Aramis is genderqueer in this AU (ne/nem pronouns). Warnings that apply will be listed in each chapter's beginning notes.

Warnings: Short mention of PTSD and suicide.

2013, spring

Porthos sits with his back to the door, facing two untouched glasses of wine. Red wine. The one Aramis likes and that he only drinks whenever they meet, because Aramis insists they drink the same. Same brand, same amount, at the same time. It's one of their rules, and it's one of the less... peculiar ones, if Porthos is honest with himself. (He decides not to be honest with himself, though, he never is in Aramis-related situations.)

Absently, he traces the edge of the desk with his fingertips. Soft chatting fills the bar, it smells like smoke, and there is music in the background. Not that any of that matters – it doesn't, and he doesn't really pay attention to it in first place -, but it's easy to pretend that this is just a regular night out after work. His hand slips into his pocket before he remembers that he has no phone with him. Another of their rules.

Porthos shakes his head. This set-up is ridiculous. Not to add dangerous, ill-advised, and potentially deadly to the list. If things went particularly bad, he could also be fired and locked away, he's aware of that. There is nothing he could say in his defense anyway. Porthos feels a familar guilt settling in his stomach. He is a traitor. Merely sitting here and waiting for Aramis is treason. Yet he can't stop. If one of them is to end this – whatever it is they're having -, then it has to be Aramis. And an end is inevitable, this much is clear. He both longs for and dreads this moment, the moment it will finally be over. He can't help the desperate smile that plays around the corners of his mouth.

Liar, a small voice whispers in the back of his head, it will kill you.

"Get up."

He skips a breath. Aramis' voice sends a jolt of excitement down his spine and he feels his pulse thundering in his ears. They've been doing this for years and he tells himself he is ready, prepared every single time, but he still isn't used to it. He'll never be used to it.

"Porthos."

Aramis doesn't sound impatient, but ne doesn't sound patient either. He stands up and suddenly Aramis' hands are on him, frisking him. The world is reduced to Aramis' touch, the sounds washed out and the borders of his perception blurred. Nir movements are rehearsed, swift and thorough. Porthos hopes other people interpret this as awkward hugging ritual and not, well, what it really is. The whole procedure can't take more than a few moments, but it's still too damn long, and anxiety builds up in his chest. He doesn't say anything, though, and makes himself stay still.

"Alright, you can sit down again."

Porthos does, pulled down by an imaginary weight, and only when Aramis steps into his sight, is his heart-rate normalizing again.

"You're late," Porthos says as Aramis sits down in the opposite chair, crossing nir legs and taking the wine.

"You're early." Aramis smiles, looking past him and giving the room a quick check. There are two exits, seven potential attackers or witnesses, depending on the scenario, and a dozen things within reach that could be used as a weapon if the situation called for it; Porthos follows Aramis' thoughts as if they were his own.

"So..." Aramis takes a sip from nir glass. Ne looks tired and nir hair is messed up, but something in nir expression softens once ne finds his eyes. "Did anyone follow you?"

"I'm a member of a special forces unit."

"That's not an answer."

"I know, Aramis. Let's get this over with, okay?" Porthos forces his hands to stop twitching. "Nobody followed me, I haven't told anyone where I go, I don't have my phone on me, and I'm not wired. This meeting never happened."

"Meeting? How official." Aramis smiles, but ne can neither stop the tension nor the weariness from showing on nir face. Porthos doesn't answer and averts his gaze. It's almost automatic. Aramis doesn't like being watched and he doesn't know what to say anyway. It's the first time they see each other in months, and yet the silence is overwhelming. There are no words left that haven't been exchanged a long time ago. The sense of an impending ending hangs heavy between them. That they keep coming back to this is... a matter of habit.

Porthos chews on the inside of his cheek, until the mix of copper and salt tinges his mouth. It's a welcome distraction from Aramis' stare. He can feel nir eyes upon him and it's making him restless, anxious.

"I can't stay long," Aramis says, finally, and empties nir glass in one gulp. Ne sets it aside with a low thud, then ne reaches out to him. Nir skin is warm, the pads of nir fingers soft. "Listen, I don't know when we can meet again." Aramis inhales and nir voice is low as ne continues: "If we can meet again. So please don't... don't say nothing."

"Why?"

"Why I don't know when we can repeat this merry session of silence? Well, it sure isn't because your unit is still hunting me like a goddamn animal. That's nothing but a minor nuisance. It certainly hasn't ruined my life or anything." Aramis pulls away from him and makes a noise that could be a strangled laugh or a scornful huff. Maybe both. Porthos isn't sure. He almost never is when it comes to Aramis. Not anymore. There was a time when he thought he'd understand Aramis, but then... Savoy happened. And everything changed. But he doesn't tell nem that. What good would it do? None. It would only separate them further, and the gulf between them already seems so irreconcilable that it makes Porthos sick.

"I'm sorry."

Aramis shakes nir head. "I don't want you to be sorry."

"What do you want then?" Porthos can't help the anger seeping into his voice. He's so tired of this. He's tired of hiding, tired of playing games, tired of betraying everything he works for and believes in. He's tired of constantly being torn between duty and his feelings for Aramis. He's tired of not having nem around, too, of hearing rumours, of getting pitiful or hateful looks, tired of actively being a part of the team that is supposed to arrest nem. He's tired of pretending Aramis doesn't mean anything to him in front of his colleagues. He's tired of it all.

"Alright, I will tell you what I want." Aramis' eyes are furious, nir voice cold and cutting like a knife. "I want my friends back and I want you back. But neither is going to happen, isn't it? They are dead and you are with them. After all they have done. You still choose them over me."

Porthos' throat closes up. "That's not fair, Aramis."

"Fair? I'll tell you what isn't fucking fair." Ne is barely whispering now. "I'm a fucking ghost. I can't stay in one place for longer than a day. I suffer from PTSD, but I can't get help because it would lead them right to me. Everyone I trust is either dead or under permanent surveillance. Well, you're here, but you can't even talk to me without getting smothered by shame and regret." Aramis laughs silently, angry tears glistening in nir eyes. "You know what? Sometimes I'm so lonely and terrified that I can't breathe. They didn't kill me yet, but they're doing a great job at making me want to end this mess myself. And all that? That's not fair, Porthos, it's not fucking fair."

"I'll come with you." The words are out, before he can properly think them over, but his heart aches and the overwhelming need to keep Aramis close, safe, almost tears him apart, so he repeats it. I'll come with you.

Aramis looks at him for an endless moment, until ne suddenly gets up and turns to leave. Porthos grabs nem by the arm, and it's instinct, really, and a shot of desperation that makes his skin crawl.

"Wait, please-"

"Let go."

"Babe-"

"Don't fucking call me that," Aramis hisses and turns around to face Porthos. "You don't get to call me that anymore." Ne shakes nir head, mumbling something Porthos doesn't quite catch. "Oh, fuck it." The kiss is quick and desperate and Porthos returns it with everything he has.

When Aramis breaks away at last, they agree not to talk anymore. Not tonight. But maybe... maybe next time.