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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[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."

[du_vallon]

Porthos' back is up, stressed at the notion that Athos will take him away from this. He hates this, more than he can say, because he's beyond grateful to have Athos here, but to have him imply that they are only here temporarily until they can return home to where people hate him and he cannot be with Aramis properly, it breaks his heart more than he can say. "For now," he adds, unable to help his bitter and sharp addition to Aramis' words to echo Athos' own, shoving a second bottle of wine to the table.

"Drink," he offers roughly. "You'll need it. There's more shocks to come in this place."

[somepoorsoul]

“That’s not very comforting,” Athos deadpans, though he does not hesitate to reach for the bottle. With each passing moment, it seems the tension in the air rises; it radiates off Porthos, yes, but even Aramis, for all his lightness and calm, holds his shoulders with tight uncertainty.

There is a question that Athos is terrified to ask, but he knows he must.

He pours the wine. “What aren’t you telling me?"

[afineseamstress]

It is just like the man to be direct. And it is just like Aramis to have a quick and witty reply, but he finds himself quite dumb, stuck seated across from Athos with his mouth half-open. He is, he realizes, terrified, and in a way he cannot remember feeling since Isabelle's father told him she was gone. They will disappoint Athos here, or worse, disgust him, or worst of all, lose him.

"It is too much," he says, allowing himself a moment's cowardice, but it only makes him more miserable in the end. Despairing, Aramis looks to Porthos for support, hopeful that somehow Porthos will find the right excuse to delay this. "Too much for one day, surely."

[du_vallon]

Porthos swallows the lump in his throat and tries his best not to shift so that his ring around his neck catches the light. It's somewhat easy to allow the thing to drop under his tank top. "You said you were from a time further than us. We're as lost as you are, in that respect." He keeps his gaze on Aramis for a second longer than is likely safe, but he needs it for strength. "We'll tell you eventually," he promises. "We will. Let us be grateful you're here tonight? Hm?" he coaxes, some desperation on his face at that. "Leave it at that, Athos, please."

[somepoorsoul]

If anything confirms the weight of the secrets they carry, it is Aramis’ sudden, startled silence. Athos lifts his chin with a certain sort of satisfaction, but the victory is too hollow to be enjoyed when it causes them all such pain. He looks at Porthos, and at Aramis, and he closes his eyes.

Agreeing is the coward’s way out, but Athos does not know what strength he has left within, not after today. Not when he held his wife so close that he swears he can still smell her perfume, and then watched her walk away, taking some part of him with her. Not when he now finds himself trapped in this absurd circle of hell with too few allies and no way out. He cannot risk losing more. He cannot.

If that makes him a coward, then so be it.

He drains his glass and manages a curt nod.

[afineseamstress]

It will be a short-lived detente, but Aramis throws himself into it wholesale, pushing back his chair with a relieved exhale to stride to the cold box. "Indeed, we have much to celebrate," he says, pulling out a large, plastic box. "Les Inséparables separated no more. I think we may break into tonight's dessert early. Porthos, you have no objection, I'm sure."

Passing near him on his way for plates, Aramis looks at him, feeling cracked open and a little raw, but he is easier for the quick brush of their arms together. "Porthos has become a fine cook, Athos."

He settles a plate before Athos, feeling suddenly that it is less dessert than peace offering. "He could cook for the King himself, and no one could say it was not from the palace kitchens."

[du_vallon]

Porthos leans hard against the touch, but he pushes himself to smile like nothing is amiss, trying to give that sense even if he doesn't feel that way and will be sleeping with one arm wrapped firmly around Aramis tonight. "It's nothing, really," he insists, trying to be modest. "I've had time to practice and the materials it takes to make such fine things are affordable here."

He's beginning to feel like no matter what he says, Athos will take it as insult to his plan to return back. Porthos' greater worry is that even knowing everything he would have to give up, Athos might prey on that small flicker of brotherhood and force him back to a life he doesn't want anymore.

[somepoorsoul]

Athos blinks as Aramis sets the plate before him, staring at it with a bit of skepticism - well founded, he would argue. He looks at Porthos, knowing he has done damage there, and though he can neither point to the misstep that raised Porthos’ hackles so, nor regret anything that he has said, he regrets the hurt and harm, and he vows to do no more tonight.

And so he takes a bite of cake, and chews, and blinks again. The grin grows slowly on his face, and Athos looks away with something very close to a laugh. “I should not have doubted your skill."

[afineseamstress]

"It is a wonder what he can do, truly," beams Aramis, as much for Athos' smile as his pride in Porthos. "My God," he adds, looking up at the latter, "To think, when he discovers coffee."

Tapping the table, Aramis moves again, this time to heat water and prepare the grounds. "You will love it, Athos, especially on these crisp mornings. It will wake you more swiftly than any bucket of water. They drink it with dessert here, too, to stave off the drowsiness of a large meal."

[du_vallon]

"I'll help," Porthos says, mostly because he's beginning to feel as if he's drowning. It's been so long and he's been so able to be free with Aramis that now that he's unable to touch him, kiss him absently, he feels the loss like crazy. He's grateful for the compliments, but he can only make desserts for so long before that tactic runs out, too.

Porthos fetches some of the cups, accidentally pressing up against Aramis' hip in his effort to reach it, sliding his palm down Aramis' back as he regains his balance and sets them on the counter. "I'm better at dinners," he says. "Not desserts, but Aramis is a genius with the coffee. You'll see," he promises, feeling better for the simple proximity and touch.

[somepoorsoul]

“I have heard they drink it in the East,” Athos says, curious and faintly amused by Aramis’ enthusiasm. As he watches them, though, he is again struck by the realization that he is missing something, and worse, that he has wandered into a scene in which he no longer belongs. Friends have never come easy to him, for Athos has always been solitary by nature, but were it not for these two, he might have turned further inward still, these last five years. He does not mind the solitude, he tells himself, but he cannot quite bring himself to believe that.

He pours himself more wine and sips it in silence.

[afineseamstress]

Aramis smiles, taking care to let the water reach just the right temperature before he pours it into the press. He sets the contraption in front of Athos with the grounds still swirling.

"You must press this bit down," he instructs, "In a few minutes time." He fetches three cups and sets them down, then turns to Porthos. "Sit and eat, you are far too large for hovering." With his eyes, he motions towards the chair closest to Athos. "I'll bring us cake."

[du_vallon]

Porthos listens to the orders of three men, precisely. They used to order Treville, Athos, Aramis, but the last half a year has elevated Aramis above Athos in that order and so when the communication is clear that he's expected to sit beside Athos. He does so once he's fetched a jacket to cover his tattoo, hands folded in his lap as he gets comfortable.

"I'm going to have to bake again tomorrow," he mutters, but it's without heat as he shakes his head, his gaze briefly on Athos for a small smile before he turns his attentions to Aramis, grateful beyond measure at how he tries to thaw the ground between all of them. His heart swells and aches for it, happy that they have something to tide them over for now.

[somepoorsoul]

This is not the first time that Athos has seen Aramis bury tension beneath good cheer, and he is grateful for the man’s talent, as indicative as it is of the unsettling nature of their situation. It’s easier, then, to watch him dash about than to meet Porthos’ eye.

He peers at the contraption that has been set before him, and he shakes his head. “How many strange wonders do you intend to show me tonight?"

[afineseamstress]

"They must be meted out with care," says Aramis in all sincerity as he sets the plates before Porthos and himself, finally taking a sprawling seat that leaves the tip of his boot in contact with Athos'.

"I expect you'll have seen the thunder wagons in the streets - it hardly gets more confronting than that, but you have much to catch up on, my friend. And," he adds, hefting a large bite of cake on his fork, "If it takes you months, you will only be matching me."

[du_vallon]

This is a topic Porthos feels better to speak of, elbow brushing against Athos' as he turns in towards him. "He has trouble with some of the modern things," he says. "Because as opposed to coming with me to read books on how to update one's self, he sat in the candlelight and sulked for months," he exaggerates, though not by much.

"Aramis still struggles here and there with the future," Porthos opines, pressing his lips together to avoid grinning too widely. "Lucky, though, that I don't mind teaching," he promises with a boastful wink directed at the both of them. He ignores his own cake to lean forward and steal from Aramis' plate with a large portion, closing his eyes as he enjoys the first bite as he always does.

[somepoorsoul]

As loathe as he would be to admit, Athos finds the contact from both of them strangely comforting. His shoulders soften just slightly, and he snorts softly, shaking his head, and willing himself to believe that all might be as it should.”Candlelight has served me well my entire life,” he insists with a lift of his eyebrow, though a bit of playfulness twinkles in his eyes; he means it, but he’s also being troublesome on purpose.

[afineseamstress]

"Beast," says Aramis for his stolen cake, but offers no further protest. He's well used to Porthos helping himself. "And I would have sat forever in candlelight, were it not for these dimmer switches. The effect of these electric lights at full power is ghastly. Prepare yourself."

Standing, Aramis goes to the dimmer switch and, after making certain that Athos is indeed prepared, slides it up until the place is as bright as the bowels of the sun itself. "You see?" Aramis calls loudly, as if the enormity of the light's incursion is somehow noise as well, and barely escapes hissing as he slides the dimmer down again.

"Appalling. It's a wonder they're not all blind."

[du_vallon]

"We can never keep it on full, or Aramis' precious eyes burn," Porthos replies, having stolen another piece of Aramis' cake while he's up giving the demonstration of the switches. "I'll do your lights for you, soon as you get settled," he promises, swallowing down the large slice he'd just eaten. "Besides, I like it dimmed best," he admits, but can't give his reasoning as it happens to be that he likes the look of Aramis' face in the softer lights.

[somepoorsoul]

Athos does, indeed, grimace as the harsh light briefly fills the room, wondering how men do survive in such conditions without going wholly blind. Still squinting a bit as the light returns to normal, he observes, “I understand about half the words you say, I will have you know,” though at least the tone of their banter is familiar. He must take comfort in that much, no matter what else is in flux.

“I fear I will be forced to accept your advice in all things, I understand so little.” He eyed the coffee in its strange carafe, but then chose his more familiar wine. “God help me."

[afineseamstress]

"It is good of you to be so cooperative," Aramis tells him as he reclaims his seat, fork darting in for a chunk of Porthos' cake and out again with a marksman's ease.

"Start with the coffee," he advises. "You will like it, though it may rob you of some of the effects of the wine. But." Aramis casts a smile between them. "I hardly think you'll mind drinking more to make up the loss. Porthos."

Aramis drains the last of his wine in anticipation of the coffee. "What modernity shall we teach him first? And do not say phones."

[du_vallon]

Porthos gives a cry of offense when his own cake is stolen, but his smug smirk comes after as he leans forward to pour each of them coffee, putting a dash of brandy in Athos' as he slides it over to him, knowing what the man likes. His own is filled to the brim with sugar and he gives Aramis all his own fixings, to give him the control. "Clothes," Porthos says automatically, his gaze turning to Athos and sizing him up slowly, smirking as he raises his brows in Aramis' direction. "Wouldn't he look handsome in a pair of silk pajamas?"

[somepoorsoul]

“No.” But Athos knows full well what devils his friends can be when they turn against him together. He intends to hang on to his uniform for as long as damnably possible, but they will surely cajole until he relents. Has he not suffered enough for one night?

He will suffer one more slice of modernity, at least. The coffee before him smells like nothing he has experienced before: nutty and strange, with the brandy’s sweetness hidden underneath. Carefully, he takes it and drinks.

“Morbleu."