Not Worthy
Athos sat slumped at the table; he'd been drinking for hours already but still the memories tortured him - so he drank more and more trying to block out the images which danced in his mind. He knew the others were there, he knew they worried about him and he knew he would wake up in his own bed tomorrow, safe, if a little delicate because of their loyalty to him. He loved them for it – but a part of him hated them for it too.
Suicide wasn't an option. It was a crime, that went against both God and country and was considered the act of a coward; yet a part of him yearned for it to be all over. To fall asleep in some alley and to wake up in the hellfire that he knew was waiting for him. He wondered if they knew the truth would they still follow him, he didn't know; but he knew he wouldn't tell them. He could barely admit it to himself; he would never be able to say the words aloud.
"Athos?" He heard D'Artagnan's concerned voice asking if he was okay, he growled at him, waving him away, not raising his eyes from his tankard. D'Artagnan walked away shaking his head, muttering about her not being worth it. Athos felt his anger rise and he rose quickly, sending the table and its contents crashing loudly to the floor as he roared at D'Artagnan, at the room, at a God he no longer wanted to believe in.
The other musketeers exchanged worried glances, Aramis intercepted the inn keeper with a purse, he didn't blame him for wanting to throw Athos out. His brooding and quick temper when he was in one of his black moods had seen them thrown out of many a fine and many, many, a not so fine establishment, but he also knew the inn keeper wouldn't be gentle with his eviction and he wouldn't stand by and see Athos beaten or worse when he was already in so much pain. He knew they could fight their way out, but he also knew that was what Athos wanted; to be hurt maybe even killed and he knew he had to do what he could to stop that from happening.
He turned back to Athos to see him facing down D'Artagnan, his hand on the hilt of his not yet drawn sword. Aramis took a deep breath. This was new. He knew Athos cared for the young man; saw the best of himself reflected there, for him to consider drawing his sword on him meant things were worse than he'd thought. Aramis held his breath as he watched D'artagnan talk to him, calming him down, soothing him. He watched as Athos's shoulders slumped in defeat and despair as his hands came up to rub his face. He saw the look of shame in Athos's eyes as he put his hand on D'Artangan's shoulder and muttered what must have been an apology. Ever easy going D'Artagnan smiled back and made a joke of it, but Aramis could also see how D'Artagnan feared for his friend. Aramis nodded his thanks to the still scowling inn keeper and turned to follow the powerful Porthos as he half carried the stumbling Athos out of the inn with D'Artagnan holding the door.
Porthos dropped Athos on his bed as gently as he was able after carrying him half a mile, they took off his boots and tried to put a blanket over him, but Athos swore and shouted at them to go away. Knowing there would be no reaching him tonight, his friends did the only thing they could; they left him to sleep...
This was the time Athos feared the most. When the ghosts of memories would come back to haunt him; when he was unable to shut out their accusations and hatred; when all he could feel was the shame and guilt for betraying the one person who loved him absolutely.