"I don't feel so good."
Aramis responded to D'Artagnan's pronouncement as he lay prone on a cot at the Garrison infirmary by stating, "I'm hardly surprised. Since the moment that Vadim called you out as a traitor, I'm sure it wasn't exactly a picnic for you," as the medic continued to poke at the boy's exposed body, a colorful tableau of reds, yellows, blacks and blues, the range of colors based upon the age of the bruising that the boy had received at the hands of Vadim's men during the course of the last few days.
As Aramis examined the Gascon, D'Artagnan squirmed at Aramis' probes and proclaimed, "I don't need your help. I'm fine."
"'I don't feel so good.' 'I don't need your help.' Make up your mind, D'Artagnan; why announce that you do not feel well if you do not wish for us to help you?" Athos asked, annoyed.
D'artagnan just lay there, pouting.
"You know you're adorable when you just lay there sulking, don't you?" Aramis said.
"I'm not adorable, you're ador-" D'Artagnan stopped himself.
"Oh, am I? I've always thought I was adorable but it's nice for someone else to admit it too," Aramis teased.
D'Artagnan just hummed his disapproval.
A smiling Porthos asked: "So you're sure Treville mentioned 'e's havin' some other Musketeers spreadin' the word around to Richelieu and the Red Guard that the duel was just a set-up for the pup's undercover mission, right?"
"As we speak," Athos replied, intently watching as Aramis cleaned the boy's minor cuts and bruises.
D'Artagnan, despite his declaration of independence, found himself closing his eyes and surrendering to Aramis' comforting ministrations as he asked, as if drunk, "What pup?"
Porthos smiled and said, "You are. Since you been here the last few weeks, I've been tryin' ta figure out what you remind me of, and it's a pup."
As it seemed that D'Artagnan had fallen asleep as a result of Aramis' treatment, it was a bit of a surprise for all three men to hear the boy respond, "Well, then I suppose I should keep what I came up for the three of you to myself for now."
Aramis grinned. "Yes, a prudent idea while you are as exposed as you are for the moment."
After D'Artagnan spent one reluctant evening in the Infirmary at Aramis' insistence, the next day the medic declared that at day's end he could return to the Bonacieux residence. Aramis told D'Artagnan that when he departed the Garrison the previous evening, he had informed Constance not to expect him home that night, but that he would return the next night.
Treville had confirmed with the Inseparables that indeed, the Red Guard had been notified of the subterfuge that had caused D'Artagnan to willingly take part in an illegal duel.
However, there was one Red Guard in particular- Philip, the one that D'Artagnan had kicked in the groin during the duel- who was not willing to take the explanation as an excuse to exonerate the boy from what he felt he had coming ever since he had- humiliated him in such a way, especially in front of his comrades.
He decided the excuse of a miscommunication would suffice in order to perpetrate his revenge on the upstart Musketeer recruit.
Better to beg forgiveness than to ask permission, he thought.
"Philip," the senior Red Guard said, "Petr and George just returned from Versailles and need to be told of the Musketeer recruit D'Artagnan's mission. As they were aware of the duel prior to their departure but not the reason, please inform them."
"Yes, Captain," Philip replied. "Leave it to me."
As the three Red Guard stealthily followed D'Artagnan as he left the Garrison the next evening, Philip, Petr, and George smirked at one another in anticipation of what was to come.
As D'Artagnan turned to the street of his current dwelling, the Bonacieux residence, suddenly he was grabbed and thrown inside a room not more than a few yards of his home.
"What the- who-"
D'Artagnan's queries were interrupted by a slew of blows coming from the three men, forcing him to the ground.
"What is the meaning of this?!"
"We do not believe you should have gotten off so easily in your duel with our brothers," George said.
"Have you half-wits not heard? It was part of a covert mission sanctioned by the King to get closer to the thief Vadim," D'Artagnan yelled, all the while dodging blows and kicks to his body as he lay prone on the ground.
"You're a liar," Petr spat. "You'd say anything to avoid getting what's yours.
"Let's show him how we deal with liars, aye, my brothers?" Petr said, looking over at George and Philip.
"Yes. I deserve satisfaction for the blow to my nether region that you gave me," Philip said.
D'Artagnan suddenly recognized the Red Guard. "Oh yes, I recall hitting you in your privates. But seriously, given your God-given equipment, surely it was a small issue at best. Tiny, miniscule…"
"BASTARD!" Philip shouted.
And the vicious kicking and beating continued. One particular blow to the head rendered D'Artagnan senseless. Then darkness consumed him.
A few hours later, Constance, mad with worry, fretted as to why her new insufferable boarder hadn't returned yet. Had she misheard Aramis? He did say that he would be returning tonight, didn't he?
She moved her pacing from inside her home, to outside. There she saw a few of her neighbors peering into the doorway of an adjacent building, concern and curiosity at something they were looking at, which seemed to be on the ground, just beyond the open door.
As she approached closer, she heard "oh, dear" and "we should fetch Dr. Mountand" emanating from the mouths of some of the onlookers.
One of her neighbors saw Constance approaching and said, "Wait. Constance. Isn't this your tenant?"
Constance's eyes blew open wide at the pronouncement. As she rushed to see who lay prone on the ground just inside of the building, she saw it, indeed, was D'Artagnan. His broken state forced a gasp from her throat.