A/N: Thank you guest Uia for your review! So, funnily enough, this fic was already lined up to go next, and while it's not exactly to your prompt, it does involve a captured Athos and a mischievous Aramis and a d'Artagnan rescue. XD However, I'm still happy to add your prompt to my list because there can never be a shortage of these guys getting into trouble. It'll be a while though. I just finished writing chapter 18 for this collection, so I'll be posting twice a week for March.

And thank you guest Laureleaf for your review! I'm glad you're able to enjoy my fics in this fandom too. :D

This started with two lines of dialogue from Star Wars that I could see these boys having.

"It's A Rescue"

The door to the rickety old barn creaked open, and Athos cracked an eyelid as sunlight streamed like smoke through the haze of dust and motes. It had been a long night trying to catch some sleep while standing, his arms trussed up above his head with shackles hooked to a nail in the beam above. The ache in his muscles was not helped by the morning-after pounding in his head from all the wine he'd consumed the night before. The worst part was he hadn't even been abducted on Musketeer business, but one of a personal nature, and one he was not overly fond of revisiting. Ever.

The leader, a rapscallion by the name of Vincent, had somehow discovered that Athos was a comte who had renounced his title to join the Musketeers. Vincent took that to mean that his lands were available for the taking. Except for that pesky part where Athos was still, by law and writ, the owner of said lands. Vincent's party of twelve men had grabbed him off the street on his way home from a tavern and brought him outside the city to discuss the business proposition of signing over his lands. Which Athos had no intention of doing. Not to these scoundrels.

That had been last night, and Vincent had yet to start any "persuasive" techniques, though it was probably only a matter of time.

So he was surprised when it wasn't Vincent who entered the barn, but two familiar figures, hands bound in front of them with rope. Aramis and Porthos shot their captors withering glares as they were unceremoniously manhandled across the open space toward Athos.

"What are you doing here?" he blurted.

"We're here to rescue you," Aramis said jauntily before being shoved to the right, his arms pulled high to slip his knotted wrists over a hook.

Athos angled his head up toward his own chains, still in place. "Good job," he replied dryly.

"You hurt?" Porthos asked gruffly as he was thrust back against a joist and lashed from shoulder to thigh with more rope.

"No."

"Not yet," Vincent interjected, entering the barn behind his men.

"I take it this is the man in charge?" Aramis deduced, wrinkling his brow in a rather unimpressed mien before turning back to Athos. "Whatever did you do to warrant a grudge? Drink the house dry before he could get any?"

Athos rolled his eyes and winced as it made the pulsing behind them worse. "Hardly."

"This business doesn't concern you," Vincent said caustically. "However, since you insisted on joining us, perhaps this can work to our advantage. It wouldn't do to mess up the Comte's pretty face."

"Funny, I thought I was the one with the pretty face," Aramis remarked.

Vincent glowered at him, and with a flick of his hand, one of his men drew a knife and yanked Aramis's head back to expose his throat, setting the blade under his Adam's apple.

Athos tensed. He knew the purpose of the banter had been to establish that they were undaunted by these thugs, for Aramis and Porthos to declare they were with him, like always. But he did not want them becoming collateral in a mess that stemmed from a life before he knew them.

"You're right, they have nothing to do with this," he snapped.

"But you chose them over your title."

"My decision to join the Musketeers came before I met either of them."

"Would it be wrong to say they, in part, now keep you there?"

Athos frowned. While he had no intention of ever returning to his old life, for completely different reasons, it would be a lie to say Aramis and Porthos were not the anchors that kept him from taking that final tip over the edge, whether by the bottle or a gun. Duty could only carry one so far; brotherhood carried him the rest when he could not carry himself.

"What is this about?" Porthos growled, fiery eyes fixed on the man holding the knife to Aramis's throat.

"It's simple," Vincent replied. "The Comte de la Fère's lands sit unclaimed and languishing without a ruler. I'm happy to take them off his hands if he would but sign them over."

"You're joking," Aramis sputtered.

"I'd be happy to prove my sincerity."

The man with the knife yanked back on Aramis's hair harder, eliciting a small grunt.

"I'll kill you," Porthos said, voice low and deadly.

Vincent ignored him and turned to Athos. "Well, Comte?" he sneered the name. "What will it be? A holding you clearly have no regard for or the blood of your friend here?"

Athos gritted his teeth, every fiber of his being loathe to give in to this ruffian. But, in the end, what was he fighting to defend? A graveyard of memories that haunted him no matter where he went? Although, there were still the people who lived and worked on those lands, and he could not in good conscience conscript them to the rule of this reprobate. But neither could he allow his brother's blood to be spilled over something so…meaningless.

Aramis let out a soft snort. "Athos, you should consider the man's offer."

He blinked, taken aback by the casual declaration.

"All those back taxes you owe," the marksman went on. "I mean, yes, you get a moratorium because of your exemplary service to the King, but this way you wouldn't have it hanging over your head for the next few decades. Let monsieur entrepreneur over there figure it out."

Athos stared at him.

Vincent narrowed his eyes. "What are you talking about?"

Aramis scoffed. "You do realize landowners pay taxes too? Granted, usually the nobility have enough wealth to cover them, but unfortunately the Comte de la Fère's longstanding affection for alcohol has put undue strain on his coffers. A musketeer's commission can't hope to keep up. But if you went into the distillery business, and perhaps the keeping of livestock, I bet you could work off the debt in, say, ten years."

Vincent's eyes bored into Aramis, and Athos held his breath as he waited for the man to decide whether the cheeky musketeer was pulling his leg. After several long moments, Vincent looked to Athos next.

Taking a breath and a gamble, he lifted his chin and fixed the man with an unrelenting stare. "I still wouldn't sign my lands over to the likes of you."

Aramis groaned. "Damn your pride," he hissed.

"Be quiet," Athos snapped. "You've run your mouth enough."

Vincent glanced between them, then cocked his head toward the door and stalked out, his men following, perhaps to reevaluate this whole endeavor.

"Well," Porthos drawled. "That was entertainin'."

"Is there a second part to your plan?" Athos asked blandly. "They will return before long."

"Of course," Aramis replied and tried twisting around, but there wasn't much range with how he was strung up. He pursed his mouth. "Er…"

"D'Artagnan's still out there," Porthos said quietly, though they were a good distance from the door and where the men had gone.

"One against thirteen, I'm overcome with confidence." Athos considered rattling his chains, for all the good it would do.

"Thanks for the compliment," a soft voice issued from behind him.

Athos craned his neck sharply and found the young man slinking out from a stall. He grabbed Athos's arms first and bit down on a grunt of effort as he bodily lifted him enough to get the chains off the nail. The key would be another matter.

D'Artagnan hurried to get Aramis down next, using a knife to cut the ropes around his wrists.

"What took you so long?" the marksman huffed.

"I was trying to avoid getting captured like the rest of you."

"At least d'Artagnan knows how to go about a proper rescue," Athos drolled, retrieving a small knife from his boot and moving to cut Porthos free.

"Please, it takes a certain amount of artistry to improvise," Aramis retorted.

"You are fortunate you were able to talk yourself out of getting your throat slit."

"You're welcome."

Athos rolled his eyes. He was halfway through Porthos's bonds when the barn door creaked open and he went rigid. Aramis and d'Artagnan bolted toward the two lackeys who entered, taking them by surprise before they could give a shout of alarm. With some well delivered punches, both went down in sprawling heaps.

D'Artagnan relieved them of their swords while Aramis fished through their pockets until he pulled out a key, and then he came over to undo Athos's manacles.

"This way," d'Artagnan hissed, moving back toward the stalls.

The one he'd emerged from before had a hole in the wall, which three of them slipped through with ease. Porthos had to wriggle himself between the broken boards, but managed to do so without making too much noise. Outside on the ground were all of their weapons belts.

Athos shot the lad a questioning look as to how he'd managed that.

D'Artagnan shrugged. "They dropped all your weapons by the rest of their supplies, but the ones on guard weren't watching that direction while the others were all in the barn."

"Idiots," Porthos muttered, strapping his belt on.

"They wanted Athos to sign over his lands; I don't think intelligence ranked very highly among any of them," Aramis commented.

D'Artagnan's brows rose incredulously. "Really? That's what they wanted with you?"

"We can discuss this later," Athos replied tartly. "After we conclude this extemporized rescue?"

In wordless agreement, they quickly made their way from the back of the barn and toward the trees. Athos could only hope his friends' horses weren't far.

They'd just made it to the tree line when a shout rose up behind them. Aramis drew his pistol and pivoted, bracing the gun on his left forearm as he took aim and fired. A cry of pain rang out, and Aramis was running again. Athos flung a look over his shoulder to see Vincent's men charging after them on foot, their horses all around at the front.

Several yards ahead, three familiar black steeds stood tethered together around some bushes. The four of them mounted swiftly, Athos swinging up behind d'Artagnan. Aramis fired his second pistol before spurring his horse to follow them. It didn't take long to outrun the men on foot, and they'd be foolish to attempt to catch up. The edge of the city was in sight and the garrison not far. As soon as this entire incident was reported, a warrant for Vincent's arrest would be issued and the man would do well to flee far and wide from the Musketeers' wrath.

Aramis let out a happy sounding sigh as they rode through the streets. "Another successful rescue."

"Another lucky rescue," Athos corrected.

"The two are not mutually exclusive."

"For you, the first is a prerequisite for the latter."

"Didn' you know?" Porthos chimed in. "Like every woman in Paris, Aramis has charmed Lady Luck. She fancies him."

"Indeed she does," Aramis said with a debonair grin.

D'Artagnan snorted. "And how would she have saved you if I hadn't shown up?"

"But you did show up."

"Then perhaps it's me Lady Luck has a fondness for."

"Don't say that in front of Madame Bonacieux."

Athos reached up to pinch the bridge of his nose. While he was grateful for the rescue, he was tired, sore, and nauseated. Someone must have noticed, because the playful banter tapered off and they rode the rest of the way to the garrison in merciful silence.

Captain Treville was standing on the balcony outside his office, hands braced on the railing and expression stern as he skewered them all with a look. They were all incredibly late for duty and Athos wondered if the others had even had time to let the captain know what was amiss before they'd ridden out after Athos's kidnappers.

He dismounted, wincing at the stiffness in his joints. A bottle of wine would be really good right now…

A hand gently rested on his shoulder and he turned to find Aramis giving him a kind nod. "I'll make the report."

"It's my responsibility."

"The captain is probably going to yell a bit first, which won't do that headache I know you have any good. He'll understand once he's gotten it out of his system and I explain. You can get a couple hours' sleep in my room."

Athos sighed, but he was too tired to argue. With a grateful nod, he made his way to Aramis's quarters, debating whether to rifle through his shelves in search of a brandy or something.

He didn't have to; Porthos arrived on his heels, bearing bread and a cup of wine. It wasn't the bottle Athos wanted to down, but it would take the edge off enough to help him nap for a short bit. Porthos deposited the items and then left.

Athos sank onto the bed, warmed in a way not even wine could provide. His brothers certainly did know how to rescue him.