It’s about as likely that Athos will burst into song as he is to keep up his end of a conversation, and he actually smiles faintly, as though at a joke, as he rises and passes Porthos on his way to the kitchen. He takes the sandwiches out of the cold box and piles them onto a plate, grabbing the open bottle of wine from the counter, and bringing the whole makeshift lunch back to the other room. “Move,” he says, sitting on the edge of the chaise and nudging Porthos’ unbroken leg.