Author's Note: I did make Porthos a bit rough in the beginning, but we all know he has the biggest, heart of them all. I think to grow up in the streets, you have to be wary.

One additional note: FF has been acting up again so I apologize for not responding to comments in the last two days. Hopefully, it will resolve soon. I enjoy reading and replying.


CHAPTER 28

In time the sight of the three men, and later four, standing in front of his desk delivering a story that was unbelievable would become routine for the poor captain. But this was his first time and he stood there with a stunned expression on his face.

It was also the first time the trio, which would become known as the Inseparables, tried a group lie. Unfortunately, it didn't go very well. In a year or two, they would have it down pat, but now they were still rough around the edges.

"He's wet," Aramis calmly replied, as if the matter was now closed and they could move on.

Heroically, Captain Treville managed to stifle his eye roll. "I can see he is wet. I was curious why that is, considering it was not raining outside last I saw."

Two pair of brown and one green pair of eyes rotated to look out the office window, as if to verify the accuracy of the statement. The remaining set of blue eyes was not amused. "Gentlemen, it is not raining outside, I assure you."

With that the three sets of eyes lost their sudden fascination with the weather. Porthos chose to stare at the wall behind the captain's head; Aramis fixed his eyes on the captain, and Athos' gaze was focused on the wooden floor, watching the small puddles of water forming around his boots.

Much to men's chagrin, it seemed the captain wasn't going to move on until he got a satisfactory explanation as to why Athos was soaking wet. In the future, Aramis and Porthos would learn to allow their de facto leader to handle these types of situations. But their teamwork wasn't that advanced yet, so they each blurted out a unique answer.

"He was standing next to a puddle and got splashed."

"Someone tossed a bucket of water out the window as he was walking underneath."

"I accidentally fell in the horse trough."

The room went silent, the only sound being the drip-drip of the water sliding off Athos and plopping in the puddle on the floor.

Aramis decided to take a stab at coordinating the lies into a cohesive unit. "What we meant to say was Athos side-stepped a puddle, which made him move closer to a building, where a washer woman was dumping her bucket of water out of the second story window."

"The horse trough," Porthos urgently whispered.

"...and the water dripped into his eyes, momentarily blinding him and he stumbled into a horse trough," Aramis concluded with a flourish.

Porthos stood there with a big grin plastered on his face; Aramis glowed with smugness at his ability to twist the lies into a bow, and Athos continued his examination of the floor.

"Do I appear stupid to you?" the captain queried in a low, dangerous sounding voice. "A horse trough?"

Aramis and Porthos rearranged their facial expressions into something a bit more somber as they nodded their heads.

Athos slowly raised his wet head, his green eyes focusing on Treville with an eerie intensity. "The horse trough is actually the truth. The rest is a little less than factual."

The captain rose, walked to the front of his desk and then leaned against it to study Athos. "Care to explain?"

"No. Not really," Athos answered truthfully.

"Well humor me anyway," the captain suggested in a tone that indicated it was an order.

Another thing the captain hadn't learned yet about Athos was he tended to abridge the truth. His answers were mostly factual, but often left out a few small details that Athos thought were inconsequential or didn't quite fit with the truth as he saw fit to relay it.

"These two gentlemen came to my room to issue your...request. As I was not quite in a presentable state, I stopped at the horse trough, near the stable, and accidentally fell in."

The bits of straw that were clinging to various parts of the swordsman's body certainly seemed to back up his claim. And the amount of water dripping from his clothing also fit the story he spun. But the accidental part left the captain wondering about its authenticity. Narrowing his eyes, Treville asked point blank, "Are you drunk?"

In a cool, matter-of-fact voice, Athos replied, "I promised not to show up to work drunk." He paused for a moment and then added, "I am not at work. I would never do anything to endanger the regiment." Dispassionately, he stared at Treville and it was impressive except when he was forced to reach up and brush his wet hair from his eyes.

Treville silently debated his course of action and decided it simply wasn't worth the time or aggravation to pursue this matter any further at this point. He actually had a genuine reason for calling these men to his office. Pushing off the desk, he walked around behind it and picked up a sealed letter.

"As you know our ranks are spread thin at the moment. I need this letter delivered to a church, St. Rémy, in Dieppe."

"Not a problem," Aramis declared as he took a step forward.

However, the captain held the letter out of the musketeer's reach. "Not you, Aramis. It is a four or five-day trip one way. I'm sorry, but I don't feel you are recovered enough for that long a mission." The captain's voice was sympathetic, but firm.

"Well surely you don't plan to send Porthos by himself," Aramis huffed, put off by the whole situation though deep down he knew his commander was correct. He wasn't ready for a long mission yet and he would be endangering Porthos if he went on this mission.

"Of course not." Letting his eyes come to rest on Athos, he declared, "I'm asking Athos, as a favor to his King and Country, to accompany Porthos."

Other than an occasional drop of water hitting the floor, the silence was so deafening you could have heard a pin drop.

Finally, Porthos spoke. "A mission? With him? He ain't even a musketeer. No way, captain," he empathetically stated, shaking his head.

"For you, Porthos, it is an order," Captain Treville stated, squaring his shoulders and staring Porthos down.

The big man grumbled, but had no choice except to bend his head in acquiescence. However, he was clearly unhappy with the command.

"Athos," the captain said, turning his blue eyes upon the stunned swordsman. "I can't order you. But you know our situation, how short-handed we are because of the tragedy at Savoy. You are a fine swordsman and while you are not a soldier, I believe you can be an asset to Porthos on this mission. His Majesty needs this missive delivered to St Rémy. It is of vital importance."

Athos' face, for once, was leaking his emotions and the captain was pretty sure the man was about to decline, so he played his ace card. "It is noble and honorable to answer the call of your King."

Treville saw Athos' jaw clench and his eyes narrow, as the man scanned his face, trying to read what truth the captain knew, for he had the distinct feeling there was more to this than met the eye. But Treville was good at the game too, and he schooled his face to appear cool and confident, as if he had already won this battle. Two of the men in the office desperately wanted this mission to happen and the other two definitely did not. But in the end, Athos dipped his head a little in consent.

Turning to face Aramis, Treville ordered, "Get Athos what he requires from supply." After thinking at moment, he looked over at Athos. "Can you shoot a pistol?" He had seen Athos fight with fist and sword, but didn't recall him ever using a gun.

"I'm not as expert a marksman as Monsieur Aramis, but I can usually hit my quarry," Athos wryly replied.

Treville nodded curtly. "Good enough. And take him to armory, get him outfitted." The later part was addressed to Aramis. "Go on then. Porthos, a moment."

Knowing a dismissal when they heard one, Aramis and Athos left the captain's office. When they were gone, the captain found the letter on his disorganized-looking desk and handed it to the scowling Porthos, who took it and tucked it into his doublet.

Compassionately, Treville placed a hand on the taller man's shoulder. "I know you are unhappy with these arrangements and you are going to like this next piece even less. You need to go incognito. The King doesn't want anyone to know he is conversing with the party waiting at St Rémy."

Letting his hand fall back to his side, Treville moved around behind his desk again. "You know if I tried to send you on your own, I'd have Aramis trailing after you, and he is not ready to be out there yet."

Porthos' grudgingly had to agree with his captain.

"Do you dislike Athos that much? I usually find you quite open-minded," the captain asked bluntly.

The street fighter shrugged. "He rubs me wrong."

"Maybe you need to get to know him better. This trip will provide that opportunity." The captain sat in his chair and watched to see what his musketeer would make of his statement.

Porthos was much sharper than most people gave him credit for, though not Treville. He knew his musketeer was extremely intelligent and resourceful. It is what had kept him alive growing up on the streets.

"Are you thinking of keeping him on permanently?" Both men knew Porthos didn't mean as a weapons instructor.

"Perhaps. We need replacements for those we lost. He is the best damn sword fighter in the regiment."

"Aye, I'll give him that," Porthos admitted without equivocation. "But can he be trusted?"

Captain Treville was quiet for a moment as he pondered. "I think he has some issues, but I think you can trust him to have your back."

"We'll see I guess. Other than the fact I'm delivering a secret letter, out of uniform, along with a man who is not even a musketeer...hell, what could go wrong?" Porthos quipped with a little grin.

Aramis led Athos into the armory to look over the stock-pile collection of wheel lock pistols. "Do you have a preference?" he asked the swordsman as he waved at the rack holding the weapons.

Athos ran an experienced eye over the regiment's arsenal, picking up then laying aside a few before he made a choice. "This will do."

The marksman was impressed that the man had chosen one of the better pistols. Not the flashiest, but definitely one of the ones with the highest quality construction. Grabbing a horn of powder and a sack of balls he motioned for Athos to follow him back outside. He walked through the courtyard coming to a halt near the targets they used for practice. Handing Athos the powder and the balls, he commanded, "Load, and shoot. Let's see how good you really are."

Athos cocked an amused eyebrow at the musketeer, as he loaded the gun in a fairly swift and efficient manner.

"Not bad," Aramis commented when Athos had the pistol loaded and ready to fire. "With a little more practice you will almost be good enough to be a musketeer. Now let's see how good your aim is." Stepping aside, he gestured towards the middle target. "That one. As near to the center as possible, please," he instructed, as if Athos wouldn't know the objective of this game.

Deliberately, the swordsman raised the pistol, took his time lining up his shot, and finally squeezed the trigger. The ball hit the target on the outside edge of the bullseye.

Frowning, Aramis declared, "Not bad. But way too slow. It was a good shot as far as accuracy goes, but if you take that long to aim, you, or the person whose back you are defending, will be dead."

Athos knew exactly whose back Aramis was concerned about. While the musketeer had seemed more accepting of Treville's assignment, he knew the marksman wasn't really happy to be left behind and was concerned for his best friend's welfare. What Aramis didn't know yet about Athos was, if the swordsman committed to something, he gave it his all, heedless of the danger to himself.

The Comte decided to help put Aramis' mind at ease. "Is your gun loaded?" Athos asked gesturing to the pistol hanging from Aramis' weapons belt.

"Of course. I'm a musketeer."

Before the last word left Aramis lips, Athos had reached over, pulled the gun off the marksman's belt, spun, and fired it at the target. The ball entered about an inch closer to the center than the first shot.

"Better?" he deadpanned, as he handed the weapon back to Aramis.

Aramis accepted his gun, but before he could say anything, Athos grabbed Aramis' main gauche from behind his back, flung it at the target, and landed it dead center of the bullseye. ''I'm fairly accurate with my left hand too. If you go fetch your main gauche I could demonstrate again."

A stunned Aramis finally found his voice. "I'll take your word for it."

Athos gave him an acknowledging head tilt, one that in later years Aramis would come to recognize as Athos' smug, and pleased with himself nod.

Walking over to the target, Athos retrieved Aramis' blade before the two men headed for the supply room to get the necessary items required for the trip. Though Athos had a set of saddle bags of his own, Aramis grabbed a set from the shelf.

"These are a little bigger than normal bags, and were constructed especially for our use with a few nice features," he explained, as he started placing items in them. "I'll leave room for a spare set of clothes."

Athos took the nearly full saddlebags from Aramis and flung them over his left shoulder. He started to walk around Aramis to head for the stables, but the other man blocked his path.

"Porthos is my best friend. One of the only ones I have left since..." His voice trailed off and Aramis swallowed hard around the lump that suddenly formed in his throat. "I need you to make sure he stays safe on this trip. I can't bear the thought...," and again his voice died off.

Overcoming his reserved nature, Athos put both hands on Aramis slumped shoulders and captured the man's sad eyes with his intense green ones. "I swear I won't let anything happen to him. You have my word."

Aramis realized he believed with one hundred percent of his soul that this man would do exactly what he swore. For a second he felt a strange moment of connection, like he had known this man forever, but when Athos removed his hands from his shoulders, it quickly faded.

Athos was a little rattled himself, not quite understanding why he swore to protect Porthos. A small, recessed part of his brain suggested, perhaps, it was because he was starting to look upon Aramis as a friend. He quickly slammed his mask of neutrality on his face and stepped backwards, away both from Aramis and what he considered a dangerous situation. He didn't need a friend and he didn't want a friend. He was doing this assignment because it was the right thing to do to help out his country. Nothing more, nothing less.

Gruffly, he pushed past Aramis, found the stable lad, instructed him to saddle his horse then headed for his rooms. Aramis practically felt the gates around Athos' emotions slamming shut and silently wondered what had happened to the man to make him so wary. He made a vow when Athos and Porthos returned from this mission; he would learn more about the mysterious man that he was starting to think of as a friend.