Yay, I'm writing again. Yes I've not forgotten about my WIP's, no I haven't recovered my files and yes I will update at least Brothers in Arms soon. But this one's new and the inspiration came from watching S3, a season I both hate and love.
This is actually a tag to the very first episode of S1. I had to go back to season 1 to remind myself of why I actually like the show, because S3 had moments which made me go Aagh!
The story was actually supposed to be from Aramis' point of view – yes even after S3, I should actually say especially after S3, he is still my favourite character – but it actually ended up being Porthos' point of view… I have no idea how that happened. It is a bit depressing as well…
And before the A.N. becomes longer than the actual drabble, let's go on to the story itself.
As always I own nothing you recognise…
Oh and a huge thank you to everyone who has read, favorited, or reviewed my stories so far. You guys are the ones that keep me going.
Rarely was a night in Paris as silent or as peaceful as this, thought Porthos as he walked aimlessly through the streets of the city which had become home. Normally a night as serene as this would have seen him curled up in bed by now, sleeping, after having fleeced the poor Red Guards out of their savings of course. Not tonight though. Tonight, he was anything but at peace, his turbulent thoughts, in sharp contrast to the weather which actually seemed to be mocking him with its tranquillity.
'Shoot damn you!'
The Inseparables had dodged a huge bullet today, both figuratively and in Athos' case literally – multiple bullets in fact – something that still made the big man break into a shudder.
Athos is alive; he had to tell himself over and over again. He reminded himself that he had in fact not half an hour ago seen the older man to bed and that he had been fine then, if a little worse for the drinking.
'Shoot damn you!'
Athos' roar though seemed to drown out his own reassurances.
'Shoot damn you!'
He had been ready to die.
Porthos was no fool. He had always known that Athos, brave, kind and noble Athos, was, to put it mildly, not the happiest of men. That there was some darkness in his past, something that ate at his heart and soul was evident in the way he drunk himself into a stupor night after night. But for all that the older Musketeer had never been suicidal. On the contrary he fought, and fought hard and well, day after day against any opposition that stood in his path.
'Shoot damn you!'
He tried to tell himself that today was different. That Athos had been facing a different kind of enemy.
Maybe it was the lack of sword in his hand. Or maybe it was the shackles around his wrist. Or was it the fact that he had been locked up in the Chatelet, the place that could suck life and hope out of you.
Or maybe it was the abandonment
Maybe, just maybe it was the fact that Athos had lost faith in his brothers. That he had considered himself forsaken by the two men who had sworn to do everything to protect him, to always have his back…
'Shoot damn you!'
Over and over again Porthos tried to tell himself that he was not being fair to Athos. He wasn't the one who had been locked up. He wasn't the one who had been accused of highway robbery and murder and had been sentenced to death by the monarch they had protected, night and day with sweat and blood. Whatever else Athos was or wasn't, whatever Porthos knew or did not know about him, he and everyone else who had ever been acquainted with the older Musketeer knew that he was an honourable man. Someone who once he gave his word would do everything in his power to keep it, or die trying. For such a man to be accused of such a hateful crime and to top that up, have it proven unfairly and sentenced would have been a punishment worse than the actual sanction itself.
Circumstances such as these he told himself would affect the best of men and drive them to despair. That Athos had felt hopeless was not in such a situation a huge surprise. But should it have caused him to actually court death?
Porthos desperately wanted to believe that he would have, had he been in the other man's position done the exact same thing, that he would have wanted to get it done and over with and that the waiting to die would have tipped him over the edge and that he would have said the exact same words…
'Shoot damn you!'
Would he have given up though? Would he have completely and utterly lost faith in his brothers? Lost all hope of ever being saved by the two people who cared for him as they would for a brother of blood?
'Shoot damn you!'
The answer he knew with a sinking finality was a resounding no!
Porthos knew with utter certainty that he himself would have fought till the last minute, would have tried everything at his disposal to delay death, to give his brothers the chance to save him, because he knew with utter certainty that his brothers in their turn would be doing everything in their power to do so.
So why hadn't Athos?
'Shoot damn you!'
What was it that he and Aramis had or hadn't done to drive Athos to this point where he no longer had faith in the brotherhood? And more to the point what was it that they needed to do to make the older man believe again.
Believe in life, in brotherhood, in the Inseparables…
The answers to these questions, he knew would not be had tonight.
He would have to wait, wait till the morning, many mornings perhaps, wait and be patient and show Athos every day, day after day, that as certain as death was in their profession, as easy as it would be for them to die, that life was just as certain, that their brotherhood was just as certain and that the Inseparables were just as certain. No matter if it took his lifetime, he would prove to his comrade, his brother, that he could always depend on him. Him and Aramis. That they would both never ever forsake him.
Athos, he told himself might still die alone, despite their best efforts, but he would do everything in his power, with his last drop of blood to make sure that the other man at least knew, was at least aware that he'd never die abandoned