Half based off an ancient request from Endless Hazard and half off the fact that migraines are awful and my tablets haven't been working so well recently.

Only a very short one this time guys. I have a couple more requests I want to fill in the next few chapters as well as a major instalment in the actual narrative which is all planned out but entirely unwritten. No idea yet when that will be getting to you guys but look forward to it!

Athos was entirely unsurprised to find d'Artagnan in his kitchen at four in the morning, though the bizarre herbal concoction he was working on – Athos thought it was probably a sort of tea but he couldn't be sure – was admittedly unusual. He would have inquired about it, but d'Artagnan had that sharp look in his eyes that practically screamed 'don't ask, don't ask, don't ask,' to anyone who knew to look for it. Each of them had their own silent tells when it came to things like this, and surviving through the kind of shit they did had made them all masters in reading them.

d'Artagnan nodded in subdued greeting. "I didn't mean to wake you," he said lowly, apology in his voice.

"You didn't," Athos replied at the same volume, physically aware of the quiet cocooning them in safety. "I was already awake."

"Dreams?"

"The usual. Same for you?"

d'Artagnan nodded slightly. It was well worn ground between them, and there was no point trying to rehash it all. He tipped his odorous mug in Athos' direction with a raise of his eyebrows. "Want one? I know it smells awful but it's really not that bad."

It would have been a tempting offer if Athos hadn't been a victim of d'Artagnan's creations before. Oddly, d'Art knew a lot about cooking and seemed to have a general idea of what foods to mix together to get the right flavours and yet whenever he actually set his hands to doing it, what came out at the other end was truly something. Aramis had long since banned him from cooking dinner.

He smiled gently and shook his head. "I'm good, thanks."

d'Artagnan shrugged, unbothered, and took a gulp of the liquid. "You look like hell," he said eventually, when the silence had fallen carefully back into the spaces between them.

"You're not looking so great yourself." He took in the way d'Art was squinting slightly, the tight line of his eyebrows and the way he seemed to be doing his best not to move his head. "Headache?"

The pained grimace he got in response was enough of an answer really. "I was hoping the tea might help. It used to, when I was younger, but it doesn't seem to be doing much tonight. More to worry about now than then, I guess."

"That's definitely true." He was vaguely aware that he was lowering his voice without consciously telling himself to, so used to dealing with migraine-suffering team mates that it was practically second nature. "I'll send a message to Treville once it's not four am."

d'Artagnan waved a shaking hand in dismissal. "You don't need to do that. I'll be okay."

"I am not letting someone suffering a photosensitive migraine stare at a computer screen all day, and we both know it's not like you're going to be any good on the mats until it stops feeling like your teeth are going to fall out. So I'm going to send a message to Treville, and you are going to spend the day resting up in a darkened room, okay?"

"If I say yes will you stop using long sentences?"

That was slightly troubling, but not unheard of. Migraines were known to scramble a person's thoughts, and the pain understandably messed with their ability to concentrate but normally it wasn't enough for Aramis and d'Artagnan to struggle with it. They were both trained at compartmentalising pain, after all.

"Sure. Do you want me to get you anything? I think we still have some Sumatriptan lying about somewhere."

"It was in the upstairs bathroom," d'Artagnan said. "I've already taken some but I'm pretty sure I was too late. The aura had already come and gone."

Athos winced sympathetically. "Do you think you can sleep?"

"It's looking pretty doubtful. Every time I close my eyes it feels like I'm falling."

It had happened before – hundreds of times – but it never stopped being difficult to see a team mate in pain while knowing that there was absolutely nothing he could do to help them. Aramis had a couple of lines of defence in the form of different pain killers but d'Artagnan wasn't quite as lucky – sumatriptan was pretty much his one-stop solution. When it failed, there was nothing they could do.

"Athos, whatever you're thinking stop it. It's making my head hurt just watching you."

He scoffed lightly because that was what d'Artagnan needed to hear. "Most people are capable of actual thought, you know. We're not all as one-track-minded as you and Aramis are."

"Shame, really." He laughed softly then cut himself off with a wince, taking another fortifying gulp of tea.

"What is even in that stuff? It smells absolutely terrible."

"I don't even really know to be honest," d'Artagnan said thoughtfully. "It's just a load of herbs all steamed together. I might have lied before when I said it didn't taste that bad – it's kind of like drinking grass."

"Delightful."

He shrugged one shoulder. "It's familiar, I guess. Makes me feel better even though it's almost certainly just a placebo."

"When I was ill, my brother always used to make me carrot soup," Athos told him softly in the voice he reserved for talking about something important to him. "To this day it makes me feel better when I'm having a rough time."

d'Artagnan's smile was a frail, gentle thing. "I'll have to remember that."

"You're very much mistaken if you think Aramis is ever going to let you near the stove again when he's around. He's still not forgiven you for that stir fry in January."

"He'll mellow eventually. I figure by next year he'll have forgotten all about it."

"Good luck with that," Athos said. Sometimes all he could do for d'Artagnan when he was like this was distract him from the pain – it was a small price to pay.

"To be fair, that stir fry was not really my fault."

"Granted the limited ingredients didn't help matters," Athos allowed. "But that doesn't excuse the fact that you managed to make the rice go blue."

"I still don't understand how I did that."

"d'Art, there's not a force on this Earth that understands how you did that."

He laughed. "You might have a point. Constance is always telling me that I shouldn't waste my time trying to cook – it always ends up awful no matter what I do."

Athos considered questioning that for a moment, before deciding that if nothing else, it would be a good distraction. "How are the two of you right now? You're both pretty quiet about what's going on between you."

"We're… It's kind of complicated."

"I've got time – if you want to talk about it. I'm not trying to pressure you into telling me anything."

d'Artagnan raised an eyebrow. "I never thought you were. Athos, you don't have to worry about thinking you're pressuring me – I know you well enough that I can tell you to back off when I need to. If you really want to know, then fine."

"I have to admit, I'm curious."

"Well then. Currently, everything is kind of a mess. We've agreed that it's not fair to her husband to be together before they've settled everything between them and that's fine – we've stuck to that. The problem is that now Constance is trying to navigate a divorce that works out well for both parties which is almost always impossible. What's not helping matters is that Bonacieux won't stand for me getting involved."

"I can understand that. I know it can't be easy for you but this isn't exactly easy for him either. If he thinks that by shutting you out of the equations will make him feel better about the whole thing then honestly, I'd let him."

d'Artagnan sighed quietly. "I would if it was just that, but Constance is really struggling with this. She knows that this is what she wants to do – I've made certain of that and I'm not pushing her to do anything – but this is hard for her. I want to be there to support her but whenever I get close, Bonacieux starts throwing a hissy fit."

There wasn't a solution to that, Athos knew. It was a shitty situation for all involved and until it was resolved, they were all going to be miserable. "That's rough," he said simply.

"Yeah. I told Constance to call on you guys if she needed help. Bonacieux might be a bit more forgiving if you show up at the door."

"I wouldn't bet on that. But you're right, of course; Constance knows that we're here should she need us."

Silence stretched between them as d'Artagnan drained the last of his tea with a mild grimace, looking like he couldn't decide if he was glad it was finished or if he wanted more. He set the mug down with an unsettled huff.

"You should try and get some more sleep," Athos tried.

"It won't work. But you should definitely get some rest. Don't feel that you need to stay up on my account."

Athos shrugged lightly. "Honestly, I was glad of the distraction myself."

"Do you want to talk about it?" There was always a 50:50 chance with Athos about whether he was willing to divulge the shit going on in his brain at any given time. He had got better at sharing over the last few years without a doubt, but given how private he had been before d'Artagnan came along, that wasn't saying all that much.

Athos shrugged lightly. "Nothing specific really. Same old shit. Ever since everything that happened between the Musketeers and Richelieu, I feel like we've been waiting for the other shoe to drop. The longer things go, the more it gets my back up."

"I sympathise completely," d'Artagnan said. It hadn't been forgotten that Richelieu seemed to have set his sights on their youngest member – it was constantly in the back of their minds. "We'll deal with whatever happens Athos. I know that doesn't help right now but…"

"But if we ever want to get some sleep, we have to pretend to believe it," Athos finished with the vague shadow of a smile.

"That sounds about right."

d'Artagnan looked pale in the watery light and even from across the room, Athos could see the way his hands were shaking as he worried the edge of his t-shirt. He'd let his jaw fall loose to try and stop his teeth from touching each other. He looked terribly fragile for someone who spent his life chasing after madmen and criminals.

"I should probably try to get some more sleep," Athos said eventually, loathe to leave d'Artagnan when he was like this but knowing that there was nothing he could do either way. d'Artagnan had never enjoyed letting them see him when he was hurting and his migraines were no different – he'd probably be glad to be alone again.

"You really should. I'll be down here if you need me."

"Sure thing. Take it easy, okay? If I see one hint of you using a computer, I will feed the damn thing to you."

d'Artagnan's laugh was light despite his pain. "Noted. I'm more or less planning to just sit here."

"Good man." Athos patted him lightly on the shoulder as he passed, the only reassurance he could offer before he trudged back upstairs. His bedroom felt cold when he reached it, but the covers were still warm from where he had left them and he settled himself down easily – he'd slept in much worse conditions a hundred times before. Rain pattered lightly at the window.

The house fell quiet.

MIGRAINES ARE THE LITERAL WORST. That is all.