du_vallon | (no subject)

(no subject)

The infant won't stop crying.

Hours ago, David Nolan had stopped by saying he had to get to work and that everyone else he phoned hadn't been around. They knew each other through their swordfights and though Porthos doesn't see him as much what with Athos and d'Artagnan around, he'd liked the man when they'd met. And so, panicking but not wanting to say otherwise, he'd accepted charge of the young boy, wishing to hell and back that Aramis was here to help. David had loaded him up with things and left Porthos with a fussing infant who only grew worse once his father had left.

"No, no, no," Porthos begs as he starts to caterwaul again, after having spit up on Porthos' shirt. He maneuvers the child so he can strip it off, tossing it to the side as he starts to slowly walk around the house, bouncing the baby softly as he hums something to him. It takes forty-five ungodly long minutes, but Porthos eventually gets him to quiet down and he shifts the baby up against his torso so his cheek rests against his heart. He's not in the clear yet.

Because even though the baby is settled, he's still making little fussy noises that mean he could go off any minute. If this is what caring for a child is like, then Porthos is definitely, definitely not ready for anything younger than the age when they start to speak.

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Porthos is still vibrating with nerves and worry, but he knows he ought to face this and Neal does seem calmer. He reaches out with both hands for the baby, sliding one broad palm around his little back to support him as he curls Neal into his arms, careful to bring the toy along and wiggle one of its paws, watching how the baby seems absolutely enraptured by the sight of it.

Next, he eases the bottle into a slow tilt, careful to keep him eating so he doesn't have to go hungry. "I like him better already when he's not screaming in my ear."

Aramis' smile as Porthos eases the tiny child into the crook of his arm is nearly sick with adoration. "You are a natural," he breathes without a hint of artifice. "This is the baby's clever trick, of course," he notes, smoothing Neal's fine hair down with one fingertip. "So sweet and beguiling when they are calm, all to soften us to keep them when they are not."

Porthos gives Aramis a dubious look, even as he shifts with Neal. "He was screaming at the top of his lungs for forty-five minutes before you came home," he points out. "Not exactly a natural." Starting to get wary that Aramis might not give this child back when his father comes home, Porthos nods towards the kitchen. "Put our groceries away, chou, before we waste the money."

He tilts the plush dog back and forth, watching as Neal grasps at it with wide, eager eyes, babbling as he shoves the dog's paw into his mouth instead of the bottle.

Aramis nearly whines before he remembers himself, his unwillingness to let their food spoil at war with his desire to stay near the baby, but he supposes they have some time yet. He moves away as quickly as he can, his eyes fastened to the pair in the living room all the while. Porthos seems a bit easier now, not smiling but not scowling either, as seemingly fascinated with Neal and his toy as Neal is with the toy itself.

Aramis smiles to himself, placing the last carton into the cold box. "So you have not destroyed him in my absence. Is he done eating then?" he asks when he returns.

Porthos lifts up the half-empty bottle, somewhat displeased that he hadn't finished, but he supposes for a thing that little in size, it's an admirable amount. Shifting Neal into his arms a little higher, he holds him higher, taking in that strange smell that's sort of soft and warm. "He's all done, yeah," he says, shifting him expectantly with a look to Aramis. "You can take him back now."

Porthos is grateful that he hadn't screamed and cried, but he's still wary of breaking him or doing something wrong and he'd much rather just hand him off to Aramis.

"A moment," says Aramis, watching Neal squirm. "No time, I'm afraid," he says, lifting one of the thinner blankets to drape across Porthos' shoulder. "He needs to settle his stomach. Try bouncing, just a little, and rub his back. Your broad hand will be better than mine."

Porthos' eyes flash with worry, though he adjusts the blanket on his shoulder, doing his best not to think about the time Athos had been sick on him. He sighs and shifts Neal against his chest, rocking his heel against the floor to give them a bit of a bounce, rubbing his back in firm, set circles until there's the sound of spit-up. Porthos laughs, shaking his head.

"Who'd have thought I'd be doing this with anyone but you or Athos, hmm?"

"I have never been sick on you," Aramis insists, "I am far too polite." He hurries to wipe at Neal's mouth with another cloth, pulling the soiled one away from Porthos' shoulder. "You did that beautifully," Aramis praises. "He won't fuss if his little stomach doesn't pain him. Does he seem sleepy to you?"

Porthos colours, not used to praise when he feels like he's barely managing. He glances up at Aramis, then down at Neal, and tentatively touches his fingers to the fuzz of his hair, cautious and careful. "He seems a lot more sedate than before," he agrees, checking his mouth one more time before he lifts Neal and settles him against his other shoulder, not paying any mind when he starts to pick at the wool of his sweater with those tiny fingers.

He's so little. Porthos is so big in contrast and he's keeping careful because otherwise, he fears his hands might hurt the little one.

For all that he looks half terrified, Porthos handles Neal with perfect care, resettling him gently against his broad chest, and Aramis feels he might burst at the sight of it. "We will see if he begins to wilt," he says, leaning in to press a kiss to the worried line between Porthos' brows. "Do not worry so. Babies are resilient, else they would never live to become adults. He looks very comfortable in your arms, Porthos."

He closes his eyes at the simple touch, feeling like he could wash away with the reassurance. It's nothing like he actually has been fearing. He's still so worried because this might be their life, one day. He makes some room in the chair and pats beside him to give Aramis the opportunity to settle in beside them. "C'mere," he encourages. "I know you're dying not being able to touch his fuzzy little head."

Aramis grabs the bag to take with him, resting it against the side of the chair as he tucks himself against Porthos' hip. Once settled, he reaches for one of Neal's hands shamelessly, touching dry lips to his tiny fingertips and grinning when Neal tries to pull at them. "They are a wonder, aren't they?" he asks. It's been so long since he spent any length of time with a baby. "So soft and warm and small. It is hard to imagine they grow up to be men, facing all the trials and hardships of life."

"You're absolutely sucker-punched with affection," Porthos marvels with a fond smile at Aramis, shaking his head as he shifts so that they're hip to hip in the chair, with Porthos running his other hand through Aramis' hair. "You have to take him though, and this time, I mean it," he says. "I've got cooking to finish. David swore up and down that he'd have someone pick up the kidlet before dinner."

"It's an important one, you know."

Aramis takes the baby, but he fists his hand in Porthos' sleeve, refusing to allow his escape just yet. "But look how content he is," he insists, turning Neal to sit facing them in Aramis' lap. "Hello," Aramis says, smiling with the boy smiles back, waving both his fists before he slaps one against Porthos' leg, already eager for something to occupy himself. "Fetch one of his toys."

Porthos makes a face when he's grabbed and smacked, but he smiles playfully at Neal over Aramis' shoulder so that Aramis can't see him, digging into the bag to fetch one of the toys that looks a bit like a very happy elephant. He sets it on Aramis' shoulder as he heads to the kitchen to start the oven.

The cooking's all done from earlier, so all he has to do is put the pasta shells and the stuffed cornish hens in the oven while the cheesecake chills in the fridge. He digs out the champagne and holds it up. "Now? Or after the baby's gone home?"

As betrayed as he felt for Porthos shirking their first opportunity to play with a baby together, Aramis is quite lost in Neal by the time Porthos speaks again. He hums in answer, too occupied with walking the elephant up Neal's belly to kiss his nose over and over, delighting that the boy never seems to tire of it. When Neal's gaze finally shifts, Aramis looks up. "Hmm? Put that away."

Porthos makes a face, but he sighs and resigns himself to spending his six month anniversary babysitting and watching Aramis play father. He loves it, he really does, but he sort of wanted things to go to plan the way they'd originally been going. He sets the champagne back in the fridge to chill and thinks, now, that he might have discovered the solution to their constant touching.

Kids seems to sap all of Aramis' attention. Hungry, but willing to wait, Porthos crawls back into the chair and drags the blanket around himself, giving Aramis a sidelong look. "You do know you have to give him back, right?" he teases.

"Before dinner, yes I heard," says Aramis, a little cross to think of it, but he hands Porthos the elephant. "I wonder if he's learned his animal sounds yet. Neal, what does the elephant say?" he asks, eager, and lifts the little toy's trunk in imitation of a trumpeting cry. "Porthos, show him."

Porthos takes the elephant in hand, resolving to put aside their plans. Neal is only here temporarily and their own children are still very far down the line. He grins and drapes his legs over Aramis' lap so he can take hold of the elephant and make a big, blast of a sound that makes Neal laugh with hiccupping little sounds.

Charmed, Porthos can't help his grin. "You're adorable," is what he says, though whether it's to Neal or Aramis, he doesn't clarify.

Aramis laughs, too, his joy for Porthos' antics amplified a hundred fold for the way Neal gasps and giggles, and he turns his beaming smile on Porthos. "You see?" he asks, "They are not so terrifying. You are wonderful with him, truly."

Turning back to Neal, Aramis makes a trumpeting sound of his own, though it pales next to Porthos' boom. "I'm not match at all," Aramis laughs.

"They're absolutely terrifying," Porthos insists, but it's not the baby he finds terrifying. It's the amount of responsibility and the worry and the sheer desperate fear that he'll somehow hurt Neal or their own children that scares him. "They're so tiny and perfect and I'm...brute and force," he says, swallowing. "They're so terrifying because they're innocent and perfect and I could ruin all that."

"Porthos," sighs Aramis, fondness and exasperation softening his smile. "You can be brute and force, yes, but that is how you will protect our children from what truly could rob them of their innocence. Do not be afraid of your strength. I never have been, for I have seen what you choose to do with it. You are a good and an honorable man."

In his lap, Neal is cooing, reaching for Porthos and the elephant. "You could never ruin a child."

Porthos reaches for Neal right back, but he slides the elephant into his arms at the same time as he fixes the little coveralls he's wearing, careful to brush the fuzzy hair back off his head. "You're not this little," he points out. "Aramis, I just don't know how to do this right. And we only get one chance. It's not like a prisoner or a grown child."

"I'd never live with myself if I ruined things. I don't think you'd live with me, either."

"I will not have to try," says Aramis, but he knows nothing will convince Porthos until he is ready to be convinced. "I believe in you," he says, catching Porthos' hand for a brief kiss, "And I do not believe you would have agreed to watch Neal for any length of time alone if you thought yourself truly hopeless. In time, you will see."

Porthos only has eyes for Aramis right now, staring at him with adoration and his own share of wonder. "I did it because I like David and he needed to go to work. I'd hope any of our friends would do the same down the line, when I'm fearful and terrified of mucking up our own child's life," he jokes.