(no subject)

As with the ride to the hospital, the ride home again feels interminable, and the cabbie's constant chatter grates on Aramis' nerves. All he wants is for the three of them to be together, but to reach that point, he must first collect Porthos' requested items and, far more distressingly, break the news to Athos. Aramis would dearly love to take a moment and weep as well, but there is no time, and when at last the taxi pulls up to the curb, Aramis all but throws his money and launches himself from the vehicle.

He arrives back at his own door much as he left it, hair wild when he throws it open to stare with red eyes at the scene he'd abandoned. Papers and child rearing magazines he would like to tear from existence still lie askew on the table, the path he'd charged half over, half around the chairs still in place. Aramis cannot take the time to right things now, however, and he drags his hands through his hair, looking around with red rimmed eyes. "Athos?" he calls. Now that he is home again, he recalls that he'd put his phone down to grab his coat. Kneeling, Aramis checks and yes, there it is beneath the chaise. Tucking it safely away again, Aramis rises.

"Athos? Are you home?"