The Wolf cont.
Safely back in the territory of being far too long.
When Porthos got in from his run Aramis came skidding in from another room to greet him with that faintly manic-edged gladness to see him he gets when something isn't right or else when he's specifically done something wrong, like a puppy hoping overexcitement will distract from the puddle on the floor. There was no sign of Athos. Porthos' first thought was that Aramis had pissed Athos off and so Athos was happy to unload him onto Porthos and Aramis was glad to be able to get away from Athos' glowering now Porthos was back, but when Athos came running upstairs for Aramis' episode - he'd gone downhill fucking quickly, by the time he'd followed Porthos upstairs Aramis was shaking so badly Porthos had to be the one to get the cuff off his wrist, Aramis' clumsy, strengthless fingers couldn't manage it - the way Athos was with him, he isn't normally so inclined to be as . . . not just gentle. Sensitive. Loving. As openly loving, as that. Athos knows Aramis doesn't know what's happening to him when he has an episode so he saves the soothing up for after, if it's needed. Porthos almost never sees him coddling Aramis through one, as if Aramis could even be aware of it, when mid-episode they're always doing it for themselves to some extent, so they don't feel so useless, and partly out of respect for Aramis, that even disembodied as he's become he deserves it from them. Athos is normally practical about it all, all he cares about is keeping him safe through them, he doesn't - he's not like that. So what the fuck is going on between the two of them?
Something has happened between them and he knows it, Aramis was too urgently nervous when he first got back, and Athos wasn't with him, something has happened. He slams the shower off and shakes his hands out, pulls the cubical door open and leans for a towel, moving fast because he needs to check on them. He never knows what Aramis might have done, Aramis as incredibly capable of casual fuck-ups as he is, and while Porthos thinks of Athos as rock-steady when he really thinks about it, he doesn't really know what Athos might have done either. They think he's so dependable, so known a quantity, Athos and his quiet and the way he's just always there, but there's another side to Athos, isn't there? Porthos remembers that bitter, distrustful man they first knew, how obvious the aura of hatred he carried was, that black hole in his chest where his heart should have been. Then it was his moments of softening they noted with surprise; now, they note the much rarer hardening and they hesitate, because it's always a reminder of then. It's always a reminder that whatever they are to him, however much he so clearly cares for them, his commitment to them comes with a cut-off point. And Aramis - Aramis who blunders ahead without looking - Aramis has always been the most likely of the two of them to trip Athos' temper back onto that inevitable track into the dark again, away from the two of them, back towards that woman.
Porthos doesn't know what happened between them while he left only for long enough to run some of the emotion out of himself. Aramis was trying not to seem distressed, and there was no sign of Athos, and then Athos was so gentle with Aramis, and Porthos isn't stupid. Athos was reassuring Aramis not about anything general, not about the episode, but about his own presence. Something happened between the two of them, so that Athos felt the need to reassure Aramis on the edge of an episode that he really was there, and then felt something that inspired that further affection from him. What the hell? They had some kind of clash and it made Athos like Aramis more?
Nothing to do with Aramis ever makes sense.
Porthos is still scrubbing at his hair with a towel as he opens the door to the bedroom, where Athos is still sitting on the bed, eyes peacefully distant, Aramis asleep with his head on Athos' lap and Athos' hand running lightly through his hair. Porthos gives them a long look, and Athos blinks back from whatever thought he's focusing on, glances at him, and he doesn't exactly smile but his face looks soft and open, which is - a bit fucking weird, frankly. He looks tired. More tired than usual, at least.
Porthos chucks the towel for his hair back onto the bathroom radiator and heads for the wardrobe, nodding at Aramis in Athos' lap, murmuring so as not to wake him, "He alright?"
"Sleeping it off." Athos says, soft and settled. "It wasn't a bad one, he should hopefully be alright soon."
Porthos drops the towel around his hips since Aramis isn't technically there to tut about wet towels on the carpet, and pulls some underwear from his drawer. He has his own to keep them separate; Aramis and Athos have started more or less sharing underwear by now, since there's less between their hips, and Porthos doesn't know if that's just one of those things that was inevitable amongst three guys, just practical, or kind of weird. He finds a pair of socks (Aramis keeps them balled; if it wasn't for him their laundry situation would probably be a lot more chaotic) and pulls on some jeans, glaring into the wardrobe all the while, thinking, thinking.
He says without looking over his shoulder, "You want me to take 'im?"
"No," Athos says. "It's fine. We can swap when it's time to cook if he's still asleep, it's my turn."
Porthos pulls a t-shirt over his head, and it's all welling up inside, suddenly he is fucking furious with Athos and it's been coming for fucking years, Athos can't sit there cradling Aramis like he cares about nothing but him when he still wants to fuck off and leave him, he can't - this is bullshit. This is bullshit, and very suddenly Porthos is done and while Aramis is post-episode unconscious between them might not be the best place for it but he's got no waiting left in him, he is fucking done.
He turns to face Athos, tries to keep his voice low but it comes so blunt and bitten with anger. "What you do to him is bullshit. What you do to us is bullshit. It's not fair to act like you love us when you're gettin' all ready to leave us, what the fuck've you ever been thinkin', how long d'you think he'd last if you just dump us an' walk off? How d'you think any of it's gonna work, what, we're gonna just stumble on another earth affinity as soon as you're gone or do you just not care that he'll get his brain turned inside-out an' put through the fuckin' blender by you dyin' an' so long as you get the power to kill some woman you don't give a fuck? I know she did some shit to you right, I get that, we know that, but what the fuck does that make us to you? He fucking loves you, he is going to fucking wish he was dead before you walkin' off does kill him an' what the fuck've we been through if you just walk off on me-"
Throughout Porthos' increasingly helpless rage Athos looks at him confused, then surprised, then perturbed, then - eyebrows low, mouth pressed - really weirdly sad. "I know," he says, hand moving differently on Aramis' head, more of a cupping of his skull as if to protect him in his sleep, so he doesn't wake to Porthos' rising fury. "I know. You're right. I'm not going anywhere."
Porthos opens his mouth to spit something back and stops. He tries to find something else to snap back at him, and can't. And then the anger turns into such confusion it makes him angry all over again, and he says, "What?"
"I'm not leaving," Athos says. "None of it matters to me the way the two of you do. The hell with it. You only live once. I'd rather live with the two of you."
Porthos stares at him. All his anger's smashing at the walls inside his mind now it's not got any direction to stab out in, he stares at Athos and doesn't understand. His hands fist, and force themselves open, and fist again, and hurt.
And Athos looks down at Aramis, sleeping drained and heavy, and his smile twitches the corner of his mouth, gentle.
Porthos takes a breath in - it's not entirely steady - and says, voice heavy with making the words sound rational, "You're not leavin' us to kill her."
"No." Athos says. "I'm not. We need to . . . when he's awake, we need to talk. The three of us." He looks up, looks at Porthos right in the eye and easily, as if it doesn't cost him anything, as if he means all of this. "But that's the most important part of it. I'm not leaving you to kill her. In fact I need to ask you for your help, little as I might deserve it after everything I've put you both through."
". . . don't start like that," Porthos says, walks over and touches his arm awkwardly. "We've been . . . it's not like that."
"It is. And I will make that right. But until then, I will need to ask you for your help." Athos' thumb brushes across Aramis' forehead, and Aramis sleeps so silent, and Athos looks at Porthos. "She kills rifts, she's kidnapped Aramis before, she shot you, she is dangerous. And I need to ask the two of you for your help to stop her. We'll need Treville's organisation to be able to hold her in custody, she's a rift, no normal prison would have a chance. But I have to stop her, she has to face justice, she needs to be contained. Not killed. She just needs to face justice. And I need to ask the two of you to help me with that."
Porthos stares at him, hand on his shoulder, and remembers every night when he couldn't sleep brooding over the betrayal Athos only hadn't performed yet, remembers every angry churn of his stomach to see Athos act like what Aramis goes through matters to him when he fully intended to abandon him to worse at his first opportunity, remembers Athos kissing him and Porthos sometimes wanting to refuse even to feel it because he was only going to leave -
Now he looks at Athos' face, settled and honest and strained a little, hand on Aramis' head, not yet moving to touch Porthos. He looks tired; he always looks tired, his bones, and the way he drinks, and the things he remembers - she killed his brother. And yes they fuck so it's not quite 'brothers' but those two are still Porthos' family and he knows how it would unhinge him if it was done to him, if someone killed either of them, she killed Athos' brother. Porthos would lose his mind, Porthos would be deranged, Porthos wouldn't want to use his rift or a gun, he'd want to use his bare hands, he'd want to feel the blood and snap of bones, the way the warmth went cold. Porthos would not cope if it happened to him. So, yeah, Athos took some time to get it all right in his head, to come down from the blood-high of the need for her death. Is Porthos really going to snap back and say he'd have done it quicker, he'd never have put them through all this bullshit, if she'd killed Aramis then would he have given the whole of himself to Athos when a whole lot more than half his heart would have belonged to bloody revenge?
He squeezes Athos' shoulder, and swallows, because his throat's thickened. He says, low and rough, "You know you don't even have t'ask us."
Athos just lowers his head. It reminds Porthos of the way he's seen Aramis do it in church; acquiescence, acceptance, of something he feels both unworthy of and sanctified by.
He climbs on the mattress beside Athos, legs long down the bed, and looks at Aramis sleeping that episode-heavy sleep, a weight in Athos' lap. For a while, neither of them speak. Then Porthos nudges Athos' shoulder with his, says quietly, "He put your leg to sleep yet?"
"Like a piece of fucking industrial machinery."
Porthos grins, and he means it, he feels the blooming of his meaning it all the way through his face, and shuffles his body lower on the bed so he can settle his cheek to Athos' shoulder. Then he just breathes there, side by side with Athos, both looking forwards at the same something in space. For the first time, Porthos thinks, they really are looking at the same something. It's the future, together, finally.
He squirms himself closer, warm to Athos' side, and listens to the steady hush of Athos' breathing against his cheek, the slow quiet waves of Aramis' breathing lapping peaceful below. He's beginning to feel it sink in. He's beginning to feel the reality of it sinking in.
D'Artagnan's coming, and Athos isn't going. They're going to be a four. They're going to do this. They're going to be a sealed circle. They're going to be a four.
He has to close his eyes to keep the threat of tears in. Athos just shifts at his side, lays an arm around his back, and doesn't say anything. Words will come. But right now, on this bed together, they've said the things they needed to say.
Fucking months Porthos has been hyping himself up to saying something to Athos for. Fucking years. If he'd only said it sooner, got this weight off his heart sooner -
But he came back and Aramis had done something, and Athos was all strange and open and exposed after it, no longer caring for dignity or vengeance, and Porthos realises that without even trying to do it, he and Aramis have performed the easy tag-teaming they've been doing since the day they met. Athos never was going to win. He was always outnumbered.
No. Porthos closes his eyes, breathing slow. None of them are outnumbered because there's no divide there anymore. They are a three. And now the only thing they're waiting for is for Aramis to wake, and then, some day so soon Porthos can taste the tang of fire on his tongue, d'Artagnan, and finally their circle will slip closed, sealed, as perfect as a circle is, that line unbroken and continuous, forever. Athos' ex, those people with dart guns, none of that matters anymore. Now they're really a three now and forever, they've got the whole fucking world outnumbered.
Let the wolves come, if they think they're hard enough. The world, faced by their three, should shake.
After they've had a little nap, anyway. Porthos half-stifles and then gives up on the yawn, which cracks his jawbone it comes so wide; it really takes it out of you, being angry. So much nicer not to be. Athos must feel like he's high he's so blissed out, if this is the first time he's ever been able to let that shit go even halfway.
Porthos pats and reaches across Aramis' chest to close his grip lightly around Athos' wrist, to close the circuit, so he can let the smile twitch true, and finally let sleep come.
When Porthos got in from his run Aramis came skidding in from another room to greet him with that faintly manic-edged gladness to see him he gets when something isn't right or else when he's specifically done something wrong, like a puppy hoping overexcitement will distract from the puddle on the floor. There was no sign of Athos. Porthos' first thought was that Aramis had pissed Athos off and so Athos was happy to unload him onto Porthos and Aramis was glad to be able to get away from Athos' glowering now Porthos was back, but when Athos came running upstairs for Aramis' episode - he'd gone downhill fucking quickly, by the time he'd followed Porthos upstairs Aramis was shaking so badly Porthos had to be the one to get the cuff off his wrist, Aramis' clumsy, strengthless fingers couldn't manage it - the way Athos was with him, he isn't normally so inclined to be as . . . not just gentle. Sensitive. Loving. As openly loving, as that. Athos knows Aramis doesn't know what's happening to him when he has an episode so he saves the soothing up for after, if it's needed. Porthos almost never sees him coddling Aramis through one, as if Aramis could even be aware of it, when mid-episode they're always doing it for themselves to some extent, so they don't feel so useless, and partly out of respect for Aramis, that even disembodied as he's become he deserves it from them. Athos is normally practical about it all, all he cares about is keeping him safe through them, he doesn't - he's not like that. So what the fuck is going on between the two of them?
Something has happened between them and he knows it, Aramis was too urgently nervous when he first got back, and Athos wasn't with him, something has happened. He slams the shower off and shakes his hands out, pulls the cubical door open and leans for a towel, moving fast because he needs to check on them. He never knows what Aramis might have done, Aramis as incredibly capable of casual fuck-ups as he is, and while Porthos thinks of Athos as rock-steady when he really thinks about it, he doesn't really know what Athos might have done either. They think he's so dependable, so known a quantity, Athos and his quiet and the way he's just always there, but there's another side to Athos, isn't there? Porthos remembers that bitter, distrustful man they first knew, how obvious the aura of hatred he carried was, that black hole in his chest where his heart should have been. Then it was his moments of softening they noted with surprise; now, they note the much rarer hardening and they hesitate, because it's always a reminder of then. It's always a reminder that whatever they are to him, however much he so clearly cares for them, his commitment to them comes with a cut-off point. And Aramis - Aramis who blunders ahead without looking - Aramis has always been the most likely of the two of them to trip Athos' temper back onto that inevitable track into the dark again, away from the two of them, back towards that woman.
Porthos doesn't know what happened between them while he left only for long enough to run some of the emotion out of himself. Aramis was trying not to seem distressed, and there was no sign of Athos, and then Athos was so gentle with Aramis, and Porthos isn't stupid. Athos was reassuring Aramis not about anything general, not about the episode, but about his own presence. Something happened between the two of them, so that Athos felt the need to reassure Aramis on the edge of an episode that he really was there, and then felt something that inspired that further affection from him. What the hell? They had some kind of clash and it made Athos like Aramis more?
Nothing to do with Aramis ever makes sense.
Porthos is still scrubbing at his hair with a towel as he opens the door to the bedroom, where Athos is still sitting on the bed, eyes peacefully distant, Aramis asleep with his head on Athos' lap and Athos' hand running lightly through his hair. Porthos gives them a long look, and Athos blinks back from whatever thought he's focusing on, glances at him, and he doesn't exactly smile but his face looks soft and open, which is - a bit fucking weird, frankly. He looks tired. More tired than usual, at least.
Porthos chucks the towel for his hair back onto the bathroom radiator and heads for the wardrobe, nodding at Aramis in Athos' lap, murmuring so as not to wake him, "He alright?"
"Sleeping it off." Athos says, soft and settled. "It wasn't a bad one, he should hopefully be alright soon."
Porthos drops the towel around his hips since Aramis isn't technically there to tut about wet towels on the carpet, and pulls some underwear from his drawer. He has his own to keep them separate; Aramis and Athos have started more or less sharing underwear by now, since there's less between their hips, and Porthos doesn't know if that's just one of those things that was inevitable amongst three guys, just practical, or kind of weird. He finds a pair of socks (Aramis keeps them balled; if it wasn't for him their laundry situation would probably be a lot more chaotic) and pulls on some jeans, glaring into the wardrobe all the while, thinking, thinking.
He says without looking over his shoulder, "You want me to take 'im?"
"No," Athos says. "It's fine. We can swap when it's time to cook if he's still asleep, it's my turn."
Porthos pulls a t-shirt over his head, and it's all welling up inside, suddenly he is fucking furious with Athos and it's been coming for fucking years, Athos can't sit there cradling Aramis like he cares about nothing but him when he still wants to fuck off and leave him, he can't - this is bullshit. This is bullshit, and very suddenly Porthos is done and while Aramis is post-episode unconscious between them might not be the best place for it but he's got no waiting left in him, he is fucking done.
He turns to face Athos, tries to keep his voice low but it comes so blunt and bitten with anger. "What you do to him is bullshit. What you do to us is bullshit. It's not fair to act like you love us when you're gettin' all ready to leave us, what the fuck've you ever been thinkin', how long d'you think he'd last if you just dump us an' walk off? How d'you think any of it's gonna work, what, we're gonna just stumble on another earth affinity as soon as you're gone or do you just not care that he'll get his brain turned inside-out an' put through the fuckin' blender by you dyin' an' so long as you get the power to kill some woman you don't give a fuck? I know she did some shit to you right, I get that, we know that, but what the fuck does that make us to you? He fucking loves you, he is going to fucking wish he was dead before you walkin' off does kill him an' what the fuck've we been through if you just walk off on me-"
Throughout Porthos' increasingly helpless rage Athos looks at him confused, then surprised, then perturbed, then - eyebrows low, mouth pressed - really weirdly sad. "I know," he says, hand moving differently on Aramis' head, more of a cupping of his skull as if to protect him in his sleep, so he doesn't wake to Porthos' rising fury. "I know. You're right. I'm not going anywhere."
Porthos opens his mouth to spit something back and stops. He tries to find something else to snap back at him, and can't. And then the anger turns into such confusion it makes him angry all over again, and he says, "What?"
"I'm not leaving," Athos says. "None of it matters to me the way the two of you do. The hell with it. You only live once. I'd rather live with the two of you."
Porthos stares at him. All his anger's smashing at the walls inside his mind now it's not got any direction to stab out in, he stares at Athos and doesn't understand. His hands fist, and force themselves open, and fist again, and hurt.
And Athos looks down at Aramis, sleeping drained and heavy, and his smile twitches the corner of his mouth, gentle.
Porthos takes a breath in - it's not entirely steady - and says, voice heavy with making the words sound rational, "You're not leavin' us to kill her."
"No." Athos says. "I'm not. We need to . . . when he's awake, we need to talk. The three of us." He looks up, looks at Porthos right in the eye and easily, as if it doesn't cost him anything, as if he means all of this. "But that's the most important part of it. I'm not leaving you to kill her. In fact I need to ask you for your help, little as I might deserve it after everything I've put you both through."
". . . don't start like that," Porthos says, walks over and touches his arm awkwardly. "We've been . . . it's not like that."
"It is. And I will make that right. But until then, I will need to ask you for your help." Athos' thumb brushes across Aramis' forehead, and Aramis sleeps so silent, and Athos looks at Porthos. "She kills rifts, she's kidnapped Aramis before, she shot you, she is dangerous. And I need to ask the two of you for your help to stop her. We'll need Treville's organisation to be able to hold her in custody, she's a rift, no normal prison would have a chance. But I have to stop her, she has to face justice, she needs to be contained. Not killed. She just needs to face justice. And I need to ask the two of you to help me with that."
Porthos stares at him, hand on his shoulder, and remembers every night when he couldn't sleep brooding over the betrayal Athos only hadn't performed yet, remembers every angry churn of his stomach to see Athos act like what Aramis goes through matters to him when he fully intended to abandon him to worse at his first opportunity, remembers Athos kissing him and Porthos sometimes wanting to refuse even to feel it because he was only going to leave -
Now he looks at Athos' face, settled and honest and strained a little, hand on Aramis' head, not yet moving to touch Porthos. He looks tired; he always looks tired, his bones, and the way he drinks, and the things he remembers - she killed his brother. And yes they fuck so it's not quite 'brothers' but those two are still Porthos' family and he knows how it would unhinge him if it was done to him, if someone killed either of them, she killed Athos' brother. Porthos would lose his mind, Porthos would be deranged, Porthos wouldn't want to use his rift or a gun, he'd want to use his bare hands, he'd want to feel the blood and snap of bones, the way the warmth went cold. Porthos would not cope if it happened to him. So, yeah, Athos took some time to get it all right in his head, to come down from the blood-high of the need for her death. Is Porthos really going to snap back and say he'd have done it quicker, he'd never have put them through all this bullshit, if she'd killed Aramis then would he have given the whole of himself to Athos when a whole lot more than half his heart would have belonged to bloody revenge?
He squeezes Athos' shoulder, and swallows, because his throat's thickened. He says, low and rough, "You know you don't even have t'ask us."
Athos just lowers his head. It reminds Porthos of the way he's seen Aramis do it in church; acquiescence, acceptance, of something he feels both unworthy of and sanctified by.
He climbs on the mattress beside Athos, legs long down the bed, and looks at Aramis sleeping that episode-heavy sleep, a weight in Athos' lap. For a while, neither of them speak. Then Porthos nudges Athos' shoulder with his, says quietly, "He put your leg to sleep yet?"
"Like a piece of fucking industrial machinery."
Porthos grins, and he means it, he feels the blooming of his meaning it all the way through his face, and shuffles his body lower on the bed so he can settle his cheek to Athos' shoulder. Then he just breathes there, side by side with Athos, both looking forwards at the same something in space. For the first time, Porthos thinks, they really are looking at the same something. It's the future, together, finally.
He squirms himself closer, warm to Athos' side, and listens to the steady hush of Athos' breathing against his cheek, the slow quiet waves of Aramis' breathing lapping peaceful below. He's beginning to feel it sink in. He's beginning to feel the reality of it sinking in.
D'Artagnan's coming, and Athos isn't going. They're going to be a four. They're going to do this. They're going to be a sealed circle. They're going to be a four.
He has to close his eyes to keep the threat of tears in. Athos just shifts at his side, lays an arm around his back, and doesn't say anything. Words will come. But right now, on this bed together, they've said the things they needed to say.
Fucking months Porthos has been hyping himself up to saying something to Athos for. Fucking years. If he'd only said it sooner, got this weight off his heart sooner -
But he came back and Aramis had done something, and Athos was all strange and open and exposed after it, no longer caring for dignity or vengeance, and Porthos realises that without even trying to do it, he and Aramis have performed the easy tag-teaming they've been doing since the day they met. Athos never was going to win. He was always outnumbered.
No. Porthos closes his eyes, breathing slow. None of them are outnumbered because there's no divide there anymore. They are a three. And now the only thing they're waiting for is for Aramis to wake, and then, some day so soon Porthos can taste the tang of fire on his tongue, d'Artagnan, and finally their circle will slip closed, sealed, as perfect as a circle is, that line unbroken and continuous, forever. Athos' ex, those people with dart guns, none of that matters anymore. Now they're really a three now and forever, they've got the whole fucking world outnumbered.
Let the wolves come, if they think they're hard enough. The world, faced by their three, should shake.
After they've had a little nap, anyway. Porthos half-stifles and then gives up on the yawn, which cracks his jawbone it comes so wide; it really takes it out of you, being angry. So much nicer not to be. Athos must feel like he's high he's so blissed out, if this is the first time he's ever been able to let that shit go even halfway.
Porthos pats and reaches across Aramis' chest to close his grip lightly around Athos' wrist, to close the circuit, so he can let the smile twitch true, and finally let sleep come.