Continued from Chapter 2, Making the Cut

Notes: I usually do not do this, but faerie requested a little more so I stretched it into another chapter. Thank you for the reviews, the follows, the favorites. I really appreciate them after a self imposed exile from writing. I am looking forward to the the season finale, and will continue to write.

FYI- a reviewer mentioned about Aramis affording a BMW and I just wanted to share my thoughts. His pay grade would have him earning 100-130K, a condo/single family home in Paris is about 65K-75K. I also did not mention the age of the BMW, but I can assure you that in my mind that he got a good deal (I am basing this off someone I know) and keeps that car in pristine condition regardless of age. I hope that helps. In this part I am just expanding on some ideas. (Rhiana- Laredo shout out and future story shout out for you.)

When d'Artagnan awoke it was to the smell of coffee and the pull of stitches. He felt the soreness of where he had been cut, and moved gingerly to his side before leveraging himself up. He stayed there for a moment, hands on thighs to become fully awake. He noticed the kitchen chair near his bed, looked over to the couch with the blanket tossed haphazardly on it, then looked over to his kitchen table to see Aramis, Porthos and Athos having donuts and coffee.

He stood up. He placed a hand on the bandage, noticing some blood on it and shuffled over to the table too lazy to put a shirt on.

"You're running out of pods." Porthos pointed to the Keurig.

The three men had given him that coffee maker when he arrived in Paris—actually Aramis had purchased it and handed it to him. The other poked fun at Aramis because he always found a deal. The coffee maker was now his prized possession after his tv. A 50 inch flat screen that Aramis had helped him purchase at a discount. Otherwise he kept his place Spartan. "Did you save me the Carmel Vanilla one? It's my favorite and I'm wounded." He would use the sympathy card when he could.

"I did." Aramis stood up. "Have a seat."

D'Artagnan sat in the vacated seat.

"How are you feeling?" Athos asked, nursing a cup of coffee.

"Not bad." He pulled the donut box towards him to see what was left. Porthos had gone to Southern Maid Donuts. He picked the chocolate glaze to start as he noticed a mug of coffee being placed in front of him and two pills.

"Ibuprofen and an antibiotic," Aramis explained. "So your plan today is to rest. What do you believe your plan is tomorrow?"

D'Artagnan looked at Porthos for confirmation who nodded. "Rest?"

"We have informed Constance of this, and she has assured us that she will be watching you." Athos dunked the donut piece into his coffee.

"I'm fine." He did not want people hovering and worrying over him.

"Thirty five stitches," Athos said.

"By yours truly." Aramis was leaning against the kitchen counter with his coffee mug in his hand. "And you begged us not to take you to the hospital so that Treville and Capetian wouldn't find out."

"I wouldn't say beg." The younger man frowned.

"It was begging. Pathetic." Porthos took another donut and bit into it, smacking his mouth with happiness of a good donut.

"Which means this week you will listen to us." Athos stood up and went to the sink to wash his mug.

D'Artagnan looked away, concentrating on his donut and inhaling the smell of the vanilla caramel. "I always listen."

Porthos cleared his throat.

"Just last week, did I not suggest in avoiding Cooper?" Aramis asked, still leaning against the counter, but with Athos next to him. Cooper was one of Richelieu's men that the Musketeers had nicknamed mole, his beady eyes and small features were one reason, but the other is that he reported on the Musketeers.

"Yeah, but he is an asshole." D'Artagnan had outshot him at the range and purposefully rubbed it in.

"Now you are on his radar." Porthos shook his head, sighing in mock disappointment.

Athos raised his brows, and D'artagnan was forced to agree. "I almost always listen."

"With that Athos, can you give me a ride home?" Aramis slapped Athos's stomach.

"I'll keep an eye on the kid." Porthos stood up, moved to the couch.

D'Artagnan rolled his eyes. "So your plan is to hold me hostage?"

"Yep and do paperwork." Porthos placed a hand on the laptop, which sat upon the coffee table. D'Artagnan had not noticed it when he walked past it to the kitchen. His laptop was under the bed.

Athos smiled. "We will be back later."

***((()))***

Porthos sat on one end of the couch, feet extended on the coffee table, television on and laptop on his legs, college basketball game in the background. They both kept looking at the game, then diverting their attention back to their laptops.

D'Artagnan was sitting on the other side of the couch. Porthos thought he was probably surfing the net, then catching up on paperwork. As an unofficial agent, he did not have the full responsibilities of a special agent. "Is that our next case?"

"Could be. A friend of mine wants help with some gang activity in Laredo. I want to present it to Treville. Athos already said he would back it up." Derek had mentioned that gang violence was escalating. Porthos was going through a few strategies, one of which had him going undercover. He had long since cultivated an alter ego.

"You went to school there- right?"

"Texas A& M. Thank God for football scholarships. Though with my mom I was going to college one way or another." He spoke to his mother frequently, but hadn't made the time to return to Houston for a proper visit in a few months. He promised he would see her as soon as he had a weekend free.

"You're a Mama's Boy?" d'Artagnan teased.

They could hear the footsteps coming up the stairs. Aramis had arrived, looking showered, still unshaven, but with a change of clothes different from the track pants and t-shirt from last night.

"You have not met my mom. No lip, no sass, she's the boss and kept us together. You don't want to disappoint Mama." Angela Vallon was a strong woman to bring up her children in a tough section of Houston while keeping them on the straight and narrow.

Aramis slipped out of the messenger bag that was across his body. "You should see Porthos with his mother. He's a pussy cat."

Athos was coming up the stairs at a slower pace with his case on his shoulder. "And what should we say about you?"

Aramis stepped over d'Artagnan's legs and took the last cushion on the couch, leaving the chair for Athos. "I'm my mom's favorite," he said as he sat down with a huff.

"Aramis has two sisters. He's the only boy. The prince." Porthos waved his hand with a flourish.

"It is a cross I bear." Aramis pressed his hands together as if he was praying, then blessed himself, bringing up the gold cross he wore around his neck and kissed it.

"She wants him to settle down, since he's not going to be a priest," Athos added, taking the chair that had been left available for him. He opened his bag and pulled out a file plus a yellow legal pad.

Aramis relaxed back, putting his hands behind his neck. "The vow of celibacy was the first issue-"

"One day I am sure he will tell you this story of the church youth coordinator."

"Courtney. . ." Aramis reminded Athos. It was a story that Aramis had told them before of being a late bloomer.

"There was another issue?" D'Artagnan was new to the group, and listened with rapt attention to their stories to learn more about these men he had found that he had formed a bond to.

"Poverty. Let's say college was an eye opening experience."

"He became a metro sexual." Porthos elbowed his friend. Aramis spoke of his time in Arizona State and the friends he had made there who had shown him another world that wealthy parents from other countries provided. Not that he had forgotten his roots, but Aramis grew to appreciate cars, women and image. Yet, Porthos knew there was another reason that after his college graduation he turned away from religious studies and became a Border Patrol Agent. Aramis never shared the reason, leaving Porthos with speculation.

"And our bargain shopper." Athos snorted.

Aramis shook his head. "They are just jealous of my skills."

"You said your mom wants you to settle down. . ."

Porthos smiled at d'Artagnan's persistence. The young man had no family to speak of, having lost his father. His mother died when he just a child. There was a picture on an end table of a young couple in their prime that honored them.

Aramis smiled and chuckled before answering, "I blame Athos working me too hard. There's been a novena for him to turn from his ways."

"It's not working." Athos said without looking up from the notes he was taking. "We're still putting in fifty plus hours. You should ask your mother to pray for d'Artagnan about staying out of trouble."

"And send more cookies," Porthos said as he thought about the Mexican wedding cookies that Aramis would share when he received his care packages from home.

"You will meet them all soon enough." Aramis stood up to get his bag, which he had left at D'Artagnan's end of the couch.

"What? Why? When?"

Aramis raised his hands up. "Calm down. Not right now, but you'll be adopted."

"Christmas, Easter, Thanksgiving. . ." Porthos listed the holidays that were times for family gathering. "We've scared Athos off though."

"I prefer a little more quiet and a bottle of Laphroaig that I do not have to share," Athos commented. He was elusive about his family. What Porthos and Aramis both knew is that he had parents and there had been an estrangement. "Why am I the only one working?"

Aramis rolled his eyes. "Because you're at a higher pay grade? Oh, that was a rhetorical question." He pulled his laptop from the bag. "No worries, d'Artagnan. You've gained an extended family."

"Whether you like it or not." Porthos returned his attention back to his case, but not before seeing the grin on d'Artagnan's face.

***(((())))***