A/N: Wow! A lot of really awesome feedback for that last chapter. Some of you showed a lot of concern for poor Athos...This chapter will put you at ease.

Or will it?


Patience

Chapter 7

Athos sat alone at the dark corner table of the tavern. He was very drunk.

He made a point of picking an unfamiliar tavern, having no interest in seeing or speaking to anyone he knew, especially not Aramis and Porthos. What he had witnessed in the marksman's room had been almost more than he could bear and so he retreated, as he always did, into the relief he could find at the bottom of a bottle. Or several if the way the room was shifting was any indication.

When Aramis had raised his shirt to reveal the patchwork of bruises that covered his body, all feeling fled from Athos. When Porthos reacted with the pain, regret and desolation obvious in the way his voice wavered at the sight, Athos' heart stopped. The image of his brother Thomas' dead body had blazed behind his eyes again, accompanied as always by a vision of white lace and forget-me-nots.

Fear, pain, love and anger had surged through him suddenly and he had been forced to leave lest he strike both men, or break down sobbing at their feet.

Athos took a long swig from his glass of wine.

How had he let this happen?

It had been an accident with Aramis. He had never intended to let the man in – to know him or care for him – but from the instant they met, there had been something that had bonded the pair of them together, more than simply surviving at the front.

The spirit knows its kin before the mind does, he thought. Was it possible that this could be happening again with Porthos? He couldn't deny what he said to Aramis – there was something about Porthos that had felt familiar instantly; something that made Athos aware of where the man was. Even in the middle of the entire group of cadets, Athos would have been able to find Porthos blindfolded. It was the same innate sense to protect the man that Athos had also felt for Aramis. That he had felt for Thomas.

There was something that pushed him to trust these men, that told him he could depend on them – an urge that Athos had been fighting for so long. He thought he had defeated this vulnerability. Hadn't he tried? Didn't he make every effort to seal off his heart? He had already lost Thomas. Would he be able to survive the loss of Aramis and now Porthos too?

The vision of Aramis' beaten body flashed in his mind and his anger surged instantly. It's not that Athos hadn't seen Aramis injured before. In their line of work, frequent injury was par for the course. A week rarely passed without some kind of nick or bruise.

No, what angered Athos was twofold: that Porthos did it, and that Aramis let it happen.

Athos downed the contents of his glass and refilled it, upending the bottle to get every last drop from it.

Athos was well aware of Aramis' self-sacrificing tendencies – a habit that Athos ironically swore he would break him of if it killed him. No, Athos' anger was, at that moment, primarily directed at Porthos; Porthos should have known what the impact of his blows would do. He shouldn't have put Aramis in a position where he would need to risk injury in order to prove a point.

As his mind raged, the vision of Porthos' miserable face floated into his thoughts and dampened his anger at the man. Porthos had been in pain when he realized what he had done – as deep and sharp of a pain as Athos had felt himself at the revelation. The urge to reach out and comfort him in that instant throbbed in his chest and Athos found himself raising his hand to comfort the man as though he were still in front of him.

Shaking his head, he grasped his glass instead and took another large swallow of wine.

It was actually his fault, Athos realized. He should have protected them. He should have stopped it. He should have stopped Aramis. He should have known he'd do something like this. He should have sheltered Porthos from the knowledge of what his powerful fists had done to his brother. He should have protected them both like he should have protected Thomas.

Athos lowered his head. Two traitorous tears fell from his blue eyes and landed on the worn wooden tabletop.

"Athos," said a sad and gentle voice as a shadow fell across Athos' table.

"Go away," he said, refusing to look up at the marksman. The sound of the chair being pulled from the table indicated that the man had no intention to acquiesce, which wasn't surprising – Aramis hated following orders.

They were silent for a few moments. Athos' fingertips drew circles on the table through the treacherous tears. Aramis reached forward and grasped Athos' hand, stopping it in its tracks. They both stared at their clasped hands for a moment more.

"I'm sorry Athos," Aramis whispered finally.

Anger surged through Athos again, banishing the tears from his eyes. He yanked his hand free from the marksman.

"Why?" he demanded, his voice gravelly.

"I had to Athos. You must understand. I had to let him prove himself," Aramis said shrugging his shoulders.

"You knew," Athos said, his words slurring, but whether from the wine or his anger, it was hard to determine. "You knew you would be injured," he said accusingly.

"It was a risk," he admitted, "but there was no other way. I had to – "

"Yes, you had to help him prove his worth. But what of your worth, Aramis?" Athos spat. "Our role is dangerous enough without you sacrificing your body to prove a point!"

"Athos –"

"There could have been another way!" Athos shouted and the tables around theirs fell silent at this outburst.

Aramis sat there staring down at the table while Athos' eyes burned holes into the top of his head.

"Seeing you, knowing what he did. That nearly broke him," Athos said, his voice once more under control.

"I know," said Aramis sadly.

"And I…I couldn't protect him from it any more than I could protect you from the blows," he said bitterly.

Aramis' head snapped up at these words. His dark brown eyes were bright with concern and alarm.

"I couldn't protect him either…Thomas…" Athos said, his voice trailing off, his eyes practically bursting with unshed tears.

"Athos," Aramis said seriously, "It is not your responsibility to protect me. You will not always be able to."

Athos let out a bitter laugh. "My need to protect you is as inherent as yours is to throw yourself in harm's way."

"I don't believe that's fair," Aramis said quietly. Athos could tell that last remark had hurt his comrade.

In a rare move, Athos reached forward to retake the marksman's hand. "I can't lose another brother," he said fervently.

"You won't," said Aramis, his brown eyes matching the conviction and affection of Athos' blue.

oOo

The next day was difficult for Athos.

Aramis had led him home as he always insisted on doing when he thought the swordsman had had too much to drink, but this time, Athos insisted Aramis leave him at the door. He needed some time alone. His emotions were still too raw. He was morose and angry and needed to process his new feelings regarding Porthos, and the old pain regarding Thomas, on his own.

As he stood among the others awaiting muster, the throbbing in his head was different than the usual one he suffered from too much wine.

It had been a long time since he had been ripped open like that, but Aramis, as he always did, somehow saw through Athos. He managed to pull the deepest fears from him, in exchange for words of love, understanding and a comforting touch.

He saw Porthos warily glance his way; he seemed apprehensive about approaching him. Athos was glad for this. He wasn't sure what he would say to the man yet. His anger wasn't rational – Porthos hadn't realized that he had hurt Aramis, and Aramis was the one who demanded they fight. Still, deep in his heart, Athos felt that Porthos should have known – should have sensed his brother's pain. And despite all Aramis had said last night, Athos could still feel the burdensome weight of guilt as it settled heavily on his shoulders and beat on his head like a drum.

Aramis came to stand next to him, his dark eyes searching his face to get a read on where his mind might be. Athos raised an eyebrow and quirked his lip slightly.

"I'm fine, I just need time. Be patient," the look seemed to say.

The morning was moving on and the men were assembled and waiting idly as Treville finally marched down the stairs from his office. He was late, which was unusual, but the grim look on his face was not.

"Gentlemen," he said as the musketeers and cadets came to attention, "I will be sending a group of you on a training mission to practise your tactical thinking and survival skills. Marsac, Aramis, the two of you will lead it. I have the names here. The rest of you, your duties are as follows," he said as he handed out the day's orders. Athos and Porthos were not among the men who would be heading out on the training mission – they were to stand guard at a luncheon for the King instead.

"Where are you headed?" Athos asked Aramis as the men disbursed.

"Somewhere near Savoy," Aramis said brightly. "I'm actually looking forward to it. I like the snow, and spring comes later there."

Athos nodded. "I'm sure the training there will be helpful as well."

"It's a large group. 22 of us. Should be fun," he said.

Porthos approached the pair of them carefully. "Wanted t'wish you well before you set out."

"Thanks," said Aramis with a grin. "It's a four day ride out there, but it should be a simple training exercise."

Porthos nodded, then glanced nervously at Athos. Athos maintained his mask of stone as he looked back at the tall man. Aramis' eyes darted between the two in the awkward pause that followed.

"Well…good luck," Porthos said.

"Thank you, mon ami," he replied warmly, grasping Porthos' forearm. "I'll see you when I get back – ten days or so."

Porthis gave him a small smile and then walked away – his brown eyes casting one last glance at Athos.

Aramis turned to face Athos. "You should say something to him," he said.

Athos frowned and said nothing. He knew he should say something to Porthos – offer him an explanation at least for his reaction the other day, but not being particularly verbose at the best of times, he struggled to find the words to communicate – what, exactly? An apology? His fears? His past? How could he communicate how he felt towards Porthos, when it was a mystery still to himself?

"Have a good trip," he said tersely as he tried to turn away.

"Athos, please…" Aramis said, reaching out and grabbing his elbow, refusing to let him leave. The marksman's dark eyes burned bright, pleading with Athos to make an effort to resolve things with Porthos. Athos sighed as he looked into the soft dark pools of his brother's face.

"I shall try," he said – he could promise no more.

"I know," said Aramis, as he put his arms around the man and pulled him into a tight embrace.

"Be safe," Athos said as they broke apart.

"Athos, it's a training mission. What's the worst that could happen?" said Aramis with a grin.

Athos smirked. "I'm not sure – but I have no doubt you'll be the one to find out."

Aramis let out a laugh and running his hands through his hair, he replaced his hat on his head.

"You know," he said teasingly, "I did manage to survive well enough before we met."

Athos grinned back. "I know, but now you've come to rely on me to get you out of trouble. I fear you've become complacent."

Aramis let out another laugh and clapped Athos on the shoulder.

"Take care," Athos said seriously.

"I will if you will," he said with a grin, and pulling one more exasperated smirk from Athos, he tipped his hat and made his way towards the stables.

oOo