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[afineseamstress]

He loses track of time again.

The room is well lit, loud beyond the door and bustling with activity when doctors or nurses enter, but Aramis drifts. In that damnable basement, his only knowledge of passing minutes was the degree of his own thirst, and here in his bed, he can only count the continued ease of his breaths, and the pass of familiar calloused fingers over his own knuckles where his hands lie in the sheets.

There is some sort of brace on one of his wrists. Aramis has not yet recovered the nerve to ask if his hand can still pull a trigger, even if he could speak without effort. His head is too heavy to turn away from the sight, and Aramis shifts his eyes, fighting sleep to discern the new shape in the door.

He hopes it belongs to someone without a clipboard.

[open post if the spirit moves you]

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[du_vallon]

Porthos has refused to leave Aramis' side. It's even gotten to the point that he's rarely out of the bed, constantly staying as close as he can, keeping his cheek pressed to Aramis' heart to make sure the steady beating has continued on. Now, he's gone to fetch some food from the vending machine to keep him sustained, coming back to find Aramis awake. Porthos' smile softens (trying to hide the sadness) and he curls in close to him as he perches on the edge of the bed. "Hey, chou. There you are."

[afineseamstress]

Porthos picks such an angle that Aramis need not move his head to look at him, and the thoughtfulness warms Aramis as much as the blankets covering him. "How long?" he scratches out through the brambles in his throat, for he has no idea how long he's lain here, nor even how long he lay in that basement before. Above him, Porthos looks mournful, and Aramis frowns. "Alright?"

[du_vallon]

"Days, you were gone," Porthos confesses, his sad face not going anywhere for the presence of Aramis beneath him. It was too close, and the doctors had only confirmed that. "We woke up Sunday and you weren't there and we only found you just yesterday," he says, stroking his hand through Aramis' hair. "What happened? We found you chained. Aramis, what happened to you?"

[afineseamstress]

Aramis shakes his head, for he truly does not know how he came to be in that basement. He fell into another fitful sleep in their bed, and when he woke, he was chained to a barely familiar wall. For days. Marveling that he is still alive himself, Aramis sighs, for those days afforded him much time to ponder.

"My gift," he thinks. "From home. Rochefort - " Aramis pauses, throat still sore and thick. "Discovered my liaison with the Queen."

[du_vallon]

Porthos blinks back the hot tears of dismay in his eyes that this is a continued event from the ones before. He knows this is a bad idea, they all know that Aramis' liaison had been a bad idea, but to have Aramis punished here because of it seems beyond the pale. "They told us that if we hadn't reached you within the next few hours, you would have been too far gone," Porthos says, unable to stop these tears, which cloud his vision and blur Aramis before him. "I almost lost you. We were nearly planning a funeral, not a rescue."

[afineseamstress]

Aramis feels his own eyes grow hot for Porthos' tears, and he reaches for him as best he can with clumsy fingers. The look of them almost stops him short - in the dim basement, the damage he'd done scrabbling at his chains had been obscured, but in the harsh light of the hospital his split nails are grim looking indeed. Still, he finds Porthos' hand.

"You found me," Aramis reminds him. "I knew you would. It was all I held onto when my strength began to fail."

[du_vallon]

"Jim put together a tracker of all the houses we'd been in," he says roughly, wiping away at his cheeks roughly to get the tears from off his face. He knows he has to be stronger right now and he pushes everything down so that it's buried. He gently eases Aramis' hand to his side, wanting it to remain protected. "We should have found you sooner," he insists gravely. "We should put a tracker right in you. That way this'll never happen again," he says, and isn't sure he's joking.

[afineseamstress]

"Put anything in me you like," says Aramis, and it's a measure of how low he still feels that it does not even occur to him to smirk. He closes his eyes, regretting their distance the instant Porthos moves his hand. "There was no reason to expect me there," he tells Porthos to soothe his guilt. "Why search for a dungeon like place?"

[du_vallon]

"Because I searched everywhere else," Porthos insists lowly, still shouldering the blame readily given how he had nearly lost Aramis and still has no idea what he would've done if he'd genuinely lost the man. He swallows, hard, and stares at him, searching for a nurse before he resumes his position lying down at Aramis' side. "And I shouldn't have even slept. I should have kept searching."

[theresalwayshope]

For a second, Allison could only stand there, clutching at her gift for Aramis like a child: a plush black wolf with a little red mask she'd added herself. Seeing Aramis in a hospital bed, looking so awful...

Things were hard enough without this. Things were terrible, and now Aramis was in the hospital.

She stood there, indecisive for long moments before she realized that he was awake, and trying to watch her. Hastily, she moved into the room and to his bedside, relinquishing part of her grip on the toy to reach out and lay a hand gently on his forehead.

"Don't strain yourself, Granddad." she whispered in French. "It's just me...go to sleep if you're still tired, I won't go anywhere."

[afineseamstress]

Only traces of his fever remain beneath the might of modern medicine, but her palm feels blissfully cool against his forehead, and Aramis struggles to focus on her.

"Petite fille," he rasps out, his chapped lips curving in a smile. For all the damage the man he's been at home has done, in Darrow he is still selfish enough that his loved ones are a balm, people he can strive never to harm as some other Aramis has done at home. "You're here," he adds, a little wondering. He does not even know how long he's been here, nor in that awful basement.

[theresalwayshope]

"Of course I am." she whispered in English, trying to smile for him even though her eyes were bright with tears. There wasn't a day anymore where she didn't just plain hurt inside, bereft and hollow and alone, but seeing Aramis like this was claws ripping flesh, a pain she couldn't ignore.

She tried, though, for his sake, and held up the stuffed animal.

"The Alpha thought you could use some extra protection." she added quietly, trying to be playful and not quite making it. "He's gonna keep an eye on you whenever Uncle Porthos or Uncle Athos need some rest."

She waved the stuffed wolf a little, then lowered it so its soft muzzle touched his cheek gently in a pretend kiss before she finally set it on his bedside table and found a spot on the edge of the bed to sit, carefully cradling his hand between hers as the smile died.

"Are you feeling any better at all, Grandpere?"

[afineseamstress]

The little wolf makes him smile, its kiss soft when Aramis feels as if he has been scraped inside and out, and a part of him settles for the pain on Allison's sweet face. He has never much known what to do with his own pain, but easing the suffering in others is an old, familiar habit, and a comfort to him now.

"Approaching more grape than raisin," he replies, squeezing as best he can at her hand, but Aramis can tell the pressure is not much. "Do I look handsome again, yet?"

[theresalwayshope]

Allison's smile came a little more easily at that, but she couldn't shake the tears still in her eyes as she reached up with one hand to brush a lock of hair behind his ear.

"You're a gentleman soldier, a King's Musketeer...you are physically incapable of not being devastatingly handsome at all times." she assured him teasingly. If he could joke, he was okay...right? Then again, this was Aramis, and he was forever putting others before himself...

"But good looks won't cut it." she went on, trying to keep it light as she shifted a little to check the plastic water pitcher on his bedside table. "You need to get back into butt-kicking shape, so you can help me drag Porthos away from your bedside to do things like sleep and eat a decent meal...this water's still cold. Do you want a drink?"

[afineseamstress]

Aramis' eyes fall on the pitcher, struck suddenly by the memory of Athos setting a canteen to his lips, the animal way in which he'd gulped at the water. He can manage a little more decorum now, he thinks, but his throat aches for the sight of it.

"Please," he says, trying not to sound too fervent. "I will never take this glorious liquid for granted again." Aramis makes himself wait patiently as she maneuvers the pitcher, thinking back on what she's said. "Have you seen Porthos or Athos?" he asks, wondering how they are when not putting on a brave front for him.

[theresalwayshope]

"Not much, but you know them." she sighs with a small smile as she reaches for the plastic cup, filling it from the pitcher. "You're all loyal to the end...and stubborn as mules."

Shifting a little closer, she slides a hand under the back of his head and helps him sip the water from the cup.

"And I'm pretty sure your level of stubbornness runs in direct correlation to your size...makes Porthos the worst, and you...well, still too stubborn to be allowed, but not quite as bad as Porthos."

[afineseamstress]

"The size of my what?" asks Aramis with all the innocence he can muster, for it feels good to tease her, rather than simply lie here helpless in this bed. He is exhausted beyond the telling of it, but he has spent too long alone in the dark to wish to be left to sleep.

"I'm certain you can harass them both into eating a proper meal. In fact I charge you with it - you are my only lieutenant in this matter."

[somepoorsoul]

Aramis needs rest. Porthos needs Aramis. They must not crowd him.

Little else keeps Athos from crossing the distance between the waiting room and the hospital bed where Aramis lays strapped to beeping machines. There are rules, too, ones that idiotically allow marriage vows more privilege than those made together to king and country - though that a man’s wife or child should be allowed in a sickroom, while a brother-in-arms remains barred sounds of uncivilized madness. If only such rules kept him from Aramis’ bedside, Athos would make his demands know, but he has seen Aramis’ wan face, and the fierce way Porthos remains by him, and he knows that if they both crowd around him, Aramis will not get the rest they need. Worse yet, the damned hospital staff may find a way to remove Athos and Porthos both, and Athos will not risk that.

So Athos remains largely removed, save when demanding Porthos eat and rest, and tries to trust that the machines and Porthos will keep Aramis well.

Now, though, is one of those times when Athos has shooed Porthos away for a hot meal, and Athos ventures to the hospital room. The sight makes his heart constrict, for Aramis looks small and pale under the sheets, and his breathing is still far too shallow for comfort. The flicker of the man’s eyelids brings Athos relief, and he smiles faintly as he steps towards the bed. “You hold onto life jealously, my friend,” he murmurs, sinking into the chair there.

[afineseamstress]

Some of the tightness leaves Aramis' chest for the ring of Athos' voice. He can hardly bear any more quick, efficient hands working on him, however well they are meant, and he turns his head with effort to focus on his dear friend at his side.

"I did promise not to leave," he rasps, trying for a smile. "Do see if you can find me quicker, the next time this place snatches me up, hmm?" The last catches in his throat, and Aramis coughs painfully, looking to Athos a second time for water where it perches on the stand.

[somepoorsoul]

“Try leaving better clues next time.” Athos has to clear his throat to stop the lump from forming. Aramis won’t be going anywhere, he tells himself. Not again. Surely Darrow would not be so cruel. He reaches for the water and pours a glass. “Sit up,” he says gently. “And drink slowly."

[afineseamstress]

Aramis' body turns for the cup as a flower would the sun, but he cannot make it far. If he had the blood for it, he would color, for he hates feeling helpless most of all, and now he cannot even drink unaided.

"The button," he says, nodding faintly towards the side of his bed where he has seen a nurse press to make his torso rise and fall. "Forgive me, my body rebels."

[somepoorsoul]

But Athos does not care that Aramis is still weak, his heart only aches for the man’s suffering. He presses the button, and even though he has been told what it will do, starts slightly when the mattress folds upward. “Here,” he murmurs once Aramis is upright, pulling his chair closer to the bed and lifting the glass to his lips. “Now drink."

[afineseamstress]

Aramis feels as if his need has barely lessened, but he manages more decorum this time, wrapping his lips carefully against the rim of the glass as Athos tips it down his throat. The water is cool, near blissful, and Aramis gulps eagerly at what he is given.

"Thank you," he says and breathes deeply. "You make an excellent nurse. Skilled button pushing."

[somepoorsoul]

Athos rolls his eyes, though it does his heart good to see that twinkle in Aramis’ eyes, however dulled by exhaustion. “No thanks required,” he says, clasping Aramis’ hand in both of his. If he were a different man - if he were Porthos - Athos might have given into the temptation to crawl upon the cot with Aramis, to press his ear to Aramis’ chest and hear his heart beating steady. But Athos is not a man for such extravagant shows of affection. He can only cling to Aramis’ hand and drink in the sight of him, frail but alive.

[afineseamstress]

Aramis reads the depth of Athos' emotion easily in the pressure from his hand, and he smiles as gently as he is able, lips cracked but obeying. "I am sorry for what you have been through, my brother," he murmurs. "But I have reached the end of my memories." There are no more to be revealed to him, but Athos and Porthos are still ignorant of much. "That part, at least, is over."