armedagainstlove | (no subject)

He'd made it to the crossroads, but not in time to do anything but find a waiting glove. The carriage had long gone and with it, his wife. Athos isn't even sure if he's disappointed or broken, because he still doesn't know whether he'd been going to see her off or to join her, but he cannot imagine abandoning the Musketeers completely, but knows that he could not leave her either. With her back in his life and all her debts gone, Athos can see them as who they are.

No more lies. No more deceit. They will simply be the people they actually are and they will try. For some reason, this is something that stirs Athos' heart in a way that he hasn't felt in years. He thinks back to Las Vegas and how Faith had been intoxicating then, with her dark hair and her knowing eyes, but even then it had just been Anne that he wanted.

And now, he has her glove, but nothing else.

He makes it back to Paris and finds himself standing at the door that he knows will bring him to the Nexus.

He doesn't wait at all before going through it, though he knows that yet again, his challenge will be finding Milady, when she is constantly one step ahead of him.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

For a moment, she's so close and yet feels like she won't find that peak. But then it happens, almost as a surprise, her body jerking. Her fingers rake up his back, leaving a slight reminder that he'll feel for a few of the following days. Then all she can do is breathe, hoping to catch breath, her entire body still tingling and her heart aching with that new sensation of hope.

Athos cradles her body with his two hands, holding her like she is far more delicate than he has learned her to be. His wife is all manner of new things that Athos had never known about and he finds himself greatly eager to discover all of them, as much as they scare him. Eyes closed and somewhat pleased, he is still fighting off the edge of worry, but only the edge. "Different than I remembered," he admits.

"Is it?" She asks with a smile. "How?" If there is one thing she remembers of their time together, aside from the idyllic peace that seems still so very out of reach, is the passion. Gently, she cards the hair from his eyes.

"More real," he admits, because their marriage had seemed to exist under a haze of perfection, both at the time and especially in memory. This, however, has been flesh and blood and ache and love. It has been everything that they were denying for so long. He leans into the touch of her hand desperately. "It felt good, as if I had dreamt it and yet it was real."

She's real. He's real. As strange as this place may feel, it is real. She can feel his heartbeat and presses his hand over hers. It's a sentimental gesture and she knows that, but perhaps this is a moment for such a thing.

"Will you stay with me tonight?" she asks, voice low.

His nod is slight and almost imperceptible, but it is there; a confirmation that he will stay with her and not move, though he knows she has a reputation for dealing with problems overnight, as d'Artagnan might be best able to attest to. And yet, for all their misgivings, he will stay and he already knows he will sleep well through the night.

Right now, for the record, there are no problems to be dealt with. In fact, Anne's life here in this strange hotel is nearly perfect. Almost frighteningly so. She shifts just a little, getting more comfortable against him. There is much she could say, isn't there? Feelings to express. It's too soon perhaps. She rests her cheek against his chest, staring at the far wall.

"When will you go back to Paris?" she asks.

"I do not know," Athos admits, given that he does not know. After all, it seems easy for them to exist like this here, but Paris is another story. "If you return, will you go back and join me from England? Or will you remain there."

That is the question. She is hardly welcome in Paris: she has little or no way to make a living (and still, even now, the idea of taking charity or pity sits ill on her shoulders). "Would you want me by your side?" she asks, and the question is sincere. Would he?

Could he?

Once again, it is because of his fellow Musketeers that he does not know the answer. After all, what would they think of him if he returned to Anne so easily. "I do want you by my side," he insists quietly, "but I do not know if it is wise for us to appear together, given the climate. Especially with you having been with the King in such a manner. Things are complicated, are they not?"

They are. She's had more than her hand in making them so too and Anne would not deny it. "It seems that this place will be where we can be together, then," she says. She wants more - it seems to be innate to her being to want more - but she cannot.

She kisses him, then. Because she can and because she wants to. "Tell me when you leave and come back to me, Olivier."

"Or perhaps we could simply stay here and leave together, and plan our return," he murmurs, his words soft near her ear as he thinks of it. "Perhaps when we return, we only stay for a certain amount of time. And then we come back here, where we can be together." He wants to be together with Anne, but he is a Captain now, of the Musketeers, and they are at war.

"What will you do to avoid the war with Spain?"

"Who says I will avoid it?" she asks, but cheeky and earnest. "If we go back together," she says, also thinking aloud, "I can spy."

It is, he has to admit, something she's very good at. All he says warms her, though; he wants to be with her and she with him. If nothing else, that will has to count for something.

She would be excellent at that, Athos knows, but he dislikes the notion that she might spend such a dangerous time doing what she is so good at. "That will put you in danger," he feels compelled to point out. "Did you not wish to get away from that life?"

"Unless I am with child, can you imagine my sitting at home, mending your socks?" she asks, her tone wry, her eyes warm. As much as she wants to think there would be something else out there, she has to be realistic.

"I cannot see you at home mending my socks." He does not mention the 'with child', because he can see that, but he thinks that time is long past. He had wanted that, so many years ago, but now he does not imagine that as possible. "There are other uses, though. Ones that do not require the front lines. There is plenty of information that could be ferried far away from the battles."

Leaning up on an elbow, Anne shakes her hair from her face and smiles down at him, her face softer than it had been in a while. "If I can be of use, I would like to be," she tell shim. She can, after all, take care of herself.

"I do not want harm to come to you," he admits, the confession quiet and slipping out. "Even when we were at odds, I did not want any harm to come to you. It was why I could not bear to stay." He could not watch her die, had even held out hope that she had somehow not died. And then, when he had found out she was still alive, he had been happy in his own way.

They were - and are - too bound to ever be free. Death would bring no relief. Even in her darkest time, Anne had known that.

She touches his cheek gently, leaning in to kiss him again. "We will find a way," she tells him. To make a sort of relationship work in Paris. Somehow.