Thank you for the great reviews on the last chapter and sorry for not including a tissue warning. Some hope ahead here for our boys. Enjoy!
It was the early hours of the morning, far past midnight, but still hours away from dawn when Thierry noticed movement down the street from the garrison gates, barely illuminated by the lanterns that burned brightly on either side of the entrance. He called to his partner, Fouquet, and pointed to the object of his attention where they caught a glimpse of a bundle leaning against the wall of the garrison, another poor and lonely sole who'd succumbed to the hardships that were endured by so many of Paris' displaced citizens. As they watched, the bundle struggled to move, rolling over to reveal a man trying to push himself to his knees. The flickering torchlight revealed a shock of dark hair as the man's head hung heavily, clearly trying to find enough strength in order to stand.
Drawing closer, they could see how dirty and torn the man's shirt was, and could hear a moan of pain as he tried desperately to gain his feet, one hand clawing for purchase on the wall beside him. Thierry's eyes narrowed at the sight; there was something achingly familiar about the form in front of them and, despite his misgivings, he moved closer. The man had not noticed his approach and Thierry squinted in the weak light to make out his features, but the poor man's head still hung low and he seemed destined to fall back to the ground. Sitting on his haunches, Thierry reached a hand forward, placing it gently on the man's thin shoulder. The man was startled and fell sideways, losing the precarious balance that he'd fought so hard to achieve.
As the man lay in front of him panting, blinking to clear his vision, Thierry rocked back on his heels and looked to Fouquet, "Get the Captain!" Looking back at the man on the ground, he added, "Hurry." Fouquet obeyed immediately, fully understanding the urgency that had compelled Thierry's words and his long legs ate up the ground to the courtyard, propelling him swiftly up the stairs to Treville's office. He was surprised to see a light from within and then belatedly realized that is was just likely there to illuminate the front room, the Captain's bed located behind another door at the back of his quarters. He paused for only a moment, hesitating at waking his commanding officer, but then realized that the man would want to be advised. Rapping his knuckles solidly against the wood he waited, praying that the man would wake easily. He heard movement from within almost immediately and the door was opened, revealing Treville, still dressed in a shirt and breeches, clearly still awake. This sight brought a momentary frown to Fouquet's face until he took in the lines of weariness that creased the old soldier's face; the Captain had always cared deeply for his men and it was clear that the news of d'Artagnan's continued absence had affected him, especially since the search had been officially ended the previous night.
"What is it, Fouquet?" Treville asked, his voice heavy with fatigue.
"Captain, there's a man outside the garrison walls," the Musketeer replied. "Thierry stayed with him. Sir, it's d'Artagnan."
The Captain's eyebrow raised questioningly, afraid to believe that the young Gascon might have been found. "Are you certain?" Fouquet gave a sharp nod. "Show me," Treville ordered, already moving through his door and pulling it closed behind him, motioning for the Musketeer to lead the way. Their trip back through the gates was completed just as quickly as Fouquet's earlier dash to the Captain's office, and they were soon standing beside Thierry who still knelt next to the Gascon. He looked up at Treville's arrival, moving back a little to allow the Captain to stand closer. "He seems pretty confused, sir. He tried to stand earlier and didn't manage it, and when I tried speaking to him, he didn't seem to recognize me. I was afraid of scaring him."
Treville nodded, sitting on his haunches next to the young man whose eyes fluttered, clearly not fully aware of his surroundings but anxious enough to force himself to remain at least partially aware. "d'Artagnan," the Captain spoke soothingly, "do you know who I am?"
The Gascon's head rolled toward the voice, but there was no recognition in his eyes, and the older man watched as the boy's hand scrabbled against the dirt underneath it. A low moan escaped as d'Artagnan's eyes closed for several seconds before springing open again, clearly startled by something as his breathing quickened. Treville turned to face Fouquet, issuing a quiet order, "See if you can find Athos, Aramis and Porthos. They returned to the garrison last night and there's a good chance they're together." The man gave a quick nod and moved away as Treville turned his attention back to their youngest. "d'Artagnan, it's Captain Treville." The young man's head again turned toward the voice, this time somewhat calmer, although it was unclear exactly how much he'd understood. "d'Artagnan, can you tell me where you're hurt?" He watched as the Gascon's lips moved and his breaths quickened once more, but received only another groan before the man's eyes began to droop.
Rubbing a hand across his face, Treville made his decision. "We need to get him inside, regardless of his condition." Thierry nodded and moved behind d'Artagnan, waiting for the Captain to gently place his hands on the young man's arms. When the Gascon allowed the touch, Treville nodded to the other Musketeer and they raised the boy to a seated position, pausing for several seconds at the sound of pain the motion caused. With a man on each side, they managed to lift the young man to his feet where he swayed dangerously until they ducked underneath his arms, supporting him as they pulled him along the wall of the garrison and into the safety of the courtyard.
Again, Treville considered their options and decided to settle the boy in his own room, it being closer than the infirmary and likely to offer the young man greater comfort, especially while he was still confused by his surroundings. The Captain began moving them forward, motioning his intention to head toward the stairs, but their movement was halted abruptly as d'Artagnan almost folded in half, retching violently onto the ground at his feet. The bout didn't last long and Treville noted unhappily that the young man had brought up nothing more than a little watery bile, suggesting that he hadn't eaten in quite some time.
Being sick had apparently drained what was left of d'Artagnan's energy, and he was nearly boneless between them as they practically carried him up the stairs and down the walkway to his room. Thierry took most of the man's weight as Treville reached forward to open the door to the Gascon's room, allowing it to swing inwards with a firm push. They were surprised to find the space alight with several candles, revealing three men sprawled around in varying positions, all deeply asleep. Treville grunted to himself, realizing that he should have guessed that the three would find solace in being in the young man's room, although from the number of empty bottles strewn about, it was clear that they'd sought additional comfort in wine.
"Come on," he said curtly to Thierry, d'Artagnan's slim build pressing down heavily the longer that they carried him. He kicked a booted foot at Athos' leg as they passed the chair where the older man was slumped and he couldn't help a feeling of satisfaction as he watched Athos' head jolt upwards as he tried to orient himself beyond the fog of wine that clouded his mind. Treville didn't pause, however, and continued towards d'Artagnan's bed, the two men setting the boy down gently and allowing him to lay down on his side when it became clear that sitting upright was beyond his current ability.
By the time he'd straightened and turned back to the room, Athos was standing, staring at the bed. His breathing stuttered at the sight of the young man, fearful of allowing hope to take purchase only to have it once more cruelly extinguished, but he was already unconsciously moving toward the bed. Sitting down on its edge, he reached a trembling hand forward, needing to confirm that the man before him was real and not a harsh trick conjured by his imagination. As he touched the young man's cold and shivering arm, Athos choked on a sob as he gasped, "d'Artagnan."
Behind him, Aramis and Porthos had roused and were now watching as their leader confirmed the presence of the young man they'd believed lost to them. Aramis had eyes only for the Gascon, his curiosity at how the boy had been returned to them overpowered by his appearance, noting from what little he could see that the Gascon's condition was poor.
Porthos managed to pull his eyes away from the bed to look at the Captain who'd moved back toward the table and chairs, allowing the three men unfettered access to the young man. "How?" he breathed out, the disbelief clear in his soft tone.
Treville gave a quick head shake, "No idea. Thierry spotted him outside."
Porthos' eyes darted to the other Musketeer and he gave the man a quick nod of thanks, swallowing thickly at the emotion that seemed to be choking him as he was drawn to the bed, just as his other two friends had been. Aramis had allowed Athos to keep his place at the boy's side, understanding the need to be reassured that d'Artagnan would not disappear once more. He took a spot in a chair on the young man's other side, hands hovering hesitantly over top of him as he tried to decide where to begin. "Porthos," he said, intending to ask the man to bring water and cloths but the Captain interrupted him.
"Thierry, wake Sebastian and Rémy and have them take your place at the gates. Then fetch water and bandages and let Fouquet know we've found Athos and the others," Treville ordered. He received matching looks of appreciation from Aramis and Porthos at the fact that he'd anticipated the medic's request and delegated the task to another so that Porthos could remain by his friends' sides. "How is he?" he asked, bringing Aramis' attention back to the Gascon.
Aramis spared a moment to glance at Athos, "Help me roll him onto his back." The medic pulled while Athos pushed, gently turning the boy from his side. d'Artagnan startled, a jolt of movement shooting from him as his hands jumped, Athos immediately leaning forward to soothe him with quiet words and a hand on the young man's shoulder. "What can you tell us about his injuries, Captain?" Aramis asked as his eyes roamed over the boy's face and torso.
"He was unable to stand on his own and seemed disoriented. On the way here, he vomited but brought up nothing but bile," Treville offered succinctly, just as anxious about the young man's condition as the other three.
Aramis mumbled to himself about needing to remove the boy's shirt while his fingers moved to d'Artagnan's head where he gently probed at boy's skull. He encountered something that made him frown and leaned closer as he parted the Gascon's dark hair to peer at the skin underneath. Exhaling loudly, he moved a hand to the boy's eyelids which were closed once more, and gave a meaningful look to Athos, signalling his intention to check for concussion. With a quick lift of both lids, which drew moans of distress from d'Artagnan, Aramis gave a short nod confirming his suspicions.
He leaned back in his chair, about to request a knife in order to cut the dirty shirt from the Gascon's chest and a blade appeared before his face, held in Porthos' firm grip as he waited for the medic to take it from his hand. "Thank you," Aramis murmured to his friend. He made quick work of the shirt, slitting it from hem to collar and allowing the two sides to fall open, exposing the boy's chest.
"Bloody hell," Porthos swore as he scrubbed a hand through his curls, turning away momentarily at the vivid bruising on the boy's torso. Aramis forced himself to ignore his friend's anguish, focusing instead on the Gascon who lay pliantly in front of him. His hands ghosted expertly over the bruised areas, offering as much certainty as was possible that nothing internally had been damaged, nor were there any broken bones.
His examination was interrupted as Thierry returned, another man following in his wake to deliver buckets of both hot and cool water and a supply of clean linen. Thierry threw the Captain an expectant look and the man nodded, dismissing him so the three men could tend to their injured friend without an audience. Porthos was quick to fill a basin with water while Treville handed Aramis several clean cloths and then stood back and watched as the medic and Athos worked to remove the shirt from the Gascon's body and then wash away the dirt and the grime that covered him. As they worked, Porthos settled on the bed beside the young man's legs, pulling both boots from his feet before resting a hand on one ankle, although for whose comfort was difficult to tell.
When they'd finished, d'Artagnan was no more aware than when he'd been discovered and Athos found the stillness disturbing, looking to Aramis for an explanation. "I found evidence of at least two head wounds, one older and one that hasn't yet begun to heal. His chest and ribs are bruised and will be sore, but I don't believe there's anything there to cause concern."
"Then why isn't he awake?" Athos asked, the tone pleading as he looked for answers to the Gascon's state.
Aramis could only offer a small shrug in reply, "The head wounds, exhaustion, other mistreatment of which we're unaware – take your pick. Until he wakes, there's little more that we can do other than speculate."
"But 'e will wake?" Porthos asked, needing the confirmation as much as his brothers.
"I'm as certain as one can be with head wounds," Aramis offered. "There's little for us to do now other than let him sleep and keep him comfortable." Putting his words into action, he gently laid a blanket over the young man's bare chest, tucking it in around him.
Athos' attention had already been drawn back to d'Artagnan's face, eyes pinched in pain even in sleep. He reached a hand forward to lay on the young man's brow, falling absently into a pattern of rubbing circles on the boy's temple. Treville observed the three men who only had eyes for their youngest, and he could feel the shift in the air, no longer suffocated by grief but still tense at the Gascon's condition. Clearing his throat, he spoke quietly, "Let me know when he wakes and make sure you get some sleep as well. I'll be by later in the day but consider yourselves off duty for now."
Athos spared a quick glance in the Captain's direction, giving a short nod of thanks before refocusing on the young man. Treville slipped out softly, doubtful that anything could have pulled the men's attention away at this point, and certain that the only one likely to be sleeping that night was the young man occupying the bed.