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After settling Aramis in bed, Porthos had followed on Athos' heels, managing to track him down in an empty sitting room with a helpful head nod from one of the servants dusting in the foyer. Athos had positioned himself on a settee that overlooked the heavy covering of snow outside, and while he hadn't been alone very long, it had apparently been enough time for the man to secure a new bottle. He tipped it to his mouth now as Porthos approached, eyebrow raised at the fact that Athos had chosen to forgo using a glass, leaving it to sit empty on the table beside him.

"Is that your third or fourth?" Porthos asked as he pulled a chair to sit across from his friend.

"It hardly seems fair to count this as my fourth. I was interrupted from my third bottle upstairs after only a few swallows," Athos replied dryly.

"Does it help?" Porthos questioned softly.

Athos let the hand holding the wine drop to his lap, glancing at the worry etched in his friend's face. "Not lately, no. It seems my demons have become impervious to my usual method of coping."

Porthos reached carefully across the space the separated the two and tugged on the wine bottle, surprised when Athos' fingers loosened, allowing him to remove it from his grasp. Porthos raised the bottle to his lips and took a long swallow before lowering it to his own lap. "Perhaps these demons are different," he suggested. Athos stared at his empty hands, a slight nod the only indication that he'd heard his friend's words. "Why did d'Artagnan's actions upset you so?" Porthos continued.

Athos breathed deeply, steeling himself to try to explain to one of his best friends the feelings that the Gascon had been evoking. "For many years, I had thought I would be an only child. My mother carried a great sorrow when she was unable to bear a second heir and I did not realize until I was older that it was unusual to not have any brothers or sisters. When Thomas was born, I am sure my parents thought it a miracle and, as such, my mother was especially devoted to his care." Athos paused and Porthos offered him the wine, the older man taking only a few sips this time before handing the bottle back. "I was old enough by then that I wasn't bothered by her lack of attention, and was kept busy learning everything I needed to know to inherit my father's title one day. Even though we were separated by many years, Thomas followed me around as soon as he could walk, frustrating my mother and his nursemaid to no end." A slight smile graced his face at the memory. "He was forever trying to keep up with me and looked at me as if I held all the world's secrets within my hands." Athos swallowed thickly, his voice lowering, "It is not unlike the way d'Artagnan looks at me sometimes."

Porthos leaned forward to lay a hand on the man's thigh, offering a quiet assurance as Athos struggled to continue. "Being Thomas' older brother was the most fulfilling role I've ever had the privilege to enjoy and he was killed because of his unfailing belief me; because he tried to protect me. Can you not see those qualities in our young Gascon?" Athos raised his head, his face full of despair, eyes blinking rapidly in an effort to dispel the moisture that threatened to drop.

Porthos waited several moments before speaking and then only when he held the man's gaze, "Athos, d'Artagnan is not Thomas. He has attached himself to you but not because you're perfect. He's seen you at your best and at your worst, and he accepts both parts of you willingly. Don't you see – he protects you because you do the same for him. No matter what you might think of the boy, he's not a follower; but he will allow himself to be led by someone who's worthy of being followed – just like the rest of us."

Athos dropped his head and moved a hand to cover Porthos' hand on his thigh as he absorbed the enormity of his brother's words. He desperately wanted to believe that he was worthy of such devotion, especially from men as fine as those he called brother, but his mind was still clouded by too little sleep, too much wine and the looming of Thomas' birthday, now only a day away. Finally, Athos managed a nod and lifted his head, forcing his voice to remain steady, "I'm fine, thank you. You should probably return to check on Aramis and the boy."

Porthos noticed Athos' intentional avoidance of d'Artagnan's name but decided not to press the matter. He stood, still holding the bottle of wine, and offered it to Athos who shook his head – more wine right now would not help the situation any. Porthos was glad that his friend had decided to decline any additional liquid courage and turned on his heel to leave Athos in peace. The conversation that they'd just had was a good start, but he had little doubt that this would not be the last time the issue reared its head before it was resolved. Athos had a propensity to be harder on himself than anyone else he'd ever met, which Porthos felt was completely unfair given that Athos was one of the finest men he'd ever known.

d'Artagnan had made a valiant effort to eat, but the trauma his body had endured simply made it too difficult to keep anything down. As Porthos held the boy's shoulders and offered soothing words while the Gascon was ill, Aramis looked on in worry at the cycle that was beginning to appear. When drugged, the pain became tolerable and the boy could eat, but he'd fall asleep too quickly to do so; without any relief from the pain, his stomach was too upset to handle food and anything ingested didn't stay down for long. In his mind, only two options remained: either they'd have to wait until the boy's pain diminished on its own, taking the chance that his body wouldn't weaken too seriously as a result, or they would need to find an alternative way of managing the pain that would allow the Gascon to stay awake long enough to take in the sustenance that his body badly needed to heal.

The young man had finished emptying his stomach and still leaned against Porthos, his head hanging down as he panted with the agony that had surely ignited in his broken bones. Porthos was now rubbing slow circles on the boy's back, still murmuring quiet assurances into d'Artagnan's ear. The large man could feel the trembling that quaked through the thin man's frame, and he scowled again at the boy's inability to keep anything down, recognizing as well as Aramis that the boy needed food for his bones to knit and to regain his strength.

Porthos looked up as Athos entered the room, pausing in the doorway to take in the scene in front of him. Even from across the room, the Gascon's shaking was easy to spot and Athos winced at the stuttering breaths that heaved noisily from the boy's mouth and chest. Shifting his gaze to Porthos, Athos tried to silently ask about the boy's condition, but the larger man's expression gave nothing away as he dipped his head again to speak with the d'Artagnan. Whatever Porthos had said got the barest of nods from the young man and Porthos changed his grip so he could lower his charge back against the pillows. In this new position, Athos could see that d'Artagnan's eyes were screwed up tightly with pain, his bangs sticking to his sweat-slicked face. As Porthos drew the blankets up to cover the boy's torso, Athos noted they boy's good arm tightly clutched around himself in an effort to quiet the pulsing agony in his ribs and arm.

Porthos stood to wet a cloth so that he could wipe the young man's face and, as he left d'Artagnan's side, Athos found himself crossing the room to take the larger man's place. He stared at the boy for several moments, the other two men watching him to see how he would react. Finding his voice, Athos spoke haltingly, "You are in pain, are you not?"

d'Artagnan managed to pry his eyes partway open to see Athos standing over him and drew a ragged breath to reply, "Seems that being sick with broken ribs," he paused to inhale, "can be quite painful."

At the young man's words, Athos felt a familiar anger begin to overtake him again and he clenched his fists in an effort to keep his emotions in check. "You would not be suffering so if you had taken something for the pain earlier," he pointed out.

Opening his eyes more fully, the Gascon held Athos' gaze as he replied, "I was trying to eat something first."

He paused again to regain his breath but Athos was already speaking, "Then you put us all at risk with your foolhardy decisions. How are we to return Faulcon to Paris if you do not endeavor to get well?"

Aramis started at the man's words and Porthos was already moving back towards the bed, but d'Artagnan pinned him with a scowl, causing the large man to stop in his tracks. Returning his attention to Athos, the Gascon gritted out, "My intention is not to place anyone at risk, especially my brothers. Bring me the cup; I'll drink whatever you ask." The last part of his sentence was barely audible as he used the last of his air to push the words out, but he had been resolute that Athos would hear him out, rather than using his interrupted speech as another opportunity to rebuke him.

Athos turned to Porthos and ordered flatly, "You heard him, bring him the cup. Perhaps then we can finally make plans to be gone from this accursed place."

Pointedly ignoring their lieutenant, Porthos strode forward with the wet cloth he'd been holding and used a shoulder to push the other man out of the way. The Gascon's eyes were again closed but Porthos had no doubt that the boy was fully aware of what was going on around him and he spoke quietly as he leaned forward to mop the boy's face so as not to startle him. When he'd finished, he moved even closer to whisper in the Gascon's ear. Upon receiving an affirmative response to his question, he moved to collect the medicine from earlier and then helped the young man swallow its contents. Athos observed all of this from several steps away, having taken refuge by the window after Porthos' refusal of his orders.

When d'Artagnan had finished consuming the drink, Porthos fussed with his blanket and caught Aramis' concerned gaze from the other side of the bed. Standing and turning to address Athos, he was surprised to find the man striding from the room, his shoulders stiff and hands curled into tight fists. Exhaling dejectedly he turned to face Aramis instead, his friend's face reflecting the despair that he himself was feeling. He walked around the bed and sat down next to Aramis, offering a quiet apology, "I'm sorry, Aramis. I thought I'd gotten through to him."

Aramis placed a hand on his friend's thigh, letting him know that no blame rested with him, "Porthos, we have both known Athos long enough to know that one conversation is not enough to pull him from his melancholy." He flicked a sideways glance to where d'Artagnan now dozed, "Unfortunately, they're both too much alike and neither one of them has the good sense to back down when they're hurt by the other." Forcing a smile he didn't feel, Aramis stated, "We'll just have to outwit them both until they come to their senses and remember how much they care for each other." Porthos nodded, knowing that Aramis was doing his best to lighten his mood, but deep down he wondered if either of them had the ability to pull these two men from the downward spiral they seemed to be trapped within.

The day passed quietly, Athos staying away from the room where his friends had taken up residency. At Aramis' urging, Porthos had gone in search of their leader late in the afternoon, just so he could assure himself that the man hadn't come to any harm. While he couldn't definitively say that Athos was alright, he was not in harm's way. When Porthos had found him, he was reclined on the settee, his face covered by his hat, and was seemingly asleep. Porthos decided not to linger, knowing that his friend was in desperate need of rest, and was simply gladdened that there were no wine bottles in sight.

Back in the room they shared, d'Artagnan had slept fitfully, his mind still troubled by recent events despite the powerful draught he'd consumed. It created a tenuous situation where the young man was too drugged to be woken, and Aramis resigned himself to trying to comfort the boy when his restless movement pulled whimpers of pain from his throat. As such, he didn't manage much rest and by the time that Porthos returned with news of their wayward friend, his eyes were pinched with pain and his head throbbed mercilessly.

Recognizing the signs of his friend's distress, Porthos immediately closed the drapes to block out the last rays of the sun and helped Aramis lay down comfortably on the bed. Taking a seat next to him, he slipped a hand behind Aramis' head and began to slowly squeeze the tense muscles at the base of his neck until he felt his friend's head relax further into the pillows that supported him. Sensing that Aramis was close to sleep, he moved quietly to collect a wet cloth, which he placed over Aramis' forehead and eyes, and then sat for several minutes, just watching, to confirm that his friend was in fact asleep. Sitting back in his chair, Porthos allowed a soft sigh to escape, rubbing his eyes wearily at the difficult day they'd endured. In his heart he knew that Athos was only lashing out at the boy because of his own pain, but the discord it wrought placed stress on them all; stress that, Porthos reminded himself, was completely unwelcome given all of the other troubles that had plagued them so far during this mission.

The grumbling of his stomach startled him from his thoughts and he realized belatedly that they had missed their mid-day meal, having grazed on the remnants of breakfast throughout the day since Aramis' appetite was still off and he needed to be reminded frequently to eat. Pushing himself up, he resigned himself to use food as an excuse to speak with Athos, as it was just as likely that the other man had missed lunch too. Finding one of the staff outside their room, he asked for supper to be brought to the sitting room, along with a good bottle of wine and two glasses. As he'd surmised, Athos was where he'd left him, although the slight tensing of his body at Porthos' approaching footsteps gave away the fact that he was awake.

Porthos pulled a small table in front of the settee, positioning a chair across from it and sat in silence, waiting either for the other man to speak or for their food to arrive. Athos was a patient man and seemed disinclined to speak, not moving from his position and seemingly relaxing again once he'd identified his visitor. A servant arrived with a tray and Porthos directed the man to arrange the food on the table, dismissing him with a hand once the cork had been pulled from the bottle of wine. Apparently the scent of wine was what Athos had been waiting for and he rose gracefully and swung his legs around so he was sitting on the settee, facing the food. He reached a hand for the bottle of wine but Porthos beat him to it, and wordlessly poured two glasses before placing the bottle on the floor next to his chair. He pinned Athos with a hard stare that dared the man to argue, but Athos merely took one of the glasses and sipped appreciatively, "The Comte has excellent taste in wine."

Porthos didn't reply, instead pushing a plate towards his friend as he took the other for himself and began to load it with a selection of meat and cheese. He took a bite and slowly chewed as he watched Athos, who had made no move to fill his own plate. With a put-upon sigh, Athos helped himself to a couple of items and began to eat as well, the two men continuing to sit in complete silence as they ate.

For Athos, the quiet was welcome but he knew that it would not last, fully anticipating this to be the quiet before the storm that would see Porthos berating him for his earlier words against d'Artagnan. What Porthos didn't understand was that Athos agreed with him and if he could have managed it, he would have removed himself from the young man's presence days before in order to prevent causing him any more pain. But circumstances had not afforded him the luxury of his own self-pity and he found himself duty bound to stay close to his friends, while the tenuous grip he had on his emotions continued to loosen and fray, leaving Athos fearful that he would soon snap so spectacularly that they would not be able to recover from the damage that would ensue.

Athos washed his meal down with the last of the wine in his glass, somewhat surprised when Porthos refilled it for him, before leaning back and crossing his arms on his chest, waiting for Athos to speak. "You really are very intimidating when you want to be," Athos said, taking a sip of the wine. "I can see why you're so effective at interrogating those who make the mistake of crossing us."

Porthos rolled his eyes at the comment, huffing in mildly amused annoyance. Athos quirked his lips slightly at the sound, his heart lightening somewhat with the knowledge that his friend had not forsaken him, despite his earlier actions. "Perhaps it would be best if I set out for Paris tomorrow with Faulcon. That would allow the rest of you to stay here for several more days until everyone is fit enough to ride," Athos suggested.

This time Porthos grunted, the look on his face decidedly unhappy at Athos' words. "I cannot help myself, you know," Athos spoke quietly. "It would be best if we were apart…especially tomorrow." Athos' voice seemed to choke at his last words and he brought the wine glass to his lips quickly, draining half its contents in a large gulp.

Porthos softened his expression as he observed the obvious signs of his friend's suffering. "It's not going to help anyone if we separate again, but getting back to Paris is a good idea. I'll speak to Aramis when he's awake to see what he thinks about heading back tomorrow."

Athos' expression was a mix of hope and worry, knowing that their return to Paris would provide him with the escape he so desperately sought but would also test their injured friends' limits during the difficult journey back. The cold temperatures made winter travel challenging under the best of circumstances, and the snow-covered roads would make the ride jerky and uncomfortable for even healthy men. Athos sighed deeply, wondering how he could deny the kindness that Porthos was extending, recognizing that to accept would be incredibly selfish, yet knowing that his friends would honor the offer regardless of the impact to themselves. "I am…humbled by the offer, Porthos, but I cannot in good conscience ask Aramis and d'Artagnan to leave the comfort of their beds just yet."

Porthos allowed a small grin, recognizing what the decision was costing his friend, and yet grateful that he was not so far gone that he would subject the two men to such a trying trip before they were well enough to manage it. Athos returned the man's smile with a partial one of his own, pleased with Porthos' reaction and that he had not further disappointed his friend…at least not this friend. "Aramis?" he asked, hesitantly.

Porthos shrugged, "You know 'im. He knows all about feelings and such and seems to think this has something to do with Thomas' birthday." At Athos' sharp look, Porthos shook his head. "No, I haven't said a word – didn't have to. d'Artagnan on the other hand is worried that he keeps disappointing you as well as just bein' plain worried about how you've been acting. He knows you're troubled by somethin' and thinks he's the cause."

"I cannot speak with him," Athos' shoulders slumped in defeat, "not yet. Tomorrow is the 24th."

Porthos nodded in understanding and made to rise, "I'm gonna head back and try to get some food into them." Pausing, he offered, "Probably be an early night for all of us tonight."

Athos tilted his head in comprehension, Porthos smiling in return before leaving him. Athos could not risk another confrontation with the Gascon, especially not on the eve of Thomas' birthday, but he could watch over his friends while they slept. Feeling somewhat more optimistic, Athos leaned back in the settee, savouring the last of the wine as he waited for night to fall so he could return to be with his brothers.