Chapter Text
❧
“Mornin,’” Porthos wandered into the common room, a few men were grabbing late breakfast or milling about before their duties. He sat down across from his recently returned friend, a thankfully solo Aramis. There were a few tasks set to him for the day, but he had time before he’d need to start. “Heard y’got in before muster.”
Aramis smiled around his apple and finished chewing before he spoke. “Very early this morning, Tréville granted the absence.”
“Figured,” Porthos reached for some of the bread on the tabled, and tore off a piece. “Monsieur Charbonneau slipped off before the sun was up.”
Aramis yawned and reached for the ripped bread. He rested his cheek on one fist, eyes half-slits that looked like they might slide closed before the piece reached his mouth. He spoke before taking a bite.
“Did he?” Yawning again, Aramis’ mouth lifted, his left eye scrunching closed with the upward push of his knuckles.
“Yeah, been stayin’ with me the last few nights y’ve been gone.” Porthos told him, tapping his fingers on the table to edge the anger from his voice. It wasn’t Aramis’ fault, but he was still upset about what happened – what had almost happened to the cat. “Since he was attacked.”
“Oh?”
“Bunch of boys, had ‘im in a net.” Porthos cut himself off from speaking, his temper rising against the memory.
“Porthos?”
Aramis’ hand had dropped from holding up his head and closed over Porthos’ wrist.
“Sorry,” Porthos shook his head, but didn’t move his arm. “That ever happen before?”
“I’ve had chats with several young men about being kind to all God’s creatures.” Aramis smiled, but it was tight.
“Chats, eh?”
“Well, more ‘spirited’ discussions,” Aramis amended. “And more one-sided.”
“Y’threatened ‘em?” Porthos suspected Aramis could be convincing, and intimidating.
“I have a way with children.” Aramis smirked, before he slid his features to a more serious expression. “Thank you, for looking after him.”
“No need, not complainin’ – been nice havin’ him tucked in with me.”
“He’s an affectionate sort,” Aramis tapped a finger on his wrist and leaned back. He slumped in his chair with a tired smirk; his eyes gazed over with interest.
Porthos shrugged against his own chair-back. “Think he’d appreciate spendin’ the night with you, he’s not been venturing out of the garrison since. Not even during the day.”
Porthos bit his cheek. He’d miss Monsieur Charbonneau’s company, but he’d rather see the cat settled back into his normal routines.
“Surely he’s not merely slunk about. I know him quite well, and he’s prone to boredom,” Aramis inclined his head.
“Mischief more like.” Porthos’ mood lightened remembering the past days; with only training on the schedule for him and Athos, Monsieur Charbonneau had watched them.
He’d seemed content to keep his ‘defenders’ company, and with the added bonus of stealing bits of meat from their plates. Not that there’d been much sneaking on the cat’s part given that both men had no objections. Serge was another matter and he commented on the freeloading feline, who only chattered back indifferently.
Porthos still wondered how Marsac had been the one to find the little cat and he was convinced he’d only remained thanks to Aramis’ presence.
“Kept busy enough poking through our weapons and sneakin’ food. Serge grumbled about puttin’ ‘im to work as a rat-catcher.”
Aramis straightened, a slight tension across his shoulders, and he frowned.
“What?” Porthos asked.
“It’s offensive.”
“Seems like a pretty natural task.” Porthos couldn’t have stopped the chuckle, even in the face of Aramis’ offense on the cat’s behalf. As much as Porthos adored the small feline Aramis looked so displeased by the suggestion he couldn't help his amusement.
“Not for him,” Aramis sniffed, before relaxing back to the chair. “In any case, I’m glad he was unharmed, thank you.”
Porthos shrugged, happy to defend his fur covered friend. “Mostly, had a heck of a time gettin’ him clean...covered in sap so they…”
“I see.” Aramis held up his fingers to deter further explanation. Or upset.
Aramis’ mouth twisted with the thought of what Porthos referred to, what had almost occurred.
Porthos waved him off, needing no reminder or thanks for the rescue. “Wanted to wring their necks. Y’oughta thank Athos for holding me back.”
“I intend to,” Aramis assured. He scratched at his beard, tilting his head in thought. “For all his formality Athos is of a gentler nature where our resident feline is concerned.”
“Noticed that, did you?”
Aramis leaned closer, voice pitched low, as though about to conspire with him. “I’ve seen him setting aside choice bits of meat.”
Porthos’ grin was all teeth, he’d done the same himself. Many times. Although he would freely admit it and call Monsieur Charbonneau over at every opportunity. Athos, however, would grumble and occasionally chastise the cat’s presumptuous expectation of their attention.
“He’s not fooling anyone with that pretendin’...caught Athos talkin’ to ‘im well into the late hours the other night.”
Aramis’ smile was only a twitch of the lips, closed mouthed, but his eyes flicked up to Porthos “He is rather persistent, even against the most stubborn of men.”
Porthos snorted at the description. “Now that’s a quality they both share.”
Though still a recruit, Athos’ reserved temperament was well-known. And having spent time with both Porthos was certain of his choice. “Pretty sure I’d put my money on Monsieur Charbonneau.”
Aramis’ laugh began as a silent shake before it bubbled up and and he rolled his head along his shoulders. He didn’t dispute Porthos’ assessment.
“He’s quite a charming fellow.”
“Learned from the best, huh?”
“Naturally.” Aramis leaned back and toyed with the edge of his mustache.
“Still can’t believe that rotten bunch was going to kill a cat.”
“Who was going to do what?”
The men were seated across from each other, side-on to the door. Neither had heard Marsac approach.
“Nothing to be concerned over,” Aramis waved a hand in his direction.
“Hell it ain’t, they were going to kill him.” Porthos protested, his face turning to Aramis who had the grace to give him an apologetic smile. When Porthos turned back to the other man Marsac raised a brow, but his eyes were boring into Aramis.
“Bunch of kids. Captured him.”
Marsac ignored Porthos, his frown deepening as he stared at Aramis. “He shouldn’t have been loose.”
“We can’t keep him locked away,” Aramis argued.
Porthos wasn’t sure what Marsac expected Aramis to have done, they were both away – it wasn’t as though they could have take Monsieur Charbonneau on the mission.
“Can’t we?”
Porthos would have thought the absurd statement was a joke, if not for Marsac’s tone. It nearly sounded like a threat, but Porthos couldn't imagine why he’d be suggesting that to Aramis. He never needed an excuse to confront Marsac.
“Y’can’t lock him in yer room.”
“No. We can’t.” Aramis agreed. “And we won’t.”
“That cat doesn’t realize it’s for his own good.”
Something ugly, some inner thought Porthos couldn't discern, passed over Aramis’ face. As a man given to relaxed posture and expression, it was not a pleasant sight on him.
“They won’t try again. Athos and Porthos stopped them.”
“That shouldn’t have been necessary.”
Porthos had a sudden urge to go find Monsieur Charbonneau and offer him permanent lodgings. If only a cat were capable of understanding human speech.
He couldn’t place what was meant to be passing in the looks between the two men. He had the sense that he was being excluded from something. The undercurrent of what people tried to convey in silence in the presence of another; a second meaning beneath the words they said.
“Marsac, leave it be.” Aramis’ voice was firm, but he rubbed the back of his wrist over the scar on his forehead.
He tapped at his empty plate with his fingers, batting it slightly along the uneven wood. “Porthos? Are you up for some shooting this afternoon?”
Porthos looked him over, content to ignore the bristling man next to them. Although he couldn’t in good conscience accept the offer without asking after the recently returned musketeer. “Question is are you?”
“I’ve nothing else to do,” Aramis smiled around the confirmation.
His eyes were heavy lidded, but Porthos took him at his word and nodded.
“Aramis.”
The named man looked up at the speaker. Marsac was glaring down at him, arms moving to cross each other in a show of displeasure.
“Did you need something?”
“I thought we might discuss,” Marsac glanced at Porthos as though he could will him absent, “the mission.”
“I thought we already did.” Aramis’ smile widened. “With the Captain. This morning.”
Marsac’s arms crossed fully. And again Porthos thought he was missing a piece of the discussion taking place.
Aramis’ forehead wrinkled with the raise of both brows when he angled his head to see around Marsac.
“Athos!”
Porthos looked over in time to see the frown, the cool disdain, on Athos’ face as he regarded the other man. His eyes raked over Marsac’s back as he approached. He kept silent as he moved to take the chair to Aramis’ right, and therefore at Porthos’ left.
“Porthos was just accepting a rematch,” Aramis leaned back in his seat. He smirked at Porthos. “Behind by four, was it?”
“Five.” Athos said.
The look Aramis sent Athos was impressed and his eyes slipped to the ceiling as he recalculated. When he glanced to Porthos his expression converted to satisfaction. “That’s right, I’d forgotten the one you clipped.”
The corrected tally brought back the memory and Aramis stroked the end of his beard in obvious pleasure at the reminder. He frowned when he realized Marsac remained waiting – and expectant – at his side.
“Gentlemen, if you’ll excuse us…”
❧
“Porthos has been telling me you were right.”
Porthos had been telling Athos quite a number of tidbits. Regardless, he was pleased to see Aramis return absent Marsac.
“I am always right,” Aramis said. He raked a hand through his hair as he reclaimed his seat. “What am I right about now?”
“He’s convinced it has something to do with...placing a bet?” Athos stated. He rolled the rim of his empty cup, turning the circle between his fingers. He cast his eyes between the two men, his friends. Waiting on clarification.
“Ah yes,” Aramis said. He slid his eyes over Athos as though taking his measure. “A wager I believe we’d both win.”
“Oh?”
“Mmm. It has to do with charm, you see.” Aramis angled closer to Athos, looking at him from under his lashes.
Athos’ mouth skewed with his frown. “Whose?”
“Monsieur Charbonneau’s, of course.” Porthos told him, smiling at Aramis as he answered Athos.
“Of course,” Athos sighed out and rolled his eyes. The cup was abandoned in favor of motioning in a shooing gesture at Aramis. He took the added step of flicking at the end of Aramis’ nose with his fingertip.
Aramis swatted his own hand between them as he raised himself to sit back. His posture remained as relaxed as his grin.
“I was tellin’ Aramis about our little chat.” Porthos smirked at Athos before grinning back across at Aramis. “Did y’know he likes baths?”
“Athos?” Aramis asked.
“This is an absurd conversation.” Athos dropped a hand to the table. He bent his head, looking from one to the other, slowly. His eyes bore into each of them, a lengthy gaze that caused each man to be still in turn underneath the weight of it. “More than your usual nonsensical discussions.”
“Makes perfect sense to me,” Porthos protested.
Aramis’ agreement was quick, with rapid and successive nods of his head.
“I believe you are correct on who will prevail,” Aramis told Porthos. He rose, wood dragging on stone as he tucked in his chair. “Now, let’s move on to a more practical bet...so we may negotiate what I might acquire when I win today.”
“Now that’s a wager I ain’t takin’…”
“I’m inclined to agree.” Athos said as he stood.
“I suppose it would be unfair of me to allow such stakes,” Aramis grasped his chin and stroked a finger along his beard. “And you did both conduct yourselves admirably so in that sense it falls to me to repay your steadfast defense.”
His gaze lingered on either of them, something in his countenance that Porthos couldn't articulate if he were asked. However Porthos sensed something familiar in that unnameable expression. He recognized the sincerity behind the stare. Until Aramis broke the serious atmosphere with a taunting promise.
“Regardless of how poorly either of you perform dinner shall be on me this evening.” He nodded once and rose.
Before either of them could protest Aramis flipped his hat onto his head, turning from them to saunter for the door.
“Come my friends, let’s not lose the light lest your aim may suffer for it.” Aramis’ laugh carried back to them as the tails of his coat disappeared round the door frame.
“I swear if he had a tail of his own he’d be preening as much as Monsieur Charbonneau.”
“Now there is a bet I am unsure of.”
“What’s that?”
“Which of them spends more time grooming himself.” Athos placed his own hat firmly on his head and moved at a brisk pace to follow after their chuckling friend.
Porthos waited only the span of a breath before his own booming laughter drowned out anything else.
❧