d'Artagnan was the first to wake the following morning, having had the most hours of sleep, which had been aided by the surgeon's powerful pain relief. He'd been grateful for it last night for the man had been overly efficient in his examination, leaving the Gascon sweating and panting in agony. He'd been unsurprised at the man's verdict – all's healing well and needs time and rest; he had the utmost faith in Aramis' abilities and would have expected nothing less. He laid comfortably as he opened his eyes, feeling the dull throb of pain from his broken bones which he knew would remain manageable for as long as he stayed still. He rolled his head to one side, taking in Aramis' form at the side of his bed, head hanging forward as he dozed. On the other side of him, he spotted first Porthos and then Athos, both men asleep in their own beds. The sight warmed his heart and he laid quietly, enjoying the comfort of being in his brothers' presence.

A particularly loud snore from Porthos had Aramis startling awake in his chair and the man lifted his head to find d'Artagnan awake. Apparently the sound had been loud enough to wake Porthos and Athos as well and the Gascon could hear them both shifting as he faced Aramis who was asking how he was doing. "I feel much better today," d'Artagnan admitted, acknowledging the effects of the quality sleep he'd gotten.

"Good," Aramis beamed at him, "up for some breakfast?"

d'Artagnan's stomach growled at the thought of food, widening Aramis' smile, and Porthos moved around the bed into his line of sight, grinning as well. "How 'bout I go find us something?"

The men nodded agreeably and d'Artagnan turned his head to where Athos now sat watching him. The Gascon's happy countenance turned to a frown as he took in the swelling and bruising around his mentor's eye and along the jawbone. "What happened to you?" he questioned, suspiciously.

Athos made no move to answer, so Aramis replied instead, "Athos spent several hours acquainting himself with some exceptionally poor wine and ended up exchanging blows with a couple of drunkards before Porthos could intervene."

Athos scowled at Aramis' description, moving to correct him, "I had things well in hand and didn't need Porthos' help."

Porthos had just walked through the door carrying a basket and snorted at the man's comment, "That's not how it looked last night."

Athos' glare only intensified, now encompassing both of his traitorous friends, but it was d'Artagnan who was moving, pushing himself to sit on the edge of his bed. He leaned forward as he braced his broken arm. "Are you alright?" he demanded.

Athos gave a partial shrug while Aramis again answered on his behalf, "He was lucky. Most of his chest looks as bad as his face, but there's nothing broken."

At Aramis' words, d'Artagnan pushed himself to his feet, gasping as the action pulled on his sore ribs. Aramis made to follow, but Porthos held him back with a hand on one arm. This conversation needed to happen and Porthos was determined to allow it. Shuffling around the end of the beds, d'Artagnan sat down across from Athos, reaching a hand forward to snag the bottom of his mentor's shirt. Athos placed a hand on his, stopping the action, but at another glare from d'Artagnan, the older man removed his hand. The Gascon lifted Athos' shirt, revealing the plentiful bruising that had darkened overnight. d'Artagnan stared at it for several seconds before releasing the hem of the shirt and allowing it to fall. "Why?" he demanded.

Athos offered another infuriating shrug but remained silent. d'Artagnan took a deep breath that caused him to wince, doing his best to remain calm but failing miserably. After several inhales and exhales, he stood and began to pace, rounding on the man several seconds later, "Why do you do this to yourself, Athos?" he cried. "Is this because of me?" The Gascon scrubbed a hand through his hair as he continued pacing. "I've tried to follow your instructions and I'm sorry for what happened during the storm. If you feel you cannot trust me anymore, just tell me. I will go to Treville at once and ask to be removed from missions with you." The young man was breathing heavily now and Porthos had to again prevent Aramis from going to his aid. d'Artagnan wore a look of deep anguish on his face and his steps were becoming unsure, but his words continued to tumble one after the other, "If you're mad at me, then just tell me, but don't put yourself in harm's way. I cannot bear the thought that you have been hurt because of your dissatisfaction with me." As his last words slipped passed his lips, his body rebelled and he stumbled heavily, Aramis jumping from his seat immediately in an effort to catch him but Athos was there first.

With strong but gentle hands, Athos caught the boy as he began his downward motion, slowing his descent and controlling it so he ended sitting across from Athos instead of on the floor. d'Artagnan's head fell as he panted with exertion, his eyes closed and face screwed up in pain as his ribs and arm protested. Several minutes passed while the young man recovered himself, finally looking at Athos with grief-filled eyes. "I'm sorry," he whispered as he shook his head, "it was never my intention to disappoint you."

Athos' face now mirrored the Gascon's and with a quiet sob, Athos moved to sit next to the boy, pulling him into a fierce hug. d'Artagnan was confused but allowed himself to be held, revelling in the comfort of his friend's arms, which might soon be denied to him. They sat that way for several minutes until Athos pulled away slightly to whisper in the Gascon's ear, "You have never made me anything but proud."

At that d'Artagnan pulled back, needing to see his mentor's face as he asked, "Then why?"

Athos swallowed thickly and his gaze moved to Porthos who nodded in encouragement and pushed Aramis to move toward the now vacant bed across from their two friends. As Aramis and Porthos sat down, the large man again nodded at Athos, willing him silently to finally share his story. Athos gave an abbreviated nod of his own and began to speak, "Thomas was always following me around, as younger brothers are wont to do. I worked very hard to ensure his admiration of me was not misplaced, although in all honesty, I don't understand exactly why he thought so highly of me." Unknown to Athos, Aramis and Porthos rolled their eyes at his comment. "When he…died," he could not bring himself to say when he was murdered, "my grief was overshadowed by the sorrow and guilt I felt at having to condemn my wife. My inability to keep him safe from her treachery is my greatest failure." Athos paused and took a deep breath, "His birthday has always been difficult and this year proved to be especially challenging."

d'Artagnan had sat quietly, listening with rapt attention to his friend's quiet words, but now he was confused. "When was his birthday?" he asked.

Athos raised sorrowful eyes to the Gascon's as he answered, "The 24th of February."

"The 24th, but that was just..." d'Artagnan trailed off as he realized the significance of what he'd been told. The weeks of drinking and foul temper, topped by his desire to drink himself into a stupor the previous night – suddenly, it all made sense, except for one thing. "Why has this year been harder than the others?"

Athos pursed his lips, trying to find the right words that would convey all that the boy meant to him rather than how his presence had made his last weeks nearly impossible to bear. "Sometimes, you remind me of him," Athos admitted quietly.

"Oh," d'Artagnan's face fell at the implication; Athos had been trying to distance himself because he found d'Artagnan's company distasteful. "Of course, I should have realized," the Gascon stammered. He groped blindly for the edge of the bed with his free hand, pushing himself to his feet, intending to leave before the tears that now blurred his vision had an opportunity to fall.

He'd managed no more than a couple steps before Porthos stood in front of him, blocking his way. "Where are you going?" he asked, confusion written on his face.

d'Artagnan motioned in the general direction of the door, eyes cast resolutely downwards to stare at his feet. Porthos huffed in annoyance, gripped the boy's elbow and led him back to sit next to Athos. With a pointed look at the older man, he motioned for his friend to explain.

Athos placed a hand on the young man's leg, grounding him and ensuring that he wouldn't bolt again. "You misunderstand me, d'Artagnan. I had forgotten what it was like to be an older brother and you reminded me when you wormed your way into our midst." The Gascon looked up sharply at Athos' comment, preparing to defend his actions when he noted the slight upturn to the man's lips which softened his words. "You managed to fill a void that I was certain was impossible to fill and I am grateful. I just don't want to be robbed of another younger brother and when you persist in putting yourself in harm's way to protect us…to protect me…" Athos sighed, uncertain of how to continue. Silence stretched between the men for nearly a minute, before Athos licked his lips and finished softly, "I am unworthy of such devotion and admit I lack the strength to survive your loss."

Realization had dawned on d'Artagnan's face at his mentor's words and he knocked his shoulder gently against his friend's, prompting the older man to look up. d'Artagnan nodded, smiling at the older man, letting him know that no further words were necessary. They both knew that the Gascon could not and would not promise to act any differently in the future, but they both recognized what each meant to the other. Shifting his gaze to his other two friends, Athos found similar looks of acceptance and understanding reflected there.

"You do realize that's a load of rubbish you've been spewing and we don't believe a word of it?" Porthos stated kindly.

Aramis nodded sombrely, "I have never had the privilege of calling three finer men brother and we will not stand for this continual doubt that plagues you, no matter how many times we have to remind you that you are more than worthy of our love and loyalty."

"Never doubt that we are just as grateful for the constancy you offer in return," d'Artagnan reminded.

Ducking his head, Athos murmured, "I'm sorry for making these past few weeks so…"

"Problematic?" Aramis offered.

"Tense?" Porthos chimed in.

"Troubling," Athos stated firmly, shaking his head in disbelief and gratitude at how easily his friends extended their forgiveness.

"Think nothing more of it," Aramis assured, smiling and placing a hand on the older man's leg. "Fortunately for you, your friends are of the highest caliber and possess an exceptionally forgiving nature." His face turned serious as he finished, "Just don't let it happen again."

Porthos nodded, clasping a hand to Athos' arm and d'Artagnan again leaned into his friend in a show of solidarity, thankful beyond measure that he would not suffer the loss of his mentor. "Well then," Athos took a deep breath as he looked at the faces of his three brothers, "I believe I heard something about breakfast. And this one," he pinned d'Artagnan with a mock glare, "definitely needs some fattening up." The Gascon rolled his eyes at the comment before joining his friends in the laughter that bubbled from their chests, even Athos struggling to keep a straight face. The past few weeks had been incredibly painful, and not just physically, but now, as they revelled in the camaraderie of their brotherhood, the healing could finally begin.

End.

A/N Thank you to all of you who decided to go on this angst-filled journey with me. I'm grateful for all the feedback I received and am confident that you've helped to improve this story through your thoughtful comments. Hopefully the ending was satisfactory, despite the fact that it's short - as my hubby reminds me, men just deal with it and move on and I believe that's what's reflected here. Thank you as well to everyone who has expressed an interest in future stories. I've been working on another for the last few weeks and hope to have it up some time in December. Until then, thanks again for encouraging my writing addiction!