Still with the Marsac feels. With added Porthos & Aramis ones. Bit of Athos. And d'Art. All the Muskefeels.
I don't think this really requires any of the others... Athos might make more sense if you've read Remembrance, and I guess while you're re-reading maybe Scared (because the start of this one is not long after that)?
Somewhere on the Franc-Spanish border.
D'Artagnan shifts, his face pinched as he attempts to ease the burning in his gammy leg without drawing any attention. He catches Porthos looking, and raises his chin.
"I'm fine."
"I know." But he keeps his eyes on his brother a while after that.
There are some things that Porthos knows. Knows in his bones. The sun, whether he wants it to or not, will rise in the morn. D'Artagnan is not fine, but will throw himself into every conceivable pickle anyway. The stars will come out. Sunrise, sunset. Jean de Marsac was a deserter, and a coward.
And he is no better.
Paris
Aramis pauses at the gate, half-turns as though to leave then casts his eyes to the heavens as he hesitantly enters the cemetery. Porthos nudges Athos, and they turn to watch their friend's approach.
"I shall take my leave," Athos says, with one hand upon Porthos' shoulder.
He agrees but Athos remains at his side until Aramis joins them.
"I'll be honest," Aramis says slowly as he withdraws a bottle from within his cloak, "I wasn't expecting company."
Athos takes the bottle and holds it appraisingly to the light, raises one eloquent eyebrow. "Are you certain?"
"Well, it has been five years." Aramis remove his hat, and nods once to the mound beside them.
Athos looks to Porthos, who shrugs once. Indifferent.
"Don't lose your wits," Athos warns, pressing the bottle back into Aramis' grasp and turning to leave them. He hesitates, as though he has forgotten something, then touches both hands to Aramis' cheeks for a heartbeat, some unspoken message passing between them.
There is silence after he leaves. Not a comfortable one at that. There comes the swilling of liquid and the reluctant squeak of a cork, and Aramis steps forward.
"To-" he hesitates, glancing over his shoulder with a small frown, "-you."
He pours a generous glug of brandy over the earth at his feet, then takes a mouthful himself. Turning, he crosses the short distance to the low wall and settles himself against its crumbling mortar, his gaze distant. With a final nod at their silent companion, Porthos follows. He takes the bottle when it is offered, and they pass the bottle between them, silently, as the brandy wards off the worst of the chill from the cold earth. He wonders what Aramis might have said had he been alone. Hopes - selfishly - that it would have been kind, but knows it should not have been.
"Payin' my respects," Porthos explains after a while, when the liquor has loosened his tongue. Too much perhaps; it feels like a confession.
Maybe it is.
Aramis goes very still for a moment, and Porthos – waiting for the inevitable accusation - feels his eyes upon him though neither has turned.
"My dearest Porthos," Aramis murmurs eventually, bringing his head to rest upon Porthos' shoulder. Then, as the breath stutters in Porthos' chest and he bows his head, Aramis takes his hand.
And Porthos lets him.
You're sick of this by now, but I'm still not any further with S3 so to my knowledge (she says, having not seen this bit either) Elodie is the only person who knows of Porthos' brief desertion. If that's wrong then, shit. But if not...Well. Not any more.