Aramis and Cécile strolled slowly through the streets of Paris near the garrison gates, her arm rested comfortably in the crook of his. The once bustling streets of the city remained relatively quiet and empty. Fear of the deadly disease that ravaged their beloved city was still too raw to venture out for most folk.
"I hear the death toll in Paris is in the hundreds; it could be much more once the final count is taken. I know thousands were sick," Cécile reported sadly.
"The regiment was hit pretty hard." Aramis shook his head. "We lost nine good Musketeers to a damn disease! How could this happen?" He stared into the distance as his mind wandered back to the events of the last several weeks. A shiver trembled through his body, leaving him suddenly cold.
"Are you alright, Aramis?" Cécile stopped to face the medic. "You're thinking of Athos, aren't you?"
"Is it that obvious?" Aramis smiled briefly, though his smile quickly disappeared. "I feel guilty, Cécile. Is it wrong?"
"Feel guilty about what, Aramis? Is what wrong?" The nurse asked with concern, her hand gently caressing his cheek.
"We just buried nine good Musketeers—and I'm glad that one of them was not Athos. Since we were at the château, I've had these terrible dreams of having to bury my brother. During the memorial service, I thought of nothing but being glad that Athos was not inside one of the nine coffins at the church," Aramis choked on a sob.
"There is nothing to feel guilty about, Aramis." Cécile comforted in a soft voice. "Your reaction is perfectly natural and normal."
"Those nine men were my brothers too, but I was thanking God during their funeral that it was not my brother Athos. What is wrong with me, what kind of Musketeer am I?"
"Nothing is wrong with you, Aramis!" the nurse exclaimed. "What kind of Musketeer are you? One that feels grateful his best friend is not dead after worrying about him for weeks, if not longer."
Aramis let his head hang with guilt.
Cécile took the medic by the chin and raised his head up, meeting his eyes with hers. "Aramis, don't ever feel guilty for simply being grateful your closest friend and brother is not counted among the dead," the nurse whispered. "Athos' death would only have compounded your grief to the point of despair and ruin. Why not be thankful that depth of grief was avoided?"
"I couldn't have handled Athos dying. . ."
"Exactly," the nurse nodded. "I know that from the talks we had at the château. But, if I may, I'll go one step further; I'm glad that Athos and you are not counted among the dead," Cécile smiled. "I don't apologize for being thankful you both lived."
"You're right, of course." Aramis kissed Cécile softly on the lips. "Come on, we need to get back to the garrison."
~§~
M. Molyneux placed the last of his belongings in the carriage. "I am requested to report to the Hôtel-Dieu, so I must be off. They need more physicians to help with the last of the victims still being brought in. The contagious stage is over and it should be safe by now. Nevertheless, I will keep my mask with me and I will be wearing it, considering the hospital is not the most sanitary of places."
"What about Cécile?" Aramis asked the doctor. "Is she going with you?"
"No, she is staying here," the doctor answered. "Cécile will have to get back to Chamarande without me. I trust, Aramis, that you will see to her getting home safely?"
"Yes, absolutely, doctor," Aramis nodded. "I wouldn't think of Cécile traveling home all alone."
"Very good then, Aramis," Molyneux smiled. "I have already said my goodbye's to the others. Athos has strict instructions to take it easy for the next several weeks. He is not to strain himself, or cause straining on his sides, in any fashion." Molyneux informed the medic.
"Of course, doctor," Aramis nodded. "But what you might consider 'taking it easy' as compared to what Athos might consider, well, it might be totally different." Aramis frowned at the thought of Athos actually obeying the doctor's instructions.
"There is to be no sparring, no heavy lifting, no fighting, no running, no jumping, or otherwise horseplay." Doctor Molyneux went through his mental list. "Last, but not least, he is not to be assigned to any dangerous missions that would put him in the position of needing to fight. His body must rest and have time to fully heal. I do not want to hear of any further damage done to his sides due to his impatience. Am I clear?"
Aramis nodded, raising his eyebrows at the long list of demands from the doctor. I'm sure this same speech thrilled Athos to no end. He's going to be climbing the walls in no time. Aramis thought.
"I will have you know that I made this same appeal to Athos—and I made it with your captain present. Captain Tréville is charged with making sure my wishes are followed, which I am sure they will be. Athos has no choice but to obey orders and take it easy so he can heal." Molyneux smiled broadly, feeling quite proud of himself indeed.
"Ingenious, I must say." Aramis let out a huff of air. "Doctor Molyneux, perhaps you missed your true calling—you would make an excellent captain."
"No, I don't think so." Molyneux shook his head. "Thank you, my dear Aramis, but I rather enjoy my current job. I much prefer to save lives rather than order lives to be taken. This latest bout with catarrh has reminded me of why I became a doctor. No, Aramis, being a doctor is my truecalling."
"Indeed it is, Molyneux." Aramis clapped the doctor fondly on the shoulder. "You are among the most talented doctors I have ever met. We were very lucky to have you help us here at the garrison. Without you and Cécile, there would have been many more Musketeer deaths—I'm sure of it. I count myself fortunate to consider you a friend."
"No, I am the fortunate one, Aramis," Doctor Molyneux smiled. "Athos is alive strictly because of your treatment. You have true talent and skill for medicine—always remember that. Farewell, my friend. I hope we meet again."
"Goodbye, Molyneux." Aramis shook the doctor's hand then pulled him into a hug. "Yes, we will stay in touch. I wouldn't have it any other way."
In the Garrison Courtyard:
In the courtyard, Aramis found Athos sitting on the picnic tabletop with his face turned upward, soaking in the warmth of the sun. His eyes were closed, though he wore a satisfied smile on his face.
"You look happy, Athos." Aramis smiled at the heartwarming sight of his content brother. He quickly suppressed a shudder as his mind flashed back to events in their private room upstairs. It wasn't so long ago when I was staring at Athos' flushed and fevered face, grimacing in pain and covered in beads of sweat. I still hear his request 'just kill me now' ringing in my ears.
"It feels so good to be outside, enjoying the sunshine on this beautiful day. Perhaps it's just me, but the air smells so fresh." Athos took a deep breath but it caused a short bout of coughing. "Damn, I still can't rid of this cough."
"It's going to take a while for your lungs to heal fully, Athos, but you'll get there. For now, try not to take such deep breaths; allow your lungs more time to clear up. Enjoy the sunshine, but I would recommend not breathing in the city air too deeply." Aramis chuckled as he sat down beside his friend.
"The sunlight is warm on my face." Athos still sat with his face turned toward the sun, relishing its warmth. "It feels so good just to breathe in fresh, warm air."
"The sun is warm, but the air. . . well, it smells like Paris." Aramis crinkled his nose.
"It smells fresh, compared to that room!" Athos frowned. "Besides, I'm so tired of sitting in that damn room. I'm going crazy, Aramis; I need something to do!"
"Whoa, hold on, Athos." Aramis put his hands up. "You just woke up from a coma only a week ago. You are not going to be doing anything but taking it easy for a while. The doctor said. . ."
"Yes, I am well aware of what the good doctor said." Athos dismissed Aramis with the wave of his hand. "I already got the lecture, twice; once from the doctor and again from the captain" he shook his head. "No, make that three times—no, four times—if you include Porthos and d'Artagnan's input."
"Ah, Aramis," a young Musketeer named DuChamps interrupted. "I heard that new doctor, Molyneux, was very impressed with you after you had to resuscitate Athos when he stopped breathing."
Aramis paled as DuChamps spilled the news of his impromptu treatment of Athos. The medic had no intention of revealing the specifics or details of his treatment to his friend but preferred to leave it to the past.
"Wait a minute!" Athos' eyes sprung wide open as he sat up straight on the table. "What do you mean he 'resuscitated' me? Aramis, what is he talking about?"
"It's nothing, Athos. . ."
"Oh, you mean he didn't tell you that he played doctor up in that private room of yours, while the rest of us were crammed into that cesspool of the infirmary? No?" DuChamps taunted. "Aramis didn't tell you that he infected himself with catarrh when he did mouth-to-mouth resuscitation on you after you stopped breathing?"
"That's enough!" Aramis yelled, standing to his feet suddenly.
Two passing Musketeers quickly wrestled DuChamps away from the angry medic before emotions got further out of control. Athos stared at his close friend with wide eyes, too stunned to speak.
"What is he talking about, 'Mis?" Athos finally asked after a moment of uncomfortable silence. He recalled broken images from his fevered state of seeing Aramis without his mask; he remembered waking next to the medic as they both lay on the floor.
"After one of your severe bouts of vomiting and coughing, you had stopped breathing." Aramis answered in a whisper. "I had to remove my mask to save you—to resuscitate you—to help you breathe again. I wasn't going to let you die, Athos."
"Mon Dieu, I remember now." Athos paled then pitched forward. If not for the medic's hand stopping him, the lieutenant would have fallen to the ground. "That's why you got so sick. . . because of me." I saw him without his mask; I remember asking him where it was. Why? Why would he do that? Athos thought to himself as he covered his face with his hands.
"Stop it now, Athos." Aramis' steely voice warned. "We are not going to do this. We are not having this conversation—it's over."
"Aramis, why?" Athos asked, his voice barely above a whisper. "Why would you risk your life like that, especially risking catarrh, for me?"
"Are you serious?" Aramis was incredulous. "Do you really have to ask that question, Athos?"
"You took off your mask and exposed yourself to catarrh, Aramis," Athos countered. "You could have died!"
"And you were dying, Athos!" Aramis yelled, his finger jabbing angrily at Athos' chest. "Was I supposed to just let you die on that floor in front of me while I watched and did nothing?"
Athos shook his head, saying nothing. He didn't have the answer to that question, at least, not one that he dared to voice.
"If you answer yes to that, Athos, I swear to the heavens above. . ." Aramis paused, doing his best to regain his composure and not lose his temper.
Athos opened his mouth to speak, but quickly closed it again as Aramis cut him off.
"Would you have done any different if the situation had been reversed?" Aramis challenged. "Answer me, Athos!"
"No, but. . ." Athos' voice cracked with emotion. "I made you sick."
"I saved your life, Athos," Aramis countered. "It was worth getting a little sick; you know that I'd do it again, brother."
"Thank you," Athos whispered as he wiped at the tears misting in his eyes.
"No need to thank me, Athos." Aramis placed his hand softly on his friend's shoulder. "You never have to thank me; just you being here- alive and healthy—it's all the thanks I need."
Athos nodded with a smile. He suddenly had a deeper appreciation for his friend and it made his heart swell with emotion.
"Do you know what kept me going when I was so sick up there?" Aramis motioned his head toward their room upstairs.
Athos shook his head.
"Watching you breathe," Aramis admitted. "I watched for the rise and the fall of your chest; it assured me that you were still breathing. It assured me that you were still alive. If getting sick was the price I had to pay so that you would draw your next breath. . . well, it was worth the price."
"Aramis. . ."
"I watched you from the opposite bed—watching to make sure you continued to breathe—because watching you helped me get through the pain. All those times when the pain inside was so bad that I just wanted to die, as long as I saw you breathing, I was resigned to whatever happened to me." Aramis choked back a sob.
"Aw, Aramis." Athos blinked back the tears, unable to speak further as a sob constricted his throat. He swallowed hard then squeezed Aramis' shoulder, relaying an unspoken message of gratitude.
"Yeah," Aramis squeezed Athos' shoulder in return. The two men understood there was no need for words; their actions spoke volumes. The medic cleared his throat, deciding to change the subject. "Um, where's Porthos and d'Artagnan?" The marksman looked around the courtyard for his missing brothers as he wiped all traces of tears from his face.
"They went to the Wren to bring something back." Athos answered, his face now showing no trace of tears either.
"Athos!" Aramis scolded angrily. "You just got over catarrh and came out of a two-week coma! Do you really need to indulge in wine right now?"
"Aramis, really," Athos drawled. The Musketeer lieutenant tilted his head slightly to the side and frowned. "Do you think so little of me?"
"Well, no, but. . . of course not."
Athos huffed in amusement at Aramis' dismay but let the medic continue his rant uninterrupted.
"But still, it's a little too early for you to be taking to the bottle again, Athos." The medic shook his head disapprovingly. "And after everything Doctor Molyneux talked to you about; I cannot believe you!"
"Aramis, are quite finished?" Athos finally interrupted. "They went to get my favorite soup, bread and cheese; enough for all of us. I am tired of the broth I have been forced to eat and I will not have any more of it. I'm starving for real sustenance," he growled.
"Oh. . .well. . . why didn't you say so in the first place?" Aramis blushed. "You certainly are on the road to recovery if you have your appetite back—as well as your grumpiness." The medic added under his breath with a grin.
"Ah, there they are!" Aramis clapped Athos on the shoulder with relief as he eyed his two friends coming through the gates with their arms full. "Perfect timing, my friends."
"Should we go up to the room to eat?" d'Artagnan asked as he approached the picnic table.
"No," Athos shook his head, "I want to stay outside; I want to enjoy every minute in the sunshine and the fresh air. Let's eat out here."
Days Later, Evening:
"Before you leave for Chamarande in the morning to take Cécile home, 'Mis, you still owe us that drink, remember?" Porthos reminded with a low growl.
"Yes, I remember, Porthos." Aramis smiled and shook his head. "Do you really think I would not honor a promise such as that? I swore if we allmade it through that despicable illness, I would buy everyone a drink—and I meant it."
"That's right, 'Mis, you did" Porthos nodded, keeping his tone serious.
"And there's no better time than tonight to collect on that promise." D'Artagnan stepped in to lead Aramis toward the garrison gates, looking over his shoulder to wink at the large Musketeer.
Porthos clapped Athos on the shoulder and laughed. "I think it's been enough time, so you can have a drink too, eh?"
"Maybe just one drink," Athos answered. "But more than anything, I need to get out of here for a while; I've been cooped up in the garrison for too long. I think the walk there is just what the doctor ordered."
"The doctor ordered you to take it easy, Athos. Are you sure you're up for the walk?" Aramis asked as he eyed the lieutenant now walking beside him.
"It's not that far, Aramis." Athos muttered with irritation.
"It is a lovely evening," D'Artagnan interjected at seeing his mentor's growing irritation.
"Oi, it is a lovely evening, li'l brother; perfect for a walk," Porthos chimed in.
"I missed seeing the stars at night and breathing in the fresh evening air. . ." Athos took in a deep breath but it caused him to begin coughing. He doubled over until the coughing fit passed and was finally able to catch his breath. The Musketeer continued to wheeze, however, as he breathed.
"Athos, are you alright?" D'Artagnan softly pounded on his mentor's back.
The Musketeer nodded as he fought against the urge to cough again.
"No, we're not going anywhere." Aramis resolved, checking over Athos with concern. "I'm not going to Chamarande tomorrow either."
"Now. . . hold on a minute, Aramis." Athos croaked between coughs and wheezes. "You said yourself. . . wheeze. . . that it would take time for my lungs to clear up. . . cough. . . and I accept that, but I am not. . . wheeze. . . going to stop living life because of a damn cough." Athos coughed with one last strangled hack and cleared his throat.
"Yes, but you're still not well. . ." Aramis protested.
"I'm well enough," Athos wheezed, cutting him off. "You don't need to panic every time I cough, Aramis. The doctor said that I could have a lingering cough and it may take time to heal; there is nothing you, or any doctor, can do about it. Cécile needs to get home, so you will take her home. Everyone wants to go out for a drink, and so we're going. That's it, no more discussion. Let's go." Athos walked ahead toward the tavern, stifling a few stubborn coughs under his breath.
At the Wren Tavern:
"Interesting how we take breathing for granted until the breath in our lungs is almost taken away." Athos mused as the Musketeers sat quietly around the table, still not having ordered anything.
"I think this sickness has made us all realize how much we take breathing for granted," d'Artagnan agreed. "How often do we even think about taking a breath? It just comes naturally, so we don't think of it—until we can't breathe. There were a few times when I was sick, I thought I was going to die because I couldn't breathe."
"Same here," Aramis nodded.
"It's not just the air we breathe that we've all taken for granted, though." D'Artagnan looked to each of his brothers. "We are all guilty of taking one another for granted. We rely on each other so heavily that we expect we'll always be there for each other. I think catarrh has reminded us of just how fragile life really is."
"I'm not takin' any of you for granted ever again." Porthos shook his head. "You don't know what it was like bein' the only one to not get sick. I had to sit by your bedside and watch as each of you fought to breathe—fought to live—while I was left wondering why God spared me but not you."
"God has His reasons for everything, Porthos." Aramis fingered the cross hanging around his neck distractedly. "Maybe the rest of us have been more stubborn in learning our lessons of not taking life for granted. Maybe God needed to knock each of us flat on our backs before we would give ear to that soft voice telling us to appreciate life more."
"Rubbish, 'at still don't explain why I didn't get sick, 'Mis," Porthos muttered. "None of it makes any sense."
"Perhaps we were supposed to learn from you, Porthos." Athos suggested, his brow creasing in thought. "You've always been the one with the sunnier disposition; you have kept your good humor in life, despite the darkness in the world. Maybe the rest of us need to be less cynical and be more like you."
"Wha' are you talkin' about, Athos?" Porthos questioned.
"We need a new perspective on what's important in life; we need to appreciate the little things more—like you do." Athos looked at Porthos with respectful appreciation.
"Rubbish," Porthos grinned. "I think 'Mis subconsciously brainwashed you durin' all those talks of his while you were unconscious," he teased. "You're beginnin' to sound jus' like 'im; 'at's too much philosophical gibberish for my taste. I just want to order our damn drinks!"
"What were you saying about Porthos having a sunnier disposition, Athos, hmm?" Aramis chuckled.
D'Artagnan signaled the tavern wench and yelled out to her. "Four ales, please."
"Ah, it's good to be back, boys." Athos smiled at each of his three brothers. "Damn, it's great to be alive and breathing!"
A/N:
Reminder: The Hôtel-Dieu de Paris was founded by Saint Landry in 651, it's considered to be Paris's first hospital and the world's oldest still-operating hospital.
Epidemic catarrh's effects can vary, patient to patient. The fever is generally uniform but the side-effects can vary. Some patients are left with lasting effects which may extend to several weeks and, in some cases, the patient will later be diagnosed with "chronic catarrh," which cause symptoms similar to bronchitis or chronic bronchitis. The chief danger of epidemic catarrh is its tendency to produce other diseases, such as with bronchitis and even pneumonia. Those who live in cold, damp places and are exposed frequently to night air are particularly subject to the onset of chronic catarrh.
Many doctors tried to cure chronic catarrh with blood-letting, mostly from the arm; but some physicians even tried taking "a little blood from the temples" when the treatment of blood-letting appeared to "not produce its usual good effects." UGH!
I am assuming the idea that because Athos's lungs appears to have been affected more acutely than the others-judging by his lingering cough-that he may have a predisposition to chronic catarrh or chronic bronchitis. So, don't be surprised if a future fic shows up with Athos suffering from bronchitis-a lingering effect that he will carry with him due to falling so severely ill with catarrh.