Ninon had insisted he was up and about 36 hours after the falling through the floor incident. As much as he'd rather lie about and not jar his ribs he was sharply informed bed rest would hinder the healing process. It took three weeks before he was cleared for their meeting with this "Cardinal" and he was about ready to shoot himself to save himself from the annoyance of a nine year old badgering him about the upcoming day. It was non-stop questions about people he'd never met, places he'd never been, and what could possibly go wrong.

To think all it took was a couple of busted ribs for the kid to turn into Mr. Safety and Precaution. He had to go hide out in Constance's room just to get some peace and quiet. It took a couple of times of listening to awkward apologies before Treville could convince her everything was fine. His ribs were sore, sure, but it was nothing compared to old injuries received while serving in the military.

They hadn't practiced since and Treville wasn't exactly worried that they might never again. Either she'd come back around to the idea or she wouldn't, but he had more important things occupying his mind. The looming meeting was a major source of stress and even the guards could tell he was off, tending to keep their distance despite the earlier concern radiating off of every single member of staff in their section of the facility.

As for practice with Aramis—they'd put together a sort of routine just in case there was no direction. It showcased most of their ability, but they kept a wild card in their back pocket just in case. There was no reason to pull out all of the stops for shady rich men looking for a show.

The meeting was arranged and before they knew it they sat in the back of car dressed in stuffy suits. Aramis looked cute, though Treville dared not to say so. He wore an expensive looking navy bowtie and his little dress shoes shined. The boy wasn't as uncomfortable as Treville thought he'd be. Instead the kid preened himself in car window whenever he could catch a glimpse of his hair. He was never satisfied with it, brushing through it with his fingers this way and that.

Treville was the opposite; he was constantly readjusting his tie—matching Aramis's of course, his dress shoes pinched his toes and he wondered how exactly they were going to move comfortably for their routine. Limon was sitting in the front seat and Sylvia was driving steadily through the countryside.

The facility itself wasn't too far out from Paris but the surrounding countryside was a breath of fresh air. They hit traffic on the way into the city and what should have been a two hour drive ended up taking four hours. The added time made Aramis twice as fidgety and Treville wondered if the boy was going to survive the trip.

He ended up taking the boy's hand into his own for a few minutes, noticing the way he relaxed under familiar touch. They didn't do things like this often, but Treville found it was a comfort to Aramis when he became worked up.

The two of them were dropped off in front of a skyscraper, security standing outside of the revolving glass door. Aramis was gawking at the city life. They were on one of the most expensive streets in Paris and Treville recognized the lavishness of the people walking about the well lit streets. The bright lights were something to behold, even for a child who was normally privy to the outside world. Treville pulled on the small sleeve of his companion.

"Come on, we're going to be late."

The boy snapped back to attention, trotting after him as they approached the beefy looking guards—also in expensive suits. Treville wasn't sure what to say to them and Sylvia had driven off with the director without a word of instruction.

One of the guards regarded them through dark sunglasses and nodded to the other. That one, smaller than the other, gruffly addressed them.

"Names."

"Jean-Armand Treville and Aramis."

"Just Aramis?" The larger one scoffed.

"Yes." Truthfully, he wasn't sure Aramis had a last name and the boy wasn't saying anything to correct him.

"State your business."

"We've been invited to a meeting by the Cardinal." Treville answered coolly.

Instantly he could sense the shift in body language. The smaller of the two reached up, pressing a button on his headset and rattling off the information they'd just received. Within seconds they were ushered inside.

"Hands out."

Aramis, the poor naive lad, held his arms out in front of him and his palms up. The smaller guard cracked a smile and separated his arms out to his sides running a wand over Aramis's small frame. Aramis watched them in fascination as they did it to Treville next.

"What's that for?"

"To check for weapons." Treville pulled the boy closer to him. "Are we cleared gentlemen?"

"Clear. Take the elevator to the top. There's more security to greet you there."

"Thank you." Treville nodded at them and the female receptionists giggling at the two of them from behind a marble counter.

"Is that your son?" One called, flipping dark hair over her shoulder. "He looks adorable."

"He's not my father, but thank you." Aramis flashed them a smile and Treville frowned down at the boy. "You look adorable too."

"C'mon." He dragged the kid to the elevator, shaking his head. "Those girls are far too old for you."

"I was just answering their question." Aramis pouted. "And they were adorable. Are girls always so nice looking? Well, I guess Constance and Ninon look good."

It was way too early to be having this talk. "You listen to me. Girls are off limits, alright? You shouldn't even like them until you're a teenager."

"Why? Girls are pretty and they're nice." Aramis rocked on his heels as the elevator lifted them to the sixty-fifth floor. "Don't you like girls?"

"Yes, but you're too young too like them. Just… promise you'll stay away from girls until you're at least fifteen."

"How am I supposed to stay away from Constance?" Aramis grumped. "That's not very fair of you."

"That's not what I meant by it."

"Then what did you mean by it?"

The elevator dinged and they walked out into a hallway of gold. Every last detail was shiny, spotless, and adorned with gold. Whether it was paint or solid gold, the hallway absolutely sparkled. The floor was black—an expensive onyx maybe and it only reflected the shine even more. There were six guards in the hall, two by the end of hallway where a large mahogany door was closed, two in the middle of the hallway, and two to greet them by the elevator.

This search was far more extensive; pockets were turned inside out, jackets removed, they were asked to open their mouths and take off their shoes, and Treville noticed that every single guard was armed to the teeth. The two at the end of the hall had their guns out, trained on the two of them the entire time. Aramis was far more shy during the search and retreated into himself. Treville could feel the anxiety return full throttle. Hopefully they'd be able to get through the meeting with minor incidents.

The first guards escorted them to the second and so forth until they reached the doors at the end. The last guards opened to door and inside was more lavish than the hallway and the reception room combined. Marble graced the floor, windows were floor to ceiling, there was a chandelier with so many crystals Treville was sure it was more expensive than his parent's home, and red velvet covered the Victorian era fainting couches lining the walls.

There were paintings from all eras of major art movements adorning the walls and various pieces of pottery from all over the world sitting on equally expensive stands made of mahogany. In the center of the large room was an incredibly ornate desk—also mahogany, a theme of the room it seemed— sitting two men, also in suits. The desk was long and could comfortably fit three behind it.

One of the men was older than the other; hair mostly gray, skin under the eyes starting to sag. He had minimal wrinkles but it was obvious he was starting to reach retirement age. Late fifties, Treville guessed. His posture was straight and well pronounced. He was eyeing them carefully, intimidating to say the least.

Beside him, the other was young—perhaps Constance's age. He had dark hair, long and pressed carefully into even waves. It was not a look trending with the youth of the age but it oddly suited him. Treville was vaguely reminded of old paintings of nobles. He held himself very differently, shoulders rolled forward with elbows on the desk. His eyes were lit up with excitement and his sole focus was on Aramis.

Treville felt his Source scoot the barest of inches closer to him, dark brows furrowed.

"Welcome, gentlemen." The younger greeted, nearly sing-song. "Please, take a seat!"

There were a couple of chairs, ornate designs of what Treville recognized as the fleur de lis adorning the back. With a gentle push, he ushered Aramis to his seat and took the other himself, unbuttoning his suit jacket as he sat, back straight.

"I am Armand Richelieu, this is my associate. For now he shall go unnamed."

"Nonsense, Louis is fine."

Never before had Treville felt such a kinship with another man as he did at that moment. The annoyance bleeding through the older man's face was one Treville had experienced over and over again with the child sitting next to him. Breathing a bit easier, he nodded at the two of them.

"My name is Jean-Armand Treville, this is Aramis."

"Jean-Armand and Aramis." Louis repeated, awe held in every word. "And you're from the Source and Inheritance Program, yes?"

"That is correct. Just Treville, if you please. We keep things a bit military."

"Very well. We have a few questions regarding this program." Richelieu flipped through some papers sitting on the desk. "Why don't you tell us what it is you do in this program."

"I am an Inheritor, Aramis is my Source. We've been perfecting the art of safely drawing energy and controlling the results of said draw."

"What kind of ability do the two of you have?" Louis asked, leaning full up against the desk.

"Shields." Treville answered, glancing down at his companion. Aramis was concentrating on something but Treville would rather him quiet than giving away information these two didn't know. "Or at least it's what we've been using it as. A force field of sorts, I suppose."

"Force fields… amazing!" Louis sat back, fingers interlacing over his stomach. "And what can you do with them?"

Richelieu gave a small sigh, gesturing with a hand for a demonstration. Treville nudged Aramis and the boy stood, his chair squeaking against the marble floor. Treville winced and picked up his own, placing it a fair distance away. Aramis moved to do the same but Treville gestured for him to stand still and did the task himself.

"If you don't mind, we'll keep it small. I'm sure many of the items in this room are expensive."

Aramis started a link and nearly instantly the pale blue he'd come to know materialized around his left fist. Holding it out for them to see, it took minimal concentration—thankfully, as his nerves flared—and it changed shape to flat and circular, thin, but sturdy.

"We've been testing its strength against various degrees of firepower. It's held up against handguns, shotguns, and so far a few rounds of an assault rifle. I can control its shape," he paused for demonstration, circular shape squeezing itself into square, then triangular, "size, and density."

"How big can it go?" Louis asked, eyes wide in wonder at the foreign object.

"We've been able to shape it to our training room's dimensions, but I'm afraid we haven't tested the absolute limit of it yet." Treville hesitated for only a fraction of a moment, but it was clear Richelieu caught it. "There are concerns for Aramis's health. The top priority is well-being; this has its dangers."

"So I've heard." Richelieu drawled. "Thank you, you may sit again. I've got some questions about the process."

Treville stopped the draw and waited patiently for the line to drop. Aramis side glanced up at him nervously, biting the corner of his lips. Treville gave him a soft smile before realigning the chairs to the previous set-up. Aramis took his seat once more, the urge to swing his feet great. Treville had schooled him on proper behavior in front of the investors beforehand and he fought against the urge.

"There has been some information passed along to us, but I'd rather hear it from the horse's mouth. Tell me in detail what it is exactly that you do when you transfer energy."

Treville left out nothing, answering follow questions about drawing, establishing a line, dropping it, and even Aramis's unique ability to cut the line himself. Aramis himself briefly described what he did, but left out the back story behind the discovery. There were more questions about side effects, the frequency of their practices, what their intended uses for their power was, and even a few questions about Constance.

Treville tried to be as polite as possible at some of the more… personal questions. He kept things concise and to the point, hoping it would be more appreciated than a drawn out explanation. Richelieu wrote notes the entire time, looking up from time to time to study them. Louis was continually excitable, far more interested in what they could do, how long they could hold a line, and what it felt like to use the powers.

It was going well until Aramis opened his mouth.

"You're an Inheritor." He jutted his chin to Richelieu, and turned to look at Louis. "Are you his Source?"

Louis's mouth dropped open at the declaration and Treville nearly shoved the boy off of his chair for saying such a thing. He hadn't noticed anything himself but such an accusation was bound to rub them the wrong way. Had he not been listening to a word of caution they had told him prior to the meeting?

"I'm so sorry about hi—"

"Incredible! You can sense that?" Louis was on his feet in seconds, making his way over to Aramis who was trying to shrink back into his chair. "How did you know?"

Richelieu was practically scowling. "Yes, I'm interested in that as well."

Treville guessed it was confidential information. Unfortunately, not much was kept secret with Aramis, whether it was other's secrets or his own. Now that he mentioned it, Treville hadn't noticed any buzzing.

"I…" Aramis struggled to get the words out in lieu of the man in his face about it. "there's a buzzing. It's hard to explain."

"I didn't feel it." Treville murmured, hoping it stayed under the radar of their hosts.

"It was quiet. I wasn't sure." Aramis said quietly. "But I thought it was weird that they wanted to know all of this stuff."

"Investors are supposed to go through these things thoroughly." Richelieu chastised. "It's a normal part of any operation regarding money."

"But you've been writing a lot down." Aramis pointed out, gaining a bit of confidence. He turned to Louis, hanging on every word. "And you were more excited than me when I first found out we could do this. So I thought the buzzing was definitely real."

"So cool. Really, you've blown me away."

"Louis." Richelieu's tone was stern and it calmed the younger man down significantly.

"Really, you're such a buzz kill." Louis huffed. "They've got the answers to our problem, so why play on the bravado? This is exciting stuff and I'll not have you intimidate our guests."

Richelieu mere rolled his eyes and sighed. "This is far more serious than you're taking it. If these two go around running their mouths—"

"Please, spare me the lecture." Louis groaned, leaning back against the desk. "These two are trustworthy, I can feel it. We've got the money they need anyhow. They'll do what we tell them regardless. That or we can always burn them to the ground at a moment's notice. You worry far too much."

There it was; the bite Treville had been waiting for. Despite the fun loving attitude, Treville knew whoever this Louis and Cardinal were, they knew how to play everything their advantage. Money and power was all it really took to finagle anyone into doing whatever they wanted. Treville suspected their investors weren't exactly strict law abiding citizens. Nearly everyone with wealth had their hands dipped in something shady and this Richelieu seemed to be bathing it.

"It's my caution that's kept us alive."

"He's got a point, I'm afraid." Treville risked speaking up. "I'm not sure how much you know about the Spanish at the moment."

"We are well aware, hence the caution." Richelieu eyed him warily. "You're a military man, aren't you?"

"For many years. I dabbled a bit in unique operations, but I'm sure you've done your research."

"Indeed." Richelieu stood himself, coming around the mahogany desk to lean back against it just as his partner had done. "Now that we've been ousted by a child, let's get to the negotiation. As you've discovered, I am an Inheritor. I have yet to draw from my associate due to the dangers involved. You two are the only pair in France to have successfully done so."

"Teach us." Louis paraphrased. "I don't want to die but we need to prepared just in case of a security breach."

"We'll fund the continuation of your little program and keep an eye on your results should you agree."

"What do you suggest in terms of teaching you?" Treville frowned, unsure he was liking where this was going.

"You'll come here everyday and work with us. If I connect with you, learn how to start a line and you can teach Richelieu how to draw, we can work from there." Louis explained. "We only need a headstart."

"No." Treville shook his head. "I've got to stay with him. There's someone else in facility who also needs my protection. I can't leave them for long periods of time."

"You're refusing us?" Louis was inbetween dejected and insulted.

"I'm countering." Treville offered quickly. "Once a week. It gives you ample time to practice in between sessions and I'm able to keep an eye on those I have a commitment to. I also require that the staff stays the same. No changes to the program without discussing it with both the director and myself. We know what's best for the program."

The two men were quiet for a time, running it through. Aramis shifted in his chair, looking between the three adults uneasily. Louis clapped his hands loudly and a smile graced his face, revealing perfectly straight, large teeth.

"You've got yourself a deal! Let's get it in writing."

Letting out the breath he hadn't realized he was holding, Treville felt the tension leave his body. Richelieu was still eyeing the two of them, but he was obediently returning to his desk and shuffling through one of the drawers.

It took three hours to talk about terms and conditions and Treville signed more paperwork than he'd ever signed in his entire life. Aramis kept himself busy by inspecting the various art pieces in the room. He knew better than to touch, but Treville kept a silent eye on him anyway. Gathering the documents, Richelieu tapped them into a straight pile on the desk before gesturing for their release.

"We'll have these sent to Director Limon for signing at a later date. Thank you for your cooperation and we look forward to working with you."

"Thank you for seeing us and I apologize for the delay." Treville shook hands with both of them and called for Aramis. The boy returned to his side, making sure to keep a wide berth of Richelieu. "I hope we can work amicably."

"I'll send for someone to pick you up on Thursday, then. We'll be at my home and not this stuffy old office. A more suitable place for privacy and workspace." Louis laughed at himself, no doubt having made a joke only he understood. Richelieu humored him with a tight lipped smile. "Good evening, gentlemen, have a safe journey home."

"Thank you."

"Thanks." Aramis nodded at them and awkwardly followed Treville out the door.

The guards watched them go, one pressing a button on the outside of the elevator and the door slid shut. Treville let out a heavy sigh, head knocking slightly against the wall of the elevator. Aramis kept quiet, rocking back on his heels once more. The receptionists had changed, a man bowing his head respectfully as they exited through the revolving doors. The guards allowed them to wait on the steps while the car was sent for.

Sylvia pulled up in the sleek black car they'd ridden in on the way into the city. Director Limon was nervously fidgeting in the passenger seat as they got in, relaxing into the plush interior.

"How'd it go, lads?"

"Well, I think." Treville answered tiredly. "We're very much ready to go home."

"I'm sure you'll fill me in on the details after some rest. I apologize for the stress it put on you."

Aramis shrugged, eyes glued to what lay outside the window. The lights were still as bright as they'd been when they entered the city, but it seemed dimmer, lulling the boy into sleep a half hour into the drive. Treville ended up carrying him to bed when they reached the facility. He was making his way back to his own rooms when he caught sight of Ninon leaning against his door with two cups of something steaming in her delicate hands.

"Thought you could use something to relax you after a hard day's work." She smiled at him and he must have looked absolutely wrecked because she followed up with; "You certainly look like you need it."

"Not my first time dealing with the rich, but it's a whole other story when you put a kid in the room."

"He didn't say anything that terrible, did he?" She watched him, amused as he held the door open for her. "You don't look that awful."

"I don't know how he does it." Treville sighed, sinking onto his bed and gratefully taking one of the mugs. Hot cider, he realized with a sip. "He managed to risk the entire deal."

"What did he say?"

"I'm under oath not to repeat it." Treville shook his head. "But it's landed me in a position I'd rather stay far away from. Honestly, I don't know how he gets me further into this every time."

"You're under oath." She repeated flatly. "Under penalty of death?"

"Under contract to save the program. You're welcome." He set his cup down and kicked off his dress shoes. "It's been a long day. Thanks for the cider, but what I need now is some sleep."

"Don't think I won't get it out of you—or Aramis." She quirked a playful eyebrow at him.

"He won't say. He's been sworn into secrecy as well." Treville removed his jack and worked on the buttons to his white shirt. "Don't pressure him; it's not a secret that's worth the consequences."

She sighed, taking a drink of her own cider. "Fine, but I'm not happy about it."

"I wouldn't suspect you would be. Goodnight, Ninon. Maybe I'll be in a better mood tomorrow."

"Maybe." She agreed, pulling the door shut behind her.

Treville groaned, kicking off his pants. He would probably care more that he just sent a woman away from his room tomorrow. For now, sleep was his mistress and she accepted no other to distract him.