A/N: Thanks for all the great support for this story so far! It's always great to read your responses. You guys are amazing!

Patience

Chapter 6

Aramis was returning from delivering a missive from the King as he rode through the garrison gates. It had begun to rain and the shirt underneath his doublet was soaked. The skies had been clear when he set out so he hadn't thought to bring his cloak with him. He groaned as he dismounted. His bout with Porthos had been two days ago, but his ribs were still sore.

He saw Athos watching him as he handed his reins to the stable boy and went to greet his comrade where he stood sheltered under the overhang of the second floor barracks.

"How are you feeling?" Athos asked casually as Aramis approached. Apparently the swordsman had seen his grimace as he dismounted.

"Exceptionally refreshed," he said with a wide grin as he ran his hands through his damp hair.

"Your ribs are still bothering you," he said simply, but Aramis could still detect the slight reprimand in the statement.

"I'm fine Athos. I'm soggy and a little sore, but it's not even worth mentioning," Aramis said as he placed his arm around the man's shoulders and guided him towards his room in the barracks. "I'll feel much better once I've been able to change out of this shirt." Athos raised his eyebrow but said nothing as they entered the marksman's room.

"You're quite the mother hen, you know," Aramis said with a laugh as he removed his weapons belt.

"You must the see the irony in that statement coming from you," he replied, leaning casually against the wall.

"My "fussing", as you call it, comes from professional concern as your medic," he said as he unbuttoned his long doublet and hung it by the fire to dry it out slightly. "Yours is just –"

"A result of you hiding injuries and pushing yourself to extremes or forgetting you had been stabbed?" he responded.

Aramis' eyes flashed in the mix of mischief, amusement and danger that he had perfected. "That was one time, and if you'll remember correctly, I was a little preoccupied by the musket ball I was trying to extricate from your arm."

"Yes, thanks for that," said Athos dryly, his own eyes flashing with humour. A knock on the door behind them had Athos turning. "I'll just get that, shall I?" He opened the door on Porthos who stood in the doorway with his hands held suspiciously behind his back.

"Porthos!" called Aramis, "Come in!"

Porthos grinned. "Just wanted to drop this off for ya," he said bringing forward a stool he had hidden behind his back as he entered. "I owed ya."

Aramis grinned. "An exceptional replacement! Many thanks," he said as he turned away slightly and pulled his soggy shirt over his head.

A loud hiss had him looking back at Porthos who stood with his mouth gaping. Athos too had his eyes narrowed. Aramis raised his eyebrows and looked down at his torso. A dark purple bruise stained his lower ribs on his right side, while a series of others marked other patches of his lean torso. He shrugged his shoulders and began rummaging in his cabinet for a clean shirt.

"Is that from…Did I do that?" Porthos asked, his eyes wide and full of concern.

"It looks much worse than it is," Aramis said casually, slipping a fresh shirt over his head.

"Aramis…" said Athos, anger obvious in his eyes now as they flashed at the marksman standing in front of him. This was the first time Athos had seen the extent of the damage done from his round with Porthos.

"Don't start. I'm fine," he said, his eyes flashing warningly at Athos as he saw the dour and deflated way Porthos stood.

"Aramis…I'm sorry. Didn't realize I had hit you so hard. You didn't react. Why'd you let me do that?" Porthos asked the marksman dejectedly.

Aramis sighed, "I needed you to show the others what you were capable of," he said. "You did nothing wrong Porthos. Trust me, I've had worse." At these words Athos spun on his heel and stomped out of the room, startling the other two men. Aramis frowned after him; his brow furrowed as his dark eyes filled with concern.

"Is he alright?" Porthos asked quietly.

Aramis ran a hand through his hair nervously before looking back at Porthos. "He's…protective," he said somewhat lamely as he shrugged his shoulders.

"He cares about you," said Porthos admonishingly with a little flare of anger. "You shouldn't have done that. You should have put on a sparrin' vest. This is my fault."

"For the last time Porthos, I'm fine! I'll be dressed appropriately for the next time we spar, but the thought did not register in the moment," said Aramis a little angry himself now as he took a seat at the table. How was it that he was the one being scolded like a child? True, they were both older than he was, but he'd been a soldier longer than either of these men!

Porthos took a deep breath and sat across from Aramis at the table. "Aramis," he said softly staring deeply into the angry dark eyes across from him, "You need to promise me that you won't risk hurting yourself for my sake again. I'm not worth it," he said pleadingly.

Aramis slammed his fist down on the table. "You're wrong. I did what was necessary, and I will not apologize for whatever actions I took. It's time you valued your life and your presence here the way I do. You deserve to be here Porthos and are as worthy as any of us. I will not have this conversation with you again."

"Not sure Athos thinks so anymore," replied Porthos miserably. He dropped his head to stare at his hands to hide any vagrant tears that might dare to show themselves. Athos' good opinion once lost, he feared, was impossible to recover.

Aramis sighed. "I'll deal with Athos. He's just protective. Like I said before, he lost someone once – a brother, I think. It has been hard for him since then."

"How long have you and he been fightin' together?" Porthos asked.

"Would you believe it, hardly more than a year," he said with a slight laugh. Porthos looked shocked.

"But the two of you – you're so close! The way you work together – the way you fight together. I thought for sure you'd known each other for ages!"

Aramis grinned at his surprise. "It certainly feels that way," he said and paused. "When I met Athos…something just clicked. From the first, we just knew each other. We saw something in each other you could say, as though we had been fighting together for a lifetime already. We just…knew what the other would think, would do…"

"He's your brother," Porthos said softly.

"Yes," said Aramis, his dark eyes filling with affection, "In every way but blood."

They were quiet for a moment before Aramis continued. "I believe that God put Athos and I together. Somehow we were meant to find each other. How else could everything have been so familiar? As though I have known him all my life? Our souls knew each other from the moment we met."

He paused and caught Porthos' eye before continuing. "I've had the same feeling about you. As though my soul recognized yours when we first were introduced in Treville's office. I know Athos feels the same," he said seriously. "You are supposed to be here, Porthos. You are meant to become a musketeer. You are meant to become our brother. And you will never be able to stop me from doing everything in my power to help my brothers."

oOo

Aramis had left Porthos at the table with these profound thoughts swirling in his head. That fire burned again in his chest; in his heart, Porthos knew that every word the marksman had uttered was true. He had been drawn to Athos and Aramis instantly, and not simply because of the marksman's charisma.

It was something else. It was the instant ease they had found in each other's company. It was in the way that he somehow knew the meaning and the words behind each subtle shift in Athos' eyes. It was in the deep ache he felt when he had witnessed the damage he had caused to the marksman's body. It was even in the way he had come to their rescue that night on the streets of Paris…

As he thought back on that night, something once again had drawn him towards those men, drew him to leave the tavern at that moment – as though, as Aramis indicated, some cosmic force told him they might need him. It was in the way that that fire burned in his chest when he thought about fighting and living side by side with these men.

Porthos realized in that moment that his dreams had shifted. He no longer wanted to just be a musketeer – he wanted to be worthy of the brotherhood that Aramis had hinted at. For the first time, Porthos knew his place and it would be at the side of Athos and Aramis.

oOo