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Musketeers Don't Die Easily, part 1

"I don't like this."

"So you keep saying," d'Artagnan agreed, more focused on his cup than on the conversation. "I can do this, Athos."

"I have no doubts about you. My reservations are entirely about her. I still think I should be the one to go to her."

"No," d'Artagnan said sharply, looking up. "You don't get any closer to her than you have to."

Athos frowned. That had been rather more vehement than he'd been expecting, and now the others were watching as well. "Why not? Do you think she would kill me? She won't."

d'Artagnan looked oddly at him. "I'm not worried about her killing you, I'm worried about her turning you – Porthos!"

Porthos rammed him into the nearest wall, pinning him there. "You think Athos would turn on us for her?"

"Not deliberately – Athos, tell him!"

"Tell him what?" Athos asked calmly. Porthos wasn't in any danger of hurting him.

"About your wife! About her Ability."

Athos went very still. "Anne has no Ability."

d'Artagnan looked ill, and Porthos had gone from pinning him in place to supporting him. "Oh, god."

"She has no Ability," Athos said again, more loudly.

"She does. Athos, she does. I'm sorry, it never occurred to me that you didn't – I'm sorry."

"What Ability?" Aramis asked from the side lines.

d'Artagnan's eyes flickered to him and back to Athos. "She's a broadcast empath. She can make you feel whatever she wants. That's why you didn't watch her die five years ago. It's why you didn't fight back when she hurt you at la Fere. It's what makes her so useful to the Cardinal." He pushed lightly against Porthos, who let him go, watching warily. "Athos, I'm sorry."

Athos shook his head – certainly this was not d'Artagnan's fault – but he didn't dare answer out loud.

Aramis was suddenly in front of him, holding his gaze. "She cannot make you feel anything that isn't in you to feel," he said firmly. "You didn't wish to see her die; that is not a failing, Athos."

"I thought I loved her," Athos said softly.

"You did love her. That didn't come from nowhere."

Athos drew in a breath, turning to look at the others. d'Artagnan looked like he was bracing himself to be struck, and Athos grimaced. "My wife's Ability is hardly your fault, d'Artagnan."

"I should have said something."

"I did not encourage you to speak of her at all. You think I shouldn't face her?"

d'Artagnan frowned, visibly moving to the new topic. "Not if you can help it. Aramis might be able to block her for a time, I don't know, but she'd know."

"She'll know if you block her too," Aramis pointed out. His hand was warm on Athos' arm; Athos couldn't remember when that had happened.

"I'll know what she's trying to make me feel," d'Artagnan told them. "I can play along."

"What about me?" Porthos asked.

d'Artagnan hesitated. "I don't know what your Ability is."

Aramis cleared his throat; d'Artagnan glanced over at them and he shook his head apologetically. d'Artagnan looked back, frowned, and shook his head.

"What's wrong?" Aramis asked politely.

"I don't remember what I was saying." d'Artagnan pressed a hand against his forehead.

Aramis shot a glance at Athos. "You were trying to decide if Porthos would be safe against Madame de la Chapelle."

"Was I? I'm not...gah." He bent double, both hands fisted in his hair. "Porthos!"

"Sorry," Porthos murmured, easing him towards the seat. "Takes Aramis like that if he's touching me, too. I'll be careful in future."

"Breathe," Aramis added. "It'll pass in a moment. Your senses got confused."

d'Artagnan lifted his head, scowling. "What was that?"

"Fading," Porthos told him. "Makes you not notice me."

"You weren't here!"

"I was here. I never moved. You just – didn't notice. Looked past me. I didn't register. Useful little trick, but it does upset empaths, telepaths. Most of the Active Mentals, I guess."

"It does," d'Artagnan agreed, finally relaxing. "I could sense you, and you weren't there. I couldn't figure it out."

Porthos nodded. "I was in battle once, tried to Fade so I could get closer to their leader. Didn't realise Aramis had a hand on me. Near made him throw up, it confused him so much."

"Confused, yes, that's it," d'Artagnan agreed.

"Well, can I get near Milady or not?"

"How long can you hold that for?"

"Against you, not very long. Against someone doesn't know what they're looking for? I've done a day, before."

"Milady only broadcasts, she doesn't receive," d'Artagnan said thoughtfully. "At least, only enough to know how to manipulate someone. If she didn't know you were there, at all..."

"You'll have to shield against him the whole time, though," Athos pointed out. "Can you do that and still track what she's doing?"

"Yes, I know him well enough now, that won't be a problem."

"Right. I'll be nearby as much as I can, then," Porthos promised.

"Can you move around while you're Fading?" d'Artagnan asked curiously. "What if you pick up a cup or a plate, or open a door?"

"I could lift your own dagger and kill you with it, you wouldn't notice anything in time. Don't worry about that."

"I've seen him do that, it's quite remarkable," Aramis offered. "Well, sort of seen him do it. I've seen the results."

"No wonder you were such a good thief. You and Flea." d'Artagnan glanced at Aramis. "Aramis, if we do this – the Cardinal knows you have an Ability. If you take part in this, he might decide to use that knowledge."

"He knows you know I have an Ability," Aramis reminded him. "You're in as much danger as I."

"It doesn't matter, I have to do this. I'm the only one who can. You don't have to have any part in it."

"As long as I'm in Paris, the Cardinal will not believe I had no part in this. And we don't go on missions alone. If we do this, I am part of it, and we'll deal with the Cardinal when it happens."

"We seem to have decided that this is the best plan," Athos murmured.

"It is the best plan," d'Artagnan agreed. "This way we can stop her and the Cardinal both. If you think you can."

Athos hesitated for a long moment, but there was really only one answer he could give if these men were willing. "I can."

Aramis was cleaning his pistol for the third time when d'Artagnan gave up. "Enough. What's bothering you?" Aramis looked at him, and he grimaced. "What, specifically, is bothering you?"

"I hate this plan."

"We all hate this plan. I hate it, and it's my plan. Just remember not to touch me." He glanced at him. "Will that be enough, not touching me?"

"It's enough." Aramis sighed. "You've been building your shields on us for a while."

"Yes," d'Artagnan agreed. "Something that can't be taken from me."

"Will that work now?"

"Porthos will be nearby. And as long as I don't leave Paris, you'll be close enough. I can find you."

"Over all the other noise?"

"If I have to." He caught Aramis' look and sighed, thinking for a moment. Explaining this was never easy, but Aramis should have more idea than most. "Imagine meeting someone who speaks with a thick accent," he said finally.

"All right," Aramis agreed, intrigued.

"At first, you have to try to work out what they're saying." d'Artagnan looked away, gaze drifting over the far wall. "It doesn't sound like anything; it's just noise. Maybe there's words here and there you can pick out…It gets easier. You learn how they phrase things, what different words sound like coming from them. After a while, you don't need to try. You just understand when they talk. And if they called you, even in a crowded room, you'd hear them. Because you know them."

Aramis laid a gloved hand on his arm. d'Artagnan let it ground him, drawing him back.

When he finally met Aramis' eyes, Aramis smiled. "It isn't anything like that, is it."

"No, it isn't, because it isn't noise. It isn't sound. It's not sight or touch or taste. It isn't anything like anything. But that's a way to say it that you can understand. You must understand this. What's it like to heal someone?"

"It's not like anything," Aramis agreed.

d'Artagnan glanced towards the street; Athos was moving. "It won't be long – what is it like?"

Aramis shrugged. "The body has an energy. Injury or illness disrupts that energy. When my skin touches someone else's, I can read their energy, see where it's disrupted and how to fix it. Injury more easily than illness, I'll admit, but both are possible."

"And it tires you."

"I use my own energy to make the repairs. That's why I must be careful who I touch. I nearly killed myself at Savoy, trying to save men who were far beyond help."

Clearing his throat, he added, "Food and sleep restores me. The bigger the healing, the more food and rest. I may sleep a long time, but I will always wake. What do you know about Athos' Ability?"

"Very little. It's some kind of passive healing. I saw it at la Fere."

"You had a busy night at la Fere," Aramis mused. "Athos needs only sleep to recover from injury or illness."

"Any injury?"

"We've yet to find an injury he can't overcome. It's not something we've experimented with, you understand."

"Mmm." d'Artagnan glanced towards the street again. That spike of fear was Anne, which meant they'd be moving any minute. "So when we met, the firing squad…"

"We try not to let him put himself in life threatening situations. Certainly not with witnesses around."

"Try not to?" d'Artagnan repeated, enjoying the sense of amusement.

"Well, sometimes he makes it harder than others."

Porthos appeared in the gateway, shouting about Athos taking a woman hostage. Aramis glanced up to make sure Treville had heard, clapped d'Artagnan on the shoulder, and hurried out. d'Artagnan followed, aware of Porthos behind him and Treville shouting orders to keep the other Musketeers from following.

Most of the conversation blurred in his mind. Anne was trying to push protective and lust and wanting at him, and he played along, trying to persuade Athos to let her go. The others 'discovered' his relationship and were suitably outraged, and when Treville appeared d'Artagnan took the opportunity and grabbed Athos' pistol.

It went off.

Athos' horror hit d'Artagnan just before the pain. The aim had been off; the bullet intended for his arm had hit his side instead. Treville caught him as he crumpled, Porthos warding off Athos, Aramis doing his best to look like he was helping without touching d'Artagnan.

Porthos came back, hunkering in front of d'Artagnan, tapping his face. "Hey. Stay with us. Open your eyes, d'Artagnan."

d'Artagnan focused on Porthos long enough to weave his shields using Porthos as the base; then he drifted into unconsciousness.

Porthos stayed Faded, watching as Milady's surgeon left, as she studied d'Artagnan, lips pinched together, before leaving. The room was elegant and well put together but not well used. Whatever this building was, it hadn't been occupied for a while.

d'Artagnan slept well into the next day, and when he woke it was in slow stages. Porthos waited patiently. In the Fade, he didn't dare speak or try and touch d'Artagnan; it would upset him badly, and he didn't need that on top of the injury.

Eventually d'Artagnan woke properly; he lay without moving for a moment. "Porthos," he murmured, eyes closed. "I need to see you for a minute."

Porthos slipped back into solidity, reaching down to touch his hand lightly, and d'Artagnan dragged his eyes open. "Morning," Porthos murmured.

"Is it?"

"Bells rang nine a while ago. How're you feeling?"

"Like I got shot. Where are we?"

Porthos glanced around. "Milady's house. Or a house she owns, anyway. She shouted until they let her take you away last night."

d'Artagnan reached out to brace himself on Porthos, hauling himself into a sitting position and stifling a groan. "How am I?"

"Bounced off your ribs, bruised a couple of them. Milady got you a surgeon. You'll be fine. Sore for a bit, that's all."

d'Artagnan touched his ribs warily. "Good." Glancing up, he added, "Milady's coming."

"You right?"

"Yes. Go."

d'Artagnan carefully looked away, reaching for his shirt and pulling it on with a wince. Porthos slid into the Fade, watching as Milady approached from behind. He didn't see the pistol until it was already pressed to d'Artagnan's head; he froze, but he didn't seem afraid, and Porthos didn't interfere.

"I could blow your brains out now and never think of you again," she said conversationally.

"I'm guessing you didn't bring me here just to shoot me."

"The question is, can I trust you?"

"I saved your life," he pointed out.

There was a long moment before she pulled the pistol back slightly, lowering it. d'Artagnan lowered his head, fussing with his sleeves to avoid her gaze.

She paced around him, waiting until he met her eyes. "The shot grazed your ribs. A few inches to the right and Athos would have killed you."

"It was an accident," d'Artagnan said instinctively.

"Was it?"

"Yes."

"You saw the look on his face when he found out about us. He hated you. They all did, all your so-called friends. They left you to bleed to death in the square."

d'Artagnan looked away, fussing with the shirt again, and Porthos cursed silently. Either the boy was a far better actor than they'd thought, or Milady was getting to him.

He kept listening as Milady tried to get d'Artagnan to join her, serving the Cardinal. d'Artagnan refused outright, going so far as to walk away to sit down. She kept pressing, using her body now; Porthos looked away, but he caught enough to know d'Artagnan had backed up, breaking contact with her.

"Last time I was in your bed," he said carefully, "you murdered a man and blamed me for it."

"I promise I haven't killed anyone yet. Today."

She was all but in his lap, holding him in place. d'Artagnan met her gaze for a moment, and he looked like he was considering it.

"Tell me what really happened between you and Athos."

She studied him for a long moment before stepping aside, sitting carefully beside him. Porthos listened as she described a poor upbringing, and it sounded possible to him. She didn't speak like any of the poor he knew, but that could be hidden.

"His brother Thomas was mad with desire for me," she said, watching d'Artagnan. "He tried to force me."

d'Artagnan looked away, and Porthos grimaced. She knew every button to push, obviously.

"I had no choice. I killed him, but I did it for love. Athos was blind to the truth; because I was a thief, I must also be a murderer. This is what he did for his honour, and status."

She pulled her choker loose; the scar was clear, and d'Artagnan couldn't look away from it.

"You once said you would kill the man who did this to me."

d'Artagnan blinked, taken aback. Porthos was surprised; he hadn't mentioned that part of the story.

"You want me to kill Athos."

"You don't know him like I do! He will never forgive you."

"I won't murder my best friend."

Milady frowned, clearly surprised. She must have expected d'Artagnan to be so caught up in her spell by now that he'd agree without hesitation.

She started to speak, but there was a loud knock at the door. Porthos glanced up, moving carefully out of her way as she picked up the pistol before going to answer it.

"Madame," Treville said politely. "I've come to see d'Artagnan."

Porthos glanced at d'Artagnan. He wasn't wearing his beads, hadn't wanted to risk them, but his lips were moving in the way they'd learnt meant he was re-centring himself.

"This won't take long," Treville promised. Milady stepped aside to let him in.

d'Artagnan looked away. "What do you want, captain?"

Treville cleared his throat. "Athos has made it clear he can never serve at your side again. I cannot allow such dissent within the ranks. I'm sorry, but your future lies elsewhere."

"What?" d'Artagnan breathed.

"Resign your commission quickly and I'll see no disgrace is attached to your name."

"No!" d'Artagnan surged to his feet. "I don't deserve this! What have I done wrong?"

"I haven't come here to judge you," Treville said placidly. "I simply have to make a choice. Athos is the finest soldier in the regiment; I choose him. There's nothing more to be said." He bowed slightly, pulling his hat back on as he left.

d'Artagnan stared straight ahead for a long moment. Milady closed the door, coming back to watch him.

"You were right about him," he said after a moment. "I should have listened. Be in the town square at midday. You'll get what you want."

d'Artagnan kept walking until he was out of sight of Milady's house; then he stopped dead. "Porthos?"

"Here," Porthos touched his shoulder from behind. "You all right?"

"That was – she's a lot stronger than I thought she was." He pressed one hand to his forehead, drinking in the familiar feel of Porthos, letting it steady him. "I suppose she wasn't really trying, before."

"You surprised her, when you said you wouldn't kill him."

"Mmm. She thought she had me."

Porthos watched him for a moment. "You know it was rot, all that stuff she was saying. About us hating you, leaving you there. You know we'd never do that, not ever."

"I know. It was the plan."

"Aramis nearly had to clock Athos one to get him to leave, even with the plan. When he knew his aim was off..."

"That was partly my fault, I grabbed the barrel."

"And the Captain, he'd never throw you out, neither."

"I know," d'Artagnan agreed, but he couldn't hide the relief he felt at the words, even so. Even knowing exactly how the others felt, listening to the words had hurt, and Milady hadn't helped either. She knew exactly how best to hurt him. "Where are we?"

"Near the Louvre. Garrison's not far off. Why?"

He looked around, getting his bearings. "Rue Plummet's not far from here. And you need to be back in the garrison before I get there."

"You all right on your own?"

"Yes, I'm fine now. But I need some time if I'm going back to her, especially if I have to kill Athos in between."

"Yeah, I was wondering about that," Porthos agreed. "How're you going to get him to agree?"

d'Artagnan grimaced. "I'm still working on that. Don't tell him; let me work it out first."

"Right. Don't take too long, or we'll be after you, got it?"

"Got it," d'Artagnan promised. "I'll see you in a while."

The priests knew him by sight, by now, knew to keep away unless he came looking for one of them. d'Artagnan genuflected, threw a couple of coins into the collection plate, and found a pew in one of the side chapels. There were only a handful of people in the main body of the church, and he was familiar enough with the building now that he could focus on it and not them.

He sat for a while, praying silently, letting the words draw him back into himself, and then he rose and headed for the garrison, concentrating. The rest of the regiment still thought he'd fought with Athos, so he needed to be angry, impetuous, enough to get himself called into Treville's office.

That shouldn't be too hard.

Porthos and Aramis were sitting on the table in the courtyard, talking quietly; Porthos glanced up as d'Artagnan came in, pushing to his feet. "Where've you been?"

"In bed," d'Artagnan snapped. "Injured."

"You weren't alone, I think," Aramis said mock-wisely. "How is Madame de la Chapelle? Or is it Milady de Winter? I lose track."

d'Artagnan rolled his eyes. Aramis was enjoying this just a little too much. "She was well last time I saw her, no thanks to her loving husband."

Athos took the hint, stepping out of the stables. "I see you've risen from the dead."

"You failed to kill me, if that's what you're referring to."

Fierce joy swept through Athos and was gone. d'Artagnan blinked, looking down to hide it.

Treville stepped out onto his balcony, glaring down at them. "What are you doing here?"

"I'm still a Musketeer, despite what Athos may wish!" d'Artagnan said fiercely.

"We'll settle this in private." Treville stomped back inside. d'Artagnan glanced at the others; Aramis bowed ostentatiously, waving him towards the stairs.

Inside they stood in a tense row, eyeing each other, no one wanting to break first.

"So you're not dead," Athos drawled eventually.

"And you're not drunk," d'Artagnan agreed.

They were silent for a moment longer, and then d'Artagnan grinned, too happy with how pleased they were to see him to keep up the act. Porthos grinned widely, and Aramis laughed.

d'Artagnan wasn't sure who started the hug, but Aramis was across from him, there was no danger of them touching, so he relaxed and enjoyed it for a moment. Athos brushed against his side by accident and he hissed. "Careful. I'm a wounded man, remember."

"Sorry about that," Athos said carelessly; there was genuine concern under that, though. "Is it bad?"

d'Artagnan glanced at Aramis. "Skipped off my ribs. I'm a little bruised. Nothing serious."

"Porthos, is it bad?" Aramis demanded.

"Milady got a surgeon to look at him. He's fine."

"I'd like to look at it."

"After," d'Artagnan said quickly. "I can't go back to Milady healed, she'll notice. After we're done, you can look."

"d'Artagnan, does Milady believe we've abandoned you?" Treville asked.

"Almost. There's just one tiny detail left I need to convince her."

"And what's that?" Athos asked.

d'Artagnan grinned, knowing full well the others were coming to hate that particular smile. "Nothing too difficult. I just need to kill you."