A HUGE THANK YOU to all who are still with this story and my apologies for the horrific delay, I can still not say that I will update frequently but I can assure you I am not abandoning this story.

To say that the Red Guard outside the Cardinal's chambers was surprised would be an understatement. The man could not tear his gaze away from the Captain of the Musketeers as he banged away on the high ornate doors even after the guard had told him that the Cardinal had retired for the evening.

"His Eminence would be displeased with this uproar, can't it wait till the morning Captain?" asked the man.

"If it could I wouldn't be here would I?" Captain Treville snapped and with a shove he pushed open the door and strode across the threshold with the Red Guards at his heels.

Treville had been surprised by Athos' suggestion but he had never been more proud of the younger man either. That one had a sound head on his shoulders that didn't lose its wits in the face of apparently impossible problems. He had pointed the Captain towards the chance of a solution and Treville had made his way to the only available person to contact that he had with the other world he was a part of. If that meant he had to drag the Cardinal from his bed, well the Captain of the Musketeers was nothing if not persistent.

"What is the meaning of this? Have you finally lost that peanut you call a brain Treville?" The Cardinal emerged from his bed chamber wrapping a cloak over his silken sleeping clothes.

"I need your opinion on an urgent matter,"

"I think I can optimistically assume it would be so," Cardinal Richelieu jerked his head towards the Red Guards and sent them out of the room, "what has you raiding my chambers at this hour Captain?"

"There are watchmen and there are psychics but are their healers? Healers with something a little extra?" Treville asked.

He didn't like the sour frown that etched on the Cardinal's narrow face. The man stood with his hands clasped behind his back and regarded the Captain in apparent disapproval.

"You don't look to be in need of a healer, of any kind." He said.

"It's not for me,"

"Oh? And who is the recipient of such urgent care for whom you are willing to risk the existence of…." Cardinal Richelieu flicked his wrist in an encompassing gesture, "everything else."

He had been anticipating it; still he was not prepared for the wave of fear that broke onto him anew at the thought of the injured young man he had left behind. Straightening his back, Treville raised his chin in obvious defiance.

"I cannot tell,"

"Well, I can't disclose information as sensitive as this for just anyone. You can't expect me to take your word for it that whoever this person is will be trustworthy."

"I'm afraid that's what you'll have to do," Treville shrugged a shoulder, "I'm guessing there are healers of the kind I need."

"There are scholars, people of spells and potions, if one was inclined to believe in such things. They are on neither side and work on commission." The Cardinal said, "I could point you to one who is an associate of an associate so that it wouldn't be a problem in the eye of the Brotherhood."

"But…?" Treville prompted.

He was well versed by now in the politics of the court and those of the Brotherhood, everything had a price if you could afford it. It was clear in the Cardinal's eyes as they glinted in the candle light like a predator in the bush.

"If I help you now, no questions asked and keep it a secret, it is only fair that you should return the favor;" Cardinal Richelieu smiled.

Stamping down on the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose Treville nodded, if this was what it would take for him to save his son then he would do it, there was no price too much if it meant he could save his boy's life.

"What is it then?" he asked.

"I don't know," the Cardinal shrugged as he moved to his desk and scribbled on a piece of paper before extending it to Treville, "that is to say, I don't know yet."

Treville reached for the information but Richelieu wasn't done, he still held the piece of paper in his fingers from the other end.

"Somewhere in the future I might need such a favor from you Captain, a no questions asked secret between us. I will call on it then," the Cardinal relinquished his hold on the paper and turned on his heels, "Now if you would be so kind as not to bang the door on your way out Captain."

Treville watched him until the man had closed the door to his sleeping chamber behind him. The Captain had a feeling like a crawling on his skin, a feeling that he had just signed a deal that would see him at loss in the end. But he hadn't the time to dwell on it.

Reading the elegant scrawl of the Cardinal, Captain Treville left the palace. He navigated the darkened streets of Paris and soon found himself at the address the Cardinal had written for him. Stepping out of the way of the drunks that stumbled out onto the cobblestone paved steps, Treville frowned at the tavern he had been sent to.

Inside, the jovial ruckus bounced off of the damp stone walls as people flitted like shadows in the glow of the candles. The tavern was packed, with the scent of food and wine and sweat. Captain Treville was starting to doubt the Cardinal's words as something crunched underfoot and he spied something furry scuttle across his path in haste.

"Should I find you a spot Monsieur?" a middle aged woman asked as she wiped her hands on a stained apron, "there's a rumor that the Shredder is done for so the first drink is on the house."

"No thank you,"

"Are you sure?" the woman grinned, "not joining the celebration then?"

"I'm looking for Mademoiselle Bessette," Treville bit out as politely as he could; time was slipping fast and he wasn't sure if he would even find his boy alive at his return.

"Adele! Adele! There's someone here asking for you," the woman yelled over her shoulder.

Treville scanned the throng of men near the bar until he spotted a young woman with flame red hair in wild curls making her way towards them. She placed tankards of ale on the tables, collecting the empty ones as she went by and deftly balanced her laden trey to make room for empty bowls in the crook of her elbow. Making a stop at the nearest table she switched the tankards and turned to the Captain with an arched brow.

"And what can I do for you?" she asked.

"I was told you would help a brother in need," Treville rattled off the words the Cardinal had noted down for him.

The apple green eyes widened imperceptibly but the young woman merely smiled. She tipped her head towards the door, silently asking him to wait outside. It aggravated his already frayed nerves but the Captain did as he was told.

His wait didn't last long and he was just considering going back in when Mademoiselle Bessette came through the door wearing a drab brown cloak.

"I would need to see some proof," she said.

The Captain produced the wooden seal Marcus had given him a year ago. The young woman raised it to the light spilling from the tavern doorway and examined it carefully.

"I'm Captain Treville of the King's Musketeers, Cardinal Richelieu sent me,"

"Alright Captain Treville," she handed back the seal, "why do you need a scholar?"

"Is there a way, I mean is there something that you can do for someone in need of healing?"

"You'll have to explain the ailment Captain," she shrugged, "some have a cure, others don't and even when there is a cure the time it takes to brew it is too long for the ailing to survive."

Treville told her about Aramis' injury, his heart sinking as the young woman before him frowned at his words. She kept quite even after he had finished talking and closed her eyes as though in deep thought. At length she looked at the Captain and nodded.

"There might be something that could work," she said, "You're lucky I store what I brew otherwise your man would have long died before I had made that potion."

"Potion?"

"Yes, now go back to your garrison Captain I'll see you there in a few minutes," with that she turned away and hurried off into the shadows of the street.

Treville contemplated if he should wait for her but deciding against it he made his way back to the garrison. As he neared the arched gateway his quick steps faltered, his boots dragged against the ground under the weight of what he would find in the infirmary.

With a fortifying breath, the Captain crossed the yard and entered the room where he had left his men. He stopped short when he found the room empty, save for two men at the far end. Only Porthos' bed was occupied, the big man was in the grips of fever and kneeling beside his bed was Aramis, wiping his friend's face with a wet rag in his trembling hand.

With a shake of his head Treville came to stand behind him, it was a testament of how far gone the young man was that he didn't even register the Captain's presence and started when Treville rested a hand on Aramis' shoulder that did not have a dagger sticking out of it.

The shivers that Treville could feel even through the sweat soaked shirt under his hand made his heart beat faster in fear for the man before him.

"It's infected Cap'n, the wound in 'is leg." Aramis blinked and hunched just a bit into himself, "P'thos has a fever."

"I see. Why don't you sit on the bed beside his and I'll take care of him," Treville tried to catch the dark brown eyes that were scanning the room.

It seemed like Aramis was still unsure of his standing with him in the light of their recent interactions. If only he could tell the young man how worried, how scared he was for him. But Treville shook his head at his thought; it would do him no good dwelling on what could have been.

"Where's Athos?"Aramis asked.

"I told you I was going to show Constance to my room," Athos' tone though exasperated was still gentle.

"P'thos has a fever," Aramis announced.

Athos nodded grimly and as he moved closer to them, Treville stepped aside. It was surprising for the Captain to feel how much it hurt him to see his son looking up with trust and relief not at him but at the man beside him. It was a bitter taste in his mouth to know that he had unknowingly threw away a chance at this.

"You need to get back in the bed Kit," Athos grabbed the good arm of his friend and heaved him to his feet.

"Not a kit," Aramis swayed.

Athos deposited him on the bed and the Captain's heart clenched at the grimace on the ashen face as Aramis toed off his boots to lean back against the wall; his eyes closed and jaw clenched against the pain that had been taking a toll on him. The lean frame shivered slightly and Treville wished he could step forward and draw the blanket up over the younger man's legs.

Instead it was Athos who did it and earned a soft, if a bit exasperated smile for his efforts.

As Athos turned to rest a hand on Porthos' forehead, Treville found his eyes drawn to the dark wet spots Aramis had left in his wake; he could not look away from the bloodstains his son had left on the floor where he had knelt by his friend's bed. He had to wonder how much blood he had lost already and how much more would he lose.

"The Mademoiselle is looking for you Captain," Serge ushered in Adele Bassette.

"Yes Mademoiselle Bassette –"

"Adele would do Captain,"

"Right Adele, this is Aramis and he's –"

"In quite a bind aren't you," Adele smiled down at the man.

"Athos?" Aramis' head rolled against the wall and towards his friend who stood on the other side of the bed.

"Yes?"

"I think I'm delirious from blood loss mon frère," a ghost of a smile appeared on his pale face, "I'm seeing starlight and she's a woman."

"I'm sure you'll change your opinion by the time we are done Monsieur," Adele rolled her eyes and raised a vial for the Captain to see, "I'll need hot water, brought to a boil."

"I'll get some," Serge spoke up from behind her and left before anyone could object.

"Captain?" Athos raised a brow.

There were a number of questions in that one quirk of an eyebrow. Who was this woman? Could she help them? Could she be trusted? Is she a threat?

"She's our only chance," Treville told his lieutenant.

Athos nodded although the distrust was clear in the set of his jaw and in the rigidness of his shoulders that did not ease. Treville wasn't looking at a soldier anymore, this was a leader, a man who knew the value of trust his men had in him and who would do right by them any way he could. But that was not all, Treville saw the way Athos fingers brushed the damp curls off of Porthos' feverish forehead before he withdrew his hand and laid it on the back of Aramis' neck in a gentle grounding pressure. It was the way the other two leaned into his touch that had Treville looking away; it was brotherhood in a way that made him catch his breath in pride and fear.

Everything that he had witnessed leading up to here flashed in the Captain's mind, all the risks these three had taken for each other over the past year counted up in his head and Treville knew in that moment that should this not work, he would be losing all three of his men one way or another.

He started when Serge brought in a large bowl of simmering water and stared mesmerized as the dark blue steam curled up from it when Adele poured the contents of the vial in the water.

"What does it do?" Aramis asked, his wide eyes still tracking the dark blue whiffs in the air.

"It heals the wound rapidly, closes it up and doesn't even leave a scar most of the times," Adele replied as she grasped the hot bowl with a cloth.

"Does it heal an infected wound?"

"Yes,"

"Good, then Porthos first," Aramis said.

"Captain?" Adele looked to him.

It wasn't worth wasting his breath on an argument that he had lost even in his own mind. It was obvious to Treville that he would either save all of them or none of them would survive long. He nodded and motioned for Adele to go ahead.

"This is all the brew I had of this potion Captain," she reminded him and nodded towards Aramis, "it may not be enough given the extent of his wound."

"P'thos fr'st." Aramis ground out.

Adele nodded and made her way over to the big man with the bowlful of simmering liquid. She looked to Treville and Athos in turn.

"You will need to hold him down, the potion can be painful," she said.

Treville looked to the man who was out of it completely. He had a hard time imagining that Porthos would feel anything in the depths of his unconsciousness but he nodded to Athos and grasped the big man's legs. Athos braced his friend with an arm over his chest, taking care to avoid the re-bandaged wound in the big man's side that seemed to have miraculously escaped infection.

"Go ahead Adele," Treville murmured.

The woman tipped the bowl a little and second the trickling liquid touched the wound it hissed and steamed. A rough scream escaped Porthos as he struggled to get away from the pain, withering and thrashing as the wound burned. Treville had to adjust his grip and by the time the wound sizzled close Porthos was awake and breathing harshly. His chest rose and fell rapidly under Athos' arm.

The man had slid to his knees by the bed and it seemed that his hold had shifted into a one armed embrace. Athos' head was bent and resting on the big man's chest and rose when his friend clumsily patted him on the back.

"What the hell was that Athos?" Porthos gasped and tried to curl onto his side, "What happened?"

"You've healed my friend," Athos' hand shifted until it rested on the side of his friend's neck as his lips twitched in a smile. He turned and nodded to Aramis, "he's healed, there's no fever."

"Did ya cauterize it?" Porthos asked as his hand hovered where his wound had been and choked back a groan, "that hurt more than sticking hot metal to the wound," he grit his teeth.

"If it cools down it will lose its potency," Adele spoke up before any of them could get in a word. She moved around Aramis' bed to his injured side, "we need to get this over with," she said.

"Someone will have to pull it out," Athos said, "Captain?"

With a nod far surer than he was feeling Treville took up position on the other side of Aramis. He tried not to dwell on what he was about to do and focused instead on keeping his hands steady where they shook by his side. As he clenched his fist to keep the trembling at bay he saw the fear flash in his son's eyes.

Aramis eased himself to lying onto his back on the bed and licked his dry lips before glancing towards first Porthos and then Athos.

"You'll need to cut where the metal rope joins the dagger," he said, "the dagger wound can be sewed close after."

"Aramis," Treville began but the younger man shook his head.

"That mixture isn't much and the dagger is not buried that deep."

"Alright," Athos nodded and taking out his main gauche he leaned over his friend, "brace yourself," he said.

Aramis reached blindly with his other hand and it caught Porthos' in the space between the two cots. He turned his dark eyes to Athos and gave his friend a nod. Although Athos' blade was sharp and the deed over in a flash, it still didn't prevent the pained gasp that escaped Aramis.

Treville wished that he could sooth the lines of pain that etched at the corners of his son's eyes. But it was Porthos' grip on his hand and Athos' press on his heaving chest that helped Aramis ride out the pain of having his wound jostled.

"Are you ready for this?" Athos asked.

Aramis nodded. He looked weary of it all but as Treville grasped the handle of the bullwhip the younger man tensed. His eyes darted around like those of a spooked colt when Serge held down his legs. The Captain knew without seeing that his son would have tightened his hold on Porthos' hand and it was purely instinctual that his own grip clenched tight around the blood slick handle; he would do this quick and it will all be over.

Soon it will be over and his son would be healed.

"Look at me Aramis," Athos' soft order cut through Treville's musing.

He found Athos leaning over the younger man as he pinned down both his shoulders, but it was his face, hovering over Aramis' that spoke volumes of the concern the man held for his friend. Athos did not look away from the man who was looking anywhere but at those near him.

"Look at me Aramis," Athos repeated, "eyes on me. That's right, I'm here so is Porthos. Do you trust us?"

The nod was sharp and immediate, no hesitation at all.

"We'll get you through this alright?"

Another nod, a bit subdued this time.

"Do it Captain,"

And Treville pulled.

Blood arched out in a burst in the wake of metal, it splashed on the floor, sprayed on the wall and soaked through edge of the bedding. Adele poured the hot liquid over the long curling wound and it was then that Aramis let go a chocked scream.

His head rolled on the pillow and he groaned deep in his throat when there was no escape from the pain. Tears rolled down from the corner of his eyes and mixed with the cold sweat breaking over him. His back arched off the bed in a muted gasp before he slumped back on the bed, lying still.

As Adele moved back with the empty bowl Treville let go a ragged breath. He had no idea when he had held it but it felt like he hadn't breathed in years. He let go of the bullwhip in his hand and its soft clink against the floor echoed in the quite infirmary.

Staggering back, the back of his knees bumped into the edge of a bed and Treville sank down to sit before his shaking legs buckled under him. The coppery smell of blood hung heavy in the air. His son's blood painted the wall and pooled on the floor.

His son's blood, his blood.

Treville brought up his shaky hand to press its back against his mouth in an effort to keep at bay the sob that threatened to break free.

"I'll clean up in here," Serge moved first.

It broke the silence and blinking away the moisture in his eyes Treville looked to Adele.

"He is healed?"

"The wound is," Adele said, "It's the blood loss you'll have to deal with, for both of them."

"Thank you, how can I –"

"Put in a good word for me with our common friend," Adele told him, "If you will excuse me Captain, I have a job I must return to."

Treville watched her leave with a surge of gratitude and pushed to his feet as Athos stumbled off of Aramis' bed. He rushed past the Captain and only made it out of the infirmary before he lost the contents of his stomach.

Porthos made to follow him but Treville pushed the man back down. He took the limp hand he still grasped and patted the man on the shoulder.

"I'll see to him," he said, "try and get some rest."

"They'll be fine?"

Treville found himself brushing the dark curls out of the young Musketeer's eyes.

"All of you will be fine," he said.

It warmed him to see Porthos trust his words as the big man succumbed to exhaustion with a hint of a smile on his face.

Treville turned and gently placed Aramis' burnt hand back on the bed. He could not let his eyes stray to the face of his son, not yet. It still took an effort to relinquish his soft hold on the younger man's wrist and pull his hand away.

He looked up as Serge clambered in with mops and buckets. Treville pulled together his derailing focus and walked out into the night in search of his lieutenant. He found Athos a few steps out into the yard where the man was straightening from his hunched position. Grasping his elbow to steady him, Treville began leading Athos back to the infirmary.

"To bed with you," Treville murmured.

"Cap'n?" Athos cleared his throat, "I'm fine."

"I'm not asking Athos," he made the man sit on the empty bed beside Aramis'.

Athos eyes drew to the still figure on the bed before him and lingered there.

"The dagger –"

"I'll take care of it," Treville pressed a glass of water into Athos' hand.

His lieutenant stared down at it in abject confusion. At length he sipped the water before setting it on the table between the beds. As Serge cleaned up the blood from the floor Athos closed his eyes and pressed the heels of his hands against them.

"I could do with something stronger then water," he muttered.

Treville was ready with a small cup of wine for him.

Athos smiled at his forethought and raising the small cup in a silent salute he drained it in one go.

"Constance woke up with a bad head ache," he said, "I gave her my room for the night."

"That's a good plan since you'll be staying here anyway," Treville nodded and took the cup from Athos as the younger man's shoulders sagged abruptly, "why don't you lie down for a while?" the Captain said.

Athos looked at him from under the fringes of his hair that had fallen on his face; there was accusation in his eyes that seemed to be having trouble staying open. He frowned at the Captain as the older man divested him of his weapons, belt and jerkin.

"You drugged me," he said.

"I did," Treville nodded, he wanted his men to rest and he knew Athos wouldn't go down easily if asked to sleep through the night. The Captain wasn't above giving him a little nudge if it was needed.

Athos stared up at the ceiling as Treville tilted him to the side and heaved up his legs. He pulled the covers over the man who was yet struggling with the sleeping draught.

"Y' two are too alike y' know," Athos said, "y' an' 'Mis. Too alike, nev'uh noticed 'fore."

Treville stilled.

He waited with a baited breath for the man to continue but Athos had given in to sleep. It shook him to his core, this remark that he hoped was a passing observation. As much as he dreamed of it in his private hours, Treville couldn't imagine his secret coming to light. With an audible exhale the Captain pulled the covers over Athos and smoothed it down. He smiled when the usually stoic man snuffled and dug deeper into his pillow.

Treville turned to his son and pulled up a chair nearer to his bed. His son, his boy, the one that was entirely his by all rights and yet he never was.

The older man forced his hands steady and for his eyes to not wander as he set to work on the dagger wound. He knew if he for a second let his gaze travel to the younger man's face, he would not be able to do what was demanded of him. It took all of his soldier's discipline to keep on the task until he had put in the last stitch and cut off the thread. Wiping his hands clean on a wet rag, Treville sat back.

His gaze travelled up to the face that was far too pale, the olive skin that Aramis had inherited from his mother had taken on a pasty hue and the dark smudges under his eyes were enhanced by the thick eyelashes fanning over them. The father hoped to see the dark eyes behind the closed lids, warm and full of mischief by turn, just as the boy had been on their first encounter.

But so much had changed since then; he had promised Felipa that he would keep their son safe for that one night she had allowed them together. And that night had changed everything.

"If you hold 'im up I could change the bedding," Serge spoke up.

Treville looked up at the man he didn't know was in the room. He stood up to do as he was asked but faltered with his knee pressed onto the bed and hands reaching for the unconscious young man. It was silly, the Captain decided, this sudden fear that his touch would hurt Aramis, that he wouldn't know how to hold him.

Reaching forward Treville gathered the younger man in his arms, with one around his shoulders and the other around his waist so that he was stood cradling the upper half of his son. Aramis' head rested against his shoulder like it was the most natural thing in the world.

His breaths puffed warm against Treville's neck and something hard and prickly rose in the Captain's throat. In the short time that he had been afforded with the younger man he had never had the privilege to be this close to him. This was, Treville realized with a wet sheen over his vision, the first time he had ever held his son.

He had been surprised by the force of protectiveness that had surged in him upon finding out about his son the first time but it was nothing compared to the sheer love that filled him in that moment.

A love that ached in his breath, brimmed in his eyes and threatened to burst out of his skin.

"He's good f'r you Captain," Serge said as he worked.

Treville cleared his throat and eyed the old cook.

"I'm just sayin' its good t' see 'im ruffling y'r feathers," Serge grinned, "the rest of 'em are always in line with you."

"He's born with a tune of his own," Treville remembered Felipa's words from years ago.

" 'an I say it's a good thing," Serge nodded as he finished changing the sheets then looked to the Captain with a teasing smile, "I remember 'nother young man of that sort, left his regiment to follow his love 'cross the border if my memory serves right."

"He's nothing like me, I was never this reckless," Treville shook his head.

"You were just as stubborn, though not so much into mischief," Serge shrugged, "I see what I see Captain, now should I bring your food here or the office?"

Not feeling particularly hungry Treville told the old cook that he would come find him when he did. It was only after Serge left that the Captain realized he was still holding on to his son. He was eternally grateful that the other man hadn't called him on it.

Treville allowed himself to pull the younger man closer and held him just a little tighter, this was his first and likely only chance to embrace his son. In a moment of indulgent weakness, the Captain let himself savor it.

At length he eased the younger man back on the bed, his fingers raking through his son's hair before he gently settled Aramis' head on the pillow. Treville pulled up the covers, relishing in the simple act of tucking the sheet under his son's arms and smoothing it over his chest.

Carefully he picked up the hand that was dotted with red spots and burst blisters. Treville spotted the can of aloe in the shelf and retrieving it, he sat back in the chair before applying the soothing ointment to the burns.

He was placing the hand back on the bed when he noticed Aramis' eyes open. They were glazed over and tracked his movement sluggishly from under half open eye lids.

"Aramis?" Treville ventured softly, "Are you awake."

The chapped, colourless lips parted but all that he managed was a rough croak.

"Wait," Treville got to his feet and poured some water from the jug in a small bowl.

He grasped the younger man by the back of his neck and steadying his head, he brought the bowl of water to his lips. Aramis drank greedily and fearing that he would choke Treville pulled the water back. A soft whine escaped the younger man and Treville found himself squeezing the back of his neck in reassurance.

"Try taking it slowly," he said, "you'll only cough it back up if you drink at that speed."

Aramis nodded and drank his fill much more sedately. It was a slow process because his son drank like he hadn't had a drop in years but the Captain enjoyed each moment of it, he hadn't realized how much he wanted to simply be able to touch his son.

"Thank you Captain," it was almost a whisper.

With a dismissive wave of his hand, Treville helped his son back onto the pillow and sat down in the chair. It took all his will power to not reach out and smooth out the furrow that appeared on his boy's forehead.

"Do you think he knew?" Aramis asked him.

"Who?"

"My father," Aramis regarded him with a shine of tears over his hazy eyes, "do you think he knew who – what I am – do you think he was scared of me – so he left before I was born and then didn't come back?"

"No!" it came out sharper then he had intended.

Treville clutched Aramis' arm above his burnt hand, it cut him deep to hear the words from his son but what pierced his heart was the defeated tone and the way the younger man refused to meet his eyes. Aramis lay staring at the roof through half open eyes.

"You said it yourself Aramis, back when we first met and I asked you about him, don't you remember that?" he didn't wait for a reply, "you said that he couldn't come back, you told me that."

Those dark eyes bright with emotions and softened with weariness beyond his years settled back on Treville.

"I only assumed Captain," he said, "I didn't know; I don't know."

Treville cupped the side of his face and shook his head as he searched for words. He had kept quiet about their relationship first because Aramis being a born knot could be revealed with this secret but that was now in the open. Treville could tell the younger man about their relationship which could remain between them alone without anyone else the wiser.

But he wondered now how to explain to this young man that the father he had been thinking about all his life hadn't even known about him to begin with. And then how would he look Aramis in the eyes and explain why he didn't speak up when they first met and then didn't stop him when he slipped away from his life again. How was he to voice his reason to not speak up when his son joined his regiment, the need to appear unbiased looking flimsy to even himself in retrospect.

His thoughts broke off when he felt pressure on his hand. Aramis had leaned into his touch and fallen back to sleep; another chance had slid out of his hand and Treville didn't even notice the wetness rolling down his face. His thumb traced his son's cheekbone as his eyes roved over the features that even in the softness of sleep were sharp; so like his own that Treville had to bite back a sob.

He sat back down in the chair with his head in his hand as his other hand rested on Aramis' heart. The slow steady beat against his touch a reassurance that at least for the moment his son was alive and with him.

I'm still not sure about this chapter...

TBC