I only wish I owned rights to Dumas' and BBC's The Musketeers. I don't though so damn my lack of luck.

I'll try to make weekly updates but I'm not sure I'll make a weekly appearance all the time.

I wish to also point out a source of inspiration for tiny things the boys do here: .com is an amazing artist and her/his fanart is wonderful and I have far too much respect for him/her so I want to point that out.

Ages in this chapter:

Athos: 47

Porthos: 41

Aramis: 40

d'Artagnan: 30

D'Artagnan knew he was in trouble the moment his eyes fluttered open.

He knew Vadim's plan, a bombing at the Church after Easter Mass. Three men with bombs, four others standing by should they miss their targets. Vadim had said he was going to have d'Artagnan do something very special, something that would mark his name in history should he do well. He'd been given the map and sent to buy wine. He'd passed the map to Porthos as he walked by the bear-like man, whispering for him to send it to Tréville.

He'd returned to find the place filled with six new faces, Vadim spouting his plan and his trust in them all – brothers he'd called them – save for one. The word traitor was spoken and d'Artagnan remembered his blood running cold. Vadim's mistress spoke promises of Felix's safety when Vadim stared at him for too long, as Vadim raised his gun to point at d'Artagnan.

He'd been called a spy and knocked out.

He assessed himself with bleary eyes, trying to ignore the pounding of his head. His jacket opened and his wrists were bound to…barrels. He was sitting on one of the barrels as well. Vadim was squatting a few feet in front of him, a candle on a smaller barrel sitting next to him.

"I was hoping you would wake."

Temptation won out on d'Artagnan as he asked where they were, his voice cracking from sleep. Tunnels under the Louvre, the ones that ran to the city walls for quick escape of the royal family until it had been walled up – history lesson courtesy of Vadim. The man went on about how he found the tunnels as he laid a long fuse that brushed against d'Artagnan's discarded sword.

"In fifteen minutes," Vadim said as if he were discussing the weather, "that candle over there will burn down, lighting the fuse that will explode the powder stored in those barrels."

Nice to know this is where it was, d'Artagnan mused as he glared at the barrels he leaned against.

"Blowing me to pieces."

"Certainly! But, that's not the main purpose of the exercise."

"It doesn't matter what you do to me," d'Artagnan sighed. "Your plan is in the hands of good men. You've failed."

"Ah but…You've only told them what I've told you," Vadim chuckled. He seemed disappointed. "I even explained the trick."

Son of a bitch, d'Artagnan thought as Vadim packed a satchel with a few grenades and left him in the darkness.

As soon as the door closed, he was wrenching at the ropes on his wrists. He could get out of this; he knew he could. He'd escaped the jaws of death itself. He could get away from it again. It took far longer than he would have liked but he managed to cut himself free and cut the fuse. He gathered his things and moved to leave.

Now, if only Vadim hadn't rigged the damned door.

Porthos was livid. He hadn't liked this plan the moment d'Artagnan had ridden off with Vadim; mostly because it had gone completely to shit by then. He wasn't exactly pleased when d'Art, a boy he'd known to be able to snatch information out of the air, had come up with so little that first night but he had been willing to let it slide. The mission was hard and Vadim was an untrusting bastard on a good day.

Having the entirety of Vadim's men disappear under his watch had been bad though. Athos' finding of blood that could possibly belong to d'Art had only made him see red. Tréville's outright dismissal of the boy in favor of the plan they'd managed to get. Also, the cape of the official Musketeer uniform was hot and in the way.

Aramis leaping onto a grenade – dud or not – was the last goddamned straw. His brother in arm's kissing that damned rosary helped little.

Athos' revelation on the dub bomb made his stomach sink. D'Art had mentioned it to them. None of them had realized it though. None of them. And the palace was being blown up for their inept handling of the matter.

He, Aramis, and Athos managed to pin Vadim in an underground chamber, bellowing at him to stop. There was nowhere for him to run and Porthos almost wished for him to not surrender. He really wanted to shoot the man. Thoughts of d'Art kept him from doing so though. Aramis stayed at the top of the steps and he and Athos stepped closer to Vadim.

"It's over Vadim," Athos stated, his earlier panic gone.

Vadim turned to face them, a smirk on his face. "Not quite," he whispered.

"Where's d'Artagnan," Porthos growled, no longer caring if Athos looked at him funny for the name. Vadim gave him no answer, smiling all the while.

"Is he dead?" Athos asked, a barely audible shake in his voice.

There was threat there as well, though one had to know Athos well to hear it. Porthos knew him well, though he wondered at the tone. Athos hadn't shown any sort of care towards d'Art past his typical tolerance. Porthos and Aramis had been worried the man was only being nice because of d'Art's relationship to them.

But, if that were the case, why was Athos threatening Vadim without active threats?

Vadim's hands were over his ears then, Athos' eyes gorged with another revelation.

"DOWN!" Athos bellowed, pulling Porthos against a pillar as the wall on their left exploded.

Athos dragged himself to his feet, coughing up dust as Aramis stumbled up to him. Porthos was next up, much to the relief of the eldest of the three. The gaping hole in the wall stood like an invitation, a cool breeze shifting towards them.

"May as well," Aramis muttered.

"Right," Porthos snarled as he righted the scarf on his head and prepared his weapons.

The party of men they found were what they had left alive on the streets before Notre Dame, all of them scarred and wondering where Vadim was. Porthos, angry over the explosion and his unanswered questions, growled at them all. Hell broke loose again as the men shouted for their deaths. They dealt with them quickly enough, their experience far outweighing that of common fighters. The fuel of adrenaline from nearly blown to bits probably didn't help with the odds either.

As his last opponent dropped, the sound of metal meeting metal caught his attention.

"Come on," he hissed, rushing down the tunnel. Please be the boy. Please be the boy.

"Vadim," d'Artagnan called from the darkness, his voice bouncing on the walls around them. Vadim spun, the fire on the torch hissing as it was swung about.

"Behind you."

The flame moved again. Vadim's breathing was hitched but his voice was near calm.

"You're full of surprises," the man said.

"I had a good teacher."

Vadim swung, missed. The torch blinded d'Artagnan for a moment, his position shown for a second. Another swing from Vadim that missed its target, d'Artagnan slipping through the shadows like a wraith. He let Vadim huff and gather his breath before speaking again.

"This way."

They spun in a circle, d'Artagnan repeating himself as he disappeared into the shadows.

"Over here," he sang from the shadows he'd danced back into.

The flame lit his features just before his blade snaked out at Vadim. Steel met steel as they spun and jerked towards and away from each other, sparks flying at the contact. Distantly, d'Artagnan knew he was hacking and slashing, his movements becoming a bit more formal as Vadim dropped the torch. He spun away from an attack, dropping to his knees before sliding his blade into Vadim's stomach.

Vadim disappeared into the darkness before d'Artagnan could grab the fallen torch. The clatter of running feet and weaponry barely registered until he was surrounded by the three inseparables.

"So you are alive," Athos ground out past heavy breathing.

"Think so," d'Artagnan mumbled. He wasn't entirely sure himself to be honest. The blast had knocked the wind out of him earlier and this fight, while short, had been exhausting.

"Vadim?" Aramis asked. He held his sword over the torch, the blood gleaming in the light.

"Wounded," he said. "Badly. He can't have gone far," he added as he hurried down the path Vadim had taken. They passed dropped gold on their way through to a bent gate that led to the outer limits of Paris. The river was silent as they rushed to overtake the wounded man.

"Stop there Vadim!" Porthos shouted, guns ready.

"Stop!" Aramis shouted as d'Artagnan rounded the kneeling man. He pointed his sword towards Vadim's throat, eyes steady as the man panted at them.

"I should have killed you," Vadim muttered as he fell to his side. "Ah well…it was a good trick. Should have worked."

D'Artagnan bent his head as Vadim breathed his last. It nearly did, he thought as he sheathed his sword.

Aramis worried over him after Vadim stopped breathing, hands sweeping his dark hair back from his bloodied brow to find the cut Vadim had inflicted. As soon as it was found, Porthos was growling about how he wished Vadim were still alive. Aramis determined the cut would be fine seeing as it had stopped bleeding but he made it a mission to clean the blood from d'Artagnan's olive skin.

The conversation with Constance's husband went smoothly, their explanation of why the ruse had been required accepted with an astounding lack of humility for nearly botching the entire operation – and nearly getting him killed. He hated the sound of his voice as he spoke to the man before him but Porthos had told him to be polite and explain the situation himself. He begged Constance's forgiveness though he didn't dare promise such things wouldn't happen again.

"Are those forget-me-nots?" Charlotte asked as d'Artagnan stepped into their little corner.

The bar was almost empty of the average man and woman. The street rats were beginning to sneak in, their purses filled with enough coin to buy a few drinks and a meal. This corner of theirs, however, was a no-man's land of sorts; no one went near their trio this late in the day. Radha had knives and Charlotte never left Radha's side. D'Artagnan was also not to be trifled with; even though he'd been gone for the last two years. The bar patron was also a friend of the three – thanks to a few of their good deeds – and he had a gun under the bar.

D'Artagnan tossed the bunch of flowers onto the table with a grunt. He sank into a chair as if something were weighing him down as Radha stepped up to the table with a bowl of water and some bandages. She frowned at the bunch as she placed the bowl and cloth onto the table.

"Have a lover already?" Radha asked slyly as she pulled a piece an old scarf from a hidden pocket of her dress.

"No," he mumbled. "Though…I may have an interested party dancing around in the shadows."

"She pretty?" Charlotte asked, leaning over the table with his chin in her hands.

"Beautiful."

"Will we be meeting her?" Radha asked as she dipped the cloth into the water, a hand lifting his chin. "It's peeling…At least it stayed this long."

"Weren't expecting me were you?" d'Artagnan asked, fully intending to ignore her earlier question. He had no intention of these two meeting that woman. Not after what he'd witnessed.

"Not really but that message for bandages was hard to ignore," Radha grumbled as she cleaned the brown paint from the column of his neck. The boy smiled at her as she removed the paint to reveal the dark, jagged line on his neck.

The message she spoke of had been passed to her by one of the younger boys he'd known to hang on their every word. He'd flashed his wrists at the boy as soon as his Musketeer friends weren't watching. She continued frowning at him as he shed his jacket, lying it across the back of the chair.

"Are those rope burns?" Charlotte hissed as he rolled the sleeves of his shirt up.

"Yes," he said. "They're rather raw too."

"We can see that," Radha huffed as she flopped into a chair, dipping another bit of cloth into the bowl. She wiped at his chaffed and red wrist with a deft hand that left no lasting impression on his skin past the cool of the water. She smoothed a salve over the raw skin before wrapping it with the bandages. As Radha set in on his other wrist, Charlotte gave a soft sigh.

"That woman you sent your friends to speak to," Charlotte murmured, "you should probably know she's been killed."

"Killed?" d'Artagnan asked.

"We found her dead midday today," Radha confirmed.

"Midday," he mused.

"She seemed to be packing," Charlotte whispered, a hand next to her mouth. She leaned back then, pulling his scarf from her neck.

Radha nodded, her hands lifting a chain from around her neck. "Her jewelry was left on her table though so something may have been taken from her residence."

"Something stolen huh?" he smiled, pulling the sleeves down to hide the injuries. "Interesting."

Radha looped the chain with his trinket over his head, her long fingers settling the trinket against the center of his chest. Charlotte folded the scarf in half before handing it back to the boy before her with a soft smile.

"Are you planning on seeing Flea and Charon any time soon?" Radha asked as he looped the fabric around his neck, pulling the tails through the loop formed from the initial fold.

"We'll see," he said, leaning back in the seat. "For now, I think I'd prefer to catch up with my friends. Maybe change the path of my life while I'm at it."

"Got tired of being a street rat?" Radha chuckled.

"It doesn't pay enough," he smirked. "Not even in our business."

"So," Radha crooned as she signaled for food to be brought over. "Have you filled the third on in on your name?"

D'Artagnan frowned. He hadn't told Athos his name but the man already knew it thanks to Porthos. Athos had gone on to explain that his name reminded the man of a boy he knew – and lost Athos claimed with grief welling in his eyes.

"Porthos let it slip," he admitted as he sipped at his ale. The girls frowned, knowing how he felt about his name remaining between only close friends.

"That doesn't seem to be the reason you're so saddened yourself," Charlotte murmured past her food, her cheek puffed around it like a rodent hording food.

"…He…he seems to have lost hope in me," d'Artagnan whispered mostly to himself. The girls gazed at him in silence, unsure of how to continue from there.

Radha, having learned some of his story, had a feeling that this third Musketeer had something to do with that clouded history she wasn't privy to. The way his fingers played with the trinket hinted to her that this Athos had probably been the one to give it to d'Artagnan. However, she knew her place when it came to dealing with d'Artagnan's past. She knew to not press him on matters pertaining to what he was not ready to share.

So, she steered the conversation to what she knew to be safe territory; rumors and gossip.

Reviews are welcome. I love reading your opinions.