Athos groans and carefully extracts himself from his bed when someone keeps pounding on his door.

Someone, right.

He massages his aching temples as he makes for the door, then slowly retracts the latch he personally installed.

He knows perfectly well who this visitor will be, and he'll be damned if he has her sneaking in at night while he's sleeping.

Arming himself for whatever is to come, he draws a deep breath and opens the door. At least he's not that badly hungover this morning.

He looks down into the irritated face of this wife and simply steps back without a word, clearing the entrance.

She steps in an glances around, taking in the - for him at least - few empty wine bottles strewn around the floor.

Athos still finds it hard to live with himself, maybe even harder than before. That empty place in his soul left behind by the loss of Anne does not hurt so much anymore. She's back, after all.

But now the guilt is eating him alive. Guilt for being weak. For sleeping with his brother's murderer. For still loving her.

And on top of that, he just can't help himself. He can't stop thinking about d'Artagnan, about hat soft, silky, dark hair, those smouldering dark eyes, those full, supple lips.

God help him, he's back to sleeping with his murderous wife, but he still wants the boy.

"Oh, for the love of...", Anne's voice interrupts his thoughts. "This is pathetic, Athos. You're a wreck. And it won't do at all. You're no use to me like this."

Athos just shrugs and leans back against the wall, watching her intently. As if he cares to be of use to her. He's only here because he's being blackmailed, after all.

There's that little voice in the back of his head telling him he did not put up much of a fight, but he silences it brutally.

Anne sighs and steps over, stopping in front of him. "Shouldn't you be glad?", she asks, those sinful red lips pouting invitingly. "You still love me, after all."

Athos closes his eyes to shut out the sight, those lips, those green eyes, the curtain of lustrous brown locks, asking to be touched.

He loves her. He hates her. Wants to kill her, wants to kiss her. She murdered his brother. And it kills Athos that deep inside, there's a part of him he would never admit to. A part that simply does not care. A part that is just glad that she is back in his life, and wants to lose itself in her.

He feels her hand in his hair in an unusually tender gesture and opens his eyes again, staring at her.

He could have sworn there was concern on her face, sadness in her eyes, but with her, who could really tell? No one lies better than her, even when she's not saying a word.

She sighs again and takes that small step to cross the last inches separating them, carefully leaning her head against his shoulder.

And he's helpless against her, helpless against his own longing. He closes his arms around her and buries his face in her hair, torn between his feelings for her, and the guilt it makes him feel.

She has changed those last five years. There is something about her, a wickedness that has not been there before. And God help him, he finds it alluring.

Put on top his newfound taste for his own sex, and he's a total emotional disaster.

It's moments like this that make him want to crawl into a bottle and never come out again.

She lifts her head and looks into his eyes, her face just inches from his, and Athos can't help it, he gives in to temptation, his lips meeting hers, and she has been waiting for this, her mouth open, willing, seductive.

The kiss is not gentle, their kisses never are. Too much anger, too much need on both sides. They break away, breathing heavily, and Athos curses his traitorous body, curses the want that is already wakening again.

Will anything ever dull his desire for her?

"This can't go on", she says, a little breathless, and lets her fingers glide through his hair once more. "You can't stay cooped up here, slowly drinking yourself to death. You need to go back to the garrison."

"What?", Athos exclaims, aghast, shoving her back a little. "I can't go back. Are you crazy?"

He already knows the answer to that question. Of course she's crazy. As is he.

Her eyes narrow, and her lips compress into a tight line. "A drunkard in a hovel in Paris is no use to me. Athos the Musketeer is. So you will ask them to take you back. I'll bet they'll just jump at the chance."

"I can't", Athos hisses. "You don't understand..."

"Understand what?", she interrupts, her voice hard. "That you still pine for the farmboy? Oh, I do." She eyes him speculatively. "I never thought you'd be... into that. I find it most interesting. Although I have to admit I am a little jealous."

Athos closes his eyes and turns away, the old shame choking him.

"Still", Anne continues, mercilessly. "That's where I need you. Go back and deal with it. Otherwise your farmboy will suffer the consequences."

Athos hears her steps going for the door, but he does not turn back to face her.

The thought of having to face d'Artagnan again fills him with dread.

And giddy anticipation.

xxx

Back in the courtyard, d'Artagnan leans back against the wall and watches Porthos spar with another musketeer, while the Captain looks down from his porch, his face even more grim than usual.

They all look more grim than usual these days.

They all feel the loss of Athos.

And if d'Artagnan feels it more sorely than the others, that is something he tries not to let on.

But he does miss Athos so badly. His absence feels like a gaping wound in his side. He has never realized how much his life had revolved around the other man, how used he has gotten to having Athos at his back. Watching over him. Supporting him, spurring him on. Forcing him to grow.

Always at his back, like his own personal guardian angel.

Cynical, broken, lost and beautiful guardian angel.

And d'Artagnan would give his right arm to see him walk through that gateway once more.

But Athos has been gone for days, and it does not seem he will be back.

Athos is gone, and d'Artagnan is left behind, feeling empty. Incomplete. And more hurt than he thought possible.

And he keeps wondering if there is something he could have done, or said, or done differently, to keep Athos from leaving, turning events in his head again and again, looking for the moment where it all went wrong, even though he knows it's useless, that he can't turn back time and change things, no matter what.

It's too late.

He swallows when he sees Aramis approaching and turns to look at the older man when he settles against the wall at d'Artagnan's side.

Aramis looks sad, as they all do, but he meets d'Artagnan's eyes with a faint smile. D'Artagnan breaks the eye contact and looks down, feeling guilty for letting everyone down.

He hears Aramis sigh softly.

"I'm sorry", Aramis says quietly. "It was wrong of me to heap all the blame on you. It's just... I watched Athos suffer for so long. I did not want him to hurt even more."

Anguished, d'Artagnan looks up to meet Aramis' sad eyes.

"I never...", he starts, but Aramis stops him with a gesture.

"I know", he says, with another sigh. "You're not responsible for Athos' feelings. I should never have blamed you for that. And you could not have kept him from leaving, either. There's no stopping Athos once his mind is made up, after all."

Aramis claps his hand on d'Artagnan's shoulder and pushes away from the wall.

"So, I just wanted you to know we're good", he adds as he turns away.

D'Artagnan swallows as his eyes turn back to the fight in the courtyard.

Athos' absence still hurts like hell.

But he feels a bit better for knowing he still has friends.