Title: A Restlessness in Common
Author: JenF
Chapters: 30 of 30
Disclaimer: I do not own the The Three Musketeers, D'Artagnan, their friends or their enemies. If you recognise something, it's probably not mine. I'm just having fun.
AN: Thank you so much to everyone who has stuck with this story. I said this would be the last chapter, and it is. A big thank to all those of you who reviewed, followed or just read it:) And to those who reviewed but to whom I was unable to reply, thank you so much. Enjoy...

It's been a while since Aramis felt like this. He has Porthos at his side; they have a new, albeit untested, ally; they have a definite purpose and finally, finally, he thinks he can see the light at the end of the tunnel.

He feels secure and it's more than just the physical presence of his dearest friend's supporting arm around his waist, holding him up and giving him the strength to take each step back towards the manor house. It's a deep seated warmth filling his soul. He thinks maybe God has not forsaken him after all and he offers silent prayers of thanks as the unlikely trio slowly, oh so slowly, wind their way through the scrubland.

He feels Porthos' arm tighten imperceptibly and can't stop the sharp intake of breath it causes as his ribs protest the pressure. He knows Porthos doesn't mean to hurt him and he hates that his reaction provokes a concerned look from his fellow musketeer.

"D'you need to stop?" Porthos asks, worry clouding his words.

In truth, yes, Aramis would like to stop but he won't. He can't risk any more time lost to Descarte. Athos and d'Artagnan are in grave danger and although he is not the root of this problem, he can't help feel he is to blame for their current situation.

He shakes his head, not quite trusting his voice yet. He takes comfort in the fact that Porthos probably recognises the lie in his response but is choosing to ignore it for the same reasons as it was given.

"We'll push on for a bit longer," Porthos says, raising his voice so Fabron can hear him. The mercenary is striding ahead of them and Aramis is surprised to find himself grateful to the man. It means Porthos can give him the much needed support and comfort he would never ask for.

They continue on their way, stopping only when Aramis stumbles over his own feet or succumbs to a bout of coughing. Neither musketeer mentions the splattering of blood around his mouth after each bout although both are worried by it. Aramis is grateful that Porthos makes no fuss of it. He will deal with it, with all his injuries, once he knows Athos and d'Artagnan are alive and safe.

He loses sense of time, concentrating on the rhythmic plod of their feet over the sundried ground. He listens to his heartbeat ticking away in his chest. He wonders if it should be quite so fast but he puts it down to stress and the extra effort his body is making to simply stay upright.

When Porthos comes to an abrupt halt, it take Aramis by surprise. He prises his half closed eyes fully open, blinking the dust away as best he can, before taking in the scene before him.

They have arrived, by some miracle, at the manor house. If he listens carefully, he can hear voices but his mind is no longer able to distinguish individual words from this distance. He tries to straighten out, fingers scrabbling to find purchase on Porthos' jacket.

"What's happening?" he whispers, looking to where Fabron has dropped to his belly, crawling forward to seek shelter behind an outcrop of bushes.

"We're 'ere" Porthos confirms. "They're still alive, if those voices are anything to go by." He pauses and Aramis looks at his face. It's creased in concentration and Aramis is fairly certain he doesn't want to hear the next words. "At least, d'Artagnan is still alive," Porthos continues softly. "I can't hear Athos."

Aramis feels the strength go from his knees and it's only Porthos' strong hold on him that keeps him upright. The blood rushes from his head and he sways, dizzy and sick.

"He must be," he murmurs, refusing to accept the alternative. "He has to be."

"Yeah," Porthos agrees. "He'll be fine. He's got d'Artagnan to look out for him."

Before Aramis can formulate a response to that, Fabron has turned back to them and is beckoning them with a waving arm and a glare. Porthos looks to Aramis and the sniper can see apology in his eyes as the hold on his waist loosens.

"Stay here," Porthos says, as he lowers Aramis down next to a tree, propping him upright. "I'll be right back."

Aramis wishes he could believe Porthos but he knows if they're positions were reversed, he would be doing the same thing. So he simply nods and lets his head fall back against the rough bark of the tree.

He watches as Porthos makes his way to the ally they have found and wishes he were part of the conversation that is taking place in hushed tones with the odd glance back in his direction. Finally, Porthos turns back to him and for a minute Aramis thinks he's coming to fetch him.

But Porthos just looks at him and Aramis can read the uncertainty in his eyes, even from this distance. He feels a ball of lead sinking slowly in his stomach – he doesn't know what Porthos and Fabron can see from their vantage point but Porthos doesn't look happy. He watches as his friend turns back to Fabron and shakes head slowly before crawling back across the dusty ground to Aramis.

"What is it?" Aramis demands, the second Porthos is within range of hearing him. "Athos? d'Artagnan?"

Porthos heaves a sigh and rests an arm on Aramis' shoulder.

"d'Artagnan is fine," he replies, a bitter smile colouring his words. "He's in fine voice too." There's a pause and Aramis doesn't think he can take the tension. "Athos is still alive," Porthos finally tells him, "but I don't know for how long. There's a hell of a fight going on down there."

Aramis makes to rise from his position, wincing as his ribs, arms, shoulders, legs and head protest the action. A hand on his shoulder halts his faltering progress and he looks into eyes that are full of understanding and regret.

He looks down to Porthos' hand where he is offering Aramis a loaded pistol.

"Stay here," Porthos orders gently. "Keep this and use it if you have to. Fabron and I will go and get them."

"Porthos…" Aramis tries to protest, but Porthos is not budging.

"You'll hold us back, you're in no state to help." He stops places the palm of his hand on Aramis' cheek. "I'm sorry, I really am but I can't risk you." Porthos drops his head as Aramis digests his words.

He doesn't like it, but he can see the logic and he knows it's exactly what he would be doing if their positions were reversed. He reluctantly nods his agreement, although deep down he knows neither he nor Porthos believe for one second he will sit passively while his brothers are in mortal danger. But it's what Porthos needs to hear and Aramis will, at least, give him that.

He watches as Porthos and Fabron make their way down to the courtyard and waits until they can no longer see him before taking a deep breath to steel himself. It was difficult to move with his friend's assistance. On his own, he knows this is going to be slow and painful. But he will not surrender to the pain, not with so much at stake.

He doesn't know how long it takes him to reach the gates to the manor house but the pounding of his blood in his ears deafens him to the sounds of the fight inside the courtyard. He's lost sight of Porthos and Fabron but he knows they're safe and that he doesn't need to worry about them.

It's the sight of Athos, lying on the ground, not moving, that has his full attention.

He watches as though from another plane of existence as Descarte grabs d'Artagnan and produces a gun from seemingly nowhere. Suddenly his eyesight and hearing are razor sharp, years of experience and training showing up when he needs them most. He can see the panic on the face of their newest member and he can almost feel the exhaustion rolling off Athos and d'Artagnan.

His pistol is raised before the thought has been fully processed in his head and the toll of the last four days – or is it five now? Aramis can't remember – dissipate, making way for the concentration and final reserve of strength Aramis needs now more than ever.

He takes one last look at d'Artagnan, takes in the look of sorrow and resignation and knows that the boy has accepted he is facing death, before turning his attention to the man standing behind him.

He closes his eyes briefly, flashes of the last week spiraling across his memory, spurring him on, refusing to let this monster harm any more of his friends.

The shot surprises even him but, as the recoil of the pistol knocks him on his back, he knows his aim was true and that d'Artagnan and Athos no longer have anything to fear, that Porthos and Fabron will be with them by now. And finally safe in the knowledge his friends are, if not fit and well, at least going to survive this ordeal, he lets his eyes slide shut and consciousness slides away.

TTM TTM TTM

Epilogue

They find Aramis unconscious by the gates of the manor house. From a distance he looks like he's asleep but to his fellow musketeers the sight of him lying prone is a heart stopping moment. It takes only minutes to ascertain that he is not, in fact, dead but has merely succumbed to his ordeal.

The journey back to Paris is uneventful, not taking into account the many stops needed for Aramis and d'Artagnan to rest and recuperate. But they cannot afford to tarry.

Treville meets them at the garrison, face full of anger and concern and, although he will never admit it, fatherly love for all four of his musketeers. He orders Aramis and d'Artagnan to a physician immediately while expecting a full report from Athos.

Athos is brief and succinct, as only he can be. He tells Treville exactly what happened, sparing none of the details. He is economical with the tale of his wife but knows the Captain deserves to know as much as he can bear to admit to. Treville does not judge; he's merely happy to have his men back in one piece.

He notes the knife wound on Athos' arm, notes that it's been tended to in some fashion on their way back to Paris, but worries about infection. He orders him to the physician once the doctor has finished with Aramis and d'Artagnan. Athos nods and mentions Porthos' own injury.

Treville sighs and tells him that they may as well stick together with the doctor.

He asks about Fabron – Athos isn't too sure what to tell him other than the man renounced Descarte and probably saved their lives. Treville can't ignore the man's crimes but can turn a blind eye should the man decide to leave Paris by nightfall.

Athos smiles and nods.

They will all retell this ordeal many times and over time there will be some variation in the retelling until it becomes just another adventure. But in their hearts, all that matters is that they all survived.

THE END