A/N: The beginning of this chapter (until the section break) contains consensual corporal punishment. It is reasonably brief, and there is a section following that leads on from it but does not necessarily need it (they may seem a little OOC without it though...)

4

"All right, Aramis," Athos said, some indeterminable time later. Aramis had calmed so completely since the last bell that he was almost loathe to disturb him. But there were matters yet to be discussed, and at last – finally – it seemed Aramis had reached a state wherein he could hear them.

All the fight seemed to have gone out of his brother now, his slumped shoulders and forehead resting against the cool wall speaking volumes about his exhaustion but, Athos hoped, his peace also. He wanted it done, over with, and Aramis at his most resentful – as he had been when they had entered – was stubborn as mule. That, coupled with Aramis' ravaged conscience, would have seen Athos beat him into unconsciousness if he had been of a mind to. But he would hear him now, Athos thought, feel him.

It was the work of but a few seconds to situate Aramis, to have him held close and safe beneath one arm, bared and trembling. As keyed up as his brother was, Athos considered immobilising him – trapping him beneath one leg and binding his hands as he had done several times in the past until his only movement was what Athos allowed him, but it seemed an unnecessary cruelty at a time when Aramis was clearly grasping for any semblance of control at all.

He started out hard. With his reserves depleted – their fight and his long, long time spent in contemplation having exhausted him – Aramis had few defences left to fall back upon and Athos neither expected or desired him to last long. He continued for a little though, Aramis' skin reddening surprisingly quickly beneath his hand though Aramis bore his strikes with admirable poise.

It was not until Athos decreased his strength, allowed time in between for Aramis to draw breath, that he received any reaction whatsoever. His under cheeks no doubt throbbing from Athos' 'attention getting' smacks, Aramis groaned as Athos began to lay slap after slap on top of one another first on one cheek then the other. Less than halfway through by Athos' reckoning, with his skin rosy but by no means red, Aramis threw his hand back. Athos sighed. He took the younger's hand, held it tight even as he continued to paint his frustration and guilt and impotent anger across Aramis' skin.

He had calmed in the past hour or so, just as Aramis had (finally). And seeing that peace descend had affected him also. 'It's quiet' Aramis had said. And it was. No more voice in his head screaming out to just protect him, keep him away from temptation, away from her, away from Rochefort's suspicions, and can't believe you did this, how could you do this, I can't believe you slept with the queen!

Just quiet. Quiet and the realisation that it didn't matter anymore. Rochefort had found his way into the king's confidences, had pushed Treville even further from Louis, and now it seemed inevitable in a way it had not seemed before, that he would discover the queen's infidelity – Aramis' treason. Athos knew that. And so did Aramis.

Aramis could try but there was no return from what they had done.

It made sense then, in an Aramis sort of way, to court death and danger in whatever fashion he could while he still could. Better a knife in a darkened alley than to be broken across the wheel or whatever else Rochefort would surely devise.

An easier death, certainly, but a death nonetheless. If Aramis intended to die he could at least have the courtesy to delay it as long as possible.

"This stops now, Aramis." Athos paused, resting his hand against the damp curve of his brother's back. "I will not bury another brother too weak to resist his own selfish impulses."

Aramis' breath caught, no doubt shocked to hear mention of the brother Athos had kept hidden for so long. He nodded.

"Your fate is already imminent, my friend," Athos murmured, rubbing at the tightness of Aramis' shoulders now. "There is no need for this rushing forth to meet it."

"Not." Aramis shook his head agitatedly. "I'm not. Athos, I swear – I swear, I…"

"You…what?"

Aramis did not answer right away though he seemed to start several times. Athos waited, did not begin again just yet, allowed Aramis to come to the same difficult realisation that he himself had.

"I just..." Aramis began at last, breathless with it. "I just want it to be over."

The tears began quickly after that, far quicker than Athos had expected. As Athos began once more to snap his hand down across Aramis' reddened backside his crying crescendoed from soft, subconscious weeping to the same helpless, breathless sobbing that usually burst from him during only his most severe chastisements.

Athos understood. For a man such as Aramis, whose faith was stronger than any other Athos had met, to hear his own self-destruction laid out so plainly must have been shattering. And so, because regardless of his actions Aramis was yet Athos' brother and so desperately sorry, it was neither a long nor particularly hard punishment. In truth though he doubted Aramis noticed, most of his strikes had been careful – more noise than actual impact. Part of Athos worried that such a lack of severity would imply a lack of care. But a larger part of him – the part that knew Aramis, knew the relief he took from simply submitting to this regardless of how much pain Athos inflicted – understood his motives all too well and could not condemn him for it. He could not help it, Athos knew. Whatever desperate, reckless beast had taken hold of him the last few months had driven him to risk himself the way he had. He had not done so out of spite, or a desire to hurt or frighten his brothers.

He was grieving, miserable and frightened – hurt that his only confidante in this matter seemed to have been pulling away. Athos would not force an apology from him, not for this, not for the woman and child he so adored, or the reckless acts of a desperate man.

But he could perhaps halt the course of Aramis' self-destruction. He had done so once before when they were barely friends let alone brothers. He could do so again now.

"Consider this," he began, summoning sternness as Aramis shook with the gravity of it all, "if you are discovered, we will have to watch you die. Me. Porthos. D'Artagnan. Treville. Constance. All of us. We should not have to watch you try to kill yourself as well."

A moment of silence then to think on that was all that was needed it seemed. With a great shudder, Aramis collapsed.

"I'm sorry. God, A-thos, 'm sorry."

The whispered apology that Athos had not dared to expect was sign enough to stop. He was sorry. He didn't want to die, and thank God – thank God – for that. Unseen by his brother, Athos bowed his head.

It was right to be gentle now, after Aramis had come apart so entirely beneath his hand, and Athos basked in that role more even than usual. He stroked one hand down the length of his friend's spine. It served no purpose today to leave Aramis to soothe his own upset with only Athos' distant presence to comfort him; he wouldn't be able to, not today and moreover, Athos didn't want him to. With that in mind, he pushed the younger man until they could both stand, steadying him with one hand while the other went around Aramis' neck and drew him in close.

With Aramis' face buried in his hands as he fought for control over himself, Athos was assaulted quite suddenly by the memory of first time he had done this – truly done this, offered more than just the discipline of a commanding officer. They were different men now, Aramis just slightly older now than Athos had been then. Athos didn't murmur the same childish platitudes that he had done – endless assurances that 'it will be all right' and 'it's over now, forgiven' – but Aramis unfolded at last to return Athos' embrace with trembling arms.

5

"Would you think me a depraved thing if I said that I have missed this?"

"I have always thought you depraved." Lying outstretched upon the bed, with Aramis' hair tickling his throat where he lay beside him, Athos felt Aramis smile and found himself doing the same. "But I shall endeavour to berate you more frequently henceforth."

"Do." Aramis murmured, rubbing his cheek against Athos' shoulder with a sigh. "Nothing is right with the world while you and I are at odds."

On that point they wholeheartedly agreed. "We are always at odds, Aramis."

"Not like this. I began to think I had lost you...and I couldn't bear it."

"Aramis-"

"Please, let me speak." Aramis pushed himself upright with a grimace, and sat staring at Athos. "What I have done, what may happen because of me – you are not a part of it, our brothers are not a part of it. It is mine to face."

"I… I pray daily that you will never have to do so," Athos admitted hesitantly, his eyes serious. "Though God has never answered my prayers before. Perhaps you will be my first. You are, as you are so fond of telling me, his favourite."

Aramis snorted derisively. "As Lucifer once was. Were it not for his pride, his arrogance-"

"Yes, I have long suspected you to be the devil incarnate."

They were silent for a moment, thinking, when suddenly Aramis escaped a slightly hysterical laugh that he stifled with one hand across his mouth.

"God, some days I think I will go mad, and scream it out at Court just to bring an end to this!" He was stiff and trembling as Athos reached out a hand to him. He made a hopeless little sound, one that pulled at Athos. "I am not strong enough, Athos. The weight of this is... I am- I'm afraid."

"As am I," Athos admitted, pushing the hair back from his brother's face. "But you will find the strength. For them, for us, for France. You did this, Aramis. You and- and Her. So you will find it because you must. But you are not alone. Have you not always said that we are stronger together?"

Aramis pondered that, sinking slowly back against Athos with all the wherewithal of a sleepy child. Athos squeezed him close, comforted by the familiar form against his, and the solid, warm, aliveness that was Aramis. And then he sighed, rippling his friend's curls with his breath.

The weight of their situation was crippling. Together had never meant the two of them but four, and Athos did not think he alone had strength enough for it, not to bear Aramis up if he faltered. And Athos found himself wondering fearfully whether he would truly be willing to sacrifice their friends' innocence in this – offer d'Artagnan, so young and miraculously untainted by his friends' pasts – in the hope that between them they would have strength enough to save Aramis.

Or whether, much as he adored him, for their sake and his own he would simply step aside and let Aramis fall.

Aramis' fingers traced lines across his shirt, his head resting over Athos' heart as he spoke. "I believe I could endure all the torments Rochefort will surely have in store as long as I had their safety, and my brothers' love to comfort me."

Nothing could have taken Athos apart more completely.

"You have one of those things, at least." He pressed his lips to Aramis' forehead, a benediction, a vow, and realisation that he would move Heaven and Earth, endure any torment, fight the Devil himself if only Aramis could be spared whatever tortures Rochefort's crazed mind conceived.

Athos spent a long, sleepless, sober night guarding Aramis' sleep as most precious above all else. He deserved such coddling, such unbecoming indulgence, Athos reasoned. Not because they may never again have such a chance (though that was a large part of it), and certainly not because he had earned it, but simply because he was Aramis. And for the past six years, that had been enough. Athos watched the dawn break by the shadows on his friend's form, his tired mind mesmerised by the steady rise and fall, the soft snoring that had lulled him into sleep so many times before. It was such sweet agony that Aramis still found such comfort in his presence that he slept on, heedless to the world coming alive around them.

When at last Aramis began to wake – amidst the tolling of seven bells – Athos let him slip from his arms without a word, though the loss left him bereft, freezing in his chest and stinging his tired eyes. Aramis dressed in silence, his back to Athos as though ashamed. Dear God, would the splintering of Athos' world never cease?

"Aramis." He reached out and turned the younger man around with one hand on his shoulder. Aramis came obediently, but his eyes remained downcast. Athos allowed his hand to drop. "When the time comes, we will tell them," Athos announced, his voice far clearer and firmer than he would have thought possible. "We will tell our brothers, and they will help."

At his words, Aramis' eyes shot upwards towards his face and he gazed horror-struck, the word 'no' barely a breath on his lips. "They will not understand!"

"And yet," Athos said, taking Aramis by the shoulders, "they will help us nonetheless – love you nonetheless."

Aramis' eyes, still bearing the lingering trace of such harsh tears the previous night, began to shine once more and he raised one hand to dash at them frustratedly.

"You would endanger them – our brothers, Athos! – involve them in- in treason for my sake?" he demanded.

"Yes," Athos replied simply. "And Treville too."

"No!" Aramis' reaction was immediate, his esteem for Treville, the place the man held in Aramis' heart making Athos' decision all the more mortifying. "Athos, please."

"We stand a better chance if they know-"

"A better chance of what?" Aramis wrenched himself away, his face so pale the darkness around his eyes looked like bruises. "If I am discovered, then that is the end of it! Of- of everything! Why must they know the truth of it?"

"Because I will not lie to them a moment longer than necessary to preserve an image of you! You would rather have Treville – have Porthos – think you go to the Châtelet, the wheel, an innocent man?" His words were harsh, frustrated by what at its centre was Aramis' pride. It was one thing to keep it from their friends for as long as possible, but to continue to lie once the truth threatened... Aramis would simply have to weather the humiliation. That, at least, he deserved. "It would destroy them, Aramis!"

Aramis looked resigned, broken, but eventually nodded. When Athos laid his hands upon him again, the younger man did not pull away.

"I would protect you," he continued haltingly, the words not coming easily however fervently they were felt, "with my dying breath, you must know this by now. But, Aramis-" he raised his hands to his friend's face, lifted it until Aramis could see his guilt and his anguish in his eyes, "- brother, please understand me: I cannot stop this alone."

Aramis' eyes widened at that, as though the thought that Athos too was alone in his predicament had not truly crossed his mind. He raised his hands to grip at Athos' wrists, tipped forwards until their foreheads rested against one another.

"If you- when you are taken to the Châtelet," Athos said, determined to face the reality of the situation, "we will need allies, we will need a plan, and that cannot be executed with just two."

"A poor choice of words, my friend." Aramis smiled, though it was more of a grimace.

"Aramis."

Aramis breathed deeply for a moment, released it in a drawn-out sigh. "All right," he said, and seemed to stand straighter for it as though the decision – dread-worthy as it was – had relieved some of the weight from his shoulders. "When the time comes... I will tell them what I have done. And pray God they forgive me for it."