Chapter Text
When the door to Treville's office finally opened, Aramis and Porthos shot to their feet. They'd been waiting outside for almost an hour, desperate to know what was happening inside. They'd even tried pressing their ears to the door, but the voices inside were muted, and they could make nothing out.
They'd told themselves that it must be a good sign that Treville wasn't shouting, but seeing Athos' pale face now as he stood before them, they knew whatever had happened, it was not good news.
Athos swayed slightly as if stunned, hardly seeing them at first. Behind him the door clicked firmly shut, Treville deciding that to face Aramis and Porthos right now would be a needless argument in the making. And besides, this was of Athos' own doing. It was therefore up to him to break the news.
"Athos? What happened?" Aramis asked urgently. "Was he angry? Are you to be punished?"
"Yes." Athos' voice was faint, as if there was no breath left in him. "You could say that, most definitely."
"Flogging?" Aramis winced. "Not latrine duty?"
"Where's your pauldron?" Porthos demanded, his sharp eyes noting Athos' bare shoulder.
Athos wouldn't meet his gaze, and Porthos and Aramis exchanged a worried glance.
"He hasn't suspended you?" Aramis demanded. "He can't! How long for?"
"No." Athos swallowed. "No, not suspended."
"Then what?" Aramis begged, frightened by the distant look on Athos' face. He knew that look, but normally it was on soldiers dragged from the field of battle, men who had been shocked beyond their mind's ability to process.
"Treville has - requested that I resign my commission," Athos told them, his voice shaking slightly but knowing he owed them the truth.
"What?" Porthos yelled, and Athos flinched. "I hope you damn well refused!"
"I did not," Athos said. "The alternative was for him to have me stripped of my rank and leave the regiment in disgrace. He has allowed to me to retain at least some shred of dignity, which he did not have to, and is a kindness I do not deserve."
Aramis and Porthos looked at each other, and as one barged through the door behind him into Treville's office.
Finding himself alone, Athos wandered out of the building in a daze. He felt sick to his stomach and paused by the benches in the courtyard, intending to sit for a while until he could breathe properly again. Looking about him though, the knowledge that he no longer belonged here made him flinch inwardly. It would surely not be long before the news of his dismissal spread, and right now he could not cope with the curious and scornful stares of his former comrades.
He stumbled out through the arch into the street, his feet guiding him home purely by instinct, his thoughts turned inward. The worst thing about it all was that he had been the architect of his own demise. It had been his own self-destructive behaviour that had caused this, his own certainty that he had things under control that lead him to ignore the repeated rebukes of his friends.
Having reached his lodgings with no memory of the streets in between, Athos collapsed into a chair, head in his hands. Aramis and Porthos had both warned him again and again about his drinking, had covered for him, had taken duties he could not manage, and never once let him down. And this was how he repaid them - with shame and infamy.
Even now when all was lost they were still arguing on his behalf. Athos sighed. He was certain in his heart that Treville would not change his mind. He had laid the facts out to Athos all too baldly.
He unbuckled his sword, hanging it over the back of his chair. Withdrew the dagger from its sheath, and the pistol from his belt, laying them out on the table before him. By rights he should have handed them back to Treville, they had all three been drawn from the armoury. But Treville had let him at least walk out like a man.
A man, but a Musketeer no longer.
Remorse and despair tightened in his chest, and Athos struggled against the overwhelming urge to simply burst into tears. He would not be so weak, and self-pity was a luxury he had forfeited.
Athos picked up the pistol again, running his fingers along the barrel. It would be a simple matter to load it, to hold it to his head. It would be quick, probably even painless. And the shame, the agony he was feeling would be gone. He had few qualms over the thought that such an act would damn him, was certain enough his soul was already tarnished beyond redemption.
But if he did it here - almost certainly it would be Aramis or Porthos who found him, and he would not wish such a thing on them. And, after all, were not such thoughts of death just another form of indulgent self-pity?
He stared at the weapon, lost in thought, and it was in such a position that Aramis and Porthos found him when they appeared in his doorway a short time later.
"I'll take that, I think," Aramis declared, drawing the pistol carefully out of Athos' hand and tucking it into his own belt.
Coming out of his reverie Athos looked up as if surprised to see them there, and realised from the look of wary horror on their faces that they guessed at the direction of his thoughts.
Athos sighed. "If I was going to end myself, I would have done it years ago," he concluded. "No, I must live with what I have done. I will not do away with myself over this."
"Nor seek it through other means," Porthos put in sternly, seeing Athos as being quite capable of wading unarmed into a brawl for precisely that purpose.
Athos gave him a ghost of a smile. "You should have been a lawyer, my friend." He gave a heavy sigh. "But no, very well. I shall not seek death. You have my word."
Porthos patted him awkwardly on the shoulder. "Are you alright?" he asked, feeling it was massively inadequate as a question, but not knowing what else to say.
Athos hardly knew how to answer. He felt numb, as if the reality of it all hadn't truly sunk in. "Regardless of what trouble I have caused for myself, I've let you both down," he sighed, hardly able to meet their gaze. "And I dare not even ask your forgiveness."
"Since when do you have to ask?" Aramis retorted. "This is us, Athos."
"If you think we'd forsake you, you need a good slap," Porthos added, and despite his low spirits Athos almost smiled.
"Treville - would not be moved," Aramis confessed. "We did our best. I'm sorry Athos."
Athos shook his head. "Thank you both for trying. But he was quite resolute and I am not surprised. It was my own actions that have brought me to this pass, and I must face the consequences alone."
"Not quite alone," Porthos said, and Athos looked up questioningly. There had been something in his tone more than a simple declaration of support.
"We may have - resigned our own commissions," Aramis admitted. "He refused to budge, and so did we."
Athos looked horrified, rising to his feet in appalled disbelief. "No. Tell me you're joking," he begged.
Aramis shook his head, and Athos realised for the first time that neither of them were wearing their pauldrons. He went pale.
"You can't for one minute imagine I would want this?"
"Where you go, we go," said Porthos stubbornly. "All for one, remember?"
"And do you so easily forget the other half of that?" Athos demanded. "Porthos, becoming a Musketeer was the proudest moment in your life, you have the best heart of all of us, I will not see you give it up. Not for me." He took looked from Porthos to Aramis with an expression of stricken misery. "I've ruined my own life, I beg of you do not make me bear the responsibility of having ruined yours."
"What's done is done," Aramis said obstinately, but Athos shook his head.
"Go to Treville, go back to him now, tell him - tell him it was a mistake, that you've changed your minds, you wish to withdraw your resignations."
"We should maybe wait till he's calmed down a bit," Porthos muttered.
"Go now," Athos urged. "Before he tells anyone else of your actions, and it becomes harder to undo."
"He might not take us back," Aramis warned.
"He will." Athos pressed his hand urgently. "I know he will. You can at least ask. Please Aramis."
Aramis and Porthos exchanged a look and relented. "Very well."
Athos sagged. "Thank you. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I never wanted any of this." He looked lost and on the verge of tears, and Porthos could bear it no longer, but flung his arms around him in a bear hug. Aramis added his own arms to the embrace and for a long moment, ignoring Athos' half-hearted protests, they held him tightly between them.
When he finally pushed them gently back, Athos looked slightly better, as if he'd drawn strength from them.
"Go," he persisted quietly. "Before it's too late."
"One of us should stay with you," Porthos objected, still uneasy at the way they'd found him.
"I'll be fine." Athos ushered them gently but firmly towards the door. "I need some time alone. Grant me that, at least."
Reluctantly they left him, making their way back to the garrison. Outside Treville's office they looked at each other.
"Well this is going to be embarrassing," Aramis murmured.
At their rather hesitant knock Treville bade them enter, then did a double take when he saw who it was.
"Well?" Treville demanded gruffly, staring at the two uncomfortable looking men standing before him. "What do you two want now?"
Aramis cleared his throat, but no words would come out.
"Athos won't let us resign," Porthos blurted.
"So we were - wondering," Aramis added hesitantly. "If you would - concede to - that is - "
Treville sat back in his chair and glared at them both. "You know what worries me the most about this entire debacle?" he sighed. "That even when he's not here you still take more notice of Athos than me." He pulled open a drawer, tossing their pauldrons onto the desk. "Go on, get out of my sight, both of you."
"Yes sir. Thank you sir." Aramis scooped them up hastily before Treville changed his mind and they made their escape.
--
Athos looked up as they came in, his eyes immediately going to their shoulders. When he found they were both once more displaying the Musketeers' insignia, he relaxed, getting to his feet to greet them.
"Thank you," he said softly.
"We'd have stood by it," Porthos muttered.
"I know." Athos rested a hand on his shoulder. "And I can't express how much that means to me, and don't for a minute think that I don't appreciate the gesture. But I won't see you punished for my mistakes."
"What will you do?" Aramis asked.
Athos sighed. "I don't know. I haven't been able to think that far ahead. Something will come up. I won't starve, not for a while at least."
"You know," Aramis mused, "sooner or later someone's going to have to tell d'Artagnan."
For two months now d’Artagnan had been away on secondment from the regiment, Treville having thought it prudent to give him a first hand taste of actual soldiering, albeit in the relatively low risk environment of border patrols.
Athos' face fell. However undeserving of it he felt, he was perfectly aware of d'Artagnan's hero-worship of him, and couldn't bear to think how this news would hurt him.
"He will be so disappointed in me," Athos said gloomily. "I cannot face it."
"Disappointed? This is d'Artagnan we're talking about," Porthos declared. "He'll probably challenge Treville to a duel over it."
Athos looked up, a surprised smile startled out of him and Aramis reached over to pat his shoulder.
"D'Artagnan loves you," he murmured. "As do we. If only we could convince you to see that."
Athos coloured a little, but to Aramis' satisfaction made no protest.
"Will you write to him?" Porthos asked. Athos shook his head.
"He has enough to worry about right now. I will tell him when he returns. At least that way I can stop him doing anything rash," he added, and they laughed.
"I'm glad to hear from that you plan on staying in Paris, at any rate," Aramis said as they settled round the table, having been afraid Athos would leave them completely.
Athos sighed. "Where else would I go? There is nothing for me but painful memories at Pinon, and I imagine little left of the house itself."
"You could always take up your rightful place at court," Porthos said mischievously, and Athos groaned.
"Have I not been punished enough? Can you imagine it?"
"Yes, and it's hilarious," Porthos agreed happily, glad that Athos was almost smiling again.
"There's always the Red Guard," Aramis suggested with a grin. "In fact, letting Treville know you're considering that would probably be enough to make him reinstate you."
Athos gave him a pained smile. "Sadly I think nothing short of a miracle would make him reconsider. No, once more I have ruined my own life, and I must suffer the consequences."
His eyes wandered to the bottle of brandy on his shelf. There was nothing stopping him from drinking himself into oblivion now, and the thought was tempting. He certainly needed a drink, the events of the day had taken their toll and his hands were shaking badly.
He got to his feet and returned to the table carrying the bottle, which he placed in front of Porthos.
"Take this away with you?" Athos asked quietly in response to Porthos' enquiring look. "I gave you my word I would not seek my own destruction, and I suspect it lies in that bottle far more seductively than in pistol or dagger."
Porthos nodded understanding, and set the brandy on the floor by his chair, out of Athos' line of sight. "Is there anything more we can do?" he asked seriously.
Athos sighed. "The way I see it, I have two choices. I can let this be the ending of me, or I can take it like a man, as a well-deserved lesson. Treville made me face a lot of hard facts this morning, and not one of them was untrue, or unfair. I have been a disgrace to this uniform, and I have allowed the two of you to hide my faults for too long." He held up a hand to forestall their protests.
"You have asked me if you can help. If you really mean that, then the answer is yes. I need to get free of this compulsion, this weakness in me that hides constantly in a bottle. I have tried before, and failed. It is not an easy thing to do, nor a pretty one to witness. But with your help, perhaps I could finally manage it?"
Aramis and Porthos both agreed immediately and Athos nodded his grave thanks. Knowing that even now after everything that had happened he still retained their staunch love and loyalty was about the only thing holding him together, and in turn it gave him the determination he needed not to let them down even further.
"We should move to my rooms," Aramis said practically. "They're the most spacious, and Porthos and I will be able to make sure at least one of us is with you at all times, for as long as you need it."
"Will that be practical?" Athos asked in grateful surprise. "You both still have duties to perform, and I don't want to be the cause of getting you into trouble as well."
Aramis considered. "I'm sure if we tell Treville what we are about, he will be willing enough to assist. He cares for you more than he lets on."
Athos nodded in guilty recognition of this fact. "He gave me more chances than I deserved," he admitted. "And still I threw them all back in his face." He looked abruptly miserable again, and Porthos slapped him on the back.
"Cheer up. Nobody's dead, and where there's life there's hope. We'll dry you out and have you fighting fit in no time."
Athos managed a smile at Porthos' blithe reassurances. Despite knowing the magnitude of the task ahead of him, it was comforting to think he would not be facing it alone.
--
They did as Aramis suggested, and moved into his lodgings. His rooms were on the ground floor with access to a secluded garden, and he advised them that his landlady was away, so they could make as much noise as they wanted.
Athos was glad of this, and knew that Aramis had made it clear mostly for his benefit. The next few days, he suspected, would probably involve a lot of shouting on his part, if not crying and begging. The thought of what lay ahead was humiliating and he almost turned tail and ran, only to find Porthos locking the front door and hanging the key around his neck.
"You walk out sober or not at all," he advised Athos with a grin that belied the seriousness of his words.
None of them were taking this lightly, and knew full well that there was even a risk to Athos' life from such an undertaking. Aramis had warned him that a sudden and total stop could strain his system beyond its ability to cope, and that a gradual weaning off would be better. Athos had still opted for the more drastic measure, suspecting he would not have the willpower to manage anything else.
They settled in for the night, Aramis and Porthos making cheerful conversation with a determined persistence. Athos was mostly quiet but he appreciated their efforts at keeping his mind off things, and let their chatter wash over him with an air of distraction.
He'd had no alcohol since passing out half-dressed on his bed the night before, and other than a raging thirst that no amount of sweet water drawn from the well seemed to touch, and a tendency to fidget restlessly, Athos thought he wasn't doing too badly. At least until Porthos leaned over and placed a calming hand deliberately over his.
"What?" Athos stared at him, wondering if the constant movement of his hands had been irritating.
Porthos sighed. "Look what you've done."
Athos looked down and blinked. Without noticing, he'd picked at the cuticles of both hands until his fingers were stained red with blood.
"Shit."
"You need a distraction," Aramis said. "Have you considered taking up knitting?"
Athos snorted, grateful to him for pricking the sudden bubble of tension. "Sorry," he muttered, self-consciously trying to hide his abused hands.
"It's alright you know," Porthos said quietly. "You don't have to pretend you're okay if you're not. Not with us."
"How are you feeling?" Aramis asked sympathetically.
"Jittery," Athos confessed. "But not overly bad. Not yet. Maybe I'll turn in. At least if I'm asleep I won't be thinking about things."
In the end they all decided this was a good idea, all three of them being rather worn out by the events of the day. It was agreed that Athos would share Aramis' bed, with Porthos sleeping on a paliasse on the far side of the room.
Athos had offered to be the one relegated to the straw mattress on the grounds that as things progressed he would likely wake Aramis with night sweats and bad dreams, but they overruled him.
"Things will become uncomfortable enough for you," Porthos said. "Besides, I've slept on a lot worse." He grinned. "Probably more risk of getting bitten from Aramis' mattress anyway."
Aramis had attempted to hit him with a warming pan at this point, and despite everything hanging over him Athos had lain down with a smile on his face.
Sleep though, did not prove easy to find and Athos lay awake for several hours listening to the quiet snores of his friends. When he did finally manage to fall asleep it was a restless slumber, plagued with half-formed dreams that weren't quite nightmares but more a building sense of anxiety.
He woke unrefreshed in the early dawn, heart pounding and skin bathed in sweat. Beside him, Aramis slept on undisturbed, and Athos slipped out of the bed. The front door was firmly locked, but he unlatched the door into the garden and walked out barefoot onto the small ornamental lawn. The scent of camomile drifted up to him and he took a steadying breath of the morning air, enjoying the coolness of the dew on his feet.
They found him there two hours later, fast asleep under an apple tree with blossom in his hair.
"Shame to wake him," Porthos said, looking down at Athos with a fond smile. "Looks like he's away with the fairies."
"We don't want him to catch his death of cold," Aramis pointed out.
They compromised and wrapped Athos in blankets where he sat propped against the trunk, to his considerable surprise when he finally awoke.
He carried them back inside with a faint air of embarrassment, and joined them at the table.
"Thank you," Athos said quietly, and they grinned at him.
"Thought you'd done a runner at first," Porthos laughed. "Till we found the door was still locked."
"I considered it," Athos admitted. "But I have to commit to this. It's the only way, if I want to regain any measure of self-respect."
Aramis patted him on the shoulder as he got to his feet. "I'm going to see Treville, and explain what we're doing," he said. "Porthos will stay with you."
Athos nodded. "Thank you. Both of you. You don't know what this means to me. And I hope that nothing I say or do in the next few days makes you think badly of me. I warn you now, that I will probably say things I do not mean."
"Been ignoring you for years," Porthos grinned. "Nothing new."
Athos conceded a smile at that, and Porthos went with Aramis to the door, to let him out.
"I'll be back as soon as I can," Aramis murmured. "Try and keep him distracted. It'll be worse if he just sits there dwelling on it."
Porthos nodded. "Don't you worry. I won't let any harm come to him." They clasped each other's arms, and Porthos relocked the door behind him.
--
As the day went on Athos became noticeably jumpier and more fretful, unable to settle to anything and lashing out verbally at Porthos whenever he tried to make conversation.
Porthos let this wash over him with good humour, only intervening when Athos actually tried to make a break for it, rattling the door with increasing desperation at finding it still locked.
Porthos insinuated himself between Athos and the door and looked at him with a certain stern sympathy. "Sit down," he instructed quietly.
Athos shook his head distractedly. "Let me out," he said in a low voice. "I can't do this Porthos, I thought I could but I was wrong, let me out."
"No. You're doing fine."
Athos shook his head again more vigorously. "I know how bad it's going to get. I can feel it. I can't do this. Please."
Porthos sighed. "If you know how bad it's going to be, that means you've got further than this before?" he ventured. "On your own?"
Athos nodded miserably.
"Well then, you're not giving up yet then, are you."
Athos hesitated, and Porthos smiled at him. "I'm not letting you out, and you're not getting past me, so that's that. You want some air you can go in the garden."
"I want not to feel this way," Athos said dejectedly. "I'm going crazy shut up here. I need a drink so badly it hurts."
"I know," Porthos said softly. "And it'll get worse before it gets better. But it will get better. That's why you're doing this, remember?"
Athos gave a reluctant nod, and Porthos nodded back, satisfied. "So sit down."
--
When Aramis returned in the early evening, Porthos let him in with a certain amount of relief.
"How's he been?" Aramis asked.
"A bit tetchy, but nothing I couldn't handle," Porthos said. "I was expecting him to be worse, to be honest. He feels rough, which is to be expected, and it's making him cross. But not a lot more than when he's hungover, so it's not exactly new territory."
Aramis shed his cloak while Porthos locked up again behind him.
"What the hell's he doing?" Aramis asked, staring at where Athos was absorbed with apparently taking out the entire contents of Aramis' store cupboard and putting it back again in a different order.
"He reckoned you need a better system," Porthos grinned. "So he's sorting out your cupboards." Aramis stared at him with an incredulous expression, and Porthos' grin widened with the amusement of a man who wasn't having his own possessions interfered with. "It gave him something to concentrate on," Porthos explained without remorse. "Something to keep his hands busy."
Aramis walked over and looked down at where Athos was lining up jars of dried pulses in rows of military straightness and snorted.
"Your cupboard was a mess," Athos said without looking up. "I'm improving your system."
"I didn't have a system," Aramis sighed.
"Well that was fairly obvious."
"I knew where everything was," Aramis snapped. "Pity we didn't stay in your rooms after all, you might have got bored enough to clean them."
Athos turned on him angrily, and the next couple of minutes descended into a raging argument that ended with Athos marching into Aramis' bedroom and slamming the door behind him.
"Was that really necessary?" Porthos protested.
Aramis gave him a sheepish smile. "Thought he might need to let off a bit of steam," he admitted.
Porthos sighed. "I hate this."
"Oh come now, you know neither of us meant a word of it," Aramis promised him.
"Still." Porthos looked downcast and Aramis put an arm round him comfortingly.
"You hungry?"
"Yeah." Porthos brightened a little, and they both stared at the contents of the store cupboard, half of which was still arrayed across the floor. "Good luck finding anything though."
--
They'd imagined the appetising cooking smells might have lured Athos back out of the bedroom but he didn't appear, and Porthos finally carried a bowl of soup in to him.
Athos was sitting curled on the bed with one of Aramis' books of poetry, and looked shamefaced when Porthos came in.
"I'm sorry," Athos said quietly, as Porthos set down the bowl and sat next to him.
"You don't have to say sorry Athos," Porthos told him. "You shout and scream at us all you want, we know you don't mean it."
Athos gave him a grateful smile, although he looked tired and weighed down.
"Brought you some supper," Porthos pointed out unnecessarily. "It's good. Even though Aramis made it."
Athos tried to raise a weak smile, but shook his head. "I'm not hungry."
Porthos frowned at him. "You've only had a bit of fruit all day. You need to eat something. Please? For me?"
With a sigh, Athos picked up the bowl and started to eat. Satisfied, Porthos left him in peace.
When he collected the empty bowl again a while later, to his surprise Athos had got right into the bed and was curled up in a ball. In response to Porthos' concerned enquiry Athos admitted he had stomach cramps, and Porthos wondered guiltily if he shouldn't have given him quite so much after all.
This suspicion was born out about half an hour later when Porthos and Aramis, seated by the hearth in the parlour, suddenly heard sounds of miserable retching from the bedroom.
They looked at each other, both silently hoping the other would volunteer to go and check on him. Eventually Aramis sighed. "Come on."
They both went in and found Athos kneeling on the floor, having apparently tried to make it to the chamberpot and failed.
"Sorry," he rasped, as Porthos wiped his mouth with a damp cloth and helped him back up.
"Not to worry," Porthos said reassuringly. "On the bright side you managed to miss the bed. I think? Yeah. Come on, let's get you back in." He lifted the tumbled covers and got Athos settled again, promptly climbing in behind him and putting an arm round him.
"You just go back to sleep," Porthos told him. "Aramis'll clean it up."
Aramis glared at him, suddenly realising why Porthos was being so solicitous of Athos. Porthos smirked at him unrepentantly and Aramis went to fetch a bucket of water.
By the time he'd finished washing off the floorboards Aramis realised another annoying fact. Porthos was now firmly resident in his bed, and judging by the loud and almost certainly fake snores he was producing, had no intention of moving.
Grumbling to himself on principle, although not really minding, Aramis settled down for the night on the makeshift bed in the corner. Porthos had been right, he mused. It had been relatively easy up to now. It wouldn't be long before things got a lot harder.
--