Author's note: Thanks so much for the lovely comments! I really enjoyed your ideas for stories; please keep them coming, I love seeing what you're thinking. :D

Interlude, part 1

d'Artagnan used prayer to calm himself. Mostly in Gascon, but they'd all heard him do it often enough by now; Athos could follow the cadence, knew that he was almost finished. He pushed away from the wall, crossing to the door and pulling it open. The servant was still waiting patiently outside. Athos asked for something to drink and the man bowed, hurrying away.

d'Artagnan was watching him when he turned back around. "Feel better?" he asked, closing the door.

"Yes, thank you."

Athos studied him for a moment. "Do you know what was wrong with Aramis?"

d'Artagnan shook his head. "Something about the babe. I assumed it was because of his; the child that died." He blinked. "That's not it? What is it, then?"

"Aramis should tell you himself. I only know because I was there."

"It's why you were so angry," d'Artagnan murmured. "After the convent."

"Yes."

The servant knocked on the door, offering sweet wine and cold water. Athos accepted both, glancing at d'Artagnan, who reached for the water first. Athos closed the door on the servant and turned back to him.

"I won't ask," d'Artagnan offered. "But don't assume that I'm an idiot."

Athos smiled faintly, hearing the echo of his own words. "I have never thought that."

d'Artagnan glanced up, grinning. "Really? Never?"

"Tell me what happened."

"Really?"

"I need to know, if that's going to happen again."

d'Artagnan nodded, eyes dark. "I can't promise it won't."

"Tell me."

d'Artagnan nodded, thinking. "I use shields to keep from being overwhelmed by the things I sense."

"Yes," Athos agreed, when he realised d'Artagnan was waiting to be sure he understood.

"Shielding on its' own is difficult and tiring. Using something as a base helps; it strengthens the shields, it lets me hold them for longer."

"Yes."

"I use my rosary, a lot. Because I know it so well, it's so familiar to me."

"Yes."

"But it's been pointed out to me that relying on something so easily taken from me is foolish."

"Yes."

d'Artagnan glanced up, meeting his eyes. "You are very familiar to me."

It took Athos several moments before he realised what d'Artagnan meant. "You're basing your shields on me."

"Not just you, the others, too. The more people the better, the easier it is – but you, Porthos and Aramis the most. And I can't shield against the people who are my shield. That's why this hit me so hard. I've adjusted now, so I'm not leaning so heavily on Aramis, until he feels better. But if something happens to you, to Porthos…" He shrugged helplessly.

Athos closed his eyes, trying to decide where to start. "You're making yourself vulnerable," he said finally.

"No." d'Artagnan had pulled back, physically, and Athos wondered vaguely what he was feeling right now. "Less vulnerable, actually. I know you; even when they're overwhelming, your emotions are easier to deal with than anything from someone I don't know."

"You know me," Athos repeated softly.

"Athos, nothing has changed," d'Artagnan said urgently. "The longer I spend with someone, the more I know them; you know that. Shielding on you doesn't change that. It doesn't affect you." He flinched at whatever he was feeling; Athos couldn't even tell. "Athos."

"It doesn't affect me," Athos repeated, trying to convince himself of it.

"I can stop. Athos, I can stop, I'll find something else. Please, just – I'll stop. Please stop looking at me like I've betrayed you."

Athos closed his eyes against the rush of anger. d'Artagnan shifted, and he snapped "A moment to react, if that's not too much to ask."

"No," d'Artagnan said quietly. "Of course not. I've stopped shielding on you, and I'm shielding against you. I won't feel anything from you until you tell me I can."

Athos almost said how generous, but he stopped himself in time. d'Artagnan was following his nature and doing what he needed to, and Athos had known for a long time that he had no real secrets anymore. This, though, felt different, more intimate somehow.

"Who knows about this?" he asked finally.

"Treville knows the generalities." d'Artagnan shook his head when Athos looked up. "That's all. This doesn't affect you, or the others, it doesn't change anything, and nothing you can do affects it; there's no extra caution to be taken, nothing to avoid. It honestly didn't occur to me to speak of it. At first I didn't even know I was doing it."

"You didn't know," Athos repeated flatly.

"After Vadim – I shielded so long, and so tightly, I had trouble getting any kind of shield back up. Too exhausted. The beads helped a little, but not enough. But when you were nearby, it was easier. I could handle things more easily."

"Me? Or us?"

"You, at first. After la Fere..."

"You came to my rooms," Athos murmured. Most of that evening was lost, like many others, to the alcohol he'd had, but he remembered enough. "You had questions, about the house, about my childhood."

"When my shield is built on you," d'Artagnan said carefully, "it's harder to tell my emotions from yours. At least, it was then; it's easier now, practise and exposure. What you felt about the house, I did too; I came back for you because when you passed out, my sense of you fell away, and even without knowing why I knew something was wrong."

Athos shook his head slowly. "Knowing that I am angry, or Treville is tired, or that someone means us harm – that's one thing, d'Artagnan; surface things, they mean nothing. But how I've felt about the house, how I felt about Anne –"

"I know," d'Artagnan murmured. "I'm sorry, I truly am. I honestly didn't know, at first, and by the time I understood it felt natural, it felt right, and it made things so much easier for me. I'll stop. I swear it."

Athos struggled for a moment. "Stop for now, if you can," he said finally. "You should talk to the others, explain to them. We will discuss it as a group and see what we'll do. We won't leave you suffering."

"I can. I'm sorry."

"I know you are. If you're ready, we'll go to talk to the others now."

Aramis was vaguely surprised when d'Artagnan turned up at his rooms on his own. "Where's Athos?" he asked, waving him to a seat.

"He went to speak with Treville, to tell him what's happening. He won't be long." d'Artagnan shook his head at the offered drink.

"I'm sorry," Aramis started, but d'Artagnan shook his head again.

"It's not your fault; it's mine."

"Yours?" Porthos said.

d'Artagnan shifted. "When Athos gets here."

"Yes, I think there's plenty to talk about when Athos gets here," Aramis murmured.

"He doesn't care about whatever you did anymore, he's just angry at me."

"Angry at you," Aramis repeated in surprise, and nodded quickly when d'Artagnan shook his head. "Yes, when he gets here."

Porthos began talking loudly about the newest recruits and the chances they each had at making it through Musketeer training. Aramis joined in, but he was watching d'Artagnan. The boy was restless in a way Aramis hadn't seen in a long time, folded in on himself, paying little attention to them. "d'Artagnan," he said finally, reaching for his wrist.

"Don't," d'Artagnan said quietly.

"If I'm still hurting you…"

"No, it's not you, it's me. You won't feel anything if you touch me."

"You're shielding," Aramis murmured, reaching for his wrist anyway. d'Artagnan let him do it, but he was right, there was barely any sense of him. "Why?"

"I promised Athos I would."

"It's going to hurt you after a while."

"I have time."

"How much time?" Porthos asked.

"Days. Three or four at least." He twisted gently out of Aramis' hold, and there was something wrong about that, but Aramis couldn't put his finger on what. "I'm fine."

"d'Artagnan…"

"I'm fine," he said again. "Aramis, if you were worried – I don't know what was wrong. Only that the grief nearly killed you. I don't know what it was about."

Aramis nodded, careful not to let anything show on his face. "I thought you wouldn't. I am sorry it hurt you."

"It doesn't matter." d'Artagnan pushed away from the table, crossing to the window to look out.

Porthos caught Aramis' eye, raising an eyebrow. Aramis shrugged, picking up the conversation about the apprentices. Porthos joined in without missing a beat, and they ignored d'Artagnan, letting him do whatever he was doing in peace.

Athos arrived a little later, glancing from Aramis to Porthos and pointedly ignoring d'Artagnan. "Aramis," he said softly.

Aramis shook his head. "It passes; everything passes. I'm fine, Athos."

"Mmm." Athos glanced at d'Artagnan, who was watching them carefully, leaning against the window; as far away as he could get without leaving the room, Aramis thought. "What have you said?"

"Nothing. I was waiting for you."

"He's blocking everything out," Aramis said, not quite managing to keep the accusatory tone from his voice.

"Yes," Athos agreed blandly. "Tell me about shields, Aramis."

"What?" Aramis frowned, derailed. "I don't shield."

"I know you don't. Tell me about shields."

Aramis glanced at d'Artagnan, who met his gaze without making any move to answer. A test, Aramis realised, heart sinking. Athos wanted to know if d'Artagnan had been truthful with him. What could possibly have happened to upset Athos so?

"Think of emotions as noise," he said finally, thoughts racing. "It's not accurate, but it will do for now. Stronger emotions are louder, and emotions from someone you know well are easier to hear. But there's always noise, because everyone's always feeling something. All right?"

"All right," Athos agreed. Porthos was listening intently.

"The stronger the empath, the more sound they pick up. d'Artagnan's very strong, stronger than any other empath I've worked with. And the more people around, the more sound. So Paris is harder than an empty field in the countryside."

"Shields," Athos said impatiently.

"I'm getting there," Aramis snapped. "You need the background to understand." Athos scowled, and Aramis sighed. "You can filter, or you can shield. Filtering blocks out one person's noise. Shielding blocks out everyone. Both are difficult to do, both are sometimes necessary."

"d'Artagnan uses those beads," Porthos murmured.

Aramis nodded. "Basing a shield on something makes it easier, makes it stronger. Every empath I've ever met based their shields on something or someone."

Athos twitched, a barely noticeable movement, and Aramis grimaced as he realised what was happening. "Oh, d'Artagnan," he said softly.

"I didn't know," d'Artagnan said, but his tone was flat and he clearly didn't expect it to mean much.

"What am I missing?" Porthos demanded.

Aramis waited for Athos to answer; when he didn't, Aramis rolled his eyes and said "I'm guessing, but I think d'Artagnan has been basing his shields on us. That's why I affected him so badly; if he's using us to shield on, we're inside the shield." d'Artagnan nodded very slightly; Aramis sighed, looking at Porthos. "It's among the deepest connections an empath can make. Simply working with us would not form a connection near so strong. There's little we'd have felt he wouldn't have known about."

Porthos frowned, clearly considering. "How long's that been going on?" he asked, looking at d'Artagnan.

d'Artagnan shook his head. "I didn't know I was doing it; I don't know when it started. After la Fere, I knew I was Reading more from Athos than I meant to. I can't tell you how long, I'm sorry."

"la Fere was months ago," Porthos said neutrally.

"I know," d'Artagnan agreed miserably. "The shielding – it doesn't affect you, and there's nothing you need to do, to keep it going. It didn't occur to me, even when I knew what was happening, to tell you. It just – it made things easier for me. Paris is hard. It's loud and it never stops. The shields – but I'll stop," he corrected himself. Aramis wondered if he'd missed some sign from Athos. "I should have asked; I'm sorry. I'll stop."

"You can't keep doing what you're doing," Aramis murmured. "That won't work for long. And the beads are still a bad idea."

"I'll find something else," d'Artagnan insisted.

Porthos shrugged, reaching for the bottle on the table. "Doesn't bother me. You keep on doing whatever you're doing." Pointing the neck of the bottle accusingly at d'Artagnan, he added, "Long as you're keeping it to yourself."

d'Artagnan nodded quickly. "I always do."

"Good. Then if it helps, it makes it easier on you, you do what you need to." He considered for a moment. "What'll happen if I Fade?"

"If I have warning, even a couple of seconds, it'll be fine. If I'm not looking at you, it's fine. If I'm looking straight at you and there's no warning…" He shrugged. "I'll deal with it."

Athos stirred slightly. "You know what you're offering him?"

"I'm offering to help him," Porthos agreed.

"You're offering him everything you feel. Everything you are."

"Everything I feel and everything I am is mine to offer. It helps him, it's worth it."

"Thank you," d'Artagnan murmured, and Aramis was almost sure he wasn't imagining the fine tremors running through the boy.

He took a step closer, waiting until d'Artagnan looked up. "You know that I am happy to help," he said quietly. "But maybe, not right now. Not until…" He gestured helplessly. Anger and grief were still burning bright and he didn't want to hurt d'Artagnan any more than he had already.

"Thank you," d'Artagnan repeated softly.

Porthos cleared his throat loudly. Aramis looked up, following his gaze to Athos, who was scowling intently at the table top.

"Athos," Aramis said, when the silence stretched on.

Athos lifted his head, but he wasn't meeting anyone's eyes. "I thought – I need time."

"Yes," d'Artagnan said immediately.

"Athos," Porthos protested. "He needs it."

"Porthos, leave it," Aramis said quietly.

"Leave it," d'Artagnan echoed. "As much time as you want, Athos."

Athos' face twitched in the way Aramis knew meant he was restraining himself from saying whatever he was thinking. "Athos," he said hurriedly. "Did you want to talk about anything else?"

Athos glanced up, gaze sweeping over him. "Do we need to?"

Aramis carefully didn't look at Porthos. "I think maybe we should."

"Let me guess," Porthos said. "At the convent the queen was frightened, and alone, and she came to you for protection…"

"Not quite," Aramis said, vaguely insulted.

"You just decided on your own?"

"Porthos!"

Porthos grinned unrepentantly, and Aramis sighed. "I did not decide on my own. The queen has – had – something wrong inside, something that made her unable to bear children."

d'Artagnan shifted. "She's pregnant."

"Now," Aramis agreed. "She touched me, and once I knew she was damaged…" He trailed off, gesturing weakly.

"Downside," d'Artagnan murmured. Aramis nodded, one eye on Porthos.

"I had to help her; I couldn't not. And the only way to stay in contact with her for long enough…" He trailed off again, finding that he didn't want to say the words.

Porthos considered him. "The kid yours?"

"The child is of Louis and will always, only, be of Louis," Aramis said, keeping his voice as flat as possible. Porthos nodded, eyes softening, but he didn't make any move to commiserate or apologise and Aramis was glad of it.

"You wouldn't have told us," d'Artagnan murmured.

"It's treason. Just knowing about it is treason, and Louis has everything he needs to take care of any one of us if he chooses. I wanted you to be safe."

"He can't get rid of any of us without getting rid of all of us," Athos said patiently. They'd had this conversation more than once.

"It doesn't matter," Aramis said with a sigh. "It's done now. God willing, the queen will deliver a healthy babe, and many more after this one." Looking at Porthos and d'Artagnan, he added, "If it ever does come to light, if you two wanted to claim ignorance – you weren't there, you couldn't have known."

"All for one," d'Artagnan said firmly.

Porthos nodded. "We don't leave each other to suffer when we can help."

"Porthos," d'Artagnan protested.

Athos gave no sign that he'd even noticed the jibe. "It's late," he said briskly. "And it's been a long day. Everyone to rest; Treville expects us back on duty tomorrow."

He looked at d'Artagnan, who shook his head quietly. "Take what time you need, Athos. I'd rather you did, and I'll accept your answer, whatever it is."

Athos nodded, studying him for a moment before turning away and letting himself out. Porthos sighed, pushing his chair back and picking up his hat.

"I mean it, d'Artagnan. If it helps you, you go ahead. I don't reckon I've many secrets by now, anyway."

"Thank you," d'Artagnan murmured. "And if it ever – if you change your mind, or something happens – you'll let me know?"

"Reckon you'll know first, but yeah. I'll tell you." He glanced at Aramis. "You want company?"

"Not yet. Thank you."

He nodded, heading out. Aramis turned to d'Artagnan with a sigh. "Athos will come around."

"Maybe."

"He is an intensely private man, you've just shocked him. He'll come around."

"Maybe," d'Artagnan repeated. "And if he doesn't, he doesn't, Aramis. Help that's not offered freely is worse than no help at all. Make Porthos promise you; those little remarks, the looks, they stop. If Athos wants to stay private, I'll find another way."

"I'll talk to Porthos," Aramis promised. "It really never occurred to you to come to us with this?"

"I didn't know. There's a saying in Gascony; one of those sayings that doesn't really exist, you know." He said it in Gascon and then thought. "The closest I can translate it – something along the lines of, when you're tired of life, admit your Ability. If you have an Ability, you don't speak of it or show it, not ever. You're the first person – well, no. There are people I knew had Abilities, but not that I could approach…I learned how to handle it myself, and I may not have done it right but I always did my best."

"I know you did," Aramis promised. "We'll work this out, d'Artagnan."

d'Artagnan nodded, lips pressed tightly together, and slipped out. Aramis sank on his bed, trying to think of a way to help the shattered remains of his team.