Authors Note: This chapter contains most of the one shot from Whumptober 2020 that I based this story on. Although I have re-written it.

'You put up a good fight there,' said Carlos as they walked back to the gangs' base.

'Why were you following me?' demanded Aramis, knowing he had to stick to his character.

Carlos laughed, 'I'll be honest, I was suspicious of you-'

'What?'

Carlos grabbed Aramis' arm and stopped him from walking on.

'You're a Musketeer or were. Didn't you think we'd be suspicious of you? There's been someone following you every day. Apart from at the Palace ...and most of the time our money man has been able to check on you there.'

Aramis glared at the man for a few seconds and shook his head.

'I suppose you have to take precautions,' he said.

He had suspected he was being followed most of the time. He was glad he had been cautious and not dropped his charade at any point other than in Treville's office or at the Palace when he could not be observed.

'That Musketeer,' said Carlos, 'Porthos, isn't it? You and he were good friends?'

Aramis nodded, 'our backgrounds have some similarities. I looked out for him when he joined the regiment.'

'You think you could get him onside? He'd made a good addition to the gang. If he hadn't walked away just then, I don't think it would have been easy to take him out, even with the two of us.'

Carlos indicated the fresh grazes and bruises Aramis had to his face.

'I suppose I might have been able to persuade him,' Aramis pretended to mull over the suggestion, 'but after our little chat just now... probably not.'

They both chuckled. Aramis was sure he had gained a modicum of respect from Carlos. If there was a possibility that he would not be watched as carefully from then on it could only be a good thing.

The boy opened the door for them as they reached it. Carlos grunted at the child who cowered away. Aramis struggled to contain himself. He could not lose what little trust he had gained with Carlos by berating him over his treatment of the boy.

'What happened to you?' asked Madame Dupre as she descended the stairs.

'He got into a fight with one of his former comrades...'

Carlos trailed off as Dupre stopped in front of Aramis gently stroking her fingers across his grazed cheek.

'I have some ointment that will help with that,' she cooed, almost motherly.

Aramis gave her a fake smile, injecting as much charm as he could muster into his expression. He could see Carlos scowling behind Dupre. His scarred, misshapen eyelids were twitching with the annoyance. Aramis knew any respect he had gained from Carlos was already gone. Dupre had not shown the slightest interest in the darkening bruise Carlos had on his jaw. She only had eyes for Aramis.

She started to strip him of his weapons, 'are you hurt?' she asked.

Aramis allowed her to relieve him of his sword and gun, he allowed her to undo his doublet.

'Nothing more than bruises, madame,' he said. 'Carlos was the one who dealt with my former comrade. He deserves the credit.'

'But you would have won if he had not interfered,' said Dupre as she helped him to shrug out of his doublet and ran her hands along his arms searching for injuries.

She pulled him into an embrace, he held her for a few seconds.

'It's really nothing, madame,' he said, 'but your touch has a restorative effect of its own.'

She smiled, 'I know you are trying to charm me, to stay on my right side,' she said in a loud whisper for Carlos' benefit. 'It is working,' she added.

Dupre turned to Carlos but maintained the contact she had with Aramis. She trailed her hand down his arm until she could interlace her fingers in his. Aramis could see murderous intent in Carlos' eyes. The unrequited love he had for her was starting to rule him. Carlos had accepted he would never be able to have any kind of relationship with her, but she was flaunting her interest in Aramis. Carlos was a simmering pot of anger that could boil over at any moment. Aramis knew he had to step carefully.

'You went too far with our noble,' said Dupre.

Aramis stifled a gasp. Had Carlos killed his friend? He schooled his expression as well as he could.

'You have barely left me with any work to do... At least you left him alive.'

Aramis almost sighed with relief. He did not want to imagine what state his friend was in.

'We should finish him soon or he will die from the shock of his injuries. As it is, he is barely conscious. I much rather the men I torture are conscious when I finish them. More satisfying.'

Aramis willed the mission to be over. He prayed the information he had given to Porthos would be enough proof. He wished he could have given a proper update, but with Carlos trailing him there was no chance. He wished he had written more in the note, but there had been other members of the gang around and he could not risk it. He was relieved that Madame Dupre had not noticed the letter from Baron Cote to her was missing. He was the only person with any access to her personal belongings. He would be the only suspect in its disappearance. Aramis was annoyed with himself for not finding the note the first time he had searched her papers.

Madame Dupre looked at him for a few seconds, 'you seem distracted, my Musketeer,' she said. 'Are you sure you are not injured?'

'No madame,' Aramis replied, forcing the layers of character back into place, 'I was merely contemplating watching you work.'

Carlos snorted behind them and muttered something under his breath. Madame Dupre ignored him. She smiled and turned back to the stairs, leading Aramis behind her.

Aramis wanted to hurry Dupre along the corridor. He needed to know what state d'Artagnan was in. He had seen the crude whip Carlos had been carrying when he had last been with his friend. He had been on the receiving end of a whip once and he would not wish it on anyone. Somehow, he knew d'Artagnan's ordeal would be worse than his. D'Artagnan had been alone and helpless. Alone apart from the evil thugs. Aramis detested them. He harboured a little sympathy for the younger, naive men, but they had still chosen to join the gang.

As they reached the door Aramis took a slow breath. He watched the woman push the door open. It took every fibre of Aramis' being not to react. The room had been lit by several lanterns. The glow of the flames, normally a pleasant, welcome sight, only highlighted the horror before him.

His friend was still restrained against the wall. His arms were above his head, his wrists bloody within the manacles. His head was down. Aramis could not see d'Artagnan's face as his limp hair was obscuring his features. But Aramis did not need to see d'Artagnan's face to know it would show an expression of agony. He was not supporting his weight on his feet; his arms were taking his weight. He was twisted to the side. His bare back visible. The marks of the whip standing out starkly in the flickering light. Criss-crossed over his back were the wounds that Carlos and his thugs had inflicted. Blood oozed from several of the welts. Bruises and stinging red lines reached around to d'Artagnan's sides. Where the flesh was not ripped it was covered with sweat and dirt.

Aramis wanted to kill every one of them. Aramis wanted to tear them apart. Aramis wanted to unchain his friend and carry him from that place. He wanted to clean and dress each of the wounds. D'Artagnan needed medical help. Aramis determined that when it was all over, he would be the one that dealt with his friend's wounds. It would be his penance for not preventing them from happening. He should have handled the gang better from the start. He should have charmed the name of the Baron from Dupre. He had failed the mission.

He had failed d'Artagnan.

'You look shocked,' said Carlos with a laugh as he pushed passed Aramis. 'Anyone would think you were sympathetic to the rich boy.'

Somehow d'Artagnan managed to raise his head a little. He looked at Aramis. He made eye contact. Aramis got the message his friend was conveying. Aramis knew he had to carry on, he had to complete the mission for d'Artagnan's sake. He could not let what d'Artagnan had endured being for nothing. Aramis had to remind himself that Treville would know the identity of the Baron by now. The mission was coming to an end. The longer Aramis could hold out the more chance he would have of being able to pay his penance and deal with d'Artagnan's wounds.

Aramis pulled himself up to his full height and turned to Carlos, 'I am inclined to agree with Madame Dupre. You and your lackeys have gone too far. You didn't give her the respect she deserves.'

Carlos growled and took a swing at Aramis. He dodged the punch with ease. Madame Dupre tutted, Carlos backed off but his expression remained one of barely hidden anger directed at Aramis. Madame Dupre walked up to Carlos and placed her hand on his chest. She pushed him backwards until he was leaning against the wall next to d'Artagnan, who managed to follow the movements of the pair.

'Bring our captive some water,' she said. 'I would like him... revived a little for the final act.'

One of the young gang members rushed off, to follow her order.

'What... are you... going-'

'What am I going to do?' said Madame Dupre, her tone condescending as she turned to d'Artagnan, who had spoken weakly.

She lifted his chin with her fingers as she stepped closer, she looked him in the eyes. Aramis, despite hating what was happening, would forever be impressed with d'Artagnan's continued efforts to keep up the pretence.

'Kill you of course,' she said with a smile. 'That was always the intention. You will be a symbol. A sign to the King that he cannot trust his own soldiers. His soldiers allowed one of his courtiers to be taken in broad daylight.'

She glanced back at Aramis who managed to affect a smirk. D'Artagnan looked at him as well. He could see the fight still in his friend's eyes. His friend who had already endured too much for the sake of the mission. And still, he was prepared to carry on. Not that d'Artagnan had much choice. Aramis was the only one of them that had any choices, and they were rapidly running out. He needed to know he could end the masquerade. If he tried to stop them from killing d'Artagnan too soon the mission would fail. The gang would realise it had all been a ruse and they would both be killed. Aramis knew he would not be able to outfight all the gang members.

'Bring that brazier from the end of the hall,' said Dupre as she stepped away from d'Artagnan.

Aramis wanted to scream at them to stop torturing his friend. But he knew that as long as they were torturing him, he was alive and that bought them time. He looked at d'Artagnan who was following what was happening with half-open eyes. Aramis was sure, despite his best efforts, his friend would not be playing his part for much longer. He was too far gone. In too much pain. D'Artagnan was not doing much of anything. He had rallied enough to support his own weight and lean back against the wall. He was only allowing his lower back to rest on the wall. Aramis could tell d'Artagnan was in a lot of pain, but he also knew the human body was a resilient thing. He knew d'Artagnan would find something, some way, some energy, to keep going for a little longer.

Aramis could only hope d'Artagnan could find enough.

He looked at the door as the heavy brazier was dragged into the room. He could feel the heat from it as Boivin and the dirty thug pulled it past, scraping it loudly on the floorboards. They manoeuvred it into the hearth, the smoke was drawn up the chimney, but the heat soon filled the small room. Madame Dupre nodded her approval before walking across to where Aramis was standing. She stopped in front of him and smiled. Aramis saw her eyes dart across to Carlos as she leaned in and kissed him with passion. Aramis kissed her back, taking his time, drawing out the moment. Drawing out the time before d'Artagnan was subjected to whatever she had planned for him. Drawing out the inevitable sound of pain-filled cries from his friend. He was not looking forward to hearing that.

What Aramis most wanted to hear was the sound of soldiers forcing their way into the house and arresting the gang. But the sound did not come.

As Madame Dupre broke off the kiss, she snaked her finger down Aramis' chest. He looked down, watching as a smudge of rusty blood was left on his shirt. D'Artagnan's blood. Blood that he had not been able to stop being shed.

Dupre leaned around Aramis and picked up something from the table behind him. She held one of the pokers up and smiled at him, he smiled back and nodded his approval.

As she walked back to d'Artagnan, Aramis looked across the room to Carlos who was staring at him, one hand resting on his gun. Aramis knew he had to be wary of the man. Perhaps, more than he would have to watch Madame Dupre when the time came. He returned his attention to the woman and d'Artagnan.

Dupre used the poker to trace a line across d'Artagnan's chest and stomach.

'At least you left me with something to work on,' she remarked.

She pressed the poker against d'Artagnan, forcing him to lean back to escape the metal point. His abused back was pushed against the wall. He whimpered in pain. She sighed and smiled before stepping to the brazier and thrusting the poker into the flames.

The young man that had been sent for water returned with a jug and a cup. Aramis reached for the items.

'Allow me,' he said with a smile to Dupre.

She indicated for him to continue before turning to Carlos.

'We have a few minutes. Things need to heat up,' she said.

Aramis saw Carlos glare at him before stepping closer to Dupre and speaking quietly to her. Aramis suspected Carlos was talking about him, trying to poison Dupre's desires towards him. Aramis did not care. He knew he was on borrowed time. He stood in front of d'Artagnan. It pained him that he could not talk freely to his friend. He poured water into the cup before placing the jug on the floor. D'Artagnan tried to raise his head fully but seemed incapable. Aramis guessed the strain from the hours forced to keep his head back had left him stiff.

He glanced at Dupre and Carlos, who were deep in an animated conversation. The other gang members seemed more interested in the two leaders than in him and the captured noble.

He lifted the cup to d'Artagnan's lips at the same time as he held the back of the injured man's head. D'Artagnan took a few sips of water.

'You're doing... well,' mumbled d'Artagnan.

'Shh...' admonished Aramis, hoping no one else had heard what d'Artagnan had said.

The fact that d'Artagnan felt the need, through his fog of pain, to give him some encouragement, worried Aramis. Was he the one that was going to give them away? D'Artagnan was severely injured and yet he was the one offering reassurances. Aramis lifted the cup to d'Artagnan's lips a second time. They looked at each other for several seconds as d'Artagnan drank.

'You should get your pet to do it.'

Aramis' eyes went wide when he heard what Carlos said. He thought he saw pity in d'Artagnan's eyes. Pity for him. Did d'Artagnan feel sorry for him? The exhausted Musketeer still had enough understanding to work out what Carlos had meant. And d'Artagnan knew how hard the next few minutes would be for Aramis. All d'Artagnan had to do was put up with the pain. Aramis hated that d'Artagnan thought he had the better deal, that Aramis was the one that was going to suffer.

Aramis thought for a moment that Carlos had worked it out. Worked out that the man they thought was Comte Reis was a Musketeer. Did Carlos know and wanted to see how far Aramis was prepared to go with the deception. Carlos would be disappointed. Aramis would hate every second of what was to come but he would go through with it. If it meant proving Carlos wrong, even though he would be right. If it meant keeping the deception, keeping the layers of lies afloat until help arrived; Aramis would do it.

Aramis would burn d'Artagnan.

Aramis would hurt d'Artagnan.

'That will be enough,' said Dupre from the other side of the room. 'Carlos, give him your gloves, he neglected to collect his when he took off his doublet earlier.'

Carlos scowled, no doubt recalling the mothering Madame Dupre had directed at Aramis when they had returned from the fight with Porthos. He tugged his gloves off and held them out to Aramis who took them. He pulled them on, all the time staring at Carlos, trying to discern if he knew the truth or if he only wanted to test Aramis' stomach for torture. Carlos was unreadable. Aramis turned to Madame Dupre who was looking at him with hungry eyes, she beckoned him forward. She kissed him again before giving him a gentle shove towards the brazier.

He pulled the poker from the brazier and stared at the red-hot metal for a few seconds. He knew he could not hesitate for too long. He glanced at Madame Dupre who nodded for him to carry on. Carlos was smirking.

Aramis willed for an interruption. Surely Porthos would have passed on the message with the proof by now? Surely help would be on the way.

D'Artagnan was watching the poker, his eyes slowly following it as Aramis walked up to him. He was breathing fast, trying to ready himself for the pain. The pain that Aramis was going to inflict.

Where were the Musketeers?

Aramis considered where he should place the poker. He did not want to leave d'Artagnan with any permanent issues. He thought about the scar that would be left behind once the burn was healed. A scar over a joint or an area of skin that might move as the bones underneath moved would cause more problems. He looked at d'Artagnan who had managed to tear his eyes from the poker to look at him. The Musketeers nodded subtly to one another.

Aramis lay the poker on d'Artagnan's bicep.

D'Artagnan cried out in pain and tried to move away. Aramis moved with him, keeping the poker in place. He had to make it look good.

For both their sakes.

After a few seconds, he lifted the poker. D'Artagnan was left slumped again, taking ragged, shuddering breaths.

'Again,' said Dupre from behind him.

Aramis did not wait; he twisted the poker in his hand and let it rest on d'Artagnan's chest. D'Artagnan screamed. There was no charade from the man, only pain and suffering. D'Artagnan was no longer acting. His cries were genuine. The pain-filled look he gave Aramis was real.

Aramis could hear appreciative noises from the gang members behind him. He turned to look at Madame Dupre as he lifted the poker and d'Artagnan slumped forward again. She was smiling with glee. Even Carlos looked a little impressed, but his next words were too much for Aramis.

'Blind him,' Carlos said. 'I've seen it done. Move the hot poker back and forth in front of his face. Even if he shuts his eyes it'll still work.'

Aramis glanced at Dupre, who was looking at Carlos with a renewed admiration.

'Yes,' she said. 'No one will be able to say he did not suffer from injuries like that.'

Aramis could not think what to say, he opened his mouth to speak but could not come up with a reason not to do as they had asked. He looked at Boivin and the other gang members, they were all watching eagerly. He turned back to d'Artagnan who was looking at him, his expression unreadable.

'Get on with it,' said Carlos.

Aramis looked back at the gang.

He was not a man to hesitate or flinch. Not normally. But this was not normal. This was a step too far.

Carlos took a couple of paces forward and rested his hand on his gun.

'Why are you hesitating?' he asked.

MMMM