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Five Times Aramis Escaped From Richelieu, and One Time That He Couldn't part four, Musketeers short, affinityverse (best catalogued in my memories) <3

Disclaimer: ffs

Rating: Probably only PG-13?

Warnings and spoilers: The main list's on part one, read sensibly.

Summary: 4. Get the hell out of dodge.

Note: Super short. Necessary. (I have been plotting these five times fics carefully, I didn't just forget about them ;) )

The gentle jolting of the moving car wakes him. He comes to slowly, it's a struggle to get his eyes open, for an unfocused moment a struggle to understand and then -

Athos' car, and it's night. On the back seat, neck stiff, Aramis lifts his cheek from Porthos' shoulder and Porthos says, "Hey, sleepin' beauty." very quietly, and Aramis blinks at him, looks at Athos driving -

At d'Artagnan, in the passenger seat, looking nervously, distrustfully back at him. Aramis just smiles in return. He's glad they didn't forget the pup, wherever they're going.

He says, his voice comes with that sandpapered edge of too many episodes, "Where are we going?"

"The house by the sea." Athos says, and drives. "Richelieu was coming to the villa to see d'Artagnan, you became - ill."

Aramis looks at him for a long time trying to find some words but his tongue's got stuck, so he looks at Porthos instead. Porthos holds his head in his hand, says quietly, "You got really worked up, so we thought it was best to just - get out of there."

D'Artagnan says, "I just thought it would be easier to get the hell away from you people when there aren't so many guards around."

Aramis smiles, as Porthos opens a bottle of water for him, and rasps, "I appreciate your honesty."

D'Artagnan shrugs his folded arms. "If you're psychic you know it anyway."

"Where would you go?" Aramis says, accepting the bottle from Porthos in both hands, he doesn't trust one to support it. "We're your circle."

"You keep saying that." d'Artagnan says. "It still doesn't mean I understand it."

No, Aramis thinks, and takes as long a drink as his parched throat demands. He feels it when he presses, where he feels Athos' rift, Porthos' rift, like supportive beams wedged against the edges of his own. There's no third rift pinning his in, completing the circle. There's still a hell of a lot of water leaking out.

He swallows, his head hangs its bowling ball weight, and Porthos takes the bottle off him before it slops onto his lap. "We'll get there," Aramis mumbles, Porthos' arm tugging him to his side, helping him to rest his head to the natural pillow of Porthos' shoulder. "Got th' time," Aramis says, though it's getting hard to make his tongue get the words clear.

He goes back to sleep. He dreams that there's a scorpion under their bed.

They do not have much time.

Date: 2017-07-12 10:30 am (UTC)
From: [personal profile] cat_i_th_adage
He goes back to sleep. He dreams that there's a scorpion under their bed.

They do not have much time.



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