Work Text:
“I don’t find you in here often,” Aramis whispered as he sat next to Porthos. The church was empty, apart from the two of them sitting in the back pew. It was small, and had little to boast in the way of elaborate windows or gold-laden ornaments, but it was the quietest one near enough to the garrison to be a getaway for Aramis when everything got a bit too much. Porthos had his own hiding places- and a church was quite the opposite of those establishments.
“It’s good,” Porthos replied gruffly. When he spoke in few words, Aramis knew to look beyond and between them, but also to listen to every single one. Porthos meant good in the way that you describe someone’s soul to be good, rather than a hearty meal. It’s not unblemished or unbroken by others, but in its nature, it is good.
The life of a musketeer was too much for many people, but most of the time, Porthos had seen worse. As a child, at that. But today had been a trial for all of them- watching someone slaughter so many so mercilessly, with no rhyme or reason, and not being able to fight or protect- that could kill a good man, by shame or guilt or sorrow. Porthos was, above all else, a good man, even if he refused to see it or believe it himself.
Platitudes would not help. “It’s not your fault” would be met with a scowl; “we did as much as we could” may be met with a punch to the side- if they weren’t in a church. Porthos avoided breaking rules if he could- and if he believed they were put there for a sound reason- as determined by him, of course.
So instead Aramis placed a gentle hand on Porthos’ shoulder and squeezed. The huge man seemed to crumble under his touch as the air left his lungs in a breath that he hadn’t realised in been holding in. Aramis gulped, and went to move his hand, but it was then trapped under Porthos’ own. He couldn’t see Porthos’ expression, his head was down and his face turned away from Aramis. Aramis wanted to reach over and turn Porthos’ face towards his, to promise to him that this was not the end of his strength, he could get through this internal battle as he had done before- but it seemed too intimate a gesture for such a moment.
Before he could do anything, Porthos had dropped his hand and stood, walking back out of the door and out of Aramis’ sight. He contemplated letting him go- sometimes you need to be alone. He bit his lip and looked down at the hand Porthos had held, and then up at the Madonna. Sometimes, you need to stare at a piece of art for hours before it has any power to move you, and sometimes it’s less than a second.
Aramis practically flew past a surprised mother and her child, and out of the church. The rain was coming down heavier now, and his boots were stained a new brown by the mud of the streets of Paris, but he kept running, ignoring everyone and everything he passed.
Had he taken a moment, he might have seen Paris for the beauty that it was.
But then, perhaps he wouldn’t have spotted Porthos, under la Pont-Neuf, sheltering from the rain.
For a musketeer, Porthos was very off-guard. He didn’t notice Aramis until he was five feet away, and, for once, there were not a lot of people around. He was panting, and Porthos was looking at him like he was insane. He must have looked it, he could feel his hair plastered to his face and neck, and his shirt and jacket clinging to his body like a second skin.
“I need you to know that I love you.”
“What?”
Aramis faltered- it was rare that he had to repeat himself to Porthos, and he doubted himself for a moment.
“I need you to know that you are a good man, a brave man, and nothing can take that from you. I need you to know that it is never your fault that we could not save everyone, and that all we can do is let this be a lesson to us in faith- not faith in God but faith in ourselves. I need you to know that I have more faith in you than anyone.”
Porthos blinked. “That is not what you said.”
Aramis bit his lip, as if he were literally trying to chew on his words.
“I do love you. You are my best friend- in many ways you are the other half of me.”
Porthos smiled sadly, and his voice was low. “You love me in a way I could never love you.”
Aramis was sure he’d never been so insulted in his life, and he was sure his face showed it.
“I could not only love you as my best friend. I can only love you in the way that the earth needs the rain and the fire needs air just so they can be. I can only love you as D’Artangnan loves Constance.” Aramis inhaled sharply as Porthos stepped closer to him. “Perhaps I should have said that I love you in a way you could never love me. Because you are my everything.”
Aramis would think back on this moment one million times, and he would promise you that time seemed to stop. And he kissed Porthos. He leaned up and placed his hands on either side of Porthos’ face, and kissed him.
Porthos had frozen, and Aramis began to pull away, but before he could there were strong hands around his waist and he was turned so his back was against the wall, and Porthos was responding to his kiss.
It was over too soon, but Porthos held him as Aramis made a promise
“I shall love you as you love me.”