A/N: On my way home from chess club (regrettably, I don't actually play; just went a few times to give it a shot) this idea popped into my head. It's by far one of the nerdiest things I've ever written (I'm so proud of it, lol) but what the hell.

It's set pretty early after they went from a three to a four (I'm thinking a few months after d'Artagnan joined the team). Hope you enjoy!

I sought my soul, but my soul I could not see.

I sought my God, but my God eluded me.

I sought my brother and I found all three

- Unknown

~Of Lessons Taught~

"What is your goal?"

"To win."

"Obviously. How will you achieve that?"

"By locking you in."

"Indeed. How?"

"…"

"It is the same principle which we discussed yesterday."

"…"

"Any thoughts?"

"I'm thinking about punching you…?"

Athos looks up from the board, eyebrow raised.

"I hardly think that would be an effective move," he drawls, though the glint in his eyes is encouraging the young man in front of him to try.

D'Artagnan groans, eyes trained on the pieces scattered over the wooden board, black in such clear dominance it's not even funny. Only sad.

And pathetic.

On his part.

"Remind me again why we're doing this?" he asks, fingers massaging his temple in a vain attempt to quell the headache building within.

"Practice," Athos says, as infuriatingly calm as ever.

D'Artagnan snorts, can't really help it. He knows he should pay more attention, knows that he should be grateful that Athos is taking the time to teach him something – whatever that "something" may be– but they've been at it for hours, and he's still making such glaring mistakes that, when his mentor points them out, he just wants to scorch his eyeballs out with a still burning-hot poker.

"Right. Practice," he parrots grumpily.

"You need to enhance your strategic thinking," Athos explains, for what feels like the umpteenth time. "And I daresay that you will be grateful for it, should you ever find yourself in a compromising situation."

"That rather depends on the situation, doesn't it?" Aramis says with a mischievous wink as he saunters over to their table, munching on an apple.

D'Artagnan feels his face reddening at the insinuation – though he really should've stopped being surprised by it, by now – as their team sniper gazes down at the board, expression pensive.

Aramis throws one quick look at Athos, something soft and teasingly reproachful crossing his features, before he turns to d'Artagnan with a look that d'Artagnan would have interpreted as genuine sympathy if he hadn't known the man so well.

"It seems you've found yourself in quite the predicament, my friend."

"Jeez, really? I hadn't noticed," d'Artagnan grumbles, eyes back to studying the position of his pieces. He's not well-versed in chess, has never really been interested in tactics and strategizing – much prefers a head-on kind of approach – but it takes no mastermind to read that he will have lost – again – within the next few rounds if something drastic doesn't happen soon.

Aramis hums. Takes another bite of his apple.

"There is, of course, one easy way to solve this."

D'Artagnan snorts.

"And how would you kno–"

Before he can even perceive what is happening, Aramis has reached forward and moved his Queen to attack Athos' King, placing him in check. It's a bold move, one that d'Artagnan actually had seen; it forces Athos to abort his own attack on d'Artagnan's King, granting him some, albeit temporary, leeway. It's a good move, it would have been a great move, if it hadn't also pushed d'Artagnan's Queen right into the waiting, unforgiving arms of Athos' black Bishop.

"Are you insane?" he blurts, dumbstruck and more than a little irritated. "You just sacrificed my Queen!"

Aramis' smile is soft, his eyes on Athos when he answers.

"Sometimes you have to sacrifice your most valuable piece in order to win."

D'Artagnan frowns, only just manages to hold back the scathing reply dripping at the tip of his tongue, and looks back down at the board. If Athos' Bishop takes his Queen, which it has to, it's the only viable option, then… He's forcing Athos' hand, he wants Athos' Bishop on E6. But why…?

D'Artagnan's eyes almost fall out of their sockets when he finally sees it, and he can't help but groan.

"The Rook," he moans. "Rook takes Bishop on E6, and is then in direct line to the King, while my Bishop and Knight cover all other escape routes. It's check mate."

"Exactly," Athos says calmly, his gaze locked onto Aramis', an unreadable expression on his face.

D'Artagnan rubs his face in frustration, feels like a complete idiot for missing something so obvious.

"How come I didn't see that…" he mutters, and can't quite hold the self-reproach out of his voice.

"Because you didn't want to. You never wish to give up the piece you care about the most, so the thought didn't even occur to you that you had that possibility… That it was your only option."

D'Artagnan stares at the marksman in disbelief.

"You play chess?"

Aramis shrugs and takes another infuriating bite of his apple.

"I know how to play, but I don't often engage in the actual playing. It's far too time-consuming."

D'Artagnan can't much argue the point.

"But still… You?"

Aramis raises an eyebrow at his incredulous tone.

"And why is that so hard to believe?"

D'Artagnan gives him a flat look that, judging by the slightly impressed quirk of the sniper's lips, could almost rival Athos'.

"Because you're you?"

Porthos huffs a laugh where he sits in the sofa, some game or other flickering on the screen of their base's outdated TV.

"Whelp's got a point, 'Mis."

Aramis places his free hand over his heart with a dramatic sigh.

"Alas, you wound me, my friends."

"My tutelage wasn't a complete waste of time, then," Athos says, and the softness of his voice takes d'Artagnan by surprise.

Narrowing his eyes, he looks between his two brothers, who are once again engaging in one of their silent conversations. He's gotten better at reading them, but they still occasionally elude him.

Now, is one of those instances.

"What am I missing here?" he asks, game momentarily forgotten as he leans back in his chair, arms crossed over his chest.

Athos looks at him, a wry smile on his lips.

"Let's just say that the circumstances in which I taught Aramis chess were less… tranquil than these."

"I might have been a little less than my usual, pristine self," Aramis concedes gallantly.

There's a snort and Porthos cranes his neck to give their sniper an unimpressed look.

"That what you call several cracked ribs, a broken clavicle, and almost gettin' pneumonia from a pierced lung?"

"Don't forget the broken leg," Athos reminds dryly, giving the sharpshooter a meaningful look.

Aramis shrugs, though his smile is somewhat sheepish.

"Yes well, like I said. It was a tough day."

"It was a tough few weeks," Athos corrects, but there's no edge to it, and again there's that secretive, almost intimate look of understanding passing between the two.

"What happened?" d'Artagnan asks, gaze wandering cautiously between the three of them. Whatever it was is a sensitive subject, that much is obvious, but he simply can't control his curiosity any longer.

Athos shoots Aramis a look and, receiving a nod, he turns to d'Artagnan.

"It was a mission gone wrong," he begins. "A group of musketeers was sent on an PSD in Qatar, to escort a local politician and the classified information that he was carrying. However, the resistance somehow learned of their route and ambushed them on their return from the embassy. Three musketeers lost their lives, as did our HVU, and two were critically injured."

D'Artagnan winces, but remains silent as his mentor takes a moment to gather his thoughts.

"I was not part of the team myself," Athos continues eventually. "And afterward, I had the pleasure of tending to our sharpshooter who, as I am sure you remember, is far from the model patient."

Aramis chuckles, but it's somewhat subdued.

"Despite the grievance I caused you, my friend, I am grateful for your persistence at the time."

There's a lot more weight to the statement than the casual tone would suggest, but no one remarks upon it.

D'Artagnan's eyes flit over to Porthos.

"What about you?" he asks, confused and for some reason a little uneasy that the big man has yet to contribute to the retelling. "Where were you?"

"Spendin' two weeks on the run from the local militia, tryna contact these two. 'Twas touch-and-go there for a while, but everythin' turned out alright in the end. No serious harm done."

Although Porthos is talking to him, it's clear that the words are not meant for his ears alone.

D'Artagnan blinks at him.

"Aramis got out and you didn't?"

Porthos gives a rueful smile, not even pretending to direct his next words at d'Artagnan.

"We had to make some tough calls," he says, voice soft. "It wasn't easy… but sometimes, there's just no other way."

D'Artagnan's eyes travel between the three of them, shock and skepticism preventing him from voicing his thoughts out loud, because surely Porthos doesn't mean… They had a mission that relied on those documents not finding their way to the rebellion, it was more than just their lives at stake, but… They always, always, stick together, no matter what. And Aramis loathes even the idea of– he would rather die than to… He wouldn't– not with Porthos…

D'Artagnan opens his mouth, and after one look to his left closes it just as quickly. The answer to his question is painfully easy to read in Aramis' eyes, and although he might not possess the near telepathic understanding the other three seem to have of each other, he is no stranger to guilt.

Aramis would tell him if he asked, d'Artagnan knows.

Did you leave Porthos behind?

He doesn't ask.

Instead, he looks back at the board, feeling like he's seeing it for the first time.

Maybe there are some lessons to be learned here, after all.

The silence stretches on.

He can feel the others' eyes on him.

He clears his throat.

"So…," he begins, voice low. Contemplative. "Show me that move again?"

From the corner of his eye, he can see his teammates relax, the suffocating atmosphere of bad memories immediately lifting.

He ducks his head to hide his smirk and starts repositioning his pieces.

Sometimes, they really aren't that hard to read.

A/N: :)

Military terminology

PSD - Protective Services Detail (or variants thereof, i.e. "security detail")

HVU - High Value Unit (person or object a team is tasked to retrieve of protect)