A/N: don't own anything recognizable here, not making any money.
The words for my other story won't come and the blank page was mocking me...
I'm smiling because you're my brother and I'm laughing because there's nothing you can do about it. - Anonymous
The young man sitting in the hospital waiting room had the back of his head pressed against the pale green wall and one eye on the man pacing the small room. Both of them turned their heads to the sound of Captain's shoes hitting the linoleum flooring. At his heels were two men and two women; d'Artagnan truly respected Captain Treville from the bottom of his heart he did but the man's decision to come here, with them, at this time left the youngster wondering about the integrity of the man's mental faculties.
Without moving his head he glanced from the small group following the Captain to the big man who had stopped his aimless trek.
Porthos was angry.
His dark eyes zeroed in onto the leader of Team 2 and he lunged for Rochefort with a barely concealed growl. It took both the Captain and Charon to keep him from decking the man. Porthos still strained against the men's hold and Charon looked to d'Artagnan for help.
Too bad, he wasn't in the mood to run interference. Especially for that creature Charon called his team leader. Crossing his arms over his chest, d'Artagnan pointedly leaned back in his seat.
"Calm down Porthos," ordered the Captain, "Rochefort gave me his word that it was an accident, he hadn't the time to change course, Athos got in the line of his shot."
"And received three cracked ribs for that," Aramis emerged from the exam room, "The Doc says he's lucky he was wearing his vest."
"Luck has nothing to do with it," Athos informed them as he gingerly made his way out after Aramis, "I never forget to take precaution when Team 2 is involved."
His hair was in disarray and he had opted for Porthos' grey hoodie instead of struggling to get back into the black high-neck they usually wore on assignments like these. Aramis held on to him until Porthos had grabbed the man's other elbow and d'Artagnan let out a breath he didn't know he was holding. He couldn't suppress a smile either when Athos rolled those soft blue eyes in almost fond exasperation.
Without a word d'Artagnan picked up his bag, slung it over his shoulder and went to stand beside Athos. For a second there he had thought the man wouldn't ever get up off the tarmac after he had gone down with the sound of gun shots.
"I'm sorry Olivier," Rochefort said.
Charon, Flea and Ninon flinched from beside him and even the Captain raised his brow. Everyone knew Athos hated the name.
"I mean my apologies Athos," Rochefort amended, "I wouldn't dream of hurting my own family."
"Ofcourse not, you'll just knock them out and bury them alive," Porthos smile was all teeth.
"And what do you know of family Du Vallon?"
"Rochefort." the warning was clear in the Captain's voice.
"My apologies," he said although from behind the Captain the man gave a smug grin.
"Are you sure you can go home?" the Captain asked Athos but his eyes were on Aramis.
Both men nodded.
"It's good that it's the weekend," Treville said, "Take the Monday off, all four of you. I mean it Athos I don't want to see your report in my inbox before that."
Athos nodded his acceptance.
"Don't worry Captain," d'Artagnan piped up, "I'll lock him out of his laptop."
"You will not touch my laptop." Athos told him.
D'Artagnan huffed, "I don't have to Athos, I'm a hacker remember?"
"It's a valid threat Athos," Porthos chuckled.
"I knew we kept the boy around for a reason," Aramis smiled.
"As long as you're not leaking out company secrets," the Captain shrugged.
Athos looked from one man to the other like he couldn't decide who the biggest traitor was.
D'Artagnan believed it wasn't kind to continue torturing an already injured man, so as one he and Porthos began guiding Athos towards the exit of the emergency room.
"It's highly unlikely that I'll lose my way to the exit," Athos moved just a step ahead of them.
"Last time you were this drugged up, you ran into a wall." Porthos reminded him although he did let go of his friend's elbow.
Taking cue from the man d'Artagnan too allowed the distance and turned to toss the keys to Aramis; who snatched them out of the air without even looking up from where he was bent to pick up Porthos bag. They had needed it for Athos' change of clothes.
"Oh hey Rochefort?"
A sickening crunch followed that cheerful inquiry and then the hallway filled with muffled curses. They didn't turn back but Porthos snorted, d'Artagnan grinned and he didn't miss the tiny upward tilt of Athos lips even as he shook his head.
"My apologies Captain; there was a spider on the wall," Aramis walked backwards away from the rather weary group, "Rochefort got in the line of my shot."
D'Artagnan felt rather than saw him coming to a stop beside him. He cast a glance at the red specks on the older man's knuckles.
"Not mine,"
"Good," Porthos grinned and reached across Athos, "I'm driving."
"No way," Aramis snuck the keys behind his back, "d'Art gave them to me,"
"And I'm taking them back,"
"Not if you can't catch me," Aramis darted out of his reach and hurried down the corridor.
"You want to race?" Porthos was moving ahead before he called out.
"You're on,"
"Wait!" d'Artagnan spoke too late.
Both men were off, dodging the medical staff, the few patients and out the doors they went; their distant whoops echoing in from the nearly empty parking lot. D'Artagnan winced at the unmistakable sound of Porthos tackling a man that reached them before the doors to the emergency wing closed after the two.
"Think I should tell them that were the keys to the flat?" he asked.
"Think Aramis doesn't know that already?" Athos challenged.
On second thought, of course Aramis would recognize the keys to the flat that he shared with Athos and Porthos, d'Artagnan shook his head with a small smile and followed Athos out the wide sliding doors of the emergency room.
Aramis stood dusting off his clothes halfway to the car while Porthos was shuffling his feet in that awful pattern he called a victory dance. D'Artagnan had to remind himself that these were highly trained, ex-army, elite men of Treville's Security, Investigations and Retrieval Company.
It was rather difficult to hold on to that thought when Aramis grinned at his friend, threw his hand in the air and then, "I call shotgun!"
Porthos looked down at the keys he had acquired and frowned.
"You cheated,"
"You tackled me,"
"You asked for it,"
"It was a race."
From beside d'Artagnan, Athos didn't even pause to regard his two friends who were by then standing toe to toe. The man simply walked past them, opened the front passenger side door and slid inside. The sound of the car door closing had the other two looking its way in perfect synch.
Grinning at their obvious shock, the youngest of the group offered each a pat on the shoulder as he passed them by to the driver side and settled behind the wheel. D'Artagnan wasn't surprised by the loud laughter that followed him in and still chuckling the men took the back seat.
As they pulled out of the parking lot d'Artagnan sneaked a glance at their injured team leader and was pleased to find him halfway asleep, courtesy of the good drugs the doctor had apparently administered. A glance in the rear view mirror showed Aramis riffling through his bag while Porthos was fiddling with the remote control of the car's sound system. A calm feeling of peace filled the vehicle and then an innocent beep.
The sound of ocean waves filled the car.
"Not this again." Aramis groaned.
"It's soothing," Porthos told him.
"It's itchy,"
"It's relaxing,"
"Gimme that!" a sound of short scuffle followed.
It took every ounce of d'Artagnan's fading control to keep his eyes on the road; which was why he saw an obviously drunk man stumbling onto the road at the last minute and d'Artagnan turned the steering wheel hard. The car did a wild zigzag to dodge the man as well as make the turn around the curb.
It weaved and screeched and straightened. D'Artagnan felt his heart hammering in his chest and consciously loosened the white knuckled grip he had on the steering wheel. He looked to man beside him who was leaning against the door and still out of it. Niggling worry squirmed in his thoughts even though he assured himself that sleeping off the pain medication was normal. And no matter the evidence to the contrary these men were normal human beings, the newest member of Team 1 told himself as blessed silence filled the vehicle.
"Great you put d'Art to sleep with all that soothing and relaxing."
"I did not!"
D'Artagnan clenched the steering wheel just a bit tighter. He was dreading the day he would have to take a road trip with these men; it was only a matter of time when their team would be sent out of city. The boy suppressed a shudder.
"It could be worse; he could have wrapped the car around a tree,"
"He hadn't fallen asleep."
"Or a street light pole, that could have been even more worse,"
It had been just a few days since he had officially joined Team 1, if he asked nicely maybe Treville would take mercy on him and transfer him to just a bit saner lot. The deal was to work for the Captain, not necessarily with this group of men.
"It was that drunk! I did not put him to sleep,"
"You did," Aramis replied, "Now shush, I'm ordering food."
Porthos plucked his phone from his hand and held it as far away as he could in the cramped backseat. D'Artagnan was worried he might drop it on the road as he stretched his hand out the window to keep away from his friend's grabby fingers.
"We are not ordering Indian again," Porthos said, "We'll have noodles, some dumplings."
"Pizza," Athos spoke up.
D'Artagnan very nearly jumped in his seat.
Athos didn't even open his eyes much less to try to lean away from the glass of the window his head was pressed again. Dialing the call he tossed his mobile phone in d'Artagnan's lap.
"You choose the toppings," he said.
The youngest glanced down at the mobile phone, stopped the car at the side of the empty road and pressed the piece of technology to his ear even as he glanced back in the rear view mirror at the two men behind him. D'Aragnan wasn't one to feel unsure, some would even say that he was a bit cocky but then one had to be if they had to survive in the less-than-legal profession he had chosen; you don't just get a well paid client if you don't have confidence in your skill set. But to his deep embarrassment he found himself on uneven ground by the simple order Athos had given him, after all he was new to this group, he hadn't formed a place, if any, within the dynamics these men shared; why should his opinion be sought then and why should it not be resented by the two who had for once gone quite in the back seat.
He was so busy staring at the rear view mirror that it came as a surprise that another person was talking to him from the other side and had been for quite a while if the hint of irritation was to go by in the voice.
D'Artagnan placed the order and then came the dreaded question about the toppings.
"Uh...um..."
"I must have been out of the country when that flavor came out," Aramis snickered.
The boy's eyes narrowed and just for that d'Artagnan ordered extra jalapeños because he had seen Aramis pick them out of the burgers Team 2 had brought for them. There was something very satisfactory in the dramatic groan that came for the older man and Porthos snorted.
"Well played pup," he said.
"Not a pup," d'Artagnan got the car moving again.
"Aramis?" Porthos asked.
"Oh absolutely, he's a pup just look at those eyes…"
And just like that the teasing was targeted his way. D'Artagnan was gnashing his teeth by the time they pulled to a stop in front of the building where the three men lived. He let Porthos manhandle their team leader out the car and up to the flat while Aramis lead the way shouldering three bags and a long case that d'Artagnan tried not pay mind to. He was still just getting used to the almost casual way Aramis' lugged around his sniper rifle.
He wasn't surprised when another argument broke out over which movie to watch until Athos declared it a Lord of the Rings marathon. They had just gotten to the council in Rivendell when Aramis and Porthos, who had taken up residence on the floor with their backs pressed against the sofa on which Athos was lying, got up and went into the rooms across from each other down the corridor. They returned with an armful of pillows and blankets.
D'Artagnan watched quietly as they adjusted Athos on the sofa so that the pressure on his cracked ribs would ease, they worked in a perfect silent rhythm tucking in pillows, rolling a blanket and shaking out another. Aramis caught him staring and smiled.
D'Artagnan dropped his gaze and startled when a pillow hit his face. He looked up to find the two men settling back into their places.
"Sometimes when the pain and pain killers muddle your thoughts it's good to know you're needed," Aramis shrugged, "keeps you tethered to reality."
The boy suddenly realized that neither of the two had argued with Athos the entire trip. Yet while Athos' word was final in the field aside from that he had been often on the receiving end of 'just a suggestions,' 'all I'm sayings' and 'maybes.'
D'Artagnan looked to the sleeping form of the man he had come to respect and idolize much too quickly. He didn't miss the way Athos' hand fell out from under the blanket and even in his sleep his fingers curled around the garment of Porthos' and Aramis' shirts at the point where their shoulders touched.
His attention diverted back to the two on the floor who were each pulling his way the blanket they had shared to spread over their outstretched legs.
"I think one day you two will kill each other," d'Artagnan muttered.
"True, but we won't let anyone else do it," Porthos shrugged.
With a shake of his head d'Artagnan pushed to his feet, he did not see the hand that sneaked out and yanked his ankle from under him. He landed on his rear; back in the armchair he had previously been occupying and glared at Aramis.
"You're staying," said the older man.
"I am?"
He was smacked in the face by the last blanket for his question. He could have dumped the pillow and the blanket right back at them, he could have come up with a number of fake yet valid excuses and left them to finish the movies. But the trip back to his place suddenly felt too quiet, the tiny room he rented somehow felt colder tonight and d'Artagnan sank back in the overstuffed chair.
What do you think?