Double Trouble

Chapter Ten: Adieu

***Tissue Warning***

I apologize for the sadness in this story, see bottom for notes.

ADIEU:

The two Musketeers creep stealthily from d'Artagnan's sick room, closing the door quietly behind them. They walk down the hall arms intertwined around each other's shoulders, still smiling from the success of their young friend's surgery.

Cécile rushes out of Athos's room, "he's awake!" she cried with excitement.

Aramis and Porthos rush into the room to be at their brother's side. They sit down in the two chairs positioned beside the bed where they've been keeping vigil nearly every waking moment since they got permission to stay by Captain Tréville.

The emergency with d'Artagnan has been the only distraction pulling them away from Athos's side since his health declined. Now, with the young Gascon on the mend, Porthos and Aramis can redirect their attention back to the brother whose life is slipping away-right in front of their eyes.

Aramis and Porthos can barely contain their excitement as they see their sick brother finally awake. Athos's green eyes appear glossed over; but they're open and focused on his friends.

"Hey, brother Athos," said Aramis softly. "'Bout time you woke up from your nap. You had us worried sick. . ." Aramis caught himself.

Not a good word to use right now, probably should rephrase. "You had us worried, mon ami." Aramis placed his hand to the fevered forehead, stroking softly with his thumb.

Athos's mouth curls with an almost imperceptible smile that fades in seconds. Even the act of smiling leaves him exhausted, his eyelids flutter closed. He feels tired, so tired. . . he just wants to sleep.

"Uh huh, no you don't!" Porthos growls with feigned brazenness. "You've slept long enough, brother. We're here-now stay awake and talk to us," he teased lightly.

Despite the teasing rebuke from his friends, Athos's heavy eyelids are drooping. He can barely muster the strength to keep his tired eyes from closing.

Through glazed eyes he clearly sees the worry etched on the faces of his friends.

And so he fights.

Athos's POV:

I want to tell my brothers everything's going to be alright; soon I'll be well and we'll ride back to the garrison together. Everything will return back to normal once again.

The two brothers in front of me are my right and left hand. They have been there for me-and with me-through thick and thin; through good and bad; through my mood swings and carefree days.

Porthos and Aramis, and d'Artagnan too, were there to pull me from the wretchedness of my despair, when my past haunted me—when all I wanted to do was die.

My brothers accepted me for who I am, despite the demons I carried with me. Porthos and Aramis accepted me as a friend—as a brother—allowing me a special place in their hearts. . . without ever judging me for my past.

My brothers were my only strength when I was too drunk to give a damn.

I believe they are the only reason I didn't drink myself to an early grave.

Many times they were my only support when drunkenness brought me to my knees. I recall the frequent nights they stayed with me, nursing me back to health until I was sober.

I fondly remember that last morning in my room when I retched my guts out into a bowl Porthos provided at the last second. Then Porthos was pulling me to my feet, helping me to get dressed. Though he feigned anger at having to miss his breakfast, I knew he wasn't really angry with me.