du_vallon | (no subject)

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It feels like it's been the longest week in Porthos' life, but at least this time is because of joyful, incredible, happy things. There's a Christmas dinner that hasn't been cooked because he's been busy running around paperwork in order to get the legal all signed off on the minute that their surrogate had gone into labour. He wanted to make sure that everything was ready to go and beyond that, he'd made sure that everything they had bought had a home and a secure one, at that.

Now, it's to the hospital where Aramis has been and he's in a mad dash to get there while coming to terms with the fact that his life has changed and he's going to be a father. It's something that still seems so strange and out of reach, but here they are.

Porthos finds Aramis on the floor and presses a kiss to his cheek from behind and wrapping his arms tightly around him, refusing to let go as if his nerves will be calmed and soothed by the proximity. "Any news yet?" he asks, trying not to think about all the things that could go wrong (and how he's going mad with it, because in the Court, most babies just didn't make it through the birth).

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There are perfectly good chairs in the waiting area - serviceable, if not comfortable - but Aramis has been standing for what must be hours now, his eyes fixed on the turn at the end of the hall. It's from there that any news arrives, always brought by a harried, but smiling nurse, and Aramis stares at it until his eyes begin to water. He nearly startles for the sudden presence of Porthos behind him, but as soon as his arms are around him Aramis sinks gratefully into his hold.

"It's still happening," he answers, "Still going well. I asked if we could be present but they said only the father could come, and I refuse to choose which one of us gets to be him today."

Porthos wraps his arms around his middle and bows his face into Aramis' shoulder so that he can hide his expression from the people around them, knowing that he's an open book and they'll be able to sense everything he's feeling with no trouble at all. "By blood, it's you," he points out, though he knows that they're all going to be the child's father.

He digs his fingers in a little more when they curl. "The nurse wasn't worried?" he asks. "There's not too much blood, she's able to breathe and speak?" He searches back for all those failed births he'd been at and tries not to think about them now, but it's hard not to.

"Each time they come out, they are smiling," Aramis assures him, wrapping his arms around Porthos' in turn. Each surrogate is required to have given birth once before, in order to further safeguard the child. "By all accounts, it is going smoothly. It is just a lengthy process, cariño."

Aramis turns his head to kiss Porthos' cheek, but freezes when he sees another nurse heading towards them, her steps even quicker than before. Aramis heart nearly stops, but then he sees the smile on her face.

"Your daughter is healthy," she says, and Aramis' knees threaten to buckle, "Eight pounds, and two ounces. We've moved her to the nursery to be cleaned up and perform some final checks, but she's beautiful and healthy."

Porthos gives a slow exhalation as he relaxes his pounding, anxious heart, pressing a kiss to Aramis' hair as he watches the woman approach them. He's not sure what to think, but then she says 'your daughter'. Porthos has a daughter. His eyes widen in mild shock and he's not entirely sure that he has any words to speak because he's still processing the idea that he's a father.

"Can we see her?" is what comes out of his mouth, because right now, the only thing he wants to do is hold her, but if she's got cleaning and checks to do, they can at least look at her while it happens.

Aramis watches her nod with an odd rushing between his ears that seems to stopper sound, but he reads the yes on her mouth plainly enough, and the words observation window. Remarkably, his legs seem to work even though he can't quite feel them, for they are walking down the hallway now, Porthos' hand firmly grasped in Aramis' own.

They arrive at the window as if in a dream, and though a number of the tiny beds are full, Aramis knows which one is her at once. "There," he says, barely above a whisper as they stop before a sleeping child, her skin rich and brown and already in possession of a head of short, dark curls. "Porthos."

Porthos' heart stops and his stomach bottoms out from under him as he presses a hand to the glass, not even realizing he's doing it until he's suddenly staring at the little baby whose skin looks closer to his than he ever would have imagined. Without realizing, he's starting to get choked up, tears in his eyes, and he grabs hold of Aramis by the elbow to steady himself.

"I never thought..." he gets out roughly, trailing off. He never really thought it'd get to this point and he knows it's going to be hard days ahead, between Athos getting used to the babe, and his own tribulations, but thanks to Aramis' steady devotion, his daughter is going to look like him. "Thank you for not listening to me when I asked that she not look like me."

Aramis exhales, holding tightly to Porthos' arm, aware of him in every cell despite his inability to look away from their child. "Our Lucie," he breathes. He'd always known that Porthos would come to his senses when it came to the child's appearance, and he's never been more glad of it than in this moment.

"She looks like both of us," he says. "Look, there." Aramis points, then uses that same hand to wipe away a stray tear. "She has a button nose just like yours."

He knows that there are plenty of good reasons that he can't be back there right now holding his daughter, but Porthos' fingers tighten a little and he sniffles slightly, trying not to sound like he's bawling, as he stares at their little girl. "Hopefully she doesn't grow out of it, yours is a monster," he teases under his breath, his eyes not moving from the little girl.

"When do you think we'll get to pick her up?" he asks, eyes brimming with hope.

"I don't know," Aramis admits, "Soon, I hope." As they watch, several nurses come by to huddle around Lucie's crib, and though Aramis watches anxiously, he can't read any kind of distress or worry on their faces.

After a few moments, one of the nurses detaches from the others and exits through a door to meet them in the hallway. "If you're ready," she says, "We can get you both in scrubs so you can meet your daughter."

"Yes, please," says Aramis at once. "We're ready."

Porthos licks his lips, trying not to let his heart hammer out of his chest every single time they come and pick her up, worried they'll drop her or she'll scream in unhappiness or something else that he can't fix from so far away. When a nurse offers them scrubs, his eyes light up and he looks to Aramis.

"We should text Athos, before we go in," he says, even if the matter is complicated. "He should know when her birthday is."

"I tried," Aramis admits, "My fingers were shaking too much. If you hadn't called when you did I'd probably still be trying to text you. Can you?" he asks, then realizes all at once that they're in the room where they will meet Lucie for the first time.

There are scrubs for them both to slip into, and sanitizer for their hands, and a large couch where they can sit and hold her for as long as they're allowed. The door opens, and Aramis turns, and there she is - so tiny wrapped up in her blanket and the nurse's arms. "Oh," Aramis breathes, and in the next moment he's holding her. She's so warm, and even with her eyes closed in sleep, she's beautiful. "Sangdieu."

Porthos manages to dig out his phone and sends Athos a quick text that tells him where they are, what their daughter's name is and time of birth, then an update that they'll be home as soon as they can and if possible, could Athos please heat something because he's already hungry and suspects he'll be starved soon enough.

Stepping into the scrubs is half-awkward given how much time he's spent in these for adult games, but when he walks in and Aramis holds her, it's like his whole world shifts. "She's so little," he says, his old fears resurfacing. Still, he's reaching out to curl her hand around his finger, lifting that baby's hand to press a soft kiss there.

"She feels weightless in my arms," Aramis admits, watching through the tears in his eyes as Porthos kisses the tiniest fingertip he's ever seen in his life. He hadn't been able to see his son for so long - it was weeks before young Louis made a public appearance, and longer still before Aramis was able to attend. He'd never seen him as small as Lucie is now - she looks so fragile, completely helpless but for the two men before her.

"We'll protect her," he says. "From every hurt and unhappiness, I know we will."

Porthos' breath is shaky as he inhales and exhales, staying so close so that he doesn't miss anything. "You're going to have to stop me accidentally crushing her, she's so small," he says, already imagining napping with her and being in the sort of situation when he might do something that causes her harm.

"Ana Lucia d'Herblay du Vallon," he says, staring at the baby. "We've given her a hell of a name to live up to, haven't we?"

"She already wears it well," Aramis remarks, though it is a mouthful. There's a reason that Musketeers choose such simple names for themselves, but the theatrical part of Aramis revels in her long title.

"Look at her tiny fingernails," he says, then gasps as she seems to quiver in his arms, finally giving one huge, tremulous yawn before resettling.

Porthos has taken to stroking her hair, glancing around like someone might shout at him for what he's doing, but when no one says anything, he just keeps going back to it. "What are we supposed to do about food?" he asks, suddenly. "Milk and food and everything she needs. Have we got everything we need? There's so many modern things and back in the Court, we didn't even have half of what we needed, especially since no one expected the baby to live past birth."

"Half the kitchen is filled with formula," says Aramis with a soft chuckle, torn between watching the rise and fall of her chest and the path of Porthos' fingers over her hair.

"And the entire flat is littered with supplies - she has a bassinet, pacifiers, blankets, clothes, diapers, and more besides, though I do think we should see about finding a wetnurse. Real milk is so much better for a child's immune system," Aramis continues. "Perhaps Athos can help us to find one."

Porthos is still staring at the babe, his thumb still rubbing circles on her tiny little fist, his breath short. "Why didn't we think of that before?" he wonders, his voice raw and worried. He should have thought of that, why didn't he? "Do you think we could get one for this week? Even though it's the holidays?"

"It's difficult just now," explains Aramis, "Everyone is with family or out of town, but I'm sure we will find someone soon." In his arms, Lucie yawns again, another fierce one that scrunches her nose, and Aramis nearly melts to the floor.

"My God, she is perfect."

Porthos stares down at her, in all her tiny glory, and thinks about when she's older and can start to learn to move and speak. Right now, she's a tiny thing, theirs, and though he knows eventually she'll cry and fuss and be unhappy, she's a perfect little angel now. "Can I hold her?" he asks, even if he's a bit worried. He really wants to be able to hold Lucie in his arms and know that he's overcome all his misgivings and worries.

Aramis can hardly bare to release her, but she won't be going far, and he could never deny Porthos anything. "Of course," he says, nodding towards the couch. It will be easier there, and surely less for Porthos to fear from dropping her - even if Aramis knows he never would. "Sit, and I'll place her in your arms."

Porthos searches behind him and finds the couch, sitting down in order to shift his arms in the way he thinks he has to, in order to hold the baby. With an expectant nod, he gives Aramis the confirmation that he's ready to take Lucie into his arms, though he has to hope that Aramis isn't going to go too far. Now that they've built up this little family, he doesn't want to let go of it.

"I'm ready," he promises, even as anxiety floods him.

"You are," Aramis tells him, both assent and encouragement, and lowers Lucie into his arms. He waits until Porthos' hands are securely around her, and then he has to lower himself to the couch, for they look so perfect together it makes his knees go weak.

"Do you like that?" he asks the sleeping babe. Aramis curls himself against Porthos' side so they may look at her together. "That's your other Papa."

Porthos moves his big hand up under her neck, supporting it the way he's seen before in books and in pictures, though nerves are striking him and making his heart pound faster than he can really understand. This tiny thing in his arms is his daughter, maybe not by blood, but in all the ways that matter. "I thought I was going to be Daddy, and you'd be Papa?" he murmurs back softly, leaning his shoulder against Aramis'. "And Athos can be Uncle if he likes, even though I still like the sound of 'Father'."

Aramis huffs out a laugh. "I'll be Papa then," he says, stroking one hand down Porthos' back, the other extending to run just a fingertip down Lucie's cheek.

"What do you think, daddy?" he asks. "Will she do?"

"I'll have to get used to her having your eyes and lips," he jokes, but he's still staring reverently at the baby in his arms, not wanting to move on the off chance he's going to disturb her from this perfect little sleep. "She's going to grow up and learn everything. She's going to be a terror," he huffs out with fond affection, "and I can't wait to teach her all my secrets."

"She will be a terror if you teach her all of them," Aramis chuckles. "Perhaps Athos will be best able to keep her in line. He's endured us for years."

His stomach roils, then, and Aramis swallows down his nerves. "He'll be meeting her very soon."

Porthos knows what Aramis is feeling because it's been with him since he arrived at the hospital. Now that the fear of losing the baby during birth is over, all his worries turn back to Athos, now. "I know he doesn't want this baby around," he says in a hushed whisper, as if Lucie can somehow understand him, "But he'll still love her, yeah? He'll give her support and affection, because of us. Won't he?"

"He loves us," Aramis says in agreement, "He will love our Lucie. It may simply take time. You know Athos - nine months and he still hasn't gotten used to the idea of her. He'll come around."

There's a noise at the door, and the nurse returns, handing Aramis a stack of forms to sign. "She's all ready," she says, and Aramis' eyes widen. "You can take her home!"

Porthos swallows back his fear, because Aramis is right. Athos loves them and no matter how hard it may be to adjust, he'll still do it. He just wants to also make sure they're not forcing Athos into anything he doesn't want. Curling Lucie into his arms a little more, he presses a soft kiss to her forehead as he watches Aramis signing the papers, thinking that he'll need to make sure their lawyer has everything in place so that he and Athos have rights to her, too, just in case.

"I don't want him to resent us, is all," he says quietly. "I don't want to lose him."

"We cannot help the former," says Aramis as he hands off the last clipboard. "And all we can do is seek to avoid the latter. Perhaps it will be simple," he adds, hopeful. "Perhaps he'll take one look at this darling little face and feel as we do. She's our family, and so is he. I think he'll come to accept that."

Porthos has to hope the same, but honestly, he's not sure. "Get her blanket," he coaxes, nodding towards the blanket lining her little bassinet. "I'll want to hold onto that forever, so I can look back one day and see how tiny our little Lucie used to be." He gives her soft, fluffy hair one last kiss before he gets ready to give her back to Aramis.

Once he has, he digs out his phone to call for a cab, breathing a lot more steadily now that the worst of the birth is done, and getting ready to feel strained about what's to come.

Aramis grabs the blanket and stuffs it into his bag, though not without one loving squeeze of the fabric. He has no doubt that Porthos will keep this for years. After, he takes the baby and stares down at her, hardly aware of anything else until Porthos signals that the cab is outside.

Aramis lifts his chin and kisses Porthos' cheek, wishing he could do more for the obvious tension in his frame. "New parents are always terrified," he says. "I am, too."

"I don't think most new parents are going home to a third partner they want to make happy, while also stubbornly holding tight to the baby," Porthos feels compelled to point out their unique situation, but at the same time, he knows that Athos would never willingly do anything to make them upset. "It'll be good," he promises with a nod of his head. "We'll make sure of it."

"Now, what outfit are you going to put her in, soon as we get home?" he can't help but tease.

"Not most, no," Aramis agrees with a chuckle, "But we can hardly be the first. It's a wonderful, wide world, my darling."

Once they're outside, he holds Lucie in close, protecting her face from the cold with a drape of the bassinette blanket. "Don't torment me," he laughs for the question. "I'll get my hands on her tiny clothes soon enough, I believe tonight I'll let her rest comfortably in her swaddling."

Porthos crowds the both of them, even as he carries the bags, not willing to let their little girl be exposed to the cold for a second longer than necessary, even as he hustles them to the waiting cab. "You're not going to let go of her for days, are you?" he says knowingly, not that he thinks he'd try and argue that. The sight of Aramis and the baby together is too precious to ignore, and besides that, he intends to take many pictures.

"How could I?" asks Aramis, seated now in the cab with Lucie's bassinette securely between them. Even so, he holds onto it with both hands, his heart racing as he tries not to consider all that could befall them on the ride home. "How could anyone? These next months will be a constant battle to get hands on the baby."

Porthos gives a snort as he imagines Aramis doing all things with the baby. Showering, going to church, eating, and he raises a brow as he gives Aramis a look that clearly communicates that if he never lets her go, he's not getting laid anytime soon, which is something Porthos knew was going to change, but he'd been hoping it wouldn't be that bad. "You could put her down for naps, at least," he says. "Fifteen minute ones, that should do the trick."

"I'll nap beside her," Aramis compromises, for he knows that she'll need naps longer than that, just as he knows that he'd be spending every moment of them staring at her. "She'll be running us ragged soon enough - we are about to become very old, very tired men, cariño."

"I was talking about other things," Porthos says with a hint of a playful growl under his breath, but he knows that Aramis is doubtful to give up the babe for a while, so Porthos will get well acquainted with his hand the next few months, as was expected. "You're going to get even grayer," he says knowingly. "No longer the prettiest."

"Ah, those other things," says Aramis when Porthos growls. "They certainly last longer than fifteen minutes!" He lets go of Lucie's bassinette with one hand and runs it over his beard. "Not the prettiest, eh? And who shall the title go to, you or Athos?"

"Me, obviously," is his snorted scoff, preening a little as he smooths his hair and closes the door to the cab, telling the driver where they're going as he uses the blanket to tuck over the bassinet, eager to keep Lucie warm. "And they're going to have to last fifteen minutes now," he warns. "We've got a baby, haven't we?" It means most of their time is going to have to be spent worrying for her, not doing the hours long inventive positions that they used to.

"We shall get creative," Aramis promises him, "We have never lacked in that department before." The taxi starts, and Aramis sneaks a hand beneath the blanket to place over Lucie's chest, marveling at every rise and fall. He had thought the engine might wake her, but she hardly stirs.

"Poor thing must be exhausted."

"How's the surrogate?" Porthos asks quietly, his concern for her as strong as it had been for the baby, even if they had a relationship borne strictly of business. He still didn't think it was very polite to simply leave, so he thought that he ought to put something together for her. At the very least, a nice basket of home-made items would be a good gesture, he thinks.

"The nurse said well," Aramis answers. He, too, wishes to know her better, but they are to keep their distance for a time, all the papers say so. "A healthy, natural birth without complications. It's the best any of us could have asked for."

"Good," Porthos says, his voice steady even as he worries that he might have unknowingly pushed a woman into hurt just because of something he wanted, so to hear that she's recuperating well sets his heart at ease. "Do you think I could send her some flowers? Is that allowed? It's not like I'm contacting her, just sending her a thank you."

"Of course," Aramis replies. His hand finds Lucie's beneath her blanket, and Aramis can't resist curling his finger around it, wishing he could pull her from the bassinette and stare at her all over again, but he doesn't wish to disturb her.

"I feel different," he says, stroking her soft skin. "Like when young Louis was born, but it doesn't hurt this time. My heart feels - " he says, searching for the word. "Bigger."

"Well, this one is yours," is Porthos' gentle reminder, seeing as it's a different situation than it had been back home, which he's happy about. This isn't a child that Aramis will have to stare at from a distance, never knowing what it's like to have the child as his own. This is their baby, and Aramis won't have to miss a single moment if he doesn't want to. "I'm glad that you don't regret it, I don't know what I'd do if you decided to bolt on me," he deadpans, but he's not joking. He'd probably just track down Aramis, tie him up, and drag him back to the responsibilities he's ignoring.

"And think of how much you'd miss out, me teaching her all the skills I had as a child," he jokes.

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