Please note that this story contains mild spoilers for s03e06 and s03e07
Will you let me see?
The stair creaked beneath Aramis' weight but his friend failed to hear his approach. Erratically priming his pistol, Athos' head finally whipped around - and his fevered gaze warned the marksman keep his distance.
Holding up his hands, Aramis asked gently, "Will you let me see?"
The blackened flesh was, of course, only half the story. As Aramis peeled away the bloody cloth, his friend's shoulder muscles, taut and angry beneath his steadying hand, hinted at the rest.
"Athos, this is..." There were no words for it. The damage was far worse than they had been led to believe. His fingers faltered over bruised, torn flesh, at a loss for how to proceed.
Turning to share his consternation, he found Porthos close behind and D'Artagnan looking on.
"You should have told us." The refrain was tired, and Porthos' arms crossed in anger. "We all promised-"
"We're not on the battlefield now," Athos cut him off.
D'Artagnan lowered his hand from his mouth, sympathy subsumed by accusation. "Your words. 'Hide your injuries and you put everyone at risk'."
They had all noticed the Gascon's increasing tendency to recall their advice and pay it back in kind. Unamused, Athos gave a mutinous scowl and half rose from his chair.
With a warning glance, Aramis pressed their Captain firmly back down and waved at his friends to back off.
"If you need us..." Porthos clapped a hand on his shoulder.
Aramis had not been called upon to offer his skills as a medic since his return from the monastery, and he found himself strangely ill at ease. The children had been so easy to care for, their small lives bereft of warmth, and the staid presence of older monks their only company. Aramis' confiding manner and compassion had quickly won them over, and in turn their trust had been a balm to his own loneliness. Now he wondered whether Athos would permit him to help as he once had.
In the dim glow of the candles, the trials of the last four years were written out before him. Once familiar, Athos' back bore new scars, Aramis' own careful handiwork overwritten with dangers the marksman had not shared. With deepening regret, he saw that the muscles had changed, hardened. So much time had been lost.
Balling up the soiled cloth in his fist, Aramis leaned briefly against the doorframe before re-entering the hut. Bitter and untrusting, Juliette had flatly refused his request for medical supplies. Despite her evident trials, the competent woman had not turned to cruelty. He was confident she could be convinced in time. But for tonight he had failed.
Athos looked up as Aramis entered, chin resting on his hands in the absence of a table. His friend seemed more composed, and the presence of a bottle explained the change.
Aramis gestured sadly to the doorway. "I tried - but they won't give me anything."
"You're losing your touch."
"Don't joke about it. I can't fix this." He sighed his frustration, and sank into a chair. "At least, not tonight."
Athos retrieved the bottle from the floor and held it out. His expression made his opinion clear. A few stitches would not have made a difference.
Gratefully, the marksman took a long swig, deliberating over whether to probe further. Still feeling his way back into their lives, he was no longer intimately aware of each of their triggers - how to push, needle and cajole to get a desired result. More than that, he knew that a rebuff would hurt - would remind him of time passed and confidences lost.
The pleasant burn of the alcohol chased away the bitter thoughts. If he could offer a little comfort or a friendly ear in which to scowl, what was his own pride? Besides, he needed the practice. "It's not just the injury, is it?"
Athos' reluctant reply took many moments to arrive, and when it came, was muffled in his hands. "I was caught off guard."
A sudden thought struck Aramis, a possible explanation for his friend's self recrimination, and the musketeer nearly spat the wine from his mouth. "Not... in flagrante?" The image of their ever-responsible Captain in such a situation would have been, at any other time, amusing.
Athos' head shot up, and the marksman was pleased to see that he had briefly shocked the other out of his dark brooding. "Aramis, please." Athos' tone was a mockery of his own, and Aramis tipped an invisible hat at the well-deserved retort.
But Athos' face quickly changed. "But no. No - thank God."
Aramis' amusement quickly turned to regret as he recognised the dark speculation his words had inspired.
"But as good as," Athos continued bitterly, one hand unconsciously pulling at his hair. "Unarmed - unprepared. There is nothing that excuses such dereliction -"
"Even a captain needs his sleep," Aramis countered. "Taking a moment of rest was not shirking your duty." He raised his eyebrows in feigned remembrance. "Although to come to think of it, you always did sleep with a knife beneath your pillow."
"A precaution for which you were thankful - if I remember correctly."
Aramis recalled the incident well, waking to find the muzzle of a gun between his eyes and D'Artagnan being held bodily over their campfire.
"No complaints." He held up his hands. "Except, perhaps, the blood stains." Athos' knife had swiftly pierced the man's neck, the pistol mercifully failing to fire, and it had taken weeks to remove the blood from Aramis' clothing.
"It will not happen again. I was so close to losing everything." The self recrimination was scalding, and Aramis' heart sank to hear it.
Upon his return, the marksman had rejoiced to find that four years in command, and the unstinting respect of his men, had drawn the bitter, caustic notes from his friend's character. Aramis would, of course, claim that it was his own influence that had first encouraged Athos' less acerbic qualities, leaving only the dry wit and loyalty that had always been so obvious to those closest to him.
Athos had slipped seamlessly into the role of Captain (at least in Aramis' fresh eyes), and any cracks he noticed in their new Captain's demeanor, a wistful glance towards the stables here, a sharp retort there, were inconsequential and only to be expected. Indeed Aramis had felt himself staggeringly lacking in the face of his friend's new certainty, his authority. Where Aramis was floundering on his own path, the other man appeared to have found a kind of peace.
The first time they sparred he had felt the swordsman holding back, taking care as he would with a fresh recruit. It was galling to Aramis' pride, but no more than he deserved. As was his way, Aramis has quickly found himself balking at commands he would have followed before, his mature approach to authority being to make it that little bit more uncomfortable for his old friend. But Athos had taken it with good grace, allowing Aramis his little rebellions with little more than a raised eyebrow (and the occasional pistol pointed at his chest).
How could Grimaud had beaten all of that away?
At the very least, Aramis was sure he could draw his friend into a better frame of mind. Noting that their bottle was very nearly empty, he put himself to the task. "Regret is one thing, but denying oneself happiness is another. What happened to 'we all have the right to live any life we wish'?" Athos' words at the monastery had given Aramis comfort, and he wished to return the favour.
"Any life," Athos agreed solemnly. "But the general who splinters his forces to fight on too many fronts is lost."
"We're not talking of war."
"Are we not?"
Aramis pauses, unsure how to present the problem in a better light. The alcohol's warm glow was loosening his tongue. "When have you ever given yourself permission to be happy? When have you put your own future, over your duty?"
It was a misstep. He knew it even as the words left his lips. But Athos did not acknowledge the old pain.
"Once is too many times, if this is the result. If I had -"
"What?" Aramis hissed, stirred to anger. "Questioned Treville's order? Spotted the forgery we all missed? You may have a high opinion of your own foresight, or perhaps little trust in ours, but I believe you would have ridden out and fallen alongside them - with no one to pull you free."
"It doesn't make it right."
"No," the marksman agreed, "but it isn't justification for denying yourself happiness-"
Athos looked away, then stiffened, regretting the movement.
Aramis had planned to end the conversation there, but - "You're viewing this as some kind of punishment, aren't you?" He gestured to Athos' shoulder, and his raised voice drew the attention of the others. He felt D'Artagnan's furtive eyes on his back.
In response to his accusatory tone, Aramis expected his friend's face close over, but it did not. Instead Athos reached out to grasp the marksman's knee, looking him in the eyes. "I appreciate the concern, the care."
'However' was left unspoken.
Aramis' words suddenly hit home, though not where he had intended. The hypocrisy was clear. That he, the man who had thrown duty to the wind to follow his heart, should advise another to do the same! What little hope Aramis had of diverting his friend from his lonely course faded.
In the silence, his thoughts turned to Anne. "I risked everything without a second thought," he said at last, "and in four years regretted many things. But never once did I regret her."
Hope you enjoyed these little missing scenes. If you have a moment to leave a comment, I'd love to know if it was difficult to follow, as I perhaps stripped out too much explanatory text to keep it brief. This would be great feedback for future writing.
A companion piece 'A different kind of war' with Constance and Athos, is also available.
Thanks so much for reading!