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“It doesn’t work.” Athos says quietly.
Aramis looks at him with bright eyes as if this is the first step on the long road towards salvation.
“No,” a pause as he chooses his words carefully, “it doesn’t mon ami, and to hear you-“
“I don’t mean it in that way.” Athos sighs. Something in his mood, or the alcohol in his veins, or the past few days that have beaten him down more than most, loosens his tongue.
“What I mean to say is…”
What does he mean to say? Where does he start? Does he start with his first drink? The bottle of sour wine that made him gag beneath the servant quarter stairs after midnight? Does he begin with the days and weeks spent out of his mind with grief and alcohol and anger after the death of his brother and wife?
Athos straightens in the chair and the wine doesn’t quite dull the pain in his leg. Aramis looks down, always anxious when one of them is injured, never quite calm again until the injury is almost forgotten.
“Athos?” Aramis is always gentle in these moments.
“I don’t deserve your care.” It slips out before Athos can stop it and instantly Aramis leans forward and presses a kiss to his forehead.
“It does not need to be earned mon ami.” Aramis smiles sadly and quickly squeezes his hand before standing.
The infirmary is thankfully empty tonight and Aramis begins making up a bed in the corner. Athos watches as a cotton sheet is thrown into the air and finds that his vision clouds.
“It does not work in the way you think it does.” Athos finally says and Aramis stands with a folded blanket held close to his chest.
“You think I drink to forget, that I drink to stop the memories when they come, that I drink to stop her voice following me from room to room… that I drink in order to find some hidden pathway towards Lethe. There is no Lethe Aramis.” Athos, staring into his brother’s eyes, can feel the stillness of the room.
“I remember everything again when I wake each morning. I remember the scent she left on the pillow, I remember my brother running with me as mother called us in, I remember the sound of the rope and the stain of his blood on my hands. Everything.”
He’s aware now that there are tears in his eyes, he straightens and again there is pain but this time Aramis stays where he is.
“So it’s not about forgetting. It’s about remembering what I have done and what it is that I deserve.”
Aramis opens his mouth but no words come. Somewhere in the distance a door is closed with a thud that echoes through the night.
“Thank you for tending to my wound-“
“Athos-“
“But I am fine now.”
Eventually Aramis takes his brother’s arm and helps him to stand before settling him into bed. As Athos turns away from him and pulls the blanket higher Aramis presses another kiss to his head.
“I will be here when you wake.”