du_vallon | (no subject)

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Book in hand, it feels like it's been ages since they'd first picked up the thing at the office. They've paged through it from time to time and Porthos has made it a point to scribble notes on post-it notes, affixing them to the book until the whole thing looks multi-coloured and ridiculously full, but this is important to him and he knows it's nearly the most important thing to Aramis and after everything they've been through, it seems right to take the next step, at least. That means picking and starting the long process of contracts and meetings and evaluations.

He'd bought them some cookies from the closest bakery, little blue baby ones and has been nibbling idly (he's not a stress-eater, exactly, but his appetite does grow incrementally whenever Porthos is a touch stressed). Brushing away the crumbs, he's deep in thought as he flicks back and forth between two of his top choices, reaching for his pen and another note so he can make a comment about the curve of a nose or the hang of an ear.

It might seem minor and silly, but they're all such beautiful women and they're going to pay one of them a lot of money for her time and a part of herself, and Porthos wants to make sure they do right by this process.

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Aramis' arms are full - two bags, both containing wine, as he has taken to coaxing Athos down from his second story perch in earnest - but he manages to get the door open. He calls to Porthos, faint words of greeting as he wrestles his purchases onto the counter, but he stills when he sees the book.

He's seen it before, of course. Many times, in fact, but Porthos is making notes, and - Aramis notes as he takes in the room - there are cookies.

"What's happening?" Aramis asks, his voice a little thready.

Porthos gets to his feet to help Aramis with his bags, not wanting him to have to struggle too much with them. Taking the second, he peers inside and lets out a warm huff of a laugh as he takes out the wine bottles, starting to put them on the counter, leaning in to press a kiss of greeting to Aramis' cheek. "Just going through everything," he says, a resolute line in his forehead. Once he finishes with the wine, he sinks back to start munching on a few cookies again.

"I think it's probably due time that we picked," he admits.

"Truly?" asks Aramis, thankful that Porthos has taken the bag, for he would have dropped it. He nearly stumbles, bowled over by their new reality. They have spoken of it so much, but each time he and Porthos take a new step towards their family, Aramis feels the same crush of hope and trepidation all over again.

"Today," he says, almost to himself. "We will find her today."

Porthos glances up hopefully from the book and where he's taken to gnawing on the end of a pen to prevent himself from eating anything more. He's not entirely sure that he's over his fear, but he knows that he's getting there. More than that, he's started to get excited. He beckons Aramis over with a flutter of fingers, patting his lap given that it's never too heavy for Aramis to sit there.

"I'd like to. There's still so much that needs to be done that having this picked today is a big step, but just one of the first steps."

Aramis is glad for the offer, and he sinks weak kneed into Porthos' lap, curling an arm around his shoulders as he looks down at the book. "You've made new notes," he says, spying the new bits of colored paper peeking out here and there. "Show me."

Porthos rubs at Aramis' thigh, sliding up to his back when he feels the slight tremble. He noses at his shoulder, unable to help pressing a kiss there. "You feel relieved," he teases, but he works the book closer so he can draw it to the page he's been staring at. "This one here, Yvonne," he says, referring to the name. "Her skin's not as dark as mine, but the nose is similar, and I think she's got hair in curls like mine. Still, I'm not sure how much will transfer over."

"Excited," Aramis corrects, "Terrified," but then Porthos is turning the page, revealing a woman with a cute upturned nose and curly hair. "She's lovely," says Aramis, touching the picture as if to test her curls. "Perhaps your Jim will know. He seems to understand all modern sciences."

He glances up at Aramis with a soft smile. "You think he'd be able to look at these pictures and tell us which of these would look the most like me?" His heart is beating happily with anticipation, anxious and nervous and so desperate to see his genes reflected in someone else. "This one, I like too," he admits, flipping to another page. "She's got darker skin, so mixed with yours it would look more like me. And she's tall and her shoulders are a bit wider."

"Our Ana would be a Jupiter of her own," Aramis says in delight. "And I do think he could. I have read some of their medical texts - some genes are dominant, some are not, but it is a tangle. If anyone could make sense of it, I imagine he could."

"Maybe we ought to pick three," Porthos murmurs, sliding his fingers over the page reverently. "And then we'll be able to show Jim the lot of them and ask if he could use his big genius brain of his to run data." He peers up at Aramis, a playful smirk on his face. "Why's he my Jim?"

"Because he is your friend," says Aramis. "And because I knocked him unconscious." Jim appears to have forgiven him, but Aramis remains suspicious. Nevertheless, the man is brilliant, and he'd be a fool not to prevail upon his talents.

"Three," he agrees. "What of her?" he asks, flipping to one of his own post-its. The girl on the page is darker than the first, and she has freckles. "I know we do not have these, but aren't they charming?"

Porthos huffs out a laugh against Aramis' shoulder, reminded of that day he'd come home to find Aramis whistling jauntily and his friend tied up. He peers at the pictures, feeling a touch like they're shopping the market, but enjoying it, all the same. "I like the freckles," he admits. "And the eyes," he admits. "She's got these grey-blue steely eyes that would look stunning with freckles, I think."

"A bit of Athos," says Aramis. Even if the man wants little to do with the process, it seems a nice way of including him. "If they can war my brown eyes out of the way," he adds, thinking again that they need Jim. "Her hair is wavy. Perhaps that means it curls, as well."

And Aramis' own hair is curly, if not to the same degree as Porthos'.

Porthos smiles fondly as he slides his fingers into Aramis' hair, through the waves there. Though Porthos' curls are a natural and easy thing, he likes the waves of Aramis'. "She'd be happier to have your hair," he admits. "Mine's a terror to control half the time. Why do you think I wear the bandanna so often?"

"It is not," Aramis protests. "She will have me to tend it, and you as well, and between us it would be lovely. Besides - " Aramis touches his own hair. "Do you think I do not work for this magnificent mane? If she has my vanity, she'll be fine."

Porthos grins as he starts to rub his fingers through it heavily. "I never knew how much time you spent on this look of yours," he confesses, still a touch shocked by it, given that he'd never shared a bathroom with Aramis before. Now, their domestic mornings of sleepily working around each other is something he never wants to trade.

"Are you to become a morning person for her? Wake up while I do yoga and tame her hair before mine?"

"I imagine much will change," says Aramis, even if he cannot conscion such a life now. Will he wake before dawn? Will he learn to cook the children's meals, will he have a vehicle he uses to take them to school?

There are so many things to come, and Aramis feels excited now, rather than afraid. "But for the better."

Porthos smiles softly as he turns the page to his other favourite. She has freckles, too, but is very light skinned. It's the hair he loves, how it curls in such wild excess, springing outwards. "I suppose I could do the morning," he admits. "I'm already up making breakfast and doing yoga and coffee. I could make them meals and get them dressed while you wake like the sleeping beauty you are," he rumbles playfully.

"That does not seem a very fair division of labor," says Aramis, no matter how tempting sleep will no doubt be in those early years. "You make the coffee to rouse me, I will take care of her while you are at your exercises. We can eat breakfast together."

Hearing the door close below, Athos comes to the stair and descends with his hand dancing along the rail. With Aramis home, dinner will surely follow soon - and more importantly, there is wine. He has spent most of the day in Petros Park with his sword, and it has left him both tired and content, and certainly ready for a good meal.

He grabs one of the bottles of wine - and one of Porthos’ cookies, for good measure - on his way to the kitchen for the bottle opener and a glass. “You are looking serious,” he observes mildly, though there is a question in his eyes.

Porthos rests his chin on Aramis' shoulder as he peers up at Athos from where he's sitting. He's a touch nervous because Athos isn't really the most encouraging when it comes to kids. He rubs his palm over Aramis' back in circles, trying to keep him steady. "Bit serious," he confesses. "We're narrowing down our choices before we go to Jim and ask for some help with the science."

Aramis cannot help an internal wince. Much of Athos' aversion is the supposed unnaturalness of the process, and adding in yet more science will surely make his disdain for the process grow.

"In order that the child be born with as many of Porthos' features as we can manage," he explains. He smiles a little. "That's a very good bottle."

Porthos’ answer leaves Athos puzzled until Aramis explains. Reaching for a glass in the cabinet, he stills briefly, terribly glad his back is turned and they cannot see the uncertain flicker of his expression.

“Want any?” he asks, reaching for a second wine glass.

He shakes his head, but gives Aramis a searching look, hopeful that he's not too upset given that he knows this could be a tempestuous conversation they're about to have. "None for me, yet. I'll have to start cooking and I like to be fairly even-keeled for the beginning," he admits, giving Aramis a curious look. "Do you want to give your opinion?" he asks, not sure how it will be taken.

"I'll have some," says Aramis, thinking wine surely couldn't hurt. He waits for Athos to pour the second glass, knowing he will have to bring it and be nearer to the book. "Curls, dark skin, a button nose like Porthos'. We have a number of prospects if you'd like to see them, Athos."