A/N: I was torn between making a start on four stories and this was the one that won out in the end. I really hope you like it, I think there'll probably only be seven or eight chapters, it's only going to run the sort of length of a normal episode. I get a bit overwhelmed doing huge multi-chapters and can't be relied upon to finish them promptly.

Also, I do refer to Aramis by his real name occasionally in this. According to canon, it is René. I'm not making it up!

Disclaimer: The Three Musketeers were created by Alexandre Dumas and the BBC adaptation is the brainchild of Adrian Hodges. I only own my OCs. The title was basically a bit of a cop-out because I couldn't think of anything else and needed to save the document as something...

Thicker than Blood

Prologue

Aramis had been running for too long.

His hat had fallen off not long after he had taken to his heels in pursuit of the thief. It had fallen into a muddy puddle and was probably lost forever, but he didn't care. He just kept on running. The lactic acid had started burning in his thighs which meant that he could hardly feel his legs, yet he ground his teeth and let out a growl of determination as he continued in his pursuit despite the pain.

Normally, he would have let a person who stole a loaf of bread go without hindrance. After all, everybody needed to eat, and just because they didn't have the requisite financial means to buy bread didn't mean that they weren't still human beings who needed sustenance. God cared for the small as well as the great. Normally he would have passed a conspiratorial glance and wink with the thief, to reassure them that it was all right, and when he could afford it, would slip the money for the bread to the baker so that, technically, nothing had actually been stolen. He had known hunger and he had known the depths of despair it could drive a man to.

However, this time was different. This time, the thief had taken a loaf of bread and, without even turning around properly, had somehow managed to remove the pendant from around the neck of the young lady Aramis was walking with. He had only met her that morning, but she was very charming and they had soon decided to cancel all their other engagements in order to spend the day together. After her necklace was stolen, and tipping his hat to her with a vow that he would apprehend the ruffian, he ran like the wind in pursuit of the offender. The chase had led him through the marketplace, past the tavern, through some areas of Paris that even made Aramis himself feel unsafe, for what seemed like an eternity but had been no longer than five minutes. Whether it was the fact that he hoped his partner would be exceptionally forthcoming with gratitude if he caught the thief, or just the sheer indignation that someone had the audacity to rob a lady while she was in his company and therefore under his protection, Aramis didn't know. All he knew was that the thief was getting away and he probably needed a third lung before he could run any further. He ran past the garrison, and out of his peripheral vision he saw his friends walking out of the gates.

"Where are you going?" a voice called behind him as Aramis' laboured steps started to falter. He didn't even have the energy to stop and speak to Porthos.

"Thief!" he gasped. "Black hood."

"Catch your breath, we'll stop him," Porthos said, clapping him briefly on the shoulder as he took off after the thief, Athos close behind him. With the force of Porthos' hand on his shoulder, Aramis stumbled and then collapsed in a heap on the ground, breathing heavily, his mouth and throat dry. He tried to swallow but it hurt his throat too much, and a coughing fit ensued.

"You're getting old," d'Artagnan said, crouching beside Aramis and handing him a cup of water. Aramis gulped the cold liquid down gratefully and lay back on the ground, closing his eyes as he felt every muscle in his body throbbing with exertion as it forced itself to repair and recover in less time than it really needed.

"Not old," Aramis said, letting out a breath of laughter as he opened his eyes again. "I'm getting more experienced!" With another grunt of exertion, he pulled himself to his feet and continued running after Porthos and Athos. d'Artagnan could do little else but follow his friend, if only to find out what all the fuss was about.

By the time Aramis and d'Artagnan had caught up with Porthos and Athos, they had just cornered the thief in an alleyway. The thief looked around frantically, the face still completely hidden by the hood of the cloak, and a scarf over the nose and mouth.

"I never thought you'd catch him," Aramis said, panting heavily.

"We very nearly didn't. Luckily for us he took a wrong turning," Athos said, his voice unmistakably disinterested. "Since when have we been in the business of apprehending thieves?"

"Since the thief stole a pendant from a lady," Aramis replied, before turning his attention to the dark figure in the corner, who was still desperately trying to find a way out of the inescapable position. He took two steps toward the thief. "Monsieur, please, just return the pendant. Nobody here would begrudge a man a simple meal," he said, his voice kind as he held his hand out to take the pendant. Porthos, Athos and d'Artagnan all exchanged doubtful glances and mentally readied themselves to defend Aramis should the need arise.

To their surprise, the thief dug into the folds of their oversized black cloak, retrieved the pendant and held it out to Aramis. He raised his eyebrows for a moment in bewilderment before taking hold of the pendant from the thief's outstretched left hand. As he did, the thief pulled Aramis close and punched him hard in the stomach with the free hand.

"Who are you calling 'Monsieur'?" the thief demanded, angrily. Aramis barely had time to recover from the dual shock of the unexpected attack and the fact that his assailant was a woman before she grabbed hold of him by the shoulders and shoved him to the ground.

She only managed to run a few paces before she ran bodily into Porthos. He barely even moved at the impact, but held her tightly, hardly reacting to her valiant struggles for freedom.

Aramis stood up slowly, holding onto his knees for a few moments as he recovered his breath. Finally he straightened his back and walked over to the thief, whose face and head were still covered. He grinned as he looked at the outline of her figure, and cleared his throat before speaking.

"I do like a woman with spirit," he said, his eyes gleaming as his lips pinched into a wry grin. Without another word, he pulled her hood back and the scarf from her face. Upon seeing each other, both Aramis and the thief let out a gasp of shock.

"Sophie?" he asked in disbelief. She nodded.

"René? Is it really you?" she asked. His eyes flitted quickly across her face as the smile on his face widened.

"I don't believe it," he murmured.

Had it been another Musketeer in Aramis' place, what happened next would have simply confounded Porthos, Athos and d'Artagnan. However, it was Aramis, and the fact that he swept the woman into his arms and planted an enthusiastic kiss on her lips didn't even raise an eyebrow among them.

"I take it you are acquainted after all," Athos said, blinking once.

"Not necessarily," Porthos said, his eyes glinting mischievously as d'Artagnan giggled at his friend's joke. Aramis beamed at his friends.

"Gentlemen. I must apologise. Allow me to introduce you," he began.

What Aramis said next was so astonishing that even Athos' mouth dropped open in amazement.

"This is Sophie Boniface. My wife," he declared, squeezing her waist.