(no subject)

[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]

Comments

[afineseamstress]

"Those vows are sacred to me," Aramis promises him, "And so is the way that I love you." Whatever he does at home, he won't abandon Porthos and Athos here.

Porthos looks as wrecked as Aramis feels, and Aramis tugs feebly at his hands. "Come into the bed," he pleads. He needs to feel Porthos with him. "I have spent too many hours of late apart from you."

[du_vallon]

"I don't want to hurt you and she said you were ta-tach," Porthos struggles with the word before he shrugs and gives up, crawling slowly from his chair, dismantling the railings of the bed to lower them and climb in, avoiding all the wires and contraptions until he's pressed up against Aramis' side, arms loosely holding him. "I couldn't sleep," he admits.

"Athos kept saying I needed to, for my health, but without you there, I couldn't," he confesses.

[afineseamstress]

"Rapid heart," Aramis murmurs, for he's studied enough Greek in pursuit of religious study for that. "You can't hurt me, just save the shouting for when my body can bear it," he suggests with a tired smile as Porthos settles in. He is glad that Porthos holds onto him, for he hasn't the strength to wrap around him himself.

"I would not have been able to manage sleep, either, cariño. Perhaps we can summon a cot, as I did when it was you in this bed."

[du_vallon]

Porthos thinks that feels like a very long time ago, and also that he was only bruised where Aramis seems like he's broken in nearly all ways. He inhales deeply and rubs at his eyes, shifting and wishing he could drape a leg over Aramis' waist to draw ever closer, but knows the man needs his room. "Why is your heart so rapid?" he asks quietly, a touch fearful of what the answer might be.

[afineseamstress]

"Something to do with oxygen," replies Aramis, for one of the nurses is fond of talking to him as she works, and even in this state Aramis finds it fascinating. "Parched blood is too thick to get enough of it to my brain, so my heart races to pump it faster. Stress makes it race all the more, but the heart is a muscle like any other. It can grow tired."

[du_vallon]

Porthos moves his hand now, sliding his open palm over Aramis' heart to begin gently rubbing in circles as he might a newborn child, gentle and cautious and wary. His brow is furrowed constantly, now, a fear of what might have happened to Aramis under his skin as always. "How do you make it better?" he asks.

[afineseamstress]

"These fluids," Aramis murmurs, both saddened and charmed for the gentle way Porthos touches him now. He nods to the tubes travelling seemingly into his very body. "They will hydrate me, my blood will flow as it is meant to, and my heart will resume its normal workings."

[du_vallon]

"How long do you have to stay here for it to work?" He hadn't had time to talk to one of the doctors about Aramis' condition because he's refused to leave his side, but now he regrets that because he thinks he wants to get Aramis home as soon as he can, where he and Athos don't have to take things in turn.

[afineseamstress]

"I don't know," Aramis admits with a sigh. He has not had the strength to ask, and as much as he longs for their home, he could not make it there if he tried, and Porthos should not have to carry him the length of the city.

"I am still damnably weak. A day, surely. Perhaps more."

[du_vallon]

"Then I won't move from your side for another day or more," Porthos says, already bound and determined not to let anyone get in between him and Aramis. He curls in with him stubbornly, still weary from the search and aching from carrying Aramis, and his eyes are red and dry with the tears. "All that time in the ambulance, I kept thinking we were about to lose you. They weren't very confident they'd get you here in time," he admits, wringing the sheets in his hands.

[afineseamstress]

"Then I am glad I scarcely remember," replies Aramis with feeling, too weak to fight his own selfish heart. "I could not have born the looks on your faces."

They had hurt him with something first, a pain that seemed to go bone deep in one of his legs, then pricked him again, and with that second one came the feeling of floating towards the city rather than speeding towards it. It is the last real memory Aramis has of the journey.

"It was not very kind of them to worry you."

[du_vallon]

"They weren't pleased we both crawled into the back with you," Porthos admits, shifting his fingers higher so he can start to play with Aramis' straggles of hair, idly prying piece by piece off his forehead so he can set it aside and touch it gently. "We had no way back and there was no way either of us were leaving you alone."

He breathes out slowly and wishes he could tug Aramis on top of him. "How's the pain?" he murmurs. "Should I increase the drugs?"

[afineseamstress]

"I am glad you stayed," says Aramis, leaning into the gentle brush of Porthos' fingers in his hair. "Even if I was little more than animal. It would have been more torment if you were not."

For the question, he stretches as much as he can, but no pain sounds in his body save for the ever present scratch of his throat. "It is alright. Perhaps some water." His lips quirk. "A sponge bath if you are up for it."

[du_vallon]

"I don't think I could have left you. I would have been terrified something was going to happen," Porthos confesses as he continues to stroke Aramis' hair slowly, worried for the way Aramis is still hooked up to so many machines. "I'll fetch the water, but I don't know that I want to try and move you too much," he says, shifting to grasp the pitcher so he can pour Aramis a glass.

"Here," he murmurs softly, holding the cup out so Aramis doesn't have to take it in hand.

[afineseamstress]

"For the best," Aramis murmurs, for a moment bending all his addled concentration on keeping his head upright so that Porthos can tip the water down his throat. He swallows with satisfaction, relaxing after in near exhaustion from the simple task.

"I prefer to be bathed by you when I am not moments from unconsciousness."

[du_vallon]

"I would take it very personally if you decided to pass out on me when we're doing any of that," Porthos agrees half somber before he curls Aramis back in with him. "When we take you home, are there things we have to do to make sure you heal right?" he wonders, a touch nervous about mucking that up.

[afineseamstress]

"Surely," replies Aramis with a touch of misery, for he truly hates being a patient. He does not wish to burden Porthos and Athos with more worry and fuss than they have already endured, nor does he wish to be so low as to need it, but need it he does.

"Some medicines, I expect. They speak of my 'levels' when they come in, though I don't know what that means. Perhaps it will be like the medicines you took to prevent infection when you were released."

[du_vallon]

"Whatever it is, I'll be your devoted nursemaid," Porthos vows with a fierce flare of determination in his eyes that practically begs to be challenged. "You're not moving. If I have to purchase a set of straps and tie you down to the bed, I will. We can't lose you," he says roughly, setting the water back on the bedside table.

[afineseamstress]

"Again you taunt me with what I would normally enjoy," says Aramis with a tired smile. He turns his nose against Porthos' cheek while they are near, not so exhausted that he misses the extra stubble. "You won't lose me, Porthos," he says gently. "I fought hard to remain here - I'll never stop. I simply need to sleep for a week and I'll be right as ever."

[du_vallon]

"Those cuffs will be set aside for when you're better," he promises of the fluffy things, rubbing his hand up and down Aramis' arm as he sniffs in, a touch scared still as he stares down at Aramis' face and his whole roughened body. "You won't slip away in the night? They're not worried about that?"

[afineseamstress]

"Surely they would not allow me visitors if I was," reasons Aramis. And he knows this area of the hospital from Porthos' visit before. It is not where they put those in need of the most urgent care.

"My dear love," he says, attempting to take Porthos' mind from such awful thoughts, "When did you last tend to your beard? You look half bear."

[du_vallon]

Porthos frowns as he thinks about his beard for the first time in weeks, it feels like, passing a hand over the growth there. It's patchy and frizzy, starting to get long in a way he hasn't let it in ages. He imagines his hair must be in a similar state of disarray. He hasn't touched either since Athos become a boy and they both must be getting terribly long now. "Athos didn't seem to mind it," he protests weakly.

[afineseamstress]

"Nor do I, if that is what you prefer," says Aramis, chest too sore for laughter, but he smiles. His concern is for Porthos' state of mind, not his presentation. "It is simply not what I have come to associate with nursemaids."

[du_vallon]

"I haven't really thought about it," he admits, scratching it again and thinking that it's probably for the best if he tidies it up, given that he doesn't like feeling so wildly out of control. His hair, though, he thinks he'll allow to keep growing in the curls it's begun to shape into, getting longer by the day. "Do I need to buy a costume, too?"

[afineseamstress]

"Please do," says Aramis at once. "I long to see Athos' reaction." Unable to quite raise his hand to stroke at Porthos' beard, Aramis settles for brushing their fingers together.

"How is he?" he asks, for he has not seen him since his rescue, and that memory is all a tangle of fear and pain.