Aramis and Athos gradually healed, until one day they were overjoyed to be pronounced well enough to be assigned light duty.

Next morning, they once again dressed in their leathers. Pauldrons polished to a shine on their shoulders, courtesy of Porthos, who had worked on them when his brothers were asleep. Weapons once again hung from their belts, and when they had donned their gloves and hats, they headed out the door into the sunshine.

Standing at attention in a row in front of Treville's desk, Aramis was hard put to keep a smile from breaking out on his face. Athos, from whom smiles were much more rare, still looked very satisfied to be away from a sickbed at last.

Treville didn't keep them in suspense for very long as to their assignment.

"I need you four to report for duty at the palace until further notice," he said, watching the smile fall from Aramis' face at his words.

"But Captain...," he got no further with his protest, as Treville interrupted him.

"Are you questioning my order?" he asked.

Aramis, face still registering his confusion and dismay at the assignment, replied, "N..no. Sir."

"Good. You are to report there immediately. Dismissed."

As they filed silently out of the office, varying thoughts ran through each of them's minds.

Aramis couldn't understand it. They weren't usually given palace duty, when their were missions that needed taking care of, and he had overheard the men talking enough from the voices that drifted from the practice yard into the infirmary to know that there were several of them. Did Treville not believe they were healed enough to perform such missions? Had the physician said something to him that hadn't been told to the patients? But he knew he would get nowhere by pushing the Captain too far. He had known him far too long to think any of them could get away with that. Anyone who did would find themselves behind a shovel in the horses' stalls for an undetermined length of time, he chuckled to himself, his naturally cheerful mood returning.

Athos had already figured out what Treville was probably up to, and figured it would have done no good to complain about it. They just needed to grin and bear it. It couldn't last forever.

Porthos and d'Artagnan had already known what was going to happen, and had worked hard at schooling their faces to keep that fact from their brothers, who knew them so well. So the grins at their discomfiture were kept well-hidden.

Treville had told them earlier that morning what he planned to do. He had let them know that, much as they would also hate the assignment (no one liked palace duty, as, since it was almost always quite uneventful, it was also quite boring), he needed them on the same duty because otherwise their recuperating brothers would figure out the assignment was to, as they would call it, 'mollycoddle' them, and would protest mightily.

With all four of them given the duty, just maybe it would work out. Athos and Aramis would be on duty, and they would also have non-dangerous work until they were 100% again.

xxxxxxxxxxxxx

They had been serving half a week on the palace grounds. True to form, they were all bored, but the difference was that Porthos and d'Artagnan were bored and happy that their brothers were in a safe place on duty. There were dozens of courtiers staying at the palace, wanting to be near the king so as to possibly curry favors, most of them having rooms overlooking the extensive grounds. There were the legions of gardening staff, all tending the King's grounds. There were also all the servants running on errands throughout the day. No one would dare try anything with that many potential witnesses around.

It was around mid-morning of the fourth day that Athos notice something a bit different in Aramis' behavior. He no longer looked bored, for one thing. He continued to watch his brother, and it finally hit him. Aramis was gazing intently at a window on the far left side of the second floor. 'That's odd,' he thought, continuing his study.

Then, it hit him, and he began striding purposefully towards his brother.

"Aramis," he began, as soon as he reached him.

"Hmmm," was the only reply.

"Aramis! he said a second time, sharply.

That got the marksman's attention on his brother at last. He turned and looked at Athos. "What is it?"

"You should know what it is," Athos told him. "You are staring at the Queen's apartments. Do you have any idea what would happen if the King glanced out of his window and caught you doing that?'

"He isn't here, Athos. Two of the servants were discussing it this morning. Seems he decided to take Richelieu with him to visit one of the churches this morning. Wanted to make a visit, and quite a few of the Red Guards went with them."

"So you figure it is safe to stare up at the Queen's window, hoping she will appear?"

Aramis' face flushed a little, embarrassed at being caught out, like a little boy with his fingers in the freshly-bake cake.

"Aramis, look around. You do know how many of the nobility are here at present-with rooms looking out on the very ground we are standing on? Who are always looking to further their status with the king with any piece of gossip they can pick up?"

Aramis was feeling distinctly uncomfortable now, but spoke up saying, "It is very hard, but I have not tried to see her, Athos, nor will I seek her out."

"I am glad to hear that, Aramis. But if you were caught gazing intently up at her rooms, your life could be forfeit. Especially since it was not so long ago that we were at the convent with her. People like to talk, and we do not want to give them anything to build on. I do not want to see you hung if I can prevent it, brother," his voice softening and quieter as he said the last sentence," his hand laid gently on Aramis' shoulder.

Aramis knew Athos cared deeply, and nodded his head. "I will try harder, Athos."

Strolling away to continue his patrolling, Athos hoped with all his heart that his brother could keep that promise. Athos was glad that his other brothers were patrolling the western end of the palace grounds. He might have had a little explaining to do, which he had rather not have to do. He was hoping to keep the secret just between he and Aramis-and, of course, Anne. It was the best way.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The rest of their duty that day was uneventful. At the end of their time, all four of them were more than ready for a drink or two a their favorite tavern, The Wren.

Aramis and Athos' number of drinks were kept an eye on by their brothers, and when they had finished two, Porthos signalled the barmaid over for their tab, over Athos and Aramis' vehement objections, which were being solemnly ignored.

Still complaining, albeit now a little more good-naturedly as they headed out the door into the rather chilly night, Porthos kept up a string of jokes he had overheard during the evening in the bar. D'Artagnan excused himself for a few moments, and popped into a shop just as it was attempting to close, hoping to pick up a couple of tarts for Constance.

Continuing down the narrow, badly-lit street, they had all joined into Porthos' rather raucous renditions of some questionable ditties he had heard over the years as they walked.

Turning onto an even dingier and darker street, they watched where they walked. The knew the street, and knew that waste was thrown out of the windows at all hours, even more so than the other streets of Paris. None of them wished to have their nice clean uniforms splattered with an unnameable and gross mess.

They were more than halfway back to the garrison when several men rolled out of a side alley, punching and kicking as they called each other some colorful and vary vulgar names. The Musketeers looked at them, then at each other, shrugging their shoulders and sighing. It was their duty to break up the altercation, so they stepped forward, drawing their weapons as they went.

Athos and Porthos, in the lead, aimed their weapons, as Athos called out in a voice of authority, "Stop in the name of the King!"

The men ceased, but looked as if they were going to divert the focus of their attack to the Musketeers. Athos cocked his pistol, the sound loud in the night air.

"I wouldn't, Musketeers!"

Meanwhile, while this was going on, Aramis felt a massive pair of hands grab him, one around the waist and the other clamping down hard across his mouth, to prevent his calling for assistance. He struggled, but this opponent felt even more massive in size than Porthos, and his attempts were miniscule against the man. He could feel himself being yanked up hard against the man's chest as he continued to try to pull himself loose, all to no avail. The hand over his mouth was so large, it had covered part of his nose, restricting his breathing.

The men in front of Athos and Porthos stopped what they had been doing, smirks plastered accross their faces now. "I think the shoe is on the other feet now!" indicating they look behind them.

Athos and Porthos' blood froze when they saw what had happened while they had been fighting. Aramis was being forcibly restrained hard against a man who was several inches taller than Porthos, and quite a few pounds heavier. Not only was he being held, however. They could see that he was having a great deal of trouble even breathing, something his captor either didn't realize or didn't care too much about.

"Drop your weapons, Musketeers, unless you want to see what happens when someone makes Andre really angry," one of the previously brawling men ordered.

Athos and Porthos slowly complied, then kicked them away when ordered to do so.

Athos said, "He is having trouble breathing. Could your man at least give him some air?"

The first man who had spoken laughed, saying, "That will be the least of his troubles when we are done with him."

He had hardly finished, when a shot rang out in the night air. The lumbering giant holding Aramis whole body jerked, as his hands dropped from the marksman's body and spun around, before thudding hard onto the dirt street. Aramis fell to his knees, coughing and trying to get his breath back.

D'Artagnan came around the corner, smoking gun held in his hand, heading straight for Aramis.

They all reached the marksman about the same time, Porthos holding him against his chest on the ground while Aramis worked to get his breath back. His face slowly turned a healthier shade as he pulled great gasps of breath into his starving lungs. After a few moments, he lay quietly against his brother.

"We certainly weren't expecting that one," he quietly said, glancing back at the now-dead giant splayed on the ground behind him.

Porthos just shushed him, saying, "Don't talk. Just get your breath back for a bit, hmmm?"

Athos, still looking down the street where the others had run to escape, said, "They are certainly a very determined bunch. That was just a little bit too close. We have to do better, gentlemen. This cannot be allowed to happen again."

They just don't give up, do they? More next week. Please let me know what you think?

The last half of this was written as I was sitting in the ER unexpectedly yesterday.