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Athos was decidedly not falling for d'Artagnan. The youthful enthusiasm and energy which exuded from the boy were to be admired, and perhaps envied, yes, and he was one of the finest swordsmen that Athos had ever come across, and had the heart and soul of a Musketeer.
His smile -
But no, that was a line of thought which was running into dangerous territory.
Athos could not afford to jeopardize either of their reputations, or their friendship. After all, he did not think that the Gascon boy felt the same way. Of course, he looked up to him, respected him, even. But there was no way...
It was not the fact that d'Artagnan and he were both men, never that. After all, they were friends with Aramis and Porthos, were they not? And at any rate, as a noble, it was always something quietly gossiped about, that a lord might take a particular liking to a certain servant.
He simply feared heartache. The heartache of trying to love again after Anne, and the heartache he was sure to cause the boy with all of his baggage and complications. So no. It was something that, for the benefit of them both, could never be. That was that, and no more needed to be said on the matter.
It was during a routine mission when this plan of Athos's fell to pieces. It had started ordinarily enough, but they had underestimated the intelligence of their opponents, and found themselves surrounded by the enemy, of which there was a considerable number, and certainly too many to be dealt with at all quickly. The fight was long, bloody, and by the end, both Musketeers and vagabonds were tiring. They had dealt and been dealt blows, though on the four Musketeers, there weren't any that were cause for any worry.
Not until, that is, one of their enemy decided to do the most ungentlemanly thing by drawing his gun on Athos, whose back was facing him, and who was engaged in combat with another of the men. D'Artagnan, however, did see, and contrived to do something about it, that something being to slam bodily into the man so that the shot went wide and lodged itself harmlessly into the wall of a stone building. He landed on top of the shooter and grappled with him on the ground for a time, before finding himself overwhelmed and feeling the cold stab of a dagger through his ribs. It was such a surprise that he couldn't even move, but when the man stood to make his escape, there was a knife thrown through his throat, by Aramis. The man fell backwards, and his body landed away from d'Artagnan, who Aramis had run over to.
Seeing that the boy was having trouble breathing, Aramis frowned and moved him into a semi-sitting position.
"Athos! Get over here, d'Artagnan's wounded. Badly." Aforementioned Musketeer stuck his last opponent with greater force than necessary and all but sprinted to their side. He saw the dagger imbedded nearly to the hilt in their young companion and choked back a gasp.
"'Thos?" The Gascon's quiet voice was a quiet rasp broke Athos's stone heart.
"I'm right here, lad. We'll get you patched up, and you'll be just fine." He looked around to see Porthos hovering just behind Aramis, his face serious and grim. "Porthos, carry him. Try your best not to jostle him. Aramis, go and get a surgeon. The best you can find. I'm sure Treville can deal with the payment." And if not, then Athos would. He wasn't the Comte de la Ferre for nothing, now.
They nodded and took on their appointed tasks.
"It doesn't feel right just leaving that in him." Porthos grumbled as they walked to their lodgings. Athos bit his lip to refrain from growling at his friend.
"I know, but if it's taken out he'll bleed to death. It might have punctured a lung" He informed him. Porthos unconsciously tightened his grip on the boy protectively, and neither say another word until they get home.
Aramis had run full throttle and beaten them to Athos's lodgings, which were, after all, the closest. And he had a surgeon on hand, one that Athos recognised from when he had wounded his shoulder.
"We'll put him on my bed" Athos told Porthos, who nodded and carried d'Artagnan up the stairs. The boy was so quiet, so still, that had he not felt the rise and fall of the boy's chest against his own body, Porthos might have thought the worst.
Athos followed him, and before the surgeon and Aramis could shoo him away, he placed a soft kiss on d'Artagnan's brow, and leaned to whisper in his ear.
"You're not giving up, Gascon. You're one of us now, remember? That means you can't just disappear whenever you like. Alright?"
And then he was unceremoniously shoved out of the way to let the two people with actual medical knowledge to work their magic.
He sat on a stool which Porthos had thoughtfully fetched for him from down the stairs. Well, collapsed onto it would be a more accurate term. He'd done what he could, and now d'Artagnan's life was no longer his responsibility, but that of Aramis and the surgeon. Dieu. He was this close to just breaking down and sobbing, but Porthos was still here. He wished he could go and get a drink, but he wanted to be sober, in case - well, just in case. He didn't want to say it, not even inside of his head. He gave a deep, mournful sigh and bent his head forward and held it in his hands, trying to steady his breathing.
"Athos?" Porthos inquired quietly. "He'll be alright. You'll see. He's in good hands"
"I know that. I do. But. I. He." Porthos frowned, before raising his eyebrows in realisation.
"Oh, Athos. You're a fool, you know that? Boy's been pining after you for weeks." Athos gave him an astonished look at hearing that.
"What? How on earth do you know that?"
"We got him drunk one night that you were away on duty." Porthos explained. "He was all teary eyed about how you'd never love him. Said some strange things about a house being burned down, too, and I'm sure he was muttering about other things too, like strange women frightening Constance or some such nonsense, but it was all pretty much gibberish other than the fact he was head over heels for you"
"Mon Dieu." Athos breathed in a whisper. "I... truly? Well. I don't know what to do."
"Idiot." Porthos admonished fondly. "Tell him."
"If I get that chance." Athos replied morosely. Porthos punched him gently in the arm 9or at least, gently by Porthos's standards.
"You will. He'll live. He has to. You told him to. He could never say no to you, Athos" He teased, wriggling his eyebrows.
"You're a menace"
"And you're a fool in love." He retorted easily. Athos chuckled a little and shook his head, but snapped around when he heard the creak of the door.
"Aramis? How is he- is he...?"
"He'll live" Aramis told them with a smile, and Athos could just about fall over with relief.
"Thank the Lord!" he exclaimed. He stood up and embraced Aramis in a brotherly hug.
"Dear fellow - are you crying?" Asked Aramis in a bemused tone. Porthos met his gaze and grinned.
"I think we should give the two love birds some alone time." He whispered in his lover's ear. Aramis's eyes widened in astonishment, and he nearly laughed from glee.
"I couldn't agree more, my dear fellow."
Once Athos had thanked the surgeon for his good work and for saving d'Artagnan, received instructions for his care, and been asked to send for the surgeon at any time that they might have need of him, Athos took his place in the chair by d'Artagnan's bedside, and sat vigil through the night, watching the reassuring rise and fall of the boy's chest. When it was nearly dawn, his eyelids flickered and Athos leaned closer to him.
"Wh...here?" d'Artagnan croaked, voice hoarse. Athos propped him up a little so that he could feed him a little water.
"Easy now. You're in my room." D'Artagnan frowned in confusion.
"Why?"
"You were injured."
"Yes, that I know fine well, thank you." He grumbled, gesturing to his chest, which, other than the bandages, was bare. "Why your room though - why your home?"
Athos rolled his eyes fondly.
"because it was closer and we did not wish to risk- you very nearly died, d'Artagnan" He told him bluntly. "I would rather not lose you." D'Artagnan blushed - could Athos mean that in the way he hoped, surely not?
"You're thinking rather loudly" The older man said with a fond smile, before growing serious again. "When... when I saw you on the ground. I thought - well, that if you were dead, I don't know what I would do."
"Speak plainly, Athos. Do you care for me?" d'Artagnan asked, his sharp gaze never leaving his companion.
"I do. More than I have cared for anyone." That earned Athos a raised eyebrow.
"Anyone?"
"Indeed." And he leaned forward and kissed d'Artagnan full on the lips. And after a moment, the boy from Gascony, never one to back down from a challenge, replied in kind.