Chapter Text
Sometimes we need someone to simply be there, not to fix anything or do anything in particular, but just to let us feel we are supported and cared about.
Unknown
"Is he asleep?"
Anne glanced at Porthos in the recliner and then over at Aramis, sprawled on the couch next to her. His socked feet were propped on her lap and Esmé was nestled between his side and the back of the couch. He'd been awake, though barely, last time she'd looked at him. But as the credits rolled on the movie, he didn't move. His eyes remained closed, his breathing even.
"Seems that way," she answered, reaching to gently stroke Esmé's flank. The pup didn't deign to lift her head from Aramis's chest, but did open her eyes, letting her tongue loll out briefly before settling again. "Esmé seems not far behind."
Porthos smiled in that soft way of his that made him seem more like Aramis's true brother than any actual blood relation ever would.
"She needs to go out before they settle in for the night," Porthos announced, hauling himself out of the recliner. "Let's go, Esmé," he called softly. "I'll take you."
The dog didn't move.
Porthos sighed deeply, rolling his eyes heavenward.
"Damn spoiled, stubborn animal…Vamos,Esmé," he repeated, in Spanish this time. Anne barely held back a laugh when she immediately climbed gingerly over Aramis and trotted toward the front door.
Anne turned back to Aramis while Porthos worked on getting the leash hooked to Esmé's collar.
The supposedly sleeping man's mouth was curled up in a smirk, though his eyes were still closed. She slapped silently at his calf but waited until Porthos had closed the front door behind him before speaking.
"Lazy!" she teased, tickling the bottom of his foot. He jerked them both off her lap, laughing into the throw pillow he'd been using under his head.
"It's three flights of stairs!" he defended, twitching his feet away when she reached to tickle them again. "I didn't see you volunteering!"
"She'syourdog!"
"She's as much yours these days!"
And if that didn't just warm her to her core.
"I'll let you off the hook because that was very sweet."
He rolled off the couch with a smile, holding out a hand.
"Are you staying?"
She let him pull her off the couch.
"Am I invited?"
"Always," he said it like a vow and her heart felt too big for her chest.
"Then I'm staying."
With a pleased curl of his lips, he pulled her by the hand back towards his room.
She heard Esmé before she heard anything else.
A low whine, out of place in the quiet of the night.
Anne blinked her eyes open, brow furrowing as she tried to parse together what was happening. She was curled on her side, facing the middle of the bed. Aramis was stretched out on his back a few inches away.
He was trembling.
Anne sat up like a shot, suddenly alert. Esmé was awake, nose pressing against Aramis's ribs as she tried to rouse him. Instead, he started to shake harder, tossing his head and mumbling something she couldn't catch.
Esmé whined again, shifting closer so she could push her snout against Aramis's neck.
He writhed in the sheets, kicking them away. She saw one hand slide up under his pillow.
She nearly fell off the bed when the sheet tangled around her legs as she climbed off it. Esmé jumped down to the floor a moment before the blade withdrew from beneath the pillow, gleaming against the mattress. His hand looked nearly white around the hilt.
Esmé trotted to the bedroom door, scratching at it briefly before moving back towards the bed and whining louder.
Anne stood stock still for a moment, indecisive.
"Todos estan muertos."(They're all dead.) Aramis gasped as he tossed his head again, chest heaving with increasingly unsteady breaths.
Anne could hardly breathe herself. Next to the bed, Esmé did an odd half bark, half whine.
Just come get me.Porthos's voice rang out in her head.He would say not to bother me unless it got bad, butplease, just come get me as soon as it starts.
She nearly ran to the door, throwing it open and lurching down the hall to Porthos's bedroom. She knocked quickly, looking over her shoulder when Esmé made that awful half and half sound again.
Porthos pulled his door open before she had to knock again, eyes bleary as he blinked at her.
She didn't even have to say anything.
Esmé barked for real and Porthos shouldered by her without a word, nearly sprinting into Aramis's room. Anne followed on his heels but lingered just inside the door as Porthos nearly crawled on top of Aramis, one hand wrapped around the wrist holding the knife and the other hand securely holding Aramis' jaw.
"Aramis? Wake up, brother."
Restrained now, Aramis seemed to panic more than calm. He writhed more violently, shouting something Anne couldn't make sense of.
"Aramis! Come on, follow me out of it! You need to wake up!" Porthos gave Aramis's jaw a near-violent shake and Anne could only barely see as his eyes fluttered open.
Before relief even had a chance to filter in, Aramis screamed — a horrible, gut-wrenching painful sound. Then he and Porthos were struggling over the knife. She saw Porthos take a hard knee to the ribs, but he didn't falter. If anything, his hand on Aramis' wrist tightened further. Anne pressed her hand to her mouth as they grappled, but where Aramis was clearly intent to do harm, Porthos was only trying to stop either of them from getting seriously injured and just did his best to deflect swinging knees and elbows.
"You're not there!" Porthos said sharply, wrestling Aramis down to the bed in a full-bodied move that left the smaller man coughing out a breath. The hand gripping the knife trembled in Porthos' tight hold. "You're not in Savoy! Hear me! Hear my voice and follow me back, Aramis! You're not there!"
Anne startled at the feeling of hot tears sliding down her cheeks as she watched Aramis's other hand, currently fisted in the back of Porthos's t-shirt, shift from trying to pull him away, to trying to pull him closer.
The knife clattered to the floor.
Porthos sighed out a loud breath, wilting in relief. The hand on Aramis' wrist loosened and released. Porthos shifted, framing Aramis' head gently between both hands and leaning forward to press their foreheads together. Aramis, for his part, fisted both hands in the back of Porthos' t-shirt, knuckles white as he gasped in half-sobbed breaths.
"You're not there," Porthos repeated, though more quietly now. "You're here with me, brother. I'm right here."
She could hear Aramis laboring over each breath, like his lungs couldn't function properly, like there wasn't enough air in the world for him to ever catch up.
Porthos made a sharp whistling sound and Esmé leapt onto the bed, burrowing her way into the embrace.
Anne backed out of the room, tears blurring her vision as she retreated down the hall.
She found herself in the kitchen, watching the kettle slowly come to a boil with no memory of putting water on. She wasn't even sure how much time had passed.
"You okay?"
She jumped, whirling to face Porthos where he stood in the kitchen doorway.
"Sorry," he offered quietly.
He looked somehow years older than he had only hours ago when they all went to bed.
"You okay?" he asked again.
"Me? I'm fine. Why wouldn't I be fine?" she asked, words running together a little as she sped through them. She turned back to face the kettle when tears burned in her eyes again, threatening to fall.
"I never am after nights like this," he confessed.
She risked a peek over her shoulder. He sank into one of the kitchen chairs, rubbing tiredly at his eyes.
"It hurts to see him like that," Porthos went on. "He's the strongest person I know, always has been, seeing him brought this low is like a knife twisting in my chest."
Anne turned to face him, leaning against the counter next to the stove.
"Is he okay?" she asked.
Porthos sighed deeply but nodded.
"He will be. Once I got him breathing right again and calm enough, I had him call Constance. Between her and Esmé, he'll find his way through it."
"But is he okay?" she asked again, willing Porthos to understand without her having to spell it out.
The big man's eyes softened.
"It's like a scar in his mind and soul, Anne," he explained. "It won't ever go away. He won't ever be who he was before that op.But, that scar will heal, bit by bit, if he takes care of it."
The kettle started to whistle and Anne busied herself making tea. She held up a second cup with an arched brow and Porthos nodded to the unasked question.
She set the two filled cups on the table, wrapping her hands around hers to warm them as the tea steeped.
"I don't know what I would have done if we had been at my place instead," she whispered.
"You would have stayed back and let Esmé do her job. He would have woken eventually either from her or on his own. It might have taken longer for him to find reality again than it did this time, but Esmé would have helped ground him. Then, you would have done exactly what I did: made him call Constance and given him space to sort through it without feeling like he was in a fishbowl."
Her doubts must have shown on her face because Porthos reached across the table and grasped her hand.
"This isn't new to him, Anne. Constance has taught him coping skills over the last five years that help manage nights like this."
"But you helped him. I saw you help him."
"I did," he allowed. "Because I was there when the scar was made, Anne. I was part of him learning how to take care of it. I know, if I need to, that I can take that knife away if I can't get him to let it go on his own. I know I can hold him down if he starts fighting too hard. He knows it too. He expects me to do it if necessary and I know he'll forgive me if it comes to that."
"I felt useless," she admitted. She knew she could never be able to do either of those things.
"So did I, back in the beginning. Sometimes I still do."
She twisted her lips wryly.
"Comforting."
He shrugged a shoulder, one corner of his mouth pulling up in a weak imitation of a smile.
"You'll find your place in the process," he assured. "He'll find a way to tell you what he needs from you. You just have to be patient and pay attention, so you don't miss it."
"Did you?" He quirked his brow in confusion. "Miss it," she clarified.
Porthos's eyes dimmed and he nodded.
"I missed it for weeks," he confessed. "He was telling me, in his own way, but I was too wrapped up in my own head to properly listen."
"What did he need from you?" she wondered.
"A beacon," he explained. "A voice to cut through the darkness. He told me once, after I'd finally figured it out, that he could hear me. When the rest of his world was in chaos, he could hear me and use that to find his way back."
"That's what you did tonight. You called to him through the chaos."
Porthos nodded.
"My very own lighthouse in the storm."
They both jerked their heads around toward the doorway. Aramis quirked his lips in a weary half smile and pushed away from the door frame, Esmé close at his side. He moved to the fridge, stiff like he had aged fifty years overnight.
"All good?" Porthos asked as Aramis pulled a water bottle from the fridge and drained the entire thing in three long gulps.
Aramis shrugged a little.
"Old hat, by now, isn't it?" he said dismissively.
Porthos arched an eyebrow, expression stern. Aramis deflated a little.
"As good as I ever am on nights like this."
Anne wasn't sure that was altogether very comforting, but Porthos lost a little tension in his shoulders.
"Need anything?" the larger man asked.
Aramis shook his head.
"Go back to bed, brother. I won't be haunted any more tonight."
Porthos nodded, sighing deeply as he stood.
"Take my seat then. Drink some tea."
Porthos gently pressed at Aramis's shoulder until he sat.
"Goodnight, Anne," Porthos offered warmly. She smiled in return and watched him tousle Esmé's ears and then disappear back into the hallway.
"I'm sorry," Aramis whispered once they were alone. "Are you alright?"
"I'm fine," she assured, sliding her hand across the table to squeeze his fingers. "Worried about you."
"Don't be," he said immediately. His lips quirked a little. "Old demons."
"Can I do anything?"
He turned the teacup on the table with his free hand, eyes shifting to study its contents, then to drift around the kitchen, and then down to look at Esmé.
"If you want, you should try to get some more sleep. I know you have work tomorrow."
Anne hesitated, frowning at the idea of going back to bed.
"What about you?"
"Oh, there won't be any more sleep for me tonight. I usually just read or maybe take Esmé for a run." She noticed he was in athletic shorts and a T-shirt now instead of just his boxers. "You don't need to stay up."
She studied him, watching his free hand shift from the teacup to stroke Esmé's head. She could feel a slight tremor in the fingers she still had wrapped in her own.
"Are you sure?" she asked.
He kept his gaze on Esmé as he replied.
"I'm used to a sleepless night every now and then."
She nodded slowly but stayed until they'd both finished their tea. He and Esmé settled in on the couch as she headed back to the bedroom. A glance back showed him picking up a book off the end table.
Chewing at her lip, Anne went back into the room. She left the door cracked and curled up on the bed. Unsurprisingly, it felt too big and too empty. With a huff, she shifted over to Aramis's side, pressing her cheek against his pillow and inhaling the familiar scent of his shampoo.
Slowly, she relaxed.
But then, for the second time that night, Porthos's voice rang out in her mind.
"He'll find a way to tell you what he needs from you."
Anne opened her eyes, remembering Aramis sitting across from her at the table, outlining his plan to read or go for a run.
"You just have to be patient and pay attention…"
He hadn't met her eyes.
The entire time they'd been speaking, he'd avoided looking directly at her. Instead, he'd kept a hand on Esmé, as if grounding himself, and had kept shifting his gaze around the room, checking windows, checking doors.
"…so you don't miss it."
He hadn't told hernotto stay. She sat up, running through the conversation in her head. He'd used words like 'if you want to' and 'you don't need to'.
He'd never actually said he didn't want her to stay.
He'd never even actually said he was okay.
Climbing back out of the bed, Anne padded back out into the hall, moving silently into view of the living room.
Aramis sat, a hand buried in Esmé's fur, the book clenched in his hand, but unopened. His eyes were on the front door.
She wasn't surprised in the least when he looked over immediately, sensing her presence unerringly.
"Iwantto stay with you," she stated. "I don't want you to be alone."
She knew she'd made the right choice when something loosened in his shoulders even though he didn't say anything. Decision made, she moved to the couch, nudging him until he made room for her between his body and the arm.
"What are you reading?" she asked, indicating the book as she tucked her feet up under his thigh.
He wordlessly held the book out to her.
"Dumas," she mused. "Good choice."
He hummed wordlessly, watching her closely.
"May I?" she asked, holding the book open to the first page.
He stared at her, as if seeing her more clearly than ever before, and then nodded.
"On the first Monday of the month of April, 1625, the market town of Meung, in which the author of Romance of the Rose was born, appeared to be in as perfect a state of revolution as if the Huguenots had just made a second La Rochelle of it."
Next to her, he rested his head back against the cushion of the couch, eyes falling closed as he listened.
"Many citizens, seeing the women flying toward the High Street, leaving their children crying at the open doors, hastened to don the cuirass…"
Porthos came into the living room in the morning to find Anne reading a book, her feet crossed at the ankles on the coffee table. This wasn't all that surprising. Anne could often be found reading in their living room.
Aramis sleeping with his head pillowed on her lap, however, came as a bit of a shock.
Porthos stood there staring for long enough that Anne looked up, co*cking an eyebrow.
"He went back to sleep?"
"Maybe an hour ago," she replied, voice pitched low.
"He never goes back to sleep after a dream like that."
Anne's lips curled up a little into a soft, warm smile.
"The magic of Dumas," she commented, holding the book up for him to see the cover.
The Three Musketeers
Porthos smiled.
"He's loved that book since we were children. Could always count on him to have a copy in some form."
Anne's smile grew with the new knowledge, her fingers gently combing through the hair at Aramis's temple.
Porthos smiled too. It seemed Anne had found her place with no trouble at all.
