Chapter 5

Bad Headache

Athos left the office early to meet with one of their oldest clients for a dinner discussion. He left with d'Artagnan and Constance, who had concert tickets for some band Athos had never heard of before. He envied the energy the two young people displayed; after another day spent mostly hunched in front of the computer, his eyes burned and the back of his neck creaked. He was looking forward to his couch, the remote control and a bottle of wine. Since Porthos and Aramis were still working when he left and would probably be for a while longer, he entertained the idea of going back to the office after dinner, but finally dismissed the thought. He was tired and both his colleagues would get along without him quite well anyway.

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Athos' eyes were already drooping, only randomly following the late night news, when his doorbell rang. In the blink of an eye he was wide awake. He could think of only two people who would come by so late, he concluded after a hasty glance at the clock. Option one, Ninon, he dismissed quickly, because she usually only knocked a couple of times instead of using the doorbell, and from the sound of it it had been the outer doorbell anyway. Option two would be his ex-wife, heeding his advice to use the doorbell and not let herself in on her own. Even more unlikely, he diagnosed, and heaved himself from the couch. A look at the intercom's screen revealed no one standing outside on the street until Aramis' face slid into view, the younger man waving animatedly into the camera with a tell-tale grin. Athos pushed the button to let him in. He opened the door, waiting for Aramis to make his way up the stairs, then he moved aside to make way for him.

"I hope I'm not disturbing you?" Aramis asked uncertainly, hovering on the threshold. Gone was the waggishness from half a minute ago.

"Never. Come in," Athos replied, giving his friend a warm smile. "Wine?" he asked, once Aramis had slumped down on the couch.

"Please."

Turning off the TV on his way, Athos fetched a glass for Aramis and a new bottle of wine. When both glasses were filled, Athos took a seat in the armchair opposite the couch. He studied his friend for a moment. "Well, what brings you here?"

"Glum thoughts."

"Autriche?"

Aramis shrugged nondescriptly, not a yes, not a no. "Louis..."

"Barking dogs never bite. Once, he had the power to decide between life and death, but not nowadays. Don't concern yourself with him, he's nothing but a pesky nuisance."

Aramis sighed. "You're right, but it's bothering me that he shows up now when we've so many other problems on hand."

"We should concentrate on finding Grimaud. In my eyes, he's the biggest threat at the moment. Tréville will handle the police investigations and I'm convinced any charges pressed by Autriche's lawyers will come to nothing, simply because there is nothing they can hold against you or Anne. Tréville will find the evidence to prove this. Any other charges like custody will be handled by Anne's lawyers." Athos leaned back and stretched his legs, taking a sip. "My biggest concern is Grimaud; as long as I don't know what his plans for us are, I won't sleep easily. The way I see it, we can make Milady and Richelieu a minor priority and forget about Louis. Autriche's accusations and the counterproof will be dealt with by Tréville and his team, which leaves Grimaud the only real imponderable. In his case, I won't place reliance on the police, he's probably too clever for them."

Aramis nodded and sighed. "I guess you're right. It's only that the re-appearance of Autriche ensued a lot of problems we wouldn't have had if he had had the decency to simply turn up as a corpse."

Athos snorted. "Right. Or if Rochefort had left the abduction just two more days until the divorce had come through." He sipped his wine. "Speaking of which, why aren't you home? Did Anne kick you and your bad mood out?"

Aramis shook his head, slowly swirling the red liquid in his glass. "Girls night out. She's with her friend and staying over."

"With Henri?" Athos asked astonished.

Aramis nodded. "Hélène is Henri's godmother and has three children. It's safe to assume they'll spend the evening in their pyjamas on the couch, sipping girl's drinks, giggling and chattering and the kids will have lemonade and popcorn and The Lion's King until they fall asleep." Aramis' eyes grew distant, a fond smile playing around the corners of his mouth. "Well, not Henri, he'll be asleep by now, but I'm sure he's had his share of the fun."

Athos remembered the reluctance Aramis had been troubled by ever since the fatal training mission to Savoy, even though the marksman had never uttered a word about it. His sheer inability to be on his own for too long, especially if the night's shadows grew longer and longer, hadn't gone unnoticed by his fellow Musketeers; if not with a woman, then Aramis had always made sure that at least one of his friends kept him company until sleep's welcoming arms enveloped him and cradled him to sweet oblivion. And the Inseparables had slipped into the role without wasting any words on the matter, just as they had made sure Athos had always found his way home when he had been too drunk to remember on his own. With another Savoy incident haunting Aramis' soul in this lifetime, too, Athos deliberately changed the subject and didn't remark about the reason why Aramis was there. "I'm a little worried about d'Artagnan."

Aramis helped himself to a second glass of red wine. "Yeah, something's weighing on his soul, he's going over problems I guess have nothing to do with the current situation. For all his obviously being in seventh heaven he looks unhappy."

"You've observed it, too? Did you speak to him?"

"No, I thought he would turn to you with his problems. Hasn't he?"

"Why did you automatically think...," Athos trailed off, stunned. "Yes, he approached me this morning. He's suffering from not knowing what became of Constance after the war. He's also worrying about what could happen to her if someone from the past approaches her and she has no idea whom she's dealing with. He thinks if he knows enough about her past he might be able to stir some memory. I share his concern for Constance's well-being, though I don't deem it wise trying to make her remember."

Aramis nodded. "I think he feels guilty and dreads her reaction should she ever remember her past life."

"Who would not?"

The two looked at each other for a moment, and Athos could see a flicker of guilt and grief and understanding in his friend's eyes, before a light smile painted crinkles around the corners of the eyes. "Rebirth, it seems, comes with a price tag. A burden we'll have to bear. What did you tell him?"

"I think it will help him if he knows about her past, even if I still don't think it would be a good idea trying to stir her memory. Anyway, we had a similar discussion months ago, and I had advised him to speak to Tréville. Which he hadn't done till today, obviously dreading what he might hear. I offered to accompany him and we spoke to Tréville this afternoon."

Athos gave a short summary about their conversation with the former Minister of War and was relieved when he realized Aramis seemed to know about the attack on his son resulting in Tréville's death. At least he didn't interrupt Athos in his report and showed no sign of surprise on hearing about the attempted assassination of the young King and Tréville's death. When Athos had finished with his short account of the afternoon's conversation, he asked, "Do you think Anne would be willing to share such information?"

"Yes, of course!" Aramis played with the glass in his hands, avoiding the older man's gaze. "Anne and I haven't talked about, erm, well... We haven't talked much about the past. It's..."

Painful, Athos thought, waiting for the other to continue.

"If Tréville says Constance moved back to the palace, Anne certainly had an insight into her private life. I'm sure she will tell d'Artagnan what he wants to know, and in a cautious way. She... we decided to let bygones be bygones and not open old wounds. It's better that way." Finally, Aramis looked up. "Anne didn't want to talk about it, she said it'd be enough if I knew what could be read in the history books." Aramis raked his fingers through his hair. "Maybe I'm acting like a coward, but I just can't stand to hear what she must've gone through. I was glad when she didn't want to talk about it."

"No, you're not. None of us has ever asked Tréville how he lived on, and certainly not out of neglect but because we feared the answer." Athos knew he did not speak only for himself. "Think of the discussions we had about d'Artagnan. Hearing his report was... hard. I could have lived without it."

A quiet settled over the room while both mulled over what they had just talked about.

After a while, Athos raised his glass with a questioning look. Aramis nodded and Athos rose to get another bottle of wine. When he uncorked the bottle on the kitchen counter his eyes fell on the grocery bag he had put there earlier, after he had bought some essentials on his way home after dinner. "Have you eaten?" he shouted through the open door.

"Um, yes."

The reply came too slowly and with a tell-tale pause in between. Athos grabbed the baguette and the paper bag marked with Fromagerie Julienne and carried everything back to the living room. He made a detour to fetch a plate, salted butter and knife and placed everything in front of Aramis.

Aramis eyed the paper bag, then he looked up with a surprised smile. "Don't tell me there's Pélardon from Lozère in there."

Athos nodded, a smile ghosting around the corners of his mouth.

"I knew it was the right decision to come here tonight," Aramis said, already ripping open the paper.

Athos watched Aramis dig in for a while, before asking, "Do you have more information about Porthos and this mysterious woman?"

Aramis shook his head, swallowing. "No, but I'm planning to follow him soon to one of his trysts of love if he continues refusing to answer my questions."

"Do you think it's Elodie? Or Alice? Anyone from our past?"

"I don't know," Aramis answered after a moment contemplating the question, "but there's a fair chance it's either of them." He finished the last piece of goat's cheese, swallowing it with a sip from his wine glass.

Athos nodded consent.

"And you?"

"Me?"

"I saw a piece of paper with a name scribbled on it attached to the doorbell next to yours. It reads Larroque. Is it the Comtesse de Larroque? Is she living next door?"

Athos squinted at Aramis with puckered brows, honing the comte stare to perfection.

Aramis smiled back delightedly.

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Athos woke up around three o'clock from the noise of the toilet flushing. A moment later he heard suppressed cursing and what sounded like someone – namely Aramis – had tripped over something on his way back to the couch. Belatedly he realized the noise had not come from the living room but at closer range. Not yet through with his cognition, he felt the bed dip and said someone crawl under his duvet. The sigh he wanted to heave wouldn't come; instead, a contented smile formed on his face, but Athos was asleep again before he was even aware of it.

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"Here." Athos placed a cup of coffee in front of Aramis. The latter was sitting with his head in his hands, looking miserable.

"I feel miserable."

"Not my fault."

"I have a headache."

"Not my fault. Stop whining."

Aramis shot a nasty look in Athos' direction. "You snored all night."

"Not my fault."

"Would you stop gainsaying everything I say?"

Athos patted Aramis' shoulder. "Shut up, drink your coffee, and then I'll drive you home. You'll survive."

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"Athos!" D'Artagnan approached the older man as soon as he entered the office. "Here's the list of the technical stuff for the alarm system you asked for. I've put a few extras at the end, tell the client they should discuss these with their IT department, it's just a suggestion for an upgrade in their data security. If they have questions, they can call me."

Athos nodded and took the paper from the younger man. "It's a small law firm, I'm not even sure if they have an IT department at all, but I'll pass it on. Thanks."

"Porthos is through with the patient lists, he checked for Anne Breuil, Milady, Winter and combinations of these names. It showed no results. Either she used a false name or she wasn't at any of these hospitals. There are three or four hospitals in greater London I can't get access to and maybe a handful of private clinics. Do you want to check other alias, too?"

"No, we already know she has regained her memory, it's of minor importance how or when."

"Shall I continue with the police reports?"

Athos thought about the question for a moment. "It would be interesting to know if the memories were stirred because she met someone from the past. Like Grimaud, though I don't think these two ever met in the past. Maybe there are others who could pose a threat to us and John still hasn't sent me the client list I've asked him for. I'd say skim the information you have, but don't invest more than one or two hours on it. How far are you with the footage from Courville-sur-Eure?"

D'Artagnan sighed deeply. "Hours and hours and hours of endlessly stretching fields and abandoned farm roads and all there is are a few tractors turning up once in a while and people going for a stroll with their dogs. I'm slowly going back in time, but I fear there's not much footage left of the time more than six weeks prior to Autriche's rescue."

"Okay, then go on with the footage and disregard the London files for now."

"Erm, did you speak to Aramis? About Anne?"

"Yes, he said you're welcome to come by later in the afternoon or early evening. Speak to him when he's here."

"Okay, thanks." D'Artagnan lingered a moment longer as if he wanted to add something, but then returned to his room.

Athos suppressed a smile. He was sure he knew what d'Artagnan had on his mind but didn't dare ask.

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Later in the day, a cry of such magnitude erupted from Aramis' room that Constance spilled her coffee and Charlène dragged her pen across half of the document in front of her, leaving an ugly blue line. Porthos, Athos and d'Artagnan burst from their rooms and arrived at Aramis' door almost simultaneously and before the echo had faded away.

Aramis beamed at them. "I have it! I have a connection between Rochefort and Grimaud! It's on the footage d'Artagnan gave me yesterday!"

Porthos grabbed at his heart and wondered if he should let the stroke he would inevitably get one of these days claim his life then and there. It would very probably save him further trouble, especially in relation to Aramis, and everyone he would ever want to say his last good-bye to was present. However, with a glance at his friend's beaming face he dismissed that thought as fast as it had come. "Are you out of your mind?" he barked. "I thought you were about to peg out."

Aramis' beaming smile dulled a tiny wee bit. "Sorry?" he offered innocently. He grabbed a sheet of paper, holding it out to Porthos. "Look, Grimaud and Rochefort spent a very short period of time together in a prison in Barcelona in 1997. Rochefort was moved on to Madrid after a few weeks. We already knew this, and we know from the papers they didn't have contact with each other during their time there, that's what the prison's administration confirmed to the police." Aramis busied himself with the papers on his desk, obviously searching for a certain document. When he didn't find what he was looking for, he continued, "Anyway, Rochefort served several years in prison while Grimaud was, erm, in custody awaiting trial. These prisoners are placed in different sections of the prison and not allowed to mingle with each other. You know, on one side the really bad guys, on the other those who are there for corporate fraud and these things, pretrial detention. Anyway, the jail administration claimed the two of them could never have had contact. Now look here." Aramis turned his computer screen so the others could have a look at it.

"D'Artagnan was able to get hold of really old footage, I think usually it's deleted after about a year, especially if there had been no incidents during that time. There," Aramis pointed to the screen with his finger, lightly tapping the screen, "that's Rochefort and Lucien Grimaud, and they are evidently in deep conversation. Here, there's another picture where you can see how Rochefort passes something on to Grimaud. Grimaud is obviously slipping it into his shoe right away as you can see in this picture." The next pictures showed their former counterparts, deep in conversation in a far corner of the jail's recreation yard. There was no doubt they knew each other and had had contact. "The footage is not long, it's from a camera I think slowly moved to film different parts, and from the eight cameras covering the yard, footage from six of them has already been deleted; at least d'Artagnan wasn't able to get hold of material of them. The footage from the other one covers another part of the yard. So, this is all we have. But it's unmistakably. They knew each other, they talked to each other. We have something."

The others inched closer, studying the picture on the screen.

"Good work," Athos said. "I'm not sure this is enough to convince the police that Grimaud and Rochefort worked together on Autriche's abduction, but it's so much more than what we had before. Do we have the list of all inmates who served while Rochefort was imprisoned?"

Aramis nodded.

"We need a list of everyone who served time in prison with Grimaud as well. When was his trial and how long did he serve?"

"I'll have to check." Aramis place his hand onto a huge stack of paper. "I'm not nearly halfway through the papers Tréville gave us, I started with the footage from d'Artagnan as soon has he had it."

Athos nodded, "Go on with it, I'll let Tréville know what we have so far. Can you send him a copy of the footage?" Athos addressed d'Artagnan.

"I'll put everything on USB stick for him."

"Good work," Porthos said after d'Artagnan and Athos had left, taking a seat opposite Aramis. "I'm sure Tréville will be able to convince his fellow officers of the fact this is evidence enough to prove that Rochefort is responsible for the abduction. It may still be a little weak, but with Rochefort's background, his obsession with Anne and everything he did this summer it should be sufficient."

"Let's hope it does. We'll just have to dig a little deeper, I'm sure we'll be able to unearth email correspondence or mutual friends who can confirm the two worked together."

"We will, mon ami. We will," Porthos said.

Aramis leaned back in his chair, arms crossed behind his head, smiling at Porthos. "I hope this racket is over soon now."

"Shall I help you with these papers? Athos said we can neglect the London trace for the moment."

"That'd be great. Here!" Aramis pushed over a smaller stack of paper. "I think that's all the police were able to provide on Grimaud's time in Spain."

Porthos sat down in the chair and opened the first file.

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"Aramis said he's arranged to meet with you in half an hour at their place?" Athos asked from the doorway of d'Artagnan's office.

D'Artagnan darted a glance at the tiny clock on the computer screen before looking up. "Yes. I'll walk, so I still have ten minutes before I'll have to leave. Do you need something?"

"No, I just wondered if you'd mind me accompanying you. I haven't seen Anne for a while and thought I could say hi."

A smile spread on the young man's face. "Great! No, yes, I really wouldn't mind some company. Just give me a moment to save data and log off."

Athos returned to his office to get his coat and mobile and then waited in the reception area until d'Artagnan emerged from his office.

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"Come in," Aramis greeted them enthusiastically at the door. The times one or all of his friends had come by after he had moved in with Anne, had been few and far between, and Aramis still enjoyed showing off the spacious and lavishly furnished apartment he now shared with Anne.

Anne came to greet them with Henri on her arm, the child dressed ready for bed. "I'll be with you in a minute, this little tiger is already terribly tired." She walked off to the child's room while Aramis guided his friends to the living room.

Aramis handed out drinks and the men talked about the day's research results until Anne returned a quarter hour later. She snuggled up to Aramis on the couch.

"I'm afraid I can't tell you anything about her death, for she survived me. She came to see me on my deathbed, and stayed until the end. Constance had been a good friend and my closest adviser until the day she decided to leave the palace and built herself a new life outside of Paris. Well, she stayed a true friend until the very end. But I have no idea how old she was when she died or how. I'd like to think she died of old age, surrounded by her family."

The men silently wondered what family Anne might be speaking of, for they knew of no noteworthy close family after Bonacieux had died and Constance and d'Artagnan had married. There had been no close relatives left on each side, besides the few old and distantly related uncles or aunts that had certainly not lived long enough to see Constance ageing. D'Artagnan and Constance's true chosen family had died the day the Inseparables had lost their lives on the battlefield.

Anne carried on, unaware of the irritation her statement caused. "I'm sorry, d'Artagnan, I can hardly tell you more than Tréville has told you. She was devastated after she received the news of your death, as we all were." A sideways glance at Aramis indicated who she was thinking of at that moment. "But she had always been such a strong and determined woman, she faced destiny with the same determination and courage she'd faced any challenges. When she moved back to the palace I was glad to have her around, to have her support during my regency which was not always easy, to have a steadfast friend at my side. But I also understood and supported her when she finally decided to leave the palace. Her son had moved out the year before and she had always...," Anne trailed off, taking in the sudden change in the men's posture, their reaction to her words.

"She had a son?" d'Artagnan asked quietly, disbelievingly. "She married again? I didn't know that! Whom?"

Now it was Anne who looked confused until comprehension dawned on her. "Oh no," she whispered. "I thought you knew. I thought -. Didn't Tréville speak of it? I thought you spoke with him!"

"No," Athos replied through gritted teeth. "Tréville said nothing about Constance having married again."

Anne looked even more confused. She turned to glance at Aramis, and then back to d'Artagnan, blinking rapidly. "No, that's not-I mean- Constance never married again. I thought you knew," Anne breathed, intensely staring at d'Artagnan. "I'm speaking of your son. It was... I thought she had told you... I presumed she had sent you a letter to the front, or... though... she never spoke of it. Oh my God! I thought you knew! It was your son, d'Artagnan, Constance never married again."

It was like a slap to the face, not only for d'Artagnan. The young man rose from his chair and stumbled back as if literally having been hit, staring wide-eyed at Anne. "No," he breathed, shaking his head.

Aramis gripped Anne's arm, his eyes following the Gascon's every move.

Athos stared at Anne, the shock of what she had just revealed openly visible in his usually carefully kept countenance.

D'Artagnan gripped the dining table and slowly sank down on one of the chairs. He remembered his last night with Constance. He had been sent back to Paris to deliver vital information to the palace and bring back new orders and fresh recruits to the front. He had stayed in Paris for only two nights and been busy most of the time organising the transportation of recruits and material to the front, plus waiting at the palace for new orders. But the nights he had been able to share with his wife. At that time, he had not thought it would be the last time he would ever be with her. Nor had he thought about the possibility he would father a child. D'Artagnan covered his face with his hands, groaning.

"I'm so sorry," Anne whispered. "I didn't know."

Athos rose and stalked over to d'Artagnan. He hesitated a moment before gripping the young man's shoulder. No words of comfort would come, and so he squeezed the trembling shoulder hoping it was, for now, at least some solace. Neither did I see the child grow up nor the young King rule France. Tréville had not spoken solely of little Louis, Athos realized; Tréville had regretted neither seeing d'Artagnan's child grow up nor seeing the young King grow into his reign. Tréville, too, had assumed they would know of d'Artagnan's fatherhood.

"She wouldn't have," Aramis said into the quietness, as softly and gently as he managed. "This is nothing you'd share over a letter, and certainly not Constance. She would never have sent such a letter, not when she knew d'Artagnan would need his wit to survive war's madness. I'm so sorry, d'Artagnan." His voice failed. Helplessly he looked at Athos.

What they had hoped would help putting d'Artagnan's mind at ease had the opposite effect and broken his heart, plunging the young man into an abyss of darkness and anguish.