Author's Note: Sadly still not my characters. And this is the final chapter. I kinda wanted to keep going, but hey, gotta end somewhere.
Chapter Four
D'artagnan awoke to the sound of Constance talking. It was a beautiful sound, and he lay quietly with his eyes closed and relished it, believing it to be part of a dream. After a moment he could start making out her words.
"...if there is anything I wish for, it is that I could have had a chance in life to find you before…before I…" Constance sighed, and there was a long pause before she spoke again. "Oh, I am so sorry, D'artagnan. I need to be stronger, more bold. You've taught me how to be so. I don't know what I'd do without you in this world."
"Me neither," D'artagnan whispered, his eyes slowly cracking open. "I couldn't imagine not knowing you."
Constance let out a small gasp and then jumped up, to D'artagnan's surprise. She then rushed away from the bed and to the door of the room, opening it and calling out.
"He's awake!"
She was back in an instant, and her hand caressed the right side of D'artagnan's face. He leaned into her hand and closed his eyes again. The sound of other individuals entering the room made him slowly open his eyes to slits again, the feeling of complete exhaustion making it hard to open them all the way. He could see Aramis come to his left and lean over him. Porthos bent down near the foot of the bed, and Athos came to sit beside Constance.
"Welcome back, D'artagnan," Aramis said, a smile on his face.
D'artagnan gave a hint of a smile. "How long was I out?" he asked, weakly.
"Since last night, when you were first brought in here," Treville said, having joined them as well.
D'artagnan nodded, remembering it all, to his surprise. He thought he would have been out for much longer, but at the same time, he was glad he was awake now.
"Here," Aramis grabbed a small bottle sitting on the table beside them. "Lemay left this to give you for the pain. Now that you're awake I can give you some."
D'artagnan nodded and let Aramis pour a small amount of the contents into his mouth while Constance lifted his head a little to assist him. After swallowing the bitter liquid with a grimace, his eyes found Constance's, and he furrowed his brows in confusion when he saw the unshed tears in her eyes.
"What's wrong?" he asked her, reaching up with his weak right hand to caress the side of her face.
"I feel so guilty, D'artagnan," Constance said, her tears finally spilling over. "You're a good man. You didn't deserve this. I was too afraid for myself, that I almost let you die. I do not have enough words to give that can show you how truly sorry I am."
Her voice quivered at the end, shattering D'artagnan's heart. She was still unconvinced about her innocence, even after he had been so adamant about it before. Dropping his hand from her face, he pushed himself up and leaned over onto his right elbow so he was at Constance's eye level. He did it so swiftly that the others couldn't move fast enough to stop him. He grit his teeth together and winced, but ignored the sting in his side. He could feel Aramis place a hand on his back and Athos a hand on his left hip as if to catch him should he lose his strength.
"Constance," he said, his voice suddenly stronger and more confident than before. He gave her a serious look, reaching up to cup his left hand to her chin, and to wipe away the tear rolling down her face at that moment with his thumb. "Shut up and stop blaming yourself."
Porthos gave a quiet snort of amusement. Constance took a moment before the faintest smile crossed her lips and she looked down, avoiding D'artagnan's gaze.
D'artagnan ducked his head a little lower. "Hey, look at me," he said, and he waited until she did. "You did nothing wrong. I could never blame you for what happened. Ever. This was a stupid and horrible situation that neither one of us could have expected. And it is on me that I thought I was fine."
"Believe me, he doesn't understand the definition of fine," Aramis said.
"None of you do," Constance spoke then, her eyes flicking toward the others in obvious amusement. The other Musketeers, including Treville, smirked and looked at anything in the room that suddenly caught their eye besides her.
"The point is," D'artagnan continued, glad that Constance was looking less troubled. "This was not on you. So dismiss it from your mind. Promise me?"
Constance sniffed and nodded. "I promise."
D'artagnan gave a small smile in return. "Good. I didn't mean to scare you so, and therefore, I'm sorry for that."
"You scared us all a little," Porthos said, quietly. "Didn't know if you'd make it."
"Didn't know either," D'artagnan admitted, almost in a whisper. He suddenly realized his body was through holding his weight up with his right arm and shoulder, and he shut his eyes with a grimace, practically falling over onto his back again. Aramis and Athos caught him as he did so and eased him gently into his earlier position. D'artagnan opened his eyes again and looked up at them.
"You are stronger than you may think," Athos told him from where he now stood with his hand on D'artagnan's chest, the hint of a smile settling on his mouth and in his eyes.
D'artagnan let a small smile grace his own face before closing his eyes and wincing slightly. An ache throbbed in his side for a long moment. He felt Aramis take his left hand, while Constance took his right. D'artagnan could feel sleep suddenly pulling at him and he opened his eyes. He tried to fight it, blinking sluggishly. He felt Aramis set his other hand on his forehead.
"Sleep, D'artagnan. It's alright," Aramis soothed.
And so D'artagnan let his eyelids close, relaxed, and let himself fall into oblivion.
It was four hours before D'artagnan woke again. And this time, he discovered he was alone. The sun shone through the windows, making patterns on the floor and the walls, and causing D'artagnan to long for the feel of it on his face. He could not stand lying there in bed for so long, and although his side still stung and a deep ache spread throughout the left half of his body, he was suddenly getting extremely anxious. Being cooped up alone was not something he favored at all.
He knew he would most likely get a harsh reprimand for it, but he pulled away the blanket and slowly eased himself up into a sitting position, holding his breath to stifle the groans he desperately wanted to make. After swinging his legs over the side, he straightened a little and let out his breath, sucking it back in quickly when a painful twinge from his side made him grip the bed beneath him. Soon, he mustered the strength to stand, although it took him a few moments. After placing his right hand gingerly over his left side, he shuffled his way towards the door, wincing with every step. He braced himself before opening the door and stepping outside into the warm sun.
He could see several fellow Musketeers sparring and some in conversation as they waited for their turn to train and practice. He tried to make out his closest friends and finally spotted Aramis helping a young recruit fire his rifle properly at a target. Just past them, he noticed Athos stop a sword fight that was getting out of hand, and Porthos was speaking with Treville near the outdoor steps to the upstairs quarters. D'artagnan was glad to see them, grateful that they appeared to be in good spirits. He wondered if it was partially due to the fact that he had survived.
One person he wished he could see right now somewhere in the garrison was Constance. He assumed that she had probably returned home, much to his disappointment. The thought of how her husband might have reacted to her coming to see him weighed heavily on his mind. He wished he could do something. Anything. Just to make her life a little less painful.
The thought of pain reminded him of his own, and it seemed to attack him suddenly, making him clutch the door frame and lean his left shoulder against it. Lifting his head, which felt unsettlingly faint, he looked out at the Musketeers several feet away, completely oblivious to him. Until he heard a sudden yell that was laced with concern.
"D'artagnan!"
It was Aramis. D'artagnan caught the man's eyes as he bolted toward him from where he had been fixing the new recruit's shooting position. In moments, Aramis was pulling the wounded Musketeer away from the door frame and supporting D'artagnan's weight on his right. Nearly everyone had heard Aramis' shout, and Porthos and Athos came running, their faces a mixture of surprise and concern.
"What are you doing out of bed?" Porthos asked, while Athos rushed to D'artagnan's other side to help support him.
"You shouldn't be doing this, D'artagnan," Athos muttered. He gave him a serious look of reprimand, but D'artagnan did not let it bother him.
"I just had to get some air," D'artagnan said, quietly. "It was stifling in there." His legs nearly gave way then, prompting Aramis and Athos to hold him tighter so as to not let him fall.
"But you don't have the strength yet, mon ami," Aramis chided.
D'artagnan grit his teeth and closed his eyes tight from the burning sensation he still felt, before opening them again. "I wish it didn't take so long," he grumbled.
"That's why you have us to help you out until it's back," Porthos told him.
"Thanks," D'artagnan said, softly.
"Here, you can come sit out here by the table for a bit until you need to lie down again," Porthos offered.
D'artagnan nodded and was then assisted by Athos and Aramis over to a bench near the table, which acted as something for D'artagnan to lean back against while he faced outward towards the garrison yard. Athos and Aramis then sat on either side of him, to provide support should he need it. Treville made his way over and stood by Porthos, nodding to D'artagnan.
"It's good to see you looking better, D'artagnan," Treville said.
D'artagnan gave a nod back. "Thank you, captain."
A commotion at the entrance to the garrison made all five Musketeers look up quickly in interest. The moment D'artagnan saw who was striding through the gate, his heart went cold.
Monsieur Bonacieux.
D'artagnan warily watched as the man stiffly walked directly toward him. Although he was certain the man would never dare to physically lay a hand on him, it did not quell the bit of anxiousness that settled in his chest at the sight of him growing nearer.
Immediately, Athos and Aramis stood, taking a step so that they were partially standing in front of D'artagnan. Porthos and Treville moved closer as well, and D'artagnan pretended not to notice how all four men had placed their hands on their weapons; Athos and Porthos on the hilts of their swords and Aramis and Treville on the handles of their pistols. Honestly, he did not need such extreme protection from a man as harmless as Bonacieux, but still. Intimidation didn't hurt.
"What do you want?" Athos asked bluntly and informally.
Monsieur Bonacieux seemed to have forgotten his tongue for a moment, but then his eyes found D'artagnan's once more and he managed to get his jaw working. Taking a hard swallow, he then cleared his throat. D'artagnan was wondering if what the man was trying to say was extremely difficult for him. Surely he was not about to –
"D'artagnan," Bonacieux said, his chin high and his voice wavering ever so slightly. "I wish to extend to you an…apology."
Wow, D'artagnan thought. That must have been a pain to say. Did Constance put him up to this?
"D'artagnan," Porthos spoke up. "You are not obligated to accept his apology. Don't think it's very sincere."
"I was unaware of how dire your need was, and if I had, I would have done more," Monsieur Bonacieux declared. "I was…unhappy with my wife's actions and it led me to make a…misjudgment." He seemed to have choked on something as he spoke the last word.
D'artagnan stared at him for a long moment and then sighed. "I forgive your misjudgment. However, I have a request to make, and I am going to say it calmly the first time."
Monsieur Bonacieux looked at him as if he was in great anticipation of what he had to say.
D'artagnan continued his death stare. "Raise a hand to Constance again, and you will have to answer to me."
Monsieur Bonacieux seemed to have been utterly shocked at the statement. "But," he sputtered. "She is my wife. You have no right to –"
"He won't be the only one you'll have to answer to," Athos suddenly interrupted, his tone sounding dangerous.
"No woman deserves to be treated in such a manner," Aramis added.
"You can't make me promise anything. This is a violation of my personal matters. What happens in my home is of no concern of yours," Bonacieux argued.
"He doesn't seem to get it, does he?" Aramis asked his fellow compatriots.
"No, it doesn't," Porthos replied. Turning to look at the offending man, he glared at him. "I'll be happy to show you how much of a concern of ours it really is."
And in response to that, Monsieur Bonacieux's eyes widened ever so slightly. He then sniffed in irritation, turned, and speed walked out of the garrison. Porthos made a step forward, but D'artagnan's voice stopped him.
"No, Porthos. Don't kill him. Please, that won't help anything."
"I wasn't going kill him," Porthos replied. "Just let him know how serious we are."
"I think he might understand a little better already," Aramis said, sitting down again. "At least I hope so."
It was about five minutes later that D'artagnan happened to glance up and see Constance slipping into the garrison. His heart swelled with happiness at the sight of her, and he was pleased to see that the bruise on her jaw was looking less prominent. She made a beeline over to him and Aramis stood quickly to let her take a seat beside D'artagnan.
"It's good to see you up and about, D'artagnan!" she exclaimed. "But isn't it too soon? You shouldn't strain yourself."
"Try telling him that again a few more times," Athos said from his spot on the bench next to D'artagnan's right side. He had just taken a sip from his pewter mug, and D'artagnan nudged his arm in annoyance with his elbow, almost sloshing the contents over the rim.
Constance gave the smallest chuckle and shook her head. "Oh, D'artagnan. Why do you torture yourself so?"
D'artagnan didn't reply, and he just sighed.
Aramis nodded to Constance. "I see you're looking better yourself, Madame Bonacieux."
"Thank you, Aramis," Constance said, and then grimaced. "But please. I prefer Constance."
"Of course. Constance," Aramis replied quickly.
"If he ever touches you in such a manner again, you tell me," D'artagnan told Constance in a serious tone. "Listen, I know it can be hard, but it doesn't hurt to ask for a little help."
Constance nodded. "Thank you," she said, softly. She stayed sitting there for a few more moments before she spoke again. "Well. I wish I could stay…but I need to be getting the evening meal together. I will come and visit again tomorrow."
"Promise?" D'artagnan asked.
"Promise," Constance replied, giving D'artagnan a peck on the cheek. She stood and hurried out of the garrison, her skirts fluttering about.
D'artagnan watched her until she disappeared and then sighed.
"She's a good woman," Treville said, breaking the silence. He cleared his throat and then turned to head up the outdoor stairs. "Well, gentlemen, I must attend to some pressing matters." He gave Athos a look and nodded to D'artagnan. "Make sure he gets some more proper rest."
Athos tipped his hat in reply. "Yes, captain."
D'artagnan did not like the thought of having to be put to bed again, especially when he had been resting for quite some time already. It was only a matter of a few more minutes before he had a sudden change of mind. A wave of exhaustion washed over him from nowhere, and he realized that supporting himself upright on his own was feeling like he was trying to lift a heavy weight. He blinked tiredly as he tried to shake the lightheadedness away, but to no avail. Finally he began to feel a little too faint. His body suddenly had a mind of its own. He lost all control and tilted to the side, practically falling against Athos. The man caught him, quickly discarding his nearly empty mug on the table behind them.
"D'artagnan!" he exclaimed.
Aramis, in a flash, was down on his knees in front of D'artagnan. He took the young man's face in his hands and peered at him. "D'artagnan? Talk to me, mon ami."
"Just…tired," D'artagnan slurred, wincing as his side throbbed from his sudden movement.
"Alright, hang on," Aramis said, standing and assisting Athos in lifting D'artagnan to his unsteady feet. Both draped one of his arms over their shoulders and they began to attempt moving forward.
"I…can't," D'artagnan gasped out as he tried to take a step and his knee buckled. He gave a muffled cry in frustration.
"It's alright, D'artagnan. Aramis?" Athos looked at his companion, who nodded. The two locked arms with each other and lifted D'artagnan, carrying him towards his own room. Apparently, they seemed to think he didn't need to spend any more time in the infirmary, to his relief.
Porthos hurried ahead of them and held open the door. After entering and gently depositing D'artagnan upright on the bed, Aramis reached over to pull away his shirt from his wounded side.
"Just checking," he explained. "Good. It seems to be still intact. Don't want you to be accidentally pulling any stitches now."
"Exactly why you should be limiting your trips out of bed." Athos pointed out. He and Porthos walked over to the table in the room to take off their hats, weapons and gear.
After being given a blanket by Aramis, D'artagnan slowly began to feel an overwhelming rush of emotion as his thoughts went back to Constance. Why her? he thought. She doesn't deserve this torment any longer.
"Are you alright? Are you in pain?" Aramis asked suddenly. "I can give you more of what Lemay left."
D'artagnan looked up quickly, and only then did he realize the moisture that he now felt in his eyes.
"N-no," he stammered. "I'm alright."
But that wasn't true. The pain of watching someone he loved, someone he could not help, ate at him. I could do so much more for her…if only I knew how. It's not fair, he cried internally.
"What's not fair?" Porthos cut into his thoughts.
"What?" D'artagnan asked.
"You whispered, "It's not fair"," Porthos replied.
"Oh. Constance. Her fate in life…it's not fair. She doesn't deserve it." He reached up with his right hand and pressed his thumb and forefinger to his eyes, trying to suppress the tears he wished he could hide from view. He sighed heavily, the sound shuddered and broken as his breath hitched slightly. He felt a hand on his shoulder, one on his knee, and then another on his forearm. Dropping his hand and blinking the room back into focus, D'artagnan glanced at Aramis, Porthos, and Athos, respectively.
"You're right, it isn't fair," Aramis agreed, squeezing his right shoulder. "But we can at least help where we can. In the end, you are helping to make a difference in her life, no matter how little it may seem."
D'artagnan nodded in understanding and let out his breath in a small huff. Something caught in his throat and made him cough a little. Immediately, the others looked at him with grave concern etched onto their faces. D'artagnan waved a hand.
"I'm al…right," he said, between another slight cough. "I just haven't had anything to drink for a while."
Athos immediately stood, fetched a cup nearby, and poured water in from a jug beside it. He then resumed his seat on the edge of the left side of the bed and held out the cup. D'artagnan lifted out a hand to take it, but his arm was too weak, and it trembled when he was mere inches from his fingertips. Seeing this, Athos batted away his hand and held the cup to his mouth. Aramis supported him a little on his opposite side on the edge of the bed. After swallowing several sips of the water, D'artagnan's need for water was satisfied. He then glanced at the three men who were like brothers, seated around him.
Aramis had gotten rid of his hat and gear at this point as well, the items sitting on the table with the others' things. D'artagnan furrowed his brows at the sight of the blanket on the floor near the bed, the one on the floor by the door, and the one on the chair nearby. Realization dawned on him.
"Are you…you all don't have to stay –"
"Ah," Porthos put up a hand from where he sat by D'artagnan's right foot. "We won't be hearing any protests. All for one and one for all. You don't have the strength to do much yet, so…we're stickin' close by to give just a little help."
A beat passed, and D'artagnan leaned his head back against the wall. "Thank you," he said, sincerely. "For everything."
"All for one," Athos repeated.
D'artagnan smirked and gave a nod. "Yeah. I know."
As he lay in bed later on that night, after waking up for a few moments, D'artagnan listened to the sounds of his companions in their slumber. He took a moment to reflect on all that had transpired and he sighed. He could not dwell on what had already happened without frustration or pain threatening to take over his mind. But what he could do was allow himself to look forward to what tomorrow might hold, good or bad alike.
And so, D'artagnan settled and let himself drift off, knowing he did not deserve such loyal friends. No, brothers, who continued offering a whole lot more help than he could even ask for.
Note: This one was definitely longer. Feedback would mean the world, so feel free to leave some! And don't worry, I am cool with criticism.