A/N: Thank you Laureleaf for your review! Haha, I am having a blast blending these two verses. Speaking of which, Saffron here is not mine but belongs to Firefly.

Summary: After a drunken night on the planet Triumph, Porthos finds himself with a very uncomfortable problem—a wife.

"A Honey Trap"

Porthos sat in the back of the covered wagon as it jostled over the pebbles in the shallow stream. It was the slowest and most uncomfortable means of transportation in the whole verse.

"You really think this'll work?" he asked.

"The bandits have laid claim to this road," Athos replied. "They don't let anyone pass without paying their 'toll.'"

Porthos let out a soft snort. "Road" was an overstatement. But it was the route between the nearby town and any others they would trade with. When the Luciole had delivered some goods directly to them, the crew had learned that the poor town was being besieged by bandits who ambushed anyone coming and going from the place. Resources were already stretched thin and the townsfolk couldn't sustain themselves much longer under such oppression. Aramis had suggested they help with the problem, which was how the musketeers found themselves setting up their own ambush.

Porthos gripped his shotgun at the ready and peeked through the flap in the canvas toward the front where d'Artagnan and Constance sat, hooded in cloaks like a poor couple trying to flee town.

A few minutes later the wagon lurched to a stop as a voice called out,

"Going somewhere? There's a fee for crossing these lands."

"We don't have hardly anything," d'Artagnan replied.

"Well then maybe we'll take payment in the form of somethin' else. Say, maybe, some quality time with yer lady there."

Porthos and Athos stood, taking up position on the sides. There was the sound of a gun cocking.

"There will be no more payments," Constance declared.

"Take them!"

That was their cue. Porthos and Athos flipped up the sides of the canvas cover and leaned out. Porthos fired his shotgun, pumped the cartridge, and fired again. There were over half a dozen bandits who immediately started to shoot back. Constance and d'Artagnan scrambled to take cover behind the wagon while returning fire. Screams rent the air followed by splashes as men were unhorsed. A bullet ricocheted off the side of the wagon and Porthos dropped low. He abandoned the shotgun for his schiavona and charged out. One man aimed his weapon but Porthos was already too close and he cut the bandit down before he could get a shot off.

Another one, however, had the distance and was whipping Porthos's direction. The small crack of a rifle shot preceded him flying sideways off his horse. Porthos grinned; he couldn't see Aramis somewhere up in the hills but knew the marksman was there. With their sniper covering them, they made quick work of the rest of the bandits.

"Not so tough when yer victims fight back," Porthos commented as he sloshed through the water, plucking up weapons and checking the bodies.

"Line them up on the shore," Athos said. They wouldn't go to the trouble of burying the dead, but they'd afford them a small measure of dignity in not letting them rot where they fell.

Porthos took hold of one bandit and lugged him out of the water. Athos and d'Artagnan helped while Constance stood guard. They were just finishing when Aramis joined them. Granted, he'd been a good distance away, but Porthos suspected he'd taken his time so as to get out of the heavy lifting.

They headed back to the town, and the people there were so grateful to them that they insisted on throwing a celebration that evening. Athos, as usual, didn't look keen on the idea, but the barely suppressed enthusiasm among the rest of his crew was obvious and so he reluctantly acquiesced. It'd been a while since they'd been to a proper shindig—that one on Persephone protecting the nobles didn't count—and when was the last time they were the guests of honor? No, Porthos was going to enjoy this.

That night there was a bonfire and music and platters of food. And the wine was flowing, which was enough to content Athos. Aramis found a lovely young woman to flirt with, while d'Artagnan held Constance in his arms as they reclined by the fire.

Porthos was sitting on a log next to an old man who was showing him a rain stick. The idea that shaking a stick with rice inside could make it rain was ridiculous, but Porthos still found himself fascinated by the piece of culture from Earth-that-was. Especially when the town elder offered it to Porthos as a gift. He tried to decline but the man was insistent. Porthos accepted it with a grin and started to rattle it in time with the music.

He stood up and wove through the celebration, pausing when a lithe woman with strawberry blond hair approached him. She held a wreath in her hands and beckoned for him to lower his head. He wasn't really into flowers, but he bowed anyway so she could place it upon his head. Porthos could get used to receiving such appreciation; most of the time they got none.

The woman then picked up a bowl from a nearby table and held it up to him. Dark colored wine rippled within, and Porthos accepted the drink to be polite. After a sip, she took the bowl back and set it aside with the rain stick, then took his hand and pulled him out into the center of the square to dance. Porthos didn't know the steps, but then there didn't seem to really be any. Those dancing just lifted their feet in buoyant synergy with the music. Porthos tried to keep up.

Aramis caught his eye as they made a circle around the square, and the marksman tipped his hat at Porthos with a grin before turning his attention back to his own company.

By the time the dance was over, Porthos was breathless and a bit tipsy. His partner had disappeared, so he tracked down his rain stick and went to sit with d'Artagnan and Constance.

"Look at this," he said proudly, presenting the item to them.

D'Artagnan gave him a dubious look. "It's a stick."

"It's a rain stick." Porthos shook it so the rice inside swished, almost like the sound of rain drops.

"Okay…"

"I think it's nice," Constance said.

"Yeah," Porthos agreed. "How often do we get gifts for bein' heroes anyway? I'm gonna treasure this rain stick."

D'Artagnan smirked and Constance grinned. Porthos leaned back as the heat from the bonfire buffeted his face, and settled in to enjoy the rest of the evening.

o.0.o

The night of revel was a nice break, but it was back to work the following morning. Townsfolk had turned out to bid them farewell, once again peppering them with praises for saving them from continued oppression. Finally the Luciole took off and headed out of the atmosphere.

Porthos and Aramis puttered around the cargo bay, organizing the fresh stores they'd picked up. Porthos grabbed a sack of squash from a mesh basket in one of the carts to take up to the mess, when a flash of red hair had him dropping the bag and reaching for a sword not currently on his belt. The squash thudded on the floor and went rolling at the same time as a woman yelped and cowered behind the crate.

"What the…"

Aramis hurried over. "Porthos?"

He gestured to the woman, at a loss. "Guess we picked up somethin' extra on the planet."

"So we have." Aramis wedged himself between the crates and held out a hand. "Come on out, mademoiselle."

The woman slowly got to her feet. She didn't take Aramis's hand but did come out from behind the crate. Porthos thought she looked vaguely familiar.

"What do you think yer doin', stowin' away on a ship like this?" he demanded.

She kept her head ducked demurely. "I'm not a stowaway," she answered. "I'm your wife."

Porthos blinked. "My what now?"

Aramis's brows rose to his hairline. "Porthos, is there something you'd like to tell me?"

"What? No!" he spluttered. "I don't have a wife!" He narrowed his gaze. "Hang on, I remember you. We 'ad a dance last night."

She nodded. "And were bound in sacred marriage."

"I think I woulda remembered that part." Porthos shook his head and turned to Aramis. "Tell Athos to get down here."

Aramis moved to the radio set by the control panel and got on the ship's intercom. "Would everyone please come down to the cargo bay. Immediately."

Porthos whirled on him. "Hey now, what'd you go an' do that for?"

Aramis's lips quirked. "I think this is a matter for the whole family, don't you think?"

Porthos shot him a dirty look, but it was too late, as the others were quickly descending the stairs down into the hold.

"What is it?" Athos asked. His expression sharpened when he spotted their stowaway.

"Apparently, this is Porthos's wife," Aramis replied cheekily.

"She's not my wife!"

The young woman cringed at the outburst, her face puckering up like she was about to cry. Porthos instantly felt bad for frightening her.

"I'm sorry," he said in a lower voice. "But we're not married. There's some big ole misunderstandin'."

"We engaged in the marriage ceremony last night," she said. "You accepted the laurel and wine, and then we danced to seal the union."

Porthos's mouth moved soundlessly as he floundered for a response.

Athos shot him a dry look. "You didn't."

"How was I supposed ta know!" he exclaimed. "What kind o' marriage ceremony is that?"

The woman shied away again. "Do I not please you?" she whimpered.

"Ah," Aramis interjected, "you're very beautiful. I think we'd all just like to know why you would marry a complete stranger who most obviously had no idea what you were asking of him."

"I was a gift," she said. "From the town leader. In appreciation for what you did for us."

Porthos's jaw went slack again. A gift was a rain stick, not a- not a wife!

"We need to take her back," Athos said with his usual calm detachment.

"Uh, we can't," d'Artagnan put in. "One of the bandits had rich family ties. A bounty just went out over all the bands. We try to go back, we'll find ourselves in a firefight we can't win."

Athos's jaw visibly tightened. "Fine. We'll drop her at the next planet on our route."

The woman made a soft sound of distress and turned to run off.

Constance crossed her arms and glared at their captain. "This is hardly her fault."

"She doesn't belong on this ship. Unless Porthos intends to keep her." Athos arched an inquiring brow at him.

"What? Of course not!"

"Nevertheless," Aramis said, "you'd better go after her."

Porthos shot him an incredulous look. Go after her and do what? This mess wasn't his fault either!

Grumbling under his breath, he headed up the stairs in the direction the girl had gone. At least on a ship this size she couldn't get far. Porthos caught up with her on the upper catwalk.

"Hey," he called out.

She stopped, keeping her back to him.

"I'm sorry about all this," he said. "An' I'm sorry you can't go home. But we'll drop you off at one of the better planets, help you find good work. You can make a new life for yerself, yeah?"

She turned around, eyes wide and beseeching. "Why can't I stay with you?"

Porthos blinked. "Uh…for starters, we don't even know each other. I'm sure you're very nice," he added quickly. "But I'd like to know a woman's name before gettin' married."

She smiled softly. "My name is Saffron."

"Oh. That's pretty."

Saffron stepped forward, closing the distance between them. "When the town leader first picked me as an offering, I was afraid. I'd seen other girls sold off to men, much older men. Some were cruel, and if they were displeased…" She bit her lip, then lifted her gaze to his. "But when I saw you, I immediately knew you had a kind heart. You're a hero who saved the town." She raised a hand to gently alight on his chest. "I could please you."

Porthos swallowed thickly. "I'm sure you could."

Her expression brightened. "Give me a chance to prove I can have a place at your side. Are you hungry? I can cook something."

She spun on her heel and bounded off toward the mess before Porthos could formulate a response. He followed her into the kitchen.

"That's really not necessary," he said.

"Of course it is," she replied and pushed him to sit at the table. She then went and rattled around in the kitchen with the pots and pans.

Porthos fidgeted in discomfort, but as she started cooking, the tantalizing aroma of food made his stomach rumble. Maybe it wouldn't hurt…

Several minutes later when she placed a plate in front of him, Porthos couldn't help but salivate in response. The food looked amazing and he took a hearty bite, moaning in pleasure at the splash of spices on his tongue.

"Mm, tha's good."

Saffron beamed at him.

"What smells so good?" d'Artagnan asked as he and Constance entered the mess.

"Saffron cooked," Porthos replied.

"I'm starving." D'Artagnan reached to snag a potato wedge off the plate, but Saffron smacked his hand.

"That's for Porthos," she said sharply.

D'Artagnan cradled his hand, looking more stunned than hurt. "Okay…"

"I'm sure your wife would be happy to cook you something," Saffron went on, flashing a saccharine smile at Constance.

Constance's brows rose. D'Artagnan turned puppy eyes toward her, to which she scoffed indignantly and slapped his arm. He cringed.

"Why don't I just make something myself," he said, edging toward the kitchen.

Saffron pursed her lips smugly and remained standing behind Porthos's shoulder. He felt a tad bit crowded with her hovering, but the food was really good. So he went back to eating. Constance rolled her eyes and left while d'Artagnan puttered about the kitchen as unobtrusively as possible. Porthos did feel bad for not sharing, but it really was so good that he finished off the whole plate himself.

Saffron set to cleaning up the dishes, and Porthos slipped out so he could find Athos. The captain was with Aramis on the bridge discussing routes.

Porthos cleared his throat. "Look, I know it'll take longer, but can't we at least bring her to Beaumonde? There are better work opportunities there."

"Has she divulged any skills?" Athos asked.

"She's a good cook."

Aramis broke into a grin. "Ah-ha, she knows the way to your heart."

Porthos huffed and crossed his arms. "She was jus' tryin' to be nice. This whole thing can't be easy on her either."

Athos's shoulders heaved in a put-upon sigh. "You want to save her."

He quirked a confused brow. "I jus' wanna make sure she's taken care of, tha's all."

"That is not your responsibility."

"I know what's it like to have nothin', to get handed a raw deal. I don' wanna see 'er end up in the slums."

"That would not be on you if she did," Athos replied. "The marriage ceremony was done without your informed consent which is grounds for annulment as soon as we reach a planet we can register the claim with."

"Yeah, but that ain't her fault either. She was bein' handed over as a gift. Like a piece of property! Hell, it's probably fer the best we couldn' take her back to that place."

"Maybe so, but she is not a member of this crew."

Porthos dropped his gaze. He almost opened his mouth to ask why not, maybe they could do with a cook. But he knew Athos was right, and it wasn't fair to lead Saffron on when there wasn't even a relationship between them to build upon.

"Porthos," Aramis spoke up. "We're not just going to drop her off on a dock and fly away. We'll find her some good employment."

He nodded. That was what was best for everyone.

Porthos left the bridge and returned to the kitchen, but Saffron wasn't there anymore. He stepped back out with a frown and ran into d'Artagnan. "You seen Saffron?"

"I showed her to one of the guest quarters," the pilot replied.

"Oh. Good."

D'Artagnan quirked a brow at him. "You okay?"

"Me? Yeah." Porthos shrugged one shoulder. "I jus' can' help feelin' responsible."

"This isn't your fault."

"That's what Athos said."

D'Artagnan grinned. "Then it definitely isn't. You know if it was, Athos would be the first to say so."

Porthos huffed. That was true. He just felt bad—he had his crew, his family, to support him through this. Saffron had no one.

He clapped d'Artagnan on the shoulder and headed down to the cargo hold to finish up his task from earlier that he'd been startlingly interrupted from. He hoped he could do right by this woman. He wanted to do right by her, responsibility or no.

o.0.o

Porthos didn't see Saffron for the rest of the day. It was probably best to give her space until they could talk concrete plans. Athos had sent a transmission to Treville asking for contacts that had any job openings on Beaumonde, and as soon as the Commodore got back to them, Porthos would have that discussion with Saffron.

He retired to his bunk for the night. Shucking off his coat, his gaze landed on the rain stick he'd been gifted from the town elder and he felt a pang of regret over this whole mess.

When he turned around, he nearly startled out of his boots, knocking backwards into the low shelf. Saffron was laying in his bed, shoulders bare and only his sheets covering what he was certain was a very unclothed body.

"What in the blazes are you doin'?" he blurted.

"It's our wedding night," she replied, stroking the empty space beside her. "When two are to become one."

Porthos averted his gaze. "We've been over this, we can't really be together. We don' even know each other!"

"We can get to know each other."

Porthos glanced back and immediately looked to the side again, as she'd started sliding from the bed, the sheets draping lower over her bosom. He swallowed hard. "That'd be takin' advantage of you," he said, although a small voice was whispering that it kind of felt like the other way around.

Saffron stepped closer so that he could feel her presence standing right before him. Porthos couldn't help but glance at her face, and she dropped the sheets to pool on the floor. He lifted his eyes to the ceiling. Oh boy.

Saffron laid a hand on his chest. "If I cannot stay by your side, then I will go." She lowered her voice seductively. "Only let me have my wedding night."

Porthos felt warm, and he was starting to wonder if there was any harm in it. After all, she was willing. And it wasn't like Porthos was averse to engaging in a night of passion. He'd just always felt that if he was going to, he should have some kind of long-term intentions toward the woman. He wasn't into casting her aside like garbage—and neither was he keen on feeling cast aside either.

While he was still deliberating, Saffron leaned up on her tiptoes and pressed a kiss to his mouth, and he let her. His body was starting to ignore his head, incited by the spark of her lips and taste of exotic spices. He really should stop before they went too far, but…

A wave of dizziness struck him and he jerked back. His vision wobbled as the edges blurred, and he felt a strange tingling in his lips.

"What…"

Saffron stood there, smirking.

"Aw, hell—"

Everything went black before he hit the floor.

o.0.o

D'Artagnan fiddled with the controls at the helm, double checking everything before he'd set it on autopilot for the night. The sound of the bridge doors being pulled closed had him swiveling in the pilot's seat, and he furrowed his brow at the sight of Saffron smiling coyly, the doors shut behind her.

"Uh, what are you doing?" he asked, getting to his feet.

She sashayed over to him, swinging her hips in an almost deliberate sway. "Porthos doesn't want me," she said, affecting a wounded moue. "He's…a rough sort of man. But you, you're kind, and gentle. I could see that the moment I laid eyes on you."

D'Artagnan blinked in confusion at the strange shift in behavior. "I'm married," he pointed out.

"Your wife doesn't respect you."

He frowned. Respect? "Yes, she does."

Saffron drew closer and d'Artagnan sidestepped to keep a few feet between them. "Not from what I saw in the mess earlier."

"Uh, you slapped me first, remember? And Constance is her own woman, which is one of the things I love about her."

Saffron kept moving, head tilted slightly and doe-like eyes trying to pierce his. It felt very much like a seduction, which made d'Artagnan skeptical. Any woman desiring company naturally drifted toward Aramis, who was more often than not willing. Not that even he would take advantage of a poor girl in this situation. Although, the Saffron they'd met initially had been shy, almost childlike, whereas this one was turning on the sultry feminine wiles rather thick.

She leaned in for a kiss and d'Artagnan twisted away. "I'm happily married," he said, reaching to open the door. He needed to find Athos and discuss the curiousness of their passenger.

But before he could get the doors fully open, something struck him from behind and his head slammed against the rim of the door. Pain shot through his head before he fell into darkness.

o.0.o

Athos was just starting on his second flask of wine when Constance screamed. He bolted from his bed and snatched a gun off a hook before clambering up the ladder onto the main deck. Up the short set of stairs to the bridge, d'Artagnan lay sprawled on the ground with Constance leaning over him.

"He's bleeding!"

Athos rushed over, intending to open the bridge so he could call Aramis on the intercom, but the doors refused to open. He whirled just as footsteps pounded across the metal grating and Aramis gently nudged Constance aside so he could examine d'Artagnan.

"It's a shallow cut," he reported. "The bruise will likely be worse. D'Artagnan?"

Their pilot moaned and started to loll his head.

Athos knelt beside him. "D'Artagnan, what happened?"

The young man blinked dazedly. "S-Saffron. Ow." He reached a hand toward his head, but Aramis grabbed it and passed it to Constance to hold onto.

"Saffron did this?" Aramis asked incredulously.

"Yes. Don' know…why."

Aramis whipped his head up, eyes wide with alarm. "Porthos."

Athos shot to his feet. "Stay with them," he said as he turned to cross the deck to Porthos's bunk. There was no answer when he knocked, so he used his captain's code to override the internal lock. When he climbed down the ladder, he found the man unconscious on the floor.

Athos's heart leaped into his throat and he hurried over to press two fingers underneath Porthos's jawline. He was awarded with a strong, steady beat. A quick once-over didn't reveal any obvious wounds or blood. He climbed back up to the deck.

"Porthos is unconscious but appears uninjured."

Aramis's brows knitted together at the news. "I'll get my med kit. Can you get d'Artagnan down to Porthos's bunk? I can better treat them both together."

Athos nodded and helped d'Artagnan to his feet. "Constance, I need you to get those doors open," he said.

Constance pressed her lips together, her eyes full of worry for her husband, but right now Athos needed his mechanic.

"Constance."

"I'm fine," d'Artagnan assured her. "Go."

She finally tore herself away and went to inspect the doors to the bridge. Athos helped d'Artagnan down the ladder into Porthos's bunk. The large musketeer was still out cold.

Aramis joined them a few moments later. "I checked the shuttle bay," he said as he ripped open a patch of gauze and handed it to d'Artagnan, guiding the lad's hand up to press it against the cut on his forehead. "Shuttle's gone."

He then went to Porthos, crouching beside him and checking his vitals. Frowning, Aramis reached for his bag and drew out a vial and a syringe. He loaded the reservoir with whatever medication that was and snapped it into place in the injector, then stabbed the dose into Porthos's neck. It took a few minutes for the man to stir.

Porthos groaned and fluttered his eyelids before squinting at them in confusion. "Wha…wha' 'appened?"

"Your wife shanghaied us," Aramis replied glibly.

"We've been locked out of the bridge," Athos explained. "And Saffron has escaped on the shuttle. It seems her 'marriage' may have been more planned than she led us to believe."

Porthos squeezed his eyes shut as Aramis helped him sit up. "But- but she seemed so…"

"Innocent?" Aramis supplied. "The poor victim?"

"She definitely didn't play innocent with me," d'Artagnan muttered.

Porthos frowned at him. "She kiss you too?"

"What? No! She tried to. But when I wasn't having any of it, she kicked me in the head."

Porthos blinked dumbly.

"Aramis," Athos prompted, studying their friend with concern.

"Drugged," he replied. "And by my guess, it was in the lipstick she fondly kissed you with."

Porthos's face flushed red. "That…that…connivin'…"

"Captain!" Constance yelled.

Athos turned and climbed up the ladder, the others slowly following. There was a blowtorch on the floor and the bridge doors were burnt along the edges but at least open. He entered the bridge and found Constance laying on her back and looking under the console.

"What's the damage?" he asked.

"Bad. We don't have navigation, and I can't stop the ship."

Athos's jaw tightened. "Can you tell where we're heading?"

She pushed herself up and leaned over the control panels. "Yes, but there's nothin' out this way."

D'Artagnan wedged himself into the pilot's seat and tapped the view screen. "I'm picking up a massive electromagnetic disturbance. Looks like…a circle."

Athos peered over his shoulder at the screen with the bright red energy waves writhing in waffling ripples. He stiffened. "It's a net."

"A what?" Constance asked.

"A carrion house for catching ships and chopping them."

"We can defend the ship," Porthos said.

Aramis shook his head. "The electrical charge will burn us all to a crisp the moment we pass through it."

"Did Saffron send a signal before she left?" Athos asked.

D'Artagnan clacked a few keys on the keyboard. "Yes." He let out a frustrated sound. "Seems like this was one big set-up."

"She really mucked things up, Athos," Constance said, kneeling on the floor next to the console again. "I can fix it, but not before we reach that net."

Athos looked out the window as the net came into visual range. They were coming up quickly. He straightened and pointed to a series of nodes along the ring. "If we can disrupt these breakers, we can disable it." He turned to Aramis. "Suit up."

"Um, not that I can't make the shot," the marksman protested. "But guns need oxygen to shoot."

"I know." He gestured for Aramis to follow him and they headed down to the cargo bay.

They pulled the space suits from storage and donned them as quickly as they could. Athos grabbed a third suit and stuffed Aramis's sniper rifle into it, lining up the barrel against the face shield of the helmet. Aramis arched a brow at him and then grinned.

They finished suiting up and then made their way into the airlock compartment between the cargo hold and outer hull. Athos punched the controls to depressurize the space, and then pulled the door open, exposing them to outer space.

Aramis knelt on the floor and braced the suit covered rifle on his knee as he took aim. Up ahead, the net crackled with blue squiggles. The seconds ticked by as Aramis kept adjusting his aim, gaze intensely focused, as the ship drew closer. Athos simply waited, putting his trust in the marksman.

Then Aramis pulled the trigger, and the bullet shattered the face shield on its way out. One of the breakers blew and the explosion cascaded through the other ones. The net shorted out, and the Luciole passed through unharmed.

o.0.o

After Constance and d'Artagnan fixed the ship, they tracked the shuttle to a nearby planet and landed out in a field. From there, Porthos, Athos, and Aramis loaded up their weapons and made the trek through the woods to a lone cabin.

Porthos kicked in the door, surprising the occupant inside. Saffron jumped to her feet. She was dressed in silk and wearing make-up, and didn't look anything like the poor girl they'd picked up on Triumph. She lunged for a gun on a nearby table, but Porthos surged forward and grabbed her wrist, twisting it so that the gun fell from limp fingers. He spun her around and pinned her arms in his, her back against his chest.

"It's over," he growled. "Your trap failed."

"Pity," she said. "Although I do have to say it's nice to see you again. Is this how you like to get women into your arms? If I had known, I would have tried it sooner."

"Enough!"

"I liked you, you know," she went on. "Most men give in after five minutes. I enjoyed the challenge you provided."

"You are to be bound by law for your crimes," Athos said from where he and Aramis remained by the door.

"Honey, I haven't been caught yet." She suddenly rammed her head back, smashing into Porthos's face.

The shock of the unexpected blow and the brief moment of stars loosened his grip so that she wriggled free. She grabbed his gun and tried to wrest it away from him, but that spurred Porthos's instincts into fighting back. They grappled for the weapon before they both tripped over the corner of a coffee table and went crashing to the floor, Porthos on top of Saffron. She continued to struggle, scratching at his arms and even going for his face.

"I've never hit a woman before," he grunted, and then sucker punched her in the jaw and she went limp. He leaned back, chest heaving. "But this time I'll make an exception."

He pushed himself to his feet and stepped away as Athos came over to tie her up. The authorities had already been notified, so they would just leave her to be picked up. They retrieved their shuttle and flew the short distance back to the Luciole.

"'M sorry," Porthos mumbled on the way. "I was so stupid."

Aramis clapped a hand on his shoulder. "You weren't stupid, Porthos. She had us all fooled. She was a very skilled actress."

"Still, I almost got us all killed." He flicked a remorseful look to Athos.

His captain merely returned a bland expression. "That's par for the course in our line of work," he replied dryly.

Porthos smiled tentatively at the implied forgiveness.

Athos then speared him with a serious look. "But next time, no wine dances with fair maidens."

Aramis barked out a laugh.

Porthos snorted. "No problem."