The door of Athos' lodgings was slightly ajar. Porthos didn't dare to push it. Slowly and carefully, he peered into the dim room where a candle was dying on a chair, the melting wax creating a strange sculpture where it met the straw. The sight of the couple reminded him of a painting he had seen once in a church. He couldn't even remember which one. Or was it a castle? Sylvie was asleep and the orange glow gave her skin -where fine tremors were intermittently running- the tinge of copper or gold, making the bloody gashes on her back even more scary. Athos was asleep on a stool, his head against her shoulder, his long hair falling over his face like a veil. His left arm dangled over the edge of the mattress, fingers brushing the floor, while his right hand was splayed on the small of her back, where the skin was intact. He had an improbable posture which would make him feel sore later. Porthos clenched his jaws and swallowed his saliva. He was about to step back when Athos jerked awake and almost fell of the stool in his hurry to reach for a weapon. Porthos rushed to his side and supported him with a strong grip on his arms, while the Captain's mind tried to catch up with reality.

Athos looked at him with the expression he had had when Aramis had tried to see his wound in Éparcy. Fear, anxiety, despair in the clear bloodshot eyes. Suddenly he sighed and bowed his head, leaning his forehead a moment against his friend's broad shoulder. Porthos waited patiently until his breathing calmed down, loosening his hold but not letting go of Athos' slightly trembling body. He noticed how taut his muscles were, how he had lost weight, how fragile he felt under his fingers. Slowly, Athos straightened and looked up at him, gently dislodging Porthos' hands. He sat on the edge of the mattress and ran his fingers through the mess of his long hair.

"How is she?" Porthos whispered.

"Not good. She has a fever." Athos answered with a helpless look towards him.

"She will recover, Athos, I'm sure of it."

Porthos shivered at the uncertainty in his tone and hoped that it didn't sound the same to Athos' ears, but the man just sighed and turned towards Sylvie, caressing her hair with the back of his hand. Porthos, who had sat down on the floor, almost jumped when Athos spoke again without looking at him.

"Aramis?"

Porthos watched the slender fingers continue to lightly run over the thick curly hair and didn't answer. Surprised, Athos stopped his movement and turned towards his friend who lowered his gaze.

"Porthos? What is it?"

"Nothing."

"Did you see him? Where is he?"

Porthos just snorted and sighed. Sylvie moaned in her sleep and he watched Athos bend over her, murmuring in her ear. He began to stand up but Athos grabbed his wrist.

"Answer me, Porthos."

"I … I … tried to … I went to his room but …"

"But? He isn't there?"

"He refused to open. I know … I know something is wrong but he doesn't even want to see me …" Porthos finished as anger and sorrow broke his voice.

Athos' fingers dug into his flesh and it was the only thing that kept him from fleeing the place to go and hide in his room. Athos stared at him until the big man averted his gaze, but he didn't let go of his wrist. A heavy silence stretched between them, only disturbed by the shaky breathing of the young woman on the bed and by the sound of the rain on the roofs. Athos stood up cautiously and faced him.

"I will go."

"What?"

"Please, stay with her and call me if anything changes. I must talk to him … What he has done, what he has experienced … It was … We have …" He made a pause sighing. "I have let him down."

Porthos seized his elbows and almost shook him.

"What are you talking about, Athos?"

He led him next to the door and murmured.

"Athos?"

"What he did, asking you to … you know …"

"Was insane, yes." Porthos finished in a low cold voice.

"Insane but … God, Porthos, he wanted to sacrifice himself for us all and … And he was hurt and …"

"I know but … but you have important matters to ..." Porthos said looking at Sylvie.

"I am still the Captain of this garrison, Porthos, and I am still his brother."

Porthos slowly loosened his grip and nodded.

"Go. I will stay with her."

"How is your head?"

"I have known worse." Porthos grumbled before looking back at Sylvie. "What can I …"

"Just give her something to drink when she is awake. I wish I knew what to do."

"Aramis would." Porthos grumbled. "He prefers to hide in his room. He is probably praying uselessly and …"

"Porthos!" Athos exclaimed, his voice harsh. "THIS is useless! If he could, he would be here."

Porthos snorted angrily and sat down on a low chair next to the bed. Athos bent to kiss Sylvie's head and he squeezed Porthos' shoulder.

"It will be alright, Porthos. Everything will be alright."

Porthos sent him a weak smile before taking a wet cloth and laying it gently against Sylvie's neck. Athos smiled gratefully and left the room.

ooo000O000ooo

When Athos emerged from the stifling atmosphere of the building, he stayed for long minutes under the penetrating rain letting it soak his shirt and his hair. He didn't want to admit that he needed this pause, that he needed to flee the room with its coppery odour of blood, a smell he associated with pain and fear. He was ashamed of this selfish thought but he had to solve a problem called Aramis and it was his duty as a captain. He snorted as he realised that he was trying to find excuses and pretexts. Very well, Captain and brother's duty first then … Then ... He still couldn't name what was happening to him. What would his relationship with Sylvie be called? He decided that it was a question he would consider later. He straightened and headed towards Aramis' room.

He approached the windows but the curtains were drawn and no light filtered. He remembered that Porthos had said He didn't open which meant that the door was locked otherwise Porthos would have entered without any hesitation. He softly knocked, certain that he would be as unlucky as his friend.

Silence.

He was about to try again when he changed his mind and turned the knob. Surprisingly, the door opened. Athos peered inside but there was only one candle, slowly melting on the bedside table. However, in the silence, he could hear a shaky shallow breathing. He pushed the door but it resisted, blocked by something … someone? He tried again and heard a muffled moaning.

"Aramis?"

No answer.

Athos pushed the door and managed to slip in the opening. He held his breath when he noticed the same metallic odour than the one he had left in his room. Blood. He squinted to make his vision clear in the dim light and made out a figure, huddled in front of the door.

"Aramis. What are you doing here?"

He knelt and laid a hand on his friend's shoulder but the man screamed as if Athos had hit him. He immediately withdrew his hand.

"What's the matter Aramis, what is it? Where are you hurt?"

As he only obtained a worrying silence, he stood up and softly closed the door. He desperately needed more light so more candles. He had to search for a while but, finally, he found a few of them surprisingly stored in Aramis' trunk between woolen socks and undergarments and -even more surprisingly- tied in a bundle with a pair of braces. He smiled and sighed, lit the biggest candle with the flame of the dying one and came back to his friend.

The sight which met his eyes didn't please him at all. Aramis' eyes were cast down and underlined by dark shadows, his complexion was paler than he had ever seen it and a bruise covered the left side of his forehead like a wilting poppy. His position was strange. He was hunched and tense at the same time. Athos knelt again in front of him and put the candle on a stool. He didn't know how to reach his silent friend, he raised a hand then hesitated and stopped.

"Aramis, how can I help you?" He whispered, finally laying his hand on his friend's knee.

The tremors he felt under his palm didn't reassure him. When the flame of the candle became brighter, another sight scared him: a dark stain on Aramis' shirt, just above his stomach. He gently began to lift the fabric but Aramis held his breath and raised his eyes to look at him.

"No … please."

"Do I hurt you?" Athos asked in a low voice.

Aramis imperceptibly shook his head. Athos continue and sighed, relieved, when he noticed that it was just a scratch and Aramis had cleaned it, but surprisingly not bandaged it. So why was he in this state? He carefully covered him again and searched the dark eyes which were staring at him now.

"Athos, leave me please." Aramis managed to articulate but his quivering voice didn't encourage Athos to obey.

"Who is the Captain in this room?" Athos smiled gently.

"I …"

A whimper interrupted Aramis as he tried to keep his hair from falling over his eyes. Athos watched, horrified, as big tears gathered on the dark lashes when his hand barely managed to leave the floor. He reached for the lax fingers laying on the tiles but a strangled sound from Aramis made him stop again.

"Don't … mmhh."

Instead of seizing the lifeless hands, Athos covered one of them with his palm and saw Aramis' features relax immediately before the man spoke, his voice just a murmur.

"You are … wet."

Athos smiled.

"It's raining."

"Why are you in my room?"

"Because it's raining outside." Athos replied with his so special throaty laugh.

Aramis tried to smile but even that seemed to provoke an agonising pain. Athos saw his eyes fill with tears again and his face became even paler. He sat down on the floor, a little closer to his brother, his hand trying to warm and reassure him. The fingers under his palm were incredibly cold even if the temperature of the room was rather pleasant considering the humidity of the evening air trying to enter it through the smallest cracks of the door and each tiny slit around the window panes.

Outside, heavy drops of rain hit the walls, pushed by a strong wind and through this noisy concert, they could hear the low rumble of the approaching thunder.

"I'm so sorry Athos."

"Sorry? Aramis … I …"

"I wanted to … Sylvie … I should have ... I wanted to go but …"

He started to shake and tried to curl on himself but suddenly he cursed under his breath and turned his head away from Athos. The latter felt his own heart starting to beat uncontrollably in his chest, panic taking hold of his mind. This day didn't need one more ordeal, he didn't need one more ordeal.

"Aramis, tell me, please … You need a doctor."

"No … I …" He retorted before falling silent.

Athos gently lifted his hand to his friend's cheek -he needed to see his eyes- but even this small movement seemed to make him suffer. He noticed that Aramis' hands were still open, palms up, on the floor. He looked like a puppet whose strings had been cut.

"When Porthos … tell him… tell him I'm sorry. When he … came … I swear, I wanted to open the door but I couldn't."

Athos let his hand slip from where it had stopped, mid air, next to Aramis' cheek, laying it on his chest instead, feeling the fast heartbeat under the dirty shirt.

"You couldn't? … Where are you hurt? Now tell me. I came as your brother but as your Captain too, so now, I order you to report."

Aramis breathed out a shaky laugh and winced.

"Don't make me laugh, please."

"So?"

"My shoulders."

"And?"

"Just a scratch"

"How?" Athos asked as he couldn't remember Aramis being wounded by a sword or a bullet.

"When … when we had to save the Queen from the furious crowd. It's ridiculous, I was hit by a … don't laugh … the walking stick of an old harpy."

Athos sighed with a half smile.

"What else?"

"A pain in the sternum and the … the Grand Organ of Notre Dame in my right ear because of that damn shot … but I'm fine."

"You are fine …"Athos snorted. "Don't make me laugh." He added dryly, the expression in his eyes belying his light tone. "Now, can you stand?"

"Help me?"

To be continued...