Author's Note: Hello everyone. This is a modern, post Savoy story.

Aramis cringed again at the loud voice of Athos de la Fere, as his senior officer ranted at their Captain. Over Aramis. Again. Eyes of colleagues turned his way. Aramis tried to school his features into a tight, controlled, expressionless look. To anyone that didn't know him well, they would think him disinterested. Aramis sat immediately outside Treville's office. He sat staring straight ahead, in the seat Athos had planted him in with stern warning about what would happen to him if he moved out of it. Athos had thumped him hard enough into the chair to show Aramis who was in charge here and it was certainly not Aramis. The hurting sharpshooter put a hand to the healing wound on his chest, he sat with his back to the office, listening to his brother rant at their captain.

"This has gone too far." Athos growled. "Why do you let him continue like this?"

"Athos, enough." Treville growled. "He has been through a lot."

"I know that," Athos seethed. "I have had a front row seat while you hang out in the lobby. I ask again, why have you not stopped this behavior? You would never have allowed this nonsense before."

"Enough! Athos, sit." Treville growled as he sank down in the chair behind his desk. "I am busy with the details of twenty men's families and funerals and the vetting process of new recruits. I need you to handle Aramis."

"Captain," Athos raised his voice. "This will not stop without your attention to it. He is muddled, at times, yes. But, today he knew exactly what he was doing. He did it deliberately!"

"Athos, enough." Treville shot him a stern look.

"He is not so innocent as you would think." Athos pushed through, demanding to be heard.

Aramis, eavesdropping, listened harder from outside the office.

"Athos, he is still injured, still recovering. Give him some grace." Treville gave Athos a pointed look.

"Yes, he is still injured, but it hardly slows him from getting into trouble. Porthos and I only need to turn our backs a moment and he is in trouble. He has it more together than he lets on." Athos dragged a hand down his face. He made a conscious effort to control his voice and remember who he was talking to. Outside, Aramis leaned closer.

"I find it hard to believe that you and Porthos together cannot control one injured, underweight Aramis." Treville countered.

"He fights us when we try to get him to eat. I think he acts out of purpose," Athos said. "He wants your attention."

"I have been to see him," Treville bristled.

"Captain," Athos started. "He must have survivor's guilt or he believes he is to blame for the massacre. We cannot get through to him. He needs you."

Aramis flinched. It was his fault his brothers were dead. He should have fought harder. He should have kept Marsac from leaving. Aramis had no one to blame but himself.

"Well, so do many others. Many others that you and Porthos cannot help. I turn him over to you, Athos. Handle him how you see fit." Treville dismissed Athos.

Aramis cringed inwardly, nervous as to what Athos would do.

Athos rose to his feet in a flourish and stormed out of the office. He could desperately use a few moments away from Aramis, but was too concerned with just leaving his hurting friend where he was. There was no telling what he could get into with zero supervision and right outside Treville's door. Treville. The man Aramis so desperately wanted the attention of.

"Come," Athos grabbed Aramis by his bicep and forcefully pulled him out of his chair. Aramis failed to contain a quiet grown. Several heads turned in their direction, disapproving looks on their faces. "Back to work!" Athos barked, even as he softened his touch, steadying Aramis as he swayed.

"Athos," Aramis started.

"Not here," Athos had become keenly aware of all the extra eyes and ears on them.

"Now, you're worried about an audience?" Aramis asked in a low voice.

"Now, you're concerned about who knows about your nonsense?" Athos countered, leading his friend out of the area and through the halls to their shared office area. "Don't think for a second that I don't know what you're doing."

"I have no idea what you mean."

"Liar." Athos gave him a shake. Aramis, in a fit of temper, jerked his arm from Athos' grip. Athos, surprised Aramis was able to do so, snatched the arm back again with enough pressure that Aramis would not get free until Athos allowed it. The truth was it had taken Athos and Porthos some time to distinguish that Aramis was not as muddled as he'd like them to believe. That his actions were intentional.

Yes, he was still weak and hurting and Aramis knew it. Certainly not strong enough to protect himself from any kind of threat. He needed his brother's protection and he hated himself for it. He was weak.

"You're back," Porthos said to Athos as the two breezed into their shared office with Athos mostly dragging an intentionally difficult Aramis a half step behind him. "How did it go?"

"About as well as last time," Athos shoved Aramis into the chair the furthest from the door, farthest away from the only exit to the office.

"Easy, now." Porthos frowned at the rough treatment.

"You know he's playing it up. He's mostly recovered." Athos muttered.

"He has a head injury, you can't see inside his nogin." Porthos looked at Aramis. "Go easy, he couldn't fight his way outta a wet paper bag."

"You know, I'm in the room, right?" Aramis growled.

"Oh, we know," Porthos shot Aramis a stern look. "What say you, Aramis? How would you handle a wounded brother with a desire to hurt himself more?"

"I don't know what you're talking about." Oh but Aramis did. He knew exactly what he was doing. He didn't want Athos and Porthos. He wanted his surrogate father, Treville. And Athos was right, Treville would never have let Aramis get away with this behavior. At least, he never had in the past. Granted, Aramis had never deliberately sought Treville's discipline-like attention before. But, after only one visit to Aramis' sick room, Treville had all but ignored him. Aramis was saturated in guilt, certain that Treville blamed him for his twenty dead brothers and the one missing.

With a jolt, Aramis realized he had missed most of the whispered conversation between Athos and Porthos. A conversation that had most definitely been about him. Rats. Now he had no idea of their plan of attack or how to thwart it. He needed to escape his wardens.

Porthos and Athos shared a look over Aramis' head and after a nod from Porthos, Athos headed out of the room.

"Aramis," Porthos sat down in his own office chair and nudged it forward until their knees touched. "You and me gotta talk."

"Don't want to." Was the sullen reply, Aramis rubbing at the barely healed scar on his head.

"Well, tough." Porthos forces a water bottle into Aramis's hands. "You want to be strong enough to stop me 'nd Athos from taking care of you, then start doing it yourself. Water. Now."

With a sigh Aramis untwisted the cap and took a long pull on the water bottle, surprised at how thirsty he was. Then the marksman shot his friend an obnoxious look. "Happy?"

"Ecstatic." Porthos nudges his shoulder with the flat of his hand. "Wrap your head around the idea of eating lunch today, too."

"Not hungry."

"Don't care."

"Jerk."

"Brat."

The two shared a fond look with each other.

"Aramis, I can't begin to tell you that I understand what you been through," Porthos started.

"Then don't, leave me alone." Aramis interrupted.

"Shut up and listen, you got no choice," Porthos gave Aramis a minute to look around and realize he was essentially boxed in. "I don't know what it's like to stand in a clearing, being the last man standing. The bodies of your brothers all around you."

And just like that the water made a reappearance.

"I should say sorry, but I'm not." Porthos shoved the waste basket under Aramis's chin as he expelled the water. "Not talking about it ain't working. Me an' Athos, we want to help. We need to help."

Porthos moved his big, warm hand up and down Aramis's back. Aramis loved the warmth of Porthos' touch but would never admit it. "You've got an appointment with the counselor, maybe talk to her some."

Aramis shook his head sharply.

"Gotta talk to someone." Porthos gripped the back of Aramis's neck.

"Please, not today." Aramis looked up, his eyes connecting with Porthos'. Begging his brother for mercy.

"We are brother, are we not?" Porthos implored.

"You do not want to be my brother. My brothers die." Aramis spit into the trash can one last time and Porthos tucked it away.

"We are brothers and I'll keep reminding you o' that until it sinks in." Pothos' smile was infectious and Aramis leaned into his soothing touch as the larger man continued to rub his back.

A/N: I hope you enjoyed.