Lemay

He understood the panic which gripped the young musketeer's heart, but the doctor was taken by surprise when he saw how easily d'Artagnan allowed his fear to take over. It was as if the soldier was sure they all were doomed. His frantic search for his friends in the garrison had proved that to be the case. Lemay sympathized with him. However, he still found his behavior a bit shocking, even though knew that the lad was in love with Constance—the same Constance who lay unconscious on a table in the palace. Lemay hoped that young woman was still alive. He had done all he could. Her fate was in God's hands now, not his. Still, he needed to check on her condition. He had not planned to leave her for such a long period of time, but the musketeers were suffering as well.

Their wounds were serious, but their mental state was far more concerning. Lemay did not have much experience in caring for torture victims. However, he did have knowledge he had gained from his studies—knowledge he had fervently hoped to never have to use.

He knew he was an outsider among the musketeers. However, he felt at this point that they needed his calm objectivity. The soldiers appeared to be in a daze. Their minds were playing tricks on them. This could be easily explained by fever or pain, but deep in his heart, Lemay knew that the real cause was their fear for each other.

As they rode through the deserted streets, fatigue began to dull his thoughts. D'Artagnan, consumed with anxiety, urged his horse into a gallop. Lemay feared what the lad might do if bad news awaited them at the Palace.

They finally reached the stable, and quickly dismounted. D'Artagnan nearly ran into the building. It was with difficulty that he was able to restrain himself enough to stay by Lemay's side.

Several minutes later, they reached the room where Constance lay. D'Artagnan wrenched the door open and burst into the chamber. The Queen gasped, then relaxed a bit when she recognized the young soldier. The lad remained frozen for a moment, his eyes fixed on Constance's pale face.

"How is she?" he asked, his voice choked with despair.

Anne gave him a small smile. "She asked for you, d'Artagnan."

So she did regain consciousness at one point. That has to be a good sign.

D'Artagnan took Constance's hand in his, and pressed it to his lips. He remained motionless, afraid of hurting his sweetheart with any small movement.

Lemay inspected her wound. He was quite pleased with what he found. It was too soon to be optimistic, but when his eyes met the Queen's anxious gaze, he knew he had to give her some comfort.

"There's no sign of infection so far, which is a good sign. You have given her outstanding care, Your Majesty."

Anne gave him a half hearted smile.

"She's my only friend," she confessed, her voice breaking.

Lemay nodded. He knew well that there was no other person she could call a friend. The Musketeers' Captain was loyal to her, but she could never think of calling a man a friend. It was bad enough that she had let a commoner like Constance into her confidence. However, Lemay completely understood why the Queen trusted Constance.

If only Madame Bonacieux were free… or rather, if only her heart were free…

Lemay sighed, then covered the young woman with a blanket.

"Can we transfer her to a bed?" the Queen suggested, her voice small. "She would be more comfortable."

He nodded. "Yes, that's a good idea."

Anne gave orders for the servants to prepare a stretcher for the patient.

"I can carry her!" d'Artagnan protested.

"I don't doubt that you can, but it is safer to move her this way," the doctor replied, placing a reassuring hand on the lad's shoulder. The Gascon bowed his head and bit his lip, looking for all the world like a hurt pup.

Pup… I have heard Athos and his men call d'Artagnan that. I always thought they were just teasing him, but it's a very apt nickname. He really looks like a forlorn puppy right now. Poor kid—he must help his brothers recover.

Once all the arrangements were in place, Constance was transferred to her room. Lemay checked on her once more, then left her in the care of the Queen and the young musketeer. He longed for his own bed, but before he could reach his rooms, he was stopped by another musketeer.

"Doctor Lemay? Calbert asked me to fetch you immediately. It's Porthos and Aramis, sir."

The physician cast last one glance towards his room, giving up his dream of an hour or two of rest. He gave the man a weary nod.

"Lead the way. What's happened now?"

"Calbert found them on the floor. It seems that both of them got up, then collapsed."

"What were they doing up?" he asked irritably, then immediately checked himself.

That's a stupid question. If Aramis was on his feet, he probably fainted. Porthos lunged towards him in order to help, then found himself on the floor as well. I hope he hasn't aggravated his wounds. These musketeers are as reckless as they are valiant.

They finally arrived at the garrison, and Lemay thanked his escort. He drew himself up as he entered the room, and did his best to look the part of an intimidating, furious physician.

Catching Porthos' gaze, he said icily, "I distinctly recall telling you to not do anything stupid."

His only answer was a guilty silence. Something really bad had happened.

They are angry at each other. Well, that won't help them. I need to know what this is all about. My best chance to do that is to get one of them outside the room so I can question him away from the others. Hmm. Porthos should not get up, and I really don't feel like talking to Athos right now. That leaves Aramis.

He sighed, then set about examining Porthos. He was relieved to find no new injuries of significance. He gave the big man a reassuring smile. Then he turned to Aramis, his expression becoming grim.

"We need to talk," he said, his voice gruff. "Outside."

The musketeer blanched, but Lemay was too angry to care. Porthos and Aramis' actions would set their recovery back, and that was bad enough. But if not for the grace of God, the men could have easily lost their lives.

Aramis dutifully got to his feet. He took a few steps, then stumbled. The doctor caught his arm, supporting the marksman as he made his way out of the room. Then Lemay led Aramis into an empty chamber that was a little further down the corridor. Shutting the door behind them, he helped Aramis ease himself onto the bed. Once the musketeer had settled back onto the pillows, Lemay covered him with a blanket. He then sat down on the chair next to the bed, and eyed the ailing man.

"Could you please explain to me how Monsieur Porthos ended up on the floor?" he asked, trying to keep his voice as stern as possible.

"It was my fault. How is he?"

"I don't care whose fault it was. I want to know what happened."

Pain and guilt flooded the musketeer's eyes. He lowered his gaze in submission, and Lemay's heart ached.

What kind of mental damage was done when they tortured you?

"I attempted to leave. He stopped me."

"Why didn't you simply reassure him that you would be back soon?"

"I didn't intend to come back." Aramis met Lemay's gaze. "Porthos knew that."

"Why did you want to leave?"

You need to talk to a stranger. Someone who is emotionally objective.

"Listen, it's not your concern."

"That's where you are very much wrong, Monsieur Aramis. As you two are under my care, I have every right to be concerned. Did you want to kill him?!"

"No! God, no!" Aramis started to shiver. "How bad off is he?"

"I will give you an answer—provided you answer my questions."

Aramis bit his lip, and the doctor saw flashes of anger and pain in the musketeer's eyes.

"Deal," he whispered. The need to know his brother's fate had prevailed over his need for privacy.

"He does not appear to have suffered any additional serious injuries. Still, he must be extremely careful. If he starts to bleed internally, there will be no hope for him."

The doctor allowed these words to sink in for a few moments, then asked, "Why did you intend to leave?"

"My presence is a problem for Athos," the marksman breathed, his voice nearly inaudible.

"What makes you think that?"

"He said that he is going to request that I be transferred to another regiment, as it is impossible for him to continue to serve with me."

This was indeed shocking. Lemay watched the man for a few moments, taking in the pain in his eyes. This type of pain had nothing in common with his physical injuries.

"Did he explain his demand?"

"Yes."

Aramis remained silent. Lemay knew he needed to press him further. If he wanted to help this man, not just leave the wound in his soul to fester and kill him, he would need to know more. The very idea of one friend getting rid of another was painful, but these men were more to each other than just friends.

"Why?"

"He decided that my behaviour during our captivity had been— inappropriate. He could not risk such a thing happening again."

"What did he find inappropriate?" Lemay held his breath, dreading the answer.

Closing his eyes, Aramis shook his head. "I cannot tell you."

"Cannot? Or will not?"

Aramis did not reply.

Lemay stared at him for a moment, then decided to take the risk. "You need to talk to me, Monsieur."

The musketeer looked at him, his eyes dull. "Why?"

Lemay hesitated. He knew that he had to choose his words with care. Otherwise, he would lose any chance to get through to this tormented soul.

"Your friend, Monsieur Porthos, needs you."

"Why does he need me? You're a physician, a man with formal medical training. I'm just a field medic."

"But you're his friend. You can be at his side while I attend to my other duties." He waited a moment, then said smoothly, "The other one—your lieutenant—he needs you as well."

Aramis gave a bitter laugh. "What Athos needs is for me to be as far away from him as possible."

"You're wrong. He needs to stop blaming himself for your torture."

"What do you know about it?! Nothing. You weren't there." The marksman's voice was louder, but it was without heat. He hung his head, sadness and hopelessness radiating from him. "I—I showed him nothing but disrespect."

"You were in pain," Lemay said softly.

"Yes! That was the price for his life—and he hates me because I chose to pay it. I could not just let him die. I saved his life, and he hates me for it. So be it. I will not protest my transfer."

"Do you really think that Captain Treville will just accept his decision? My guess is that he will respond by ordering Athos' transfer instead." That statement was a wild shot, but Lemay really felt that there was no reason for musketeers' leader to agree to transfer Aramis.

The wounded musketeer fell silent, and seemed to retreat into his thoughts. Just when Lemay started to lose hope for any further conversation, the marksman eyes' widened in understanding.

"He's punishing himself! He knows Treville won't agree. Athos will respond by resigning his commission! He's rejecting us!"

"You must remember that he has a fever," the doctor said quietly. "His illness is more than likely affecting his judgement."

Aramis closed his eyes. He looked defeated.

"I don't know how to help him to cope with his guilt this time," he confessed, his voice broken.

"How have you helped him in the past?"

"Well, we usually force our presence on him, make him part of our lives, even when he doesn't want us to… often that ends up with us carrying him home from one tavern or another. But this time, I have no strength left to fight him."

"Give yourself some time. You are wounded. Once your body and mind heal, you should regain your strength."

Aramis looked at him, disbelief clear in his eyes.

"How?"

Lemay knew what the marksman was asking. Suddenly, the responsibility felt like a heavy weight on his shoulders.

"Talk to me."

"Talk to you?" Aramis laughed bitterly. "I hardly know you. Why should I trust you?"

"You trusted me with Porthos' life—and at this point, I suspect his life is more precious to you than your own."

Aramis gave him a brief nod. "You're correct. But what makes you think that talking to you will help me?"

"I'm not your friend. Your words cannot hurt me. Besides, I'm the royal physician. Part of my job is knowing how to keep secrets. Trust me, I am no stranger to pain and despair."

Aramis gave him a bitter smile. "I know how to deal with those two emotions. But right now, I am not in pain—and I do not despair."

"So what do you feel?"

Aramis closed his eyes. "Nothing. There's nothing left."

A/N

I do apologize to you for the delay in posting. I hope you'll still find time to read and review.