A/N: Thank you Laureleaf for your review! Next few chapters are inspired by Firefly episodes, but still with some Musketeers elements. Starting with this one! Some people mentioned hoping to see Athos in a duel; here you go!

Summary: The musketeers are hired as private security for a gala, and Athos finds himself where he never wanted to be again—among the nobles of his former circles.

"A Royal Shindig"

Athos waited as d'Artagnan completed the landing protocols, settling the Luciole down on the docks of the planet Persephone. Treville was waiting for them when they disembarked.

"Commodore," Athos greeted.

"Didn't think you got off Beaumonde much anymore," Aramis quipped.

Their commander huffed. "Yes, well, this assignment is a bit personal."

"I'm still not clear on exactly what we're doin'," Porthos said.

"Lord Louis of Bourbon is hosting an extravagant party," Treville explained. "He's asked me to provide him with a security detail."

"Is he expecting trouble?" Athos asked.

Treville sighed. "Louis can be…paranoid. But there have been no concrete threats."

"Then why're we doin' this?" Porthos pressed.

"I knew his father, was there when he was assassinated."

"That explains the paranoia," Aramis remarked.

"Yes, well, I suppose I feel I owe the boy," Treville finished. "It's a simple enough job. The party is this evening, so you have until then to find some appropriate attire." He fished out a coin purse and handed it over. "Louis's wife, Anne, will also be in attendance." Treville looked at Constance. "Would you feel comfortable shadowing her?"

Constance looked surprised but quickly nodded. "Of course."

"Then I will see you tonight." With a farewell nod, he turned and departed.

Aramis opened the coin purse and peeked inside, then let out a low whistle.

Porthos glanced over and grumbled under his breath. "Do I really 'ave to get dressed up like a peacock?"

Aramis grinned. "I didn't hear the Commodore mention anything about a masquerade ball."

"You know what I mean."

"It could be fun though," Constance put in. "I've never been to an elegant party."

"They're vapid and dull," Athos said.

Everyone's eyes shot to him, the hold suddenly filled with a tense silence.

Athos turned on his heel and strode down the ramp to disappear into the city.

o.0.o

The crew of the Luciole arrived at Louis's mansion early that evening after having gone shopping for fine attire. Nothing too extravagant, just enough to blend in with the guests while still maintaining functionality. Aramis was wearing black pants and a cerulean embroidered coat. The rapier that hung from his belt could be taken for ceremonial dress, but should any trouble arise, he'd be quick to draw it. His pistols, which happened to have ornate filigree in the handles and barrels, looked equally decorous though they were fully loaded.

Porthos kept tugging at his red bow tie and rolling his shoulders in his black satin coat. Aramis couldn't hold back a grin at how uncomfortable he looked, like a fish out of water. D'Artagnan, on the other hand, held himself formally, dressed in russet browns and forest greens. Constance was on his arm, looking both shy and delighted in the pale pink gown she'd found, with rippling folds down the skirt and a lace rimmed bodice. She looked exquisite, which Aramis had been sure to tell her with a rakish grin. She'd slapped his arm but had practically beamed at the compliment. There was no sword to drag down her dress, but she was carrying a clutch with a concealed pistol.

Treville strode toward them as they were admitted into the house. "Where's Athos?"

Aramis hesitated and glanced at the others. They had no idea where their fearless captain had gone off to or whether he would even be joining them. Aramis was slightly worried he'd found a bar and gotten too deep in his cups and lost track of time.

He was still trying to think of an excuse when Athos walked in. He was dressed in a simple white shirt with a navy blue jacket and his hair appeared clean if not fluffed. At least he didn't look like he'd just walked off the ship, nor did he look drunk, so that was something.

Treville gave him a clipped nod and gestured for them to follow him over to where a young man and woman stood off to the side.

"May I present Lord Louis and his wife, Anne," Treville said. "My lord, this is Captain Athos and his crew. Aramis, Porthos, d'Artagnan, and Madame d'Artagnan."

Louis had long brown hair that fell in curls over the front of his shoulders, covering some of his white and gold suit. He had a boyish face that was only emphasized by the toothy grin he gave them.

"You all look marvelous," he said with obvious glee. "And the swords…" He threw Treville a giddy look. "Those are sure to make a statement."

"Yes, sir," Treville replied with put-upon patience that one might use with an actual child. "My lady, this is Constance. Don't let the dress fool you; she's a capable musketeer."

"I'm sure she is," Anne replied, possessed of far more regality than her husband.

Aramis found himself struck by her gentle bearing yet genuine sparkle in her eyes. Athos elbowed him and he shot his captain a droll look. Honestly.

Anne and Constance went off to chat, and Louis excused himself to finish getting ready for his guests.

Aramis lowered his voice to the Commodore. "Are we here for protection or show?"

Treville sighed. "A little of both."

"He's young," Athos put in. "I'm sure other lords often try to take advantage of him."

"Indeed," Treville agreed. "He's just trying to exert some authority."

With that, he moved away to check in with the servers. Athos took the dismissal and made himself scarce.

"He seems surlier than usual," d'Artagnan commented, watching their captain's retreating back.

"Athos isn't a fan of nobility," Aramis replied.

"Why?"

Aramis shrugged. "He used to be one."

o.0.o

Athos couldn't believe he'd found himself back in this kind of environment, with all the pomp and circumstance, frills and exorbitance. When he'd joined the military and then Treville's transport company, it was to spend time anywhere else but here. A job was a job though and Athos was a professional. He could handle security duty for one night.

But as guests started arriving, he recognized some of them from his former circles. It was probably too much to hope that they wouldn't notice him. Athos kept to the edges of the room, weaving through buffet tables and potted plants more than people. Alas, someone managed to corner him.

"Athos, do my eyes deceive me?"

He inwardly cringed as he was forced to stop lest he bowl over the woman who'd stepped into his path. "Lady Frieda," he said.

She gave him a coquettish smile. "It's nice to see you after all this time. We'd thought something horrible had befallen you when you went off to war."

No, something horrible had befallen him that spurred him to seek out war.

"But now you're back," she went on, batting her eyelashes in time with her hand-painted fan.

"Where is your husband?" Athos asked.

"Oh, I've yet to marry," she replied and edged closer to him.

Ah, that explained her interest. Like vultures to fresh meat.

"You've missed quite a lot in your time away," she went on, slipping an arm smoothly into his like he'd offered to be her escort.

Athos cared nothing for frivolous drivel, but his attempts to disengage his arm were met with firm resistance, and Frieda prattled on as if she hardly noticed he wanted to escape her.

D'Artagnan suddenly stepped in front of them. "My apologizes for interrupting," he said with a half bow. "But I'm afraid I need to confer with the captain on some of the security measures for the party." He flashed Frieda a charming smile. "Work calls."

She furrowed her brow in confusion at Athos. "You're a captain now?"

"Yes," he said, finally pulling free. "Excuse me."

He followed d'Artagnan halfway around the edge of the room before coming to a stop next to some windows.

"What is it you need to discuss?" he asked.

"Oh, nothing. I just thought you could use a rescue."

Athos was taken aback. Had he really appeared that uncomfortable, or was his pilot just that perceptive? Either way, he decided not to look a gift horse in the mouth. "I appreciate it," he muttered.

D'Artagnan suddenly started looking fidgety. "Aramis said you used to be nobility."

Athos gritted his teeth and shot a glower across the room toward said man. It went unnoticed, as Aramis was currently busy flirting with a group of ladies.

"Why did you accept this job?"

He looked back at d'Artagnan. "I'm not going to be ruled by my past," he answered.

Music started up and people began to clear the center of the room for dancing. Athos recognized the tune for a waltz.

D'Artagnan's attention had wavered and he was now staring across the way at Constance, who was watching the dancers in open rapture.

"You should go ask your wife for a dance," Athos said.

D'Artagnan jerked guiltily. "We're on duty."

"You can be spared for a few minutes."

Grinning, d'Artagnan crossed the room and held out a hand to Constance. She looked hesitant at first, but Anne beckoned for her to go. They slipped into the flow of other dancers, bright smiles lighting their faces. Despite the tension of being here, Athos could appreciate the fact that they could enjoy themselves.

Then a gravelly voice slithered out from behind him. "Well, if it isn't the Comte de la Fère."

Athos clenched his jaw and slowly turned. There were many nobles he cared never to see again, but Rochefort was a vile snake at the top of the list.

The man's lip curled upward in a smug sneer. "I'm surprised Lord Bourbon invited such low trash to his gala."

"You're here," Athos replied mildly.

Rochefort's gaze hardened. "Careful, Athos. I'm in a more prominent position since you've been gone."

Athos turned around and tried to walk away, but the man's smarmy voice followed, raised just enough to draw attention. "It's interesting that you would show your face. Even years later, the scandal of your wife is still quite the talk."

Athos froze. People within earshot had stopped their chatter to watch and listen.

"The murder was bad enough," Rochefort went on. "But that you actually married a Companion…"

Athos spun, fist swinging and connecting with Rochefort's jaw so hard that the man fell to the floor. The music abruptly stopped. Several gasps rippled through the guests and the rest of Athos's crew rushed over, including Treville.

"What the bloody hell are you doing?" the Commodore hissed.

Rochefort picked himself up, wiping his bloodied lip with the back of his hand. His face cracked into an eager grin. "I accept."

Athos paused, and it took him a second to realize what he'd done.

Rochefort's valet walked up and raised his voice to the guests. "By the laws of chivalry, the duel will commence immediately."

"Wait, duel?" d'Artagnan sputtered. "What's going on?"

"By punching Rochefort, I issued a challenge," Athos explained.

Aramis eyed him carefully. "Did you intend to issue a challenge?"

"No." But now that it was done, he didn't regret it. Rochefort was a pompous ass who deserved what was to come.

"Then why'd you punch 'im?" Porthos asked.

"It doesn't matter. Once the challenge is accepted it can't be withdrawn."

"Athos," Treville snapped under his breath. "Duels are to the death."

"I'm aware."

"Are you mad?" Constance interjected.

"Apparently," Aramis muttered.

"Enough," he commanded. "As I said, the challenge cannot be withdrawn." He shucked off his coat and drew his rapier.

Rochefort's valet handed him a sword and the Comte stepped forward. The rest of the guests quickly dispersed to the edges of the room to give them space.

Rochefort smirked. "You've been away for years, Athos. You're probably rusty."

"Even on my worst day, you couldn't best me."

"We'll see." Rochefort lunged first.

Athos parried the thrust and riposted, the clang of steel resounding through the ballroom. He swung twice in quick succession, Rochefort able to deflect each time. The smarmy man was no amateur.

Their blades clashed and locked, sliding against each other with a discordant screech. Rochefort leaned in close with a leer and Athos shoved away from him. Re-centering himself, he attacked again, feinting left and then quickly scoring a cut along Rochefort's right bicep. The man hissed and spun away, pausing to inspect his torn sleeve. Furious eyes flashed dangerously at Athos.

This time Rochefort charged, swinging and slashing relentlessly. Athos's quick footwork kept his balance as he backed up under the assault, parrying each blow so that none hit their mark. Before he could be driven to the point where his back was up against a wall, Athos ducked under a swing and pivoted around, slicing Rochefort along the ribs as he went. The Comte staggered and whirled, cheeks puffing red with exertion and rage now.

"Still think you're superior," Rochefort spat. "But you're a disgrace. What happened to your brother and wife was just a fitting reflection of that."

Athos saw red and nearly lunged, but then Aramis's voice barked out,

"Keep your head!"

Athos sucked in a sharp breath, then another steadier one. He was the master swordsman here, and he wasn't going to let this worm of a man goad him into forgetting it.

Athos attacked with quick and adroit precision. Rochefort struggled to keep up as he let his emotions get the better of him. After several more exchanges, Athos finally twisted Rochefort's blade out of his hand and stabbed his rapier into the man's chest.

Rochefort looked shocked, and there was a collective hush through the crowd. Athos yanked his blade free and stepped back. Rochefort's face was still frozen in that expression of dismay as he fell backward. Sightless eyes stared up at nothing when he hit the floor.

And then the spell broke and the guests began to disperse, murmuring to each other. D'Artagnan walked over and handed Athos a napkin, which he used to clean his blade with.

Louis came over as well, a delighted grin cracking his face. "Well, wasn't that exciting," he said to Treville. "I should hire these men more often!"

o.0.o

Later that night after the party had ended, Athos, his crew, and Commodore Treville had returned to the Luciole to debrief.

"I apologize for losing my composure," Athos said to Treville preemptively.

The Commodore snorted. "Louis found it amusing, as did everyone else there apparently."

Yes, the cavalier attitude of the guests was contemptible but not surprising to Athos.

"I won't pretend to understand some of the customs of the nobility," Treville went on. "But I also gathered that many despised this Rochefort and thought you did them a favor by ridding them of him."

"There will be no love lost over his demise," Athos agreed.

"Am I to take it that means you two had a history?" Aramis surmised.

Athos gave him a half shrug in response.

"The man may have had it coming," Treville said. "But I still want to know what set you off so I can make sure I don't send you on jobs where it can happen again."

"It won't," Athos promised.

Treville merely crossed his arms and skewered him with an unyielding look. The rest of his crew were also looking at him expectantly, though with more patience than their boss.

Athos remained silent for several long minutes, conflicted. But when it was clear no one was giving up without an explanation, he resigned himself to telling the story. Besides, who knew what snippets of gossip they might have gleaned at the party already. Better he deliver the truth than let wild rumors run rampant on his ship.

"Most of you know I was a comte who gave up my title. I had a younger brother, Thomas. And…a wife."

There were several raised brows at that.

"She was a Companion," Athos continued. "I didn't know that when we first met. We fell in love and she left the Guild so we could marry."

Aramis let out a surprised sound. "That's unusual."

"Unheard of," Athos corrected. "But we didn't care. We were in love." The word came out twisted with bitterness.

"What happened?" d'Artagnan prompted gently.

"She murdered my brother."

"What?" Porthos blurted. "Why?"

Athos clenched his fists. "She claims he tried to force himself on her, that she was only defending herself. I…I didn't know what to believe. I turned her over to the feds. Renounced my title a few days later, left, and never looked back."

He lifted his chin to meet their gazes with head high. His crew was silent.

Then Aramis canted a knowing look at him. "Did you honestly think that knowing this would change our opinion of you?"

"It did among the nobility."

Porthos gave him a toothy grin. "We ain't them."

Standing in the hold of a beat-up old ship, dressed in borrowed finery, and exchanging quarter smiles, Athos took a good long look at his crew, his family, and his mouth finally twitched in response. "No, you are not."

"I'm sorry it happened to you," Constance said. "But it wasn't your fault."

Fault was a matter of perspective, and a burden Athos couldn't fully relinquish, but he felt some measure of relief that his friends had not judged him.

"Well then," Treville said. "I'll bid you all goodnight. Will check in later with the next job." With a nod, he departed.

Constance let out a dreamy sigh. "The party was fun while it lasted."

D'Artagnan grinned and circled around to face her, holding out his hand. "May I have this dance?"

There was no music, no sparkly lights, but Constance took her husband's hand and he pulled her into a dance frame and they began to sway to their own rhythm. They reminded Athos of him and his ex-wife, once upon a time, and the memories still hurt. Yet he was still somehow able to find joy in the family he'd forged since. Leaning against a storage container next to Aramis and Porthos, they watched the happy couple with beaming smiles of their own.