A/N: I have a feeling that this is going to get confusing soon because these stories keep being additions or fillers from the last set of prompts. I'm working on the least irritating way to put these all in a cohesive order, though. I think it's getting to a point that they need to be ordered. Anyway, this one follows up some on the chapter 30 (Learning to Trust) from Thirty-One Days Hath October. It's a follow up to the story the three tell d'Artagnan.

Summary: In the wake of Aramis' latest suicide attempt, Athos is struggling with his own depression.

Warning: There is some discussion of suicide in this story.

Talk to Me

Athos has dealt with this for years, his entire life it seems, though his parents have assured him that he wasn't always like this. For the most part now, however, he has it under control. There's the occasional stress-related flare up, not surprising given his line of work as a Musketeer. And in the aftermath of finding Aramis bleeding out from self-inflicted cuts and dealing with his stubbornness as the hospital, he's not surprised to be dealing with a severe flare-up.

Porthos and Treville have done what they can to help, helping him to get to his psychiatry appointments and keeping him in his routine. His all-important routine which has saved his sanity more times than he can count. When he's feeling good, it's easy to maintain the regular habits of sleeping, hygiene, eating, exercising, and relaxing, but when he's not they become too cumbersome to even consider. His bed or the couch in the den are his refuges.

Athos doesn't remember asking Porthos and Treville for their help in the beginning. In fact, other than checking the depression box on the application documents, he never told anyone. But they were at his door the first time his depression hit and he failed to show up to work and they didn't stop knocking until Porthos picked the lock and let themselves in. Athos remembers half-heartedly fighting their efforts to help him, their initially confused, flustered attempts. They got better with it the next time. All of them.

But now, it's harder because Aramis is here and Aramis is so much worse off than him. The three sit in the den, Porthos in the armchair that was a gift from Treville to Aramis, Aramis is huddled into a corner on the couch, his wrists still tightly bound in gauze and hidden by a thick sweater, and Athos is on the other side, forcing himself to sit upright and be attentive to the conversation.

They're talking about what to do this evening. Aramis has been home for a few days and seems to be doing better than a couple weeks ago. If nothing else, he's holding his own and that's enough for Athos right now. It has to be because he's just barely holding his own. Porthos knows. Treville knows. Because they've seen him like this before. Aramis is unaware but Athos doesn't fault him. The young man is dealing with a lot and the fact that he's able to sit with them in the den, occasionally offering an opinion on their plans is progress enough.

"What're your thoughts, Athos," Porthos asks. The words break through Athos' haze of thoughts, but only just and it takes a moment to process the individual words as a complete sentence. And even then, he can't think of a suitable response.

"I don't know," he says, mildly embarrassed at the loss of focus. He adds a simple shoulder shrug as if that might help. As he does so, he regrets it.

"It's not a big decision. Pizza or Chinese?" Porthos' words have no heat to them, at least intentionally. "Aramis said he didn't care much either way. What do you think?"

He's not surprised Aramis didn't have an opinion. He's fairly sure the young man expects them to throw him out any second for all the trouble he's caused them. They've talked about this, but talks can only do so much. One day, Athos is confident, Aramis will believe them, trust them.

"It really doesn't matter," Athos says again. Food right now is not a thought and the idea of having to eat something makes him want to crawl under the covers of his bed and not come out for weeks.

"Athos," Porthos sighs and Athos can hear the irritation. He looks away, not wanting to see Porthos' face. What the man must be dealing with right now. It was easier when it was just one depressed person to deal with, now there are two. Though if Athos could bring himself to tell Porthos, he'd say to worry about Aramis first. Athos is long familiar with depression. He can handle it himself easily.

"I'm sorry, Porthos. I just don't care. You always have wanted honesty and that's the truth. I don't fucking care." Athos sees Aramis flinch as his harsh tone and immediately regrets his words. Porthos too is shocked at the outburst.

Then, without thought, Athos tosses aside the pillow he'd been fidgeting with and goes upstairs, at the last second catching his bedroom door that he's pushed hard enough to slam. He partly misses and the door shuts loudly still. He hopes it doesn't set Aramis off. He thinks he should go check, but the bed is far more tempting. And the guilt at that thought is overwhelming enough that he collapses on the bed and curls up.

And then it begins, or rather continues, the endless thoughts, the anxiety, and worry. One thought cascades into another without preamble. As they build so does the icy hold in his stomach, the familiar ache returning. It's been hovering for days, weeks, if he's honest and he tries to be, at least with himself and Porthos and Treville.

The knocking on the door doesn't penetrate his thoughts for a while and then, when he does hear it, he ignores it, hoping Porthos will get a clue and leave him alone until he's ready to come out.

"Athos." That's not Porthos, he realizes. Standing outside his door, persistently knocking is Aramis.

He should reply, ask if the young man needs anything, but he can't.

"Athos, are you okay?" The worry in Aramis' voice is clear.

Athos tries to speak, but what does he say. This man needs the truth from him too, but he worries about the damage it will cause.

"Athos, please, just make some noise to let me know you're okay." Aramis sounds on the verge of tears. He imagines the young man is itching to enter, but he knows the house rules, established in part because of him. Bedrooms are private sanctuaries to be entered only with the permission of the owner, unless imminent danger is present. "Throw something. I don't care. It won't bother me. Just make some noise."

There's some part of Athos that wonders if something's happened to Porthos that's led to Aramis coming after him, not Porthos himself. But he's sure that if that happened, Aramis would've come in already or he'd have heard from Treville.

Athos gazes around lazily, seeing if anything within easy grasps can be thrown. There's his phone, but as lethargic as he feels, he won't throw that.

"Come," Athos mumbles, loud enough hopefully for Aramis to hear.

"Did you say something?" Aramis might've heard, but the young man doesn't trust his senses, himself. Even more, Athos knows that he waits for clear consent, which in Aramis' current state can mean reassuring him several times of their words. In time, Athos hopes, that will go away. Right now, however, it's more annoying than usual. It took a lot of energy to speak that one word last time and now he has to speak again.

"Come in, 'Mis." He hopes Aramis understands this time because he won't, can't repeat his words.

"I'm coming in, Athos," Aramis says, voice still hesitant. Athos wonders when the man last felt confident in anything other than his lack of worth. Treville assures them that a confident Aramis is a force to be reckoned with. Athos hopes they'll see that day.

The door opens slowly and Athos sees Aramis poke his head in.

"Hi, Athos," Aramis says shyly. "I'm going to come all the way in, if you don't mind." Athos doesn't respond and Aramis waits several moments. "I guess that's an okay." There's an uneasy quirk of his lips, but Aramis does come all the way in, leaving the door cracked open behind him. Aramis never shuts a door and Athos can't figure that one out.

"Porthos wanted to come up, but he's still too upset," Aramis says. "He's getting dinner together."

That explains some of this. He doesn't understand what Aramis is doing up here though.

"What is he making?" Athos isn't ready for the big questions.

"I don't know. There was some cursing and banging of pots."

That explains why Aramis is up here.

Athos stretches a hand out to pat an empty part of the bed, hoping Aramis will understand what he means. He doesn't, but after some hesitation, he does pull up a chair to sit in next to the bed. His legs are pulled up as soon as he sits, tight against his chest that seems impossible for a grown man to do.

They sit in silence for a bit, occasionally stealing glances at each other before looking away.

"Why didn't you say anything, Athos," Aramis finally says quietly.

Athos raises an eyebrow at him.

"You're depressed, Athos. If there's anyone in this house that can recognize it, it's me."

"I'm fine," Athos says automatically.

"You will be, but you're not now. Why didn't you say something?"

"Porthos knows. Treville too. It's life. You get used to it."

"Doesn't make it easier." Aramis pauses before quietly adding, "Especially with me making such a mess all the time."

"No," Athos says.

"Was it…" Aramis hesitates. "Was it my attempt that did this?" Officially Aramis' incident has been ruled a suicide attempt but there is still some question about how intentional the deep cuts were given he was drunk. Aramis still hasn't spoken much of it.

"No." Athos shakes his head.

"But it was me."

And this is why Athos hasn't told Aramis. In the months that he's known the young man, he feels like he understands the young man as though they're old friends. He knows Aramis will find himself at fault. Athos won't deny that taking care of Aramis has strained him, but that's not Aramis' fault. He's prone to depression and it's been no surprise to him that he's fallen into the depths once again.

"No, 'Mis. It's not your fault."

"But…"

"Can you help the illnesses you have, the flashbacks, the panic attacks, the nightmares," Athos asks, interrupting Aramis.

"Maybe. Probably should." Aramis shrugs his shoulders and Athos hold back a sigh. Aramis isn't at the point yet to understand that none of this is his fault. They thought he was, but then came the incident.

"In time you will, but now, you can't and that's okay." They've all told Aramis this so many times these past several months, hoping that one time it will sink in. "You can't help it right now, so you're not to blame and you never will be because you can't help what's happened to you. You know that I've had depression in the past and you know from meeting with the psychiatrist that just because you get over it, doesn't mean that it won't come back." Athos pauses because stringing this many words together is more than his body can take right now. He tries to remember where he left off, where he started, but his mind is muddled. This might be the part that he hates the most. The inability to focus, to remember, to think.

"I'm sorry you have to keep telling me that. You've all told me so many times, but…" Aramis trails off.

"Your mind is a tough critic. Yeah, I know."

Aramis nods. Then, after a long moment, he asks, "Do you ever talk to Porthos or Treville?"

They've all stressed to him talking to them about what's going on, so it shouldn't come as any surprise when Aramis turns the question back on him.

"Some," Athos says. "Not really," he adds a few seconds later.

"They're good listeners."

"I know." Athos has tried, but try as they might, there's something about it that they just don't get and it frustrates him.

"Talk to me then," Aramis says after a moment. "If you can't talk to them, talk to me."

Athos appreciates the offer, but he can't, won't burden Aramis with this. The young man is still dealing with his own trudges through mental illness. He won't add to what he's dealing with.

Athos shakes his head, not trusting his voice.

"Please, Athos. Who else is going to understand better than me? And haven't you been telling me that it's better to talk it out than keep it in?"

Athos wants to curse but that takes energy he doesn't have.

"Let me help you, Athos. I want to. I don't know that I help with much else, but I can listen."

When Athos doesn't answer, Aramis speaks again.

"I'll be here, Athos. Whenever you're ready. In your own time."

Athos has heard those words, those sentiments spoken over and over again by his parents, his brother, his ex-wife, and his friends with varying degrees of sincerity. But Aramis spoke them with a clear understanding of what it meant to be told those words and stunned Athos, not because he thought the young man incapable of expressing them. But that there was another human out there capable of understanding, that Aramis, who was already dealing with so much, would try, would offer.

Still, it's not that night that he takes up Aramis on his offer. Nevertheless, the young man is there, a steady presence as day turns to night, enveloping the room in an easy darkness, giving a warmth to it. And Athos finds that that night he doesn't slip down any deeper.