Summary: "What did you mean? When you said you'd do what you've always done?" asked d'Artagnan. Missing scenes from s02e08, "The Prodigal Father".

Author's Notes: Well. "The Prodigal Father" was not everything I was hoping for. If it was supposed to be a "Porthos episode", there was a great deal of not-Porthos happening. I think they spent more time on CinderConstance running down the stairs. Bitter rant over, but I'm afraid this is not a very happy fic.

I own very little and absolutely nothing related to The Musketeers.

Athos stared at it.

Such a simple thing that wasn't.

Dark leather, scarred and worn.

Too big for just anyone, far wider than his own.

Less intricate, but still complex.

Lying lifeless on the table.

Empty without the man who should be wearing it.

He reached out and carefully traced the fleur de lis with a fingertip.

"He wouldn't listen."

Athos turned to see Treville watching his hand on Porthos' pauldron. He looked mournful, more defeated than Athos could ever remember, which given the last few months, was not a light assessment.

"He thinks it was charity. To assuage my own guilt. I tried to tell him that no man has ever honored the uniform more. That I would never..." Treville broke off. "He couldn't hear me. Belgard has twisted it all."

"You said he needed to find out for himself," murmured Athos.

"Even if it costs us Porthos? Even if I drove him away?" Athos let his fingers curl tight around the leather.

"Have you ever been wrong about him," asked Athos.

"No." There was no hesitation in Treville's voice.

"Neither have I. He will find his way back."

"How can you be so sure?" asked Treville softly.

"Because I know Porthos."

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

"Looks like he takes after his mother." Treville followed Porthos down the hall when the big man spun suddenly.

"I wouldn't have shot you. I just needed to be sure you'd told me everythin'."

Treville ran a hand down his face wearily.

"I never wanted to deceive you. Belgard destroyed everything he touched: his name, his honor, his friendships, his family, his lands, all of it." He stepped closer to Porthos. "I meant what I said, you are a warrior. Courageous and dignified. Good and upright." Treville shook his head slightly. "I didn't want him to ruin you, too."

Porthos considered that and looked out over the courtyard. There were no longer the sounds of pistols and screams.

"That's why you put me off, after you were shot. You knew something like this was gonna happen." Treville grimaced.

"I didn't know what would happen, Porthos. I just knew that if I had to look that man in the face again, I would need all the strength I could get."

Porthos nodded and turned away.

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

"What did you mean? When you said you'd do what you've always done?" asked d'Artagnan.

Porthos was quiet for a long time before he finally looked at d'Artagnan.

"Survive."

If d'Artagnan had anticipated wise, but gruff words about honor and duty, none came. If he'd wanted a playful comment highlighting brotherhood and friendship, he was disappointed.

If d'Artagnan had expected more, he was mistaken.

Just the simple, hard answer that struck the young Musketeer as inexplicably sad.

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

"How did you know?" asked Aramis. Twilight was settling over Paris with golden light.

"Lots of things didn't feel right," said Porthos after a moment. "Eleanor might have called me a savage, but Belgard believed it, too. Thought he could make me his attack dog. Kill all his problems. And that I'd be grateful for the honor." When Porthos looked at him, his face was a war of emotions. "But when he handed me the portrait of a stranger and tried to tell me it was my mother..." He shook his head. "I knew what the Captain meant. About games and lies."

"The Captain," growled Aramis softly, "could have saved you a great deal of pain years ago."

"I get it, though. I understand."

"How? Treville should never have allowed it. Never should have agreed."

"He was bound by friendship and an oath."

"It was wrong."

"Yeah," said Porthos, "but what wouldn't I do for you? Or Athos or d'Artagnan?" His gaze went distant again, out over the streets. "Law-breaking, exile, death. Hard to imagine what I wouldn't be willin' to endure for you, if you asked."

When he turned his eyes on Aramis, they were warm and fond.

And waiting.

Aramis swallowed thickly.

He could tell Porthos everything. All of it. Like he should have months ago.

It made him a party to treason.

But Porthos wouldn't care about the danger.

He never did.

And he would not judge Aramis.

He never did.

Aramis wanted to tell him.

To let his strong friend help carry the weight of it.

But how would he be any different than Belgard?

Using the loyalty of a good man to his own ends?

"I would never want to put you in a position like that, Porthos. Not like Belgard did to Treville."

Porthos looked away then. The walls came up, his eyes hardened, his lips tightened until he frowned and he looked resigned.

Resigned to more than Treville's choices, but Aramis' as well.

"Like I said, I may not agree. Don't like it. But I understand."

I'm on tumblr, come rant with me.