NOTE: Annual Christmas offering. Complete. Twenty-six chapters and an epilogue. Plot line does not follow the same as the series. I wanted a bit of wiggle room. Huge kudos to Mountain Cat, who proofs and helps with the plot when I get bogged down. Trust me, if you saw my rough drafts you'd know she was a Saint to take on this task.

CHAPTER 1

The scowl on Athos' face deepened as he marched the struggling prisoner to the entrance of the foreboding Chatelet, a hand firmly clamped on the back of the man's collar. The musketeer would have much rather had his hand wrapped around the criminal's scrawny neck in a choke hold, but he restrained himself - barely. The detainee was despicable in every sense of the word: loathsome, hateful, detestable, abhorrent, heinous, vile, shameful, rotten and beastly. This man was so offensive that Athos had come within seconds of killing him outright and delivering a corpse as the end result of this mission. It was only his brothers' firm persistence and his own damnable sense of honor that had stopped him from outright murdering this monstrous man. Athos knew his brothers were right; it wasn't his job to punish this man for his crimes, but it didn't make it any more palatable.

Athos roughly shoved the prisoner at one of the Red Guards and was turning to leave when the criminal screamed, "This isn't over Musketeer. We will meet again and when we do, I will kill you!"

Athos swung around and marched up to within inches of the prisoner's face. "Mark my words. The only place our paths will cross again is at your hanging."

The air between Athos and the criminal became electrified and Porthos hurriedly moved to Athos' side, grabbed him by the bicep and yanked him away. They didn't need Athos doing something stupid in front of the Red Guards. Aramis and d'Artagnan shepherded the rest of their prisoners to the prison's gate, handed them over and then turned away.

"Let's go, Athos," Porthos growled in his ear. "He ain't worth it."

With a final glare at the scum, Athos stalked off to his horse, Roger, mounted and rode off, not even waiting for his brethren to join him.

"Athos is still unsettled from this mission, isn't he." d'Artagnan observed to Aramis and Porthos as they made their way over to their own horses.

"Yes, I think our usually unflappable Lieutenant is in a rather foul mood," Aramis answered as he prepared to mount. "Not that that scum-of-the-earth we just brought here isn't enough to spoil anyone's day. But delivering him to his justice doesn't seem to have sweetened our Comte's mood."

"Oi," Porthos agreed as he pulled himself in his saddle. "What that man, the prisoner, did to those people, the women, the children, it was…" Porthos couldn't even come up with a word and merely shuddered as his mind slid back to the carnage they had seen in the manor house. "And him, being nobility and all."

D'Artagnan, who had mounted, urged his horse into a walk, heading back towards the garrison with Porthos and the now mounted Aramis at his side. "It was disgusting and disturbing. It will haunt me, I suspect all of us, but it seems to have hit Athos really hard."

Brushing a stray lock of hair out of his eyes, Aramis decided he really needed to get his hair cut. "Perhaps, because Gerard Daumont, like our dear Athos, is nobility."

Grimacing, Porthos shook his head. "Dunno. Not sure that is it. Somehow, this seemed more personal than that." Of all his brothers, it was often the streetfighter that was best able decipher the enigmatic Athos.

"When we get back to the garrison, we shall simply ask him. I'm sure Athos will happily enlighten us." Aramis' breezy manner of making this announcement made his brothers smile, as they knew the chance of Athos telling them anything was very low. "Or we'll get him incredibility drunk and see if we can trick him into spilling his secrets."

"That's more like it," the streetfighter grunted as they rode under the garrison's arched entryway.

As the three musketeers entered the courtyard, they saw the black storm cloud that was Athos standing at the base of the stairs to the Captain's office. When he noticed them, he glowered in their direction, as if he had been waiting for them for hours, not less than five minutes.

The three swung down from their horses and handed them off to the stable lads before heading in Athos' direction. While they would have liked to quench their thirst before reporting to the Captain, Athos gave them no chance. The moment they drew near, he spun around and stomped up the stairs. They really didn't want to risk their Lieutenant's ire if they didn't do the same, so with a soft sigh, they trudged up the wooden flight after him.

By the time they were assembled in front of the Captain's desk, it seemed the swordsman had gotten his wayward emotions under control because the report he presented to the Captain was given in a low-pitched, non-emotional monotone. The brothers tried not to stare at their fourth as he presented his dry account of what was the most horrific event they had seen in many years. Less than two hours ago, Athos had been ready to dispatch the corrupt noble, personally, by his own hand, to the depths of hell. Now he was reciting the man's crimes as if they were a supply list. One would have almost thought Athos had not been affected by the mission, unless they knew him well, which both his brothers and the Captain did.

Captain Treville had noticed while his second had offered up his dry verbal accounting that the man's fists were clenched at his side, there were deep lines etched around his expressive green eyes, and the tone used was too flat. Athos was stoical, but this was beyond that; this was a man trying very hard to appear unaffected, even though he had been deeply shaken. Treville knew if he asked Athos about his well-being, his Lieutenant would insist that he was fine. And it would be a lie.

The Captain, not unaware of his second's habit of losing himself in drink when emotionally compromised, debated what to do to halt that destructive behavior before it appeared. As his eyes roamed over his four musketeers searching for a solution, he noted a few light gashes on their persons and an idea began to form. Athos drank to forget and sleep, but a tired mind and body would also lead to the same state.

"It seems your opponents have marked you some," Treville stated with a hint of disappointment in his voice. "I thought you said there were only six of them. Not overwhelming odds, it seems to me."

Four sets of eyes remained fixed on the wall behind him, not reacting to their commander's comment.

"Perhaps your swordsmanship skills are getting a bit rusty, gentlemen," the Captain goaded further.

The only reaction he got to that was a slight tightening of the tension in their jaw line. He was impressed. They were all learning to control their emotions as well as their de facto leader, Athos.

"For the reminder of the afternoon, you will spar amongst yourselves and with whomever is not on duty. I expect you to push yourself to your limits. I will not have it said that the King's Musketeers are sloppy swordsmen. Am I making myself clear?"

Four head bobbed quickly to indicate his message had been received.

"Dismissed."

The four turned nearly as one to head for the door, with Athos being first out and Aramis bringing up in the rear. Treville tapped Aramis' arm. "A word," he requested as the others left the room. Aramis halted and faced his commander, awaiting his question.

"Are any of you more hurt than appearances suggest?" Treville inquired of the medic-musketeer.

"No, Captain. Honestly, the scratches we received are nothing out of the ordinary. However, I think our enforced afternoon of sparring isn't about skills improvement," Aramis wisely surmised as he gazed at his Captain, waiting for confirmation he was correct.

Treville move back towards his desk, running a hand through his short-cropped hair. "It's not. You have all been marked by this assignment, but, I fear not so much physically as emotionally. And Athos, even more so."

Aramis relaxed his tense stance as the Captain hit upon the very thing he too was concerned about. "It was awful, Captain. What was done to those people. And you are indeed correct in that it has affected all of us, but especially Athos."

The marksman drew quiet, debating how much he wanted to reveal to his Captain. Treville, in many ways had served as their father figure and saved them from destroying their own lives. He had protected them from their enemies as well as their own stupidity and had beaten sense into them when the situation required. Aramis had no reason not to trust the Captain now, any more so than the past, so he decided to tell him the truth of what happened on the mission.

"If Porthos hadn't stopped him, Athos would have killed Gerard Daumont. And it would have been murder, clean and simple. Daumont had surrendered, was disarmed, and kneeling in the dirt. He was no threat at that point. Athos walked over to him, shoved his pistol against the man's forehead and was about to pull the trigger. I still don't know if Athos actually did pull the trigger because the gun went off when Porthos knocked Athos aside. But I remain unsure if it was because Porthos hit Athos' arm or if Athos had already pulled the trigger. Luckily, the bullet missed Daumont's head."

Holding up a hand to forestall the question he knew was coming, Aramis added, "I have no idea why Athos seems to be taking this so hard, almost personally. And of course, he has not shared with us."

Treville could tell by the expression on Aramis' face the marksman was as concerned as he. "I don't want Athos falling back on his default method for dealing with his emotions."

"Drinking," Aramis said flatly as the Captain nodded in agreement.

"It's going to kill him someday. So, I want Athos so worn out by the end of the day from sparring that Porthos has to carry him to bed. He can't have an ounce of energy left to drink," the Captain instructed Aramis.

"Are we allowed to accidently knock him out?" Aramis asked, half-joking, half-serious.

Treville paused a moment, almost as if he were considering the peculiar request. "I expect all four of you at muster tomorrow, able to carry out your duties," he finally answered, leaving it a little open ended in Aramis' mind.

"Understood," Aramis replied smartly. Unconsciously he had straightened his stance as he received the order from his Captain.

Treville seemed almost uncharacteristically anxious as he shifted his gaze to stare out the window. "I'm worried, Aramis. Since Athos learned his wife was the King's mistress, he has been drinking way too much again. Like in the beginning. And I don't know how to stop him short of locking him in a cell. I tried talking to him, but it didn't go well. He polite thanked me for my concern, but said everything was fine."

Aramis couldn't help letting a small guff escape his lips. "Athos' idea of 'fine,' when it comes to his health and well-being, is, how shall I say this, not quite that of a sane man."

Treville refocused on Aramis, reaching over a hand and placing it on the musketeer's shoulder. "I'd rather not have Athos doing something stupid that gets him hanged by our King."

The marksman was startled for a moment, not having thought about that aspect of his friend's behavior. "He has been shaken by the reappearance of Milady. The other day when we were on assignment, he rode off when he saw her, saying he couldn't be there." Realizing what he had just said, he raised his eyes to look sheepishly at his Captain. "Perhaps I shouldn't have mentioned that."

Treville, gave him a half-smile as he patted the marksman on the shoulder before dropping his hand. "He came back here, to watch over me, he said. Showed up with a half-empty wine bottle and two glasses. We watched the eclipse. Then she showed up. He didn't trust her, or want to work with her. But I knew it was our best chance to rescue the King and Queen, so I took it."

The Captain walked over to his desk, pushed a few papers aside and leaned on it. "I knew I was hurting him when I accepted her help and I knew he would let me do it in the name of duty. I had to put his well-being second to that of the King." He shook his head in disbelief. "Even then, she was using his emotions against him. She ordered him around. Played on him. Even got him to help her onto her horse; like an obedient dog."

"But later, she lost it all," Aramis reminded his Captain. "The King removed her from her position."

"Good for the nation, yes. And the Queen, of course. But good for Athos?" Treville halted for a beat. "I'm not so sure, for she went from untouchable, unattainable, to available. And I fear he doesn't know how to handle that."

Considering his Captain's words, Aramis slowly nodded. "I know what it is like to have something that is unattainable. I don't know what I would do if she became attainable."

"No offense, but I hope I never live to see that day," Treville declared loyally. "I understand your pain, Aramis, I do. But for France... I don't wish to go through that again."

A contemplative silence fell over the two, each lost in his own memories of the past. Finally, Treville broke the hush saying, "No good will come of any of this."

Aramis wasn't sure how to interpret the cryptic, open ended remark, so he simply replied, "We'll watch over him. He's our brother." With a nod, he turned and left the room, heading down the stairs where he found two of his three brothers sitting at their usual table.