Disclaimer & Spoilers: See Chapter One.
A/N: Welcome to another of the longer chapters. It's funny how one sentence can inspire an entire story.
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Timeline: Prequel. Takes place pre-Family/pre-series and post-Savoy. Can be read on its own.
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"What happens if, too early, we lose a parent – that party on whom we rely for everything? What did these people do when…"
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Chapter Eight: Obvious Care
"Porthos had checked the infirmary first, not actually believing that Athos would go there voluntarily, but needing to confirm that the man wasn't there…"
~~~~~~~ Chapter 8 of "Family" by Celticgal1041.
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Aramis sat in the shadows of one of the buildings surrounding the garrison's main courtyard. From where he sat, he had the perfect vantage point to watch the comings and goings of his fellow Musketeers. The most advantageous part about where he sat was that he could observe the others while he himself was not easily observed.
Most of the time he did not hide away and isolate himself like he was doing at the moment, but ever since Savoy, he found that he needed the relative solitude every now and again. Considering the fact that he had been left alone with twenty dead of his fellow Musketeers, he didn't really understand what triggered this need to retreat instead of surrounding himself with his living and breathing friends.
Other times he did know why he sought solitary refuge. A careless word, a certain kind of glance towards him was enough to drive him away from his fellow Musketeers and into a fit of melancholia. He knew he was a vivid reminder of the disastrous training mission to Savoy. He knew that any recruit that had joined in the past few months had been taken aside and told the story of how he alone had returned when twenty of their brothers had been slaughtered and one had deserted. He despised the looks the recruits gave him, wondering how and why he had survived and if he knew that Marsac had been a coward all along.
Thank God for Porthos, who encouraged the men to find something else to talk about if he caught them speaking of Savoy in Aramis's presence. He and Porthos had been friends before the massacre, but in its aftermath, they had become like brothers, closer than he and Marsac had ever been. When everyone else had been avoiding him, afraid to say or do the wrong thing lest they remind him of Savoy, Porthos had done the complete opposite. He had made an effort to stay by his side, even if they never spoke a word. Porthos had also made sure he didn't accidentally starve or exhaust himself by making sure he ate and slept. Aramis was slowly brought back into the fold because of Porthos helping him through the bad days when he couldn't stand the fact that he had survived and questioned why he alone had come back from that accursed place.
Today was one such day, but Porthos was out on a mission. More and more Captain Tréville had been sending he and Porthos out together, but for some reason on this mission they were separated. As a result, when the melancholic mood hit him, he'd retreated to the darkest shadows of the courtyard, wanting to be left alone but not wanting to be alone.
Therefore, with his perfect vantage point, he was able to observe those Musketeers returning from the day's assignments and missions. To get his mind off of what he so desperately did not want to think about, but couldn't keep from his mind entirely, Aramis assessed the condition and mood of every Musketeer who came through the main garrison's main gate.
For the most part, the men he observed were whole and hale, but there were a few who returned that were obviously in need of medical assistance. The majority knew to head straight to the infirmary, realizing that deadly complications could arise from an untreated wound. However, there was one man who consistently avoided the infirmary.
This man had joined the Musketeers shortly before Savory and had been quickly commissioned afterwards to boost their numbers. The commission was not undeserved as the man was already their best swordsman, especially when not horribly hungover. For the most part, Athos kept to himself, rarely engaging with the other Musketeers except when it pertained to their duties.
Aramis knew that the Captain was frustrated by Athos's drunken ways and was trying to get him to care more about the regiment than a bottle of wine. So far, the attempt had had mixed results, and the man's bad days still seemed to far outweigh his good ones. As long as he'd been a soldier, Aramis could tell which men had the potential to be great leaders, and Athos was one of those men, even if the man himself did not know it yet. For the time being, the siren's call of wine was far too strong for Athos to overcome.
He and Porthos had observed Athos and had seen how the older man tended to eschew the company of his brother Musketeers, hardly getting to know any of his brothers-in-arms. Sometimes Aramis wondered if Athos was even really aware of what had happened in Savoy, knowing not many in the garrison would dare approach the man as well as seemingly being perpetually hungover.
Porthos had commented once that he thought Athos was of the type who joined the military so that they could find a way to die quick but honorable deaths in service to King and Country. That thought had rankled him. Aramis couldn't abide the idea of anyone throwing their lives away like that, especially since Savoy.
Aramis had previously observed Athos return from missions, helping any injured to the infirmary but avoiding staying there himself even if it was obvious to anyone who bothered to pay attention that the man needed help. The younger Musketeers and recruits tended to stay away from Athos and his mercurial moods, and the men who were of age with Athos didn't seem to know him well enough to be able to tell when the man truly needed help, not that Aramis thought it would be accepted if it was offered.
He and Athos were not friends as such, but Aramis had enough knowledge of injuries and had been around Athos enough to be able to tell when the man needed to go to the infirmary. Yet, Athos avoided the place as if it were plague infested.
From his vantage point in the shadows, Aramis had watched as Athos and the other three Musketeers of their team return from a mission that had quite obviously taken a turn for the worse at some point, if the bloodied, makeshift bandages were any indication. He watched as Athos helped his fellows towards the infirmary, but had quickly returned, meeting Captain Tréville in the courtyard and reporting on how the mission had been a success though they'd been ambushed on the road back to Paris.
Given the slight slurring of the man's words, one might think that Athos was drunk or, at the very least, still trying to cope with his latest hangover, but Aramis's instincts were telling him otherwise. Apparently Captain Tréville's were as well, if the extra inquiry towards Athos's health was any indication. Athos admitted to the obvious bruising and the not-so-obvious by saying it was not worth a physician's efforts when the other men needed more help. Tréville did not seem overly convinced, but for some reason allowed the deception, ordering Athos to get some rest.
The Captain stood in place, watching Athos head towards his quarters, and for some reason not immediately moving off towards the infirmary to check on his injured men. Then, after another long moment, Tréville turned around and looked right at him.
"What do you think: hangover or injury?" his captain asked, likely knowing that he'd been there the whole time.
Aramis reconsidered what he'd seen and compared it to the little he knew about Athos.
"Injury," he replied, feeling confident in his assessment.
Tréville nodded in agreement and said, "He avoids the infirmary."
"I've noticed," Aramis said.
The Captain tipped his head in the direction of Athos's room.
"You two are friendly, on good enough terms?"
"About as good as anyone can be with him," Aramis replied.
"You have of late been increasing your knowledge of how to treat injuries, have you not?" Tréville asked.
Aramis was only partially surprised that the Captain had known that. After Savoy, he'd become hyper aware of his fellow Musketeers' injuries and could no longer abide any unnecessary death out in the field due to treatable injuries. He hadn't asked for permission to do it, but he'd begun to increase his knowledge of medicine beyond the basic training all Musketeers received.
"Yes, Captain," Aramis finally replied.
"Will you—?"
"Of course," he said, though he didn't quite feel up to being around people let alone someone who habitually drove others away from him.
However, his desire for isolation was hard-pressed to ignore the part of him that Savoy had awakened, the part of him that could not stand to let an injured man remain untreated.
"Thank you," Captain Tréville said, looking relieved.
The captain then headed towards the infirmary and Aramis went to Athos's room via his own in order to gather a few things he thought he might possibly need.
Closed fist raised towards Athos's door, Aramis hesitated to actually knock, debating on how to approach the situation. Eventually, he decided to be himself and deal with whatever Athos threw at him in terms of attitude or temper.
Aramis knocked and, hearing no sounds coming from within, knocked for a second time a minute later. When a third time knocking continued to produce no response from within, Aramis considered whether or not to look for Athos elsewhere, but his gut was telling him to stay put and keep at it. After knocking once more, hard enough to feel like he'd bruised his knuckles, Aramis decided to ignore propriety and open the door and check if Athos was even in the room.
The door's hinges shrieked at him as he opened the door a fraction and Aramis wondered how Athos could stand such a noise when the man regularly suffered from hangovers. Door slightly ajar, Aramis called out to Athos but yet again there was no response. Thinking Athos was quite probably ignoring him, Aramis pushed the door opened even wider, intending on stepping into the room.
He was stopped in his tracks by an unexpected sight – Athos lying in a crumpled heap on the floor.
Aramis rushed to the man's side and crouched down, placing his fingers against the man's neck. Blowing out a sigh of relief, he took a quick look around the room for a sign of what may have happened to cause Athos's collapse. He found nothing obvious, which led him to conclude the man had barely had time to put his hat on the table before losing a battle with gravity.
He carefully turned Athos over onto his back and began to survey the older man for injuries. Aside from the bruising that Athos had earlier admitted to Tréville, Aramis had eventually found a cut overlapping a generous-sized lump on the back of the man's head by the ear, the bleeding having been hidden by the thick hair. The wound didn't look deep enough for stitches, but he was concerned by how long Athos had already been unconscious.
After several tries, Aramis finally was able to get Athos to regain some semblance of consciousness, enough so that they could get the older man over to the bed. The change in altitude triggered Athos's stomach, but fortunately Aramis recognized the signs quickly enough to avoid a mess by grabbing the chamber pot. His suspicions of a concussion were confirmed.
Aramis cleaned the wound and applied a salve before helping Athos get more comfortable.
Two hours pass before Aramis attempts to wake Athos once again.
Athos slowly opens his eyes before squinting at the daylight seeping in past the edges of the lone window's curtain.
"Where?" he asked.
"Your room," Aramis answered.
"Good," Athos said. "Aramis?"
Aramis is a little surprised that the older man knew his name, but the fact that he did was encouraging in that there didn't seem to be any damage to the man's brain.
"Yes?" he replied.
"Why are you here?" Athos asked.
"I found you unconscious," Aramis said, hiding a slight smile at the confused expression on the injured man's face.
"Oh," Athos said before once again succumbing to sleep.
Aramis felt confident that the older man would be fine on his own long enough for him to report in to Tréville and grab a few more things to help him get through the long night of observation ahead of him.
He woke Athos every so often and their conversations, if they could be called that, were greatly similar to the first. Aramis was curious as to why Athos avoided infirmaries, but could not ever get a straight answer before the man fell back asleep.
That mystery plus the monitoring of Athos's injury allowed him to get past the melancholy that had once again begun to get its claws in him. He wondered how Athos would react to being thanked for getting injured once he recovered. Aramis thought of all the different ways that situation would not end well for him, and smiled at the idea of thanking the older man anyway.
After nightfall, there was a banging on the door. When Aramis opened it Porthos was standing there with a tray of food and drink.
"You're back," Aramis said.
"Obviously," Porthos said as he stepped forward, forcing Aramis to step out of the way or end up wearing the contents of the tray.
"You have food."
"Well-spotted," Porthos replied as he set the tray down on the room's small table.
"I thought you weren't going to be back until tomorrow," he said stepping to the table and pouring them each a cup of wine as Porthos sat down.
"We were close enough to Paris that we decided to push on instead of camping out overnight," Porthos replied in between bites. "The Captain said you were here and I thought I'd keep you company."—he pointed a fork towards Athos—"Or watch him for a bit if you needed a break."
"I'm good. Thanks for the food though; I hadn't realized how hungry I was."
Porthos grinned and took a drink of wine before asking, "How is 'e doin'?"
"I think he'll be fine in a couple of days, assuming he'll heed my advice and get some rest," Aramis said.
"Why isn't 'e in the infirmary?" Porthos asked as he sat back in his chair to relax.
"No idea. Haven't you ever noticed that he avoids that place?"
"Really?"
Aramis nodded. "And this time—"
"This time is for sleeping, not talking," a voice laced with fatigue interrupted.
"Athos," Aramis said, getting up and walking to the bed. "You're awake."
"Evidently," Athos said before sighing and lifting a shaky hand to cover his eyes. "Unfortunately."
Porthos chuckled and Athos startled slightly, wincing a little as he carefully turned his head.
"Porthos," the injured man said.
"Athos," Porthos said with a nod of greeting. "Been keepin' Aramis company, but I brought you something to eat if you want it."
Athos made a noise of disgust, which forced Aramis to cover an amused smile with his hand.
"Something to drink instead?" he asked.
"Wine?"
"Broth," Aramis said, but the expression on Athos's face made him add, "Both?"
"Fine," Athos said, sounding as if he were doing them a favor.
Porthos chuckled as Aramis poured the bowl of broth that had been left to keep warm into a cup.
"Would you please?" Aramis asked, holding out the cup to Porthos.
Seeing Athos struggle to sit up, Porthos instead went to help, but was stopped from interfering by the injured man's glare. Porthos lifted his hands in surrender and took a step back. It was a near thing, but Athos managed to not dump himself out of his own bed.
When Porthos handed him the cup of broth, Athos took a sip, grimaced, and asked, "My wine?"
"After the broth," Aramis replied. "I want to make sure it will stay down before I give it to you."
When ten minutes had passed with Athos slowly drinking the broth and it staying down, Aramis exchanged the broth for the wine.
"Why are you still here?" Athos asked in a tone Aramis couldn't decipher.
"Why wouldn't I be?" he replied, glancing back towards Porthos who seemed just as confused by the question as he felt.
Athos did not answer and turned to stare at the wall in front of the bed, only managing half the wine before becoming too tired to hold the cup anymore. Aramis rescued the cup of wine before it spilled and raised the blanket to cover more of Athos, not bothering to try to move the man into a more comfortable position until he was sure Athos was well and truly asleep.
The next morning, Aramis was finishing cleaning his gun when Athos finally woke up. He watched as the older man adjusted to being awake and started to get up out of the bed.
"I would go slowly, if I were you," Aramis quietly said.
Athos looked surprised to see him. "You're still here."
Aramis grinned. "Why wouldn't I be?"
An unidentifiable look crossed Athos's face before it became a stoic mask.
Once Athos was sitting on the edge of the bed, Aramis pointed towards his own head about where the older man's injury was located. "May I?"
Athos raised an eyebrow and looked at him a moment. Aramis made sure his expression was open and friendly, even letting a slight smile grace his face. Without saying a word, Athos lowered his head, presenting it to Aramis.
He stepped forward and parted the thick hair, quickly locating the wound. It looked clean and, warning the other man, he probed the injury. When touching what must have been a particularly sensitive spot, Athos flinched, which prompted Aramis to apologize for causing discomfort. After that he kept a running dialogue of what he was doing, ending the examination by applying more salve and cautioning Athos to rest for at least another day.
When Aramis was finished, Athos thanked him. Aramis then went to gather his weapons, explaining that he and Porthos were due at the palace for parade duty. When he asked if he could stop by and check in on Athos later in the day, the man gave him another indecipherable look before nodding once.
About five weeks later, Aramis was just about to leave for a late night rendezvous when there was a knock on his door. Thinking Porthos would be the only one to come by at such an hour, Aramis had a quip about the dangers of gambling on the tip of his tongue as he answered the door. However, the person on the other side of the door was not Porthos but Athos, blood trailing down the left side of his face.
Aramis ushered Athos into the room and over to sit on his bed. The other man was largely silent, only answering the questions put to him. Aramis determined that stitches were needed to close the deepest part of the wound, and asked if Athos would be amenable to that. Before he began, Aramis admitted that he wasn't as practiced at placing stitches as a physician and offered to escort Athos to the infirmary, but the other man refused without any explanation.
As he worked, Aramis again made plain what he was going to do and why, sensing that it made Athos more comfortable while being treated. In return, Athos surprised him by volunteering what had happened to him.
Three against one in a bar fight did not sound too sporting, especially when one of the men had blindsided him by hitting him with a tankard. Without thinking about what he was saying, Aramis casually remarked that had he and Porthos been there, it would have been an even fight and they would easily have been victorious.
Athos stiffened a moment before nodding once and saying, "Perhaps."
Aramis suddenly felt at a crossroads, that his next words would decide something beyond his current understanding.
"Well, how about you invite us to that tavern as a thank you for patching you up, and we'll prove it to you."
Athos seemed to think about that for a minute before the corners of his mouth lifted slightly and he nodded.
Seven weeks after that, the three of them were spending a lot of time getting to know each other better. It seemed that all Athos had needed was someone willing to take the time to get to know him in order for him to open up a bit. The man's inconsistent moods were difficult to navigate around, but despite that he and Porthos found Athos to be intelligent and possessing of a very dry wit.
Captain Tréville must have noticed their growing friendship, because he started assigning the three of them to work together whenever he could. Aramis also noticed that his own fits of melancholia were fewer than they had been before he got to know Athos. He had no idea why that was the case, simply accepting the idea and enjoying life more than he ever had since Savoy.
As their friendship continued to grow, Aramis couldn't imagine not having both Porthos and Athos as his best friends and thanked God for bringing them into his life. They each had their personality quirks and their own way of doing things, but somehow they fit together, and over time had become almost inseparable.
It wasn't until a year or so later that Aramis found out why Athos was so against both infirmaries and physicians, coming only to him for treatment when possible. Athos's experiences as a child under an incompetent, nearly abusive physician's care would definitely cause a person to be wary of all those who professed to be a healer. Athos admitted that it was Aramis's obvious care for a near stranger that had had him seeking the sharpshooter's help that second time.
After Savoy, Aramis had made the decision to increase his knowledge of wounds and illnesses, vowing to never treat them as if they were separate from the person as he had observed far too many physicians doing.
If Captain Tréville hadn't sent him after Athos, if he hadn't made that vow, if…a lot of things, then he and Porthos would've missed out on a brotherhood with Athos that made them a family by choice and of the heart, willing to do anything for each other, including risk their lives for one another.
Aramis smiled and thought that perhaps their friendship was just meant to be.
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The end.
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Next time: Chapter Nine: Chores
Thanks for reading!
