And thus we reach the end of a fic that was supposed to be a one shot and accidentally grew into this. Thank you everybody for reading and commenting, I hope you enjoyed reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it!

Reaching the courtyard the musketeers dismount, the stable boy running forward to take the reigns of their mounts, and Athos and Porthos walk over to d'Artagnan. Porthos claps him heavily on the shoulder, rocking d'Artagnan forward a little.

"Good to see you up."

He says, still grinning, and there are no vestiges of the disgust from earlier visible on his face. Athos is behind him, pulling off his gloves, and d'Artagnan sees the knuckles on his right hand are dark and bruised. He drags his gaze away from the purpled skin and up to Athos face. It is as cool and impartial as ever, features schooled into a neutral expression but when d'Artagnan looks into his eyes there is anger burning low and fiery there. He gives d'Artagnan a nod in greeting though, walking past him to drop heavily onto the bench.

Aramis appears from the stable now, and he smiles at d'Artagnan but it is tight and shadowed and so un Aramis like and for some reason it just makes d'Artagnan sad. He brushes past to drop down next to Athos, and Porthos and D'Artagnan follows. They all sit around their table, watch the daily life of the Garrison go on. It's a familiar scene, one they've played out hundreds of times before, but it feels different now. Silences reign heavy where before there had been laughter and jokes and conversation. Aramis is withdrawn and quiet, not looking them in the eyes and even Porthos' cheerfulness seems dampened. It feels as though something has changed between them, and it makes d'Artagnan afraid. For all that they made it home alive and in one piece something seems broken. Eventually Porthos breaks the silence, a little tentatively.

"If you are feeling strong enough, D'Artagnan, perhaps we could spar? Wouldn't want you getting rusty."

D'Artagnan nods and smiles, grateful for the break in the uncomfortable atmosphere.

"I don't think that will be a concern, I will trounce you unwell or not! Athos, perhaps you could officiate to ensure Porthos here does not play dirty?"

Athos sighs, long sufferingly but there is a smile tugging at his lips.

"I suppose I don't have anything better to do with my time."

Porthos slaps the table enthusiastically, standing.

"Very well! And the loser shall buy the first round tonight!"

They all look expectantly towards Aramis then, but he just shakes his head and offers another tight smile.

"As wonderful as this sounds I unfortunately have other engagements to attend to. The ladies of the city have been without my ministrations for far to long, I can't keep them waiting."

But the excuse sounds hollow, none of his usual flair in his voice. D'Artagnan watches him go, confused and concerned and a little hurt by the rebuffal. Trying to brush it off he stands, turns to Porthos and draws his sword.

"Well then, are you ready to be thoroughly beaten?"

Porthos smirks, drawing his own weapon with a flourish.

"I think that is the question I should be asking you, d'Artagnan."

An hour later and d'Artagnan is sweating heavily, breath coming in short pants. He's feeling better now, but he's still weak and he can sense that Porthos is going easy on him. It bothers him, even though he knows it shouldn't. He's tired and frustrated with himself and worried about Aramis and it all boils over like a pot left over a fire for to long. He holds up a hand, signaling Porthos to stop, and discontentedly sheathes his sword. Striding away from Porthos a collapses onto the nearest bench, elbows resting on the table and drops his head into his hands, heaving a great sigh. He hears footsteps behind him as someone walks around to the other side of the table, feels a presence hovering at his side. When he lifts his face he sees Porthos sitting across from him and Athos flanking him to the right. They are both watching him with quiet concerned eyes.

"I'm sorry."

He says, and his voice is small.

"It's just… everything feels different. I feel different."

Porthos looks sad, sympathy heavy in his eyes.

"Oh d'Artagnan, you are going to be different. What you went through… that changes people, no one can expect you to be the same. But it's alright, to be different. Changing is just a part of life."

D'Artagnan shakes his head, still unsure.

"I am… I am afraid things will never go back to the way they were before. I mean Aramis… Aramis will barely look at me, will not talk to me. I do not know how to fix it."

He looks up at them, searching for an answer in their eyes, searching for hope. They exchange looks, something unspoken passing between them before Athos turns to d'Artagnan. When he speaks his tone is cautious and careful.

"Aramis is…he is not angry with you, d'Artagnan. He is angry with himself, he feels guilty. The reason your wound became infected was a piece of your shirt was carried into the wound by the sword. Aramis did not see it when he was closing you up and now he blames himself for your-your near death. We have tried to convince him otherwise but… he will not hear it, I think. Not from us at least."

D'Artagnan just looks between them, shocked.

"But he saved my life, he saved me! In more ways then one, I think. If Aramis had not been there then I would have died."

Athos sighs, and it is heavy and sad.

"We know that. But Aramis will not let himself know that."

The shock starts to die away and beneath an anger starts to boil, something bitter and ugly and hurt.

"Why did you not tell me?"

Athos says a little guiltily.

"We did not want to worry you. We thought we could handle this on our own but…"

And he trails off there uncomfortably. D'Artagnan stands, shaking his head.

"You should have told me. And who was that man from earlier? Why did you leave again so soon after we returned?"

Porthos sighs, running a hand through his tightly curled hair, and glances at Athos who shrugs as if to say 'why not'

"He was the man who ordered the ambush. Athos found his signet ring on the bodies of one of the men we killed. After you retired Treville gave us permission to…retrieve… him."

D'Artagnan stares at them both, open mouthed and hurt.

"And you didn't think you should tell me? If anyone had a right to know it would have been me and you hid this!"

"You needed to rest and heal, d'Artagnan. We handled it."

Porthos says in a placating tone, hands up in front of him like d'Artagnan's a horse he needs to calm and that only makes him angrier. He's angry, though, because he feels betrayed. Because they are hiding things from him, and suddenly he's not so sure what he means to them anymore. Because now he is left wondering what other secrets they have that he does not know. He stands suddenly, bench clattering backwards and without another words starts to stalk away, feeling a little petulant child but not able to help it. Porthos calls out,

"D'Artagnan. D'Artagnan! Where are you going?"

"To look for Aramis."

He throws over his shoulder without looking back, and it's childish but it makes him feel a little better.

D'Artagnan finds Aramis in the little church a few streets awat from the garrison as he knew he would. He's kneeling by the alter, head bowed and hands pressed tight in prayer and d'Artagnan can hear him as he draws closer.

"Oh Dios amoroso y amable, ten misericordia. Ten piedad de mí y quita la terrible mancha de mis transgresiones. Oh, límpiame, límpiame de esta culpa. Déjame ser puro otra vez. Porque admito mi vergonzosa acción, me persigue día y noche. Perdóname dios."

The words are whispered, carried on low reverent breaths that ring in the quiet vaulted space. D'Artagnan has only heard Aramis speak his mother's tongue a few times, and the sound of it is beautiful and lilting and tastes of something old and new all at once. He does not know much Spanish, only a few words Aramis has taught him over the course of their acquaintance, but he knows enough. Enough to hear perdóname, enough to hear forgive me. Walking forward he drops to his knees beside Aramis.

"For what do you ask forgiveness, Aramis?"

Aramis doesn't look at him, hands still clasped in front of him, thumbs pressed against his forehead and eyes shut.

"I-I nearly let you die d'Artagnan."

D'Artagnan is silent for a second, trying to find the words to make Aramis understand.

"When I was… When I was in the fever I dreamt. I dreamt of my father, and he asked me why I could not save him. I am still searching for forgiveness for that. I do not know if I will ever find it."

Aramis finally looks at him at that, eyes incredulous, hand reaching out like he wants to touch d'Artagnan, but it falls away at the last second, limp and useless.

"You must know that was not your fault, d'Artagnan! There was nothing you could have done, you cannot carry this, it is not your burden to bear."

D'Artagnan shrugs.

"Then you must know that my illness was not your fault. Without you I would have most certainly died in that forest. You saved my life Aramis. I have forgiven you, you must simply forgive yourself. This is not your burden either."

Aramis shakes his head, eyes bright and guilty and desperate.

"D'Artagnan… you were… you were so close to death. There were moments… there were moments when I thought you'd already left us. I left that cloth inside you and you nearly paid for it with your life."

"But I did not,"

D'Artagnan says. Reaching out he grasps Aramis' hand and brings it too him, pressing it under his doublet and against his chest.

"My heart still beats, I still breathe and talk. I survived, Aramis, I survived."

Aramis lets his hand rest there, pressed again d'Artagnan's skin, and he closes his eyes and listens to the steady thump of d'Artagnan's heart like he can hear God's voice in it.

"You told me that we must become strong in our broken places,"

D'Artagnan whispers, and his voice echoes off the edges of the church, bouncing against stained glass and heavy wooden pews and finding their way back again. Aramis, tilts his head back, eyes still closed and he does not move his hand from d'Artagnan's chest, from his heart.

"I fear I am nothing but broken places, d'Artagnan, I fear I there is no part of me left that is whole."

"Then you will be the strongest of us all."

Aramis' shoulders shake once then, a noise somewhere between a laugh and a sob tears itself from his lips and d'Artagnan can sees tears running down his cheeks and dripping to the floor. Reaching over he pulls Aramis close to him, wraps his arms around him and offers what little comfort he can give. Softly he whispers in his ear,

"N'oubliez pas qu'il ya des choses dignes d'être vécues."

And he feels Aramis' fingers tighten on his back. They weep together, in that church. Cry for everything they've lost and everything(everyone) they cannot have and for all of the people they've buried who they should've been able to save. They mourn, and when they have finished they stand and wipe away the tears and walk out the church side by side.

They go to a tavern, far from the garrison, and Athos and Porthos are already waiting at a table. Porthos smiles wide when they sit, teeth flashing white in the dim light of the room.

"Bienvenue à la maison, mon ami."

And Aramis smiles back, a little weakly, but stronger then before. Athos signals the barmaid for another round and turns to them,

"So I see d'Artagnan has succeeded in talking some sense into you."

Aramis tenses, and for a second d'Artagnan is afraid, but then the tension flows out of his shoulders and he smiles again, and it is the first real smile d'Artagnan has seen out of him since they got back.

"I guess…I guess he has."

The barmaid arrives with another bottle of wine and two tankards for Aramis and d'Artagnan. She sets them on the table and gives Aramis a flirtatious wink, which he returns with a grin and it's got a little of the fire d'Artagnan is accustomed too from his friend. After they've all settled and the first round has been poured d'Artagnan is the first to speak.

"I'm sorry."

He says, and it cuts through the quiet like a knife.

"I shouldn't have snapped at you earlier. I was just hurt, I guess."

Athos shakes his head though,

"No, we should apologize d'Artagnan. It was wrong to hide things from you, even if we thought it was for your own good. You are a musketeer now, no longer a child, and you deserve to be treated as such. It was our mistake, we will not make it again."

D'Artagnan smiles softly and shrugs.

"Yes, but I still could have behaved better. We both made mistakes."

Athos inclines his head in agreement, and beneath the strands of hair the fall across his eyes there's a look that's almost proud. Porthos raises his glass high,

"Well then, to no more secrets."

They all follow suit, murmuring in assent. They drink, and when they set their glasses down d'Artagnan grins cheekily,

"Well, if there truly are no more secrets then I have to come clean. Aramis, I was the one who knocked your hat into the horses water trough last summer. I'm very sorry."

But it's clear from his tone that he's not. Aramis looks shocked, mouth opening in betrayal.

"That hat smelled like horse for a month! I nearly challenged Jacques to a duel over it!"

Porthos lets out a loud belly laugh, slapping the table and even Athos looks amused.

"So that was you! I always wondered, it got Aramis in such a snit too."

Aramis for his part glares good naturedly at Porthos and d'Artagnan, crossing his arms and sitting back in his chair. After the laughter subsides they settle into silence. It's not an uncomfortable stilted one like from earlier but an easy one. Each man content to sit in the other's company, no words needed to fill the space between them. Eventually though d'Artagnan breaks the silence. A little cautiously he asks,

"We are brothers, still?"

Reaching out his hand to the center of the table he lays it palm flat against the rough wood. And he feels not one hand upon his but three.

"Of course."

Aramis says,

"Toujours et à jamais."

Oh Dios amoroso y amable, ten misericordia. Ten piedad de mí y quita la terrible mancha de mis transgresiones. Oh, límpiame, límpiame de esta culpa. Déjame ser puro otra vez. Porque admito mi vergonzosa acción, me persigue día y noche. Perdóname dios - O loving and kind God, have mercy. Have mercy on me and remove the terrible stain of my transgressions. Oh, cleanse me, cleanse me of this guilt. Let me be pure again. Because I admit my shameful action, he pursues me day and night. Forgive me God

N'oubliez pas qu'il ya des choses dignes d'être vécues - Do not forget that there are things worth living for

Bienvenue à la maison, mon ami - welcome home, my friend

Toujours et à jamais - forever and always