Hey, hey, hey! So...I meant to post this ages ago. But then I got a stomach bug. Then I let a reviewer get in my head about something. Then I decided I wasn't gonna let the reviewer get in my head about that thing. Then I ended up rewriting half of this anyway lol. Anyway, here we are.

So, I have this plot line I'm working through in this AU that is centered around Aramis and Anne (obviously) and Louis (dun dun duuuun) and once that gets played out, this collection will become more one-shot oriented and focus more on the bromance between m' boys. So just, like, be aware of that I guess. I know its super Annamis heavy right now (and I know many of you don't mind that at all) but it's all with purpose ;)

Enjoy!

You make loving you easy. You make loving you all I wanna do.
Zac Brown Band

Aramis blinked tiredly as he watched the ramp lower at the back of the plane.

His eyes burned and blurred with exhaustion as he waited. He should have slept on the flight. It was what he usually did after long missions like this. But the adrenaline high hadn't worn off as quickly as it usually did. So, while his brothers had dozed in their hammocks, Aramis had filled six different pages in his sketchbook.

"You comin'?" Porthos nudged him as he passed.

Aramis blinked, realizing the ramp was fully lowered now. He followed Porthos slowly, feeling the ache of too many hours without sleep. He'd been at roost in a sniper position for over thirty-six hours, alone, while his brothers carried out the mission. He was trained for such things, for long stretches without sleep, but while it helped in the moment, exhaustion crept in all the same. The constant need to be hyper vigilante while he watched over the situation was draining and, by all rights, he should have crashed as soon as the plane lifted off.

But as it happened once in a while, he hadn't been able to quiet his mind enough for rest, and he was paying for it now. He'd blown past the 48-hour mark since he last slept hours ago. Still, he felt restless, like he wasn't ready to let go yet. But unlike when his PTSD decided to drive him into days of insomnia, this felt different. This was a deeply rooted yearning, for which he knew the exact solution.

His phone beeped in his hand, drawing his attention. His Uber was here.

"Earth to Aramis?"

He looked up at Porthos who was frowning worriedly.

"What?"

"I asked if you wanted to get food on the way home?"

Aramis shook his head, holding up his phone to show the Uber app.

"I'm going to Anne's."

Porthos's eyebrow arched.

"It's 1 in the morning, 'Mis. You've haven't slept in two days and she's probably asleep herself now anyway."

Aramis shrugged, tightening his hand around the strap of his backpack.

"I want to see her." He needed to see her. He needed to settle the yearning in his heart, however sappy and love-sick it sounded.

Porthos studied him for a moment.

"You good?"

Aramis stared at him, giving him the courtesy of genuinely thinking over his answer.

He was tired, this much was obvious. Beyond that, this mission had called upon him to fire his sniper rifle and take someone's life. Such a thing always weighed on him. Life was too valuable to take it lightly. But it was business as usual, honestly. He felt as okay as he ever did. Something in him was urging him to Anne's side, though, however little sense it made. He should go home to sleep, but six pages worth of sketches told him exactly where he needed to be.

"I'm good," he promised. "I just want to see her."

Porthos sighed.

"Young love," he teased with a grin. "Try to get some rest while you're there, okay?"

"Yes, mother."

"Asshole."

"Love you too." Aramis tossed Porthos a grin as he walked towards his waiting Uber.

"See you in the morning," Porthos called after him.

Aramis turned, walking backwards a few steps to tap two fingers to his brow in a mock salute, before stepping to the Uber and climbing in the back. He gave Anne's address and then looked down at his phone, debating the merits of surprising her versus making sure she was even awake.

In the end he sent her a text.

'At your door in twenty.'

Anne yawned as turned off the television and stretched her back, glancing at her phone. She'd been asleep on the couch, TV droning mindlessly in the background, when a text woke her. Her phone, nestled under her cheek from where she'd shifted in her sleep, had buzzed startlingly against her skin and startled her awake. She couldn't be annoyed, though, when she'd seen the contents of the message.

A sudden knock at her door had her smiling.

"Anne, it's me," a familiar voice rose from beyond the hallway outside.

She rose from the couch and moved quickly to the entry, throwing the lock, and pulling the door open. Her cheeks hurt she was smiling so widely as she took in the man standing on the threshold.

Aramis looked more tired than he had been when he left on a mission with his unit ten days ago, but he was smiling at her, his backpack hanging loosely from one hand. She launched herself towards him, wrapping her arms around his neck and legs around his waist even as he stepped into her apartment. She kissed him deeply and as he carried her further into the room, tossing his bag down and kicking the door closed behind them. She heard him fumble with the deadbolt for a moment before it clicked into place and all his attention shifted to her.

She pulled back, brushing the pad of her thumbs over a dark smudges under his eyes.

"I missed you," he whispered softly, tightening his hold on her, and carrying her towards the bedroom. She didn't get a chance to do more than smile in response before he tipped them both down onto her bed, startling a laugh out her.

Anne blinked blearily, reaching out instinctively for the warmth that had been next to her most nights over the last five months. The bed was still warm, but Aramis wasn't there. More alert now, she opened her eyes fully and saw him sitting on the edge slowly and silently pulling his pants on, clearly trying not to wake her.

"Are you leaving?" she asked in confusion, sitting up to watch his back tense, the white stripes of scar tissue standing out starkly against his dark complexion. She'd never asked where he got them, and he'd never offered to tell her, as he'd never offered the stories behind any of his scars.

He twisted to look at her, exhaustion evident in every part of his face.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, leaning to press a kiss to her forehead. "I was going to leave a note. I need to go home and sleep, but I had to see you first."

She blinked in confusion.

"So, sleep here," she said, presenting the obvious solution.

He stilled for a moment and then continued dressing, pulling on his t-shirt and covering the scars.

"I need to go home," he replied simply.

Anne rubbed at her eyes, wiping away the last vestiges of sleep.

"I don't understand. You've slept here dozens of times."

His lack of reply spoke volumes in the silence.

"Aramis, look at me."

He stilled again after tying off his second boot. After a moment of obvious reluctance, he turned to sit sideways on the bed, one leg pulled up in front of him.

"You've slept here before," she said again.

But now she wasn't so sure. Her mind raced as she thought over the last five months. He'd slept over dozens of times, always coming home with her instead of inviting her back to his apartment. He shared it with Porthos, though, she so had always thought it was about having privacy. But as she thought about it, he was always awake when she fell asleep and always awake when she woke up. She'd never actually seen him sleep.

"Oh my God, you've never slept here, have you?"

"Anne…"

"Is it me? Did I do something?"

"No!" he reached for her, folding her trembling hands into his own. "No," he assured gently. "I just…" he hesitated eyes searching hers for a long, tense moment. She saw something in his eyes she'd never seen before — fear and worse, shame.

"Talk to me," she pleaded softly.

"I…"

She turned her hands in his so that she was cradling his hands instead, then she waited.

"Several years ago," he started, voice soft and eyes focused down on their joined hands, "I was part of an operation that went very badly."

She tightened her hold on his hands, trying to both to comfort him and encourage him to continue.

"I can't…" he cleared his throat. "I don't sleep well. There are dreams…" he trailed off, shaking his head. He pulled his hands from hers to scrub at his face. He still hadn't looked at her when he went on, "Officially, they've diagnosed it to be PTSD." Something in his voice had changed, had lost the warmth she was used to from him. His tone was clinical, detached.

"Aramis," she whispered gently, trying to draw him back, but he didn't seem to hear her.

"Esmé is a service dog," he revealed bluntly. "I haven't been able to sleep, at least not well, without her or Porthos nearby for years."

He was looking down at his hands, as they rested limply in his lap. Anne drew in a slow breath turned away, climbing off the bed to pull on her underwear and a t-shirt Aramis left behind weeks ago that she had been avoiding giving back to him. She rounded the bed and slowly went to her knees on the floor next to where he sat.

"Look at me," she pleaded gently.

It took a moment, but he shifted his gaze to hers, something in his eyes warily guarded in a way he had never been around her.

"You don't ever need to hide yourself from me," she told him softly. "I want to know all of you, Aramis."

She pushed up, kissed him gently, and then stood. She walked to her dresser and pulled out a pair of loose sweatpants. She stepped into them and then slid her feet into a pair of athletic shoes. She pulled a hooded sweatshirt out of her closet, one she'd had since college, and pulled it on.

"What are you doing?"

Anne turned, knotting her hair up at the top of her head. Aramis was watching her with a furrowed brow from where he still sat on the bed.

"I'm taking you home."

She leaned to retrieve his jacket off the floor and tossed it to him. He caught it easily but was shaking his head.

"Anne…"

"You need to sleep." That much was obvious. Her heart hurt to see the exhaustion in his face. "You can't sleep here, and I don't want to sleep without you. So, I'm taking you home, to Esmé and Porthos and we'll sleep there — both of us."

He was staring at her with something wary and confused in his gaze. She wondered what he'd expected, what reaction he'd prepared himself for that he was so caught my surprise now.

She got a small bag from her closet and tossed in a change of clothes. By the time she went to and returned from her bathroom with a few toiletries, Aramis had pulled his jacket on and was hovering near her bedroom door.

"Did you drive your bike here?" she asked, eyebrow arched skeptically, eyes drawn to the darkness under his eyes that told of far too many hours without sleep.

"Uber," he replied with a simple shake of his head.

She nodded, relieved, and grabbed his hand as she passed to pull him after her into the main part of the apartment. He tugged her to a stop by the front door.

"Anne."

She turned back, look up at him expectantly.

He slowly reached to wrap his hand around the nape of her neck, and with the other gently traced the curve of her jaw, finally tipping up her chin with a curved finger. He stared down into her eyes for a moment before pressing a gentle kiss to her lips. He pulled back only far enough that his next words ghosted across her still tingling lips.

"I love you."

It had only been five months, weeks of which he'd been gone with his unit. But as she stared into his eyes, she found her response came easily.

"I love you too."

Porthos snorted awake at the sound of the front door locks clicking. He rolled over in bed, squinting at the time. Just after three. He'd only been asleep a bit over an hour. Rolling out of bed, he stumbled to his bedroom door and pulled it open, blinking into the dark hallway.

He watched Anne kneel to greet an enthusiastic Esmé while Aramis was busy reengaging the locks on the door. As he watched, Aramis turned and Anne rose to meet him, a soft smile on her lips. As Porthos watched, an expression that used to be unfamiliar, but had become more common over the last months, stole across his brother's face. It was something close to peace.

Porthos knew he should duck back into his room and pretend he hadn't seen them. But he'd seen how exhausted Aramis was when they got back in the wee hours of the night. He'd fretted over him deciding to go see Anne instead of just coming home to sleep. Aramis didn't sleep at Anne's, even after five months hadn't been able to bring himself to even try. Porthos had expected him to stumble home in the morning and sleep through the rest of the day.

"All good?" Porthos found himself asking as Aramis lead Anne down the hall towards his room.

Aramis found his gaze in the darkness and nodded.

"All good, brother."

Porthos nodded back and smiled at Anne as she followed Aramis and Esmé into his room. She smiled warmly in return, a fresh understanding in her eyes that he hadn't seen before. Porthos would find out what shifted between them in the morning. For now, it was sufficient to know Aramis was home. When his brother's door closed, he closed his own as well.

Anne watched Aramis sink into his bed with an exhausted sigh. He was stripped down to his boxers now and laid back on his pillows with visible relief. She climbed into the bed next to him, watching as Esmé jumped up as well, circling on Aramis' other side before settling down with her snout resting on his shoulder and her back pressed against his side. The tension seemed to drain out of Aramis at the contact. Still, he held out his free arm to Anne and she willingly went to him, snuggling into his other side and pulling the blankets up over both of them. She watched him absently stroke his fingers through Esmé's fur, seeming to melt further into the mattress with every breath.

She thought he was going to just drift off right there, but then he cleared his throat, the arm around her tightening slightly.

"There's — ah, there's more you should know."

She pressed her body closer to his side, letting him know she was listening.

"If I start to dream, don't — don't try to wake me. Don't even touch me. Just back out of reach and wait it out or for Porthos to come."

She shifted, propping her chin on his chest and blinking at him in confusion. He glanced down at her and swallowed.

"I can be violent when I come out of it. All the training I've had…" he shook his head slightly and let out a trembling breath. "If I hurt you, I would never forgive myself."

She studied him for a moment and then nodded her agreement.

"How will I know if you're dreaming?" she asked quietly.

"You'll know. Porthos says I start to talk, move around, my breathing changes."

She nodded, storing away the information.

"Esmé will know before either of us," he went on softly, glancing down at the companion next to him. "She's able to wake me herself sometimes. She'll get Porthos if she has to, though."

Anne looked at the dog as well, relieved she was there, that she brought him such comfort.

"I'm sorry," Aramis whispered suddenly. "I should have told you what you were getting into months ago."

She pushed up on her elbow, looking down at him.

"It wouldn't have changed anything then and it doesn't change anything now."

He didn't seem to believe her.

"If you wanted to walk away, I would understand."

She gently pressed her fingers to his lips, silencing him.

"I'm not going anywhere."

With that promise, she snuggled back into his side and let out a contented breath, closing her eyes.

"There's one last thing…"

"It won't scare me away either," she replied blandly.

"There's a knife under my pillow and a gun in the nightstand. I can't sleep without either."

It should have frightened her, she supposed. But all she could think about was what could have happened to burn such a deeply rooted trauma response in him. Rather than replying, she turned her face to kiss his chest and then settled again.

"Go to sleep," she whispered.

It took a few minutes, but soon his breathing evened out and then she let herself drift off too.

Anne woke to the smell of coffee. She blinked blearily, taking in the sight of Aramis' bare back before her. He had turned away from her in the night, curling his body around Esmé. But he'd let her nuzzle into his spine and seemed to be sleeping deeply despite the line of contact she had with his back. Slowly, she shifted away, sitting up and yawning. Her phone indicated it was after ten in the morning, but she still felt exhausted. Carefully sliding out of the bed, she pulled her sweatpants back on and snagged Aramis's favorite hoodie from the closet, leaving her own in a pool of fabric on the floor.

She pulled it on, snuggling into its warmth and the familiar smells of Aramis as she padded around the bed. She paused next to it, looking down at Aramis and Esmé. His nose was pressed into the soft fur of her head, one arm curled up under his pillow — perhaps around the knife she now knew was there — and the other wrapped around Esmé's torso, fingers threaded into the fur of her chest. She shifted under Anne's gaze, eyes opening and head shifting to regard her. Anne smiled and Esmé's tongue lolled out briefly before she settled back, eyes drifting closed again.

Silently, Anne slipped out of the room, following her nose to the kitchen.

"Mornin'," Porthos greeted, smiling warmly at her. The big man was wearing a plush purple robe with a unicorn applique on the back. There was a story there, she was sure. "He still asleep?"

She nodded, smiling gratefully when he handed her a steaming mug.

"Fan of unicorns?" she asked, biting her lip to keep from laughing.

Porthos didn't bother restraining his own chuckle.

"Lost a bet years ago, but the damn things is more comfortable than any other I've ever had. So perhaps not a loss after all."

She laughed lightly, stirring cream and sugar into her coffee and then lifting it to blow on the steaming liquid. Porthos focused intensely on stirring cream and sugar into his own coffee for several moments before speaking.

"Aramis…" he started slowly, "often sees in himself weakness where there is none. I, and the others, work extremely hard to ensure that he knows we don't see him as he sees himself."

"PTSD isn't weakness," she replied immediately.

His eyes snapped up to hers, brow drawn together warily. She drew in a breath, knowing full well that if Porthos deemed her a threat to Aramis, in any way, he would force her out the door in a heartbeat.

"He didn't tell me much, only that there was an operation that went terribly wrong years ago. He said he can't sleep without Esmé or you nearby."

Porthos nodded slowly.

"It was night when it happened," he explained carefully. "He was asleep."

Heartbroken understanding settled over her. The need for weapons close at hand made more sense now. She waited to see if Porthos would tell her anything else, but he didn't.

"What made you come here?" he asked instead. "I thought Aramis would just come home this morning and sleep through the day."

"He was so tired," she answered. "He needed to sleep and when he finally told me couldn't do it at my place, I knew we had to go somewhere he could. So, I brought him here, to Esmé and to you."

Porthos gaze warmed so quickly that her breath nearly caught in her chest at the pure affection bleeding from his gaze. Whether it was for her, or Aramis, or something else entirely didn't matter, she felt warmer just for having witnessed it.

"He's been so afraid to tell you," Porthos revealed. "He hates to think himself a burden."

"Loving him could never be a burden," she answered honestly. "It's the easiest thing I've ever done."

Porthos smiled, huffing a little laugh.

"I know what you mean."

"And I do, Porthos." She waited for Porthos to look at her again. "I love him."

Porthos's gaze softened.

"Yeah?"

She nodded, a smile pulling at her lips.

"He's the most important person in the world to me," Porthos told her seriously. It was both a warning and a plea to take care of him.

"I know," she assured gently.

Porthos nodded slightly and then shifted his weight.

"He told you about the dreams?"

She nodded.

"I've been given strict instructions not to wake him. I'm to back out of reach and wait for Esmé to wake him or for you."

"Just come get me," Porthos corrected. "He would say not to bother me unless it got bad, but please, just come get me as soon as it starts."

She swallowed at the rawness of his tone and nodded.

"I promise."

He let out a relieved breath and sipped his coffee.

"There's also a knife under his pillow and a gun in his nightstand, and he knows how to use both."

"He told me."

Porthos nodded again.

"Good." He sipped his coffee again. "Good," he said more softly.

For a few minutes they just sipped coffee together, but then she had to ask.

"Will he ever tell me what happened on that operation?"

Porthos's shoulders dropped a little.

"I don't know," he admitted. "He's only told me once and only because his therapist convinced him he needed to tell someone."

"You weren't there?"

He shook his head, years old regret shining in his eyes.

"It was just before the Musketeers were formed when he was with his old commando unit."

She nodded slowly, thoughtful. Vague memories of her father discussing some failed operation rising in her mind.

"But, Anne, even if he never tells you, it doesn't mean he cares for you any less."

She nodded that she understood, warmed by the assurance. She tapped her fingers against her mug and watched Porthos sip at his. Something in the large man's posture was tense, unsettled. Anne chewed her lip for a moment and then drew in a steady breath, letting it out carefully.

"You can trust me with him, Porthos," she promised softly.

His gaze snapped up to hers, something vulnerable shining brightly back at her. But then his eyes settled, his posture softening. When he nodded his acceptance, Anne could nearly feel the weight of his trust as he accepted her place in the new dynamic.

A thought of Aramis, sleeping peacefully in the other room, brought a smile to her lips as she lifted her coffee.

As far as she was concerned, this was the easiest weight she'd ever carried.

So this was a big step for Aramis, admitting to a bit of his perceived "baggage". Idk when I'll get the next one of these out, but it shouldn't be too long, hopefully. Angst is comin', so buckle up buttercups.

See ya!