du_vallon | (no subject)

He hasn't been able to eat a single thing since he returned to his usual self. He thinks it probably has something to do with the fact that he'd stuffed his face constantly as a teenager and now that he's grown again, everything is rebelling on him because he doesn't know what to do with all the food he'd inhaled, thinking he wouldn't get a chance to before it's gone. Rubbing his aching belly, he plods through the empty apartment, tidying up some of the disaster he'd made, going to find the money he'd stashed away along with some of the nicer jewels.

It's like he's a magpie, it's what it was. He's not even surprised, honestly. He also digs out all the photos on the phone he'd taken of Athos and Aramis, things while they slept to use as blackmail, if necessary. Later, he's going to have to go out and repay all the businesses he'd borrowed from.

For now, though, he just wants to lie down. Groaning, he tugs on the blanket and curls up on the chaise, everything hurting from a sudden growth spurt and a ridiculous amount of food in his belly.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"Puppies are still cute," Porthos protests, but he curls into Athos' lap a little tighter, breathing out and feeling content. He sighs, though, knowing he can't avoid the actual issues plaguing at him. "It made me wonder what would've happened, if I wound up not getting out of the Court. Maybe I only would've met you when you arrested me."

Athos is quiet for a time, stroking Porthos’ hair as he contemplates the sorrow behind these musings. Even if he had remained in the Court, Porthos would have showered everyone he could in kindness and warmth - Athos refuses to imagine otherwise - but his life would not have been a joyous one. It would have been a short one, too.

And where would Athos be with no Porthos in his life? Athos had been trapped in despair when they met, and Aramis had been as well. Who knows what would have happened to them without Porthos’ warming influence? “Or perhaps I would not have remained a musketeer for long, and someone else would have had the privilege.” Perhaps, he cannot quite say, I would have died without you.

Porthos makes a quiet sound, imagining what might have happened if he'd let Flea convince him to stay. He'd have kept thieving, kept living a life without honour. He doesn't think he could've endured it that long. "You would've still been a musketeer. You and Aramis and d'Artagnan, under Treville's steady watch. You don't need me for that."

“But I did need you.” Athos swallows against the tightness in his throat; he hates thinking about those early days in the musketeers, days when he would have welcomed death. God knows, he had almost gotten his wish a few times. Athos may be a prideful man, but he knows that he once needed looking after. And no one had looked after him as well as Porthos. “As did Aramis.”

He clears his throat. “For my own selfish reasons, you see, I am glad you left that place."

"You would've found someone else," Porthos says, sure of that. "I know you think you needed me, but I'm just glad I was there for you. I just wanted someone to be," he murmurs, thinking of Aramis after Savoy and Athos in his grief. "Selfishly, I'm happy it was me," he admits quietly. "I needed it."

“Then we are both selfish, and better for it.” Athos closes his eyes and takes a shaky breath. The darkness is always there, waiting to be called, seeking a chance to break through his defenses. But for now, he beats back the dark. Porthos did not come to an unhappy end in the Paris slums; Athos was not forced to grope in that terrible darkness alone.

He opens his eyes to gaze softly down at Porthos. “Try to get some rest,” he suggests.

Porthos isn't sure how much sleep he's going to get, but he latches onto Athos' hand and squeezes tight enough, refusing to let go because he doesn't want him to go away and he doesn't want anything to change. "Now if only I could get a guarantee that Aramis wouldn't have to suffer the same fate. The charm might be endless."

“He would be insufferable,” Athos agrees with a curve of a grin. Considered seriously, though, the thought disturbs him, as do all the strange transformations Darrow bestows at random. Is there anything worse than being toyed with in such a fashion? He shakes his head a little. “I wish,” Athos speaks slowly, “I wish the magic of this place would leave us in peace."

Peace. It is still a strange concept to Athos. Too often these days it seems nearly in his grasp, only to be snatched away at the last moment.

"I don't know. I wouldn't mind seeing you turning into a woman," Porthos mildly notes. "So long as you kept your wits about you. I'd treat you so good," he promises, giving Athos a contented smile from his current position. "Especially seeing as you'd be so very ladylike," he teases.

Athos makes a face. For all Porthos insistence - on more than one occasion - he cannot see the appeal of such a transformation. Why, in God’s name, would he wish to become a woman? Even knowing the change would be temporary, he would be desperate to claw his way out of that unfamiliar skin. “I damned well hope not,” he scowls, tempted to tip Porthos onto the floor for the mere suggestion.