A/N: For those of you anxiously awaiting the Savoy chapter, fair warning that there isn't going to be one that specifically addresses the ambush. I feel a single chapter could never give such a tragic event true justice; it needs to be a story unto itself. Instead, I chose to focus on what the aftermath of Savoy would do to the growing relationship of our characters; what it would reveal and how it would shape the future. But, as many of you are noting in comments, this story is a serious of blocks that slowly build upon each other. We need a few more chapters until the aftermath of Savoy: the departure, what occurred while they were gone; the return (a cliff hanger) and then a reveal.

CHAPTER 21

"I'm good to go," Porthos pleaded even though he had all his weight resting on his left foot, looking rather like a stork.

The captain shook his head and said in a tone that brooked no argument, "No. You're injured. You shall remain behind. Go to that bench over there, sit down, shut up, and stay out of the way or I will send you to your room." After he said it, he realized it sounded as if he were scolding a petulant child, which Porthos resembled at the moment. "And use the damn crutch," he tacked on as Porthos, grumbling, limped away.

The twenty-two musketeers being sent on the training exercise were gathering in the garrison's courtyard in preparation for departure. Saddlebags were being filled as the men checked that they had all the necessary supplies. The horses shook their heads and snorted as they jostled each other in the yard, which was quickly getting crowded. Porthos was supposed to be amongst them, but an unfortunate fall from his horse yesterday had severely sprained his ankle and the Doctor's prescription was to stay off it, which, of course, Porthos had immediately disagreed with, declaring he didn't need coddling. The physician had somberly shaken his head and told the captain if he wanted Porthos to be able to walk for the rest of his life, he better stay off that ankle until it healed.

Plopping down on the top of the table, in defiance of being told to sit on the bench and shut up, Porthos' scowled, and it was enough to scare anyone away but Athos. On the table near Porthos was a bottle of wine, which Athos desperately wanted and was willing to brave the lion's den to retrieve. Not really sure why, after he poured a mug for himself, he filled a second cup and offered it to Porthos, who accepted it with a grunt. Settling on the table a foot or so away from the big man, Athos drained his cup, refilled it, and sipped as he watched the twenty-some musketeers' preparations.

"Ain't fair," Porthos grumbled, as his dark eyes longingly watched his fellow musketeers begin to mount.

Athos had no dog in this fight so he didn't offer up an opinion or words of comfort. It wasn't his style. He sat quietly as Aramis and Marsac came over and bid their friend goodbye. Aramis also took the time to say a goodbye to Athos, though Marsac totally ignored him, which didn't bother Athos in the least. He wasn't here to make friends, though he secretly did appreciate Aramis' attempt, even if he responded to the marksman's overtures of friendship in his typical cool, aloof manner.

After the twenty-two musketeers rode out the garrison's arched gateway, Captain Treville walked over to stand by the table. The three men remained silent until the last soldier left the yard. At that point, the captain started to head towards his office, then stopped, and turned to address Porthos.

"I have been meaning to ask, do you know anything about a group of musketeers brawling with the Red Guards two nights ago?"

Porthos thought a second before shaking his head no. "Didn't hear anything, captain. But everyone's been so busy preparing for this exercise. The one I should be goin' on," he tacked on under his breath.

The captain chose to ignore the kvetching and remain focused on his original question. "Well apparently some from our regiment took it upon themselves to start a fight the Cardinal's guards, in a public area, and as you can imagine his Eminence wasn't pleased."

"Them guards are pricks," Porthos blurted out, though he did appear a bit abashed at his word choice.

The captain's blue eyes narrowed, his frown deepened and it appeared as if he disapproved of Porthos' word choice. In actuality, he was pondering if Porthos really knew more than he was letting on and was protecting someone.

"Ah... Asses?" Porthos amended with uncertainty, not sure it was really a much better word even if it was accurate.

"Pompous men without honor, decency, or courage, who lack the moral conviction to remain virtuous in the face of adversity and think no further than personal accolades."

Both men turned and stared at Athos, who had probably just uttered the second longest and most convoluted sentence they had ever heard from the normally taciturn man. Porthos' mouth hung open and Captain Treville had to work very hard to keep his jaw closed.

Athos suppressed an eye roll and with a long-suffering sigh declared, "Asses works."

Porthos continued to stare at Athos for a few seconds then grunted, "Exactly."

"Well, whichever musketeers were involved must have soundly beaten the Red Guards, otherwise I'm sure the Cardinal would have rubbed my nose in the fact his guards came out victorious." There was a slight twinkle in the blue eyes even though he could never publicly condone such behavior.

Without thinking, Athos adamantly declared, "Of course they won."

Once again, the eyes focused on Athos, who arched an eyebrow as he adopted what would later be known as his 'Comte' mode. "You hired me to improve your musketeers' swordsmanship. So of course I would expect them to win." Superiority oozed from his entire being and his voice could only be described as haughty.

The captain took Athos at face value, not yet wise to the fact the man was a skilled orator when he chose, and more than capable of presenting information in a manner that more suited his purposes than perhaps the literal truth.

Shaking his head, Treville stated, "Eventually I will ferret out the culprits."

Rather distractedly, the captain stared out the gate even though none of the musketeers were visible anymore. Athos obliquely watched him, thinking that something more than the mystery brawl was bothering the man. However, their relationship had not yet advanced to the point where Athos would seek to find out what troubled the captain, so he simply let the moment pass.

Eventually, Treville shook free of his reverie and focused his attention on Porthos. "Stay off that ankle, Porthos, and let it heal properly."

"Aye, captain," he replied, even though both men knew the chance of him complying was slim.

"And use the damn crutch," Treville barked, as he started up the stairs to his office.

Athos and Porthos sat on the table in awkward silence after the captain's departure. Aramis was the catalyst for trying to bring together Porthos, Marsac, and Athos. Without him there, serving as the buffer, Athos and Porthos realized they had nothing to say to each other. With one man mumbling something about resting and the other training, they quickly departed from each other's unwelcome company.