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Porthos knows that the house should have been done sooner. The actual construction hadn't taken the bulk of the time, but outfitting the interior with furniture and then kitchenwares had been an ordeal and then the outside had needed landscaping, which couldn't be done in the winter. It's why it's years later that he's standing on the edge of the property with Aramis and Lucie (but not Athos), staring at a house that he honestly thought would never happen.

He's crying, but only a little, and only because of how overwhelmed he is at the incredulity that this is actually happening. Setting Lucie down to her feet, he lets her start to wander off (and more than a bit grateful they didn't bring the Captain), wrapping his now-free arms around Aramis from behind, resting his chin on his shoulder.

"So, are you ready to move to the country and become boring old fathers?" he teases, as if that could ever truly happen. With Aramis' job in the city and Porthos' volunteer work, they'll never really leave, but it won't be the same as their flat. So many incredible things had happened there, but he's ready for a new start, too.

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Aramis sinks back into Porthos, grateful for the support when his legs feel genuinely weak. After all this time, the estate is finally completed. "It looks like a palace," he remarks. It might not be royal, but it's far grander than anything he's ever owned, and it's theirs.

Aramis turns his head to brush his beard against Porthos' cheek. "You could never be boring, cariño. Our adventures are only beginning." He feels Lucie winding her way through their knees and smiles. "Shall we show her her new room?"

"It really does," Porthos agrees proudly. For all that he spends a good deal of time worried about their finances, it's still something like pride and a bit of greed that's led him to wanting something to show for himself. Even knowing his future, maybe that's a part of it, seeing as he wants to be better than his Marquis father and showing that he's got riches and can still be good is important.

Porthos glances down to Lucie and grins. "See, now I have to decide which of you to heft up," he says. "But I will be carrying you over the threshold," he guarantees, in a low growl, with a voice not suited for small ears.

Aramis laughs, reaching down to scoop Lucie into his arms. "We'll have to get this little one a dog," he muses. "Keep her company and watch over her as she roams all this land." He turns with her and eyes Porthos' suggestively.

"Well, are you going to pick us up or not?"

Porthos grumbles like he's been asked to do something awful, but he's grinning like an idiot even as he makes the sounds, wasting no time in hauling both Aramis and Lucie into his arms with ease, even if his lower back strains a tiny bit.

He needs to start making more time for the gym again, get back in shape. "Don't you drop her, now, not when I'm doing all the work," Porthos insists, walking them up the path to their front door.

Aramis chuckles, keeping Lucie steady where she rests in his own arms. "Work for which you will be handsomely rewarded," he promises, watching their home come closer and closer. When they reach the front door, Aramis reaches helpfully to turn the nob, giving the door the slight kick to open it.

"I ought to travel like this more often."

Porthos is struggling a little by the time he reaches the door and makes an 'oof' noise even though it's not entirely for show at this point, given that his muscles are straining from it. "You love to travel like this," he accuses. "Lucie is going to grow up thinking Papa can't use his own legs," he says, with a pointed look.

As if Porthos actually cares. He only hefts them a little more, turning so he can walk them in sideways.

Aramis lifts his chin for a kiss as they cross the threshold, then squeezes Porthos' arm. "Alright, my darling, that was wonderful, now put me down before you destroy that back of yours. Lucie needs someone to throw her into the air and you can hardly do that from a sickbed. Don't you, dear?"

Lucie doesn't seem to understand what they're talking about, but she laughs and agrees anyway. "Yes, papa!"

Porthos might have been grumbling for show, but he's honestly grateful to be able to set them down, because his back truly had been screaming in complete protest. Still, he gives Aramis that kiss he wants as he settles them down, eager to go see the rest of the finished house.

"And here I thought it was you I had to throw around," he quips, giving Aramis a grin as he leans his back against the front door once he closes it. Breathing in, he sighs happily. "You hear that? Peace." No noisy neighbours, no cars around, nothing but them.

"You still can, any time you like," Aramis whispers, leaning in to nip Porthos' throat as he's set on his feet again. "Is it too quiet?" he wonders, setting Lucie down next. The very instant her feet touch the floor she screams in childish delight, racing into the next room to behold its treasures.

"Did I say quiet?"

"I like this version of noise," Porthos guarantees, grinning as he wraps an arm around Aramis' waist to prevent him from going too far. He trusts that Lucie is fine, because he grabs the other side of his waist to haul him in, kissing Aramis so deeply that he might as well bend him over in order to enjoy the kiss.

Only when he's breathless does he ease back. "I'll throw you around later," he guarantees. "We soundproofed our room, yeah?"

"As best we could," says Aramis, unsteady on his feet after such a kiss. He holds onto Porthos' shoulders. "I suppose we'll have to bear the hardship of testing it, hmm?"

He gives Porthos' arse a slap. "And make certain the baby monitor is only broadcasting one way. I'd hate to have to explain to Lucie again that sometimes grownups scream just for fun."

Hitching one of Aramis' legs up, trying to get it wrapped around his waist, Porthos laughs deeply. "Maybe by the time she's older, we'll be too old and broken and boring for sex," he teases, as he kisses him over his neck and that inviting tattoo.

He doubts that there'll ever be a day they aren't up for this, but right now, they do have a toddler wandering around. "We shouldn't be christening the bedroom yet. Maybe call the babysitter?"

"Perish the thought," murmurs Aramis, for he'll never reach an age too old to desire Porthos. He laughs and helps to swing his leg up over Porthos' hip, refusing to admit as he does so he's only this flexible due to Porthos' yoga.

"I'll call one for tonight," he says. "I'd like to bless our home appropriately." Aramis raises his brows. "Not to put you to work straight away, but is there to be a celebratory dinner?"

"And did you buy me the ingredients to make that dinner?" Porthos asks sweetly in response, seeing as he's more than happy to make a dinner for them. "And will Lucie also be enjoying this fine dinner, because I'm going to need to cut some chicken into shapes," he says.

Given that their daughter, as much as he loves her, hasn't exactly inherited her Daddy's love of fine cooking. Not yet, at least.

"I had them delivered," says Aramis with a proud little tilt of his chin. "Hopefully they are all the correct ingredients to make coq au vin. And there are little chicken nuggets cut into stars for Lucie. I thought it best to be efficient with our time, so as to leave more for our later retirement," he says with a grin.

"Aren't you a clever, handsome thing?" Porthos praises, grinning as he thinks about picking him up until he remembers that with Lucie wandering around, he absolutely can. He sweeps him off his feet easily enough into his arms, taking the broad steps he needs into the kitchen.

This is where he might cry again, honestly, because look at it. It's everything he could have wanted. "I'm definitely going to be spending a lot of time in here," he guarantees. "I'm gonna fatten you up," he warns playfully, tugging out a stool for Aramis to sit at.

Aramis laughs as he's again swept into Porthos' arms. "Are you going to carry me into every room?" he asks in tones that do not suggest disapproval. "Because if you fatten me up too much, you really will do your back in."

He sits at the stool and thinks of his other purchases. "Speaking of, I also ordered some new oils. If you're very good I will rub your back later."

"What's the matter with me carrying you into every room?" Porthos protests, because he thinks that's a good use of his time and his energy. "Just think about all the times you tried to get me to stop when I'm old and can't do it anymore, then you'll regret not having me do it more."

"Besides, I know how it turns you on," he accuses fondly, starting to open the counters when Aramis mentions the oils. Sulking a little, he gives him a pouting look. "Why can't we rub my back now?"

"For the same reason you can't carry me about," laughs Aramis. "We'll both become...distracted," he says with a leer, "And then you won't cook dinner, when I think we'll need our energy later. Whole rooms to christen, and all."

He's almost lost in thinking about it when Lucie comes racing back into the room. Aramis scoops her up before she can reach the stove and plants her in her high chair. "Now where did I put those little puffed star treats?"

They do have a tendency to become distracted. Maybe Treville wasn't so good with his lessons in patience when they'd first joined the garrison. Porthos is about to let loose a wicked quip, but Lucie's return makes him stop. He leans in to press eskimo kisses to her nose, rubbing it and showering her in loud smacking kisses before he returns to cooking.

"You can feed her, I need to look over what you've brought me and pick a suitable meal for my princess and king," he jokes.

"I checked the list three times," says Aramis as he takes a seat, recalling with a wince the last time he tried gathering ingredients, forgetting cooking oils and spices entirely. "Everything should be there."

He pours a small handful of puffs onto Lucie's tray, stealing one when he thinks no one is looking to crunch on quietly. "Oh, and there's wine. Good wine."

Porthos eyes the puffs cautiously. "You're not going to only feed her those, are you?" he asks, mainly wary because he'd like to sneak a vegetable or a fruit in there. He'd been so deprived of those, growing up, he doesn't want Lucie starting off on the same foot.

"You need the greens just as much as she does, but I'm more concerned about her growing," Porthos notes, waving the knife at him as he digs it out of the block.

"You know she needs a snack before the main course or she'll cry," replies Aramis, who has a healthy appreciation for the scream and how to avoid it.

"Don't worry. Not even a two year old could resist your cooking, cariño." He looks up and eyes the vegetables warily. "Do let me know if you need help."

"You're going to spoil her and then she won't ever eat anything if you don't give them over first," he reiterates, but he's not about to stop Aramis because there'll be screaming. Snorting, he gives Aramis a shake of his head. "Don't bother acting like you want to help. Feed Lucie, I'll get the french onion soup going and work on a roast."

And maybe later, he'll figure out a plan to wean Lucie off the puffy little star things. Or maybe just the screaming part.

"They are not unhealthy," Aramis insists, turning over the label. "See? Selenium, magnesium, iron, folic acid..." He's not a clue what any of them are, his EMT training has focused mostly on the balance of electrolytes, but the vitamins are listed so proudly that they must matter.

"And I do want to help," he insists, "But it only ever seems to result in wasted vegetables. If you find one I can cut with a sword, please do say so."

Porthos gives Aramis a dubious look as he reaches down and holds up a stalk of celery, which he's pretty sure has just the one thing in it. He leans it over and gives it to Aramis so he can cut it up. "You can start with this, but use the knife instead of the sword."

"The sword just seems wasteful," he admits, even though he wouldn't mind seeing that.

Aramis only just avoids pulling a face - celery is a useless food - and rises, adding a few puffs to Lucie's tray to keep her happy. "Yes, but I am good with a sword," he says, clutching the knife. At least now he can stab the silly vegetable.

"It's not my fault so many of my marvelous skills have failed to translate to the modern age."

"You're also very good with a knife," Porthos recites, almost by rote, as if Aramis needs the compliment to feel better about himself when Porthos already knows that's not the case. He shakes his head, scoffing. "Plenty of your talents translated. That charm, the flirting, the knives, the shooting..."

"Should I go on?" he deadpans, as he keeps preparing dinner. "Or do you want to eat at some point tonight?"

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