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Not again

When Porthos stepped into their tent and found himself in a strange, yet familiar hallway, he knew exactly where he was. On either side of the hallway were doors - to rooms, suites, and many more strange places beside. The noises of the camp were gone, but the smell remained, on him, of gunpowder and blood, soot and grime. His usually elegant clothes had seen better days, his now longer hair was tied back and mostly hidden under a kerchief that might have once been white. His pistol was empty and he needed to clean his sword - Treville's sword.

The battlefield was now miles and years away, for all that it was also, somehow, right on the other side of a door. And, in his current mood, that made his blood boil as surely as Spanish insults.

"Not again!" he yelled, and punched the nearest wall with a gloved hand. He winced at the pain, but there was a dent in the wall now, and that felt slightly better.

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Athos' smile softens with a tender happiness to see Porthos in new clothes that aren't riddled with the dirt and blood of the battlefield. All he's wanted of his men is to keep them safe and this hotel gives them the means to do so.

"What's the last you recall, then? How is France?"

"We're still holding our own," Porthos answers, "but we've little more news than that. Or if we do, you keep them to yourself," he added pointedly, but with a hint of a smile meaning that he didn't mind.

"I didn't think you would be preoccupied with the movings of small figures on maps," Athos remarks dryly, given that he himself is often moved to drinking at the sight of such dry strategies. He would never wish to impart such a heavy burden on d'Artagnan or Porthos, lest they ask for the responsibility.

"I trust you," Porthos replies easily, which is what it boils down to. He trusts that Athos knows what's best for France, and for his men, and he trusts him to fight to align these two concerns when others would forget the latter.

The private, content smile is one that he feels he's earned, though he's not sure how. He's eternally grateful that men like d'Artagnan and Porthos follow him and knows he's blessed by the very best of soldiers with their presence. Still, he feels as if he lets them down by being unable to bring the war to an end. "Are you just buttering me up to get free drinks?" he deadpans, knowing that isn't the case.

"You're giving me free drinks either way," Porthos points out with a grin. There would be no point. He raises his glass at Athos before taking another drink.

"Would you have paid for them if I didn't?" Athos wonders, for he knows that money can be something they're often short of, especially when the days on the front grow long and wearisome. "I hardly mind. I have enough cash set aside and that's without my rank. I'm more than happy to provide, as I know it keeps the morale up."

"The morale, of course," Porthos confirms with a solemn nod. It isn't as if Athos hadn't already shared his wine with them quite regularly, before the war.

Back when there were four of them. But Porthos shoves away any thought of Aramis to answer Athos's original question. "I haven't come through with much in the way of coin." He breaks into a grin. "I'll have to multiply that at a card table, before I can repay the favour."

Athos tips his head to the side, a stern warning in his eyes that Porthos had best control himself. Athos is not of the opinion that he will ever be able to stop Porthos' gambling, but he would be a remiss Captain if he did not at least offer a warning. "Do try and stay out of a fist fight. And if you must get in a battle, try not to get too damaged."

"I promise to direct most damage to my opponents," Porthos tells him with a properly solemn expression, before breaking into a hearty laugh and taking another sip of wine.

Athos warms to that comment, feeling better for the presence of his friend so near to him. He shakes his head fondly as he exhales with a slight huff, offering the wine out to him. "I assume you haven't been here long given your reaction when I found you?"

"I've only just arrived," Porthos confirms, smiling at the wine added to his glass, refusing to let the thought of being stuck here drag him down.

"And is there a particular reason that wall had to be punished?" Athos wonders, arching his brow as he can certainly guess, but would prefer Porthos tell him, personally.

"It was there," Porthos replies, because it's the obvious reply, although he knows it isn't the one Athos wants. He takes another drink of wine, then sighs. "I know I'll get back there and no time at all will have passed, but I don't like this... feeling of not being there. I don't know how long this place will keep me, this time."

"Perhaps I'll have to set up a room for you after I leave," he says. "Strategy and food and liquor, so that if you do turn up here when you wish to be elsewhere, at least there will be incentive not to destroy things."

"Would some time to sleep and eat be so terrible? You could use the rest," he points out.

"We all could," Porthos agrees, holding Athos's gaze for a beat. Then his eyes fell on his glass, and he smiles slightly. "And the wine is very welcome."

He wonders whether Phryne is still around. That, too, would be welcome.

Athos cannot defend himself against such a comment. He is, after all, exhausted in turns that he cannot quite quantify and tired of the generals running his men around where they have no place being. "Do you remember the beginning of the war? Everything seemed like it might resolve so neatly."

"War's never neat, though, is it?" Porthos remarks, then shakes his head after a beat. "But that's enough depressing talk. We're here, and we might as well make the most of it."

"And how shall we make the most of it? What would it take to prevent you from punching more walls?" After all, it's hardly like he wants to babysit Porthos the whole time and worry about the damage that might be caused. He hasn't got that much money to help with repairs.

"I'm not going to punch any more walls, Athos," Porthos replies with a frown, which clears almost immediately. "I like my hands unbroken." Eventually, one wall or another would win. Not that that's the reason. The real reason is that his anger has passed. If he is going to be stuck here, he might as well make the most of it, as he has just told his friend.

"As do I," Athos assures, given that he may have a whole group of men, but none that he trusts so much as d'Artagnan and Porthos. "If they're broken, I can't imagine who I would send out to put the fear of God into the Spaniards," he praises calmly, tipping the bottle forward. "Have another drink."

God and Porthos are having a bit of a difficult time right now, but Porthos ignores the phrasing to focus on what Athos is saying. He grins at that, and then more broadly at the offer of more wine, offering his glass to be filled. "I don't reckon two broken hands would stop me."

"Perhaps once placed in protective wrapping, they would be even more dangerous than before," he deadpans, arching his brow. "Certainly more than other Musketeers in the regiment could ever do." After all, it's hardly like any of them can take Porthos down, even when he isn't trying. He can only imagine his abilities, even if damaged.

"If you're saying I ought to get a second steel gauntlet, I'm not sure how practical that would be," Porthos replies with a quick grin.

"You could put in the request," Athos says, "I would be remiss if I did not put it through the proper channels, for anything that you might want." He's certain that it would likely be denied, but there's no harm in trying.

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praiseandglory - 2016-06-09 10:14 (UTC) - Expand

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