A/N—Disclaimer: I don't own this. The Three Musketeers belongs to Alexandre Dumas.
This chapter's sort of dull, but I guess it's about time for a filler. :)
"Where do we take him, is the question?" Athos said, sitting down and finishing the glass of wine that Aramis had left. "He can't speak French, so leaving him to fend for himself is an impossibility. After tonight we might as well kill him ourselves if we do that."
Porthos rubbed at his face, beginning to feel the late night patrol. "We haven't much room in our place, but..."
"Maybe at some point, Porthos, but for tonight that's as impossible as leaving him on his own. There's no room right now."
"He cannot stay in the Musketeers' barracks without being a member," M. de Treville said. "But...if you two would be willing to take him within the next few days, I could support him until the end of the week. After that my wife and children come back from visiting family, and there won't be room for him."
Porthos nodded. But Athos was still reticent. He clenched the wine glass in his hands and stared at the dregs. "Porthos...what do you intend to do with this young man? You can't just take him in without knowing what you're going to do to help him. Why are you helping him? Just a few hours ago the only thing keeping you from leaving him in the hands of an innkeeper was your reputation. There's nothing going against you now. Why are you going to help him, and how? How long is he going to stay? Where in the place is he going to stay?"
Porthos rubbed at his face again. His brain still wasn't working. He was tired and frustrated, and Italian was still whirling around in his brain, words that he couldn't understand forming a story that was still a mystery.
"I want to know what he's doing here. I want to know why he left Italy for France when he can't speak the language." He swallowed, and gave up on the excuses. "I don't know, Athos. I don't know."
Athos nodded. "We'll take him," he told M. de Treville. "I don't know what we'll do with him, but...we'll take him and try to help him."
"Good. I'll try to get a little more out of him, though I can't guarantee anything. At the very least I'll try to have him in emotionally stable so that you don't have any hysterics on your hands." He pulled a bottle of wine from the cupboard and handed it to Athos. "Now go get some rest and reward yourselves for a job well done."
When Porthos woke the next morning, he sat in his bed for a long time surveying the room. It was the larger of the two rooms in the place, since he had more posessions than Athos, so Aramis would have to go into this room. And while it took a few minutes to mentally sort through his belongings and admit that many weren't important, he was eventually able to decide that one of the large corners could be cleared out for a cot and a few other things. As far as he knew anything Aramis had brought was long gone after the events of last night, so they'd have to get some stuff, but maybe he could worm a few clothes from Athos for the lad to borrow.
He set to work. Being a large, strong man, it wasn't difficult. The wardrobe that he moved was the hardest piece, and it was relatively easy. The hard part was sorting through the clothes and making some room. But he did it. Extra bedding was set up to make a sort of cot, which would do until the permanence of Aramis' stay was decided.
He was still confused as to why he even cared. Perhaps it had to do with his being, as Athos put it, emotionally driven. All he knew was that he felt an emotional connection to Aramis. It was a strange thing to feel, as he knew absolutely nothing about the lad's personality. All he knew was that he was Italian, and that he could read. He may have been in seminary, but there was a fifty percent chance or more that M. de Treville had translated that wrong. But he got the feeling that Aramis was in need. And he wanted to help. The thought of not helping made his large heart throb. It was like...
It was like the kitten he'd had when he was a child. Back when he was about eleven, the barn cat had had kittens. They were hardy little things, and most ran off to haunt other barns as soon as they were old enough. But the neighbor boys got hold of one of the smaller ones that had stayed near the family, and Porthos had found them trying to drown it. He'd beaten them soundly for animal abuse and had taken the sopping kitten home. He'd become inexplicably attached to the kitten, and had babied it endlessly. Aramis reminded him of that kitten. He evoked the same emotional reaction.
He pushed himself up from the bed where he'd sat down while thinking. There wasn't any point in waiting any longer to go and pick Aramis up. The place was as ready as it would ever be, and the sooner Aramis had a more permanent place to stay to sooner he might be able to find out a little more about the young man. He just needed enough to be able to help him...