Thank you to those who have managed to read the last 2-3 chapters and found a chapter briefly to write a comment. I have no idea what's going on but the site has been having problems for two weeks now where chapters 59 onwards keep disappearing and reappearing, review figures are wrong most of the time and the drop down menu frequently stops at 58. I'll use Porthos' gesture at the end in the hope that the problem is finally resolved asap!

CHAPTER 64

PORTHOS

The Captain and Aramis have gone to the Chatelet to see Bircann and Ferel an' I'm left 'ere, willin' Athos to wake up so there's somethin' for me to do. I've been sittin' at the central table, quietly cleanin' my weapons, oilin' the leather of my doublet an' just wonderin' generally what I can get up to next without disturbin' him.

He's 'ad more nightmares now but we recognise the signs so we know when they're startin' on account of how restless 'e gets; he starts tossin' and ' turnin' an' fightin' with the blankets. We know better than to wake 'im abruptly but we're there, tryin' to soothe him. It's really odd seein' his mouth open an' no sound comin' out, although I tell myself that that's better than the alternative. He's so worked up, it's horrible to see him like it an' I'd hate to hear 'im really screamin' like his expression suggests. I reckon he'd be makin' enough noise to wake the entire garrison. The day'll come when 'is voice comes back. I know it, I can feel it, an' it'll be a difficult time if those bad dreams are still happenin'.

Serge sent some porridge over this mornin an' Athos ate nearly a bowlful, which he kept down. That's another good sign an' Serge said he was trying somethin' special to send for dinner. He's been listenin' to Aramis askin' about meals that are more milk based as we try to find anythin' that'll build up Athos more quickly.

My jobs done, I decide to trim my beard an' moustache. I'm hummin softly to myself as I use some scissors I've found in the infirmary an' focus on my reflection in the lookin' glass I've propped up against the pitcher of watered wine on the table. It doesn't take me long an' I'm admirin' my efforts when I get the strong feelin' I'm bein' watched.

Athos is lyin' on his side. He's awake and concentratin' on what I'm doin', even though he's at an odd angle. When he knows I've seen 'im, the corners of his mouth lift in the hint of a smile an' he points, first at me an' then at 'imself. When I don't immediately react, he points again at the scissors an' pulls uncomfortably at 'is beard as it's grown so long.

"You want a shave?" I ask an' he nods. This is yet another good sign, one of those little steps forward that Aramis keeps mentionin'. "Right. Let's do this properly then."

I spend the next ten minutes getting things together: a bowl of warm water, soap, some linen towels, the scissors and a razor. I set them out on the table by his bed and rub my hands together; no good touchin' him if they're cold.

"Let's get you sittin' up." It's a bit of trial an' error an' he does try to help in pushin' himself up the bed a bit, but it's mainly down to me hauling him under the armpits. With his knuckles pushed into the mattress and his arms locked straight as best he can, he's able to hold himself up as I pile pillows behind him. He's trembling with the effort even in that short time and relieved when I settle 'im back against the supporting pillows, but it's still another success that I 'ave to remember to tell Aramis.

Knowin' him like I do, he must be fed up with bein' untidy an' ungroomed an' it probably makes 'im feel dirty, despite our best efforts to the contrary; we've not wanted to pull 'im about too much when he had the fever an' with him still bein' so weak. Our priority has been to get as much grime an' smell off 'im as possible with the minimum of fuss, so that's what we've done. It hasn't been perfect by any means an' he must be aware of that now that he's awake longer an' more alert.

So I pick up the scissors an' razor and set about makin' him look more respectable. It's so bad though an' so tangled that I have to remove most of it. He's almost clean shaven, but at least what's left has a defined shape now an' it'll grow back quickly.

It takes a long while to trim as I'm doin' it slowly an' carefully because I don't want to hurt him or overtax 'im. Even so, his eyes grow heavy now an' then an' I'm hopin' he doesn't fall asleep on me an' drop 'is head. I can't exactly leave the job half done; that'd look even more strange than he did when I started.

"There!" I say, satisfied with my work as I reach for a damp cloth and wipe 'is face an' chin free of any loose, stray whiskers or stubble. "That is much better. At last you're lookin' more like yourself than a vagrant we've picked up off the street."

He looks past me an' points towards the central table where the looking glass still sits propped up.

Wanting to be helpful an' eager for him to see the result, I do not hesitate in rising to fetch it.

"The Captain' an Aramis'll be surprised," I say an' I hold up the glass so he can see his reflection.

At first, he gives a little smile an' touches his chin and moustache.

"Do they meet with your approval?" I ask. "I know they're much shorter than you'd normally wear 'em, but there were far too many tangles an' it made you look lopsided."

He nods but then I see the frown an' his hands go to his thick mane of curlin' hair, more knotted an' dirty than the beard ever was. From there, his fingers go to 'is face an' trace the frighteningly white, sunken cheeks and the dark-ringed, haunted eyes.

He is shocked beyond measure an' I wish I could take back the past few minutes, erase them from his memory. I didn't think; never stopped to consider what seein' himself for the first time in over seven weeks would do to 'im an' I hate myself for hurtin' him anew.

I hurriedly put the looking glass face down on the table an' when he crumples in front of me, tears of despair startin' to fall, I reach for him and pull 'im into my arms to hold him tight an' rockin' him.

"I should never have let you see yourself, not just yet, but I did an' I'm sorry. I want you to listen to what I'm about to say. Do you hear me?" I pause until I feel 'im nod against my shoulder. "You are lookin' better each an' every day; I mean it. I can't describe what you looked like when we first found you an' I don't want to think about it too hard. You were nothin' more than a filthy, stinkin' skeleton an' for the next three days, you were burnin' up with a fierce fever. It's only been a handful of days since then an' the difference in you now is marked. Think how quickly that'll change now you're getting' off the broth. Believe me when I say you are much improved an' you can only get better from now."

He lifts his head to look at me, his gaze fixed an' intense, the tears on 'is cheeks already dry, or else he's wiped 'em on my shirt.

"What are you thinkin'? I wish I knew what was goin' on in your head. You've got that determined look about you that usually spells trouble."

At that, he rolls his eyes and I can only chuckle, the brief moments of overwhelming sadness already a thing of the past. He gestures towards the scissors an' then clasps a handful of his hair whilst imitating a cuttin' action with fingers on his other hand.

"You want me to cut your hair?" He nods. "Now? Aren't you too tired after the beard trimming?" He shakes his head but I'm unsure as this is goin' to be a much longer task. "It'll have to be shorter than usual as it's in such a tangled mess." He nods his understanding. "Well, if you trust me …"

It's nearly two hours later when the infirmary door opens to admit Aramis and the Captain, both of them looking mighty pleased with themselves. Seems like we've all had some successes then.

Aramis skids to a halt as he approaches the bed where Athos is asleep.

"Goodness, you two have been busy!" he gasps, lookin' down at the bed, its occupant completely transformed.

Bereft of the shaggy beard an' mane of matted hair, Athos looks so much younger, more innocent an' vulnerable. Yes, I've cut 'is hair much shorter than he would normally have liked, but it couldn't be helped an' we reached an agreement. The hair, like the beard, will grow again. His ears an' neck might be cold for a while an' there's no trace of rebellious curl or wave. What's left is knot free an' washed clean. For now, it emphasises his alarmin' pallor an' the dark smudges round his eyes but I hold fast to what I told him, that he looks better now than when we first found 'im an' that can only be for the good.

"How long has he been asleep?" the Captain asks. He looks disappointed about somethin'.

"About thirty minutes or so. It's hard to tell how long he'll sleep this time. If he's nappin' like he was earlier, he could stir soon but sortin' him out has exhausted him so I wouldn't swear to anything'."

"I need to talk to him," Tréville says and I'm not happy if he's thinkin' about wakin' Athos. He looks at me an' somethin' in my expression must change his mind because he takes a sharp intake of breath, "but I suppose I can wait a little longer. Let me know as soon as he wakes. I'll be in my office working on the message I am doing for you, Aramis, to take to Ferel."

And with that, he's gone.

"What's all that about?" I'm thinking that he must have spoken to Aramis as they made their way back to the garrison from the Chatelet.

"Not sure," Aramis answers as he removes his long coat and sits down on the chair next to Athos. "He wouldn't say anything on the way here, only that he wanted to speak to Athos as soon as possible. I hope that whatever he got out of Bircann was good news."

I think I give a grunt at that as I don't want to hear any more bad news about anything. "What about your visit to Ferel?" I ask, pouring two goblets of the watered wine and handing him one.

"It took a while to persuade him, but he came round in the end and will deliver the message. I'm not sure how far we can trust him though; he is a very frightened man."

"All we 'ave to hope is that it draws out the messenger."

He sips at his wine, his eyes never leavin' our sleepin' friend. "You've done a good job," he comments softly. "He is more like the Athos we know."

"It took some time but he an' I agreed that he looks a whole lot better for it."

"He spoke?" There is an innocent hopefulness in his voice and I hate to shatter his optimism.

"No, but 'e was more engaged this time an' was awake for a long time. We need to be thinkin' of ways to spark 'is interest an' we have to be ready. The more alert 'e is, the sooner he's goin' to want to be up an' on the move, whether we think he's able to do it or not."

Aramis sighs. "You're right. I'll stop by his quarters later and pick up some of his books for a start. He'll need lots of diversions because I cannot see him moving from that bed for a while yet."

Neither can I. Unfortunately, once Athos starts recoverin' from any injury, 'e quickly becomes an awful patient; 'e gets frustrated an' that makes 'im bad tempered so that he can become downright impossible. It's all on account of 'im thinking that he's much better than he really is an' is itchin' to leave the infirmary. We can usually stop 'im in the early days – like now, when he 'asn't the strength of a babe - but then we 'ave to rely on the Captain givin' him a direct order to stay put. Now, Athos doesn't openly defy an order; he might bend it a little, circumstances demandin' some change to see the order carried out as best as possible, but past experience has shown that when 'e goes against an order to stay in bed when he's still obviously unfit, he generally learns the hard way and ends up in a heap on the floor. I'm thinkin' Aramis an' I will be the ones who are better prepared to manage 'im this time.

It's a while before I realise that I've got two fingers on my right hand crossed!

Author's note:

The gesture of crossed fingers is thought to have originated in the 16th century. I'm cheating a little here as it was more widely used in the culture of England and parts of Scandinavia than mainland Europe. Thought to resemble the cross of Christ, it was to ward off evil and ill-health.