FIC: Does He Ever Smile?
D’Artagnan sank into a chair at the tavern, dropping his cup of wine on the table before him then rubbing at his tired eyes with both hands. He slouched back just as Aramis claimed a seat across from him. After a long and tiring day, a little wine and relaxation seemed to be in order.
After glancing over his shoulder at the lone figure typically tucked in a corner with his own bottle of wine, d’Artagnan asked, “Have you ever seen him smile?”
“Who?”
“Athos. Have you ever seen him smile? Really smile?”
Sipping from his cup, Aramis savored the grape then offered a smile of his own, albeit a small one. “On occasion.”
“When? I mean, I’ve never even seen him smile at the ladies.”
“Hasn’t had much to smile about over these last five years now, has he?”
D’Artagnan shifted in his seat, thinking of all that had occurred recently with Milady de Winter. He sighed. “True.”
“Certainly we all have demons that haunt us; often long past the time they should wisely be banished. Even the quickest amongst us to smile-our own Porthos.”
“I heard my name!” exclaimed Porthos as he suddenly appeared and claimed another seat at the table. “Wha’d I do now?”
“Nothing,” responded Aramis, “Young d’Artagnan here was lamenting that he’s never seen our Athos really smile.”
“Oi, I seen Athos smile once. It weren’t pretty. ‘Course he was holdin’ a main gauche to old Blackheart Boucher’s throat at the time. So that smile was passin’ scary.”
Aramis nodded, fiddling with his hat, which sat on the table next to his cup. “Ah, yes, I remember that day. I believe ol’ Blackheart wet his breeches upon being gifted with that particular smile.”
“A smile I clearly don’t care to be the recipient of then,” mused d’Artagnan.
“Indeed. Nevertheless, as I was saying moments ago, Athos does occasionally smile. After all, Porthos occasionally tells a good joke…”
“Oi, all my jokes are good!” Porthos growled.
“So yes, he smiles. And even laughs. But it is as rare-and dare I say, equally as precious-as some of the Queen’s own gems.”
“Perhaps now that his ordeal with Milady de Winter is done, he will find his way to more happiness.”
Aramis’ gaze drifted to Athos. “Perhaps.”
“Now that we know what’s been botherin’ him these past years,” Porthos interjected, “maybe we’ll have more luck drawin’ him out.”
As if feeling the weight of three pairs of eyes upon him, Athos suddenly looked up from his cup. His gaze full of challenge and a hint of self-recrimination. Then he stood, grabbed the bottle of wine off the table, and moved to the table where his fellow soldiers were seated. He plunked the bottle down in the middle of the table. “Gentlemen, if I am not mistaken, I hear a game or two of cards calling my name.”
No smile graced his face as he said it, but there was a certain light in his eye.
FIN