#les inseparables

            Aramis stared ahead blankly. He could feel people moving around him and he knew that they were talking to him, but he could bring himself to look at them or speak to them. His whole troupe was gone, murdered. He and Marsac had been the only survivors, and Marsac had abandoned him. He felt a hollowness in his chest at the thought of his best friend leaving him there, presumably, to die.

            He flinched when he heard the snip of scissors next to his ear and when he pulled away he made eye contact with the man holding the scissors. He’d seen him around the garrison but they’d never spoken before. “It’s alright,” the man said quietly and pulled his hands back so Aramis could clearly see them. “Your hair is in the way of your wound, we’ll have to cut it to look after it properly.”

            Aramis just blinked at him owlishly before forcing himself to relax and let the man work. He felt strangely lighter when his hair was cropped short. He hardly winced when he felt gentle hands prodding at the wound on his head. His thoughts were already drifting back to his comrades. He’d never see Marsac’s sharp smile again. He’d never hear George’s laugh again. He’d never see the familiar way that Richard and Henri would bicker and then grin at each other like it had all been a farce. He’d never see the way Jean would roll his eyes but still smile just a little when Aramis made a terrible joke. Aramis’s chest ached and he shut his eyes against the torrent of feelings.

            “You’re alright,” he heard the other man said as he felt the familiar drag of bandages being put around his temple. The reassurance felt like a placating lie that you told a child, but the way it was said so earnestly and with such concern made Aramis want to believe it. Aramis opened his eyes sluggishly to see the man turning to pick up a small looking glass. “It doesn’t look so bad now, does it?” The man quirked a small smile, as if trying to distract Aramis.

            Aramis studied his reflection. His hair had been shorn short and it stuck up in all directions in small half-curls. His face was now scrubbed free of blood save for a small smudge near his eye. He still looked half-dead. He looked shaky with dark circles under his eyes. His eyes looked cold and glossed over as he studied himself. He turned slowly to look at the man and wet his dry lips. “No. It’s not so bad.” His voice was raspy from yelling before it failed him and he’d gone silent. The man’s eyes widened at hearing Aramis’s voice. It’d been the first time he’d spoken.

…..

            Porthos closed the door quietly behind him with one last glance to the man he’d tucked into bed after tending to his wounds. He made his way up to Treville’s office to report to the captain. He knocked before entering and rocked on his feet as Treville signed some papers. Treville glanced up and set his pen aside. “How is Aramis?” Treville asked with concern lighting up his eyes.

            “His wounds have been tended to, and he’s sleeping right now,” Porthos reported. “He spoke before I left.”

            “What did he say?” Treville asked. Porthos ran a hand over his hair and shrugged.

            “It was nothing. Nothing important,” Porthos admitted. “He’s not in shock anymore, so I suppose that’s what really matters.”

            Treville stood and crossed his arms before moving to stare out his window, deep in thought. “I want you to keep an eye on him, Porthos. We don’t know how he is, what he’s thinking.” Treville turned his head to pin Porthos with his stern gaze. “I want you to make sure he doesn’t do anything stupid.”

            Porthos frowned. He was tasked to babysit another Musketeer? Porthos opened his mouth to argue but then a thought occurred to him. Treville was having him watch over Aramis because Aramis needed someone, anyone, to hold onto. Treville was trusting him with this. “Of course, Captain.” Porthos nodded and he moved to head out so he could get some sleep as well.

            He tossed and turned for a long time thinking about Aramis. When the Captain had gotten word of the attack, they’d all saddled up immediately and went to help. They’d been too late. Musketeers lay all around, slaughtered. Treville, a seasoned military man, had nearly fallen over under the weight of the loss of his men. Then they’d started to load up the bodies. It was hard and terrible work, but someone had to do it. It was the least they could do for their fallen brothers.

            Treville’s shout had startled all the Musketeers. He’d been the one to find Aramis. He was barely breathing, still bleeding from the hastily bandaged wound on his head, and shivering from having been laying in the snow and freezing air with only his shirt and pants to protect him. Porthos had helped Treville hold the man up while Treville untied his cloak and bundled Aramis in it. “Get him back to the garrison, now!” Treville had ordered and Aramis had been put into Porthos’s care.

            Porthos managed to get Aramis warmed up and then started on his head wound. The pain must have brought the man back to full awareness, but he’d not spoken a word until Porthos was finished.

            Porthos kicked restlessly at his blankets. Something was keeping him up. He pushed himself out of bed and decided he’d check on his patient. He bundled himself in his cloak to ward off the draft that ran through the corridor. Porthos hesitated in front of Aramis’s door, hand poised to knock.

He finally took a breath and knocked. There was no answer. He knocked again but there was no answer again. He finally just opened the door cautiously. He poked his head in and was startled to see Aramis was up and reading. “Aramis?” Porthos asked and stepped inside cautiously as the other flicked his eyes up to look at Porthos. “I came to check on you.”

“I’m fine,” Aramis said but his voice was hollow.

“You don’t look fine,” Porthos said and closed the door behind him. “How’s your head?”

“Still attached,” Aramis muttered and gave Porthos a dark smile.

“I can see that,” Porthos said and leaned his hip against the table in Aramis’s room.

“I’m fine.”

“So you’ve said.”

Aramis frowned and ducked his head. “There’s nothing I can do about it now.” Porthos watched his jaw work and then the thick swallow that followed.

“I’m sorry,” Porthos said and he meant it.

“So am I.”

“Sorry for them, or sorry that you didn’t die with them?” Porthos asked.

Aramis looked at him with tears shining in his eyes and he let out a bitter laugh. “Maybe a bit of both.”

“They were your friends,” Porthos said. It was reasonable. Aramis did everything with those men. “You’re allowed to grieve.”

“I know,” Aramis said softly and traced the words in his worn book. “I just… they were my brothers, I should have protected them.”

“You were ambushed. You did all you could.” Porthos watched the way Aramis shrugged. He looked like he had the weight of the world on his shoulders and it was starting to drag on him.

“And yet, it wasn’t enough.”

Porthos sighed and nodded. “It wasn’t enough to save them, but you’re alive. Make the best of it.” Porthos stood and ran a hand through his hair. “Get some sleep. You need to rest.”

Aramis blinked up at him and nodded meekly. Porthos smiled at him before turning to head back to his own bed.

…..

            Porthos watched Aramis turn the pages of the battered book. It’d been a few days and that’d been all he did: read. Porthos turned for a moment to focus on polishing his pistol. He was so focused on his task that he didn’t notice the pair of eyes now watching him. He looked up as he heard a scoff. Aramis was frowning slightly at Porthos. “May I help you?” Porthos asked.

            “No.” Aramis tucked his book into his pocket before heading over to sit next to Porthos. “You’re doing this all wrong.” Aramis shook his head before taking the pistol from Porthos’s hands, Aramis’s slim calloused fingers brushing against Porthos’s palm and wrist, and then grabbing for the cleaning equipment. “Watch,” Aramis said softly and started to clean the pistol in a more practiced manner than Porthos.

            Porthos watched Aramis’s deft fingers get every spot of dirt and powder before oiling it down expertly. “You’re good at this,” Porthos said as he examined his pistol. It hadn’t looked so good since it’d been issued to him. Aramis dipped his head at the praise. When he lifted his head, there was a spark in his eyes and the beginnings of a smile. Porthos’s stomach felt warm as he took in the look. It was the most emotion Aramis had shown since the Savoy attack. Porthos’s own mouth quirked into an answering smile. Aramis nodded, his smile gone as suddenly as it had appeared, and pulled his book out to begin reading again.

            Porthos frowned slightly but he went back to his weapons quietly. He was unsure how to act around the other man. He obviously was wrapped up in his own head, but that couldn’t be good for him. Porthos shook his head. Treville had told him to watch him, not to micromanage the other’s every move. But Porthos cared about Aramis. In the brief time they’d known each other, and with as little communication as they’d had, he’d learned a lot. Aramis had viewed his comrades as his brothers, his family, and he had strived to be their protector. Their deaths meant his failure and it had broken him. So he sat and read, whatever it was he was reading. Porthos glanced over the symbols on the page. He frowned as he tried to decipher some words.

            “Is there something else?” Aramis asked and shifted his book restlessly as he looked at Porthos. Porthos leaned away and felt the tips of his ears burning.

            “No,” Porthos snapped defensively.

            “Have I offended?” Aramis asked and he curled in on himself.

            Porthos took a deep breath and then let it out softly. “It’s nothing to do with you.”

            Aramis frowned. He looked down at his book and then back to Porthos. “Oh,” he breathed softly and Porthos ducked his head. He could feel his ears burning in embarrassment as Aramis slowly put the pieces together. “Porthos-”

            “It’s fine,” Porthos cut him off. “Never needed it for soldiering.” He shrugged casually and he nearly jumped when he felt a cool hand on his wrist.

            “Porthos… it’s nothing to be ashamed of,” Aramis said quietly and he flicked his eyes around them to make sure no one was listening. They were alone except for a few stable boys running about. “I only learned because,” Aramis chuckled and a small smile pulled at his mouth, “my father wanted me to be a priest. I was lucky.” Porthos nodded slowly and rubbed his hands on his pants. “I… I could teach you.” Porthos’s head snapped up as he stared at Aramis. “I mean, if you’d like.” Porthos nodded and he clenched his hands in his leathers. Aramis blinked as if he hadn’t really thought that Porthos would accept. “That’s settled.” Aramis nodded and slowly stood. He winced slightly and had to close his eyes before he opened them again and headed away. Porthos watched him go and a small smile spread across his face before he returned to his work.

…..

            Aramis didn’t know what he was thinking. He didn’t know how to teach anyone anything, let alone something as important as how to read. He pressed the heel of his palm to the bridge of his nose. He sighed heavily and moved to lay down. His head was reeling as he tried to work out how he was going to do this. He shut his eyes tiredly and felt himself drifting slightly.

            His brain kept replaying one moment. He shut his eyes tighter as the familiar images bubbled forth. Marsac. Marsac had him under the arms and was pulling him away from the dead bodies of their comrades. Marsac collapsed over Aramis and Aramis could, through the haze of his injury, feel the tears falling onto his face. He clumsily went to reach for him but Marsac was rapidly pulling away. “Marsac,” Aramis had croaked through the dust and blood coating the back of his throat. But his friend ignored him and stumbled off into the woods, leaving Aramis alone.

            Aramis felt tears burning at his closed eyes and he swiped them away swiftly. There was no one around to see them but that was hardly the point. He needed to focus on something, anything, else. He pushed himself up and started to grab supplies he might need to help teach Porthos to read.

            He was shuffling pieces of paper and a quill around on his rickety table when he heard a knock. He stared at the door in a mild panic before he took a deep breath. “Come in,” he said just above a normal volume. Aramis tried for a smile when Porthos poked his head around the corner; it was more a grimace than a smile.

            “I hope I’m not disturbing you…” Porthos trailed off and then bit his lip.

            “Of course not,” Aramis said. He waved Porthos toward the chair.

            “Of course not,” Porthos repeated and walked over to the chair to sit down. Aramis clenched his hands before releasing his grip and wiping his hands on his leathers. “You don’t-You know you don’t have to do this,” Porthos said when he took in the tension in Aramis’s shoulders.

            “It’s fine,” Aramis said snappishly and then scowled down at his boots. He took a breath. “I want to,” he said with a gentler tone. “I’ve never taught anyone how to read is all. I… I might not be any good at it.”

            “And I might not be any good at learning, so I reckon we’re even.” Aramis looked over to see Porthos giving him a lopsided smile. The smile sent warmth into Aramis’s stomach and he had to give his brain a moment to catch up.

            “Alright,” Aramis said and settled into a chair, scooting it closer so his and Porthos’s shoulders were brushing. “So first things first, I think we should start with l’alphabet.”

…..

            Porthos didn’t like Athos.

            The worst part of it was Athos had given Porthos no reason to dislike him or mistrust him as much as Porthos did.

            The dark part of Porthos recognized a sort of privileged air around Athos. The kind that had scorned Porthos in the street for being an orphan, for being poor, for being the son of a slave. The honest part of Porthos whispered it was jealousy.

            Porthos frowned at himself as he pulled his boots on. Why should he be jealous of Athos? He was a cadet waiting for a commission. He was morose at all times. He had no friends and seemed intent on pushing everyone away from himself. Everyone except Aramis. The honest part of Porthos pointed at the familiar scene with a sarcastic smirk. Porthos shook his head as he pulled on his doublet and walked out into the courtyard. There he laid eyes on the scene he’d been imagining just a moment earlier. Aramis and Athos sitting next to each other, their shoulders brushing every so often when Athos would reach for his drink or when Aramis would turn a page in his book, in complete and contended silence. Porthos’s ears burned with a fit of temper.

            “Mornin’ Mis,” Porthos mumbled and settled across the table from the other two men.

            Aramis looked up and gave Porthos a lopsided smile. “Morning,” he said before turning back to his book. Porthos wanted to tug on his hair in frustration. Sometimes they seemed to have made so much progress and then Aramis becomes reticent again. That was usually when Porthos found Athos and Aramis sitting near each other.

            Athos didn’t even look up at either of them as he took a bite of the apple sitting in front of him. He chewed slowly and Porthos eyed him before he went to get his own breakfast. He was shifting to grab a plate when Aramis quietly, without looking up from his book, slid a nearby plate across the table to him.

            “Take this,” Aramis said distractedly.

            “Have you eaten?” Porthos asked. He wouldn’t take Aramis’s breakfast from him.

            Aramis glanced up and rolled his eyes. “Yes, madre.” His smile after was fond. “I fixed it for you.” He pushed the plate closer to Porthos.

            Porthos grinned appreciatively but when he noticed Athos watching them, his neck felt hot under the cadet’s scrutiny. He scowled at Athos, who quickly ducked his head again, before starting in on his breakfast.

            Porthos was just mopping up the rest of his porridge with a chunk of break when Treville walked up to the table. “Porthos, Aramis, cadet.” He nodded to each of them before leaning his hip against the table and crossing his arms. “I have the honor,” Treville’s voice only held a note of sarcasm, “of royal guard duty. His Majesty has decided to go on a hunt. I need at least three more men.”

            Porthos wiped his hands on his pants and nodded. “Of course, Captain.”

            “Aramis?” Treville asked in a less gruff manner. None of them wanted to push Aramis too quickly, but eventually he’d have to go back onto active duty. This seemed as good a time as any.

            Aramis hesitated, fear sparking in his eyes for a moment, before he glanced at Porthos. Porthos nodded encouragingly. He’d be there if Aramis needed him. Porthos wanted to whoop in triumph when the resolve hardened Aramis’s dark eyes and he turned back to Treville. “It has been getting boring around here.” It was an attempt at a joke that Porthos could tell was merely for Treville’s peace of mind. Treville stared at him for a long moment before he seemed to see whatever it was he was looking for.

            “Cadet?” Treville demanded harshly.

            Athos looked up from his half-eaten apple and nodded to Treville. “Yes, sir.”

            “Then it’s settled. We leave in half an hour.” Treville nodded at them before he went off to get his gear together.

…..

            They were in the thick of the woods when the shots started. Immediately they formed a ring around the King as Treville shielded him bodily. Treville grabbed the back of Porthos’s doublet and pulled him close so he didn’t have to shout his orders and give himself away. “We’ll head back to the horses, hold them here.”

            Porthos nodded and Treville, a few Musketeers, and the King took off toward the horses. “Hold them!” Porthos shouted and he ducked as a pistol was aimed at his head. Once all the shot was spent they drew their swords and the two lines clashed. The sound of steel singing in his ears was all Porthos could hear. He’d dispatched the man in front of him and his eyes scanned over the small battle to assess their situation. He felt like time slowed as he saw a man raise a pistol to aim at Aramis. The shot would have blown straight through his chest. “No!” Porthos shouted and everything sped up.

            The shot rang out but instead of Aramis dropping with a hole in his chest. He was knocked under a figure with the familiar badge of a cadet tied around his elbow. Porthos fought his way over to them as Aramis wigged out from under his savior.

            “I’m safe,” Aramis said and looked down at the blood on his shirt. “It’s not mine,” he said shakily. Porthos hadn’t even realized his hands were running over Aramis to check for injuries.

            When they heard a groan they both turned to see Aramis’s savior turning over. Porthos felt cold dread curl in his stomach at the familiar face of Athos, scrunched up in pain, staring up at them. “What were you thinking?” Porthos snapped and tore off a strip from his shirt. The ball had gone clean through Athos’s shoulder, thankfully above the bone. Porthos pressed the makeshift bandage to Athos’s wound to staunch the bleeding.

            “I was thinking,” Athos hissed in pain before continuing, “that Aramis was in the way of that shot.”

            “And so you thought you’d stand in front of it instead?” Aramis asked and batted Porthos’s hands away so he could tend to Athos himself.

            Athos chuckled and it started both men tending to him. “I suppose it was a bad plan,” Athos said. He grit his teeth as Aramis pulled the bloodied cloth to take a look at the wound.

            “He needs to get back to the garrison, now,” Aramis said authoritatively. “I can sew him up there.”

            Porthos nodded and he easily hefted Athos up so they could get him back to the garrison. “Find out anything you can!” Porthos ordered the Musketeers left who’d corralled the overpowered would-be assassins. “Report back to Treville at the palace when you’ve finished with this lot.”

            It was not a pleasant ride back to the garrison. Porthos had to ride with Athos in front of him to keep him from falling off his horse. Every bump or shift made Athos wince and swear profusely to himself. When they finally got back to the garrison, Athos was listless against Porthos’s chest, his head having lolled back against Porthos’s shoulder. Something about the almost intimate position loosened the grudge Porthos had previously held against the cadet. Aramis ran over to steady Athos so Porthos could dismount. Porthos slid down and then pulled Athos gently from the horse so they could carry him inside.

            They settled Athos into Aramis’s bed and Porthos stood back as Aramis, with a fierce determination, set about getting everything he needed. “You shouldn’t have done this, Athos.” Aramis was scowling. He glared at Athos, who was only just holding onto consciousness, as he dug around for bandages, thread, and needle. “You hardly-you don’t… you shouldn’t have.” Aramis moved over and stripped Athos of his doublet and shirt methodically. The wound itself was small and Aramis shifted Athos so he could see his back. “You’re lucky the ball passed through cleanly.” Aramis shook his head and set about to work. He cleaned the blood away from the wound. He suddenly whipped around to Porthos. “Get me a glass of wine. I need to clean this properly.” Porthos was slightly shocked by the amount of protectiveness in Aramis’s expression. They hadn’t known Athos but a few months. Porthos did as he was bid and he winced in sympathy when Aramis dumped the wine over Athos’s wound. It stirred a pained groan out of Athos but he soon settled again to blearily stare at the ceiling. Aramis sewed up the wound expertly and then bandaged it.

            Aramis sat back when he was finished and wiped the blood from his hands. “Aramis,” Porthos said and moved to hesitantly crouch next to Aramis. “Are you…”

            “I’m… No. I’m not alright,” Aramis said and he slumped in his chair. “I’ve watched enough people die in the past few months,” Aramis sighed heavily and put a hand over his face. “I’m not sure I can do this anymore, Porthos. Not if everyone keeps dying.”

            “’m not dying,” Athos mumbled from where he was now staring at them groggily. “I won’t leave you.” He gave them a poor excuse for a smile before his eyes fluttered shut and he finally lost consciousness.

            Aramis let out a watery laugh and swiped at his eyes. “Well, there it is.” He scrubbed at his face before settling in the chair.

            Porthos was at a loss. He didn’t want to make promises to Aramis that he could keep, but there was a need for reassurance here. “Aramis, we would never leave you. Not intentionally.” Porthos settled his hand onto Aramis’s thigh. “I can’t promise that nothing will ever happen to any of us, that’s impossible, but I can promise that I will do whatever it takes to always, always, come back to you.”

            There was a beat of silence. It rang in Porthos’s ears and you could have cut the tension with a knife it was so palpable. Then Aramis moved.

            The kiss was certainly unexpected.

            The kiss was nice.

            Porthos liked kissing Aramis.

            When they parted Porthos brushed a kiss to Aramis’s forehead, his short curls ticking Porthos’s nose. He could feel Aramis’s smile against his neck.

…..

            After that Athos seamlessly fit in with Porthos and Aramis. Granted, he was a moody son of a bitch at best, and at worst he was a drunken bastard, but he was theirs.

            It’d been months of working together now, Athos having earned his commission when he was injured in service to the Crown, when they finally managed to pry a little out of Athos over drinks.

            “A woman,” Athos muttered into his wine. He downed the rest of his glass before pouring himself another one. “She’s dead.” Aramis and Porthos exchanged a glance as Athos finished the cup he’d only just poured.

            “You should slow down, Athos,” Aramis said and gently set a hand to cover Athos’s wrist. Athos glanced between Aramis’s hand and his face.  Aramis noted the way Athos’s eyes seemed so vulnerable and readable for the first time in… well since they’d met. “This won’t help you.”

            Athos’s laugh was humorless as he pulled his hand away from Aramis’s. “No, but it’s good fun while it lasts.” Aramis frowned as Athos forewent the glass in favor of just drinking from the bottle.

            “Athos,” Aramis started but Porthos’s kick to his leg cut him off. He grunted and rubbed at the now tender spot as Porthos sent him a look that told him to keep his mouth shut.

            Athos looked between them, his face screwed up in obvious thought, as if trying to figure out what was going on. He shrugged minutely to himself before he took another drink. When they could finally pull Athos away from the bottle, they started the trek back to the garrison. Athos was cradled between Aramis and Porthos as they walked home. Aramis watched him carefully as they went.

            They got into Athos’s rooms without incident and Aramis thanked God for that. “You should get some sleep,” Aramis said and, out of some sort of affection, brushed Athos’s hair from his eyes. Athos caught his hand in a sudden burst of coordination. Aramis froze as they just watched each other intently: Aramis standing next to the bed and Athos sprawled inelegantly on his back. Athos slumped and let his cheek fall into the palm of Aramis’s hand in a rare show of tenderness. Aramis slowly relaxed and swiped his thumb over Athos’s cheekbone. “Goodnight, Athos.”

            “Goodnight, Aramis,” Athos said and thoughtlessly brushed a kiss to Aramis’s palm as he let go of Aramis’s wrist.

            Aramis felt his ears go red as he turned to see Porthos watching the two of them carefully, his arms folded over his chest. They waited until they were both nestled in Porthos’s rooms before speaking. “What?” Aramis asked and shed his cloak and doublet.

            “What do you mean ‘what’? Did I say anything?” Porthos asked as he folded his uniform carefully while also avoiding Aramis’s eye.

            “You’re upset.”

            “I’m not.”

            “You are.”

            “Alright,” Porthos snapped crossly and turned to stare at Aramis. “I am.”

            Aramis rolled his eyes as he wiggled out of his trousers. “Why?”

            “Why?” Porthos repeated incredulously. “I think you know right well why.”

            “Would I ask if I didn’t know?” Aramis snapped.

            They both stared at each other for a long time, stewing in their own separate frustrations.

            “You keep… touching him!” Porthos hissed.

            “Did I drop onto my knees and suck his cock?” Aramis scowled as Porthos blinked owlishly at him. “No? Well then, I suppose you don’t have much reason to accuse me of infidelity.”

            “I wasn’t- that wasn’t… Aramis,” Porthos sputtered for a moment before he pinched the bridge of his nose. “You two are close, and I don’t begrudge you that. It’s just… I wonder.”

            “Wonder what?” Aramis asked with a frown.

            “I wonder if you have feelings for him.”

            Aramis’s mouth felt dry as he thought about it. He’d never allowed himself to think of it. Porthos was all Aramis had thought he needed, but Porthos may have had a point. “I-I… I don’t know,” Aramis admitted honestly. “Maybe.”

            Porthos looked like Aramis had just slapped him. “I see.”

            “Porthos, that wasn’t what I meant. I mean it was, but not the way you’re taking it.”

            “And how am I taking it?” Porthos asked waspishly.

            “Like I’m replacing you.” Aramis ran a hand through his hair. It’d been growing back steadily much to Aramis’s relief. “Why can’t I hold affections for both of you?”

            Porthos blinked like he hadn’t thought of that before. “I don’t know.”

            Aramis frowned and finally took hold of his shirt to pull it off. He tossed it into the pile with the rest of his clothes. “We should get some sleep,” Aramis said quietly. Porthos nodded in agreement. They were silent as they moved to slide into bed together. At first they didn’t touch, almost like they were afraid to, but after a moment Aramis rolled onto his side so he could bury his face in Porthos’s chest. “Goodnight, Porthos.”

            “Goodnight Mis,” Porthos said and brushed a kiss to the top of Aramis’s head.

…..

            None of them spoke about what happened that night. None of them wanted to. They went about their lives as usual. Porthos and Aramis were inseparable as always with Athos trailing behind with them only mild complaining most days.

            It seemed that everything had blown over. At least that’s what Aramis had thought.

            Aramis was wrong.

            Very wrong.

            Aramis was watching as Athos stretched his arm and got ready for a sparring match. Porthos stepped up and said something to Athos with a wicked grin that Aramis didn’t like the look of. He was about to interject when they started. Aramis was tense as he sat and kept his eyes locked on the two of them. Aramis watched as Porthos threw his weight into each stroke to send Athos stumbling back. Aramis frowned. Porthos was actually trying to hurt Athos.

            Aramis slid off the table he’d been perched on and kept his fingers on the hilt of his sword, just in case.

            Aramis winced as Porthos’s hand hit across Athos’s face and the smaller man stumbled back, wiping blood from his nose. Porthos’s grin was more than just pride at getting the upper hand. “That’s-” Aramis started.

            “Again,” Athos said and engaged with Porthos again. Porthos seemed confused that Athos was coming back for seconds but when Porthos went to bring his leg back to kick Athos’s knee, Athos slipped through Porthos’s weakened guard to sweep his other leg out from under him. Porthos fell onto his back heavily and coughed as all the air was pushed out of his lungs.

            Athos just blinked down at Porthos, who’s face had gone furious as he sputtered to catch his breath. Aramis knew what Porthos was going to do before he saw it. Porthos grabbed Athos’s ankle and jerked his leg out from under him. Athos toppled over and hit the ground with a wince. The next moves were a blur of flailing limbs.

            “Enough!” Aramis glanced over to see Treville glaring down at the two men rolling around in the mud. They separated and glared at each other like moody children who’d just been scolded.

            “Porthos,” Treville said and raised an eyebrow. Porthos just shook his head and Treville sighed heavily. He muttered to himself about them being the death of him as he walked off to attend to something else.

            Aramis grabbed the back of their shirts and dragged them toward Athos’s room. “The hell were you two thinking?” Aramis growled and stared at them.

            Athos just glanced at Porthos who was seething under the layer of mud.

            “I thought we were past this?” Aramis asked with a calmer tone.

            “You are past it, I’m not,” Porthos muttered.

            “Past what?” Athos asked and frowned as he glanced between the two of them. “If I’ve done something, I have a right to know what I did.”

            Porthos glared at Athos, who shrunk slightly as he turned his eyes to keep his gaze firmly on Aramis.

            “It’s not what you did, Athos.” Aramis ran a hand through his hair and shook his head. “I did something. Something, maybe, I shouldn’t have.”

            “What is it, Aramis?” Athos asked and he suddenly looked nervous.

            “It’s…” Aramis bit his lip. “Porthos is upset because he thinks I’m replacing him with you. Replacing my affection for him with affection for you.”

            The statement hung in the air for a moment and Aramis held his breath. Perhaps that hadn’t been the best idea. Athos was very still for a long time as he processed.

            “For me?” Athos asked with a frown.

            “Yes.”

            “But… why?” Athos asked and he glanced at Porthos for just a moment.

            Now it was Aramis’s turn to frown. “Why wouldn’t I?” He laughed dryly and shrugged. “You’re a decent man, Athos. I respect that, I admire it. You’re a good soldier. You’re brave and loyal, and you saved my life.” Athos’s hand came up to touch his shoulder lightly.

            “I’m not,” Athos said flatly. “I’m not a decent man. You deserve better-you deserve Porthos, not me.” Aramis went to protest but Athos wouldn’t hear it. “You don’t know anything about me! About what I’ve done!” Athos’s hands were shaking.

            “Athos, what-?”

            “No!” Aramis flinched away from the shout. “I am not… I cannot.”

            “Are you saying that you won’t even consider it?” Aramis was surprised to hear Porthos ask the question. Athos’s eyes were wide and they flitted between Aramis and Porthos like a cornered animal.

            “I cannot- no matter how much I want- no.” Athos’s hands were shaking even more than they had been before.

            “It doesn’t matter what you’ve done, Athos.” Aramis took a slow step forward so he could take Athos’s hand. “We’ve all seen things, done things… terrible things.” Aramis shuddered and Athos’s grip tightened on his hand reflexively.

             “You don’t know.”

            “And you don’t have to tell us,” Porthos said and Aramis could see that something had changed. Something in Porthos had softened and Aramis’s chest felt warm. “Not until you’re ready.”

            “And if I’m never ready?” Athos asked cautiously.

            “Then I suppose we’ll just have to make something up to sate our curiosity,” Aramis said and brought Athos’s hand up so he could press a kiss to it.

            Athos stared at them blankly for a moment before he slowly pulled his hand away from Aramis. “You won’t ask?”

            “Not unless you want us to,” Porthos said.

            “I don’t.”

            “Then that’s that,” Aramis said.

            Athos nodded and he glanced up at Aramis. There was something more alive about his eyes now that Aramis and Porthos hadn’t seen… ever. He seemed to be slightly warmer now as he took them both in. “Alright.”

            “Alright?” Aramis asked.

            “I’ll- I want-” Athos fumbled for the right words and just gestured with his hands uselessly for a moment. Aramis gently took his wrists and just nodded so Athos would understand that they understood what he meant. “Can I…?” He trailed off but his eyes flicked pointedly down to Aramis’s mouth. Aramis grinned and glanced over his shoulder to Porthos.

            “He wants a kiss,” Aramis said and Porthos made a face as if he were truly considering it.

            “I suppose,” Porthos said with a teasing grin.

            Athos’s lip quirked up just a little before Aramis leaned in and kissed him. It was different than the handful of kisses he’d traded with Porthos. Athos was… more demanding. He pressed closer when he wanted to without hesitating. Aramis was smiling when he pulled away.

            Athos glanced over at Porthos and Aramis looked at him too. Aramis easily recognized the look in Porthos’s eyes, so he stepped away from Athos and gestured with a flourish. Porthos stepped up and held out his hand to Athos, letting the other man come to him. Athos glanced at Porthos’s hand, up to his face, and then over to Aramis. Aramis nodded encouragingly and Athos stepped up, slipping his hand into Porthos’s. The kiss was gentle and sweet, Porthos’s usual way, and Aramis caught himself grinning like an idiot, warmth blooming in his chest.

            He could get used to this.

…..

            It was hard work to maintain the relationship they had. Athos had his times when he would retreat into himself so far that not even Aramis and Porthos could coax him out. He would flit in and out of their bed. They learned that it was better not to push him and they tried not to take it personally. Aramis had times when his nightmares got so bad that he moved to sleep away from Porthos and Athos, if he was there, because he would wake them up during the night. They tried to help, but Aramis just needed a few minutes to breath after they happened.

            During the day they were always together. They always went on the same assignments, even the ones that took them out of Paris. They were always together, and always in trouble. Treville let it slide but kept an eye on his three hoodlums. He knew a reckless, but effective, group when he saw them.

            They came to be known as Les Inseparables and they basked in the name.

            They felt safe with each other, even when things were grim and bleak.

            They felt at home.