Something Special (BBC The Musketeers)

Something Special

There is a rhythmic tapping on wood along with short, repeated crunching sounds from the contact of boot to ground as Porthos waits at their usual long table in the Garrison for Serge to bring him two bowls of stew. All the other musketeers have already eaten dinner hours ago and the evening meal is usually Serge's last shift, yet here he is, back in the kitchen, having to work overtime.

A mission gone awry is what brought about the four Musketeer's late arrival home. They weren't expecting anyone to greet them at such a late hour, but Serge - who seemed to be waiting for their return - welcomed them and insisted on serving the exhausted men a nice hot meal after their long journey, despite their attempts to convince him he needs not to do so.

His brothers, Athos and D'Artagnan, have already departed for their rooms with their bowls while Porthos waits for the cook to retrieve the last two for Aramis and himself. The missing musketeer, Aramis, is waiting back in his quarters as a sprained ankle is a convincing enough reason for the large musketeer to force him to stay put.

A pang of guilt flows through Porthos for inconveniencing the kind cook so late at night. The man has to feed at least a dozen men each day, usually not getting much of a break at all due to bustling musketeers arriving and departing famished at various times throughout the day. Despite this, he always serves the meals with a large smile and Porthos admires his pursuing strength.

Serge arrives around the corner with the last two bowls and passes them over to Porthos with a brightening smile.

"Thank you so much, Serge. Sorry for disturbin' you at this hour," he returns the smile and gives a small bow.

"No worries. Always here to serve you four, no matter how late," he says, clapping a hand onto Porthos' shoulder before waving good night and retiring back to his own room.

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"You know, I almost starved to death," Aramis quips as soon as Porthos enters. "You were this close to seeing a dead body on the floor," he exaggerates by gesturing his index finger and thumb nearly touching.

The large musketeer rolls his eyes, exasperated at the marksman's exaggerated remarks. "Ath and D'Art took the first two bowls so I had to wait. Blame 'em."

Aramis gives a small growl and pouts, prompting Porthos to laugh at the puppy-like behaviour. He receives another growl for laughing as he passes the food over to his hungry brother who has his arms outstretched in eagerness, but with a masked expression of annoyance.

Settling down in a chair by his bedside, he tilts his head towards the medic's bandaged ankle.

"How's the pain?"

Aramis shrugs his shoulders as he slurps away at the stew like he hasn't eaten in days. "I'ss alruugh," he responds, his speech garbled together.

The marksman pauses his devouring and curses quietly before resting back against the pillow in front of the headboard.

"If only that darn bandit didn't pull at my doublet during the fight and make my foot land awkwardly while pivoting..." he argues, waving a spoon towards him with a vexed yet angry expression.

"Oi, you shou'd be glad you ain't dead," Porthos protests with a spoonful of stew in hand. "He could 'ave easily killed ya due to that fall."

"Glad? My doublet is ripped here now!" Aramis prompts immediately, nearly spilling the bowl on his lap from his abrupt move of showing him the location of the tear on his shoulder. He directs his gaze to his torn doublet lying on the table, staring at it miserably from the lost cause of its wearability. He sighs, shifting his focus back to eating while turning his attention to Porthos again. He scans the condition of his doublet.