A/N: The first half of this story was posted under "Infirmary Talks," but people seemed keen for me to continue with Athos and Ninon's story. It obviously doesn't belong where I originally posted it now, so I have doubled its size and cut it into chapters. Apologies for those who have already read the first part, but I hope you like where the story goes.
oOo
ANGEL
Part One
Chapter One
The public address system announced the arrival of the Amsterdam flight into Charles de Gaulle airport. There was a flurry of activity as people began to pour through into the arrivals lounge.
"Captain," Porthos smiled as he saw Athos approaching, backpack slung on his shoulder, while wheeling a small case behind him.
"You reminisce," Athos smiled, as he accepted the hug.
"You bet I do," Porthos said, pulling away and casting a critical eye over his former Captain. "They were good times."
"Some of them," Athos murmured, always surprised by Porthos's ability to not only wear rose-coloured spectacles, but to see through them.
"Aramis is still in the air," Porthos was saying, breaking him from his reverie. "We've got a little time to kill."
They had all served in the army together, but that was some years ago now. They had forged their own careers since; Athos, as a diamond merchant, sourcing stones for wealthy clients, which took him all over the world, with Amsterdam as his base. Aramis, as a New York paediatrician, having extended his training from trauma into a speciality that was close to his heart after fathering a child on a tour of Asia, where he had met a beautiful Japanese woman whom he had loved with a passion but who was, sadly, unattainable. Porthos had a successful chain of gyms in London and Los Angeles and a reputation as a personal trainer in California that had made him wealthy in his own right.
However successful they were though, they were brothers first and foremost and did all they could to maintain their close bond. Porthos had worked hard to build his business and for the first time in the last year, he was looking relaxed and happy.
"You are looking well, my friend," Athos said, gently, in an attempt to forestall Porthos's usual critique.
"I'm feelin' good. It's goin' well," Porthos replied, grabbing Athos's back pack and throwing it over his shoulder. "You don't look so bad yourself," he added, side-glancing his friend. "You could do with a hair-cut, mind."
Athos huffed. He had got away lightly, it seemed.
"Much of my work is done on-line and by phone. On the occasions I have to step out, I am always surprised by my failure to realise I have let myself go, somewhat," Athos replied, running a hand absently through his long hair.
"Well, that can be rectified," Porthos laughed, pointing across the concourse to a barber's shop, set next to an Italian coffee outlet.
Porthos caught his friend looking longingly at the large coffee menu on display.
"You go get settled in there," he laughed, "And I'll get us a coffee. Aramis isn't due for a couple of hours. I've already hired a car."
"I suppose there is no point in arguing?" Athos replied. He rather liked his hair longer, though his beard had grown a little too full for his liking. He resisted the urge to scratch it.
"None whatsoever, you look like a Yeti," Porthos growled. "You won't charm the ladies lookin' like that."
Athos did not respond. That would be the least of his ambitions, Porthos knew, but he never gave up trying to find someone to replace his friend's treacherous wife. Undeterred, Porthos grabbed Athos's suitcase and steered his friend toward the Turkish barber who was keenly eyeing him up and already reaching for his implements.
oOo
Two hours later, Porthos and a newly-but-not-too-shorn Athos waited in arrivals for their friend's plane to deliver its passengers.
"You smell nice," Porthos whispered to Athos, as tired passengers began to pour through the doors ahead of them.
"Behave yourself," Athos growled, which made Porthos roar with laughter, though he did not tell Porthos he had bought a bottle of the fragrance Yussuf had applied after he had finished cutting and shaping his beard.
It was the sound of their large friend's laughter that guided Aramis eagerly toward them from behind a straggle of families with grouchy children, and students plugging themselves into their mobile phones.
Suddenly Aramis was in front of them, beaming from ear to ear.
"Gentleman!" he cried. "I believe Paris awaits!"
"Where is the house exactly?" Porthos said after disentangling himself from the requisite group hug.
"Rue Ferou.* Within a few steps from the Luxembourg Gardens. Beautiful, serene and historic," Athos replied, holding out his hand for the key to the hire car.
"I'll drive," Porthos said, fishing for the keys.
When he looked up, Athos was giving him that look, with a raised eyebrow to boot.
"Drive is not a word I would use. Lurch, perhaps," Athos replied, firmly.
"That's 'ow the Army taught me," Porthos growled. "It's a technique to save fuel. Foot on, foot off."
"The technique does not translate from Army vehicles to modern saloons. It is uncomfortable, and I doubt it saves petrol. You have a heavy foot, my friend," Athos replied, icily.
Aramis was trying not to laugh as Porthos reluctantly dropped the keys into his friend's outstretched palm. The three of them headed out of the airport to make a grocery stop before making their way to the house that would be their home for the next five days.
oOo
Arriving in one piece a little while later, Porthos dropped his bag on the floor of his room with a sigh and practically fell backwards onto the bed. Spread-eagled, he felt every muscle in his back loosen. Being a personal trainer was all very well, but being as busy as he had been had put a lot of strain on his muscles. However, he was loathe to pass his work onto his staff, as he was in that place where he was now being asked for personally. He couldn't afford to turn work down, nor not look in the best shape he could.
Before he could drift off, he rolled off the bed and grabbed a shower. Changing into a fresh tee shirt and a pair of new tracksuit bottoms, he headed downstairs to the kitchen, where he had dropped off their groceries.
The house was beautiful, of course; Athos had chosen it.
Different to his own choice on their previous break, which had them inhabiting a traditional finca cave in Valencia. Albeit furnished and spacious, it was windowless and so still too enclosed for their former Captain, who had decamped to a hotel after four days of really trying.
Aramis was a sun-worshipper and so his choice always involved water, boats and sun-loungers, but he always ensured there was a good hotel nearby with a well-stocked bar.
Now they sat in the pretty, enclosed garden at the rear of the three-storey traditional house, beneath an old pear tree, drinking wine and tucking into the excellent meal that Porthos had prepared.
"I saw a sign for a market a couple of streets back," Porthos was saying as he dished out a second helping of lasagne for Athos, whether he wanted it or not. His friend needed fattening up, in his honest opinion. "I'll head out in the mornin' and get us some fresh bread."
"Don't we have enough food to last a month?" Athos smiled into his glass.
"For you, perhaps," Aramis laughed. "Some of us have appetites. Personally, it feels like I have lived on army rations for a month."
"Don't they feed you doctors, then?" Porthos said, pasta-coated spoon poised in mid-air.
"They do. But the food reflects the country we are working in, and, as you both know, some parts of Africa are better than others."
They fell silent then. Aramis had been doing some pro-bono work for a few weeks every year in some of the poorest regions for a few years now, before returning to his role in the children's ward of a large New York hospital. It was the contrast between the client-base of the two that had driven Aramis to his altruism.
They had all worked in Africa when in the military and were well aware of what Aramis had been facing.
Athos raised his glass.
"A toast, Gentlemen. To us. May we all find what we are looking for."
"At least during this break," Porthos added, as they all clinked glasses.
As the streets grew quiet behind the high walls, sleep tugged at them and eventually they all said their good nights and retired to their respective rooms.
As it turned out, it was to be a prophetic toast.
To be continued ...