A/N: Thank you Laureleaf for your review! I'm glad you all found the last chapter amusing. ^_^

This is just a ficlet interlude I wrote at 2am during a bout of insomnia. Contains elements from both a Firefly and Musketeer episode.

Summary: It starts with a card game and ends with a brawl.

"A Minor Dust-Up"

Aramis ducked the swing aimed at his head, only to get tackled by another assailant that drove him backward into the bar counter, the rim ramming painfully into his lower back. He grappled with the brute of a man as punches flew and furniture broke in the melee happening behind him. Aramis flailed one hand over the counter at his back until his fingers grasped a bottle, which he smashed over his opponent's head.

In the breath between attacks, he tapped the comm link on his wrist band and brought it to his mouth. "D'Artagnan, we could use some help here."

And then he was set upon by another filthy lout. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Porthos throw someone into a wall and turn with an excited bellow for whoever was next. He always did like to brawl. Aramis, not so much. Nor Athos, who had been quietly nursing his cup in a back corner before the fight broke out. He'd waited a few moments to see whether Porthos and Aramis could handle it, but they'd apparently decided to visit a bar where most of the customers felt a sense of bloodthirsty loyalty to each other, and the two musketeers had been quickly overwhelmed.

Athos had his main gauche drawn and was using it to fend off thrusts from broken bottles and one knife. Even halfway to being drunk, he possessed more skill than these ruffians.

But ruffians often had brute strength, and Aramis suddenly found himself seized by a second and being propelled across the room and flung toward the window. The flexi-screen wobbled as the right amount of momentum struck it so that the offending object flew right through rather than shattering actual glass. Aramis hit the ground hard and rolled, pain radiating up his spine where the pistols on his belt dug into already forming bruises. A moment later the door to the establishment banged open and Athos was tossed out, though he only stumbled before catching himself. Several men poured out after him.

Aramis forced himself to his feet. This was turning into an annoying day.

Porthos threw a man out ahead of his exit, but he was then quickly shoved through the crowd so that he stood next to Aramis and Athos…with a cliff at their backs.

"Enough!" Athos shouted. "You've made your point. We're leaving."

One of the larger bar patrons stepped forward and cracked his knuckles. "I think a point still needs to be made," he said, eyes fixed on Porthos.

Porthos smirked in response, feet balanced shoulder width apart in anticipation.

Several men drew their guns and pointed them at the musketeers.

Porthos faltered. "Hey now, fellas. It was just a good ole bar brawl. No need to get yer panties in a twist."

Aramis's fingers twitched toward one of his pistols and he grimaced with his own expectation of what was to come next. But then an updraft rippled along the back of his shirt and he heard a growing thrum. Chancing a look over his shoulder, he almost reeled back as the Luciole suddenly rose up to crest the cliff, hovering behind the musketeers. D'Artagnan's voice came over the amplified speakers.

"Everyone go back inside, or I will blow a new crater in this little moon."

The thugs hesitated, the gusts from the engines kicking up dust around them. Aramis heard the whir and grind of the cargo bay door opening and he turned to see Constance standing at the control panel. With another wary glance at potential pursuers, he took a running leap to land on the ramp, Athos and Porthos behind him. Once inside, Constance hit the button to close the door.

Porthos chuckled. "Fools. Didn' even know Firefly ships ain't armed with weapons."

Athos rounded on him, snatching at his wrist and turning his arm up. A King card peeked out from under his sleeve. The captain leveled a disapproving look at him. "Porthos."

The man had the grace to grimace. "Yeah, I need ta work on that."

Athos released him, and with nothing more than an upbraiding glare, turned and headed up to the catwalks.

Aramis braced an arm against a stack of storage containers and closed his eyes as he breathed through a spasm in his back.

"Will you never learn?" Constance scolded.

He opened his eyes to find her standing in front of him, arms crossed. He managed a small smile. "They did throw the first punch."

"Mm-hm. Come on, I'll get you some ice."

She took his arm and tugged him toward the stairs.

Porthos's brow furrowed in worry. "You a'right?"

Aramis smiled again. "Nothing a little of Constance's TLC can't fix."

Constance scoffed. "You deserve some bruises, actin' like idiots."

Aramis leaned toward Porthos. "That would be tough loving care," he whispered.

"Don't think I won't slap you," she snapped. "Since you seem to want to get hit today."

"But I'm walking wounded," he said in mock hurt, placing a hand over his heart. The wince he made when he reached the stairs, however, was hardly put-upon.

"And whose fault is that?"

"Well…" Aramis slid a sidelong look at Porthos. Not that he would ever hold hard feelings over the incident, but it was Porthos's penchant for cheating that had ignited the fight.

Porthos gave him a sheepish half smile. "I will work on it," he promised.

Aramis reached out to clap his friend on the shoulder. "We all have our vices. Although I do think it's unfair that I'm the one getting scolded." He flashed Constance a charming smile.

"Yes, well, I believe the captain will figure out a proper punishment."

Porthos suddenly blanched. "Aw, hell."

As though on cue, Athos reappeared in the corridor. "Porthos," he said in a deceptively normal tone. "Apparently d'Artagnan had parked the ship under the path of some migratory birds and the hull is now covered in excrement. It needs to be scrubbed off."

Porthos frowned. "But 'aven't we already left the moon?"

"Yes. So you'd better suit up."

With that, he turned and left.

Porthos closed his eyes and groaned.

Aramis scratched the back of his head. "Suddenly Constance's lectures are more preferable."

She rolled her eyes and resumed steering him into the kitchen, leaving Porthos to follow their captain's order and perhaps reflect on his choice of recreational activities.