Author's Note: Once again, I do not own these characters! Unfortunately.
Chapter Two
"You're right," Porthos said, breaking the silence. He was sitting next to Aramis, sharpening his main-gauche.
Aramis had just finished cleaning his flintlock pistol, and he set it down on the table behind him. "Right about what?" he asked, arching an eyebrow.
"About D'artagnan. He probably stopped at the Bonacieux home. Most likely why he's not back yet."
"Ah," Aramis replied, giving a nod. "If I were to pass by the house of the lady I loved, I would find it difficult to ignore the urge to see her as well."
"Well, I suppose I'll have to give up on having any delicious apple slices this evening." Porthos rose from his seat, sheathing his short blade. "I might actually try to get some extra rest tonight. It's not often we're given a day off."
"I plan to visit a friend tomorrow," Aramis said, standing as well. "Or at least, I hope to. I don't know if she is back in Paris as of yet. I suppose I will find out."
"Where's Athos?" Porthos suddenly asked, twisting about as if he were expecting to find the other missing member of their group.
"Last I saw him, he was talking with Treville," Aramis replied.
"Hope it's not about something that'll spoil our time off," Porthos grumbled.
"Relax, my friend," Aramis placed a hand on his larger friend's shoulder. "Treville promised he would only commission us if anything very serious takes place. I am sure –" He trailed off when he noticed a woman come running into the garrison. Porthos turned as well to see what he was looking at.
It was Constance, and the frightened look on her face, along with the flowing tears and bruised jaw made both the Musketeers who knew her well rush to her side.
"Are you alright? Is there someone after you?" Porthos asked, looking ready to protect her from whatever foe that had terrified and hurt her so.
Aramis reached out to touch her black and blue jaw, wincing slightly. "I can help you care for that. Whoever did this to you?"
"That's not important right now, Aramis. I'm alright," Constance said quickly, still a little out of breath.
"That does not look like you're alright," Porthos growled, his voice giving away his obvious anger at the fact their friend was hurt.
"Is D'artagnan here?" Constance asked, looking very anxious.
"No," Aramis replied slowly. "No, he's not. What happened, Constance? Is D'artagnan alright?"
"He should be here! He left my place half an hour ago! He told me not to worry, that he would get here and find help! It's all my fault, I should have stood up to Jacques and helped him anyway, regardless of the consequences. I'm such a coward." Constance said, sounding desperate and broken. She tried to wipe away her tears, but they kept coming.
"You are no such thing." Porthos chastised her quickly. "You are the bravest and strongest woman I've met."
"Not today," Constance replied, looking at him with pain in her eyes. "You didn't see how I just let D'artagnan walk away in the state he was in! He might be still out there, looking for help! He was in such a bad way."
"Tell us everything." Athos' calm but sincere voice almost startled them. They had not noticed him walk over to see what was going on. Treville was on his heels.
Constance began to explain the details all in an anxious rush. "D'artagnan came to visit, but my husband sent him away, never to return. He cannot stand him. Then, a short time after that, to my surprise, D'artagnan returned. He had been robbed and was terribly hurt - bleeding very badly - but my husband didn't care and sent him away from our doorstep. He hates the idea of him being anywhere near me so much, that he refused to let me help him! He is so selfish, and blind to the fact, and so D'artagnan was forced to find help elsewhere. He said he would send me word when he made it safely here to the garrison, but he's not –" She squeezed her eyes shut and covered her mouth with her hand, choking on a sob.
"Alright, you three go and see if you can find D'artagnan," Treville immediately ordered the Musketeers standing beside him, taking charge of the situation. "Constance, I'll make sure you stay safe in here for now. You do not have to leave until you feel safe to." He gave her a pointed look of concern, eying her bruised jaw.
"Come on," Athos spoke to Aramis and Porthos, who immediately followed him right after they each grabbed their weapons, hats, and gear.
Constance followed Treville to his quarters, and glanced back at the Musketeers.
"We will find him, Constance," Aramis said as if it were a promise, having caught her eye. "And here," he tossed her a small leather pouch. "There are herbs in there that can help with your injury. I'd do more, but –"
"No, I'll be fine." Constance shook her head vigorously. "Thank you Aramis. You just find him."
"We will," he promised as he turned to follow the others out of the garrison.
The daylight was fading very fast, but it was still light enough to see fairly decently for another hour at least. Athos, Porthos, and Aramis had initially split up to cover more ground, but finally grouped back together after finding no sign of their fourth and youngest member. Concern and worry grew rapidly in their minds, and they feared what they might find as the time slowly went by.
After almost twenty minutes of searching, Aramis noticed an alley they had yet to walk through. It was small and out of the way, and he had originally suspected D'artagnan would not have gone anywhere near this area, but they had to check every place. He began to walk into the alley, leading the others behind him. It was then that he saw it, and it stopped him suddenly in his tracks. At the other end of the alleyway, sprawled on the ground with his head and shoulders up against the left wall, was a Musketeer, the pauldron on his shoulder quite visible. The man's face was turned away from him, but it could only be one person.
"D'artagnan!" he cried, breaking into a run. Porthos and Athos were right behind him, and he finally reached his young brother, dropping to his knees beside his prone form on the right side. Fear hit Aramis quickly as he took in the extremely pale and lax face, and the blood - oh, there was too much, it seemed! He reached out his fingers to feel if D'artagnan was breathing and then laid them against his neck to see if his veins showed signs of life. He let out a sigh of relief when he felt the slight exhale of air from D'artagnan's mouth and the twitching of the veins by his throat.
"He's alive," he said softly to the others.
"How? He looks like he has more blood outside of him then in him!" Porthos said in a tone of disbelief. He was crouched on the ground by D'artagnan's left leg, and he let his hand drop down to grip it gently. "I wonder how long he's laid here like this."
"He doesn't have to be any longer," Athos muttered, having gotten on a knee next to D'artagnan's left side. He had immediately placed a gloved hand over the wound and was applying pressure. "Aramis, let's get him out of this position. It looks to be hurting him even more."
Aramis nodded. "We'll pull him back a little to let him lie down better. Then I can assess his wound. Porthos?"
Porthos nodded, ready to help pull. "You got it."
The three were just ready to pull D'artagnan away from the wall, when he suddenly stirred, his brows furrowing and his eyes squeezing together in a pained wince. The Musketeers stopped cold and watched, partially not wanting him to awaken due to the pain they knew he would be in, but also partly longing to see him open his eyes, which would remind them he was indeed still alive.
D'artagnan's eyes opened slightly, and he looked a little dazed. He then seemed to realize he was not alone and tried to sit up all the way, his eyes widening very quickly and his breathing speeding up.
"Shh, shh, it's us, D'artagnan!" Aramis was swift to help calm him, placing both hands on his shoulders to prevent him from jostling about too much.
D'artagnan let out a hiss of pain and then looked at each one of them. "You…you found me. What…happened?" he asked, hoarsely.
"We were hoping you could remember and tell us," Athos said. He had not moved his hand from the still leaking wound, and D'artagnan now tried to cover it with his own hand as well.
"Ugh, my side," he groaned, closing his eyes tightly shut for a few moments. "Athos, please, you're hurting me."
"Sorry, D'artagnan. I'm trying to keep you from bleeding out any more than you have."
"I know," D'artagnan whispered, swallowing hard and grimacing. "I just…" He trailed off.
"You just what?" Porthos asked softly.
"I just can't believe how stupid I was."
"What'd ya mean?" Porthos asked while Aramis undid D'artagnan's doublet and pulled open his shirt a little, preparing to look at the wound as soon as he could.
D'artagnan answered Porthos. "There were two thieves instead of one. I let myself be taken by surprise. I also thought I could make it back on my own. But I…I couldn't. And –" Suddenly, D'artagnan's eyes shot open and he grabbed Athos' doublet. "Constance! I promised her I would not let her worry about me. She was being abused by her husband again, and I thought I could give her a way out, to get out of the house and take a walk. But he demanded I leave. Then I dumbly tried to go back for help from them when I was robbed, but then…" D'artagnan stopped, a slight gasp escaping him as Athos shifted his hand slightly.
"But Monsieur Bonacieux pushed you away again without pity," Porthos growled again, his anger evident.
"He strangely offered to send someone to accompany me, but I turned the offer down. I think I wasn't in my right mind then. It was a stupid thing to do. I got a little disoriented…I think it was the lightheadedness."
"That would do it," Aramis said. "What were you stabbed with? A dagger?"
D'artagnan nodded. "Just under my ribs. It kinda hurts to breathe."
"Alright," Aramis said with a nod. "Just hang on. Athos, let me take a look."
Athos took away his hand and Aramis lifted D'artagnan's doublet and shirt, grimacing when he saw the wound.
D'artagnan saw his face and sighed. "I know. I figured it was bad. I'm having a hard time getting the feeling back in my arms and legs. I keep telling myself it's because I've been lying here in a bad position all this time, but –"
"I'm sorry," Porthos said suddenly. "We were going to move you and then you woke up."
"Here, do you want to lie down or sit up?" Athos asked him.
"Sit up, please," D'artagnan replied. "I don't want to die lying down."
"You're not gonna die, D'artagnan. Not if we can help it," Porthos told him.
D'artagnan glanced up at Aramis and tried to catch his gaze. "Aramis?" he asked, his question unspoken.
Aramis returned his gaze at last. "It's deep, but not fatal. Not that I can see, of course. The bleeding's nearly stopped, at least. It will definitely need stitches."
"Very encouraging, Aramis," Athos said, dryly, looking up at him as he resumed his pressure on D'artagnan's wound.
"I'm no physician, I just know a little field medicine," Aramis protested.
"Then let's get him to Lemay," Porthos said with urgency in his voice.
"Come on, let's sit him up first," Aramis said, and they all carefully lifted D'artagnan so that he was leaning more comfortably against the wall. D'artagnan curled in on himself a little and just nearly let out a whimper of pain. "I'm sorry, D'artagnan," Aramis said, gently.
"Not your fault," D'artagnan replied, when he had caught his breath again.
"It's getting harder to see out here," Athos said. "We should try to get him back to the garrison."
"I'm sorry to make this hard on you," D'artagnan said quietly. "But I don't know if I can get up, let alone walk. I've never felt this helpless."
"But that's when friends pick you up and help you out," Porthos said, patting his leg. "Remember? All for one?"
"Aye, I remember," D'artagnan replied, his head lolling back against the wall as though it were too heavy to hold up. "But that does not mean you're carrying me."
"Sorry, my friend, but you have no say in the matter this time," Porthos said with a slight chuckle.
D'artagnan let out a mock groan of irritation, but let Porthos lift him up, bridal style, without protest. In reality, he was trying to keep from passing out again.
"Come on, we're not too far from the garrison, albeit a little out of the way. You were mighty confused with your direction," Porthos told his wounded brother, who lifted his head up the best he could to peer at their surroundings.
"Ah, yes. I suppose…I was," D'artagnan replied. He gave a cough and a grimace. "Just try not to run."
"Will do my best," Porthos replied.
The Musketeers and their injured companion made their way back toward the garrison, as quickly as they could without making Porthos jostle D'artagnan too much. The youngest Musketeer kept coughing a few more times, with each one sounding more deep and painful than the last, causing Aramis and Athos to glance at each other with obvious concern written on their faces. If that dagger had hit his lung…Aramis shook his head, trying to ignore the terrible thought. He was not too sure how they could handle that. He whispered a prayer for his brother in all but blood as they hurried along.
Note: This chapter is a little shorter, but there's more.