So I'm trying this again. For some reason, FFN has seen a few glitches and did not like this story. I've contacted their support office and will see what happens, but thank you beeblegirl for letting me know this wasn't showing on the main page. Hopefully, the 3rd time is a charm! I've included the feedback from a couple folks who follow me at the end of Chapter 2. They were aware of this story's first posting.

I wanted to send a HUGE thank you to Mountain Cat for her guidance and editing... she's saved you all from a few questionable errors and some challenging grammar.

This story is complete, and it's another long one. I will also post a warning when necessary. I'll try and post on a daily basis.

Spoilers: Yep, this takes place between s1 and s2.

Notes: don't own 'em... you know the rest. Thank you for reading, for your wonderful feedback.

The desk hit the tile with a crash, and the front left leg snapped. Papers fluttered across the floor and the inkwell twisted midair. Black ink arched upward and then splattered on the wall as the glass shattered against the travertine floor. The clatter of the pewter bowl chimed and rang until it came to a halt in the center of the room. Candlesticks clamored together and rolled to a rest. Cardinal Richelieu wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, paced toward the window, and placed his hands on his hips. His black leather doublet absorbed the sunlight that entered through the window and shined toward the floor. The hollow steps of his footfalls echoed as he paced.

Like varmints, the musketeers had escaped Milady de Winter's attempts… her failed plans had only complicated Richelieu's obsessive need to be influential in the eyes of the king and maintain France's stronghold. Richelieu growled in the back of his throat, clenched his teeth, and raised his face toward the sun. Dust particles danced, and the scent of ink hit his senses. When he looked toward the floor, he cocked an eyebrow, and groaned in disappointment when he realized he would need to invest in a rug. Milady's failed attempts now became his, and while the musketeers thrived, his position continued to be threatened.

He turned when he heard a palace guard enter the room, watched him bow, and announce a guest. The guard, dressed in plumed purple breeches and a high wasted doublet, ignored the papers on the floor, and the fruit that had rolled to rest in various positions around the room.

"Send him in!" Richelieu said. He waved his hand in annoyance toward the door and then crossed his arms over his chest.

The guard nodded, turned, and left.

Richelieu rubbed his chin and watched his guest enter the room.

Tomas Vaux chuckled as he stepped over the papers. "Good to see your temper hasn't changed in twenty years." His brown trimmed high-collared doublet narrowed at the waist and emphasized his lean frame. Black breeches and boots were unassuming in a sea of palace colors. His long brown hair tinted red when hit with the sun's rays. His full beard and salted mustache disguised pox-ridden cheeks. Pronounced crow's feet, with the addition of a long scar that ran from his right temple to the bridge of his nose, marred his once handsome features.

Richelieu cocked an eyebrow and rolled his eyes. "Still swimming with the sewer rats, I see."

Tomas shrugged, tugged on the hem of the doublet, and looked down at his black boots that shined. "I'm not the one upturning desks in fits of panic." He looked up with a smile.

"I'm not panicked," Richelieu snapped. He smoothed his mustache with a cupped hand and rubbed his fingers on either side of his open mouth. "You're late," he said.

Tomas shrugged. He picked up an apple from the floor, rubbed it against this thigh, and took a bite. "I met a paramour — your taste in women has improved, your Eminence." He smiled, raised his eyebrows, and licked his lips as the juice of his apple sprayed. "I've forgotten how…" he shrugged, and chewed, "adventurous Paris is — the women here are always," he shrugged, "so accommodating."

"Spare me your hyperbole." Richelieu rolled his eyes in exasperation and turned toward him. He placed his arms across his chest and adjusted his weight to his right leg. "I have a problem."

Tomas laughed, took another bite of his apple, and shrugged. "From what I hear…" he cocked an eyebrow, "you have several?" He stifled a smile, but his cheeks grew taut as muscles defied his effort.

Richelieu lowered his hands and squared his shoulders. "Threats have been made against the king," he said, and took a deep breath.

"I know," Tomas said, and looked at the paper on the floor by his foot. He tapped the toe of his boot on the corner sheet, cocked his head to get a better look at the script, and said, "Isn't that why I'm here?"

"These threats pose a risk to national security." Richelieu shifted his weight to his left leg. "It is imperative that no harm befall the king."

"The king won't be harmed." Tomas tossed his half-eaten apple to the floor, watched it crush beneath its own weight, and wiped his hands on his breeches. "News of the Spanish Queen's fertile announcement has indeed caused some concerns." He cocked his right eyebrow. "Perhaps if your," he paused, "plans had been more fruitful, you wouldn't find yourself in the situation you're in."

Richelieu tilted his head and raised his eyebrows. "My plans have not changed, Vaux, and to presume they would is misguided on your part." He lowered his chin to his chest. "These threats against the king?"

"What is it you're asking me to do?" Tomas asked. "Change our previous arrangement, or continue with the plans I've set into place at your request?" He scratched the back of his head, looked toward the windows, and then again at Richelieu. "Perhaps command your red guard — provide them the leadership they need in order to compete with the king's musketeers? Or would you like me to hire a woman to do a man's job?" He raised his right eyebrow in question.

"Don't underestimate that woman — she accomplished more under my auspices than you ever did." The cardinal exhaled slowly. "And don't underestimate the musketeers — they have a knack for escaping the most arduous of situations."

Tomas chuckled and looked at the broken desk. "Everyone can be broken, cardinal," he met Richelieu's eyes, "even the king's most loyal servants." He raised his eyebrows, tilted his chin, and crossed his arms over his chest. "As far as my predecessor," he shrugged with an air of confidence, "she failed miserably — otherwise you wouldn't look so… defeated."

Richelieu inhaled deeply and paced across the room. The past month had nearly destroyed him, the queen's pregnancy, Milady de Winter's failure to destroy the musketeers, and his involvement in the conspiracy to have the queen assassinated hovered over his head each time he saw them walking through the palace… Richelieu's weakness, exposed like a gaping wound for all to see. "The musketeers will have to wait — right now our little arrangement is the priority. I do not," he said, and met Tomas' eyes, "want the musketeers to discover who the threat is… anymore of their heroics and I'll never be able to convince the king to disband them — after all, that was a part of our original agreement." He tightened his fists and rubbed his thumbs along the outer edge of his index fingers.

"And should they prove," Tomas shrugged, "heroic?"

Richelieu exhaled and raised his hands to his sides. "Then do what you must… I want them dead, humiliated, and ripped from the very fabric of Paris' tapestry — I will not have them interfering with my duties to the king any longer — nor will they continue to interrupt my plans for France." He met Tomas' eyes. "Athos, Porthos, Aramis and d'Artagnan — start with those four and then add the rest to your assembly." He raised his eyebrows again and sighed. "Of course, it can't look —"

"I know what it can't look like, Richelieu," Tomas said. He walked toward the side table and wiped his fingers along the surface. "The threats to the king?" He smiled and tilted his head to the left.

"Your letters—" Richelieu suddenly stopped himself. He snapped his fingers and paused before he said, "the letters," he emphasized, "have been intercepted — unreasonable accusations of the king aligning with Spain… one even mentions King Louis' association with witchcraft," Richelieu shrugged, "undoubtedly connected to his mother." He rolled his eyes, shook his head, and turned toward a window and looked at the gardens. "Foolish, but valuable if used correctly."

Tomas chuckled and said, "There's the man I know and love."

Richelieu met Tomas' eyes. "Your sarcasm has its limits, Tomas, remember that." He pivoted. "Treville is like a hound, you'd be wise to keep him distracted while the red guards find the source of these letters."

"Do you have something in mind or can I get creative?" Tomas said and cocked an eyebrow. "To keep the musketeers occupied, they'll need to leave Paris." He turned and looked at him. "They have too many friends here… too many devoted to their mission, and your red guards are…" he paused and raised his eyebrow skeptically, "less than helpful with matters of state." He looked toward the windows as the clouds temporarily blocked the sun's rays.

"My red guards are fine soldiers who have found it difficult operating against the likes of Treville and his associates."

"How close is the king to Baron Serres?"

Richelieu shrugged with a frown. "The man suffers from madness, prides himself on his horses and has done little-to-nothing for the king… I find him most displeasing." He placed a hand on his hip and rubbed his bottom lip. "Omar is known to have a turnkey who is," he paused, and shrugged, "questionable in character and morality… I've heard rumors he's the baron's bastard son." He cocked an eyebrow and watched Tomas nod.

"I'll need you to send the musketeers —"

Richelieu shook his head. "You've been paid to create and solve a problem, Tomas. My involvement is no longer required. I have no desire to know or be a part of your plan." He pursed his lips and squared his shoulders. "Plausible deniability." He knitted his brow. "Know this… if you fail, I will have your head — the king is our priority."

Tomas nodded. "Don't allow your short-sightedness to blind your assumptions, Richelieu — the musketeers are and will continue to be a force in Paris — and the four you hate the most are the most beloved by the king… and from what I understand, the queen. The musketeers will do everything in their power to protect them and the future of France. If you want me to guide the red guards in resolving the known threat without the musketeers catching wind of this, you'll need to distract them or eliminate them — the choice is yours. But," he paused, "if you just want me to continue the charade of sending threatening letters to the king," he shrugged, "then who cares if the musketeers are involved?"

"You forget yourself, Tomas. My motivations are much more complex than your little mind can manage. There is a reason you were not my first choice for this." Richelieu tossed a coin purse toward Tomas, who caught it. "Half now, and half when the job is complete." He clenched his jaw. "The king is our priority — and, as I've said before, I do not want the musketeers — any of them, aware of these threats." He stepped forward, took advantage of his height, and looked down at Tomas. "If permitted, they will sniff you out like an oversexed whore."

Tomas tossed the bag into the air and felt the weight. "I'm still unclear why?" He licked his tooth and lowered his hand to his side. "What difference does it make who discovers the threat… once the threat against the king is identified? Unless," he met Richelieu's eyes, "your anger is causing you to make hasty decisions that your logic should be?"

Richelieu cocked an eyebrow. "On the contrary — this is about my influence over the king. I don't care who or what it is you've done to create this convoluted mess, just make sure it's my red guards who solve it." He took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. "The musketeers' influence over the king has grown exponentially, and in order for that influence to be eliminated, they must first be discredited."

Tomas shook his head and rolled his eyes. "You've created a mess for yourself, Richelieu." He tossed the bag back toward him. "You've asked me to do a job that you can't possibly manage because of your hatred for a group of men who have outwitted you at every turn. Tell me," he raised his eyebrows, "why would that interest me?"

Richelieu tossed the bag back. "Because there is more in that bag than pocket coin," he stepped forward, "and my station is more important than your greed."

Tomas licked his lips. "Stay out of my way?" He raised his eyebrows and met Richelieu's eyes.

"Most assuredly."