Get ready. This chapter gets DARK, and the next chapter will be darker still, and so on. I'm so sorry. It seems the more I make my favorite characters suffer, the more I love them.

This chapter was originally going to be much longer, but I've decided to split the rest into a separate chapter. I hope to get it up soon, but my poor Inside Out story needs lovin' too.

This story is dedicated to btamamura and Cutesigma0426aFan, for getting me into the series and the entire Musketeers franchise.


Albert rose with all the energy of the sun- warm, bright, and ready to spread his zest for life near and far. Yes, I have a feeling that today will be much better, he thought with a deep inhale. He stretched and faced out his window toward the dawn, returning beam for beam.

Humming, Albert returned to his bed to make it, and his eyes fell on a note:

Morning, sleepy-head!

You looked so peaceful, I didn't have the heart to disturb you. Frankly, it did my heart good to see you resting. We'll meet you in the courtyard for training. Take your time.

P.S. I shan't tell the others about what we discussed. That is your decision.

"That's right, D'Artagnan stayed with me last night. God bless him…" Albert murmured.

He made his bed, got into his uniform, and hurried downstairs for breakfast. "I think I'll eat in the dining-room this morning. Sometimes I wonder if I spend too much time in my workshop. I don't want the others to start thinking I'm anti-social. Now then, what sounds good? Hmm… oatmeal it is!"

The empty dining-room seemed larger than ever to the petite man. "Oh… I guess they all ate already," he said quietly, remembering the note.

Captain de Treville kept a small house-keeping staff, but Albert didn't want to disturb the cook after he had already finished. He was content to prepare his own meal. He fixed his oatmeal, opting to add honey and blueberries as a treat. They were just as fresh as could be hoped for, and his mouth watered in anticipation. Bowl in hand, he left the kitchen and returned to the dining-room.

However, it did not taste quite as satisfactory as he hoped, he realized as he sat at the table meant for a much larger party than which presently occupied it. The flavor was all there, but something was still missing.

The sands of the hourglass on the fireplace mantle seemed unusually loud.

Sighing, Albert found himself wishing that he had eaten outside. He quickly finished up, and hurried to meet with his friends in the courtyard.

"Ah, Albert!" D'Artagnan said, spotting him in the middle of a jump-rope exercise. "Excellent."

Albert's mood immediately perked up again. "Good morning, D'Artagnan! Golly, it's not like me to sleep past six," he chuckled. Indeed, he was usually the first to rise. "How embarrassing."

"Not at all, Albert," D'Artagnan dismissed. "So, I trust you slept well?"

D'Artagnan surely knew the answer as well as he, but Albert deeply appreciated that he asked. "The best I have in a long time," he sighed, sapphire meeting chocolate-brown. "Thank you, D'Artagnan. Seriously. I can't even- I mean- thank you. You didn't have to, yet you-"

The older Musketeer smiled at Albert's clear loss of words. Letting the rope fall, he gently interrupted with a hand upon his shoulder, "It's quite all right, lad. Every word I spoke last night was God's truth. I'm just glad to see you back to your cheerful self. And I daresay," he added, "you look even better than normal, which is saying something."

"I do feel fantastic!" Albert agreed. He grinned. "In fact, I'll bet you can't keep up with me for at least ten laps around the yard."

D'Artagnan smirked, never one to back down from a challenge- even made in good fun. "Oh? Make that an additional forty rounds, and you're on!"

"Less talk, more action, old man!"

"I'll old man you, cheeky- hey, no fair getting a head start!" D'Artagnan took off after him.

"Uh-oh, I'm in for it now!" came the answering chuckle.

The original Three Musketeers- Aramis and Athos held the ends of the jump-ropes for Porthos while he skipped- paused in their double-dutch contest. "I say, look at Albert go," Athos remarked, having been facing backwards anyway- as usual.

"I never realized Albert was so spunky," the soft-spoken blonde said.

"Almost like he took a swig of that energy elixir the Cardinal slipped the King that time," chimed in Porthos.

They resumed their activity. "Candy, candy in a dish, how many pieces do you wish? 1, 2, 3…"

Eventually, D'Artagnan caught up to Albert. "Got you!" he cried, tackling him. They tumbled to the ground, producing a hybrid of grunts and laughter.

"Ah, well, perhaps I let you catch up," Albert teased, but his breathless voice gave him away. His hat lay beside him, where it had been knocked.

"All right, no more mercy!" D'Artagnan grabbed Albert, and began to administer a noogie.

"H-hey, cut it out! D'Artagnan!"

"Serves you right, forcing yourself to suffer in silence like that."

He's right. Perhaps I really don't give my dear friends enough credit. How can I ever let them know just how much they mean to me, especially D'Artagnan? "Look out, a Cardinal's guard!" Albert fibbed, thrusting a finger behind the Gascon.

D'Artagnan immediately dropped Albert, leaped to his feet, and drew his sword. "Where's the villain?" he cried, looking in every direction.

"Ahem." Captain de Treville stood before his youngest Musketeers. They sprang to attention immediately, but not before making themselves more presentable. Naturally, their uniforms and hair had gotten a tad rumpled.

"Our apologies, sir." Albert blushed, though relieved to see that he wore a countenance more of amusement than displeasure.

Treville shook his head as the other three hastened to converge. "That's all right, gentlemen." The lineup complete, he continued, "Now then, time to go on patrol. Get out there, and keep the streets of Paris safe."

"Very good, sir!" the Musketeers chorused.


"Well," cried one of the Cardinal's guards as the Musketeers strolled into view in the middle of the marketplace, "if it isn't the King's Muskrats!" His cohorts chortled derisively.

D'Artagnan snorted. "Really, is that supposed to be an insult? Because that just might be the stupidest thing I've heard from you lot, and that's saying something."

Aramis flashed their self-appointed leader a grin. "Well done on keeping that temper in check, D'Artagnan." The others applauded, and D'Artagnan could not refrain from smiling a bit smugly.

The guard who had spoken looked crestfallen. "It… it was supposed to be a play on words," he explained with a shrug. "Musketeers, rats? Don't you get it?"

It was the Musketeers' turn to display mirth. "Of course!" Porthos said. "We're laughing, aren't we? But I seem to notice, gentlemen, that you in fact are not. Perhaps you're the ones confused here?"

The guards glowered, not appreciating the joke being on them.

D'Artagnan grunted as he felt somebody elbow him from behind. He glared after the weedy guard as he passed him whistling, idly tossing a freshly-purchased apple into the air. "Oh, my bad!" The fruit landed in his palm again, and he helped himself to a noisy bite.

"My bad? Miscreant, what is that supposed to mean?" D'Artaganan sputtered, bristling. "I demand satisfaction! Are you not familiar with the social grace known as an apology? I'd wager it's what the doctor additionally gave your mother upon handing you over!"

The Three Musketeers roared again, and even Albert could not suppress a smirk. I must admit, that is clever… even if his new reputation as a man of thick skin was short-lived. Well, I don't suppose what the chances are of this ending peacefully…

"Is that so?" Joined by his comrades, the guard unsheathed his sword. "Then have at you, bespawlers!"

"Called it," Albert muttered to himself, gripping his signature weapon. "Perhaps I'd better step in before things get out-of-hand. These fights in public only put the citizens at risk."

But before Albert could hurry to the forefront to help, a loud "Pssst!" reached his ears, close enough to warrant his attention. He stopped, turning around to see a woman standing two feet from him. The majority of her face was veiled in a green shawl.

She beckoned to Albert with unmistakable urgency. Albert blinked, and questioningly pointed to himself. The strange woman bobbed her head repeatedly, motioned again, and gesticulated down a narrow strip behind her that lead away from the market. She took off at a brisk pace, not stopping as she spared a single backward glance to confirm his presence.

"Madame, please wait up! I'm right behind you," Albert called after her, quick to follow. This lady is clearly in need of immediate assistance. Something must be very wrong; she dares not even call attention to herself.

The woman continued down the street, and it was all the petite man could do to keep up. They hurried on for several minutes, she occasionally making sure he was still there.

"Madame, I have been keeping an eye out, and I don't believe anybody is following us," Albert panted. Indeed, they seemed to be getting further away from any people. "Can you still not safely say what the matter is, or at least slow down?"

His only answer was the tempo of footfalls against gravel, like a frantic heartbeat, as they only seemed to pick up. Well, at least I can't say I haven't gotten in much exercise today!

Albert saw her duck around a corner. He hastened to join her… and paused, realizing that they had reached a dead end. They were in an alley, between two rows of shops. Chips of brick generously littered the pavement, proof of time and the elements. A barrel stood a few feet away, under a dirty, cracked window.

But wait a minute. Where did the woman go?

"Hello? Miss?"

Before Albert could complete his next thought, he was locked in an iron grip, and a strong-odoured rag was clamped over his nose and mouth. Chloroform! He struggled and grunted vehemently, but dizziness soon overpowered his fight-or-flight instincts, clouding his senses with rolling darkness. In five seconds, not less, he was out.

Milady de Winter shoved him to the ground. "Too easy! I almost miss the taste of his sauce. Pity he'll never have the chance to share it with anyone ever again," the right-hand woman of Cardinal Richelieu mockingly lamented. She gave a loud whistle.

If Albert were awake, he would have surely recognized the man who appeared as the shortest of the Cardinal's guards, no bigger than him. Only, curiously, he wore a Musketeer's uniform- save the sword. "With all due respect, Milady, I'm not a bloody horse," he grumbled in response to her summons.

"Shut up, and put this on!" The treacherous woman thrust a blond wig at him.

"Aw, but Milady, it's too hot!"

"You know the plan. Or shall I inform His Eminence that you refuse to cooperate? Perhaps he'll let you join our friend here in-"

The little guard was already nodding. "All right, all right!" He obeyed.

Milady analyzed the final picture carefully. "Excellent!" she hissed, circling him and looking him up and down. "Those other fools won't suspect a thing. This time, we've got them!" She frowned sternly. "Now, I trust you have no reservations about what needs to be done?"

"Trust me to know my orders, Milady," the guard stiffly replied.

"I should hope so." She removed Albert's sword from his scabbard, and handed it to him. "Do not fail."

The guard saluted, and hurried off.

Albert showed as much sign of life as a rag-doll when Milady delivered a sharp kick to his temple. "The players are set," she laughed viciously. "As for you, my little star and Musketeer, your time in the spotlight will come very shortly."


"There you are, Albert!" Porthos greeted as the small blonde came into view.

"Ah, sorry about that. I just spotted a woman who needed assistance. It's all good now, though," the disguised enemy stuttered in a barely-passable imitation of their friend's lilt.

Athos smiled. "You missed a jolly good scuffle! Well, it was rather they who missed out… on your special sauce, that is!"

"I fear you weren't needed this time, Albert," D'Artagnan said cheerfully. "It was almost too easy, actually! The base cowards- you should've seen them flee like curs with their tails between their legs! While Porthos, Athos, and Aramis held off one apiece, it was one-against-two for me. Naturally, I could've taken on twenty blind-folded, but it was fine sport all the same."

'Albert' could only nod.

"I say, are you quite all right?" D'Artagnan inquired with a note of concern. "You- you seem a bit off, somehow."

"Yes, come to think of it, you don't much sound like yourself. Are you coming down with something?" added Aramis.

"I'm fine," the guard said waspishly. He hastily cleared his throat, remembering his instructions: Say as little as possible. Don't speak unless absolutely necessary.

D'Artagnan frowned at his 'friend's' uncharacteristic tone. "Are you sure, Albert? Or is this about what you shared with me last night? If so, I implore you to remember our discussion."

"You deaf or unusually stupid? I said I'm fine!"

A look of great shock, mingled with hurt, crossed the hot-blooded youth's face. If it were any other man, even the Three Musketeers, D'Artagnan would have drawn his sword without a moment's hesitation. But this was Albert, whom he looked upon as a younger brother, who was never deliberately rude to anybody- not even their enemies- and rarely got angry. "Very well, fair enough," he muttered, turning away.

The others were no less scandalized at this display, but dared not press it. Something was truly bothering their youngest comrade, and clearly D'Artagnan knew something they did not. They glanced at each-other, silently vowing to approach D'Artagnan on the matter at a more appropriate time and place.

Yet, it was very curious, they conveyed in a show of shrugs… Albert had seemed so lively and playful only that morning.

The five continued their patrol in silence. Suddenly, Aramis declared, "As I live and breathe, gentlemen, I do believe I spy D'Artagnan's lady fair."

"Pity she doesn't know he exists!" Porthos quipped, following Aramis's gaze toward the flower stand, where the belle subject of their jesting examined a row of carnations.

"All right, you tongue-wagging rascals! Step aside, and you may learn something from a well-versed Gascon."

It's now or never, the little man thought. He said to D'Artagnan amiably, "Ah, but she certainly is one to die for, my friend." He drew his- or, Albert's- sword in a salute. "Godspeed, then!"

The others repeated the gesture, unified in their support. "One for all-"

"And all for one," the interloper finished solo, tonelessly.

In a swift movement, he plunged his weapon straight into D'Artagnan's chest.