Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Previously……

“D’Artagnan, do you hear that? It’s Porthos and Ryder, we’ll be out of here in no time, and not a minute too soon, you may look skinny but it feels like you weigh a ton leaning on me,” Athos teases shakily.

“D’Artagnan? D’Artagnan!”

There’s no response but Athos refuses to panic. They’re seconds away from being rescued, of course he’s fine…he has to be.

He puts two fingers to his throat and calmly feels for a pulse, but his hands are shaking so hard he can’t seem to find one. “Child, you’re scaring me,” Athos hisses close to his ear and he grabs his wrist but he’s got a watch with a thick rubber strap on one hand and something he has no idea of what purpose it serves on the other. No amount of manoeuvring can loosen either one, not with his hands trembling so hard.

“D’Artagnan, answer me damn it!”Athos demands angrily, giving him a rough shake.

No response.

“Child, please…”

There’s nothing. No gasp of pain, no steady rhythm under his searching fingers and no trademark snarky reply at the use of the hated nickname. Athos can’t get his hand under the lad’s Kevlar to feel for a heart beat or the rise and fall of his chest, not without disturbing the metal bar embedded in his abdomen and he stops trying.

One tear falls, then another and Athos is brutally reminded that they’d been in a very similar situation a couple of years ago, at the farmhouse, after Marcheaux. But that night Aramis had been with them when the foolish child had passed out in his arms…and he’d been breathing, his pulse strong and steady despite the blood dripping from his mouth and pouring out of a hole in his chest. He wants to call out to Porthos but his throat has gone so tight he knows that no sound will come out. This is not happening, absolutely, positively not happening.

The God that everyone seems to believe in with so much devotion cannot be this cruel, Athos thinks firmly, and he shakes d'Artagnan one more time and swallows the dryness in his throat and leans forward and hisses his name directly in his ear…and yet, there is still nothing.

Athos hears the sound of boots on the metal stairs and the loud scraping of rubble being pushed aside and then Porthos, Ryder, Beetle and Mouse appear, climbing carefully over chunks of concrete and twisted metal, followed by paramedics carrying orange plastic stretchers. Athos tries to speak when they gently move d’Artagnan away but he’s smothered by Porthos who’s hugging him tight and kissing his cheeks before he pulls back to make room for the medics.

Athos is lifted gently and carefully into one of those basket-style stretchers and a needle is inserted into the back of his hand, a thermal blanket tucked tightly around him. He can’t see what’s happening beside him because too many people are standing around him but Porthos is cursing loudly and telling someone to hurry the fuck up and an unfamiliar voice yells clear and Athos knows what that means, he knows what they’re trying to do and that’s it, he can’t do this anymore, he can’t face this.

He shuts his eyes and lets go.

PART 1

“Open your eyes, brother, that’s it…look at me…let’s see those gorgeous eyes that drive the ladies wild.”

Aramis of course.

Athos blinks, his eyes feel gritty, like they’re full of sand, and they itch. He tries to lift one hand to rub at them but someone – Aramis probably – stops him gently.

“Don’t move around, my friend, you’re attached to a helluvalot of equipment,” Aramis explains.

“Listen, we need to discuss something and we only have a few minutes so please try to focus.”

“Where am I?” Athos asks, completely baffled. He turns his head slightly from side to side and quickly realises; hospital.

“Athos do you remember the explosion?” his friend asks cautiously.

Explosion. Jesus Christ he was in an explosion.

With d’Artagnan.

Who is now dead.

“Oh God, Aramis, the child…he’s gone,” Athos croaks, eyes opening wide. At once they fill with tears and he lets out a soft, agonised sob, grief ripping through his gut like a knife.

Aramis gasps. “No brother, he’s not, I swear, he’s in surgery but he’ll be fine, I promise!” Aramis is saying in an urgent tone, but Athos had been there, d’Artagnan had died in his arms, taken his last breath surrounded by rubble and filth, covered in both his and Athos’ blood and suddenly Athos has a horrible thought.

“Constance,” he croaks, “Does she know? Dear God, Aramis, is she alright? The baby?”

“Athos you need to calm down! D’Artagnan is not dead and Constance is…she’s fine, she’s had her baby, a little boy, he came a little unexpected but he’s perfectly healthy. She’s ok now and everyone else is fine, Porthos and the lads, they’re all here, there’s nothing to worry about except you right now,” Aramis insists.

Athos blinks away the tears and gets a better look at his friend. Aramis looks haggard, it’s the only way to describe the state of him; unkempt, dark wavy hair askew as if he’s spent hours running his hands through it as he does when he’s stressed, and his eyes look swollen and bloodshot…as if he’s been crying.

“You’re lying to me,” Athos decides. “You look like you’ve been crying…for hours…oh God, he is gone, isn’t he?”

“Damn it Athos, no he’s not! It was Constance, she had a difficult birth, it was…stressful and yes, I may have shed a tear or two,” he admits, “but I promise you that idiotic boy is not dead, I just told you he’s in surgery, I’ll take a fucking picture of him if I have to but you need to listen to me very carefully, brother,” Aramis urges, clearly out of patience.

Athos though can’t seem to focus on Aramis anymore. There is a buzzing in his ears and he feels lightheaded and his head lolls to the side and he lets his eyes close while he tries to absorb all the information Aramis has just shared.

“Athos, this is getting tedious,” Aramis says, sounding angry. “Open your eyes for one bloody minute and listen to me!”

At once, Athos reacts to the harsh tone of his brother’s voice and he pries open his eyes.

“Thank you. Now, your leg was damaged in the explosion and it’s pretty bad but Treville and I have arranged for a specialist to be flown in from Germany. I’ve signed all the papers on your behalf; you gave me the legal right to do so and I’ve exercised that right my friend,” Aramis explains slowly and carefully. “But I wanted you to know before they take you for surgery.”

Surgery…on his useless leg that has been the cause of so much pain and anguish. Out of the question.

“No,” Athos says simply. He won’t go through all of that again; surgery, physio, more surgery, more physio, quacky alternative medicines for the pain that never worked, the prospect of becoming addicted to controlled substances, the inability to take two steps without the use of a cane, no, he prefers amputation and one of those advanced and exorbitantly expensive prosthetics that will allow him to walk unaided and a future not clouded with fear of prescription pain relievers.

Aramis looks shocked. “What?”

“I said no, cut it off, I can’t live like this anymore.”

“Athos, you’re heavily medicated and don’t know what you’re saying,” Aramis reasons. “I am responsible for making the best choice for you and I have!” Aramis insists.

“Where’s Treville? He’ll listen to me,” Athos slurs, feeling dizzy again.

“Treville is the one who arranged to have the surgeon brought here! No, it’s out of the question. This doctor is a miracle worker, I swear to you, brother, he will fix you, you’ve got to believe me!”

“I’m begging you Aramis, cut the damned thing off! It’s ruined my life and cost the lad his, I can’t…I just can’t,” Athos whispers. His head feels heavy and he thinks he might vomit.

Aramis lets out a frustrated growl and moves in closer to the bed. “For the last time, d’Artagnan is NOT DEAD! And I’m not letting them cut off your leg. After the surgery when you’re life is no longer in danger and I’m sure you can make an informed decision you can ask for amputation yourself. At the moment though you are incapable of making that choice and I won’t allow it, I’m sorry, brother, I can’t. I love you, dearly, and I’ve got to do what’s best.”

“Sir, they’re ready for him, I’m sorry, you’ll have to wait outside,” an unfamiliar male voice says apologetically.

“Yes, of course,” Aramis replies and then he leans over and presses a kiss to Athos’ check. “You know I’m doing this because you’re the closest thing I’ve ever had to a best mate and you’re brother to all of us. You won’t regret it, I promise.”

“Damn you, Aramis,” Athos croaks. “Please…don’t…”

Suddenly though his bed is moving and he’s being taken away and Aramis is no longer at his side. How could he do this to him? How could he go against his wishes and call himself brother?

That’s the last thought Athos has before the mask comes down over his face and everything fades away.

To be continued.....

Chapter Text

If Aramis had a social media account of any kind he’d probably make a post titled “Aramis’ no good, rotten, horrible snow day” and then he’d rant to his followers about the weather, lunatics with twisted agendas, and stubborn best mates.

But he doesn’t have any social media whatsoever and even if he did he couldn’t actually tell anyone about his day because that could cause a threat to national security. Thank goodness for Porthos, because the only other people who he could rant to are either in surgery or in intensive care.

Plus Porthos gives good hugs and he really needs one about now.

He wanders exhausted and practically teetering on his feet, into the waiting area outside of the surgical ward where he finds the big man still in uniform but sans weapons, his expression…well his expression is pretty bleak.

“And I came looking for you for comfort, maybe a cuddle, and you look like you’ve just lost your best mates…which you did NOT because all three of them will be fine,” Aramis says with conviction.

Porthos nods but his expression remains grim. “I know, but Constance…fuckin’ ‘ell, we almost lost her again, I can’t keep doin’ this.”

Aramis nods and literally collapses onto the hard leather sofa beside his friend. “Yeah, I um, I was there, and there was nothing I could do…” he says and then suddenly it feels like he’s been hit in the chest with a bat because whoa, that actually happened just a few hours ago.

“Aramis…Aramis calm down mate, just breathe….that’s it, you’re ok brother, just breathe,” Porthos is whispering in his ear and he realises that for the first time in his life it looks like he’s just had a panic attack. His heart is pounding and it feels like his breath is stuck in his throat but Porthos, bless him, has one arm around his shoulder and is speaking to him quietly and soothingly. Aramis gladly leans into Porthos and lets his brother take all his weight while he tries to get his bearings again.

“You weren’t kidding about that cuddle, were ya?” Porthos teases, and he settles against the back cushion of the sofa and pulls Aramis to lean against his side.

“Of course not,” Aramis replies hoarsely and he truly doesn’t want to break contact. Eventually though he pulls away with a tired sigh. “I can’t keep doing this either. And I think that Athos might never speak to me again.”

Porthos grunts. “I doubt that.”

“I forced him to accept the surgery, he didn’t want it but I didn’t give him a choice.”

Porthos nods. “You did the right thing, mate, don’t worry about Athos, he’ll forgive you.”

“Maybe, we’ll have to just wait and see on that. Sylvie?”

“Called back to HQ. She’s ok though, stronger that the lot of us that woman is.”

Aramis hums his agreement. “Any news on the lad?”

Porthos stiffens. “I uh, I don’t even know. He's one flight up, Treville got his parents security clearance so they’re waiting for him to come out of surgery, and Ellie is in the nursery with the baby. I um, I didn’t want to leave Constance alone, she's in cardiac critical care, through there," he says, indicating the ward opposite the one Athos is in. "Reina had to go back to the hospital and ‘er Mum won’t be here until late tomorrow with this fuckin’ weather ‘n all that.”

Like the rest of them Porthos looks simply wrecked. Plus he’s covered in dust and Aramis is pretty sure those are also blood stains on his dark uniform and on his hands.

“Go home brother, shower, change, eat and sleep and then you can come back. I’ll stay here, I’ll take care of our girl, I promise.”

“Ryder’s getting me clothes, I ain’t leavin’. She’ll be terrified, looking for baby Teddy and d’Artagnan, I’ve got to be ‘ere.”

Aramis raises one brow. “Teddy?”

Porthos grunts. “Theo is not a baby name, if they want to call ‘im Theo or Theodore they can do so when ‘e’s twenty.”

“Well for now, please don’t call him Teddy, we don’t want to rile up poor Constance my friend. Has the doctor spoken to you again?”

Porthos shakes his head. “No but the nurses keep tellin’ me she’s fine, everything is normal and not to worry…but how can I not worry?”

Aramis knows exactly what he means; how can they not worry about all three of their friends? So much has happened in one day, not even a full day at that, and he feels overwhelmed and quite frankly completely rattled. He’s been playing those last few moments after Theo’s birth in his head on a loop, wondering if he’d done something wrong before the ambulance had arrived as well as imagining a scenario where he and Constance were alone and he was unable to save her. He’d spent half the time they were waiting for the doctor to arrive from Berlin for Athos’s surgery literally sobbing in the men’s toilet…and hoping no one would bother to ask him if he was alright because honestly he’s not and right now he doesn’t know if he’ll ever be alright again.

“I’d like to rewind this day twenty four hours and warn everyone of what would happen, and then no one would be dead or injured or traumatised,” Aramis states, as if it’s actually something that’s within his power to do, although lately is seems as if nothing is actually within his power, things just seem to keep bowling wildly out of his control and he’s always helpless to stop it.

“I know brother, but that’s not gonna ‘appen so let’s change the tone ‘ere to ‘thank God it wasn’t worse’,” Porthos replies firmly.

Aramis grunts. “I’m trying to figure a scenario where both Constance and d’Artagnan flat-lining and Athos possibly losing his leg can be worse,” he grumbles.

“Well they could all be dead you idiot, and they’re not, so can’t we count this as a win?”
Aramis sighs and scrubs at his messy beard. “You’re right of course, but after the day we’ve had seeing the bright side will take some time my friend.”

“I know. When we got to them he was…gone, d’Artagnan I mean, technically ‘e was dead, for maybe a minute or so,” Porthos states quietly, shaking his head and despite all his talk of staying positive he is obviously as emotionally and physically exhausted as Aramis is. “It was all too much for Athos, he just shut down, and when he slumped onto me I thought ‘e was gone too.”

Aramis sees so much pain in Porthos’ gaze it steals his breath away. How they’ve survived all this time without losing their minds Aramis truly has no idea. He’s never thought of himself as special or stronger than the average person who deals in life and death on a daily basis but at moments like this he marvels at his strength…and the strength of the rest of them…and then he gets it; it’s all of them, together…a family…that keeps them going. None of them are special but they are damn lucky to have each other.

“Constance too, brother, she just stopped moving, stopped breathing…and I had the baby in my arms…” Aramis says trailing off and he swallows bile and needs a moment before he can go on.

“I had the baby in my arms and I couldn’t help…not like I could’ve done anything different or better than the medics mind you, but I felt so fucking helpless. Until Theo started crying and I realised that he needed me more at that moment and it grounded me, or else I would have certainly started screaming or done something else equally useless while they tried to get her heart started again.”

Porthos nods knowingly and a moment later they’re interrupted by a doctor and a nurse. At once they both get to their feet.

“Are you lads here for…Constance?” the doctor asks, reading the name off the chart in her hand. Porthos gives Aramis a weird look since Constance is now free to use her real name for medical treatment, especially while in a secure facility but Aramis just shrugs and doesn’t bother to explain, he will later and hopefully everyone will have a laugh about it.

“Yes,” they say simultaneously and Porthos pulls out his badge and shows it to them, just in case the doctor had planned on withholding any information; Aramis knows that the badge and that particular fierce look along with the intimidating uniform works for Porthos in most situations.

The doctor and the young male nurse eye the pair of them suspiciously; Aramis is aware that they both look ragged and yeah, that is blood all over Porthos but the doctor eventually nods and looks down at the chart.

“Your friend is fine. There’s no indication that she's had a heart attack or any un-diagnosed heart conditions and we can confirm that she didn’t have a stroke. But she’ll need to stay under observation for a few days, just to rule out any possibility of a blood clot, although it’s doubtful,” the doctor - a middle aged woman with a military-style buzz - cut explains patiently.

“So any idea why this ‘appened to her?” Porthos asks, the stern expression fading from his face and some of the tension bleeding out of his posture.

The doctor shakes her head. “No, not yet but I’m confident that she’ll make a full recovery.”

“Can we see her?” Aramis ask at once.

“One at a time and only after you’ve cleaned yourselves up gentlemen, this is a hospital not a battlefield,” she tells them sternly. “From what I’ve heard the lot of you’ve had a helluva day but for the safety of our patients you need to wash up and change out of those clothes before you can see any of your friends,” she adds in a much gentler tone.

If she was going to say anything else it’s quickly forgotten when the secure doors to the ward open and a nurse rushes out looking terrified.

“We need you, asap, it’s urgent,” the nurse says and without a second thought for Porthos or Aramis the doctor and two nurses rush back into the ward, the security doors closing automatically behind them.

Porthos looks at Aramis horrified; it doesn’t mean it’s Constance they’re rushing off to see but Aramis isn’t in any position to offer his friend comfort, not with every worst case scenario running through his head…

…and certainly not when he loses his balance and everything goes dark.

**********************************

When Athos opens his eyes after what he will later be told was eight hours of surgery and then another six of being monitored in recovery, he’s completely baffled to find d’Artagnan’s mother sitting in the chair beside his bed, one hand gripping his own.

His first clear thought is absolute dread but the lad’s mum doesn’t appear to have been crying and she’s actually smiling at him so then why is she here?

“Your friends are asleep in the lounge, I didn’t want you to wake up alone,” she explains quietly.

The room is dimly lit and he can see that it’s dark outside but Athos has no idea what time or even what day it is and he doesn’t even bother to ask.

He clears his throat and coughs weakly. “That’s very kind of you,” Athos says hoarsely. He’s desperate to ask about the boy but he’s still too afraid to actually say the words. Instead, he asks about the baby.

“Baby Theo is fine and so are his parents,” she assures him and Athos feels such a fierce wave of relief it leaves him lightheaded. “They’re both in critical care for the moment and our poor girl hasn’t even seen her baby yet but the doctors have assured us that they’ll both make a full recovery,” she adds softly but her voice cracks and Athos knows that as a mother and a grandmother the woman is of course very concerned. So why is she sitting with him instead of with Constance or d’Artagnan…or even in the nursery with the baby?

He closes his eyes for a moment to get his bearings. He has no idea what’s happened to his leg during surgery but to his frustration he confirms that it’s still attached to his body and that he feels no pain. Most people would be grateful but Athos is extremely angry and frustrated that Aramis had not heeded his wishes.

When he's feeling less like he's on some hellish fairground ride he has a look around the room; no other bed thank goodness so it's just him and what looks like a half dozen machines to monitor him and two drip poles with an assortment of little bottles attached to them and Athos is immediately horrified when he imagines the amount of pain relief he’d been given.

“Are you alright luv?” d'Artagnan's mum asks worriedly. Athos doesn’t know her very well but he does know from her son that she's a wonderful mother and that she loves d’Artagnan and Constance fiercely....despite that fact that she hates what they do for a living. She and d’Artagnan’s father are the kind of parents that most people dream of having and Athos is very glad that his young friends will have the support of such fine people after all they’ve been through.

Athos nods slowly. “Yes, sorry, just overwhelmed,” he explains, his voice scratchy and his throat dry and painful.

“I want to thank you, for what you did for my son. Ellie told me you were together, that you did everything you could to keep him…to keep him alert until help arrived.” Athos is sure she meant to say ‘keep him alive’, but as a mother uttering those words must be very hard for her.

“He actually saved my life,” Athos whispers. “He knew what to do…and he kept me from bleeding to death.”

She nods. “So you saved each other. He calls you and your other friends brother and he wouldn’t say that lightly. It wasn’t until after he left from Whitehall that he was able to tell us a bit about what he used to do. I’m very glad you had each other, it’s obvious there is a lot of respect and friendship between the lot of you.”

“Our old team is my only family,” Athos offers simply as an explanation. It’s difficult to speak and he’s also feeling very emotional and the last thing he wants is to end up a weepy mess in front of d’Artagnan’s already beleaguered mother.

She nods and then there’s an awkward silence before she speaks again. “He has multiple internal injuries and a punctured lung...again, but they’ve told us that surgery went well, much better than they’d expected when he was brought it,” she begins softly. Athos immediately thinks he may vomit when he remembers how much blood had been coming from the lad’s mouth and he knows that’s mostly the fault of the anaesthetic but still, he feels sick to his stomach at the memory.

“God, I’m so sorry,” she says at once and Athos realizes that he must have flinched or made a noise because she’s now on her feet and hovering over him.

“No, I’m fine, please tell me,” he insists, feeling like a complete wanker; d’Artagnan is her son and she doesn’t need to apologise to Athos for anything.

She sits back down and takes his hand in hers again. It feels odd, someone other than Sylvie or Constance holding his hand but it also feels nice…comforting.

“Right well the surgeons say all is well now, it was actually much easier to fix him up than it was you apparently, but we’ve been assured that all of you are in the best of care,” she says brightly, clearly trying to change the tone for his benefit. “Barring complications you should regain the use of your leg I’m told.” She says it in such an encouraging way that Athos can’t bear to tell her he doesn’t give a toss, that he’d wanted it gone and that Aramis had defied his wishes…and their friendship…by forcing him into surgery. Instead he just squeezes her hand gently so she doesn’t think he’s mental while he bides his time until he sees Aramis who is the actual source of his anger.

Right on cue his traitorous brother opens the door to his room and Athos turns his head as far as he can without hurling from the continuing after-effects of the anaesthesia and meets Aramis’ eyes with what he hopes is pure ice in his gaze. D’Artagnan’s mum gets to her feet and begins to fuss over the bandage on Aramis’ forehead – wait why? That certainly hadn’t been there earlier and against his will his anger reluctantly begins to morph into worry. What has the stupid bastard managed to do to himself…inside of a secure military hospital?

“It’s nothing, really,” Aramis is assuring d’Artagnan’s already overly anxious mother but she continues to fuss and she pushes him into the chair she’s just vacated. She then leans over Athos and places a gentle kiss on his forehead and that simple gesture does something to his poor, exhausted heart that he hasn’t felt in a very long time. He mumbles a barely audible thanks to her and then she’s gone, leaving him alone with Aramis...

...who looks like utter shite. He can see a bruise peeking out from under the neat white bandage and a small stain that must be either Betadine or blood and frankly he looks even more shattered than he had hours earlier.

But Athos is still furious and wants his pound of flesh and he turns to Aramis and asks him simply; “Why?”

To be continued…

Chapter Text

Porthos wakes to a soft touch on his face followed by a gentle kiss on his brow.

“Morning luv.”

He blinks and at once he sits upright and rubs both hands over his face. He’s covered by a standard cotton hospital blanket and there’s a pillow beside him and he doesn’t remember anyone bringing him either of those items. The last thing he does recall is Ryder bringing clean clothes and food but before that Aramis had…

…Aramis had face-planted from pure exhaustion. “Aramis!”

Ellie sits down beside him and rests one hand on his arm. “He’s fine, he’s just gone to see Athos.”

“He passed out last night…or he got dizzy and lost his balance, smacked his 'ead on the table,” Porthos says with a grimace.

Ellie nods. “I know I saw him, but it’s just a scratch and a bruise and he’s ok now, I promise.

“Right, yeah, he ‘ad some food after they checked ‘im over in the ward and then ‘e fell asleep, I must’ve passed out right after that,” he reasons and he takes a look out the window and sees it’s still dark and looks are Ellie quizzically. “You said it’s morning?”

Ellie nods. “Sixish, I fell asleep in the nursery, they let me stay, I didn’t want the baby to be alone. I left only after d’Artagnan’s mum came, I couldn’t bear to leave Theo on his own in there.” Ellie looks as shattered as he feels, her hair has come out of her elastic band here and there and her eyes are red and swollen as if she’d been crying. That scares the piss out of Porthos and he grabs her arm at once.

“Has something ‘appened? You look like you’ve been crying!”

Ellie sighs tiredly. “No, everyone is fine, I even got a peek at Constance although she was sleeping. D’Artagnan’s in an induced coma…but it’s just a precaution, because of the pain and to keep him from moving around and undoing all the doctor’s hard work,” she says with a watery smile. “You know how he is, like a restless puppy at the best of times. His dad is with him. The nurse said we can have a five minute visit with both of them but after 8.”

Porthos nods. “And Athos?”

“Awake, Aramis’ gone to see him. Apparently everything went well, but we won’t know much until Aramis or Treville get a full report from the German team that worked on him, they’re staying for a few more days just in case.”

“Right and you’ve been crying then because…?”

Ellie’s face crumples. “Because I almost lost my closest friend…again, and the lads of course,” she says, one tear then another running down her pale face. “Do you lot really have to keep doing this? I thought you’d all moved on to safer positions, well aside from d’Artagnan of course, but still, can’t you just work at Primark or something? We don’t need the money that badly you know,” she grouses. “I’ve got a salary as well and you’ll have your pension, even if it’s reduced and Aramis and Athos don’t actually need to work I think?”

Porthos can’t help it, he cracks a smile. “Primark? And what should I do there, sell ladies lingerie?”

Ellie sniffles and laughs quietly. “Security, no one would dare shoplift on your watch.”

“Although it’s a bonkers idea I’ll take it under consideration and pitch it to the lads as well. Maybe we could all work at the same store although you know that d’Artagnan will end up getting ‘imself hurt in one way or another, that’s just the way ‘e is, luv,” Porthos tells his wife with a chuckle.

“Sadly for Constance yes I know that’s exactly how he is. But seriously, I’m tired of worrying about you and everyone else of course. You can’t honestly say that you don’t feel the same?”

Of course he does, it’s why he left the Agency in the first place, to do something less dangerous so that he and Ellie could try to build a life together. And then Aramis and Athos left the field and Constance moved into IT which left only d’Artagnan in the line of fire so to speak. And yet here they are, with three out of the five of them hospitalised at the same time regardless and Porthos has to wonder if they’re cursed. His Gran believed in that stuff along with the evil eye and all kinds of other things that he now thinks are rubbish but when he was a kid she had him shit-scared of all that nonsense.

“Well?” she asks him when he doesn’t reply and he pulls her into his arms and rests his chin on top of her head.

“Yes I do, sometimes I feel like just walkin’ away from it but then I know that I’ll be miserable if I do so I get up and put on the suit and drive to the office and forget about it until the next time somethin’ mental ‘appens,” Porthos explains quietly. “But I do wish that stupid boy would do something else to be honest, e’s gonna give me an ulcer for sure.”

They’re interrupted by the appearance of Aramis, who looks positively haggard and his expression can only be described as distressed.

“They um, they said I had to leave, Athos has a fever, it’s not much but they’re still concerned…” he says trailing off and Ellie jumps to her feet and drags Aramis bodily to the other sofa and urges him to sit before he falls.

Porthos pushes the blanket off and sighs; looks like it just might be Athos who’ll bring on his ulcer in the end.

****************

“So tell us, what the fuck is going on?” Porthos demands but Aramis is feeling too shaky to reply.

He’d silently endured Athos’ rant for a good five minutes but before he’d been able to explain himself to his friend a stern-faced nurse had shooed him out to check Athos’ stats and administer his meds. A few moments later two more nurses and a doctor rushed past him looking concerned and Aramis had surmised that nurse ‘stern-face’ must have rung for them. He’d waited anxiously for a few minutes for someone to tell him what was happening and finally one of the nurses had informed him that Athos had developed a fever.

“Aramis?” Ellie urges gently. “Talk to us, please.”

Aramis falls back against the rock-hard cushion and fights the urge to vomit. He knows he doesn’t have a concussion but he still feels sick and dizzy and although it’s probably not related to his epic face-plant it’s definitely a result of exhaustion, stress and now full-blown terror.

“Constance and d’Artagnan?” he asks fearfully; he needs to know if they are ok before he can continue.

“Both stable, I promise,” Ellie soothes. “Now what’s happened with Athos?”

Aramis grimaces. “Should I start with the major bollocking he gave me? The stupid sod is furious that I signed off on his surgery. He ranted and railed, even called me a traitor,” Aramis says, stomach rolling at the memory.

“That’s the meds talking,” Pothos tells him, pulling up a chair to sit closer. “He’ll get over it, I swear.”

Aramis shakes his head. “Well what if he loses his leg anyway? The medical team looked like they were in a panic, they tossed me out and said no visitors for at least the next few hours while they evaluate the situation.”

“Aramis, you need to calm down,” Ellie tells him sternly. “A post operative infection is common, it happens even under the best conditions.”

Aramis nods. “Yes, but we nearly lost the boy to that once didn’t we?” he reminds them. “And this is even more complicated. Can you imagine something happens to him? It would be all my fault! If he dies it’ll be on me, I forced him to do this! If they’d amputated as Athos had wanted he probably would have recovered easily and now I’ve put his life in danger!” Aramis moans. “I…I need to see Constance and d’Artagnan, I need to make sure…that they’re ok…” he adds weakly, feeling more lost than he can ever remember. The weight of the choice he’d made is crushing and Aramis feels like he can’t breathe.

“Aramis for fuck’s sake brother, stop!” Porthos hisses and both of his hands land on Aramis’ knees and he squeezes painfully. “Snap out of it, mate, you’re not ‘elping yourself or anyone else by falling to bits, I need you to focus!”

“Porthos is right, luv, if you fall apart then the pair of us will as well, this is a lot to handle right now and I need you to stay strong,” Ellie says softly. She has one hand in his hair and the other on his arm and he leans into her touch, slumping in towards her, letting her take his weight while he tries to get a grip on his emotions and his fear.

A moment passes, then another and Aramis is finally feeling less shaky and a little more like himself and he places a chaste kiss on Ellie’s forehead and straightens. “I’m sorry guys, it’s been a helluva day,” he says weakly, feeling more than a bit embarrassed at his meltdown.

“No worries, mate, we’re all feeling like that,” Porthos assures him.

“He was really furious you know, I’ve never seen Athos like that. Besides calling me a traitor and he said I was no brother of his for going against his wishes. Logically I know that he’s not thinking straight at the moment but fuck it all, it hurt to hear him say all that.”

“He’ll feel like a complete tosser when he’s got his senses back, I promise, you know he didn’t really mean any of that, he’s had a really hard time with his leg so it’s to be expected that he’s feeling confused and upset,” Ellie reasons.

Araamis feels doubtful but he lets it go for the moment. “Can I see the kiddies? And the baby?”

“No to the former, have to wait till after 8 am but yes to the latter,” Porthos tells him with a crooked smile. “He so freakin’ cute the little bugger is, looks just like ‘is dad.”

Aramis can’t help it, he smiles. “Yes he does actually. When I was holding him…when the paramedics were working on Constance, I kept thinking the same thing, the dark hair and the full mouth, and although he was all red and wrinkly I could tell he’d have d’Artagnan’s colouring and not his mum’s. Fuck, does d’Artagnan even know?” Aramis asks, the thought just hitting him for the first time.

“No, he’s been unconscious the whole time, there was no chance to tell him, it’s probably better though, he’d be going mental worrying about Constance and Theo if he was awake and that wouldn’t be helpful to his condition at all,” Ellie explains and Aramis has to agree. Hopefully by the time the doctors decide to ease him out of the coma Constance will be sitting by his bedside and not be confined to a hospital room.

The doors to the ward open and a doctor and a nurse come out. The doctor looks at the three of them, expression unreadable.

“I’m looking for the next of kin for Olivier?” he says doubtfully, as if he thinks the name doesn’t quite match with his patient. Aramis feels his lips twist into a hint of a smile at the inside joke.

“That’s me,” Aramis tells him, getting to his feet. “Renè,” he adds and he extends his hand to the doctor who appears to be processing that name as well, like he’s trying to make some connection to something.

The doctor finally takes his hand and he introduces himself as Dr. Robbins, orthopaedic surgeon.

“Can we talk somewhere in private?”

Aramis baulks. “We’re all family, anything you have to tell me you can say in front of them.”

The doctor looks unsure but he lets out a tired sigh and pulls up a chair. “I suggest you all take a seat, this will take a while.”

To be continued….