A/N: Look at this, guys! I totally can finish fics that are longer than a one-shot! In any case, apologies for the wait, and I hope you enjoy this chapter! I hope everyone's as excited as me for season two! 3

Porthos:

Hidden Talent - Cooking

Porthos learned very early to cook for himself. It hadn't been like he was given much a choice, to be honest, and even before his mother had died, for those last few months when she was so very ill, he had made her what broths and soups as he could, until eventually she lost her appetite and refused to eat, instead languishing until she died, slowly and painfully, though whether it was the illness or the starvation that killed her in the end was anyone's guess. Porthos left then, and he fended for himself the only way he could in the Court of Miracles as an orphan – he stole.

And when he met Flea – he met her long before Charon, crashed into her actually, and he still had the scar over his eye to prove that she hadn't been best pleased with him for doing so – he had cooked for her too, and though they hadn't cared much other than having their bellies full and keeping warm, the nights when they had enough to make his stews were the nights that their faces lit up with smiles because not only were they not hungry, they had something good to eat.

And now, as part of the Musketeers, Porthos had plenty of opportunity to practice his skills as a cook, with how much they ended up on missions that had them out in the wilds at night. Of course, mostly it was just making sure the fish or rabbit or whatever they had didn't burn, but this time was different.

Aramis was injured, and d'Artagnan was busy tending to him – poor lad looked like he hadn't slept the past three days since the skirmish which had injured Aramis. Porthos knew he wasn't eating right either, and even if Athos had been willing to overlook it on account of the boy's anxiety over Aramis, Porthos was not. He knew first hand just what effect not eating properly could have on a body.

So he sent Athos out to find supplies, but in the meantime he could gut the rabbit and cut it into chunks and put it into some boiling water in a pot that the innkeeper's wife had kindly loaned him, seeing as he'd bartered his cooking services in exchange for the week's lodging. There were no others here at the moment so he could take the time to cook for his own friends – but d'Artagnan in particular.

"That smells good, Porthos" d'Artagnan came down the stairs, looking haggard and worn, but smiling for his friend anyway.

"I was beginnin' to think I'd 'av to come up there an' drag you down to eat somethin', whelp."

D'Artagnan looked at him sheepishly and Porthos' heart dropped. He hadn't come to get food for himself, he'd come to get it for Aramis. He took a deep breath to keep from outright shouting at his young friend, but it was a near thing.

"Sit, for God's sake." Porthos instructed, in his best imitation of a disapproving Athos.

"Aramis would say you shouldn't take the Lord's name in vain." D'Artagnan replied, almost by rote. Porthos was too annoyed to smile at it though.

"Aramis would be furious if you are in anything less than perfect health when he wakes up. Sit your arse down and eat a bowl of broth or I swear I will shove it down your throat."

The young Gascon looked suitably chastised, and Porthos ladled some of the soup into d'Artagnan's bowl, and then sat down next to him to make sure he didn't make an escape attempt.

D'Artagnan made a show of eating to start with, but Porthos knows it was not nearly enough. The lad's eyes were full of ghosts, and it was then that Porthos realised that he hadn't been sleeping either.

"Damn, kid – why didn't you tell us you were having nightmares? We could have helped." he asked, reaching out a hand to grasp his friend's shoulder gently. D'Artagnan lifted his hand to squeeze Porthos', grateful of the support.

"Because it doesn't matter – not while..." he trailed off and his gaze wandered to the door to the room where Aramis still lay sleeping. Porthos stayed quiet, just waiting, and letting d'Artagnan find the words that he needed. "I was the one who stitched him up, Porthos. His blood was very literally on my hands, and every time I doze off, I dream that it was too late, that there was nothing I could do and... I don't know what I would do without him Porthos. Without you or Athos either, to be honest."

"But it's different with Aramis." Porthos replied softly, knowing that if it had been Athos who was hurt, that he would have been a mess too. So he waited for d'Artagnan to gather himself together enough to nod before continuing.

"Look, I don't care if you throw half of it up the next time you fall asleep, you're better having food in you than not. Finish that bowl and then take one up to Aramis." He nudged d'Artagnan's bowl closer to him and waited expectantly.

D'Artagnan looked at him for such a long time that Porthos felt a little uncomfortable, before he turned back to the soup and picked up his spoon. Painstakingly slowly, he took a mouthful, and then another, until finally there was only a little left. D'Artagnan looked up at him guiltily and Porthos just smiled and patted his shoulder, taking the bowl from him and setting it aside to be washed.

"It's okay if you can't eat it all. I just don't want you wasting away to nothing. If nothing else, Aramis will give me an earful. You made the effort and that's what counts." d'Artagnan nodded, and Porthos served another bowl, this time for Aramis.

As he watched d'Artagnan hurry up the stairs, he felt the weight in his chest lift a little. He had seen so many people die because they couldn't even muster up the energy to swallow food because they had gone for so long without it that they just curled up in corners and wasted away, waiting to die. He felt himself settle now that d'Artagnan was safe from that for now. He just hoped that Aramis woke soon, because not even he could keep d'Artagnan eating if this went on much longer.

Aramis did in fact wake later that night, around the same time as Athos returned with extra medicines and supplies for their return journey to Paris.

Porthos and Athos both went up to check on their friends, and were pleasantly surprised to see their injured sharpshooter looking aware and clear headed. D'Artagnan on the other hand was in the chair by the bed, head resting on the bed, hands clasped as if in prayer, but well and truly asleep. He looked so young without a frown and worry clouding his eyes – quite frankly, as far as Porthos was concerned, he looked adorable.

"Ah, there you are. I would have called for you, but I didn't want to wake him." Aramis told them apologetically. Athos smiled.

"No, he needs the rest. He has been quite the diligant nurse." he replied, Aramis looked up at them both and then to d'Artagnan.

"Has he eaten at all?" he asked, sounding very anxious. Porthos suddenly got the sinking feeling this had happened before, but nodded.

"I'd never let him starve, even by his own volition, you idiot. He's too useful for that." he admonishes, and Aramis smiles gratefully in reply.

"Thank you, Porthos." he paused, before grinning. "Though there are not many who can hold out against the deliciousness of your broths. You could be a palace chef with talent like that." Porthos snorted at that, his eyes sparkling with mirth.

"Me, a palace chef? You must be out of your mind on herbs, you moron. I'd get bored and poison the Cardinal's dessert inside of a week."

The three of them laughed, and in doing so, Aramis shifted enough that he woke d'Artagnan, who shot up, wide eyed and confused.

"Wha-" he blinked and took in the sight of everyone around him, his face splitting into a wide grin at seeing Aramis. "You're awake!"

Porthos lived to see such joy as that on the faces of his friends. He and Athos watched with warm smiles at the antics of their friends, who seemed so focused on each other's presence that the two of them said nothing, simply shared a glance which showed their mutual relief of things finally returning to some semblance of normal. Porthos brought up the last of the stew, which they all shared, d'Artagnan especially hungrily, and he was warmed by the compliments they gave him, but found that it was their smiles and their full bellies that he was happiest about, because you lived longer if you ate right, and Porthos planned to keep his friends with him for as long as he possibly could. He might have lost Charon and he might not have Flea – but these three men? They are his and he is theirs – All for one, and one for all – and as long as he lives, he will strive for them to remain so. Athos met his eyes again, and Porthos was almost certain that the former Comte had read his thoughts. They share a smile and silently agree to watch over their friends until morning, because that is what the two of them do best, where d'Artagnan and Aramis laugh and dance with words, they fare better with silent companionship and only speaking when they need to. Each of them has their strengths and their talents, but they fit together as well as puzzle pieces, made all the more vibrant for their different skills.

This was the family that Porthos had always wanted, and he was going to fight damn hard to keep them, and he'd keep them fed, when he needed to.