"I'm sorry I didn't tell you," Aramis quietly confesses into his mug, but Porthos knows he's speaking to him and isn't just very emotional about tea. The kids have all gone to bed, and once again, it's just the two of them in the living room together, under a poorly patched together blanket that he suspects Aramis made.
"I didn't ask," Porthos replies simply, taking a sip of his tea. In all honesty he hadn't been cross or annoyed or any of it when the children spilled the proverbial beans. It had hurt a little, yes, but it had only been two weeks and they had four years of catching up to do.
"I still feel bad," Aramis says and the swallows. He's looking at Porthos now, and he's biting his lip and rubbing the back of his neck and Porthos knows how truly sorry his friend is. Some things never change.
"Why? We were never in a relationship and you are allowed friends Aramis," he teases, settling his mug in his lap and using his fingers to make quotation marks when he says "friends". He smirks when Aramis does. "Being friends with me never stopped you before. Even when we were sharing a room-" Aramis gasps and slaps his chest then, and Porthos laughs.
"I didn't know you were coming back!" He defends himself. That had been a truly mortifying mood killer, the poor girl had upped and left the minute Porthos had tried to excuse himself and leave.
"I always came back- it was you who went off with every other Tom, Dick and Harriet that took your fancy!" Porthos laughs and Aramis blushes. He has a point. Porthos never brought back anybody- he flirted with plenty, but never brought anyone back.
"Yeah, that got me in trouble enough times. And then one big time," Aramis says, and the laughter falls away to seriousness again.
"Not your fault," Porthos says quietly, and takes Aramis' hand in his, squeezing his fingers. Aramis sighs and squeezes back, before pulling his hand away and downing the last of his tea.
"Never is when nasty bigots are involved- though I probably should also learn to choose my battles."
Porthos can't argue with that, but he also remembers how brave he thought Aramis was when he stood up to the old man who was so quick to insult Porthos.
They had come back to base, and everyone had gotten a bit too drunk for their own good- partly to congratulate themselves on making it home alive, and partly to commiserate for the brothers they lost over those few weeks. The old general, who was as traditional as they get, had gotten nasty to Porthos. Not only was he black- but he was defective as well? Porthos knew he had to grin and bear it, and so he'd clenched his jaw and taken a swig from his bottle, ignoring the general. Aramis was not so wise.
"I wouldn't use the word defective," he'd said, his words slurring slightly, but his voice was low and dangerous.
"Aramis," Porthos warned, reaching out to hold his friend back, but his hand was batted away.
An argument had ensued, a bad one, and Aramis managed to out himself and just about every other LGBTQ+ person in the whole Garrison, all the ones that he knew of, anyway. And then, in jest, he'd blamed himself for "converting" them with his devastating good looks. The others had laughed, but the general took the joke all too literally. The general had Aramis called to his office the next morning, and he was asked to leave indefinitely. He'd held his head up high as he'd left. He went around to all those he'd outed and apologised- they all understood, though not all forgave. He couldn't blame them for that- he'd done something unforgiveable- he'd jeopardised their safety and he'd broken their trust.
He came to Porthos last. He hadn't known what to expect, but Porthos had hugged and thanked him, and made him promise to write.
He'd broken that promise within the week once he got home.
"They all forgave you eventually, you know. We talked about it the night I left," Porthos told his friend, who was staring intently at the bottom of his mug. Aramis shrugged and refused to look at him, so Porthos lifted his chin with two fingers to make him look at him.
"You stood up for me like always. How could I get angry at you for that?" His voice was soft, and Aramis was looking at him like he was about to cry. Aramis grabbed his hand, and let their joined hands fall into the middle of the two of them.
"Why did you leave?" Aramis asked, and Porthos raises an eyebrow- stupid question, the war was over that's why he left.
I left two weeks before that, Porthos wants to tell him, but doesn't. To come and find you. He opens his mouth to speak, but is interrupted by a tiny voice from the doorway.
"Papa?" says Rene through his sniffles. He's clutching a teddy bear and tears are streaming down his face and his nose is bright red. Immediately Aramis gets up and carries Rene back to the sofa, settling him in his lap and Porthos wraps the blanket around the little boy.
"A night mare, mon petit nounours?" Aramis asks, rocking the little boy in his arms. Rene nods and grabs the front of Aramis' shirt, and buries his face in Aramis' neck. Aramis asks if he wants to talk about it, and Rene shakes his head but asks for some milk. Aramis nods and Porthos gets up to go and get it for him. He makes sure to get Rene's favourite mug. He comes back and Rene grabs the mug in his little hands and says a quiet thank you. Aramis watches him as he drinks, and teases him about the milk moustache on his upper lip once he's finishes. That gets a smile out of Rene and soon he's fast asleep in Aramis' lap.
"I should go," Porthos whispers, and Aramis looks up in confusion, but says if he has to then he should. Porthos kisses the top of Rene's head and then Aramis' cheek before he grabs his coat and heads out.
He really hates going back to his flat.