Chapter Seven – Feather-light and 'heavy-'handed (Pt. 2)

D'Artagnan accepted the helping hand up from the last tall step underneath the trap in the kitchen floor. The stairs had been narrow, but large enough for both of them to comfortably fit through. "You said you were a musketeer once?"

"I did," Mainard said, replacing the latch and rug. "Once my term was up, and my wife told me she was with child, I had to leave and make a new life to support us. It was by no means an easy choice, but a necessary one."

The home and its materials didn't scream wealth by any means, but it did suggest that Mainard and whatever family he had were better off than most. The style and layout was a stark contrast to the country home he grew up in. Things were closer together and more compact for a city lifestyle. Despite all this, there still seemed a good, free, and spacious atmosphere about the place. It felt comfortable and safe. Well-lived in.

"You appear to be doing quite well," D'Artagnan observed.

Mainard shrugged with a small smile. "We are fortunate where others are not, but what lengths would a father not go to provide for his children-"

"Papa-papa-papa," a little boy half-screeched half-giggled, running headlong into his father like a little demon possessed. He nearly knocked the man off his feet out of surprise, but that did nothing to quell the child's energy. "Up! Up!"

"Please forgive one of my wayward sons," Mainard groaned, sweeping his son off his little feet. "Leandre, where are your manners? We have a guest-"

A little girl the same age and stature of the little boy poked her curly head around the corner from the drawing room, in many ways the very image of her twin but with larger and more precocious eyes. "Is he Monsieur Athos' son, Papa? In the story?"

D'Artagnan coughed behind his fist to hide his shock. Son!? Athos a father? Nevermind the absurd idea-or maybe not absurd…just some kind of strange-but really? Not Aramis or Porthos before Athos? How stranger could things possibly continue to get? D'Artagnan wasn't sure he truly wanted to know.

"Annabelle," a woman in the other room exclaimed. Seconds later the little girl was pushed behind a woman a few years younger than Mainard. She opened her arms to take Leandre, but Mainard refused, wanting his daughter to come out instead. Once introductions were officially made to the mother and daughter Mainard and D'Artagnan sat comfortably in the front parlor watching the mother school the twins from across the room.

The glass of brandy that Mainard had given D'Artagnan helped revive his nerves and strength. Starting to feel a little more at ease, he leaned back in the cushioned chair and took a few deep breaths. His thoughts had calmed down significantly. There was no more whirlwind of sensation and emotional barrage from the world outside. The entire situation struck the boy as odd, because though he was a country boy he was not adverse to city life, nor was this his first time ever being in one.

Yet another thing that made no sense.

Leandre whined loudly as his small piece of chalk rolled across the floor away from his fingers. His mother patiently retrieved the instrument and replaced it between his eager fingers and against the board lying across his little legs.

"Your children, are they twins," D'Artagnan asked.

"Unfortunately, yes," Mainard replied with a fond frown. "They're a terrible duo when they're up to no good and I doubt it will get any better with age."

"How old?"

"Nearly three."

"And, forgive me," he hesitated. "But your daughter, she speaks so well!"

Mainard smiled. "That she does. She has a sharp mind for so young a child. Her grandfather is already pestering us to get a proper tutor for all the children. But there's only so much one man can afford at a time. I do apologize, again, for Annabelle's words-"

"No, it's all right," D'Artagnan reassured. "I don't mind, but I'm afraid I don't know exactly what she means."

"You and Athos were close," Mainard began slowly. "Your…friendship wasn't unlike the relationship he has with Aramis or Porthos, both of whom he's known for years. But, with you things are…different."

He drained the last of his brandy, and politely refused another offer. "Different, you said?"

"Perhaps it's easier for me to see after the time I've spent caring for my own. D'Artagnan, if you had to…describe Athos, as you understand him now, how would you do that? Where would you start?"

"Truthfully," he asked, a bit guilty. "I don't want to sound rude, but…cold, private, short-tempered, perhaps a little lonely-I…I hope I haven't done him any dishonor by saying so-I don't mean to-"

"No," Mainard assured with a rueful smile. "You were accurate. There's a difference. When Athos was your age he wasn't so dissimilar from you. Full of life, brazen, proud, determined, every good quality that nobles don't measure by worth. When he became a musketeer I didn't think I'd ever seen him so happy."

D'Artagnan frowned, putting the pieces together in his head. "Something happened to him after that?"

Mainard turned sad eyes on the young musketeer. "It is not my story to tell, but suffice it to say that someone dear to him wronged him badly. Betrayal in any form is a hard lesson to learn, one that many never do because the pain is too great."

D'Artagnan digested this new information, but still couldn't figure out one thing. "But what does that have to do with me if this…betrayal happened to him years ago?"

"A lot more than you might think. And surely much more than what Athos is willing to let himself think."

D'Artagnan thought on that for a short time until Mainard's oldest came into the room with some worn-looking ledgers. Stephan was the boy he had been introduced to, quiet but attentive and eager for his father's attentions. Mainard excused himself and walked the boy over to a vacant desk by his mother and siblings. D'Artagnan watched as the father leant over his son and taught him some sort of cataloguing or inventory method. He had a brief thought that this might be a family of merchants, but he couldn't be certain. His mind wandered and his eyes unfocussed themselves on a point somewhere towards the foyer beyond the front door. Mainard sat down next to him, unnoticed at first. "You look tired."

D'Artagnan nodded. "I haven't felt myself since I lost my memories."

"Who would? From all the blood you lost I was sure you'd die before we got you in the house."

"I know I'm lucky to be alive but…" He trailed off, hesitating on finally speaking his fears aloud. But Mainard wasn't Athos. He wasn't Porthos. He wasn't Aramis. He was someone D'Artagnan felt he could trust to simply listen and…see without any sort of guilt or blame involved. So far he seemed as unbiased as any fair man could be. "I don't feel like I'm getting any better."

Mainard raised his eyebrows, as if he were confused. "You're on your own two feet. You must have walked here since I didn't see you on a horse and that's no small feat either."

D'Artagnan shook his head and spoke softly. "But I don't remember how. One minute I was walking only a couple of blocks from home and the next thing I know I'm on a street that I've never seen before. I tried to backtrack but it happened again and I didn't know what else to do. I just kept walking until I felt those eyes on me."

Mainard leaned forward in his seat, his serious gaze fixed on the worn boy in front of him. "This wasn't the first time…?"

"No. It's happened before," D'Artagnan sighed. "But I didn't say anything to anyone."

"Because you didn't want to worry your friends anymore than they already are," Mainard concluded.

D'Artagnan admitted the truth wordlessly with a nod.

After that the man leaned back and sighed in resignation. "You need to see that physician again, D'Artagnan."

"What good would that do," he asked, laying his head in his propped up hand.

"An unforeseeable world of good, trust me," the man said with animated eyes. "Answers, no matter how vague, are far better than mysteries left festering in the dark."

"And if the physician has no answers?"

A knock at the front door silenced whatever response Mainard had on his tongue. He quietly excused himself and went to answer it. D'Artagnan tried not to eavesdrop, but the familiar voice made it hard not to.

"I am unannounced, I know-"

Mainard interrupted the guest at the door with a hint of some teasing to his words. "Looking for someone, my friend?"

"You mean you've seen him?!" D'Artagnan rose from his seat in curiosity. He did know that voice…

"Porthos," D'Artagnan exclaimed, relieved and happy to see his friend when he was ushered inside.

Before Mainard could finish closing the front door Porthos crossed over to D'Artagnan and bear-hugged him off his feet. A small 'oof' escaped D'Artagnan's lips when it happened and again when Porthos set him abruptly back on his feet. "We've been looking all over the city for you, lad!"

Had he really worried his friends that much? Reasons and excuses ran through his mind like a herd of deer, but D'Artagnan ignored them when he saw how his inattentiveness and ignorance had affected Porthos. Thinking of Aramis' reaction made him feel even worse. And, considering what he may or may not have learned about Athos so far…well, he wasn't quite sure what to feel except the same. Guilty and Sorry.

"I'm sorry. I needed some time to myself and then…" D'Artagnan trailed off when the truth sounded just plain stupid to his own ears.

Porthos crossed his arms in front of his chest with a knowing smirk. "You got lost without a horse or a friend to show you the way back?"

D'Artagnan winced but refused to fidget like he would have as a child under his father's reprimands…even if he felt like it. "It was stupid. I was stupid. Forgive me?"

Porthos grinned and ruffled the hair on his head, causing a warm feeling to burst in his chest. "Only because it's you. But I'll warn you now, once we get home you're in for a good lecture from Aramis. And if you're lucky Athos might let you off with only a few sharp words of his own."

D'Artagnan rolled his eyes, but knew that both rebukes would be well deserved. He had even surprised himself today with his own recklessness. If it hadn't been for Mainard, for his new friend, he may not still be here. It was good to have friends like this who looked after him, especially when he still wasn't fully himself yet. And the more he thought about it, the more he was beginning to understand just how lucky he was to have met all of these men, even if he couldn't remember how. Without them, without real friends like this…well, it had been a long time since he had dared to hope for something so special.

"Speaking of which, Porthos," Mainard addressed, going to his desk to pull out a piece of paper and some ink. "I have some business I've been meaning to deliver to Athos, would you mind?"

"Not at all."

"Thank you, my friend," Mainard whispered with a slight squint of the eyes when he handed the note over.

Porthos squeezed Mainard's hand in thanks for what D'Artagnan thought was just a little too long. But before he could ruminate further on it he found his legs trapped in Annabelle's thin little arms. She claimed that D'Artagnan looked like he needed another hug, and though he blushed at the attention he truthfully didn't mind it. Though she was small her tiny arms felt warm and secure, full of a weightless sort of love only a child could freely give. Once her father had successfully extricated the child from his person, they shook hands as new friends. "Remember what we talked about, D'Artagnan."

He bowed his head respectfully and withdrew after Porthos' exit. "I will. I am again in your debt."

Mainard gave him a pointed look when he replied. "I trust you know how you can repay it?"

"I do," D'Artagnan sighed. "And I will. I promise."

The only thing that gave D'Artagnan comfort as he left in the company of his friend was Annabelle waving from her father's arms. Making a new friend seemed easier than his prospects of regaining all of his memories. But facing the wrath of his other friends was sure to be a whole other challenge.

Athos met Aramis at the stable gate, jumping down and handing the reins off to Planchet as he went. "Where is he," he demanded.

"I haven't taken two steps toward the house, Athos," Aramis said, weary but anxious himself. "Come, let's-"

Athos didn't wait for more of an answer than that before striding across the darkening courtyard and through the back door. He stopped short in the doorway to the front room at the sight of Porthos and D'Artagnan waiting by the fire. There the boy was. Safe. Unharmed. If not a little weary himself.

"What the damned hell were you thinking," Athos started to rant. "Running around the blasted city for an entire afternoon and half the evening!"

D'Artagnan shut his mouth against the escalating tirade and lowered his eyes as Porthos stood up from his seat, but whipped them back up when both men fell silent at the arrival of a third

"Oh, thank God," Aramis breathed, pushing past both Porthos and Athos. "You're not hurt?"

"No," D'Artagnan answered quietly.

Athos growled. "You're lucky my arms aren't long enough to wring your neck from where I stand, boy. For all the-!"

"Athos," Porthos warned, planting a hand on Athos chest which the man returned with a deadly glare. "One of these days I'm going to remind you to how to shut that terrible mouth of yours. I'd rather not repeat the lesson now. If you don't mind. It's been a bloody long day for all of us." Porthos pressed a note into Athos' hand and resumed his seat by the fire. Aramis gave him a final look of exasperation and returned to talking with D'Artagnan quietly.

Athos shook his head and turned to Mainard's note.

-Saw your Spaniard today, ugly and with his wits about him, playing 'cat and mouse' one-sided. Annabelle's taken a liking to the boy. Keep your eyes open.-

Athos didn't say a word. He simply spun on his heel and stormed right back out the back door, slamming it behind him. Anger be damned, what consumed him now was nothing short of fury. Plotting painful ways in which to carry out that unspeakable deed to this wretched villain was how he passed his time, pacing back and forth in the courtyard. When Aramis came to fetch him for dinner he was internally debating with himself whether it would be overkill to draw and quarter the bastard. He certainly felt he had the stomach for it at the moment.

"This can't happen again, Athos," Aramis said, choosing to stand still and leave Athos' pacing uninterrupted. "Agreed?"

Athos nodded in agreement, still angry but somewhat less so than an hour ago. D'Artagnan was home and safe with them. There was no immediate threat, being as how the boy was tailed on the other side of the city. And circumstances were poised in such a way that promised him his vengeance if the need called for it, because there was no chance in hell D'Artagnan was going to be out of their sight again.

"Give me time with the boy," Athos said, finally coming to a stop. "After dinner."

Aramis hesitated, and Athos didn't blame him. Whether it was a deliberate warning or not, he got the message. There was no more room for denial, otherwise the field was wide open for terrible error, for all of them. Aramis unsheathed one of his daggers, the smallest and sharpest of the set and held it up for emphasis. "I'm not against using this on you, do you understand?"

Athos rolled his eyes and pushed past the former priest. "Yes, Monsieur Abbe."

"Don't jest, Athos."

"Don't wave that little knife of yours in my face."

A/N: Back with some updates after a very long semester of graduate school. Sadly the break for me is only a couple of weeks, but I'm hoping to get a bunch of updates in before the start of the next semester in January. On to the next!