Athos woke gradually to a low mumbling. The heaviness of his limbs and the comforting darkness made him slow to remove the hat from where it covered his face. He realised with a happy jolt that the mumbling was the combined voices of Porthos and Aramis, both apparently whispering in an attempt to not disturb their slumbering friends. Athos chose to leave the hat in place and allow the timbre of their voices to wash over him like a balm as he coasted in the strange space between being awake and asleep.
"And you're sure the wound isn't hot to the touch?" Aramis said, eliciting a small huff of amusement from Athos as he rolled his eyes in affectionate exasperation. Aramis could be holding onto his own severed head and he would still find time to enquire about their most minor grazes and bruises. Although to be fair Porthos was sporting slightly more than a graze on this occasion.
"I 'ave told you to stop worrying about me and get yourself back to sleep," Porthos replied, barely suppressing the irritation in his voice. Evidently he had been fencing questions from the marksman for some time. "You need your sleep."
"Humour me Porthos, I find myself unable to cross the room to see for myself," Aramis said. Athos knew what it would have cost for Aramis to admit to such a thing, such was his pride, and he knew Porthos knew it too as he heard the man sigh quietly before replying.
"No there's no 'eat. It's not red. There's no pus and I do not 'ave a fever," he said, anticipating any further questions.
"That's good," Aramis said quietly, fatigue lacing his voice.
"Your fever only just broke Aramis, you've been tossin' and turnin' for 'ours. It's getting late now, get yourself some sleep," Porthos said. Athos noted the mention of time with a thrill of surprise. He'd clearly slept straight through the afternoon until god only knew what hour when he'd meant to only sleep for a little. And from the leaden feeling of his muscles, his body was quite prepared to let him sleep for a lot longer.
"I have been unconscious for several hours it seems my dear Porthos. Allow me a few moments with my eyes open," Aramis said, although he was quite clearly fighting the urge to pass out as he spoke. Stubborn ass.
"You need to stop doing this 'Mis," Porthos said, his own voice thick with exhaustion.
"What? Lying in bed all day? Pot calling the kettle black my friend, no?" Aramis said, eliciting a low chuckle from Porthos.
"Very funny. You know exactly what I'm talking about though," Porthos said, his words taking on a serious tone. "You can't keep running yourself down to the point where you pass out. It's dangerous."
"I did not 'pass out'," Aramis said affronted. "I merely tripped...and then decided not to get up for a little while."
"..'Mis."
"Oh all right," Aramis all but snapped out, "I don't like being ill, Porthos, so if I can convince myself that I am not sometimes it helps with the symptoms."
"Aramis," Porthos cajoled, "'onestly name me one time where pretending you're better has actually made you feel better?"
"Well...there was...I mean...oh shut up," Aramis said as Porthos chuckled once more, "look I just can't think of any right now. That does not make you right."
Athos smiled from beneath his hat although he agreed wholeheartedly with Porthos' statement. They needed to figure out a way to make their marksman see sense when it came to his health.
"Thank you by the way," Porthos said quietly.
"For what?" Aramis said, his tone still a little clipped in a rare example of him losing control of his emotions and allowing his aggravation at Porthos' words to shine through.
"For saving my life," Porthos said before a pause. "...again."
"Porthos," Aramis whispered, a smile now evident in his voice. "You know you don't ever need to thank me for that."
"Yeah but all the same."
"It would take a lot more than a flu to stop me in that respect my friend," Aramis said. "But, imagine if I had decided to stay in bed for that evening," he added cheekily. Knowing he was pushing his luck.
"As grateful as I am 'Mis, I'd rather not have you killing yourself on the off chance you need to save my neck," Porthos said, caught between amusement and exasperation.
"Oh shut up you great lug," Aramis managed through a jaw cracking yawn.
"Stop fighting and go to sleep," Porthos said again.
"I'm not even...remotely tired," Aramis replied petulantly though his voice cracked with exhaustion.
"Do I have to threaten to hit you once more?" Athos asked. Muffled from beneath his hat. He had to stop himself from laughing aloud at the sudden silence which fell on the room, as if he had caught two naughty children doing something they knew they should not.
"Hello to you too," Aramis said after a moment to gather his wits.
"Don't take this as anything but joy at your immaculate return to the living," Athos continued still not moving to uncover his face, "but I am tired and if you do not go back to sleep I will follow up with my threat to punch you. Illness or no."
"As you say...mon petit capitaine," Aramis said. Porthos snorted at the words but after a shuffling of blankets and a creaking of beds, both fell silent.
"That is better," Athos said, struggling to keep the amusement from his voice as he finally gave into his bodies' demands and also fell dead asleep.
A groan tore him from his slumber and it took a few minutes of slow breathing through the pain of aching muscles and a raw throat and lungs, before he realised it had come from him. He groaned again as he tried to peel his eyes open, blinking slowly to try to clear his vision as he focused on the blurry face before him. A face which turned out to belong to d'Artangan, who was radiating worry.
"Aramis are you ok?" he asked, his features marred with a frown.
Aramis tried to answer but found his throat had dried to a point where he could only croak a response.
"Sorry, wait there," d'Artangan said, darting across the room to retrieve him a cup of water. He hurried back, slopping some of the liquid in his haste as he leaned in to allow the marksman a few sips from the lip. Aramis sighed as the water made contact with his sore throat, cooling and easing as it went.
"That's better," he bit out, his voice raspy with lack of use. He coughed once in an attempt to clear his lungs, setting off a barrage which left his eyes watering. "What time is it?" he said once his fit had finally subsided.
"Middle of the night," d'Artangan replied quietly. "Still a few hours until dawn."
"So it's a good thing I'm too pretty to need beauty sleep isn't it?" Porthos' tired voice called from across the room.
"I apologise if my ailing self woke you from your slumber my friend," Aramis retorted, his face slightly reddened from the force of the coughs.
"It would be good of you to just be better again now. If you could possibly manage it," Athos said, removing his hat from his face and placing it on the table as he slowly stretched himself in the chair. Wincing as his muscles protested the hours he had spent in that one position.
"Oh but Porthos doesn't have to magically knit his wound together and go leaping out of his bed though apparently hmm?" Aramis asked, petulantly.
"Porthos isn't the one waking us up by hacking out a lung."
"Ere, I got stabbed in service to 'is Majesty the King himself," Porthos said grandly, the effect ruined at the grunt which broke out as he attempted to sit himself up in bed. "I don't just 'ave a case of the sniffles do I?"
"Sniffles?!" Aramis said, aghast.
d'Artangan for his part sat on the end of Aramis' bed, looking bemusedly from one of his brothers to the next as they bantered back and forth.
"Compared to that one time I reckon you can call this a bout of the sniffles, yeah," Porthos said with a grin.
"That..one time?" d'Artangan asked hesitantly.
"Oh here we go again," Aramis said, with a dramatic eye roll. "Look don't even find yourself with a touch of pneumonia whelp or your so called friends will apparently bring it up every time you dare sneeze."
"A 'touch' of pneumonia," Athos echoed dryly, his eyes widening. "You are aware that you actually nearly died that time yes?"
"It was bloody years ago wasn't it?" Aramis shot back.
"I don't think the subsequent passage of time has that much standing on your potential mortality during an episode don't you think?" Athos asked evenly.
"Eh?" Porthos said, a puzzled look crossing his face as his sleeping brain tried to keep up with the sheer amount of syllables pouring from Athos' mouth.
"It doesn't matter if it was 'bloody years ago', Aramis apparently still nearly died," d'Artangan supplied helpfully.
"Ohh, OK. Yeah, what he sodding said you stubborn arse," Porthos said, turning to Aramis. "You weren't the one picking up the bruises every time you tried to get your ever so ill friend to take his bloody medicine were you?"
"I apologised didn't I..." Aramis said, as meekly as his personality would allow.
"What happened?" d'Artangan asked, curiosity getting the better of him.
"Nothing. Like I said it was years ago," Aramis huffed, frowning.
"Personally I think the boy would benefit from learning what not to do should he find himself unable to breathe for days at a time hm?" Athos said, attempting to keep the humour from his voice.
Aramis huffed again at his words, folding his arms and pressing himself back into his bed in an apparent attempt to melt into the covers.
"So..?" d'Artangan prompted as both Porthos and Athos dissolved into chuckles at their brother's antics.
"So, it had been three days of being pulled from our sleep by choking coughs already," Athos began.
"Bit like tonight actually," Porthos said, raising an eyebrow in Aramis' direction where it was swiftly ignored as the marksman looked anywhere in the room but back at Porthos.
"It was in the middle of Autumn," Athos forged on despite the interruption, "and a very wet and cold one at that. Though despite the weather, the King had decided that an evening garden party would be quite the best idea he had ever had."
"Course, you can imagine who had the honour of standing guard all sodding night," Porthos bit out, irritation still colouring his words at the thought.
"Quite," Athos replied with a nod, "and, much like yesterday our fearless Aramis decided that even though he could barely stand, let alone breathe, it would be the height of bad manners not to attend to his duties."
"We were guarding the King of France!" Aramis all but wailed, trying and failing to not sound like a sullen child. "It's not like it was one of those fetch and carry missions Treville is so fond of."
"Yes, because we all know precisely how many of his Majesty's hundreds of yearly parties turn out to be occasions where we're actually needed and not just being used as fancy, leather clad wallpaper hmm?" Athos replied, an eye brow raised.
Athos feared Aramis' eyes would get stuck in the back of his head such was the magnitude of his eye roll, before he heaved another dramatic sigh and folded back in on himself. Mumbling what could only be curses under his breath in Spanish.
"Well as you can imagine, as the damp, chilly evening worked its way into our bones it was doing wonders for Aramis' cough," Athos continued wryly.
"Oh just get to the bit where I fell down and Porthos didn't bother to catch me already," Aramis said loudly, cutting off whatever Athos was about to say next.
"'Ere I didn't not 'bother to catch you'. I've told you before you fainted without much warning," Porthos retorted.
"You were too busy trying to woo the serving boy into bringing you a platter of stupid, tiny King food," Aramis shot back "and I did not faint! I fell over."
"I was feeling faint with hunger myself, if I didn't eat soon I would 'ave 'fallen over' on my arse as well."
"I was quite clearly in distress and you were too distracted to notice."
"I was starvin'! You shouldn't 'ave been there anyway. Treville told you to take a few days leave."
"Some friend you are! Why don't you just shove your leave up your -."
"Gentlemen!" Athos interjected, exasperated as their voices raised to shouting level. "Indoor voices yes? Regardless, Aramis 'fell'...after he fainted, and we were left in that tricky situation of trying to take him back to the garrison without anyone noticing our absence and without his gangly limbs offending any of the aristocracy."
"I'll give you gangly.."
"Aramis!"
"...Cabeza culo"
Athos fixed a stare at Aramis, who had the grace to lower his eyes under Athos' gaze. He nodded, appeased, before continuing.
"After haring back to the garrison with a very unconscious Musketeer, we called for a physician who pronounced a case of pneumonia and left us with numerous teas and potions meant to ease his ailments and carry him through his sickness."
"One of those 'if 'e makes it through the night' kind of things you know what I mean?" Porthos said, an unusually grave note to his voice. His eyes had glazed over as he remembered that terrifying evening.
"I'll remind you, friend, that I didn't actually die.." Aramis said quietly, no mocking edge to his tone as he brought Porthos back to the present, the man smiled at his friend in response.
"Well like Porthos mentioned...getting said teas and potions into him was something of an adventure..." Athos quipped.
"Aramis?...Aramis come on now, the physician said you've got to take this medicine to get better," Porthos said, a pleading note in his voice.
"There's no use for now friend," Athos said wearily from his chair at the foot of the stricken man's bed. They'd been with him through the night and most of the day and he had not stirred. A bubbling, wet sound issued from Aramis' mouth with every breath, shaking Athos to his core though he resolved to be strong for Porthos, who was taking the situation badly. This was the first time any of them had faced the very real threat of mortality in a way which hadn't resulted from some form of wound or battle and they were both coping with it less than well. "We'll try again in a few hours."
"Donde..."
"Aramis?" Porthos said, his head turning so quickly it had to have hurt.
"Donde...donde es..." Aramis mumbled, his eyes at half mast but unfocused and gleaming in his fever.
"Donde...that's...where isn't it?" Porthos asked Athos, scrunching up his face as he tried to figure out the alien words.
"I believe so..."
"Donde es...donde..Porthos donde!" Aramis said again, clearly getting agitated.
"You're back in your room mate," Porthos said quietly, grasping Aramis' hand in an attempt to ground him back to reality.
"Tengo...sed...agua..por favor...tengo...por.." Aramis said, trailing off into a hacking cough and sobbing slightly at the fire which ripped through his chest. "Agua..."
"Aramis, come on now, you know I don't speak that nonsense," Porthos said in an attempt at humour though his own eyes shined with worry as he leaned forwards, rubbing Aramis' back to try to alleviate the coughing fit and the pain.
"He said agua...he must need a drink," Athos said, bringing the cup of the now cooling physician's tea to Aramis' bedside. "Here Aramis, drink."
"No!" Aramis suddenly yelled, thrashing as Athos brought the cup to his face and sending both it and its contents across the room.
"Aramis!" Athos said, shocked by the man's actions and dripping slightly in the candlelight.
"Tengo sed," Aramis said quietly to himself as he calmed though he fidgeted agitatedly. "Mi...gato...mi gato es enfermada...madre...por favor madre..." Aramis rambled, clearly lost in memory. Porthos looked pointedly at Athos who shrugged back, confusion on his face. He did not speak a word of the language either although both men recognised Aramis calling for his mother and the distress in his voice.
Athos crossed to the fire where a pot of water sat boiling merrily. Taking another pouch of the dried leaves and herbs he poured them into the retrieved cup and steeped them, blowing on the water to cool it before bringing it back to Aramis.
"El...el medico?" Aramis asked Athos, his face shining in the warm light and his cheeks pink with fever.
"Medicine? Is that what you're saying? Yes this is medicine," Athos said carefully, approaching the bed slowly so as not to startle his addled friend.
"No!" Aramis yelled, throwing himself forward suddenly and grasping Porthos' shirt with enough force to leave marks. "El medico! Para mi gato, Diego...mi gato es muy enfermada, senor por favor...Diego.
"Who the bleedin' 'ell is Diego?!" Porthos bit out at Athos as he tried and failed to extricate himself from Aramis' clenched fingers. His voice wobbled at the words as he was shaken back and forth with more force than a man as sick as Aramis had any right to possess.
"Porthos my dear, I really have no idea," Athos said, placing the tea and moving to untangle Aramis from Porthos' shirt, trying and failing to duck the flailing limbs which now he found clumsily aimed in his direction.
Aramis let go suddenly, flopping back to the bed with a weak rasp of a cough and a moan, his eyes rolling back into his head. Athos leaned forward with the intent to check Aramis' breathing and promptly stumbled back and fell onto his rump with a bang as the man flailed once again scaring Athos more than he would ever dare admit. Porthos would have laughed aloud at the look of terror which flitted across Athos' face if he had not immediately found his hands full of thrashing Spaniard.
"Aramis, bloody 'ell would you calm yourself," he bit out, swearing as an errant fist connected with his lip, busting it open in a shine of crimson.
"Donde..."
"I'll bloody donde you, SIT DOWN," Porthos yelled, pushing Aramis back to his bed with a thump. The fight seemed to leave Aramis as soon as it had arrived as another coughing fit tore through him resulting in spittle and mucus dribbling from his mouth.
"Hush yourself," Athos said quietly, approaching the bedside once more after picking himself up from the ground, his movements slow and cautious as if his friend had been replaced with a wild beast. He pulled a linen cloth from their supply by Aramis' bedside and delicately wiped his friend's mouth, not wanting to cause him any more distress in his agitated state. Aramis for his part remained lying down, his eye lids blinking slowly as he fought to breathe and allowed Athos' ministrations. A wary fire burned in his pupils as he regarded Athos though it seemed to dull as he gently wiped at his lip. Porthos picked up his limp hand once again, holding it in his own.
"Agua..."
"Yes, water, speak plain French would you?" Athos said in a hushed tone, finishing wiping at Aramis' mouth and bringing the now re-cooled tea to his friend's face. "I have water here Aramis, agua."
This time Aramis sipped at the offered cup, moaning a little as the lukewarm liquid crawled over his raw throat. He managed half of the medicine before his eyes closed completely, a weak cough issuing from his mouth.
"Right well...'ow long until we have to give 'im the next batch?" Porthos asked Athos, dabbing at his split lip and regarding his brother with a raised eyebrow. A bruise was blossoming over Athos' cheek, no doubt a trophy of an errant limb from their apparently bed bound comrade.
"The physician said he should take a little of the tea every hour until his breathing eases..." Athos said, wincing as he palpitated his sore face and shook off the aches from the other bruises which were slowly making themselves apparent now the excitement was momentarily over.
"Oh...good...How about next time you wake 'im up though ay?.."
Well sometimes these boys talk to me and sometimes they don't want to. But I found myself last night after work sitting down to just add a couple of sentences to what I had sitting already, and that whole second half of a chapter came pouring out. I hadn't ever planned for a flashback, nor any actual Spanish, but I had a couple of reviewers asking for some rambling Spanish and apparently my muse was only too happy to oblige apparently.
My Spanish is from secondary school level, learned about three hundred years ago so apologies for any glaring errors..The mumblings were inspired by my GCSE oral exam where, in my nervous panic, the only two words I could remember in the world were 'sick' and 'cat' and I built my entire answer around them...
Sorry for the delay, real life caught up with me! As usual, any and all comments and critiques are welcomed.