AN – Thanks so much to everyone for the reviews, favs and follows. I hope you will continue to enjoy as this epic unfolds!

Athos' return to the Garrison did go at all as he expected.

They had spent the previous night at Aramis' lodgings, because, as his friend was swift to point out, it had all the comforts a home should have. Lulled by a warm fire, a fine meal, good brandy made by Aramis' father, and the company of friends, Athos had slept surprisingly well. The one time he startled awake, his heart racing and his breath coming in short gasps, he had not been alone, Porthos a steady presence at his back, Aramis quick to soothe with a gentle touch and reassuring words.

"Athos, look at me," Aramis placed a hand on either side of his face, his thumb rubbing lightly along his jaw, grounding him in the present. "We have you."

In the morning Athos dressed with more than usual care. Clean braies and stockings, a fresh pair of breeches, a newly laundered shirt, his boots buffed to a shine. Adding their silent support, Aramis had taken apart and cleaned his musket for him, then polished his sword and main gauche till they looked like new. Porthos had taken his jacket and wiped away every last residue of the Chatelet.

"You don't have to do this, you know," Porthos looked on, his brow furrowing, as Aramis cleaned and redressed Athos' damaged wrists. "No-one will think less of you if you take another couple of days."

"Treville is expecting us." Athos reminded him.

Aramis and Porthos exchanged a quick glance. Neither man had missed the fact that Athos had not claimed to be fully recovered. Sometimes it was more important to listen for the things he did not say.

"These bandages must be kept clean and dry," Aramis fixed him with a look. "Or the wounds may become infected."

To Athos' surprise and his friend's clear amusement it took him several minutes to cross the courtyard and ascend the stairs to Treville's office. It seemed as if every man in the regiment had turned out to shake his hand, or pat him on the back. Entering Treville's office he had fully expected things to be business as usual, only to have Treville come around his desk, wearing a broad smile, to take his hand in a warm, firm, grip and pull him into a brief, hard, hug.

"Athos, welcome back."

Feeling utterly nonplussed, Athos could barely find the words to offer up his thanks. It did not help matters that he could clearly hear the stage whispered conversation between his two friends.

"Told you he was the Captain's favourite." Porthos sounded amused.

"Well, he is the finest soldier in the Regiment," Aramis mused. "His loss would be a great blow to us all."

"Gentlemen," Treville raised a mildly reproving brow at the pair of them. "You remember d'Artagnan?"

Athos head came up sharply. He had been so shocked by his warm reception by the ranks and Treville's affectionate greeting that he had not noticed the young Gascon lurking in the shadows. Now the young man stepped forward.

"He has expressed a desire to seek the King's commission to become a musketeer. Since I know Athos would never participate in an illegal duel I presume that was what the two of you were discussing the courtyard the other day?"

"Of course," Athos lied with a perfectly straight face. "The boy is promising but raw. If he can live long enough to learn from his mistakes he could do well."

"From Athos, that's high praise," Aramis translated cheerfully, for d'Artagnan's benefit. "Normally, he just tells those who turn up hoping to train as a musketeer to follow some other trade. He suggested the last one should become a blacksmith."

"He had strength and power and a degree of artistry, but lacked the presence of mind to keep his head in a fight." Athos defended his advice.

"It's been months since he told the Captain here that any of 'em were worth keeping." Porthos grinned.

"There is far more to becoming a King's musketeer than skill with a sword," Treville eyed d'Artagnan. "You must be accurate with a musket, be skilled in hand to hand combat, learn to think strategically under pressure and remain stoic but alert during what can be extremely long hours on parade."

"I can do that." D'Artagnan assured him with all the confidence of youth.

"And give your life in an instant if their Majesties are in danger?" Treville gave no ground.

"I would rather die a musketeer for something that matters than live a life of toil and strain like my father only to die a senseless death." D'Artagnan returned with quiet determination.

"S'a fine answer," Porthos said solidly, lending his support. "Ain't it, Athos?"

Athos' glare was one of his finest as he moved to lean against the wall and pointedly crossed his arms. He knew Treville was no man's fool. He doubted that it was simply a co-incidence that d'Artagnan had been awaiting them. He could see the glint in the man's eye which clearly said he was up to something.

"Gentleman," The Captain picked up a bundle of letters from the table and passed them to Aramis. "Your orders are to take these letters to the monastery at Mont St Michel, the monks will give you hospitality overnight, take your time. Paris is quiet at present and I would rather not have you three underfoot. It always seems to lead to trouble."

"So we carry the letters to the monastery, have a slap up feed, drink our fill, get a free bed for the night and make our way back to Paris in our own good time?" Porthos spoke up.

"So it appears." Athos' tone was expressionless.

"And the letters aren't in any way secret or some grave matter of state which will incur untold danger?" Aramis needed to be sure.

"Not this time," Treville sat back in his chair and looked directly at his brooding Lieutenant, making quite sure that he realised that his next words were an order. "Take d'Artagnan with you."

That brought Athos upright, almost to attention, his dark eyes burning with intensity.

"Me?" d'Artagnan lit up with joy.

"If you are serious about a career in soldering this is as good an opportunity as any to see if you have any aptitude for it," Treville allowed. "You will follow Athos' orders in all things."

"Yes sir," d'Artagnan nodded eagerly. "I will be glad to serve in any way possible."

"Captain," Athos' tone was stiffly formal. "Might I have a word in private?"

D'Artagnan found himself outside the door and moving down the stairs before he could blink, courtesy of Porthos' firm grip on his collar and Aramis' hand steering him by the shoulder.

"What's that about?" d'Artagnan scowled.

"S'not you," Porthos said kindly. "It's complicated."

"Complicated?" d'Artagnan raised a brow.

Aramis did not particularly want to explain that he did not understand it himself. D'Artagnan would thrive under Athos' patient tutelage. And Athos always seemed a little less burdened when he could help others. If nothing else the boy's rare talent with a blade should have been an irresistible draw. And d'Artagnan was loyal, brave and honest. Athos himself had admitted he had no reason for distrust. Yet he seemed determined to keep his distance.

"Athos rarely knows what is good for him," Aramis shrugged as he poured four glasses of wine and set one in front of d'Artagnan. "You my friend, would be very good for him. We just have to help him realise it."

"Athos hasn't spent time with you like we have. He just needs a chance to get to know you." Porthos spoke kindly.

"Like on the road to Mont Saint Michel?" D'Artagnan suggested. "I take it this mission isn't the sort of thing you would usually do?"

"Not these sorts of missions, no," Porthos grinned. "Our kind of missions usually involve a whole lot of shooting and fighting, a bit of sneaking around, the odd fist fight, a few explosions and maybe even a bomb or two."

"We are fortunate that the good Captain has seen fitting to give us something of a holiday in celebration of Athos safe deliverance," Aramis did not think d'Artagnan needed to know that Athos was not quite fit for full duties. "He is not generally so sentimental."

"Perhaps, I should get sentenced to death more often," Athos mocked lightly, as he came down the stairs.

"Don't even go there," Porthos warned even as his stomach clenched at the unpleasant memory of his friend facing the assembled muskets of the firing squad. "Or I might have to hurt you."

"My apologies," Athos eyes softened, as he laid a hand on Porthos' soldier.

Aramis tracked his friend's movements as he walked around the back of d'Artagnan, helped himself to a glass of wine and then sat down next to the boy. To all outwards appearances he seemed fine. Even Aramis' sharp eyes would have missed the subtle signs if he hadn't known Athos so well.

Something Treville had said had profoundly shaken him.

"If you are coming with us, hadn't you better go and pack?" Aramis smiled brightly at d'Artagnan.

"Am I still coming?" The boy looked to Athos.

"You heard the Captain's orders," Athos nodded calmly, as if he had not just had a stand up fight with Treville. "We leave in an hour. If you are late we will go without you."

A low growl from Porthos' stomach reminded Aramis that none of them had had breakfast yet and gave him a plan, of sorts. Rising to his feet he headed off to the kitchen, filled a large platter with cheese and meats and collected another bottle of wine. On his return he circled around the table to take the place next to Athos just vacated by d'Artagnan. Athos pressed his lips together tightly and wordlessly moved to increase the distance between them. Aramis sighed and supposed he should be glad he had not punched him.

"Would you care to talk about it?" He carefully did not make eye contact.

"Not even remotely."

"Can't be that bad," Porthos encouraged. "He only just got you back."

Athos let his head drop forward onto his chest, an uncharacteristic sign of weakness that had the two of them exchanging a faint look of alarm. Deciding he did not care if it did get him punched Aramis placed his hand on the nape of Athos' neck and squeezed gently, needing his friend to know they were there for him, no matter what.

Taking strength from his comfort Athos forced himself to rally, lifting his head, straightening his back, squaring his shoulders and talking a long swallow of wine to fortify himself before speaking.

"It has been pointed out to me that I have done you gentlemen something of a disservice. Treville is correct, it is ungracious of me to object to being given light duties in respect of my recent incarceration as 'needless coddling' when you both worked tirelessly to clear my name and have tended to my needs at the expense of my own."

"Athos, we all need this," Porthos reminded him. "Being in prison wasn't exactly a picnic for you, in case you've forgotten."

"That's not all Treville said is it?" Aramis observed astutely.

Treville had, in fact, said many things. After his initial protests Athos had been stunned into silence as the Captain, still reeling a little from how close he had come to losing a man he could not love more fiercely if he were his own flesh and blood, had not held back. But there was one particular thing which went right to the crux of the matter and had left Athos reeling.

"I am sorry," He managed, rising to his feet. "I simply cannot."

Torn between concern for his well-being and respect for his privacy, Porthos and Athos watched with consternation as Athos stalked off towards the relative privacy of the stables.

"Guess, it was that bad, after all," Porthos observed unhappily.

"Go after him," Aramis decided. Athos might not wish to talk to them but that did not mean they shouldn't have his back. "I'll go see what I can get out of Treville."

"You sure that's a good idea?" Porthos frowned.

"Probably quite a bad one," Aramis admitted, with a tight grin. "But I like to live dangerously. Besides, you've got Athos."

"Yeah," Porthos frowned, looking around. "Is there any more wine?"

Aramis entered Treville's office braced for confrontation. He was surprised to see his commanding officer sitting at his desk looking unusually defeated. He went and poured out a single measure of bandy and placed it silently on the desk. His Captain stared at the glass but did not drink.

"I told him d'Artagnan wasn't Thomas."

"As in, not everyone Athos chooses to love is doomed to die?" Aramis hazarded.

"How much do you know about Thomas?" Treville looked up at him.

"It would seem not as much as you."

Aramis was surprised. He knew Treville had had some acquaintance with Athos before he became a musketeer. He had not considered that he might also have crossed paths with his brother.

"Just answer the question, Aramis."

"I know he died five years ago. That Athos blames himself. Not the how or the why of it."

Except that it had been somehow violent and ugly, and that Athos had most likely found his body, judging by the way his friend would thrash about in his sleep, silent tears streaming down his face, railing in helpless fury, calling out Thomas' name in a cry of utter despair as he always always failed to save his brother.

Treville was searching his face as if looking for something more. But Aramis kept his expression a mask of polite enquiry and told none of that.

"There was a situation," Treville admitted finally. "Thomas misjudged it and paid with his life. If he had not acted so rashly his death might have been prevented."

"So he looks at our impetuous little Gascon and sees the younger brother he did not save?" Aramis sighed.

He thought about what Athos must see when he considered d'Artagnan, a boy on the cusp of manhood. Eager, a little naive, rather too willing to believe the best of people and far too hot headed for his own good. Little wonder he feared becoming too attached to the boy when he knew from bitter experience that such a life could too easily be snuffed out by a single rash action.

"You said you told him d'Artagnan wasn't Thomas." Aramis recalled.

"Thomas had charm and good humour. But he was more at home with his books and his music than with intrigue and danger," Treville gave Aramis a telling look. "He would never have got the better of Gaudet."

Entering the stables Aramis headed straight for the ladder that led to the hay loft. Climbing up he found Porthos and Athos exactly where he knew they would be, sitting in the far corner wordlessly passing a bottle of wine back and forth between them. Aramis raised a brow at Porthos when he noticed that Athos' eyes were somewhat damp, but he did not speak of it. He merely settled himself on Athos' other side and held out his hand for the bottle.

"You know, when I was wild with grief after Savoy I might have lost myself forever had Treville not seen fit to place us together," Aramis spoke frankly. "You were my rudder through a world of turmoil when I could not see my own way."

"When I was young and angry at the world for the hand it had dealt me, you taught me how to proud of who I was," Porthos quickly caught on. "And then you showed me how to be an even better man until I felt the equal of any in the regiment."

"Can you not bring yourself to be that man for d'Artagnan also?" Aramis nudged him gently.

"You were a soldier before I met you," Athos pointed out. "Porthos grew up learning to take care of himself on the streets. Neither one of you ever required my services as a nursemaid."

"Did you know," Aramis offered lightly as if it was of no account, "That when we needed a distraction to gain access to Gaudet's encampment, our young innocent d'Artagnan persuaded the respectable Madame Bonacieux to dress as a prostitute and offer herself to one of the guards to do whatever he liked for 10 sous?"

He counted the way that Athos spat out his wine in a fountain of spray as a singular victory.

"Now don't that sound like someone you'd at least like to get to know a little better?" Porthos grinned.