Thanks to AZGirl for her ongoing help with this story. Hope everyone enjoys this next part!
When d'Artagnan had arrived at the garrison, the kitchen boys were just cleaning up from the midday meal. He'd sought out his friends, and was told that they'd left shortly before his arrival to complete a mission. His heart initially sank at having missed his opportunity to accompany them, until he was assured that the three would be back by dinnertime, or possibly earlier.
He debated simply turning around and leaving again, but decided to stay when Gaillard invited him to spar. The next few hours passed in a blur of armed and unarmed practice, interspersed with the occasional break for water or food. Before he knew it, the training day was ending, and men all around him were packing up their things in preparation to return to their rooms.
Making one last swipe of a cloth along the flat edge of his sword, d'Artagnan lifted it to look along its length, giving a self-satisfied nod at what he saw. Rising, he sheathed the blade and leaned down to pick up his doublet from where he'd left it resting on the edge of the table. As his fingers brushed the warm leather, his ears detected the sounds of approaching riders, and he swung his gaze toward the gates to watch as Athos, Aramis and Porthos came through.
Slipping his arms into the sleeves of his doublet, he meandered towards the men as they brought their horses to a halt. "d'Artagnan," Porthos bellowed in greeting, causing the Gascon to grin widely in return. "We were wonderin' if you were gonna show up today."
The young man ducked his head for a moment before lifting it again. "I had a bit of an adventure this morning that kept me away until midday."
Aramis nodded in understanding, gingerly dismounting from his horse and handing the reins off to the stable boy. "We had a bit ourselves today," he commented, already moving closer to the Gascon. As if they'd choreographed their movements, the Inseparables placed themselves in front of d'Artagnan in a loose semi-circle, the marksman immediately squinting at the darkening bruise on the young man's cheek.
"What happened?" Athos asked before Aramis could. The Gascon's hand self-consciously drifted to his aching cheek, and he just managed to stop himself before touching the tender skin.
Cockily, he replied, "Damsel in distress." Motioning with his head towards Aramis' temple, he rejoined, "You?"
"Injured in the line of duty," the marksman replied, grimacing as if the question had reawakened the pain in his head.
Snorting, Porthos threw his arm around Aramis in consolation. "Given his size, you got off easy. Coulda been a lot worse." His tone grew more serious with his last words, making the marksman roll his eyes.
"I told you, I'm fine," Aramis huffed, sensing his friend's need for reassurance.
Athos motioned towards their usual table. "Perhaps we can trade stories while we eat?" It was not really meant as a question, and Porthos began moving in agreement, pulling the marksman along with him. They'd left before the midday meal and were now quite famished.
d'Artagnan attacked the food as soon as it was placed onto the table, Porthos eyeing the young man with a combination of admiration and mock fear. Filling his own plate, he remarked as he motioned towards the Gascon with his head, "Guess we'd better start."
Athos noted the fervour with which d'Artagnan was eating, while Aramis asked, "Hungry, are we?"
d'Artagnan stopped in mid-chew, taking a moment to look up from his meal and grin sheepishly. Swallowing, he replied, "Sorry; I didn't have time for more than a snack during our training breaks." Delaying his next bite, he asked, "So tell me, where were you today?"
Aramis became focused on his meal while Athos and Porthos exchanged glances, silently deciding which of them would share their story. With an abbreviated shrug of one shoulder, Porthos began to explain. "Arrested a money-lender today and took him to the Chatelet." With that, he took a bite of his food, leaving all three of his friends looking at him expectantly to continue. It took several seconds before he noticed. "What?" he asked, earning him another eye roll from Aramis, which was immediately followed by a wince.
"Don't do that," Porthos gently admonished his friend before continuing. "He had some hired muscle with him. While Athos and I chased down the money-lender, Aramis tangled with his enforcer." His eyes crinkled with amusement as he declared, "The brute came out on the winning side."
Aramis looked as though he might protest, but Athos interjected before the other man could speak. "Yes, he did." His gaze hardened as he pinned the marksman with a penetrating stare. "Why wasn't your pistol in your hand?"
The expression on Aramis' face flashed quickly from anger to embarrassment, and he dropped his head for a moment before nodding and replying in a defeated tone. "You're right, of course, it was a foolish mistake on my part. It won't happen again."
Athos could see the sincerity shining in his friend's eyes, and gave a curt nod before turning back to his meal. As he did so, Porthos shifted his attention to the Gascon, who'd by now cleared his plate. "And what about you? What damsel were you savin' today?"
d'Artagnan blanched for a moment as he considered how much he could divulge. From what he knew of these men, they thought well of Constance, and the same could be said in return, but he was certain that she would be horrified if others knew of her financial concerns. On the other hand, his ears had perked up when the men had mentioned a money-lender, and he'd immediately begun to wonder if fortune had smiled on him once again.
He gave a casual shrug as he replied, "Nothing much. Just helped a woman with her packages and her husband disapproved." Waving a hand nonchalantly towards his face, he said, "Left me with this as a warning to stay away from her."
Aramis chuckled as he said, "d'Artagnan, if you're going to continue pursuing married women, you'll need to get better at avoiding their jealous husbands."
The comment brought forth more snickering, which made the Gascon blush, even though he couldn't keep from grinning as well. Hoping he wasn't being too obvious, he queried. "So, this enforcer, he was large?"
"A mountain of man," Aramis quickly declared, warming to the subject and his chance to explain that things really hadn't been his fault. As Athos and Porthos listened on in amusement, the marksman provided a detailed description of the money-lender's hired muscle, giving d'Artagnan enough information to conclude that they were the same men he'd met earlier with Constance.
His relief showed on his face in the relaxed grin he wore when Aramis had finished. Finally noticing the young man's expression, the marksman remarked, "You seem very pleased with yourself, all of a sudden."
d'Artagnan merely shrugged as he replied, "Just glad you're alright after dealing with such a brute." The sentiment was an honest one, and must have come through in his tone, because Aramis gave a genuine smile in return before nodding in understanding.
Porthos looked around and noted that most of the courtyard had emptied, the men having retired to their rooms or to a tavern to wile away their evening hours. Smacking his lips, he asked, "Anyone for the Black Crow tonight?" The tavern he'd named was well-known for its gambling, but also served decent ale and wine. As the men glanced at one another, trying to decide, Porthos spoke again. "Come on, we'll celebrate the two heroes in our midst. Athos will even buy the first round." He slapped the older man on the shoulder good-naturedly, and Athos simply quirked his lips in reply. "See, he agrees," Porthos stated, already rising.
d'Artagnan was still torn, wanting to spend more time with his friends, but also excited to share the good news with Constance. "Come on," Porthos said, throwing an arm across the Gascon's shoulders and pulling him along. The young man gave a nod and let himself be led from the garrison into the city streets. He would only have one or two drinks, and then he would return to his lodgings in plenty of time to let Constance know what he'd learned.
He groaned as someone persistently tapped his cheek, the action driving a spike of pain through his fragile skull. "Think he's finally waking up," someone said above him. The hand returned, and this time he turned his head away, mumbling through lips that he seemed to have lost all control over, "Don't."
"Uh huh, he's awake alright." d'Artagnan's aching brain identified the voice as belonging to Porthos as he let his head roll back to its original position, wincing with the movement.
He struggled to unglue his eyes as the low sounds of conversation reached his ears. The effort seemed a monumental task, but he finally accomplished it, staring blearily into Porthos' twinkling eyes. "You back with us?" he asked, his face splitting in a broad grin. "Told ya you shoulda slowed down."
d'Artagnan's brow furrowed in confusion as he blinked, trying to cut through the haze that seemed to be wrapped around his brain like cotton. "Wha'?" he finally managed.
Porthos snorted as he looked somewhere to the Gascon's left, making the young man wonder what his friend was looking at. "Told ya we shoulda stopped him."
"Yes, yes," Aramis' impatient voice sounded, moments before his face appeared in d'Artagnan's line of sight. "How are you feeling? Headache? Nausea?"
The Gascon licked his lips as he tried to process the questions being posed to him. "Wha'?" he repeated, failing at the task of understanding what was happening,
The next sound he heard was that of a put-upon sigh, and he managed to shift his head enough to see Athos standing with his arms crossed as he observed the scene. From his expression, he was thoroughly unimpressed. Letting his arms drop to his sides, he said, "We'd better get him home. A few hours in bed should get rid of the worst of his hangover."
d'Artagnan's tongue felt thick and uncoordinated as he repeated what he'd just heard. "Hangover?" Another sigh met his question, and moments later he found himself being dragged to his feet. He lurched mightily forward until Aramis and Porthos' strong grips could steady him, the motion making him pale and swallow convulsively against the urge to be sick.
"He's going to be ill," Aramis stated from his left.
Resisting the urge to shake his head, d'Artagnan mumbled instead, "Not gonna be sick." Porthos snorted in disbelief, but the two men began pulling him forward, forcing the Gascon to try and move his feet or be dragged along between them.
Through slitted eyes, he registered the brighter light as they left the tavern behind, and squinted as he begged his head not to split open. Although he was aware of his friends speaking in low tones while they walked, he ignored them in favour of keeping his stomach contents where they were, as he slowly adjusted to the glare of being outside. The slight morning breeze had the added effect of clearing away some of the cobwebs around his brain. Gradually, he began to take more of his weight, until he was walking nearly unaided, Porthos and Aramis giving him the occasional course adjustment when he began to veer off course or tilt too far in either direction.
Finally, he recognized the house they were approaching, and had the wherewithal to ask, "Why are we here? Shouldn't we be going to the garrison instead?"
His comment drew another snort of derision from Porthos, while Aramis simply stated, "Getting sick all over your sparring partner is not considered a viable defensive strategy."
Ahead of them, the comment drew a smile from Athos, the older man leading the way to the front door. He knocked, waiting patiently until Constance answered. Tipping his hat to her in greeting, he asked, "May we come in?" At her questioning look, he indicated the other three men with a hand and then followed her inside as she withdrew to allow them all to enter.
Closing the door behind them, she turned and followed them into the kitchen where d'Artagnan now sat at the table, cradling his sore head in his hands. "Well, what's he done to himself now?" She asked, pinning each of the men in turn with an uncompromising stare.
The Inseparables traded looks, the silent conversation determining which of them would explain their night of overindulgence to d'Artagnan's landlady. Getting impatient, Constance took the situation into her own hands and stepped closer to Aramis, glaring up at him as she said. "Explain."
Affixing a charming smile to his face, he replied, "d'Artagnan may have overindulged last night."
Madame Bonacieux turned her gaze from one man to the next, Porthos nodding contritely while Athos remained impassive but polite. Taking a step towards the Gascon, she gripped the young man's chin and tipped it upwards, forcing him to look at her. d'Artagnan offered her an apologetic smile as she said, "You're drunk?"
Aramis hurried to correct her assumption as he moved closer, grasping her arm for a moment to pull her away from the Gascon. "No, not anymore. But he was; last night."
Chuckling lowly, Porthos added, "Pup can't hold his wine."
Giving the large man a half-hearted glare, d'Artagnan retorted, "I'm not a pup."
Ignoring the Gascon's comment, Constance once more turned her attention back to the Musketeers. "You let him drink himself into a stupor?"
Aramis looked remorseful as he responded, "Not let him exactly…" He managed to say nothing more as Constance's hand flew of its own accord, the sound of it smacking firmly against the marksman's cheek echoing in the small space.
The men looked stunned for a moment before Aramis did exactly what he'd always done in the past when Constance's temper had appeared. "My apologies, Madame. You're right, of course, and we should have kept a closer eye on how much he was drinking. Take comfort in knowing we won't let it happen again."
Feeling flushed and somewhat embarrassed, Bonacieux ran her hands down the front of her skirt as she said, "I should hope not. Now, get out. I'll deal with him from here."
Athos let Porthos and Aramis lead the way out, turning back for a moment to address Constance. "Thank you, Madame. I'm confident that he's in good hands."
She waited until she heard the door close behind them before she collapsed into a chair next to d'Artagnan, the young man lifting his head to meet her eyes. "Sorry, Constance, I didn't mean to cause you any trouble."
She stared at him for a moment before shaking her head. After all, he wasn't the cause of today's worries – his condition was simply inconvenient given her other concerns. Dredging up a soft smile, she nodded as she stood. "I know, but I need to be going now." At his look of confusion, she added, "I have an appointment I have to keep this morning, remember?"
It took several seconds for comprehension to dawn, but once it had, d'Artagnan jumped up and took her hands in his. "No, you don't, Athos and the others arrested Broussard yesterday. Any debt you had to him has been erased."
Bonacieux looked at him doubtfully for a moment before firmly shaking her head. "No, I can't take that risk. If I don't show up, he'll come to the house, and I can't let my husband find out what I've done."
Seeing the determination in her eyes, d'Artagnan gave her a curt nod. "Fine, but I'm coming with you."
She looked ready to argue, but could see the Gascon was resolute in his stance. "Fine, but you don't interfere." At his acknowledging nod, she turned and led the way to the door, praying that d'Artagnan was right and that her debt had been erased. If it hadn't been, she had no idea what would happen, since the purse she carried was all but empty. Closing the door after them, she gave the Gascon what she hoped was a confident smile as she followed him down the street to the Rue de l'Echelle.