Pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes, Athos tries to listen, tries to do what they say. For some time his breaths come in small, sobbing gasps, but finally they begin to steady. Slowly he becomes aware of the nearby sound of automobiles, the brightening of the light around them, and most importantly, the arms wrapped tightly around him. “Aramis,” he whispers, voice choked. “Porthos."