Reunion

The morning rays touched her eyes, slowly pulling her away from the dream world. She opened her eyes, feeling a sense of comfort surround her. 'Where am I?' she thought. Then the memories came to her. Everything that had happened last night filled her mind. She managed to prop herself onto her elbows and push herself up. She could feel her side burning, so she only moved as much as her body would let her. Her eyes fell upon the man that saved her life.

He was on the floor, rolled up in a heap of blankets. His hair had come undone, and the rebellious strands plastered themselves all over his face. Throughout the entire night, he had not left her. She smiled, knowing that there could only be a handful of people he would do that for. "D'Artagnan?" she called in a soft voice. Her back was now pressed against the wall that her bed connected to. She pulled the covers up with her, so that she could keep the warmth from escaping under the blanket.

He stirred in his sleep when he heard his name called. "Captain… it's too early still… practice…later…," he muttered. He rolled over, bringing the blankets with him attempting to cover his ears with them.

"D'Artagnan?" she said again. He was like a child when he slept. Somehow, the arrogance was entirely gone, and the coy attitude melted away. She saw a side of him last night that was completely uncharacteristic of him. Or maybe, that was his real self that he buried underneath all the qualities that annoyed her early in their relationship. The caring gentle man she saw was beneath that cocky, arrogant womanizer. He risked his own life to save hers, and he tended to her every need. This was the real d'Artagnan, she mused. She wondered how she never saw it before.

He said something again, but it was muffled by his covers. 'Unbelievable,' she thought. 'No wonder why Captain Duval is tearing out his hair every morning.' She leaned over the bed and grabbed one of d'Artagnan's boots. With a flick of her wrist, she "kicked" him in the back. He jolted awake, rolling out of the blankets and maneuvered into a crouching position. It took him a while before he recognized the woman before him.

"Morning," she said with a small smile. She tucked her hair behind her ear, suddenly feeling a little flustered when his eyes stayed on her. "Did you get enough beauty sleep?"
He pulled his hair out of his face, his expression full of concern. "How is it?" he asked, standing and walking to the bed. "Are you in pain?"

She dropped the boot and leaned back against the cool wall. "I'm alive… thank you, d'Artagnan." She looked into his eyes, wanting him to see that she meant it.
He sat on the edge of the bed and placed his hands on his knees. "You would have done the same for me. Well, you might have beat me for doing something that crazy, but then you would have helped me," he said in a light joke, but somehow he could imagine her slapping him then tending to his injuries. "You should be proud. France's king is still alive because of you."

"And I am alive because of you," she said, placing her hand on his. His eyes fell upon their hands where they touched. He wished he could tell her right then and there that he cared for her more than she could imagine. It took a lot for him to realize it, but he came to terms with his emotions. However, now was not the time. Jacqueline was still wanted for murder, and the others still did not know who she was. She would still have to continue her masquerade act as Jacque Laponte.

She pulled her hand back, thinking the same. She figured though, that he would never choose her. Jacqueline Roget was a fugitive, not a fair maiden that had the pleasure of freely walking the streets of Paris. Maybe one day, things will change. "We have to leave here. Knowing Ramon and Siroc, they must be going insane, and they're probably searching for us."

D'Artagnan shook himself out of his thoughts. "Er… you're right. He stood, trying to dust the dirt from his pants and shirt. "First, you may want to wash up a bit. When you are ready to go, I suggest we start by the river. They are likely searching downstream from where we disappeared."

Jacqueline nodded and made to move her legs off the bed. D'Artagnan helped her till her feet touched the floor. "Wait just a moment," he said and left the room. While he was gone, Jacqueline tested the extent of her physical mobility. She could only raise her left arm a bit past her hip, but beyond that, her nerves refused to listen to her mind. Thank God it wasn't her right arm that she could not use. She hardly used her left hand for swordplay, but she would still be inconvenienced till it healed.

D'Artagnan returned, but now he was carrying a large bucket of water with him. He set it next to Jacqueline, and he handed her a towel. "You can use this to clean up," he said. He wished he could beat his head against a wall to get an image of a barely clad Jacqueline out of his mind. "Call me if you need anything." And with that he left her in a hurry.

She looked at the closed door and the bucket of water that lay at her feet. She smelled of blood and whiskey, and she could not wait till she was somewhat clean. Dipping the towel into the water, she began undressing herself.

D'Artagnan tied his hair back into a light ponytail while pacing around the front of the house. Before he knew where his feet were carrying him, he found himself standing in front of the graves that held Jacqueline's parents. Time and time again, Jacqueline had lashed out at him, telling him that the death of the cardinal's captain was not murder. It was an act of justice. He knew it wasn't murder. In fact, he would have killed the man even faster than she did if it were his own father. "You have quite a daughter," he said to the headstone marked "Claude Roget."
D'Artagnan wondered what kind of man he must have been to have produced a woman like Jacqueline. She was not brought up with riches and fancy dresses like the other women that filled Paris. She was a farmer's daughter, a woman who tended to dirt, soil, and livestock, but he did not care. She had courage, wit, skill with a sword, and she loves her king with all her heart. She gave up another's proposal to stay here and fight the Cardinal, to fight for the king's sake. "Just so that you don't come into my dreams and haunt me," d'Artagnan started, "I would like to take full responsibility for your daughter. This would be a lot easier if you were alive…" What idiot would talk to a man in his grave for permission to care for his daughter, but he respected the man and he would ask.

"It would honor me, mousier Roget, if you would allow me to watch over your daughter in your place," he said. "My intentions are honorable, and I have no means of taking advantage of her," he added quickly. He waited for something to happen… anything to happen. He looked and listened for a sign, but nothing happened. Only silence greeted him as a response. "Well, I suppose that if I haven't been struck by lightening or attacked by some wild beast, then your answer is yes?" Claude Roget's name seemed to stare him down giving him a warning in case d'Artagnan's request proved ill. "I swear it, mousier Roget, like my father, our honor is what make us the men we are." He gave a bow to the headstone that was worthy of his king. He did the same to the grave next to Claude Roget. "Madame Roget," he said, then he turned to walk back to the house.

He knocked on Jacqueline's door calling out her name, "Jacqueline?"

"You can come in," came the voice from behind the door.

He open the door slowly, and saw that it was not Jacqueline Roget that met his eyes, but Jacque Laponte. She dressed herself in her brother's clothing and tied her hair back. She just now finished pulling on her boots and gloves. "We should leave," she said, strapping her rapier to her side. "The Cardinal desecrated my house once already. If they find me here, there will be no mistaking that I'm Jacqueline Roget." Her voice was no longer weak and shaky. She now spoke with aggression and a sturdy tone.

'She's probably preparing herself for when we find Ramon and Siroc,' d'Artagnan thought. He understood and went to her side. "Can you walk on your own?" he asked.

She did not answer right away, but she busied herself in tidying her clothes. She used the remaining strips and wrapped them around her chest, hiding the fact that she was a woman. Her brother's shirt was light and one size too large for her. She had to make sure and conceal her identity from any onlookers.

"Can you walk on your own?" d'Artagnan asked again. He knew that her pride would keep her from telling him the truth. He saved her life, yes, but he would gladly do it again and more. Maybe she felt that she asked too much of him, and she did not want to disturb him further. "Jacqueline?"

He said it again. He said her name again. She hated it every time her name came from his lips. She was accustomed to hearing him say Jacque, not her rightful name. Over the months that she was in the musketeer garrison, she felt as though Jacqueline was a memory, an imaginary woman who faded away. When she heard him calling her in the river, she felt Jacqueline come back. Not even Charles II was able to ignite that spark in her; it had been d'Artagnan. He made her vulnerable, and at times she found it difficult to separate Jacqueline from Jacque. "No," she said at last. "No, I can't."

With that, he grabbed her right arm and placed it over his shoulders. She looked at him, puzzled and confused. "What?" he said innocently. "I am a musketeer helping an injured comrade. It won't look awkward to anyone. Now, shall we?"

She nodded her and shifted her weight to lean against d'Artagnan. Together, they left the Roget farmhouse and set out for the road near the river.

"D'Artagnan! Jacque!" yelled Ramon. The sounds of the river were his only answer. The rushing water filled the silence that he and Siroc have heard for hours. They were tired and sore. When they had returned to the palace with Louis, the sun had set, but they set out to see Captain Duval regardless. He sat there in his office, unable to believe what Siroc and Ramon were telling him. Ramon had wanted to leave the moment Louis was back inside the safety of the palace walls, but Siroc told him it would be better to report to Duval. 'It would be a far worse situation if Duval worried about the whereabouts of four of his musketeers rather than two of them,' he argued. Duval, however, ordered them to stay in the garrison till the next morning. When Ramon protested, Duval said to him, 'The light of day is gone, and it will take hours to search for them. Have faith in them, Ramon.'

Both Siroc and Ramon were unable to sleep that night. When the sun was seen creaking through their windows, they set out immediately intent on finding their friends. They rode on horseback for nearly three hours, traveling upstream having already passed the hunting field.

"They must be here," Siroc said refusing to give up hope. "Ramon, we should let the horses have a drink. They haven't had a rest since we left the city."

"You are right," Ramon sighed. They led their horses to a bank and let them have their fill of water. "Hours we have been searching and nothing," Ramon said. He threw a stone into the flowing stream, his eyes scanning the other side of the river. Unless he saw their bodies with his own eyes, Ramon did not believe that his friends were dead. They couldn't be.

Siroc ran a hand through his hair, feeling lost and uncertain. He sat on the grassy bank thinking of every possible way that d'Artagnan and Jacque could have survived to keep his faith alive. No invention of his could rival the stress and worry he felt over the loss of his friends.

"Jacque was the only one injured," he said thinking out loud. "D'Artagnan was strong and healthy, despite what had happened earlier. He should have been able to reach Jacque. Now, if Jacque was able to endure, there is no way of knowing, but d'Artagnan should still be alive. Agree?" he asked.

"Agree," Ramon said, throwing in another stone. "Now then, the more demanding question is, where are they?" Rather than feeling angry, he was feeling more annoyed. It was though d'Artagnan and Jacque were playing a sick hide and seek game.

"I have no way of knowing," Siroc looked up, then his eyes narrowed. He saw something move further upriver. It was no animal, he decided. He held his hand over his eyes to shade them from the sun. It can't be.

Ramon stopped mid-throw and looked in the direction that Siroc was staring in. He too saw something in the distance, also doubting the images that he saw. "Siroc…"

"Horses!" Siroc said in a hurry. "Get on the horses!" They mounted once more and rode upstream toward them. As they closed the distance, Siroc let out a shout of joy.

It was them. Not just d'Artagnan or just Jacque, but both of them together. "D'Artagnan!" he yelled, feeling a wave of relief.

"Jacque!" Ramon yelled out, a wide smile spread across his face. "Compadres!"
D'Artagnan looked out into the distance when he heard his name being called. "What a sight for sore eyes," he said and waved. "Siroc! Ramon!"

"Thank God," Jacque said. She lost track of the time that passed by when they left her family property. She maintained her strength by keeping silent and focusing all of her energy on her legs and her injury. Even with d'Artagnan's help, they covered a small amount of distance in a long period of time. To her surprise, d'Artagnan did not complain once. He held her and supported her the entire time, cracking jokes every now and then to break the silence. When she first met him, she never thought in her life that she would be grateful to him.

Siroc and Ramon rode up beside them jumping off the horses in an unorthodox fashion. D'Artagnan and Jacque separated accepting the embraces that Siroc provided. He laughed heartily when he hugged both of them, feeling the anxiety release from his nerves.

Ramon, however, punched d'Artagnan right in the jaw and knocked him on the ground. "You crazy Frenchman!" he scorned. "Don't ever do something that irresponsible again!" He let out a relieved laugh and helped d'Artagnan to his feet then proceeded in kissing his cheeks in a friendly manner. He did the same to Jacque. "I am sorry," Ramon said, when he saw her shocked expression. "It a custom that we have."

"It is fine, Ramon," she said. "I am relieved to see you as well."

D'Artagnan rubbed his jaw, still not fully realizing what hit him. "Remind me never to do whatever I did to deserve that," he said to Jacque.

Siroc noticed that Jacque was leaning on her right; her right hand was placed over her the left side of her hip. "My god, you were shot, weren't you?" he asked, checking her side.

She stopped him by holding out her hand, indicating that she was fine. "I am all right, Siroc," she said. "But all of this walking may have opened it back up slightly."

"Is it wrapped? Did you cauterize it?" Siroc asked.

"Yes," Jacque answered.

"With what?" Ramon asked. The three of them looked at him puzzled. "Well, in order to close a wound like that, you would need a fire. You both came from a river."

D'Artagnan stepped in and helped Jacque onto one of the horses. "Well, a kind civilian took us in last night and offered her home to us. Had to use my natural charm of course." Once Jacque was secure on the horse, he hopped on right behind her. "Don't fall off," he told her. "Last thing I need is to save you from a concussion, and you're not exactly that light." And the arrogance was back, she mused.

Ramon and Siroc jumped onto the second horse glad to have their friends back with them. "His majesty would like to see you two when we get back. I think he sprouted gray hair over the night," Siroc said. "Glad to have you back."

"Si, I must agree. Calling ourselves the musketeer duo would be dull and boring," Ramon added. "To the four musketeers! May they last forever in name and in time!"

"To the four musketeers!" they said in unison.

"It's better than saying all for one and one for all," d'Artagnan said, and they rode toward the city of Paris.