I hope you all have a lovely and not too stressful December weekend. Here is the next chapter.

Enjoy! xx Kira

To Debbie:

"I'm glad Treville told d'Art that the lad's instincts were right on about another attack on Athos happening.
Ah, that should be an interesting meeting between Treville and the cardinal. Most curious as to what the captain will be telling His Eminence and what Richelieu's reaction will be.
And now the plot thickens again now that Treville knows Milady has an interest/knowledge of what happened to Athos.
Wonder if she'll stick around when the captain shows up instead of Aramis."

Thank you so much Debbie. Yes it was important for d'Artagnan to hear these words from Tréville. I still have no idea how he will react when he finds out about his main gauche, at one point he will … I'm sure …

Tréville and the Cardinal … they will meet but not in this chapter. About Milady wait & see xx Kira

To Barbara:

"Excellent chapter again. Not too much to worry about but Athos still has a long way to go before he is recovered."

Thank you for your review Barbara. Are you sure about Athos and not too much to worry … xx Kira

Chapter 34

Milady walked through the small streets of Paris near le Louvre. After she'd had no luck with talking to Aramis, she had aimlessly left the garrison. Now she stopped at several market stands to have a look at the goods, the food, or feel the fabric of some new cloth, but she didn't buy anything. She had no money left. After Athos had told her to leave France she had returned to the place where she had hidden all her riches, but the purse with several diamonds, jewelry and coins was gone. Stolen. All the money she had earned in the service as a spy for Cardinal Richelieu had ended in smoke and left her once again destitute.

She remembered how she had dropped exhausted on the hard wooden chair in the room, where she had hid her riches, feeling suddenly so empty and lost. It took her a while until she realised that she had to start all over again.

It hadn't been the first time that she had to deal with the reality of being poor. She had always tried to get away from such a life. She tricked and cheated only to flee poverty and each time she ended up with nothing but her miserable life.

At least she was alive, a second time Athos had failed to kill her. Memories of happier days had crossed her mind and for a moment she had transferred herself in this dream world - a world of happiness and laughter, of running over green hills in front of Athos' manor, kissing him and lying together in the grass and loving each other -, but the cold room and loud screams coming from somewhere outside, quickly drove her back to reality.

She didn't scream or shout angrily, she didn't cry tears about her loss and her fate, but instead she suddenly started to laugh out loud.

Go to England, to Spain, but leave Paris, leave France!

Athos had ordered her after he had retrieved the sword from her neck, hauled her back to her feet and spared her life. He hadn't been able to kill her.

Was it because his friends had asked him to spare her? Was it because he still loved her? Was it because he knew that killing her with his own sword would finally destroy him? Milady couldn't tell.

When she had tried to kill him by burning down his house the chain with her pendant around his neck had suddenly stopped her. She hadn't expected that he would be wearing it.

What is it, that makes us feel so much love for each other that it hurts, but wants us to kill each other at the very same time? She had wondered.

She shook her head when she had finally stopped her hysterical laughter.

Oh Athos, it's easier said than done. How can I leave without money? I can't pay the passage for the ship to sail to England, but I can't stay here in Paris. The Cardinal wants to see me dead after I failed in killing the Queen.

Milady had started to think what she should do next. She needed a plan. At first she searched a new hideout. She found a vacant flat near the Court of Miracles, where she stayed for several days. During day time she walked through the small streets of Paris: stealing food, money and dresses, if she had the chance. Soon she had enough money together to finally leave, but she wanted more and so she decided that she had to trick herself back into the ranks of nobility. She had heard about a rich Spanish nobleman who was on his way to Château de Fontainebleau with his niece. Her connections with the palace and hearing about the latest Court gossip were still good and one Sunday morning while most people were at church she had set her plan in motion.

She had gathered all her new belongings that she wanted to take with her, then she had stolen a brown stallion from one of the palace stables and had ridden towards the château. In the forest nearby the castle she had then waited until she had heard a carriage arriving.

Dressed in her most expensive dress she had thrown herself in the dirt on the main road hitting her head harder than she had intended on an oak tree. With the bloody wound near her temple she had lain herself on the road, which the carriage would most probable cross, hiding her horse nearby she had pretended that she had fallen from her horse and lost her memory. Her trick worked. The coachman had stopped the horses after seeing the young woman lying unconscious in the mud.

Don Fernando, who had been in the carriage with his niece had stepped down and after seeing that the woman was obviously in need of help and after the plea of his niece they had decided to bring the injured woman -who was dressed as a noblewoman- to the château.

For the next few days Milady had been lucky, she could stay in her own big room, was treated with care, could enjoy lots of food and live the life of a noblewoman. Dona Ynes-Mancía had already invited her to come with them to Italy, in order to have more time to regain her memory, when fate had struck again. She had overheard a conversation Don Fernando had had with another man ordering him to kill a Musketeer.

Milady paused at a corner near the palace and angrily shook her head. She didn't want to think now about what had happened then. She still needed to be cautious. If the Cardinal or one of his spies or a Red Guard found out that she was back in Paris, she would be in immediate danger. The Cardinal had threatened to kill her and she knew that the man was unscrupulous enough to murder her or to order her killed without having second thoughts or doubts. This man was dangerous, she had worked long enough for him to know that. She sighed and wondered where she should spend the rest of the day until she could meet and talk to Aramis, when she noticed a figure she knew.

What on earth is he doing here? Milady wondered, recognising the Spaniard at once. Don Fernando here, that doesn't bode well. I need to follow him and find out what he's up to. He told Dona Ynes-Mancía that he wouldn't return to Paris. I need to be careful that he doesn't discover that I am in Paris and that I am going to follow him.

Milady waited several seconds before following the Spaniard to one of the more unpopular inns in the city.

XXXXX

"I think he's waking up again." Porthos whispered to d'Artagnan.

They were both sitting on chairs on Athos' right side, while Aramis was still sleeping in the bed on his left side, one of his hands protectively placed on Athos's left shoulder. D'Artagnan's right leg was resting on a second chair, which Porthos had fetched for him with a soft pillow on the hard wooden seat. They had kept vigil over their ailing friend for over an hour now, staying silent near each other in order not to disturb their patients.

Enduring Athos' whimpers and moans, when he moved and felt his arm and leg hurting him, was the hardest part for the young Gascon, but if he had to guess Porthos was no better. Each time d'Artagnan wanted to jump up and hurry over to him, Porthos stopped him with his gentle giant hands, pressing him down on the wooden seat and whispering:

"Let him sleep, when he wakes you can give him some broth, but his body needs rest, so calm."

D'Artagnan couldn't be calm, didn't want to be calm. Athos still pale appearance frightened him. How he had hoped and wished that Athos would be better by now. Trusting Tréville's words all the way to Château de Fontainebleau and back that Athos would heal again.

He felt guilty and responsible that they had not been able to stop Juan from this dreadful deed and once again d'Artagnan's thoughts drifted off to the horrible night he had found his father dying in the cold rain that was pouring on them. He ignored his own hurting ankle, knowing that it would heal again. Another now louder moan escaped Athos' lips and he could see how Aramis' hand gently pressed his friend's shoulder, while turning his head towards him and opening his eyes. The marksman still must feel horrible, but he kept his own pain to himself in order to comfort Athos.

What team we are? D'Artagnan thought bitterly. Besides Porthos we aren't fit for duty right now.

"Shhh …" He heard Aramis soothing and calming his friend, while Athos was fighting with opening his eyes blinking heavily.

Next to him Porthos stood up to prepare another cup with warm broth. D'Artagnan waited for his friend's instructions now unsure and insecure what he should say to Athos. He wanted to be near his friend and mentor and in the same time he wanted to hide in a deep dark corner.

Aramis turned his head towards him and whispered.

"He's waking up, d'Artagnan. Come here to me. He'll be glad to see you." Then he turned all his attention back to Athos, who whimpered again.

"Wake up my friend. You need to drink some more broth and you have a visitor who wants to see you."

"Go … away … want … sleep." Athos mumbled, while looking with half opened eyes in Aramis' smiling face.

"That's it. Stay awake." Aramis encouraged him.

Athos sighed deeply and tried to press his aching head more in the soft pillow. Very slowly he finally started to inspect his hurting body. His eyes wandered over his blue blanket and rested for a while on his right arm, which was throbbing heavily and laid in an odd position on his belly under his blanket. Confused he blinked again, not knowing why he couldn't move it. He wanted to ask, but in this moment his left leg started to itch and his eyes wandered to his feet, which were strangely elevated so that he couldn't see the bedpost at the end of his feet.

"Why are ... my legs ... in this position?" He asked sluggishly.

"You have lost a lot of blood. I have made the experience that it helps with shock sometimes."

Aramis mumbled, while trying to sit up and untangle himself from the blanket Porthos had wrapped him in earlier. He regretted it at once, when his head protested and he felt dizzy. Staying in the position he was, he started to breathe heavily."

"Don't overdo it." Porthos chided him from the distance, then he gave d'Artagnan a gentle push, who had stood up in the meantime but didn't dare to walk nearer to Athos.

"See who is back?" Porthos smiled broadly.

Athos' eyes wandered from Aramis to Porthos and they stopped at d'Artagnan, looking in his embarrassed face.

"D'Artagnan."

Athos whispered barely audible, then he sighed and closed his eyes for a moment, when he felt a heavy weight dropping from his chest, such as when a giant stone which had rested on his rib cage was lifted away.

D'Artagnan who thought Athos was feeling worse couldn't move.

"Go over to him." Porthos pushed d'Artagnan further towards Athos, so that he now stood between the two beds.

"Come. Sit with me." Athos mumbled while tears were glistening in his eyes.

"How are you?" D'Artagnan stuttered, not sure how he should deal with Athos' sudden sadness.

"Thank God ... you are alive."

Athos whispered barely audible, while reaching with his good left hand for d'Artagnan's, who pressed the cold hand gently with his fingers- ignoring his bandaged hurting palms-, while sitting down on the stool between the two beds.

"Why shouldn't I be?" D'Artagnan softly answered. His voice suddenly higher than usual and he tried to clear his throat to get rid of this odd voice.

"I feared …" Athos started but a stabbing pain in his left leg made him pause and he groaned out loud. "Arghhh!" He screamed and pressed d'Artagnan's fingers tighter. The young man could feel the cold fingers trembling slightly in his.

"What is it?" D'Artagnan asked his voice now filled with concern.

"My bloody leg. It feels ... like thousand bee stings … attacking me ... at the same time." He gasped for air and closed his eyes again.

"You need a pain potion." Aramis said from behind d'Artagnan. "It should ease your pain."

"No …"

Athos protested weakly and turned his eyes filled with moisture towards Aramis, who had both of his hands pressed at his head to finally stop the spinning of the room.

"You look … horrible." Athos mumbled. "You should … rest."

"I will as soon as you are better."

Aramis answered and looked in Athos' pale face and bloodshed eyes. A new layer of cold sweat had formed on his friend's face and he wished he had the strength to clean it with a washcloth.

"What did you fear?" D'Artagnan asked shyly.

"The man … he said … he killed you ... " Athos locked eyes with his younger brother. "It was a lie. It's so good to see you." He mumbled.

"You need to drink some more broth." Porthos insisted. "D'Artagnan will help you."

Porthos already expected Athos' protest. He felt so tired, so angry, so helpless and for a moment he was glad that d'Artagnan was sitting next to Athos.

"No, no more broth … I can't …" Athos complained.

Another moan escaped his mouth when he felt the pulsing wound in his arm, which left him breathless.

"Oh yes you can. D'Artagnan will help you!"

Porthos insisted, while pressing d'Artagnan the prepared cup in his hand. That his friend was still in so much pain frustrated him. His eyes wandered over to Aramis and they started a silent conversation with their concerned eyes.

"You need to give him the pain potion."

"We tried before. He refused it."

"He needs to sleep longer, the pain doesn't help him to rest. Give it to him."

"How? He will fight me. I don't want to force him, he's gone through enough, don't you think?"

"We need to decide for him or he will …"

"You really think that …"

"He's still not out of the woods yet … I would do it, but I can't … please Porthos." Aramis waited until Porthos finally gave him a short nod, that he agreed with him.

In the meantime d'Artagnan - who had no idea what was going on behind his back - made Athos to drink the broth holding the cup in his bandaged hands and trying to suppress his own pain. Before Athos could protest a second time. He felt d'Artagnan's gentle hand, behind the back of his head, helping to lift it, while he pressed the cup on his lips. He was too tired to feel the bandage around d'Artagnan's palm. Under other circumstances he would have glared angrily at d'Artagnan, but the soft touch from d'Artagnan's fingers grounded him.

"Drink, Athos, you need it, to get better. I don't want to lose you. So please do me the favour."

Athos could hear the frightened voice of his friend. He didn't want to scare his young protégé furthermore and obeyed. When he had finished the cup he exhausted gave d'Artagnan a sign with his eyes to help him to lie down again and he felt d'Artagnan's hand gently guiding him down on his pillow.

"See, you managed." D'Artagnan smiled proudly at him while breathing inwardly through his own pain.

"Thank you." Athos mumbled and closed exhausted his eyes again.

In the meantime Porthos had prepared the pain potion. Giving it to him now would hopefully allow Athos to rest more peacefully. He knew that he had to stop his stubborn friend from accepting the needed medicine and Aramis counted on him. Anyway having experienced Athos' previous behaviour, he already knew that he would have to fight Athos, but they both had no chance and he inwardly prayed that d'Artagnan would help calming Athos furthermore.

Before Athos realised what was happening, Porthos bent down over his face. Irritatedly he opened his eyes again, when he felt his brother's warm breath on his face.

"You need this."

Porthos softly whispered in his ear, while gently stroking over his brother's hair. Then he lifted his friend's head for a second time in the past minutes and pressed the cup with the bitter drink at his lips.

"Don't ..." Athos mumbled and tried to protest.

"Open your mouth or I have to force you to open it and I don't want to do that." Porthos pleaded him.

Athos tried to turn his head away, but Porthos stopped it with his left hand.

"Shh … Athos, you need this pain potion now. Do you listen to me?" Porthos asked.

D'Artagnan felt Athos' hand pressing his fingers while trying to avoid Porthos' ernest glare and the bitter potion.

"It makes me … I don't want to … leave me ..."

Athos tired to protest, while opening his mouth, which he now found out was a mistake because this was the moment Porthos used to deplete some fluid of the cup in his mouth.

"I know it makes you sleepy and confused. Gulp now!" He ordered with a strict tone in his voice and Athos obeyed. Porthos had already expected more protest when he tried to give him a second sip, but this time Athos followed his brother's instructions. "That's it my friend. Knew you can do it." He smiled encouragingly at Athos.

After Athos had finished the pain potion he looked with an angry glare at Porthos.

"No need to thank me." Porthos mumbled slightly agitated.

"I simply … don't like … the taste …" Athos murmured.

"That's why you want to suffer instead?"

Porthos raised his eyebrows, searched his brother's sleepy eyes and gently stroked over his brother's thick brown hair. Athos leaned in his hand and searched with his eyes Porthos'. The latter fetched a washcloth with he had prepared with warm water and gently wiped the cold sweat from his brother's face. Not letting Athos's green shimmering eyes out of his side and smiling at him. Athos felt the warm water on his skin and he was grateful for Porthos' help. Ashamed he blinked with his eyes, when he realised that with his stubborn behaviour he had hurt his strong friend.

"I'm sorry … I simply feel sooo …"

Athos mumbled, then he closed his eyes and drifted off in a more painless sleep.

Thank God. Finally, I am sorry my friend. I had no choice and the thing is you wanted me to do it this way. Oh, Athos. Get better. I need you.

"Did you really have to force him?"

D'Artagnan glared angrily at Porthos, but he regretted his tone at once, when he noticed that Porthos tried to blink some tears away, while his left hand still rested on Athos' head.

"He's a stubborn mule … that's what he is …" Porthos stood up to put the washcloth away and turned his back towards his friends.

"Porthos … I am sorry … I didn't mean …"

"Do you think I like to see him suffer … he's in pain, he's cold, he's fighting for his life and refuses our help … because his hurting and confused mind can't think clearly right now. I am sorry d'Artagnan … I am so angry, so upset, so … not angry with him … how could I be … I am angry with whoever is behind all this, who did this to him. I guess I am overtired." Porthos led his shoulder hung and without a further word he left the infirmary.

D'Artagnan felt his cheeks becoming hot. He tried to run after Porthos forgetting about his ankle he stood up, only to feel the pain and winced. Frustratedly he let himself drop on the small stool, while he suddenly felt Aramis' hand pressing his thigh.

"Don't be upset with Porthos. I told him to give Athos the pain potion. We tried it before."

Aramis carefully glanced with his eyes over to his sleeping friend. First time we gave it him, he spit it all out after several seconds. After that we asked him each time he woke up and each time he refused to drink it." He sighed.

"I'm sorry." D'Artagnan mumbled. "I had no idea …"

"Athos' body needs the sleep, but the pain in his thigh and arm wakes him up each time he moves. It's not good for him." Aramis quietly explained, squeezing his eyes shut and breathing heavily, when another wave of dizziness washed over him.

"You should rest too." D'Artagnan mumbled. "I should go after Porthos and apologise."

"Give him some time on his own. He won't go far away. He has found the both of us", Aramis looked over to Athos, "lying in our blood on the floor. And last night wasn't easy for him as well. We nearly lost Athos to a high fever. He's simply exhausted and hearing Athos moaning and groaning in pain doesn't help him to calm or relax. He's frightened to lose him."

"Don't you think he will recover?" D'Artagnan asked hoping for a positive answer.

"Porthos said Athos is a stubborn mule and I really hope he is right, because when he's stubborn enough he will fight …" Aramis blinked. "Stay here, watch over Athos. Then I can sleep too."

D'Artagnan nodded and Aramis closed exhausted his eyes.

XXXXX

Outside the infirmary

Porthos stumbled out of the door with blurred eyes. He needed fresh air. D'Artagnan's words were still ringing in his ears. He nearly walked into Henri, who quickly stepped aside, when Porthos tried to hurry with a fast pace away.

"Porthos? What's wrong? Are you alright?" He heard Henri's concerned words behind him.

"Just give me a minute. Will you?" Porthos answered quietly and stumbled over to the well, which was situated near the stables.

Henri followed him with some distance. Knowing that Porthos probably would need someone to talk to. He watched Porthos putting his hands in a basket full of cool water and pouring some of the liquid over his neck, his head bent, his face sinister.

"Is Athos alright?" Henri quietly stepped next to him and put a hand on the streetfighter's shoulder.

"He's a stubborn mule …" Porthos mumbled. "I should have known that Tréville would order guards in front of the infirmary. Who else is now there?" He looked for a moment up, while driving his wet hand over his eyes and cleaning with the water his whole face.

"Albert. And we are only a few steps away." Henri smiled. "He's safe now." He added.

"Someone must save him from himself." Porthos snorted angrily.

"That bad?" Henri asked.

"When you try to help and each time you hear "no I don't want" … it's …"

"Athos." Henri answered quietly and shook his head. "Stubborn as always even when his life is at stake."

"Exactly." Porthos groaned and leaned himself at the corner of the well, looking towards Henri.

"What did he do?"

"He refused to take a pain potion, I just had to force him to drink it."

"Usually Aramis is good in talking him into …" Henri helped.

"Not this time. He is fighting to stay awake and he has to deal with his concussion. He probably needs a pain draught as well." Porthos snorted.

"But Athos accepted it now from you?"

"Yes he did." Porthos sighed. "I hope and pray that he will survive." Porthos admitted openly to the seasoned soldier.

"He's stubborn, as you just stated yourself, he will."

"Why are you so certain, Henri?" Porthos decided to drink some of the cool water and put up the wooden ladle and poured the cool liquid in his mouth and over his face again.

"Do you remember how you tried to teach him fist fighting."*

"Oh yes. That's a long time ago." Porthos had to smile, when pictures appeared in front of his inner eye, showing Athos' lying in the wet mud on the courtyard floor.

"It had rained cats and dogs that day." Henri softly said.

"And the Captain had ordered us to teach him how to fight." Porthos mumbled. "Aramis was standing under the balcony, seeking shelter from the cold rain, but Athos could not accept that I had won."

"He always told you that your fistfight was "not fair"."

"Nahh, he didn't use that word. He said "it's not correct"." Porthos shook his wet hair like a dog and smirked.

"He was not used to my dirty street-fight tricks. It took us a while to teach him that it was noble too, to fight like this." Porthos sighed then he added: "You know back then I had no idea, but now knowing about his background, having been educated to be a Comte one day." Porthos laughed. "I now understand why he was so angry and dissatisfied with my fighting skills."

"How long did you fight with him that day?" Henri asked.

"The whole afternoon and each time he landed on the wet floor, he shook his wet hair, paused sometimes after being dazed, but every single time he stood up on his own and tried to win against me."

"He felt sore for two weeks afterwards, had several bruised ribs and a black eye. Tréville wondered if he would make it to morning muster the following day, after we brought him to the infirmary, but he made it." Henri laughed.

"Oh yes, Aramis had to finally stop him, after he was bleeding from several cuts on his face. I felt so horrible …" Porthos sighed.

"He didn't give up." Henri whispered.

"Naa … he is a fighter, a stubborn mule, a great warrior and my friend." Porthos answered while he felt tears welling up in his eyes, when he thought about Athos lying so helpless and feeble in his bed.

"He is and that's why I know that he will pull through. Ignore what the doctor says, Porthos. Drink some more water, eat and then go back in there and show him that you are there for him." Henri clapped Porthos on his back. "And if he starts to fight you it's only a sign that his strength is coming back."

Porthos nodded.

"Thank you, Henri. I needed that …"

"Make sure that he survives, Porthos and if it takes to constrain him, do it. One day he will be our Captain and a good one." Henri said quietly. Then he left Porthos, who decided that it was time to follow Henri's advice and to eat something.

Athos, Captain! He will hate that idea. Porthos grinned and walked over to the canteen.

To be continued ...

Note:

And here it is the backstory to „Facing the Storm": Porthos and Athos first fistfight!

Special thanks goes out to my lovely beta Beth. Get better soon! xx Kira