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Heavy pounding on the door wakes him. With bleary eyes, he fumbles his hand across the nightstand until he finds his phone.
The screen light up and tells him it’s six in the morning. He’s only been sleeping for four hours. Fuck. It also tells him he has over twenty missed calls and seven messages.
The pounding continues, and Athos puts down his phone, he can check all that stuff later, and rolls out of his bed. Apparently, he hasn’t slept all of the alcohol out of his body since he has to reach out and steady himself against the wall, feeling the floor sway beneath him.
The Pounder is yelling now, calling out his name, and it makes his head throb a little.
“Right, right, coming…” he groans, finds the nearest set of trousers he can, and pulls them on. Then he ventures out of his bedroom and across the living room. Lights from the street are flickering all over the place, and he stubbornly keeps his eyes away from the window. The pounding sounds so much louder out here. He cringes and gives a longing look towards the kitchen, not knowing if it's coffee or more scotch he longs for.
When he finally reaches the front door, it’s nearly shaking on its hinges. Athos has to stop for a second to fight off the nausea the pain in his head is causing before he finally manages to call out to his early visitor.
“Easy, I’m coming.” He unlocks the door, and the pounding stops just long enough for him to turn the handle. Then the door is shoved open, and he stumbles backward, giving off a startled yell. He would have fallen if it hadn’t been for a pair of arms reaching and grabbing him and pulling him back up.
He barely registers a pair of concerned, dark eyes and a relieved sigh before he is pressed nose-first into the shoulder of a very familiar leather jacket, breathing in the pure, unmistakable scent of Porthos.
He relaxes instantly; he can’t help it. The chest he’s pressed against is moving rapidly like Porthos has run all the way over.
Porthos is pressing him close, also breathing him in, and even though Athos is more relaxed than he has been in days, he still wants to know why Porthos is trying to break down his door at six in the morning.
He claps Porthos on the shoulder, and his friend tightens his grip slightly before releasing him. Stepping back, Athos looked up at his friend, a tired smile on his lips that fades when he sees Porthos expression.
Aramis has named it talk-or-get-throttled-where-you-stand-look.
Athos frowns slightly, “What?”
Porthos’ nostrils flare slightly, and he puffs himself up, and Athos get a feeling he’s in big trouble.
Porthos grabs his arm and actually growls at him, “You answer your phone when I call you. Understood?”
Vaguely remembering the twenty-plus missed calls on his phone, Athos shakes his head slightly, “Porthos, I was asleep, and you saw how much I drank last night-“
Porthos’ grip tightens, “I mean it,” he sneers, eyes wide. “You answer, you hear me.”
“Okay, what’s going on, Porthos? You’re acting crazy.”
Porthos stares at him with open mouth.
“What?” Athos demands, now getting to the end of his patience.
“You don’t know?” Porthos asks and lets his arms drop. “You really don’t know…”
“Know what?” Seriously?
“Athos, your whole street is blocked off by the police. There was a shooting, two people are dead and a few more wounded.” Porthos looks more serious than Athos has ever seen him before.
It takes a few moments before the words settle in his hurting head. He hears what Porthos says, but why he’s so angry with him, he doesn’t understand. Until he remembers what happened a few weeks ago after they went out drinking. Somehow he had managed to take off without telling the others and stumbled home alone in the middle of the night. He didn’t remember much from that until he woke up the next morning on the curb before his building, missing his wallet and his phone.
He had been in serious trouble when Porthos and Aramis had found out. Since then, they have always made sure he got home safe… except for last night. He had left them shortly after one, or something, feeling particularly moody and didn’t want to spoil Constance’s birthday party.
And there had been a shooting. People had gotten hurt and on his street?
He finally looks at the window and somehow only now notices how the lights flickering into his living room are red and blue. Crap.
He looks back at Porthos, who seems to have deflated a little, and really takes a good look at him. He’s still wearing the clothes he wore last night, and there’s a trace of lipstick on his cheek after Constance had welcomed them to the party with a kiss.
Had Porthos been home at all?
Feeling guilt gathering inside, Athos sighs and runs a hand through his hair.
“Sorry, Porthos, I guess… I must have slept through it. I’m sorry.”
Porthos stares at him. “You… slept through it?”
Athos nods apologetically.
“A shooting takes place right outside your apartment, and you sleep through it?”
For a second, Porthos looks at him like he wants to punch him, but then he bursts out laughing. It takes Athos by surprise, and he just watched as Porthos nearly bends over from laughing.
Wondering if one can choke from laughter, Athos slowly gets worried until Porthos straightens up and wipes his eyes.
“Only you, Athos,” he laughs. “Only you.”
Figuring he’s out of the woods, for the time being, Athos smiles and nudges his head towards the kitchen. “Coffee?”
“Please,” Porthos says, still grinning, and leads the way. Athos follows and watches as Porthos makes his way around his kitchen.
“By the way,” Athos asks as Porthos sticks his head into a cupboard. “If the street is blocked, how did you get in here?”
Porthos pulls his head out long enough to innocently look at Athos before he disappears again. Shaking his head, Athos leans against the counter, enjoying having his friends there.