"You lied to Elodie."

"Yes, I lied to Elodie! But what does it matter?"

Porthos paced the hallway outside the apartment. Those words. That conversation repeated in his head over and over. D'Artagnan had lied. He had lied to protect Elodie, and Porthos should have felt grateful… Instead, he was angry and afraid.

Finally, the door was opened, but not by Porthos. Elodie stood at the door, a look of amused curiosity on her face, one side of her mouth tugging towards her cheek. She had heard him pacing. The building may have been new, but the wood itself was old and creaky. Constance was on the other side of the room, lighting candles as Marie clutched at her skirts, captivated by the magic of the mundane activity.

"What are you doing out here?" Elodie asked her husband.

"I have to tell you something," he said seriously, and Elodie dropped her amusement. Taking the hint, she stepped outside.

"We'll just be a moment," she told Constance before closing the door.

They went to the small balcony that overlooked the Musketeer cemetery, it was barely big enough for them both to fit. Elodie wasn't panicking yet, she wasn't letting herself get carried away with her thoughts. This could be about anything. She leaned on the small width of wall with her arms crossed. Porthos, on the other hand, was uneasy. He stood so rigid in front of her, forcing himself to look her in the eye as he calculated what he was going to say.

"Well," she said, "what is it?"

Porthos took a deep breath and shifted his feet as he said,

"I'm going to look for Gauthier."

Elodie was taken aback; she almost laughed. This wasn't what she was expecting at all. She stood up straight, her arms dropping to her sides.

"What? Why?"

Porthos grimaced and looked away to the graves below that were darkening with the sky as the sun set.

"There's just something I need to take care of."

"What does that mean?" Elodie spat.

Porthos was silent. He still wasn't used to having a wife. Was he supposed to treat her like one of his Musketeer brothers and tell her everything, involve her as much as possible? Or was he supposed to only ever protect, keep her out of the way?

"Is it jealousy?" Elodie continued, "Is it because you think you can't be Marie's father as long as he's out there?"

Porthos turned back,

"That's ridiculous," he snapped.

"Then what is it?" Elodie asked, "Why are you even thinking about him?"

Porthos ignored her questions. He decided it didn't matter why the issue was playing on his mind, or who had been the one to put it there.

"I need to take care of this now," he said, his tone growing in urgency, "while Marie is still young– or else she'll grow up with a shadow looming over her shoulder. I want her to grow up happy and safe and as far away from that criminal as possible." He finished, pointing into the distance over the rooftops, as if the man he was speaking of was over there somewhere, just out of view. Porthos leaned with both hands on the railing, arms bent. He wasn't looking his wife in the eye anymore.

Elodie just took a breath, searching his posture for any understanding she could glean.

"Where is this all coming from?" she asked, "He's gone. He's not coming back!"

Porthos didn't say anything or move except to shake his head.

"… You're not telling me something… Porthos," Elodie pleaded.

A moment passed in silence. They could hear insects chirping and distant celebratory shouts from the men drinking in the yard. Porthos still didn't move, didn't look up as he made his admission;

"Gauthier was never going to give up Marie. He was going to go all the way to Burgundy with her– or wherever he wanted."

Elodie narrowed her eyes at him. She could feel her chest expanding and contracting tighter with every shallow breath. What was he talking about?

"He didn't leave Marie at that inn for D'Artagnan to find," Porthos continued, straightening up, "He was forced into handing her over. That's why I think he'll be back, that's why I think he's still a threat." And he turned back to the view of the cemetery. Tears prickled in Elodie's eyes. The terror that gripped her that day was creeping over her again. She suddenly had a desperate, irrational need to go back inside and hold her daughter. But she knew that could wait. She quickly wiped her eyes and softly said,

"… He just wants his family back. He'd never hurt us. You don't know Asher, he's not worth the trouble."

"It's true I don't know him," Porthos happily conceded. His fingers wrapped around the cold, bumpy railing and his voice turned dark,

"But I know men."

If all his years as a soldier had taught him anything, it was the ugly truth of mankind. Porthos knew the things that men did. He knew how their hearts change. How any affliction can twist a man into conducting a worse infliction. He had always thought the worst of Asher, even imagining horns growing from his head. He had to. There was no room for anything else. Not with his family.

"No matter what you and I and everyone else think, to him Marie is his child. He won't let her go that easily. Sure-" Porthos shrugged, "-he'd never hurt Marie… But he'd still take her away from you if he was given the chance again."

Elodie just stared at him. This is what she had feared. Her former husband's resurgent threat and Porthos getting carried away with it.

"And that's my fault," he continued, his tone now delicate, "I was what was keeping him from you."

Elodie stifled a gasp.

"That doesn't mean that what happened is your fault, Porthos," she told him earnestly, placing her hands on his. He looked at their hands on the railing, then up to her face. She saw the anxiety and fear in his expression. He really thought it was his fault.

"Just stay," she pleaded, "Just think about this. You could be called back to the war any day, what would happen if you weren't here to receive that notice?"

"I'll talk to Aramis. He'll understand. He can delay it."

"What are you talking about? France needs you."

His hands slipped from hers and he leaned back, his head thunking on the wall. He stared up at the dark beams of the ceiling as he quietly seemed to ask them,

"Don't you need me?"

"Yes," Elodie whispered without hesitation, "But not for this, Porthos. Not for this. I need you here. I need you to be my husband- not a vigilante!"

Porthos brought his gaze back down and sighed before cocking his head to the side and half-sincerely saying,

"You know I'm a Musketeer, right?"

Elodie let out a light laugh at that. How could she have forgotten? This is exactly what he does.

"I don't ever want to go against you, El," he told her gently, his affectionate name for her hanging in Elodie's thoughts, "But I have to do this. I know you can understand. I think maybe you already do."

He put his hands on her shoulders and pulled her ever so slightly closer in the confined space. Elodie rolled her lips and sighed.

"Come inside," she urged him, trying to harness her womanly charm, "Come eat. You can read to Marie if she sits still long enough."

Porthos sighed too. After a moment's consideration, looking into her blue eyes dulled by the creeping darkness, he turned with a smiling Elodie under his arm back to the apartment. He had decided he was going to leave as soon as possible.

Later, Elodie watched on from the other room as Porthos got down on the rug, groaning as he did so. Marie crouched on her little chubby haunches in front of him, their faces level. She wasn't paying him much attention, however. She was busy inspecting the objects laid at her feet, with one hand flat on her knee, the other in a fist.

"What's this you've got?" Porthos asked her sweetly, taking the silver thing from her tiny grasp. Marie let him take the spoon and looked up at him as if she was just now noticing that he was there. She stared at his big face, lips pursed. Porthos couldn't help but smile, neither could Elodie, who had stopped amending the garrison to-do list a while ago. Marie pressed a hand on his nose and giggled when it flattened.

"No…" Porthos laughed, barely keeping it together. He batted her soft little hand away and cleared his throat.

"What is this?" He asked her again, holding up the object.

"Spoooo!" Marie answered happily.

"That's right!"

Porthos sat up and took the little girl in his arms and rolled over onto his back with her.

"You're so clever. Oh, you're so clever," he told her as she giggled and shrieked above him.

Elodie shook her head at the absurdity of the scene. Then she thought back to hearing her daughter speak her first words not that long ago. She had celebrated similarly. Porthos had missed so much. For him, anything beyond 'mama' and 'papa', or 'no' was an amazing feat. Of course Elodie thought so too, but Marie was taking on new words every day. Elodie crept up behind them as Porthos hugged his daughter on the floor.

"See, how can you leave this?" She whispered through a smile. Porthos only gazed at Marie in his arms and said in a cheery tone,

"Easily. Knowing it's to protect this."

Elodie sighed. How much longer was this argument going to last? She settled down on the floor across from her husband. Marie twisted to sit in her father's lap and went back to picking up the things on the floor, including a handkerchief and a torn playing card.

"He disappeared over a year ago. How do you expect to find him?"

She thought to but didn't ask what Porthos intended to do if he succeeded in his hunt. Would he kill Asher? Elodie wondered if she was supposed to be horrified at the thought. She wasn't.

"Well… I thought I'd-"

Porthos hadn't thought past finding out which direction Asher went that day.

"You don't even know what he looks like…" Elodie continued to berate, then said, "I didn't realise I'd married an idiot."

"Hey now."

"I'm coming with you."

"Out of the question," Porthos said sternly, not missing a beat. Elodie, also without missing a beat said,

"You're an idiot, Porthos. A brave idiot, but still an idiot. You can't find him without me."

Porthos smiled to himself,

"I thought you hated the idea."

"I do," she said, "But I understand your reasoning, and I know you'll try with or without me, so I might as well give you a bit of a chance."

"What about her?" Porthos asked, worried eyes watching the fussing child trying to stand on his legs. She wobbled about like a drunk on a ship. Elodie watched her too. Her precious daughter, the most important thing in her life she could never bear to leave.

"Four days," she announced bravely, not taking her eyes off of Marie.

"What?"

"If we come up with nothing after four days, we come straight back. That is the longest I will let us be apart."

Porthos sniffed and said, noncommittally,

"Alright."

He trusted Elodie as a mother, wholeheartedly. However, the idea of her being his partner on this mission and leaving behind a child so young— it was an idea he was unsure about, to say the least. Elodie sensed this.

"I've made up my mind," she said, standing up, "I come with you on your ridiculous mission, or you go alone against my wishes and fail. And I can't imagine how things would be between us then. I doubt I could ever forgive you."

Elodie stood over her husband. The words she spoke were honest. Leaving Paris on an unapproved and unsanctified mission to punish her ex-husband was a sin that was once unthinkable; now it was reality. She expected that their reasons for finding Asher were very different. Though she could not say for certain what Porthos intended, she knew that he aimed to punish the man in some way or other— stamp out the threat that he posed; whereas Elodie sought to only speak to her ex-husband. She wanted to know why he had stolen her daughter from her, and if he was sorry for it. She was even open to forgiveness if her heart allowed for it after hearing what he has to say. Elodie did not convey this to Porthos. In his state, he was unwilling to understand, and she did not want to compromise her mission for the sake of his. Elodie's fierceness softened as she started to plan. She began pacing,

"And we should tell d'Artagnan-"

"Why?"

Elodie stopped pacing. What a strange question.

"He's the captain."

Porthos stood up, Marie ascending with him on his hip.

"He's not my captain," he said, unable to mask the disdain lacing his words, "I could give him orders if I wanted to."

In the time she'd known them both, Elodie had only known Porthos and d'Artagnan to have the utmost respect for each other. Suddenly Porthos no longer held that respect. And not once had he used his rank in such a manner, it was something he barely acknowledged. Exhausted from the day and its intense conversations, Elodie found herself confused by her husband. She thought she understood him. Perhaps not as well as she had thought.

"Well that's fine for you," she scoffed, "but d'Artagnan is my captain. We live here thanks to his good will— you'd best remember that."

And she took Marie from his arms, muttering something about it being her bedtime, leaving Porthos in the middle of the room. He stood there for some time, cursing to himself and running his hand over his beard. The couple did not speak more on the matter for the rest of the night.