a/n:
Disclaimer: I don't own the Musketeers, just gonna borrow them and their adventures.
Episode Tag: Season 1, Episode 2: Slight of Hand.
the M~U~S~K~E~T~E~E~R~S - S~R~E~E~T~E~K~S~U~M eht
Charl(i)es' Angels!
Pursuit 2: Slight of Hand
"You sure you're up for this?" Athos questioned quietly, standing in front of the Gascon, making sure the young man was focused on her and not the few men gathered farther down the road.
d'Artagnan scoffed, his doublet discard, and dressed in his simple shirt sleeves. "What are you talking about? Of course I can handle this guy."
She narrowed her blue eyes on his. "Don't get cocky, d'Artagnan. Get in and get out—nothing more."
He groaned quietly at the coddling. "I know, I know." He took a breath, and straightened under the Musketeer's stare. "I have this, Athos." This was more than just a duel, he knew.
Athos searched his brown gaze for a moment, wondering not for the first time, how big of a mistake this was to involve d'Artagnan, but it was too late now. She inclined her head gravely in response.
d'Artagnan passed her his left-hand glove and Athos made her way to the middle-even between the two opponents.
"You've got this, Charlie!" Aramis said encouragingly from behind him, grasping both his shoulders companionably.
"Thanks," he said, unsheathing his rapier and slashing the air in front of him for a bit of warm-up in the cold air. "And I'll let that go—for now." He indicated the name.
Aramis chuckled and let his shoulders go with a pat. "You're always so good to me."
"Watch out, 'e'll strike when you're least expectin' it." Porthos warned her. "I'll be happily watching an' waitin' for the happy moment!"
Aramis ignored her and said to him, "What's the most vital thing to remember in a duel?"
He didn't have to think before he answered. "Honour."
"Wrong!" Porthos smacked him on the back of the head and he shot her a look. "Not getting' killed, right? Bitin', kickin', gougin'—it's all good."
He wasn't so sure about that, even as Aramis nodded along. "I was raised to fight like a gentlemen."
"Were you meant to die young?" she countered, "'Cause that's what'll happen. You think 'e's a gentlemen?" she looked across at his opponent.
"So, you want me to fight dirty?" he shook his head.
"We want you to fight smart." Aramis countered.
d'Artagnan took a deep breath and narrowed his eyes, as the man started running through the thin layer of snow, even before Athos signalled the start of the duel. He only managed to take a couple long strides forward, pulling his main gauche before the man was on him. Several quick strikes and he was relieved of the long dagger.
d'Artagnan backed a couple quick steps away from the two women and the man, back towards Athos, blocked a sword strike and punched the man. But the elbow he got to the face in return was more effective, putting him on his knees. He held his sword over his head to block the heavy downward stroke, but the man quickly aimed a kick to the side of his head—which he got his arm up just in time to stave off any severe damage. On his back now, he quickly rolled from the cheap foot-stomp.
d'Artagnan decided to take Porthos' advice—he was in a bind after all. This guy was fast, and he came hard. It was more of a challenge than the Gascon predicted. Though he didn't have much experience with fighting actual duels. His first opponent had been Athos, after all. His first killing, the man in the barn at the inn where his father was murdered.
His foot shut up as the guy made to impale him on the ground and his boot landed at the man's family jewels and he doubled over in pain, stumbling back. d'Artagnan quickly took the opportunity to jump to his feet.
"Nothing personal, mate." He said as the man clutched himself, feeling sympathy pains himself. But this was business. It was him, or the other guy—and no offence to the other guy, d'Artagnan just liked himself a bit better, was all.
"I taught 'im that move!" Porthos said proudly.
"Being a man, I don't think he's likely to forget." Aramis said.
Oh, yeah. d'Artagnan remembered that day well, and he wasn't like to forget it:
The four of them had been in the garrison's yard, and while all the other Musketeers trained, Porthos offered to teach him some hand-to-hand fighting techniques. d'Artagnan had instantly accepted. He had honestly thought his days would be jam-packed full of adventure, sword-fights, missions and justice—but it had been almost two weeks and Captain Treville had yet to give his three best any missions since the Gascon had decided to stay in Paris and become a Musketeer himself. He needed something to get his heart pounding and his blood pumping, otherwise he'd start pulling his hair—or worse, theirs. And if he knew anything about women, you didn't do that—especially when they were as skilled with swords and manner of all else as the Inseparables.
"You ready for this?" Porthos wondered, relinquishing her weapons belt to Aramis, d'Artagnan doing the same. It had been such a long time since someone had faced her so willingly
d'Artagnan laughed at the question, his knees bent and arms in front of him. "Just come at me, already."
"He sure has a death wish," Aramis said aside to Athos, amused.
"Don't we all?" Athos sat back.
He never fought a woman before, never had the occasion. But who knew what his days would hold now, what villains he might face in his undertaking to become a Musketeer? He would need to be prepared for all possible outcomes—he just wished that he knew what was in store for him, a couple minutes from now. Maybe, he would have done things differently with his life...
Porthos wasn't afraid to go straight at him head-on, and he braced himself for the impact as he turned slightly to the side. She caught him around the middle, and jerked him to the side—something he hadn't quite been expecting—and he stumbled.
It a surprise move, he grabbed her behind the left knee and jerked it up, his hand at her opposite shoulder pushing down, and he ploughed her to the ground. She grunted lightly at the impacted.
He couldn't believe it, he'd gotten the woman on the ground. But Porthos didn't seem so upset, in fact, she was grinning up at him wickedly. "The fights not over just yet, lad!" and she drew back her knee.
He knew it was too good to be true, he wasn't going to let his guard down when they fought like this ever again—because, he realized too late, that she had let him take her down.
d'Artagnan had never felt pain so sharp in his life. It was like his heart stopped beating, like time itself stopped moving. He thought he might have blacked out, because the next time he was coherent, he found himself on his back, blinking up on the sky, three beautiful women looking down at him with a mixture of amused concern.
"What happened?" he croaked.
"Porthos! You broke him," Aramis admonished jokingly, " And we just got him, too!" d'Artagnan bit back a whimper as he let the Spaniard pull him to his feet.
"Did not!" said woman protested. "Lookit 'im, right as rain."
Porthos made to pat him consolingly on the back and he couldn't stopped the flinch. She stilled for a second at his reaction and the heat of embarrassment on his face, and boomed out laughing.
He jumped sky-high for the rest of the day every time Porthos made any sudden moves, and she wasn't afraid to make a game out of it. Yes, it was not likely he would forget it.
This time, as the man straightened, d'Artagnan went on the attack, sick of defending.
He lunged, blocked, lunged, blocked, struck, circled, blocked, struck, struck, struck, blocked. And then he pulled a three-sixty, putting power behind his sword, his feet leaving the ground, he hit the man with a powerful slash that disarmed him and laid him out.
"Lay down your weapons!"
"Red Guards." Porthos cursed.
"Red Guards!" Aramis sounded the alarm.
Every man and woman scatter, the Inseparables heading one way, the other men another. d'Artagnan was about to follow his Angels, when he doubled back for his fallen main gauche, but the five Red Guards on horseback cut him off from following the Musketeers, and he was forced to retreat in another direction.
He knew there was no way that he would be able to outrun men on horseback, but he wasn't going to just let himself be arrest. So he raced through the snow like the devil was on his tail—and in some ways, it was.
Athos, Aramis and Porthos stopped as they realized their friend wasn't with them and saw him racing through the sparse wood with four Red Guard on his heels.
"There's nothing we can do for him." Athos said gravely, her eyes narrowed in worry. It really was truly too late now.
Porthos sighed. "No point in all of us gettin' arrested."
"He knows the Musketeer motto," Aramis agreed heavily, "'Every woman for herself!' Or something along those lines." she clapped the two women on the back and didn't see a point a sticking around. The others soon followed quickly.
And Red Guard cantered beside him, and d'Artagnan glanced up just in time for the man's heavy boot to catch him in the ribs, sending him tumbling into the snow and leaves. He quickly got back onto his feet as the five Red Guard formed a moving circle around him.
"You're under arrest for illegal duelling." The leader claimed, reigning in his mount beside d'Artagnan, where kicked the young man in the center of the chest, forcing him again to the ground.
This was going to be fun, the Gascon thought. He wanted excitement, and now he was to have it.
They bound his wrists tightly with ropes and tied him to the back of one of the horses. And he was dragged back into town and to the Chatelet.
"Say hello to your new neighbour, Vadim." The jailer said, shoving d'Artagnan to the filthy ground of the cell by the barred door. He locked the shackled around his wrists and pummelled him with a makeshift club, leaving him groaning before slamming the door shut and locking him in.
And so it began.
Treville gathered the Musketeers in the yard, the Inseparables front and center as he dressed the three women down.
"You all knew the penalty for duelling, yet you let d'Artagnan go ahead. Regardless."
"I don't like this," Aramis murmured aside to Porthos. "I've never been unpopular before."
"Did any of you think at all?" Treville asked.
"Try tradin' places with me," Porthos muttered, gaze straight ahead.
Aramis glanced at her. "But you're used to it." Porthos shot her a scowl. "I'm more the romantic hero type." Now it was a look of disgust.
Porthos could have said a few this on that subject-line, but Treville's approached stopped her—probably for the best.
Treville stepped up to Aramis, his expression anything but amused. "d'Artagnan is in prison because of you. Alone." She looked down in shame.
Trevilled stepped in front of Porthos. "Friendless." He moved to Athos on the other side of her. "Condemned. I hope you're very proud!" Athos remained stone-faced. Treville turned from them in disgust. "Dismissed!" he shouted, heading up the stairs back to his office.
The other Musketeers dispersed, shoving shoulders with the three of them in passing. The three women shared looks. It had been hard enough to gain the respect of their fellow Musketeers, being women, and now this...
When the yard cleared, the three quickly made their way to Treville's office and shut the door.
They let out a collective breath.
"Congratulations!" Treville nodded. "You had me convinced. And I knew the whole this was a charade." Still, the three didn't look happy at all. He sat behind his desk with a sigh. "d'Artagnan was taken to the Chatelet at 10:00 this morning. He's awaiting execution, at His Majesty's pleasure."
The line of Athos' mouth hardened. There was nothing pleasurable about this. "I still think one of us should have went in." She said.
Treville shook his head. "It wouldn't have worked. d'Artagnan's less conspicuous just by being a man. As well, the three of you are too known in Paris. Vadim would be too suspicious from the start."
Athos knew that was true, but that didn't change her feelings. While she knew the good that d'Artagnan had done his first days in Paris, proving Gaudet's guilt and her own innocence, she couldn't stop the dread and unease in the pit of her stomach—the ones that she would like nothing more that to drown in wine. But drinking was the last thing that she should be doing right now.
"We certainly fooled the rest of the men." Aramis scoffed in distaste. "They hate us."
Porthos paced, her guilt clear. "They think we betrayed a friend." She shook her head in self-disgust. "It makes me sick."
"Provoking a duel was a brilliant idea." Treville countered their melancholy. "The world had to believe that d'Artagnan's arrest was genuine."
"He's a Gascon farm boy," Athos replied harshly. "There's too much at stake."
Aramis and Porthos looked at the woman in surprise.
"You've seen him," Aramis protested. "He's a good fighter."
"This isn't about fighting." She snapped.
"He has to prove himself sometime," Treville interupted as Aramis and Porthos glared at Athos with heat, while she gave them a cold stare in return. "So why not now?"
"I think 'e can do it." Porthos said firmly. "I'm a pretty good judge of character."
Aramis snorted at that last bit, though she believed very much in the first. "You're a terrible judge of character, especially when you're sober."
"Not 'bout this! You know I'm right."
"Enough." Sometimes they were worse than men, Treville thought. He continued once all eyes were on him. He knew they weren't going to like what he was going to say next, but that was what being Captain meant sometimes. "Vadim stole enough gunpowder to start a small war. Where is it? What's he planning? Where are his men? If d'Artagnan can bring us the answers, then his life is worth the risk."
Athos bit her tongue to keep her sharp denial quiet, because she knew that it was the truth. Any of their lives would be worth that information. Women, men, if didn't matter—they were Musketeers, and d'Artagnan would become one. It was their duty and their honour.
"Tomorrow is Good Friday," Treville continued, "The Queen pardons a few deserving prisoners at this time every year. I've put you all on her guard detail. You can check on him then." He looked at each of them before dismissing the women. They filed out with slumped shoulders, but being allowed to see d'Artagnan tomorrow was a weight lightened of worry.
d'Artagnan tried not to let it get to him, he'd only been in the cell half a day. He had more important things to do than allow fear to creep in at what might happen to him if something beyond his, and the Musketeers', control occurred. He needed to get the information about that stolen gunpowder, that was what he was here to do.
He glanced over at the man and watched as he flipped a coin deftly through the fingers on his left hand. A dry smirked tugged at the corner of the man's mouth as he caught the Gascon's curious gaze and showed him his hand. Flipping the coin into his palm several times, turning his hand, he finally clenched the coin and when he turned his palm up and opened it, the coin had vanished.
"How did you do that?" d'Artagnan had been keeping a close eye on it, but he saw nothing that could explain away the magic—even as he knew it was slight of hand, he couldn't help but wonder.
"The secret to a good trick? Make people look the wrong way." It was the first time that Vadim had spoken to him since he arrived. And then he brandished the coin at the tips of his right-hand fingers with a sly smile.
The jailer came it with two bowls of food, first setting one on the ground for Vadim and then d'Artagnan. The Gascon picked it up and looked at the contents with disgust. "Erm... what is this?" He picked up the rotting body of a mouse from the stew by its tail.
"Mutton stew."
He scoffed. "Mutton is the one that goes baa and had wool on it."
Jailer kicked the bowl from his hands, spilling the contents across the floor. d'Artagnan didn't feel much at its loss; he wouldn't have ate it anyways—he wasn't that hungry yet. He quickly put his arms up to protect himself, curling against the bars as the jailer came at him with that club of his.
"You can starve for all I care, Musketeer!" he sneered, locking the door before he disappeared down the hall.
d'Artagnan silently cursed. As much as he might have been proud to be called or considered a Musketeer, now was the time that he least needed to be associated with that title. The whole point of him volunteering for this mission (other than being male and wanting to prove himself), was because he wasn't known, nor a Musketeer.
"I'm no Musketeer." d'Artagnan told Vadim. He made sure to show contempt, even when he only for respect for Treville, the Inseparables and the other Musketeer men. "They betrayed me and I hate them for it."
Vadim said nothing, but turned his back on the Gascon and d'Artagnan cursed his bad luck. It was going to be even harder now that Vadim would associate him with the Musketeers. He needed that information!
Constance arrived at the garrison with her husband, who met with Treville about cloth and she instantly confronted the three women.
"A beautiful morning, Madame Bonacieux!" Aramis greeted, with faux cheerfulness.
"I doubt it looks so good from inside the Chatelet prison." She returned coldly.
"You've heard about d'Artagnan?" Athos said.
"You know, th' story is greatly exaggerated." Porthos tried to smooth over the obvious rift.
"Really?" she replied. "I was told you led him into danger and then abandoned him."
"That one's 'bout right." she hung her head.
"He's you're friend, or so I thought after all that he did for you. So what are you going to do about it?"
"We've been getting along well, but I wouldn't say we're friends, exactly." Aramis lied to her, they had to keep up the charade, no matter how much it felt a betrayal towards d'Artagnan's friendship.
Constance's beautiful face tightened with fury and she didn't hesitate in slapping the woman in front of her. "He trusted you!"
Her husband Bonacieux raced down the steps. "My most humble apologies, mademoiselle! I cannot think what came over her."
Aramis shook her head. "You're wife's actions were fully justified, Monsieur. It is I who should apologize."
Bonacieux grabbed Constance's arm and dragged her, tight-lipped, from the garrison.
Aramis sighed and looked after them, feeling a bit bad and something else that wasn't entirely appropriate given the situation. "God," she touched her stinging cheek. "I love that in a women."
"What? Passion?" Porthos asked.
She grinned over her shoulder at the other woman. "Violence."
"Easy, tiger." Porthos shook her head. "She's taken." Though whether she was referring to the woman's husband exactly, or d'Artagnan, was in question.
"A girl can imagine." She sighed, she'd never step on their friend's toes like that. His affection for the married woman was clear, even after this short time.
Vadim dropped to the ground and started to seize. Panic took d'Artagnan and his heart leapt into his throat. If Vadim died, then all of this would be for nothing. They would have no more leads towards the stolen gunpowder, and it would only be a matter of time before Vadim's second used it for whatever destruction in his name.
He yelled desperately for the jailer and it felt like forever before the man was annoyed enough to come to their shared cell.
About to chew d'Artagnan a new one, he stopped when he noticed Vadim convulsing on the ground. "What's wrong with 'im?"
"Can't you see he's having a fit? Help him!" d'Artagnan's hands clenched around the metal bars.
"He's probably faking it." The jailer muttered and opened the cell warily.
Vadim suddenly stopped and was very still and d'Artagnan held his breath as the jailer nudged him with his boot, pushing the still man onto his back. "Well, that takes care of that." He bent down, a grin on his lips as he retrieved Vadim's fallen coin and turned to leave.
d'Artagnan filled with dread. It was over. He was dead and it was over—
"Of course I was faking it, you idiot." Vadim sat up. The jailer spun around in surprise, coin clenched in his hand. "Missing something?" Vadim shook the Chatelet key ring at the other man before he punched him hard enough to knock him out cold. Taking his coin back, he stepped over the unconscious man and out the cell.
"Wait!" d'Artagnan cried and Vadim paused to look at him. "Take me with you, I can help." He said desperately. He couldn't let Vadim get away and be left locked up. He told Athos and the others that he could handle this. Athos might've tried to tell him that it was 'Musketeers Business', but that didn't change the fact that it would be made Paris' problem when Vadim decided to use that gunpowder. "I will do whatever you want!"
He held his breath as the man considered.
"Ch. Alright, then." Vadim let him out.
He followed close behind the man dim passageway, passed cells. "Hey! Come on, Vadim! Don't leave us in here!"
When Vadim tossed d'Artagnan the keys and told him to release the other prisoners, though filled with dread, the Gascon couldn't refuse. He knew the man didn't make the choice because of a soft heart. One massive prison break would be a good distraction for them to slip away in.
They passed a door, just as it opened and Athos stood in the doorway. Prisoners instantly crowded her, and her and d'Artagnan locked surprised gazes for an instant before Athos had to act. "Come on!" d'Artagnan pulled Vadim away.
What was Athos doing there? Was she insane? It could blow the whole mission!
What the hell did d'Artagnan think he was doing? "Escape!" Athos shouted, backing-up despite her wanting to charge into the mass. This was definitely the last thing they needed, nor she expected. What the hell was d'Artagnan thinking?! "Escape!"
The small courtyard, where the Inseparables, Treville, a few more Musketeers, some Red Guards and the Queen were was soon crowded, overflowing with prisoners.
"Protect the Queen!" Treville shouted, expending his pistol shot.
It was chaos. Pistol fire, the clang of swords, the cries cut off in death. It was amidst this that Vadmin managed to kill a Musketeer and grab the Queen.
Everything instantly stilled.
It felt wrong to d'Artagnan, to be standing next to Vadim while he held the Queen and do nothing about it. "Open the gate, and let us leave and the Queen will be unharmed!" Vadim shouted, the barrel of his stolen pistol against her temple, his arm wrapped around her chest.
d'Artagnan locked eyes with Treville, the only one in his line of sight and one that could give the order, and gave a firm, but subtle nod. Allowing the criminal to leave was the last thing that the Captain wanted to do, especially after assaulting the Queen like this, but he had little option.
"Do it! Open the gate!"
The Red Guard did as ordered after a moments hesitation, and d'Artagnan glanced behind them to see a few men on the bridge, accompanied by a couple riderless horses. "If you kill the Queen, they'll shoot us all dead." d'Artagnan hissed to the man when Vadim didn't let the Queen go.
"No hard feelings, My Queen." He kissed her temple and shoved her away. "Let's go!" he jumped onto the horse and the Gascon quickly mounted the second mare.
d'Artagnan and Vadim disappeared from sight on horseback and gunfire instantly erupted in the courtyard again, everyone having time to reload on the pause. The Queen was stranded in the center, with nowhere to go, fear freezing her feet.
Aramis instantly zoned in on the woman and ran through the musket balls to get to her. Protect-the-Queen! the only thing on her mind. Royalty or not, she was a sucker for a woman in distress. Aramis pulled her to the ground and shielded her with her body. She could feel the Queen's frantic breath on her neck.
"I have you, Your Majesty."
Queen Anne made a small noise in the back of her throat, and gave a small jerky nod. Aramis turned her head slightly and looked the woman in the eyes. This close, the Musketeer could see the gold flecks in her irises. And it was like the fighting around them, faded.
Anne's breath slowed as Aramis' soft brown gaze stole the fear from her. She couldn't remember the last time she'd felt this safe—like how she wished she could feel in the King's arms, but doubted that she ever could.
"You're safe." Aramis whispered, her fingertips lightly brushed down her temple and cheek.
"Yes." She gasped.
"Send men after them!" Treville shouted. "See to the wounded! What the hell is your boy thinking, Athos?"
"I know as much as you do, sir." Athos answered in a tight voice that clearly bellied her anger.
And it was like reality snapped back into focus for the pair. "Are you alright?" Aramis sat up, her arm still wrapped around the Queen.
She nodded, then paused. "You're hurt." Aramis stilled as Anne reached with delicate fingers and carefully touched the side of her jaw.
"Nothing but a scratch, My Queen." Aramis gently took her hand.
Their gazes held again, and Aramis lost herself in it for too long a moment.
"Aramis!" Porthos called. "The Queen?"
The two quickly pulled apart.
"I am fine, thank you." Anne replied and Aramis helped her to her feet again.
"Your Majesty," Treville and Athos approached the three. "I apologize—Aramis and Porthos will escort you back to the Palace immediately if you are able."
Anne nodded. "That would be much appreciated, Captain." Still the picture of elegance and control, with a ring of Musketeers around her, the Queen left the Chatelet and its gruesome scene behind, but not the spark for the Musketeer woman who had protected her so.
"Tell me, kid—are you a Musketeer spy?"
"I've already told you—I'm not!" d'Artagnan seethed, pushing the fear of losing a finger down as he looked Vadim straight in the eye, his second with an arm wrapped around his throat.
"He's lyin'!" Felix said.
"Nah. I know a man's true nature by looking him in the eyes." Vadim removed his shackles instead of his finger. "I've never been wrong."
"But—"
"I said he's okay!"
Felix gave him a warning squeeze before he let go of his throat rough with a growl. d'Artagnan rubbed his wrists as the man sent a scathing glare his way as he crossed the room of Vadim's hideout. Vadim seemed to have accepted him into his group, but it was the man's second that d'Artagnan knew he was going to have to keep an eye open for when he slept.
He hoped that his friends were alright, but he was going to have to wait for his chance to slip away and meet up with them.
The Queen bid them to wait while she cleaned up from the encounter at the prison.
Porthos glanced at Aramis and the pleased curve at the corner of her lips. "The way I see it, the Queen 'ill probably be grateful, you saved her life..."
"But we did put her in danger in the first place." Aramis countered in amusement. "She might want to see us whipped!"
Porthos shot her a startled look, "I hadn't though o' that." She became down trodden. "Oh, see, you've upset me now."
Aramis pursed her lips to keep from laughing and she was saved when Anne returned to the two waiting Musketeers with her Ladies-in-waiting. Porthos bowed at the waist, but Aramis not half as much as she met the blonde's eyes.
"Aramis, bravest of all the King's Musketeers, and my saviour!" the Queen smiled and Aramis beamed at her.
Porthos gave a heavy internal sigh. Of course, she shouldn't have expected anything different. This always seemed to happen when it was just the two of them. She'd long ago come to accept it. She couldn't hate Aramis for her charming charisma—but couldn't help but wonder if things might've been different if she'd shielded the Queen instead. Guess they'd never find out.
"Only amongst the bravest. It's an honour for you to say, My Queen." Aramis doffed her hat and bowed. "I hope that I was not too rough with Her Majesty."
Anne shook her head, her eyes bright. "No. You saved my life. In thanks, I want to bestow upon you this Crucifix. It helped me through trying times, and now it shall do the same to you and keep you safe." She removed the pendant from around her own delicate neck and put it around Aramis'.
"Your Majesty, I don't know what to say—my deepest gratitude. I shall treasure it and keep it forever by my heart." Aramis pressed the cross to her lips.
Porthos groaned internally, cursing as she watched Aramis and the Queen speak. How close they were standing, their soft voices, and damn Aramis' smouldering eyes and their come-hither call.
Aramis was like a sexual lure and even the strongest and noblest couldn't help but fall victim.
A warm glow to her cheeks, the Queen thanked the two of them this time and took her leave, her Ladies following.
There was a skip in Aramis' step as the left the Palace and returned to their horses ,that Porthos didn't trust in the least as she fingered the Cross around her throat—the Queen's Cross.
"Tell me I did no' see that?" Porthos questioned Aramis as they rode back to the garrison from the Palace.
"What are you talking about?"
"You 'ave a penchant for seein' people that you shouldn't." Porthos pointed out to her.
Aramis scoffed, "That is severely untrue."
She shook her head. "What 'bout Adele? She was th' Cardinal's mistress."
"What of her?" Aramis glared, hating that she brung up Adele—a fresh wound. "She choose him and his country residence over me, so I don't know what your problem is."
"My problem—an' you're problem—is that this is seriously over the line Aramis. She's the Queen. You shouldn't even be thinkin' about it, let alone flashin' 'er the eyes?"
"I was flashing her no such thing."
"You were. I could practically feel th' heat all the way across the room."
"Don't be ridiculous!"
"Keep it in your pants, then—for all of our sakes. Crossin' the Cardinal was bad enough, but the Queen?" she hissed.
Aramis sighed. "Even if I was thinking about it, nothing would come of it." Her thumb brushed against the side of the cross that the Queen had given her.
Porthos kept herself from speaking because from where she was, it was almost pretty damn obvious that the Queen was snagged on Aramis' line. She didn't want to have to tell Athos, but she would if she had to—for Aramis' sake. She just hoped that the Spaniard was smart about this, because it definitely wasn't her head (and sometimes even her heart) that led her into many women's and men's beds.
"What took you so long?" Athos questioned as the two Inseparables finally returned to the garrison and dismounted.
"The Queen wanted to bestow a gift upon 'er brave saviour." Porthos rolled her eyes.
Athos turned a raised brow on the Spaniard.
"What can I say?" Aramis shrugged. "You're looking at the bravest of the King's Musketeers."
Porthos snorted. "Next time, I'll tack'll th' Queen to the ground, eh?"
"No way! She needs a gentle touch, not your monstrous strength." Aramis shook her head.
Porthos glared at her and took a step to. "You callin' me a monster, mate?"
"Cut it out!" Athos snapped. "Now is not the time for who's-the-prettiest. We have no idea where Vadim is, or what the hell d'Artagnan was thinking. Treville's pissed, so if either of you want to tell him the next time that we still have nothing, then I suggest you think of something!"
The two women instantly cut off their argument. It wasn't every day that Athos snapped like that. They knew she was worried about the Gascon as much as they were, not to mention the threat of possible bombs around Paris.
"We can asked around, but I don't think there's much we can do but wait until Charlie can reach out to us and tell us what's going on." Aramis said.
Porthos groaned. "Waitin's the worst part."
Usually a patient woman (or at least at exuding an outside calm), Athos couldn't help but agree with the other woman. She hated the uncertainty, she despised the distracting worry. She needed to trust the Gascon, she just wished it wasn't such a high-risk and uncertain mission. There wasn't supposed to be a prison a break, this was all supposed to be a one-act scene—but now it was a moving production.
d'Artagnan had been on edge the whole day, wanting nothing more than to track down the Inseparables and tell the women what he had learned since his imprisonment and now escape with Vadim.
But he had to exude a patience that was far from his usual MO, and hold back the urge to cuss out Felix. But that night, with Felix sound asleep, and himself portraying the same, Vadim made his exit—and d'Artagnan followed him from the shadows' shadow. It was to the same lover's residence that he had told the Gascon about while they were still in prison, but now he had a place and a name that he could pass onto the others.
He headed in the opposite direction, vaguely towards the garrison, but he knew it was to risky and reckless to actually go there. He was still thought to be a wanted man.
So, he cursed, weapon less, when Felix took him from behind. Maybe a fish didn't have more brains than the man like Vadim had said. He was a bit cleverer than he looked.
"Where d'you think you're goin', eh?" Felix hissed in his ear with hot breath.
d'Artagnan grimaced at the feeling and jerked from the man's grasp, thinking fast. "What does it look like? I'm going to see my mistress."
"Right. Take us to 'er, then." Felix challenged, thinking that he'd caught the Gascon out and finally be rid of the young man.
d'Artagnan glared at him. "Fine." And started off towards the Bonacieux residence.
They finally arrived, but d'Artagnan held back.
"Well, go on, then." Felix insisted. "Call 'er out!"
"Alright. Alright." He cringed internally. Constance was going to skin him alive when this whole thing was over and done with. He let out a silent breath as a maid came out and shortly after, Constance.
He reached her with a few quick strides.
"Wha—?" she was startled when she saw him, and even more when he wrapped his arms around her. She instantly flushed at the attention, and then got her wits about her again. "Get off! what do you think—!"
"We're being watched!" d'Artagnan hissed frantically into her ear, unable to stop revelling at the feeling of her body pressed against her. "I will explain, I swear, but you need to invite me in—please." And he tilted his head and kissed her.
Constance sucked in a sharp breath, tense, even as she wanted to melt into it. This wasn't the first time he'd done this. With a sharp look on her face, she pulled back, took his hand and led him inside. d'Artagnan shot a conspicuous look over his shoulder back at Felix over his shoulder. His breath of relief what short-lived that that worked when just at the kitchen door, Constance turned and slapped him.
d'Artagnan looked a bit shocked and she glared up at him, her cheeks pink. "I warned you to never to that again!"
"I'm sorry!" d'Artagnan held up his hands. "I was in another desperate situation and I knew I could count on you. Thanks, by the way. Just as good a kisser as I remember."
She growled and made to smack him again, but he ducked away with a sheepish smile. "Explain." She ordered.
He straightened. "I need you to send a maid to get Athos, Aramis, and Porthos to meet here, and tell them the house might be watched." He wasn't sure how long Felix would stick around so it was better to be safe than sorry. "It's urgent."
Constance tsked, but did as he bid her and took the minute to send Mia off with the message. And finally allowed him into the kitchen. "I swear, d'Artagnan. Ever since you've come—"
"You've been loving every minute of it?" he smiled at from where he sat at the table.
She didn't look too pleased at the moment by his cheeky, if charming, interruption.
"I am sorry, Constance." He told her softy. "I don't mean to be trouble."
She pulled out a chair and sat across from him at the table in the flickering light from the fireplace. "I'm not angry. I just don't understand."
"I—"
"Constance? Aren't you coming to... bed...?" Bonacieux stopped at the threshold of the kitchen in surprise as he saw the scoundrel sitting at his kitchen table.
Constance quietly cursed under her breath. She'd forgot about him, a trending habit that seemed to occur whenever d'Artagnan was around. Not a good sign, she knew. "Jacques—" she stood.
"Scoundrel, what are you doing here? Breaking in? Coming after my wife?!" d'Artagnan sputtered at the heated accusations flying his way. "Guards!" Bonacieux soon exclaimed, "I'll get the Guard."
"That wouldn't be wise." Athos voiced from the entrance to the kitchen, Aramis and Porthos stepping in after her.
Bonacieux sputtered. "You have come just in time, Musketeers! Arrest this man at once. He is a wanted criminal and has broken into my house and mistreated my wife!"
"He's has not!" Constance exclaimed, as d'Artagnan jumped to his feet incredulous at that last accusation (though the previous two could be technically correct), "I would never!"
"Monsieur, I truly apologize for the deception," Athos held up her hand placating-ly, "but d'Artagnan was placed under arrest on our own volition."
"He what?" Constance looked startled and Bonacieux narrowed his beady eyes. She turned a hard look at the Gascon, who couldn't help but fidget a bit under the look.
Without formal invitation, the Inseparables made themselves comfortable in the Bonacieux kitchen and Athos told them the unharmful facts of their mission—up until the escape, that was.
"All of that... your duel and imprisonment was faked?" Constance remarked. "You could have been killed numerous times! What were you thinking?"
"It was all rather done well, I would say." Aramis said.
No one saw the slap coming, least of all its recipient.
"You let me think the worst." She glared, upset. "First I thought you were a condemned man, then a fugitive—and now whatever this is!"
"I dare say!" Bonacieux gasped. "Constance, this must stop!" He apologized and dragged her from the kitchen. "We shall retire now. You may stay as long as you need, mademoiselles."
Aramis sighed, her cheek stinging from a second round with Constance. "I'm starting to have second thoughts,"
Porthos chuckled quietly at the omission.
"I take it, that's not the first time she's done that?" d'Artagnan noted, looking between the pair.
Porthos grinned and patted her friend consolingly on the back. "Nope. But it was just as fun th' second time. No matter 'ow many times, it'll always be a laugh."
"And, you, d'Artagnan? What have you been up to?" Athos said in an imposing tone.
d'Artagnan shifted uncomfortably under the sudden weight of three gazes upon him from his Angels—a term on endearment that he was never, under any circumstance, say to their faces. "Um..." he cleared his throat and sat back at the table, and made his very first report on the matter of Vadim and the gunpowder. "... His second, Felix, hates my guts—that what brought me here in the first place," he shot a glance the way both Bonacieuxs had left, but Aramis saw it anyways and took its meaning sure enough—never one to miss a sexual mishap, wherever it may lie.
He stood again, unable to sit still, and leaned against the fireplace. "Vadim plans to murder the King and the Queen. Some fantasy of a peasant rebellion." He paused as he looked at the others. "I would scoff at the idea, if it weren't for all that gunpowder."
"So you've seen it?" Athos questioned, straightened, eager for news on this front when there had been so little since the initial warning.
But d'Artagnan shook his head. "I don't think he intends to show his hand until the end. He's too smart for something like that."
"A smart criminal," Porthos muttered. "'At's the last thing Paris needs."
"And his men?" Aramis wondered.
"In hiding. The only other person I've had contact with is Felix, his second. It was his fault that Vadim got arrested in the first place. Vadim was visiting his mistress, and Felix was supposed to keep watch but fell asleep."
"When is this plan supposed to take place?" Athos asked.
"Vadim's careful. He'd doesn't say more than he has or wants too."
"Does 'e trust you?" Porthos finally spoke.
"As much as he does anyone. Felix doesn't, but I can handle him." Tonight was just luck, he thought. He'd been caught by surprise and it wasn't going to happen again.
They were quiet for a moment.
"Vadim once said the secret to a good trick is to make people look the wrong way."
Aramis fingered the Queen's Crucifix in thought. "What do you think he meant?"
"Honestly? I have no idea." It was just something that nagged at him, not loud enough for him to make any connection, and just quiet enough to be annoying and distracting.
"You've done enough." Athos said. "We'll take it from here."
"What?" the dismissal took him by surprise. "You pick him up now and the King and Queen are still in danger." d'Artagnan shook his head.
"What do you suggest?" she countered.
d'Artagnan lifted his chin. "I go back in."
Athos' pause spoke volumes. "It's too dangerous," she finally said.
But d'Artagnan couldn't help but hear her calling him weak. "I can do this," he insisted. "Athos... trust me." He looked her in the eye.
Athos stared at him for a long moment and then looked back at Aramis and Porthos, who gave subtle nods. She turned back to the Gascon and gave a grave nod of permission and clapped him on the shoulder. "Alright."
He fought back the grin, and schooled his expression serious again. "This evening, Vadim visited a woman called Suzette Pinault. You'll find her in the Rue Lagrange. I believe she's the same mistress."
d'Artagnan parted from the Bonacieux residence and the three Musketeers followed a minute later.
The Gascon had only made it to the street over when he was spotted by a couple Red Guards, who then gave chase. He took a wrong turn and ended up cornered at a dead-end and weapon less. If he got caught...
His worry on that small matter didn't last very long when a dark-haired, green-eyed, woman with red painted lips melted from the shadows and stabbed one Guard in the kidney with a dagger, and as the other turned towards her, pulling his sword, she killed him with a pistol shot.
"You!" d'Artagnan looked at her open-mouthed for a moment. It was her. The woman he had slept with his first night in Paris on the trail of his father's murderer. Only to wake in the morning, accused of another man's death. "Who are you?" He'd never gotten her name and he never expected to see her again—especially not like this.
"You're guardian angel." She whispered.
He bit back the scoff as she slowly approached him, dagger still in hand. He already had three warrior angels, he didn't need any more. Besides, he could see this woman was trouble from a mile away.
"Now, where is Vadim?" He raised a brow at that, but said nothing. "I have a powerful patron." She said. "He can grant you all the riches and power you desire... if you take me to Vadim." She backed him against the wall.
He narrowed his eyes at her. "You betrayed me. Set me up. Don't think I would forget. If I had been caught, I could have been hanged. Vadim is Musketeer business, not yours!"
"And now I've saved your life." She replied sweetly, pressing closer. "It wasn't only murder that made out night together memorable." She nipped his lip. "You're at a crossroads, d'Artagnan. Don't take the wrong path." Her lips brushed his. "Choose the Musketeers and you choose oblivion."
Her tongue twined with his. He said he knew she was trouble, that didn't mean that he was dead, and it didn't stop him from being male.
"d'Artagnan!"
She jerked away from him at his shouted name down the street, like the woman's voice was like a whip to the back. "Another time." She whispered in his ear, and vanished—just as Athos, Aramis and Porthos found him, following the gunfire.
"What happened?" Athos looked down at the two Red Guards for a second before looking at d'Artagnan. With one looked she made sure he was unharmed.
He shook his head mutely, caught several more times this night unawares. First Felix, and now this strange woman whose name he knew not, and how was he to explain this away to the Inseparables? The woman who he had a one-night affair with, upon his arrival in Paris in search of the murderer of his father, who framed him for murder, just happened to save him from two Red Guard, when he was at his most defenceless, and whereupon, she told him he was undecided in life and not to choose the wrong path—becoming a Musketeer apparently said path. For which she decidedly knew more about him, than he did her.
Yes. That would go over so well, understandably so.
"Never mind." There wasn't time for this. "Go!" she ordered him, waving him away. "We'll take care of this."
He didn't have to be told twice, and ran back down the street.
He'd better get his head in the game. It was now more dangerous than ever, more players entering the game than they would have wished. So much for keeping this contained to a cell in the Chatelet.
"Porthos, follow him. Watch his back."
Porthos nodded and left after the Gascon, tracing his path; and Aramis and Athos got down to work.
When d'Artagnan returned to Vadim's hideout, he was confronted by both Vadim and Felix. The rat snitched on him, of course he did. Vadim was giving him a hard stare and d'Artagnan leaned against the wall casually. Don't show guilt, you were just seeing your mistress, that was all.
He remembered his kiss with the green-eyed woman, and then he remembered his kiss with Constance. The Agent's was sickly-sweet, so cold it burned hot. Constance' was sweet, and warm and made his heart flutter.
"We can't trust him, Vadim." Felix insisted. "He's a spy and a traitor."
d'Artagnan shook his thoughts of the two women away and glared at the man.
"You feel asleep when you were meant to be watching my back." Vadim said coldly. "No-one's perfect." Felix turned away, shame-faced; and Vadim turned his attention towards d'Artagnan. "This women, she'd important to you?"
"Yes, she is." He didn't even have to think about, it was the truth—there was no one like Constance. "I had to see her again. It could be the last time."
"You said nothing?"
"Vadim, I was careful." He swore. "No-one saw me."
"I understand love, d'Artagnan, believe me." Vadim stood and approached him, and gone was the understanding, wistful tone, and came the cold, hard-edge, "Next time you want a conjugal visit, you ask. Understood?"
"Mmm." He nodded.
"Now get some sleep. You'll need it." Vadim told him.
That had been a close call. d'Artagnan wondered what he mother might think if she'd been alive to witness how good of a liar her only son had become. But he had bigger things to think about right now, like exactly what was Vadim planning, and would they be able to prevent it in time?
Aramis and Athos went to question Vadim's mistress the next morning, Porthos still watching d'Artagnan's back.
"You sure you're Musketeers?" Suzette questioned, sitting on the edge of her bed, looking at the two women dubiously.
"Yes, we're sure." Amaris agreed.
"But... Aren't Musketeers supposed to be men?"
"Not necessarily." Athos replied dryly.
"Mm. I'm not sure I trust a woman in breeches." She bit her lip thoughtful-like as her gaze scoured their beautiful bodies covered beneath several layers of leather. "But it makes me curious just what you're hiding under there. Mmm."
Both Musketeer women shared long-suffering look. At first glance this woman seemed to just be another innocent in a long-line connected to Vadim, but surely the man kept up with her all this time for something more than just sex.
They were going to have to push, it seemed, at least to get her over the bump of things.
"You can think of us as men, if you wish, mademoiselle." Aramis inclined her head. "Is there nothing you can tell us of Vadim? What he might be planning?"
She looked reluctant. "Vadim never did wrong by me."
"I'm sure that's true, but he'd gotten himself into trouble—trouble that could hurt a lot of people as a result."
"We know you've seen Vadim, Suzette." Athos said. "You have a choice. You can go to the gallows with him..."
"Or you can save yourself." Aramis finished. Just like with Porthos, Athos and her didn't need words to read each other. It was an instinct like that that came in handy when they came into situations like this, or with Dujon, where their reactions were an unknown and they might have to change tactics at a moment's notice.
"I'm not denying anything." She protested at the bald treat. "I saw him!"
"Why didn't you report it?" Athos wondered, a light accusing tone in her voice.
"Because I don't want to get involved with the Guards." The prostitute replied. "Besides, we used to be quite close."
"You were lovers?"
"Ooh, you're a sharp one." She winked and bit her lip.
Athos her gave an unimpressed smile, not affected by the flirtations a bit. "What did he want?"
Suzette sighed. "He said he was going away. He wanted me to go with him. I said no." She opened a hand-fan and started to stimulate the air sensually. Getting nowhere with Athos, she turned to Aramis to had moved to the window and closer to the bed. "Has any ever told you you've got lovely eyes?"
Aramis smiled at her. "The Captain mentioned it only this morning."
"He's a very lucky man." She murmured, her head cock and neck extended.
"Don't I know it!"
"If you don't tell us the truth," Athos interrupted, her voice taking threat, "We could have you whipped."
"Don't tease me!" She gasped. "It's usually the other way around with my visitors, but if the money's right..."
"Where did you first meet Vadim?" Aramis interceded, getting them back on topic.
"At the Louvre Palace." She didn't seemed to pleased with the subject change. "I was a scullery maid, he was a servant."
"Vadim worked at the Palace?" Aramis glanced at Athos. This was definitely news to them and most definitely a point of great interest.
"For two years. That's where he became obsessed with the King. He really hated him."
"Tell us about that." She encouraged in soft and pleasant tones.
"He said that King Louis had broken his promises to the people. Talked about it all the time."
"Did he say he wanted to kill him?" Athos insisted.
Suzette paused in thought. "I don't remember. Maybe."
Aramis stepped from the window and sat down next to her on the bed, flipping on the charm. She said softly, encouraging in sympathy, "Vadim stole enough gunpowder to wipe out dozens of innocent lives. Is that what you want?"
Suzette got pulled into her gaze. "He came to me, I sent him away. I don't know where he is, I don't know what he's doing. That's all." Her tone, it was almost like she was in a trance under Arami's hot gaze.
Aramis was silent as she looked at Suzette for a long moment in contemplative silence. She finally gave a nod and stood next to Athos once more.
"Look, if I knew any more, I'd tell you." Suzette insisted, a slight bit unnerved by their silence and direct looks. "Well, I don't want to hang!"
"Very well. I believe you." Athos deadpanned—if only that last bit.
"Wait!" She called as they went to leave. She leaned forward, making sure that her breasts were barred and visible as she bit her bottom lip and looked between the two Musketeers. "If you ever want to get out for a bite, beautiful, just let me know."
Aramis and Athos parted, the former with a faux wink.
"She's covering for him." Aramis said as soon as they exited the residence, any flirtatious pretence vanishing in an instant. The woman was beautiful enough, but she just wasn't the markswoman's cup of tea.
"Don't let her out of your sight." Athos agreed.
"What about you?"
"To update Treville." Athos paused, a flash of amusement in her blue eyes. "And perhaps to remind him how beautiful your eyes are."
"It could do, it could do." Aramis chuckled. "He's hardly paid me any mind this last few."
"I'll make sure of it." She doffed her hat and headed for the garrison.
The tip d'Artagnan had given them was a good one. If not for it, they would not have found out that Vadim had worked at the Palace, where his hatred for the King stemmed. She thought of the Gascon and apprehension clenched her stomach unseen.
Porthos kept an eye on d'Artagnan; while Aramis left her gaze to Suzette. It might not have been as bad if she could be in the lady's room, but an outside view of her apartment would have to do; while Athos and Captain Treville went to see the Cardinal about Vadim's plans regarding the King and then the King himself.
It was Notre-Dame. They royal family always shows themselves to the people after Easter Mass. It was tradition—and Vadim's plan of attack.
"We strike tomorrow at 11:00, as the clock chimes. Three men in the crowd with bombs, four standing by, should they fail." Thunder rumbled. "The King and Queen will be dead before a quarter past.
"And me? What do I do?" d'Artagnan asked.
"I have a very special destiny for you, my friend." Vadim squeezed his shoulder. "This time tomorrow, My name will live forever. Your's, too, should you play your part." They shook hands and d'Artagnan plastered a smile on his lips. "Here, take the map. You might need it. And buy wine, we should celebrate. Go!"
d'Artagnan stepped out into the fog-clouded night and walked down the street. He passed Porthos in her look-out spot, but didn't even glance the woman's way as he casually dropped the map that Vadim had given him with the plans for tomorrow's attack on the ground, not breaking in his stride.
Porthos picked it up and glanced at the plans as he saw a group of men enter the building that d'Artagnan had just left. She changed her position.
Aramis tracked Suzette through the night, just as it started to rain, stayed around the corner, hidden from sight, as she disappeared into a building. She tensed as she felt the barrel of a pistol against the side of her neck, but soon relaxed when she heard Porthos' familiar chuckle.
"Easy. Even you can't miss from this distance." She carefully pushed the barrel away.
Porthis grinned and tucked the gun away. "What're you doin' 'ere?"
"I was following Suzette."
"Check out what d'Artagnan gave me." Porthos showed her the plans. "An' I counted six of Vadim's men arrivin' not too long ago."
"We should strike now." Aramis said.
"Mmm. I'll get th' others." And Porthos left Aramis to keep watch in the rain.
When d'Artagnan arrived back at the hideout, Vadim's men were already there, Suzette, too, his lover.
"In a few hours time, the King will be dead!" Vadim announced, and the men cheered. The count down was nearly finished. It would be only a matter of time before the Musketeers arrived. "Every man here I trust like a brother. All except one"
d'Artagnan tensed. Did Vadim know? Did he find out? He finally got a sword, but with this many men, he wouldn't last very long.
Vadim started a slow walk around the group, locking eyes with each one as he spoke. "We have a traitor in our midst." He paused at Felix's side.
d'Artagnan held his breath. The traitor wasn't Felix, but could the Gascon be so lucky? Things would be much easier if the man was out of his way, and by Vadim, no less.
"It's not me, Vadim." Felix told him. "I would lay down my life for you."
"He's knows that, Felix." Suzette said. "You're not the one."
A pistol cocked and d'Artagnan looked startled to suddenly find himself looking down a barrel by Vadim. Apparently not. "On you're knees."
"You're wrong." d'Artagnan told him, staying on his feet. His heart pounding in his chest. If he went for his sword now, it would just mean his death would come all the sooner. He'd been so confident, so cocky. Just what Athos told him not to do. He shouldn't have come back when he went out on that wine run.
"Don't even think about it," Vadim said, reading the thoughts in his eyes clearly. "Or perhaps, do. It would be interesting to see how many you could kill before I manage to pull the trigger. You'd have to be fast, my friend—I enjoy you, but I don't enjoy you that much."
"Vadim..." He whispered.
"Musketeer!" Vadim spat, pushing the pistol closer to his face, forcing the Gascon down. "You should have stayed in that cell."
"No-one outwits Vadim!" Suzette hissed triumphantly. She'd fooled those two Musketeer women so easily. It was like child's play, and this young man's deception was as clear to Vadim as the diamond pendant that he had stolen from the Palace was beautiful.
And then pain exploded at the top of his skull, and all the young man knew was dark, but for all he would know, he could be dead. He had failed, but perhaps his Angels would not.
The Musketeers had finally gathered outside and stormed the basement room, but it was empty. "d'Artagnan. He's not here, none of them are."
"'Ow could we 'ave missed them?" Porthos demanded. "I saw them come in!"
"There's obviously a back door." Aramis cursed. They had been stupid, they should have checked and posted a guard at both doors.
Empty but for a dark stain on the concrete.
Athos crouched and touched it, "Blood." Tacky.
"Charlie?" the worry stuck in Aramis' throat.
The three Inseparables shared worried looks.
"Perhaps." Treville agreed, sighing. "He knew something like this could happen and we wouldn't be there to help—but he chose to take the risk. There was nothing you could have done."
Athos turned to him with a cold look in her blue eyes. "We could have stopped him."
Treville shook his head. "Our job is to protect the King. And when that's finished, we can worry about d'Artagnan." He looked at each in turn before he went back to the street and called the other Musketeers to him.
Athos turned away from him, her jaw clenched as tight as her stomach and heart. As much as she didn't want to acknowledge it, Treville was right. Protecting the King and Queen was their number-one, and d'Artagnan wasn't.
She followed after him.
With one last worried glance at the blood, Aramis followed.
Porthos was the last from the room, looking at its emptiness with anger, frustration, confusion and concern—let's not forget guilt, either. It was her duty to watch over d'Artagnan's back, and she had failed. Whether the lad was alive or not, she couldn't be sure they'd ever find out.
Little did the Musketeers know, that it wasn't the back door that lead to their escape, but it was underneath in the tunnels that ran beneath Paris. And in a few hours time, the city wouldn't even know what hit it.
It was Easter Mass and the parade commenced as perusal, but for the excess amount of Musketeers guarding the Royalty. They knew the location of which was optimal to attack, but the Inseparables would have preferred to have d'Artagnan at their sides where he belonged. He knew what Felix and Vadim's other men look like, but they were left on their own.
d'Artagnan moaned, his head throbbing as he sia hunch uncomfortably. He cracked his eyes open in the dim lighting, and his first sight was of Vadim crouched next to a barrel with a lit candle sit atop it.
His brows furrowed in slight confusion for a second and Vadim smiled welcoming at him—before reality rushed back into place and he remembered that the two of them were on far from friendly terms with each other.
"You're just in time, my friend." Vadim told him, unravelling what looked to be a thin rope. "I thought I might be gone before you awoke. You wouldn't want to miss the high point of our acquaintance, now would you?"
d'Artagnan made to jump to his feet, but found his arms immobile and looked around himself to see that he was bound to several wood barrels and kegs. "Where—What—?!"
"In the tunnels, under the Louvre. All this time, scheming and searching—when all you had to do was ask me and I would have brought you down to my gunpowder cache."
d'Artagnan's eyes widened and he struggled against his binds. "Vadim, listen to me!"
"No!" Vadim spat, and crouched down in front of d'Artagnan. "You listen!" He took the cork out of one of the smaller kegs at the Gascon's feet and put the end of what was not a rope but a fuse, in the hole and then stoppered it again. A discarded sword at his feet. "Did you honestly believe that I fell for you act as scorned recruit, for a second?"
d'Artagnan's lips tightened and his brown eyes narrowed, anger burned hot beneath the surface, but he exuded a calmer exterior than before. "You did. I don't know when you started to see through it. Perhaps Felix's badgering, or you got suspicious when I went for my mistress, or maybe it was the visit to Suzette. But at one point, you did believe, Vadim."
He gave the young man a cruel smile. "If that thought helps you die better, than believe it. But the charade is up now, and there's only naked truth down here in these tunnels. And that's your death," he dusted his hands off and stood back up and went over to the lit candle.
Panic rose in d'Artagnan afresh as he soon realized that Vadim was attaching the other end of the fuse to the candle, and intended to blow him up as well. "You—There's still time to stop this!"
"Why would I stop it?" Vadim laughed as he put a glass lid over the candle to protect the flame. "Right now, you're women are scrambling for their lives. Did you really think that it was my plan to kill the King? I could care less about that sodding fool! No. The first thing I said to you—revealed my entire plan. You were just too focused on the gunpowder. You should have paid more attention." He loaded his satchel with some hand bombs before he stopped at the door. "Don't you know? All good magician's needs to have a few good assistants." He placed his palm against the stone wall. "I discovered these tunnels whilst I worked in the Palace kitchens. You can almost feel the heat from the bread oven. They run all the way from the Palace, to the city walls." He glanced towards the ceiling. "In fifteen minutes, you, and it, will cease to exist. A grand finale, don't you think?" And he finally left d'Artagnan with a timer and a bunch of gunpowder that would blow him from existence.
He screamed foul after Vadim, but as soon as that door shut, he immediately started to figure a way out of these binds. He had said fifteen minutes, but it had been at least five since he had lit it. Realizing he couldn't get out of this by pure strength, he tried to reach his sword in the dirt at the bottom of his deadly throne, but the weapon was just out of reach.
Panic almost seized him for a moment, before he shoved it down with a violence of pure want of life, and pulled the rope from either arm taut and started to rub it against the rough edges of the barrels' lips that he was attached to.
His discarded sword several feet away in the dirt like a taunt the entire time, his eyes glued to the burning candle.
Even as Felix screamed out death to the King, and soon managed to lob one such fused bomb into the street, dread filled the Musketeers as Aramis made a minute decision that would end her own life, but save the crowd that couldn't get away in time.
"No! Aramis, no!" Porthos' screamed broke the Spaniard's heart as she curled around the bomb, its fuse burning fast.
She had been in many life-and-death situations, but she didn't think any had been as sure as this. Even though she had always know it wasn't likely she would survive through the Musketeers long enough to be able to retire, she never believed that she would die before she could become the nun that she was meant to be, before she found the Musketeers and her true sisters (and now little brother). She thought of them now, Athos and Porthos, Charlie—and to her surprise, the Queen. Three heart-beats and she'd meet her end. She remembered her first-love, and the reason why she was going to become a Sisternun in the first place. She remembered her friend, partner, and lover, the man that she thought she might marry and have children with, how they'd both leave the Musketeers when the time was right—before he had left her surrounded by 20 cold Musketeers.
It was like she was underwater, all she could hear was her own heart-beat thumping in her chest.
So wrapped up in this, it took her a moment to realize that she was not yet dead—though the bomb should have killed her and sent her to God already. She opened her eyes, blood rushing in her ears, her breath loud in her throat.
"It's... It's a dud!" She croaked, breathless. Her knees would have given out beneath her if it weren't for the fact that she was already on the ground. "It's a dud!" There was more volume to her voice this time, and she forced the adrenaline rush that floored her, to make her fly and climbed to her feet.
Much like what had happened in the Chatelet yard, the world around her snapped back into focus. The rush of bodies, the shouting and the screams—the panic like a physical taste in the air.
"Get the King and Queen to safety!" Treville shouted and several Musketeers rushed past Aramis with the Royalty netted in the middle. The Spaniard just caught sight of a fearful and concerned Queen Anne look back over her shoulder at her, before the two of them were rushed into the carriage and driven to safety.
Athos cursed as Felix and two other men escaped, something they were in a rush to do when they discovered—much like the Musketeers' surprise, that the bombs were dubs.
"It's a distraction!" she realized. Turning in a circle as she thought frantically.
Despite the chaos and the rush, Porthos grabbed Aramis tightly in a hug, burying her face in the other woman's neck, taking several deep and shuddering breaths as she fought to control the emotion—the fear and anguish that had wanted to consume her at the sight of Aramis sacrificing her life like that. No matter how many times, how many missions, it never got easier, it got worse.
Aramis hugged the woman back, relief coursing through her body like her blood. She'd really thought she'd been a dead woman—and was happy that she wasn't—but this wasn't the end yet.
The two women jumped apart as an explosion tore through the air.
"He made us look the wrong way!" And Athos cursed again as she looked towards the billowing smoke deeper into Paris. "It's not an assassination attempt, it's robbery. Vadim's at the Palace!"
The sound of a small, nearby explosion made d'Artagnan jump and his heart stop, for a moment believing that his own barrels had somehow exploded, but he realized it was just Vadim enacting his true plan and d'Artagnan continued to saw that the ropes with a more frantic pace, if that were possible.
He had to get the fuck out of here.
He didn't think that he was going to make it in time. His arms were tiring and cramping. His heart was lodge in his throat, making it hard to breath. He thought about his father, hardly more than a month from this world. He thought of the new family that he had found, his three big sisters. They already had such a connection, even after only such a sort time. It was almost like in some other life they had lost each other, and in this one, they found each other again. And he thought of Constance. Constance, who always made his heart beat a little faster, who made him think of a future...
He nearly didn't notice it, when the rope finally frayed enough from the friction that it came loose around his wrists, so lost in his remembrances. He disentangled himself from the binds and dived forward with hast.
He ripped the fuse from the keg and tossed it away from the barrels. It sparked until it burned completely out in the dirk, charred—and convoluted like a snake's shed skin. Heart hammering like a hummingbird's wings, he collapsed back against the idle barrels for a moment as he came down from one of his first near-death experiences.
He finally pushed himself to his feet. Now was not the time to be idle, there was still things that he needed to do. Like find the Inseparables and get Vadim. His silently thanked the man as he picked up the discarded belt and sword, and notched it around his waist as he went to the door.
d'Artagnan scoffed as he glanced around the small room from the door. Did Vadim really think that a couple ropes would stop the young man? That he wouldn't find a way to escape before the candle burned down? It was almost insulting, but the Gascon was just thankful at the moment. Right now, he needed to track down Vadim, but had no idea what the mastermind's plan actually was. So maybe tracking down his Angels was better.
He remembered the plan that Vadim had told him, the one about ambushing the King and Queen when they showed themselves after Easter Mass. That was the attack that the Musketeers were expecting. He believed that Vadim had deceived Felix just as much as himself, knew that would make the perfect distraction—that what the man was best at, misdirection. He also knew that the three women could take care of themselves, but he worried nonetheless.
The three women raced to the Palace at Athos' realization that Vadim's true intent this entire time was not to kill the King and the Queen, but to rob the Royal Vault. The same Vault that he had stolen the Queen's precious diamond pendant from years earlier.
When they made it to the Palace, servants were rushing this way and that, panicked. The result of Vadim's hand bombs was clear, and Athos felt a sickness inside of her that that had almost to happened to her dear friend when Aramis had dived atop the bomb earlier.
"There he is. Vadim!" she shouted as she caught sight of the man at the end of the hall, with a bulging satchel filled with stolen jewels hanging around his hip. The man fled and the Musketeers gave chase as he descended into the lower bowels of Louvre.
"Stop Vadim!" Athos pulled her pistol as the bottom of the steps, Porthos next to her and Aramis half-way down. On their right were smaller, adjacent tunnels, with archways. Vadim paused at the T-juncture of the tunnel and raised his hands as he slowly turned.
"Where is d'Artagnan?" She demanded immediately. "What have you done with him? Is he alive?" that last one stuck in her throat at the guilt of it gnawed at her.
The gunpowder was disarmed, so that was one weight off his shoulders. Now, to remove another.
He opened the unlocked door, and immediately, sparks from several fuses beneath his feet lit up, triggered by the underside of the door. d'Artagnan cursed and scrambled to stamp the fuses out, but they were just burning to fast for him. He looked up at the stacks of barrels, wide-eyed, and realized that there was no stopping this.
He turned, and ran.
Each step jolted his aching head, but that would be nothing compared. He'd rather have a splitting skill than no head at all. He could only pray that he was able to get far enough from the explosion that he survived with none-threatening injuries.
And then it did go off.
The sound of it was concussive. It was like a monster roaring as it raced through the tunnels after the fleeing Gascon—before it was upon him.
Vadim smirked. "Boom." He said simply and put his fingers in his ears.
Athos' eyes widened at the implications of that single word. "Look out!" She grabbed Porthos and shoved her against the space between the two archways as the explosion shook the tunnel and smoke and brick exploded towards them.
This was what d'Artagnan might have imagined it would feel like, if Porthos decided to dropkick him, if she were five of herself, instead of just one. The concussion of the blast sent him tumbling forward as the tunnel filled with smoke, fire, and tumbling bricks.
The smoke cleared, and left the three Musketeers senseless. Vadim smiled as he vanished down the dark tunnel, grabbing a torch and lighting it in the flame upon the ground.
Aramis was the first to come around and stumbled down the stairs to her two friends. "Athos! Porthos!"
Relief flooded her when she heard their groans.
Athos groaned and Porthos choked. She helped them to their feet from their bed of rubble, each woman covered in a layer of dust that nearly made them look spectres.
"You don't think—?" Aramis asked, unable to finish the end of that sentence. She's had enough with explosions for the day. She remembered the fear that had got through her when she realized that it was going to be her last breath—but by some God-given chance, it was a dud and she was saved. She could only pray the He was looking out for Charlie with that same clarity.
"No." Athos said firmly, but the doubt was clear. After an explosion like that... "Let's move. We owe it to d'Artagnan to end Vadim."
They followed the fading light of the moving torch, fast on the mastermind's trail.
They rain into company, only it wasn't Vadim, but Felix and the two others who had escaped from the attack on the Royals. The way Porthos tore into Felix, was gruesome. She took no mercy on that man that had nearly ended her best-friend's life, her sister's life.
It was an unforgivable act.
d'Artagnan coughed as the dusk settled around him and he climbed to his feet, pushing a few broken stones off of him. He had been lucky. If he'd waited any longer before running, he might not have made it. As it was, it took him a moment to gain his balance, and he stumbled down the tunnel. He didn't know his way around, but could hope that he might happen upon the man of his deathly desire.
He slowed and wiped the dust from his eyes as he saw the faint flickering of what could only be a lit torch farther done, and a slow grin stretched his lips. "I have you now, you son of a bitch." He was going to use the man's own trick against him.
"Vadim..." he called quietly, eerily. And his voice travelled around the enclosed stone with a slight distortion. More scary than if he had screamed the man's name.
"Who's there?" the man demanded, looking around his T-juncture.
"Don't you know me, Vadim?" d'Artagnan kept the same, quiet tones, staying just outside the sights of the light torch as Vadim waved it around, trying to locate him. "I'm coming for you, Vadim. Where am I?"
"Where are you?" he repeated, drawing his sword.
"Here."
Vadim spun in that direction. "You're full of surprise, aren't you?" he spat.
"I had a good teacher." d'Artagnan chuckled dryly. "Sorry. Over here."
But the Gascon was not where he said he would be. The panic that Vadim was feeling was rising, along with his anger. He swiped at the darkness, hoping to hit the young man, but there was only emptiness. It was as if d'Artagnan were a ghost, flitting from one place to another.
"I'll kill you, you bastard!" Vadim shouted, his voice echoing hashly in the tunnel. "Come at me, you coward."
"I'm right here, Vadim!" d'Artagnan hissed in his ear, standing right behind him. He knocked the torch from the man's hands and to the ground. "Face me, and die."
Vadim spun around, swinging his sword. d'Artagnan blocked the man's strike and pushed him back a step. The torch light was slowly dying, smoke filling the space, the dust from the explosion still not entirely setteld from the air, leaving them in a dark dimness. From the tunnel at his back, d'Artagnan was sure sunlight leaked in not to far down.
He could not, and would not, let Vadim escape.
Sparks flew as their blades clashed, ever moving. Before d'Artagnan managed to get a thrust in. Vadim kicked his leg out from under him, leaving the lad on the ground. He vanished into the shadows.
d'Artagnan jumped to his feet and quickly grabbed the dying torch, but there was no sight of the man. He spun in the other direction as he heard footsteps approach, and nearly whimpered at the sight of his Angels.
"So, you are alive." Athos gasped, as the three women surrounded him, giving him a solemn nod.
"I think so." He gave a small grin.
Porthos gave him a hardly pat on the back that made him wince a bit, but he gave a breathless laugh anyways. "It took you three long enough. I thought I was going to have to have all the fun by myself."
"Never." Aramis said, giving him a warm smile. After almost being blown up, she was happy to see that the same could be said for d'Artagnan. Worry stuck her like a pin though, as she noted the amount of blood matting his dark locks. But Athos' question stopped her natural mother-hen instinct.
"Vadim?"
He glanced at his sword blade in the torch light, and noted the dark smearing of blood. "Wounded." He'd thought he'd gotten a hit in, but in the commotion, he hadn't been sure. "Badly. He can't have got far."
A look passed between the four, and they moved as one down the tunnel that had been at d'Artagnan's back—following a trail of Royal jewels. He tossed the torch aside as they soon came upon sunlight streaming through a barred archway that led to the canal, its rusted bars bent.
"Stop there, Vadim!" Porthos shouted as they chased the wounded man into the open. "Stop!" but they needn't have worried, the man collapsed onto his knees himself. Four swords pointed at him neck anyways.
He glared at d'Artagnan. "I should have strangled you in the Chatelet. Saved myself a lot of trouble." He groaned, falling down onto his side, and then back as he grasped his bloody wound.
They four withdrew their swords.
"Why didn't you?" d'Artagnan couldn't help but wonder, kneeling next to the man. "You said you knew who I was the whole time. So, why? You're plan might've worked, if it hadn't been for me."
"For the fun of it." He smirked. "What's the point of victory, without a few hurdles along the way? It was a good trick." He insisted. "It should have worked..."
"It nearly did," the Gascon whispered to the man.
Vadim let out a final breath, his wound finally taking him. His hand fell to the ground at his side, his palm slowly opening to reveal that coin he was always flipping through his fingers and making disappear.
d'Artagnan stared at the dead man for a long moment, so long that it started to concern the Inseparables.
"Charlie?" Aramis murmured, a hand on his shoulder. "Are you alright?"
He answered after a moment. "Yeah." He stood, Vadim's coin clenched in his hand. "I'm alright."
"Treville will want a report." Athos said. "We should get back to the garrison."
"And have those wounds checked out." Aramis said, pointedly looking at d'Artagnan.
He gave her a look. "I said I was fine!"
"And that looks like a concussion and a laceration." She deadpanned.
"Come on, lad!" Porthos wrapped an arm around his shoulders. "Don' fight it, she'll have 'er way with ya, either way." And started to lead him back into the city.
Aramis smiled as she followed after the pair. It was best that he learn that right off if he was going to stick around. Athos gave Vadim's body one last glance before she followed, too.
A couple hours later, after giving Treville the unedited report of his time with Vadim, d'Artagnan was finally able to get away from the garrison. Of course, not before Aramis man handled him, making sure herself that he was uninjured; and cleaned up a bit—it wouldn't do to approach the woman of his desire covered in blood.
So it was with slight trepidation that he approached the Bonacieux residence. They hadn't parted on very satisfying terms, the mission with Vadim took precedence over his personal life. But now that Vadim was gone, the mission over, he had been wondering if he would be looking for a knew place to stay in Paris—and couldn't help but worry if it would been in some alley.
So, when he found himself stood across from her in the kitchen, with the peeved look she was giving him, he was surprised that she'd even let him in. He remembered the slap she'd given Aramis, and though it best to keep some distance between them—he was smart enough for that, at least.
"Constance, I truly am sorry for the deception. I didn't mean for you to get upset." He demurred.
She scoffed. "What did you expect was going to happen? Did you not think I would care that you were arrested and to be hanged?"
He looked at her with a light in his eyes that he knew he shouldn't have, and her expression said the same. Her concern was genuine, and that just seemed to fan that flames inside of his heart. "Am I to find a new place to rent, Constance?" he asked quietly.
She gave a heavy sigh. "Do you know how hard it is to find a good lodger these days? So, until I do find one, I suppose that you can stay." d'Artagnan grinned at her and she gave him a sweetly-sour glower. "My life used to be so simple before you came along, d'Artagnan."
"Sorry...?" he asked.
A small smile twitched at the corner of her lips. "I hated it."
He chuckled and gave a small bow. "Glad I could be of service, Madame."
"Right. Keep up that cheek, Monsieur." She threatened, flicking the dishtowel in her hands at him, but became empty when she giggled, and he figured it was the most beautiful sound he'd heard since he came to Paris.
Suzette's body would be found the next afternoon by a regular costumer. Perhaps she and Vadim would find each other in the afterlife.
And a certain, dark-haired, green-eyed Agent with a powerful patron would have in her possession, the fabled diamond pendent that Vadim had stolen from the Palace all those years ago. A secret between a dead woman and assassin—just like the plans regarding as certain Gascon with her patron.
the M~U~S~K~E~T~E~E~R~S - S~R~E~E~T~E~K~S~U~M eht
Of course, I had to keep the thing between Aramis and the Queen, though obviously, since Aramis is now a woman, some things will have to change, and you'll see those things later. The same is to be said for Milady, who I kept the same (a woman) [for it to work with d'Artagnan, who is straight], but her and Athos' history will be a bit altered, as you will also see later. And duh with the Constagnan! ;)
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