Notes:

I'm sorry for the cliffhanger, but I'm offering my appology in the form of an early update! Am I forgiven?

Hope you enjoy!

Blood Bond

Chapter 10

They heard the chaos before they saw it. Shouts laced with panic and pressure echoed along the wide corridor Athos and Aramis hammered down it. Aramis reached the door first and wrenched it opened, allowing Athos through. The anarchy they were met with centred around d'Artagnan's bed. The young man thrashed violently against the mattress, two research physicians trying to physically restrain him as he flailed and kicked. d'Artagnan's eyes fluttered at half-mast as he cried out again. The howl which tore from the young man put Athos' hackles up as he stormed across the room.

"Enough. ENOUGH!" Athos grabbed one of the men and hurled him backwards, shooting a glare at the other which forced him into a retreat.

"Sir you requested we didn't sedate him –"

"That doesn't mean pin him down!" Athos carefully approached the bed. d'Artagnan, thankfully, had stopped howling, his shouts boiling down to whines and twitches.

"Morons – he's having a nightmare, do you have any concept of what he's been through?"

Athos ignored the fact that technically he didn't know what d'Artagnan had been through and instead squatted down by the head of the bed. His hand came down to gently rest on the younger man's hairline.

"d'Artagnan it's not real," Athos assured he shaking figure quietly, "Open your eyes. It's me. You know me. You're safe…" His hand carefully pushed his friend's hair back from his forehead. The whimper this time was smaller, followed by shudder which made Athos' stomach twist with nausea.

"It's not real, I promise. Come back to me," Athos forced his voice to stay level, stay constant, "Open your eyes… You're safe…"

d'Artagnan's brows came together in a frown, his mouth moving wordlessly around the word safe. One more shudder wracked his body before, finally, d'Artagnan's eyes cracked open. Clouded by sleep and confusion his brown eyes look in his surroundings before settling on his friend's face.

Their gaze locked in a way d'Artagnan hadn't allowed during their meeting and Athos drank him in. Those eyes which seemed simultaneously so familiar and yet so different. Older somehow… Haunted.

But there was a spark as well. A small, blink-and-you'd-miss-it, kind of spark. It wasn't the blaze of the Charles he'd met all those years ago or the inferno of the d'Artagnan who was as stubborn as hell, but it was the smallest spark of recognition, of his old self.

" 'thos..?" The word was a croak, barely loud enough to be heard out-with the bubble of two, but it caused a broken smile to take over Athos' lined face.

"Yea-" Athos coughed to cover the quiver of emotion in his voice, "Yea... It's me. It's good to see you d'Artagnan."

Athos watched with a lump in his throat as d'Artagnan's eyes squeezed closed, the traitor tears leaking out around his lashes.

"Hey-hey it's okay…" Athos fell forward from his crouched position to his knees, and guided d'Artagnan's face gently to the crook of his neck. One arm wrapped softly around his friend's broad shoulders, the other hand anchoring itself into dark hair. d'Artagnan stiffened for a moment, before dissolving into sobs against his friend's shoulder.

"It's okay…" Athos murmured into the hair just above d'Artagnan's ear. His thumb stroked across the crown of the younger man's head, creating a reassuring rhythm in the same way Treville had done for him all those years ago. "You're okay. I promise…."

He continued to offer the little promises as his friend sobbed, whispering over him until eventually d'Artagnan sagged in exhaustion. Even once he had quietened Athos didn't push him away, didn't push him to talk. Instead he just waited until d'Artagnan was ready.

When he was, the voice which was offered was heartbroken.

"It was you…"

"What was me, d'Artagnan?"

"The man in the warehouse – I couldn't remember the face before. I couldn't remember who… It was you," Athos felt his friend's breath hitch against his throat and shudder against him. He just tightened his grip.

"I held a knife to your throat! I would have killed you, I would have – how can you be here? Why haven't you arrested me?"

Athos carefully drew back. He pushed a hand into d'Artagnan's dark hair, forcing it away from his tear stained face so he could look him in the eye.

"I'm here because you're my brother…" Athos looked passed d'Artagnan's scarred face, passed the hurt in his eyes, passed all the fine lines of stress and hurt which had sprung up over their year apart, to the boy he'd met so long ago. Charles, the Charles Athos had known, not the machine Richelieu had made. The boy who'd lived on a nervous edge, always on guard, always waiting for someone to hurt him, to push him away. Athos realised with a sick feeling that d'Artagnan was on edge because of him, waiting for him to push him away.

Well that wasn't going to happen.

"Because you're hurting and that that kills me. Because you didn't want to hurt me anymore than I wanted to lose you…"

d'Artagnan just shook his head.

"You can't forgive something like-"

"Do you forgive me?" Athos cut across him. He held his friend's gaze, watching as d'Artagnan eyes creased in confusion while Athos pressed on, "I left you with that man for over a year. I mourned and let myself crumble instead of looking for you, instead of finding you!"

"You thought I was dead… Why would you look for a dead person?"

"I should have known, I gave up when I had no right to do so," Athos insisted, "Now do you forgive me?"

d'Artagnan just blinked for a moment, his lids heavy and swollen, as he thought, "Yes."

Athos offered a sad half smile and drew back, resting on his heels, "Then I forgive you."

"But-"

"Then I forgive you," Athos emphasised the word, implying a closure to the topic. If he didn't then he had a suspicion it would go on for hours. d'Artagnan needed to know he was forgiven, even if he didn't feel it in that moment. Maybe, at some point, he'd even be able to forgive himself.

"Now, do you think you're up to sitting up? I think there's someone here who's desperate so speak to you-" But d'Artagnan was already moving. Something darker flashed across his gaze, something more disturbing. He shoved himself up on his scarred arm and attempted to tug his feet over the side of the bed. The restraints stopped him in his tracks, which caused d'Artagnan to frown down at his ankles. He tugged at them again.

"I need to-"

"Need to what d'Artagnan?" Athos nodded to Aramis, who until then had been hovering in the background to give the pair some privacy, to undo the restraints, "Where do you need to go?"

"I need to – where is he?" The moment d'Artagnan was free he forced himself to stand, the sheet falling away to reveal the extent of his scars as he stood in nothing but a pair of shorts. The man had been horizontal for over a day, and swayed on his feet to reflect that. Aramis stepped forward as and placed a steadying hand on d'Artagnan's elbow.

"Who d'Artagnan? Who are you looking for?"

Athos straightened to full height and realised with a start that d'Artagnan was glaring with more life in his eyes than they'd seen since d'Artagnan had returned.

"What is it d'Artagnan?"

"Richelieu." D'Artagnan growled out, passion turning to fire as the word passed his lips, "Where is he?"

D'Artagnan, clothed in a dark pair of Aramis' tracksuit bottoms and zipped hooded sweatshirt, stood flanked by his friends. Aramis' shoulder brushed against his, with Porthos on his other side. It was the only way Athos had even considered allowing d'Artagnan anywhere near the man who'd be brought to the other side of the glass. They had called Porthos and Treville and gone as a group, a unit. A family.

"You don't have to be here…" Aramis reminded the younger man again, as if he'd somehow forgotten in the last few minutes.

"I know."

"If this is going to be too much, too soon… No one will begrudge you for stepping back."

"You've got less than twenty hours left to charge or release him…" d'Artagnan's eyes didn't waver from empty room through the one way mirror. Not long now. "What are the chances of being able to charge him if I don't do this?"

"There's still time to come up with some-" Aramis began but Porthos cut across words.

"Next to none."

Aramis glared at his friend, but Porthos saw no reason to sugar coat what d'Artagnan already knew.

"But we'd never force ya into this," Porthos' hand settles reassuringly on d'Artagnan's upper arm. He couldn't stop his flinch, but after the initial discomfort he relaxed into touch, "Nothin' is worth you getting' hurt. Even hammerin' Richelieu."

d'Artagnan wasn't sure what to say, although didn't have to come up with something as the door on the other side of the window pane opened. His back stiffened in preparation, his jaw clamping down as he Richelieu was brought through the door. The man couldn't see him, d'Artagnan knew that, but for a moment he couldn't breathe. His skin prickled, intensifying into a burn as memories bombarded him, a shudder rolling through his body.

"Tell me who you belong to, Charles!"

"You're mine! You'll always be mine!"

"Say it and the pain can stop…"

"We can stop this." Treville's voice rumbled from behind him as Richelieu was led to the metal table and handcuffed down, "Just say the word."

But d'Artagnan wasn't listening. His throat felt like it was closing. The newest burns on his arm ignited as if the lighter was still pressed into his skin. The shuddering turned into shakes, his eyes unable to tear themselves from the man who'd broken him down for over a year.

"d'Artagnan…" Aramis voice barely registered over the roaring in his ears, "d'Artagnan are you with us?"

When he didn't reply Aramis' gaze snapped back to their commander, "Treville pull the plug, now."

But then door opened and closed again as Athos stepped into the room. Suddenly d'Artagnan could draw breath.

"No!" d'Artagnan shook his head as Athos stepped toward the man, "No. It's good… I'm, I'm good…"

The group of four fell silence as Athos crossed his arms over his chest and looked over the old man in front of him.

Richelieu just raised an eyebrow, "Ready to admit defeat and release me yet, Olivier?"

"Oh? And why would I do that?"

"I know the law well enough to know you've got less than a 20 hours left to charge me, and since that's not going to happen, why don't we just speed things up and release these cuffs?"

d'Artagnan watched his mentor as his lips quirked in the smallest of smiles. The movement was slight, subtle, and completely unnerving to the man across from him.

"Of course… I suppose gossip doesn't spread as far as the holding cells..."

Richelieu's eyes narrowed, "And what gossip have I missed?"

Athos offered the smallest of nods. d'Artagnan knew that was his signal. Suddenly he forgot how to move. His legs were frozen, rooted to the spot. He knew the plan, he knew what was supposed to happen, but he couldn't, couldn't…

"Ya don't have to do this," Porthos muttered next to him.

"I-" d'Artagnan was on the cusp of backing out. Of calling the whole thing off. To run and put as much space between him and that man as possible, "I-"

But then, somehow, d'Artagnan could have sworn Athos caught his eye. That would be impossible. Athos couldn't even see him through the one way mirror. And yet? That little moment of eye was all d'Artagnan needed to remind him he could do this, to find his feet again. He stepped forward and, reluctantly, Aramis pulled the adjoining door open for him. With a deep breath in d'Artagnan stepped into the interrogation room. Old, cold eyes clamped onto him and suddenly d'Artagnan felt like he was spiralling.

Fire.

Pain.

"Who do you belong to?"

Burning.

But then Athos' hand found his arm, drawing him to his side and extinguishing the panic. d'Artagnan swallowed.

Settle. Centre yourself and settle.

"What the hell is this?" The bravado slide from Richelieu's face. Cracks began to streak down his confidence, discomfort prickling along his shoulders, "Are you meant to scare me, Charles?"

Pain.

Burning.

I belong to you…

But there was Athos' hand again, a small, reassuring touch to keep him grounded to reality.

"I'm not Charles." His mouth felt dry, moments away from a crack, but at least his head stayed high.

Anger flared up as Richelieu lunged forward. d'Artagnan was about to take a flinch back, when Richelieu was cut short. The clank of the chains as they were pulled tight reminded d'Artagnan of who was in charge. He wasn't the one to be chained anymore.

"So this is your big idea, Olivier?" The old man sneered, "Using my own lap dog against me. It will be his word against mine, if he can even pass a phyc eval. You'll never get a conviction from this!"

Lap dog… d'Artagnan fought the urge to throw up. He was trying to take control back, d'Artagnan reminded himself a little shakily. That's what a dog does when it's backed into a corner; it bites.

"You have no idea what I'm capable of." This time d'Artagnan's voice was stronger. Athos practically glowed with pride by his side.

"You think I am that easily forgotten?" Richelieu sneered, tugging at his bonds again which refused to budge, "You think you can forget what you became. You would have killed Olivier twice over if it wasn't for sheer dumb luck! I made you! I moulded you into the weapon I needed, you'll never be more than that!"

And there was the opening d'Artagnan needed.

"You didn't mould me. You tortured me! You denied me pain relief and medical attention, you burned my body over and over because I wouldn't give you what you wanted."

"And didn't you scream," Richelieu's eyes twisted in a sadistic satisfaction, "You howled and begged and held on for so long before admitting who you belonged to. Fire does amazing things to even the most stubborn of men. Even they can be broken."

Memories exploded in response to Richelieu's words. The scorch of the burns, cruel laughter.

"Who do you belong too?"

But d'Artagnan, despite his shaking hands, shook his head. "You didn't break me."

"Oh but I did Charles!" Richelieu smiled, the sinister curl of his lip making Athos' stomach clench in fury, "You might have been stubborn, but I broke you. Fire breaks everyone. You begged for the pain to stop, promised whatever I wanted. I broke you and you are mine!"

The shaking was getting worse, the memories were getting stronger. d'Artagnan could feel his grip on reality weakening as the memories threatened to overpower him.

But then Athos was there, a firm hand on his shoulder to anchor him in the moment, while his other hand dug into his pocket.

"And that's just about enough I think," Athos drew a small silver recording device from his pocket and twirled it between his fingers, "That's plenty for the trial."

Richelieu's eyes narrowed, his nostrils flaring in anger, as he looked at the object in Athos' hands.

"You recorded this?"

"We read you your rights, you've not asked for a lawyer," Athos, once he was sure d'Artagnan was fully back with them, removed his hands to cross them over his chest, "It is completely within our rights to record any conversations during custody to build a case."

"What case?" Richelieu spat, "I've not admitted to anything! You have no case."

"Perhaps we can't prove you are the piece of filth behind the Guard," Waves of apparent disinterest rolled off Athos, as if the whole conversation was boring him, "We can continue to work on that. But the kidnapping and torture of a government official? That carries a sentence of at least 10 years, plenty of time for us to build a case."

For a moment Richelieu just stared, dumbfounded, as he retraced everything he had said and realised the rope he had just looped around his own neck.

With a snarl Richelieu snapped forward, a growl tearing from deep in his throat as the chains stopped him.

"I'll kill you – kill you both, I'll –"

"And I wish you luck with that," Athos passed the recorder to d'Artagnan, a small blessing to allow the man an escape from the room, "Take that to Treville while I put this piece of shit back in a holding cell."

d'Artagnan swallowed, his hands slipped around the silver recorder. Athos was offering him an escape, and he was going to take it. He turned, only a few feet from the door, when Richelieu's voice filled the room again.

"You're mine, Charles. You'll always be mine! I own you, you'll never be one of them! You'll always be my weapon, Charles!"

d'Artagnan paused, hand clutching at the door knob like it was his only life line, the words crashing over him like a heavy wave, threatening drowning.

"Who do you belong to?"

"Say it!"

"Say my name and the pain will stop."

"Say it!"

But no. Not anymore. Not again.

d'Artagnan forced himself to take a deep breath in, to fill his lungs and minimise the tremors in his hand. He twisted the handle, but before he stepped through turned, eyed making contact with Richelieu one more time.

"My name is d'Artagnan."

He didn't wait for a reply as he fled from the room.

It should have felt better, Athos mused. Richelieu was charged, his bail had been denied, and would be locked up for twenty hours a day independent from the rest of the gen pop.

They should be celebrating. They won. But…

Athos watched his younger friend as he slept on his bed in the Medical wing. The exchange had left him emotionally drained, and to be honest that wasn't surprising. Going face to face with his captor would have taken all the courage d'Artagnan could have mustered. He would need some time to process that. He had been eerily quiet since d'Artagnan had lain down, and had slipped into sleep not long after. That had been a good three hours ago.

Perhaps it wouldn't feel like winning until d'Artagnan's eyes stopped clouding over with painful memories at the mere mention of that man.

Athos had pulled up a chair by the bedside, watching over the still form in case of nightmares. The man, however, had been almost completely still. Not a moan, not a whimper. All things considered, d'Artagnan seemed to be sleeping pretty soundly.

A cough from behind him made Athos turn in his chair. Aramis stood at the door, beckoning his friend with a quick hand gesture. He hesitated for a moment, looking back to his friend in the bed. He didn't want to leave him alone, but rationally he knew d'Artagnan would be fine with him only one room away.

"I'll be back," He promised the sleeping man as he stood up quietly. The figure didn't stir as Athos quietly exited the room.

He made sure the door was closed before turned to Aramis.

"How is he?" Aramis asked before Athos could get his own question out.

"Drained," Athos with a sigh, "Confronting Richelieu took a lot out of him…"

"This whole thing has taken a lot out of him," Aramis lent himself against the plain wall behind him, "What he did this morning was amazing but… Seeing Richelieu today can't have been easy for him, or maybe even good for him…"

Athos frowned, "Not good for him?"

Aramis shrugged, "His recovery. Could have gone one of two ways… Seeing Richelieu might have been too much, you know? But it seems to have helped, which is… Well it's good…" Aramis' voice trailed off, his hand fidgeting with something in his suit jacket pocket.

Athos raised an eyebrow, "Is there something else?"

"Well, yes…" Aramis nodded, his hand slid towards his pocket. He tugged out a small object from its resting place. He held it out for Athos to see.

The older man frowned, "Where did you –" His hand reached out, his eyes focused on the thin gold wedding band, threaded onto a silver chain. Aramis tipped the piece of jewellery into his friend's hand.

"I noticed it in the evidence log from Richelieu's office. Thought it couldn't be the same one, I mean the chances of him keeping it were next to none, but…" Aramis paused for a moment to let Athos examine the small band in his peace. "It's his, I know it's his."

"You're right…" Athos murmured, threading the links around his fingers so he the ring rested against the backs of his fingers, "It's d'Artagnan's."

"Should we - I mean – do we give it to him?"

Athos frowned, "Why wouldn't we?"

"Well he hasn't mentioned her!" The words came bubbling out Aramis, as if he'd been thinking on it for a while. "Constance, he hasn't even spoken her name since he woke up."

"That doesn't mean he doesn't remember her," Athos reasoned carefully. He turned the ring over between his fingers, remembering the day he'd watched Constance slide this ring onto d'Artagnan's finger, "This could be just what he needs…"

"Or exactly what he needs to make him crumble."

Athos frowned, looking up from the piece of jewellery, "Surely the ring can only be positive..?"

"If he's remembering Constance and just not saying anything then the ring could act like a bridge into a conversation, could be good for him," Athos nodded as Aramis explained his thinking, "But if his brain has blocked her out for some reason – maybe it was too painful to remember her during the torture, I don't know – the sudden confrontation of those memories may not be good for his recovery."

Athos blew out a breath, realising what Aramis was getting at. There was a choice to make, a choice that, if they made it wrong, could seriously damage their friend. The decision in front of his left his mouth dry, but who else was there to make it? Out of everyone, out of Aramis and Porthos and Treville… Athos knew the boy the best. He was the one best equipped to make the decision… But best equipped didn't mean well equipped…

"So…" Aramis prompted, forcing Athos to finally tear his gaze away from the ring in his hand, "What do we do?"

Athos swallowed, flipping the ring around until it was closed safely inside his palm.

"Honestly?" Athos' eyes locked onto his friend's, tension churning in his stomach, "I have no idea."