Aramis (romantichero) wrote in the100, @ 2016-02-14 17:19:00 |
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Entry tags: | !log/thread, aramis, porthos |
WHO: Aramis & Porthos
WHEN: After Porthos’ arrival, a few hours after Aramis arrived.
WHERE: Medical
WHAT: A little angst, some guilty feelings, a tiny reunion and talking about bathrooms.
WARNING: Pretty tame.
Aramis had woken up only a few short hours before, in this strange, strange world. He’d managed to not destroy the doctor standing over him, but had been rather undignified in his response regardless. Something he was now ashamed of. Hours had passed and explanations were dolled out. He still was completely unsure of how … clean everything was, and how unlike home. Aramis had been expecting a monastery and monks, not… whatever this was. He’d asked a great deal of questions, was given the answers without much prompting, there was no treats or anyone treating him like he was a leper. He charmed himself into clothing that was comfortable, but not his own. He was still sitting in intake, lounging back and chatting amicably with the personnel, when a stranger came in to announce Porthos’ arrival. Aramis had asked about him almost immediately upon waking up, him, Athos, d’Artagnan.. No, the answers had all been, they weren’t here. It figured, given that he had just left them, yet that pang of yearning had remained even still. He barely gave proper goodbyes before bounding back down to the medical area that he had woken up in, and a polite nurse was nice enough to direct him to Porthos without even a second of hesitation. He could get used to this. Stopping in the doorway, he let out a sigh of relief when he saw his friend. It had only been a day, and yet it still felt like a bloody lifetime. Such relief that he just stood there staring dumbly at Porthos for a full minute without saying anything. Unsurprisingly, Porthos wasn’t as composed as Aramis. Not when he’d been riding a horse at breakneck speed to Aramis and his bloody monestary, only to wake up in a strange place with strange people telling him to remain calm. He didn’t hurt anyone when he flailed awake with a roar, but it was close. Everyone seemed to give him space after that. A few insane explanations and the promise that he was not in danger, but plenty of space. He snagged a long pointed object and kept it tucked under his thigh like a dagger anyway. Rolling to the edge of the bed, Porthos shook the cobwebs from his brain and blearily looked around for his gear. His gaze fell on Aramis instead. That was better, really. He’d take Aramis over any weapon he possessed any day of the week. “You arse,” Porthos growled. “Next time you try to run off, I’m breakin’ your nose and callin’ it a day.” Aramis’ face lit up, against his own will. Ah well, Porthos could make him suffer over it later. Threats of nose-breaking were nothing he wasn’t used to, after all, especially as of late. Aramis’ life was admittedly in a bit of shambles thanks to poor choices on his part and bad luck all around. But he was determined to do better. Even if this was an usual world and they were in unusual circumstances, Aramis wasn’t about to let choices he’d made change things or ruin it further. “And you would be perfectly justified in that, my friend.” Placing his hand over his heart, he bowed his head slightly towards Porthos. “You’re well? I beat you here by a few hours.” Porthos sighed, but a crooked smile immediately snuck across his face. He wanted to be mad still. Well, no, mad was the wrong word. Hurt. Aramis had left the Musketeers. Had left Porthos. Perhaps his reason were honorable, but Aramis’ honor wasn’t going to fill the empty space in Porthos’ life. He wanted to hold it against Aramis for at least a bloody hour! But all he could do was push to his feet, cross the room, and pull Aramis into a hug. “Am I well. Fuck, Aramis, I have no idea.” Porthos laughed, pulling back to get a better look at Aramis up close. “But I’m damned glad to see you. They didn’t try anything, yeah?” Truly one of Aramis’ favorite things was when Porthos got angry with him and suddenly pulled him into a hug. Athos did the same, but on much more rare occasions as Porthos, and Aramis often craved touch enough that he never complained about it. And he knew he usually deserved much worse. He didn’t hesitate to wrap his arms around Porthos shoulders and squeeze, either. An observant person would note he held on a second longer than necessary. When Porthos pulled away, Aramis gifted him with a sheepish smile. “I’m glad to see you, as well. They’re actually-” He clapped an arm on Porthos shoulder and made an exaggerated sweep of the room. “Rather nice? More nice than I was expecting, for kidnappers. But if you listen to them, most of them are here the same as we are, and anyone is welcome to leave if they wish, though I hear the weather is dreadful and there isn’t much out there. Though they couldn’t comment on France.” Porthos nodded distractedly, still glancing over Aramis for injuries. “Yeah, that’s about all I got so far. Wasn’t tied down or anything, but my gear--” Porthos cut off as his gaze swiveled around the room and fell on the pile of leather and weapons in the corner. “--Is right there. Alright, I’m officially at a loss.” Stepping away from Aramis, Porthos set aside his makeshift weapon and went about putting his scabbard and holster belts back on. It only took a moment to verify everything was still there and undamaged. Unfortunately, that made this whole mess even more confusing. He frowned and spun back towards Aramis. “I”m assumin’ you would have said if Athos was off grumbling at someone or the pup was pickin’ a fight.” “It should all be there, as well. Mine was. You’ll have to chat with who they call “intake personnel” as well, answer a few questions and they explained things to the best of their abilities. Even if it’s still impossible to believe.” Aramis leaned against the doorframe to watch Porthos put all of his things right. It felt like home, even if this place was quite possibly the most confusing in all time, Aramis was still in a mental zone where he worried he would never see them again. Or, at least, not in any recent times. “No Athos or d’Artagnan, I’m afraid. But you only just arrived, perhaps they’re not far behind you?” Ever the optimist, Aramis refused to believe Athos wouldn’t follow them to keep them out of trouble. It truly was his calling in life. Porthos might have been more cynical, but on this subject, he could be as blindly hopeful as Aramis. “Athos better be. I’m not cruel enough to really wish the newlyweds here in this mess, but Athos will get himself dead without us,” he insisted, pointing a finger in Aramis’ direction. Meeting Aramis’ eyes again made him squint his own, though. It was hardly the time to stare too long, but he couldn’t quite help it. So much had happened and yet nothing had changed. Whatever they were dealing with, however bad it got, it was manageable as long as Aramis was there with him. Porthos took a few steps forward, adjusting his belts as he moved. “We were coming to get you, you know,” he murmured. “We might get ourselves dead without him.” Aramis pointed out, though it struck true given that he had only just left them, knowing full well that while he was prepared to pledge himself to God, he was not stupid enough to believe he could be good for all time. Surrounded by fellow monks, perhaps? He had more faith in his abilities there than he did in court or with the Musketeers, but it still pained him to know he wouldn’t be at their side. Porthos’ admission did take him by surprise, though, and his eyes lifted toward his friend. “Why? I’d only just seen you, and you know- You knew this was something I had to do, Porthos.” “I knew it was something you thought you had to do,” Porthos shot back quietly. He leaned a shoulder against the wall next to Aramis, one hand resting on the pommel of his sword. Treville’s sword. It was still an odd feeling, but a welcome reminder right now, and somehow calming besides. “We all did. But the King’s declared war. Treville’s been named Minister for War. Athos is Captain now. And,...” Porthos turned his eyes towards the room and frowned at everything strange in it, rather than keep staring Aramis down. “...And we needed you, Aramis. Even God has to understand that,” he whispered. Athos should have been the one to give this speech. Be rational and all that. Porthos’ emotions were always too close the surface for rational. Emotion was where Porthos always got Aramis. Right in the heart. While Porthos looked away from him, he stared directly at his friend. Slightly flabbergasted and not even trying to hide it. The war? Athos becoming Captain? How had so much happened in the short time he had gone. He hadn’t even changed out of his uniform yet. He hadn’t talked to Treville or- fuck. How had it all managed to go even more to shit than it had with the Dauphin? Aramis had never skirted away from battle. He’d been in more battles and sieges and had faced down more enemies than he could possibly count, and it always felt better at the side of his brothers-in-arms. Porthos, especially. Now, guilt rose because he had picked selfishness over true action. Quietly, still staring directly at Porthos averted gaze, “I’m sorry, my friend. For my selfish idiocy. There’s no way I would leave you to fight a war without me.” Porthos’ frown intensified for a moment. The tone of Aramis’ voice, that word...selfish. The furrow between Porthos’ brow deepened as he shifted his gaze to his friend’s face. Aramis made stupid bloody mistakes when his heart got involved, sure, but Porthos was hesitant to ever call him selfish. Porthos dropped his eyes and smiled tightly. “You couldn’t have known, Aramis. We only just found out ourselves. And the second we did, we knew we could use it to bring you home,” he admitted, somewhat sheepishly. He wasn’t feeling regretful so much as a little guilty. But as a thought occurred to him, his face brightened and his wide-eyed stare snapped back to Aramis’ eyes. “And it’s a damn good thing, yeah? Or you’d be dealing with this nonsense alone.” Aramis eyes flickered up towards Porthos and he tilted his head, breathing out a sigh. “Of course you knew you could use it against me.” Reaching out, he shoved the palm of his hand against Porthos’ shoulder. Enough to nudge him, but he knew how thick Porthos he was, and knew that it would barely even feel like a sting from a bug. But his friend wasn’t wrong. Finding out about the war? He doubted any resolve he had could stop him from fighting at their sides once again. it was what Aramis did. Sweeping a glance around the room, Aramis raised an eyebrow. “If you think this is mad, wait until you see the rest. I never thought I’d want to drag you to a loo before, but these ones are the prettiest toilets I’ve seen since we taught d’Artagnan how to dig holes.” Porthos rolled with the shove and dropped his eyes to the ground. “Sorry, This is why Athos was supposed to do the talking.” Sighing, he pushed away from the wall. He was a selfish fool where Aramis’ was concerned. He needed to clamp that down and bury it. They had enough to deal with here without him feeling like a shitty friend on top of it. Which meant he didn’t make a stupid tease about the never wanting to drag him into a loo comment. He just smirked, clamped a hand on Aramis’ shoulder, and gestured towards the hall. “Well come on then. You got here first. That means you gotta give me the tour.” “Oh, stop it.” Aramis grumped in return, but followed it with a smile. He reached over and wrapped an arm around Porthos back, tapping his hand on the opposite shoulder. “Come on then, I’ll show you the loo and all the beautiful women I’ve met so far. They’ll want to interview you.” |