Note: Quotes in this are all from Radical Face. I heard "The Gilded Hand" over the end of a Criminal Minds ep and this little idea I had just fell into place... Though somehow it ended up being a bit darker than I originally intended. You know when you start writing something and it becomes something else? Oh well... enjoy!

All Is Well (It's Only Blood)

Chapter One

All is well now
Pay no mind
All is well now
I'm just fine

He couldn't hide it this time.

The black eye and the split lip.

They stood in a line in the courtyard, awaiting their duties. At seeing his face Athos raised an eyebrow, d'Artagnan hissed, and Porthos frowned.

"What the hell happened to you?" Porthos muttered under his breath.

"Angry husband." Aramis whispered back. "I'm fine."

Athos narrowed his eyes at the explanation, but nothing more could be said. Treville appeared to give our their day's duties.

Anyway, it could have been the truth… the man who had hit Aramis was angry, and he might have been somebody's husband. But Aramis wasn't going to admit to goading him. He wasn't going to let his friends know that he walked the streets looking for trouble... that he drank in unfamiliar taverns spoiling for a fight.

It had started when news reached them that Anne had lost their baby. Mindlessly Aramis tried to go to her. He remembered her grief… he couldn't let her suffer again. But Athos had stopped him. Athos had taken him home discreetly and sat there as he wept for her and their child. The stony faced musketeer barely said a word. Did he not feel anything? Was he too concerned with getting Aramis off the streets and behind a closed door?

When Aramis had calmed and the tears had stopped, Athos took up his hat and got to his feet.

He paused with his hand on the door. "You can't let anyone see… Aramis, as far as anyone else is concerned - all is well."

And he left.

Aramis painted on a facade for the world. But inside he was screaming. His heart cried out for his dead child… the child he had sworn to protect… and Anne, in need of comfort he couldn't provide. Aramis wanted nothing more than to take her in his arms, but it was a crime to embrace her… to love her would see him dead. But Aramis couldn't just stop feeling the way he felt, and it tore him up even more.

It wasn't long before something in him cracked and broke apart. The first time happened when he was leaving the tavern to go home. Stumbling down the quiet streets a thief had thought him an easy target. The man set upon him and Aramis snapped. A red mist descended and he lost himself in the violence. The young musketeer staggered away, high on adrenaline, his knuckles were torn and bloody… The thief was left behind, nothing but a ruined heap in the street. He deserved it, Aramis told himself. But he had discovered something else as he took in a deep breath and savoured the copper tang...

His fists had offered the release he needed.

Aramis held a hand up and flexed his fingers, feeling the sting across his knuckles… It reflected the pain inside. The pain he kept hidden was there to be seen, weeping red across his flesh. It seemed to tame the hollow in his heart.

The second time he had leapt to Porthos' defence after his friend was accused of cheating at cards. They had both come away from that bloodied and bruised, but laughing. Aramis had almost forgotten how to laugh…

The third time a red guard had scowled at him in the street. A moment later the guard's face was as red as his cloak. He deserved it, Aramis told himself again.

The next one deserved it too… Aramis might have accidentally knocked the drink from his hand, but that was no reason to curse so heinously. Honour meant he had to fight.

Before long Aramis' view of 'deserving it' became a little twisted. At night he left the others drinking with some excuse, and he wandered. He was careful not to get hit in the face, and if anyone noticed he held himself a little stiffly the next day they never said anything… as far as the world was concerned, all was well. Except last night the young musketeer's opponent got in a lucky shot, it left him with a black eye and split lip.

When Treville had finished, Athos gave Aramis a suspicious once over before heading for the stables with d'Artagnan hot on his heels. Porthos put a hand to Aramis' shoulder.

"Are you sure you're alright?" Porthos eyed the bruising with a sympathetic wince.

"I'm fine. I'll just be a bit quicker jumping out the window next time…"

"Good job you're not on guard duty at the palace. Can't imagine musketeers with black eyes would go down too well over there." Porthos huffed a laugh.

"Quite." Aramis let his eyes wander over to the stables where Athos had disappeared to. It hadn't escaped his notice he had not been given duties at the palace for some time…

"Well, stay out of trouble." Porthos clapped his hand on Aramis' shoulder and went after Athos.

Aramis let his slight smile drop as Porthos turned his back.

His own mission would see him delivering a letter to a Comte, roughly a day's ride away from Paris. Aramis pulled his hat down, concealing his eye as best he could as he went to retrieve the correspondence from Treville.

~oOo~

As it happened it took Aramis a few days to return, which had the others worried. He rode into the courtyard and dismounted with an audible hiss. Porthos and Athos were sitting at the table, they rushed over at seeing him hurt. Aramis straightened, trying to school his features into that familiar facade. But he couldn't stop his arm clutching protectively at his ribs. He had cracked at least two.

"Are you alright? What happened?" Porthos went to Aramis' side while Athos took his horse.

"Bandits on the road…"

… Aramis winked a little suggestively at the woman behind the bar… A man loomed behind him. 'She's mine'... 'I think you'll find she belongs to nobody but herself, and I was just being friendly'...

"... I killed them, but one got a shot at my ribs with the butt of his gun."

… Fists flew and blood flecked the air in a despicably graceful arc. The man went down, and Aramis turned, thinking it was all over. His opponent lurched to his feet and ran headfirst into Aramis, ramming him painfully against the hard wooden bar. Bone gave way, but Aramis was given over to adrenaline, his elbow crashed into the man's head…

"Let me see…" Porthos' hands reached to pull Aramis' coat open.

He pushed the hands away. "I'm fine, I've just cracked a couple of ribs. They hardly even hurt."

It was surprising how easily lying came these days.

"Alright… if you insist." A worried look still lurked in Porthos' eyes. "Will you join us for a drink later?"

"I'll see you there. Now if you'll excuse me, I have to go and report to Treville."

Aramis could feel their eyes watching him as he made his way to the stairs. He did his best not to let his steps falter… All was well.

~oOo~

Aramis sat with his friends, drinking and playing cards. He lost in short order, feeling his mind lapse into sorrow. The wine wasn't helping. There was only one thing that would… Aramis' foot set to tapping against the floor, and then abruptly he got up, telling the others he had an appointment with a beautiful lady.

He walked the streets, knowing the rougher places where violence was a way of life. Aramis pushed the door open to a tavern he hadn't been in before. A sign reading 'The Dog and Duck' swung outside, and inside the occupants seemed to be mostly residents of the Court. They bristled at sensing a stranger in their midst… could they tell he was musketeer? Was his manner undeniably that of a soldier?

After getting a drink Aramis drifted over to a table where they were playing cards. He could feel the blood thrumming through his veins. The young musketeer watched the cards over one player's shoulder and let out an overly dramatic hiss.

"Oooh, I'd fold if I were you."

The player turned and scowled. "Keep out of it."

"Are you going to make me?"

"Yeah, as a matter of fact, I think I will."

The man got to his feet and faced Aramis. This was even easier than he had hoped. Everyone seated at the surrounding tables scooted backwards as they began trading blows. Aramis cried out when the man caught his ribs, but he fought back all the harder. A cuff about the head sent the young musketeer to the floor. He tasted blood and pushed himself up, launching a fist in retaliation. His opponent's nose broke with that blow. Adrenaline flooded Aramis' system, all he could see was red. The shouts and jeers of the onlookers drove him onward. He couldn't feel pain. Not of his body, nor his soul. It was all numb to him as his fists flew, again and again… He would feel it afterwards, he knew it would come. And then he would savour and wallow in it, the cuts and bruises reflecting the real damage within.

Aramis straddled the man on the floor. Raising a fist, readying to send his opponent into oblivion… but somebody grabbed his arm, stopping the blow before he could launch it.

"Stop this!"

Aramis whirled around to face the intruder, snarling with red stained teeth. He recoiled in horror, finding himself staring up at Athos. The grip on his arm tightened and Aramis was pulled to his feet. The crowd roared their displeasure as Athos manhandled the young musketeer to the door. They had been denied their bloody end... Athos dragged Aramis outside and down a back alley before slamming him roughly against a wall.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?!"

Aramis tried to push away but Athos held him fast. Seeing there was no escape he let his head drop back against the wall and he gave a broken laugh, letting blood seep from the corner of his mouth.

"All is well Athos!" Aramis spat a stream of red to one side and Athos flinched with disgust. "What? It's only blood!"

"Have you gone mad? Why are you doing this?" The full moon lit up Athos' face, he was equal parts angry and bewildered.

Aramis ignored his questions. "Did you follow me Athos? You sly fox…"

"You have hardly been inconspicuous, leaving early every night, turning up injured every morning… I noticed."

"Well aren't you the clever one? But it's alright as long as I don't tell anybody… as long as I don't show any emotion. All is well. Isn't that right Athos? I'm not like you though. I can't keep it inside, I have to deal with it…"

"This is not the way." Athos' voice had turned quiet.

"And what is the way? Your way? Drinking until you drown out the damage inside? That is your way of dealing, Athos... this is mine."

Athos growled. "At least nobody gets hurt but me."

"They deserve it." Aramis' tone was cold.

"If that's what you tell yourself so that you can sleep at night. But the day will come when you hurt more than some wretched tavern rat…" Athos abruptly let Aramis go and stepped back.

The young musketeer found his legs had suddenly lost all their strength. Adrenaline deserted him, and pain began to flare across his ribs and aching face. Slowly he sank down to the ground.

Athos looked down at him, and Aramis glared back.

"This stops, Aramis, or Treville will have to be informed."

"You wouldn't…" Aramis' voice was little more than a whisper.

"I would." A note of disgust crept in to Athos' words. "You can get yourself home. I suggest taking a day off sick to recover. You're barely fit for duty."

And then Athos deserted him too.

As he watched Athos' retreating back, Aramis found that he was shaking...

It's only blood
I have plenty left
It's only blood
I just need to rest