Athos sat at the table in the Garrison, watching as D'Artagnan threw daggers at one of the targets they usually used for shooting practice. He made bullseye after bullseye, dead center. It was impressive, as were all the other skills the young Gascon was honing. Every day he found someone amongst the Musketeers to either teach him new skills, or to fine-tune the ones he already had mastered. D'Artagnan's quest to become the best at everything had begun the day after Athos had sent his wife out of Paris. That had been six months ago.
"He's getting scary good at that," Porthos commented, as he and Aramis joined Athos at the table.
"He is," Athos conceded. But what he wondered was, why? Why did the boy focus all of his energies on learning and perfecting so many skills?
Aramis studied D'Artagnan for a moment, then asked, "Have you seen him climb the the balcony yet?" It's quite impressive." The boy had been climbing and tumbling all over the place really.
Porthos nodded, chuckling at the memory. "Even the Captain was impressed, after he yelled at him to stop acting like a damn monkey and get down off the roof."
"I'm thinking of asking him to show me how to lasso things," Aramis admitted. The boy could sling a noose around a moving object and bring it down flat every time, with absolute precision. "And he's become so good with a whip he's got half of the Musketeers terrified of him. Myself included."
"He moves like a shadow as well," Athos drawled, contemplating how D'Artagnan had snuck up on Porthos just last night and relieved him of his coin at the local tavern, before fading back into the shadows as if he'd never been. D'Artagnan had bragged about his new ability and had proven his skill when Athos challenged it. But Athos still couldn't shrug off the nagging question of why the boy was so focused on become so skilled at so many things. There had to be a reason.
Unaware of the talk about him, D'Artagnan continued throwing dagger after dagger at the bullseye, taking great satisfaction as the blade landed dead in the center every time. He could almost be happy when he was focused on making his body do as he commanded. It kept him from feeling the pain and emptiness that had been dragging at him ever since they'd rescued Constance from Milady. On that day D'Artagnan had known true happiness, for Constance had told him her words had all been a lie, she didn't mean to send him away. But that happiness had come crashing down a moment later when they learned that her husband had tried to kill himself. Constance had chosen to stay with him for fear he would try to kill himself again.
It might not have been so hard to live with if he could have avoided seeing her. But time and again he would run into Constance on the street. Sometimes with her smirking husband by her side, other times she would be alone and seeing her would bring him a moment of pure happiness, only for his heart to feel crushed in his chest as she walked away yet again.
So D'Artagnan threw himself into making himself a better Musketeer. From dawn to way past dusk, when he wasn't on a mission for the King with his friends, he was running errands or working on his skills. He had even gotten Treville to school him in maps and strategies and he was seriously thinking about having Aramis teach him Spanish. So long as he kept his mind and body busy, he could keep the pain in his heart from crushing him. Although it wasn't just the loss of Constance that haunted him. Losing Father and his home battered his heart and soul, making most nights sleepless. When he did manage to doze off, he would find himself trapped in nightmares until he clawed his way back to consciousness. Those nights were the worst.
"D'Artagnan!"
The Captain calling his name startled him, and in the past D'Artagnan might have dropped the dagger he was holding. But he simply let the tiny ripple of anxiety slide off him like a rain drop, remaining calm and focused, flinging the dagger at the target and not even waiting to see it hit the bullseye before turning away to face Treville. "Sir!" D'Artagnan called up to the man leaning over the balcony.
Treville nodded. "My office, I have a mission for you." With that he turned and walked inside.
Collecting his things, D'Artagnan made for the stairs. Before he could climb them, Porthos reached out to snag his arm. D'Artagnan froze and looked at his friend. "Yes?" He could see the question in the other man's eyes.
"What mission?" Porthos asked, looking both curious and a bit annoyed.
"I don't know yet, do I?" D'Artagnan shot back, keeping his tone light and teasing. "But if you let me go find out, I'll be sure to come back and fill you in." He wouldn't, actually, but he would cross that bridge when he got to it. D'Artagnan knew his friends would be shocked if they knew just how many solo missions he had gone on in the past two months. Mostly Treville sent him to gather information, slipping in and out of places while keeping in the shadows. On occasion he was asked to retrieve information or items, again while being a ghost, moving silent and unseen. He took pride in just how good he had become at his stealth The fact that his focus, hyper-vigilance and tireless training was starting to take a toll on him, he did not let register.
Athos studied the boy, sensing that he was hiding something from them. But he gestured to Porthos. "Let him go. The Captain is waiting."
Porthos did as he was bid, but he frowned as he watched D'Artagnan race up the stairs. "Something is going on," he said, looking at the others. "This is the third time in the last fortnight that the Captain has sent D'Artagnan off on his own." None of them liked their youngest going off without them to watch his back. They knew he was skilled, but he was also impetuous and seemed to draw trouble like flies to honey.
"He's lost weight he can ill-afford to lose," Aramis commented, looking unhappy. "I don't think he's sleeping well either." They all suffered sleepless nights, but it bothered him that someone as young as D'Artagnan was already falling into their bad patterns. Still, it was the weight-loss bothered him the most. The boy had come to them too skinny by far, but even though he'd become stronger and even more agile, he was little more than skin and bones in Aramis' eyes. A boy D'Artagnan's age should have a far more healthly appetite. Musketeer or no, the young Gascon's life should have been full of fun and happiness to even out the inevitable pain and sadness.
"He's a grown man, he makes his own choices," Athos interjected, playing the Devil's Advocate against his will. He shared the same concerns as the others, but he wasn't sure it was their place to act on them. Athos knew he, himself, was grateful for the presence of his friends, but he did not approve of them interfering in the way he chose to live his life. Not that his desires ever stopped them from crossing his boundaries. Still, he wasn't ready to force his concerns on D'Artagnan, as the boy was doing his job and living his life and nothing bad had happened. Yet.
Porthos looked ready to argue, but just then D'Artagnan raced back down the stairs, passing by them without stopping as he made his way to the stables. Porthos growled, rising to his feet to follow the boy, Athos and Aramis on his heels. They found D'Artagnan saddling his horse.
Athos moved to lean against a nearby crossbeam. "Going somewhere?" he drawled, conversationally, stating the obvious.
"Treville has set me an errand to run," D'Artagnan replied, as he stuffed a bundle into his saddle bag. "I should be back by midday tomorrow." He offered nothing more, even though he knew that's what his friends wanted. Instead he focused on his task.
"Where are you going?" Aramis decided to be direct, since D'Artagnan was being obtuse.
Heaving a sigh, D'Artagnan turned to face them all. "No where important really. Does it matter?" He wasn't sure why he kept this from them, but he felt as if they would find reason to stop him. He was doing what they all did, the King's work, but somehow D'Artagnan knew his friends would not be pleased were they to learn the level of risk that accompanied his tasks. They were extremely protective of him, and he appreciated their concern, but the work he did gave him no end of satisfaction. The risk factor just made it more thrilling and gave him a bigger sense of accomplishment when he completed each mission successfully.
Athos studied D'Artagnan for a moment, clearly seeing that he was keeping the truth of his mission to himself. He wanted to demand an honest answer, but it was not his place. Their place. D'Artagnan was a grown man and a Musketeer, his choices were his own to make, and more so he was obeying Treville's orders. It would be best to take his concerns up with their Captain, after D'Artagnan was gone. "Have a safe journey," he beseeched the boy, and he was sincere. He wanted D'Artagnan to come home to them.
"I'll see you soon," D'Artagnan replied, relieved that his friend was not going to press him for more information. He glanced over at the others, seeing how Aramis and Porthos wanted to know more, but they stepped aside to let him leave the stable, echoing Athos' sentiments as he mounted and rode out.
The moment D'Artagnan was clear of the Garrison, Athos was heading for Treville's office, Porthos and Aramis on his heels. He didn't even knock as he entered, stalking forward to confront his Captain. "What is going on with D'Artagnan?" Athos demanded, crossing his arms over his chest as he felt the men he considered his brothers, flank him on either side.
Treville sighed, setting aside the report he'd been reading. He eyed each man before him, feeling the intensity of their gaze boring into him. "He's doing the King's work."
"Why do you send him alone?" Porthos asked.
"Because he asked for the work and because he is best suited for it," Treville replied.
Athos was surprised and did not hide it. "Best suited, how?" He could guess, but he wanted to hear the Captain say it.
Rising from his desk, Treville moved to stand before it, facing his best men. He knew that they were concerned for D'Artagnan's safety, just as he knew the young Gascon kept his missions to himself because he did not want his friends to worry. But maybe it was time for the truth because, to be honest, Treville was beginning to worry about D'Artagnan. The boy was pulling away from them all, trying to keep one step ahead of the pain and grief that threatened to overwhelm him. Treville was all too familiar with the fact that no one could escape those emotions. "D'Artagnan has become like a shadow, able to slip in and out of places without anyone knowing. Because of this skill, he's been doing a fantastic job gathering information for me."
"At what risk?" Aramis countered, anger flashing in his dark eyes. "He's alone out there. We should be with him!"
"The four of you together are hardly discreet," Treville countered, knowing that they would see the truth. He held up a hand when Porthos made to protest further. "But I understand your concern, and I'm beginning to share them. D'Artagnan tends to be quite honest when he gives his mission reports, and I've noticed a disturbing trend of late."
Athos had been quiet up to this point, simply absorbing what the Captain revealed to them, but he spoke up now because he knew what Treville was going to say. "He's taking too many risks."
The Captain nodded. "Indeed. He never fails to complete his missions, but he pushes himself too hard and without fear. "
"He's pushing himself too hard in all things," Aramis interjected, thinking back to the conversation earlier, where he'd mentioned how D'Artagnan was losing weight and losing sleep.
"He is," Treville agreed.
Athos began to pace. "How long has D'Artagnan been going on these...missions?" he queried, even though he had a feeling the answer was going to infuriate him. Anger that was directed at himself for being so oblivious.
Treville locked eyes with Athos. "For several months." He winced at the curses that suddenly colored the room, and not just from Athos. "The boy needed a purprose, something to focus on. He's done very well for himself. Well enough that the King is taking notice."
"And yet *we* did not." Athos looked at Aramis and Porthos as he stated that one, true, fact.
"He did not want you to know and worry," Treville countered, wanting them to understand.
Athos stopped pacing. "Yet, you knew. Why did he trust you and not us."
At that Treville chuckled. "It wasn't about trust so much as he knew I could give him what he needed."
"Did he ask you not to tell us?" Aramis demanded, looking angry enough to spit daggers.
"He did," Treville conceded. "As I said, he did not want you to worry about him. D'Artagnan needed to prove to himself that he could do this. For all his youth and inexperience overall, he excels at this work, like he was born to it."
Moving to face his Captain, Athos stated, "It stops now. This is the last mission D'Artagnan does on his own."
Treville nodded. "I agree." He could see that his easy agreement unsettled them and he hastened to explain. "He's beginning to worry me."
"Why?" Porthos demanded. He was almost vibrating with anxiety and looked ready to take off after the boy right this minute.
"Because I can see how his extreme focus on the job, and on honing his skills, has become somewhat detrimental to his well being," Treville replied. "He's burning himself out, and that's when mistakes can happen."
Athos had a more pressing concern. "Can he handle himself tonight?"
Treville nodded. "He can, I trust him on that score. But I do believe it's time for the three of you to intervene. We all understand the need to keep busy and distracted, but he needs to learn to temper himself. I put it into your hands to teach him." As he spoke he looked at each and every one of his trusted men. He was their Captain, but they were his brothers in arms, and he knew they would watch over their youngest member.
"We'll take care of him," Porthos nodded, conviction shining from his dark eyes.
"Indeed we will," Aramis confirmed, but his usual smile was tight.
Athos locked eyes with Treville. "Thank you for your honesty. We will, indeed, take care of D'Artagnan." And with that he exited the office, fully aware of Aramis and Porthos following close behind him. When they reached the bottom of the stairs, Athos sat down at the table. He felt a hundred years old in this moment. As his friends sat beside him he said softly,"That boy will be the death of me."
Porthos chuckled. "He's sneaky, I'll give him that. I guess he truly learned Vadim's trick of making us look elsewhere."
"Perhaps we didn't want to see the truth in D'Artagnan," Aramis interjected. "I, for one, had hoped to spare the boy the demons we suffer."
"He came to us filled with grief and pain," Athos stated. "He lost so much since he came here. His father, his farm, the woman he loves." For all that D'Artagnan was young, Athos knew his heart belonged to Constance Bonacieux. That they could not be together was breaking the boy down. Pain, grief and heartache were destructive emotions, that was something Athos knew first hand and did not handle well. So he was determined to do what he could to help D'Artagnan cope better.
Aramis heaved a sigh, rubbing a hand over his face as if he could scrub away his own sorrows. He understood D'Artagnan's heartache and he wished there was something he could do to help the boy. But first they needed him back here with them, where he belonged. "Maybe we should head out and follow him?" Just sitting and waiting did not sit well with him. Especially now that they knew how dangerous this mission could be. Sure he had come home safe from all the others, but there was always a first time.
Porthos was ready for some action as well. "I think that's a great idea. I'm sure we could track him easy enough, he doesn't have all that much of a head start."
"We need to trust him to come back safely," Athos interjected, even though his heart was telling him to go after D'Artagnan and bring him home.
"Athos is right," Aramis stated, firmly, even though it meant he had to tamp down on his own concerns. D'Artagnan had earned their trust. But once he returned, they would stick to him like leeches.
Porthos heaved a sigh of disappointment, but nodding, conceding to the other's wishes. "So what do we do in the mean time?"
Athos pointed to a few Musketeers who were sparring. "A bit of exercise would not be amiss."
"I wouldn't mind a bit of hand to hand," Porthos allowed, stalking over to a Musketeer who was near his height and bulk. He would offer enough of a challenge to distract him for a time.
"Ten sous on Porthos," Aramis commented to Athos, as he moved to sit at the table to watch the show, for watching Porthos fight was always entertaining.
Athos shook his head. "Sucker bet." He reached for the bottle of wine that Serge brought out, along with one of the goblets and poured himself a measure. He would let himself be distracted for now while he awaited D'Artagnan's return. But come tomorrow, when the boy was back, they were all going to sit him down and explain the way things were going to be. Their little brother would learn that he was not alone. A lesson, Athos realized, he was slowly coming to learn himself.
D'Artagnan did not return on the morrow, which sent Athos into a state of near panic, although he hid it from his friends. Or, rather, they allowed him to believe they hadn't noticed. Porthos, for his part, worried openly enough for the three of them. Come morning of the following day, Treville agreed to let them ride out to find D'Artagnan. Not that his approval mattered, Athos was going regardless and he knew Aramis and Porthos felt the same way. In fact, none of them had slept the night before and all of them had spent the long night convincing each other to wait until dawn to ride out.
They were leading their horses from the stables, when a rider entered the Garrison. D'Artagnan.
Porthos was the first to spot the boy, running to him and practically hauling him out of the saddle and into his embrace. "Where the hell have you been?" he demanded, even as he pushed D'Artagnan back far enough to run both his eyes and his hands over the boy.
"I've been completing my mission," D'Artagnan replied, feeling relief wash over him when he spotted Treville watching from the balcony. "I delivered the letter and I have a reply and the papers you asked for," he called out.
"Excellent," Treville responded. "Come on up."
Nudging Porthos off him, D'Artagnan made his way to the Captain's office, trying desperately to keep steady on his feet. He was exhausted to the bone and longed for a hot bath and a day of sleep. But he handed over the documents he had worked hard to obtain and made his report.
Treville was pleased, but also concerned. "I expected you back yesterday," he stated.
"Getting the document proved a bit more difficult than we expected," D'Artagnan confessed. "I wasn't the only one searching for it." He decided not to go into detail about being attacked and managing to take out three men. At one point he hadn't expected to make it back home alive, but no one needed to know that.
"Are you injured?" Treville asked, taking note of how pale and shaky D'Artagnan was.
Shrugging, D'Artagnan replied, "I'm a bit bruised and tired, but I'll be fine. If that's all?" He could feel his strength ebbing out of him and if he didn't leave soon he was going to collapse at Treville's feet, and that was the last thing he wanted to have happen.
Treville studied the boy for a moment, then nodded. "You did well, D'Artagnan, you've earned a long rest."
"Thank you, sir." D'Artagnan offered as jaunty a salute as he could muster, then he turned sharply on his heel and headed out. Once on the balcony he found himself face to face with a trio of Musketeers who eyed him with varying expressions of worry, sympathy and exasperation.
"We need to talk," Athos blurted out.
D'Artagnan grimaced, knowing he wasn't going to like the topic of conversation. So he hoped to avoid it until he was in better shape to deal with the lot of them. "We'll talk after I get some sleep," he countered, making to move past them.
Only for Aramis to snag him by the arm and guide him towards the stairs. "We've made arrangements for a bath to be ready at Athos' rooms, and dinner will be there shortly. Once you've cleaned up I can check you over then we can all enjoy a good meal and some wine." He spoke conversationally, but it was obvious he wasn't giving D'Artagnan an option.
So, for now, it was easier to just go along with them. After all, D'Artagnan did want a bath and even though he didn't feel hungry, he knew he needed to eat. So he would humor them, say what they wanted to hear, then he would sleep the next day away. He would be back up to par and ready to handle Musketeer business per usual in no time.
The journey to Athos' rooms seemed to take twice as long as it usually did and D'Artagnan felt ready to collapse onto the bed and simply sleep. Only that action would worry the others unnecessarily and, besides which, he had no claim to Athos' bed. So D'Artagnan willed himself to stay awake, nodding when Porthos excused himself to check on their meal, while Athos claimed he would go out to get some wine. Which left Aramis with D'Artagnan, and he knew the older man wanted to make sure he wasn't wounded. For some reason they seldom took D'Artagnan's word when he told them he was fine.
At this point he was tired enough that he didn't care if Aramis stayed. In fact he didn't even fuss when the other man helped him remove his weapons and boots. It was only as he was sinking into the steaming water of the tub that D'Artagnan made a protest. "I don't have any clean clothes with me."
"We grabbed them from your room while you were with Treville and brought them with us," Aramis countered, holding up a bundle. "Just relax and soak for a bit, D'Artagnan. Everything has been taken care of."
"Thanks," D'Artagnan replied, because he knew that translated into they were taking care of him. Sometimes it made him a bit crazy when they did that, but this time he welcomed it. Letting his head fall back, D'Artagnan closed his eyes and relished the heat of the water soaking into his bones and aching muscles, even as it soaked away the dirt and sweat.
The next thing he knew, Aramis was calling his name. A hand on his shoulder jolted D'Artagnan awake, and he blinked hard to bring Aramis' face into focus. The other man was smiling at him, even as he pushed soap and a cloth into his hand. "Scrub up the others will be back soon," Aramis directed.
D'Artagnan did was he was told, feeling a bit more awake and much more refreshed as he stepped out of the tub and dried off with a large towel. Feeling clean from head to toe made hin feel more focused and he noticed Aramis busied himself elsewhere as D'Artagnan quickly dressed in his clean clothes, but stopped him short of pulling on his shirt.
"Come sit on the bed as I check you over," Aramis requested.
"I'm a bit bruised but fine," D'Artagnan insisted, even as he sat down because he knew he wasn't going to get out of the exam. So he stayed still as the other man checked him from head to toe, wincing a bit as the warm fingers prodded a few bruises covering his ribs.
Aramis huffed in exasperation. "Were you kicked in the ribs?" he asked.
D'Artagnan shrugged. "I'm fine," he repeated.
"Speaking of your ribs, I can count them you know," Aramis countered, grabbing D'Artagnan's shirt and tossing it to him before snagging a chair and moving to sit before him. "You've lost weight you can ill afford to lose, my friend. You know this."
"I know." D'Artagnan figured it was easier to just agree and they could move on. He pulled the shirt over his head then laced it, feeling fingers in his hair, brushing it out of his eyes.
Aramis chuckled when D'Artagnan smacked his hand away. "You need a hair cut."
D'Artagnan snorted. "Pot, meet kettle."
"Point taken," Aramis conceded, but his smile soon faded. He leaned forward, hands resting on D'Artagnan's knees to draw his attention. "We're worried about you."
"Don't be!" D'Artagnan shot back, feeling cross. This was the confrontation he had hoped to avoid. "Look...I promise to eat more, okay? You can even yell at me at meal time if you want. But don't worry."
It was Athos who responded, as he entered the room with an armful of wine bottles. "You're wearing youself down," he stated. "So we have a right to worry."
Before D'Artagnan could reply, Porthos spoke up. He had entered right behind Athos. "And I will be yelling at you to eat more at meal times, count on it."
"Look, I appreciate your concern." D'Artagnan could not express how much it meant to him that they cared, but at the same time he wanted them to understand that they did not need to worry about him. "But I'm perfectly fine. Really, I am." As he spoke he rose to his feet only to stumble and nearly topple over, his dizziness caused by both hunger and exhaustion.
"Lay down," Aramis ordered, pushing D'Artagnan back against the pillows. "As much as I want you to eat something, you need sleep more. Close your eyes and rest, we'll talk more in the morning."
It was D'Artagnan's intention to argue, but his eyelids felt heavy and exhaustion was pulling him into darkness. He let himself fall.
A fortnight later, D'Artagnan believed he had finally convinced his friends that he was fine and they could stop worrying about him.
After falling into an exhausted slumber in Athos' bed, D'Artagnan had slept until the next day. At which point Porthos had made him eat some bread and cheese with some mutton stew, before Aramis had ordered him to sleep a bit more. D'Artagnan had surprised himself by doing just that. But the next time he woke he felt worlds better and he'd eaten everything Porthos placed in front of him before washing up and joining the others in Treville's office.
They'd gone on a mission outside of Paris and D'Artagnan had managed to surprise them by slipping away and finding a way inside a monastery where an assassin, who had been hired to kill the King, was in hiding. They caught him without much fuss, returning home feeling satisfied and perhaps a bit full of themselves. D'Artagnan hadn't even complained when he'd been volunteered to pay for the first two rounds of drinks.
All in all he'd spent the two weeks appeasing his friends by eating well, sleeping better and not going off on solo missions. They didn't need to know how often nightmares woke him, or how he was tempted to go to Treville for another mission. Things were slow as far as the King's business was concerned, and it was having too much time to get lost in thought that was D'Artagnan's down fall.
However, he knew that asking to go off on his own would get the others riled up. They had sat him down and firmly explained that they were not going to let him wear himself down again, and Treville had called him into his office to basically say the same thing. To D'Artagnan's relief, no one had asked him why he was pushing himself so hard, and he hadn't offered any explanation. All parties were content to let it slide, so long as he behaved himself.
Somehow, D'Artagnan knew it couldn't last.
Treville had sent them on escort duty. The Viscount of Briscard and his niece, who was his ward, were returning to their estate after a visit to the Palace to meet with the King in regards to their land boundaries. The Niece had delighted the King and so Louis had ordered Treville to send his best men to guide the girl and the Viscount back home. So they had done their duty without issue, only the ride home was not so quiet and uneventful.
Without warning they were attacked by masked men, who outnumbered them almost three to one. Each Musketeer reacted to the threat instinctively, easily taking out a man each before the others attacked. They were focused and skilled and quickly brought the numbers down to three left against them. Porthos was finishing up with his last attacker, Athos was checking for survivors, D'Artagnan quickly took down his last opponent, but two men ganged up on Aramis, one they hadn't seen because he'd been hidden behind a tree and now he was aiming a pistol at Aramis.
D'Artagnan caught sight of the man and shouted a warning even as he hurled himself into the line of fire. The shout distracted the man and his aim was off, but it still hit D'Artagnan in the shoulder, knocking him off his feet. Aramis had dispatched the one attacker and whirled, but Athos had already fired off a shot to kill the shooter, before running to D'Artagnan's side.
"D'Artagnan!" Athos shouted, falling to his knees beside him, one hand moving to press over the wound.
"I'm...I'm okay," D'Artagnan managed through gritted teeth, because it hurt like hell having Athos pressing down on his injury. "Is Aramis all right?" Once he'd shouted the warning everything had happened so fast and once the bullet hit him, D'Artagnan had lost track of the others.
Aramis answered him. "I'm right here and I'm fine, thanks to you." He was pushing Athos' hand aside so he could peel back D'Artagnan's jacket and rip open his shirt to assess the damage. "Although, once you're better, we're going to have a long talk about your self-sacrificing ways, young man."
D'Artagnan managed a passable glare at him. "You would have done the same for me," he countered, but not as forcefully as he would have liked. He could feel himself fading into unconsciousness.
"Stay with me, D'Artagnan!" Athos ordered, tapping his cheek, forcefully until his eyes fluttered back open.
"I'm...with you," D'Artagnan mumbled, although he would have much preferred not to be.
Aramis was done with his exam and he moved to his horse, yanking bandages from his saddle bag. "I'm going to bandage the wound to slow the bleeding then bind your arm to your side so we can get you back," he explained, even as he went about his work.
The pain was enough that it kept D'Artagnan conscious and cursing under his breath. Although he thought he might have drifted a bit, because the next thing he knew Porthos had him on his feet and was pretty much lifting him onto his horse.
"Can you stay seated?" Porthos queried.
"I'll be fine," D'Artagnan promised, and he would keep his word no matter what. He watched as the others mounted and then they were off. He knew they weren't far from the Garrison, only to be surprised when Athos guided him to his rooms outside the Garrison instead.
Athos dismounted at once, followed by Aramis and they both entered the lodgings at a run. Porthos moved to help D'Artagnan dismount, taking his weight when his legs suddenly wouldn't hold him up.
"Sorry," D'Artagnan apologized, even as he felt himself lifted off his feet. He was about to order Porthos to put him down, but darkness swirled over him and he was happy to let it drag him into warm oblivion.
"Put him on the bed," Aramis ordered, the moment Porthos barged into the room with D'Artagnan in his arms. He and Athos had everything ready for the necessary surgery to remove the ball and stitch the boy up. The moment Porthos gently laid D'Artagnan down, Aramis grabbed a chair, sat down and went to work.
Athos paced off to the side, resisting the urge to drown his fears in a bottle of wine. "How is he?" he queried, the moment Aramis set aside his needle and thread and moved to wash his hands.
Aramis was smiling. "I think he's going to be fine. We slowed the bleeding and he's young and strong. He'll be fine."
"You're sure?" Athos needed to believe but a part of him was afraid to.
"I'm sure," Aramis said firmly. "And we're all going to make sure he rests and eats and takes the time to heal properly."
Athos moved to the bed, staring down at D'Artagnan's pale face. "He will do what he's told to the letter," he whispered, fiercely.
And so it went, for D'Artagnan found himself in the company of either Athos, Porthos or Aramis at all times from the moment he regained consciousness. For three days he felt like a virtual prisoner. He finally found himself alone when Treville was forced to send the others on King's business.
Grateful for the respite, D'Artagnan headed back to his room at the Garrison. He felt pretty good for having been shot three days ago and he knew it was because he'd been made to stay in bed and to eat and sleep and nothing more. However, now he was feeling restless and he was tired of being inside, so D'Artagnan cleaned up then headed out for a walk.
He hadn't made it far from the Garrison when he ran into Constance, quite literally. She had come around a corner and barreled into him, her shoulder smacking square into D'Artagnan's injured shoulder. The pain hit hard and sharp, making him stumble into the side of a residence.
"D'Artagnan?" Constance sounded shocked as he reached for him. "Are you...are you all right?"
"Fine," he whispered, trying to catch his breath. The world tiltled lazily around him for a moment, but he was suddenly grounded by the touch of Constance's soft hand on his cheek. Realizing that his eyes were closed, D'Artagnan blinked them open and frowned at the concern that marred her beautiful face as she eyed him worriedly. Pulling away from the heat of her touch, D'Artagnan cleared his throat and stated firmly, "I'm fine. And how are you, Madame Bonacieux?" Seeing her was both a gift and a punch in the gut, and D'Artagnan was uncertain how to react.
She looked startled by the use of her title, but recovered swiftly. "I'm well, thank you. Are you sure you're all right?"
D'Artagnan felt the pain in his shoulder ease from fiery throbbing to a dull ache and managed a convincing smile. "Perfectly well, Madame. Thank you." Never in his life had he felt such awkwardness in her presence, and it was wearing him out. He needed to escape. "I have to go. It was good to see you." With those words, D'Artagnan turned and strode off, glad that he could speak the truth, even though seeing her again reminding him that his heart was broken in his chest.
To try and forget the pain, D'Artagnan made his way to a nearby tavern. He bought a bottle of wine and spent the afternoon trying to finish it on his own, but two glasses in he felt tired and dizzy and settled for slumping in the corner, wallowing in his sadness.
It was here that the others found him, Porthos pulling him to his feet and practically carrying him back to Athos' rooms.
"I have my own room," D'Artagnan protested, as he was laid out on the bed. He felt his boots being removed, then he was shifted as his belts and weapons and jacket were removed as well. He closed his eyes as Aramis poked and prodded his wound before grunting in satisfaction.
"You need to eat," Athos said.
D'Artagnan felt a blanket drawn over him and he turned on his side and curled into himself. "Not hungry," he mumbled. He was tired, sad and aching and all he wanted was to be left alone.
A heavy hand fell on his shoulder, fingers squeezing. "Rest, D'Artagnan," Aramis beseeched him. "We'll talk later."
As D'Artagnan drifted off to sleep, he half hoped this was just a dream he wouldn't wake up from.
It wasn't a dream and D'Artagnan woke to three men who were determined to make him eat. So he ate what they put in front of him and insisted he was fine. He even spent the rest of the day, resting. What he did not do was talk, despite Aramis' many attempts to draw him into various topics of conversation. Finally Athos threatened to cut Aramis' tongue out so D'Artagnan was left in peace and he offered them all a distraction in the form of a card game. Not surprisingly, Porthos beat them all, by cheating of course, but no one pointed that out.
For the next two weeks D'Artagnan did his best to convince his friends that he really was fine. He even got Athos to work on his swordplay with him so that he wouldn't backslide. Of course he had to rest in between bouts, and he behaved himself by eating enough to satisfy even Porthos.
At the end of the week, Aramis determined that D'Artagnan could go back to doing the King's work, so long as he didn't push himself to hard. To celebrate, the four of them headed to their favorite tavern and Porthos promised to buy the first round of drinks.
They were chatting amongst themselves as they walked, with Porthos telling bawdy jokes and Aramis flirting with every woman they passed. D'Artagnan felt at peace with his friends, until they ran into Constance and her husband. The sight of them made D'Artagnan freeze and he felt Athos' hand on his back, grounding him.
Monsieur Bonacieux offered pleasantries, all the while smirking at D'Artagnan as he made a show of cradling Constance in the circle of one arm. He seemed to take great pleasure in calling Constance his 'lovely wife' repeatedly.
D'Artagnan ignored the sting of Bonacieux's words, focusing instead on responding politely all the while trying desperately not to look at Constance. It was Athos who came to D'Artagnan's rescue, as the man was wont to do, informing the Bonacieux's that they needed to be on their way. So D'Artagnan let himself be guided along, relieved when they finally entered the tavern. He downed the first glass of wine in one gulp, followed quickly by another. He let Athos pluck the third glass from his hand, settling for a slice of bread smothered in thick butter, knowing it was best to let the food absorb the wine. He needed a clear head.
For the next two hours he did his best to convince his friends that he was fine. He wasn't certain he had them totally convinced, but they allowed him to leave after a time, pleading exhaustion. It wasn't a lie. But he didn't go to bed and to sleep, instead he begged Treville to send him on a mission. Anything that would take him out of Paris, even if only for a day.
Treville must have seen the desperation in D'Artagnan's eyes, for he nodded and sent him off with a letter. It was a simple delivery, a day out and a day back, but D'Artagnan was grateful. He packed his saddle bag, mounted up and headed out, hoping his friends would forgive him.
Come morning, Athos was not pleased to learn that D'Artagnan was gone, but Treville convinced him that it was for the best to give the boy some time alone. Having seen the heartache that D'Artagnan suffered, Athos was content to let it go. For now. He felt instrinsic relief when the lad returned late that day, exhausted but well.
Athos patience was tested when D'Artagnan took off again two days later, this time at King Louis' personal request. Treville would tell them nothing more but that the boy had been sent to acquire an item that belonged to the King. Four days later Athos was ready to take off after him, only for D'Artagnan to ride into the Garrison looking exhausted and thinner, but alive.
D'Artagnan accepted Porthos' bearhug, Aramis' clap on the back and Athos' sage nod. He then climbed the steps to Treville's office and handed over the item he had acquired, that belonged to the King. He nodded when Treville praised him for a job well done, then headed out and to his room to get some sleep.
He stopped dead when he heard Treville call Athos and the others to his office. By force of habit he followed them, slipping in behind them. The Captain informed them that an ex-Monk had kidnapped the son of a nobleman and that the Queen had requested that the Musketeers be sent to save him.
As Athos, Aramis and Porthos filed out, D'Artagnan turned to follow them only for Athos to block him.
"You're staying here, D'Artagnan," Athos stated. "You're in no condition to ride with us. Stay and rest."
"I'm fine!" D'Artagnan countered, stunned that Athos was refusing his inclusion.
Treville interjected, having come up behind them all. "You're staying put, D'Artagnan. Consider that an order."
Whirling to face the Captain, D'Artagnan was ready to protest, but the look in Treville's eyes made him swallow his words. Instead he nodded, before turning to his friends. "Safe journey," he beseeched them.
"We'll be back before you know it," Porthos replied, clapping D'Artagnan on the back. Aramis did the same, before moving off.
Athos, however, stood before him. "When we return, you and I need to talk."
D'Artagnan found himself chuckling. "You don't like to talk," he reminded his mentor.
"I'll make an exception for you," Athos countered, a slight smile curving his lips. "Now go eat and rest, and a bath would not be remiss," he stated.
"I will," D'Artagnan promised, smiling back. But it quickly faded into seriousness. "Be careful."
Athos nodded, touching his hand to the brim of his hat as a salute, before turning smartly on his heel and striding off.
D'Artagnan watched him go, moving to the railing to wave his friends off as they rode out of the Garrison. When they were out of sight he headed for his room. But he was too restless to sleep and he had no interest in food. He decided a bath would not be remiss and might, perhaps, ease his various aches. Once clean again he returned to the Garrison to find Treville waiting for him with a tray full of food.
"Would you prefer to eat in your room or my office?" the Captain queried.
"My room, if that's all right," D'Artagnan replied, knowing any protest would be ignored. So he simply led the way, tossing his weapons belt onto his bed as Treville set the tray down on the small table in the corner. He then joined the captain, accepting a goblet of wine before picking at the bread, cheese and stew.
Treville didn't push D'Artagnan into conversation and the silence between them was amicable enough. It wasn't until he'd finished his own meal that he pushed aside the bowl and said, "You do know that making you stay here is not punishment, correct?"
D'Artagnan pushed aside his almost full bowl of stew and nodded. "I know, but that doesn't make me like it any better."
"I don't expect you to like it, just understand why I did it." Treville leaned forward, eyes locked on the younger man. "You're pushing yourself too hard, burning yourself out, D'Artagnan. You're of no use to any of us in such condition. You know that."
"I know that," D'Artagnan conceded. But knowing and accepting were two different things.
Treville studied him for a moment, as if searching for something. Apparently he found what he was looking for, for he stated, "We all have our crosses to bear, but you do not bear yours alone."
It was clear to D'Artagnan what the Captain was saying, and he knew it to be truth. Athos and Porthos and Aramis would be there for him in all ways, and yet he had no desire to burden then with his issues. He would deal with them and make certain they did not affect his friends or his work as a Musketeer. "I'll do better, Captain," D'Artagnan promised.
"I know you will." Rising to his feet, Treville collected the bowls and goblets back onto the tray then picked it up and headed for the door. "Get some rest. That's an order." He was smiling as he said it, but it was clear by the tone of his voice that he meant it.
The moment he was alone, D'Artagnan stood up and reached for his gear, only to drop it onto the table. He had thought to go for a walk but he realized he was tired and that he needed to take Treville's words to heart. So he pulled off his boots and jerkin and stretched out on his bed, arms crossed beneath his head. Closing his eyes, D'Artagnan expected to have to ward off unwanted memories, but instead he found himself drifting into dreamless darkness.
Pure exhaustion allowed D'Artagnan to sleep deeply, only to be awakened abruptly by Treville's urgent shaking. It took a moment for his mind to focus on the fact that the Captain was talking to him.
"D'Artagnan, you need to wake up!" Treville hissed.
"Sir!" D'Artagnan sat up, one hand scrubbing over his face as he forced his eyes open. The look on the Captain's face cut through the sleep fog and he was suddenly wide awake. "What's wrong?" He could almost feel Treville's anxiety.
Rising from his crouch, Treville stepped back, allowing D'Artagnan to swing his legs over the side of the bed and reach for his boots. He paced a few steps then whirled around and blurted out, "Athos has been shot."
D'Artagnan had been reaching for his jerkin but now he froze, eyes wide as he stared at Treville. "Shot?" he echoed, the word echoing in his head. "How...how bad?" He could not be dead. D'Artagnan would not accept Athos being dead.
"Head shot," Treville replied. "He's alive, but it's grave. He's in his rooms with Aramis and Porthos."
"I have to see him!" D'Artagnan grabbed his belt and arms and raced out the door. His heart thudded hard in his chest as he ran through the streets of Paris. He didn't slow down until he reached Athos' residence, taking the stairs two at a time and not even knocking before bolting through the door. But he came to a dead stop when he caught sight of Athos laid out on his bed, still as stone.
Aramis was sitting in a chair beside him, while Porthos stood at the window. They both turned to stare at D'Artagnan, but neither looked surprised to see him.
Making his feet move forward, D'Artagnan stood beside the bed, staring down at Athos' pale face, staring at the white bandage, stark against the dark hair. "How...how is he?"
"I don't know," Aramis whispered, sounding broken. "The physician has done what he can, all we can do now is wait."
"How long?" D'Artagnan needed a time frame. He needed to know when to expect Athos to wake up and look at him. He needed that glimmer of hope to cut through the fear that was suffocating him.
Aramis shook his head. "I wish I knew. We just need to be patient." He stood up from the chair, stepping aside before pushing D'Artagnan down into it.
Eyes locked on Athos' face, D'Artagnan queried, "But he will wake up, yes?" Didn't Aramis understand that he needed that confirmation? He needed to hear the words, even if they were a lie.
"He will wake up." It was Porthos who made the statement, as he moved from the window to clap a heavy hand on D'Artagnan's shoulder. "He's strong and a fighter, Athos is."
"Yes, yes he is," D'Artagnan confirmed, feeling gratitude wash over him. Porthos understood. There was a couple of other things that worried at him and D'Artagnan had to ask. "Did you save the boy? The Nobleman's son."
Porthos nodded. "We did."
D'Artagnan was glad to hear that, glad that an innocent had been saved. But then, that's what the Musketeers did, they saved those in need. He had one more question though, the most important one of all. "Did you kill him? Did you kill the man who shot Athos?"
"It was the ex-monk, Le Clerc," Porthos replied. "He used to be a soldier." He sounded angry as he stepped away from the bed and began pacing.
"He got away," Aramis interjected. "We couldn't go after him. We had to bring the boy back and look after Athos."
D'Artagnan didn't fault them their decisions, D'Artagnan would have done the same. He would have done anything to save Athos. "I should have been there," he mumbled, cursing himself. Had he been there he might have been able to protect Athos from being hurt.
With a gentle cuff to the back of D'Artagnan's head, Aramis stated, "We were there and it just happened. Athos being hurt is the fault of only one man. Do not burden yourself with this, D'Artagnan. Do you understand me?"
"Yes." D'Artagnan gave the answer he knew the other man wanted to hear, then he fell silent, all of his focus on Athos. Silently he sent up a prayer, asking the heavenly Father above to save his friend. A litany he repeated over and over again throughout the course of the next two days.
Two days in which D'Artagnan left Athos' side only to take care of his bodily needs. He would not eat the food that Porthos brought him, not even when the Musketeer threatened to stuff it down his throat. When Treville came to check on Athos, he threatened to remove D'Artagnan from the room and forbid him to enter again if he did not at least drink some water, so he gulped down a mug of the liquid, to appease the Captain. D'Artagnan could not leave Athos' side. He could not risk it.
When the Physician came to examine Athos, D'Artagnan hovered in the far corner, uncertain if he wanted to hear the diagnosis. But after the man left and Aramis looked defeated, D'Artagnan rushed over to ask, "What did he say? When will Athos wake up?"
"He doesn't believe he will," Aramis replied, the words almost choking him.
"That idiot doesn't know what he's talking about!" Porthos snapped, before punching the nearest wall.
D'Artagnan felt a cold chill sweep into his very soul. He turned to look upon Athos' still and pale form, then he bolted for the door.
Porthos moved to follow, but Aramis cut him off.
"Let the boy go," Aramis said softly. "I have no doubt he needs to work off some...anger."
"Do you think Athos is going to...will we lose him?" Porthos sounded desperate, his eyes glistening with fear.
Aramis sighed, the sound as heavy as his soul. "I fear it is...a possibility...that we must prepare for." Although he did not know how one prepared to lose a brother and a friend.
D'Artagnan made his way to Treville's office. He had a purpose in mind, a determination he would not be deterred from. Without knocking he entered, moving to stand in front of the Captain's desk.
Treville looked up at him, eyes narrowing in concern. "Is it Athos?"
"No change there," D'Artagnan replied, his tone soft, but laced with steel. "The physician believes Athos will die."
"I see," Treville countered, slumping in his chair as if the weight of the world had suddenly descended upon his shoulders.
Surprisingly, D'Artagnan felt suddenly very light and focused. "I want to go after the monk," he stated, with no further explanation. He knew the Captain would understand his need to find the man who wounded Athos. The man who may have killed him.
Treville nodded. "I will allow it, but only if you promise me you will bring him back alive. Promise me that, and you have my permission."
"I can but promise I will try," D'Artagnan countered. "I will not kill him outright, unless he gives me no other option." It was the best he could offer.
"Good enough," Treville allowed, rising from his seat and coming around the desk to face D'Artagnan. His eyes flashed with anger as he clapped the younger man on the shoulders. "Catch the bastard who did this! I want him to pay!"
D'Artagnan nodded, for there was nothing more to be said in that regard. "I'd like to leave now."
At that Treville frowned. "You look done in. Why don't you eat and rest and leave at dawn."
"I need to leave now," D'Artagnan shot back. "I cannot rest until I bring that man to justice." Much like he had felt when his Father died and he vowed to find and kill his murderer. The fire that had burned in him then, burned deep in him now.
"All right then." Treville gave in because he knew that he would not be able to stop D'Artagnan. "Go and be safe."
D'Artagnan nodded, then he turned on his heel and strode out. He would find the man that had wounded Athos, and all the while he would pray for his friend to come back to them. For if Athos died, his murderer would die as well.
Porthos was furious. He and Aramis had waited for D'Artagnan to return to Athos' room, but hours passed and no sign of the boy. So Porthos had gone to search for him, finally asking Treville if he'd seen him. The Captain had admitted to sending D'Artagnan after the ex-Monk. "How could you let him go out there alone? He's exhausted and upset and ALONE! I'm going after him!"
"No!" Treville snapped, moving between Porthos and the open door. "You have to let D'Artagnan do this! You need to trust him. This is what he's good at and this is what he needs to do right now. Have faith, Porthos."
"I do have faith in the boy," Porthos allowed. "But I'm worried. About him, about Athos. What if...what if we lose them both?"
Treville reached out to pat the bigger man on the shoulder. "What happens will happen, my friend. But I'm going to believe that both of them will return to us. And soon."
Porthos nodded, but he didn't look convinced. Scrubbing a hand over his face, he headed out the door. Returning to Athos' lodgings, he shook his head at Aramis as he entered.
"No sign of D'Artagnan?" Aramis looked disappointed.
"He went after the Monk," Porthos replied, holding up a hand to stave off the questions he knew were coming. "Treville let him go, he's all for it. He told me to let D'Artagnan do this." Moving to Athos' bedside, Porthos stared down at his friend. "Any change?"
Aramis heaved a sigh. "No. Nothing. And now we might lose them both."
Porthos shook his head. "That can't happen. I won't let it."
"If it's God's will," Aramis whispered, feeling weighed down with sadness.
"I can't accept that," Porthos replied, moving to his spot by the window. He stared out for a moment, then he closed his eyes and said a prayer for Athos to wake up, and for D'Artagnan to return to them safe and sound.
Treville was standing at the railing, outside his office, his eyes trained on the entrance to the Garrison. He had been standing watch at this post for the past two days, hoping for D'Artagnan's return, only to be disappointed as another day passed. The only positive note was that Athos was still with them.
Heaving a sigh, Treville was about to turn away and head back into his office when he caught sight of a familiar figure. D'Artagnan. The boy was somewhat slumped in his saddle, but he was not alone. Walking beside him, hands bound and attached to a lead rope, was the ex-Monk, Le Clerc.
Other Musketeers had caught sight of the duo and moved to swarm around them as Treville pounded down the stairs. "Make way!" he ordered his men, as he made his way to D'Artagnan's side. He glared at Le Clerc, taking satisfaction in the bruises that marred the other man's face. He wasn't so thrilled to see D'Artagnan looking battered himself.
"He's all yours, Captain," D'Artagnan said, as he handed over the rope before dismounting.
"Take him to the Chatelet and stay with him," Treville ordered two Musketeers. To another he said, "Go to the palace and inform the King that I will be meeting with him shortly." When they'd gone he turned to D'Artagnan. "How are you?"
It was hard to focus on what Treville was saying, for D'Artagnan was aching and weary and he felt a bit dizzy. But he did have one focus, "Athos?"
Treville smiled. "Still with us, but still not awake." He wanted to offer more hope, but if Athos didn't wake soon, his body would shut down from lack of sustenance. And Aramis continued to be concerned that there could be brain damage and the Musketeer might not be the man they knew anymore.
"I need to see him," D'Artagnan whispered.
"Go." Treville took the reins of his horse and waved D'Artagnan off.
Porthos was sitting beside Athos when D'Artagnan entered the room. He stood up so abruptly he knocked over the chair. In two strides he was across the room and gathering D'Artagnan into a bear hug. He was not pleased to feel how thin and fragile the boy was. "About time you came back," he growled, ruffling the dark hair as he set D'Artagnan from him.
D'Artagnan managed a wan smile. "I'm glad to be back."
"Did you get Le Clerc?" It was Aramis who asked, as he entered from the other room.
"He's on his way to the Chatelet as we speak," D'Artagnan replied. "Has there been any change?" His eyes darted to Athos.
Aramis shook his head. "No, and at this point I don't forsee any. You need to prepare yourself for the worst. We all do."
D'Artagnan understood what Aramis was saying and why, but he did not have the courage to face Athos' death. "May I have some time alone with him?" he requested, even as he picked up the chair and set it to rights. Dropping into it, he felt heavy and brittle, as if he might shatter at any moment.
"Of course," Aramis replied, herding Porthos out of the room.
Once alone with Athos, D'Artagnan felt the sting of tears and he blinked hard against them. But he was so tired and so afraid that they slid heedlessly down his face as he reached for the Musketeer's hand and held it clasped between his own. "Please, Athos," D'Artagnan whispered. "Please don't leave me. I can't bear it..." He broke off, the words choking on a sob, shoulders bent and body shaking as he fought not to break down completely.
It took a long while for D'Artagnan to bring himself back under a semblance of control, but he was still trembling as he stared at the pale face of his friend. "I get it now," he said softly, his voice raspy with emotion. "I get why you were so angry with me going off on my own. You were afraid too...afraid I wouldn't come back. I don't like that feeling at all, not one bit. So...I'm sorry. I'm so...so sorry, Athos. Please forgive me. Please wake up now and yell at me and tell me I'm being stupid and selfish. Please...please." He broke off again, but this time because he was startled to feel the pressure of a slight squeeze of his fingers.
Daring to hope against hope, D'Artagnan stared down at the hand clasped in his and he saw it as well as felt it this time, the grip of Athos' fingers against his own. He lifted his eyes and was stunned to see blue eyes staring back at him. "Athos...Athos..." leaning over he gathered his friend into his arms and hugged him fiercely. "I knew...I knew...you'd come back to us," D'Artagnan whispered between sobs of relief. There was so much more he wanted to say, but he knew it would have to wait. Rising to his feet, D'Artagnan shouted, "Aramis! Porthos! Athos is awake!"
And just like that they came running and to hug him and to cheer and laugh and cry together as they celebrated the return of their friend. Then Porthos went running off for the Physician who examined Athos after Aramis already had proclaimed him well on his way to healing. In fact, other than a slight headache and being in need of food and exercise, both the Physician and Aramis looked pleased as could be.
Treville came to welcome Athos back, as it were, then he left the foursome to their own celebration, interrupted by Athos sipping some soup and water and frequently dozing off. Only then were Aramis and Porthos able to threaten D'Artagnan into leaving long enough to take a bath and change into clean clothes. The threat being that Porthos would strip him and bathe him himself.
So D'Artagnan headed to his room for clean clothes then to the tavern where he liked to take his baths. He felt worlds better once he was clean from head to toe, although he winced at the sight of all his bruising and he reminded himself to be careful around Aramis' eagle eye. Once back in his room he belted on his weapons before combing through his damp hair. He felt light and relieved as he headed back to Athos' lodgings, the smile not leaving his face even when he ran into Constance.
"Athos?" she asked, looking hopeful at the sight of D'Artagnan looking so happy. She'd heard about the Musketeers grave injury and had even stopped by the Garrison to ask Treville about him.
"He woke up," D'Artagnan stated. "He's going to be fine after a bit of rest."
Constance nodded, tears of happiness glistening in her eyes. "I'm so very glad to hear that. Please give him my regards."
D'Artagnan smiled. "I shall. Good day, Madame."
"Good day, D'Artagnan," Constance replied, watching him go.
Once back with the others, D'Artagnan was thrilled to see Athos sitting up and sipping a mug of broth. "You look better," he proclaimed.
Athos managed a wry grin. "As do you, although I dare say you need this soup more than I do."
"That he does," Aramis interjected, as he walked a slow circle around D'Artagnan. "He hasn't eaten or slept in far too long."
"I'm fine," D'Artagnan insisted, glaring at Aramis. And he was fine, now that Athos was awake. But even as he made to take a step towards the bed, the ground beneath his feet tiltled and D'Artagnan felt himself falling into black.
When D'Artagnan awoke, he felt a bit of confusion. He recognized that he was in Athos' lodgings, but the room looked different.
"We moved my bed to put yours beside it," Athos offered, helpfully.
"Oh." D'Artagnan realized he was lying down in a bed that looked much like Athos' own. "What happened?"
Athos looked amused. "You collapsed, quite spectacularly actually. Aramis about had a fit and Porthos was ready to punch someone when we realized how thin and battered you'd become." The words were said softly and with a bland expression on Athos' face, but they were obviously meant to chastise him.
D'Artagnan sighed, then took stock of his condition before attempting to move. He ached from head to toe and he felt weak and light-headed, even lying down. But that did not stop him from trying to sit up.
"I wouldn't do that if I were you," Athos warned him.
"You'd be wise to listen to him," Aramis advised, as he moved to stand beside D'Artagnan's bed. He pointed a finger at the boy. "If you leave this bed without my permission, I can promise you that you will regret it. Understand?"
D'Artagnan simply nodded.
Aramis looked pleased. "Now, I have mugs of soup for the both of you. You will eat and rest then eat some more." With that he turned to get the food, stepping around Porthos who was suddenly looming over D'Artagnan.
Before D'Artagnan could ask what was up, he found himself being lifted into a sitting position and two pillows set behind him for support. He was about to complain when he caught the look on the big Musketeers face. Porthos was angry, but more than that he was disappointed and out right worried. Seeing the latter two emotions directed at him left D'Artagnan feeling both unsettled and guilty.
"Eat up," Aramis ordered, as he handed D'Artagnan a mug. "Porthos and I have a quick errand to run," he stated, eyeing both of his patients. "I'll know if you've moved from the bed, either of you, so behave yourselves." With that he turned and strode out, with Porthos on his heels.
"I'd finish that if I were you," Athos advised, as D'Artagnan simply stared at his mug.
Heaving a sigh, D'Artagnan took a sip before setting it down on the floor. "I have to say something to you," he began, only to break off when he realized he wasn't sure how to continue.
Athos allowed the silence to continue for a long moment before replying, "I heard what you said to me. All of it. And you do worry me, boy, I won't deny it. I don't want to lose you either, D'Artagnan."
"I'm sorry." D'Artagnan wanted to say so much more, but the words seemed to be stuck in his throat. If he forced them out he feared he'd simply break down.
"Let's make a pact, shall we?" Athos continued, as if able to read D'Artagnan's mind. "Let's both promise to do better, starting now. We've worried Aramis and Porthos enough. So we will rest and eat and heal together. Deal?"
D'Artagnan felt the knot of emotion in his chest begin to uncoil as he stared at the other man. He also felt amused and couldn't hold back a chuckle. "How long do we have to behave?" he countered, quirking a brow at his friend.
Athos offered a scowl that quickly turned into a look of wry amusement. "Let's attempt to behave at least for today, then we'll reassess the terms on the morrow."
"Agreed." The sense of solidarity he felt in this moment warmed him and allowed D'Artagnan to finally exhale with relief. Athos was going to be all right and life felt almost normal again. For months D'Artagnan had felt unbalanced, but in this moment he felt tempered and serene. He could breathe again.
"For the record, we're holding both of you to your word," Aramis exclaimed, as he and Porthos entered the room again. They were smiling and looked happy and at ease.
Athos frowned at them. "You never really left, did you?"
Porthos shrugged. "We don't trust the two of you as far as we can throw you. Altho I'm pretty sure I could heave the both of you quite a distance, especially this skinny boy over here." He pointed to D'Artagnan, looking gleeful.
"I'm not skinny!" D'Artagnan argued, crossing his arms over his chest and outright pouting. "I'm just lean."
"Sure you are." Porthos clapped him on the shoulder before grabbing a chair and plopping down into it. "It's good to have you both back."
Aramis chimed in. "Don't scare us like that again, either of you."
D'Artagnan frowned at his friends. "I wasn't ever gone," he protested. "Not like Athos almost was."
"You drifted away from us months ago," Athos countered. "We feared losing you." He locked eyes with D'Artagnan, letting him see his fears, letting him in.
"I didn't mean to," D'Artagnan replied, feeling humbled by the trust Athos was offering so openly.
Athos nodded. "I know." He left it at that, also knowing that D'Artagnan was now aware of what he meant to them all.
Aramis moved to sit on the edge of D'Artagnan's bed, scooping up his mug of broth and holding it out. He continued staring until the boy took a few sips. Pleased, he ruffled the dark hair, laughing when his hand was smacked away, but growing serious as he said, "You're not alone, D'Artagnan. Never forget that."
"I won't," D'Artagnan promised, his eyes roving over the faces of the three men who had become family. His brothers. He would willingly die for them, but now he realized he would do everything he could to live for them. He held up his mug. "To family," he stated.
Athos held up his mug as Aramis and Porthos raised their fists.
"To family!" they echoed as their laughter and joy filled the room.
THE END