It was an almost chaste kiss but the promise behind it was so overwhelming that Athos felt his chest swelling with love and hope. There was something shy and hesitating in it, belying the stubborn and strong character of the young woman. It was so refreshing. It had nothing to do with the devouring, desperate and almost feral kisses of Milady, it had nothing to do with anything he had known until this day.

He closed his eyes when Sylvie broke the kiss and stepped back a little although not letting go of his arms. He breathed in her heady perfume, a mixture of ash, wood and plants he couldn't identify, chamomile perhaps, or lime tree flowers. He buried his hands into her thick curls and drew her for another kiss letting his fingers roam down over her neck, her smooth shoulders, then pause on her throat where he felt her heart whose fast beating seemed to match his. She was a balm to his tired mind. He suddenly felt exhausted, this insane day leaving a terrible weight on his shoulder and a bitter taste in his mouth. He was surprised when she turned her head and escaped his tentative kiss. He opened his eyes marvelling at the sight of her dark intelligent irises. No wickedness in them, no anger, no suspicion. Just love, affection, a glimpse of mischievousness and ... worry.

He frowned slightly.

"Where are you, Captain?" She murmured letting her forefinger slide down his nose in a childish and fond gesture.

He looked at her in the dying light, the golden rays of the sunset giving her skin stunning shades of bronze.

"What do you mean?" He answered his voice a little husky, embarrassed at letting someone read him so easily.

"Your mind is with someone else." She assessed with a charming pout, cocking her head to look into his eyes.

He averted his gaze and felt himself blushing even if the person in his thoughts couldn't put their budding love at risk.

"Tell me." She whispered with worry, stepping back.

He closed the gap between them and grabbed her hands.

"There is no one else, Sylvie, I swear." He told her in a firm voice, plunging his pale eyes into hers and trying to express with this mere look all his sincerity.

"Which one of them?" Sylvie asked with a half smile.

"Am I that predictable?" He snorted with a curl of his upper lip which she couldn't help but kiss briefly, lingering half a second on the small scar.

"You, I don't know, them, I am sure. So which one of them has problems you have to solve?"

This time, the sound which escaped his mouth was close to a laugh, but a sad one and she squeezed his fingers.

"Go, Captain. Do your duty and … come back as soon as you can, even if it's tomorrow, even if it's next week, just come back." She smiled with trust in her eyes.

He gathered her in his arms and murmured, his face buried in her perfumed hair:

"Thank you, I l…"

She pulled away and laid a finger on his lips.

"Go."

Aramis would call it a message from God, Athos called it a sense of foreboding. As he ran along the high walls of Le Louvre, crossed the Seine and made his way through a crowd of dark worn out clothes sheltering the misery of Paris, he thought of the strange day they had lived and of his too fast departure from the garrison a few hours earlier.

He realised that he had run the whole day. He had run towards something or someone, through rooms, corridors and angry hungry crowds, between the carefully cropped hedges of the palace gardens and, at the end he had run away from a friend in need while selfishly running towards his love, perhaps his future.

This thought made him quicken his pace, his sword beating painfully against his legs, his uniform, although unbuttoned like his shirt, making his body sweat heavily, a sweat which trickled down his spine in cold drops. He swept his hair away from his eyes in an irritated gesture. La Rue du Bac was already dark when he arrived. The time spent in Sylvie's company had seemed so short that he was almost surprised to see the torches lit in the courtyard of the garrison and a warm glow coming from the window of the refectory.

He was breathless when he rushed through the gates and saw a sobbing figure huddled at the bottom of the stairs. He carefully approached and sat down on the step.

"Constance, what's the matter?" Athos murmured as if trying to appease a frightened animal.

Constance raised her face, wet with tears. She tried to wipe them but they just continued to fall in a seemingly endless stream. She tried to breathe properly and, hiccuping, she began to explain.

"I … He … I …"

"Hey, Constance, calm down." He took her hands in his and kept them against his chest. He looked around them and noticed that the courtyard was deserted. "Where are the others?"

"A … Aramis and P … Porthos … I think they … they are … at the Wren. The cadets are in the mess … Morvan has brought two jackrabbits … and they have roasted it." She sniffled and wiped her face again and made a pause. "I'm angry."

"Oh?" Athos breathed out, surprised by her blazing eyes.

Suddenly, he realised that she had spoken of everyone, except …

"Constance. Where is d'Artagnan?" He managed to articulate, but his voice was unsteady.

But, If something had happened she wouldn't be angry. What has he done? He thought, trying to put things together.

She didn't answer but her eyes looked up at the balcony.

" I … I don't understand."

"He is upstairs, in your office and he doesn't want to see me or anyone."

She burst into tears and Athos, after a second of hesitation, clumsily took her into his arms. She clutched at his shirt, sobbing helplessly.

"He … he was so … He is not himself … he was so …" She cried into his neck.

"Shh … I think I know why … I will go and …" Athos tried to soothe her, his hand drawing circles on her back.

"I'm sorry Athos."

She straightened and he gave her a handkerchief to dry her tears.

"Don't. I knew something was wrong. Go back to your apartments. I will talk to him."

"He … he said … that he didn't want to see anyone … even me ... He sounded so angry, so … sad … " She stammered, her nose in the crumpled handkerchief.

"He will have no choice but to see me … He is keeping me away from by much needed bed."

He felt a warm huff of breath on his chest when Constance couldn't help but laugh at his dry humour.

Athos helped her to stand up and kept her hand until she looked more steady. He bent down and kissed her fingers, in a perfect imitation of Aramis which made her smile again through her tears. She righted her skirt and tried to look strong.

"Now, go and rest a little. You're a Musketeer, aren't you? So, be strong. Don't worry, I will talk to him and stay with him, even if it's the whole night. I know how it works when you try to drown in a bottle." Athos reassured her.

"You … you knew?"

He took her hands again, bending his head until they were almost forehead against forehead.

"I must apologise, Constance. I knew and I fled. I was selfish. He needed to speak and I abandoned him."

"Athos, you fled for a good reason, didn't you?" She said in her usual tone, lifting a hand to brush his cheek with her warm fingers.

He felt himself blushing again and he lowered his gaze.

"Athos, you deserve happiness. She is good for you."

He just nodded before letting go of her hands. He watched her go to the room she shared with d'Artagnan. There, a hand on the knob, she turned around and looked back at him. A crashing sound startled them. She was about to rush to the office but he stopped her with a gesture of his hand and a reassuring nod. When she disappeared into her lodgings, he breathed in deeply and started to climb the stairs wearily.

The door was slightly ajar and it surprised him. He tried to push it open but he felt a resistance. He tried again and finally, producing a noisy scraping he managed to move whatever the young man had used to block the entry and he peered into the room. There was no light and it seemed that d'Artagnan had dragged a heavy chest to block the door. Athos wished Porthos was with him, especially his strong shoulders.

"D'Artagnan? Are you alright?" He whispered.

A burst of laughter answered and he had to step back swiftly when something came to shatter onto the door.

"D'Artagnan, I'm coming in. Now."

He took a step back and with a deep breath, he made his right shoulder painfully collide with the hard panel, pushing with all his strength. The trunk moved enough to let him slip into the room, narrowly avoiding another flying glass.

He leaned on the wall beside the door waiting for his vision to adjust to the dim light. The last rays of the setting sun threw a reddish glower through the high window. D'Artagnan sat at his desk, clearly very drunk, a crazy glimmer in his eyes, and a wolfish smile on his lips. The strange light gave his face something devilish. Athos slowly made his way through the mess on the floor, papers, shards of glass, his inkwell which was slowly spilling its contents, a shattered bottle of wine which added a new shade to the awful tableau.

"Ah, here is ou' good C'ptain." D'Artagnan shouted raising a half empty bottle above his head. "Enjoyed you' 'vening, C'ptain? Was she … hey … you know … wha' I mean?" He finished with a wink.

Hearing the slurring in the young man's voice made Athos wonder how many bottles he had emptied. He stayed silent and gingerly approached the desk.

"Cheers, C'tain!" D'Artagnan shouted bringing the bottleneck to his lips.

He managed to swallow a gulp of wine but a flow of garnet liquid missed his mouth and it trickled down his chin soaking his already dirty shirt. Athos slowly and carefully tried to snatch the bottle from his hand but the young man was too fast and he quickly pressed it against his chest, cradling it as if it was a baby, humming out of tune.

"How many, d'Artagnan?"

The young Musketeer jumped. He had probably already forgotten Athos' presence. He stood up, swaying dangerously and came to face his captain, close enough to make Athos smell his sour breath.

"Are you concern' sir?"

"I am." Athos replied looking into the dark teary irises.

"I thought you we' mo' interess' in a dress and a pair o' long legs." D'Artagnan answered with a dirty smile which made Athos want to slap him. "I needed … I needed …"

D'Artagnan's face contorted again in a grimacing laugh.

"I need' a drink. See, I learnt … from my … perfect mentor. " He giggled drinking again from the bottle which he placed vertically above his mouth to lick the last drop before throwing it angrily against the wall behind Athos' head.

Athos had frozen. He couldn't move, he couldn't speak. The expression in his young brother's eyes broke his heart.

"D'Artagnan …" He tried softly raising a trembling hand.

"Don't!" D'Artagnan snarled. All traces of laugh had vanished from his face and his eyes were blazing. "Don't you dare!" He jabbed his forefinger into Athos' chest.

"I'm sorry. I should have …"

"You should have but you didn't." He shouted, his speech clearer, as if the alcohol had suddenly drained his blood.

Athos' breath stuttered to a halt. He didn't need the young man to remind him of his guilt. It was a weight he knew too well.

"I am here now. Talk to me, please." He murmured reaching a hand out.

"It's too late." D'Artagnan replied, his jaw clenched. "Tomorrow, I will leave the garrison."

"Pardon?"

"If being a Musketeer means killing innocent people, I must leave."

"You killed a man and saved a woman!" Athos shouted angrily.

"I killed a victim of war and I killed two nuns!" D'Artagnan replied his voice breaking.

"It was your duty to protect the Queen, and your victim of war killed the two nuns!" Athos shouted.

D'Artagnan froze and his expression changed, an inscrutable look in his eyes. He stepped back a little and suddenly, he threw his fist into Athos' belly, sending him against the wall where his head bounced with a sickening sound.

TBC