Notes:

Again, thank you so much for your wonderful feedback! I adore reading all of them you have no idea ^^

Hope you enjoy chapter 4!

Blood Pact

Chapter 4

"I'm sure you have all heard about the men this virus has already poisoned."

Athos looked into the face of each agent in the room as his briefing came to a close. He had walked them though the video, given his expertise, now though? He wanted to make sure the agents in front of him knew the importance of this mission, even more so than usual. There were eight all together, three woman and five men. He knew them all to some degree although had only worked with a few of them, but trusted every one. That came with being part of the Musketeers, they may be split into core units but they were part of the larger group, a team.

They would be out to avenge Aramis and d'Artagnan just as much as Athos.

"We have two in quarantine, one in critical condition," Athos fought to keep his face neutral as he addressed a group, "I refuse lose any more good men and women to this. You are to contain the bio-hazard, detain those responsible and, most importantly, keep yourselves safe. We now know that this virus is capable of, do not underestimate it. Watch each other's backs, good luck, all of you."

With a nod the agents began moving. Athos turned, ready to make a bee-line back to the quarantine but a hand closed on his elbow.

"Samara?" Ninon called out, hand still demanding the leader of unit 2's attention, "Double check everyone's breathing respirators. One for every agent entering that building. No acceptations."

Samara, all five foot nothing of her, was Ninon's opposite in every way. The daughter of Moroccan immigrants, Samara had been handed nothing in life. She'd worked since she was thirteen, paid her way through university and gained a joint first class honours degree in Arabic and French, followed by a Masters in interpreting. From there she had joined the police, where she had risen through the ranks, until the Musketeers had found her three years ago.

Ninon, by contrast, was born into one of the oldest lineages in France. No expense had been spared in her upbringing or education; boarding school in England, undergraduate degree in France, Masters and PHD from MIT in engineering and computer programming.

On paper it seemed as if the pair would have nothing in common, but in reality their different lives and approaches to leadership complimented each other. Athos had to admit, the two were perfect to run such an important operation.

Samara dipped her head, assessing the situation before her. Ninon wanted a moment with Athos? She could facilitate that.

"Ready to leave in 5?"

Ninon nodded, "5 at the van. I'll be there."

With that Samara set off, calling out to the different members. Once she saw their respirator she sent them off to the van. Once Ninon was happy her instructions were being followed she turned back to Athos. Concern slipped as a shadow across her eyes.

"How are they?"

"Both bloods were positive," Athos, after a careful check that the other agents were busy preparing, let out a sigh. He scrubbed a hand threw his hair, only vaguely aware of its desperate need for a wash. Some things just had to wait. "Aramis is the only one who's symptomatic so far. Last I saw he was being pumped full of useless antibiotics with a sky high fever. Lemay says his biggest danger isn't the influenza anymore, but the pneumonia and what may happen if his fever doesn't break."

A tightness spread across Ninon's face. Her hand was still on Athos' shirt sleeve.

"That man of yours is two things, Athos. A terrible judge of character, and frustratingly stubborn," Ninon's fingers tightened ever so slightly, "Aramis won't go down without a fight."

"Thanks," Athos offered nod, hoping that was the case.

"Don't mention it," Ninon dropped her hand and stepped around the unit 2 leader, headed for the door. She turned back, shooting one of her best icy looks over her shoulder, "And I mean that. Can't let it getting out that I have a heart."

Athos, for the first time since this whole disaster had begun, felt a genuine smile tug at his lips, "I wouldn't dream of it."

As the last of the raid team filed from the briefing room his phone began buzzing against his leg.

"Hello?" Athos answered.

"I need you at the lab."

Athos frowned, "Lemay?"

"Now!" The researcher demanded, then hung up as Athos took off towards the medical wing at a run.

The coughing returned not an hour later. d'Artagnan knelt at Aramis' side, helping him turn so he didn't choke on his own blood, and rinse out his mouth following the attacks.

They had stopped speaking, both aware Aramis' effort should be spent on breathing rather than communication. The last time Aramis had spoken was in response to d'Artagnan's suggestion to phone Lemay. He had shaken his head and muttered, "There's nothing he can do."

Heat radiated of the agent's body. d'Artagnan knew with a sinking feeling that his temperature had skyrocketed. He knew from his basic first aid that over 40 degrees was the real danger zone and d'Artagnan would be willing to bet they were passed that point now. A damp cloth was applied to Aramis' forehead, but it seemed to do nothing in the face of the fire thundering through his veins. He had briefly considered an ice bath but there was no way Aramis' lungs would cope with such a sharp temperature drop.

The traitorous part of d'Artagnan's mind wondered if he should call the rest of the team, just in case, but no, it wasn't time for that…

In a moment of quiet between the attacks d'Artagnan allowed himself a moment to sag against the sofa. It was the silence that made him realise how exhausted he was. His eyes slid closed, listening to his friend's laboured, heavy, breathing.

It was a knock, rather than another round of coughing, which forced d'Artagnan back to a start of full alertness. He rolled his neck with a sigh. He had expected Athos, or Porthos, but not a stranger on the other side of the glass.

The woman was tall and thin with a natural grace which would be the enemy of many. Her hair was a dark, dusty blonde which fell in waves across her shoulders. She looked completely out of place in the Garrison corridor, clothed as she was in a floor length navy gown, with a plunging neckline and lace sleeve. A familiar denim jacket was wrapped across her shoulder, one d'Artagnan knew often hung on a hook on the back of his bedroom door.

"What the…" d'Artagnan pushed off the side of the sofa, careful not to rouse the resting friend, just as his phone began to buzz.

As he pressed the accept button Constance appeared at the side of the stranger. Her eyes flicked nervously from her husband to the figure in the bed.

"How is he?" She asked before d'Artagnan's phone had completely reached his ear.

With a heavy sigh d'Artagnan shook his head, "Bad."

Well there was no point in lying. He watched Constance's lips thin into a line. For a horrendous second d'Artagnan thought she may cry. He didn't think he could cope with that in that moment.

"Is that..?" d'Artagnan steered the conversation from more dangerous territory, looking instead to the woman to Constance's left. She, however, wasn't looking at either of them. Her face was schooled into a blank slate, but her eyes were locked on Aramis' face as if there was no one else in the room.

"Anne Royaline," Constance nodded to d'Artagnan's half question.

"Did you call her? Constance, she shouldn't be here…"

She shouldn't! Not in the Garrison. Constance wasn't even supposed to be in the Garrison.

"I know…" The young woman sighed, "I know. I'm sorry. I had Porthos collect her with me. I know the Garrison is authorised access only but she needed to know. Just, please?"

She reached up and touched the older woman's shoulder. Anne jumped, as if she had forgotten Constance was even there. She smiled a little apologetically and took the phone when it was offered.

"d'Artagnan," Anne only then turned her gaze to the young man, "It is a pleasure to finally meet you, although I wish it was under better circumstances. I realise I have little right to ask anything of you, but your wife has assured me of your discretion."

d'Artagnan felt his head nod, "Of course, Madame Royaline."

"Thank you for that," She inclined her head very slightly as her eyes slid back to Aramis, "Tell me, Constance has said some but… How is he?"

"I'm not a doctor…" d'Artagnan began, but the woman held up a hand.

"Please," Anne cut him off, an edge of desperation in his voice, "I'm aware of that but Aramis is a, a friend of mine, please tell me what you can."

d'Artagnan turned his own gaze, following Anne's, "I wish I could tell some good news… The virus we were exposed spread to his lungs. The doctors here have tried antivirals and antibiotics but nothing has worked. The oxygen has eased some of the pressure on his lungs for a while but he seems to be getting worse."

Anne sucked in a breath, forcing herself to remain composed.

"So what are the doctor's next treatment plan?"

There isn't one… That dark voice muttered in the back of the young agent's mind.

"He hasn't shared it with me."

Constance slipped her hand back onto her friends arm. Anne looked back to her and attempted a small smile. It looked far from genuine.

A groan from the sofa pulled the full attention of all three people.

Aramis look up, squinting from his position on the sofa. He coughed, but not the kind of body shuddering, blood inducing, rather the attempted clearing of his throat.

"Surely this is a fever dream," Aramis' voice clawed its way up from his throat, "Why is God so cruel?"

In a few quick steps d'Artagnan was at his side, crouched down next to the sofa. Aramis' eyes never left Anne.

"You… Called her?"

d'Artagnan shook his head, "Constance…"

"Ah…"

"d'Artagnan?" Anne's voice wafted up from his phone, he had for momentarily forgotten he was even holding it.

Quickly he raised it to his ear, "Forgive me, Madame..."

"May I… Speak with Aramis?"

d'Artagnan frowned, his eyes flicking back to his friend's face. Aramis was so weak, was it really a good idea. He was tempted to say no, but Aramis had heard the question.

Aramis swallowed and gave the smallest of nods, "Please?"

With some hesitation, d'Artagnan helped settle the phone between Aramis' ear and the pillow before shuffling back. He could make out the mumblings of Anne on the other end of the phone, but could only understand Aramis' side of the conversation.

A brief pause and then.

"There's no need to be sorry…"

Pause.

"This is not your doing."

Pause.

"Treville is raiding the lab, the virus will be destroyed. No one else will get hurt."

Pause and then Aramis frowned.

"Anne, please, please don't…"

d'Artagnan looked back to the window. Madame Royaline's professional demeanour had finally shattered as tears filled her eyes. Her hand slipped onto her, still flat, stomach. Whatever she said down the phone had Aramis squeezing his eye shut, desperately attempting to control his own emotions.

"Please, I'm not –"

Pause.

"Because I can't bare hearing you cry."

Pause.

"Well I'm not dead yet…"

Pause.

"Well what would I be without my reckless optimism?"

Aramis looked like he was on the verge of a smile, before his torso began to convulse in yet another coughing fit. The phone fell from its resting place as Aramis' shoulders jerked violently upwards. d'Artagnan surged forward, helping Aramis struggle upwards so the blood from his lungs wouldn't continue to choke him. His hand gripped onto his friend's shoulders, silently counting the seconds until Aramis relaxed in his grip.

Carefully d'Artagnan settled him back to the sofa, trying his best to keep the concern from his face. Aramis' eyes were half closed and unfocused, his breaths slow and shuddering.

When the young agent glanced back to the window, water bottle in hand, his heart sunk in realisation that the window was now empty of both women.

Lemay was near frantic when Athos burst through the door of his lab.

"I have a theory…" Lemay crossed the lab at lightning speed, barely even looking at the dishevelled leader of unit 2. The lab, which had been pristine on Athos' first visit, now looked like a hurricane had torn through it. Research books which had been neatly tucked away by author on a high shelf were news littering the work space, all open to different sections, papers with notes scribbled on them here and there strewn over the remaining counter space. Athos looked around him, taking in the chaos, before settling his eyes back on Lemay, who was furiously hitting buttons on one of his many machines.

Athos, despite himself, felt his heart thud against his chest.

"To help Aramis?"

Lemay nodded as he flipped the lid of the device open and withdrew a test tube. It was maybe above two thirds of the way filled with a clear liquid.

"In theory, in theory, it could work…"

Athos frowned, watching indecision flicker across the lead researcher's face.

"What?"

Lemay deposited the liquid into a small vial and sealed it shut before he looked up.

"I've not tested it. The science is all there, it should work, but there's no time to do so properly," For a moment Lemay looked unsure of himself.

Athos swallowed, realising the problem, "If we don't, what other options have we got? What chance does Aramis have?"

The question hung thick in the air between them. Lemay ducked his eyes away from Athos as he tugged his gloves from his hands.

"Next to none."

"Well then," Athos nodded, decision made, "I suggest we get up to quarantine. Where did this thing come from?"

Lemay packed the vial safely into his medical bag.

"I'll tell you on the way. I only ask you don't kill your youngest agent…"

"Hey… Hey, Aramis it's okay…" d'Artagnan replaced the cool cloth, freshly soaked in water, onto Aramis' head.

The new coolness settled the agent's stirrings for a moment. d'Artagnan wasn't sure how aware Aramis was of his surroundings. His fever was too high, scarily high. One minute he had been quiet but lucid, the next his eyes had slid to half mast, words mumbled incoherently. A quiet Aramis was frightening and spoke of a far larger problem.

The new development terrified the young agent. He had grabbed his phone to summon help, but his phone battery was finally dead. The best he could do was try to keep his friend cool but that was becoming harder and harder to do.

"You still owe me an apology," d'Artagnan reminded the restless figure, trying to ignore the fact his breathing was getting worse, "I told you before. You're going to be standing when you say it. Standing and laughing and calling me Pup…"

He swallowed hard, unnerved by Aramis' unseeing eyes.

The sound of an opening door made the young man jump. Lemay dropped his bag and hurried over, taking in the situation before him.

"How long has he been like this?" The doctor demanded as he began his checks, "Why didn't you call?"

"20 minutes? I'm sorry. I tried but my phone is dead. I couldn't leave him alone. I've tried to keep him cool but…"

"You've done the best you can, is all we can ask," Lemay assured. He tugged Aramis' eye lid up and muttered at the lack of response, "Athos, my bag?"

d'Artagnan's head whipped round and there he was, Athos stood in the doorway. A mask covered the lower part of his face, but those icy eyes were affixed to his men. For a moment it didn't seem like he had heard the request but then he stooped, grabbing the bag and making his way over to the small group.

"But the quarantine?" d'Artagnan stared at Athos as he squatted down beside him.

"I've been separated from my men long enough, besides, with only one of you infected it seems a little redundant to stay away." Athos shot d'Artagnan a sideways glance which made the younger man shudder. The look left no doubt in his mind that Athos knew about his blood tests and they would be discussing it later.

Lemay produced a vial and syringe from his bag and began the preparations.

"What's that?" d'Artagnan asked.

"A vaccine synthesised from the antibodies found in your blood sample," Lemay murmured, eyes focused on the syringe as it slowly filled. "Once your blood came back negative I had it tested for the presence of any abnormal antibodies. We extracted them and created this, in theory, it should work in the same way as a normal vaccine."

"In theory?" d'Artagnan's stomach lurched.

"There isn't time to test it," Athos muttered.

"If the vaccine can supress the virus it will give the antibiotics a chance to work," Lemay raised the syringe. He carefully turned Aramis' arm over and tapped the crook until he located the vein, "Right now I don't see any alternative. We either try this or watch the pneumonia and fever kill him."

"Right," d'Artagnan felt numb as he watched the needle enter his friend's arm. He flinched as Aramis' let out a whine at the pain of the injection. He was so weak… This was it, the last option. Lemay had said it himself, this was the last chance Aramis had… If this didn't work –

A hand fell heavily onto d'Artagnan's shoulder and gave a supportive squeeze. He looked to his left, Athos gave him the smallest of nods, before returning his gaze to the worryingly still figure on the sofa.

After a moment d'Artagnan allowed his gaze to slide back as well.

Common, Aramis, he begged silently, For us. You wanted me to swear, to make your stupid pact, well I did it… Now you have my blood to prove it. Please just…

"Please..." d'Artagnan mumbled finally. He settled himself next to Aramis' shoulder, his forehead propped against him on the sofa cushion.

Now they had to wait…

Athos, having already broken the quarantine, outright refused to be removed from the room and, not to be left out, Porthos joined them not long after. Lemay had at least forced him into a mask and shut the door tightly on Unit 2 once Athos had sworn to keep him updated on Aramis' condition. They were all vaguely aware that Treville would tear all of them limb from limb when he discovered the risk they were putting themselves at but, after Lemay's prognosis, none of them were willing to leave their teammate's side.

Just… In case.

d'Artagnan had been reluctant to leave Aramis but Porthos had been insistent. His strong hand on the apprentice's shoulder and the quiet words of, "You'll looked after him long enough, let us take a turn," finally made him give in. After gentle nudging d'Artagnan allowed himself to be pushed onto his original sofa. Athos settled himself in a nearby armchair, Porthos on the floor next to Aramis' still form. He felt odd being away from the man he'd spent so long caring for, but Porthos was more than capable in taking up the responsibility. d'Artagnan allowed his eyes to close, listening to the low rumble of Porthos' voice as he spoke to Aramis. The words weren't important, but the familiar sound was a comfort to the young man in the same way he hoped it was for Aramis. He didn't allow himself to sleep, but his mind did drift, only vaguely aware of his surroundings.

It was a few hours later when the sound of hurried movement roused d'Artagnan again. He opened his eyes. Porthos was crouched at the side of the couch, Athos stood behind the man, hand clutching his friend's shoulder tightly. Their bodies blocked the sofa from view, blocked Aramis from view. d'Artagnan's heart shot up into his throat.

No. No, no, no…

He scrambled from the sofa, his feet clumsy with sleep even as his mind screamed out in panic. Aramis had fought too hard, had battled too hard to lose the fight now. Had he known this was to happen? Had that prompted his confession?

Please, Aramis… Not now…

"Is," d'Artagnan's voice cracked, "Is he-?"

Athos' hand finally released Porthos' shoulder as he turned. For a terrifying moment d'Artagnan expected a pained expression, heartbroken eyes, but instead their leader's gaze was bright, even in his exhaustion.

"Here," Athos moved to the side and reached out, drawing their youngest closer so he could see the figure on the sofa, "See for yourself…"

Aramis' eyes were still unfocused, his body still worryingly weak, but there was a glisten across Aramis' forehead which hadn't been there before.

"Sweat…" d'Artagnan's voice was thick. It was too soon for relief, too soon to exhale and count blessings but…

"His fever's broken," Athos murmured from behind d'Artagnan's shoulder, "The antibiotics are working."