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Athos heard Porthos roar behind him, hurling their final opponent into the wall hard enough to knock him out. He quickly surveyed the scene. There were three dead in the blast, the man he'd been fighting was dead, it appeared d'Artagnan had killed the other two. Athos heard another sudden roar from Porthos and whirled around.
He was crouched beside Aramis whose eyes were still closed. Athos felt a block of ice drop into his stomach. Aramis had been stood closer than anyone to the explosion. He couldn't be...
D'Artagnan rushed past him and joined Porthos at Aramis' side.
“He's alive,” gasped d'Artagnan, looking over at Athos who was watching them intensely.
“Get him back to the yard,” Athos ground out. He could feel his jaw clenching as he watched the two of them lift Aramis' limp form.
Athos took his time handing the remaining thief over to the guards. It was taking a lot of restraint not to punch him constantly. The way Aramis' head had dropped over Porthos' shoulder kept replaying in his mind.
When he finally got back to the yard it was past midnight and he hoped to find Aramis awake. D'Artagnan was at the bottom of the stairs and looked up as he arrived.
“He's awake,” d'Artagnan said flatly.
Athos searched his face. Something was wrong. He raised an eyebrow and d'Artagnan rubbed a hand over his face.
“He's deaf.”
Aramis stood suddenly and pushed Porthos away. He began to pace in Tréville's rooms, shaking his head back and forth. There was nothing. He could feel Porthos standing and following him. That hadn't changed, he could still feel Porthos. He stood still for a moment and reached out with his other senses. He had no concept of where the Captain was.
He sighed in annoyance, feeling the breath pass his lips but not hearing it. Porthos' hand landed on his shoulder, warm and reassuring. He turned under his hand and sighed again.
“Permanent?”
He saw a look of confusion cross Porthos' face.
“Volume off?” Aramis asked, trying to lower his voice.
Porthos winced.
“Too quiet,” Porthos said.
Aramis sighed in frustration, not understanding and jumped when another hand landed on his shoulder. He turned to see Tréville looking kindly at him.
“Permanent?” he asked again, raising his voice to what felt normal.
He watched Tréville's mouth carefully and made out the words 'don't know'. He felt his heart leap into his throat and turned away.
He felt Porthos move away and turned to watch him. He grabbed a piece of parchment on Tréville's desk and he scrawled the words.
“Bath. Home. Rest.”
Aramis scowled, reduced to reading things off a piece of paper. He could speak four languages and yet now couldn't hear a word of any of them. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Tréville reading the parchment and nodding. Aramis sighed again turning his back on them.
Porthos followed him closely down the stairs and through the yard. He was relieved to see Aramis walking through to the baths at the back of the garrison. Porthos knew them well after living at the yard for years before moving in with Aramis.
Aramis found Florian at the end of the row of apartments and called his name. He figured he must be getting better at the volume because Florian didn't seem to react unusually.
“Is there hot water available for a bath?” he asked, getting closer.
He saw Florian start to speak but he turned his back on him and Aramis glanced at Porthos for help, feeling another wave of frustration crash over him. Porthos nodded at him and Aramis huffed in annoyance.
Athos knocked nervously on the door of the bath house. He assumed Porthos would be with Aramis and would hear them. He was correct when Porthos opened the door and looked between them.
He stepped aside to admit them and they saw Aramis lacing his breeches. He glanced over at them and smiled weakly.
“You look better without the dust,” d'Artagnan said brightly.
Athos gripped d'Artagnan's wrist but it was too late. As soon as he'd spoken, the weak smile on Aramis' face had slid off. Porthos glared at d'Artagnan and silently handed Aramis his shirt.
Aramis finished dressing in silence and swept from the bath house, trying to hold his head up. He'd never admit it to anyone except Porthos but feeling him so close behind him every step of the way made him feel safer.
He'd always known how much he relied on his eyes. A marksman always needed them. It was one of the reasons he never went anywhere without his hat, using the brim to keep powder out of his eyes. He'd never appreciated his ears. He strained with all his might but couldn't hear a thing.
How would he ever ride out as a Musketeer? He'd have to leave. He couldn't anticipate an ambush. He'd never be able to go to war, not being able to hear people nearby. He'd never be able to protect anyone, unable to hear the approach of enemies.
He entered their home and felt a wave of despair crash over him. What would he do? He felt Porthos removing his weapons and coat and turned to look at him, silently telling him his worries.
“Rest. Talk in morning,” Porthos mouthed silently at him.
Aramis took a deep breath and nodded. He glanced around Porthos to the other two. D'Artagnan looked like he was sat a dying man's bedside. Athos' face was tight and unreadable. He looked away, the pain and concern on his friend's faces making it all too real.
“I'm going to bed, gentlemen. I will see you in the morning,” he said stiffly, turning on his heel and heading to the bedroom. He was grateful when he felt Porthos following closely.
Aramis woke in a panic. He'd been dreaming of the explosion, waking just at the moment it went off. He sat up quickly and held his hands over his ears, shaking his head vigorously. He felt Porthos gently pulling his hands down. He said something and Aramis winced.
“Still nothing,” he said and Porthos nodded sadly.
They got up and dressed quickly. Moving into the main chamber of their apartments, Aramis stood a bit uncertainly.
“What now?” he asked.
Porthos turned and fixed him with a determined stare.
“Work,” he said, his lips clearly making the word.
“What's the point?”
Porthos sighed, Aramis could see it in his body. He watched him as he moved to the bureau and grabbed a piece of parchment and started to write furiously. He thrust it at Aramis who read it.
'Stop feeling sorry for yourself. Do your job. damage might not last. Gotta go to work'
Aramis smiled softly at Porthos.
“You have so much hope, mi vida. I wish I had that,” he said quietly, looking away.
Porthos stepped closer and lifted his chin. He kissed Aramis gently and met his eyes. When he was sure Aramis was watching him he mouthed a single word.
“Faith”
Aramis felt utterly ridiculous. They were sat in Tréville's common room at the garrison and the Captain had furnished them all with pieces of parchment to write things for Aramis.
Nobody was using theirs except the Captain. Porthos was staying within arm's reach and had done the entire time to the yard. D'Artagnan was still wearing that infuriating expression as if someone had died. Athos was wearing what Aramis thought of his mask where he denied the very existence of emotion.
He sighed in frustration, waiting for Tréville to finish writing. When he finally slid the parchment across the table, Aramis angled it so Porthos could read it as well.
There were well meaning platitudes about hearing often taking a couple of days to return but Tréville had added a part about worst case scenario. He wrote about making sure there was always a position in the Musketeers for Aramis. He suggested he remain at the yard as a surgeon, patching up soldiers as they returned.
A wave of nausea hit him and he clenched his fist on the table. He felt Porthos squeeze his knee under the table and felt a wave of gratitude that Porthos at least understood.
How could he do that? As a young, fit man he could think of nothing worse than sitting in safety at the yard, watching his brothers ride off to danger. Young d'Artagnan? Athos? His Porthos? How could the Captain ever think he'd be able to do that? How would he ever bear the idea? Did he consider him such a cowardly man that he'd allow his friends to ride into danger without him? What use would he be if he went with them, though?
He saw Athos beckoning with his hand and he thrust the parchment at him without looking. He felt an awful prickling behind his eyes as he thought of pottering around the yard every day, just waiting for people to come back injured. The thought of sitting quietly in the nice safe yard and having Porthos brought to him after facing such dangers made him physically ache.
He turned his head to Porthos and found him frowning derisively at Tréville. Porthos turned to look at him and smiled, squeezing his leg again. At least here was one man who understood that arrangement would kill Aramis.
Porthos nodded at the table and Aramis found a piece of parchment being pushed towards him with both d'Artagnan's and Athos handwriting on it.
D'Artagnan had written 'Don't give up. It's been less than a day' and Aramis glanced up at him. He found himself irritated by the look on d'Artagnan's face. He was still wearing the death bed expression. He opened his mouth to say something but felt Porthos squeeze his knee again.
He forced his temper down and moved on to read Athos' elegant writing.
'Tréville means that no matter what happens, you are a Musketeer. You remain our brother and best friend. Not one of us, including Captain Tréville, will abandon you. Nor will any of us permit you to abandon us. I have spoken to many doctors and all say that since you were so close, it is unsurprising you have been rendered deaf. They do not expect it to last but told the Captain it is prudent for us to consider the worst. That is unnecessary. The worst would be for you to have lost your life. Since that did not happen, we now move forwards. Together.'
He glanced up at Athos and smiled softly. He turned back to Porthos for reaction but he was still reading.
“Thanks,” he said, unable to form much more than that.
He saw Athos' mouth moving but was only able to catch a few words. From the way he kept glancing at Tréville and the Captain's eager nodding, he guessed he was just telling him what he'd written.
He felt Porthos' eyes on him and turned to see him nodding fervently, gesturing at Athos' note. He grabbed the parchment and scrawled something on the bottom.
'love isn't just blind. Love is deaf. Follow you anywhere'
Aramis read it sideways as Porthos wrote and he smiled tenderly. He nodded at Porthos and they stared at each other for long seconds.
Porthos' eyes jerked away from him and he followed his gaze to Tréville who was staring expectantly at them. Aramis took the parchment with Porthos' words on it and tossed it behind him into the fire. Some things he didn't share.
“So what now?” he asked the room at large.
Tréville narrowed his eyes at them and lowered his head to write something and passed it back to them.
'You don't need your ears to fire a gun. Shooting practice.'
It became clear to Aramis after only a few minutes that word had gotten around the yard that he was deaf. He was pleasantly surprised, though. He'd expected people to treat him like a cripple and pity him or avoid him like some sort of oddity. A deaf soldier was an oddity. Instead people kept clapping him on the shoulder as they passed. One man patted Aramis' pauldron and then patted his own. Aramis nodded in surprise. He turned to see Porthos beaming at him.
'Brothers' Porthos mouthed.
Aramis nodded again, the first genuine smile crossing his face. However things turned out, this was his family. He always knew Porthos would never ever leave his side, no matter what happened but to have the rest of the men making sure he knew it was heart warming. He turned back to load his musket and out of the corner of his eye saw Porthos do the same.
Porthos fired first and Aramis grinned at the pout on Porthos' face. He was great with a pistol but the longer musket was not his forte. Aramis took his own shot and dropped the musket in surprise.
Porthos' hand landed on his shoulder in an instant. Aramis met his eyes and saw the concern in them. He shook his head in confusion and bent to retrieve the weapon.
What was that? There had been a throb in his ears when he fired. Was it the vibration from the weapon? It couldn't have been... No. Mustn't get too excited.
They lined up again and Aramis felt a definite throb when Porthos fired again. So it wasn't the weapon. Was it... Could it be? He strained and his face lit up as he could just about pick out the sounds of Porthos reloading. He grabbed Porthos' arm excitedly.
“Say something,” he whispered, too low for his own ears to pick up.
He saw Porthos' lips move but from the way he was glancing around the yard, he guessed he'd whispered as well.
“Louder,” Aramis urged, still whispering. He didn't want anyone else to hear if it wasn't true.
Porthos leaned close on the pretence of taking one of Aramis' powder sachets.
“Love you,” he said into Aramis' ear.
Aramis jumped back in surprise and grinned at him.
“Me too,” he said quietly.
"You heard?" Porthos asked, excitement lighting his eyes as well. Aramis nodded.
Porthos dropped his musket to the ground and crushed Aramis into an enormous bear hug, lifting him from the ground and spinning him. Aramis laughed and could dimly hear the noise at last.
“Porthos!”
“It's coming back! You can hear!” Porthos cried, ignoring him.
Suddenly Aramis felt hands on his back and he turned his head to see Athos smiling at him, his hand on his shoulder. Beside him was d'Artagnan, his hand patting his back. Turning his head back and forth he found he was surrounded by Musketeers, his brothers, all patting him and squeezing his shoulders gently.
Porthos finally let go of his waist and relinquished him to the rest of the men. Aramis beamed, tears springing to his eyes as he was finally able to hear a muffled murmur of voices. Amongst it he could pick out his name and the word brother.
Just as he was feeling overwhelmed, Porthos stepped back in and hugged him again. Gradually the men dispersed with last touches to his shoulder, his arm, his back.
Finally Aramis was left with just his best friends and the Captain. He wiped his eyes and Tréville clapped him on the shoulder. Aramis me his eyes but frowned when Tréville said something he couldn't hear. He repeated it louder.
“Good to have you back, son”