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.

Comments

[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!"