"How long are you going to be angry?" Athos asked, breaking the silence that hung heavily between them.
"I'm not angry," d'Artagnan replied, voice tense and sharp. He shuffled on the makeshift bed they'd put together for the night, made up of hay and blankets in the stables of the house which burned through the night.
Athos was tired, broken and had a headache borne of the bottle of wine he'd drowned himself in with self pity. In the haze of his wine induced stupor, she haunted his thoughts, memories he was so used to keeping buried had rose to the surface.
"My cup runneth over," He murmured to himself, feeling d'Artagnan sigh heavily nearby. Athos steeled himself, ignoring his own quiet advice to let d'Artagnan mope. "You are angry. With me."
"Go to sleep," d'Artagnan muttered. "We need to leave by first light. We should be on the road now but you're in no fit state to ride."
"You shouldn't have come back for me," Athos said, though part of him was grateful. Still a greater part of him longed for death, to be rid of the torture of the last five years that he'd suffered for no reason.
"Shut up Athos," d'Artagnan said loudly. "And for gods sake and my own, go to sleep."
Athos detected the way he held back from yelling. He detected a lot in the silence and mood of the man lying by his side. It spoke volumes of the friendship and trust that had been built in the few short months of knowing one another. There was something else, something deeper, a twist of hurt that d'Artagnan couldn't quite hide. He was too young and naeive to have learned how to do that yet. Athos let out a heavy sigh, regretting sending Aramis and Porthos on ahead, but then they would know his secrets as well as seek revenge on the woman who'd tried to take his life. Aramis would give him that judgemental look of his and Porthos would question him like a dog gnawing at a bone until every detail had been offered up. For a moment he wondered why d'Artagnan hadn't dogged him for answers, but he remembered the mans face when he's admitted his connections with her. The shadow of his past, the living, breathing viper who'd attacked from the grave.
Athos turned on his side, grunting at the way his body protested the movement. Reaching out, he placed a hand tentatively on d'Artagnan's side, moving closer.
"I'm sorry," He apologised. There was so much to say but he didn't know where to begin. Would it have made a difference if she were still alive? If he had had her thrown into a cell to rot for the rest of her days? Would he have still kept her existence a secret? "I should have told you-"
"What difference does it make?" d'Artagnan said, sounding like it made all the difference in the world.
"I thought she was dead. Five years, I lived with the guilt of her death on my hands, even though it was the justice she deserved," Athos explained quietly. "Nobody knows. None of the men, not even Aramis or Porthos. Of my life before the musketeers, they know very little."
"It doesn't matter," d'Artagnan said, giving a shrug.
"Does it upset you that I was married once?" Athos questioned, trying to understand the root of his anger and hurt. "Do you feel I betrayed you by keeping it secret?"
"You tell me nothing," d'Artagnan said, unmoving but at least he didn't pull away again when Athos purposefully kept his hand on him, slowly inching closer, hand sliding further about his waist. "Why would I be upset over this?"
"And yet you are upset," Athos pointed out, lying flush against him and whispering against his ear before d'Artagnan could protest. "Don't try and deny it. I know you too well now."
"And I don't know you at all," d'Artagnan replied, but his hand found his at his waist and their fingers interlocked gently.
"You know me a little more after these last few days," Athos told him. "I'm sorry that the knowledge isn't quite to your liking."
"We can't change our pasts," d'Artagnan said wisely. Athos felt a pang of regret in those words. He'd loved her, but if he hadn't invited her into his life, into his home and family, perhaps his brother would still be alive. He missed her, but the emptiness his brothers death had made in his life was something that couldn't ever be filled, not even by creating new brotherhoods with the likes of Aramis and Porthos.
Athos gave a smile and rested closer to D'artganan, feeling sleep begin to invade now they were in a more comfortable position. "No we can't, no matter how much we wish it sometimes. But there are some things I wouldn't want to change, like meeting you. These last months together."
"Shut up Athos," d'Artagnan said soothingly. "Go to sleep."
He couldn't see his face but he knew d'Artagnan was smiling and closed his eyes, hoping sleep would bring him some peace.