The owner of the Crossed Quills had been surprisingly patient with Porthos, and more than a little accommodating. It had helped that his regular cook had abruptly quit and Porthos had walked in the same day in smart looking leather armor with a large sword at his hip. In the days since getting a job in the kitchen, Porthos had spent considerable time getting to know the equipment. As familiar as the Quills itself was to home, the kitchen was decidedly more modern. Porthos enjoyed learning new things though. He devoted himself to it with a little too much zeal.
It didn’t make him stop worrying about their missing friends or if this place was safe for Tristan, but it was distracting enough to take the edge off. It helped when sleeplessness made the beast in him restless too.
Which is why he puttered around the kitchen now, practicing bakes in the middle of the night. There were croissants in the oven and he watched them from the opposite counter, arms crossed over his chest and his face settled into a thoughtful frown. If they were any good, he’d save some for--
A noise caught his attention and he glanced sharply towards the door before Aramis’s familiar scent instantly made him more concerned than wary. “What are you doin’ down here?”
Aramis had expected Porthos to know he was coming - his friend always knew. He’d been asleep, but something aside from his son had woken him, and Aramis had checked on Porthos and found the rooms empty. Phone in hand, he went looking through the Quills to see if Porthos was around. It certainly wasn’t the first time he’d went in search for the smell of freshly baked bread.
“I couldn’t sleep and then I got hungry,” He didn’t want to just say he was looking for Porthos, that seemed just a tad too needy. So he held up the phone, with a little camera feed straight to Tristan’s room on the screen. “Have you seen this? It was given to me not long ago and it is truly a wonder, Porthos. I’m a little too obsessive about watching him sleep even when I’m not in the same room.”
That they were both dealing with a bit of sleeplessness wasn’t a surprise, but it was worrying. He moved away from the counter towards Aramis and gave him a good look over. Nothing looked particularly noteworthy; Aramis was as infuriatingly handsome as ever. But maybe there were shadows under his eyes. Porthos blinked a few times and then reached for Aramis’s hand to move the phone closer to his face without taking it away.
The toddler on the screen rolled to the side but stayed deep in slumber.
“That’s a nice bit of magic. Eases the mind, yeah?” He looked back to Aramis’s face, closer now than his first inspection. “Has your sleepin’ trouble just been tonight or days now? Be honest.”
“Just tonight,” Aramis answered honestly, hand covering his heart in typical fashion when he was trying to charm someone into good graces. He knew he had an unfair advantage over Porthos, and added a little grin. “You felt too far away.”
That was a feeling he knew too well, and hated it. Athos and d’Artagnan were there as well, only with no return that he could seek out like he did with Porthos. Porthos could be found, but they had to wait for their other Musketeers to join them before they’d feel whole again.
Aramis placed the phone on the counter, where they both could see it, before peering over Porthos’ shoulder towards the oven. “What are you making? Smells divine.”
A smile teased at Porthos’s mouth. As much as he hated knowing Aramis was having trouble sleeping, he selfishly enjoyed the words you felt too far away. Of course it was a reminder that they were missing people, not that Porthos needed one. The smile morphed into a thoughtful frown as he followed Aramis gaze to the oven.
“They’re called croissants. I’m told they’re French and melt in your mouth. Assumin’ they’re done properly, of course.” This was his second batch. The first had been dry as a bone and was now in the trash bin nearby, but Aramis didn’t need to know that. “Did you really just come down here to raid the kitchen?” he teased. “Like a thief in the night.”
Aramis noted that smile. He held back one of his own, keeping it light and so very Aramis. Lacking the heat that it occasionally did when he was trying to woo someone, because this was Porthos, and he wouldn’t be woo’d just by Aramis’ patented smile. But with the way he kept looking towards the oven… well, he might just try to woo the pastries in question.
“Only because I had a feeling you were down here as well.” Aramis hopped up on the empty kitchen counter nearby and pulled his phone a little closer so he could see the image of Tristan sleeping whenever he glanced down. “So when will these melt in your mouth delights be done? They’re not for the morning crowd, are they?” A shameless pout cropped up, “Please say they aren’t.”
Porthos snorted a laugh and picked up a hand towel nearby to snap it playfully at Aramis’s legs as he passed by. “I don’t know, thief,” he smirked. Crouching down in front of the oven, he peered inside. The butter hadn’t leaked right out onto the pan this time, so that was a step in the right direction. He glanced over his shoulder at Aramis and squinted one eye.
“I suppose I can let you have one. As a taste tester.” He stood up and opened the oven just enough that the buttery smell of fresh baked bread intensified throughout the kitchen. His smile was bolder now, with the evidence of his success. “You think you can give me an honest review? No takin’ it easy on me because...because you take it easy on everyone.” Porthos rarely tripped over his words, but lately with Aramis, it was a more regular occurrence.
Aramis took the opportunity to let his eyes wander down Porthos’ back and further, appreciating the view from this angle when he wasn’t under scrutiny. His eyes were back in a normal, respectable spot by the time Porthos even thought about glancing at him, and he’d learned to school his expression years before to keep things on a more neutral playing ground. He had to, for his own sanity.
It didn’t stop the slight pinkness that flushed across his cheeks, but Aramis hoped that the kitchen lighting would let him get away with that. “Of course I can give an honest review, I’m always honest.” He was back to grinning in his charming way. “It’s not my fault everything you bake is always perfect.”
“Everything,” Porthos scoffed, eyes bright and pleased even though it was a blatant lie. “I should pull the first batch out of the trash and feed them to you.” He made a teasing move towards the trash before chuckling and turning back to the oven to pull the tray out and set it on top. The croissants looked flaky and golden. He smiled proudly and waved the towel over the top in an attempt to cool them down.
“A few of these have chocolate in the center. Pain au Chocolat. Do you want one of those or are you trying to watch your figure? Here in this new place with all these new people to charm.” His eyebrows waggled tauntingly.
“Oooooh,” Aramis winced in sympathy pains, following Porthos’ gaze to the trash can. “It must’ve been bad if you were willing to throw away food.” He was half tempted to peek, just to prove himself both right and wrong. Even if he still stubbornly maintained that Porthos was an exceptional cook, he could still offer a quick sympathy pat on the shoulder. And enormous amounts of praise.
“Chocolate, if you would please.” As if it was the easiest choice in the world. Aramis was vain, but never vain enough to turn down something delectable from Porthos. “I get more than enough exercising chasing this one,” he lifted up the phone to show the video feed of Tristan, “around. He’s tireless now that he’s learned how to walk.”
A flash of regret burned sharp through Porthos’s chest. He’d tossed those dry bread lumps without even considering who might be desperate enough to eat them. At home, they used everything because they had limited access. Apparently he’d already gotten a little spoiled using someone else’s supplies and not seeing the faces of hungry people right outside, hoping for a handout. He scowled at the trash can and promised himself to do better next time.
“I...I suppose I should’ve known you’d have a good reason to splurge at the ready.” He smirked and grabbed one of the chocolate ones with a clean towel to carry over to Aramis’s perch. “I’ll have to save one to give to the pup. I have a feelin’ he’s developed an extra sense for chocolate and will know you’ve had some without him.” He held out the hot croissant with a dramatic little bow of his head. “If they’re any good anyway.”
With the look towards the trash can, Aramis immediately regretted his words, and wished he could have reached over to lay a soothing hand on Porthos’ shoulder in response. But he held back and then was thoroughly distracted by the smell and sight of the croissant being presented to him.
“Ooooooh,” his breath was laced with magical pleasure, the siren song drifting across the croissant and to Porthos as Aramis reached out. Even in days like this, where he had full control of his siren facilities, such a wonder could make him shoot magically conjured spine tingles out of his mouth. “Sorry- It’s just-” He took a bite without waiting another second, with a little apologetic pull of his eyebrows right before his eyes closed in pleasure.
Porthos regretted getting so close to hand off the bread. Or rather, he regretted being very weak for Aramis on a good day let alone when he was humming siren energy and pleased with something Porthos had done. His face felt hot and his stomach burned. At least the latter could be halfway resolved with food. He backed up a step, reaching back towards the tray to grab his own croissant.
“That good?” he rumbled, too warm just like his face. “Better check for myself.” The bread was flaky and buttery and made him close his eyes just like Aramis had. “Well fuck. Good to know our countrymen gave some of its magic to the world.” He took another bite and talked muffled around it. “You think Tristan will like them?”
Aramis barely held back the strangled noise he made when Porthos tried his own croissant. It was almost too much to watch, and feel that, hoping--
Well, hoping for things he had no right to hope for.
It didn’t stop him from focusing on the drip of chocolate that came out of the pastry and to the corner of Porthos’ mouth, creeping towards the other Musketeer’s beard. “I think this just proves we have to make a point of trying all of the french recipes we’ve never heard before?” Finally, unable to bear it, Aramis reached over to wipe the chocolate away from Porthos mouth gently, his thumb doing all of the work as it swept across the skin there. “I think Tris might decline to eat anything else ever again.”
“There’s these little cake things called Madeleines that I want to--” Porthos cut off as Aramis wiped at his face. His glance over was careful and out of the side of his eye before he huffed a laugh and grabbed Aramis by the wrist. It was so bloody tempting to take that chocolate smeared thumb into his mouth. Indecision moved across his face like a storm cloud before he set down his croissant and pulled a small rag out of his back pocket to wipe away the mess.
“Anyway I’m not worried. With as much as your boy loves cheese, I refuse to believe he’ll give it up.” Porthos squinted back at the tray. He took a little too long letting go of Aramis’s hand too. “There’s only one more chocolate until I make another batch anyway. I wasn’t sure how those would work out and I hated the idea of wastin’ chocolate. You want it or should I save it for him?”
The breath caught in Aramis’ throat as he felt that moment flash across Porthos face. The moment was gone as soon as it came, and he let his hand drop back to his own lap, rag in his now-clean hand. He was quiet for a moment, hoping for something that wasn’t there - convinced maybe it was the sleep talking in the back of his mind that made him wish for Porthos to keep his hand a little longer. In a second, it was back to normal, and Aramis was hopping down off of the counter smoothly.
“Go ahead and save it for him. Maybe with this, I can convince him he doesn’t actually need the cheese every meal of the day.” Aramis covered up any awkward faltering with a charming smile. “You’re very good to him-- us. You know that?”
Porthos snorted at the thought of using chocolate croissants to bribe a toddler away from cheese. He would have teased about the fact that at least cheese stuck with a kid for a few extra hours but Aramis’s subject change made him drop his gaze and smile somberly.
“I know things didn’t work out the way you deserve, with the Queen and your little family…” He glanced towards the phone screen, comforted by the tiny little image. His answer was probably too serious for the moment, but when was he not bouncing between irreverent and serious, snarky and furious. His emotions were a fine line and right now they were firmly on the earnest side. “But you’re my family, Aramis. Whatever you need to be happy and safe, whatever that little cheese thief needs...I’m always gonna try to help you get it.”
Our, Aramis wanted to correct, but held himself back. The Musketeers had been his family far more than the Queen had, as much as he’d appreciated his time with her. He could - and usually was - throw a kindness and say he wouldn’t have Tristan otherwise, but there was a small part of him that knew without his found family, Tristan wouldn’t even be alive and safe.
Porthos being so unbearably kind and generous and throwing out his own words about family and safe-- it made Aramis want to lean in for some physical comfort. He gave in, bringing a hand up to wrap around Porthos’ bicep. “You’re my family too, Porthos. You, Athos-” Aramis missed him like a lung. “The Musketeers. The cheese thief thanks you, to be sure, but I couldn’t do this without you.”
While Porthos would probably never be considered bashful, he sometimes got very close. Like now, when his eyes dropped to Aramis’s hand on his arm and his smile skewed warm and off-kilter. He reached out with his unclaimed arm and wrapped Aramis in a hug. “You could do damn well do anything you set your mind to, Aramis. But I’m glad you didn’t have to try.”
Slowly letting Aramis go, Porthos moved back to the stove to transfer all the remaining croissants into a bag. He held it out towards Aramis. “Why don’t you take these back to your place. I can make another batch in the morning for customers and call this practice.” His eyes gave the kitchen a regretful once over. “I’ve got to clean up in here before I can call it a night.”
Aramis took that hug for all it was worth, attempting to not linger and feeling that pang of disappointment as soon as Porthos moved away. He did wave away the croissants, but temptation won out and he accepted them slowly.
Just as he was about to offer to help Porthos clean, in an effort to not leave his presence a little longer, noise emerged from the little image on his phone. Tristan shuffling around in the background grabbed his attention, and he flashed Porthos a grin and started for the door. “Duty calls. Don’t stay up too late, my friend, even if it’s for cleaning.”