"What?" The aching in Aramis' chest reduced his voice to a shuddering breath.
He was certain he should feel rage, perhaps even an ounce of betrayal, but mostly he felt empty. His heart was broken much the way a clay jar shatters when it's dropped to the ground; those dark emotions had spilled out, drained completely away.
His entire body shook, trembled from head to toe. He leaned against the desk to support himself, but his arms were in such a useless state that he found himself nearly doubled over it. With two fingers he rubbed the bridge of his nose while attempting to calm his breathing, return it to a pattern suitable for sustaining life and consciousness. He continued to tremble, but that unsteadiness was then joined by a tingling in his hands and arms as well as his legs, the sensation like being stuck with hundreds of pins and needles all at once.
Athos and d'Artagnan observed Aramis' progression of emotion from their various places in the room. Athos likened such moments of Aramis' emotional deterioration to the slow spread of cracks across a pane of glass. If Aramis was going to shatter, Athos wanted it to happen soon. Aramis is more of a hinderance than help when he sinks into that state, when his mind is reeling and otherwise occupied; that's how people get hurt, not just Aramis, but the people around him as well, those he's meant to protect.
Aramis turned around and slid his back down the front of the desk until he became a collapsed tangle of legs on the floor. He stayed there long enough to collect himself, long enough to lock his anguish away, long enough to remember that the longer he remained a broken mess on the floor meant the longer Porthos remained...undercover. Aramis refused to call him a slave; the very thought left a wretched taste in his mouth.
So he stood, ran his hands through his hair, and turned to Athos. "How long?"
d'Artagnan looked away from the wall he'd been staring at to ask, "How long what?"
Ah, at last Aramis found his rage simmering beneath his sorrow, and for all the world he wished he need not clarify because God knows how close he was to saying How long since you abandoned him there?. He was in no mood to argue with the Gascon, and even if he were it would be more time lost. It was fortunate then that Athos understood without Aramis' elaboration.
"Four days."
Aramis swallowed, nodded, and immediately departed to pack his things. Four days. Four days without back up. Four days without support. Four days without brothers. Four long days alone.