All this time Athos was staring at the lady as if he'd seen a ghost. It was, but it couldn't be. Her gaze travelled from man to man, finally alighting on him. Her face changed, it was no longer playful and teasing, it was wary. She recognised him. And he, her. She decided not to make an issue of it. Swinging her legs over the rumpled sheets and making her way to the kitchen, she sashayed past them with a hint of vanilla perfume misting through the air.
'Are you men staying for breakfast? You can make the tea then, I'm not playing the little woman.'
Athos couldn't stop looking at her; he knew he had to say something. She turned around and looked at him straight in the face, fearless to his accusing gaze. For he was accusing her of being alive and well when he had expected her to not be. She knew it. She walked over to him, coming so close he could feel the power simmering behind her carefully composed mask.
'The uniform is quite an acquisition, Monsieur' she said softly, reaching up to him and tweaking his collar dismissively.
The other two musketeers exchanged looks. Rochefort chuckled quietly. 'Do you two know each other?' Asked Porthos apprehensively. He didn't know what to make of a situation where Athos would know a woman that he didn't.
'I didn't realise you worked for the other side, Madame.'
'Not through choice.'
'Do you know each other?' Repeated Aramis.
They turned to see two confused faces and one amused one.
'This is my ex wife' clarified Athos.