Authors note: this is a direct follow on from 'Overreaction'. I had a couple of lovely comments from readers asking about d'Artagnan's recovery. This started out being mainly about that… but segued off in another direction. Overall, it's about the Musketeers looking out for each other.

For those that need to know; Aramis whump, Athos whump, d'Artagnan recovery and Porthos angst.

Chapter One

The cart rumbled over the rough stones of the road outside the Chatelet. Porthos watched as d'Artagnan screwed his eyes shut as his injuries were agitated by the movement. Constance was talking to him quietly as she had been for the entire journey back from the site of the attack.

A group of disenchanted builders had thought it would be a good idea to kidnap a Musketeer and one of the Queen's ladies and threaten to maim them using the lime that had been prepared for building. When they reached the location that d'Artagnan and Constance were being held, a brief fight had seen poor d'Artagnan burned with the lime on both his legs. Aramis had done his best to rinse the lime off d'Artagnan, but the damage had already been done. If the few burns Porthos had acquired on his wrists were anything to go by, d'Artagnan had been left in significant discomfort.

Two of the builders had survived the affray and were destined for the Chatelet and, most likely, an appointment with the hangman. Babin, the leader of the group of builders, was a man in his fifties with short grey hair and a constant scowl. Marcel was a man of similar age to d'Artagnan who wore clothes that were too big for him. Marcel had cried for much of the journey to Paris. He had started off giving disparaging looks to d'Artagnan until he had been blindfolded. After that, the young man had sobbed quietly. But it was difficult to feel sorry for the youth after Constance explained what he had been responsible for.

One of the builders had tried to free d'Artagnan and Constance, Simon had been killed by Babin and the rest of his gang horrifically with Marcel a ringleader in the poor man's death. Porthos was under no delusions that whilst he might be regretting what he had done, Marcel was a cruel man who deserved what was going to happen to him.

Athos stopped the cart at the gates to the Chatelet.

'I'd like to get d'Artagnan back to the garrison as soon as possible,' said Aramis who had stopped his horse next to Treville.

D'Artagnan looked unfocused, he had remained conscious throughout the journey but had obviously been in considerable pain. They had not tried to get him dressed again, only covered him in blankets leaving his injured legs exposed. Any weight on the wounds had caused him to cry out in pain. Just dressing the wounds had been difficult for all of them. Porthos would not forget the discomfort dressing the wounds had caused d'Artagnan. Their usually bright and energetic friend had been reduced to a whimpering victim of a horrific attack.

The Captain nodded, 'Porthos and I will see that the prisoners are secured. I'll need to report to the Palace afterwards. I am sure the Queen will want to know that d'Artagnan and Constance have been found.'

'I'll return to the Palace as soon as I can,' said Constance, who was still holding d'Artagnan's hand, her eyes puffy where she had been quietly crying, the shock of the whole event finally spilling out.

'I am sure she will not begrudge you taking a little time with d'Artagnan,' said Treville with a smile.

Porthos dismounted and walked to the back of the cart, he grabbed Babin by the arm and forced him out. The builder struggled against the Musketeer for a few seconds until Porthos pushed him to his knees and firmly held him still. Treville did not have the same issues with Marcel. They beckoned for a couple of the prison guards to help them as Athos urged the horses on and the cart continued its bumpy journey along the road with Aramis trotting alongside.

The Chatelet loomed above them, its high walls keeping the worst of the population away from everyone else. The dank cells that awaited Babin and Marcel would offer little comfort in their final days. Porthos doubted they would be incarcerated for long, but it would be long enough for them to contemplate their fate.

Although Porthos doubted Babin would repent, the cruel man thought his actions had been for a worthy cause. Porthos knew that sometimes actions spoke louder than words, but the actions had to be valid and justified. Babin's actions could never be considered justified. He had been responsible for at least two deaths and had left a Musketeer with potentially life-changing injuries. Porthos hoped they had been able to deal with the burns quickly enough to save d'Artagnan's future. The thought of the young man being forced out of his chosen life was not something Porthos wanted to contemplate.

One of the guards helped Porthos to pull Babin to his feet, the builder began to struggle again, trying to wriggle free of their grasp. As they started to push Babin towards the imposing doors of the Chatelet. The prisoner's efforts to escape had caused his gag to loosen meaning his complaints and insults could be heard by the Musketeers.

'I'm gonna get out of here,' he said, the anger in his voice palpable. 'I'm gonna find them. I'll slit his throat and then I'll have her. The slut won't know what's hit her. I'll-'

Porthos shoved Babin hard into the wall by the door of the Chatelet. He pressed the man firmly into the rough stone, he was too angry to care that he was causing grazes to the side of Babin's face.

'You will shut up I will see to it that you are gagged for the rest of your miserable life,' Porthos said through clenched teeth.

Babin continued to try to get away.

'Watch out!' shouted Treville.

MMMM

Athos and Aramis slipped their arms under d'Artagnan's and helped him to shuffle to the edge of the cart. The Musketeer was trying not to cry out in pain, failing every so often. Neither of them said anything, knowing how much d'Artagnan saw the verbalisation of his pain as a sign of weakness, even though none of them saw it that way. Constance had stood back as the delicate job of moving the injured man had taken place. A stretcher had been brought out, Barbotin and Luc were holding it steady as d'Artagnan was eased on to it.

D'Artagnan was carried into the infirmary and out of sight of the other Musketeers and cadets who were watching. All activity in the garrison yard had ceased when the cart carrying the injured man had arrived. Athos knew the men watching were only doing so due to their worry for a fellow soldier but d'Artagnan did not need to be made into a spectacle.

Athos closed the door to the infirmary and moved to stand next to Constance who looked a little lost as she watched the other Musketeers helping d'Artagnan onto one of the beds. Athos was pleased there was no one else in need of the infirmary at that moment, it meant there would be less need for other people to disturb them.

'Leave him alone,' mumbled d'Artagnan. 'Let him go.'

Athos felt Constance tense up a little, he looked at her.

'Shoot him!'

She sniffed, 'the young man that was killed,' she said. 'We begged them to stop hurting him… then… when it was obvious, he was beyond saving… we… we begged them to kill him.'

Athos put his arm around her and guided her forward as Barbotin and Luc stepped back. Aramis put a chair next to the injured man's bed, Athos gently pushed Constance to sit down. She reached out and tried to take d'Artagnan's hand.

'No,' he said, pulling away.

D'Artagnan's eyes were unfocused, his gaze not on anything in particular. He pulled away from Constance a second time. She sat back in the chair, tears in her eyes.

'Perhaps you should return to the Palace?' suggested Athos.

Constance shook her head, 'I want to stay. At least for a little while longer.'

Athos turned to Aramis who was looking at the dressings on d'Artagnan's legs.

'Can you give him some more of the painkiller that the healer gave you?' he asked.

Aramis and Porthos had visited a healer that Porthos knew in the Court of Miracles for advice on dealing with burns. The man, Old Jean, had given Aramis a strong painkiller to help their injured brother. Athos had seen the effect the drug had on d'Artagnan, relieving the pain enough for him to be settled for several hours. Now that the pain killer was wearing off the true discomfort d'Artagnan was in had become apparent again.

Aramis nodded and stepped away to his bag, Athos noticed an odd reticence in his friend. He could not understand why Aramis had not already given d'Artagnan another few sips of the drink. It was obvious d'Artagnan was in a lot of pain. It was unusual for Aramis not to do everything he could to ease the symptoms of his patient.

'You don't need to stay,' said d'Artagnan quite suddenly.

He was staring at the ceiling, his left hand was pointing at something, something his pain addled mind had no doubt conjured.

'I don't want you to stay. Go back to your husband.'

Athos glanced at Constance who leaned forward.

'D'Artagnan,' she said. 'We're here.'

'Leave me alone,' d'Artagnan turned to look at her and tried to push her away from him.

'D'Artagnan,' said Aramis from the other side of the bed, 'you need to drink this, it will help.'

The injured man refocused on Aramis who was holding the painkilling drink. Aramis slipped his hand behind d'Artagnan's head and lifted him enough to be able to take a few sips. Aramis took the drink away quite quickly. Athos believed that d'Artagnan should have been allowed to have more if it would have helped to settle him. Aramis did not make eye contact with him, instead, he turned away and put the cup out of reach of d'Artagnan.

'You can't stay. I don't need you. Constance, you need to go away.'

D'Artagnan continued to mumble and make remarks about not needing Constance. The young woman did not move from the chair, although she did not try to take his hand again. She looked up at Athos.

'It's the pain, isn't it? He doesn't know what he's saying.'

Athos nodded sadly. He hoped their friend recovered quickly; it was distressing for them all to see him in such a state.

MMMM

'Watch out!' shouted Treville as he watched Babin close his fingers around Porthos' gun which had been knocked slightly out of place during their brief struggle.

Porthos was grappling with the prisoner, trying to get him onto the ground so that he would have better control of him. The farmer was determined to get away, he tried to fling his head back into Porthos' face but the Musketeer anticipated the move. The guard, a burly man with thinning hair, managed to sweep Babin's feet out from under him causing both prisoner and soldier to end up on the ground. Porthos landed awkwardly with his arm pinned under the struggling man.

Treville felt helpless. He still had hold of Marcel, who, although not making any efforts to escape, could not be left unguarded.

Babin managed to hit out at Porthos with his elbow, striking him hard in the gut leaving him forced to take a couple of gasped breaths. The guard that was helping him managed to haul Babin up enough for Porthos to pull himself free. Treville sighed with relief as the two men managed to get control of their prisoner.

'I've got a cell just perfect for you,' said the guard as he nodded towards the other man who had been watching the gate.

The second guard pushed the door open.

'I take it his stay won't be a long one,' asked the guard as they started to force Babin through the now open door.

'I think they'll be lucky not to be hanged,' said Treville.

For the first time Marcel faltered in his walk, Treville had to hold the man up as his knees buckled slightly. The young man was exhibiting the opposite traits to Babin. Where Babin was fighting and abusive to them all, Marcel was showing nothing but fear and a quiet acceptance of his fate. Treville rarely saw anything in between the two extremes from condemned men.

As they got through the gate Babin started to struggle more forcefully again. For a second time, Porthos and the guard were forced to take the man to the floor. The other guard called out for reinforcements and restraints.

Not wanting to become a potential distraction, Treville forced Marcel to his knees and kept a firm hold of him in case he tried to escape as well.

Two more guards appeared, one of them carrying a set of manacles, the chain swinging as he walked purposefully towards the grappling men. It was difficult for Treville to see what was going on with Porthos and four prison guards closely huddled around the struggling man. He could hear Babin cursing, his voice muffled by the men trying to get better control of him.

After a few minutes, Porthos managed to extract himself from the group. He straightened up and looked down at his weapons, pushing his gun back to its proper position before brushing down his doublet. He turned to Treville with a suitably contrite expression.

Another of the guards stood up and turned towards them.

'I can take that one,' he said. 'We've got the manacles on him,' the guard indicated Babin who was finally being dragged up to stand, a slightly dazed expression on his face.

Treville handed over control of Marcel to the guard who pulled the young man up to stand and forced him to follow where Babin was being guided deeper into the prison.

'Sorry,' said Porthos. 'I shouldn't have let him get to me.'

'No,' replied Treville, 'you should not. But… I probably would have reacted in the same way.'

Porthos sighed, 'I've fought with some desperate men before, but he was not going to give up easily. The more we tried to get his arms into the manacles the more he tensed up and pulled away. His strength…'

'He is a condemned man, or will be soon enough,' said Treville with a conciliatory slap of Porthos' shoulder. 'What has he got to lose?'

MMMM

Authors note: more tomorrow – but later in the day after work.