A reunion

[somepoorsoul]

If Athos can say one thing about this strange and baffling place, this Darrow, he can agree that it is quite clean and well-appointed, in its own way. Though choked with the ranging carriages of the like that nearly knocked him over, the boulevards are broader than any he would find in Paris, and the directions given to him by the attendant at the train station are easy to follow. Still, he enters the building grandly labeled The Bramford with guarded suspicion, for nothing he has learned since finding himself here has convinced him that this is a place worthy of trust. Could Porthos and Aramis really be here, as so many people had assured him? Where was here, exactly, and how did he go about leaving? Most troubling of all, if escape was possible (and it must be, he told himself), why had his friends not found it?

It is the thought of his friends, though, that keeps him going up the narrow stairway inside, to the floor where Porthos and Aramis are meant to reside. One door stands slightly ajar, and Athos approaches with one hand resting on his sword hilt, a posture both casual and vaguely threatening to anyone who might pass. Something does wait in the door, but it surely not what Athos expects.

A cat sits there, just inside the apartment, delicately cleaning itself. As Athos’ shadow falls across the threshold, it looks up and blinks thoughtfully.

Athos stares down at it in confusion, one eyebrow raised.

But the cat only stares back with its usual cool disdain.

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[afineseamstress]

It's the flick of the cat's tail that alerts Aramis to the too large sliver of light by the door. Careless, he thinks, and certainly not his fault, for it's Porthos who'd carried the last of the groceries inside. Straightening from where he's been stacking cartons of eggs inside the cold box, Aramis calls, "You've left the door open," but it's he who goes to close it, bending to scratch behind little Athos' ears as he goes.

Except when he straightens, there's a shadow by the door. Aramis' hand goes to his hip where, despite his modern dress, his sword still hangs, and carefully pushes the door the rest of the way open. Aramis' mouth opens, and all his words desert him, for there, looking every inch the man that he's remembered and missed these many months, stands Athos filling up the hall.

Aramis' face slacks with surprise and an unlooked for joy that nearly bowls him over. "Porthos!" he finally shouts, finding his voice as he reaches, tugging Athos inside by two fistfuls of his blue jacket. "Come at once, it is Athos!"

[du_vallon]

Porthos had been in the bedroom putting away their personal necessities, but the moment he hears Aramis' excited tones, he is instantly out from there, hardly believing his eyes. His gaze takes in the whole of the situation, grateful that the place is tidy, and that's when he gives up on caring about the flat, caring more about barrelling down on both of them, throwing his arms around Athos' body to crush him with the tightest embrace that he can muster.

It's the sort of hug that he feels is only successful if he hears a few bones crushing. "It took you long enough," he accuses, voice rough.

[somepoorsoul]

It’s the sort of embrace one would expect after a victory, or a long absence, and though Athos has gained an inkling of an understanding that time works differently here, he finds it difficult to reconcile this greeting with the fact that he saw his friends less than an hour before. Still, he grips both their shoulders, Porthos and Aramis on either side of him, more grateful than he can express to have their steadying presence here, within this sea of madness.

Only when he pulls away does he get a good look at the two men. They are them, certainly, his brothers-in-arms, but changed in a thousand different ways - some that he can point to, but others more intangible. And they are comfortable in these new skins, that he can see for certain. An unsettling question rises to the top of his thoughts: would he have recognized them if they had passed on the streets?

He exhales quietly and looks from one man to the other, and despite his troubles, there is a twitch of a smile on his lips. “So you’re glad to see me, then."

[afineseamstress]

"We did not stop hoping," says Aramis, breathless, "But you did take an age." He peels away just far enough to beam at both men, taking in the sight of Athos all over again. He wears the clothes he arrived in at least once a week yet, if not more, but the sight of Athos in his leathers makes Aramis ache for home in a way he has not for some time.

Now, at least, there is one less thing to miss. "Now we only lack Treville," Aramis laughs, "And our happiness will be complete." Detaching himself from them with reluctance, he flits away to the cupboards, searching for a bottle. "This calls for the good wine, I think," he says, casting an amused look over his shoulder for Athos. "Unless you have some objection?"

[du_vallon]

Porthos keeps his arm wrapped around Athos' shoulders to forcibly move him into the apartment, closing the door behind them so the cat doesn't escape. He thinks, then, that they might have to give the thing a nickname, because now that the actual man is here, the cat's name might be...problematic. "I put a good one in the back of the cupboard, hidden away," he advises Aramis, clapping Athos on the shoulder a little harder. "It's been a very long time," Porthos agrees with Aramis' sentiment. "I think part of us thought maybe you were cross with us and didn't want to join us."

He whistles at the cat when it jumps on the chaise. It reluctantly crawls down, a miserably pouty look on its face.

[somepoorsoul]

Only offering a roll of his eyes in response to Aramis’ question, Athos allows Porthos to all but drag him into the large room. Even with his dearest of friends here, the apartment feels as strange and unfamiliar as everything else in Darrow, filled with objects he couldn’t even name. Even now, he is tense and reluctant to relax.

He’s still studying his friends, noting the changes that he can point to: Aramis’ scars and Porthos' tattoo, the clothes they wear that seem both not-right and perfectly normal to them. “You have been here for some time.” He glances at the feline and lifts a brow. “And you have a cat.” These observations might not be particularly remarkable, but a thousand questions hide behind the simple statements.

[afineseamstress]

"Porthos' fault," Aramis merrily accuses, "As is its name, which is Athos." He glances to Porthos. "Perhaps it is time to find a new one, as I don't think I can bear shouting 'Athos, take my feathers out of your mouth!' anymore."

Selecting the wine, he brings it to the table and uncorks it, pushing Athos' glass hastily towards him. "Do not be cross. We missed you, and the little thing does scowl so." He bends to lift little Athos up. The creature surveys them all with indifference, even as it butts its head against Aramis' chin. "You see?"

[du_vallon]

Porthos' look of shock is completely expected when Aramis decides to blatantly rush forward into accusing Porthos of the truth, which he suspects is revenge for when Porthos had first brought the feline into their lives. He shakes his head, making sure that Aramis gets a full and clear look that he's going to pay in turn for such information.

Porthos settles on the chaise, his gaze fixed on Aramis with a bright grin and the fondness that always comes of watching little Athos seek out his affections in Aramis' arms. His heart warms at the sight, bursting over to have Athos so near. "There was a specific facial resemblance," Porthos finally concedes. "It was that or Bunny," he adds with a shrug.

[somepoorsoul]

“Resemblance?” Athos snorts, but suppresses a smile. “As long as you’re not planning to set up a menagerie, I’ll find it in my heart not to complain.” The cat doesn’t seem particularly impressed with this statement, but Athos only shakes his head. “You’re both madmen."

He settles into a chair at the table, which is made of wood and actually looks like a table, thank God, and gratefully accepts the wine. Athos’ head has been pounding since he walked away from the Rue Saint Jacques, and reunion with friends aside, nothing about Darrow has done anything to improve it. He drains half the glass, though it’s rather strong stuff. Not that he’s about to complain on that account.

[afineseamstress]

"Careful," Aramis advises, "It's a touch stronger than we were used to." Releasing the cat, he pours Porthos a glass as well and brings it to him before taking a seat at the table. He's eager for the wine himself, but more eager to hear of Athos' arrival.

"Someone directed you here," he says, "So you must have some knowledge of where you are to live. But what do you last remember? Myself, we had just been set upon by a band of assassins intent on murdering the Queen. I was fishing for our supper, then turned and was here instead. Porthos does not remember that."

[du_vallon]

Porthos agrees with a nod of his head, positioning himself so he's propped up and able to talk to the both of them while relaxing, dragging a hand down to idly pet the cat's fur as they speak. "He's right. I remember drinking in celebration of d'Artagnan's commission, but when I woke up from the stupor, I was here alongside Aramis." Something he's remained grateful for, given the shock of Darrow.

"And there's no knowledge to discover of where he's going to live, he's going to live here," Porthos insists stubbornly.

[somepoorsoul]

“A gentleman - and I use the term lightly - gave me this,” Athos answers, laying the packet of papers upon the table with a certain amount of disdain. Very little of its contents had made the slightest bit of sense to him, including the little card with his name and likeness affixed to it. “And I found someone else to direct me here. You have made your share of friends, haven’t you?” Not that he could be surprised by this, for Aramis’ easy charm has always earned him all the friends his likes, and Porthos’ enthusiasm is difficult to resist for anyone who isn’t so foolish as to be ruled by prejudice and judgment.

He lifts his eyes from the table, his frown deepening as the men offer their explanation. “How can that be? The attempt on the queen’s life was weeks ago."

[afineseamstress]

"How can any of it be?" asks Aramis. "We are four hundred years advanced from the world we left. Time is a strange thing, here."

He shrugs, wishing he could offer Athos a better explanation, if only to put the man's mind more at ease. "It is very different. I did not take to it at all, at first, but there are advantages here, Athos. I do not speak of the heatless fires or the clean, running water, though those are fine, too. But the people, Athos."

Aramis' eyes flick to Porthos and back, for a moment overcome with an emotion he does not yet dare name. "They live quite freely here, and I do not mean as libertines. There are no kings or queens, people govern themselves, and they live well. More than that, they are largely content to allow others to do the same, however that happiness may come to them."

He drags a hand through his hair. "And of course you will live here. Every Musketeer must live at Bramford."

[du_vallon]

Porthos is grateful that Aramis is taking the lead on the explanation to Athos, returning Aramis' look with fondness, though he hadn't expected Aramis to get to the point of the people so quickly. "I meant here. Upstairs," he clarifies, swallowing some of the nerves back since that leads them somewhere else. "But yeah," he says warmly. "People here...they let you be. I'm not hated, I'm not feared. The colour of my skin doesn't matter, nor does any choice I make automatically make me a mongrel."

He's bright as anything as he says it, eyes bright and somewhat gleaming with happiness. "We've been happy, here," he says softly.

[somepoorsoul]

“Happy.” It might sound strange to other people, but happiness, at least of the sort that fills the word as Porthos speaks it, is not commonly sought by musketeers. Honor, yes, and excitement, and even love, for the lucky, but this easy, bone-deep contentment, that has never been their lot.

This, Athos realizes, is the change in his friends that he could not at first name.

"Upstairs? But do you have the room?" Athos deadpans. The rooms here make for quite the sharp contrast to their quarters in Paris. Even raised in luxury, he wonders what Porthos and Aramis do with all the space.

He reaches for more wine. “So you haven’t found a way to leave.” Have they looked? Athos must believe they have; happy or no, Aramis and Porthos would not shirk their duty so. And surely there must be a way, if only they looked hard enough. No island, not darkest Africa or the ocean deep, could be entirely cut off from the rest of man.

[afineseamstress]

Aramis looks around their home, seeing it again as he had that first time, not the suspicious lights or the too smooth surfaces, but the space, at once terrifying and amazing. "There is always room," he says, looking again at Porthos. The connecting upstairs apartment is quite free - but it will come with a certain price, and it's not one he's certain will be well received.

"And I searched," he says, "Tirelessly. When we arrived here, I wanted nothing more than to go home and to take Porthos with me. I could find no way out. Travel the roads far enough and they will return you to the city center. It is the same with that thunderous train, and all the boats."

Aramis sighs, remembering his own desperation. He cannot feel it now, but he knows it must live in Athos. "If there is a way back to that life, back to our duty, I could not find it."

[du_vallon]

Porthos is quiet through this. He does catch Aramis' eye when he's looked at, becoming aware of the consequence of giving Athos the upstairs room, which surely will hear everything and now begins to think of what that means. "Though, you're here at Bramford too," he says, lifting up the card, ignoring what Athos and Aramis are discussing. "So if you want your own space, we shouldn't force you."

His head bowed low, Porthos knows he has to address the other issue. "When we first got here, we searched. I don't want to go back, now, not if given the choice. I don't think I could. There's far too much about the life I've made for myself here I can't give up," he says, frank and honest. He sits up with his wine, standing so he can join them at the table, straddling one of the chairs. "Athos, I'm not looking to leave anymore," he says. "Things changed."

[somepoorsoul]

Athos turns his gaze on Porthos, eyes searching and cool, and he is silent for a long moment. “You do not mean that,” he decides finally. How could Porthos, of all people, be content to grow lazy and useless in a nonsensical dream world? And all because some people are better at putting their prejudices aside? No, his friends might adapt to a situation that seems hopeless, but they would not so easily give up their duty.

And yet, they’re hiding something, the two of them. Athos has seen the looks passing between them, the careful conversation happening over his head. He is used to reading their thoughts at a glance, but now it is as though something is standing in the way.

“There are four of us now,” he continues, all the same. “Surely, amongst all of us, we can formulate an escape."

[afineseamstress]

It is the response he expected, but still Aramis feels his stomach clench uncomfortably. He has promised to stay here with Porthos, and he will not go back on that, but Athos has long been the embodiment of cool logic, duty, and honor. To disappoint him makes Aramis feel ill, and he takes a drink of his wine, hoping to soak his suddenly leaping nerves.

"I don't know," he says, voice carefully light, "It is easier said than done to peel Constance and d'Artagnan from each other's arms now that they have found their way there at last." He sits up. "We are not idle here. Porthos and I have found a way to keep the city safer, and to chase the evil from its streets." He thumbs at the scar on his throat. "Not everything new in this place is wonderful. There is honor in protecting the innocent, surely. But I will help you search," he promises, his face as pinched with worry as it is hopeful. It is as good a balm as Aramis can offer when he knows he will soon add to Athos' discomfort.

"If you truly wish to return home, you will not quest alone."

[du_vallon]

There's something like mild, boyish horror when Aramis makes his promise. It flickers across his face and is quick to settle as he stares at Aramis, wordlessly wondering if he's chosen Athos over him. He doesn't know if there are words he can say, but he understands that Aramis has honour and duty, has not as much cause as he does to want to stay here. "I want to remain," he says, stubbornly. "Because I've found something to stay here for. I've found acceptance and affection and I'm not ready to give that up," is what he says.

"I'll help, where I can...but I'm staying, even if it's alone," is what he says quietly to finish, setting his empty glass of wine down and busying himself in the kitchen to keep his thoughts off this mess.

[somepoorsoul]

“D’Artagnan knows his duty.” Athos straightens as Porthos stands, and watches him go with questioning eyes. He does not dare speak his confusion aloud - perhaps he is afraid of the answer - but he lifts a brow at Aramis, making no secret of his wondering. Is there a lover? Something more? Athos still cannot believe that Porthos would give up all, no matter what he says now. He has always trusted the man to do what is right, and cannot imagine that so much could have changed to alter even that. Porthos knows his duty, too, and will be convinced, no matter what holds him here now.

He watches as Aramis fingers that strange scar, which does not seem to have been made by any weapon wielded by man. “But if there is work to be done in the meantime, we may as well keep ourselves occupied. What happened there?"

[afineseamstress]

"Porthos," says Aramis quietly, but he lets the other man busy himself in peace. He'll certainly not be staying anywhere alone, whether they find a way home or not. Aramis has made a promise to him, and it means as much to him as any oath he ever took for France.

But he will help Athos to search. They will find nothing - Aramis knows this, just as he knows that Athos will never be easy if they do not try. He sighs, dragging a hand through his hair, tugging once before he lets it fall again.

"A vampire," he answers, ignoring the clear question posed to him by Athos' raised brow. "There are creatures here who look human but are not, they feed on blood, and most," he says, touching the scar again, "Have no qualms with taking it by force. We root them out and send them back to Hell where they belong."

[du_vallon]

Pothos lifts his head at the light reprimand, aware that Aramis and he need to talk more and that he has faith in Aramis, but now doubts whether duty and Athos' arrival is reminder enough to pull him away. He sets the last of clean dishes away before he leans back against one of the counters, idly letting his fingers brush through little Athos' fur as he lightly walks the counter. Porthos is working his jaw as Aramis discusses the vampires and thinks this might be a better topic to switch to. "We hunt them," he says. "After Aramis was attacked, we decided that there was purpose of equal to serving the King in hunting these creatures."

"And during the day, we offer security and investigation and whatever we can," he says, stubborn as he tries to defend the life they've built. "There's a place for you in all of it, Athos," he says. "Here."

[somepoorsoul]

“For now.” Athos meets Porthos’ gaze, and though his voice is steady and stern, there is a hint of pleading in his eyes. He has lost too much today, and he cannot lose sight of home and duty as well. He cannot even let himself believe that his friends have done exactly that, given it all up for something he cannot fathom.

Athos swallows, and offers Porthos something like a smile. “And I thank you for it."

He listens to Aramis, a narrowing of his eyes the only outward sign of his disbelief. “You speak madness,” he says, though he believes his friends because he trusts them, and because the evidence of Aramis’ attack remains upon him. No animal did that, but no weapon either. “Such things cannot be. And yet today I met a man who claims he died before coming here."

[afineseamstress]

"I have met several like that," says Aramis, keeping to the topic, if only to save Athos anymore of those awful pleading glances, so subtle as to be invisible to all but a close friend.

"And people from lands I have never heard of, in the histories or in tales, and others not evil like these vampires, but not human either, however much they look it. There is much here to shock, Athos, and those shocks will spring from many fonts. I regret that I cannot protect you from that."

And even more, that one of those fonts will be Athos' own brothers. Aramis cannot regret how he feels about Porthos, but he could never love causing Athos distress. He smiles, and finds that though it is sincere, he cannot seem to chase a hint of pleading from his own eyes. "But we are here with you. We will help you to navigate."