn on the light, but right now he was more interested the sick man above him, who was supposed to be asleep.

"You, what?"

"I'm sorry."

Carefully d'Artagnan sat back on his heels and focused his attention on the man above him. If it was even possible, Aramis looked even worse. Fever shone in his eyes, his skin greyed and clammy. His breath was now coming in shudders, even with the nasal cannula easing some of the tension. It seemed the antibiotics (bag now half empty) was doing nothing to help Aramis' breathing – d'Artagnan barely supressed a flinch at the realisation.

"I should call Lemay. You're getting worse…" d'Artagnan turned in search of his phone but Aramis' hand found his shoulder.

"Just listen, won't you?" There was a touch of irritation in his voice which, d'Artagnan supposed, was what set fire to his temper.

"Not if you're going to give me some guilt ridden, death bed apology!" He shoved back, away from Aramis' hand.

"d'Artagnan…"

"No! You don't get to do this!" d'Artagnan pointed an accusatory finger at Aramis, who just blinked back, too tired do much else. "You don't get to apologise just to make yourself feel better! Get better and then I'll take your sorry! I'm not listening to it just so you feel better because you're scared you're going to die!"

A beat of silence passed between the two men.

"Are you," Aramis broke off to cough, thankfully there seemed to be no blood, "Quite done?"

d'Artagnan sighed. He raked a hand through his hair. The outburst had burned out the pent out stress inside his chest, as much as he hated to admit it.

"Yes…"

"Then will you sit down?"

Ignoring the voice in his head which demanded he ran, d'Artagnan settled himself cross legged on the floor, facing his friend.

"I'm still not accepting your apology until you offer it standing up…" He muttered, feeling more and more like he was acting like a sullen child.

Aramis nodded his head in apparent defeat, "As you wish… But will you at least listen?" He waited for a not before he continued. "The day of your pin ceremony. I – I got a phone call… I was going to be there, I wanted to be there d'Artagnan I did but Anne called me…"

d'Artagnan had assumed as much that day. He vaguely remembered the phone call around late morning. The conversation had been muttered, whispered then, full of excuses, Aramis had flown from the office. "She asked me to meet her, said it was important… I told her I could that evening but –" Aramis paused and ran his tongue over his cracked lips, "She was desperate... Said if I ever cared about, her I would come. So, so I did…"

The younger man's mind drifted back to Constance's earlier words.

Hasn't Aramis told you…

What had Aramis been keeping from him, from his friends, for the last week?

"She's pregnant, d'Artagnan…" Aramis voice cracked, "She's pregnant. Anne did the math. Said it had to be mine... My child."

"Aramis…" d'Artagnan breathed out the name, but Aramis shook his head with eyes tightly closed and continued.

"I got down on one knee. I thought that was what she wanted. I, I would have married her, I wanted to marry her... She said no…"

Violent coughs shook through Aramis' body once again, pausing the story. d'Artagnan carefully helped his friend drink a few sips. He nodded thankfully before continuing.

"She won't leave him…" Aramis' voice quiet, resigned. "That asshole, Royaline. Said it would destroy his political career. Anne is going to stay with that bastard, stay with him and my child is going to grow up with his last name."

Aramis fell silent for a moment and d'Artagnan used the time to take in the onslaught of information. The revelation left him... Well d'Artagnan didn't know what to think. For the last week he had harboured his hurt, assuming Aramis had ditched the ceremony for some secretive meeting with a woman. He had been half right, and yet completely wrong.

"I hear you and Lemay, you know," Aramis swallowed around his words, his voice dry and cracked from over use, "When you think I'm sleeping... I know nothing is working…"

d'Artagnan frowned, "Yet… Lemay is working on it, all of them are. You don't get to give up now, not before we've tried everything."

"I'm not, I'm not giving up," Aramis's head shook across the pillows, "But if it doesn't work, I want someone to know. Someone needs to know that that child is mine. If I can't be there it eases my heart to know someone is looking out for them."

Aramis hand slid out and found d'Artagnan's wrist. The grip was far from the agent's usual strength, rather a claw of desperation, "I need your word that you will not tell a soul, promise me d'Artagnan…"

"I, I swear it…" d'Artagnan swallowed around the boulder sized lump in his throat, "But you won't need me. You'll be around to watch over this kid yourself. You hear me?"

A small smile slide across Aramis' tired face, "Yea I do… You're a good man, far better than I."

"And now you're delirious with fever…" d'Artagnan matched Aramis' expression with his own small smirk, "Now get some sleep… You can wake up to some good news."