Hi all. I have a short chapter for you. Work has been crazy, plus I have been working extra hours at my second job so I have had little time to write. I did have some time open up today so I jumped right on this so I could finish it up. I am off work the rest of the week and I really wanted to get this done before my days off. I hope you enjoy.

Cindy

Chapter 8

"What do you mean Richelieu will not be punished for what he 'as done?!" Porthos hissed, his dark eyes sparking with rage as he faced his friend.

The three men stood in a far corner of the room so as not to waken their friend. Athos had filled the other two in as soon as they had woken from their slumber. Now, he faced two very red faced, angry men. He, of course, shared their anger at the situation, but there was nothing he, nor anyone, could do. He let out a shaky breath as he ran his hand over his face.

"There is no evidence that ties Richelieu to d'Artagnan's torture. Only our eyewitness accounts…and those were just in seeing him near the location where we found the boy," Athos explained.

Aramis shook his head as he glanced over at his patient. "Athos is right. We killed all of the red guard and the interrogator. There is nobody to turn on the cardinal. In fact, nobody will even know that anything occurred since Treville sent a group of musketeers to clear out the bodies."

"Even if there were, the cardinal has the King's ear and trust. Louis would never believe that he would do something like this. We would only look vindictive and petty," Athos added.

"Well, we could always take care of 'im ourselves," Porthos offered through clenched teeth.

"We cannot do anything, Porthos! He is untouchable," Athos countered.

"This is not right. He should not be able to get away with this," the big man grumbled.

"No, he should not, but unfortunately, he will. The only weapon we have is d'Artagnan," Athos said.

"What do you mean?" Aramis asked.

"The cardinal wanted d'Artagnan dead, for whatever reason. He also wanted information to destroy the musketeers. Once d'Artagnan recovers and Richelieu sees him once again donning the blue cloak, he will know that he has lost. That will have to be enough for us," Athos explained.

Porthos looked at his friend then turned his eyes to the boy sleeping in the bed beyond. "Do you think he gave Richelieu the information he wanted?" he asked, his hand coming up to nervously scratch the back of his head.

Athos turned and followed Porthos' gaze and shook his head. "No, he did not. He would have died before he gave Richelieu anything," he replied.

"Even after what we did?" The big man looked on the verge of a breakdown, the guilt shining brightly in his eyes. His posture seemed to bear the weight of his guilt, his shoulders hunched and head hung low. Shame colored his cheeks pink as his gaze remained on d'Artagnan.

"Even then. We may have hurt the lad, but he would never have said anything that could have brought harm to the musketeers…that I am sure of. Besides, if he had talked, he would have been dead by the time we reached him. I am certain that Gregoire would have been ordered to kill him immediately upon gaining the information Richelieu desired. The fact that he lives is proof of not only his strength, but his honor and loyalty as well…even after being so grievously wronged by me." Athos walked the distance between where his brothers stood and the bed and stiffly sat down. He gazed down at his protégé and sighed. He reached out to touch the young man's arm, but pulled his hand away and rested it on his knee. When Aramis and Porthos joined him, he stood and stepped back from the bed.

"He will be waking soon," he said softly. "I will take my leave and go to my room…"

"Athos…"

"No, Aramis. I cannot be here when he wakes. I cannot be the first person he sees."

"He needs you to be the first person he sees, Athos," Porthos insisted, his large hand grasping the older musketeer's arm.

Athos looked between his two friends and then dropped his eyes. "You will call for me if I am needed. Tell him…tell him that I am sorry," he whispered. He pulled his arm from Porthos' grasp and turned for the door.

"You are the only one who can tell him that. He will only believe it if it comes from your lips. Please, Athos," Aramis beseeched, his dark eyes pleading as Athos turned and met his gaze.

Athos shook his head then turned and left without another word. Aramis and Porthos looked at each other, their hearts filled with anguish. "He will come around," Aramis murmured as he took the chair that Athos had vacated.

"I 'ope so," Porthos said with one last look at the door. He made his way to the chair near the table and tiredly sat. He leaned back in the chair and closed his eyes, meaning to just rest them for a few moments. He was awakened some time later by the sound of Aramis' voice. He peeled open his eyes and glanced over to the bed. Aramis was leant over d'Artagnan, coaxing the young man awake. Porthos was on his feet and next to the bed in seconds.

"That is good, d'Artagnan…open your eyes." Aramis had the Gascon's hand in his, his dark eyes watching intently as his brother finally pulled himself awake with a low moan.

"Uhn…" d'Artagnan groaned as he forced his eyes to open, what little light there was in the room causing pain to spear through his head. He tried to reach his hand up to his head, but found that he could not move it. When he looked down and saw who had his hand, he gasped in surprise.

"'mis?" he croaked, his voice hoarse both screaming and disuse.

"Yes, my brother, it is I," Aramis responded with a relieved smile. He squeezed the Gascon's hand as he studied his eyes, looking for and finding evidence of a concussion. "How are you feeling?" he added, already knowing how much pain the young man had to be in.

"'urts," d'Artagnan responded.

"Where does it hurt?" Porthos asked as he moved closer to Aramis so as to be easier for d'Artagnan to see him. He was rewarded when pain filled eyes lifted and met his.

"'vrywhere," was the answer Porthos received.

"Yes, I would imagine so," Porthos said with a slight smile. "You gave us quite a scare, you know."

"Wh-where…what…" d'Artagnan started, but was cut off when the irritation in his throat brought on a coughing fit. Porthos hurried around the bed and carefully lifted the young man, ever careful of his many wounds, and held him as he coughed. When the coughing fit had finally passed, a cup of cool water was gently pressed to his lips. He drank greedily, whining softly when the cup was pulled away.

"Drink slowly, d'Artagnan so you can keep it all down," Aramis instructed. When the young man nodded, Aramis placed the cup at his lips again and smiled when his instructions were followed. Once the young man had his fill, he pulled away and smiled appreciatively at the medic.

"Thanks," he whispered as he was gently lowered back onto his pillow.

"Of course," Aramis replied. Silence fell over the room for several long moments, until finally the patient spoke.

"Why are you here?" d'Artagnan's eyes swept over the room even as he asked his question, then let his gaze settle on Aramis. Aramis could see the tears that the young man was holding back and he knew exactly what those tears meant.

"Where else would we be?" Aramis answered with a kind smile.

When d'Artagnan didn't respond, Porthos sat on the edge of the bed and took the young man's hand in his. "We are so sorry, d'Artagnan. You should 'ave never been treated that way," he said shamefully.

d'Artagnan nodded, but his eyes still held mistrust. He glanced slowly around again then lowered his eyes. "Athos?" he whispered, his voice laced with sadness.

Aramis and Porthos shared a glance before the medic spoke. "He is in his room sleeping. He has been up for a very long time and needed to rest. He would not go until he knew you were okay," Aramis said.

d'Artagnan glanced suspiciously at the medic then lowered his eyes again. "He does not care if I am okay. He…"

"He does care, lad," Porthos interrupted. "He would not rest until we found you."

d'Artagnan looked over at the large man and sighed. "Please do not make excuses for him. I saw the hatred in his eyes. I know what he thinks of me," he whispered.

"No, you do not know," Aramis said. "He was fraught with worry and despair when we found that you were missing. He lead the search and would not stop…"

"They why is he not here?"

"Like I said, he is resting," Aramis responded softly, his heart breaking at the pain he saw in his brother's eyes.

"He would be sleeping here, just like he always does when one of us is injured. Just like we all do. He does not wish to see me does he?" d'Artagnan softly said.

"That is not how it is," Aramis argued.

d'Artagnan sighed and slowly tried to push himself up. Two sets of hands reached for him and gently pushed him back. He looked up at the two men and huffed. "I need to…um…I…" he stammered lightly.

The two elder musketeers shared a glance then suddenly Porthos' mouth fell open. "Oh!" he cried. "Why did you not ask? We are here to help," he added.

"I can do it myself," d'Artagnan said through gritted teeth as he once again tried to push himself up from the bed. He allowed the two men to help him as he slowly swung his feet over the edge of the bed. He cried out as pain shot through his lower back when he tried to stand, the grips on his arms tightening as his legs threatened to buckle.

"What is it, d'Artagnan? What is wrong?" Aramis cried out in alarm as he held the young man tight.

"M-my back…hurts," d'Artagnan gasped.

"Oh, yes. It seems a lot of attention was paid to your back when you were being held," Aramis hissed angrily. "Let us get you back into bed," he said.

"No…I have to go. I…"

Without a word, Porthos made sure Aramis had a good hold on the boy then rushed to grab the chamber pot. He brought it to the bed and set it on the floor. When d'Artagnan flushed with embarrassment, Porthos gave him a warm smile. "Do not worry, lad. We 'ave done this before," he said.

With a glance at the large man, d'Artagnan finally nodded. With a little help, the young man did his business as quickly as he could. He glanced down and let out a small, surprised cry. When the other two men looked down, their hearts sank. The contents of the chamber pot were tinted red and it didn't take a doctor to know what that meant. Aramis whispered to d'Artagnan that it was okay and not to worry as he and Porthos helped the young man back to bed. Once they had the young man tucked in, both men could tell what the simple act had cost their brother. His face was flushed and a thin layer of sweat covered his brow. His eyes became heavy, yet he fought against the pull of sleep. "Rest, d'Artagnan. We will be here when you awaken," Aramis said softly.

D'Artagnan glanced up and shook his head. "You do not need to stay with me. Go to Athos…you belong with him, not with me," he whispered brokenly.

"d'Artagnan…we are exactly where we belong. Athos will be here as well, once he is rested," Aramis said, his stomach in knots at the despair he could see in his young friend's eyes.

d'Artagnan lowered his eyes and turned away, but not before Aramis saw that they were once again filled with tears. "I am tired," d'Artagnan whispered. "I wish to sleep now. Stay or go, I cannot stop you from doing either, but please do not lie to me about Athos. He has made his feelings clear and I do not blame him or hold ill will toward him." With that, the young man closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep, leaving two very shocked and heartbroken men to watch over him. When they were sure he was sound asleep they moved to the table both took up glasses of wine.

"This is not good, Aramis. He thinks Athos 'ates 'im," Porthos said through clenched teeth. "And what of the chamber pot? That is blood, is it not?" he added with worry in his voice.

Aramis sighed as he raked his hand through his hair. "Yes, it is blood," he said, voice deep with concern. "He most assuredly has damage to one or both kidneys."

"So what can you do?"

Aramis shook his head as he glanced at his friend. "There is nothing anyone can do, Porthos. It either heals or it does not," he answered.

"And if it does not?"

"Then he dies," the medic replied before he swiftly made his way back to his patient. Porthos watched with a heavy heart as Aramis sat down and took d'Artagnan's hand. He bowed his head and Porthos listened as he began to pray. He solemnly walked to the bed and sank to the floor next to Aramis' chair. He dropped his chin to his chest and began his own silent prayers, not just for d'Artagnan, but for he and his other brothers as well, for he knew that if they lost their pup, it would be the end of them all.

Awww, :'( Poor d'Artagnan thinking exactly what they knew he would if Athos wasn't there when he woke up. Athos can be pretty dense sometimes. Hopefully he will smarten up and realize that d'Artagnan needs him. So, I will work on the next chapter as much as I can. The crazy time at work is starting to wind down for the month so hopefully can get it done and posted next week. Thank you all for reading!

Cindy