At Athos's words, Porthos abruptly released him and Aramis dropped back into the chair with a thud. Truth be told, it was a bit of blessing. He hadn't expected the rush of lightheadedness that overcame him the moment Porthos pulled him to his feet, and Aramis realized that it really was becoming difficult to remain standing upright feet without assistance.

"He's what?" d'Artagnan's shocked voice broke the silence.

"He's a French spy," Athos said. "Reporting directly to Tréville, if I'm right.

Aramis nodded, but it set his head spinning. He took a breath and kept very still while waiting for the world to settle around him. "Yes," he murmured, eyes fixed in front of him, unable to fully meet anyone's gaze. "I report through coded messages sent through a series of confidential dispatchers."

Porthos swore. Aramis couldn't help but silently agree with him.

"You lying bastard." Porthos's voice was low and rough as he spoke, shaking his head. But before Aramis could even decide whether he was expected to reply, Porthos had turned to Athos. "Are you sure about this? How do we know he's not spinning some elaborate lie now that he's caught?"

Athos raised one eyebrow, giving Porthos his sarcastic stare. "Porthos…" he said, the drawl conveying quite clearly what he thought about Porthos doubting his assessment of the situation.

Porthos let out a huff of annoyance. "Yeah, okay. Oh course, you're sure, or you wouldn't have said anything." He kicked his stool roughly, sending it toppling to one side. "But damn you, Aramis. Damn you and Tréville both."

Aramis figured he was already damned and he didn't need Porthos's help in that department. A shiver seized his body as he imagined what King Louis would do with him now…now that he'd blown his cover, failed his mission, and proven himself to be an utter disappointment as a spy. They all knew Louis didn't take disappointment well. The bastille didn't seem like an unreasonable prediction for Aramis's new accommodations.

"Would someone mind telling me what Forges and Calais have to do with anything?" d'Artagnan asked sharply.

"It's a code," Athos said. "Before we left for the front, Tréville ordered me to memorize a series of coded phrases and the correct responses. When I asked if Aramis had visited the waters of Forges, I was really asking if he was engaged in some larger deception…if he was intentionally lying to us to protect some greater secret. His answer about changing his travel plans confirmed my suspicions."

"Calais meant espionage," Aramis said quietly. He felt everyone's eyes on him and he shifted uncomfortably. While d'Artagnan's expression was open, full of slowly fading confusion and more than a little shock, Porthos stared back, stony-faced and eyes narrowed. Then Athos spoke, drawing their attention back to himself. But Aramis could still feel Porthos simmering.

"When Aramis mentioned a jewel thief, he declared that he was working for the king – our king.

"So you knew?" Porthos demanded. "You knew he was a spy, and you didn't say anything?"

"Of course not," Athos said. "I knew Tréville had spies at work in Spanish territory. He still does, I'm sure. But their identities were kept from me."

"But you suspected." The sharpness in Porthos's tone made Aramis hunch in on himself, even if the words were directed at Athos. Sitting in the chair with his hands still bound, Aramis was supremely conscious of his own vulnerability. He felt as though he'd been cracked open, left exposed and striped of all defenses.

The pounding headache didn't help matters either.

"Vaguely. I wasn't sure of anything, and I'd only just realized that Aramis might be more than a simple Spanish soldier," Athos said. Porthos seemed unmoved by this, and Athos sighed. "Porthos, I didn't want to give you reason to hope until I was certain. Besides, Tréville's orders were to maintain the anonymity of our spy network. That was the whole purpose of the code, and I hadn't even thought of using it until earlier today. But I had to be certain. If I wrong, then Aramis wouldn't give the appropriate reply, and it would be just another question in the middle of a prolonged interrogation."

"But what made you suspect?" Aramis asked. Athos raised one eyebrow, a sarcastic look that demanded to know whether he was truly serious. Aramis forced a bit of lightness into his tone, a hollow imitation of the teasing banter that once would have come so effortlessly to him. "If I'm to be a failed spy, I think the least I deserve is to know what I did wrong."

"Very well. It was something you said yesterday." Athos glanced briefly at d'Artagnan before returning to Aramis. "You said that I couldn't be angry at you for shooting d'Artagnan when I'd done the same thing myself."

"When we went after your wife," Porthos said. Athos nodded, looking again to d'Artagnan.

"Don't tell me you still feel bad about that?" d'Artagnan said. "It was part of the plan. I agreed to it."

"Yes, a plan made to maintain our deception. And when we made that plan, I was supposed to shoot you in the arm," Athos pointed out.

"But it was dark. And you had to make it believable."

"I was drunk," Athos corrected. Then pointed to Aramis. "But he wasn't. And even caught off guard in the midst of a pitched battle, Aramis is still a better shot than I am sober."

D'Artagnan's eyes widened. "You did it on purpose." Aramis met his eyes briefly before looking away again, not willing to accept the quick forgiveness he saw there. He'd still shot him, after all.

"You shot d'Artagnan exactly as we planned for me to do…a flesh wound to the upper arm."

"It was coincidence," Aramis said. And he meant it. "I didn't think it through that thoroughly."

"And you know better than anyone that in the midst of a battle, it's not what you plan or what you think, but your instincts that decide the outcome." Athos rested a hand on his shoulder. Aramis felt his breath catch at that subtle touch, unable to admit how much he'd missed such a casual display of friendship. "Your instincts told you to make the shot that I missed," Athos said.

Aramis wanted to believe that, wanted more than anything to trust Athos. But he also remembered that moment, immersed in battle and overwhelmed by the sounds of fighting. From the moment when he saw Porthos enter the clearing, he'd known that he'd never be able to kill him. But once he'd missed that shot, once he'd intentionally fired at the ground and made his shot go wide, Cordero would never believe he would miss twice in a row. With Cordero's suspicion hanging over him and his Spanish comrades falling all around him, Aramis had slipped into the role of a good soldier, the role he'd played so well in so many battles. He'd had no choice but to take the shot. But as he'd aimed at d'Artagnan, a single stray thought had floated through his mind: if he had to shoot a friend, at least it wasn't Porthos.

And he hated himself for even thinking such a thing.

"It's not the same," Porthos growled. "It's a deception, sure, but it ain't the same." Aramis looked up and saw that Porthos had gone frighteningly still and straight as a statue, looming before him as the others seemed to fade into the background. "With Milady, it was a plan we'd all discussed. We knew what was at stake, an' we all agreed to it. This is nothin' like that."

Aramis swallowed heavily. "Porthos..."

"No. It's one thing when we're workin' together. It was one thing when we pretended to turn on d'Artagnan and when we faked Athos's death. There was a purpose to that, and we were in it together." He pointed an accusing finger at Aramis, who felt the need to shrink back, hunching in on himself. "But this is just you goin' all lone wolf like some kind of idiot."

"It wasn't by choice," Aramis mumbled.

"Really? From what I've seen the last two days… didn't seem much like you resisted it. In fact, sounded like you were enjoyin' yourself. I do know how you love to play games, Aramis. Use that famous wit of yours to outsmart everyone, don't you? I bet you jumped at the chance to try your luck as a spy. You can charm and scheme your way out of most anything, and you always were good at sorting through tangled politics and subtle manipulation. Just couldn't resist it, could you? You even relished it, I imagine."

Aramis found his breathing quicken and for a moment he thought he'd be sick. He closed his eyes, fighting back a sense of nausea. "It wasn't like that."

"What was it like then?"

"It was orders. It was penance. I didn't chose it, I…" He breathed deep as the words caught in his throat, opening his eyes again. "I was following orders. Just like you. Just like those Spanish soldiers have been doing. Don't you see? We're all just following orders from someone."

"Doesn't really matter whose orders they are, then? One king is as good as another?"

"I didn't say that," Aramis snapped.

He was exhausted. His head still ached and every muscle in his body felt besieged by weariness, taxed by sleepless nights, the rough treatment, and the stiffness from being bound for nearly two days. And he just couldn't face another accusation right now. Even if he did deserve it.

He cast a quick glance to the others. Athos and d'Artagnan stood side by side, watching as if waiting to see the outcome. They didn't appear nearly as furious as Porthos, but then again, perhaps they were just better at hiding it. And the two impassive stares (d'Artagnan must have been learning from Athos, he thought) were no more reassuring than Porthos's righteous fury. He took a deep breath before marshalling himself to speak again.

"You may not like it," Aramis said, feeling the fatigue push him slowly into anger. "I don't like it either. But we both serve the same king. Our orders come from the same place. And I have no more control over them than you do."

Porthos was not pacified. Not that Aramis truly expected him to be.

"I don't care about your orders, Aramis. I care about loyalty."

"And in order to prove my loyalty," Aramis hissed, "I have to follow my orders."

"Even when it means fighting against us? Fighting for the Spanish?"

"Yes! It's war, Porthos. It's not pretty, but if you think the war effort relies merely on the strength of its soldiers, then you're more naïve than I thought. France needs spies as much as it needs musketeers."

"Yeah, so who better to do the spying than you, is that it? And what good did it do you, eh?" Porthos stepped forward. "Tell me how all of your spy work has paid off then. Because from where I'm sitting, it hasn't helped us one damn bit."

"How would you know? You don't even know what I've been doing for the past two years."

"Raiding French supply routes and attacking our scouts, I presume?"

The words landed like a slap, and Aramis was sure he could feel the blood drain from his face. "No," he hissed. "I've been trying to find the French intelligence leak so we could put a stop to all that."

"So who is it?" Porthos asked. "Who's been giving information to the Spanish."

Aramis gritted his teeth. "I don't know."

Porthos scoffed. "Some help you are then."

D'Artagnan stepped forward, reaching out to lay a hand on his arm. "Porthos, maybe…"

"No. He's so sure we're on the same side, so intent on defending himself as a valuable French spy. Well, he doesn't look terribly useful to me. Looks like we're better off on our own."

The slow-simmering defensiveness was beginning to make Aramis's blood boil, the anger pulsing in time with his pounding head. He'd sacrificed over two years to this mission, and for Porthos to throw it away as if it were nothing… And it was better to give in to the anger than to feel the hurt of Porthos's casual rejection.

"Really? Then answer me this…how did you manage to capture us, if you don't mind my asking?" Aramis said, the hint of a smug grin tugging at his lips. "If these Spanish raiding parties have been so much trouble, how did you just happen upon us?"

"Based on information from Tréville. Seems your Spanish friends aren't so good at keeping secrets."

Aramis glared. "Tréville got that information from me. You only captured us because of my information. Otherwise you wouldn't have known we were even here."

"There's irony for you," d'Artagnan muttered.

"Explains why the information was such crap then. No details, no troop positions, not even an indication of how many raiding parties we had to capture." Porthos scowled. "So, pretty shit information then."

Aramis nearly growled in response. "If I had more information, don't you think I would have sent it? I sent what I had. Cordero didn't trust me with the details, and I was still working to win his confidence. And thank you very much for destroying all of that hard work. If he didn't fully trust me before, he certainly won't trust me now."

"Huh. Can't imagine why he wouldn't trust you," Porthos said dryly. "I'd expect you to be a good enough liar after all the practice you've had. But then again, maybe he just has good instincts when it comes to people stabbin' him in the back."

"Porthos…" Athos raised a hand to stop him, but it was too late.

"I didn't have any choice!" Aramis shouted. "Don't you understand that? The king approached me with this mission, and I…I never had any choice. He made that abundantly clear. He may have released me from Rochefort's sentence, but that doesn't mean that the stain of Rochefort's lies doesn't still hang on me like a noose. The king may not think I'm guilty, but that doesn't mean he trusts me. Not with the rumors and suspicions Rochefort stirred up. Even without it, there are still doubts that lead back to…the truth. To what I did." Aramis's voice cracked and he swallowed heavily, pushing back the emotions that threatened to spill over if he let the dam break.

"The stain of suspicion will haunt me until the king is completely convinced of my loyalty. And if I had refused him, if I gave him any more cause for doubt…you have to see that it wouldn't just put my life in danger. Because of my actions…" Aramis trailed off, shaking his head. "I didn't want any of this. I planned to leave, join a monastery – somewhere where I could repent and where I wouldn't be a danger to anyone I cared about. Somewhere I could start fresh." He looked up, meeting each of his friends' eyes. "But I couldn't refuse him. I couldn't risk it. This was the price of earning back the king's trust, and I had to pay it. Not for me, but to keep them safe, to keep all of you safe from any suspicions about what really happened. If I'd refused, it would have landed me right back in prison. Worse, I would have dragged all of you down with me."

"It wouldn't have come to that," d'Artagnan insisted.

"You can't know that for sure, d'Artagnan. I know you want to believe it, but none of us can know that for sure."

"You still could have told us." Porthos's voice was a low rumble, a mixture of disappointment and sadness. "We wouldn't have liked it, but we would have understood. If not when you left, then at least here. The minute you saw us, you should have said something."

"Don't you think I wanted to?" Aramis demanded. "God, Porthos! That's all I wanted to do from the moment I received my orders. Walking away from the three of you, without saying a single word about where I was going…that was the hardest thing I've ever done. But they said – Tréville and the king – they made it quite clear that – I couldn't. Not under any circumstances." Aramis could feel the words tumbling out of him in a jumble, tripping over his own thoughts as he tried to explain. Some detached part of his mind noticed the slightly hysterical tone his voice had taken. His breath was coming fast and shallow, and his heart clenched with every word he uttered, but he found he couldn't stop.

"I couldn't tell anyone. Those were my orders. And if I broke them...how would that look? It'd be a betrayal of the crown and the king…he wouldn't pardon me, not for defying his explicit command. Those orders are my life! I can't break them." His vision seemed to darken and images of a cold cell in the bastille danced through Aramis's mind. He could almost feel the rope around his wrists turn to cold steal. "If I disobey, it's still treason. But now I have and when they find out…"

Porthos stepped forward, stopping the flood of words by hauling Aramis to his feet. Aramis stumbled but Porthos caught him, steadying him with frim hands wrapped around his shoulders.

"All right. All right, I get it," Porthos said soothingly, staring into his eyes with something almost like warmth, something that made Aramis want to reach out and grab ahold of it and never let go. "Hey, breathe, Aramis. Just breathe." And Aramis did, suddenly realizing that the tightness in his chest was from lack of oxygen as he'd began to hyperventilate. With effort, he followed Porthos's instructions, pulling in a sharp, shuddering breath. That was apparently the last straw for Porthos, who pulled him against his chest in a strong embrace, holding him tightly. Aramis melted into his arms, desperately seizing any comfort he could find. His bound hands were pinned between them, but he didn't even care, leaning into Porthos, who suddenly felt like the only solid object in Aramis's shaky world.

"I'm sorry," he said, voice raspy and nearly inaudible. He drew a breath to try again, but it caught in his throat like a half-sob.

Porthos squeezed him tighter. "Yeah, I know. You're sorry. I've heard. Just shut up and breathe you idiot."

This time, Aramis's breath came out as a weak chuckle.

"God, I missed you," Porthos whispered.

Aramis could only nod in response. He hoped it was enough, hoped it conveyed the desperate me too that he couldn't quite voice. Because he had missed them. So much.

A/N: All right, some explanation of "the code." The references to Forges, Calais, and Aramis changing his travel plans to find a jewel thief all allude to the incident with the queen's diamonds in The Three Musketeers. Treville gives the Inseparables leave to "take the waters" at Forges so that Athos's pesky shoulder wound can heal. But, of course, they don't travel to Forges, but to Calais to retrieve the queen's diamonds from Buckingham before the monarchy is plunged into chaos by the revelation of the queen's affair. But since all that happened around 1625, before the time frame covered by the TV show, I'm assuming it didn't happen in TV-show-universe. I don't want to believe that the show's version of Queen Anne would carry on with Buckingham. Plus, the Inseparables got involved with that incident because of d'Artagnan, who wouldn't have even been in Paris in 1625 during the show. All of that to say...I don't think it happened.

But it's possible that Richelieu stole the Queen's diamonds himself to discredit Anne, and that Treville found out and sent a musketeer to retrieve those diamonds. And in 1625, Athos would have either been dealing with the immediate aftermath of Milday's "hanging" or wouldn't have yet had time to gain Treville's full trust. And if Porthos was too new to the regiment, then Treville might have sent Aramis on a secret mission to Calais to retrieve the queen's diamonds on his own. And if that were the case, Treville might have constructed their little code as something only he and Aramis would understand. Well, that's how it works out in my head anyway. Maybe it's just me. Or is that a story idea that I need to write? Hmmmmm…