A/N: Words cannot express my love of the Musketeers, in all their forms. Kudos to BBC for their phenomenal retelling of the story we all love. Please forgive grammar errors, and please be so kind as to refrain counseling my use of " 's " after the names ending in 's'. This is a stylistic choice; an homage to the traditional rendering of the original story. Thank you.

Disclaimer: I do not own or profit from any copyrighted aspects of this story.

Above All Else
By StriderX

The sun was just settling into a blanket of amber clouds when Aramis set out from the garrison. His friends were enjoying a warm meal and keg of wine behind him, but he had business to attend to that simply couldn't wait. For the most part, no one saw him quietly slip through the garrison's gates and out into the dusty Paris streets. No one, other than those who cared for him most. From his perch aloft at his balcony, there wasn't much Treville didn't see. There was a deep melancholy in his soul at the news of his firing, but he was determined not to allow it to taint his last few weeks as Captain of these good men. He knew his kind sharpshooter had been hiding something of late, but also respected the man's privacy, more than most. With barely a glance, Treville's gaze automatically lowered toward the others of the Inseparables. d'Artagnan noticed Aramis leave, but didn't seem to act beyond a lazy shrug and another deep chug of his wine whilst laughing at another man's joke. The boy cared, of course, but he was young and simply assumed Aramis had more…intimate matters to partake in that evening. Shifting his gaze, Treville saw that Porthos had stood, inconspicuously making his way to a support beam with a perfect view of the outside street. He sipped on his mug moodily. Treville frowned with crossed arms. So…whatever Aramis's secret was, he was keeping it from Porthos, too. A dangerous problem he would have to keep his eye on.

Porthos, for his part, was squinting his eyes in thought. There, just outside the gates, under the soft cover of evening shadow, he saw Athos casually step out in front of Aramis's escape. He couldn't hear the words they exchanged, but he saw the way Athos wrapped a hand around Aramis's arm and pulled him farther away from the garrison's eyes. Something was going on with his two best friends right under his nose, and for the first time, he had no idea what it was.

Aramis struggled to not start when Athos casually leapt out in front of him. There was a mug in his hand, and the dullness of alcohol beginning to dim his eyes. But Aramis knew better, his brother was far from drunk, and even less tolerant of being trifled with.

"Do I need to be asking where you're going?" he'd murmured even as he pushed Aramis against a quiet wall.

Rolling his eyes, Aramis muttered, "You've never cared where I was going before," his voice sounded like a petulant child and he hated it, but he was tired and forlorn; he couldn't help it. All it took was Athos's steady, unrelenting gaze for Aramis to rethink his tone. Sighing, he corrected. "I'm not going to see them, if that's what you're thinking," Aramis didn't have to say who they were. They both knew.

Athos didn't smile, but his eyes did light a little as he briefly tightened his grip on Aramis's arm before letting go. "If ever you need to talk, you know I'm here,"

Shyly, Aramis looked down and ran a hand through his messy curls. "I know. Many thanks, my friend…for everything."

Then, just like that, Athos vanished back into the garrison, and Aramis went on his way.

Inside, Treville watched Athos reappear with a tolerant smirk as d'Artagnan attempted some foolish stunt with misguided confidence. Porthos brooded from his place by the beam, seeming to exchange a hard glance with Athos before rejoining the festivities.

A dangerous problem, indeed.

ooooooooooooooo

A soft autumn glow was cloaking the streets in warmth by the time Aramis was slipping freely through the alleys and corridors. He felt himself turning Athos's words in his head even as he looped unnecessarily in his trajectory. Slow minutes mulled into hours before he found himself hovering at a crowded corner along the Rue Marcy. There was a popular tavern here where he could easily blend in. If it also happened to be a passing point for a certain Madame on her way home for an evening, well, that was nothing more than coincidence.

An hour later found the Musketeer leaning over a barrel with a mug of wine in hand, staring eagerly at the cross street; a direct route toward the Louvre. His mind was wondering aimlessly; hopelessly playing out everything he dreamed, everything he could never have.

To marry the woman he loved.

To hold his son and tell him bedtime stories when he couldn't sleep.

To live with light and hope and love…

"Aramis?"

The sudden, friendly call almost made Aramis jump in his boots. It would seem the Madame he'd been waiting for had just found him. Letting out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding, Aramis shook a smile onto his face. "Madame Bonacieux, good evening," he was determined to play this meeting off as innocent as possible. "Have you the evening off?"

With a beautiful young smile gracing her face, Constance shrugged a little. "I am supposed to be visiting my husband," the implications of her words were left to flit about the air undeclared. "And what about you? It doesn't seem like you to be off drinking by yourself…" she'd been looking over his shoulder as she spoke, no doubt hoping to see d'Artagnan somewhere among the crowd.

Smirking a little, Aramis decided he was tired of his own schemes. "To be honest, my dear Constance, I was hoping to get a moment to speak with you in private."

Constance looked a little surprised for a moment, but it quickly melted to something warmer. Placing a gentle hand over Aramis's arm, she smiled. "You have nothing to worry yourself over, Aramis. Your secrets are safe with me."

Aramis returned her smile, but sighed in relief all the same. Not that he would ever question her, not really. But the promise was reassuring to say the least. Pulling her close, he kissed her forehead like a brother to a most beloved sister. "I had no doubts; you are truly a treasure among friends."

She blushed chastely under his honest charms. "Still," she murmured as they parted, "you should know how much she loves you…and your son."

Becoming serious rather quickly, Aramis lowered his tone and peered down at his young friend. He tried so hard to hide how warm and how heavy her words made him feel. "And if you know that, you must know the vital importance of not allowing our affair to become known."

To her credit, Constance never lost her smile or her loving grip on Aramis's forearm. "I will keep it to my grave, of that you have my word," only then did she pause and allow her smile to fade. "Does anyone else know?"

Sighing, Aramis leaned a shoulder against a nearby wall. "Only Athos…as much as I hate hiding things from them, Porthos and d'Artagnan cannot know. I won't burden them with my…treason."

Constance's expression became a grave and sad thing. "You trust them more than life, Aramis. Let them help you."

With shame, Aramis looked away. "Please send the Queen my regards when you return to the palace. And the Dauphin…could you give him this?" Shyly, quietly, Aramis reached into his jacket and pulled out a small woven stuffed bear. It had round, shiny buttons for eyes, a little blue sweater, and a cheery stitched smile.

Constance's heart melted and her eyes threatened to water as she delicately took the little toy. It was so soft; briefly she wondered how much Aramis must have spent on it. "He will cherish it above all else, I'm sure of it."

It was easy to tell that their meeting was over when Aramis nodded stiffly; voice obviously caught deep in the back of his throat, but Constance had one last thing to say before she left. Leaning in close to his ear, Constance quietly leaned one last press upon Aramis's arm. "If ever you need a friend, Aramis…one a little less…blunt than Athos, you always know how to find me."

And with that, she was gone, leaving Aramis with nothing but the cold night air and a forgotten mug of wine. In a way, his heart felt a little lighter; he knew Constance to be the most trustworthy woman in all of France (second only to his love, of course). But there was also a deep sadness, a cursed emptiness that he doubted would ever fade away. At the same moment warmth spread through his soul at the thought of his son playing with his new toy, there was a cold and empty chill left where it had been kept safe in his pocket. Gaze dropping to his mug, he instantly made a decision he knew he'd regret come the morning.

But not now.

ooooooooooooooooo

There was a full moon bathing the city in a cool glow of white that night. The air had become frigid as the early morning hours turned about, but Aramis had hardly noticed. There was enough alcohol warming his veins as he stumbled through the streets to make him forget the chill completely. There was a half-empty bottle in one hand and the other fumbled from one wall to the next to keep him upright. He'd already been sick twice in the alleys, but he was still a few streets from home. Vaguely, he was beginning to regret that fourth bottle…and the fifth dangling from his fingers.

While very few knew it, Aramis was far from a lightweight and the proof was burning a hole in his empty purse.

Two streets from garrison and four from his apartments found his limits finally reached. With heart becoming heavier in every step, Aramis stumbled against a forgotten basket, which then flipped upside down and caught his fall in an elegant plummet against the dirt. He'd finally fallen, lacking the strength even to lift his bottle one more time to his lips. Leaning against the wall with arms hanging dead at his sides, Aramis gazed up to the moon and found himself trying to pray.

"This is a good way to find yourself at the bottom of the Seine, Aramis."

Blearily, Aramis shifted his gaze without even bothering to move his head. "Then leave me to drown," somewhere he heard a sigh, and felt Athos shift to crouch in front of him.

"I believe that's my line," Athos said with a quiet attempt at the self-deprecating humour he was so skilled at. Then, with a worried expression, ran a hand to adjust his hat. "What are you doing, Aramis? It's not like you to drink yourself into a wall."

Aramis snorted a dark little laugh. "You're one t' talk, 'thos."

"Exactly. No one is surprised when I end up in the gutter. But you," Athos's voice warmed even as he rested a familiar hand just under Aramis's jaw. "This isn't you."

Call it the effects of four-and-some bottles, but that moment found Aramis's eyes welling with the tears of heartache and loss. "I don't wan'na do this an'more, At'os…I don't wan'na be me anymore…"

The stark admission broke Athos's heart, but he was far from giving up on his brother. "Nonsense. Who would be our smile or heal our wounds if you left us?"

There was no response other then another empty snort of derision and the drop of a drunken tear.

"Aramis," Athos's voice was gentle, but his words were strong enough to pull the lost man's gaze back to his. "If there is anyone who can understand your agony, it's me, you know that. But this is not going to help you, and I will not allow you to continue."

It took an alarmingly little amount of effort for Athos to steal away Aramis's bottle. The man seems almost to collapsing to tears, but Athos noted how strongly he fought to hide it. "Am I cursed, Athos?"

In truth, Athos didn't want to answer. But he knew his next words just might be the only thing Aramis would remember when he sobered up. Sighing, Athos steeled himself for a reply. "We all may well be, my brother. But if we are cursed, we are also blessed with the comfort of each other, even in our darkest times. You will rise again, Aramis. And when you do you will see just how loved you are."

"Ha. Loved. To be loved w'out ever able to love them back,"

Athos felt his heart breaking when his brother's glassy chocolate eyes peered up at him, dripping with tears he refused to notice.

"My son will never know who I am."

Without conscious thought, Athos wrapped his arms around him, enveloping the grieving Musketeer in an embrace overflowing with protection and warmth. When Aramis's shoulders began to shake, Athos merely tightened his grip and rested his chin atop Aramis's head. "But Anne does, and she will paint you a hero in his eyes. He will love you, Aramis, just as we do."

Silence ruled for some time before Athos felt his brother's quakes settle into drunken tremors. When they became manageable, Athos rubbed a hand along Aramis's spine and tried to pull a smile into his voice. "Let's go home, shall we?" at hearing Aramis groan, he found himself smirking quite honestly. "Maybe I can convince Treville to give you a day's leave."

ooooooooooooooooo

It was early in the next day when Aramis began the groanings of regretful consciousness. For a long moment, he simply laid there with eyes stuck shut, lazily trying to decide whether or not he really wanted to remember what happened the night before. As it was, it seemed fate was to decide for him.

All at once, flashes of Constance, Athos, and copious amounts of red wine tumbled back into his mind. For one naïve moment, he wasn't sure if the memories or the alcohol were causing the piercing migraine and the rolling in his stomach.

With a sigh, he peeled his eyes open and rolled to the edge of his bed. Absently, he wondered who pulled the shudders last night to keep out the morning light, who left the bucket of ice water by his bed, who folded his jacket, how late he was for morning roster; how Athos managed to function every morning after so much wine.

It took long minutes for him to pull himself together and finally brace himself to fall through the door. He winced violently at first, but quickly sighed when he realized the light wasn't nearly as bright as it should be. Above, the clouds were low and heavy; somehow, even though the dull light eased his aching eyes, he felt a small depression eating through him at the gloom of the coming day.

"D'n't expect ta' see you up yet, sleepin' beauty," Porthos suddenly appeared, a huge grin pulling at his eyes.

Aramis tried to smile in return, but really just ended up in a tight grimace.

Humming lightly, Porthos took in the sopping wet hair, tired eyes, and slumped shoulders of his best friend. Hidden secrets or not, he certainly wasn't going to hash it out with him now.

Aramis stumbled a bit, and Porthos quickly steadied him by the shoulder. After a moment of watching the rapidly aging man run a trembling hand through his hair, Porthos lowered his voice a little. "C'mon then, let's go find you somethin' ta' settle that stomach."

At the base of the stairs, Aramis met Athos's gaze from the other man's place at the dining table. Silently, Porthos pushed Aramis to sit across from their brooding leader and kindly went to fetch some breakfast. If he was trying to give the two a private moment, he didn't mention it. Athos's eyes crinkled in a grateful smirk nonetheless.

He watched Aramis for a moment as the man struggled not to lower his head onto the table and hide. Eventually, between rubbing his shaking fingers over his face, Aramis groaned. "How do you do it, 'Thos? How do you survive like this?"

It should have been an insult, it really should've, but Athos found himself found himself giving a small smile at the rare nickname anyway. "I hope you never have to find out."

The answer caught Aramis in the throat, and suddenly he remembered the entire sad, shameful conversation just before he passed out last night. "I'm sorry…and thank you."

"Don't be. You've done the same for me more times than I can count…or remember."

Snorting, Aramis finally dropped his head into his arms crossed limply on the table.

Silence reigned for a while and Athos was going to let the poor man be. But then Aramis lifted his head again, eyes pouring into Athos's with an alarming mix of clarity, acceptance and despair. "You're right, though…I'm glad we all have each other, even if we can have nothing else."

Athos did truly smile then and tenderly reached over the table to grasp his brother's arm. "Above all things, that will never change, old friend."

From afar, Porthos's heart warmed a little, even over the longing of being left in the dark. He couldn't hear the words, but he could see the tiny sparkling of hope in Aramis's eyes and the smile that slowly lifted his sullen features. Yeah, something wasn't right, but he was sure it would be, one day, and that was good enough for him.

End.

A/N: Thank you for reading; reviews/favs are greatly appreciated.