Athos sighed as the heat of the water surrounded sore muscles that still recovered from their overexertion. The injury to his shoulder was still raw, swollen, and covered with scabs, but the skin continued to heal and he now found himself struggling not to scratch. The bruising along his right side was morphing from dark purples to faded blues and the edges were fading to greens and yellows. The hot water moved around him, massaging muscles, tendons, and joints. His lungs inhaled and exhaled without complication, and he sighed in relief as the steam that rose from the water penetrated deeply.
He could hear the activities outside the room, but he didn't pay attention, instead he thought about the men who had lost their lives, Lorange's willingness to place animosity aside, and the mistake Auch's reinforcements had made that had ultimately saved the lives of so many. He thought about Sofie and Richard, the life they had lived, and the peace they wanted to keep. And, he thought about the sealed note from King Louis that remained in the small oak desk that rested below the window of his private quarters. He had not opened it, and instead, locked it away.
The washroom attendant, knocked on the door, entered with another bucket of hot water and poured it into the bath. Athos nodded in thanks and watched her leave. Clean clothes rested on the wooden chair at the end of the tub.
He sighed when attendant returned with two more buckets of water and started to fill the empty tub next to him, as well as the one directly behind. He sighed in disappointment when he realized his moment of reverie was over and he slid down the back of the tub and submerged below the surface. He ran his fingers through his hair as he emerged, grabbed the soap from the basket that hung from the edge of the tub, washed, and rinsed his face.
"Told you," Porthos said, as he entered the room and immediately started to unbutton his doublet.
Aramis chuckled and stood aside as more buckets of hot water were brought in behind him and dumped into another tub. He looked at Athos who squinted and rubbed his right eye in an effort to flush soap from it.
"I take it you were politely asked to excuse yourselves from the vicinity due to your pungent odor?" Athos asked and leaned back. He raised his knees and rested his left arm on the edge of the tub as Aramis started to strip.
"I'm not convinced it was us given the pungency of smells —" Aramis started to reply.
"It was you," Athos said, and scratched his jaw.
Porthos dumped his clothing to the floor and stepped into the tub. He groaned as the heat of the water met his skin. "I was this close," he raised his hand and measured with his finger and thumb, "to 'avin' a drink — a good drink too."
"But think of all the gambling you can attempt when you're not offending anyone at the table."
Porthos sent water over the edge of the tub in Athos' direction and slowly nodded. "You may 'ave a point." He lay back, cupped water into his hands, and poured it over his face. He looked up as more water was brought into the room and dumped into his bath. Porthos hissed as the heat hit his legs and he pulled his knees toward himself. "You're a cruel woman!"
The woman's dress was well-worn, her apron stained and her cleavage blossomed above her corset. Long strands of brown hair cascaded across her face. "If I smelled like you," she said, "I'd be mistaken for the dead." She waved her hand before her nose to emphasize her point, grabbed another bucket, and walked to the next tub.
Aramis tossed his jacket onto a chair and pulled his shirt over his head. "I do love a woman with spunk."
"You smell just as terrible," she said, poured the water, grabbed the buckets and left the room.
Aramis slipped out of his breeches, drawers, and then stepped into the tub. He hissed as he lowered himself into the hot water and his skin turned pink as muscles relaxed.
It was only a few moments before the woman returned with more buckets and continued to fill the baths. Before Porthos or Aramis could stop her, she grabbed their clothing and left the room.
Athos chuckled. "Madame Moulin's tolerance has greatly deteriorated over the years."
Porthos looked over the edge of the tub and toward the door. "I'm not walkin' to the garrison without somethin'—"
"A bottle of wine, maybe two," Aramis shrugged, and leaned back against the curve of the tub, "you'll never remember."
Porthos shook his head and turned to look at him. "No amount of wine will 'ave me walkin' naked through the streets of Paris — an' how can you be so calm?" He splashed water over the edge of the tub and turned toward Aramis who had kicked the heels of his feet up and onto the edge of the tub as he relaxed.
Athos once again slipped below the surface of the water that had cooled and then pushed himself up. He slowly stood, exited the tub, and dressed.
"You're not leavin' us here?" Porthos asked with a frown, eyes wide with concern.
Athos sat on the chair and slipped into his boots. "I'll fetch you some clothes," he sighed, and watched Porthos relax. "Just do the same for d'Artagnan when he finds himself in your position." He stood, buckled his weapons belt around his waist, and left the room.
Aramis chuckled.
Porthos sighed. "What?" He shook his head and watched the orange glow of the torch flames flicker off the water's surface.
"He didn't say he'd bring YOUR clothes." Aramis exhaled slowly, but chuckled and sent subtle waves toward the sides of the tub. "What do cherubims wear anyway?"
Porthos' face fell, "You're upsettin' me, Aramis." He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and looked toward the door, "ATHOS!"
Again, thank you all - you've been wonderful supporters!
(I've got a list of stories to read, and I'll find some time to do more writing!)