Saints and Sinners, Ch. 7

The room fell silent, if only for a moment, until Aramis stood abruptly and strode from the room. D'Artagnan followed right behind him.

"What do you think you're doing?" D'Artagnan cried, grabbing the man by the shoulder before he could make it to the balcony's stairs. Dead eyes stared back at him and he was struck silent by the vision of his brother's grief and anguish.

"D'Artagnan, go inside." Treville commanded as he entered the balcony.

D'Aratagnan hesitated for only a moment before storming back into the office.

Aramis ran his hands through his hair and clasped them at the back of his head. He slowly brought his face forward until his brow was resting against a support pole. His eyes were clenched tight to stifle the scream that was echoing through his mind.

"The boy is right," said Treville. "What do you think you're doing?"

Aramis spun on his spot. "Do you think I have any idea?" he said desperately to the Captain. Fear, guilt, pain and anger were all palpable in his voice. "Can you even imagine how it feels to learn that all this happened to the woman you loved - that she was targeted in a place she felt safe, where she was attacked and nearly raped in a place she loved - and I knew nothing, NOTHING of it?! That I, who have sworn to protect and defend her, to lay down my life for her – that she didn't tell me any of this because she wanted to protect me?"

Aramis ran his hands through his hair, and quite suddenly threw up over the edge of the balcony, his body reacting to the tumult of emotions inside him. He brought his head to rest on the balcony railing.

"How can I deserve her if I can't protect her?" he whispered desolately.

"It's difficult," said Treville softly as he stepped forward and leaned on the balcony railing next to the medic. "Perhaps ask Porthos what it's like to love a brother who regularly throws themselves in the line of fire to protect those he loves. Ask Athos what it's like to love someone who routinely offers themselves up to spare another. Ask D'Artagnan what it's like to love someone who puts their own well-being last if it means helping or protecting someone else."

Aramis stood and leaned his back against a pole, but he couldn't meet Treville's eyes.

"Ask me what it's like to knowingly send a man I've known since he was the age of 16 into battle," he said turning Aramis to look into the bright blue eyes of the man who practically raised him.

"Don't you see? You and she are the same, Aramis. You share the same soul, the same heart and it's too big for your own good," he said, his blue eyes burning with a fierce pride. "She loves you Aramis. She needs you. This has scared you, I know. The thought of losing her…but if you don't go to her now, you WILL lose her," he said, "All that she suffered, she did so to protect you. Don't let your fear or anger over what could have happened or what did happen disregard that sacrifice."

"How can she ever forgive me for not being there? How can I ever be worthy of her?" Aramis asked desperately.

"As a musketeer, you can't be by her all the time…And I know she doesn't blame you for any of this. If anything, I'm to blame for allowing that bastard into this regiment," Treville said angrily. He drew a breath to control himself. "You love her Aramis, and if she returns your love, which it's obvious to a blind man that she does, then you are worthy of each other. You will protect each other. You will get past this together. I believe in you," Treville said softly.

Aramis let out a deep sigh and ran his hands through his hair as he raised his head to look at the man, who even still, after so many years, acted like more of a father than his real father ever had. His brown eyes burned brightly as he stepped forward and re-entered the office.

oOo

D'Artagnan was sat by the Comtesse's bedside as Aramis re-entered. She had his hand grasped in hers. He stood as Aramis approached.

D'Artagnan kept his head lowered, trying to hide the tears that had fallen from his dark eyes with his brown mane. Aramis stopped him before he could leave. The marksman searched the eyes of his younger brother. Misery, and regret, understanding and loyalty, but most of all love were warring in D'Artagnan's eyes.

Aramis pulled the Gascon into a tight embrace. D'Artagnan choked on a laugh as relief emanated from him in the embrace. They pulled apart and D'Artagnan wiped at his eyes. The two men grinned at each other. No words were needed.

"I left Adam in the care of Porthos and Etienne," Aramis said awkwardly to the others in the room as he caught each one's eyes in turn. "Perhaps you might relieve them. Maybe see if Serge has anything left to eat. Adam will need a broth prepared for when he wakes…" The three men smiled at him and left the room, following their Captain down to the infirmary.

They were alone now. Aramis approached Christine where she remained pressed into the corner of the bed. He joined her on the bed, and placing a hand gently behind her neck, his fingers entwining themselves once more in her hair, he leant forward and kissed her.

He kissed her like it was for the first time, as if it were the last time, savouring the knowledge that he would kiss her thousands and thousands of times again. He kissed her for the fear she felt, the fear he felt, and the relief that she was still there, that she was still his, that she hadn't been harmed.

"You came back to me," she whispered.

"Always," he murmured and he kissed her again.

She told him everything then; how it began as simple leers and snide jokes, how she felt the first time he had trapped her in the infirmary, and why she had made D'Artagnan and Etienne hide her secret. She told him about her fear and her shame. She told him about the pain, about his hands around her throat, the feeling of his breath on her neck. She spoke of how she had killed him, how the life faded from his eyes, how it felt terrible, but right and justified. She told him how she loved him. She told him how through it all, all she could think of was him. How he would be the one to save her, how he would understand, how he would be the one to make her forget, and to soothe and heal her. How it was his hands, his lips that would be the ones to help put her back together. And he kissed her through her tears.

Then he told her of his fears, of his doubts, of his pain and of his anger. And he told her how he loved her. He told her of his shock, and his shame of not knowing, of not being able to stop this from happening. He told her of his love, of how his sun and moon only circled around her; how she was his stars, his guiding light, his divinity infinitum. And he told her how he loved her. He told her of his hopes and fears for their future, and how he fell asleep at night when he was on the road picturing the freckles that dusted her cheeks, dreaming of the day when he would see her next and recount them. He told her that he loved her. And she kissed him.

oOo