Aramis clings to him, and if he were in command of himself he'd know this is the worst kiss he's ever bestowed, his mouth slick with his own tears and body still shaking with his sobs, but he kisses Porthos with all that he has, whimpering for the tugs to his hair.

"Porthos," he murmurs, certain that the other man's hands are all that are holding him together. "In December. If all goes well, we'll meet our Lucie in December."