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When Athos took his usual place in the corner of the tavern, the last thing he expected was for d'Artagnan to join him. He did not want the questions or the pity that the boy's eyes so often held, he did not want that, not after seeing his wife again - kissing her, by God, what had he been thinking? But d'Artagnan said nothing as he set down two bottles of wine on the table, one for Athos, and one for himself. Athos raised an eyebrow at that - surely the boy should be celebrating his well earned commission from the king?
D'Artagnan's glare warned him off asking anything, so he just watched as he took a swig and grimaced at the burning in the back of the throat. Good God, Athos realised with a startled jolt - the boy's heart had been broken. But the only woman he had ever spent time with to Athos' knowledge was Madame Bonacieux - would he and Constance have...? No, it couldn't be, he knew Constance, she wouldn't have done that to the boy. And besides, he'd said he'd found a patroness when he had managed to get the thirty livres... But d'Artagnan was not the type to fall for someone that fast, so he could not understand-
D'Artagnan just sighed and took another drink, then set the bottle down again, staring at it intently, as if it might hold some sort of answer, before glancing over at where Porthos was playing cards and Aramis was watching with an appreciative smirk - it seemed that he'd improved his card-hiding skills.
"Don't, Athos. Just-"d'Artagnan's voice was quiet, and it wavered, and Athos felt his heart go out in sympathy for the young man. Whatever had caused it, his pain was still raw - and who was he to admonish someone for trying to drink until he no longer felt anything? So he just reached a hand out across the table and squeezed d'Artagnan's hand reassuringly.
"Alright," he whispered, knowing d'Artagnan wouldn't want the others to hear. Thankfully they were too engrossed in their merriment to take any heed of the two of them, "but remember that you're not alone." He looked d'Artagnan in the eyes, hated the haunted and frightened look he found their - unsure of who to trust, not knowing who he could confide in. He was vulnerable, and he was hurting. Athos would do anything he could to alleviate that.
"I, at least, understand what it is to be betrayed by one who you would have trusted with everything." D'Artagnan visibly recoiled at his words - so his suspicions were correct, then. Athos' gaze softened sadly, and his eye drifted to the bottle of wine, which d'Artagnan had emptied. Sighing, he pushed his own forward for d'Artagnan to take. At the boy's raised eyebrow, Athos merely shrugged. "You need it more than I do, tonight. Besides, someone has to carry you home." D'Artagnan rolled his eyes.
"I'm not that drunk yet." He argued, and Athos had to fight a smile.
"That might be the longest sentence you've said all day." He said, with something akin to relief. "We are your family now, d'Artagnan, and we will never forsake you." He assured the younger man. D'Artagnan looked once more at the bottle in his hands and shoved it away.
"Let someone else have it. God knows, we already have one brooding drunkard, I don't think the Musketeers have room for another." It was a relief to see a genuine smile on that face again, and it warmed Athos' heart to see it once more. He nodded, returning the smile with his own as they stood and he squeezed the young Gascon's arm reassuringly before they walked over to their friends.
"D'Artagnan!" Porthos bellowed, and the grins and backslaps that he gave freely were a comfort - something solid, sturdy, that could be relied upon. He understood what Aramis had meant, back at the Court of Miracles,
This is Porthos, you understand?
He did, now. Porthos was unswervingly loyal, to all of them - not just to the Musketeers, but to Aramis and Athos, and now, it seemed, to him as well.
Aramis ruffled his hair fondly at his other side
"Welcome to the family, little brother" d'Artagnan froze under his hand and looked up, eyes glistening. Aramis was smiling warmly, just as he had when they'd hugged after d'Artagnan officially became a Musketeer. At his nod, d'Artagnan looked at Porthos, who clapped him on the shoulder and pulled him over for a one armed embrace.
"Always wanted a kid brother," he grinned, "someone to teach all my tricks, since these two are such sticks in the mud about it." To prove his point, he flashed the king of hearts that he had stashed up his sleeve.
"Now, now, Porthos, don't go corrupting the boy already!" Aramis quipped laughingly. D'Artagnan felt warm and safe, and loved. He looked up at Athos, who was watching from the side, leaning on one of the support beams, with a melancholy fondness in his smile. When he saw d'Artagnan turn in his direction, he stood straight, and waited for the boy to approach him. There was an uncertainty in the Gascon's eyes, and Aramis and Porthos were silent, knowing that this was an important moment for the two of them.
When d'Artagnan moved forward, Athos placed his hands firmly on the young man's shoulders, gripping them tightly. D'Artagnan looked up and saw clearly the emotions on Athos' face as he took a deep breath and then embraced him tightly, which surprised d'Artagnan as Athos was usually a fan of less obvious affection than this, but then he heard him whisper: "There is no man alive that I would rather honour with calling them my brother than you." D'Artagnan felt so overwhelmed that there was nothing he could do but return the embrace. Even if he never loved a woman again, he felt secure in this, he could trust this - and if he had nothing else but this, he could be content, in the warmth and support that he had found in these men who he would bleed for, die for, and know without a doubt that they would do the same for him.