Thank you for the lovely reviews on the last chapter and to those guests who've commented and who I can't reply to personally. I don't think tissues will be needed for this next one. Enjoy!
Captain Treville had spent an hour seeing to things with his other men, ensuring that they were taking turns sleeping as well as keeping watch, in addition to sharing the tasks needed to keep their group and the horses fed. They hadn't prepared for a prolonged stay, expecting to be able to restock their provisions in Gascony before returning home, and it was fortunate that d'Artagnan's uncle had left them enough to carry them through for several more days. The state of the two injured men weighed heavily on the man's mind and he knew that he might need to make a decision soon if Athos, especially, didn't start to improve. He'd received special dispensation from the King to pursue his men to Gascony since it was unusual for him to travel anywhere other than in the protection of the King or to command larger forces in the case of a full-scale battle. Given the length of the journey awaiting them, and the likelihood of having to travel far more slowly with their injured, he knew that they only had two or three days at most before needing to depart.
It was with these thoughts that Treville re-entered the small house, nodding to Thierry who was currently on kitchen duty, and then passing by the room that d'Artagnan occupied, glad to see the boy still resting quietly. The second room was a chilling counterpoint to the rest of the house, the atmosphere tense and thick with layer upon layer of fear and worry. Aramis and Porthos sat on either side of the bed in which Athos lay, the wounded man's condition evident by the tattered state of his friends who looked like they could be toppled by a stiff wind. The focus of their attention was oblivious to their concerned gazes, eyes occasionally rolling beneath closed lids and breaths coming in small, shallows pants through cracked and parted lips.
Porthos, whose chair faced the door, was the first to notice the Captain's presence and acknowledged the man with a nod. Treville took the action as an invitation to enter, moving to stand next to Aramis whose gaze never shifted from their sick friend. "Any change?" Treville asked softly, anything louder seeming out of place with the sombre mood that gripped the room.
Porthos' eyes darted to Aramis', who seemed unwilling to reply, and he did his best to try to lighten things, "You know how 'e is Captain, has to do everything the hard way and in 'is own time."
While Treville appreciated the man's attempt to sound encouraging, his goal right now was an accurate depiction of his lieutenant's health. "Aramis?" he questioned.
Aramis shook his head slowly before speaking, "I pray that Porthos is correct, Captain. Thus far the infection has shown no signs of improvement and this fever holds him firmly in its grasp. I don't know…' he trailed off, searching for the words, "…I fear this may be beyond my skills." The anguish on the man's face spoke clearly of the direness of the situation and, while Aramis was no physician, Treville was doubtful that having one on hand would produce any further solutions other than a suggestion to bleed the sick man.
"Aramis, your skills are finer than most physician's I've met and I've no doubt that you're doing everything possible." The rest remained unspoken although they were all wondering, what if it's not enough? Clearing his throat, Treville went on, "We have two, maybe three days at the outside before we have to leave. Do you believe he'll be fit to travel?"
"That's not fair, Captain," stated a suddenly outraged Porthos, knowing that the man had asked an impossible question.
Aramis' reaction was calmer, but no less challenging in the face of Treville's words, "It is impossible to say right now, however Porthos and I will stay until he is able to leave."
Treville nodded, having expected nothing else, "I won't be deciding anything yet, but it may well come to that. If it does, I'll leave a couple men with you until you're able to follow." It was not much, but he hoped the two would see it as the peace offering it was meant to be, understanding that it was duty not a lack of sympathy that was forcing him to ask. He watched as the two shared a look, silently communicating he knew not what, and then their faces relaxed, Porthos murmuring a quiet word of thanks. Satisfied that he'd been forgiven for his earlier comment, he said, "You need to take a break. There's food in the kitchen and the men have a space set up in the barn where you can sleep. I don't want to see you back here for at least four hours. And," he barreled on, not allowing either man to interrupt, but softening his tone once more, "I'll wake you if anything changes."
Neither man liked the idea of being apart from their leader but nor could they argue that they weren't dead on their feet. The few hours of broken sleep they'd had did little to combat the fatigue that made their limbs heavy and their eyes gritty and red. Both men had been pushing their limits since their first failed rescue attempt and it wouldn't be much longer before their bodies simply ceased functioning altogether, taking the decision to rest from their hands. Aramis steeled his gaze as he replied, "We'll both go eat but I'll be sleeping on the floor in here. That way, I'll be close if you need me."
The Captain saw Porthos nodding in agreement with his friend's words and sighed in frustration at their stubbornness. He gave a short nod in return and watched the two leave, seemingly now in a hurry to follow his orders to eat so they might rest sooner and be awake to care for Athos once more. Treville took Aramis' vacant seat and used the cloth and water they'd left behind to wipe the persistent sheen of sweat from his patient's brow, hoping that the man would be improved by the time he had to wake the man's friends.
Neither Aramis or Porthos were happy about having had their position at Athos' bedside usurped by the Captain, but both recognized that fevers of this sort could easily last for several days and they needed to keep up their strength if they were to continue caring for their friend; besides, they would both admit that it was unlikely they could be convinced to leave the man in anyone else's care, except probably d'Artagnan. The thought struck them both as they were reminded of their fourth, their reason for being in Gascony in the first place and, as they passed the doorway of the second room, Aramis immediately felt guilty at not having checked the boy's wounds earlier. Peering in they could see the young man sleeping and decided to leave him be until after they'd eaten.
After a quick meal, courtesy of Thierry, chased down by several glasses of brandy, they felt more relaxed and ready to sleep once they'd checked a last time on their friend. As they headed back to Athos' room, they paused again at the doorway to d'Artagnan's, this time finding the young man's eyes open even though he was still lying flat on his back. Not wanting to startle the young man, Porthos cleared his throat as he entered, plastering a grin on his face when the Gascon's head rolled so he could see who had entered.
"Hey," Porthos' grin widened as he saw the young man's eyes light up at their presence, "it's good to see you awake. How're you feelin'?" Both men now stood at the boy's bedside, looking down at him expectantly, Aramis' eyes ghosting over both bandaged shoulders and the young man's sharp features, the lines of his face and torso hardened by the weight he'd lost.
Not giving d'Artagnan the opportunity to reply, Aramis pushed his way closer to the bed, intent on getting a closer look at the young man's injuries but the suddenly skittish look on the Gascon's face, accompanied by a reflexive jerk to move away from the hand that reached toward him had the healer halting his hand in mid-air. "It's alright, d'Artagnan" Aramis soothed, a slightly hurt look on his face, "I just want to make sure your wound is healing well and see if we can put your shoulder back into place."
Silence reigned for several seconds, confusing both men as they watched their young friend seemingly consider Aramis' words. Having reached a decision, d'Artagnan spoke, "Help me sit up first?" With a glance to Aramis to confirm that it would be alright, Porthos gently eased the boy's shoulders upwards, placing the extra pillows behind him before helping him to lay back again.
Aramis met the Gascon's eyes as he again reached a hand forward, waiting until he'd received a nod from the young man to proceed. As the medic unwrapped the bandage from d'Artagnan's left shoulder, Porthos leaned against the wall near the head of the bed, "So, you never answered my question. How're you feelin'?"
d'Artagnan offered a short nod, biting down on a gasp of pain as Aramis prodded gently at the stitches that had closed the knife wound. Taking a shallow breath, he replied, "Fine. How's Athos?"
Porthos frowned, seeing with his own eyes that while he was certainly in better shape than when he'd last laid eyes on the boy, the young man was still a long way from fine. Although, to be fair, he was likely as worried as they were about Athos and probably frustrated at not having been able to see the man since the rescue. Forcing a small smile, he shrugged, "You know Athos, has to do everything the hard way. Still fevered but I'm sure it'll pass soon." He meant the words to be encouraging, not wanting the young man to worry, but they seemed to have the opposite effect as he saw a shadow pass across the young man's face, gone so quickly that he almost thought he'd imagined it.
Aramis had finished with the knife wound, covering it with the salve he'd given the Captain earlier and which still sat on the table, before replacing the bandage. Now he pressed gently at the young man's swollen shoulder joint, trying to determine whether it had reduced sufficiently to allow the arm to be relocated. The examination was clearly painful for the Gascon as his breaths quickened with the ache that Aramis' fingers reignited. "You need to be more diligent about using cold cloths on this, d'Artagnan," the medic stated seriously as he leaned back. "If we don't put your arm back soon it could cause permanent damage."
d'Artagnan clamped his jaw shut on the angry words that threatened to escape, his frustration at his infirmities compounded by the throbbing that his friend's examination had reawakened. "d'Artagnan, did you hear what I said?" Aramis was now frowning at him and, for a moment the young man felt like a small child who was being scolded by his father.
Taking as deep a breath as his ribs would allow, the Gascon reluctantly admitted, "I can't." Both men looked at him, not understanding what he meant. Sighing, he tried again, "I can't grip anything yet."
Understanding dawned and Aramis pulled the young man's blanket down further, exposing his free left hand. Lifting the arm, he placed his fingers into the boy's palm, ordering, "Squeeze." d'Artagnan's fingers twitched reflexively and he winced as he tried to close them, but it was obvious that he would not be able to accomplish the task for several more days. Setting the boy's hand down and pulling the blanket up once more, Aramis apologized, "I'm sorry, d'Artagnan, I didn't realize it was this bad. Porthos…" But the large man was already moving to get cold water from the well, anticipating the medic's request.
The Gascon looked down at his lap as he mumbled a reply, "S'alright, you've been busy." He tried not to sound like a petulant child, but he could not help feeling neglected at the fact that Aramis had not been by to check on him sooner. Aramis looked at him sharply at the tone that belied the young man's words, but Porthos was back, bustling forward quickly with the bucket of cool water.
"Here, this should do the trick," he said as he poured some of the water into a nearby basin. Aramis nodded his thanks, immediately wetting a cloth and wringing it out before placing it onto the swollen joint. d'Artagnan couldn't help but gasp at the icy sensation that immediately ratcheted up his pain, before beginning to ease. "We should get back," Porthos reminded Aramis as the young man relaxed after the initial shock of the cold cloth.
Aramis stood hesitantly, wavering with his desire to care for both friends, but reason dictating that d'Artagnan would be fine while Athos' future was still uncertain. "I'll make sure one of the others replaces that regularly," he said, waving toward the wet bandage. "If we're diligent, we should be able to fix that shoulder by tonight."
"You need anything before we go?" Porthos asked.
"No, it's fine, really. Just make sure Athos gets better," the Gascon replied, swallowing at the emotions that were threatening to erupt.
Although for different reasons, they all seemed eager to part ways, d'Artagnan still unsure of where he stood with the two men, while Aramis and Porthos were distracted by thoughts of their ailing friend in the other room. d'Artagnan mustered a smile as he repeated, "Go on, Athos needs you."
The two Musketeers turned to leave, Porthos throwing back over his shoulder, "Take care of yourself, lad." Certain it was not meant as such, the comment seemed to have a finality about it that made the Gascon shiver and he forced the smile to remain in place as he waited for his friends to leave. When they were gone, he breathed a sigh of relief, saddened that he'd actually reached a point where he was reluctant to be in his brothers' company.
Aramis and Porthos had headed back for the other room, the larger man pulling his friend to a stop just before they entered. "What was all that about?" he asked, pitching his voice low so that his words didn't carry any further than person for whom they were intended. "Did you see how he flinched away when you tried to check his wound?"
Aramis nodded unsure of how to respond, "I don't know any more than you do, Porthos. Perhaps this is because of Paris?"
Porthos' eyes narrowed, reminded of their poor behaviour for which they still needed to apologize, "Boy's not the type to hold a grudge, Aramis. Besides, I woulda' thought us being here would be proof enough that we're sorry for what happened. Did you get a chance to explain when you saw him earlier?"
"No, he was still unconscious the last time and, truthfully, I have been somewhat distracted by Athos' condition to really focus on d'Artagnan's care," Aramis admitted guiltily.
Porthos gently pushed Aramis through the doorway of Athos' room, Treville looking up at them, expecting that they would keep their word and go rest now. Instead, Porthos addressed him, "Is d'Artagnan alright?"
Confused by the question, Treville replied with one of his own, "Has something happened?"
Aramis rushed to reply, seeing the Captain getting ready to stand, "No, we just checked on him and he seems fine. It's just…" he trailed off, unsure of how to describe the Gascon's behaviour.
"He seems off," Porthos stated. "Kinda sullen and brooding; not really sure how else to describe it."
The Captain nodded, "I believe it's been difficult for him to rely upon others while his wounds heal. I've been trying to give him some time alone since he seems to prefer it to being watched constantly."
"That sounds about right," Porthos agreed, fondness coloring his words as he recalled the previous times the boy had been injured and how he detested having someone hovering over him.
"Despite his desire to be alone, someone needs to replace the cold cloths on his shoulder far more often to bring the swelling down," Aramis declared.
"Alright," Treville agreed easily, "I'll make sure one of the men does that when I'm not available. Anything else?"
"When was the last time he's eaten or had anything for the pain?" Aramis continued, the caregiver in him taking over despite the fact that he was speaking with his commanding officer.
"He managed some broth and the draught you made early this morning, before he went back to sleep," the Captain explained. "Why don't you watch Athos for a minute while I make arrangements for more broth and to have his shoulder tended."
"Thank you, Captain," Aramis breathed out, relaxing minutely at the knowledge that d'Artagnan would be taken care of even if it could not be by his hands. Porthos allowed Aramis a last check of Athos' condition before chivvying him to re-take his spot on the floor, waiting until the Captain returned before laying down beside his friend. Aramis was already asleep but he instinctively rolled towards Porthos, the larger man grinning in amusement before wrapping an arm around the man's chest and closing his eyes. Treville watched the pair as they drifted off, shaking his head at the strength of the bond that existed between these men, while at the same time unsuccessfully struggling to identify the twinge of disquiet that tugged insistently at the back of his mind.
When his friends had shown up at his door, d'Artagnan couldn't help the immediate joy he'd felt at seeing them, especially grateful when he was able to confirm with his own eyes that both were unhurt. Porthos' grin had lifted his spirits and, for a moment, he'd forgotten his earlier hurt feelings, automatically responding to his friends' presence. Seconds later his previous thoughts caught up with him and the doubts from earlier reasserted themselves, causing him to feel adrift and uncertain about how to behave around the two men; it was in this moment of doubt that Aramis startled him by reaching out to check his wound.
Silently, d'Artagnan berated himself for flinching away from his friend's touch, knowing that the medic would never hurt him and hoping that neither man would question his reaction. When Porthos had started speaking, the young man's heart lightened once more, recognizing that his friend was trying to distract him from the discomfort of Aramis' examination. While he appreciated the effort, Porthos' understatement of Athos' condition angered him, and he wondered again if the man was intentionally keeping the truth from him because of the current strain between them.
When Aramis had seemingly berated him for not taking better care of his dislocated shoulder, his first reaction had been anger at the man's insinuation that he'd neglected it intentionally. After a few moments he was able to curb his instinct to defend himself and opted to share the truth, even though he felt embarrassed sharing his vulnerability. Aramis' compassionate response had been welcome and, again, the Gascon found himself happy to let the other man care for him, the gentle touches reminding him of previous occasions when he'd enjoyed the man's kindness.
"d'Artagnan, you must stay still, otherwise you'll ruin my fine needlework," Aramis scolded, although his words had little heat.
The Gascon huffed, causing the medic to smile briefly, but did his best not to flinch as Aramis placed another stitch on his forearm. The gash wasn't overly painful, but the sensation of the needle entering his skin and, worse yet, the thread dragging through to close the cut in his arm, had the boy more than a little queasy. He could normally stand the process of being tended better than this, but the wine he'd consumed had made his belly and his head fragile, and the blows he'd traded with a willing Red Guard had not improved his disposition any, although the fight had been a momentary welcome distraction from his other thoughts.
"There, all done," Aramis declared as he tied off the last knot. He wiped the length of the wound with a cloth, removing all traces of the blood that had leaked from the wound, covering it with a salve which he pulled from his canvas bag. Reaching for a length of clean linen, he braced the Gascon's arm on his thigh as he began to wrap it. "Did it help?" he asked conversationally. At the young man's confused look, he added, "The fight with the Red Guard. Did it make you feel better?"
d'Artagnan offered a one-sided shrug in reply, not willing to admit that for a few minutes he'd lost himself in the familiarity of the movements that now seemed to be second nature to him, the result of hours of patient instruction and correction from Athos. As he'd traded blows with the other man, his blood had sung, adrenaline coursing through his veins, and he'd forgotten for a short while that his love had forsaken him. He'd felt unstoppable and had been confident in his victory, even when another of his opponent's comrades joined in the fray; he'd merely grinned like a madman and swung his sword to meet the other attacker's blade. He'd defeated both men as he knew he would and stumbled away, breaths coming harshly but feeling elated nonetheless for the physical outlet he'd had for his emotional pain. The sting in his arm hadn't even registered until he'd been several streets away and noticed the wetness on his hand, his eyes following the rivulets of red that dripped from his fingers to stain the dirt beneath his feet.
He realized now that he was staring down at his arm, the white of a bandage having replaced the red he'd seen there earlier and Aramis was still sitting across from him, waiting patiently for an answer to his question. "Maybe, a bit," he allowed, a rueful grin on his face.
Aramis nodded knowingly, no stranger to finding release through physical exertion himself. "And now," he prodded.
d'Artagnan considered the question, reflecting on how he was feeling, and recognized that the relief he'd experienced, while exhilarating in the moment, had been fleeting. The pain of his loss was just as sharp as before and now it was compounded by his physical discomforts, his belly and head still delicate and unsettled, and the cut in his arm throbbing in time with the beat of his heart. Ducking his head shyly he shook his head, stopping when the motion made his vision swim. Aramis was quiet as he carefully pushed d'Artagnan down to lay on the bed, removing his boots and then covering him with a blanket. "You are stronger than you know, d'Artagnan, and even this wound will heal with time." The Gascon intuitively knew that Aramis wasn't referring to his injured arm, and then realized belatedly that he was still in the healer's room and had now taken the man's bed. Making a weak attempt at sitting up, Aramis placed a hand on his chest, holding him in place. "I need to go back to my room, Aramis," d'Artagnan protested, making another attempt to rise and dismayed at the how easily the other man held him in place.
"Do you not find my bed comfortable enough?" Aramis asked, a glint of amusement in his eyes.
d'Artagnan sensed he was being teased but his wine-soaked brain wasn't coherent enough to know for certain, "Of course, but where will you sleep?" Aramis looked down at the floor next to the bed, causing another look of distress to cross the Gascon's face.
This time, Aramis did laugh, a sound filled with warmth and utterly devoid of ridicule or censure that the young man simply let it flow over him. "It's nothing, d'Artagnan, I've slept in worse places and it's no less than you would do for a friend. Allow me to simply return the favour." And he had, tucked safely into Aramis' bed, the lingering scent of lavender tickling the nose, while the other men kept watch over him like a silent sentinel from his place on the floor.
Porthos' proclamation that they needed to get back to Athos had d'Artagnan's mood shifting once more, bringing back his melancholy with full force as he again faced the prospect of recovering without his friends by his side. He'd tried to put on a brave face, but if Aramis' reaction was anything to go by, he'd been only partially successful. As much as he appreciated the fact that these men had followed him to Gascony, he couldn't help but wonder if things would have turned out differently if they'd been with him from the beginning. Now, as he faced several days of forced dependency while he healed, he couldn't help but feel somewhat resentful at the fact that he was once more alone, reinforcing his feelings of abandonment, no matter how much he tried to convince himself that he was being unreasonable.
He finally concluded that he would follow the other men's lead, ensuring that he would not get between the original inseparables, nor do anything that might distract the men from their more important task of helping Athos get well. No matter what happened between them, he could not deny the love that he held for these three and their decision to distance themselves from him would not change those feelings. All three had been instrumental in helping him attain his commission, Athos especially, and he would not repay them by acting like a spoiled child when the older man's life was at stake. Instead, he resolved to do everything in his power to rely upon Aramis and Porthos as little as possible so that they could focus their energies on the other man.
It was at this point that Thierry interrupted his thoughts, and d'Artagnan was surprised to see the man, having been cared for primarily by the Captain until now. "d'Artagnan, the Captain asked me to change out the cloth on your shoulder so we can manage the swelling." Receiving a nod from the Gascon, Thierry proceeded to replace the now warm cloth with another that was far colder, pulling a shiver from the young man. Thierry frowned at him, asking, "Are you alright?"
"I'm fine, Thierry, thank you for this," d'Artagnan replied, regulating his breathing as his body reacted to the spike of pain caused by the coldness that now penetrated into the damaged joint.
"Are you hungry?" Thierry questioned, "I have broth warming in the kitchen for you."
d'Artagnan's face blanched at the thought of having another feed him and he quickly shook his head, "No, thank you, maybe later."
Thierry's brow furrowed as he contemplated the sickly looking man in front of him, "Are you sure, d'Artagnan? You need to eat to get better."
"I know, Thierry…" he paused, not knowing what else he could say and feeling uncomfortable under the other man's piercing gaze.
Thierry's voice softened as he said, "d'Artagnan, we have all been in situations where we have had to rely upon our brothers when wounded. I know that it is not easy to accept help, but I would be grateful if you'd let me assist you." He pasted a somewhat rueful grin on his face as he explained, "Don't make me report to the Captain that I couldn't get you to eat."
The comment pulled a small huff of amusement from the young man, knowing well that the Captain's wrath would be directed at him rather than Thierry, but he gave a short nod regardless. "Alright, I could probably manage some broth."
Thierry's face broke into a small smile as he turned to collect the broth, "Be right back."
While it was not an ideal situation, d'Artagnan found that he was actually feeling better for Thierry's intervention and he started to believe that perhaps he could survive this after all.