Hi everyone! Thank you so much to everyone who has read, reviewed, kudos and bookmarked this story! I can't believe how wonderful you've all been! It's so amazing :)

So a lot of you have been saying how much you have been looking forward to this chapter, so I really hope it lives up to your expectations! :0

Sorry it's so late! Really sorry! (but it's longer than the others :) ) xx

(as ever I can't catch all my mistakes, so if you see a really awful mistake please let me know so I can change it! :) cause it's super awkward having really obvious ones hanging around!)


~Athos~

The morning was bright and hot, though none expected differently for a sunny day in July. Heat seemed to cling to the streets of Paris in a way that was completely juxtaposed to the country. With densely compacted streets and population, the city gripped tight to the stifling warmth where country winds would have eased it by.

Summer in Paris had a habit of turning even the most dutiful of soldiers into lazy men, the heat broiling their minds to think of nothing but cool streams and shaded pastures. Hence, this morning the four could think of nothing better to do than to sit about the garrison slothfully, passing the time with little energy for work. All except d'Artagnan as it turned out.

"If you polish that any further, you'll wear a hole in it…" Athos observed casually as he watched d'Artagnan rubbing wax into his already immaculate pauldron.

"Planning to blind your enemies with its shine?" Aramis inquired with a smirk, "Set their feet ablaze with the sun's almighty power?"

"I knew a man once who could start a fire with nothing more than a bit of sunlight and his eyeglasses." Porthos shrugged as if the idea seemed plausible.

Feeling brave - and perhaps rather bored - Aramis pounced like a small cat and reached over the table in attempts to pluck it from the boy's hands.

"Ah, ah, ah," d'Artagnan scolded, pulling the leather pauldron away from prying hands, "hands off."

"Grumpy this morning aren't we?" Aramis tutted, poking the pauldron before sitting back in his seat upon the top of the table.

"Don't –"

"Touch the uniform," Aramis mocked, hands held high in surrender, "I know."

"Little bit protective of that, aren't we?" Porthos pried slyly.

"That is because you lot ruined my first one within a week!"

"You should be thanking us, this one's a lot nicer," Porthos sniffed defensively, "much sturdier too."

"Porthos, d'Artagnan, my office." Tréville's commanding tones rang down from the balcony above, alerting the four men instantly.

"Duty calls," d'Artagnan beamed excitedly, dropping the rag and quickly set about replacing his leather pauldron back upon his shoulder, before following Porthos up the stairs towards Tréville's office.

Athos sent a scornfully raised brow in Aramis direction.

"I have apologised a thousand fold for the incident, but between losing him or that bloody piece of leather, I think we all would've made the same choice."

D'Artagnan had barely had his leather musketeer pauldron a week before it had almost cost him his life. Completely unused to wearing armour on his shoulder, he had arrogantly ignored attempting to train with it before they had been ordered to ride out to dissolve a large brawl in a small town just outside the city. D'Artagnan had been thrown during the course of the fight - his usual fighting style stunted by the added weight and movement of the tight leather - and been half buried by a collapsing roof. Luckily the boy had been able to survive with nothing more than a heavily bruised shoulder, though - much to d'Artagnan's chagrin and anguish - Aramis had been forced to sacrifice the boy's prized leather insignia in the process.

"I know, and I have told him such," Athos said quietly, "just don't ruin this one."

"You scuffed it," Aramis told him in a defensive tone.

"It looked too new," Athos supplied simply, and was about to explain his point further when an unfamiliar voice interrupted him.

"Charles d'Artagnan!" The bellow rang clear through the garrison as a figure appeared in the entrance archway as silhouette.

"What has that idiot done now…?" Athos directed his question to the Heavens above, hoping some answer would be found there. But apparently not as none came.

"Charles d'Artagnan of Lupiac in Gascony!" The dishevelled man stepped into the centre of the courtyard, a battered and rusted looking rapier drawn and his piercing blue eyes searching the yard keenly.

The man was tall and broad, in similar proportions to Porthos, though as far as the rest of his appearance went, he was the complete opposite. Sun-bleached hair shone radiantly as it dusted the man's shoulders, contrasting with his richly tanned skin and clear blue eyes. He seemed to be a little older than d'Artagnan's age, though his large stature was misleading, he could have been the same age. Despite his unkempt appearance, the man looked as if he had walked out of one an oil painting.

"Bring forth your sword, one of us shall die this day!" The blonde announced with fevered theatrics, throwing his sword about before him in a completely amateurish manner – clearly the man knew nothing about the art of swordplay and would no doubt be skewered upon d'Artagnan's blade within moments.

"And to think I thought the morning was going to be dull," Athos sighed, as he sluggishly pushed himself up from the bench and turned towards the pacing blonde.

"He sounds like a Gascon, perhaps it is simply how they say hello…" Aramis chuckled, following Athos' lead upon the matter as he walked over to the musketeer's side. Athos smirked at Aramis' jest, thinking of their hot-headed Gascon.

"What business do you have with d'Artagnan?" Athos demanded of the stranger.

"That, Monsieur, is between he and I," the blonde man retorted in an almost playful manner, which confused Athos. It was strange that this man was so determined to duel d'Artagnan, yet he seemed rather flippant and casual about the entire affair, despite his angered words.

"If it is a duel you wish, I would be glad to stand in on account of his absence." Athos offered in a polite tone, though he kept his expression vacant. Even with time on his hands, he bored easily when dealing with lunatics.

"As would I," Aramis spoke up as he swiped a large red apple from the table, polishing it nonchalantly on his sleeve. "Though I would like to know what issue you have with the lad before we settle these matters." Aramis added before taking a large bite of the apple.

However no swords were drawn as the intense stand off between the three was instantly dissolved as d'Artagnan laughed brightly from the top of the stairs.

"Vincent!" d'Artagnan beamed widely, his eyes practically sparkling as he leapt down the stairs, three at a time, rushing up to the stranger with joyful excitement, practically launching himself into the blonde's arms.

"Come here, Runt!" The taller man, Vincent evidently, laughed as he pulled the young Gascon into a rib-aching embrace, swinging him around slightly. "God you're a lot bigger than you once were!"

Athos stood back in awe as he watched the overjoyed young Gascon embrace his… friend? Brother? They did not look alike and d'Artagnan had never spoke of having anyone back in Gascony, so who was this? The boy had only every mentioned his father and that was on rare occasion. Hell, Athos had only ever known about the boy's mother from the Captain. All else was a mystery. Oddly enough, it hurt that d'Artagnan had kept this from them, even though they had no right to pry – Athos especially. His own secrets had nearly sent d'Artagnan to an early grave. No, Athos had not right to demand such things from d'Artagnan. But it still twinged his heart that the young musketeer had never said anything at all.

"Get off," d'Artagnan moaned fondly as he squirmed his way out of the tight hug, though still allowing Vincent's hand upon his shoulder. "What are you doing here?"

"I have not heard word of you since you left with your father for Paris, you say you are to be gone the month and over a year has past. With your farm destroyed, I feared the worst." Vincent looked concerned, but there was something else there that peaked Athos' interest, something beneath the surface that did not sit right in the musketeer's mind. Why would Vincent appear now, so long after Lebarge had ransacked Lupiac and the surrounding towns, why not then?

D'Artagnan's mood deflated visibly and Athos watched as the painful memories washed over the young musketeer's features. It would still be sometime before those wounds healed over.

"Are you not going to introduce us?" Aramis sauntered forward casually, evaluating the newcomer with a wide smile.

"Oh sorry," d'Artagnan ducked his head slightly, "Vincent, this is Athos, Porthos and Aramis of the King's musketeers." He nodded to each respectively.

Each musketeer's greetings followed in accordance of a scathing raised brow, a suspicious glare and a bright beaming smile.

"Not the only one, I see," Vincent snorted, flicking the leather pauldron strapped upon d'Artagnan's right shoulder.

Athos watched the boy flinch at the disrespect upon his prized pauldron and completely expected d'Artagnan to reprimand the blonde Gascon for the crime committed against his precious uniform. However, d'Artagnan said nothing, brushing off the incident as if it had not occurred.

"Who knew you could swing a sword, let alone protect the King of France?" Vincent chuckled brashly with a smug smile, causing a cold feeling to sweep through Athos.

"D'Artagnan is one of the finest musketeers in the garrison," Athos stepped forward, his tone was drawled and icy, his gaze ever the more. "He has the makings the be one of the greatest."

"Well if Runt's the best you lot have, may the good lord save us all!" Vincent jibed, looping his arm around the younger boy's neck and pulling him in, ruffling his hair.

"Vincent quit it!" d'Artagnan grumbled but allowed himself to be pulled about by the larger man.

"Well aren't you going to buy me a drink, Runt?" Vincent pulled back, "saw a nice tavern just round the corner, some right gorgeous girls in there too."

"I – uh," d'Artagnan looked between Vincent and Athos, clearly unsure what he was supposed to do in the situation. It was plain to see the young Gascon was torn, not wanting to disappoint his friend but also reluctant to leave his duty.

"D'Artagnan has duties that must be put before drinks with old friends…" Athos spoke up in turn, seeing it

"Ah, more's the pity," Vincent pouted a little at the news, "How about you join me tonight, we can finally catch up after our long absence, eh Charlie?"

"Of course," d'Artagnan agreed with a nod and a small smile.

"Oh it's so good to see you kid," Vincent beamed, kissing d'Artagnan brashly on the forehead before making his exit towards the garrison's archway.

"Old Cockerel, six o'clock, come then or not at all!" Vincent called back, his voice echoing around the garrison even after he'd disappeared from sight.

"Right…" d'Artagnan sighed, still starring at the now empty archway.

"You are not happy to see your old friend?" Athos queried with light tone, though internally he felt his jealousy assuage. An sense of possessiveness had swept over him in that span of a few moments. Rationally, d'Artagnan had the right to friends of a large variety, however Athos could not help but feel jealousy's green tipped claws dig into him as had watched Vincent push d'Artagnan around.

"No, it's not that, it is just an odd feeling," d'Artagnan sighed as he turned his gaze from the large archway back to Athos, "Like two opposite worlds meeting, it's not a bad thing just odd."

"Why does he call you that?" Aramis ventured curiously.

"Huh? Charlie?" d'Artagnan frowned, cocking his head to the side slightly, "my first name is Charles. It's not like people called me by my last name is Lupiac, especially not when my father was around."

"We gathered that," Porthos snorted with a wily grin, giving the boy an patronising stare.

"I was talking about the other name he called you," Aramis said, a little softer this time.

"Oh, that, yeah, I was the youngest and smallest of the other boys in Lupiac, hence the name, I don't particularly like it, but the name sort of…stuck."

"Doesn't suit you," Athos muttered under his breath, not meeting the boy's gaze, though he could see d'Artagnan look up at him in the corner of his eye.

"Right," Porthos spoke up before d'Artagnan had the chance to speak, "Captain's got me and d'Artagnan on a missive to the other side of town, but we're all to meet at the palace at noon, he didn't say what for."

"Brilliant…" Athos uttered cynically, silently praying that this was his first and last encounter with d'Artagnan's childhood friend.

†††

The remainder of the day was an abysmal bore –with not a drop of wine to dull the achingly slow pace. Turns out the Captain's secret assignment at the palace had been to stand guard at the Queen's summer luncheon. Notable ladies of the surrounding cities had joined her with small pastries as they flittered over the pregnant woman with high-pitched squealing and cooing.

Unsurprisingly, Athos could see that Aramis only had eyes for one of the ladies at the table. Though a lover of life and all things beautiful, Aramis only fell in love with one woman at a time. But when this happened, it always seemed to be with someone far beyond his station, first the Cardinal's mistress and now the Queen.

D'Artagnan had spent the time informing them of the amazing adventures of his dear friend, Vincent – who Athos thought the man sounded like a complete idiot.

The afternoon was a blur of Vincent did this… One time Vincent… Did you know, Vincent can…

Utterly maddening.

It seemed d'Artagnan's dear friend had an even greater attraction for dangerous situations than their own Gascon. Though if the boy's stories were anything to go on, it was Vincent's carefree attitude and arrogance that led him there rather than dumb luck - which had always seemed to be d'Artagnan's issue.

†††

"Stop pouting," Aramis noted slyly, "one would think you did not enjoy our wonderful company."

"I'm not pouting," Athos ground back his answer through his clenched teeth.

D'Artagnan had left some time ago to partake in jovial merriment with his wonderful old friend. And while both Aramis and Porthos had suggested they partake in their own festivities, Athos had declined their offer, which in turn saw the three placed around their usual table in the garrison courtyard. Porthos was attempting to carve a small obscure figure into the side of the table, while Aramis had taken to cleaning his guns – even though they had not been fired at all that day.

Athos had been perfectly happy to stare at the grains in the wooden table, until Aramis had so politely decided to interrupt his thoughts.

"You're pouting." Aramis repeated, though his argument was no more sound than before.

This time Athos did not give Aramis the satisfaction of a retort, but rather he simply glared at the man before him.

"That thing that you're doing with your lip, just now, that my friend is pouting in its truest form." Aramis continued.

"It's not pouting, it's frowning," Athos tightened his frown, attempting to illustrate his point.

"No, you always frown, this," Aramis circled the outline of the man's face in the air with his index finger, gesturing to Athos' features, "is pouting."

"I'm not – "

"Porthos is he pouting?" Aramis asked across the table.

"Yup," Porthos agreed, not looking up from the engrained doodle he seemed to be stabbing.

"I'm not pouting!" Athos exhaled in frustration, throwing his hands upon the table.

"Look, you clearly do not speak to Madame Bonacieux enough," Aramis noted absently as he pick up his cloth in order to polish the silver on his pistol.

"No I don't, I make it a habit to not seek out married women to entertain myself with." Athos returned in a contemptuous tone, insinuating a deeper subtext.

"I would never and you know it." Aramis retorted sharply, looking a little offended by Athos' accusations. "She is d'Artagnan's greatest love and a dear friend."

"Whatever your point is I fear you have lost your way in reaching it." Athos sighed in frustration.

"D'Artagnan is young and excitable," Aramis chuckled with a warm smile, before adding slyly, "if you are so put out by how he talks of others, you should hear of how he discusses us."

"How does he speak of us?" Athos peered up from the table, suddenly very interested in what Aramis had to say.

"No, your ego is far too big already, as is Porthos'," Aramis told them scornfully.

"Hey!" Porthos retorted, taking his dagger from the table and pointing it in Aramis' direction.

"Let him have his fun, Athos," Aramis sighed, "I'm sure he'll be back to thinking you're the greatest thing to walk this Earth once the sun rises."

†††

As it turned out, Aramis could not have been more wrong in his predictions. Indeed the sun did rise to welcome another blisteringly scorching morning, making all of those under it suffer immensely. D'Artagnan on the other hand was in no mood to praise his fellow brother's in arms, more rather all he could utter to them were a series of mournful mutters as he attempted to curl into a small dark, cold ball and remain there.

Evidently Vincent liked to drink. And liked those with him to drink. Quite unfortunate for d'Artagnan as he now looked like a melting corpse and they were scheduled for parade duty at the palace – the Queen was to farewell her esteemed luncheon guests with tea in the gardens before their departure.

With the hot summer sun burning down upon them in their thick leather uniforms, their youngest musketeer was doing a rather good impersonation of a snowman in August.

D'Artagnan was looking particularly sickly to the point of were his skin looked green and ashen as he lightly swayed, barely about to stand upon his own feet.

"How are you holding up?" Aramis turned his head to the side to access the boy's poor appearance.

"My head's about to burst and I am moments away from ruining his Majesty's flowerbed with my breakfast." D'Artagnan moaned meekly, his eyes glazing over with the nausea that was clearly assaulting his body.

"Well it serves you right for going drinking last night," Athos sniffed, his tone sharp and without sympathy.

"That's rich, coming from you…" d'Artagnan snorted, though he regretting it as he bit back a strangled moaned.

"He's right you know," Porthos smirked, shaking his head in disbelief.

"I am always fit for duty." Athos returned curtly.

"I'm going to remind you of that one day…" Porthos promised wirily.

"A distraction would be nice right about now," d'Artagnan yelped weakly as he paled further, gripping the hilt of his sword tight as if somehow that would relief the sickening pain he was in.

"Really?" Aramis frowned, assessing the boy with worried eyes.

"Yup." D'Artagnan groaned hoarsely.

"There's a line of hedges around that corner to the left, beyond that is a large fountain." Porthos nodded his head slightly to the left, "It's clean enough to drink."

"Soak this and put it on the back of your neck." Aramis told him, bundling his sash into d'Artagnan's arms.

"Thanks," the young musketeer gave Aramis and Porthos a weak smile before rushing off in search of the fountains.

"Idiot…" Athos muttered under his breath as he watched d'Artagnan duck off in the bushes.

"It's a right of passage, Athos," Aramis chided, "every young recruit has to deal with his terrible decisions of the previous evening."

"He knew we had parade duty today, his wounds are self inflicted." Athos sniffed. "He doesn't get my pity."

"That is not fair, you place him on such a high pedestal, one mistake in your eyes and you punish him severely."

"I hold him in the same respect as anyone else."

"That's a lie and you know it." Porthos grunted gruffly, shifting his stance in the blistering heat.

†††

"Runt!"

Athos almost flinched at Vincent's loud intrusion, though instead he simply sharped his glare, in the hopes that the blonde Gascon would look over and cut himself upon it. Somehow d'Artagnan's childhood friend had gone from a simple annoyance to an absolute thorn in Athos' side, all in the span of twenty-four hours. Not only was he brash and unapologetically loud and crass, his influence over d'Artagnan was terribly infectious.

They had not been back at the garrison for half an hour before the blundering oaf had torn though the courtyard, demanding his dear friend once more with the promise of fine wine and woman. Or – judging by the state of Vincent's coat and the lightness of his coin purse – horrid wine and diseased women.

Of course d'Artagnan had not blinked an eye at these requests and set about to leave with Vincent for another night of heavy drinking.

However Athos gripped d'Artagnan's shoulder, stopping the boy in his tracks.

"You aren't seriously going to the tavern, are you?" Athos uttered quietly so that just d'Artagnan could hear.

"Why not?"

"Yeah 'Thos why not?" Vincent appeared beside d'Artagnan in an instant, slipping his arm around the boy's shoulder, brushing off Athos' hand.

"That is not my name," Athos growled at Vincent with a cold expression.

"Isn't it?" Vincent frowned in a curious fashion, "but that's what d'Artagnan calls you…"

"No it isn't," d'Artagnan correctly instantly, shaking his head for good measure.

"It is when your drunk, it's 'Thos this, 'Thos that," Vincent jibed and then paused in thought for a brief moment, "actually, to be honest I wasn't sure if you were talking about that 'Thos, or that one…" Vincent pointed to Athos and Porthos in turn.

Athos decided to utterly ignore Vincent's comments, even though a small part of him triumphed in the fact that Vincent seemed jealous of them.

"You just spent the better half of the day with your head in the King's rose bushes," Athos growled lowly at d'Artagnan, "why on Earth would you wish to repeat that?"

"Can't handle your wine eh?" Vincent snorted, "Wow and I thought musketeers were supposed to be tough?"

"I'm coming," d'Artagnan told Vincent sharply.

"Brilliant, what about you A-thos?" Vincent stretched out his name in an utterly patronising manner. Due to the height different, Vincent was easily able to stare down at Athos, making the shorter man's fury rise further.

"We would be honoured," Aramis accepted the invitation humbly before Athos could utter further insult.

"Would we…?" Porthos frowned as he muttered under his breath in a heavily sceptical tone. He was not loud enough for Vincent and d'Artagnan to hear, Athos and Aramis could, which caused the latter to sharply elbow Porthos in the ribs.

"You two go ahead, we'll meet you at the Rising Sun." Aramis told the two Gascons with a smile.

"Uh, great," Vincent nodded, pulling d'Artagnan along merrily, beginning to dramatically retell the wondrous day he had had in Paris.

"Want me to punch 'im?" Porthos growled menacingly as he and Athos watched Vincent playfully drag d'Artagnan out of the garrison courtyard.

"Be nice," Aramis scolded, "the both of you, d'Artagnan has been kind enough to invite us the least you could do is be considerate to his childhood friend."

"D'Artagnan didn't invite us, Vincent did." Athos pointed out in a slow drawl.

"My point still stands," Aramis told him, "Athos, you are a dear friend to me, but you're an intimidating arse, you're also antisocial and a complete unaccommodating bastard at times. You need to accept that d'Artagnan can chose his own friends, regardless of what you think of them. Besides, isn't there some idiom, any friend of my brother's, is a friend of mine?"

"I've never heard that, but it sounds idiotic," Athos uttered coolly, "why would I wish to be friends with your friends?"

"Probably why it's called an 'idiot'." Porthos shrugged nonchalantly.

"Idiom, Porthos, honestly," Aramis sighed wearily.

"Hang on, when are we ever nice to people's friends?" Porthos crinkled his forehead in confusion.

"Are we not always nice to friends of ours?" Aramis replied in an optimistic way.

"What friends…?" Athos wondered honestly.

"You stabbed my friend," Porthos noted to Aramis, speaking of the incident with Charon in the Court of Miracles.

"Ah, yes, that is true…" Aramis creased his brow slightly, as he bit the bottom of his lip awkwardly. Technically it had been an accident, but more along the lines of an accidently on-purpose accident as Charon had been about to – quite literally – stab Porthos in the back.

"Though we did put your friend under house arrest and had him bound in ropes for the majority of his enchanting visit. I'm also pretty sure d'Artagnan punched him in the face." Porthos relayed thoughtfully.

"Right…" Aramis noted in a none too comforted tone.

"Are we counting Milady as a friend of yours?" Porthos frowned as he turned to Athos.

"Let's not," Athos gave Porthos a warning glare, silently commanding him to drop the subject instantly.

"Alright!" Aramis called out in frustration, silencing the two, "it appears we are the least accommodating men in Paris, but can we please just agree to be pleasant this evening? For d'Artagnan's sake?"

Both Athos and Porthos grunted in begrudged acceptance as they began to make their way towards the garrison's exit.

"Who knows, perhaps you may even end up enjoying yourself."

†††

The tavern was not but four blocks from the garrison. It was a backwards, dirty establishment that seemed to horde darkness and grime as it were a fleeting luxury. They had easily caught up to d'Artagnan and Vincent along the road so they all walked in together, their eyes adjusting to the abyss-like interior with only a handful of candles lighting the dank basement-esque room.

"Vincent!" the tavern owner smiled brightly at the blonde Gascon, waving his arms excitedly in welcome.

"He makes friends quickly…" Porthos sneered, giving the blonde a sharp suspicious glare as the owner of the table gave Vincent a warm hug.

"Ha, I love Paris," Vincent laughed unabashedly, "visit a tavern twice and you are welcomed as an old friend!"

"Unless your Athos," Porthos snorted, "Took the barmaid near six months to get his order right."

"Perhaps I'm just a little more memorable," Vincent beamed wide, making Athos wish he had taken up Porthos' offer to punch the smug Gascon.

"To be fair, she was an idiot…" Aramis added.

"True, but she had really great – " Porthos went to gesture his words with his hands but was promptly cut off.

"Oh look, there's a table," Aramis interrupted with a forced smile, pushing d'Artagnan and Vincent towards, turning back his head to give Porthos an odd look of discouragement.

"Well isn't this nice," Aramis smiled as they sat down at the table. They had all lulled into an uncomfortable silence once seated, no one wished to be the one to break it.

Athos peered around the room in a bored fashion until he caught the look upon Aramis' face. The musketeer appeared to be trying to convey the subtle – or in this case not so subtle – message that he wanted Athos to buy them all wine as means of a piece offering between him and Vincent.

"I'll buy wine." Athos grunted as he stood up, causing Aramis to smile brightly in triumph.

"Good idea Athos," Aramis nodded, with a thankful look.

"Thanks, my friend, you are too kind," Vincent beamed widely.

"We're not friends." Athos supplied with a deadpanned glare, earning himself a rib in the gut from Aramis. "That was being nice." Athos informed Aramis before standing up to leave and retrieve the wine.

This task took little effort. He ordered the best they had, d'Artagnan's stomach would not last long on the tavern's cheapest. If the boy was going to be an idiot, he might as well be an idiot with decent taste. Even still, a place such as this did not carry anything decent so, along with the wine, he ordered several baguettes and dinner for the table. Giving something to match the alcohol might slow down Vincent's drinking and subsequently d'Artagnan's. After collecting the bottles, Athos returned to the table and poured out the dark alcohol.

"This is beautiful wine, A-thos," Vincent complimented the musketeer, with such a conceited tone, that it almost sounded as if he were mocking him.

"Mhm," Athos retorted, pouring himself a glass.

Athos watched as d'Artagnan winced at taste of the wine, clearly not enjoying the burning sensation of a second night's tavern dwelling.

The food was brought over promptly. The bread was presented with some sort of cheese, he could not be completely certain.

"Have some food," Athos told the young musketeer, pushing the bowl of stew towards him.

"Ugh, there is no way I'm eating that," d'Artagnan crinkled his nose in disgust, making a repelled expression with his mouth.

"Eat some food, d'Artagnan," Athos sighed, knowing that the boy needed something in his stomach if he was to continue drinking, especially after the trauma d'Artagnan had put it through that afternoon. D'Artagnan also really had to get over this abhorred attitude to certain foods – he was skin and bones already, and one did not always have the luxury of choice.

"Pfft, he's not gonna eat it," Vincent laughed, eying the food suspiciously, "Charlie's pretty choosy when it come to food…"

"You should eat it," Athos replied simply, not wishing to push the issue, but it had seemed to grow into a battle of wills between him and Vincent. Especially if the all-knowingly glint in the blonde Gascon's eye was anything to go on. This was a contest pure and simple.

"I wouldn't, looks gross," Vincent snubbed the stew, recoiling visibly.

"D'Artagnan…"Athos sighed with tired tone.

"Looks like papa Athos has arrived." Vincent chuckled wickedly with a knowing glint in his eye.

"What on Earth are you talking about?" Athos demanded scathingly.

"Charlie's a big boy, he can make his own decisions. He doesn't need you to hold his hand."

"Vincent," d'Artagnan spoke for the first time, putting an end to the duelling egos at the table.

The silence that fell over the table was excruciatingly painful for all involved.

"Don't eat it if you don't want it," Athos sighed, suddenly realising how childish and foolhardy he was being in his attempts to gain the upper hand against Vincent.

"I, um," d'Artagnan looked between Athos and Vincent for a moment, "I might just have some bread." He muttered quietly as he reached across the table to break off a portion for himself.

Vincent's triumphant victory grin curdled Athos' blood. Bloody smug bastard.

The next half an hour past in almost silence. D'Artagnan ate small portions of bread, sipping wine occasionally but clearly not enjoying the flavour. The rest had sat in awkward muteness, with no one wishing to break it until Vincent announced:

"What say you to another round of drinks, Runt?" he nudged the young musketeer in playful jeer. "Can you handle it? Or do you wish to admit defeat?"

"Another round it is," d'Artagnan nodded his head sluggishly as he pushed himself up out of the chair, wobbling a little at the rush of blood that clearly had just shot up into his head. The boy was clearly dizzy and his movement were slowed and sluggish, if he pushed himself any further in this ridiculous fashion, d'Artagnan would spent a second day with his head in the rose bushes.

"How about we call it a night?" Athos observed cautiously, watching at d'Artagnan swayed a little in his stance, needing to hold onto the edge of the table in order to fully stable himself.

D'Artagnan had never been much of a drinker. Sure, he partook in celebrations with the others now and again but never to over indulge.

"I'Mm fine," d'Artagnan grunted, pushing off Athos' hand defensively, before staggering over to the bar.

"He can't help himself," Vincent smirked to himself with a low chuckle, "that one's on the house boys, any more will cost you."

"Any more of what exactly…?" Athos asked slowly so that Vincent could grasp the tone he used as well as words. Though apparently neither fazed the flippant blonde.

"Just little things I've noticed over the years, Runt can never refuse a challenge, great fun if you want to see him throw himself out a tree or dive into an ice covered lake."

"He did those things?" Aramis frowned, meeting Athos and Porthos' gazes with a concerned stare.

"Oh, aye, and more, Charlie really can't help himself, he's a proud stubborn little bastard, you challenge him and he'll do it."

By now, Athos was well aware of the young Gascon's prideful streak, however this was a completely different circumstance that simple pride.

"Here, I'll show you…" Vincent chuckled deviously as d'Artagnan made his way back to the table juggling two bottles across the crowded room.

"Hey Runt, how high is the roof of this tavern, would you say?" Vincent asked, feigning innocence as d'Artagnan sat back down, placing the wine upon the table.

"No, Vince, we're not playing that game, I'm not a child anymore," d'Artagnan returned in a standoffish manner, his cheek slightly flushed with either anger or embarrassment.

"Come on, do for old times, how high is the roof, Runt?"

"No, Vincent." D'Artagnan supplied a snappish reply,

"Come on –"

"He said no," Porthos cut in with a tightly clenched jaw.

"You've become so boring since moving to Paris," Vincent scowled darkly, though his mood was not dampened for long as he suddenly brought forth a deck of cards from the pockets of his coat and placed them upon the table.

"Game of kings, anyone?"

The smile of Porthos' face was so sinfully elated that the devil himself would have sold his soul for the secret of the musketeer's delight. However, Aramis also caught this smile and glared at the larger musketeer scathingly for even considering it.

'Don't you dare…' Aramis mouthed silently at Porthos, utterly destroying the other man's joyful mood.

†††

"Well that went well…" Aramis sighed as they walked back through Paris' darkly lit streets.

The night had been called to an end when d'Artagnan had fallen asleep in his chair, much to Vincent's amusement, who promised to tease the boy mercilessly for the act. However a harsh glare for each of the conscious musketeers soon quietened the blonde Gascon's enthusiasm. As they had shuffled the young Gascon, his coin purse had fallen upon the ground, giving Athos further reason to be furious at the sly blonde Gascon. Before that week had begun, d'Artagnan had been near bragging of the ample sum in his pocket, though they had all told him to keep this quiet – especially on the street. But now, the leather purse was almost empty, clearly Vincent had not emptied his own pockets for the long evenings of drinks and food he had been participating in.

"You and I have a very different meaning of the word 'well'…" Athos uttered gruffly as he and Porthos shared d'Artagnan's sleeping dead-weight between them.

"I was being facetious, it went terribly." Aramis shot back.

"Truly," Porthos nodded wearily, failing to hold back a wide yawn.

"Let's just get this one to bed." Athos sighed, nodding towards d'Artagnan, "I am in need of my own."

†††

"Come on!" Athos could here Vincent's snide jeering even through the heavy wooden door to Tréville's office. Well at the very least, it did sound like they were having a merry time out there, if the rumble of cheering was anything to go on.

The three had been called into Tréville's office to offer the King's thanks for their attendance at the parade yesterday. Also the Captain had requested their presence to work out why the King had only mentioned the presence of three musketeers when Tréville had sent four.

This led to a great deal of fumbling from Aramis through one the of worst constructed lies Athos had ever had to sit through. It was always painful experience when Aramis had to lie, perhaps it was his deeply religious nature that hindered him or perhaps he was simply terrible at it. Whatever the reason, Aramis always came off as a bumbling idiot when attempting to construct a lie.

However as luck would have it, the noise from the courtyard below had grown to such a roar that the Captain no longer cared for Aramis' poorly weaved story.

"What the devil is going on out there?" Tréville snapped as he swung open the door, storming out onto the balcony with a trio of musketeer by his heels.

"D'Artagnan!" Athos' eye grew wide, legs frozen in place as he saw the Gascon boy balancing upon the top of the stair railing, his hands out wide to steady himself as he feet rocked slightly upon the thin perch.

"What are you doing up there?" Aramis creased his brow in concern and confusion.

"Hey, watch this!" d'Artagnan smiled cheekily, crouching his knees slightly as he seemed to be preparing himself for something.

"What are yo –?" Athos asked but cut himself off as d'Artagnan suddenly propelled himself backwards, flipping backwards over himself in a seemingly effortless display that was oddly balletic in poise and gracefulness.

The slight of d'Artagnan disappearing off the railing made Athos' knees weaken slightly, his heart thudded against his chest painfully.

"Holy…" Aramis breathed out in shock and awe.

"Ta dah!" Athos heard the idiot musketeer below announce excitedly as the crowd of musketeers cheered around him.

"Woah," Porthos noted with a wide-eyed expression, nodding in an impressed fashion.

"You fool!" Athos growled as he stormed down the stairs and up to the excited boy, pushing past the thick crowd of cheering musketeers. "You could have broken your neck!"

"But I didn't," d'Artagnan shrugged nonchalantly, dusting off the grime from the roof off his hands.

"Yeah, Runt's done it loads of times," Vincent laughed, "though never that high, well done!" the broad blonde slapped d'Artagnan's back enthusiastically in congratulations. "This does mean you'll have to beat it next time!"

"There will be no next time," Athos snapped, still trying to work off the adrenaline that coursed throughout his body.

"Come off it," d'Artagnan scoffed, "I'm fine, it was just –" he froze the moment he saw the Captain standing beside Athos, both with twin unimpressed expressions.

"A clear display of recklessness and idiocy?" Tréville finished d'Artagnan's sentence with a cautioning tone.

"True but it was completely spectacular!" Vincent appeared by the Captain's side, enthusiasm and excitement oozing from his entire body.

"Who the hell are you?" Tréville peered at the tall blonde suspiciously.

"Vincent Masson," the blonde gave a dramatic bow to accompany his grand introduction. "Uh, sir."

"This is a Musketeer's garrison, son," Tréville levelled the taller man with a scornful glare, one that frequently terrified new recruits and those who displeased the Captain.

"Yes, it's lovely –"

"Are you a musketeer?" The Captain snapped instantly, not caring for simple pleasantries and chitchat.

"No?"

"Then get the hell out of here." Tréville ordered forcefully, making his stance clear on the matter.

"Got it." Vincent nodded sharply before ducking away into the crowds.

"And you," Tréville turned his attentions back upon the young musketeers before him, "if you wanted to be a dancer you should have joined a carnival. This is a garrison, not a gypsy convoy."

"Sorry sir," d'Artagnan bit his lip nervously under the anger of the Captain.

"Stable duty, tomorrow morning, don't be late." Tréville ordered gruffly before making his leave.

"Yessir." d'Artagnan obliged submissively.

"That was stupid and you know it." Athos grumbled as the Captain left.

"Pretty fantastic though," Porthos beamed brightly, "how long have you been able to do that?"

"Since I was a little kid," d'Artagnan smiled meekly under the praise, clearly still well aware of Athos' disdainful glare.

"Fascinating, you're quite good." Aramis agreed with an awestruck nod.

"You two praising the boy completely undermines my attempts at reprimanding him…" Athos glared, though the worry in his chest had all but fled, along with his anger.

"Apologies," Aramis smiled brightly as if sensing Athos' calmness, "we'll leave you to it."

"Sorry," d'Artagnan muttered as Porthos and Aramis headed off into the garrison together, nervous under the intense gaze of the man before him.

Athos sighed, feeling weary about always being the one who was left to reprimand the boy on his idiotic choices. He was simply going to let it slide before he noticed the terrible state of the boy's boots. They were completely dilapidated with holes and gashes, it was a wonder d'Artagnan could walk in them let alone balance upon the stair railings in them.

"What on Earth have you done to your boots?"

"Ugh, yeah, I –" d'Artagnan stumbled over an excuse, but Athos saw through it.

"Buy some new boots."

"Right, umm," d'Artagnan paused as he shifted awkwardly, shuffling his feet slightly in the dirt as he starred down at them.

Athos sighed as he took the liberty of assessing the boy's coin purse from affair. It clearly looked no lighter than it had the previous evening, nor would its contents cover the cost of a new pair of boots – not if the boy wanted to continue eating for the next week.

Without a word, Athos withdrew a small handful of coins from his own purse. Taking d'Artagnan's hand, Athos placed them into the boy's palm.

"No, Athos, I can buy – "

"You can repay me by not doing any more idiotic stunts." Athos kept a level gaze with the younger musketeer, making it clear that this was not a charity offering but a promise.

"I can try," d'Artagnan promised with a small smile.

†††

"Have you seen d'Artagnan this morning?" Porthos wonder aloud as he walked up their usual table in the courtyard. Thankfully day and previous evening had been completely uneventful. D'Artagnan had made some comment in passing that he was going to see Constance in the afternoon, so the others had waved him off with not a word about it.

"I thought he was helping Jacques with the horses?" Athos looked up slowly from his apple with a tight frown.

"That's where he's meant to be," Aramis chimed in, slicing a piece of his own apple with a thin knife. "Apparently he didn't show," he added with a slight shrug. "My guess is he slept through the morning bells…"

"Nah, I just came from his rooms, he's not there." Porthos informed them, sounding a touch concerned.

"He had better not be with that bloody Gascon," Athos growled, feeling his apple crush in his hands slightly at the tight grip.

"Is that jealousy I hear?" Aramis smirked wickedly in Athos' direction, causing the other man's scowl to darken.

"Vincent is a terrible influence, his very presence in Paris is unwelcome and overstayed."

"He is a stranger to the city and dear friend of d'Artagnan's, surely that is enough to give him the benefit of the doubt?"

"I don't like 'im," Porthos sniffed with a low snarl, crossing his arms across his chest.

"You don't like that he beat you at kings."

"He cheated." Porthos growled.

"What a hypocrite you are," Aramis scolded lightly.

"I only cheat people I don't like," Porthos rebutted, and though he made a fair point, Athos knew that the larger man would have tried to swindle money from Vincent if Aramis had not given them strict instructions to 'be nice'.

"Which is everyone," Aramis shot back with a wryly stare before turning back to Athos, "d'Artagnan is a young man with a vast city to explore, we must learn to accept that there will be times he does not want to be weighed down by our dreary company."

"Right up until that idiot gets the boy killed."

"Athos, be that as it may, there are some things d'Artagnan must learn on his own, pushing him to see your view will only drive a wedge between the two of you." Aramis informed the brooding musketeer. "Let us see what the Captain has in store for us this morning, I'll ask Serge to keep an eye out for our wayward little Gascon."

Athos nodded stiffly in reply as he pushed himself up from the table, following Porthos up the staircase.

"Captain's at the Palace if your looking for him," Henri informed them as he strolled across the courtyard, causing the three to pause upon the stairs. "Left in a hurry early this morning, he was rather furious."

"Did he say what for?" Aramis inquired curiously.

"Oh yeah, apparently d'Artagnan's at the Châtelet for duelling." Henri told them simply, causing Aramis to duck his head and Athos to growl lowly under his breath.

"Probably should have led with that," Aramis told Henri meekly, wincing at Athos' rising temper.

"You still think Vincent should stay?" Athos snarled at Aramis as they made their way back down the stairs about to ready his horse to charge up to the Palace, however as he took the last step to the ground, he realised his efforts would not be necessary.

"Your commission lies upon a knife's edge, d'Artagnan," Tréville snarled with a quiet fury that deafened all who heard as he stormed into the garrison, d'Artagnan dogging his heels. "One more fool-hardy mistake and you can pack your things for Gascony."

"Yessir," d'Artagnan uttered submissively, his head ducked down in shame, hiding the tears forming in his eyes. The boy looked rough from his night in the Châtelet; hair an unkempt mess, dark circles under his eye as a clear indication of a sleepless night.

Dismissing d'Artagnan, the Captain walked directly up to the trio standing watch. Tréville silently pulled Athos aside as the other two went to assess d'Artagnan's ruggard state.

"The King believes the duel was staged in order to gain required information." Tréville muttered lowly to Athos.

"Thank you," Athos nodded reverently. It was not the first time Athos had been thankful that Tréville was their Captain and not another. Most Captain's would chose to make an example out of a situation like this.

"I don't know what the hell has gotten into that boy, but find out and fix it." The Captain told him gruffly, "he may be one of my most promising recruits, but I will not tolerate insubordination in my garrison."

"Yes sir," Athos accepted with a clipped tone as the Captain dismissed him with a nod, walking towards the stairs to his quarters.

"There you are!" Vincent exclaimed as he came into the garrison courtyard, running up to d'Artagnan with a beaming smile upon his face. "I've been looking for you everywhere, had to turn over most of Paris!"

The very sound of the blonde Gascon's voice had Athos' teeth grinding and his knuckles whitening.

"He's been at the Châtelet," Porthos informed Vincent with a stony glare, clearly he placed the blame at the blonde's feet the same as Athos did.

"Well I did tell you not to fight those men," Vincent chuckled scornfully, sounding a little patronising with his tone.

"No you didn't, you pushed me into them and then called bloody murder until the Red Guards showed up!" D'Artagnan snapped, his temper flaring up wildly from the lack of sleep and frustration.

"You're a musketeer, I thought you could handle it!" Vincent held his ground however, his own temper being to rise.

"I was handling it, until you brought the Red Guards over." D'Artagnan growled, tossing his light blue cloak upon the table with a frustrated snarl.

"I think you best leave," Athos growled menacingly at Vincent, interrupting the spat between the two Gascons.

"I got this Athos, I don't need your help." D'Artagnan barked, putting a hand up to Athos to stop him from interrupting them further.

"Leave," Athos ignored d'Artagnan's request, looking over him at the blonde Gascon behind. "Before Tréville sees you and punishes you for sulking around the garrison."

"I'll see you around, d'Artagnan," Vincent gave his friend a quick nod, before darting across to the archway.

"That is none of your business," d'Artagnan growled the moment Vincent was gone from sigh. "Why didn't you let me handle it?"

"Because I've witnessed how you've been 'handling it' for the past few days now," Athos retorted shortly, "I felt it time I stepped in."

"What?" d'Artagnan gapped in disbelief.

"Go to bed d'Artagnan," Athos sighed, really not wanting to have this discussion with an overtired, three-day-hung-over, brooding Gascon.

Holding a glare with the boy for a few moments, Athos was about to push it further, before d'Artagnan sighed heavily and walked off towards his room.

"I'll keep an eye on 'im," Porthos mumbled as he followed after d'Artagnan.

"If this is what parenthood is like, I am truly frightened at the idea…" Aramis noted as he watched d'Artagnan skulk off in a dark mood.

"If that buffoon even thinks about walking into this garrison again, I will kill him myself." Athos threatened, though his tone sold is as a promise.

"Athos, he's just a little challenging, he's still getting used to Paris life." Aramis sighed, "do you remember your first week in Paris?"

Clearly Aramis was trying to make some point, but Athos was hearing none of it, choosing to ignore his question entirely.

"The punishment for illegal duelling is execution, do you know how close d'Artagnan came to meeting that fate?" Athos snarled, his anger boiling under the heat of the sun and the growing frustration in his heart.

"We duel all the time," Aramis corrected calmly.

"Yes, we, us, not just him. Not alone." Athos growled back, feeling the frustration and anger rise up within him.

"Tréville would never see the boy executed for a fool's error." Aramis tried once again to be the voice of reason and rationality.

"It still does not excuse his behaviour, Vincent is ruining d'Artagnan's prospects in this city."

"Athos, it's only been a few days, Vincent will be gone soon, just let it be," Aramis you'll end up pushing d'Artagnan away if you involve yourself."

"I will not keep ignoring what is right in front of me." Athos murmured harshly under his breath.

He had ignored the signs of trouble with Thomas. He had disregarded the warnings and Anne's suspicious manipulations of his young brother. He had be blind to the investigation Thomas conducted and the subsequent reveal of his evidence.

"Vincent does not belong here."

"Athos –"

"He is an idiotic Gascon farm boy with has no place in the city. He's a buffoon who scavengers off others like a vulture. He is brash, arrogant and utterly bull-headed, it is truly amazing he does not offend more people than he already does."

"Is that what you think of me also?"

"D'Artagnan…" Athos groaned slightly as he heard the young Gascon's voice behind him – how long had he been standing there? "Go to bed, you need sleep, you look terrible."

"I came to get my cloak, but instead find you all out here talking about me behind my back," d'Artagnan pushed, clearly overtired and not thinking straight, allowing his anger to rule his head.

"Don't be stu –" Athos cut himself off as he realised insult the boy would do nothing but anger him further.

"What? Stupid? Is that what you were going to say?" d'Artagnan clenched his teeth, his anger clear as he glared at the elder musketeer.

"I was not talking about –"

"Don't lie, I know what you all think of me!" he growled, "Stupid little d'Artagnan who can't handle himself in the big bad city? Idiotic d'Artagnan has to be kept out of harms way so as not to get a paper cut! Brainless d'Artagnan –"

"You know that is not how we see you, do not put false words in my mouth!" Athos growled, knowing exactly who had put those thoughts in d'Artagnan's head. With each jibe and sharpened word, Vincent had been cutting away at d'Artagnan's faith in himself and his trust in his brother. "Now calm yourself, you are being foolish."

"Oh piss off!" d'Artagnan spat petulantly, "I am not child, Athos!"

"You're acting like one!" Athos snarled back, ignoring Aramis' silent warnings against enraging the young Gascon. "Since Vincent came to Paris you have done nothing but ignore your responsibilities and skive off with your little drinking buddy. You are utterly ignoring your training and are fast becoming the worst musketeer in this entire garrison!"

D'Artagnan's eyes widened at the Athos' admission, his mouth slightly agape as the hurtful confession slammed into the young musketeer, clearly only hearing the last few words, ignore all else.

Upon realising the pain he was causing, Athos sighed, going about means of apologising.

However d'Artagnan's hurt filled expression had morphed into anger once again, tears collecting in his eyes as he threw down the light blue cloak upon the ground.

"D'Artagnan – " Athos tried, but the young musketeer simply turned on his heels and fled the courtyard, out into the streets.

The silence that echoed about the garrison was deafening. Athos was sure he could hear his own heart thudding against his chest as he watch the boy storm away in a flurry of pain and anger.

"Don't say it…" Athos grumbled as he watched Aramis' expression.

"Not a word," Aramis raised his hands high in mock surrender.

†††

D'Artagnan did not return to the garrison for the rest of the day. Clearly he did not wish to be around the other musketeers after the large blow up that had occurred between he and Athos. Porthos had been most annoyed to hear that their plan was to wait for the young Gascon to calm down before going in search of him, though they all knew that d'Artagnan would return to the garrison once his angered thoughts cooled. For even though the boy could be a little brash and hot-headed at times, he always came to his senses eventually.

For now Athos just decided to wait and plan how best to make amends with their wayward brother. Vincent would still have to leave, there was no doubt of that. The blonde was quite clearly poisoning the boy's mind against them and though this may not be intentional, the effects were apparent.

As the afternoon slowed to dulling pace, Athos sat at the table alone. Porthos and Aramis had gone to look for the boy, caving as their worries got the better of them. Though it was Athos' stubbornness and temper that kept him at the table.

He and d'Artagnan had often come to head on matters, it was the nature of similar spirited men to argue. Though this was the first time d'Artagnan had seemed unawed by Athos, he was disillusioned completely where an almost reverent mentality once was.

"Athos!"

Athos groaned as the blonde Gascon's voice violently interrupted his thoughts. He turned to see Vincent rushing up to him. The man looked slightly frazzled and shaky

"What do you want Vincent?" Athos raised a stern brow at the blonde, his mouth tight.

"You are a Comte are you not?" Vincent pushed anxiously, ringing his hands nervously.

"D'Artagnan told you this?"

"He didn't have to, your demeanour told me," Vincent told him and as Athos gave the blonde Gascon a shrewd glare, he felt the need to continue, "the way you carry yourself, your speech, even the very timbre of your voice tells me you are of a noble home."

"You're rather perceptive for a farm boy."

"It matters not, will you loan me four hundred liver?"

"Four hundred livre?" Athos gaped, his mind reeling at the unfathomable figure, "even if we were close friends – which we are most definitely not – four hundred livre is a ridiculous sum to ask of me."

"Do you have it or not?"

"What is it for?" Athos asked slowly, suspiciously. It was nigh impossible to think of what a Gascon farm boy could so desperately need four-hundred livre for.

"I have found myself in a great deal of debt to a money lender here in Paris –"

"How could you possibly be in debt for four hundred livre?" Athos cried out, "you've only been here a week!"

"That is not entirely true," Vincent sighed guiltily, "I have been in Paris for six months now." The blonde revealed regrettably. "I had nothing when I came to the city and the lenders were kind, at first, they gave me food and a place to stay, showed me cards, wine and the most beautiful of women. But then they began to demand what they were owed, told me to do what ever it took to repay them…"

"So you came to d'Artagnan…" Athos' gaze turned stone cold.

"Everyone's knows about the King's favourite new musketeer. I thought he might have some extra coin he wouldn't mind sharing with an old friend." Vincent shrugged.

"How unfortunate for you that d'Artagnan does not even have funds to buy new boots."

"Yeah, well I found out rather quickly I'd made a mistake, but I was grateful to see the kid again and his protection was great appreciated."

"The duel…" Athos groaned, running his hands over his face, "

"They have been following me for quite sometime, the kid's good with a sword, so I used that to my advantage."

"I'm sorry, do not have four hundred livre to give you." Athos supplied, though in truth he was not exactly sorry, the idiot have brought it upon himself.

"Please, anything will be better than nothing, do you have one hundred? Fifty? I beg of you please see mercy!"

"Your failings as a man are no concern of mine." Athos brushed off, turning away from the blonde Gascon as means to physically showing he was done with the conversation.

"Please, they will kill d'Artagnan if I do not!" Vincent exclaimed, causing Athos to freeze instantly in the tracks.

"What?" The musketeer growled as he span to face the paling Gascon, a murderous fury in his eyes. Athos could feel his heart leap to his throat, his hands gripping Vincent's sleeves dangerously.

"The money lenders grew impatient, one of them had seen me about the city with d'Artagnan and took him as incentive."

Athos growled lowly. If Vincent was here with him that meant the blonde Gascon had left d'Artagnan alone with his captors.

"How many?" Athos asked strategically, if only a few he could handle it himself, depending on d'Artagnan's state the boy would no doubt he able to take one or two down, any more than that would require a little help.

"I told you, four hu – "

"Men, how many men does this lender surround himself with?"

"Twelve," Vincent whimpered, "though there could be more, I have seen twelve different faces by his side."

Right, Athos sighed mentally, gaging his best option. Twelve was manageable if he could separate them, divide and conquer as it were. However that would require a great deal of stealth and planning, none of which he had time to prepare for. However he didn't need to wait long to devise a more sound plan as he saw Porthos and Aramis walking back into the garrison. They looked slightly disappointed, they had obviously been unsuccessful in their search efforts - d'Artagnan would not be found on the streets.

Allowing them no time to get settled, Athos stormed up to them,

"We couldn't find -" Aramis started to explain, though he was quickly cut off by Athos.

"I know where he is."

With nothing more upon the subject the two musketeers nodded and promptly followed Athos out of the garrison. It was only after a minute or so, however, that they realised their trio was in fact a quartet.

"What's he doing here?" Porthos grunted as he nodded his head towards Vincent trailing along beside them.

"I'm the one that knows where Charlie is."

"That's because he is the coward who threw him to the wolves in order to save his own skin," Athos spat as walked with fevered determination. He was still following Vincent's lead in terms of directions, but anyone who saw them would no doubt see Athos as the clear leader.

"After we get him back, you better start running farm boy," Porthos showed his teeth as he snarled at the blonde Gascon,

"That kid is like a brother to me, we grew up together, I would never do anything to hurt him!" Vincent beseeched, though the musketeers before him were deaf to his pleas for forgiveness.

"Oh of course not," Porthos growled with a sarcastic flare, "you only bullied him into suicidal acts for your own amusement, what a loving brother you are."

Suddenly, Vincent halted at the intersection of two crossing streets.

"Where?" Athos demanded curtly.

"There," Vincent pointed at the large house at the end of the street, "that is where they have him."

Wasting no time, Athos charged forth down the street, allowing the others to follow. Although this time there were only three of them.

"Coward," Porthos muttered darkly as he noticed Vincent hanging around the end of the street nervously.

Aramis nodded in agreement, though said nothing further.

"After you?" Athos nodded respectfully at Porthos, gesturing at the large wooden door. The house looked completely ordinary from the outside, the owner clearly had once had money, though years of neglect had allowed the exterior to fade slightly.

"Shall I knock?" Porthos wondered with a wicked grin.

"How polite you are." Aramis beamed as he pulled forth his sword from its sheath, preparing himself for the onslaught that lay in wait behind the door.

"I do try." Porthos retorted with a sly smirk as he raised his foot and kicked the door in. Though it had been made of a thick wood, years of rot and wear caused it to splinter off its hinges under the force of Porthos' blow.

With the door in pieces upon the floor, the seconds that followed were slightly anti-climatic. The trio carefully crossed the house's threshold, hands poised and ready in case there were assailants that lay in wait in the long shadows that seemed to stretch the length of the corridors.

"Perhaps we have the wrong place?" Aramis wondered softly as they moved throughout the house delicately.

A muffled noise from behind the far door, alerted Athos to the presence behind it. Alerting the others with a short whistle, Athos stood poised before the door, his hand upon the handle apprehensively, waiting for the others to assume their positions.

Feeling the presence of Aramis and Porthos at his back, Athos swung open the door violently and stepped into the room. There, Athos found the house's occupants with ease. Ten men sat around a large table starring up at the three intruders to their home.

"I am looking for…" Athos paused, suddenly realising in all the chaos and anxiety he had never learnt the name of this mysterious moneylender Vincent was so indebted to, "…the owner of this residence." He concluded, though he had utterly lost his commanding tone towards the end of the sentence.

"Do you not even know his name?" Aramis frowned a little at Athos' fumble.

"I never caught it," Athos shrugged slightly, unfazed by the blunder.

"I am Pierre Héron," a tall thin man stepped forward. He was handsome with the sort of effortless charm women flocked towards. Héron looked slightly sickly, slick oiled grey and white hair clung in patched upon an almost balding skull and a large Roman nose hanging off his face, gave him the appearance of the bird that he took his name from. "To what do I owe the pleasure of his Majesty's finest?"

"Where is d'Artagnan?" Athos stepped forward, his hand upon the hilt of his sword as means of a subtle threat towards those around them.

"Who?" Héron frowned, looking genuinely confused by the mention of the young musketeer.

"That's that lad's name, the grumpy one," one man informed his employer, "The Gascon's little friend."

"Oh you are here to settle his debt?" Héron smiled brightly as if he were talking to old friends. "I must say, musketeers indeed. Vincent must have some friends in high places."

"Vincent can settle his own debts, we're here for d'Artagnan." Athos stated clearly, he was not here to bail out that cowardly wretch. Vincent would have to be a man and deal with his problems himself.

"Seems we have a slight problem, gentlemen," Héron sighed with faked disappointment. "See that boy must remain with me until I am payed."

In that moment, the remaining men at the table stood up, bearing their weapons as a clear sign of a threat.

"In that case, we do have a problem." Athos' stare turned cold as he took in a breath, surveying the room within a second. Unsheathing his rapier effortlessly, he mentally prepared for the oncoming storm.

Aramis started the fight with a blast from his pistol, quickly felling an approaching man. It was far too close quarters to load and fire his arquebus, though that did not stop him using it to slam it into the unfortunate kneecaps of an approaching assailant. This brought the man down instantly, allowing Aramis to knock him out cold, slamming the butt of his gun into the man's head.

Athos attempted to divide the men in thirds, pushing his way past two men easily before engaging the men behind them, leaving Aramis and Porthos to deal with the men closer to the door.

The men upon them were clearly not musketeers, or even Red Guards. Though they did have some skill with the swords they wielded, any blows they dealt seemed to be more due to luck than their abilities.

Porthos had apparently begun to improvise, using chairs to fell the assailants to the ground, though the men had quickly learnt to avoid Porthos and seemed to pick off Aramis as the easier target.

"Porthos!" Athos called out as he saw four men backing Aramis into a corner, with two men of his own to deal with, Athos would not be able to make it across the room to prevent anything.

"Already on it!" Porthos laughed as he kicked a man to the floor, reaching out with his rapier to slash the unprotected back of one of the men crowding Aramis.

Laughing in victory, Porthos did not see the blade until it met flesh, slicing across the side of his throat as the larger musketeer gasped against the burning pain.

"Porthos!" Aramis cried out in fury, alerting Athos' attention instantly. Athos turned to see Porthos still fighting with one hand gripping his neck tight, blood pooled between the larger musketeer's fingers. From this angle, Athos could not see if the wound was serious or not, all he could see was blood upon Porthos' hand and a worried and anxious Aramis laying waste to any and all that stood between him and Porthos.

Once Porthos had been injured, the battle was over within a few minutes. The carnage of the room was minimal, especially given the number of men that had charged them. Though most were just unconscious, there were a few that would never walk out of this room - mainly those who had tried to engage Aramis after Porthos had been wounded.

As Aramis saw to Porthos' injuries, Athos took the liberty of confronting Héron, kicking the bird-like man to the floor with little effort.

"What do you want?" Héron whimpered under Athos' boot, his eyes wide and fearful of the tip of the musketeer's sword at his throat. "Please."

"D'Artagnan," Athos asked simply, "where is he?"

"Basement!" Héron yelped meekly, a shaking hand pointing towards a door in the far corner.

"Is he hurt?" Athos growled, edging the blade closer to the man's jugular.

"No! He's fine, we did not touch him." Héron cried out desperately.

Athos looked over the cowardly man at his feet for a brief moment, debating the need to kill him or not. Though in the end he decided against it, let the man suffer in his wretched life. Ignoring the sobbing thanks from the man upon the floor, Athos walked over the door Héron had pointed to, suddenly feeling his anxiety rise once more. Was d'Artagnan still angry with him? Was he hurt? And if so, how badly?

"Get off," Porthos muttered, alerting Athos' attention for a moment. Porthos slapped away Aramis' prying hand as the shorter man fretted over the weeping gash upon his neck. "It's fine, stop fussing."

"It may require stitching," Aramis told him with a frown, "might scar," he added biting his bottom lip slightly as he examined the oozing wound.

"I'll add it to my collection." Porthos grinned smugly, "Women love a man with scars."

Aramis smirked a little at this, though his worry was still clear, pulling a piece of clean cloth from his doublet, tucked in safe in case of need, and applied it upon Porthos' gash.

Athos flickered his gaze back towards Aramis, raising silent concern for Aramis' grumbling patient.

"I'm fine," Porthos sighed with a touch of annoyance, catching the looks between the two musketeers. "Go rescue our little damsel."

"I'd like to see you call him that to his face," Aramis challenged with a wicked grin.

"What and get a nice shiner to match my neck?" Porthos snorted, giving Aramis a knowing stare. "I may not be smart but I know there are two types of people in life you don't insult; women and Gascons."

"Guess I should have abided by that rule this morning…" Athos muttered, stuck stoic before the door to the basement, willing his hands to open the door but finding them frozen by his side.

"He may be stubborn, but there is not doubt that he loves you dearly, I'm sure he's already forgiven the entire thing." Aramis told him gently.

"I know, I am stalling, I am simply dreading what will happen once I open the door."

"No, you're right, he's probably dead, let's leave then shall we?" Aramis clapped his hands together in a facetious display, pretending to leave.

To this Athos sent the coldest of glares in the musketeer's direction, his teeth clenched tight to convey his silent fury.

"Athos, go talk to him."

Feeling there was no other option, Athos nodded and opened the door, grabbing the ring of glinting keys upon the hook next to it, apprehensive of what he would find.

†††

The cellar was cold and damp and horrid. Water puddled upon the floor, though its source unclear. A musty smell clung to the walls making the room feel smaller than it was, heavy with thick air.

The sharp sound of chain's clinking alerted Athos' attention instantly to the far wall, where a shard of light from the top window illuminated a hunched figure. The figure was unmistakably d'Artagnan. Athos would recognise that mop of dark hair and those shoulders in a crowd of thousands.

The young Gascon sat leaning against the wall, his head bowed down looking at his hands that were hidden in his lap. From this angle, Athos could not tell whether the boy was conscious or not. D'Artagnan's shoulder's rose and fell with a slight wince to his breath, though Athos wasn't sure whether this was simply due to his crouched position or if was due to some hidden injury.

"D'Artagnan?" Athos waited anxiously with bated breath as he stepped towards the boy, eyes watching him carefully.

"Go away," d'Artagnan grumbled, sounding rather frustrated, though he did not look up.

Athos took in a silent breath of relief as d'Artagnan spoke. If d'Artagnan had the strength to still be stroppy and moody, he was not so badly injured.

"After all we have done to get in here?" Athos scoffed petulantly, though inwardly relieved the boy was conscious and speaking. "I think not."

At this d'Artagnan finally looked up at Athos, allowing the musketeer to see the damage. A split lip and a bruised jaw seemed to be the extent of his injuries, which Athos was thankful for. His mind earlier had been supplying images of the boy beaten beyond recognition, which had caused him a great deal of anguish.

"I'm still angry at you and this," d'Artagnan nodded to the manacles fastened tightly around his wrists, "disproves my point."

"So you wish me leave you here? Let you sit in those chains?" Athos supplied sceptically as he leaned against the wall, looking down at his protégé with an eyebrow raised.

"Yes, now go away, I will meet you back at the garrison," d'Artagnan sniffed in a petulant way.

"Don't be a f –" Athos froze upon the word as d'Artagnan's head shot up at him, the Gascon's dark brown eyes daring him to continue. "Don't be so stubborn." Athos continued, sliding his back down to wall so that he and d'Artagnan sat side by side upon the damp muddied ground of the cellar.

"I'm not weak," d'Artagnan replied tightly, turning to scowl at the floor once more, "I don't need to be mollycoddled and treated like some lost puppy you lot adopted out of pity."

"We do not think you are not weak, d'Artagnan, nor do we think you an incompetent child," Athos sighed, "Tréville would never have commissioned you if you were anything but an exemplary solider."

"Then why do you all hide things from me? I see it, you all conceal things from when you think they might be dangerous. It's always don't worry about it, d'Artagnan or never mind, it is over, and my absolute favourite, everything's fine now." D'Artagnan snarled, though his anger seemed to be mostly pent up frustration than anything else. "Why must I always be kept in the dark? I am a musketeer of the King and yet you all treat me like I am made of glass. Do you not trust me? You think I can't handle things for myself?"

Athos raised his brow in mock scepticism as he looked towards d'Artagnan's chained wrists.

"This doesn't count." D'Artagnan glared, "There were five of them and they knocked me out before I could grab my sword."

This alerted Athos' attention to the boy's hairline, where he could see a thin gash and a patch of dark red blending into d'Artagnan's naturally dark hair.

"I'm fine," d'Artagnan sighed in a tired tone, sounding exasperated by the whole affair.

"You claim you want transparency between us and yet you hide things from me also…" Athos told him carefully.

"Vincent was my business, you should have let me handle it." D'Artagnan sighed wearily. "I knew Vincent was a manipulating idiot, which is why I tried to keep him away from you all. I was worried you might think us alike…"

"Then you clearly do not know us as you think you do." Athos informed him, "you should have come to us. But I do not think Vincent is the sole reason for your anger this morning."

"He said you all baby me, that you only see me as some novelty you keep around," d'Artagnan murmured sullenly, making Athos furious.

"Then he clearly does not know anything about us or you, we do not mollycoddle you." Athos told the young musketeer seriously.

"But you do though, you claim that you all trust me but then you utterly undermine me whenever I make decisions for myself. I'm a King's musketeer and you treat me like a some useless kid."

"D'Artagnan, yes, you are a King's musketeer, one of the finest in the regiment, if I may say so," Athos told him, causing the younger man to look up once more, "but you are also young and are inexperienced as a soldier. Our protection of you is not mollycoddling, it's training. You must understand, Porthos grew up in the Court, Aramis is a season solider of many a year…" Athos informed him, "The three of us have been nigh inseparable for five years now, you cannot compare how we see each other to how we see you." Athos let this hang in the air for a moment. "We do not see you as weak or incompetent, perhaps a little foolhardy at times but never a coward." Athos told him with a smile tugging the corners of his mouth. "You are truly one of us, d'Artagnan, which has been a rare experience for myself especially. I've been told recently that I sometimes come off as intimidating and unsociable."

At this d'Artagnan snorted audibly at Athos' confession.

"You are still learning, d'Artagnan," Athos continued, "we could never forgive ourselves if something were to happen to you because we have failed in our training or our protection of you."

"I know, it's just…" d'Artagnan sighed, "it makes me feel so useless, like I'm the weakest link in the chain…"

"D'Artagnan, how many covert assignments do you think I went on during my first year of commission? How many of the King's missives do you think Porthos carried out when he first joined? Do you think Aramis would have been allowed to attend parades even before he joined the ranks?"

Athos let the questions hang in the air for the moment, watching d'Artagnan looking a little guilty and put out.

"You are a newly recruited musketeer, d'Artagnan, you must remember this. Most recruits are on sentry duty for their first year, they spend their time on parades and if they're lucky they may go on a few training exercisers or a hunt with the King." Athos informed the younger man. "Most recruits your age have to spend two years in les Essarts' regiment before they are even considered for the King's private guard."

"Really?" d'Artagnan wondered aloud.

"Really. Why do you think all les Essarts' guards dislike you?"

"Oh, I just thought it was because I was from Gascony…" d'Artagnan frowned thoughtfully.

Athos smirked a little at this, before continuing, "Like it or not, we are going to try keep you out of harms way when we can, but it not because we do not think you cannot handle yourself if need be. You are our brother d'Artagnan and we will have your back only because we know that if the situation were different, you would do the same."

"I just don't want to be a burden,"

"You could never be a burden to us, d'Artagnan." Athos told him in earnest, "We have all had times when have needed each other, just because today is your turn does not mean that tomorrow Aramis will not be the one, or Porthos, or myself."

"Tomorrow's a Sunday," d'Artagnan pointed out absently.

"Ugh," Athos ducked his head, "then it is most likely that it will be Aramis."

This made d'Artagnan chuckle cheekily at Athos' attempt at humour.

"I am sorry for the things I said this morning," d'Artagnan apologised sincerely, biting his lip slightly as he met Athos' gaze.

Athos gave d'Artagnan an acknowledging nod, though said nothing in reply. They had aired their grievances and had settled the anger between them, nothing more needed to be said upon the matter.

"So, does this mean you wish me to release you?" Athos wondered after a moment, "or shall I inform the others that you have move lodgings in favour of a cellar? It's rather dark, but I'm sure the rats would enjoy your company."

D'Artagnan gave a meek smirk before moving his chained wrists closer to the musketeer.

With a click of the lock, Athos unshackled the heavy iron manacles, freeing d'Artagnan's hands. However the wreckage Athos found between the iron, curled his stomach. D'Artagnan's wrists were rubbed raw, slick with dark blood in a disturbingly mangled display of flesh. They looked horridly painful - how had d'Artagnan been laughed and smiling with him mere moments ago with this torturing him?

"Good God, what have you done to yourself?" Athos sucked in a tight breath, taking the boy's wrists gingerly in his hands, taking extra caution with their bloodied stated.

"The shackles proved to be a little harder to slip than ropes," d'Artagnan winced as Athos brought the young Gascon's hands into the shard of light.

"I take back everything I said," Athos growled, "you are an idiot…"

D'Artagnan pouted a little at the insult, creasing his brow and his mood deflated.

Athos cringed at the thought that a single word had completely changed d'Artagnan's mood, the boy even seemed to be in more pain now that he was focusing solely upon his oozing wrists. It was clear that distraction worked best with d'Artagnan when it came to dealing with pain.

"But do not think you are alone with that title," Athos noted with a small sigh, attracting the boy's attention instantly, "Did you know, Porthos once fell out a window while trying to put a boot on…?"

"Seriously?" d'Artagnan gapped is amused awe.

"He was rather drunk at the time." Athos explained lightly, "Luckily Aramis was there to catch his fall." He added with a touch of dark humour.

D'Artagnan cringed at the thought.

"Broke three of my ribs," Aramis noted casually, alerting the two of his presence as he appeared at the bottom of the stairs, looking nonchalant and carefree even with a few flecks of blood upon his face and sword.

"If we're swapping tales of stupidity, Athos' list's far longer than ours," Porthos chuckled as he made his way down the staircase, a clean bandage wrapped around his throat.

"Come, we should get back," Athos told them, "the sun will be down soon."

"I'm so tired I could sleep for a week," d'Artagnan sighed as they began to make their leave.

"Not with that concussion, you're not." Aramis noted casually as he began assessing the boy's injuries.

†††

They had made it back to the garrison with no further complications or damages to those wounded. Aramis had practically screeched over d'Artagnan's wrists, as did Porthos, though as he was also injured he also received worried glances from d'Artagnan. Once back in the familiar walls of the Musketeer's garrison, Athos began to relax. Porthos' injury was not as bad as they had previously thought and had already stopped oozing blood and d'Artagnan's biggest issue was his wrist and the concussion on top of his already weary state.

In the corner of his eye, a flash of blonde hair in the fading sunlight caught Athos' attention instantly as he saw the blonde Gascon slink against the walls of the garrison, clearly still wanting something from them after everything he had caused since he had arrived in their lives.

Wishing to talk to the Gascon alone, Athos turned to Aramis, "Look after them," he told him softly as he paused in the courtyard of the garrison.

"I always do," Aramis returned but then frowned slightly, "where are you going?"

Athos gestured his gaze over to the blonde's hiding spot,

"I'll leave you to it." Aramis nodded quietly, moving off towards the infirmary without a word to Porthos, clearly not wanting Porthos to engage with Vincent, in case it would cause further damage to his neck wound.

Once the others were out of sight, Athos approached the man in the shadows.

"D'Artagnan's alive," Athos drawled coolly, visibly making the other man jump in surprise, "if you care to know…"

"What? Oh yeah, good, phew," Vincent recovered shamelessly, "I knew he'd be fine, that kid always lands on his feet."

"What do you want Vincent?" Athos watched the man before him with careful precision.

"Did you kill Héron and all his men?" Vincent asked, clearly not wishing to beat around the question.

"No," Athos revealed delicately. It was not his fault Vincent had phrased the question wrong.

"Christ," Vincent paled, running a shaking hand through his hair.

"Can I still borrow four hundred liver?" Vincent tried, looking utterly pathetic.

"No," Athos scoffed in disbelief. Was that truly all the man cared about?

"No, please, I'm desperate –"

"Héron is not dead but his is most probably dying, so he is no doubt distracted for the time being. I'm sure if you were to leave Paris, he and his remaining men would have a hard time in finding out."

"But I don't – "

"If you need further incentive, I would be happy to threaten you." Athos supplied casually though his eyes were sharp and menacing.

"I see," Vincent nodded numbly, taking in all that Athos had just explained to him.

"Go," Athos uttered, his voice low and dangerously still. "And do not return to this city, otherwise I may be inclined to send Héron your whereabouts."

"Can you tell d'Artagnan I said goodbye?" Vincent requested quietly after a moment, "and that I'm sorry I got him into this mess."

"I'll pass on the message."

"Look, I know you all pretty much hate me, but I'm glad he found you lot." Vincent confessed with earnest, "He really is a good guy and I'm happy he's finally found people that see that and care about him."

Slightly confused as to the nature of Vincent's confession, Athos simply nodded in thanks.

"I'll see you round 'Thos," Vincent chuckled as he walked out into the light of the setting sun.

"Another you have frightened out of Paris on pain death," Aramis' chuckled as he stepped out of the shadows, the fading orange glow of the sun catching on his features.

"I have a list." Athos retorted with a deadpanned expression.

"It seems to be growing rapidly, perhaps I may see it one day?" Aramis pondered simply.

"Not unless you want to be on it." Athos smirked a little as he caught Aramis' gaze. "D'Artagnan?"

"Porthos is with him." Aramis informed him, before adding, "They'll both be fine after a few days rest."

"You were right." Athos sighed as he watched the sun slowly sink behind the rooftops.

"I usually am, but what was it this time?" Aramis frowned slightly.

"I should have trusted d'Artagnan to handle things on his own, if I had not have pushed him, he would not have been in that cellar today."

"Athos, we can never know the true course of the world, who's to say what would have happened?" Aramis announce poetically as he made his way to the courtyard's archway.

"Where are you off to?" Athos raised his brow suspiciously.

"To fetch pastries and oranges from my apartments." Aramis smiled in return, "Porthos is a hound when it goes to knowing the contents of my pantries."

"Your maid simply fancies him, tells him anything he wishes." Athos revealed casually.

"Rosette?" Aramis gaped with mock astonishment, "that little traitor… we shall have words."

"All the best then," Athos nodded, before adding, "And bring back the Armagnac in your top left cupboard."

"Rosette, why must you desert me so?" Aramis sighed dramatically to the Heavens above.

Athos chuckled with contentment as he watched Aramis slink back into the shadows, becoming a silhouette against the slowly darkening Parisian streets.


Thanks for reading :)

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Next Chapter is the final one - d'Artagnan ~ 'in which d'Artagnan learns the dangers of keeping secrets'