In which Aramis confronts various situations and basically learns how to deal.

Chapter Two: Variations in Circumstance

Most of the time, it was a matter of just figuring things out. A matter of finding what worked and what didn't. He tried working girls a few times, but ended up feeling colder for it, and it didn't help. They were paid for actions of their trade, not to sleep dormant with him all night long. They didn't have the time, nor he the money, to keep such a thing going.

Drunken oblivion, for all that Athos seemed to make it work for him when required, was problematic at best. The few times Aramis tried it, all it did was make the nightmares walk into his waking world. It never let him close his eyes.

If he were to remain sane, and a soldier—and what else could he be?—he needed people. Solid. Grounding. And alive. Even better if they were those he already cared for.

In Paris, he had lovers. On assignment, his brothers—when he could take advantage of their settings without raising suspicion towards this damaged piece of himself he'd found a way to so precariously stitch together. And if there were sleepless nights for stretches in between, he learned to deal with that.

"Two beds, three of us," said Athos, directing them down the hallway and into their room.

Two beds, three bodies. Not an uncommon circumstance for them.

"I'll share," Aramis spoke up quickly, the buzz of relief easing the exhausted knot between his shoulder blades. It was easier when circumstances provided for the need. So much easier.

"Nah," said Porthos, clapping a hand on his shoulder. "You shared the last time we only had two beds."

"And the three times before that," agreed Athos, sliding out his dagger and unbuckling his sword belt. "Take the bed by the window, Aramis. Porthos and I will share the other."

Aramis shifted, feeling his heart clench up and trying to work out what to say. "They're rather small beds," he tried. "Porthos being the tallest, you and I would fit to one better, wouldn't we, Athos?"

Porthos gave a light chuckle. "Such a gentleman, our Aramis."

Athos smiled as well, but when he turned to Aramis there was something worried in his gaze. "Porthos is bigger than you, yes, but the two of us have fit to smaller before with no trouble. Besides, you need the rest, Aramis. You don't look as though you've been sleeping these last few nights. We have quite the ride ahead of us remaining and I'd like to see you well rested, at least enough to not get sick."

Aramis cleared his throat, trying not to let the sound emerge as desperate as he felt, while working his mind around another protest they'd accept.

"Aramis, you need the sleep," Athos said firmly. "You're not putting anyone out, and I don't want to risk you being disturbed tonight if one of us gets fidgety." He jerked his chin towards the bed by the window. "Go. Now."

Hesitating all of a second more, Aramis obeyed, dropping to the mattress and tugging off his boots without looking back at him, feeling the empty distance. Acquiescing under Athos' watchful gaze, he stretched himself out and pressed his head into the pillow, rolling away so that his brothers would not notice his eyes were still open.

After a time, when the soft breathing behind him became smooth and even, he rolled back to look at them. Porthos on his side with his knees bent. Athos, slightly higher on the bed with an arm stretched over the top of Porthos' head.

In the pale moonlight, they both looked like ghosts. Like bodies. Shadows roaming over their torsos, darkening patches of their skin to the appearance of blood.

Aramis could hear them, but the room was too dim for him to see their chests move. Too distant for him to feel it. It was as if a chasm lay between them.

Quietly as he could, he sat up, leaned against the wall and rubbed fingers through his hair.

It would be a long night.

x

In the morning, in the middle of redressing, Athos pressed down on his shoulder to get him sitting on the bed again while he gripped both sides of his face and contemplated his eyes. "Are you getting sick after all, then?"

He shook his head, as much as Athos's grip would allow. "No."

Porthos' large palm landed on his forehead, so warm and welcome it nearly made Aramis's eyes close. "I don't feel a fever," Porthos said, taking his hand away.

Athos frowned for a minute more and then let go of him. "All right. Finish getting dressed, but stay close to me on the ride today. Porthos will do the scouting if we need it."

"Athos, I'm fine," he insisted.

"I'm sure you are," said Athos, skeptical eyebrow saying everything else he needed to.

x

Porthos finished tying the oiled tent cloth between the trees and stepped back, glancing at the breaking sky before waving to Athos.

Athos finished dousing the fire and came over. Attuned to the rumbling of thunder above them, he evaluated Porthos' handiwork. "If we want to stay dry, we'll have to crowd," he said.

Porthos nodded.

Aramis did everything he could to keep his relief from showing.

Blearily he crawled under, rolling sideways on the blanket as Athos came in behind him. Soon enough, Porthos joined them, and after a bit of shuffling Aramis felt Athos' arm settle securely over his ribs. In front of him, Porthos yawned a heaving breath before tucking close and letting Aramis press his forehead into his shoulder.

His eyes drooped and he was gone within seconds.

After being separated for weeks, they were to meet at an inn a bit too far outside Chartres to give them options. Arriving a day early, Aramis had doused himself in icy water from the well and then threaded his fingers into his hair, gripping against the pulsing ache his latest bout of sleeplessness had left him with.

"Just like a Musketeer to be so stupid," a voice invaded. "Getting all wet in weather such as this. If this is the way you're going to behave, I'll take it as a bad sign. I'm not sure I want your kind around here."

Aramis looked up. "Mademoiselle?"

"Madame. And instead of working your thin brain around what to call me, maybe you should be telling me why I should let you stay when all you lot bring is trouble?"

Aramis stared, warring with himself and the coyness of the offer in her eyes. But of course, he went with her, letting her amuse herself with a few simple games of pain.

Lying next to her after, it was a fitful sleep, but sleep it still was.

x

When Athos and Porthos arrived the next day, it preceded, barely just, the arrival of her husband, and they had to move on anyway. Athos shaking his head and Porthos gritting his teeth like he had something to say.

When they stopped to give rest to their horses along the road, Aramis glanced over, and waited for it to come out.

Porthos remained resolutely silent and wouldn't meet his eyes.

"I'm sorry I lost us our lodgings," Aramis finally said, realizing too late that his voice had emerged a little too dead to sound sincere.

Porthos cracked, pinning their gazes together and working his mouth in a way that told Aramis he was trying not to pick a fight. "She was cruel, Aramis, to all of us, let alone her husband. She insulted Athos the minute he showed up, and tarnished your name besides. Why would you go with her?"

Aramis looked away. "Seemed prudent, at the time."

Rolling his eyes, Porthos gripped the reins of his horse and disappeared towards the stream.

Taking up temporary residence in a haymow on the outskirts of Rouen, they commenced their watch of the road, waiting for the smugglers they knew to be using the rout.

Porthos slept soundly down below while Athos sat, back pressed to the slats near the wide cut window. "You can sleep yourself you know," he said to Aramis, eyes settling on the pile of hay Aramis was leaning against, cleaning his pistol for the thirteenth time. "We're not likely to even see them tonight and I can wake you if we do."

Aramis shook his head. "I'll help you watch. I'm not tired yet—wouldn't sleep anyway."

Athos looked like he wanted to say something, but closed his mouth against it. A while later, he spoke again. "Aramis, you should sleep. You can take your watch in the morning."

Grimacing at the gathering insistence in Athos' voice, and realizing it was precariously close to becoming an order, Aramis lifted his head, peered out the wide window towards the rising moon and gave a very real shiver. It was poorly timed for the way Athos perked up at it, but in a flash he realized how he might use it to his advantage.

"Aramis?"

"I'm cold," he answered with a shrug. "Not keen to sleep."

Athos watched him with narrowed eyes. "Come sit over here, then," he finally said, crossing one foot over the other and indicating the empty floorboards next to him.

After the barest of hesitations, Aramis rose and sat, feeling the way Athos' breathing shifted the press of their arms. The gentle rhythm of it lulled him, and slowly, Aramis felt his head droop against Athos' shoulder. Athos left it there and four hours later, Aramis awoke as if from the dead, rubbing warily at the crick in his neck.

tbc (next chapter, his promise to Athos and the aftermath)

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