Authur's note: Well, since the showrunners, in their wisdom, ended Season 2 that way, I can't possibly write anything set between 2 and 3 the way I did between 1 and 2. So instead, I'll be writing vignettes and AUs; things that happened elsewhere in the 'verse, or might have happened if one thing had gone differently. And I'm looking for prompts! I have some ideas already, but I'm not going to tell you what they are; I'd like to see if my ideas match what you'd like to see. :D So comment or PM with your ideas and I'll add them to the list!

Musketeers Don't Die Easily, part 2

d'Artagnan left shouting and cursing, promising retribution on them. Porthos held Athos back from following, letting the others out first.

"Shouldn't you go after him?" Athos asked.

"I'll catch him up. Listen, Athos. d'Artagnan probably won't tell you this, but I think you ought to know."

"All right," Athos agreed calmly.

"He asked Milady what happened between you two. And she told him that your brother Thomas tried to force her into his bed. That that's why she killed him."

Athos shook his head slowly. "She made that claim at the time. But Thomas would never; he was a gentle boy. He loved her like a sister."

"I figured she was trying to appeal to his sense of justice. Didn't look like he believed her, but I don't think he'll tell you, and I want you to know what she's saying."

"Thank you," Athos murmured. "Go. Don't leave him alone with her until you have to."

"I'll be in the square at twelve. And I'm sending Aramis in now. You don't need to be alone, either."

Athos didn't argue. He knew that would only worry Porthos more, but he was too tired to pretend he wanted to be left alone. Porthos thumped him on the shoulder as he left; there was a brief exchange outside, and then Aramis came in, still glancing over his shoulder at the departing Porthos.

"Porthos seems to think you would benefit from company."

"I would like not to be alone," Athos admitted.

Aramis grinned widely. "Our young friend is rubbing off on you, Athos. You're actually admitting to an emotion."

"Seems a little pointless not to, nowadays."

"It's good for you. Stops you brooding."

"Yes," Athos drawled. "Now as long as we make sure he's never in a room with you and the Queen…"

"Low blow," Aramis protested, but he was still smiling. "Should we expect any other figures from your past to appear and threaten all of France?"

"If they do, it will surprise me as much as you," Athos promised. "Where's Treville?"

"Attempting to smooth things over with the rest of the regiment. We can't keep casting d'Artagnan as the villain, you realise; at some point, our brothers will stop believing us when we vindicate him."

"You convince him to step back on the next one, then."

"Are we expecting many more like this?"

Treville came in, pulling off his hat. "Don't you have somewhere to be?"

"We're going, sir," Aramis agreed.

"Be careful. All of you."

"Aren't we always?"

Treville scowled, looking at Athos. "Good luck."

"Thank you, captain." Athos nodded, turning to leave, Aramis at his shoulder.

d'Artagnan stood in Milady's rooms, barely listening as she rambled about Athos' death. He'd been concentrating intently on Athos during the fight, he knew Athos wasn't hurt, but he still couldn't get the image out of his head. Athos lying still between Porthos and Aramis, blood pooled on his belly.

Milady was barely bothering to push him any more. With Athos gone, d'Artagnan's only hope was the Cardinal's protection, and they both knew it. Right now, he needed her far more than she needed him.

"I thought you were like Athos," she said dismissively. "I was wrong. He had greatness in him. He would not be frightened."

"I'm not frightened," d'Artagnan protested, trying to decide if that was actually regret she was feeling. "Just practical. There's only one man who can help me stay alive, and I need to see him now."

Milady came to stand in front of him, studying him for a long moment before reaching up to kiss him. d'Artagnan let her do it, but he couldn't bring himself to respond, and after a moment she backed away, staring at him. "There's someone else."

"I've just killed a man," he protested. "It tends to dampen the mood."

"Not in my experience." She watched him for a moment longer. "You're in love with that draper's wife."

"Constance means nothing to me," he said instinctively. He didn't want Milady anywhere near her.

"I see," she murmured. "Well, perhaps you're not Athos. But with the Cardinal's help I can still make something of you. He'll be expecting us by now."

She went to step past him; d'Artagnan caught her wrist to halt her. "Tell me something," he said softly. "Honestly."

"Honestly," she agreed, watching him curiously.

"Athos calls you Anne. Is that your name?"

She was silent for a long moment, studying him. "I have no name."

"No name, only masks. That's a lonely way to live." He let go of her wrist, stepping away to open the door.

Behind him, Milady drew in a breath, trying to steady herself, and d'Artagnan smiled faintly, keeping his back turned to her. It wasn't much, but any crack in her façade could help him later.

The Cardinal was enjoying this a little too much. d'Artagnan let him gloat for a while, fighting back only as much as he was expected to. When Richelieu promised to hang him for his crime, he acted.

He managed to surprise them both when he caught Milday, pressing the dagger to her throat. "Touch me and she dies," he warned them.

"Well, do try not to get blood everywhere," Richelieu said, bored.

"He's testing you, d'Artagnan," Milady managed.

"I assure you I am not," Richelieu corrected her. "There was a time when you might have been useful to me. What service can you offer me now?"

d'Artagnan thought quickly. Milady was trying to push him into letting her go; if he held her much longer, she'd get suspicious. "You know Treville has a letter signed by the assassin Gallagher? It implicates you in the attempt to murder the Queen. I can get it for you."

Richelieu considered him for a moment before waving the guards away. d'Artagnan let go of Milady, pushing her away from him. Fighting her pushes was hard enough without having her too close.

"Why hasn't Treville produced it already?" Richelieu asked.

"He's waiting to condemn you at Mellendorf's trial, in front of the King. That way, no-one can suppress the evidence."

"Tell me you weren't foolish enough to mention my name to Gallagher," Richelieu said to Milady. She stayed quiet. d'Artagnan carefully did not react, but he was grateful. That had been one of the things they weren't certain about, and he could have been in trouble. "How would you obtain it?"

d'Artagnan leaned on the desk, watching very carefully as he spoke. "Use me as bait. Tell Aramis and Porthos you'll hand me over in exchange for the letter."

"Why should I do that when their intention was to destroy me?"

"No, no no. This is personal now. I killed their friend. Their code of honour demands my death. Believe me. I know how they think."

"What about Treville? He would never allow it."

He backed off again, making it seem like random, nervous energy. Richelieu was hooked now; the plan would go ahead. "Treville would never need to know. Aramis knows where the letter is kept."

Richelieu glanced at Milady. "Is he right about them?"

"They loved Athos." There was that regret again; he was certain this time. "They would do anything to avenge his death."

"And what do you want in return?"

"Your guarantee of my safety, and a commission in the Red Guards."

Richelieu waved a guard forward. "Send a message to the Musketeer Aramis. Tell him if he wants d'Artagnan, to bring Gallagher's letter to the old seminary at Le Place Mon Pere." The guard nodded, slipping out of the room, and Richelieu turned to d'Artagnan. "Milady has other work to take care of, but this guard will show you somewhere you can wait."

"My thanks," d'Artagnan said, letting Richelieu see the contempt he'd be expecting. Turning, he followed the guard. His part of the plan was over now; it was down to Aramis and Porthos to finish it.

d'Artagnan held Athos back briefly as they prepared to go after Madame Bonacieux. "She was sorry you were dead," he said quickly, not quite meeting Athos' eyes. "She regretted it."

"Regretted not doing it herself."

"No, Athos. The loss of you – it hurt her."

He turned to go before Athos could answer, and they didn't have time to pick the conversation back up again as they prepared the cart and headed for the Rue Saint-Jacques. Athos spent most of the short fire fight trying to watch d'Artagnan's back; the Gascon was wild, fighting to get to Madame Bonacieux without paying much attention to who he was going through to get there. Athos had to haul him back as they rounded the corner into the tunnel where Anne was waiting.

"One more step and she dies," Anne warned him.

Athos ignored it, taking a couple of steps towards her. "Stop this now. You've hurt enough people."

"You dare to talk to me about hurt?"

Athos saw Madame Bonacieux's eyes flicker just before she moved, pushing the pistol to one side. Anne fired instinctively; the shot lodged in the ceiling above them, and Athos caught her arm before she could go for any of the other weapons she was undoubtedly carrying. Constance fled past him, throwing herself into d'Artagnan's arms, crying and talking too quickly for him to follow.

"Enough," Athos said softly. "It's over. Kneel." Anne obeyed, eyes locked on his, and he drew his sword. "Do you have anything to say?"

"Go ahead. Finish what you started."

Aramis and Porthos came up on either side of him; neither tried to touch him, but they were close enough that he couldn't ignore them. "You don't have to do this," Aramis said softly.

"Leave this to the proper authorities, Athos," Porthos agreed.

Athos shook his head slightly. They didn't understand. "I made her what she is. Her murders are on my head."

"No," d'Artagnan said softly from behind them. Athos ignored him.

"It is you who should be on your knees," Anne told him. "Now kill me and do a better job of it than last time."

Athos stared at her for a long moment, sword resting gently just above her breast. Eventually he pulled back slightly, sheathing his sword and pulling her roughly to her feet. "Go to Spain. England. Anywhere. I don't care. But if you ever show your face in Paris again I will kill you, without hesitation."

Anne touched his face gently. "You know there can be no peace for either of us, until we are both dead." Athos nodded very slightly, and she turned away, vanishing into the shadows at the end of the tunnel.

Athos watched for a moment, until she was gone; then he pulled her locket out from under his shirt, breaking the chain with a sharp pull and holding it in one hand.

He turned back to the others, studying them for a moment. d'Artagnan shifted, choosing his words carefully. "I'm glad you saved her."

"Perhaps I was saving myself," Athos murmured. Stepping past them, out of the tunnel, he dropped the locket on the ground and walked on, feeling immeasurably lighter.

Constance pulled d'Artagnan to one side as the others talked briefly. "You're glad he didn't kill her?"

"Not for her sake," d'Artagnan assured her. "For his. He never would have forgiven himself, no matter what she did to deserve it." He studied her carefully. "You're sure you're not hurt?"

"She hit me," she admitted, reaching for her cheek. d'Artagnan caught her fingers in his, gently brushing a thumb over the rising bruise. "Ow," she murmured, though it hadn't hurt her.

"Sorry," he apologised, half turning. "Aramis?"

"It's just a bruise," Constance protested, but Aramis was already coming over.

"Milady struck her," d'Artagnan said.

Aramis studied her for a moment before peeling off one glove. "With your permission, madame?" Constance nodded, and he gently tilted her head to see better. "Ah, that's nothing much," he said briskly. "I'm sure it hurt badly at the time, but I don't think it'll even bruise." He glanced at Athos briefly. "I would take it as a kindness if we didn't mention this to Athos," he murmured, taking a step back. "He would likely take it badly, knowing that she hurt you."

"Of course," Constance agreed quickly.

"Can I take Constance home now?" d'Artagnan asked, glancing towards Athos and Porthos.

"Go ahead. We'll take care of this." Aramis bowed to Constance, turning to head back to the others.

They didn't talk much as they walked. Constance was – not ashamed, but oddly rueful, and d'Artagnan couldn't tell why. It made him reluctant to try anything, especially when she pulled away when he reached for her hand.

"Someone might see," she said quietly.

"Who cares?" d'Artagnan asked, pulling her gently in. She wanted this, and so did he, and it was getting increasingly hard to separate her feelings from his.

"d'Artagnan, please – nothing's changed."

"Everything's changed," he murmured into her hair. "The Cardinal can't touch us. That's all over with. I love you, and I know you love me. Say it."

"I love you," she murmured. "But…no, stop." She pushed gently and he let go, backing off a step. "I can't just leave Bonacieux. What would I do?"

"Anything you want."

"Musketeers don't marry, d'Artagnan."

"I'll start a new trend. Captain Treville is married." He cupped her cheek, watching her, almost drunk on how much she wanted him. "We can make this work. I promise. Don't you trust me?"

"That's not fair," she mumbled, but she was smiling, leaning in to kiss him.

"Madame Bonacieux!" The Bonacieux maid hurried around a corner, frightened, almost panicking. "Come quickly! The master has tried to kill himself!"

Not a very serious try, d'Artagnan thought when he saw the man, but he was sincere in his fear of losing Constance and his promise to kill himself if she tried to leave. And he knew, as soon as Bonacieux said it, what Constance would do.

He let her usher him out, already numb. "I can't leave him," she said quietly. "Not like this."

"He's bluffing," d'Artagnan said, but he didn't believe it and he knew she didn't either.

"We can't know that. What if he really did it? Later, perhaps. When he doesn't need me so badly – things might be different."

"He'll never make you happy," d'Artagnan said helplessly.

Constance flinched, looking down. She knew he was right; but she wasn't willing to have another death on her conscience, and he couldn't blame her, not really. "Goodbye, d'Artagnan," she murmured. "It was a beautiful dream."

d'Artagnan kissed her hands gently, letting go and turning away. He didn't falter when he heard her say softly "I love you."

They should have thought of this, Athos thought grimly.

When the King announced Queen Anne's pregnancy it took Athos a moment to understand the implications. Glancing at Aramis, he saw that the other man had realised, too.

And then d'Artagnan doubled over, making an inarticulate noise of grief. Athos steadied him quickly; Treville stepped in on his other side, keeping him upright.

"Well, what on earth is wrong?" Louis asked.

"My apologies, your majesty," Athos said quickly. "d'Artagnan was wounded two days ago on a mission. I'm afraid he's not fully recovered yet."

Anne gestured to one of the servants. "Take them to a room to rest," she ordered. "See that they're given anything they need."

"Your majesty is most gracious," Athos told her. Porthos came to replace Treville, though d'Artagnan was more or less able to walk now, and they followed the servant, Aramis on their heels.

They were brought to a room that clearly hadn't been used for some time; the servant offered to send for a maid to clean up, but Athos shook his head. "We require privacy only. Please ensure no one comes in."

"I will make certain," the servant promised, backing out and closing the doors firmly.

Aramis pulled off his glove, turning to d'Artagnan. "Is it your side?"

"It's not my side. Don't touch me."

"Let me see what's wrong."

"Don't touch me!" d'Artagnan slapped his hand aside, retreating a couple of steps.

"d'Artagnan," Athos snapped.

d'Artagnan shook his head. One hand was rubbing at his wrist, but he hadn't retrieved his beads from the garrison yet. This had to be serious; he rarely seemed to turn to them anymore. "It's not my side. I'm not injured."

"Then what is it?"

He looked at Aramis. "It's you. I'm sorry, I know you hate it, I swear it's not on purpose. How do you – god. It's like you're tearing apart inside. How do you bear it?"

Aramis looked down, fussing with his glove. "I bear it because I must. And I have friends to help me." He looked back up, and d'Artagnan immediately looked away. "How can I help you?"

"I'm sorry, I need you to leave for a little while. I can fix this, but not while you're here screaming at me." He made an obvious effort, but he couldn't meet Aramis' eyes for more than a second. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be sorry; be honest. If my absence is what helps you, my absence is what you'll get. How far do you need me to go?"

d'Artagnan glanced at Athos. "Stay with me?" Athos nodded, and he looked back in Aramis' direction. "Off the palace grounds should be enough."

"We'll meet you at the garrison," Athos said briskly. "And we will talk about this."

"Will we?" Aramis muttered. "Changed your stance on treason, then."

"Oh, god," Porthos blurted. "Really, Aramis?"

Athos glanced at d'Artagnan, who'd retreated to the window, and shook his head. "Later, gentlemen." To Porthos, he added, "Make sure he doesn't go anywhere."

Porthos nodded, shepherding Aramis out of the room. d'Artagnan visibly relaxed, though he was still tense, eyes locked on the floor.

"What do you need?" Athos asked quietly.

"From you? Nothing. Just your presence." Glancing up, he added, "I'd explain, but historically that hasn't gone well for you."

"Brat," Athos said, because it would be expected. d'Artagnan smiled, relaxing more with every moment. "Tell me if you need anything else." d'Artagnan nodded, eyes sliding shut, murmuring under his breath. Athos took a step back, leaning against the wall by the door, and settled in to wait.