du_vallon | (no subject)

Aramis has been living with the monks for two whole months before Porthos decides to do something about it.

The war has been going on and occupying his attention, but while Athos' friendship is good and d'Artagnan keeps him hellishly busy, he can't ignore the missing piece and no matter how much he tries to stay angry with Aramis, he finds himself faltering and unable to do anything but miss him. It's why he accepts the job running a message back to Paris just so that when he's done, he can head out to where Aramis is at prayers.

At first, he tells himself that he's only going to watch and check in on him to make sure he's fine. Then he sees Aramis and the way his heart plummets to his stomach makes him realize how very much he's not over Aramis and that persistent voice in his head that tells him to do something more.

He always has been a dumb and impulsive brute at times, and he can even be sneaky at the best of times. It's why he's able to get inside the monastery and follow Aramis until he sees which room appears to be his (and it's not shared, maybe a sign from God). Lingering in the dark of the hallway, Porthos slips into the room when Aramis is out for dinner, roaming and snooping before making a home for himself, sprawled on the bed with his chin against his palm, waiting for Aramis to return.

He should be angrier. He should be cross at being abandoned, and yet, how can he be? All he'd needed to do was come here and force Aramis not to abandon him by forcing himself back into the man's life.

How could a plan like that go wrong?

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After dinner, Aramis makes his usual rounds to the children's rooms, checking that they've enough blankets or - in Luke's case - that they've gone to bed at all. When every orphan is at last accounted for and settled in, Aramis exhales and tries to believe it's enough.

He's helping them. He's paying his debt to God. It ought to be enough.

Aramis shakes his head, gathering his will for another lengthy set of prayers in the chapel to atone, but he'd like his bible. All it will take is quick pop to his little room to grab it and he can begin, but when Aramis enters, it's clear that he'll be atoning to someone else tonight.

Aramis' mouth falls open, for once without a single pretty thing to say, save for, "Porthos."

[omg, this was so close to my wedding I seriously forgot about it ever happened]

Porthos isn't sure what to say. He'd figured out how to break in, how to make sure none of the other monks saw him, and he'd also come up with a half dozen excuses if he'd been caught. What he hadn't prepared himself with was the part where Aramis is here and now he needs to think of what he'd come here to say.

"Aramis," he greets him, unfolding himself and perched on the edge of the bed, gripping it tightly, like he might need to spring up and run. "I was beginning to think you were going to pray all night and never come back," he jests, even though it falls flat when there's still a hint of betrayal in his tone.

[ All good! We have all the time in the world! ]

"I had to put the children to bed," says Aramis, still struck half dumb. His eyes drop to Porthos' knuckles, pale despite his rich skin for their grip, and feels a rare urge to step away from Porthos lest he be struck. But Porthos cannot be here to fight, at least, not exclusively, and Aramis finds himself drifting deeper into the little room.

He ought to ask after the war. After Athos, D'Artagnan, all their brothers, but what he says is, "How are you?"

Is that how they're going to start? Years apart and Aramis is going to ask how he is, like nothing has happened or changed in the time between. Porthos decides to ignore that question, because he doesn't think it warrants a response.

Instead, he's on his feet to start touring the room, poking and prodding at items, glancing at the books he finds, the clothes, all the things that make up Aramis' new life. "d'Artagnan is married," he says. "Athos isn't. The war, it goes on." He's being brief, curt. He still isn't entirely sure why he snuck here, but he'd known he needed to see Aramis.

Porthos needn't search far. Aramis is already scorned by some for having more than two possessions, but he isn't sorry for the sword and musket beneath his narrow cot, nor the comb for his beard next to his Bible. "Married," he says, warmed despite the cold that drops into his middle as Porthos speaks so shortly. "I am happy for them. It is long overdue."

He watches as Porthos continues to fidget, finding his legs unsteady enough to sink onto the cot. "Porthos," he asks at length. "Why have you come?"

Aramis won't join the war. He's vowed not to.

Porthos doesn't know if he wants to admit it out loud, but he's already sulking a little, his head hung low, shrugging his shoulders. He knows he's going to be easy to read, so it's only putting off the inevitable. "I missed you," is his gruff reply, even though he's not looking at Aramis, because he genuinely might start welling up, if he looks that way.

So he's not going to. He's going to keep fumbling with Aramis' things, which unfortunately results in him sending a few books crashing, making him crouch to pick them up. He's not tired of the fighting, but he's tired of doing it without Aramis at his side.