It wasn't the first time Porthos had heard such language, nor the first time he heard it directed at himself. It never stopped hurting, but at least it had become easier to ignore. For the most part.
Still, hearing it at the garrison, his new home, from a man he had hoped to serve with… Porthos hunched his shoulders defensively, sinking back slightly. He knew he was in no position to defend himself. Not from this.
"What did you say?" Porthos heard the snarl of a voice nearby and whipped around to see who it was. His eyes widened as he saw where the voice came from – another musketeer, one who he knew by reputation.
His name was Aramis. He was well-liked generally, and even those few who disliked his flippancy or called him a dandy still respected him on account of his uncanny aim with a musket and his years of military service. Rumor had it that he had been one of Tréville's first recruits, straight out of the regular army. That was, of course, one of the many rumors that floated about Aramis. Most of the others had to do with the various mistresses he was reported to keep about Paris.
Porthos had spoken with Aramis casually, had even shared a drink with him a time or two. But nothing that Porthos knew of the man accounted for the absolutely furious look on his face.
"What did you just say to him?" Aramis repeated, advancing a few steps forward, facing off against Porthos's adversary in the center of the garrison courtyard. The air boiled with the anticipation of conflict, and a few other musketeers abandoned their work to stare.
Gaubert glared from Porthos to Aramis before opening his mouth to speak.
"What's it to you? Have you taken to defending every mongrel dog that comes your way?"
Aramis ripped off a glove, gripping it tightly as he moved forward. Porthos grabbed him by the elbow and caught his eye quickly, stopping him before he could issue the challenge that had clearly leapt to his lips.
Aramis looked from Porthos to Gaubert and back. Porthos had never seen that fire in Aramis's eyes before, but he was certain it wouldn't burn out with a quick duel in the practice yard. Aramis was prepared to deliver a thorough thrashing.
"Leave it," Porthos growled. Aramis jerked his arm from Porthos's grasp, eyes flashing back and forth as though Porthos had just put himself into the line of fire. Softening his tone, Porthos added, "please."
Aramis held his gaze for a long moment and Porthos saw when the fire was finally dimmed, pulled back under control, though not extinguished.
"As you wish, my friend."
Aramis spun away, stalking off towards the armory with a glare at Gaubert as he passed. Porthos had the vague notion that he was too disgusted with his fellow musketeer to stay in his presence.
He left a tense silence in his wake, and Porthos knew better than to provoke Gaubert further. While Porthos felt his blood boil, he couldn't afford to make enemies here, not if he hoped to earn his place and eventually, maybe, achieve some semblance of belonging. So he followed Aramis's lead, excusing himself quickly and making himself scarce. It was, unfortunately, for the best.
He tried to explain as much to Aramis that night, when the man appeared at his side in the tavern, paying for both a round of drinks and a decent meal, which he shared with Porthos. And that was all it took. Aramis's outrage on his behalf, for no other reason than that he abhorred injustice and refused to sit by while Porthos was unfairly slighted, sealed a friendship. And though he couldn't understand why Porthos failed to fight back, why he refused to let Aramis defend him, he promised to try to respect Porthos's wishes and to let him fight his own battles in his own way. That alone made Porthos's heart warm as he promised to buy the next round of drinks.
It was the first time he felt that he might actually be able to pull this off, might actually someday belong in the musketeers.
And if, a week later, he thrashed Gaubert in a training session with Aramis cheering on from the sidelines… well, that didn't hurt his cause either.