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Chapter Twenty-seven: Actions
Athos adjusted the sheet covering d'Artagnan's upper body for what was possibly the twentieth time since he had been left alone to keep watch over his friend. He couldn't seem to help himself, and wasn't exactly sure why he continued doing it. Perhaps his subconscious was trying to make up for his recent actions.
One thing he did know for certain was that waiting for d'Artagnan to regain consciousness was slowly tearing him apart. While it had been touch and go with the fever ravaging the young man, he had been so focused on bringing d'Artagnan through it, that he'd scarcely had time to think of much else, let alone the events that had landed his friend in this precarious situation in the first place.
But now… Now it seemed like he had all the time in the world.
Why had d'Artagnan jumped in front of a bullet like that? His own actions over the past weeks had been abominable; he didn't deserve such a sacrifice from anyone let alone the man he had been torturing one way or another almost without mercy. Porthos had said d'Artagnan would have done the same for any of them, and Athos now believed the action to have perfectly exemplified the strength of the younger man's character. To save a fellow Musketeer in the heat of battle, putting all of the animosity between them aside, was the very definition of honorable. It was d'Artagnan's strength, not only in character, but in spirit, mind, and body that Athos was counting on to bring the Gascon through these next days.
Athos was greatly concerned over the fact that d'Artagnan had yet to regain consciousness, and was worried about what it might mean in regards to his recovery. When he had mentioned his concerns to Aramis, his friend had been rather blunt with him. Aramis had proceeded to inform him of what he had observed and of the rumors he had heard about d'Artagnan, which were likely contributing to the younger man's poor condition and continued unconsciousness.
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Aramis had filled him in on a great deal of things related to d'Artagnan.
Athos's animosity towards d'Artagnan had spread throughout much of the regiment, many of the men taking it as blanket permission to torment the younger man in a variety of ways. The worst was in gleefully taking up the offensive nickname that he'd given d'Artagnan. His use of "Boy", a means of avoiding being reminded of things he had wished his amnesia had also taken away, had become a source of regular torture for d'Artagnan, if the anguished look he'd managed to catch on at least one occasion was any indication.
D'Artagnan had purposely become a relative ghost within the regiment, expertly evading both Aramis and Porthos whenever they attempted to spend time with the Gascon. The younger man had done his duty to his utmost these past weeks, but there had been no joy or satisfaction associated with it. Many times it had seemed like d'Artagnan had lost all confidence in himself and his skills, triggering mistakes the younger man would not normally make.
Porthos and Aramis had despaired of the news Tréville had shared with them one day about d'Artagnan requesting he be allowed to work with other Musketeer teams, taking it as a sign that there was little hope remaining that things could ever be the same again. And perhaps they couldn't. Things would definitely have to change if they could ever be a team again.
For Aramis, the final straw had come when d'Artagnan had refused his aid with the cut Athos had accidentally given him during their bout of swordplay. Both he and Porthos had rallied those Musketeers who were fond of the Gascon, and had requested the men provide support to d'Artagnan whenever and wherever possible. Athos was beyond grateful for the efforts of those like Filleul* and Vasseur,* promising himself that he would find a way to repay the kindnesses Aramis had told him about at a time when he had been incapable of the sentiment towards d'Artagnan.
It occurred to him at that point that, before his own head injury, d'Artagnan had been going through a bout of insomnia. According to Aramis, that insomnia, which usually went away after a few days, had reportedly continued on and on and had likely not stopped until forced to by a bullet to his back.
Both Porthos and Aramis had witnessed just how exhausted d'Artagnan seemed to be whenever they were on duty together or had caught a glimpse of him at other times. The two men thought it was a result of all the stress the Gascon had recently been under. First there had been the worry about Athos and his amnesia, and then, after they returned to Paris, it had been the regular persecution by him. It was no wonder the younger man had been unable to get a good night's sleep.
From what Porthos had been able to learn from Serge, d'Artagnan had also not been eating much, or at all, in recent weeks. No one had yet to see the man clear a plate of food at the meal times the Gascon had attended, which was not often. Most of the time, d'Artagnan had taken his meals elsewhere in order to avoid any potential confrontation with him.
Now that he'd had the time to really look at d'Artagnan, he could see the dark circles under the younger man's eyes which could no longer be hidden by the dark-olive skin. By looking at his friend's face and torso, it was also easy to see how much leaner d'Artagnan was than was normal, or healthy.
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By his reckoning, all of this was his fault. Porthos and Aramis may have attempted to absolve him of any fault in d'Artagnan being physically wounded, but there was no absolution for everything else.
Athos was well aware losing his memories was something that had been beyond his control, but what he could have controlled were his actions in the aftermath, especially in the days after he'd returned to Paris. Instead, he'd done everything he could to alienate and punish d'Artagnan, all because of something he had no right to blame the younger man for – not being his brother and reminding him of himself when he had been young and content with his life.
He wouldn't blame d'Artagnan if the man never forgave him for what he'd done and how he had acted. He wouldn't blame the Gascon if d'Artagnan never wanted to see or talk to him ever again outside of their duties as Musketeers.
Following d'Artagnan's example, he would absent himself from his two other essential friendships. Self-exile from his friends' presence would only be right and proper punishment. Porthos and Aramis had stood by him through so much since they'd met, and had helped him through some of the darkest days of his life. Knowing they were with d'Artagnan and watching over him would be enough.
He had been alone before; he could do it once again. It was what he clearly deserved, but this time he would not seek self-destruction through over-indulgence in wine or recklessness in battle. No, this time he would remain steadfast in denying himself any means of escape, and be the best version of himself he could. He would be the version of himself that d'Artagnan had apparently seen in him from almost from the beginning of their friendship. It was the least he could do, and yet it didn't seem enough.
Athos adjusted the sheet covering d'Artagnan once more, smoothing a small wrinkle in the fabric. He watched as the younger man's chest moved up and down, up and down, as d'Artagnan continued to breathe. Despite the evidence of his own eyes, it was somehow not enough proof of life for him. His hand hovered over one of d'Artagnan's, longing to touch and feel the warmth that would unequivocally prove his friend was still among the living, but just as he was about to grasp the hand, he withdrew it as if burned.
Abruptly, he stood, once more feeling he had no right to such comfort for himself.
Needing distance, but in no way willing to leave d'Artagnan completely alone, he strode over to the room's door and threw it open. Leaning against the doorway, he could just barely see down into the inn's common room. For a time, he switched between watching the comings and goings of the people down below and checking on his injured friend.
Briefly his thoughts drifted back towards the missive he had sent to Ponteau de Mer. Shortly after Aramis had drained d'Artagnan's wound, something Porthos had said reminded him of their duty towards the mission they'd been given. Up to then, he'd been so caught up in what had happened to his friend, that he'd not given their mission a second thought. He'd taken the time to write a short report on their progress, the attack, and his theories about the raiders. Having sent a messenger south with the missive, he was now waiting for a reply. More waiting, he thought and sighed.
At one point, he caught a glimpse of Porthos walking towards someone outside of his line of sight, likely Aramis, who was supposed to be getting them something to eat and drink. Porthos had volunteered to go out to the stable to check on their horses, making sure they were being treated well. Though given how grateful the village was for ridding them of the threat of the raiders, they and their horses were being treated like royalty, not having to pay for their lodging or the supplies to treat d'Artagnan.
From behind him, he heard a sound of distress and turned to see d'Artagnan restlessly moving his head and arms, disturbing the bedclothes he'd been compulsively straightening only minutes before. Stepping back into the room, he closed the door and hurried to d'Artagnan's bedside.
Barely, a moment later, he was looking into his friend's eyes for the first time in days.
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To be continued
Next time: Chapter Twenty-eight: Nightmare
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Story/History Notes:
Filleul: Mentioned in "Distance," Chapter 3 of Celticgal1041's "Hard Lessons", which are a series of tags based on Chapters 13-16 of this story. He was the Musketeer who stitched d'Artagnan's arm after the events of "Chapter Fifteen: Training Day."
Vasseur: Mentioned in "Hard Lesson," Chapter 4 of Celticgal1041's "Hard Lessons", which are a series of tags based on Chapters 13-16 of this story. He was the one who invited d'Artagnan out to a tavern with other fellow Musketeers.
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A/N: Many thanks to Celiticgal1041 for proofing this chapter for me. Remaining mistakes are my fault.
Thanks for reading!
