(A/N: What is this chapter? I'm not even sure. I just wanted to write something a little more light-hearted after those last few stories, and started wondering what Athos would do if forced to relax. Apologies for the long time between updates - it's reliant on inspiration sporadically striking me, which is unfortunate because I love writing these! Thanks for sharing in the madness.)


It was on the eleventh day of Athos' sick leave that he and Jean discovered the laser pointer.

The device had an impressive range, which was useful when Athos was patently unwilling to get out of his chair. That made it a lot easier to play with than any of the toys with little catnip stuffed mice dangling off of strings, since those made Athos fear for the safety of his shoes and had a very limited range. His team's office area would periodically go from being quiet, as Jean crouched low and eyed his prey, to exploding in a burst of racing paws and clawed carpet as he executed some excellent hairpin turns.

Athos found a level of enjoyment in this he never intended to reveal to the others. If Jean was going to be a Musketeer, he needed to be well-trained, in areas other than the use of the litterbox (which was actually going surprisingly well, or so he was told - frankly, he was happy to take his friends' word on it). Jean was quick, but there had been a certain wildness to his turns that Athos was sure they could work on. Jean had a slight tendency to lose his grip on the carpet when he laid his paws on the prize, either spinning round or, on a regular basis, rolling onto his back. This didn't remotely seem to bother Jean, who saw it as an opportunity to attack toys with more fervour and the use of his back legs, but Athos was sure he could do better.

It was a last-ditch attempt to assert some kind of dignity on the situation: if he was going to have a cat, it was going to be the best trained cat in the world, and no one had to know he sometimes let it sleep on his spare jumper.

"Are you two enjoying yourselves over there?"

Athos looked up just as Jean made a running leap to smack his paws onto the red spot, which was currently two feet up the side of Aramis' desk, and gave his friend his best facsimile of an innocent smile. It probably didn't come out how he wanted it to.

Jean gave the red spot what Athos thought was a very disdainful look, and he conceded to lower it to the floor so that the cat could resume attempting to pin it under his paws and eat it.

"We're fine, thank you," he replied as haughtily as he could.

Aramis was annoyingly unfazed, which wasn't surprising.

"I want you to know how weird it is for me that you're playing with the cat while I'm doing paperwork."

"Yes, well, I'm not actually here."

"You're making a lot of noise for someone who isn't here."

"I'm on sick leave."

Finally pausing in his typing, Aramis looked up at him with an expression of outrage. "You do not get to use that as an excuse now! I spent the entire morning trying to convince you to stay at home."

"This is basically my home, Aramis."

"You know perfectly well that I meant the home that has a bed in it."

"This is an unusually comfortable chair."

That was technically true, though admittedly it wasn't really helping all that much. He'd been in the hospital about two weeks after the surgeries, and was eleven days into his sick leave - it was, by any measure, too early for him to be at work, and he would have reamed out anyone else who'd pulled exactly the stunt he was pulling. He really ought to be on bed rest.

But his empty apartment was starting to drive him mad. Of course, Athos wouldn't rule out the possibility that he'd been mad to start with - it was important to be balanced about these things. He didn't think so, though. He'd spent several years being an entirely competent Musketeer and earned his promotion to Captain - it seemed unlikely that these things would have happened if he was insane. On the other hand, Treville had also hired Aramis, which threw the whole thing into doubt.

The others had come around every evening, of course, and he loved them for it. They'd brought movies and food, card games and bags of prescription medication, and brought it all solicitously into his bedroom or helped him through to the reclining armchair. Aramis had come round in the mornings before work - "checking up on him", which really meant making sure he hadn't decided to be a "self-sabotaging moron" who refused to take his painkillers.

But the rest of the day he was alone. Athos hadn't had so much time to himself in years, and it took him back to those days after everything that happened with Anne and Thomas - and he couldn't think about that, but it was what the silence took him back to.

Did his brothers know how many times they'd saved him, even when it was as simple as their presence and conversation?

And perhaps it was childish, but he was bored. What was he supposed to do all day? His life had revolved around his job for such a long time - life was one long cycle of working, relaxing with his brothers and snatching a few hours' sleep whenever the opportunity came along, and Athos loved it. It was who he was. He'd been itching to get moving - to stretch out his body, to use his mind, and sitting in bed with d'Artagnan's Netflix account really hadn't been cutting it. Never mind that his body was too stiff to move much and his mind a little foggy from the medication - that wasn't the point.

Which was how he'd come to persuade Aramis to take him with him to work this morning.

It had very clearly been against Aramis' better judgement, and it wasn't like Athos could really articulate his need to come, but Aramis had simply studied him and acquiesced. Athos could guess what he'd seen. It was the same as he'd seen in Aramis after the incident with Luc on the farm, which was a less terrifying version of what he'd seen after Savoy. They were warriors - they understood each other's darkness.

That wasn't to say Aramis had agreed without very strict conditions, though.

Athos wasn't allowed to do any actual work, even paperwork. He was to stay seated, unless the position started to hurt his wound, in which case he was to go to the Garrison. He had to eat whatever Aramis gave him. And he wasn't supposed to go to the bathroom alone. This was something of a sticking point, given that he was perfectly capable and had been doing it at home, thank you very much, but Aramis had given him a look and Athos was forcibly reminded that he definitely wasn't in fit shape to drive himself anywhere yet, so he really ought to be nice.

All in all, it was Aramis' own fault if Athos was making trouble, because he wasn't allowed to do anything else.

"Unusually comfortable," Aramis grumbled. "I'll remind you about that when your muscles seize up."

"I'm better off here," Athos said, trying a different approach. "I've got you three around to look after me, haven't I?"

It was true, and it warmed his heart to know it, but it was also playing dirty. The softening of Aramis' eyes was an unmistakeable sign that he'd won.

"Yeah, well, if that's your argument, you're going to stay there and be looked after," Aramis said firmly.

Athos frowned, belatedly realising that he'd talked himself into a corner.

He gave Jean a weary look. "You and me have got to stick together," he said, clicking off the laser pointer. Jean spent several seconds speeding around trying to find it, before sitting back on his haunches and fixing Athos with a knowing expression.

Or a hungry one, possibly.

What could he do around here that didn't count as work? It was tempting to turn to the computer and bring up some reports because Aramis appeared to be entirely focused on his work, but Athos had seen him go from apparently asleep to levelling his gun at a suspect in about 0.5 seconds. So that was out.

Porthos was usually a little more relaxed than Aramis when it came to exactly what they were and weren't allowed to do on sick leave, and would probably be more inclined to be entertaining, but he was out collecting witness statements and wouldn't be back for hours. D'Artagnan had gone for an early lunch, and - actually, he'd been gone quite a while.

Athos eased the chair backwards on its wheels so he could get a look at the clock. It wasn't like it was a problem - their lunches usually consisted of a sandwich hastily eaten while they were working, snatched at any available time, so a longer break when the chance arose was well-deserved - but it was unusual for d'Artagnan to be gone so long.

He had a sneaking suspicion, but he couldn't stand up to resolve it - Aramis would kill him, and he was sufficiently at ease that he didn't really want to antagonise his injury.

Still, there were other ways. Athos began to push the chair along, feeling oddly like he was punting, manoeuvring himself out in front of his desk. Jean watched him go, intrigued by the motion (and probably by his shoelaces), and he could practically feel the intense effort Aramis was putting into not looking at him.

Out into the space between the four desks, over to the side, and out past the partition wall - yep, Constance's desk was empty too. Satisfied in a mystery solved, Athos began to wheel himself back to their area.

His chair was promptly and very rudely snagged out of the corridor.

"Athos, what are you doing?"

Athos turned his head with another of those innocent expressions, but from the way Aramis looked at him it seemed he really needed to work on perfecting that art.

"I'm solving mysteries."

Actually, Athos realised suddenly, this was an excellent form of revenge. He recognised the look on Aramis' face very acutely because it was how he felt about Aramis every damn day - utterly fond, but incredibly despairing. It was a very apt comparison, he decided cheerfully, that an Athos on strong painkillers was the same as Aramis' day to day attitude.

It did help to explain the mania that happened whenever it was Aramis who was incapacitated.

"What mystery?" asked his newly long-suffering friend.

"D'Artagnan and Constance appear to have gone to lunch together."

Aramis' expression morphed into an easy grin. "Those two do spend a lot of time with each other."

"It's been a year now, hasn't it?"

"About that. They got together because of me."

"You tricked them into sharing a chair and watching a cartoon. I'm not sure that counts."

"Athos, I'm hurt. I'm a master of romance."

"You should get that on a t-shirt."

"You're assuming I don't have one already."

"Frankly, I've given up assuming anything about you."

He was expecting a retort, but Aramis just grinned and patted him lightly on the back. "Athos, much as I maintain you'd have been better off in bed, I have missed having you around this place. Porthos and d'Artagnan don't have anything like your staying power for an argument."

"I'm flattered," he said dryly, though Aramis' words gave him that warm, pleased feeling again. He'd never doubted his place amongst his brothers, but there was something wonderful about hearing it anyway.

Bickering was excellent entertainment, though Jean didn't seem to agree - he'd taken sanctuary on the soft blanket folded up by Aramis' desk. (It had been quickly discovered that expensive cat beds were of far less interest to him than pilfered soft fabrics.) All the same, he probably ought to let Aramis get back to work and find something else to do...

Fortuitously, he was saved from his act of heroism by a door flinging open, followed by familiar raised voices.

"I didn't ask for your help, did I?"

"Constance, please, can we talk about this outside?"

"I don't want to talk about it at all!"

Constance stormed towards them, her face shaped with such fury that Athos found himself ducking down behind the safety of the partition. Aramis, beside him, mirrored the action. Fortunately, she stopped short of their area, and there was a squeak that suggested she'd flung herself into her own desk chair.

"I didn't mean to upset you."

"You always do this! You always act like I need some man around to fix things for me!"

"It's not like that!" d'Artagnan shouted back furiously. "I'm just trying to help, what's wrong with that?"

Despite his instincts for self-preservation, Athos found himself inching the chair back out again, the barest few inches out past the partition. They both looked red in the face and utterly angry, and he wondered how long the argument had been going on. A few heads were turned in their direction, but one withering look from Constance sent their colleagues scurrying back to work. Athos could only hope his invalid status would protect him if she looked his way.

"I can look after myself."

"I know you can!"

"I don't need anyone protecting me," she snapped, her words still loud and biting.

"It's not protecting - he was overcharging you!"

"Which I'd noticed, and which I was entirely capable of sorting out myself! Every single time!"

D'Artagnan's scowl deepened. "If this is still about that mission last week-"

"I was in position to take him down! I knew where the threats were, because that is my job, and I knew I had time. But you decided to pull me into cover and we lost him again!"

"I had to know you were safe!"

"Our jobs aren't safe, d'Artagnan! I'm not going to quit so you can feel better knowing where I am!"

Athos heard Aramis catch his breath beside him, and felt his own eyebrows rise. Surely d'Artagnan hadn't been that foolish?

"I'd never ask you to quit," d'Artagnan said, hurt seeping into his anger. "That's not fair."

"But you have to understand that I am good at what I do, and I don't need protecting!"

"Is it so bad that I want to support you? Can you honestly tell me you wouldn't blink an eye if you saw someone raising a weapon on me that you weren't sure I'd seen?"

It was a very reasonable question, and if they were both less worked up then Athos felt sure it would have helped d'Artagnan quite a lot, but the argument was a bit too far gone for that now.

"But I had seen it, and you blew the mission!"

"I won't apologise for that! You can ask me every day for the rest of my life and I won't be sorry for looking out for you!"

"What, and you'll do it every day?"

"Yeah, I will!"

"I won't let you!"

"I want to! I want to spend my entire life looking out for you, and having you look out for me, even if neither of us really needs it, just because it's better that way! You might not need my help but I'm always going to want to give it to you and nothing is ever going to change that, so you're stuck with it."

"Fine!"

"Fine!"

Constance turned back to her computer with an expression that suggested she was trying to encase it in ice through force of will, and slammed the keyboard so hard Athos swore he heard something crack. D'Artagnan came around to their side of the partition, looking like he had his own personal stormcloud; he ignored Athos, Aramis and even Jean entirely, dropping into his seat and glowering at nothing in particular.

Very cautiously and slowly, Athos turned to Aramis.

"Did you just hear that too?" he said in an undertone.

"Oh yeah."

"Did he basically just-"

"Propose? It did sound like it."

"And she..."

"Yeah."

"Hmm." Athos tapped his fingers against the arm of the chair thoughtfully. "I wonder when they'll realise."

Aramis, for once in his life, stayed silent, turning back to his own work with a private grin.

Athos began the slow process of pushing himself back across to his own desk, studiously avoiding eye contact with d'Artagnan, and wincing every time the wheels squeaked because he really didn't want to draw Constance's attention.

Sick leave was definitely more fun at work.