A/N: I can't believe I'm neglecting my drabble series. But my other story seems to want all my time and this baby is left to fend for itself. Fans of this, I'm sorry.
Spoilers: tag to the Homecoming. I know it's late but was that episode awesome or was it awesome? :P

Apologies:

D'Artagnan raised his hand to knock but lowered it again, without doing so. He was standing outside Porthos' rooms in the barracks and wavering between wanting to go in or waiting till both of them were a little more sober.

After the whole fiasco at the Court of Miracles and getting Porthos' name cleared the musketeers and d'Artagnan had taken over the nearest tavern, drinking any kind of cheap alcohol they could get their hands on with a vengeance, wanting only to forget what had happened.

Porthos did not want to think about how it had felt to feel his childhood friend's body go limp in his arms, Aramis wanted to forget the look on Porthos' face when he had glanced back at him cradling the dying man's head in his arms. Athos drank to just forget.

D'Artagnan however did not join his friends. He sat there carefully sipping from his cup, not believing that he deserved to forget what he had done.

He had doubted the integrity and honor of a fellow musketeer. Even if it had only been for a second, even if it had only been a single word, it was enough. The seed had taken root somehow, and d'Artagnan hated himself for it.

There were many stories of how one became a musketeers which got wilder and wilder as the night darkened and the wine flowed. But if there was one person who had never ventured his own tail, it had been Porthos. But from what he had learnt was that Porthos was a self-made man in every sense of the word. Without any recommendation or noble house to sponsor his training, he had worked day and night to join the most elite unit of soldiers in the country.

D'Artagnan imagined his story would rather read like a myth, like the stories of heroes of old did: the ordeals of Odysseus that the Iliad praised or the labors of the great Hercules. Having lived in relative luxury under his father's roof for most of his life, d'Artagnan did not think he could hold a candle to the older man.

Which was why his honor dictated that he come clean about his misgivings and apologize to Porthos, hoping that the bigger man had it in his heart to forgive him, though he knew he did not deserve any such mercy. There was no room in the musketeers for doubt or question. It was complete obedience and loyalty or nothing at all.

The other two had noticed his hand staying from his glass through the night but they hadn't commented on it knowing what was troubling his mind. It was only when d'Artagnan had half carried a completely drunk Athos back to his rooms, that the older man had grabbed the front of his shirt and pulled him near.

"He won't hold it against you."

His breath had stank with drink and his tight grip had scratched at his chest, but d'Artagnan had nodded gratefully, gladdened to hear that not only did Athos thought that Porthos would forgive him, but Athos had done so as well.

Now he stood and straightening his shoulders, knocked at the door lightly before he cold change his mind. There was a groan and a mumbled, 'it's open' from inside, and d'Artagnan pushed at the door and stepped into the room.

It wasn't so much of a room as it was four walls with a roof. The only piece of furniture being a bed and a stool. Porthos lay spread out on the bed, his armor off, the laces of his shirt undone halfway down his chest. He sat up somewhat when he saw it was d'Artagnan.

"Hey. The other two got back okay?" his voice slurred as he asked. D'Artagnan nodded, sitting on the stool when Porthos gestured. The older man lay back down with a grunt.

"I know why you are here."

D'Artagnan looked at him in surprise. "Aramis talked to you."

It wasn't a question as much it was a statement but Porthos shook his head. "So it was Aramis. I hope he didn't punch you."

"No, but he should have."

Porthos chucked but then the smile died on his face a second later. There was silence for a while before d'Artagnan spoke, "I was wrong to doubt you Porthos. I am very sorry for even thinking that you could have killed the man when I should have had the absolute and utter faith in you that a friend deserves."

"Kid, it's okay." Porthos waved a hand, not looking at d'Artagnan. "Truth be told, I wondered about it myself…" he trailed off.

"You shouldn't have. It would make you glad to know that Athos, Aramis and even the captain did not believe it for a single second."

Porthos nodded at the ceiling but then sat up, finally meeting d'Artagnan's eyes. "I've been with the Musketeers for going on eight years now and I knew the captain and Aramis from long before that too when I was a mere soldier. They know me intricately and it does not surprise me that they had faith in me when I did not have it in myself." He paused and glared at d'Artagnan drunkenly. "But that does not mean I think any less of you for thinking what anyone could have thought. It's okay, it's a thing of the past. You don't know me as well as they do, so I won't hold it against you that you wavered."

"But I shouldn't have…" d'Artagnan could not hold the older man's gaze.

"No, you shouldn't have. But one thing I've learned is that you can't dwell on the past for too long, lest its grip on you becomes too difficult to break. Let it go d'Artagnan, learn from the incident and then let it go."

D'Artagnan was surprised at the depth of Porthos' words. He had always known the man was smart, but he hadn't known him to be so eloquent. His surprise must have shown on his face because Porthos chuckled. "Did I say something too grand?"

"Not more than usual, I guess." D'Artagnan smiled. "I promise what happened will not be repeated and I will make it up to you."

Porthos groaned laying back, but then grinned. "Oh yes, you do that. Starting from buying me all the drinks I want at the tavern tomorrow. But right now I need to sleep and so do you in whatever is left of the night."

D'Artagnan smiled and stood up, and with a mumbled good night from the older man walked out of the room.

He knew he was lucky to be able to call such great men his friends. he just hoped, one day he would be deserving enough for them to call him one in return.

Now I get back to writing Till Kingdom Comes. Shamelessly. All I do is write fan fiction, I tell you.