A/N: Thank you Laureleaf for your review!

Summary: A job leads the crew to the area where Porthos grew up. But not all homecomings are joyous.

"A Den of Thieves"

Normally a ferry job meant dropping off passengers at a dock and letting them disembark into whatever bustling port they'd deigned to travel to. This assignment was a little different. The Luciole had been tasked with taking a select group of investors to a new resort development on the planet Newhope. Thus, after landing the ship, the musketeers then had to escort their passengers from where they parked to a meeting point with the lead developer, Mr. Mauvoisin.

The walk in the fresh air was nice, though perhaps a little dampened by somberness. Porthos craned his head back to look at the sky. He couldn't see it through the atmosphere but knew it was there somewhere in orbit—the skyplex he'd grown up on, dubbed by its inhabitants as "The Court of Miracles." It was neither a court nor filled with miracles, but was rife with poverty and destitution. Porthos's mother had ended up there, an infant in her arms and crushed hope in her heart. Five years later it was where she died.

Aramis came to a stop beside him, close enough to barely brush his shoulder. "You all right?" he asked softly.

Porthos brought his gaze back down to the glittering structures rising up from the landscape. "Yeah. Jus' thinkin' about the past."

Aramis didn't say anything; he knew what it was like for old memories to resurface.

They started walking again, and Porthos became aware of the voices from the group up ahead, one statement in particular catching his attention.

"I admit your plans are promising, but what about that skyplex in orbit? It's known as a den of thieves. How can you expect our clientele to feel safe here?"

"I assure you, I am taking measures to ensure every guest's safety and comfort," Mr. Mauvoisin replied.

"Still," another potential investor spoke up, "it's somewhat of an eyesore for incoming vessels."

Porthos couldn't hold back a snort, not that they paid him any mind. All this wealth being poured into pampering the rich; how many people up on the skyplex could it feed instead? Or what if those people had been offered the jobs this resort would provide and a chance to escape the squalor?

But Porthos knew all too well that the world didn't work that way.

o.0.o

Constance left the cargo bay doors open to get some fresh air circulating throughout the ship. While the boys were out finishing up the job, she took the opportunity to enjoy some sun while doing an examination of the exterior of the ship to make sure it was keeping in good shape. Constance sometimes wondered how shiny she'd look with a good wash and polish, not that the captain would give her leave to overhaul the hull. Surface aesthetics weren't important to Athos. Still, surely he'd consent to touching up the fleur-de-lis emblem, which was looking a bit scratched and faded.

An arm snaked around her waist from behind and a knife slid up under her throat. Constance gasped and flinched, a body pressing firmly against her back to prevent her recoil.

"Easy, love," a man said in her ear. "Don't scream and I won't have ta slit yer throat."

Constance mashed her lips together and swallowed a whimper. She was pulled back from the hull and turned to where another man was standing at the cargo hold ramp.

"Behave," the one holding her hostage said. "And no one has ta get 'urt."

He dragged her onto the ship, his companion armed with a gun that he swept up and down as they made their way to the stairs up to the catwalk. But no one else was here. Constance bit her lip to keep from letting out another undignified sound.

They reached the engine room and the second assailant stowed his gun so he could yank out the aft alternator from its configuration, ripping wires and cords loose with a crackling spark. Tucking that under his arm, he stopped to grab a fuel cell as well.

"Let's go," he said.

The one holding the knife leaned close to Constance's face, his nose brushing her cheek. "Thanks, love." Then he shoved her away into the wall.

She caught herself with her palms but her legs nearly buckled they were shaking so badly. She twisted around as the men fled, seemingly done with robbing them. Her heart pounded against her rib cage painfully and she took a few moments to focus on her breathing. She needed to alert the others.

But her blood was still singing with terror as she slowly straightened. She grabbed a wrench from her toolbox and held it up as a weapon as she cautiously ventured toward the corridor. There was no sign of the thieves, but there was a chance they'd decided to raid another part of the ship.

Sucking in ragged breaths, Constance darted for the bridge, relieved to find it empty. She frantically flipped the alarm switch and then hunkered down on the floor under the console, hoping the others returned quickly.

o.0.o

The tour was drifting off toward the buildings under construction and Porthos was ready to ask if that meant they could be dismissed until it was time to take their passengers back to the planet they'd picked them up at when Athos's wrist device started beeping. The captain raised his arm to look at the screen, the lines around his mouth tightening.

"An alarm on the ship is going off."

D'Artagnan visibly stiffened and immediately turned to head back.

Athos gestured for Aramis to quickly inform their clients they would be returning to the ship and then he and Porthos hurried to keep up with d'Artagnan. The Luciole was exactly where they'd left it and all was quiet. There were no system alarms going off, which meant that the one that'd been triggered was linked to the comm device only.

D'Artagnan sprinted up the ramp into the cargo hold. "Constance!"

Porthos swept his gaze around cautiously, muscles tense. Athos had a hand on the hilt of his sword.

"Constance!" d'Artagnan yelled again.

"Here," she finally replied, poking her head out from the corridor above.

Porthos arched a brow at the wrench gripped in her hands like a bludgeon.

D'Artagnan bounded up the steps to the catwalk. "Are you all right? What happened?"

She flicked a nervous gaze around the cargo hold before finally letting the wrench drop to her side. "We were robbed."

"What?" d'Artagnan exclaimed, taking her by the arms. "Are you hurt?"

Constance shook her head.

Footsteps clomping up the ramp alerted them to Aramis's arrival. "What's going on?" he asked.

"Some men came," Constance explained. "Out of nowhere an' took me by surprise. They took the aft alternator and a fuel cell."

"But you're not hurt?" d'Artagnan asked again, looking her over urgently.

"No."

She looked shaken though. Porthos clenched his fists, incensed by the violation—and ashamed because at one point in his life, he had been one of these men.

Constance shifted in obvious distress. "But we can't fly the ship without those parts."

"I know where the thieves would've gone," Porthos said darkly. "I'll take the shuttle up and get the parts back."

Athos and Aramis exchanged a look.

"I'll go with you," Aramis said.

Porthos almost opened his mouth to say that wasn't necessary, and it was better if he went alone. But he hesitated. His friends knew of his past and didn't judge him for it, nor did they judge him for the actions of others, even by distant association. Besides, it wasn't wise to go into a hostile environment without backup.

So Porthos gave a clipped nod and turned to Athos. "Stay on guard in case anyone gets wind she's dead on the ground and decides to pick 'er clean."

Athos nodded gravely. "Be careful."

Porthos's lip curled upward. Care wasn't the language people in the Court understood. But Porthos knew how to deal with them.

Armed with their weapons, he and Aramis boarded the Luciole's small shuttle and took off, making their way up through the atmosphere into orbit. They circled half the planet before the skyplex came into view, and Porthos guided the shuttle up to dock with it.

"Let me lead," he told Aramis as he powered down the shuttle.

The docking bay doors opened and they disembarked, stepping into a narrow corridor that joined up with other passages like one big intersecting maze. The structure was obviously impoverished, with rusted walls draped with tarps and sheets to make little cubbies. Strings of broken glass and frayed tassels hung from oxidized joists, giving the otherwise dim and dreary place a bit of color.

Porthos led the way down old familiar paths until he came to a larger nook that looked like a merchant's stall. He ducked under the partial drape to enter, eyes roving over the shelves of ship parts. The scruffy man shuffling around in the back wasn't the person who'd been in charge back when Porthos was a kid, but things changed hands often in the Court when sickness and foul deeds claimed as many lives a year as ships stranded unfortunate souls there.

"What you want?" the man barked.

"In the market for some parts," Porthos replied gruffly. "Heard yer the man ta see."

The thief squinted up at him, lips parting in a toothy sneer. "I got a lot o' parts."

Porthos sniffed as he looked around again. "How about an aft alternator? Transport ship size. Nothin' big an' fancy."

The man's eyes lit up. "Got one in jus' today." He rummaged around in the back for a moment before carrying out the item and presenting it for inspection. "Firefly class. Wit' some proper riggin', can fit a variety of vessels."

The fact that it was a Firefly class part was probably enough of an admission of guilt, but Porthos pretended to look it over. He glanced at Aramis, who was poised near the entrance, watching and waiting. Porthos wasn't very knowledgeable about ship parts; that was Constance's thing. But Aramis took a gander at the alternator and then gave a subtle nod in confirmation.

"Yeah, alright," Porthos said, sounding less than eager. "You happen ta have a fuel cell on hand? Those are harder to come by."

The man gave him a knowing grin. "That they are." He went back to the same pile of junk and produced a fuel cell.

Porthos eyed the two items. "We'll take 'em."

The thief rested one arm over the parts. "Two hundred platinum."

Porthos scoffed. "One hundred."

"Don' waste my time."

"Yer the one wastin' time. And business," Porthos rejoined. "Ninety platinum, and I'll throw in a crate of soaps I was thinkin' of unloading on the surface."

The merchant eyed him carefully for a long moment, then leaned off the parts. "Deal."

Porthos picked up the items and passed them to Aramis, then turned back. "You know where you got these from?" he asked with a thread of menace.

The man frowned. One of the cardinal rules of black market dealings was don't ask where things came from.

Porthos leaned in. "My ship. Your boys shoulda been more careful who they chose to steal from."

The merchant's hand whipped under a shelf, but Porthos seized his wrist and squeezed until he yelped, the weapon he'd been reaching for untouched.

"So I'm jus' gonna take these back, an' maybe I'll forget all about this."

"You think you'll get out o' here alive?" the man seethed.

Porthos merely grinned. "You think you will if we don't?" He exerted a little more pressure on the joint and the man dropped to his knees with a cry of pain. Then Porthos released him. "You don' know who you decided to mess with."

"But I do."

Porthos spun at the new voice as someone ripped down the drape concealing the stall, exposing them to the outer court. Aramis shifted, but with his hands full of the ship parts, he couldn't draw his pistol. Porthos stood stiffly in the face of the dark-skinned man standing before him. Charon looked him up and down with a smirk, and then turned and raised his voice.

"Take notice!" he called out. "A long lost brother of the Court returns!" Charon turned back to him. "One of the best in his day. Before he went an' got honest."

Rumbles and murmurs rippled through the crowd of people that had stopped at Charon's pronouncement.

"Charon," Porthos greeted warily. "We don' want trouble."

Charon's face cracked into a grin that wasn't entirely friendly. "I seem to recall you used to enjoy trouble quite a bit." He canted his head at the stall merchant. "Seems this was jus' a misunderstanding though."

Porthos exhaled a fraction. "Yeah."

Charon waved the man off. Porthos frowned at the action.

"Oh yes, I'm King of the Court now," Charon said with a touch of smugness.

Porthos's brows rose in surprise. "Oh. Well, congratulations…"

"Come," he said. "You and your friend can join me for a meal."

Porthos hesitated and glanced at Aramis. They should get back to the Luciole…but now that Porthos was here and facing his childhood friend after all these years, a small part of him felt a tug to stay, to catch up.

Aramis, for his part, kept his peace and waited for Porthos to decide.

"Sure," he finally said. "That'd be nice." He still cast a cautious look around the other denizens as he exited the stall, but the people parted for Charon like he was real royalty.

They followed him through the skyplex to one of the upper levels and into a large room with a desk along the left wall and a long table to the right with chairs around it. A door in the corner led into another chamber, and Porthos pulled up short as a woman with voluminous blond hair stepped out. She also stopped upon seeing him, her eyes glinting with a flash of steel.

"Flea," Porthos breathed.

"Porthos."

Charon walked over and slipped an arm around her waist. The possessive posturing clearly telegraphed their relationship, and Porthos found himself shifting in awkward discomfort.

"What are you doing here?" Flea asked coldly.

"Er, some parts from my ship were stolen. I came ta get 'em back."

Flea's gaze shifted to the alternator and fuel cell Aramis was still carrying. "I see."

"Come, Flea," Charon said with what sounded like exaggerated cheerfulness. "Our old friend has come home. This is cause for celebration."

Flea stepped away from him. "He's not come home, though, has he?"

Porthos fidgeted. "Perhaps this was a mistake."

Flea sighed and gestured to the table. "Forgive my manners. Please, sit."

Aramis looked to Porthos questioningly, and Porthos took the lead of moving to sit first, Aramis following suit. Flea took a seat across from them, and Charon sat next to her, pressing close again.

Porthos felt a strange pang in his heart. He cleared his throat. "I'm happy for you two."

Flea's expression was still chilled while Charon almost seemed to gloat. Porthos had never felt more like an outsider.

"You two rule the Court now," he went on.

"Yes," Flea said proudly. "It isn't much, but it's home."

Porthos ducked his gaze. Yes, the Court of Miracles had been his home growing up, but he'd wanted more. He'd wanted a real life, not one scraping by, taking advantage of others. Glancing at Aramis, he reminded himself he'd forged a new family. The Court may have been where he'd come from, and he'd never forget it, but it wasn't his ball and chain.

o.0.o

Aramis thought the tension in the air could be cut with a table knife. He knew Charon was Porthos's childhood friend, but there was an undercurrent of hostility in every smile, innocuous remark, and unsolicited touch to the woman next to him. Porthos bore it stoically, asking about their lives, how they'd been. Flea, in turn, politely asked the same, even including Aramis in the conversation, but he kept his answers short and superficial, deferring to Porthos on how much the man wanted to share.

After the meager meal was finished, Aramis excused himself, claiming he'd like to go for a walk. Mostly he wanted to afford Porthos and his old friends some privacy. He wandered that level of the skyplex, aware of the suspicious glares being shot his way. But no one accosted him; it seemed Charon's invitation to dine with him had been an indirect declaration of protection to the denizens of the Court.

He paused as a particular gentleman caught his eye. The man was slinking away from a corner, and he looked familiar, though in a way that Aramis couldn't quite place. And then it clicked—the man had been on the planet with Mr. Mauvoisin, one of his staff perhaps. Aramis didn't think Mauvoisin was the type to hire anyone from the Court, so what was he doing up here?

Aramis drifted over to the corner. There was a huge tarpaulin tossed over a large bulge. Looking around, he knelt and lifted a corner. He spotted a mess of wires and raised the tarp further. His eyes widened on the large black casing with more wires protruding from it and a digital counter that was most definitely ticking down, with three hours on the clock.

Aramis quickly covered the device again and made his way back to Charon's chambers. The tension hadn't dissipated with his absence, and there was a moment of intense staring before anyone looked his way.

"We have a problem," he said. "There's a bomb on the skyplex, set to go off in three hours."

Porthos surged to his feet. "What are you talkin' about?"

Flea also leaped up, eyes flashing.

"I saw one of Mauvoisin's men up here," Aramis explained. "He was acting shifty so I took a look at where he'd been. The device is on this level, four corridors from here under a tarp. Looks like it's close to some power conduits."

Porthos's jaw visibly tightened. "There's no way to evacuate the entire skyplex in three hours. We'll have to remove the bomb."

"There could be tripwires or motion sensors," Aramis countered. "Might be better to try disarming it."

"There could be tripwires if we try an' do that," Porthos growled and shook his head. "But you're right."

"Show us," Flea said, rounding the table.

"No."

They turned their eyes to Charon, still sitting at the table. He stood up now and reached behind him, pulling out a gun. Aramis tensed as he aimed it at Porthos.

"You never should have come back here."

"What the hell is this?" Porthos demanded.

"Charon," Flea breathed in disbelief. "What are you doing?"

"What I have to."

Aramis had a sinking suspicion he was loathe to confirm. "You're not worried about the bomb," he stated.

Charon sneered at him. "There's time for me an' Flea to leave."

Flea gaped at him. "Leave? Charon, what have you done?"

Aramis felt a smidgeon of relief that only one of Porthos's old friends had betrayed him. It was a brutal blow for anyone to deal with.

"I hate this place!" Charon spat. "With the money Mauvoisin is giving me to destroy the skyplex, we can start over. Live somewhere nice like we deserve."

"But this is our home."

"No it's not! This filth and squalor…I deserve better!" He beckoned with his free hand. "Flea, let's go."

She shook her head adamantly. "No. These are our people. I'm not leaving them. And I won't let you murder them either."

Charon's cheeks puffed puce. "So you're choosing Porthos over me."

"This has nothing to do with him!"

Charon shook his head, gaze hardening and narrowing on the object of his ire.

"Porthos!" Aramis shouted in warning, but it was Flea who moved first, throwing herself against the large man as the gun went off.

They both hit the floor, and Charon took off out the door. Aramis dropped down beside them, searching frantically for a wound. Flea gasped as she rolled off of Porthos and clutched at her upper arm. Blood seeped out to soak her sleeve.

"Flea!" Porthos exclaimed, reaching for her.

She shoved him away. "Go!"

Sparing her one last regretful look, Porthos launched to his feet and charged after Charon.

Aramis prised her fingers away to get a look at the wound. "Through and through," he said. "You'll be fine."

"The bomb," she gritted out.

Right.

"Do you have a comm?" he asked.

Flea struggled to her feet and Aramis helped brace her. She hobbled to a cabinet and opened it to reveal a communications system. Aramis dialed into the Luciole's frequency and clicked the handheld radio.

"Athos? It's Aramis. Please tell me you're listening."

He waited a few moments until the comm crackled with a response.

"What's your status?" Athos asked.

"Oh, on the verge of impending disaster, nothing unusual," he quipped, and he could almost hear the captain's sigh.

"Aramis," Athos said flatly.

"Mauvoisin wants to blow up the skyplex," he explained. "Porthos is currently chasing one of the conspirators. But I need help disarming the bomb."

There were several moments of silence through the link, perhaps as Athos sent up a silent lament to the universe.

"Can you send an image?"

"Erm, no. But I'll describe it to you. Give me a minute." Aramis tapped a few keys and routed the comm connection to his wrist device. Then he darted from the room and down the corridor to where he'd found the explosive. Flea trailed behind him.

Aramis yanked the tarpaulin away, revealing the device, and crouched down in front of it. "There's just under three hours on the countdown," he informed Athos. "Looks like an IC07. There's a central casing and lots of wires. Can't tell if there're any sensors."

"Is there a side panel on the left?" Athos asked.

Aramis leaned over. "Yes." He pulled out his dagger and used the tip to prise it open. "Okay, there are six wires and nodes in here. Three red, three yellow."

"Strip the casing and see what they look like inside."

Aramis proceeded to do so. "At least one is a smaller gauge."

"That's the timer," Athos said. "The larger gauges are for the explosives. Cut that one and it should stop the countdown."

Aramis breathed out through his nose. "Should?"

"Depends on how devious the bomb maker was."

Yeah, they'd seen a few diabolical devices during their time in the military, bombs that had taken out the squad sent to disarm them. But this was some businessman trying to clear out undesirable company above his new resort. So, probably not the artist type.

Aramis cut the wire. He held his breath as the timer froze, and when the device didn't explode in his face, he finally let it out. Beside him, Flea sagged.

"Aramis," Athos said impatiently.

"We're good," he reported. "But I'd still like to jettison this thing out the nearest hatch."

"I'll take care of it," Flea said.

Aramis almost argued with her, but the stern look in her eyes made him hold his tongue. This was her domain after all. His thoughts instead turned to Porthos, but it was too late to catch up with him. Aramis could only hope his brother had as much success as they just did.

o.0.o

Porthos barreled after Charon, chasing him down corridors that were as familiar to him as they were to his quarry. How many times had they chased each other through these passages as children?

Porthos expected Charon to make for a docking bay, but the man was taking turns deeper into the skyplex. When Porthos finally caught up to him, it was in the compartment with the generators.

"Charon!" Porthos roared.

The man skidded to a stop, nowhere left to go. Shoulders slumping, he turned around. An almost rueful grin cracked his features and he shook his head. "I couldn't believe how perfect it was, you showing up today. On the off-chance anyone survived, they'd blame you."

Porthos gaped at him, flabbergasted. "What have I done to earn this hatred from you? We were friends!"

"And then you left."

"I asked you to come with me!"

"And serve the very people who oppress us?" Charon snorted. "Not a chance."

Porthos shook his head in disbelief. Charon had always possessed a certain bitterness about their poverty and those who had more than they needed. He'd never expected it to grow into utter vitriol and hate.

"Murderin' hundreds of people to get what you want," Porthos said, "how's that make you better than them? Better than people like Mauvoisin?"

Charon's lip curled up in a sneer. "You think you're better than me. Always have. And then Flea chose me, and I thought I'd finally won." His gaze hardened. "But you come back and all of a sudden she's yours again."

"That isn't what this is about."

Yes, Porthos had once held feelings for Flea, maybe still did. But their lives had taken different directions and they'd both made their choices.

Charon shook his head again. "If I can't have my dreams, I can at least make sure you don't either."

He raised his gun toward the fuel cells of the generator. Porthos whipped out his gun and fired. Only one shot cracked the air, and Charon fell backward. Porthos moved forward and kicked the weapon out of lax fingers. Charon stared up at him, blood trickling out of the corner of his mouth. Porthos bent down and squeezed his shoulders, anger and grief battling for dominance. Charon had once been his best friend, but the man he'd killed was someone he hadn't recognized. And he didn't know how to reconcile that.

o.0.o

Porthos stood with arms crossed, watching anxiously as Aramis stitched up Flea's bullet wound. She bore the nip and tug stoically, as she had the news of Charon's death. It was a strength Porthos had always admired in her.

"Will you be all right?" he asked.

Aramis tied off the thread and cut it, and Flea pulled her tattered sleeve down.

"I'll live," she replied stiffly. But then her eyes softened marginally. "We all will."

"Mauvoisin may try again," Aramis cautioned as he cleaned his instruments.

Flea drew her shoulders back. "The people here are survivors."

Aramis flicked a knowing smile at Porthos then back to her. "Indeed."

She took a step toward Porthos and placed a hand on his arm. Then she lifted onto her toes to press a gentle kiss to his mouth. "Goodbye, Porthos."

His heart gave a pang. "Maybe I can stop in now an' then…"

Flea smirked. "This isn't your home anymore," she said, though there was no barb behind it. She glanced at Aramis. "You have another home now. And I have mine."

Porthos nodded, overcome with both gratitude and remorse. He'd always known there was no going back for him. And Flea would never leave the Court, not even for him. Not even for Charon.

They bid farewell and Porthos and Aramis returned to their shuttle with the stolen parts. The flight back to the planet was quick, and Constance was relieved to see them well. They handed over the parts so she could fix the ship before their passengers were ready to depart.

Porthos drifted outside, finding himself gazing up at the cloud covered sky again.

"Are you all right?" Aramis asked.

"I got away," he said. "Made a better life. Not everyone is that lucky."

"It wasn't luck. It was hard work and determination." Aramis clapped a hand on Porthos's shoulder. "You made the life you wanted for yourself."

"Still, not everyone gets the chance," Porthos argued. He flashed his best friend a grin. "Not everyone meets people like you an' Athos."

Aramis grinned. "That's true. But thanks to you, the people up there will live to have another chance tomorrow."

Porthos tipped his head back. He hoped some would take it. But Aramis was right; Porthos had worked hard for this life he now had. And he wasn't going to waste it.