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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"I know more than anyone that nurturing is just as important as the character of a person's parent," is what he says. "The other way, too." Because Porthos has survived both a terrible childhood and apparently a terrible father. "It's a ways off yet, Athos," he assures. "But we want to be started."

"Our child will have every chance and opportunity to grow up strong, with fine moral character," says Aramis, for it will have the three of them. Even if Athos keeps his distance, he can't help but be another honorable example.

"It takes ages," he agrees with Porthos, "Even after a surrogate is chosen."

Athos crosses his arms tightly over his chest and bows his head slightly. They mean to assure him, but he knows that ages to them seems like no time at all to him, especially when they will be swept up from this moment forward. “So you keep saying,” he says softly. “Well-“ He clears his throat. “You seem to have everything in hand, then."

Porthos sighs, burying that sound in Aramis' shoulder to prevent Athos from getting cross with him. He hates this, mainly because he hates feeling like they're disappointing them with their hopes. "If they let us meet her, will you be there?" he asks. "Since you seem to know what we ought to look for."

"You are very welcome to," Aramis adds. "I do not know if they will allow you to be present when it is we two and her and our counselors, but I am sure you will think of items that we forget in our excitement."

There is a reason, after all, that Aramis had largely allowed Athos to do the negotiating for their land and house.

Athos swallows, battling with himself. As much as he loves Aramis and Porthos, and as little as he understands this path they have set themselves upon, he does also worry that they understand less of what they are getting themselves into than it might seem. They trust this surrogacy business wholeheartedly, and Athos trusts it not at all. As distasteful as he finds it, he does not want to see these dear men hurt by their own plans, in their eagerness and excitement. Perhaps he should keep a closer eye on such matters.

“I do not have wisdom to offer, Porthos," he says quietly. "But...of you believe I can be of some assistance, I will attend."

"You always have wisdom, Athos," Porthos corrects him gently, knowing that he probably doesn't want to hear it, but it's the truth as far as he's concerned. "You were there to help us negotiate the house and avoid being swindled. You'll be here for us to help avoid contractual trouble," he says, with all the faith in the world.

Aramis nods, squeezing Porthos' hands in lieu of squeezing Athos' and making him flee. "Thank you," he exhales, "I know we will be better for it. Without you I might just agree to the first person I meet and trust the child will be ours after. That is how much I want it."

“Frankly, I am surprised you have not snatched an infant off the street,” Athos says, managing a ghost of a smile. He takes a breath, forcing back the panic and fears that always manage to arise when he thinks on this child for too long. “I will let you finish,” he says, setting down his now-empty wine glass. “Call when dinner is prepared?"

"I've said the same thing," Porthos jests, but he gives Aramis a crooked, wry smirk as he leans up to kiss him, watching Athos warily, but knowing he shouldn't insist that he stay much longer. "I'll give you a shout when we're through," he agrees, turning his attention back to the book where they're down to two choices, as far as he's concerned.

"Take more wine if you wish," says Aramis, though he worries for the thought of Athos drinking alone upstairs, for all that he knows it is Athos' long custom. "It is for you. When you return, we'll all enjoy an excellent meal together."

Athos hesitates, but then nods and takes the half-drunk bottle from the table. He will finish it in short order, and he takes no pride in the fact. “Don’t be too long,” Athos says, and returns to the stair.

Porthos glances warily as Athos goes, lifting Aramis up from his perch on his legs in order to set him down. "Should probably start to cook while we talk," he admits, because if he lingers too much, he can't imagine that will go well. He opens the fridge and spends a moment longer than usual peering inside to calm his thoughts.

With Athos gone and Porthos lost in the depths of the refrigerator, Aramis rises slowly, pressing his hand against the small of Porthos' back. "He has agreed to come," he murmurs. "He looked at a picture. That is momentous, Porthos."

Porthos pulls out some of the thawing chicken and gives Aramis a small smile. "I know," he agrees. "I'm pleased for that, but I can't help feeling worn and upset whenever he acts like he hasn't got a place in our future," he admits, still feeling the icy press of those feelings.

"I don't understand why it must divide us so," Aramis agrees with a frown for where Athos sits above them, drinking in solitude. "Children will claim some of our attention, yes, but he will be with us. I don't mean to let that stubborn man escape, not for anything."

"No, neither do I," Porthos agrees, setting the chicken on the counter and swatting the cat away before he returns to the fridge for the ingredients he intends to stuff them with. He pauses at the counter, eyes on the book. "Do you think he's fearful? Because it's something he almost had with Milady?"

"If he is, it will be another year of our lives before he admits to it," says Aramis, and the roll of his eyes is as fond as it is despairing. "He is an impossible man, resisting happiness at every turn. Thank heaven he is so dreadfully handsome."

Porthos smirks at Aramis over the counter, feeling like at least some of this is pure dramatics and nothing else. "You never let me prod at him," he points out. "I mean, I know I'm liable to crack him open and then we wouldn't have an Athos at all, but maybe it's the sort of wound that needs to bleed out."

"We do not know how deeply that wound goes," Aramis replies. They have already witnessed Athos shake to near pieces when presented with the new token that hangs around his throat. "I know it is frustrating, but we must be careful with him, Athos." Aramis shrugs unhappily. "People with that sort of armor built around them are often fragile beneath."

Porthos isn't used to fragile people. He's used to seeing the worst of the world and recoiling back to fight. This sort of thing is foreign to him, especially when all he wants to do is make Athos happy. Gesturing over his shoulder, he angles Aramis to a drawer. "Fetch the potatoes for me? You can peel them while I prepare the toppings to scallop them," he says.

"I'm not saying he has to be a father, but it would be nice if he could tolerate the idea that he'll be with us when we start a family. At the same time, whenever I bring up fostering, he doesn't react nearly the same."

"No?" Aramis' frown deepens for that. "It cannot be my blood he fears," he says, stamping down the old terror that children of his lineage are cursed. He moves to the potatoes, hardly aware of what his hands are doing. "Perhaps he believes they are already damaged by the time they come to us. Nothing we do could re-tarnish what has already lost its innocence."

Porthos thinks it's something else, though. "I think maybe it's that we're bringing a stranger into this," he admits. "The orphans that we'd foster aren't permanent, either," he points out. "Two big reasons why he doesn't pale and get angry like he does when we talk about this." He hands Aramis the potato slicer and a bowl for them, sighing as he thinks of how much he hates that Athos is unhappy about something they want.

Aramis looks down at the potatoes, feeling unusually clumsy as he picks one up and begins to divest it of its jacket. "Do you think he is angry?" he asks, stomach churning with sudden illness for the thought. All this time, Aramis has counted on proving Athos wrong, however long it takes. He had not thought the man to be truly angry with them.

"He gets pinched in the face. Maybe not angry," Porthos admits, stuffing the chicken with the herbs and the cheese to give it flavour. "Annoyed? Upset," he says, but he's stabbing in the dark as far as he knows, because he doesn't know why Athos is actually cross with it. "I don't know. Maybe he needs to spend more time with us at the shelter with kids? See how we'll be as parents?"