Notes:

Hello, I'm back!

Welcome to Blood Spilled! This is the fourth installement of the "Blood Ties" series. I hope you enjoy ^^

The reading of the previous fics in this story before "Blood Spilled".

Enjoy!

Blood Spilled

Chapter 1

Everything descended into Hell almost instantly.

The members of Unit 2 were dispersed throughout the conference room, dressed in dark suits to blend in with the press. Their jackets were tailored to be just lose enough to hide their weapons hidden at their waist or shoulder. d'Artagnan felt the weight of his own hand gun reassuringly on his hip. His eyes slid to the side for the smallest of moments, checking on his teammates. He could see the shaggy head of Athos a few rows ahead, Aramis on his right and one in front. Although he couldn't check, d'Artagnan knew Porthos was on his other side in the back row, situated next to the exit.

Unit five were up front, flanking either side of the platform where the Prime Minister addressed the room. Ninon stood tall, her blond hair loose and bouncing across her shoulders. In white high heels and a grey dress which clung tight to her body, most over looked her as an assistant or PA. The majority weren't aware of the, at least, two weapons secreted on her person, or the fact she could burst a man's jugular with those high heels in 5 seconds flat.

Sometimes it did Ninon a favour to be underestimated.

The rest of her team stood in formation, Felix, Giles and Renard each in their positions. They didn't look quite as bored as d'Artagnan felt, but then, he supposed, they were up front in full view of the cameras.

d'Artagnan, truthfully, had stopped listening to the Prime Minister's speech. Gaston Yanick was a small man, about 50 years old with a smile which didn't quite reach his eyes. There was something a little shifty about him, but then many politicians were the same. Louis Royaline had a similar look. He stood to the right of his superior, a hand protectively on his wife's back. Anne's baby bump was obvious, even in her loose dress and blazer jacket. "The country's baby" the tabloids were calling it. Tabloids around the country carried paparazzi snaps of Mrs Royaline, along with obnoxious headlines about her pregnancy diet and potential names. The whole this irked d'Artagnan to no end, but it had been Aramis who had almost destroyed a magazine stand when the media circus had started. But then that was hardly surprising…

At least Anne Royaline had Constance by her side. With university ended for the summer (In April, which d'Artagnan maintains is ridiculous but that's another story). And the two have been inseparable ever since. It eased Anne's nerves to know Constance was nearby during her public appearances, it was good to know at least once person wasn't attempting to get close to her just to take her photo or sell secrets to the vultures.

The whole set up was routine. Just another press conference, just another campaign stunt. Or it would have been until the shouting began. It was a jostle at first, could have been nothing more than someone sitting on another's jacket but it grew, snowballed, until a man on Athos' side of the audience lunged forward. The man was tall and lean, dressed in a tanned suit jacket which was a good few sizes too big. Something long and black and heavy swung into the air.

"Murderer!"

And just like that chaos descended.

Two bangs ricocheted around the room as the press scattered. d'Artagnan tugged his own gun from his belt, vaulting over the rows of plastic chairs towards the stage. Yanick was blocked from view immediately by Felix and Ninon's bodies as all the Musketeers rushed to do damage control. His eyes automatically went to Constance and Anne. His wife had the other woman's arm in a death grip. Both pairs of eyes were focused on something on the floor which d'Artagnan couldn't see, but whatever it was had their eyes terrified.

Almost breaking protocol d'Artagnan's feet turned towards the women, towards his wife, but his mentor's words stilled his feet.

"d'Artagnan, with me!"

His eyes snapped to Athos, in time to see the older man make a beeline towards the front exit. He looked back, but in his moment of distraction Aramis had reached Anne and Constance. The man's arms wrapped round the women protectively and herded them toward the back of the stage. Aramis glanced back and gave d'Artagnan the smallest of nods. He had them.

With that d'Artagnan's attention turned back to the mission at hand. He took off at a full run, through the door, after Athos.

After the gunman.

"You don't have to do this…"

D'Artagnan's feet slowed at his mentor's voice. He cursed, not for the first time, that this particular Government building felt like a rabbit warren. Athos was close but where exactly? d'Artagnan wasn't sure.

"There's no coming back!"

"You don't know that," Athos' voice reasoned, "You can't know for sure."

d'Artagnan crept forward, listening to the conversation which was coming from the right… Definitely the right.

"You don't kill the Prime Minister and get to live."

"You don't know he's dead," Athos countered in his normal, logical, way.

"I want him dead!"

"If you end everything now you'll never know if you succeeded. Never be able to tell your side."

Hand gripped tightly on his hand gun, d'Artagnan slid around the corner. He was sure Athos saw him, not that his eyes flickered from the man between them. The gunman in the tan jacket had his back to d'Artagnan, hand raised with his own weapon pressed to his temple. Blond hair curled around the dark barrel, quivering as the man's hand shook. Athos' own gun was pointed straight at the stranger, of course there was not the slightest quake.

"Who would listen to me anyway?"

The man spat the words at the floor, but Athos' voice remained level, as if they were discussing options for lunch.

"I will."

D'Artagnan crept forward silently, slow but constantly he inched his way towards the man.

"You're lying."

"I don't lie," Athos held the man's gaze, "What's your name?"

There was a beat of silence. d'Artagnan didn't think the man would answer, but then.

"Joseph…"

"Joseph," Athos repeated, "Joseph I can help you, please let me help you."

"How can you be so sure you can?"

"My name is Athos, I work for the government. I can keep you safe while your side of the story is told. It doesn't have to end here."

"Really?" The voice was small, desperate.

Athos nodded, "Really. Just put the gun down and let me take you in. I will listen."

For a second d'Artagnan thought Athos' calming words had worked. The muscles in the man's arm seemed to slacken. The gun quivered against the skin of his temple. Athos gave the smallest of nods, he reached out his free hand, imploring Joseph to release the weapon.

d'Artagnan was only a few feet away by now, so close to being able to grab the gun, when suddenly the arm tensed again. The metal as shoved against man's own head, smashing metal into the thin flesh.

"You're lying!" The man's voice broke. Although d'Artagnan couldn't see his face, he could imagine the tears in his eyes. "Marmion told me about your mind games! About your tricks. There's only one way out… Only –"

d'Artagnan lunged as gunshot exploded, but the bullet was faster. The man crumpled against the wall, crimson ebbing around his head like some lopsided halo. A roar ripped from Athos as d'Artagnan darted forward. He placed two fingers to the clammy skin of Joseph's neck, but it was a pointless endeavour. d'Artagnan could see the man's eyes now. The tears which he had predicted were there, but the eyes were devoid of light, of life. The man was younger than d'Artagnan had assumed. Joseph was perhaps only a year or two his senior, yet so much younger in his unnatural stillness.

"God damn it!" Athos' fist smashed into the cold wall as the younger man shook his head, "I was so close…"

He dug his hand into his pocket dialled a familiar number.

"Captain?" Athos' voice was gruff and heavy as he scrubbed a hand through his hair, "I'm going to need a clean-up crew at this location…"

The two men said little while they waited for help to arrive. d'Artagnan wasn't sure what to say to his mentor. After hanging up with the Captain, Athos' head had fallen forward until his forehead pressed into the wall. His eyes closed and d'Artagnan pretended not to notice as guilt and pain etched into the pale skin around them.

Because, even without asking, d'Artagnan knew Athos had already begun blaming himself. Athos, the man who had made it his life's mission to atone for sins which weren't even his own. Athos, who saw every kid in trouble as someone to save, someone to help. Athos, who even after his younger brother had beaten him senseless and pressed a gun to his head, felt guilt towards anyone who reminded him of Thomas. That misplaced blame pushed him to help others, to save others who reminded him of the brother who he could not.

All in all it couldn't have been more than 10 minutes before the techs to arrive, but it felt like a small infinity. It was the incoming of heavy footsteps which caused Athos to push himself away from the wall and tug himself together.

"Suicide," Athos snapped at the three paramedics as they rounded the corner, "I want his body bagged and brought back to the Garrison's medical unit."

d'Artagnan stood up to allow the men access to Joseph's body. They began their work at once. It took him a moment to notice that Athos had turned and was already stalking in the opposite direction. With a nod of thanks he took off after the older man. He had to break into a jog to catch up, only finally reaching Athos' side once they had rounded the corner.

"Athos?"

He didn't even break his stride. d'Artagnan tried again.

"Athos!"

It wasn't until he grabbed the older man by the shoulder and forced him to stop that Athos, finally, looked at him.

"What?" There was something, hard, in his face. A mask over his features. It made d'Artagnan's heart hurt.

"Don't, Athos, don't do this…"

Athos huffed out a breath, "I don't know what you are talking about."

"You do, I know you do," d'Artagnan placed a hand on each of his mentor's shoulder, "That man isn't your fault. His decisions are not your fault."

Hard as d'Artagnan tried he was unable to catch his mentor's eye. Athos was actively avoiding his gaze. There was a hard line to his jaw, a tenseness to his muscles which betrayed his emotions even without his eyes.

"You tried, you did your best, but you cannot save everyone. Blaming yourself will do no good. There was nothing you could have done to change that man's actions."

"How can you possibly know that?" Athos' voice, when it was finally given, was surprisingly raw.

"Because," d'Artagnan's grip tightened on his friend's shoulder, "You saved me. But I wanted saved. He didn't. That man's decision had been made before you even opened your mouth."

A heartbeat of silence passed between them before Athos finally sighed. The hard lines of his face softened, a sad smile tugged at his lips.

"You're a frustratingly observant little shit, do you know that?"

"Always," d'Artagnan patted his mentor's shoulder before they began to walk again.

"You did pick me…"

Athos shook his head, "A decision I question at least twice a week. Now-" Athos used his good arm to shoulder his way out of a security exit door into the sunshine. The building was quiet, the press having scattered in the chaos. D'Artagnan dug his phone from his pocket and squinted at the text messages.

"We've been recalled to the Garrison," d'Artagnan looked up from the text from Treville, "By the looks of things everyone who's not out of the country has been."

Athos nodded reading his version of the same message.

"Well then we had better get going."

There was a tension in the Garrison the like d'Artagnan had never experienced. It was like everyone was walking along their own personal cliff edge, waiting to be shoved one way or the other. d'Artagnan swallowed a little nervously, following Athos as he forged a path through the Atrium. Musketeers moved carefully around each other, full of tense looks and furrowed brows. Athos was no exception, offering none of his normal greetings, even to agents he knew. Instead of heading toward the Unit 2 office Athos weaved toward one of the large briefing rooms. He paused only briefly to knock before letting them inside.

Four sets of eyes turned to the new comers. Constance let out a choking sound, released the grip she had on Anne Royaline's hand and fired himself towards her husband. d'Artagnan opened his arms and the space was immediately filled with the familiarity of home.

"Hey…" d'Artagnan pressed a kiss to his wife's pale forehead, whispering gently in Russian, "Constance, it's all right…"

"You ran after a man with a gun!" Constance hissed, her hands snaking up to anchor herself against her husband, "I was so scared, you idiot…"

Carefully d'Artagnan's hand reached up and let his hand disappear into her wild loose hair. He glanced up at the rest of the room, remembering they weren't alone.

"Don't mind us," Athos said dryly, shooting his youngest team member a look suggesting he most definitely should mind them, "Do carry on."

Heat rose in d'Artagnan's cheeks. He patted Constance gently but apparently she wasn't ready to let go. He just looked up apologetically.

"Please, forgive the unprofessionalism Mrs Royaline."

But the politician's wife waved the apology away, "I told her you would be fine. Musketeers are not stopped to easily."

d'Artagnan couldn't help but feel lucky that Louis Royaline himself wasn't there. Partly because he doubted he would be quite so forgiving, but partly because Aramis was standing all too close to the pregnant woman. One hand rested on the back of the woman's chair, which made d'Artagnan want to prize a few fingers back. Porthos hadn't seemed to notice, his eyes focused on their leader instead.

"Get me up to speed," Athos stepped forward into the room, looking between his men.

"The bullet hit Yanick in the lower chest," Porthos sighed, a hand rubbing tiredly over his face, "Unit 5 accompanied him in the ambulance to the Hospital. Mr Royaline too. The Captain met 'em there and is keeping us updated. Last I heard he'd been rushed inta' major surgery."

Athos nodded, looking like he was fighting back a series of swear words for the sake of the women present.

"What about the gunman?" Aramis asked as Athos sunk into a seat around the conference table.

"Dead," Athos said simply.

"How-" Aramis began, but was cut off by one of their leader's looks.

"Perhaps this conversation would be better suited until another time."

With an eye flick to the side Aramis understood. Perhaps the pregnant woman didn't need to hear any details of how a man painted a wall with the inside of his skull.

"Right," Aramis nodded.

"We thought, given the circumstances, it would be best to bring Mrs Royaline and Constance here, until we heard from you..."

"A smart decision," Athos nodded just as Porthos' phone began to ring against the table. The big man glanced at the screen and then sucked in a breath.

"It's the Captain."

"Let me," Athos held out his hand and Porthos passed it over.

"Captain?"

"Athos?" Treville sounded like he was frowning, "You are back at the Garrison?"

"Just, with d'Artagnan. How is the Prime Minister?"

The silence through the phone set Athos' jaw in a tense nervousness, anxiety filled gazes fixed on him from every corner of the room.

"It is about to break in the press but I – well I thought you all deserved to hear it from me first. The Prime Minister is dead. Louis Royaline is to be sworn in within the hour."