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Athos had not spoken a single word at the sight before him. Milady had cracked her way into my bed one last time when my friend decided to visit me at the inn.
His features sculpted into marble left only one opening into Athos' mind, his eyes. They had betrayed him like I had betrayed his trust, his friendship, our code. It wasn't the sort of flaming rage one might find in an ordinary man, jealousy had no space in the cold, dull reaction of his best friend.
Soon to be former, I suppose.
Yet his gaze almost made me yearn for anger, anything other than the disdain I could see radiating through Athos' body. All a game, a trick made by Milady to further aggravate her former lover. Though she would be surprised to see that their affair had hurt Athos in a completely different manner than she and I expected. I tried so hard to fit into this group of people, the infamous Musketeers, tried following orders as best as I could.
Yes, as Athos likes to admonish me to no end, my skill with the sword is solely outmatched by my stubbornness on the field. And the situation we found ourselves in was just the proof of that.
All my doubts and insecurities came pouring out to be heard by her. I had put trust in a woman I knew was dangerous from the start instead of listening to my friend. The oldest trick in the book. And what hurt the most is that the thought must have come across Athos’ mind as well.
D’Artagnan could never be one of them. He was right all along.
Or maybe he was wondering what kinds of secrets I may had spilled to the girl he once loved.
Now he could never trust me. And what were comrades at arms if not reliable allies in the battlefield and in life.
But against all odds he took my hand, not sparing a glance at Milady, and lead me out of the inn; the chilly air hit me in the same way his eyes kept averting mine.
Nothing I could say would make it better, and that's what I told him.
He was startled - almost - by the sound of my voice. It is Athos we're talking about after all, the man is hardly grazed. He wanted me to explain but I had nothing of substance to offer him.
I was lonely, I couldn't talk to anybody else .
You weren't there for me.
But would that have been the truth? It certainly wouldn't have been fair.
"That's all you have to say for yourself," he hissed and grabbed me again, rougher this time. His gaze searching for some answer we both knew wasn’t there.
"I thought you would understand what kind of person she is, the damage she's done..."
To me, Athos doesn't say, but he doesn't need to.
Merde, I knew exactly what he’d been through and my own experience with the woman had been the subject for several of Porthos and Aramis' tavern jokes.
Athos never laughed at me those times, never mocked. As if somehow he had picked up on the notion that people deceiving each other had never been my type of fun. He couldn't have known at the time it was the person who had broken his heart once and for all, the same woman whose presence he loathed since the day he’d met her again.
Some sort of hope was starting to rise deep within my chest at the realization that Athos was now looking at me, his eyes more vivid with sentiment under the beam of moonlight.
It was worry, plain and simple. And at that point nothing else mattered to me: he was worried, he was talking to me and he was looking.
So when the next step in our confrontation became him pushing me against the walls, I wasn't that surprised. He clearly was by the way his hands were shaking; now that was almost unbelievable given Athos’ personality. He didn't know where this was going, but my frustration was getting hard to keep at bay. All I wanted to do was reassure him that I had said nothing of importance to that woman, that I was sorry for sneaking and lying, and that he had nothing to worry about.
That my heart had never been with her.
But his reaction to the whole thing was starting to look silly so I, unfortunately, bowed my head and laughed.
It was unfortunate, of course, because if you ever had the pleasure to meet the Musketeer you would know that he's an exceptional swordsman, a fine leader and very grumpy when it came to my reckless behavior.
Basically that would have been enough to warrant a punch in the face. Oh, this I was going to remember.
Yet tonight was proving to be one of those stories full of the unexpected as Athos shortened the distance between us and let his lips -- surprisingly soft -- taste mine. I let him kiss me with a vigor I didn’t know was in him. And for one blissful moment he let his guard down and grunted as I started reciprocating. His beard tickling my face had me smiling and he used the same opportunity as earlier to deepen the kiss. That’s about the time when the reality of what was happening hit me hard in the stomach.
I would be lying if I said I had never found him attractive. Beauty was never lost on me, regardless of man or woman in question. And perhaps sometimes, in the midst of the action and exertion that came with the job, I had even enjoyed his commands as well as his tenderness. When we were caught in the crossfire, fighting together side by side. Protecting each other first, then vanquishing our enemies.
But to engage in such amorous acts was something we would both regret the following morning. I had to salvage what was left of our friendship, not replace it with something much more complicated.
I shoved him away, harder than was necessary, and once again Athos’ expression turned to stone. Breathing again I tried to clear my head and licked my lips. The ghost of his still pressed to mine.
I threw a look at him to see if he too felt we should have stopped. I couldn’t predict our future but certainly we stood on common ground at present time.
However Athos kept his eyes fixed to the ground, shaking his head, then swiftly turned on his feet and walked away.
I nodded to the air and entered back into the inn, climbing the stairs in the hope that the woman had evaporated, and felt relief when my room was indeed empty.
‘Tis for the best, isn’t it?
We had never been so far and so close in all our lifetimes, and in retrospect now we probably never will.
A Musketeer never falters, knows when to fight his battles and recognizes when he’s lost them.
I should have spoken up to you. But I was young and had no idea of the bitter taste of regret.
Later on, when blood was slowly pulsing to a stop in my veins and my head clouded from the fall, with no hope on sight, there was no flow of my life flashing before my eyes as the stories used to say, only the memory of that cold night. One final sneer at what our future turned out to be.
I recognize that we couldn’t have lost that battle when we had never tried to win it in the first place.
And that’s on me, too.