A/N: Thanks to those who read and reviewed the first story. Here is the second one-shot. It's a different tone from the last and decidedly not as happy, but I think it does have an optimistic ending. No one dies, so that should be a relief. In some respects, it's more of a character exploration, though there is some semblance of a plot thanks to d'Artagnan. Please read, relax, and enjoy.

The Melancholic One

Anyone who saw the Inseparables, who met and talked with them for any length of time would have easily pegged Athos for the melancholic one. If the men were honest, he did have his turns, his bouts with a darkness that only wine made him forget about and they were sure to keep him close. It was a feeling that they didn't understand well, except for one, who knew the feeling of oppressing darkness all too well. In truth, it was Aramis they had to look out for. Athos had his bad days that sometimes stretched into a week or longer, but Aramis hid his moods. Porthos and Athos chalked it up to Savoy as they'd only really gotten to know him after that disastrous mission. Treville, however, warned them one day, as he'd known the marksman the longest in the regiment, that Aramis, contrary to his outward demeanor, was often slightly melancholic and sometimes dipped even lower into absolute darkness. Savoy only served to make it worse and give him little reason to hide his natural tendencies.

Only four people in all of Paris knew of his moods and each respected him enough to never question him openly, but understood well enough to know when he wasn't doing well. d'Artagnan, their newest companion, was not one of these people. It wasn't so much a matter of trust as it was something they didn't talk about. They simply stepped in to offer whatever they had learned Aramis needed. It was done without questioning or prodding of his needs.

Thus, it was quite the surprise to d'Artagnan to find Aramis sitting at the garrison's table in the courtyard, cleaning his pistols without any of his usual vigor. Porthos sat next to him, cleaning a pistol as well, and Athos was opposite, cleaning and sharpening his sword. There was a silence that reigned over the table and seeped out, it seemed, into the courtyard. There were the usual noises, but d'Artagnan felt, almost, as if he'd stepped into a church given the silence and the seeming demand for it. It was in stark contrast to the absolutely perfect day. The sun was out, the sky was finally clear after days of rain, and the temperature was warm, but not so much that they would be sweating in their leathers. It called for more life than was currently in the air.

"Athos, Porthos, Aramis," he said, working as much happiness into his voice as he could manage, though he felt as if he were breaking a rule by doing so.

"d'Artagnan," Porthos returned the greeting while Athos gave him his customary head nod. Aramis might have glanced up briefly, but he couldn't be sure. Regardless, he remained focused on slowly, almost lethargically cleaning the pistol in hand.

"What's on the agenda for the day?" He hoped it wasn't guard duty today. Though it was a lovely day, he wasn't in the mood to stand in one place for hours.

"Nothing," Athos answered. "Treville has given us the day off."

"Really?" He didn't think they were given days off. In the two odd months he'd been in Paris, working towards earning a commission, he hadn't seen them take a day off. A few hours here and there, perhaps an afternoon or a morning for mass, but nothing like an entire day. Perhaps that was the reason for the sullen mood. These were men of action, after all, especially Aramis. d'Artagnan didn't expect him to react well to a day of idleness.

"How will you spend it then?"

"Once our weapons are clean, we will decide," Athos said. d'Artagnan didn't want to sit and clean his weapons, but he could read the unspoken command to do so. For nearly an hour, he patiently cleaned his weapons, doing his best to move in calm, deliberate motions. In the end, he was finished before the others, but forced himself to keep his seat next to Athos and not stare at the others. He'd never experienced such silence before amongst these men.

"Athos," he finally said. Strangely, the taciturn man seemed the most approachable right now. He'd certainly uttered more words than the others this morning.

Athos wordlessly looked at him.

"Go ahead, Athos," Aramis said. His voice was low and empty.

"Are you sure?"

"He's been very patient." Normally, there would've been at least a crack of a smile or a lilt to his voice.

Perhaps Aramis wasn't feeling well and they were trying to keep things calm and quiet.

"Is he ill," he asked quietly.

"Let's go. A little sparring will be good for you." Athos ignored his question. They all did, in fact. He decided to let it go, for now.

And it was easy to do so with Athos putting him through his paces. Over the past couple months, he noticed that every so often the master swordsman would step up his intensity. It wasn't a matter of going easy on him, but of teaching him, training him to pace himself for the length of a sword fight as well as the ferocity. He'd often seen Athos, Aramis, and Porthos duel for long stretches, pacing each other to withstand the stretches and intensity of fighting they might encounter with any type of enemy they would face on duty. Since his first duel with the three, the one where he challenged Athos to the death, he hadn't again fought all three. One of these days, though…

They stopped when Athos disarmed him for the third time. As much as he wanted to continue, he knew the growing frustration would only hinder his skills. That had been proven too many times over the weeks.

"Where's Aramis," he asked taking a seat at the table with Athos and Porthos.

"Up in his room," Porthos answered.

"Is he alright?"

"Perhaps we should go for a ride today," Athos said. "We've not spent much time out of Paris lately. It would be good for us to spend an afternoon in the countryside, perhaps near the river."

"I'll ask Serge to pack some food for us," Porthos said without pause.

"Good, I'll get Aramis."

"A picnic?" d'Artagnan wasn't sure he could believe what he was hearing. It was all rather domestic and he was sure they were actively ignoring him. "What's going on?"

"Why don't you go and let Treville know that we're going out for the afternoon, then meet us down in the stable," Athos said.

"Will one of you let me know what's going on?"

"Let Treville know and meet us in the stable," Athos repeated. d'Artagnan huffed and walked away. It was clear they weren't going to let him know what was going on. They hadn't even answered a single question about Aramis. He knew he was new to the group and didn't expect to be a part to all of their secrets, but surely he deserved some simple word on Aramis' wellbeing.

Letting Treville know was easy and mostly a note of the respect they had for the man as there was no need on their day off to inform him of their movements. Still, he seemed pleased to know they were riding out and remarked that it would be good for Aramis. He didn't bother to ask the Captain what he meant as he knew that Treville wouldn't elaborate any more than the others did.

Porthos was waiting on him in the stables. He'd already saddled up his horse and was working on Aramis'. There were a couple packs of food sitting on a hay bale. d'Artagnan set about getting his own horse ready.

They'd just finished with Athos' horse and distributing the food packs when Athos and Aramis arrived, the latter trailing slightly behind.

"I was beginning to wonder," Porthos said.

"It took some convincing," Athos answered. He sounded odd, but d'Artagnan couldn't place the tone he was hearing. It might have been exasperation or anger, but whatever it was, it was clear he was doing his best to hide it. Aramis didn't have an answer or even a greeting for them. Instead, he was unusually quiet and reserved still.

"Everything alright, Aramis," d'Artagnan asked.

"Yes." Aramis' answer was low and toneless. It was also an obvious lie.

Athos and Porthos gave each other a knowing look.

"Let's go before this good weather is lost," Athos said after a short pause. Nothing was said as they mounted their horses and left the garrison at a slow pace. Athos took the lead through the city streets, where they were forced to move slowly and weave around the many people excited for the sunshine and warm temperatures. Worried and clueless, d'Artagnan settled into the rear of the group, observing as Porthos wordlessly positioned himself close behind Aramis.

Something was seriously wrong. Perhaps Aramis had received some bad news, but he couldn't recall any messengers coming to the garrison for the man. It couldn't be illness, or nothing serious at least. Whatever it was, he resolved himself to be patient or at least try. Athos was always on him to be patient and perhaps this was the time to test it out.

He expected that once they were outside the confines of Paris, they'd pick up the pace. It was a bit quicker, but nothing terribly quick. They largely kept to their formation, but Porthos did move up alongside Aramis. The man didn't appear ill or otherwise injured. His posture was as good as ever, but there was a certain lack of energy to his movements. The normal fidgeting and jesting were completely absent. It was un-Aramis-like. In fact, it was much more like Athos.

They rode some distance outside of the city until they reached a grassy area near the river with a few trees for shade. As he dismounted and made sure his horse wouldn't wander off, d'Artagnan discreetly watched as Aramis did the same. His movements were steady, but slow. He didn't glance up or remark on the beauty of nature, as he so often did in the countryside. d'Artagnan wondered if the man quite realized his surroundings. The other two, though their motions were quicker were just as quiet.

Porthos set about getting the food packs from the horses while Athos pulled out a couple bottles of wine that d'Artagnan hadn't seen him pack.

"You should eat something, Aramis," Porthos said. The marksman didn't acknowledge him, but walked towards the river. Athos and Porthos shared another look.

"At least since yesterday morning, maybe the day before," Porthos said.

"Since Tuesday then," Athos said. It was Thursday.

"There wasn't any time and I didn't… he…" Uncharacteristically, Porthos couldn't find his words. None of this made sense to d'Artagnan, but this was the most they'd spoken about Aramis all day so he listened carefully.

"It's fine, Porthos. I'll take him something," Athos said.

"He won't eat it."

"Possibly, but I don't fancy hauling an unconscious Aramis back to Paris." Athos took some bread and cheese along with a bottle of wine over to where Aramis was by the river. He'd removed his boots and socks and rolled up his pant legs to dangle them over the edge.

There was no conversation between the two men when Athos arrived with the food. Instead, he set down the food and wine in between them, removing his own boots and socks to copy Aramis' position. When he was settled at last, the two sat in silence, staring down into the water while Athos took occasional sips of wine.

"Porthos," d'Artagnan started, but he didn't know where to go. Anything he asked he knew, sensed would be an invasion of privacy.

"He'll be alright," Porthos answered. He'd settled down to sit with his back against a tree. d'Artagnan took the words as an invitation to sit next to him. Porthos handed him the second bottle of wine.

"Alright?"

"Well, as alright as he can be."

"A woman?" He'd been like this after Adele chose the Cardinal over him. It hadn't been this sort of sullen, silent melancholy, but it was familiar.

"If only," Porthos said with a dry chuckle.

"What then? News from home?"

"No news."

d'Artagnan forced himself to allow the pause, kept himself hopeful that Porthos might reveal more of what happened.

"I know you're dying to know what's happened, d'Artagnan." He couldn't remember another time Porthos had sounded so serious. "The truth is, I don't know neither does Athos. I doubt even Aramis knows."

"How?"

"It just happens sometimes."

d'Artagnan was quiet as he processed what he'd learned. It made a little more sense, but he found puzzling something that had no apparent origins could lead to such melancholy. It didn't seem right.

"He doesn't ever say anything. Don't think he quite knows when it's coming until it's too late. Usually Athos and me or the Captain see it, though."

"And you step in?"

"Something like that. Depends on how bad it is. Sometimes we keep busy working through it, sometimes, like now, we get a day off."

"And this works?"

"Don't know. Seems to, though."

d'Artagnan looked over to where Athos and Aramis sat by the river. Aramis hadn't altered his gaze at the water, but he did seem to be chewing, so that was something.

"It's not instantaneous, d'Artagnan," Porthos said, drawing his attention back to the man. "There's no pattern or rhythm to it."

"Surely there's something to it. How could anyone survive such a life? Has he always been like this?"

"As far as I know, but he doesn't talk about it. First time it happened, we had no clue. Captain called us in to give us orders and Aramis never showed. We went looking for him and found that he'd been holed up in his room for a few days. We'd been out on an assignment and Aramis was still recovering from a mission gone bad. Thought he was doing better. Turned out, he couldn't get himself out of bed except to take a piss. We thought he'd died with how still he was laying there, but Treville knew what had happened. He helped us to take care of Aramis. Later, he pulled me and Athos into his office and explained what he knew."

"How is he…" d'Artagnan let his voice trickle off, not sure how to phrase his question. It seemed disrespectful to ask.

"How is he still a Musketeer?" Porthos again read his mind. "Even the best men have bad days. Doesn't make him any weaker. Makes him stronger, I always thought."

Again, he was silent, thinking.

"He doesn't refuse what we try to do for him," Porthos said after a while. "I don't know that it helps, really, but he's not alone through any of it, not anymore. I think that counts for something. I've tried to understand it, but the truth is I've never felt like he has, is. A bad day here or there, losing a month's wages at the table, it's not the same. Athos comes the closest, for whatever he's experienced that drives him to drink. He understands somewhat, but I know he doesn't get it either."

d'Artagnan looked back to the other two. At some point, Aramis had laid back, his feet still in the water. His eyes weren't closed though, but his hands were rested on his stomach. He looked content, but d'Artagnan doubted that he was. He wondered what was going through the marksman's mind. He could only hazard a guess from his own bouts with sadness after the deaths of his parents. It wasn't the same, he knew even though he was still stricken with bouts of sadness.

"I'm sure this is quite the surprise to you. You've done well, especially considering we weren't saying anything really."

"It is a surprise. I mean, he always seems so happy and carefree."

"That's not an act, not all of it. Once you get to know him, really know him, you'll learn to see the difference."

"What do I do? How do you know when it's happening?"

"Just follow our lead for now, d'Artagnan. It wasn't easy for us at the start, but patience and listening, even though he doesn't talk, will guide you."

d'Artagnan nodded. He observed the group, the men who were his friends and becoming his brothers. Athos kept his silent vigil next to Aramis, but didn't join him in laying down. The marksman was still lying down, but his eyes were hidden by an arm thrown over them, resting in the crook of his elbow. He'd pulled his feet up from the water, leaving his legs bent at the knees. And Porthos kept watch, it seemed, alternatively watching the three of them and staring out into the countryside.

He trusted these men, believed Porthos was right when he said Aramis would be alright. He didn't know them as well as they knew each other, but he sensed that Aramis would return to them even though he'd be lost again. d'Artagnan hoped that he was around long enough to help Aramis as Porthos and Athos did, long enough to recognize the changes and take care of his brother.