omething was troubling Aramis. That much was clear to Athos as his gloved hand continued to place ever darkening prints against his younger friend's bottom. It was something more than guilt, something more than the increasing sting being created in his hindquarters, something darker. Aramis, when he had a mind to be, could be stubborn but he was never more so than when he was attempting to shield those he cared for from something. Of course, it helped his determination if in doing so it also shielded himself from something but then he could hardly be held accountable for that – such was human nature. When they had begun, Athos had wondered whether Aramis (who had earlier voiced his incredulity that Athos intended to complete the mission without a skirmish) had truly acted out of pigheadedness, whether Treville was right and Aramis begrudged being given commands by someone whose commission had been bought rather than earned. But Aramis' shock – the horrified, hurt look Athos had received when he raised the subject – had soon put paid to that idea. But still, something was troubling him, and when he had refused to give voice to it Aramis had triggered some dark corner of Athos' mind. It often seemed that Aramis spoke simply for the sake of hearing his own voice, and that he spoke so much that his words meant very little and so it was always with some trepidation that Athos – and indeed anyone else who knew Aramis well – forced him to speak of things he would rather not say. If Aramis' words meant nothing, his silence meant everything. Quite suddenly, Athos knew what it was that was stopping Aramis from seeking the solace he so clearly needed. Ceasing the punishment at once, he rested his stinging hand between the taut shoulders before him. Aramis trembled, gasping a little and swallowing back the sobs Athos knew he was fighting so valiantly to stop.

"When I was a child of perhaps ten years old," Athos began quietly, pushing aside the pain that came with thoughts of his previous life, "our house came under attack. My father had my brother and me hide in the hayloft; he gave me a pistol and told me to protect my brother."

"I'm sure you did so admirably."

Athos smiled a little at that. It was rare that he spoke of his past but Aramis seemed to have made it his life's mission to allow not a single self-condemning thought about it to cross Athos' mind. Even under as much duress as he was, Aramis still sought to protect him. And therein, Athos thought, lay the problem: always, Aramis protected his friends and damn the consequences.

"Perhaps," he agreed, ghosting one hand over the deeply reddened skin beneath it. "When it was over," he continued carefully, "my father came looking for us...and I shot him."

Aramis went stiff as a board then, emitting a strangled noise.

"He wasn't seriously wounded, of course." Athos pressed down on Aramis' back until he ceased his attempts to turn and offer comfort. It was hard enough as it was, Athos did not foresee much success if he actually had to look at Aramis as he told him of it. "I was but ten, and my aim never has been as good as yours. Still..."

"...Why?" Aramis whispered, his body thrumming with pent up anxiety.

"It was hardly deliberate!" Athos found himself protesting before he could stop himself – the guilt and immediate defensiveness still seizing him more than twenty years on. Aramis relaxed minutely and Athos wondered whether he had somehow misspoken himself, implied that it had been in any way intentional. He sighed. "I haven't the faintest idea," he continued more calmly, readying himself for what he was about to admit. He rubbed one hand across Aramis' shoulders, rested it against his friend's neck and squeezed a little. "I panicked."

Aramis made no sound, barely seemed to be breathing.

"Tho – my brother – was my responsibility, and I could not see him harmed. Perhaps I ought to have said earlier, I had no idea it was my father when he entered. He couldn't possibly have seen us so he was no threat whatsoever, even had he been a stranger I doubt anything would have come of it...But he was armed and I could only think of my brother. I fired, knowing that in all likelihood I was about to get myself killed."

"It's hardly the same."

Athos released an undignified snort even as he shook his head in wonderment. As usual Aramis saw straight through his ploys. How quick and intuitive Aramis was! Even at a time when his throat was so tight with tears that he could barely force the words out. "Why not?"

"You...you were only a child." Aramis took a great shuddering breath but much of the tension drained from his taut body. Athos treasured this. The point to which they often came when Aramis relinquished all judgement of his own and trusted that Athos would help him see the truth of his actions whether he wanted to or not. Though Athos often wondered if that blind trust were ill-placed, it warmed him all the same. And Aramis didtrust him after all. That was more than a small relief to Athos; when he had thought Aramis had acted mutinously because he felt Athos' plan so severely flawed, Athos was, he confessed to himself, angry. Hurt. He was once more on the road from his childhood home, with Porthos practically bleeding to death and Aramis standing before him outright accusing him of not caring. It was getting to be something of a habit that. But they would come to that. First this needed to be dealt with.

"True," Athos said eventually, "But the fact remains that I acted against reason simply because I could not stand to see my brother harmed. Do you mean to tell me you did otherwise?"

They fell into silence for several moments then, Athos waiting patiently for the moment when Aramis would see the truth in it and realise that though he had acted rashly, there was really nothing to atone for. He had done nothing wrong – although yes, it had caused them all trouble – how on earth could Aramis expect Athos to stay angry when his actions had been unintentional, a reflex response to seeing their youngest friend in danger? The crux of that matter of course, was that Aramis did not expect Athos to stay angry and that was half the problem. It mattered not whether Athos felt he was deserving of punishment, because Aramis felt he was deserving of it. But Aramis was an intelligent man, he simply needed a little help every now and then. A strong hand to guide him out of the darkness he had wandered into. If Athos said that there was little difference between their stories, and Aramis felt Athos to have been blameless then by his own logic Aramis himself was blameless. It would just take a few moments for him to puzzle that out and reconcile himself with that fact.

Athos felt the change the second it occurred, the very second Aramis' malevolent conscience fell silent. He sagged across Athos, his face falling onto the blanket beneath him once more. Athos nodded to himself, feeling the change like the first breaking through of morning sunlight – it warmed him as it did each and every time to know that he and he alone had relieved Aramis of his burdens, and that Aramis had allowed him to do so. He started spanking again, lightly and carefully this time for Aramis' cheeks were already so sore that to have given him anything more sincere would have been a cruelty neither of them could have borne. As it was and despite Athos' care, Aramis' shoulders quaked as he fisted the coverlet beneath him, his legs twitching with the impulse to kick out and protect himself. He rarely gave in to that urge nowadays but in their beginning and after Athos had fallen foul of Aramis' feet once too often, Athos had frequently chosen to pin him between his legs so as to remove all temptation – a lesson that was certainly proving valuable in his current experiences with d'Artagnan. There was however one defensive move that Aramis had never quite managed to gain mastery over, and that in itself was not so much defensive as pleading. As Athos had anticipated, Aramis gave in to that urge now.

"A-thos," Aramis gasped suddenly, his voice ragged. "Athos, please."

With a soft smile – reserved only for those times when those who had inspired it were not in a position to see it – Athos paused and re-situated him a little before taking the proffered hand currently laying open at the small of Aramis' back in desperate request of comfort. Now clasping Aramis' hand, Athos moved his attentions from the scarlet cheeks before him to the only faintly pink upper thighs where Aramis would feel it most severely in his saddle. Aramis whined miserably into the sheets, his head now buried in the crook of his other arm but otherwise made no protest to the suddenly harsher smacks.

"If you are ready to move on," Athos began, spanking once more with devastating purpose, "I believe we must deal with your little outburst this afternoon."

"You sent him to them without so much as a blade!" Aramis had said furiously as they had stopped to rest the horses before returning to Paris. "They were armed, Athos!"

Athos had not replied, preferring to reserve his thoughts on the matter for later when he could so in private. D'Artagnan had watched them both from beneath Porthos' comforting arm, evidently unsure whether he ought to or even wanted to intercede. Porthos too looked uncomfortable with no trace of his usual amusement when Aramis 'acted out' as he called it. Madame Du Foix, having been assured of her safety had taken to the carriage and, when last checked on, fallen into an exhausted slumber so although he found Aramis' temper rather inappropriate given his behaviour, Athos was content to let it run its course. That was until Aramis spoke next:

"They could have killed him!" Aramis spat, snatching the reigns from Athos' hand and tossing them aside. It did not go unnoticed by Athos that his hands shook as he did so, or that he met Athos' gaze for just a little too long as he glared at them all. "If I had not -"

"If you'd not what?" Porthos had said suddenly, setting d'Artagnan down on a nearby rock and advancing on Aramis. "Scout it out and don't shoot unless you absolutely had to – that's all you had to do!"

Aramis had blinked rapidly, and Athos had almost felt sorry for him – how painful and humiliating it must have been to have his dearest Porthos side against him in this! Still, the fact remained that they all bore the injuries of a fray that could have been avoided if Aramis had simply obeyed orders. Aramis deserved a little humiliation; Athos was certainly going to have it in spades when he made his report to Treville.

"If I hadn't acted then d'Artagnan could have been harmed – Athos left him completely helpless!"

"Athos did? It wasn't just Athos who formed the plan, you know! And he wasn't in any danger until you started a fight!" Porthos yelled, his rage over seeing his friends hurt (unnecessarily) by far outweighing his usual concern for Aramis' feelings.

"And what if I did?" Aramis cried out, his eyes everywhere but on his friends. "I acted to protect him – that's far more than either of you were willing to do, clearly!" - he turned accusing eyes on Athos - "God forbid I should act without an order to do so! Did his life even cross your mind when you were -"

With a growl, Porthos had grabbed him by one arm and, before Athos could so much as open his mouth, laid several smacks upon Aramis' backside that had him rising onto his toes with the force of them. The silence that followed was broken only by Porthos' harsh breaths as he stood towering over Aramis.

"Porthos." Athos reached out one hand to draw Porthos away, trying to signal his appreciation for the support whilst also demonstrating how very little he thought of what had just happened. It was rare that Porthos should lose his temper like that, rarer still that he should allow his fury to lead him to strike one of them albeit in the most harmless of ways.

"I know. That's enough." Porthos nodded, his incensed gaze still fixed on Aramis. "You wanna watch your mouth."

"Porthos!" Athos repeated more forcefully, stepping between the two of them and glancing pointedly towards d'Artagnan who had sat watching the exchange in varying degrees of anger, shock, and distress. With a disgusted look back at Aramis, Porthos returned to the boy and started fussing over him. Athos knew precisely how Aramis' self-loathing had been building since the morning, so much so that it was inspiring him to turn his cruelty outward, let the accusations fly and to hell with the consequences. All the same, he could not suppress the sigh that escaped him as Aramis gave a derisive snort behind him.

"Now you are both so concerned for him."

"If you are seeking to provoke severity, Aramis," Athos said calmly, turning to his friend and stepping up to him until Aramis, wide-eyed and seemingly wary, found his back pressed against his saddlebag, "You have done so. Now stop."

Aramis would not meet his eyes and so he turned away then, intending to check on the girl, and d'Artagnan before they continued. Admitting himself hurt by his friend's accusations, Athos refused to be swayed into sympathy by the faint trembling of Aramis' jaw or even the too-bright shimmer in his gaze as he lowered his eyes. He was not sympathetic. He was not. Aramis had completely disregarded his authority. Jeopardised their mission – their lives and that of their quarry. Athos would deal with him later but for now? Let him be miserable. Let him bear the sting of Porthos' righteous ire, and d'Artagnan's confused glances as though the poor lad couldn't decide whether or not to be angry.

"I'm sorry, Athos."

It had taken everything in Athos not to turn back when Aramis had whispered that desolate apology. To not turn and brush the lingering tears away with promises of absolution, or to clap one hand to Aramis' shoulder and assure him that the situation was not as irreparable as he seemed to think. What he wouldn't have given to have been blessed with Porthos' gruff affection and been able to wrap Aramis up in a hug and hold him close to reassure him that although his actions had been near-catastrophic and despite their ongoing quarrel, he was not lost to them – as a friend or as a musketeer. But Porthos was still incensed, and what Athos found himself doing instead was nodding briefly and simply saying "Later."

"I'm sorry, Athos!" Aramis clutched Athos' hand a little tighter, a tiny sob escaping him.

"I know." Athos paused for several moments, his hand still providing a solid reminder of Aramis' position but allowing him time to get better control of himself if he so chose. "I do not think there's much to be said on the subject. Unless you'd like a turn now?"

"Athos. Athos, I'm so- so-"

"Sorry, yes, you've said," Athos said, the hint of a smile playing about his lips. But clearly there were things Aramis wished to say and so he slowed once more, his swats measured but firm. "Go on then. Say whatever it is you wish to say, and I shall tell why – as usual – you are wrong."