Blood Pact

Chapter 5

Lemay agreed that Aramis could be moved to the medical wing 28 hours after the quarantine began and, 24 hours after that, Athos was certain Aramis was on the mend. Why? Because he became the world's worst patient. It didn't seem to matter to the madman that he was still hooked up to an IV and oxygen and could barely walk to a bathroom without feeling like he'd run a marathon, if he wanted coffee, then Aramis was determined to get coffee.

It had been finding him doubled over, half way between his bed and the door, body wracked with a mixture of wheezing and choking, which had led Athos to draw up a schedule. An Aramis-sitting schedule. The job of whoever was on watch was simple, amuse Aramis well enough but keep him inside the bed. Lemay had been clear on those objectives. Aramis' lungs were in ribbons after the infection. The damage done by the infection and pneumonia would take some time to heel before rehabilitation could begin. As Lemay had pointed out to his patient, if his stubborn nature pushed his body beyond what it was capable of then his recovery would be severely delayed – if not cause permanent damage. The man had made a fuss about not needing a nanny, but secretly Athos was sure he was glad for the company.

When Athos had strode into the medical unit, four days since the team's fateful mission, Aramis was sat up in bed, nasal cannula still in place, frowning down at the playing cards his hand. Porthos lounged in the chair next to him, legs kicked lazily up on the bed. A smirk slid across his face as he flipped his cards expertly between his fingers.

"I should call Lemay," Athos mused as he pulled up his own seat, "Must have brain damage from the fever if you are playing Poker with Porthos."

"Said if 'e could beat me, I'd let him out of bed," Porthos settled his arm lazily over the back of his chair, "Just give up n' fold, will you?"

"This was rigged!" Aramis tossed the cards down with a huff which made Porthos grin.

"Of course it was," Athos leant forward and tidied the cards away onto Aramis' bedside cabinet, "It's Porthos."

"Now that's slander…" The smile Porthos offered was that of a teddy bear. He tilted his chair back with a stretch. The cracks of his back were loud enough for the other men to hear.

Athos didn't offer a response apart from an eye roll, instead turning his attention to the man in the bed. "How are you feeling?"

"Still stuck in this bed," Aramis wrinkled his nose, making the tubes wiggle against his face, "Lemay promised to move me down to a 50% oxygen mixture tonight to see how my lungs do."

Athos nodded. 50% was still double the oxygen content of normal air, but the step down from 100% would be great progress. Slow but steady, even if Aramis would rather just ignore his current limitations, his friends were thankful for the progress.

"Well excellent. That's a big step Aramis."

Athos' encouragements were met with a huff from the man in the bed. Porthos just rolled his eyes.

"Progress is progress, ya big lump."

"So everyone says, yet I'm still stuck here…"

"Not forever," Porthos soothed, "Your lungs need time and like it or not you need to give them it…"

"Yea, yea… So you've all said," Aramis muttered in a sulk, but he did settle back onto his pillow. Athos wondered ideally how many more times they would be forced to endure the same conversation – how many times Aramis would need pacified?

Still though, Athos would accept the sulks, accept the whines, if it meant Aramis was safe. They had come so close to losing their friend, pouts seemed a little price to pay in comparison. Such a close call had put everything back into perspective. Or, at least, it should have… His mind drifted back to their youngest, who hadn't seen since Aramis had been moved into the medical wing. Of course, at first, Athos had sent him home. He needed sleep, a shower, and to see his wife without a plate of glass in the middle.

But that had been days ago. Athos had checked the ID logs, d'Artagnan's had swiped through the front entrance that morning – not that anyone had seen him. Not in the office, not de-briefing, not in Aramis' room… Athos couldn't help but wonder if, even after everything which had happened over the last few days, nothing had changed. Perhaps d'Artagnan and Aramis' friendship was shattered beyond repair, beyond even what this near death experience bring back together. If that was the case then Athos knew their days as Unit 2 were over. Treville would never allow a team with such a fracture to continue. It would be too dangerous in the field, look what had already happened. A team divided was a team asking for trouble. As soon as their Captain found out about the split something would be done but Athos of unit two could only speculate as to what. The future of the team wouldn't be up to him, Treville might transfer only one of them out or perhaps split up the whole unit.

The very idea of that felt like a punch to the gut.

"Athos?" Aramis frowned, shuffling on his bed until he could look his friend in the eye, "You look like you've swallowed a hedgehog."

"Hmm?" Finally broken out of his bleak thoughts, Athos shook his head, attempting to rid them from his head, "Sorry. Just tired."

Porthos shot their leader a look, eyes narrowing ever so slightly as if seeing the bags under his eyes for the first time, "When was the last time you went home, Athos?"

"I went home last night."

"Oh?" Porthos wasn't buying it, "To sleep or just shower?"

Shower… Not that he was willing to admit it. It wasn't that Athos had been purposefully avoiding sleep, but turning off had been difficult as of late. Between Aramis' health and the fate of their team, Athos' brain hadn't allowed him much down respite. He'd grabbed an hours here and there, at his desk or on a sofa, but he always awoke, mind whirling, far before he was actually rested.

In an effort to avoid the trap of Porthos' questioning, Athos decided to just ignore it, "I didn't realise there would be an interrogation..."

"Shower," Aramis shot a look at Porthos, who nodded in agreement, "Definitely just a shower."

Athos rolled his eyes, "You are both impossible…"

"You wouldn't let us go for days without proper sleep," Porthos pointed, "Why would we-"

The knock at the door halted the good natured arguing as three sets of eyes swivelled.

d'Artagnan, looking washed and rested in clean black jeans and a crisp white shirt, leant against the doorframe. The sleeves of his shirt were rolled up to the elbow, with a few spots of crimson in the crook of his arm. Athos frowned, ready to ask about the blood's origin, but Aramis opened his mouth first.

"We're out of chairs, Pup… You can either join me on the bed or sit on the floor."

While the other men looked on in mild disbelief, d'Artagnan smirked and entered the room. He hopped up onto the foot of the bed, nudging Porthos' feet firmly until he had enough room. The big man just allowed it, eyes flicking between the two men, now on the hospital bed, in amazement.

"How long have you waited to say that to me?" d'Artagnan raised an eyebrow as he settled himself cross legged on top of the covers.

"Depends," Aramis' eyes shone with mischief, "Are you bringing that wife of yours?"

Porthos shot a look of bewilderment at Athos as the other two began bickering good-naturedly back and forth. Athos just shrugged. He had no idea what had had transpired between his two men to reunite him but, to be quite honest, he didn't care. He just settled back happily in his chair, holding back a smile as his men squabbled like school children.

"What's with the blood?" Aramis leant forward and twitched the stained fabric of the young man's shirt.

"I've been Lemay's pin cushion all morning," d'Artagnan paused to tug the fabric up to reveal two pale plasters which stood out against his tanned skin. The centre of each were darkened by blood and the side of them unstuck were fluid had oozed out. "He said he only took a pint, not sure I believe him…"

"He doesn't like to go outside…" Aramis mused, "I've never seen him in sunlight? Maybe the blood wasn't for scientific purposes…"

Athos cast a disparaging look towards his friend in the best, "If you are suggesting Lemay is a vampire..."

Aramis eyes widen in an innocence which Athos never trusted, "All I'm saying is-"

"You're not saying anything," Athos shook his head and turned his attention to their youngest, "What was the blood for?"

d'Artagnan just shrugged, "More tests probably. The man's desperate to know where my anti-bodies came from. He also wants a proper vaccine on hand, just in case this stuff resurfaces."

"Or maybe…" Aramis' eyebrows wiggled suggestively.

"Aramis!"

The man held up his hands in surrender, a laugh bubbling up throat which quickly turned into a cough. It was nowhere near the worst of the last few days, but d'Artagnan's flinch didn't escape their leader's gaze. It surprised him but then again, how many times had he heard that noise, followed by blood in the quarantine?

Athos leant forward, rubbing Aramis' back as he coughed and passed him some water once it had passed.

"What was I saying earlier about taking it easy?" Athos asked with a smirk.

"Yea, yea…" Aramis set the glass back on the bedside table. He settled back on the pillows, eyes half closed as he took a few shaky breaths.

"Maybe," Porthos shot a questioning glance at Athos, "You could do with some rest? Why don't we come back later?"

Aramis' eyes shot up, looking stricken at the very idea of being left alone.

"I can stay?" d'Artagnan offered, stretching himself on the bed so his legs slid up to the left Aramis' body, "This bed is pretty comfy."

With that their marksman relaxed back onto his pillows. Athos nodded and stood from his chair, followed a moment Porthos.

"He ain't allowed outa that bed," Porthos offered d'Artagnan a smirk, "Break his legs if you have to."

The young man nodded, ignoring Aramis' glare of betrayal, "Understood."

Athos clapped his hand on d'Artagnan's shoulder, "Good man." Before he looked back to Porthos, "I suppose we should check in with the Captain... Come on, I'm sure he's more than capable of Aramis watch…"

Aramis muttered something under his breath in Spanish. Although d'Artagnan couldn't translate it, he imagined it was something similar to the English term "traitor". It least, whatever was said, was done so with a smile.

As the other two left, Aramis and d'Artagnan fell into a silence, broken only by Aramis' deep breaths. There was a rhythm to it, in through the nose and out through the mouth… He wondered ideally just how difficult Aramis' breathing still was. Considering how hard it had become only days before, d'Artagnan couldn't help but wonder how much pain his friend was still hiding.

Aramis and his pride…

"Constance sends her love," d'Artagnan said finally, unsure of what else there was.

Aramis smiled a little from his position against the pillows, "Well I always send her mine."

d'Artagnan had to laugh at that. He nudged the man's legs gently with his own in a half-hearted reprimand, "Pervert…"

"So cruel…" Aramis's voice trailed off as his gaze turned to the window. For a moment d'Artagnan wondered if he had actually offended the older man, when he spoke up again, "Constance, did you tell her?"

"No," d'Artagnan shook his head, eyes glancing to the open door a little nervously, "I didn't but, well she knows…"

"Then did Anne..?"

"She must have."

Aramis nodded, eyes still stubbornly looking out the window rather than at the man at the end of the bed.

"Has Anne…" d'Artagnan ventured, "Visited since the quarantine?"

But the man just shook his head. He seemed to be trying his best look as if the whole situation didn't bother him, but his eyes betrayed him. They filled themselves with hurt, with a grief for woman he couldn't have a child which would never be his.

"I'm not surprised," Aramis attempted a shrug which looked anything but genuine, "She made herself clear the day of your ceremony… She won't leave, won't do it to Louis, the scandal would end his career."

"Aramis…"

But it seemed that Aramis wanted to speak. Perhaps carrying this secret for so long had been heavy on his heart, maybe having someone to share it with was the one silver lining.

"I know what the others think of my indiscretions with Anne, and perhaps they were partly right, but I do love her… And I think she did love me, in some way. It's just not enough. I suppose I got myself into this mess. I asked for it."

"You never asked for this Aramis," d'Artagnan shook his head.

"Maybe I did. Maybe this is God's way of punishing me for my life choices. Give me a child who can't ever be mine..." Aramis ran his hand without his IV through his hair, "It certainly feels like penance."

"She still has time to change her mind?" d'Artagnan offered, "She did come to see you…"

"Only because she thought I was dying. I suspect your wife had a hand in that," A shadow of a smile traced over the man's face, "She can be quite persuasive."

d'Artagnan smirked for a moment, "Don't I know it."

The humour only lasted for a moment before Aramis sighed once more, "Sadly I think even Constance will not change her mind. I fear Anne had made her decision, it's just something I will have to live with. Although," Those sad, dark eyes slid up and found d'Artagnan, "It's nice not to shoulder the secret alone for now."

Oh Aramis… d'Artagnan's hand slid out and settled itself on his friend's shin.

"Nah…" the young man offered a smile, settling back comfortably at the foot of the bed, "You don't…"

As it turned out, Athos wasn't the only who'd had the idea of visiting his Captain. When he and Porthos turned up at the door to his office, the two chairs were across from his desk were already occupied. Ninon and Samara looked up from their seats, the former offering a nod while the later more of a smile.

Treville waved them both in, "Well this will save me saying everything twice. Come in, the pair of you."

Athos raised an eyebrow but did as he was told. He settled into his at rest pose, a habit left over from the army, with his feet planted shoulder width apart and hand laced behind his back. He waited for Treville to speak.

"This had the potential to turn catastrophic," Treville levelled a look at each of the agents in front of him, "I don't think that will be a surprise to anyone. The sheer amount of influenza uncovered was enough to launch biological attacks on every major city in France, with enough left over to make a good dent in a great number of our allies. The conjunction between Units 2, 5 and 6 was well done. France is safer because of your efforts."

Athos couldn't help but be surprised. He had kind of expected a dressing down for putting his men in such danger. Aramis had almost died because he had allowed him to open that vial. It was a guilt which wasn't wouldn't disappear any time soon.

Clearly his feelings had been mirrored in his face. Treville's eyes settled on his agent.

"Your team took a risk, Athos. Their safety was put at risk, but revealing how dangerous the vials were pushed us into action. That does not mean, however, that I won't hesitate to castrate the next person to make such a reckless decision…"

Porthos looked a little smug beside him as Athos nodded, "Understood."

"Excellent, now…" Treville flipped open a file on his desk, "We sent a copy of the Virus' make-up to our contacts in the United Kingdom, Germany, America and Russia. Only Russia has seen something similar before. The virus they have on record isn't the same as that of the raid, the makeup is similar but decidedly weaker. The record of the event is being translated and faxed over, but the contact spoke of an outbreak eight years ago at a university. Only two fatalities, but the infection rate was unprecedented. Lemay seems to think our virus is a genetically modified version of that Russian strain."

Porthos leaned forward as the other three agents digested the information, "So, what are you saying, this was a Russian attack?"

Samara shook her head, "We arrested three men… None of them Russian."

"No links whatsoever?" Athos found that hard do believe.

"They were French," Ninon's face twisted as if the very idea of sharing a nationality with those men disgusted her, "Scientists. Probably created the virus to sell it to the highest bidder. Animals…"

"Are they in our holdin' cells?" Porthos asked, eyes narrowing ever so slightly, "I'd love to pay them a visit…"

"And it's for that very reason they're not," Treville shot Porthos a withered look.

"I just wanta' talk to them… That's all…"

"No Porthos."

"But-"

Athos placed a hand on Porthos' arm, silencing him, before addressing his commander, "Was it only those three men? Do we know who they planned to sell too?"

"We think it was a small operation. They haven't given us any names yet, but we have plenty time... Those men are facing a quiet trial and then a lifetime in jail," Treville flicked the file closed and offered it to Athos. "Ninon and Samara have had a look, but by all means, in case something was missed."

Athos took the file with a nod. Something tickled his brain, the beginnings of a theory, a raising of a question.

"Could you have that file on the Russian virus forwarded to me once it arrives?"

"Of course," Treville nodded, "And I assume you will share this information with the rest of your men? How is Aramis doing?"

"Oh he's driving us slowly insane with his attempts to leave his hospital bed," Athos tucked the file under his arm with a smirk, "So he is most definitely on the mend."

Their commander let out a chuckle as Athos turned to leave the office, "You have my permission to handcuff him into place if necessary."

Athos shot a look ever his shoulder at the room behind him. Samara and Porthos were openly laughing at the idea, even Ninon wore a slight smile.

"I'll keep that in mind," he promised as he left the room.

The file from Russia arrived a few hours later. Treville had attached a short note, he hadn't had a chance to study the file himself and wanted to be kept in the loop. Athos was sat at his desk, alone in the office of Unit 2. d'Artagnan, as far as he knew, was still with on Aramis watch, and Porthos had gone with Samara for coffee, desperate for details on the raid. It was rare Athos had the office to himself, it gave their leader an odd feeling. The room seemed… Too big, too quiet without his friends. Still though, perhaps it meant he would get some work done.

Athos waited until the whole file had chugged out of his old printer. The original first and the English translation thanks to their informant on a few sheets behind. He supposed he could have received the file earlier and asked d'Artagnan to translate it but… No. Or not yet at least.

Carefully he began to pour over the file, slowly matching up the sections of Russian to their English counterpart. The file wasn't long, three pages at the most. It spoke of an outbreak of influenza on a university campus. The University of Tampov, situated in the city of Tampov in the west of Russia, was small by international standards. The file suggested upwards of 68 percent of their faculty were effected, along with an undetermined number of students. Most presented with flu like symptoms, and were cared for in the community. Sixteen were hospitalized with complications, all of whom had underlying health conditions.

There were two photographs in the file, both with captions underneath them. It took Athos a moment to locate the correct translation on the accompanying page.

The first was a photograph of woman, perhaps in her fifties, with short grey hair and round glasses.

"Elisa Kazakov; employed at the university as a receptionist. Died on October 12th 2003. Cause of death determined as pneumonia caused by influenza."

Athos' eyes slid down to the other photograph. It looked like an ID photograph, the sort taken by a place of work for a staff badge. The man was younger than the other victim. He was pale with short dark hair clipped close to his head. His eyes were dark and bright and… Uncomfortable familiar.

"Alexandre d'Artagnan; employed in janitorial sector. Died on October 19th 2003. Cause of death determined as a severe asthma attack brought on by the contraction on the influenza virus."

And there it was. Athos pushed himself back from his desk and rubbed his hands over his tired eyes. There was the reason d'Artagnan had the antibodies in his system, the reason Aramis still breathed. He must have been exposed the virus during the outbreak and recovered just as the rest of those effected.

Only without his father…

It was only now, thinking back over the time since d'Artagnan's had their team, that Athos realised he rarely offered information of his family. He knew their youngest' parents no longer lived and that he was an only child – Aramis' question could be insistent at times. For the most part d'Artagnan would just shrug at more pressing enquiries.

"Constance," He had said mused once during a barrage of Aramis' questions, "Is the only family from Russia I need. The only one left to bring…"

That had silenced Aramis quite successfully, at least for a while.

Athos sighed, realising he needed to form an email to Treville… Somehow. He couldn't really work out where to begin, somehow it didn't feel like his story to tell anymore. He rubbed his temples with the pads of his fingers. When did this get so difficult?

The creak of the door made Athos look up. d'Artagnan backed into the room, forcing the door open with his shoulder.

"Aramis is asleep," d'Artagnan explained as he turned round. Athos could see a cup of coffee in each hand, "Went downstairs to grab some coffee, Porthos said you were here… I thought you could use –"

d'Artagnan took in the scene before him, Athos' worn down face, and well mussed hair.

"What's wrong?"

"I think I've worked out where your antibodies came from…" Athos pushed back from his desk as d'Artagnan placed the coffee down, now quite forgotten, "Have a look…"

Athos passed over the papers, quite forgetting d'Artagnan wouldn't need the translation. He ignored it anyway, focusing instead on the original Russian text. Athos watched carefully as the youngest member of Unit two's lips moved wordlessly as he read through the file, eyes creasing in hurt as a finger reached out and traced the picture of his father.

"I didn't…" d'Artagnan coughed in an attempt to cover the horse tone to his voice, "I didn't think to say… I got sick after my father…" He coughed again and Athos pretended not to notice the shine in the young man's eyes. "But only for a day… There was so much else going on, I barely…"

Athos' hand slid onto d'Artagnan's shoulder and squeezed.

"That virus was the base of the one you and Aramis were exposed to," He explained gently, "Treville thinks they used it because of its contagion rate. It was then engineered to increase its potency…"

Athos wasn't sure if d'Artagnan was listening. His eyes hadn't moved from the picture of his father.

"d'Artagnan?"

The young man gave a stiff nod. "I… I understand I just…" d'Artagnan reached up and scrubbed a hand through his hair.

"I know…" Athos stood up and steered d'Artagnan firmly over to his own desk before pressing him firmly into his seat. He placed a coffee cup into his friend's hand.

"He was a good man…" d'Artagnan sighed finally, "My dad. Mum was long gone by then. It was just us. He worked so hard, looked after me and worked at the university and… When he got sick he wasn't worried. Refused to stop. I heard coughing from his room late at night, then wheezing… The next morning it was too quiet…"

Athos swallowed, realising what d'Artagnan had said without words. Poor boy… To go through so much so young, it had to leave its mark. And then to have to listen to Aramis coughing and hacking at his worst, knowing what had happened before…

d'Artagnan surely was one of the bravest men Athos knew.

Carefully Athos raised his, now lukewarm, coffee a few inches from the desk and angled it towards d'Artagnan.

"To your dad?"

The young man glanced up and, despite the moisture in his eyes, offered a small smile. He raised his own coffee cup, tapping it against his leaders'.

"To my dad…"

Notes:

Well that's us at the end of Blood Pact, all wrapped up, I hope you enjoyed it.

I've still got ideas for this universe, I can't see Blood Ties being over yet^^

Let me know what you think - I love any and all feedback :D

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