A/N: Thanks for being patient as you waited for this next chapter. Birthday celebrations were wonderful and I'd send you all a piece of cake if I could. Hope you enjoy this next part!
"It's of no consequence." Athos' words repeated themselves as if on an endless loop in his brain. Squeezing his eyes shut, d'Artagnan willed the statement away, feeling the familiar flush of his burning face as his mind conjured his friend's dismissal once more.
He'd been horrified to realize that he'd somehow missed the fact that it was his friend's birthday. His best friend, his inner voice relentlessly corrected, causing him to clench his eyes even more tightly. His hands unconsciously mimicked his eyes as they formed fists, squeezing hard enough that he could feel his nails digging into his flesh. The pain felt good and he relished the feeling, which offered a welcome relief to the emotions that had been ceaselessly dogging him since he'd stalked out of Athos' room. Shame, regret, loss; the cruel emotions battled for dominance as they swirled endlessly through his chest, making him feel as though he might fly apart at any moment.
Taking a slow, shuddering breath, he opened his eyes, letting his gaze fall on his fisted hands. With effort, he forced his fingers open, idly noting the crescent shapes left on his palms from his nails. He deserved the pain, whether physical or emotional, because he hadn't known about Athos' birthday. It was the same message that had been repeating in his head since he'd made his hasty retreat.
Athos had been polite and kind, indicating that it didn't matter to him that his protégé didn't know about his birthday. Aramis and Porthos, too, had seemed indifferent to d'Artagnan's lack of knowledge, and he felt guilt flare hotly in his chest as he tried to comprehend the reasons for their reactions. Athos was the easiest one to understand. He'd been trained as a Comte, learning from a young age to harness his emotions and school his features, no matter the situation that might present itself.
Given his history as a noble, d'Artagnan would have expected nothing other than the older man's easy dismissal, which he was certain hid a deep disappointment beneath the practiced veneer of diplomat. It was one of Athos' greatest gifts, and one that he knew Treville valued as well, often asking the older man to stand in his place when he was busy with other matters. That talent had allowed Athos to hide his true feelings at d'Artagnan's oversight, but the Gascon could not do the same.
As for Aramis and Porthos, d'Artagnan recognized that his relationship with them was not as strong as the bond he shared with Athos. Shaking his head, he silently corrected himself – the bond he had shared with Athos. Missing the older man's birthday was more than sufficient reason to terminate a friendship, he thought bitterly. Still, he'd always been friendly with Aramis and Porthos, and he'd been a part of both men's birthday celebrations. At the time, he'd relished in the warmth that came from being included. That warmth was now sadly lacking, and he shivered involuntarily at the block of ice that seemed to have taken up residence in his chest.
He could think of no reason that Aramis and Porthos would withhold their knowledge of Athos' birthday from him. Nor could he comprehend why they hadn't asked him to contribute to the older man's gift. The scarf they'd selected had been exquisite, and even from his spot at the table, he could tell that it was smooth and soft to the touch, the silky fabric rippling in delicate waves as it was handled. And then it struck him - the cost of the scarf would have been beyond his means. Why else would Athos have protested against such a fine gift?
He groaned softly as he let his head dip to his chest, the pain of the morning's events surging forth once more. Lifting his face long seconds later, he allowed his head to tip back against the warm stone at his back. Given the sun's position, it was late afternoon. In his misery, he'd lost himself to his thoughts for nearly the entire day. The realization drew another soft moan from him as he wondered how he could ever explain his long absence to his friends.
Then, another thought struck him – would they even care? Of course, they would, the rational part of his brain stated. But, I didn't know about Athos' birthday, and then I stalked out like some young child throwing a tantrum, another part of his mind countered. "Stop," he gasped out, unaware that he'd spoken aloud.
"If that's what you want," another voice said, causing him to startle badly as his head swiveled toward the source of the sound. "But I'd like to talk first," Athos continued, his hand indicating the spot next to the Gascon. "If you'll let me?" d'Artagnan found himself nodding even as he attempted to fathom what the older man was doing there.
Athos had been certain he'd find their missing friend at Notre Dame. His hurried steps soon had him crossing into the large cathedral where he quickly genuflected, crossing himself hastily before continuing further inside. Walking along the length of the pews, his eyes roved constantly in search of the Gascon, but to no avail. His gaze drifted next to the confessionals, but even he could not bring himself to intrude upon their sanctity, so he waited instead, hovering awkwardly among the few faithful who occupied the church.
Meandering towards a small alcove, he was stopped by one of the church's custodians, the man diligently sweeping the stone floors. "Not here to pray?" the caretaker asked casually, propping his hands on the handle of his broom.
Feeling even more self-conscious than before, Athos replied, "I was looking for a friend. I thought maybe…" he trailed off as his gaze shifted towards the confessionals.
"There's no one in there now," the other man said. "You sure your friend is supposed to be here?"
Athos' uncertainty showed in his expression even before he'd answered. "No, I'm not certain at all."
"Maybe in the garden?" the man suggested, indicating over his shoulder towards the back of the church with one hand.
Athos hesitated, beginning to believe that he'd been completely wrong about d'Artagnan's destination. The man before him chuckled, bringing the Musketeer's attention back. "I hope your friend's not the fool up on the roof."
"What?" the former comte queried, the odd statement catching him off guard.
"Across the street," the man replied. "Doesn't happen often, but there's the odd one that ends up there. Saw one pacing up there earlier when I was cleanin' the front windows."
Athos nearly dismissed the idea that it might be d'Artagnan who the custodian had seen, but then he was reminded that the Gascon had been introduced to Paris' rooftops by Porthos a few months prior. Abruptly, he turned on his heel, determined to check and confirm for himself that the young man hadn't gone upwards. He'd only taken three steps when he realized that he had no idea how to get to the roof. Turning back towards the caretaker, he noted the amused expression on the man's face. "Go around to the back. There's a ladder there that'll get you to the roof," the man instructed.
Nodding, Athos murmured a quick word of thanks before making his way outside. Stopping just outside the doors, he looked up at the building across the street. From his vantage point, he couldn't see anyone, and he wondered if that was because the person was gone or if they'd simply changed positions. Ultimately, it didn't matter, since he had no other ideas about d'Artagnan's possible whereabouts.
Crossing the street, he circled around the building to its rear, easily locating the ladder. Eyeing it warily, he pushed aside his misgivings and placed his hands and one booted foot on it, letting out a low sigh when it held his weight. He moved quickly, but carefully up its length, allowing another deep breath of relief to escape him once he'd stepped onto the roof. Moving slowly, he made his way around to the front of the building, locating a man's form leaning against a chimney. The man's location offered him an unobstructed view of the grand cathedral, and Athos took a moment to appreciate the sight.
Drawing closer, he watched as the man's face tilted upwards, and he got his first clear look at d'Artagnan's face. The anguish there made Athos' heart clench, and he found his feet suddenly moving forward of their own accord.
"Stop." The strangled word halted Athos in his tracks, his desperation to speak with his friend warring with his desire to honor the man's wishes.
"If that's what you want," Athos replied, praying he could get the Gascon to at least listen to him. He watched as d'Artagnan's head turned towards him, and the startled expression there made him momentarily wonder if the young man had been aware of his presence or not. Pushing the thought aside, he said, "But I'd like to talk first." Indicating the spot next to the Gascon with one hand, he continued, "If you'll let me?" He watched in relief as d'Artagnan nodded.
Moving forward, he stood next to the young man, casting his gaze once more towards the impressive sight across from them. "I believe you may have found one of the best views in the city." From the corner of his eye, he could see the Gascon's head moving in agreement. "Porthos has been a bad influence on you," he stated with a hint of a smile playing across his features.
As he'd hoped, d'Artagnan let out a soft huff, which Athos interpreted as laughter. Taking that as a positive sign, he slid down to sit next to the Gascon. He was close enough for their shoulders to touch, and he found himself momentarily holding his breath as he waited to see if his protégé would allow the contact. Seconds passed and d'Artagnan didn't move, allowing Athos to slowly exhale at the small, but important victory.
"What brought you here?" the older man asked, hoping the question was neutral enough that the young man wouldn't feel threatened.
Athos kept his gaze forward but he could feel d'Artagnan shrugging next to him. When it became clear that he wouldn't be receiving anything more in response, he tried again. "It's very peaceful here." Another shrug met his words, and Athos felt a twinge of irritation.
"I needed somewhere I could think," d'Artagnan stated, and the older man withheld his surprise that the Gascon had finally decided to speak. "I love Paris, but sometimes it's too loud and busy down there to be able to think clearly."
That the young man was talking to him was an encouraging sign, and it prompted Athos to try and steer their conversation closer to the issue they needed to discuss. "Has it helped?" he queried, keeping his tone carefully neutral. "Have you reached any conclusions?"
d'Artagnan turned to look at him, but Athos continued looking straight ahead, believing it would be easier for the young man to unburden himself that way. After a moment's silence, the Gascon cocked his head to one side, answering, "I don't know yet." With that, he returned his gaze to the church, leaving Athos wondering how to proceed.
Deciding a more direct approach was needed, the older man said, "You've already given me a gift, you know." Immediately, d'Artagnan's gaze returned, and Athos worked hard to maintain his calm, unconcerned expression.
Seconds later, the Gascon stammered, "No…I…that's wrong. I didn't even know it was your birthday." With that, he turned away, and Athos had no trouble imagining the look of distress on his young friend's face.
"Be that as it may, you did give me a gift," Athos restated. He let his words hang between them, counting on d'Artagnan's innate curiosity to eventually get the better of him.
A minute passed, and then a second, and then the Gascon was speaking again, his tone now inquisitive instead of guilty. "What do you mean by that?"
Quelling a surge of satisfaction at his protégé's question, Athos reminded himself that he'd still need to tread carefully, and he hoped that d'Artagnan would remain patient as he segued into a slightly different, but very related, topic. "You know about my brother, Thomas," he began. "It was my greatest honor to be his older brother." His eyes clouded for a moment with memories, the familiar feelings of love and loss mingling together as he spoke.
"My roles as Comte, husband, King's Musketeer – they all pale in comparison that role and the responsibility I most happily embraced," Athos continued. d'Artagnan listened silently, confused about why his friend was talking about his brother, but caring for the man too much to interrupt. "When Thomas was killed, I nearly went mad with rage, and that my loss was at the hands of my beloved wife merely compounded my sorrow. That led me down a dark and lonely path of solitude and drink, and I can honestly say now that it's a miracle I survived that time in my life."
"Athos," the Gascon breathed out. It was apparent that d'Artagnan wanted to offer some words of comfort, but Athos wasn't done, and he stopped his friend from saying anything more by placing a hand on the young man's forearm, squeezing it gently before continuing.
"I needed get away, to heal," Athos stated. "And, truth be told, I needed a purpose. I will be forever grateful to Treville for giving me that. But, most of all, I am first and foremost grateful for the clarity that came with time, and allowed me to put into words that which I missed most when I lost my younger brother." He turned towards d'Artagnan now, locking gazes with the younger man, even as he shifted the grasp that he had on his friend's arm. Clasping the Gascon's hand firmly in his, he ignored the slight tug of d'Artagnan's limb as the other man expressed his confusion and discomfort by trying to break the hold.
"d'Artagnan," Athos began, his voice low and intense. "The days that you spent between this world and the next, when Aramis could not find it within himself to deceive us as to your chance of survival, no matter how great our need for hope - those days nearly destroyed me," he admitted, his voice dropping to a whisper. "But then," he continued, his voice growing stronger, "you started to improve, and I had the audacity to believe that our prayers – my prayers – had been answered. It was as though your life had been given to me, because I'd begged God not to take you, and it is something for which I am eternally grateful."
The Gascon's mouth had slowly fallen slack, his shock at Athos' words clear in his expression. Athos couldn't help but smile at the young man's reaction. Bringing d'Artagnan's hand to his chest, he clasped it firmly between both his palms as he explained, "It's you, d'Artagnan; you are my gift."
"But," the young man began, still uncertain how to react, even as the smile on Athos' face broadened.
Shaking his head in mock exasperation, Athos finished, "There's no dearer gift than a brother's touch."
A/N: Next chapter will be posted on Wednesday. Thanks for reading and I'd love to hear your thoughts if you're so inclined.