Author's Note:

I'm new and I know it's been 7 years since this show was on air but I watched it a year ago and became kind of obsessed with it. I really loved to start writing a fic about some first meetings piece but this IDEA hunted me down since last night so I gave it go. This is my first fic and literally, I never wrote a word till now. Know that English is not my language so any mistake is mine!

Read, Enjoy and let me know what you think.

Disclaimer: Anything you recognize is not mine!

#1

Even all the pacing wasn't helping Athos in the slightest. All he did in the last few hours was waiting and he only wanted to crash something against the white walls of this damn hospital as if that would be the balm on his discomfort. He brought his semi-conscious younger brother to the ER about what, sunset, and was forced to leave him in a cold room so the doctors could do their job and he hated it. Athos couldn't erase the picture of those half-lidded brown orbs full of some unknown pain begging him to stay from his mind, yet he shook his head in another vain attempt. He leaned against one of those white walls and tried to ease some of the pain in his chest. It seemed some remnants of his hitching breath while he saw his brother fall and lying in a heap and curling on himself gasping for breath despite the unseen pain was trapped between his ribs. His fist came up and he tried to scare the pain in his chest away by punching his sternum. The flow of some wavy red hair caught his attention from the corner of his eye and Constance came to a stop in front of him.

"I couldn't get in touch with the boys but left them a message."

A curt nod was all the response she got. Constance's worried eyes were darting toward the cold room and the nurse station as if she could find out what was going on.

"anything new?"

This time a shake of the head. All of a sudden, the door of the cold room opened and the sight of a doctor and a nurse coming out summoned both Athos and Constance.

"What's wrong with my brother?" Athos asked the moment he was close enough to be heard. All the voice seemed to return to Athos' throat.

"Please calm down. Right now, I can't tell you anything for sure. We're waiting for the results so the diagnosis would be easier. Also, you should know that according to the protocol my colleagues have informed the police."

The whole situation was testing Athos' sanity but the last sentence brought out more confusion.

"Police? Why?" Constance called the question before Athos had time.

It seemed some kind of realization down on the doctor which did not make anything easier for him to explain. The doctor took a long breath and wet his lips.

"Umm… This case is complicated but our best guess is drug issues or some form of overdose!" The look of bewilderment urged the young doctor to continue. "I understand that you might not know but I'm afraid it is truly a potential diagnosis."

Athos' head was full of noise. The sound of his rushing blood and his breathing echoed in his head.

This man didn't know who he was talking about.

"My brother is no addict." Except for love and attention but no drugs, Athos thought. The low growl in his voice caused the doctor to step back. Athos ignored the tightness on his arm that was trying to pull him back. It took some long moments but the doctor finally regained his wits and started his threats anew.

"Calm yourself down Monsieur or I should ask you to leave whether by will or force is your own choice. But you should have patience and trust us we will do everything we can for your brother."

Then he left, that simple, the doctor didn't even let him ask if Athos could see his ailing brother. He was unconsciously guided to a chair and Athos heard Constance's voice but not registered the words. He didn't even notice Constance left him to hurry after the doctor. All he knew was that he already missed his little brother. He thought of the time his brother opened Athos' heart and settled there and could only see a two-year-old boy with rosy cheeks with some mop brown hair on his head. Athos fisted his hair, took his head in his hands, and thought of old better times.

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Mud was all over the place and small footprints were still spreading it more. Visible patches of dirt and dust had framed the seven years old's face. Green eyes shining with rage and pouting, the boy pushed the heavy doors open. The sight wasn't rare yet it made the boy's jaws clench together and he spat.

"Papa you promised!"

De la Feres looked his way and his mother gasped at his eldest muddy sight, the boy didn't want to be a good boy now. Because since his family got that little tiny guest who apparently wasn't going to leave ever, Olivier had lost his parents and all the good things he had in their house for his own, he had lost them to his baby brother.

Olivier's face crumpled at the thought of having a brother and being a brother.

"Olivier go get yourself washed, Now!"

The boy frowned and turned to look at his mother. She was angry, good because Olivier was angry too, thought Olivier.

"I don't want to." He didn't wail like every other child at his age. He was calm. "Papa promised that we play football together, I started to play all by myself and waited for papa to come."

His green eyes were shining with anger as he turned to look at his father. "But you didn't and now the sun is going." Then he crossed his arms and turned. Olivier was facing the door so he missed his parents' knowing look and the fondness in their eyes when looking at him.

"Oh, I'm sorry boss. Tomorrow we'll play, what d'you say hm?" Said George as he reached for his son and turned him.

"Tomorrow they're going to choose for school's team, you even forgot that." Now Olivier looked more hurt. Monsieur de la Fere tried his chance again.

"I'm sorry but the little boss really needed me today!"

His father said while stealing a look at his sleeping toddler. That reasoning soon proved to be a failure as Olivier shouted, all the calmness gone.

"him again. He's two years now, he can walk and talk, maybe just a little but he can do that. He can take care of himself!" Because Olivier could and he could do that from a very long time ago. But football is teamwork you can't do it alone. Then he remembered Ms. Roberts, his teacher, talking to somebody's parents and telling them not to spoil their child. And Olivier doesn't know what spoiling means exactly but he thinks it's bad so he says it.

"You're spoiling him!"

Now his mother is crouching on her hills in front of him too and taking him gently by shoulders.

"But honey we're not spoiling him. You're right he's two and he grew up a bit but he's really small and still just a baby. He can't take care of himself just yet, he needs time!"

Olivier is still grumpy even if his mother is gently wiping his face with something wet, which reminds Olivier that his body is itching in all the places that there's mud but he can't scrape himself right now because he wants to be strong and it makes him grumpier so he tries not to twitch in his mother's hands as he nags again.

"oh really? Then why is he sleeping in a soft bed? does he need you to watch him sleep like a guardian angel? both of you?"

his mother's eyebrows knitted deeply, Olivier was always an understanding and caring little boy but now he was acting in this way toward his sick little brother. A sudden short wail and a small cough abrupted Catherine's thoughts. Little Thomas was burning with fever and couldn't breathe properly, Catherine went to turn on the aerator to ease her little boy's suffering a little while George tried to explain the situation. He picked up another wipe to clean more dirt off his son's face.

"Look Oli, Thomy is sick, he needs us!"

In an instant Olivier's eyes started to water, the itching has got worsened and he just wanted to scrub his skin away but first, he needed to tell his parents that he was there too.

"And I need you too, I hate him!"

Little Thomas was startled awake at his brother's shouting and started to cry so loud that had Olivier put his hands to his ears and ran away from that room.

Nobody saw his silent tears as he bathed that night.

The next day Oli came home sad rather than angry, he was chosen as a bench player but not an attacker. Isaac got to be the attacker, he was big and strong and a good strategist so he deserved it but Olivier deserved to be one of the main players too.

He opened the door leading to the living room, his mother was in her study having some kind of meeting with some people from work. The door to the study was slightly ajar and his mother appeared through the door for a greeting.

"Hey honey, you're home! I hope school was ok, listen Mama is working now. Madame Nouri is away on personal business so look after Thomas for me while I'm working, yeah? Good boy!"

Then she disappeared inside the study, this time closing the door fully. Pouting and frowning Olivier did not even acknowledge his mother. 'good boy!' scowled Oli grumpily. 'as if I'm some dog, come and pat my head'

Olivier found Thomy in front of the TV, leaning heavily to the floppy sofa behind his back. His position was kind of like he didn't want to be there, he seemed neither interested in TV nor his toys. The toddler turned his head and saw Olivier.

"Oli" Thomas squeaked, with a wide grin on his face and sparkling eyes, he started to make his way toward his brother.

Olivier was still angry at him and maybe hated him a little. He didn't want to be anywhere near Thomas just yet.

"I need to change my clothes." He excused. "stay!" then ordered. As Olivier expected the toddler stopped and tilted his head as if he understood. Thomas didn't say anything. He just sank back down heavily while the grin on his face never faded.

Olivier said hello to Emily, their servant who was cleaning the cupboards, and then sneaked into the kitchen Serge, their cuisinier, was nowhere to be seen so Olivier quickly grabbed a few cookies and left the kitchen giggling. If Serge wasn't in the kitchen, he was resting so it wasn't anywhere near lunch now. Oli thought about giving Thomas a cookie or two but decided against it. He didn't want to love his younger brother; he was already the favorite in the house. Even Serge always gives candies and cookies to Thomas without grumbling. It took an hour for Olivier to change and eat his cookies. Finally, he came out of his room with a ball in his hands and a plan for revenge on his mind.

Thomas was exactly where he left him but now, he seemed drowsy. A wicked smile crept on Olivier's lips. It seemed everything was ready for him to take his revenge. Thomas wasn't paying any attention to him; Mama was still in his study even Emily or Serge or Ms. Nouri wasn't around. Oli made his way to the door across the room silently, he took aim then waited, and then hurled the ball. The ball hit Thomy on the head and he fell to the side with a soft thud. 'A perfect shot' thought Olivier to himself. Now all he needed to do was run and hide because the baby boy was going to wail and cry but he never got the chance because Thomas came running to him. Not only he wasn't crying, but he was also giggling. Thomy had the ball in his hands and stretched his arms to pass it to his brother. "Play!" he squeaked. Olivier tilted his head with an open mouth, took the ball, and then threw it to Thomy's face. The toddler landed on his hips laughing and clapping. Oli smirked, this was going to be fun, he picked up the ball and started his throw and hit game.

They were playing for more than an hour now. Olivier got bored and sat on the sofa but Thomy was energetic. He brought the ball to Oli, got hit, or waited for Oli to throw it again and he seemed happy. It wasn't the revenge Olivier wanted, Thomy was happy and he couldn't lie to himself, his own heart got warm with each loud giggle of his brother. The only thing that was off about Thomas was that he got slower and slower each time and his eyes became very droopy.

Thomy gave the ball to him one more time but the bored Olivier slapped his hand away and then put his hand on Thomy's chest and pushed him. Little Thomas fell and laid sprawled on the ground and this time didn't get up. Olivier stared at his hand for a moment to figure out why his hand felt as if burned and suddenly it hit him. He remembered that yesterday, Papa told him that Thomas was sick, maybe he truly was sick but was it that bad to be so hot? Mused Olivier. The sound of some horrible coughing gave him all the answers he needed. Olivier hesitated for only a second and then rushed to Thomy's side. He felt the hotness of his brother's skin when he propped Thomy up a bit to ease his breathing and began to call for Emily and Serge.

When nobody came and the coughing eased, he laid Thomas down and ran for the kitchen to bring water.

Thomas opened his eyes after drinking some water and Olivier saw he was unfocused. Oli left his brother one more time, but this time he went to their mother's study and knocked hastily. The door never opened but he heard the key turn in the lock. Olivier frowned and pulled the handle; the door was locked so this time he hit the door with his fists but Mama didn't open the door. Oli looked back at his brother anxiously, Thomas watched him through half-lidded eyes and seemed more focused now. Upon seeing his brother's gaze, Thomas smiled widely but tired, then he was possessed with another coughing fit and Olivier felt his eyes stung. Olivier needed to do something and do it fast but what?

Suddenly something took Oli's eyes and he turned to see Serge coming from down the corridor. He ran to their cuisinier who stopped midway upon seeing the seven-year-old Olivier running to him. Olivier didn't waste any time when he reached Serge, he grabbed his hand and pull it toward the hall but Serge didn't give in to his efforts.

"What is it? Did you touch anything in my kitchen again?"

Oli shook his head, swallowed, and pulled his arm with more force this time.

"No, it's Thomas he's so hot!"

It seemed enough as the cook started limping as fast as he could. When Olivier saw that no persuasion was needed anymore, he ran to his brother, his heart full of dread, he wanted revenge again but this time on himself. Oli realized that he couldn't bear not seeing those glistering brown orbs or that cheeky grin again. He didn't want to hate Thomy, he wanted to love him.

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And now Athos loved him so much. He was terribly scared then and now even more so. A pair of rushing big boots came to stop in front of him and Athos raised his head.

"What's wrong with 'Mis?" Asked Porthos and Athos felt his eyes stung.

To be Continued...

Notes:

Well, Athos wasn't always stoic but it seems Aramis was always the Cheeky Charming guy! :)) yes yes probably your guesses are right, next chapter we learn more. what do you think? I would really appreciate comments!

*cuisinier: French word for Cook

Next Chapter Tomorrow Night!