Guest, I hope you really enjoy this one!
Alot has happened this weekend. Our dad remarried a sweet lady on Saturday, and we celebrated with a simple but elegant park wedding. I have a photoshoot later, and today I have turned thirty-one years old! It was quite milestone turning 30 last year, but I feel I have learned so much from that time.
Enjoy this chapter, very Aramis/Felice centric. But don't worry, we'll get back to D'Aratagnan, see if he will even survive! Oh, and is Milady really dead?
Athos arrived at the hospital only to find Aramis and Porthos still in the waiting room, looking somber. Their dismal expressions only thickened the air of helpless anxiety he'd been washed with when he entered the room. "Any word?" He asked lowly.
"No." Aramis shook his head sadly, gripping the cross dangling from his necklace.
"Not a thing." Porthos grumbled, taking another small sip of whiskey. Athos couldn't sit down but stood against the wall by his friends sitting on a wooden bench. They were all very worried. Felice may have hurt her ribs worse from the journey, and who knew what had happened once the doctors had gotten her in here? She may have punctured a lung! And D'Artagnan...if, if he pulled through tonight, even the next few hours, it would be a miracle! He'd been too weak and had lost too much blood already before they'd even landed the airship. He may not even be breathing right this minute!
"Did Constance deliver the diamonds in time?" Aramis asked.
"Yes. The king and queen were free to celebrate their grand ball." Athos muttered. "But they are worried about the kids."
"Now, now, D'Artagnan will pull through." Porthos tried to say lightly. "He's too stubborn to die without it being on his own terms. Hardheaded little rascal!" He tried to laugh. Aramis only sighed, pursing his lips. Athos said nothing, but constantly rubbed his upper legs.
"Rochefort will pay for this." Aramis hissed under his breath.
"Amen to that!" Porthos agreed angrily.
Just then, a physician came around the corridor and approached them. They all stood immediately. "The king's musketeers." He bowed.
"What news can you tell us?" Athos inquired.
"How's the girl?" Porthos added.
"She is holding her own, monsieur." The doctor answered. "The bleeding has stopped and I have stitched her up. That was simple enough. However, she is not well yet. Three broken ribs, possibly another fractured one. I'm afraid she is with fever, and she'll need careful nursing."
"Aye. We have someone prepared to do that." Athos said quickly.
"Good. She's very lucky, you know. That gunshot was too calculated. It's a miracle it was not deeper, or it would've struck through the liver." The doctor explained grimly.
"Yes, I know." Aramis rigidly set his jaw, his dark eyes clouding over.
"Well, you may escort her home now if you like. Has her family been informed?"
"No. She and her brother are from out of town." Athos answered.
"I am sorry to hear that, Monsieur."
"How is the lad?" Athos asked.
The physician sighed heavily. "Still in danger, I am afraid. My colleagues have finally managed to stop the bleeding, but the boy is greatly weakened from it, and has a long night ahead of him, if he lasts that long." The musketeers all glanced gravely at one another. "He's as weak as a newborn infant right now, and will be monitored every moment. Every hour counts."
"Is there anything we can do for him?" Athos asked, biting his lip. He felt his eyes welling up but forced them to remain steady.
"Pray, sirs. And best to get in touch with his next of kin. What of the girl? Are you sure you do not wish to have her remain here at the hospital?" The doctor suggested. The musketeers glanced at each other.
"She'll want to be close to the lad when she awakes." Porthos pointed out.
"Aye." Aramis agreed.
"She must concentrate on getting well." Athos spoke up. "And...what if D'Artagnan doesn't make it? She may lose the will to recover."
"True enough." Porthos said.
"But if he were to pass, she would want to be with him." Aramis interjected.
"Doctor, surely you can shed some professional insight on the wisest course to take?" Porthos addressed the doctor.
"You have all made excellent points, sirs." The doctor answered. "But it is true that at the moment, the girl must focus on fighting the fever and getting well. She will not be able to do so, if she is in close proximity with her brother, as grievously wounded as he is, and especially if the odds do not turn in his favor."
"Would it be unwise to move her?" Athos asked.
"In my professional opinion, yes. Her ribs must heal. The less activity, the better. But, with emergencies coming in, I cannot guarantee the absolute quiet she will need. How far from here are your living quarters?"
"About two miles." Porthos answered.
"Good that you are so close. I can arrange for transportation, but it must be steady."
"I will make absolutely sure that she is safe, and not disturbed!" Aramis volunteered.
"Very well, sirs. But if the brief trek only seems to cause her further harm, immediately turn her around and bring her back!"
"Yes, doctor."
"Thank you, doctor. How much do we owe you?" Athos asked.
"Ten francs. I will make the arrangements for the girl's transport." The physician answered. Athos quickly paid him and he left them.
Just then, Captain de Treville burst into the waiting room. "I received word from Athos's note only an hour ago!" He breathed. "How are they?"
"The girl will live." Porthos answered. "The lad-he may not."
"Oh, mon deui!" Treville bellowed. "Why did I let you embark on this mission alone, unexpected as it was? Fool I am!"
"No, sir." Athos admonished him. "Captain Rochefort caught up to us unawares. We had not realized just how far his secret cohort would venture to make a name for herself. He got away after nearly slaughtering the both of them, but I will find him!"
"Not alone, Athos." Captain Treville disagreed. "You will not be going after him solo on my watch." The musketeers poured out the battle story to their superior officer. "It is my fault for recruiting them."
"No! It is all my fault. I was responsible for them. I should've kept a better hold on them." Athos winced.
"We all should have." Aramis nodded.
"You all know perfectly well that we could not prevent the little fellow from throwing himself into a proper fight if ye had him harnessed with a dog leash." Porthos said sensibly.
"Stupid." Athos muttered.
"Monsieur Aramis? Oh! Captain de Treville!" The doctor bowed. "I take it you are here to see about your fallen musketeers?"
"I am, sir." Captain Treville answered. The doctor quickly filled him in on their conditions. "The lass is ready for transport."
"She'll be escorted by my men." Captain Treville ordered. "Rochefort is still on the loose somewhere. We will not take any chances!"
"And I am sending one of my colleagues to accompany you, Monsieur Aramis." The doctor said.
"Thank you, doctor." Aramis breathed gratefully. "May I see her?"
"Wi. Just follow me." The doctor led them to an examination room. There, they saw Felice lying flat on a work table, under a white sheet. She had a pained frown on her face. "I've given her something to help her sleep." The doctor said. "Mind how you handle her, sirs."
Aramis stepped closely to the table and lightly brushed the side of her flushed, pale face. She needed attentive medical care, but she would live! Aramis was grateful for that. His heart was heavy that he'd failed to protect her, but perhaps now he could make it up to her.
"Felice?" He murmured. "Darling, it's Aramis. I'm here with you."
"Charles…" Felice breathed.
"Come, dear. I'm moving you." Aramis whispered soothingly. "It's time to go home."
"Bu-Char-" Felice slurred. Her head was fuzzy, but she felt herself being lifted, so easily, as if she were floating. She couldn't understand why. But it felt wonderful, and she had no fear of falling. It was peaceful. The current carrying her along was strong, but tender, absolute. Somehow, even in her hazed consciousness, she knew she was safe.
Athos and Porthos wished Aramis godspeed while the two of them remained at the hospital with their captain to watch over D'Artagnan. Athos refused to leave the boy, and was seriously considering shooting anyone who dared to think they could change his mind. Felice was brought home to the musketeers' house and gently laid safely in her own bed, in the room Athos had given up for her and her brother. The accompanying physician gave her a quick checkup to insure that the short trek had not made her worse. He declared she was not be moved like that again, and that she be tended through the night, then he left.
Planchet had been setting up Porthos's room for Kitty and cooking supper when Aramis had returned. They'd followed him up to the sick room, both alarmed at how listless Felice looked.
"Can I help?" Kitty asked pleadingly as Aramis pulled up a chair beside Felice's bed.
"Yes! I will be relying heavily on you, Kitty, to look after her and nurse her when I have to go out of the house." Aramis said seriously. "She needs your help. And I shall need your help too. Do you think you can do that for me?"
"Oh, yes, Monsieur! Wi! Wi! I will do anything you say!"
"Very good, dear." Aramis approved. "But for tonight, I want you to get some rest, child. It has been a taxing day. You get some warm food in your belly, then go to bed and get some sleep. I will sit with Felice and watch over her for the night."
"But I want to help, sir! I want to do all I can to help Miss Felice recover."
"And that is why you must rest, child. I will need lots of help in the morning, and you will need all the stamina you can muster. You sleep tonight, and assist me tomorrow."
"Yes, sir." Kitty sighed. "But if you need an extra hand tonight, do rouse me from my sleep, Monsieur!"
"Alright. But that is what Planchet is here for. He will be on hand if I need him. Goodnight, Kitty." Aramis smiled warmly.
"Goodnight, sir." Kitty curtsied. "And merci, for letting me stay!"
"No need for thanks, child. We shall be delighted to have you. Now off to bed."
"You requested water and rags, sir?" Planchet sauntered passed Kitty into the room. "And bandages, and iodine?"
"Yes, thank you." Aramis nodded, taking the desired items.
"Is she terribly ill, sir?"
"The doctor did not think so. However, the fever could take another course. For that, we must work against. The worst part is her broken ribs."
"This whole business is just dreadful! Do you think Master D'Artagnan will pull through?"
The priest stared at the floor. "Only God knows, Planchet. We must place our faith in His will." Aramis answered quietly. "Thank you kindly for the assistance. See to Kitty, will you?"
"Miss Kitty. Right, sir." Planchet bowed and shuffled out.
Thus, Aramis was left alone with Felice. He patted her sweaty face and arms with a cool cloth. He cautiously reached for her face with his bare hand. Wait. Should he? He was suddenly aware of just how alone the two of them actually were. If she was conscious enough to realize that, would she receive it kindly, or would she feel invaded? Felice had accepted his companionship, yet she had still been so wary when he wished to touch her affectionately. Why, it had taken her struggling not to hyperventilate, just to allow herself to take his arm whenever he'd first offered it! Was it right for him to do so now, even as a gesture of comfort, without her permission? She trusted him to respect her physical space. Would it be so intrusive?
"God, don't let me break her trust!" He breathed. He tenderly placed his large hand over her forehead and gently stroked the top of her hair. Felice stirred, but she didn't flinch away. She sighed heavily in her sleep, actually leaning her face closer into the palm of his hand. He leaned over and hesitantly gave her a gentle kiss on the forehead.
Aramis dabbed at her face and arms for hours, trying to draw out the fever. She slept off and on, moaning and mumbling her brother's name. It had been a long time since they'd brought her home and Aramis felt it imperative to examine her gunshot wound, hoping it wasn't worsening. He slightly pulled back the covers, and gently lifted part of her thin hospital shift, checking the bandaged wound around her waist. It was lightly spotted red. He took her hand, and warmly rubbed it between his own. I never noticed, her hands are so small! He realized, comparing her appendages to his. It feels so, light, so vulnerable. Like a bird. They're so little.
I am sorry, love. This shouldn't have happened to you. I should've kept a better eye on you! I should've known you would attempt to take on Rochefort when he had D'Artagnan captive. How did I not notice? How did you slip right under my eyes and head on into danger? Good G-! What was I thinking?
Forgive me, Felice. I should've taken stronger measures to make sure you were safe. I am sorry, my darling. He tenderly kissed her fingers.
Well, hope you liked this one. What do you think: did they make a mistake separating her from D'Artagnan? What if he dies?