A/N: This is the last chapter, it got away from me and turned into this giant.
Thank you everyone who read, followed and favorite this story, your support is deeply appreciated. To those of you who take the time to leave me reviews you are the motivation keeping this 'verse alive; Thank You ALL!
I have one other story and a one shot planned in this 'verse but cannot say when they'll be up; but I have at least come up with names that I posted on my profile page :)
Thank you everyone.
Until next time…
He woke up to the sound of snickering.
Exhaustion still lapped at the edges of growing awareness and Athos had half a mind to let sleep carry him off again. But ever since his fever broke two days ago he had been finding himself easily dragged back into the land of the living, even with all the good drugs floating in his system.
A soft smack from of a rolled up paper preceded an indignant yowl.
"What was that for?" d'Artagnan nearly whined.
"For chewing up the sharpie cap; bad puppy," Aramis replied.
Another smack.
"Ow! Porthos!" Aramis sounded surprised.
"For giving the pup a sharpie, you should know better," Porthos sounded too grave to actually be serious.
"How many times do I have to say this? I'm not a pup!"
Shifting slightly against the pillows at his back Athos opened his eyes. The late afternoon sun had washed the room into a sepia tone and softened the edges of its occupants. Porthos was sitting by his side with a rolled up newspaper in his hand and dark eyes alight with mirth. The bruises were fading into yellows slowly and the swelling still lingered over the healing cuts, but his friend's dimpled grin was not tarnished.
Athos blamed the medication in his veins for the sudden blur in his eyes at the sight.
"Ready to break out from here?" Porthos grinned at him.
"More than you'll ever know," Athos found himself smiling.
His breath still dragged a little in his windpipe but the lack of tube under his nose and over his ears felt like freedom. And even if the threat of a cough was enough to have him pressing his hand to the bulk of bandage stuck to his chest, he knew that the wound under it was healing nicely.
"I've got the car outside," d'Artagnan spoke up from where he was sitting by the bed near Athos' foot.
"You didn't have to," he didn't want the kid thinking that he owed him.
"Of course he does," Aramis said from apposite the younger man, a wicked grin pulling on his face, "he totaled your car so he'll be ferrying us everywhere until that's sorted."
"My car is only available for Athos,"
"It was more of a communal car,"
"Not my problem,"
"We'll see," Aramis said, "and stop chewing the sharpie,"
Athos looked down to where his foot was wrapped in the new hard cast the doctors had put in place before his impending discharge. He forced his face to remain bland at the sight of bright bubblegum pink bandages that the younger men were squiggling upon.
"Aramis thought the colour would suit you," Porthos chuckled.
"Brings out the irritation in your eyes," Aramis grinned.
"And you are, after all, the best at bringing it to the fore,"
He couldn't help it; the lucid moments that he had been afforded in the past four days had only wound tighter the tangle of emotions in his gut, frustration and rage being the closest to the surface and brimming every time he laid eyes on Aramis. He could feel Porthos stiffen in his chair and d'Artagnan was openly staring at him. None of them had missed the lack of warmth in his voice but the man towards whom the frigid anger was aimed simply shrugged and smirked with a tilt of his head towards Athos' toes.
"So you'll understand the need to finish my masterpiece,"
Athos glanced in the direction indicated and found the toenails of his injured foot painted hot pink to compliment the cast.
"Behold Lord Ironfoot Glass-ankle!" Aramis gave a little bow where he sat, complete with the flourish.
Athos could see the title written in bold black on the cast with a number of bent stick figures all around it. He ignored that and studied the wobbly sketches on the other side of the cast. D'Artagnan seemed to have drawn an airplane and what could either be a car or a hat although Athos was leaning towards the former because it seemed to him that the young man had stopped amidst his endeavors of creating a train engine.
"Am I to be the mascot for public transport?" he asked.
"I think the pup's feeling guilty about your car," Porthos said.
"I'm not!" d'Artagnan sat straighter with a frown that melted into a sheepish grin, "I mean I'm not a pup but yes I'm sorry for the car Athos. I would pay for the repairs and –,"
Athos raised a hand to stop the kid midsentence. He had a vague idea as to the fate of the vehicle but he was still hazy about the connection of events leading to his rescue. His recent memories were dominated by pain and fear and the uncomfortable shivery heat of fever.
"There's no need for that," he said, "I'm sure you had your reasons,"
"You saved our butts with that stunt," Porthos' smile was fond if a touch sad as his eyes fell on Aramis.
Athos found the other man kneading at his uninjured shoulder with his good hand. His right arm was in a sling and his shirt couldn't hide the bandages that added a distorted bulk to most of his upper right side. Red drops trailing down the shaft of a bolt flashed in his mind before Athos noticed that the brown eyes had shifted from Porthos to him.
Aramis was about to say something when Athos turned pointedly to Porthos.
"I thought I was getting out of here today," he said.
Porthos frowned even as he nodded.
All three of them turned to Aramis at the sound of the chair pushed as the man got to his feet.
"I'll get the nurse and the papers," he said.
Athos watched him leave and waited for the air to get lighter, but the sight only squeezed at his lungs and the ragged scream as his brother got rid of the bolt rang in his mind. He hardly noticed as d'Artagnan too scurried off to bring the car around and only broke out of the reverie when Porthos sighed. He turned to his friend to find him scowling lightly.
"What?"
"He's been worried for you these past days," Porthos said, "about all three of us,"
"It's not a monopoly. I can see you were worried, so was d'Artagnan," Athos ran a hand through his hair, "as am I," he confessed.
"He's been –"
"Stubborn?" Athos offered.
"Determined," Porthos said, "they were thinking of putting you under if the infection didn't lose hold. Said with the injured ribs there was a risk of it worsening," the big man shrugged, "didn't understand much what the doctors said but 'Mis certainly did."
Athos shrugged and cleared his throat. The tickle at the back of his throat was persistent and soothed only slightly by the water Porthos gave him. It kept him quiet as his friend helped him maneuver into his clothes, but by the time they were done Athos was leaning heavily onto Porthos as his friend held him through the bout of coughing.
He was sure his ribs were breaking afresh with every expansion of his lungs to expel the irritation in his breath. It felt like ages of glass shards pressing to his chest until finally the need to cough tapered off, leaving a dull ache in his sternum.
"I gotcha Athos, it's alright," Porthos settled beside him on the bed and wrapped an arm around his shoulders, "it's alright, you're fine."
Athos let his head hang between his shoulders and breathed through his nose, tentatively measuring out the amount of air and intervals to find his rhythm again. It helped to focus on Porthos' thumb that was swiping over his arm in a gentle, soothing motion.
"I'm just glad this mess is over with," said the big man.
Athos nodded.
His chest hurt.
"It was too close," Porthos said.
Athos was glad for the fringes of his hair that had fallen forward on his face, he was sure the fear that trembled through him would have easily been visible in his stinging eyes otherwise. He had seen death flying his way and he had seen a brother step in its path, it was the latter that had scared him.
He looked up at the sound of footsteps and his eyes hardened when they fell on Aramis. He was carrying the pack of medicine and a brown bag in his good arm as the nurse by his side smiled at something he had said. Athos wanted nothing more than to grab his friend by the collar and give him a good shake in the hopes that some remorse for his reckless actions would shake lose.
"Alright Athos, we've got all your papers here," Nurse Beth pushed a wheelchair in front of her, "and just to remind you again, do not to push yourself even with the crutch, let the breaks heal."
Athos nodded again, he dared not speak lest it spark the embers of pain in his healing ribs.
"C'mon then," Aramis took the handle of the wheelchair and gave it a wiggle, "your chariot awaits my lord,"
"Got the prescription filled?" Porthos asked as he effortlessly helped Athos in the chair.
The move left sharp pinpricks stabbing all around his wound and Athos wrapped an arm around his middle. He let the chatter roll off him as Nurse Beth settled him in the wheelchair and only sat up straighter when Aramis dropped the filled prescription in his lap.
"I'll drive," Aramis winked at him.
"Porthos," Athos shook his head, his voice just above a whisper, "Porthos will do it,"
There was a second in which he saw hurt flash in the dark eyes looking his way before Porthos spoke up.
"And how do you plan to maneuver the wheelchair with one good arm 'Mis?" there was laughter in his voice, "you'll have him spinning in circles where he is,"
"Forgot about that," Aramis' smile was fleeting.
But Athos was surprised when he shifted the large brown bag to clutch it against him with his injured arm and pulled out a round pillow covered in purple fluff from it. Dropping the empty paper-bag Aramis picked up the medicine pack and left the pillow in Athos' lap instead.
"All yours," he smirked at Porthos before stepping away.
Athos didn't want to admit it to himself but the pillow felt wonderful braced against his wound where a tight ache had taken permanent residence it seemed. The fresh air outside was a treat even if it felt a little too chilled. He raised his face to savor the sting of it as d'Artagnan hurried out of his car and opened the back door. The shift into the back seat went easier with the pillow braced against his chest and Athos settled with the door at his back and his legs stretched out before him.
"It's my car and Porthos drove it here," d'Artagnan was insisting from outside, "why does he get to drive it around?"
"Because it won't be easy for you with your broken ribs," Aramis pointed out, "you shouldn't have been the one to bring the car around either,"
And what about your broken ribs Athos wanted to ask the man, the fact that his brother refused to even pause for consideration of his own injury was grating on his patience and self imposed silence. The desire to scream at the man was too strong and Athos decided to just ignore the short argument. It did nothing to quell the glare he sent Aramis' way when he opened the door opposite Athos.
"I'm sure Porthos would enjoy your company," he snapped.
Aramis blinked.
Athos clutched the pillow close and looked away.
The click of the door closing echoed much too loudly before it was opened a few seconds later.
"Keep his foot elevated d'Art," Aramis was saying.
Athos didn't register the young hacker sliding in place in the back seat; he didn't notice him setting his bandaged foot in his lap. Instead he glared at the back of the dark head in the front seat beside Porthos' as the big man directed the car onto the road. The ride was quiet and Athos almost wished for Aramis to turn around and demand answers. He would tell him exactly what he thought of his friend's flippant response to his own safety.
But his wait lasted the entire trip and he felt a perverse sense of victory when Aramis stayed behind with d'Artagnan as Porthos helped him up to their flat. The triumph immediately rang hollow as soon as it registered and Athos scowled as his friend eased him onto the bed.
"Go easy on him will ya?" Porthos crouched before him.
"How can you let him roam about like that? He had a bolt stuck in him, which he pulled out if I may add,"
"Neither of us can 'let' him do or not do anything," Porthos tapped his knee, "we can suggest but the way you're going it's not helping,"
"What's not helping?" Aramis asked and they both looked up as the other two entered, "Is it d'Art?"
"Hey I helped,"
"In polishing off the cake I brought for Nurse Beth and her friends," Aramis nodded.
"It was a piece," d'Artagnan looked to Athos, "and they insisted."
"I believe you," Athos said.
He had a feeling that d'Artagnan was afraid of the opinion he would have about the young hacker. But as far as he had managed to decipher the role the younger man had played in their rescue, Athos didn't think it left d'Artagnan in any debt whatsoever. He smiled when the younger of the two before him grinned smugly and he was suddenly reminded of the times Thomas had beaten his two friends at fencing. His best friends who had neither denied nor accepted his claim that they had let his little brother win every one of those time.
Athos swallowed hard as he watched Aramis hit the younger man upside the head prompting Porthos to grab the hacker in a playful defense that left d'Artagnan squawking, one arm wind-milling as he tried to wriggle free.
While they hadn't had much chance to share their childhood with Thomas, Athos could well imagine now how his little brother would have fit in their brotherhood. There was something about d'Artagnan that stirred those ashes left behind by his lost younger brother. The thought that he could have lost the young hacker too suddenly brought his screeching mind to a halt.
"I'm fine," he jerked away abruptly from the grip that were helping him scoot back on the bed.
"Whoever said you weren't?" Aramis snorted as he pulled his hand away.
The lack of retaliation in those brown eyes somehow made him bristle more.
"Well the Captain is stopping by at my place in an hour," d'Artagnan spoke up before the silence could grow.
"He'll drop you by later?" Porthos asked.
"I'd rather stay home and sleep," d'Artagnan said as his gaze sought Athos', "If you don't need anything that is?"
"We'll be fine,"
D'Artagnan nodded and moved towards the door, his exit would have been awkward if Aramis hadn't reminded him to eat.
"Yes Mom!" d'Artagnan replied from the hallway where a chuckling Porthos followed him.
And Athos suddenly found himself alone with Aramis.
"Athos –"
"I need to sleep,"
"Well yes –"
He settled back against the pillows at his back and closed his eyes. There was a sound of footsteps and by their direction Athos could tell they were heading for the chair by his desk.
"I don't think I'm in danger of forgetting to breathe while I'm at it," he said.
The silence that followed was long enough to make him want to open his eyes. But just as Athos was contemplating the move he heard footfalls again and the sound of door opening.
"Not now you aren't," Aramis said as he closed the door after him.
He followed d'Artagnan to the door and down to the car. Porthos knew from experience what broken ribs felt like and knew that moving his arms for steering would be awful for the kid. It still didn't make the confused frown on the narrow face any less funny.
"What're you doing?" d'Artagnan looked around as though expecting someone Porthos had come down to meet.
"I drove you to and from the hospital remember?"
"But I'm heading home,"
"I know,"
Porthos took in the honest bafflement in the dark eyes and wondered if the younger man had ever had anyone watching his back. A sick feeling coiled in his stomach when it dawned on him that the young hacker hadn't had any visitors while in the hospital and he was glad Aramis had the presence of mind to make sure the kid stuck with them.
Another look at d'Artagnan and he knew it wasn't about thoughts but more about this need to protect that he found bubbling up inside him, one he knew now his brother must have felt too.
"You know what, I'll leave the car here and take a taxi," d'Artagnan said.
"But –"
"It hurts to drive right now," the young hacker stopped mid shrug with a wince.
The attempt at offhand honesty unfurled something warm in Porthos and he waited as d'Artagnan made the call to secure conveyance. They waited in silence for a while and to the big man's surprise it didn't feel uncomfortable. He quirked a brow when d'Artagnan glanced at him before looking away.
"The Captain wants to talk about the charges brought against me," he said, staring straight ahead.
Porthos was surprised to note the undercurrents of anxiety there.
"He's a good man who'll see you're safe,"
"Why?" the wide eyes that turned to him were impossibly young.
Porthos knew he wasn't good with subtle words like his brothers and he wasn't one to shy away from honesty either.
"You helped save our lives and by the looks of things you've been thrust into the life you've made," he said and as the taxi rounded the corner a sudden fear at the thought of the boy slipping away slammed into him, "but if you're in trouble," he added, "any form of trouble – just call us or you know where we live – alright? And you have to put our names down as your emergency contacts," he spoke in rush – there was no way he could imagine the kid hurt and alone.
If d'Artagnan was confused by his concern he was quite literally speechless at the offer. After a few attempts at forming words he gave up and gave a sharp nod, turning away. But not before Porthos caught the wet shine in his eyes.
As the taxi came to a stop the young hacker glanced back once at the building and looked to Porthos.
"Will they be alright?" he asked, "I mean Athos seems really mad at him,"
"They'll be fine," Porthos couldn't stop the fond grin from appearing on his face, "See Aramis is like a cat that's decided it's gonna sit on your lap, no amount of shoving him off will keep him from bouncing right back into the place it's set its mind to."
It was a comforting thought with which he sent off the younger man and it was the same thought he held onto as he watched Athos pull away into his head over the evening. When their dinner in Athos' room turned too strained for even Aramis' charm Porthos had to get out of there.
Dumping his plate in the kitchen sink he resisted the urge to punch a hole through the nearest cupboard door, they had enough injuries between them to make like difficult as it was. The vibration of his phone made him jump and Porthos wondered what had ended the Captain's disappearance act. In no mood for another sulking person on his radar he greeted the call with grunt.
"That bad?" asked Treville.
"Tell me you need me to come in tomorrow,"
"Well no, but there are things I need to discuss so I will be dropping by,"
" 'bout time,"
"I would have come by earlier if it weren't for the mess you three made,"
Porthos winced.
"Sorry about that," he said.
"I will be there at ten hundred tomorrow,"
"Wait Captain, about d'Art –"
"That's none of your concern Porthos, goodnight."
He cursed at the silence and consciously stopped himself from cracking the mobile phone in his grasp. Pulling in a deep breath he turned back to the hallway, stopping short outside of Athos' room. Porthos had hoped that the other two would sort out their differences in his absence but the silence told him otherwise. With a shake of his head he turned instead to his own room and lay awake for hours, waiting for some sound of breakthrough.
But he only heard the doors closing outside; with a frustrated grunt Porthos turned to his side and let the exhaustion claim him…
… the new kid is sitting beside him, there's a dull grey in the inner corner of one of his eyes when he turns to him with a gap toothed grin – he's a baby is all that comes to his mind.
On his other side Athos nudges at him and they share a grin when the next time the new kid almost jumps off his seat in excitement to answer the teacher's question. He's a baby who shouldn't be in their class and who definitely shouldn't be such a know it all.
With his foot he slides the chair back quietly as the new kid rattles off the answer. There's a crash when the kid flops down and lands on the floor, the chair screeching and tipping sideways.
Their teacher hurries over.
And the stunned silence breaks as the new kid starts laughing…
…Porthos squinted against the sunbeams on his face and reached out to stop the alarm before it went off. Kicking off the covers that had wrapped around his legs he wiped a hand down his face, tracing the healing cut high on his cheek.
At the grand age of seven they had collectively hated the five year old thrust in their class and Aramis' exuberance hadn't helped the matter, neither did the fact that the kid never told on them. They hadn't had the sense at the time that it was more to do with distrust of adults than any form of bravery on the news kid's part.
A bittersweet smile curled on his face at the thought how far they had come and Porthos took to his feet with the hope that things would be better.
The flat was quiet when he padded out into the hallway and knocked lightly on the door opposite his. He pushed in when there was no reply and stopped short to find the room empty. His eyes went to the open window, the one that had the landing of the fire-escape staircase just outside. Quelling his first instinct to go after his brother who had apparently been up on the roof for who knows how long, Porthos went to the other one.
Athos was already awake and contemplating the far wall when he barged in.
"Alright I've had enough of this. He has ran himself ragged, terrified over fluid in your lungs and fussing over your fever fried brain when he should've been passed out on pain meds," Porthos crossed his arms before him, "I've tried to be patient but this has to stop."
Athos arched a brow.
"I understand you're mad at him for stepping in front of the bolt but he saved your life Athos,"
While it was insane as d'Artagnan had pointed out, it was still how it was between them; the life of a brother was dearer than your own. Which made it difficult for all three of them in these situations. That was why he had waited to let Athos' temper run its course.
"It's not that, I don't like it but I get why he did that. Aramis saved my life at the risk of his own but –" Athos ran a hand through his hair as wide blue eyes looked to Porthos for understanding, "but he made me choose,"
With a huff Porthos grabbed the chair by his brother's desk and straddled it. Crossing his arms over the edge of the backrest he nodded at Athos.
"Explain,"
"He made me chose between him and d'Artagnan and I didn't stop him Porthos." Athos tugged at his hair as he shook his head slowly, "I took his insane plan and accepted it knowing the risk it was, I didn't stop him when I could have."
Porthos reached forward to grasp his brother's shoulder and waited until the man looked his way.
"He didn't make you chose, he made a choice," Porthos said, "he knew the risks and took them to save d'Artagnan,"
Athos' face twisted in a grimace as tears clung to his eyelashes.
"That's worse," he said, "don't you get it? I look at him and I get so mad at the reckless way he throws his life in danger. It's like he believes his life matters less and it makes me want to shake him because how can he believe that? After all that we've been through together how could he think that?"
"You know why," Porthos spoke evenly.
No one went through the childhood like their friend had and come out unscathed on the other side, they knew of the scars physical and otherwise that had remained and Porthos could see the moment it click into place for his friend. He gave Athos' shoulder a squeeze before he pulled his hand away.
"I don't think he consciously believes that," Porthos said, "but with what he'd been through it's not a stretch that he may have absorbed some less healthy opinions about himself over the years,"
"That still doesn't –"
"He had to watch me get beat up by Mendoza," Porthos hadn't wanted to bring it up this way but he needed Athos to understand, "couldn't do anything but watch."
Athos paled and sank back into his pillows, his eyes wide and staring.
"But that's not it," Porthos confessed, "something else happened there,"
"What?" Athos' voice was just above a whisper.
Porthos shrugged and ran a hand through his tight curls.
"I dunno, but did you notice he keeps kneading the scar,"
Athos stared.
"The one on the left from –"
"SAVOY,"
"Yeah,"
Athos stared down at his hands in his lap. His voice was soft when he spoke next.
"I didn't note that," he said.
Porthos had guessed as much, he was sure that his brother would've intervened if he had. They had worked hard to pull Aramis out of the pit that was the SAVOY aftermath and Porthos could not help but fear the pattern that may be returning. He rubbed the back of his neck and squeezed the tension there before he let his head drop back. He wondered if he would have to go up and bring their brother back home again.
The sun was up and had been for a while but his breath still materialized as torn mist in the morning air. He had made his way up when he had woken up the fifth time from a slumber that left him more tired than refreshed. Aramis couldn't decide what was worst, the nightmares he could remember that gave face to his ghosts or the ones that he couldn't remember that left him with a niggling feeling of dread and loss.
The brick ledge was hard under him and the heels of his boots scratched against the side of it as Aramis sat facing the city. He tilted his head slightly at the sound of footfalls on metal; the gait and the pressure that he recognized teased out a small smile on his lips. A few minutes later the blanket from his bed wrapped around his shoulders and a warm hand settled on his good arm. Aramis swung a leg back onto the roof and turned to regard his brother.
Porthos did not look happy.
"How long you've been up here?" he asked.
Pulling the blanket close around him Aramis shrugged a shoulder and winced at the unexpected twang in his back.
"Long enough to freeze then?"
"I came up after dawn,"
"It's been hours,"
Aramis caught himself before he could shrug again. He turned his gaze out beyond the roof and relished how the world seemed wider from this point and how the time seemed to slow down. When he hadn't had the strength to outrun the phantoms at his heels this place had been his escape.
"Do you think he'll ever come back?" he asked.
He didn't have to look to know that his brother had stiffened; he could perfectly imagine the scowl on Porthos' face.
"He won't if he knows what's good for him,"
Aramis could see the sense in that and he wondered if Marsac was even alive. A part of him wished his old friend would reach out to him; he was after all the only other survivor of the tragedy they had gone through. There was so much they could ask each other, learn from each other, because at the moment Aramis honestly wanted someone to understand what to do of the dead that had risen again for him.
He looked up in surprise when Porthos tugged on his arm.
"C'mon, let's get back,"
He nodded and slipped off the edge and onto the roof only for his knees to buckle under him. It was simply Porthos' quick reflexes that stopped his imminent face plant. Aramis clutched at the arm around him and forced his feet to take his weight, it left his toes tingling and his head swam.
A hiss escaped him when his foot threatened to twist under him.
"Easy does it," Porthos scooped him closer, "take it slow,"
"I'm alright," he grabbed onto his brother's shoulder and waited out the sudden bout of lightheadedness.
The heat of the blanket seemed to have thawed his numb body and Aramis bit back a cringe as the muscles in his back bunched and tightened, protesting against the activity as the throb from his wound rolled out under his skin.
It was all he could do to focus on the warm, gentle hand rubbing circles at his back.
"You're always alright," Porthos grumbled.
"One of my many talents," Aramis tipped his head up and offered him a smirk.
"No need to test it so often then eh?"
The blatant concern in the dark eyes nearly undid the control he was scrabbling for. Aramis patted his friend on the shoulder and gathered his scattered thoughts he had let out to air on the roof. Taking a bracing breath of the sharp cold air he managed a smile for his brother.
"I think I'm hungry now," he said.
He followed a chuckling Porthos down to the flat and playfully slapped at the hand that hovered over him to help him in through the window. His brother huffed and cuffed him on the head instead, although it held nowhere near the strength the big man used normally.
"You take a shower while I make breakfast?" Aramis offered.
"Are you implying something?"
"No Porthos I'm saying you stink of antiseptic,"
He dodged the swat coming for his head again.
"That's what I get to babysit you all at the hospital,"
Aramis wrinkled his nose in exaggeration.
"I cleaned up before bed you should have done too,"
"Fine, fine I'm going,"
Aramis watched his friend grouse all the way to his room and then through the hallway to the bathroom. He waited until he heard the water running and went out to the corridor, stopping by Athos' door. But then he turned away with a shake of his head, deciding breakfast as a peace offering would be a better strategy to start the day.
He had only began with the preparations and set the butter to melt on the skillet when there was a knock on the front door. Switching of the flame Aramis wandered over as he glanced at the time. He was not expecting Treville at the door clutching a folder like a sidearm.
"Captain," Aramis stepped back to let the man in.
"I told Porthos I had to talk to you three,"
"He's in the shower, Athos' sleeping I think," Aramis closed the door after their boss and regarded the tired face.
The Captain looked like he hadn't been sleeping well either if the fatigue rolling off him was to go by. And Aramis wasn't sure he liked the angry gleam in the gaze focused on him. Captain Treville made no move to sit as he watched him.
"I talked to Charles d'Artagnan," he said.
It was that hard learned awareness that picked up on the undercurrent beneath the words even though Aramis' mind was too tired think clearly. He kept his tone light even as he looked for the reason for a sense of hostility he could feel.
"He's a good kid," he said.
"He told me what happened there,"
"All good things I hope," his teeth flashed in a not much of a smile.
He had an idea where this was headed and it was clear by the flint like quality in the blue gaze that the Captain was not willing to get sidetracked.
"He told me you took care of Mendoza,"
"Tattletale,"
"Didn't elaborate though," Treville went on as if he hadn't been interrupted, "but then he didn't need to. I have had the medical report shoved in my face by the police," his fist clenched at his side, "broken nose, smashed cheekbone, dislocated jaw, multiple contusions leading to concussion and two fractured eye sockets! The only reasonable explanation behind this could be temporary insanity but the question is do you suffer from it Aramis? Do you frequently have bouts of insanity that I don't know about?"
Aramis opened his mouth to reply.
"No! no you can absolutely not stand there and justify that brutality! You're lucky the man hadn't died!"
"Wasn't planning on killing him, an incision in the trachea," he tapped the hollow at the bottom of his throat, "and he lives."
Treville made a noise somewhere between frustration and disgust. His blue eyes were alight with rage and underlined with shadows that spoke of sleepless nights. Aramis felt a twinge of sympathy, but not regret. He stared straight ahead despite the Captain's trek before him; shoulders straight, feet apart and the arm not in the sling straight down behind his back.
"And the hand – he'll be lucky if he doesn't lose fingers on that,"
"He has another hand that is fine,"
"That is not the POINT!" Treville rounded on him, "what gave you the right? The reason –"
"He hurt Athos and Porthos,"
He didn't raise his voice and he knew there was no need to explain the extent of hurt; the Captain had seen the damage and as far Aramis was concerned that was evidence enough for his right and reason. He was tempted to glance aside when no immediate response was forthcoming and valiantly held back a flinch when the Captain suddenly stood before him, toe to toe.
"If your team ever gets off desk duty it will be to train the recruits," Treville said, "and should you ever go out in the field again it will be under Team Two's supervision."
He wanted to protest, he wanted to point out that it wasn't fair to punish his team for what he did but he knew his words at the moment would only go up in the flames of anger roiling off of the Captain. Aramis' jaw hurt from the force with which he kept it clenched shut, staring ahead until the Captain backed up and turned away. He didn't move as the man left, the door of the flat closing with a surprisingly soft thud.
He exhaled slowly through his nose; his shoulders sagged as a trembling began in the back of his legs and reminded him of the recent blood loss. Aramis crossed the short distance to the sofa and sat down heavily, wincing at the pain in his jostled wound. He let his head rest against the edge of the back rest, staring up at the ceiling before the burning in his eyes became too much and he lifted his good hand to press away the moisture there.
"I'm not in the mood for your disappointed silence and pointed glares," he spoke without moving, "just go and rest Athos,"
He didn't need the sound of the crutch to know who the presence hovering in the room was. But he was not going to apologize for what he did to Menodza and he was not going to apologize for saving Athos and d'Artagnan. His demons and darkness were too close to the surface and Aramis wasn't sure he wouldn't retaliate if he was prodded more. That was why he stiffened when the seat dipped beside him.
It was simply instincts to hook the edge of the coffee table and pull it closer with his foot for Athos' broken ankle.
As Athos settled beside him, Aramis pinched the bridge of his nose before sliding his thumb and finger up to his forehead in an attempt to alleviate some of the constant headache. It stemmed from the continuous strain of the injured tendons of his shoulder but he knew the lack of sleep had always been an avid contributor to the clenched feeling around his head.
He looked down in surprise when he felt the touch to his sling and watched wide-eyed as Athos gently lifted his hand and carefully tucked a cushion under his splinted fingers. The blue eyes flicked up to him and he could read the question in the arched eyebrow.
Aramis let his head drop back against the edge of the backrest.
"He ducked," he told the ceiling, "I hit the wall,"
"I'm sorry,"
"Dislocated knuckles Athos, they will heal,"
"You know what I mean,"
"I do,"
His gaze slanted sideways when Athos stayed quiet and he followed his friend's eyes to his uninjured hand that he had let fall to his lap. The split knuckles had scabbed over but the bruising on his arm was visible where he had rolled up the sleeve of his plaid button-down shirt. The rope burns were fading yet he could tell by the way Athos' eyes were fixed there that he was seeing purple finger prints on a slimmer arm, on a younger skin, from a time gone by.
"I was bound to a chair,"
Athos blinked rapidly and cleared his throat. Aramis watched him for signs of a cough erupting but it looked like his brother had tamped it down with sheer will power.
"Porthos said you ripped its arms clear off,"
"I was in a bit of a hurry,"
"Understandable,"
Aramis couldn't keep the twist up at the corner of his lips and he was relieved beyond words to catch Athos' fleeting smirk in response. But the moment dissolved in a hacking cough that broke out thick and wheezing from Athos. Aramis had only a second to react and sat up turning to put his good arm around his brother's front as the man curled forward and very nearly slipped off the seat.
Landing on his knees Aramis braced his friend's wounded ribs with his arm. He looked up as Porthos darted past them to the kitchen and forced himself to take the weight when Athos sagged against him, his chin on Aramis' shoulder and his breathing a rasp against Aramis' ear.
"Easy Athos, c'mon now breathe, breathe, it'll pass," he rubbed Athos' back, "that's it, breathe,"
To his surprise his brother raised his arms and wrapped them around him. The motion had him bumping into the coffee table at his back but the arms around him held firm, warm, and secure and filled with a need that only surfaces in the face of fears.
"I am sorry for treating you the way I did," Athos said.
Aramis held on, his fingers clutching tight at the back of Athos' shirt.
"I knew you'd come around once your brain let you out,"
"My brain had nothing to do with my attitude towards you," Athos pressed his forehead to his shoulder, "I was – it was – it's hard to watch a brother suffer,"
Aramis swallowed the prickly knot rising in his throat.
"I know,"
He looked up at Porthos as the big man came back with a trey filled with three steaming mugs that he placed on the table before he crouched by his side and laid a hand on Athos' shoulder. It had the other man pulling his face away enough to look Aramis in the eyes.
Guilt, remorse and fear warred for dominance in the wet blue eyes as they glanced at Porthos and then back at Aramis.
"I cannot lose another brother," he said.
His fingers were pressed white against Aramis' good shoulder and he wondered how he would make these two understand that he could not imagine burying them, one brother's grave was one too much in his life. And yet even as they nodded in understanding he knew they wouldn't make promises they couldn't keep, they would each die to see the other live and that render the argument moot but made the fear cut that much deeper.
"We'll try our best that you don't," Porthos told him before he held onto his shoulders and heaved him back onto the couch, "C'mon up you go and stop talking. You sound like a choking engine,"
Athos glared even as Aramis laughed, leaning against Porthos' leg.
Athos took the honeyed tea his friend handed to him and sighed at the warmth that soothed his raw throat with the first tentative sip. His eyebrows shot up in alarm when Aramis got to his feet and nearly tripped over them; it was Porthos quick grip that stopped him from toppling onto the sofa. Instead he eased the man to perch on the edge of it.
"Here," Porthos handed him a mug before sitting down on Aramis' other side.
If Athos hadn't guessed it from the scent that it was the disgustingly sweetened chocolate milk their friend had received he would have known by the happy grin with which Aramis held the mug to him. At least Porthos knew what to do for their friend Athos mused.
"I think a change of place for my stash is in order," Aramis said, "next time you won't find this blend so easily,"
"You can try," Porthos shrugged, "but I know how you think,"
Athos looked to the big man when there was no snarky reply from their brother. It pulled at his wound as he raised a hand and rested it on the back of Aramis' neck. The gentle pressure left the man jumping in his skin and Porthos hurriedly rescued the mug lest the hot chocolate spilled.
"Sorry – I just - sorry," Aramis' good hand curled into a fist.
It kicked up the worry Porthos' observations had stirred in him and Athos wondered how he had missed the signs, ones that were reminiscent of the time after SAVOY. He squeezed the taut muscle under his hand and gave the bent head a slight shake.
" 'Mis?"
"It's nothing, well nothing new," Aramis' laugh was anything but happy, "I should be used to it by now,"
"Then it couldn't hurt to tell us," Porthos said.
Aramis huffed and rubbed at his face as he sat hunched forwards as much as his injury would allow him.
"You don't know much about how the case went so…" he shrugged a shoulder.
"We know Mendoza and his ring had been brought down," Athos countered.
"And Cornet's name had been cleared," Aramis said, "He and his men were killed by Mendoza,"
"You found the proof?" Porthos asked.
Athos was not expecting the man beside to twitch like he did. He waited with trepidation scratching at his insides as Aramis ran a hand through his hair and left it there to clutch at his curls. His eyes were fixed onto the floor between his feet.
"I found them," he said.
Athos felt his brows reach his hairline as Porthos sat forward on the other end of the sofa.
"It seems Mendoza didn't believe in burying the people he murdered," Aramis went on, "he – he had others too and kept them in the freezer and I – uh – I found them,"
And the rock dropped to the pit of Athos stomach. He watched as Aramis pressed a hand to his mouth even as Porthos reached out and pulled him against himself. His own hand found its way on Aramis' back as the man leaned his good shoulder against Porthos' front and trembled.
"I thought I'd find Athos in there," his voice came out thick as he pulled himself straight and looked to him, "I thought I'd find your cooling body in there,"
His knuckles were white where he gripped the steering wheel.
Captain Treville pushed back against the seat he sat in and grit his teeth to keep his temper in check. He was a man of habit, of rules and hierarchy. The presence of a certain young hacker in his life had derailed his normal.
So many years of fruitless search and dead ends had settled like a dull ache in chest, disappointing yes, but comforting in its familiarity.
And then suddenly Charles d'Artagnan was at his office door like a twisted joke of providence.
He glanced through the car window towards the building he had exited about half an hour ago. He should have known that this was bound to happen the day he had accepted the other three into his lives.
Somewhere Treville knew his old friend would be laughing at him and he cursed his name under his breath for pulling him into the colossal mess he could see unfolding in his future.
He pulled in a slow breath.
The past was a beast snapping at his heels.
Treville glanced at the folders on the seat beside him and back at the entrance of the building. Guilt raised his head at the way he had stormed out of there, his short fuse had been cut considerably shorter in the face of recent events and he was trying his best to rein in his newest responsibility.
But the kid had a long list of crime trailing after him.
…"Allegedly; they don't have proof of that Captain," d'Artagnan had corrected him every time…
…but there was so much that could see the young man locked away despite of the lack of proof in some cases.
Picking up the folder he fortified himself to get back up there and face his men. This was a favor from Leon; while the Captain was not of authority to get official statements signed off, still the Detective Inspector had given him a leeway considering all the threads he had been pulling for one Charles d'Artagnan.
His outward calm belied nothing of the nervousness he felt when he knocked on the door of the flat. There was a distinct sound of a crutch against the floor before the sound of the lock turning. Treville found himself face to face with Athos.
"Captain,"
"Athos,"
Neither of them moved from his position.
Blue eyes met blue like a swords straining against each other.
Secrets not his own pushed forward in a desire to spill forth, a history lost in blood and shadows demanded to be exposed and Treville had to tap in the reserves of his training to keep his calm. He had diffused complicated explosives under fire, he could do this.
He was about to speak but Athos beat him to it.
"I heard," he said.
Of course he did, he had been screaming at Aramis after all.
"I'm –"
"Is it over?"
Treville paused, surprised to note that his man was studying him as he would a potential threat. He knew that the younger man was looking for any sign that the Captain might tear into his friend again. Finding no conciliatory words he simply nodded and was relieved to find Athos stepping back, leaving the door open for him.
The lounge was empty and Treville glanced towards the hallway Porthos was coming from.
"Is he –"
"Resting," Porthos crossed his arms and leaned against the wall.
The message was clear, no one was getting to Aramis' room without Porthos' say so.
"Leon will be coming to take your statements this afternoon," Treville raised the folder, "I wanted to debrief you before that."
They set up in the lounge and the Captain explained the entire story he had weaved, not at all surprised when his men added and tweaked it to suit their needs. He wisely refrained from asking Aramis join them too and once they all had their accounts of the event straightened; Treville sat back with the coffee Porthos had brought him.
"There is one last thing I need to ask you," he said.
He had seen them with d'Artagnan and while a large part of him was hoping for a good response, Treville's heart still thudded wildly at the thought of otherwise. He looked from Porthos' intent gaze to Athos' slightly raised eyebrow.
"Charles d'Artagnan," he said, "the man had confessed of his involvement in framing Athos,"
He looked to the man in question and kept his voice deceptively neutral.
"Do you wish to bring charges against him?"
"Of course not,"
Treville stared and checked the smile before it could appear. He had been looking for at least a bit of resistance.
"He is the reason you –all of you got dragged into this,"
"And he's the reason we're out of it too," Athos said.
"And it's not like the kid planned for this to happen," Porthos added.
The pressure seemed to ease off his back and the Captain took to his feet with a rare genuine smile. He had a feeling that it might just all fall into place, at least until someone pulled a thread that would be better left alone.
Treville sighed.
The past was indeed snapping at his heels.
Flipping the folder close he sat back and glared through the window at the building across the street. His hands curled into fists over the brown cover and he absentmindedly shredded the paper napkin in his grasp. His eyes flicked to the clock on the wall before going back to the pavement across the seat.
He had seen them arrive; it was after all his car that Porthos had driven over.
D'Artagnan looked to the closed file and felt his stomach clench.
He hadn't told them about this.
He was still having a hard time believing himself that this was possible.
That someone would go to such an extent for him.
But he couldn't accept it, not yet.
With a sigh d'Artagnan grabbed the file, paid his due and was out on the street before he could change his mind. He didn't pay attention to anything until he was on the designated floor and found his steps faltering in the lobby. Beyond the clear glass wall and door was the floor space divided into large cubicle and he was sure somewhere in there were the three men he was looking for.
The hall was buzzing with activity and quiet conversations as he walked past the divides that came up to his elbows. Never one to feel shy d'Artagnan suddenly felt like every eye in the room was focused his way as the chatter about him died down.
"d'Art!" Aramis waved from the entrance of a cubicle, his other arm still cradled in a sling, "we were wondering if you'd decided to skip country and disappear after all."
D'Artagnan scowled; he had some choice words to offer to the man who had streamlined the obvious staring before he grabbed him in a one armed hug. It was short and ended with his hair mussed by Aramis' good hand but d'Artagnan found himself smiling. As Aramis pulled him into the cubicle he shared with his friend Porthos came to entrance waving his arms like he was shooing away belligerent chickens,
"Nothing to see here people, just a kid on a field trip, go on, you're paid to work here,"
"Don't say that or the Captain will get ideas," Aramis told him.
"And stop waving with that pen before you take someone's eye out," Athos added.
Porthos rolled his eyes and tossed the pen to Aramis who deposited it on the table he was perched on even as he turned a chair with his foot towards d'Artagnan.
"Where have you been?" he asked, "Why didn't you come over? Did the Captain scare you off? We can sic Athos on him if he did; he's scarier than the Captain when he wants to be,"
"He had his reasons," Porthos took a chair.
"And so did you?" Aramis asked.
There was a shared joke there that d'Artagnan was certain he was missing. He ignored the chair and looked to the man behind the desk Aramis was sitting on the corner of. Athos' injured foot was propped on another chair, the bright cast a distracting splash of colour in an otherwise muted environment. D'Artagnan pulled his eyes away from it and found himself regarded with a steady gaze, piercing yet holding not a speck of judgment.
"How are you d'Artagnan?" Athos asked.
"Good," he said, fingers tracing the edge of the file in his hand, "better than good actually,"
He looked from Athos to the other two before he glanced down at the folder in his clasp. This was his chance but he could not take it, he would not until he had found what he had come looking for here.
"I wanted to apologize," he said, "I am sorry that I attacked you Athos, that I framed you and got you abducted." He glanced towards Aramis and Porthos, "and I'm sorry you two had to go through that,"
He saw the way the three men looked to each other and an entire conversation he wasn't privy to was exchanged in a matter of seconds. Somehow he was not surprised when it was Athos who spoke for all three of them.
"You're forgiven," he said.
"But I –"
"We forgive you d'Artagnan," Athos said, "You need to forgive yourself,"
He blinked to clear the sudden stinging in his eyes; d'Artagnan hadn't expected it to be this easy. He was surprised when none of them commented on his remorse and relief that he knew would be clear on his face, he had never been great at concealing his emotions.
"So do you have a plan?" Porthos asked, "For your future,"
"Something like that," he shrugged, "hopefully a much better chance, but I hadn't accepted it yet."
"Why not?"
"I couldn't without receiving your forgiveness," he explained honestly, "it just didn't feel right after everything I'd done –"
"But you will now?" Aramis prompted him.
He ducked his head and rubbed a hand through his hair even as he nodded.
"We are all happy to hear that,"
The sincerity in those words had him shooting up his head to stare at Athos; while his face gave nothing away d'Artagnan could still see the warmth in those blue eyes, the kind that spoke of concern and pride and a kernel of something he didn't feel like he had earned just yet.
D'Artagnan looked away.
"Well I have to meet the Captain and I don't think I should make him wait for our appointment," he tapped the folder against his hand, "something tells me he's the punctual sort,"
Aramis thumped him on the back as he exited the cubical.
"If he gives you trouble let us know," he grinned, "these two are looking for another round,"
"We are not!"
He left them to it and ascended the stairs to the Captain's office where he was ordered in after a knock. Treville looked to him from behind a large desk that supported a controlled chaos of papers and d'Artagnan bit back the urge to remark on the man's need to utilize technology. He was still unsure of the Captain's proposal, in his experience one favor required another and he feared to think what it was the man would ask of him for all that he had done for him.
Because the Captain had done a lot; d'Artagnan stared at the folder in his hand that was his second chance.
"You have decided then?"
"I have," he straightened, tried his best not to show how much this turning point meant to him.
He stepped closer to the desk and placed the folder before the Captain, tapping it once.
"I accept your terms," he said.
He could have sworn that he saw relief flash through the Captain's eyes but the face remained blank, formal as the Captain nodded and pulled the folder to him. He signed it off and made a call with the short order of 'get up here.'
It took few minutes for the three men he had left back to file into the Captain's office.
"Charles d'Artagnan will be a part of this company from now on," the Captain didn't go for the fanfare, "since you're babysitting the recruits it's your responsibility to get him acquainted with our work,"
There was a moment of silence but d'Artagnan found the three of them too trained to show the surprise their stillness was screaming.
And then Porthos smiled before he glanced at him.
"We'll take care of him Captain," he said.
"We'll make sure he knows everything," Aramis added.
His grin was not a comforting thing and d'Artagnan suppressed a shudder, suddenly he not so sure he wanted to do this.
"We'd like him assigned to our team," Athos said.
The Captain stared.
So did d'Artagnan.
"He'll be working with Serge,"
"That's a waste of his talent,"
Heat bloomed up his neck at the matter of fact tone Athos had used the words in. He couldn't help but stare at the man who wouldn't look his way.
"D'Artagnan is made for fieldwork," Athos said.
"He isn't trained for it,"
"That can be solved," Athos sounded much too confident for a man who couldn't yet even stand without a crutch.
"I can train him in hand-to-hand and physical fitness," Porthos nodded.
"Weapons training and target practice," Aramis added.
"Field awareness and tactical thinking," Athos finished.
The Captain shook his head.
"This is not for he signed up for,"
"I'll do it!" he looked to the Captain and back at other three, "I can do it,"
For a few minutes d'Artagnan was afraid he would be denied, the Captain looked pained at the thought of him taking up this position.
"Since Laurent is otherwise engaged," the Captain looked to each of them in turn, "we can give it a try,"
D'Artagnan resisted the urge to laugh out loud in relief but he could not stop the grin that split across his face. There was something about these three men that he wanted to be a part of, he just couldn't believe that he was offered the chance.
As d'Artagnan followed the three men out of the office he thought he heard Captain Treville groan.
The glory of friendship is not the outstretched hand, not the kindly smile, nor the joy of companionship; it is the spiritual inspiration that comes to one when you discover that someone else believes in you and is willing to trust you with a friendship. – Ralph Waldo Emerson.
End