A/N: Thank you Laureleaf and Visitor for your reviews of last chapter! Laureleaf, I'm sure I'll find a way to work in some proper sword fighting at some point. And yes, if Milady ever does make an appearance, I totally picture her as a Companion! I also suspect Richelieu is Prime Minister of the Alliance, hehe. I don't think I will do anything with Reavers though. Even though they're part of the Firefly world, they feel like one step too removed from a musketeer tone for these stories.

Also, for anyone else who's curious, "Luciole" is the French word for firefly.

Summary: An encounter with an old friend brings up dark memories for Aramis. And his sense of loyalty could lead him down a dangerous path of no return.

"A Debt Owed"

The docks were crowded as usual with vendors, ships, and travelers searching for passage off world. The musketeers had just finished a job delivering some goods, had gotten paid, and were making their way back to the Luciole. The cargo bay doors were open and Constance was sweeping out the hold. D'Artagnan jogged up the ramp, arm tucked behind his back, and presented her with a box of candied apricots he'd bought with part of his share from the job.

Aramis grinned at the delighted expression that lit up her face.

"Hello, old friend," a familiar voice issued from behind him.

Aramis froze. He hadn't heard that voice outside his waking dreams in a long time… He slowly turned. "Marsac?"

The man looked different since the last time they'd seen each other, though it was obviously him. His blond hair was longer and shaggier, and he wore a wide-brimmed hat to shield his face from the sun. A long poncho draped over his shoulders, and if Aramis wasn't so stunned, he might have tried calculating how many weapons could be concealed underneath.

Marsac grinned. "It's been a long time," he said, taking a step closer.

A surge of fury burst up from where it'd been so carefully buried for years, and Aramis threw a punch so hard that the impact with Marsac's jaw radiated up his ulna. Marsac hit the ground, landing on his back.

"That's for leaving me in the forest with twenty dead soldiers," Aramis seethed. He pivoted and headed back to the ship where the others had stopped and were watching the scene unfold.

"Aramis," Marsac called. There was a shuffling sound like he was getting up off the ground.

Aramis didn't turn around, but Athos suddenly drew his pistol and pointed it past him.

"Walk away," Athos warned, voice low and lethal. "Or I will shoot you."

"Aramis, come on, just hear me out!"

Aramis continued to ignore him as he marched onto the ship. His head was spinning and his lungs felt like they were being compressed by some invisible vise. Footsteps followed behind him, and then there was the whir and grind of the cargo bay doors closing.

"Who was that?" d'Artagnan asked.

Aramis supposed the question had been directed to him, but when he didn't answer after a few beats, Porthos did it for him.

"Marsac," he practically growled. His dislike for the man wasn't a secret. "He was in Aramis's unit in the military."

"He's a deserter," Athos said coldly, his disdain also not a secret.

Aramis could feel the captain's eyes on him but he assiduously ignored it. Shaking himself out of his stupor, he turned to d'Artagnan. "Marsac saved my life. Our unit was traversing through a province called Savoy when we were ambushed in the night. I was wounded and Marsac pulled me to safety."

"And then he left you there to die," Porthos added angrily.

Aramis shook his head, a spiky lump sticking in this throat. "He didn't go back to fight," he explained to d'Artagnan and Constance, who didn't know the story. It wasn't something he liked to talk about. "Every other soldier in our unit was killed. Marsac was devastated by the loss. He tore off his insignia and left." Aramis shook his head. "I should have stopped him, told him it wasn't his fault."

"You were gravely wounded," Athos said.

Aramis shrugged. He knew Athos and Porthos held a grudge against Marsac for his actions that day, but they hadn't been there, hadn't witnessed the slaughter of their closest friends, couldn't imagine what it had been like. Yes, Aramis had been angry that Marsac had left him alone among the dead, but the fact of the matter was Marsac had saved his life; Aramis wouldn't be here if it weren't for him.

Maybe he shouldn't have dismissed him so summarily…

It was probably too late now, and Aramis wasn't about to go running through the teeming crowds searching in case Marsac had decided to risk Athos's ire by hanging around. Besides, what was there to say, really? It was years ago, done and over with.

With a half-hearted gesture, Aramis excused himself from everyone and made his way to his room. He pushed the hatch in and climbed down the ladder, then closed it before plopping on his bed, images of swirling snow and crimson flashing through his mind. He pressed his palms to his eyes, trying to banish them.

He had often wondered where Marsac was, what had become of his life. Whether he woke screaming in the night like Aramis sometimes had in those early months after the massacre. Aramis had been discharged from the army not long after, too wounded to be of use anymore. Athos and Porthos had applied for honorable discharge shortly after that, and the three of them had followed their former commander, Treville, to the company he later founded. If it weren't for them, Aramis didn't know what his life would be like, perhaps barely scraping by in some backwater planet or moon. He had a lot to be grateful for.

The intercom crackled. "Aramis, we're headin' out for a drink," Porthos said. "You comin'?"

He sighed and rolled over to reach for the speaker button. "Not this time. Make sure Athos doesn't drink through his entire share in one night," he added for levity's sake.

Porthos huffed, and Aramis could imagine he wanted to say more, cajole Aramis into getting out of his room and accompanying them, but he didn't push. The intercom went quiet and Aramis stayed laying on his bed, staring at the ceiling. He knew brooding wasn't healthy, and it was more Athos's thing, but sometimes quiet contemplation was what he needed, when the memories reared their ugly heads and pushed everything else aside.

A dull thud reverberated through the hatch door. Aramis sighed and pulled himself up, grabbing the bottom rung of the door to open it. Constance peered down at him and gave him a sheepish look.

"Wasn't sure you were still awake," she said, then hesitated. "There's a call for you on the comms. It's Marsac."

Aramis frowned as he climbed out onto the main deck. Constance was gazing at him with concern, so he drew his shoulders back and worked at exuding confidence as he headed up to the bridge. Constance, bless her, didn't follow so he could have some privacy.

Aramis slid into the comms station seat and picked up the handheld radio. "Yes?" he said, perhaps a tad more gruffly than he'd meant to.

"Aramis," Marsac's voice crackled through the speaker. "Wasn't sure you'd give me the time of day."

Aramis reached up to rub his forehead. "I'm not sure I should," he admitted.

"I found out who was behind the ambush."

He stiffened. What? "What are you talking about?"

"Not over a comm link. Will you meet me? The Wren, south side of the docks."

Aramis pursed his mouth. "Alright," he relented. He leaned back in the seat and cast his gaze out toward the corridor. The others had already gone out, and he couldn't ask Constance to accompany him and leave the Luciole unattended. Besides, he didn't need backup for dealing with Marsac.

Aramis rose to his feet and went by the engine room where he found Constance tinkering as she was wont to do.

"I'm going out for a bit," he said.

Her mouth turned down. "With Marsac?"

Aramis hesitated, unsure whether to feel indignant or fond amusement over her touch of concern. "We're just going to talk. Catch up."

Constance sighed but gave him a wan smile of understanding. "And what shall I tell the others when they get back?"

He flashed her a debonair grin. "Nothing. I'll be back before Athos has had his usual fill of wine."

Constance rolled her eyes and went back to her work.

Aramis shrugged on his leather coat and grabbed his weapons belt before heading out. The sun was just setting, the halogen lamp posts buzzing on in the retreating light. Aramis wove his way through the docks to the southern end and scanned the local establishments until he spotted a sign for the Wren. It was a rowdy place, crowded with boisterous drinkers and billiard tables in the back.

Aramis roved his gaze over the patrons until he spotted the familiar figure in one of the corners. He made his way over, sliding easily into the seat across the table from Marsac.

Marsac beamed at him and waved over a barmaid. "My friend will have…?"

"Nothing," Aramis said tersely, eyes fixed on Marsac. "You said you found out who was behind the ambush in Savoy."

Marsac sighed as the barmaid left. "Down to business, got it." He leaned forward across the table. "It was Victor Amadeus."

Aramis blinked. "The arms dealer?"

"The one and the same." Marsac took a swig of his amber colored drink.

Aramis eyed the glass dubiously. "Are you sure? What reason would he have had to attack a contingent of soldiers?"

Marsac slammed the bottle down. "I have spent the past five years trying to find who was responsible for the massacre of twenty of our friends. Believe me, I'm sure."

Aramis held up a hand in conciliation. "All right, I believe you."

Marsac reached across the table to seize his forearm. "We're going to get justice, Aramis. Finally, after all this time."

"Do you have any proof?" He couldn't imagine how they might go about proving Amadeus had anything to do with the ambush.

Marsac straightened. "I know where we can get it."

Aramis frowned, his gut pinging. "What exactly are you asking for here, Marsac?"

"Your help in getting justice for our friends." He cast a quick glance around the bar and lowered his voice. "I found the location of one of Amadeus's caches on this moon. We'll find proof there. All we have to do is retrieve it." Marsac smirked knowingly. "Isn't that the type of job you do now?"

Aramis inhaled tensely. After all this time, he'd just accepted that he would never have answers regarding Savoy, never have justice for his slain comrades. But now…if it was a possibility…

"I'll speak with Athos about it," he said.

"No!" Marsac said sharply. "Athos wouldn't understand. He wasn't there. Plus he despises me. No, this is something we need to do." Marsac gestured between the two of them. "Help me do this, Aramis. For our friends."

Aramis shifted in his seat, torn. He did owe this to his friends who'd been murdered, and Marsac for saving him. He shook his head in frustration at the circumstances. "The Luciole has a shuttle…" he grudgingly said.

"Perfect. We can cross the moon under cover of night undetected if we leave now."

Aramis's brows rose sharply. "Now?"

Marsac huffed impatiently. "Asking questions draws attention. It's only a matter of time before Amadeus gets wind of someone taking an interest and he moves what we're looking for."

Aramis shook his head. He didn't like this. But striking hard and fast was the best way to go. "Fine," he bit out. "I'll help you."

Marsac grinned, but then sobered quickly again. "Can you get to the shuttle without alerting the others? They can't know what we're doing."

Aramis bristled. "I won't lie to them."

"You don't have to lie, just don't say anything. You know they'll try to stop us."

In truth, Aramis didn't know if that would be the case. Athos would certainly stop him from going now; he'd want more information and some reconnaissance, which there was nothing wrong with. But Marsac's argument had merit too, and if Amadeus decided to move his cache, they might lose their chance.

Aramis stood up abruptly. "There's a vacant space two blocks west of here. I'll bring the shuttle and pick you up there."

Marsac rose to his feet as well and nodded. "Tonight's the night, my friend."

Aramis, somehow, did not feel as inspired, but he nevertheless returned to the Luciole. As he'd predicted, the others weren't back from their own bar escapades yet. He quietly crept through the ship, keeping an ear out for Constance. The hatch to her and d'Artagnan's room was shut, and when he paused outside to listen, he could hear muffled giggles and noises within. So d'Artagnan had returned early. All the better for Aramis, as those two would be too occupied to hear him taking off with the shuttle.

He really did not like leaving his crew in the dark though. They might not agree with him, but surely they would understand. Or, well, maybe not, but they'd forgive him. Aramis stopped in the mess and rifled through the drawers until he found some paper and a pencil, and he quickly scribbled out a note to leave for the others. Then he made his way to the compartment where the shuttle was docked and slipped inside. The noise of starting up the engines made him cringe, but he was committed now. Firing up the thrusters, he opened the bay doors and let the automatic release sequence launch the shuttle.

He flew a small arc over the docks and set down in the vacant spot he'd told Marsac to meet him at. The man was waiting, and Aramis opened the side door to let him in.

Marsac slapped a piece of note paper on the dash. "Here're the coordinates."

Aramis plugged them into the navigation; they were only fifty klicks away. He lifted the shuttle up and steered them that direction. Though the flight wouldn't be that long, Aramis found the silence stifling.

"I've thought of you many times," he said quietly. "Wondered how you were living."

Marsac shrugged. "A gun for hire, with thieves for company and one eye on the door." He breathed out a heavy sigh. "I'm weary of it."

Aramis had nothing to say to that. Times were tough and work could be scarce, even more so for a labeled deserter. Aramis would have suggested a place with the musketeers, but the harsh fact was Marsac would never be welcomed among those ranks.

A shipping yard came into view up ahead, columns and columns of shipping containers stacked in rows.

"Over there," Marsac pointed. "The security grid will tag the shuttle, but we can go in on foot. It's not far if we set down here."

Aramis guided the shuttle around to outside the perimeter of the yard and landed. He turned off the engines as Marsac went over to open the door. Poking his head out, he tapped a band on his wrist that then lit up with an LED beam. Aramis trailed after him as he exited the shuttle and strode into the yard.

"Please tell me you know how to find the right one," he muttered as he surveyed the nearly identical containers.

"Of course."

Marsac did seem to know, as he confidently took a left, then a right, and finally stopped in front of one of the shipping containers. Then he pulled a handheld blowtorch from his belt and bent over to start cutting through the lock.

Aramis shifted his weight nervously as he kept an eye out. He didn't know whether there were any personnel on guard duty or if the system was run by drones only. Either way, Marsac had better know what he was doing.

"Got it," he announced after a few minutes.

Aramis stood back as Marsac grabbed the edge and wrenched the door open. The interior was somewhat more sparse than Aramis imagined—only a single pallet holding something nearly five feet high and covered with a tarp. Marsac yanked it off, revealing stacks of gold bricks that glinted in the beam of his flashlight.

Aramis frowned. From what he could see, this was the only thing in the container. "Marsac," he hissed. "I don't see any 'proof' here."

Marsac's shoulders heaved. "There is no proof, Aramis," he confessed. "Not any that would satisfy a court of law, anyway." He bent down to examine the base of the pallet. "But Amadeus is responsible for the massacre. And this, well, this is recompense for the lives he ruined that day."

Aramis stood suspended in dismay as his brain struggled to catch up with what he was hearing. "You—" He lunged forward, grabbing Marsac by the front of his poncho and slamming him against the inside of the container. "You used me!"

"I'm helping you!" Marsac snapped. "This is the least we deserve after what happened, after what that criminal did. He'll never see the inside of a prison cell, while I'm forced to live day to day scraping by, on the run. It's not right!"

Aramis shook his head in mounting fury, fists tightening in the folds of Marsac's poncho.

Marsac folded his hands over Aramis's wrists. "We can do anything we want with this kind of money, Aramis. Retire somewhere nice, away from want and violence."

Aramis shoved away from him. "No. I'm not doing this." He pivoted and started to storm out.

"You're just going to leave me here?" Marsac shouted after him.

He whirled back around. "Like you left me?" he seethed. He shook his head, trying to get his raging emotions under control. "Give this up, Marsac. I'm leaving, with or without you."

The sounds of several guns cocking made him freeze, and Aramis slowly turned around to find multiple armed men had surrounded the container. A tall figure with short, light colored hair and scraggly beard stepped forward, eyes glinting with murder. Aramis's stomach dropped. Victor Amadeus.

o.0.o

Athos had barely shaken off his hangover the next morning before Porthos was shouting at him to get up to the bridge. His harried tone had brought d'Artagnan and Constance too, and now they were all congregated after having read the note Aramis had left on the console. Athos crumpled the piece of paper in a fist. Damn him. And damn Marsac.

"I don't get it," d'Artagnan said worriedly. "Why would Aramis do this? After what happened earlier, I thought he wanted nothing to do with Marsac."

"I'm sorry, I should have told you he'd gone to meet 'im," Constance said, sounding distressed.

"Aramis makes his own decisions," Athos replied coldly.

"Yeah, but he can't think straight when it comes to Marsac," Porthos put in with pointed anger.

"What do you mean?" d'Artagnan asked, but his eyes widened as though he'd realized the answer. "Aramis feels guilty. That Marsac deserted."

Porthos snorted. "That, and for bein' the only soldier to come back from the massacre. It took 'im months to recover, and not just physically."

"And now Marsac comes and dredges it all up," Constance said morosely.

D'Artagnan rubbed her arm. "What do we do?" he asked.

Athos breathed out through his nose and lifted his head. "We go after the idiot."

"Which one?" Porthos huffed.

"Ours."

o.0.o

Aramis's teeth clacked together as another surge of electricity shot through his body, a choked scream vibrating through his jaw. When the current shut off, he slumped against the battery coil at his back. Marsac's arm kept twitching next to his where he was tied to Aramis's right. Jumper cables ran from the battery to the metal handcuffs on their wrists, creating a nice direct circuit for the current.

After being caught by Amadeus and his men, they'd been hauled a short distance to another shipping container holding nothing but a battery and switch for flipping it on and off. Aramis had been confused as to its purpose at first, but he'd quickly learned. Amadeus was a ruthless man, who favored electric shock as much as the knife. Between volts of pure agony, he'd taken a blade to his captives, starting with shallow slices across the arms and chest.

"You know, in the old days on Earth-that-was," Amadeus mused out loud, "thieves who were caught lost a hand." He slid the blade along Aramis's left wrist, kissing the tender flesh with only a small nick. "No one steals from me," he sneered.

Aramis raised his eyes to the ceiling and tried to control his ragged breathing. He was soaked in sweat, his muscles trembling and every nerve ending on fire.

"I'm- I'm sorry," Marsac stuttered, lolling an equally exhausted gaze toward him. "Nev- never should've…dragged you into this."

Yes, well, it was too late now. Yet somehow, a small part of him deep down couldn't imagine leaving Marsac in this situation alone. Being alone was the worst thing Aramis could imagine suffering.

He mustered a bit of energy to straighten a fraction. "Were you responsible for the ambush at Savoy five years ago?" he wheezed at their captor.

Amadeus cocked his head. "Now why would you be interested in that?"

"I'd like the truth…before I die."

Amadeus flicked his gaze between the two of them, and then his eyes lit up. "You were there." He barked out a laugh. "I thought I'd killed them all."

Aramis's blood was already running hot, but the admission fueled it further. "Why?" he hissed.

Amadeus shrugged. "You were getting too close to one of my bases, and I couldn't risk you coming upon some of my clients in the middle of a business deal."

Aramis closed his eyes. He hadn't thought the truth was going to make it any easier to bear, and he was right. Instead the senseless deaths had only been confirmed as a waste, a product of being in the wrong place at the wrong time.

"And now here you both are, in my grasp again. How poetic."

Marsac snarled a slew of curses at him, but Amadeus reached for the crank and turned on the battery again. Lightning forked through Aramis with vicious, ripping intensity. He screamed until his throat was raw.

It cut off, and he sagged further this time. Marsac's whimpers barely filtered through the buzzing in his ears.

Then there was a sharp crack. Aramis was in so much pain he at first thought something inside of him had broken. But two men standing at the front of the shipping container dropped. The rest whirled, whipping up their guns and filing out to return fire. More shots echoed outside, and this time it was someone else screaming.

Aramis blinked through sweat-blurred vision as a large figure came barreling into the container. Someone that sounded like Porthos swore venomously. Hands roughly tugged at the cuffs on Aramis's wrist, and he couldn't hold back a groan. There was more jostling, urgent utterances, and then he was falling forward against a large, padded pillar.

"Easy, easy," Porthos rumbled in his ear.

"Aramis?" Marsac croaked.

"Shut up." Porthos's chest vibrated with the growl, sending lances of fire through Aramis.

He blinked rapidly to clear his vision, and saw another shadow step into the container. His eyes widened, but his throat was too raw to shout a warning.

Marsac suddenly swung around, grabbing a gun from Porthos's belt and pivoting in front of them to fire. Two shots shattered Aramis's eardrums. Amadeus fell backward, landing with a heavy thud. Marsac half turned, his eyes wide. And then his legs buckled and he dropped to his knees.

Aramis pushed off of Porthos and caught his friend around the shoulders. Red was blossoming from his chest.

Marsac's head lolled upward. "Our friends are…avenged."

Tears welled in Aramis's eyes as he folded himself over Marsac. He felt his friend go limp in his arms.

The sounds of fighting had stopped, and harried steps announced Athos's and d'Artagnan's arrival. They pulled up short at the scene, and Aramis was grateful when no one said a single word.

o.0.o

Aramis was eventually pulled away from Marsac's body. By then exhaustion and pain made him fuzzy on the details of returning to the ship, which was parked out where he'd left the shuttle. It didn't really surprise him, or maybe he was too numb to feel much of anything at this point.

Athos and Porthos half dragged, half carried him up to the infirmary and laid him down on the examination slab. Athos prepared a dose of something in the injector and shot it into Aramis's neck. He felt a sharp prick at first, and then a blessed lightness swept through his body, easing some of the pain. Porthos busied himself with ripping open packages of antiseptic and gauze.

"Not sure if these are gonna need stitchin'," he said gruffly, eyeing the mess of cuts Amadeus had graced Aramis with.

"There are electrical burns too," Athos added.

Aramis tried to lift his head to look, but his vision was blurring again. "'S okay," he slurred.

"Lie still," Athos ordered.

Aramis closed his eyes against an upwelling of guilt and remorse, the painkillers having released the floodgates on the last of his barriers. "'M sorry," he rasped.

"Shh," Athos responded sternly, tugging open Aramis's shirt to expose the cuts more.

"I'm sorry," he repeated desperately. "Please don't leave."

There was a pause in the flurry of activity, and then a sigh. Athos placed a hand on the top of Aramis's head. "We will never leave you, Aramis. You know this."

He did. "True brothers," he mumbled. "Not like- not like Marsac."

"Then why'd you run off wit' him?" Porthos all but growled.

"Our friends…deserved justice. He begged me…not to tell you. Knew you…wouldn't approve." Aramis snorted derisively. "Should've listened to…my gut…an' told you…anyway." He flailed his hand until someone caught it. "Wanted to tell you. 'M sorry."

"We know," Athos soothed.

Aramis lolled his head in agitation despite the floating feeling of the meds. "That's twice now…Marsac saved…my life. And it…only led to…his ruin." His chest hitched. "I can never repay the debt," he whispered.

"Marsac's choices then and now aren't yer fault," Porthos said earnestly. "You can't carry the blame for that."

The words made sense, on some level beyond the grasp of his pain and drug addled mind.

Light footsteps entered the infirmary. "We're up," Constance reported. "Where do you want to go?"

"Back to Beaumonde," Athos said. "I want to get as far away from this moon as possible."

"How is 'e?"

"He'll live."

"I'll tell d'Artagnan."

Aramis winced and moaned as Athos and Porthos continued to patch him up. He was on his last dregs, his body taken past the brink of what mortal vessels should bear. But he managed to pry his eyes open fully one last time.

"Thank you," he rasped.

Athos laid a gentle hand on his shoulder. "There are no debts between brothers. Now sleep."

Aramis felt his lids slide closed and the world ebb away, but he knew he was safe in the care of his family.