Aramis is crying. Porthos and Athos already know that Aramis crying, even in the way he does, silently and gently, wrecks them to see.
D'Artagnan is learning that it does similar things to him. He's crouching on the ground next to Aramis' chair, holding his hand and his wine, and trying not to cry himself.
Aramis had decided, late last night, that what he really needed to do was to go get very very drunk to forget Adele.
He hadn't told any of them, hadn't warned Porthos or asked Athos to come with or informed d'Artagnan not to do as he did. He'd just up and left, and left the three of them to figure it out.
Porthos, for his part, has managed to at least gather himself enough to be a little closer to Aramis. Athos is still standing in the corner, staring at Aramis openly.
Porthos walks around to Aramis and put his arm around Aramis' shoulders.
"We need you to walk now, yeah? We aren't goin' to carry you flat out, get your feet under you, yeah, thas' it."
He manages to get Aramis about six inches off of the chair before Aramis slides down and looks into the empty cup in front of him sadly. The tears have stopped, at least for now, and Athos has managed to get across the room. He pushes d'Artagnan out of the way and takes Aramis' chin in his hand.
"You are going to do as I say now, yes," Athos says, in a tome that leaves no room for argument. Aramis meets his gaze with watery eyes and nods silently.
"Good. You're going to get up, and we are going to walk you out of here, and then you are going to sleep this off, understand? And you are not, are not to do this again without telling one of us where you are," he states, and the steely determination in his voice is chilling and solid. Aramis nods again, and pulls himself up.
Athos yanks him into a hug, and they walk out together.
When Aramis manages to sleep it off, he emerges from his room to find Porthos standing there with an inscrutable look on his face. Aramis feels compelled to tell him everything suddenly, and he feels 17 again, brokenhearted and tired and in need of comfort.
"Why," Porthos asks, and the large smile that Aramis has pasted on falls away.
“I don’t want to feel this. I want to be numb again," Aramis says. "Let me have that."
Porthos pulls Aramis into a hug.
"Can' let you do that. Stay with me tonight, eh? Stay with me." Aramis clings on tighter, like he can't let go or he'll die. They stay like that for what feels like an eternity, until there are soft hands poking at Aramis' side, and rougher ones dragging him into a garrison rooms.
They laugh all night, and while they know it cannot last, it feels good to have something so easy and comfortable. Aramis can fall in love with all of them a little in this moment, and it's easy, because they are Musketeers, and death does not dare come for them before they can come for it.
