Disclaimer: I don't own anything belonging to either Alexandre Dumas or his descendents.

Epilogue:The Wish You Make

"I hate you!" Elizabeth was screaming, but Athos had gotten quite used to that at this point.

"I know you do, love."

"I'll never forgive you." Again, Athos had heard this before.

"Probably."

"This is all your fault!"

Rather than pointing out her end of the issue, he attempted to placate her, "Darling, tomorrow, this will all seem like just a bad dream. We will be lying in this same bed, holding our child, and you will see that-"

"Argh!" She screamed, throwing the nearby water basin at him. Thankfully, Athos was quick on his feet and he ducked out of the room with a murmured "I love you," and left her to the midwife.

Downstairs, their friends had arrived.

"Things sound as though they're going well." Aramis remarked.

"As well as these things go, I suppose."

"She's…?" this from Monsieur Trèville.

"Tougher than old boots," Porthos cut in, "do you really think anything would affect that woman? No offense, of course, Athos."

"None taken, but you're going to need to apologize to my wife."

Porthos listened to the expletives coming from upstairs and shivered, "Not now though."

"No, not now."

"Have you thought of what you are going to name the child?" d'Artagnan asked.

"Elizabeth wants us to name her after her mother, Claudia."

"She?"

"Elizabeth has assured me endlessly that he will be a she."

"But if you do have a boy?" Monsieur Trèville asked.

"Well then, we were going to name him after you."

Trèville blinked a couple of times before replying in a choked voice, "I'd be honored if you did."

The room was silent for a bit before Porthos spoke up, "Don't you thinking naming some poor innocent child Monsieur Trèville is just asking for trouble?"

Athos rolled his eyes, "His name would be Raoul."

"Your first name is Raoul?" Porthos questioned.

"Quite."

D'Artagnan was dragging some chairs towards the table near the fire, "Shall we play cards to pass the time? I believe you have a few pistoles that are just calling my name Porthos."

"Humph, I doubt that, even my money is loyal to me my friend." Porthos joked as he sat down at the table.

"It will kill the time." Aramis pointed out.

"Just for a few hours, until the baby-" he laughed, "until Raoul arrives."

But by the next night, the child had still not arrived; and the upstairs of the small house had gone deathly quiet.

"What is taking so long?" Athos was pacing.

"These things take time," d'Artagnan attempted to soothe him.

Athos shook the comforting hand off and sat on the couch, burying his face in his palms, "God, this is all my fault."

D'Artagnan shook his head at Monsieur Trèville who looked as though he might say something he was going to regret later. "Tomorrow," d'Artagnan said, "this will all seem like a bad dream."

Athos opened his mouth to respond, but they heard footsteps on the stairs. As one, the group of men leapt to their feet. "Reverend Father, milady is asking for you." The midwife said, gesturing at Aramis.

Aramis locked eyes with Athos for a long moment before following the woman upstairs.

Long minutes passed without word. Then, they heard the cry of a child throughout the house. Athos hung his head in relief, tears welling up in his eyes as his friends gathered around him in congratulations. But neither Aramis nor the midwife had returned.

When Aramis did appear what seemed like hours later, it was with a small wailing bundle in his arms. He handed it gently to Athos who looked up to meet his gaze.

"Your son, Athos."