Summary: He's going to be the death of them, if he doesn't get himself killed first. Aka, five times Aramis nearly gives his brothers heart attacks with reckless stunts.

A/N: Thank you Laureleaf and Uia for your reviews! Laureleaf, I imagine Athos would grudgingly go along with such theatrics if he had to, although I'd also like to think he might secretly take some amusement in doing so. *Something* has to make him smile, even on the inside.

"Aramis, No!"

Treville listened to the faint sounds of shuffling, an occasional muffled cough, but otherwise the regiment remained quiet, hunkered down on one side of a knoll that sat next to the road. The road the latest Huguenot uprising was currently heading down. The numbers were greater than initially assessed, and Treville had found his regiment of Musketeers was outmatched. Not in skill, certainly, but zealots always fought with a fervor that could give skilled soldiers a run for their money. Thus, they'd had to make a new plan.

So they'd set gunpowder and charges along a rocky slope and lit a long fuse, timing it so the explosives should blow right when the Huguenot army was just passing below. That would block the road and cull their numbers enough that the Musketeers could charge and defeat the rest.

They waited, armed and ready, as the steady beat of horses' hooves drew nearer. Treville sucked in a breath and braced for the ensuing explosion. But it didn't come.

Exchanging a confused look, Athos crept to the edge of the knoll and peered around with a spyglass. He huffed out a sigh. "The fuse went out."

Treville closed his eyes in dismay. They couldn't not attack, couldn't let the Huguenot forces continue on toward Paris, but they would suffer heavy casualties, which was what he'd been hoping to avoid with the trap.

Just as he was about to address the men and give them a short speech about honor and courage, Aramis grabbed a musket and started crawling up the knoll.

"I'll handle it." The marksman slid forward on his stomach at the top, laying the musket out and taking aim. But after a few moments he shook his head. "I need to get closer. Be ready."

"Aramis, no!" Treville hissed, but the man had already gone over the other side, breaking cover.

Treville and Athos scrambled up to the rise, keeping low, and watched Aramis sprint parallel to the road. The Huguenots, of course, spotted him. A few riders broke away to charge toward him. Athos's hand went to his pistol, but he didn't point and fire. If he gave away their location too soon, this would all be for naught.

The bulk of the army continued their march, moving right into position. Aramis dropped to one knee and braced his musket. Treville watched tensely as the marksman ignored the threat galloping toward him, took aim, and fired the shot. The rocky slope exploded in a cloud of smoke and dirt, the vibrations triggering a rock slide that careened down right on top of the advancing forces.

Treville glanced back down at his men. "Charge!"

The Musketeers surged out from the knoll with a united cry. Porthos, however, immediately broke formation and barreled straight toward where Aramis was about to be overtaken by three enemy soldiers.

Athos finally fired his pistol, making it two.

Drawing his sword, Treville descended the knoll to join the fray. The battle was fierce and bloody, but the trap had worked and a good number of horses and men had been wounded in the rock slide. The road had also been blocked, preventing them from breaking through with their mounts and wagons of weapons and supplies. Cries and the clash of steel rang out in a discordant chorus of blood and death. Treville couldn't say how long the battle lasted, but when it was over, the remaining Huguenots had retreated or been captured.

Treville wiped his sword clean and swept his gaze over his men, counting. There were some injuries, and at least two men on the ground, unmoving. He made another turn and found Aramis sauntering toward him with little more than a cut on one arm.

Treville's relief quickly morphed into irritation. "You could have gotten yourself killed," he upbraided.

Aramis merely shrugged. "It worked."

Treville shook his head, unable to disagree.

But that one was going to give him gray hairs.

o.0.o

Porthos wasn't overly fond of escort duty. The carriage slowed their pace and the only times he got to enjoy a good canter was when it was his turn to scout ahead or behind. But as a musketeer, they were sometimes tasked with escorting one of the King's relatives to Paris when they came for a visit.

At the moment, they were stopped so the royals could stretch their legs, though the Duchess's youngest son had stayed in the carriage, pouting while his mother and brother enjoyed the fresh air with Athos and d'Artagnan trailing closely. Porthos silently lamented the delay. He just wanted to be back in Paris at a tavern with some ale and a good card game.

The Duchess's other son of about seven seemed equally bored, as he was picking up pebbles and throwing them into the nearby field. But then he turned his aim toward the carriage, perhaps to goad his younger sibling.

"Jean Luc," his mother chided at the clinking noises the stone made against the carriage.

The boy ignored her and threw another rock, this time at the horses. The pebble struck one's flank, instantly sending the beast into a lurch, its fright transferring to its yoke mate and they both bolted.

Aramis and Porthos, still mounted, spurred their horses into giving chase as the Duchess screamed for her son still in the carriage. The frightened horses ignored the bend in the road and plowed straight through a gap in the tree line.

Aramis was ahead and veering his horse up alongside the coach. If he could gain a little more speed, he could try to snatch the flailing reins and bring the horses to a stop.

But that hope was dashed as Porthos caught sight of what lay ahead—a cliff.

Aramis must have seen it too, but instead of urging his horse to pick up speed, he swung one leg over his saddle, hunkering down on the opposite stirrup as he held tightly to the pommel for balance.

Porthos's eyes widened. "Aramis, no!"

His friend jumped onto the careening carriage, barely grasping at the top for purchase so he didn't fall. Then Aramis swung through the open door to land safely inside. His horse, now riderless, fell back. Porthos kicked his steed into going faster, coming up alongside the carriage in Aramis's place.

Aramis leaned out, holding the boy with both hands, and met Porthos's gaze.

Porthos shook his head even as he tightened his thigh muscles to keep his balance as he reached out both hands. Aramis thrust the child toward him, and Porthos nearly lost his breath as he frantically grabbed at the boy, pulling him onto the saddle in front of him and clutching him tightly. He had him though; the child was safe.

But the horses were still heading toward the swiftly approaching cliff, and though the animals might manage to veer in time, the carriage wouldn't be able to follow, and they'd all go over.

"Aramis!" Porthos yelled desperately.

The marksman was leaning out of the carriage and gazing ahead in grim determination. Grabbing the roof, he hauled himself out and began to climb around to the front. Porthos probably should have broken off, saw the child to safety, but he couldn't abandon his best friend, even though there was nothing he could do. His heart leaped into his throat when Aramis jumped from the carriage seat to the back of one of the horses.

Aramis drew his parrying dagger and swung down once, then twice, before he was finally able to cut the lines. Suddenly free of the hitch, the horses split in their mad dash. Aramis hung on, hands fisted in the horse's mane as he fought to calm her down. The carriage lost momentum and rumbled to a teetering stop just at the edge of the cliff.

Porthos steered his horse around to come up beside his friend. "That was bloody stupid," he growled, forgetting the child in his arms for the moment.

Aramis shrugged one shoulder, his chest heaving too much to form words apparently.

They rode back to the others where the Duchess was collapsed in Athos's arms in hysterics.

"Mama!" the boy cried as Porthos handed him down to d'Artagnan, and then the Duchess rallied herself enough to stumble forward and sweep him up into her arms.

D'Artagnan moved over to the other boy and knelt down, his face serious as he spoke in low words. Porthos suspected the lad was getting a lecture on proper treatment of horses.

"Where's the carriage?" Athos asked, pausing to quirk a look at the horse Aramis had just dismounted, which was most obviously not the one he'd ridden out on.

"I'm afraid we're going to have to procure another means of transportation," Aramis replied.

Athos's eyes narrowed a fraction. "Do I even want to know?"

"No," Porthos growled. He knew that vein in Athos's forehead had a tendency to throb when Aramis pulled these types of stunts. Porthos imagined that one day the marksman might just be the death of their lieutenant.

If Porthos didn't throttle their reckless brother first.

o.0.o

"Gotard, by order of the King's Musketeers, you are under arrest for five counts of murder."

The man in question gazed back at Athos, his expression far too smug for the position he found himself in—surrounded by musketeers with nowhere to run.

"I 'eard you lot was gettin' close," Gotard replied. "I took precautions."

Before Athos could ask what was meant by that, an explosion rocked a building a few spaces down the block. Fire belched through the broken windows, flames curling up and around the frames. In the ensuing moment of stunned stupor, Gotard bolted.

"D'Artagnan!" Athos shouted, gesturing sharply for the boy to go after him as he surged toward the burning building, yelling at people to evacuate the area.

Porthos ran to the well in the square and started hauling up a bucket of water. Aramis was herding people away from the building when a woman threw herself at him, screaming.

"My brother! He's still inside!"

Aramis flicked his gaze to the building. Grabbing the woman's shoulders and pushing her away, he dashed into the burning structure without warning.

"Aramis, no!" Athos yelled, but the man had disappeared into the smoke filled interior. Cursing under his breath, he took up the task of continuing to usher people away as Porthos and some other men returned with water. Athos grabbed a canvas cover from a nearby cart and slapped at the flames around the door, trying to see through the haze within. There was no sign of Aramis. The woman stood across the street, screaming her brother's name.

Athos's heart pounded against his rib cage, but just as he felt he was about to snap, a figure came stumbling through the doorway, dragging a young lad along with him. Aramis staggered from the building and across the street before he deposited his load on the ground. The boy's sister was quick to scoop him up in her arms, sobbing and thanking Aramis profusely.

Athos shouted orders for the water line to keep going. At some point, he caught sight of d'Artagnan returning with Gotard in custody, the wanted criminal sporting a fresh welt on his face.

Good.

As the flames began to die down and the surrounding buildings seemed no longer in danger, Athos turned to Aramis, who had propped himself up against a wall and was coughing into his arm. Athos marched over and grabbed his brother firmly by the back of his neck, squeezing insistently.

"Don't ever do that again," he warned.

Aramis graced him with a breathless smile. "You know I can't ignore a damsel in distress." He curled forward under another coughing fit.

Athos sighed. No, he couldn't. His brother was the reckless hero type.

o.0.o

D'Artagnan wove through the crowds of people, surprised by how big this dog fighting event was. He'd never seen the allure in the sport and thought it cruel, but apparently there were plenty of others with the opposite opinion.

"Why meet here?" he asked Aramis as the two kept an eye open for the contact they were searching for, a man who was supposed to have information on a smuggling ring.

"Busy, public place," Aramis replied, twisting to get through the throng without bumping anyone. His gaze strayed to the left and d'Artagnan caught the eye of Athos and Porthos across the way.

Suddenly, a man stepped into their path. D'Artagnan and Aramis pulled up short, exchanging a look before focusing on the bedraggled looking man.

"Can we help you with something?" Aramis asked politely.

"You're musketeers, yeah?"

"Yes."

"Prove it."

D'Artagnan arched a brow, but Aramis simply angled himself to the side and lifted the edge of his cloak to expose his pauldron.

The man nodded, eyes shifty. "Had to be sure."

"We understand you have information for us," Aramis went on.

"Not here."

D'Artagnan couldn't suppress an annoyed huff. The man had wanted to meet here in the first place.

Aramis regarded him carefully. "Very well…"

A shot cracked the air, barely audible above the din of the dog fight and jeers from the spectators, but the informant suddenly dropped to the ground, a bullet in his head. Aramis whirled, whipping out his pistol. The people closest startled at the unexpected sight, and then someone screamed as they realized what had happened. The effect rippled through the crowd.

D'Artagnan spotted a man aiming a pistol and shouted at Aramis. The marksman adjusted his aim and fired first, felling the man before he could get another shot off. Now people were beginning to panic, and d'Artagnan fought the pull of the throng as they scrambled around him. He had to figure out if there was just the one shooter.

Aramis jumped onto a table to get above the crowd, his second pistol poised and ready. He suddenly took aim and fired, though d'Artagnan couldn't see what he'd hit. Then the marksman leaped off the table and started pushing his way through the mayhem. D'Artagnan did his best to follow.

They somehow ended up close to the fighting ring, and in the commotion, the fence suddenly broke. The dogs that had been set to fight each other were now loose, and d'Artagnan pulled up short as he abruptly found himself facing down two sets of snarling fangs.

Aramis froze for only a second before collecting himself and darting to the side. He stopped and spun, then whistled, high-pitched and sharp. The dogs snapped their heads toward him.

"Come on," he called, whistling again.

With a gnashing of teeth, the dogs charged after him.

D'Artagnan finally found his voice. "Aramis, no!"

He watched in horror as Aramis ran toward the nearby warehouse where the kennels were, darting inside the open door. The dogs followed him in. There was a yelp, and a moment later Aramis was scrambling back out and slamming the door shut. Then he turned and sagged against it, breathing heavily.

D'Artagnan sprinted over. "Are you okay?" he asked urgently.

Aramis glanced down and fingered a tear in his coat. He thumped his head back against the door. "I'm going to have to mend that," he lamented.

"Better that than your skin. What were you thinking?"

"There were too many people around. Those dogs are primed to kill whatever they set their sights on." Aramis finally pushed away from the door and straightened. There was still chaos and confusion happening further away. He paused though and put a hand on d'Artagnan's shoulder. "Let's not tell Athos."

D'Artagnan just shook his head and jabbed a finger at his friend. "This time."

"You assume there will be a next time," Aramis rejoined.

"With you?" He snorted. "Always."

Aramis quirked a grin.

o.0.o

Aramis cursed himself for the position he found himself in—held hostage by a madman and being used as a human shield before his brothers. The worst part though was the barrels of gunpowder stacked in the orphanage behind him, a fuse already lit and burning down slowly. Aramis had been caught off guard while stamping it out, overpowered by the criminal they'd been chasing who felt that orphans were a scourge on society and needed to be exterminated. After binding Aramis's wrists with rope, he'd relit the fuse and dragged his hostage from the building.

"Back up!" the man snarled, pressing the dagger's point more insistently against the flesh under Aramis's collarbone.

D'Artagnan flicked an uncertain look at Athos and Porthos, whose gazes and aims of their pistols remained unwavering, though they didn't have a clear shot.

"No!" Aramis shouted. "The fuses are lit and the children are still inside!"

He saw their eyes shift to the orphanage. Athos, who was closest, took a side step.

"Don't!" the madman shouted viciously, tightening his fist in the back of Aramis's doublet. The tip of the dagger pierced his shoulder, eliciting a hiss. Athos hesitated.

Aramis saw the indecision warring in his brothers' eyes. How many precious seconds would it take to convince them to act, regardless of his personal safety? Time was running out and he could not allow those children to be harmed. So Aramis reached up and wrapped his hands over the madman's around the hilt of the dagger, sucking in a steeling breath as he braced himself.

"Aramis, no!" several voices shouted.

The man tensed, expecting his hostage to try to wrench the blade away. Instead Aramis thrust the blade through his shoulder with enough force that it punched out the other side—and into his captor who had been pressed right up against him.

The man let out a startled cry and released Aramis's coat as he staggered back. Aramis dropped to his knees, liquid fire shooting through his chest. There was the crack of a pistol shot. Or maybe more than one. His ears were ringing. He tipped sideways and hit the ground, the impact radiating up through his shoulder and sending fresh bursts of searing pain through it. He curled in on himself.

"Aramis!" Hands grasped at his arm and shoulder, jostling a choked moan from his throat.

"The…charges," he gasped out. "H-hurry."

"Athos and d'Artagnan have it," Porthos's rumbling voice sounded above his head. A hand cupped the back of his neck. "You damn fool."

"The…children," was all Aramis could get out between labored breaths.

The hand on his neck squeezed in understanding.

"The fuses are out," Athos's voice announced his return. A shadow fell over Aramis a moment before Athos knelt in front of him and cut away the rope on his wrists. "We need a surgeon," he said, removing his scarf and wrapping it around the hilt to stabilize it.

Aramis stifled a pained groan, his stomach sloshing at the sickening sensation of being skewered like a stuck pig.

"And reinforcements to deal with the gunpowder."

"I'll go," d'Artagnan replied.

"Lord have mercy," a new voice sounded from above. Aramis placed it as Sister Sabina, the nun in charge of the orphanage. "Quick, bring him inside."

"Aramis," Athos said in a low warning before he and Porthos were hauling him upright.

White spots sparked across his vision and his head spun. Nausea rippled through him again at the hilt protruding from his shoulder.

"On three," Athos continued, only giving him a heads-up and not bothering to ask permission. "One, two, three."

He was heaved to his feet, and Aramis clenched his jaw tightly and locked his knees to make sure he stayed that way. But then he was being nudged forward and he had no choice but to shuffle along as he was led inside.

"The children?" he gritted out.

"Upstairs safe," Sister Sabina answered, rushing ahead of them into the refectory and snatching the candlesticks off one of the tables.

Athos and Porthos guided Aramis over and eased him onto it, tipping him onto his uninjured side as gently as they could manage.

"This is…no place…for…surgery."

"And you are in no condition to make it back to the garrison," Athos countered.

"Don' want to…frighten…the children." He squeezed his eyes shut and swallowed a moan. "Knock me out."

"Not until the physician gives his leave." A hand settled on the top of his head and the voice softened. "I'm sorry, brother, but I need you to hold on a little longer."

He tried, focusing on breathing through his nose and keeping his chest as still as possible. Voices filtered in and out around him. When a new, harried set joined the thrum, Aramis paid attention long enough to hear that d'Artagnan and Captain Treville had just arrived with some doctor in tow, and then he finally let go of his tenuous hold on consciousness with a silent apology to Athos.

The next time awareness returned, he was laying on his back on a semi-soft pallet. There was a tightness around his arm and shoulder, and he realized it was because they were bound firmly in bandages. He cracked his eyes open and found that the dagger was blessedly not sticking through him anymore. He had no recollection of it coming out. Which was for the best.

"Finally."

Aramis turned his head toward the voice, eyes finding Porthos sitting in a chair beside his bed. "Waiting long, were you?" he tried to quip, but his voice came out far too raspy to be humorous.

Porthos snorted and grabbed a cup from the bedside stand, leaning forward to help Aramis drink. The tepid water was refreshing, and Aramis briefly closed his eyes to appreciate it. Then he opened them again and looked around at the unfamiliar quarters.

"Still at the orphanage," Porthos supplied. "Sister Sabina insisted. She's very grateful for what you did."

"It was a team effort."

"Yeah, well, Athos is going to murder you."

"That seems counterproductive to all the work put into stitching me back together."

"I've half a mind to murder you too."

Aramis softened his expression. "I'm sorry, Porthos. It was not my intent to die."

"Coulda fooled me," he grumbled, but there was fond exasperation in his eyes. He stood up. "I'm gonna tell Athos and d'Artagnan you're awake."

Aramis closed his eyes. "Must you?"

Porthos huffed. "You scared the hell outta us. Turnabout's fair play."

"So it is," he said in resignation as Porthos's footsteps exited the room. While he was gone, Aramis took stock of his body. His shoulder ached fiercely and burned where he could feel the thread holding his flesh together. The bandages were too snug and his arm immobilized for him to test whether he had range of movement.

The door opened and three sets of boots sounded across the floor. Aramis turned his head to greet his brothers with a small smile. D'Artagnan looked relieved, but Athos's expression was carefully masked as usual.

Aramis sighed. "I'm sorry," he said preemptively. "I know it was reckless, but I couldn't let those children die."

D'Artagnan's mouth opened as though ready to offer forgiveness, but he kept silent, looking to Athos for a cue instead.

Athos gazed at Aramis for a long moment. "Could you think of no other option?" he asked dryly.

Aramis grimaced. "Not within the time constraints." He waited, expression open and sincere as Athos continued to regard him.

"I'd appreciate if you wouldn't do that again," Athos finally said.

Aramis smiled. "If a madman doesn't hold me hostage while waiting for a bomb to go off again, I won't."

Athos rolled his eyes while Porthos shook his head in exasperation. Even d'Artagnan smirked knowingly. They all knew Aramis would continue to push the limits as long as lives were at stake. It was who he was.

And that he would not apologize for.

A/N: So the next story I have after this is actually longer than a one shot! I'll be posting it separately starting Saturday.