A/N: Hello, everyone! It has been a good long while since I've been able to publish something here. This little fic was inspired by a line from the original book, and a general sense of boredom the other night. It doesn't have any kind of serious plot, but I hope someone gets a good laugh out of it, or at least a smile. For anyone waiting on the sequel for 'Til All These Things Be Done, fear not! It is in the works and being looked over by my wonderful Beta. I didn't give up on the idea, I'm just figuring out how to make it work!
Reviews are welcome, as always. This one is not Beta-ed (mea culpa). Standard disclaimer applies. If I owned this show, there'd be a lot more elements from the book series sneaking in as cameos. Anyways. Hope everyone enjoys!
Namaste.
D'Artagnan hastily glanced around the cabinet in search of some tapestry behind which he might hide himself,
and failing in this, felt an almost uncontrollable desire to get under the table.
-The Three Musketeers, by Alexandre Dumas
In retrospect, d'Artagnan really should have known something was wrong the moment he walked out of his quarters in the garrison to see his three friends sitting together at the table. There was nothing wrong with that in itself; they didn't have the title of "The Inseparables" for nothing, after all.
No, it was in the way that they leaned towards each other, conversing in low voices and looking around suspiciously. The Gascon walked towards them and slid easily onto the bench next to Porthos.
They stopped talking immediately.
"What's going on?" d'Artagnan asked warily, not sure if he should stay and listen or run away as fast as his legs would carry him.
"Nothing," Aramis answered too quickly, immediately confirming his guilt.
"We can't just leave the pup out of this," Porthos said with a rueful grin. "He could help us."
"It should be his choice," Athos said serenely, his noble countenance showing no change in emotion, save for good humor twinkling in his gray eyes.
"D'Artagnan, we are preparing to undertake a mission of the greatest magnitude," Aramis said in a hushed voice, pulling the Gascon closer. "It requires delicacy and the utmost discretion."
"Will it be dangerous?" the young musketeer asked with widening eyes.
"Oh, yes, I should think so," Athos said easily, rubbing at a spot on the table. "It could prove to be incredibly dangerous. However, we believe that the potential reward outweighs the potential risk."
"The reward bein' revenge, in this case," Porthos supplied.
"When do we leave?" d'Artagnan asked resignedly, standing up and making sure his pistol was secured safely by his belt.
Aramis shushed him violently and Porthos pulled him back down onto the bench, covering his mouth with a large hand.
"Easy lad, you don't want the whole garrison finding out, do you?" Aramis asked, voice equal parts irritation and amusement.
"We won't have to go anywhere to complete this particular task," Athos intoned. "It'll take place right here."
D'Artagnan's eyes got wide and he went perfectly still. The others watched the change in his body language with some unease.
"No," the Gascon finally said, keeping his hands flat on the table, ready to flee at a moments' notice.
"D'Artagnan," Aramis began in a pleading tone.
"No!" the lad said more firmly. "I'm not getting caught up in another one of your schemes. I'm already on stable duties for the next month and a half because of the last time you lot came up with a 'great plan'."
Porthos frowned. "Putting a live beetle inside a hollowed-out apple; that was a great idea."
"Not to the clergy it wasn't!" D'Artagnan shouted. The musketeers hastily looked around in a near panic. Luckily, the courtyard was quiet, almost completely deserted.
"Do you know that they said when it started moving? They thought the apple was possessed, Porthos! They were running everywhere, breaking things, and reciting exorcisms for hours! The property damage alone was enough for a lifetime of pranks! And to make matters worse, Treville saw me sneak into the church! I don't know why I let you talk me into setting down the apple." He shook his head, looking disgusted with his own foolishness.
"D'Artagnan, that was a wonderful plan," Aramis said comfortingly. "The execution very nearly succeeded. The only reason it didn't was because you were born with remarkably bad luck, my friend."
"Treville took me to his office and bellowed at me for half an hour about the virtues of the Church and what it meant to harass men of the cloth, as a child would be chastised," d'Artagnan said, glaring at all of them.
"At the end of his tirade, he made me repair all the damages, and I've got stable duties!" he glowered, clearly in a bad humor.
Athos had the good grace to look somewhat ashamed, and lowered his eyes. Porthos however, raised an eyebrow at Aramis, who shrugged.
"He never mentioned our involvement to Treville," Athos said gravely to the others. "D'Artagnan took the blame squarely. We owe him the right to choose whether he wishes to get entangled in another plan or not, especially as we have compromised him."
"You're right," Porthos said with a small sigh that immediately morphed into a devious grin.
"So what do you say, whelp?" he asked. Aramis was watching him closely with a look that was downright cunning.
D'Artagnan got up and left the table, striding away quickly before he changed his mind. He had no business getting involved in something that would almost certainly result in his thorough and professionally given ass-reaming.
The other musketeers watched him go, not entirely unsurprised at his reaction.
"'Spose we deserved that," Porthos said reflectively.
"Yes, we did," Aramis admitted. "We'll just have to orchestrate this one ourselves."
"Alright, here's the plan," Athos said, leaning towards the center of the table. He spoke quietly, and the other musketeers nodded briefly in understanding.
"Good luck men, and god speed," Aramis said to his friends, taking a moment to touch the cross hanging around his neck.
They echoed the sentiment, then left the table, excitement warming their blood.
D'Artagnan was in the stables, feeling his muscles ache with the heavy work. A part of him was still resentful because the blame had landed squarely on his shoulders, although he had resigned himself to the torturous next month and a half.
A passing musketeer stuck his head through the barn door. "D'Artagnan, the Captain wants to see you in his office," he said.
"Now?" the Gascon asked, frozen in his actions.
"I wouldn't keep him waiting, if I were I you," the musketeer said before walking away.
D'Artagnan hastily brushed stray pieces of hay off his clothing and out of his hair before hurrying towards the wooden steps. His heart thumped uneasily, and he forced himself to calm down. What now?
Aramis was pacing nervously, chewing on a thumbnail. He stopped his frenetic movements when he saw Porthos approach.
"Do you have it?" he asked anxiously.
The large man grinned widely and held up the small sack of flour. "Should be more than enough, wouldn't you say?" he asked.
"Now all we have to do is make sure Athos was able to get the dog," Aramis said, resuming his pacing.
"He'll be here," Porthos said reassuringly, although he couldn't restrain himself from fidgeting.
A figure entered the garrison's main gate, leading a medium-sized dog which walked beside him looking content enough.
"Athos," Porthos exclaimed, hurrying towards his friend.
"Are we ready?" the oldest musketeer asked them breathlessly.
Porthos held up the flour.
"Good," Aramis nodded, breaking into an excited smile.
Athos had dropped to one knee and was petting the dog, which licked his hand happily and wagged his tail. The animal looked up at Aramis with trusting eyes. The musketeer patted his head likewise, and smiled.
"Alright, Porthos," Athos said, keeping hold of the dog.
The large soldier stepped forward and upended the bag over the dog. The animal froze in surprise, then sneezed as the powder settled on him in a white cloud. He wagged his tail, still docile as ever, and looked up as the musketeers looked over him critically.
"Yes, I think this will do the job perfectly," Athos said after a moment's pause.
"But do you think it'll be enough?" Porthos said, looking at the all-white specter before them.
"I don't see what could go wrong," Aramis said bracingly, clapping a hand to his friend's shoulder. "This will teach Serge to serve us only porridge for the last two weeks."
"Try to understand his predicament," Athos said fairly, tugging lightly on the piece of the rope to get the dog moving again. "He didn't know who balanced all the cookware in the kitchen to fall when he opened the door. Since he can't place blame, he had to punish the entire garrison."
"But it wasn't us!" Porthos protested, folding the now-empty sack into his pocket.
"Yes, but he didn't know that," Athos replied patiently.
"Besides, with what we're about to do, we definitely deserve worse than porridge for a little while," Aramis said, looking at his friend seriously.
"Fair point," Porthos answered, shrugging. "Alright, lads. Time for the final part of the plan."
They were now standing at a respectable distance from the kitchen, peering from behind the wall of an adjacent building. Aramis reached into his doublet and pulled out a spicy sausage that he had taken from breakfast. The dog immediately pulled at the rope, and tried with all his might to get the tasty food.
Breathing out to steady his nerves, Aramis cocked back his arm and threw it as hard as he could. It went sailing neatly through the kitchen's open window despite the distance. Athos slipped the rope off the dog's neck and watched as the animal tore after the sausage, barking loudly.
"Well done, Aramis!" Porthos said as they not-quite-ran from their vantage point.
Aramis smiled and tipped his hat in the cocky, defining gesture they had all come to recognize and love.
A tremendous racket could be heard inside the kitchen, and Athos felt the corners of his mouth curl up.
Suddenly, the animal burst through the doors of the building, holding the meat triumphantly in his jaws. He ran through the courtyard, startling the musketeers training. The dog ran unabatedly through the sparse crowd, then saw the stairs leading to Treville's office.
"No," Athos heard Aramis almost moan, unable to tear his eyes from the tragedy unfolding before them. The perpetrators watched in horror as the animal pelted up the wooden stairs.
Steeling himself for the worst, the Gascon turned the doorknob. He stepped inside the office reluctantly, leaving the door slightly ajar.
Treville looked up from his desk, and had to stop himself from smiling. The young musketeer was barely inside the room, and looked half-terrified under all the dust kicked up in the stables.
"D'Artagnan, I called you here to discuss your current situation," he began. "I know that you've been performing your stable duties as I've assigned, and I'd like you to know that I'm proud of your willingness to admit error. Arrogance is a detestable vice, and leads to death on the battlefield."
"I appreciate your honesty in the…unfortunate matter involving the church a few streets over. Forthrightness proves a man's integrity."
The words were spoken in a mild tone, although Treville's piercing blue eyes made d'Artagnan shift uneasily from one foot to the other.
"Loyalty is also an admirable quality," the Captain continued. "If you've anything to remark about your recent escapade, I would be willing to listen."
D'Artagnan finally found the courage to meet his eyes, hesitated, and dropped his gaze again.
"No, sir," he said quietly. "There's nothing I need to say concerning the incident at Saint-Germain-des-Prés."
An uncomfortable silence pervaded the room. D'Artagnan sighed inwardly, thinking that he'd rather face half a dozen Red Guards than his Captain.
"I see," Treville said icily. "Very well. Carry on, then. I expect the stalls to be very tidy indeed."
D'Artagnan bobbed his head, somewhere between a bow and a nod, and prepared to make a hasty retreat.
At that moment, the door to the office burst fully open. A large, fast animal ran into the tidy room, pure white and making enough noise to alert the entire garrison. For several confused seconds, he watched as the wild thing ran amok in Treville's room. It ran into the desk, overturning it with a loud bang and scattering papers everywhere. It wasn't until the Captain caught it with a frightful quickness that d'Artagnan realized it was a dog.
Treville knelt quietly by the now subdued animal, who chewed the sausage still in his mouth and wagged his tail.
D'Artagnan looked around the room with undisguised dismay. The room was completely ransacked. Not a single object had been left untouched during the dog's short but completely effective rampage.
Treville stood up, and looked at the destruction. D'Artagnan froze, waiting for the fallout. The Captain called three times, going from a commanding tone of voice to an accent completely furious.
"Athos! Porthos! Aramis!"
All three soldiers winced at their bellowed names, but resignedly took slow, dragging steps to the office. They squeezed through the door and stood at attention next to d'Artagnan, who only shot a panicked look at Athos before resuming his stiff posture.
"What in the name of hell do you think you were doing?" Treville yelled. Several musketeers outside heard the tremendous noise, and stopped to listen.
"Is being a musketeer just a trick to you lot? Does it mean so little to you? Day after day, this garrison's function is besieged by your puerile disruptions! You have singlehandedly interrupted the smooth operations of a military unit of the King of France!"
The Captain's face was red with fury, although he hadn't lost control of himself.
"This mischief should not be tolerated in any unit such as ours, much less the King's Musketeers. The fact that I even have to point out the inappropriate nature of your actions means you are unwilling to realize what it means to be honorable men, and honorable soldiers!"
The musketeers blushed to the very tips of their ears and couldn't restrain signs of their anger and affront at being insulted in such a way. D'Artagnan wished he were a hundred miles under the surface of the earth, and longed for an escape from the abuse his friends were enduring.
"I will not have my garrison treated as a place where men can act as boys, pulling pranks and wreaking havoc everywhere they go. Perhaps I shall go the King and hand in my resignation as Captain, and exchange it for a Lieutenancy in the Guard! At least then I would get some peace!" He shouted, turning around to kick the already overturned chair.
He spun back around, and seemed to get control of himself. Porthos' jaw stuck out mutinously and his eyes smoldered with anger, although Treville could see that he understood what was being said. Aramis had a similar look, although he could very well have been restraining himself from throwing something at the Captain's head. Athos stared at the floor in obvious shame and discomfort.
"Very well," he said quietly. You will repair the damages done to my office, and clean up the flour. You will get the mongrel back to his rightful owner."
At this, the dog's ear perked up slightly, although he stayed where he was lying on the floor.
"You will then clean up the kitchen and scrub it in its entirety. After you have done this, you will go to the stables and take over d'Artagnan's duties for him, and for two months afterwards. I'd get busy, if I were you," he said, then stomped out of the room, slamming the door behind him.
The musketeers listening at the door quickly dispersed, and gave the seething man a wide berth.
Athos, Porthos and Aramis stayed standing in the room. Aramis breathed out, releasing some of the tension left in his limbs and mind.
"D'Artagnan, you can come out now," the eldest musketeer said, looking towards the small table in the corner of the room.
The Gascon sheepishly crept out from underneath the desk and stood before his friends, trying not to show the mixed amusement and dismay he felt.
"It could have been worse," he said, trying to cheer them up. Porthos shot him a look clearly asking how, while Aramis just threw a murderous glance in his direction.
"If you would have helped us, perhaps we would have succeeded!" Aramis snapped, still angry.
"And be in the same position as you?" the Gascon teased unrepentantly. "Not on your life! Besides, it seems that my stable duties have been discontinued for the foreseeable future."
"We took a gamble, and we lost," Athos said equally, holding out a restraining arm towards the handsome medic. "It happens. A gentleman accepts his lot and his consequences without complaint."
The others looked sullen, but began clearing up the room quietly. After a few minutes, Porthos said, "I've noticed that the stable hand has been getting a little careless with our equipment lately. The same with our horses; mine would have gone lame if I hadn't seen the rock he picked up in his shoe. When I asked him about it, he replied with a very snide remark."
Silence reigned over the room, then Aramis replied, "You know, maybe we ought to do something about that. After all, it's not so much revenge as recompense for a past wrong."
"No," Athos told them sternly, moving back towards his little work pile.
They straightened up the room in earnest, then d'Artagnan broke the silence. "I think I have an idea."
They all crowded around their friend and leaned in close as he began talking.
"Here's the plan."