vii.
Before Dr. Callais left he put a hand on d'Artagnan's shoulder. The young Gascon looked into his eyes and followed their gaze to Aramis on the bed then back to him.
"It is none of my business," he said, whispering in d'Artagnan's ear. "But I sense something, personal, going on."
D'Artagnan raised an arm to stop him from continuing but was hushed by the physician.
"I just want to warn you that M. Aramis has opiates in his system," continued the physician. "I gave them, with his permission of course, this morning to help with the pain."
D'Artagnan was pleased Dr. Callais included the permission part, and was also relieved to know his brother was not suffering too much physical pain, but this certainly put a damper on things. "Thank you," he said, patting the physician on the shoulder before moving away.
The physician's hand grabbed his arm once again, turning him back.
"That is not everything," said Dr. Callais. "I must also warn you that because of this, well, let us just say M. Aramis is quite susceptible to his emotions right now."
A long and weary sigh deflated d'Artagnan's posture. He rubbed his forehead then straightened and offered his hand in gratitude. As they shook, d'Artagnan forced a smile on his lips. "That is good to know," he said. "And thank you, again… For the warning as well."
Dr. Callais bid good-bye with a nod. "I will be outside if you need me," he said, before disappearing into the hall.
D'Artagnan walked to the bed, wondering what he should say. There were so many variables creating too many outcomes. All he knew for certain was that he didn't want to make this decision on his own.
Athos was leaning against a table by the bed while Porthos sat in a chair. Neither was speaking to Aramis, who was sitting sideways on the edge of the bed with his head resting on a pillow against the wall. The marksman's eyes were closed, so d'Artagnan decided to keep this discreet.
He tugged on Athos' sleeve and beckoned him to move away from Aramis. Porthos saw this and joined them by the door. D'Artagnan explained what the physician had told him, creating two similar reactions in his brothers that mimicked his own when given the information.
"I don't know if this is the best time for this," said d'Artagnan, quietly so he wouldn't disturb Aramis.
Porthos leaned forward. "This might be the best time," he said, his voice also low, but without losing any of its earnestness. "He's an open book. He can't hold back."
Athos stood with his hands on his hips, staring at the floor to his right. When he looked at the group his eyes were tired. "I don't feel right taking advantage of him while he's in this state," he said. He shifted and crossed his arms over his chest. "Especially in lieu of what has happened."
Porthos grunted and threw his head back. D'Artagnan knew the large musketeer agreed with Athos, but it was hard for him to be patient. Like Aramis, he was a man of action, and having another circumstance delay the long over due conversation was like withholding bread from a beggar.
D'Artagnan was just as anxious to speak with Aramis, find resolution and solace, but at what cost? Aramis was a private man, so to question him when he was not fully in control of his defensive faculties was a transgression possibly greater than not seeing his need for help the previous night.
"Have you come here to talk amongst yourselves? Or can I expect you to eventually address me?"
The words, spoken clearly and with distain, pierced d'Artagnan's heart. He swallowed and approached the bed to find Aramis had not moved, but his eyes were now open. D'Artagnan looked down at him and smiled, hoping it conveyed his truest sincerity. "We're sorry," he said. "Thought you were asleep."
Aramis didn't look at him when he replied. "You knew I wasn't."
D'Artagnan frowned despite himself. Aramis was a man of action indeed, but also a very perceptive one as well. "You're right," he said. He kneeled down, making himself lower than the marksman's sight line. He dropped his head, drew in a deep breath and decided there was nothing easy about any of this, so trying to find an effortless way to say something was never going to happen.
"The physician says you are under the influence of an opiate," he said, looking into Aramis' eyes so there would be no question to his honesty. "We don't feel that now is the right time to have this conversation."
Aramis laughed. It was brief and non-humorous, inferring mild shock at the statement. "What conversation?" he asked. "The one you should have had with me the other night?"
D'Artagnan swallowed hard. He needed to push forward, honest and direct. "Yes."
There was another small laugh before Aramis replied. "And have me forgive you?"
"Yes," said d'Artagnan.
This time there was no smile, only contempt in Aramis' voice. "Then I forgive you. All of you. Now let me rest. I can apparently take care of myself and don't need anyone watching over me, so go. You have more important things to worry about I'm sure."
Within seconds, d'Artagnan felt Porthos and Athos at his back. He stood up to stand united with his brothers as they looked down on Aramis.
"I don't accept that," said Athos. "But when, and if you do eventually mean it, I will."
"You're not thinkin' straight, Aramis," said Porthos. "Whether you know it or not. And don't think for one second I have somewhere else to be other than by your side worried half outta my mind."
"You've said your piece," said Aramis. "Now let me have mine." He closed his eyes and pulled the sheet draped over his waist up around his shoulders.
D'Artagnan couldn't help but feel angry even though he knew it was unreasonable to be so. He pulled the chair by the bed under him and sat down, hoping that by the time Aramis awoke his senses would be back in place. "We'll be here when you wake," he said, leaning back.
It was soft, mumbled and barely coherent, but the one word uttered from Aramis made him smile.
A warmness enveloped d'Artagnan as he looked back at Athos and Porthos.
"What'd he say?" asked Porthos.
"Good," whispered d'Artagnan. "He said, good."
"Well that's something," said Athos, retaking his position against the side table.
They kept their peace for several minutes to let Aramis fall asleep, until Porthos scraped a chair on the floor as he pulled it out from the table to sit.
D'Artagnan cringed, but since Aramis had not stirred, he let out a relieved breath. "You know," he said quietly, stretching his legs out in front of him. "Aramis once told me it wasn't about justice, or helping those in need, but the fight itself that he enjoyed." D'Artagnan paused and chuckled softly. "I thought he was just trying to rile me up for the fight at Pinon, but now that I think about it, I think he actually meant it." He paused again, but this time, with a wistful countenance. "He lives to fight. He's one of the strongest men I know."
"He told me his parents wanted him to be a nun," said Athos. When two surprised faces turned to him he smiled. "Well, join a monastery," he finished with a smirk.
Porthos was tinkering idly with some of the physician's bottles left on the table, his mind obviously lost somewhere in memories. "He's saved my life more times than I care to count," he said.
D'Artagnan leaned over the bed and arranged the sheet draped over Aramis to better cover his body. "Always there to give support," he said. "There with a joke when you need to laugh. And always there when you need help."
A loud sigh came from Porthos as he sat back in his chair. "One for all," he said. "He's always been about that." He stopped playing with the bottles on the table and looked up. "If he weren't here, would those just be empty words?"
"Not for a single second," replied d'Artagnan, and based on Porthos' smile, he understood the big man agreed.
"But we would be like a soul without a heart," said Athos. "Something would feel missing. So it's time for us to repay him with the other half of that motto so it doesn't come to that."
To Be Continued…
