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Pour another round

There are many descriptors that can be applied to Milady deWinter. Perhaps the most important is the term survivor.

She will always do what she needs to do to survive. She's not surprised that things turned out how they did. Not really. She has learned to expect the worst.

But here she is back in this place. This strange, modern place where she can, if she wants, be anything she wants to be. Milady supposes now is the time to figure that out. Surely, it's only a matter of time before Athos lives through what she has. Will he still want her?

Someone will. Surely.

She sits at the hotel bar, draining one glass of sharp, bitter alcohol and signalling for another, her skirt - the finest Parisian silk - covering the barstool, the curve of her shoulder gleaming in the low light.

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"Perhaps we will be able to take advantage of this time, then, here." He offers her a gentle smile, growing eager to touch her as much as he can. There will be time for it, though, if only he is patient. And besides, he is hardly in fit shape to be touching anyone now, as much as a mess as he is.

He's not - not that that is enough to stop her, either. But the baths in this place are a special kind of luxury and she'll indulge as is her will.

She leads Athos into her room. It's as generic a room in this place gets, seeing as she doesn't seem to linger much. She goes to the bath, though, starting the taps near to steaming before she pours in bath oils. "Shall we send your uniform for cleaning or would you rather we didn't?" she asks, watching him sidelong. For what, she doesn't know.

"It will be dirty within moments of returning to the front, but a few moments of feeling clean would be a wonder," he says, nodding in agreement to her suggestion as he begins to strip off the outer pieces of the armour, wincing as old aches begin to present themselves anew.

There are people to do that; Milady would not have suggested otherwise. But she does help him undress. She will touch his cuts and bruises, even revel in the smell of his sweat, taking in the new tone to his muscles, borne of fighting and less drink, she thinks.

"Come," she says, taking his hand to lead him to the tub, filling with steaming water.

Once Athos is bare, he follows after her with slow, trudging feet. Unfortunately, he is battle-weary and even less talkative than usual, which is a feat for someone like Athos. "Will you be joining me? Or simply nursing me today?"

The yearning she feels is nearly overwhelming; she feels herself lean toward him like a flower toward the sun. But she gives him a small smile first. "We shall see," she offers coyly, nudging him toward the bath. There, she can sit on the edge and soap a cloth to begin to urge him clean. It won't be easy; the dirt is deep-set, but it gives her a reason to touch him; she will gladly take it.

Athos allows her to bathe him, watching the dirt come off him in clumps, it seems. He will smell better by the end of her attentions, he knows, but until then he finds himself a disaster. "And what have you been up to in the meantime?" he wonders, half-wondering whether she will even tell him.

She doesn't meet his eyes, concentrating instead on what she's doing; it's a good thing there is endless water in this place; she pulls the plug to drain the dirty and start with the fresh. "I have kept my head above water, I suppose."

"I think you will always be able to do that," Athos assures her, for it is one of her greatest skills and one that he admires as much as he despises it. She will always survive, no matter what she must do. "I'm glad to hear that it has allowed you to stay here with me."

Everything in Anne softens when he says that and her movements pause as her eyes flick to his, searching for something - anything - to indicate that his feelings haven't dimmed.

"...are you?"

He wonders what must have happened to cause such a reaction in her, though he does not want to start prodding and causing a row, especially not when he is so comfortable and relaxed. "Of course I am. My feelings have not changed, Anne."

For a moment, there is nothing more than naked want on her face, making the dangerous Milady deWinter look entirely vulnerable. She leans over, cupping his wet chin to kiss him them, lingering there.

Athos tips his chin up into the kiss, letting it linger as he cups her cheek in order to keep tight to her, refusing to let her get too far away. The dirt is beginning to flake into the water and he watches it go with a great deal of satisfaction.

Eventually, he eases back from the kiss and gives her a tired look. "No one said being a Captain would be so exhausting."

"I can't imagine you're complaining about this," she says, smiling as she leans back to drain and add more water. "The men must look up to you," she notes. "They must admire you greatly." Because she does, even if it seems at times she didn't, or more accurately, couldn't.

"I don't wish for admiration," he reminds her, seeing as he had taken on the role out of duty and responsibility, but it's hardly glory and fawning looks that he expects in return for the work he does. "If I had not said yes, Treville would have been disappointed."

But isn't that the same thing?

Anne keeps her tongue, though. She taps the top of his head for him to duck his head so she can work to get the dirt out of his hair.

Obeying automatically, he leans forward to give her more access to his hair, the grime of his skin a terrible thing he is not sure will wash off. Sighing, he lets his body relax as he melts into the tub, thinking he will need another wash, at least. "I hate being so far from Paris," he shares. "I feel so disconnected and I hate keeping d'Artagnan from Constance."

But if he goes back, Anne knows what happens and she is just selfish enough, just possessive and angry enough that she doesn't wish that to happen. "I think I can keep you occupied," she tells him, giving him a promising smirk. "Perhaps, for a moment or two, you can even forget Paris."

What a thought. Not that she expects it to happen.

She drains some water and adds more. "Again," she says, urging him to rinse his head once more.

Sighing as though this is a hardship, he does as she says, thinking that perhaps they can pour the water again and make it hotter. Perhaps he will even be able to entice her into the tub. "How many more layers of dirt must come off before I am recognizable?"

"Only about five," she teases, her expression fond once more. "You're nearly there."

And it won't take much to entice her in; once the water runs more clear, that is.

Athos stretches his back out and glances at her with tenderness and softness. "What must I do in order to convince you to join me?" he asks. "Perhaps if we drain the water and fill it again, anew?"

"Perhaps," she says, tone entirely coy.

When she rinses his hair clean again and does run more water, she stands, her head cocked as she watches him watch her. While it isn't as complicated as undressing him, her dress does take some time to undo, but she'll make a show of it for him.

He settles back against the comforting wrap of the tub and stretches his arms out, breathing out a slow and happy sigh as he gets comfortable. "I hope I haven't missed too much," is his quiet comment. "Even if you won't tell me."

What could she say to that? What could Anne say? How so much had changed?

She merely goes about undressing, watching his face for a reaction; that is one thing she could rely on, isn't it?

When her fine dress is merely a heap on the floor, she steps closer, eyebrow arched in question: does he still want company?

He nods, beckoning her in. He feels weary and as though he hasn't seen her in far too long. Even exposed like this, it is different under the roof of this hotel.

[I've caught up to episode 8!]

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