A/N: Hey everyone! Bit of a short fill this time, as this is mostly introspection.

A big thank you to rycbarm123 for betareading, they did a fantastic job :)

Disclaimer: I don't own BBC's "The Musketeers" in any shape or form. Also, today's prompt comes once again from The Fake Redhead Writes, a website devoted to writing which gives permission for people to use their prompts.

Prompt:

"If my legacy is to throw myself in the path of a bullet to save your life, then so be it."

There are some things in life which you must simply accept as they are. Things that you cannot change through any effort of your own. Things that you must simply learn to contend with, not by deliberately blinding yourself to them or by denying their existence, but simply by acknowledging and enduring them.

D'Artagnan had already encountered a few of those things in his short life. His mother's death and father's demise were both irreversible and undeniable. Painful as both of those losses were, however, he'd slowly learned to live with the pain, to move past the sorrow without denying its existence. It was difficult, but he did it, and he felt all the better for it.

There was, however, one thing that d'Artagnan had some difficulty accepting, and that involved the unfortunate truth regarding his three new friends, the Inseparables.

It was, to be honest, fairly obvious. It was written in every instant of his interactions with them, displayed before him clear as day every time that the three shared some inside joke, or communicated with each other through glances instead of through burdensome words. It was apparent in the way they worked together, smoothly like the cogs in a clock, always in tune with each other's moods and thoughts, working on a higher level which he was never able to really attain or even understand.

And there laid the rub. The sad fact of the matter was that the three shared a closeness that he was nowhere near to having with any of of them. He was an outsider, slowly drifting somewhere on the outskirts of their friendships, watching from the outside without entertaining any hope of getting closer. It felt like the three of them each held a part of some priceless treasure, and he was only able to reach a few faint scraps.

He didn't hold it against them, God forbid. It was natural that there would be some disconnect, and he didn't harbor any illusions as to his importance. No matter what, the three would always share some hidden history, some additional bonds that he wasn't privy to, and as a result they would always be closer to each other than to him. It wasn't their fault, nor was it his. It was just the way life was, and he had to accept it as such.

So he did, albeit reluctantly. And the world moved on and on, ever forwards, unstoppable and indomitable.

A troublesome incident brought some new, unwelcome revelations.

A mission gone wrong had resulted in a badly wounded Aramis and an understandably worried Porthos and Athos. It was why the two were in the infirmary with their injured friend, while he himself was left once more (evermore) on the sidelines.

They'd promised that they valued him as if he'd always been a part of their strange little friendship, they'd sworn that they would extend the brotherhood they shared to involve him as well, yet it was in stressful situations like these that their statements were shown to be ringing with falsehood. Even if they didn't realize it, they would always default to their usual three-man team in times of crisis, leaving him out in the cold.

It didn't bother him. At least, he didn't let it bother him, allowing his own worry for Aramis' health to overshadow his own selfish thoughts. But after all was said and done, when it was declared that Aramis would have a full recovery and they all breathed a sigh of relief, he found himself wondering.

Wondering how they would feel if he was injured (a part of his mind whispered killed), as opposed to one of them. Wondering if they would prefer (unconsciously, perhaps, but still prefer) if he were the one wounded (killed) instead of one of them. Wondering if, if worse came to worst, it would be better for him to take the fall, allowing them to continue on without him (unstoppable and indomitable).

These were dangerous thoughts, he knew that, and at first he told himself that he was being silly, ridiculous, selfish. He shoved the treacherous thoughts back into a corner of his mind, denying their very existence, and he continued doing so for several months until he eventually came back to his senses.

After all, there was little point in refusing to believe in facts, and the facts were very outspoken and clear on the matter. D'Artagnan was the odd man out, the extra, the spare. It had been proven to him hundreds, thousands of times before. It was therefore only natural that he, as the least important part, would be a better sacrifice than any of the other three.

After he figured this out, he made a promise to himself. He would protect these men with his life, making sure that they endured even if he died in the process, for their lives were more valuable than his own. They would mourn him if he died, of course, but it wouldn't be as bad than if one of them perished, destroying their legendary friendship and ripping out the hearts of the other two.

(And his own heart as well, but that was irrelevant)

Perhaps if he stopped being an outsider looking in, perhaps if he truly became one of them (although he was more and more doubtful that such a thing would ever happen), than he might change his mind.

For now, though, he would protect them, and if his legacy would eventually be to throw himself in the path of a bullet to save their lives, then so be it.

After all, it was the way life was.

A/N: D'Art, you are so dumb at times that it's a wonder you're still alive.

I'd like to remind everyone that I'm accepting prompts from all and sundry. However, please take into account that it might take anything from days to months for me to fill your prompt, as I tend to fill prompts rather erratically and in no particular order.

Au revoir.