"You have your phone?"

"Yes."

"Made reservations?"

"Yes."

"Gave Constance the name of the right restaurant?"

"Yes." D'Artagnan gave Aramis a curious look.

The sniper shrugged, balancing carefully himself on his crutches. "It happens," he said casually.

"Only to you," Porthos muttered. Aramis threw his friend a smug grin.

"Breath check?"

D'Artagnan snuck a quick sniff. "I'm good."

"Condoms?"

"What? I don't...I mean, it's our first date! I'm not making any assumptions."

Aramis tsked at him. "It's not about making assumptions, it's about being prepared. This is not the 17th century, mon ami. Constance is a modern woman."

Athos took pity on the young man as he turned bright red. While he knew that D'Artagnan did not lack experience, he could tell that his impending evening with the lovely Constance Bonacieux was making the Gascon very nervous. He glared at Aramis and got a wide, unapologetic smile in return.

"You'll be fine," Athos assured D'Artagnan, taking him by the arm and leading him to the door. "Go. You're going to be here all night if you let Aramis get going."

"Try not to swoon when you see her. I know it worked for you once but I don't think Constance is going to impressed it you do it again!" Aramis' mocking voice followed him out, and D'Artagnan reached back without looking to give the other man a rude one-fingered gesture. He could hear the Aramis' delighted laughter through the door as he slammed it shut behind him.

As soon as the door closed, Athos turned to Aramis with a lifted eyebrow. "Was that necessary?"

Aramis gave Athos an innocent shrug as he awkwardly lowered himself onto the couch. "Of course it was." He pressed a hand over his heart. "As an honorary older brother I consider it my God-given duty to give D'Artagnan as much crap as possible. Especially about women."

"I'm sure that's one thing he doesn't regret about being an only child." Athos took Aramis' crutches and set them aside within easy reach.

Porthos nudged the coffee table over and helped Aramis lift his braced leg onto it. Aramis nodded his thanks to both of them before tilting his head back onto the backrest cushions.

"You're just mad because the doc had eyes for the pup instead of you," Porthos ribbed him.

"Nonsense." Aramis airily waved off Porthos' teasing. Aramis loved women and women loved Aramis, but everyone knew he that he did not have a jealous bone in his body. "Constance will be good for D'Artagnan. I'm just trying to make sure he doesn't mess it up."

Athos gave him a skeptical look. "Yes, I'm sure flustering the boy before he heads out on his first date will work wonders in that regard."

Aramis smiled mischievously and turned his head to look at Athos. "Absolutely. Now he'll be too busy thinking about how to get back at me to be nervous." He tapped a finger against his temple. "It was all part of the plan."

Athos rolled his eyes, a hint of amusement playing at the corners of his lips.

"Aw, he'll be fine. D'Artagnan couldn't possibly mess this up. He introduced himself by fainting at her feet. How much worse could it get?" Porthos said with a wave of his hand.

Aramis chuckled. "You need to get out more, mon ami, because there about a million ways it could get worse. But," Aramis held up a finger to stall Porthos' objections, "Luckily, Constance does not seem like a woman that's easily put off. We'll just have to wait and see how it goes with our young Gascon."

The four of them had been forced to take an impromptu trip to the emergency room a couple of weekends prior when an evening of drinking and relaxation had nearly ended in disaster. They had exited a favorite bar near their building that was run by an old veteran named Serge. He and Aramis had become fast friends a couple of years ago when they realized they had both served in the Special Forces reconnaissance units. It had worried Porthos and Athos at first, as they were unsure of how Aramis would react to the reminders of his service, but their fears appeared to be unfounded. If anything, talking to the old man had proven to be therapeutic, and a way for Aramis to remember his time in the military freely and without consequence.

They stood patiently at a curb, waiting for the walk sign to turn green despite the lack of cars on the road. "We are the most law-abiding of citizens," Aramis joked, still sober after having nursed only a couple beers over the past few hours. "It's a good thing we're not going anywhere important."

"Yeah well, we stand here any longer and I don't think I'll be able to keep Athos from melting into the sidewalk," Porthos grunted. Athos' arm was slung over his shoulder, and the man in question allowed his head to loll to the lazily to the side.

"I'm not going to melt," he insisted. It would have been more believable if the words had not slurred together.

"Sure, of course not." Porthos hitched Athos' arm higher up on his shoulder and adjusted his grip on the man's ribcage. "Don't know why I thought that." There was no heat in the big man's voice. While Athos' iron liver was already the stuff of legend at their firm, the only time he let his guard down enough to go beyond the mildest of buzzes was when he was with his team. A loose, unwound Athos was a rare sight, and the other three enjoyed every opportunity to witness it.

When the light turned green, D'Artagnan stepped off the curb first, his hands stuffed deep into the pockets of his jeans and his head tilted down. He had been unusually quiet and reserved the past week, which was understandable considering that it was an unhappy anniversary for the Gascon. The three older men had dragged their youngest out to try and take his mind off of his father's death, and to reassure him that he was not alone in his time of remembered grief. As he placed one foot on the pavement, a vehicle came veering around the bend. It was clear that the car had no intention of stopping.

"D'Artagnan!" Reflexes cat-quick, Aramis grabbed the younger man by the collar of his jacket and yanked him back. The car sped by with inches to spare, leaving the two men untouched. The force of Aramis' intervention, however, threw D'Artagnan off-balance as his heel caught the curb. He stumbled backwards and straight into Aramis, and both of them fell heavily onto the concrete sidewalk. There was a soft thud as the Aramis' head struck the ground.

"Shit! D'Artagnan, Aramis, are you okay?" Porthos struggled with an armful of Athos, who had been jolted out of his relaxed, tipsy state by the near accident.

"Let me go and see to them," Athos ordered, releasing himself from Porthos' supporting grip. He knelt down beside the two downed men as Porthos also crouched by them.

"Holy crap." D'Artagnan's eyes were round with shock. "That was close. Aramis?"

"Present," the half-Spaniard groaned. "Are you hurt? Did you get hit?" He shakily pushed himself up onto his elbows, one hand going to his aching head.

"No, no. I think I'm okay, thanks to you." D'Artagnan pushed Athos' hands away, which had been searching him for injury. "Are you? Hurt, I mean." He turned back to check on Aramis and scrambled away when he realized that he was practically sitting on the man's legs.

"Ah...I think my knee might be a bit out of sorts," Aramis panted. Porthos' hands immediately went to probe both joints. Aramis paled and cursed in Spanish as he pressed on the right one.

"Yeah, I'd say it is," Porthos agreed. "Come on, let's get you up. Do we have to take a trip to your favorite place?"

Aramis made a disgusted noise as he allowed Porthos to pull him to his feet. "No, I'm fine. Just take me home and I'll put some ice on it. I can see the doctor later if I need to."

Porthos was about to loudly scoff at the idea that his childhood friend would ever go see a physician voluntarily when Aramis' eyes rolled back and he went completely boneless.

"Aramis?" Panic tinged Porthos' voice as he was suddenly forced to take all of his friend's dead weight. "Aramis? What the hell is wrong with him?"

D'Artagnan and Athos helped Porthos gently wrangle the unconscious man to the ground. "Did you check his head?" Athos asked. His fingers searched through the lengthy brown curls and found a sizeable lump hidden on the back of Aramis' head. Athos drew his fingers away and was relieved to see no blood. "He must have hit it on the way down."

Just as suddenly as he had passed out, Aramis came to with a gasp.

"Hey now, 'Mis. You alright? Are you with us?" Porthos took his friend's face in his hands as he forced the confused man to focus.

"I'm here," Aramis mumbled and Porthos sighed in relief. "Why are we on the ground again? Didn't I just get up?"

"You did, but then you decided to take a little five second nap. Do you want to try again?" Aramis nodded in response to Porthos' question and they pushed to their feet a second time, going much more slowly in deference to Aramis' head bump.

The four men made for the hospital over Aramis' increasingly annoyed protests. While the ex-soldier had far more medical knowledge than the other three, previous experience had taught them not to trust Aramis' self-diagnoses. Regardless of his insistence that he was fine, Aramis' history meant any potential head injury warranted a trip to see the doctor, the sooner the better. Several long, uncomfortable hours after being triaged, the four men finally found themselves lounging in a small, curtained-off examination area in the ER.

"I don't understand why this is taking so long. It's never taken this long before." D'Artagnan paced across the small space impatiently. He seemed oddly agitated, and Aramis watched him closely as he went back and forth.

"That's because we often come in through the express route," Aramis explained again patiently. He pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to control the headache that had taken over his skull since they'd arrived at the hospital. "It's a good thing that it's taking so long. It means that no one is in danger of dying."

"I guess," the young Gascon muttered. "Sorry, Aramis. This is my fault. I should have watched where I was going." He sat himself in one of the plastic chairs and leaned forward on his knees.

"D'Artagnan, for the last time, this was absolutely not your fault. Stop apologizing," Athos intervened. Aramis nodded in agreement.

The Gascon didn't acknowledge Athos' words, but instead he pressed his fists into his legs and looked up at no one in particular, a determined frown on his face. "I'm going to go find someone. There were barely any people in the waiting room, so there's really no reason a doctor hasn't been by to see Aramis yet!" He leapt to his feet and his three friends watched as the blood promptly drained from his face.

D'Artagnan was vaguely aware of the curtain being pushed aside, but his brain was having a hard time processing anything. He thought he heard Aramis' voice call, "Someone catch him!" somewhere in the distance just before his knees buckled underneath him. D'Artagnan felt wiry arms close around him and he found himself lowered gently to the ground. He blinked lazily as Athos' concerned blue eyes hovered over him.

"I'm okay," D'Artagnan murmured.

The last thing he heard was a feminine voice tell him, "I'll be the judge of that."

~~M~~

When D'Artagnan came to, he was surprised to find that the person starting down at him was not one of his brothers. Rather, it was the face of an incredibly pretty woman.

"Wow. I should wake up like this more often," he mumbled.

Porthos' laughter boomed from somewhere close by. "Yeah, he'll be fine."

The woman ignored both of them. "How are you feeling?"

"I feel okay. A little dizzy." D'Artagnan pushed himself to a sitting position on the bed he was lying on and was surprised to find a saline drip attached to his hand. "What happened?"

"Hypoglycemia and dehydration is what happened." D'Artagnan noticed for the first time that the woman was wearing a white coat. He also noted that her voice was the one he heard right before he fainted.

"You're a doctor," he said dumbly. You're also the most beautiful woman I've ever seen, he thought. Porthos came up to stand by D'Artagnan's bedside.

"Are you sure there's nothing wrong with his head? He's usually not this slow," Porthos commented. D'Artagnan glared at the big man and got a wide grin in return. The Gascon could read the relief in Porthos' eyes loud and clear.

"I'm sure," the woman replied, adjusting the drip. "Don't worry, it's normal to be a bit confused after regaining consciousness," she continued, addressing D'Artagnan again. "I'm Dr. Constance Bonacieux."

"You were there when I, uh, passed out."

"I was. Fortunately, your problem was minor. When was the last time you ate?"

"Ah...I don't remember?" D'Artagnan peeked at Porthos, who was now frowning at him with his arms crossed.

"Wrong answer. Try again," Porthos admonished.

"Maybe this morning. Or last night. I really don't know."

Porthos sighed. "So, you didn't eat anything and then we took you out for drinks. That's great." The big man shook his head. "I know it's a bad time, but you gotta take care of yourself, yeah?"

D'Artagnan looked away. He evidently wasn't handing the one-year anniversary of his father's murder as well as he thought he was. "Sorry."

The former cop sighed again. "You've nothing to be sorry for. We should have kept a closer eye on you." Porthos gently nudged D'Artagnan's shoulder with his fist. "Thanks for letting us know what to look for next year."

Constance looked between the two men, understanding that something private was going on and not wanting to intrude. She waited in respectful silence a minute longer before she continued. "We put you on saline to combat the dehydration. I suggest you eat something as soon as possible. Once the bag is finished, you're free to go. I'll send in a nurse to remove the i.v.." She turned to leave.

"Wait!"

Constance paused. "Yes?"

"I, ah..." D'Artagnan cast about for something to say that wouldn't sound absolutely ridiculous. "Thank you?"

The doctor smiled. And that's the most beautiful smile I've ever seen. D'Artagnan sincerely hoped his mouth wasn't hanging open.

"You're very welcome. Rest up, I think your other friends will be back soon to take you home." With a nod at Porthos, Constance left.

Porthos chuckled as soon as the doctor exited. "You might want to close your mouth there."

"Shut up, Porthos." His response just made the other man laugh harder. "Where's Aramis? Is he okay?"

"Yeah, he sprained his knee. He and Athos went to get a brace for it. They should be back soon."

"His head was okay?"

Porthos nodded. "CT scan was clear."

It was excellent news. Five years had passed since Aramis had nearly been killed on the operation that had ultimately seen him honorably discharged from the military, but the repercussions of that day still reverberated through their lives. Although D'Artagnan had not been around when it happened, he knew from what Porthos and Athos had told him that it had been very bad. So bad that even now, despite the fact that Aramis had made a full recovery against the odds, every blow to the head caused a great deal of alarm. Alarm for everyone but Aramis, anyway. The man himself tended to get mildly irritated by all the fuss.

Aramis and Athos returned in short time with the sniper hobbling forward on a new pair of crutches. Both men looked exhausted, but Aramis managed to summon a pleased smile for D'Artagnan. Athos nodded at him sleepily.

"There's our fair maiden. Awake at last, I see," Aramis greeted him.

D'Artagnan rolled his eyes. He could already tell that it was going to be a while before he was allowed to live this down.

"Has the lovely Dr. Bonacieux given you permission to leave?" Aramis asked, leaning his crutches against a chair and propping himself on the edge of the hospital bed.

"You know her?" D'Artagnan was surprised at how strident his own question sounded.

It was apparently something that the other three men noticed as well. He saw Athos and Porthos glance knowingly at each other while Aramis turned to him with raised eyebrows.

"Well yes, we met when you so charmingly fainted at her feet."

"Oh, right." D'Artagnan cleared his throat, embarrassed by his outburst. "Sorry."

Aramis smiled at him again, this time with a note of sly understanding in his face. "Don't be. Are you ready to go?"

As if on cue, a nurse appeared in the room to detach the drained saline bag. She handed paperwork to D'Artagnan and waited to transport him out but Athos took the wheelchair from her with a shake of the head and a polite thank you.

"Your chariot awaits," Athos said, grabbing the handlebars and gesturing for D'Artagnan to get on.

The Gascon made a face. "I can walk, thanks."

"I'm sure you can, but you won't be. Get on." There was no room for argument in Athos' voice.

The young man transferred himself to the wheelchair with a petulant grumble. "Why doesn't Aramis have to be wheeled out?"

"Because Athos is trying to teach you a lesson in proper self-care," Aramis replied cheerfully, speaking from experience. He heard Athos snort at the irony of his casual rebuke and chose to ignore it.

Aramis and Porthos slowly followed Athos and D'Artagnan out of the room. They made their way back to their building and in silent agreement, ended up in Athos and D'Artagnan's flat. As much as the tired men longed to immediately flop onto their beds, they stayed up to make sure their youngest member had something to eat.

"So," Aramis drawled from his uncomfortable-looking perch on a barstool, picking at a plate of cheese and fruit Athos lay on the kitchen island counter, "I am pleased to announce that Dr. Bonacieux is not a married woman."

"What?" D'Artagnan nearly choked on the piece of cheese he'd just put into his mouth. Porthos pat the Gascon on the back.

"There was no ring on her finger. Engagement, wedding or otherwise." Aramis grabbed a slice of apple and took a bite. "Just thought you'd like to know."

"Checking for rings is a reflex for Aramis," Athos explained dryly.

"I consider it to be pre-emptive self-defense," Aramis declared.

Porthos chuckled. "Oh really? What do you call climbing out of windows, then?"

Aramis considered the question. "A last minute evasion strategy? And that only happened once! Anyway," he continued, deflecting attention back to D'Artagnan, "shall we ask Agnès about Constance?"

Agnès Dupont was a former client that had come to them when her child had been kidnapped by his own grandmother. Aramis had taken a particularly fierce interest in ensuring the safe return of the baby to his kind, red-headed mother. Afterwards, Agnès had ended up relocating to the relative safety of Paris proper with Aramis' encouragement and had taken up a position as a nurse in the maternity ward of the same hospital they had visited. They had remained in touch, and Aramis visited with Agnès' son Henry when he could.

"No!" D'Artagnan blurted a little too loudly. "I don't - I mean, this is just...I don't know what you're talking about!"

"Don't you, though?" Porthos asked around a full mouth. Athos sighed and went back to the refrigerator to replace all the cheese the big man had just eaten. "Don't you remember what you said when you came to? You couldn't take your eyes off of her. Not that I blame you, mind."

"Wait, what did he say? Tell us." The suppressed glee in Aramis' voice was unmistakable.

"Oh come on, I was confused! You can't hold that against me." D'Artagnan protested.

"Our pup here woke up, saw the good doctor leaning over him and said, 'Wow, I should wake up like this more often'," Porthos continued, talking over D'Artagnan's groans of despair.

"Did he now?" Aramis slapped the countertop, a wide grin decorating his face. "I'd say you weren't confused at all. As a matter of fact, I think that's one of the smartest things I've ever heard you say."

The young man looked to Athos, hoping to find an ally in his roommate, but the other man was of no help. "I'm not going to disagree," Athos shrugged. He knew exactly what Aramis and Porthos were doing, and he approved of the distraction.

"You know, it wouldn't hurt to return to the hospital and thank the good doctor again for her fine care. I'm sure Agnès could find out when she comes off her shift," Aramis suggested.

"Oh God, that's such a bad idea." D'Artagnan released the captive grape he was holding onto the countertop and dropped his head into his hands. "You're not going to let this go, are you?"

"Now you're getting it," Athos said to the wilting Gascon. "Eat," he ordered, pushing the plate closer to D'Artagnan. "And you two, please refrain from teasing him about his newfound love until after we've gotten some sleep."

A squawk of objection from their youngest team member set the other three laughing, but they finally took pity on him and allowed him to finish his snack in peace. Aramis and Porthos wordlessly decided that they were too tired to make it back to their respective flats and instead chose to crash in the guest beds that Athos had permanently made for them.

Before they disappeared into their respective rooms, Aramis slung his arm around D'Artagnan's shoulders, balancing precariously on his good leg. "This isn't over," he whispered in mock warning.

"Aramis, don't even think about it."

The other man gave him a small wink. "You'll thank us later."

D'Artagnan just groaned.

Athos looked up from his book as D'Artagnan entered the flat, quietly shutting the door behind him. A quick glance at the two men sprawled on the large couch reassured Athos that Porthos and Aramis were still sleeping, eyes closed and utterly relaxed.

"I'm guessing by the look on your face that the evening was less than a success."

"No, it was fine. I mean, it was better than fine, but I wanted it to be perfect and it wasn't." D'Artagnan made a sound of frustration as he flung himself into an empty armchair. "What I'm trying to say is that Constance is incredible. I, on the other hand, forgot my damn wallet."

Athos raised an eyebrow and closed his book. "How did you manage to forget your wallet?

D'Artagnan threw his arms in the air. "I don't know! I thought I had it in my pocket but it just turned out to be my phone. I'm an absolute idiot."

"So what happened? Why didn't you come back to get it?"

"Constance wouldn't let me." The Gascon leaned his head against the backrest and covered his eyes in remembered embarrassment. "She said she was perfectly capable of paying for dinner and that I could get the bill next time." A wide smile split the young man's face.

Athos nodded in approval. "That seems to be a good sign."

"Yeah." The infatuated bliss was clear in D'Artagnan's voice. "I'd say so."

"So...your evening ended at dinner?"

D'Artagnan shrugged as he sat up. "The weather was nice so we walked around a bit afterwards. She said she was just coming off of a broken engagement so she wanted to take things slow."

"You don't seem bothered by it."

"It's fine by me," D'Artagnan replied, his face alight with happiness. "Constance is an amazing woman, Athos. I think...I think my dad would have really liked her."

Athos gave him a rare, fond smile. "I don't think there's a better recommendation to be had," he said gently. "I'm glad you had a good time, D'Artagnan."

"Thanks." D'Artagnan stood up and stretched, a yawn breaking wide and tired. "And thanks for waiting up. I think I'm going to hit the sack."

Athos bade him goodnight as the Gascon ambled away to his bedroom. A faint rustle caught his attention.

"What did I tell you? Constance is a modern woman." Aramis' sleepy voice drifted from the couch.

"How long have you been awake?" Athos demanded. He really shouldn't have been surprised. The sniper was an extremely light sleeper.

"Long enough," Aramis responded with a grin, slowly pressing himself up to a sitting position to avoid disturbing Porthos, who snored on. Aramis kept his braced leg stretched in front of him. "I can't believe he forgot his wallet. Of all the things to leave behind!"

"Aramis." The warning in Athos' voice was obvious, but he knew from experience that Aramis would blithely ignore it.

"What? I'm just saying, this information could come in handy at some point. Perhaps I should start keeping a list or something, just in case." Aramis paused, tilting his head and considering something. "I suppose it's a good thing Constance just wanted to walk and talk. You know why?"

"I can speculate," Athos replied wryly. With Aramis, it wasn't too hard to guess.

Aramis gave him a wicked grin as he stood a bit unsteadily, grabbing his crutches. "D'Artagnan clearly needs extra lessons in how to be prepared for all situations."

"And you plan on teaching him by mocking him mercilessly until he can't forget, even if he wanted to?" It was a statement more than an actual question.

"It's the fastest way to learn. I only have his best interests at heart." Aramis pressed a hand over his own heart and gave Athos a wide-eyed, innocent look.

"I have no doubt you do," Athos said amusedly.

Aramis huffed in satisfaction over Athos' agreement. "Well, I'm going to turn the couch over to Porthos before he pushes me off. Good night, Athos. Sleep well."

"You too." Athos watched Aramis as he swung away on his crutches and shook his head. The next few days were sure to be entertaining, and probably a bit loud and whiny as well. There were times when Athos felt like he was surrounded by misbehaving children, but he privately savored those moments. The level of mischief in his life seemed to correspond directly to the level of peace and contentment.

He wouldn't trade it for anything.

the end

I am dying to try my hand at a longer modern AU, so this is way of getting my feet wet and trying to establish some sort of foundation. It's just a silly little thing (sorry for some of the corny jokes) but I hope you enjoyed it, and as always thank you for reading! :D

Also, I realized I did not put disclaimers on any of my other stuff, so please consider this a blanket statement: The Musketeers belong to Alexandre Dumas and the BBC. This is all just for fun, not profit.