AN: Because Savoy is the gift that keeps on giving, and Radical Face are a neverending source of inspiration.

The quote is from their song "Rivers In The Dust". The moment I heard those words this came to me (and distracted me from a WIP that had distracted me from a WIP that was distracting me from another WIP... hopefully I'll manage to get something else finished)

And I am not the one you wanted here
But I will fill my post

Heaven's touch is often out of reach
To those who want it most

The Captain seemed to have aged ten years since Porthos had seen him last. He withered into his chair with slightly glazed eyes. They darted about a moment, as if searching for something he knew he wouldn't find. It left Porthos on edge. He had not been in the regiment for long, but it was long enough to see the rod of iron that ran through Treville's back. The Captain was always in control. Always.

Of course, the reason for this strange change in demeanour was obvious. Not one man within the garrison was himself. Not since word returned of twenty dead musketeers in Savoy. No one could remain unaffected in the face of such devastation. Still, Porthos had been commissioned for only a short while. He felt the loss, but he almost felt as if he was not allowed to feel it. He had not had the time to forge such deep bonds of brotherhood as the others. It left him something of an outsider. That was a feeling he was intimately acquainted with at least.

Treville's eyes seemed to stare straight through Porthos. He had yet to say a word.

Porthos cleared his throat. It was too loud in the quiet. An intrusion.

"You asked to see me sir?"

"Yes." The word felt like it had to be dredged from somewhere deep within. Treville ran a tired hand over his face before continuing. "The survivor, Aramis. I would like you to care for him."

"Me sir? Wouldn't he rather have someone he knows a little better?"

"Those he knows a little better are dead or lost in the depths of their own grief. I do not suggest they would not do their duty in seeing him well again, but I do not think it would benefit either party. Besides, I rather think he took a shine to you Porthos."

"Doesn't he take a shine to everybody?"

Treville almost seemed as if he were about to smile. "Something like that. Still, I think he'd appreciate your company more than most. I saw the beginnings of something promising between you. Almost like…"

Treville cut himself off and hesitated.

Porthos saved him and stepped in. "Then I will do as you've asked. Might I ask what injuries he has suffered?"

"Thank you, Porthos."

Porthos felt he didn't need to be thanked for agreeing to carry out his orders. But it almost seemed as if Treville was thanking him for more than that.

"He is battered and bruised, but the worst of it is an injury to his head. The physician has seen to it and left something for the pain, but he has yet to fully come to his senses. Just… take care of his needs. Be there for him."

There seemed to be an unspoken for I cannot at the end of that sentence. The reluctance in Treville's eyes gave it away.

"I'll do my best for him."

"And I would expect nothing less. You'll find him in his quarters. We thought it more peaceful than the infirmary."

~oOo~

Porthos made his way to Aramis' room once he was dismissed. He gave a quiet knock at the door. There was no reply. He knocked again and listened closely with an ear against the wood.

Nothing.

Porthos cautiously tried the handle and found the door was unlocked. He pushed it open and stepped inside. The room was in a sort of half light, with ratty drapes doing their best to conceal the sunlight coming through the window. Aramis lay on the bed, curled up with his back to Porthos. He hadn't moved a muscle. There was a chair by the bed, Porthos crept over to it as if he were afraid of waking a sleeping baby. He lowered himself down gently and cast an eye over the bottles on the bedside table. He couldn't say he was familiar with the concoctions listed on the labels, physicians generally weren't available to those in the court. Only one occasion came to mind. A kindly old lady who had looked out for Porthos sickened. They tried what remedies they could, but she only got worse. She ended up in such pain they could not stand her suffering. Porthos held her hand while hushed discussions happened between the adults across the room. Words became heated and died away again. A few days later Porthos was pulled away from her bedside, a doctor had come, and he was sure to make everything better. The last thing he saw was a few tinctures being pulled from a worn bag. The doctor left, and then people with tear stained faces came out some time after. She was gone. And Porthos harboured a suspicion of physicians ever after. He was coming to trust a little more since becoming a soldier. More than once he had seen physicians save men from their battlefield wounds. Still enough men passed after receiving ministrations for his suspicion to remain.

A moan came from the bundle of sheets. It broke Porthos from his thoughts, he sat forwards and waited for Aramis to roll over. As he did Aramis moaned again and made to throw an arm over his eyes. Porthos caught it, fearing he would disturb the bandage wrapped about his head. With a distressed whine Aramis pulled away as if Porthos had scorched him with a hot iron.

"Hush, hush, it's alright. You're at the garrison. You're safe."

Aramis blinked heavily and squinted even against the weak light of the room.

"Aramis?"

"Hurts."

"I know." Porthos eyed the bottles and wondered. "Sleep a little more and you'll feel better."

"Hurts, Marsac."

"It's Porthos."

But Aramis' eyes had already closed.

"I'm Porthos."

~oOo~

The next time Aramis woke he was a little more aware. His awakening was accompanied by the same moans and clumsy attempt to cover his face.

Porthos just blocked his hand for now.

"You don't want to do that, you've got a head wound."

Aramis' hand dropped to the bedcovers.

"Marsac?"

"Porthos."

"Where is Marsac?"

"Not here." And a deserter by all accounts. Not that he was going to tell Aramis that right now. "Will you take a drink of water? You sound like you've been wandering the desert for months."

Aramis gave a shaky nod and Porthos helped him to a few sips.

"How is your head?"

"Hurts." He sounded so tired.

Porthos eyed the tinctures again and sighed. "There is something here for the pain, if you want it."

Aramis frowned for a moment before he said yes.

"What's the matter?"

"I feel there's something I'm forgetting… Just out of reach."

Porthos offered a sip from the physician's bottle. "Don't worry about it now, just sleep."

Aramis lay back again and his eyes began to flutter as the tincture took hold.

"Send Marsac up, when he's back…"

Porthos hesitated and let the silence answer.

~oOo~

As night drew in and Aramis was sleeping peacefully, Porthos took his leave to return to his vigil the next morning. Daylight filtered through the ragged drapes and threw Aramis' pale face into stark relief. If it were not for the slight rise and fall of his chest Porthos would think him dead. And maybe it would be kinder if he were. Porthos shook his head and banished the thought as soon as it crossed his mind. Aramis was the lone survivor, he was a miracle. But he would also be cursed as soon as he remembered what happened in that snow touched forest. Porthos had seen men who had seen too much of war. He had seen their senses desert them. Guns fixed on self slaughter. It never ended well.

Sooner or later Aramis would remember. Whether his fractured mind put it all back together, or Porthos told him. Porthos wasn't sure he could.

Suddenly Aramis gasped, it was the desperate sound of a drowning man pulled out of the water. His hand flew up and Porthos caught it. The flailing limb was gently returned to the bedcovers and Porthos leaned forwards to examine Aramis' tortured eyes.

"Aramis? What is it?"

"I don't know. My head hurts and I don't know why." He sounded frustrated. "But there was something… something at the edge. Ravens?"

"Give it time."

Aramis looked over to the covered window and squinted. The sun shone like a razor blade to his wounded head it seemed.

"What happened Porthos?"

Porthos' throat worked as his mind frantically searched for an answer. He was saved by a knock at the door.

The physician poked his head in and smiled at seeing Aramis awake and alert. Porthos took the opportunity to duck out and speak to Treville.

He found the Captain in his office, that haunted look still coloured his features.

"How is he?"

"The physician's checking him over." Porthos paused for thought and took in a deep breath before continuing. "Sir, he doesn't remember what happened. He's going to ask, he already has. Do I tell him?"

"What do you think?"

"With all due respect Sir, I don't know him."

"You know him better than you think."

"I would not have him remember at all. I would spare him the grief."

"He can't be spared. It's part of him now." Treville got up from his seat and went to pour them a drink. "It's a part of us, our regiment, our history. A black stain, here…"

Treville held a tight fist against his heart. Anger lit up his eyes, directed at something or someone unseen. But he let it go, his hand loosened and returned to the bottle. Treville motioned Porthos to a chair and put a drink in front of it.

"There is nothing you could have done, Sir. They were miles away, you could not have foreseen they would be attacked."

Treville seemed momentarily lost in his head. Porthos wasn't sure he was listening.

Porthos tried again. "It was a training mission. It wasn't supposed to happen."

The corners of Treville's mouth curled distastefully. "It wasn't supposed to happen." He repeated and knocked back his drink.

Porthos took a sip of his own.

"But it did happen. And I will spend every day hereafter wondering what I could have done to stop it."

"Nothing, Sir. There was nothing you could have done."

"Powerless. Is that what I was? No, we all have choices. I made the wrong ones."

"And if you were to send them out on a different day, who is to say they would not still be attacked? They could have marched across a broken bridge and drowned. We deal with danger and chance every day of our lives. One stray spark from a fire could burn down the whole of Paris, but you cannot blame the man who innocently stokes it."

"The fires I deal with could burn down the whole damn country."

"Then you must be particularly careful in dealing with them."

Treville gave a bitter smile. "I have not been careful enough."

Porthos finished off the last of his drink and got up from his chair. He had the uncomfortable feeling he was trying to comfort somebody who would not be comforted.

"Forgive me, Sir. I must get back."

That seemed to remind Treville of the reason for Porthos' visit. "I'm sorry, I have not been much help where Aramis is concerned. In truth I do not know what will be better for him. He's going to suffer regardless."

"Then I will do what I can."

~oOo~

Porthos stopped by the kitchen to pick up some broth for Aramis. He found the man sitting propped up in his bed. He looked a little more awake, but still seemed washed out and sickly. No doubt some food would help with that.

"What did the physician say?"

"The wound is healing well. There is no sign of it festering."

"Good. Do you think you can manage some broth?"

Aramis seemed a little doubtful as he eyed the soup, but he gave a careful nod. "I will try."

Porthos sat the bowl in Aramis' lap and watched warily as the proffered spoon shook in his hand.

"Would you like me to…?"

"I can manage."

And he did. It was slow going but Aramis steadily made his way through the bowl. He paused halfway through as if he needed a rest from the exertion of eating.

"Where is Marsac?"

"Not here." Porthos gave the same reply as he had before.

"Is he on guard duty?"

"No."

"Away on a mission?"

"Something like that."

"Ah, is it a mission of stealth? Are we not permitted to speak of it?"

Porthos gave a tight smile.

"I thought as much. Well, I'm sure he'll be back to regale me with tales of his heroics. He always seems to take particular joy in it when I'm bedridden. I wonder if he thinks envy will spur me from my sickbed."

"Are you going to finish that?" Porthos tactically turned his attention back to the broth.

Aramis took another couple of mouthfuls before he fixed a serious eye on Porthos. "What happened? How was I injured?"

Porthos hesitated. But then he made up his mind. Aramis had to know sooner or later, and he was going to keep asking. Spinning a tangled web of lies was hardly going to help matters.

"You were hit on the head, I can't say how it happened exactly as I wasn't there. All I know is that you were fighting…" Porthos internally cursed himself, he really didn't know how to go about breaking this news. He supposed he should start at the beginning. "There was a training exercise you went on…"

The spoon loudly clattered against the bowl as Aramis dropped it to put a hand against his head. He grimaced and grit his teeth against the pain.

"Here, drink this."

Porthos offered some of the physician's tincture. Then he took the bowl from Aramis' lap and settled him back down in bed.

"We will speak of this later. Sleep now."

"Send Marsac up, when he's back, send him up…" Aramis managed as he drifted away.

Porthos sat back with a sigh.

As it happened there was no later. Aramis slept fitfully and woke in pain several times. Porthos simply plied him with tincture and he slept again. Night drew in and Porthos got to his feet.

Tomorrow. He would tell Aramis the truth tomorrow.