Author's note: I'm loving all the ideas and prompts! This week, I have a little poll, for a minor plot point in Season Two. Who thinks Thomas attacked Milady in some way, and who thinks she just killed him for some other reason and made up the attack thinking Athos would forgive her?

Interlude, part 2

Porthos lasted three days before he gave in.

d'Artagnan had been quiet and withdrawn, like the early days all over again. Porthos had thought it was grief back then; now he recognised the way d'Artagnan was pulling in on himself, losing himself in keeping them away. Athos had been scrupulously polite, leading d'Artagnan through training and leaving immediately afterwards. Aramis floated around the outskirts of the group, watching as they quietly disintegrated. Porthos felt bad for him; Aramis couldn't help with emotional pain, but it hurt him just the same to watch it happen.

On the third morning, when Athos stiffened because d'Artagnan had walked past behind him, Porthos pushed to his feet, taking a step back to look at the walkway above. "Captain!"

"What are you doing?" Athos hissed, but Treville had already stepped up to the railing.

"What is it?" he called down.

"Me and d'Artagnan need a day."

"I'll rearrange the duty rosters at once, shall I?" Treville studied them for a moment. Porthos knew he knew something was wrong, he was too good a captain not to, but he had no idea how much Athos had or hadn't told him. "This important?"

"Yes, sir."

"One day?"

"One day, sir."

Treville nodded briskly. "You'll patrol tomorrow instead."

"Yes, sir."

"Good. Athos, Aramis, palace by the next bell."

"Captain," Athos agreed. Treville went back into his office and Athos reached across the table to catch Porthos' arm. "What are you doing?"

"Helping," Porthos said shortly, jerking free. "C'mon, d'Artagnan."

d'Artagnan hesitated until Aramis caught his eye and tilted his head towards the gate. d'Artagnan nodded, following Porthos out into the street.

He was quiet for a while, until they were several streets away; Porthos wondered idly if he was tracking Aramis. He had no idea whether d'Artagnan had started shielding on Aramis again, or whether he was even shielding on him yet.

"Where are we going?" he asked finally.

"Court."

"We aren't –" He hesitated. "The other Court."

Porthos grinned at him. "Court of Miracles, yeah. Not scared, are you?"

"I've been there before," d'Artagnan reminded him.

"You didn't see anything of the Court that time."

He was silent for a moment. "What are we doing, Porthos?"

Porthos pulled him into an alley, heading along it quickly. They'd have been spotted by now; Flea's guards knew who he was. "You know who comes to the Court?"

"Everyone and anyone."

"d'Artagnan," Porthos said warningly.

"People who could pass the requirement," d'Artagnan said obligingly.

"Yes. All kinds of requirement passers. Including, I hope, someone like you."

"Porthos," d'Artagnan murmured.

"Will it hurt?" he demanded.

"No," d'Artagnan said on a sigh. "I don't think it'll hurt."

"Then let's talk to Flea, at least." Porthos eyed him. "You'll have to actually talk about it."

"I can talk about it! I talk to you about it."

"You talk to us about it, and that's it," Porthos agreed. "And maybe Treville."

"You grew up here in the Court," d'Artagnan reminded him. "Abilities every time you turned around. People were killed in Lupiac, just for being accused. They didn't even have proof, most of the time. Children were killed, and we were expected to attend and cheer if we didn't want to raise suspicions."

"That must've been tough," Porthos said quietly.

"Taught me to shield pretty well," d'Artagnan said bleakly.

"Did you know Flea made me a Knight of the Court?" Porthos said brightly.

"What?" d'Artagnan blinked. "No."

"Wanted to make me Prince, but I'm never coming back here and she knows it."

"Apart from right now," d'Artagnan pointed out.

Porthos cuffed him lightly, smiling when he glared. "I'm never coming back here to stay. Good thing about being a Knight, though? I can extend the protection of the Court to anyone I want." Catching d'Artagnan's eye, he said firmly, "No one here touches you, no one brings harm to you. My word and Flea's bond. Yes?"

"Yes," d'Artagnan murmured, eyes bright. Porthos turned away, pretending he needed to scan the alleys for their path. He didn't think he was fooling d'Artagnan, but that wasn't really the point.

When he turned back d'Artagnan was watching him patiently, one shoulder propped against the nearest wall. "This way," he said brightly, gesturing down one of the alleys.

Flea's guards showed up a little further on. Porthos didn't bother stopping, not until they tried to block d'Artagnan; then he turned on his heel, flipping his cloak back in the same move to reveal his sword. "He's with me," he said firmly. The guards backed away and Porthos gestured to d'Artagnan to catch up.

"Knight of the Court?" d'Artagnan muttered.

"They didn't stop me, did they? Come on."

Flea met them a couple of streets down, sauntering up to press a kiss to his lips before backing away, leading them off the street into a room. "Need something?"

"Good to see you too, Flea," Porthos said, amused.

"Yeah, I'll bet." She looked past him at d'Artagnan. "We weren't introduced last time, I think."

"d'Artagnan." He took her hand, pressing a kiss to her knuckles as though she were a lady.

"I like him," Flea announced.

"Good, 'cause I'm looking for help for him."

" 'Course you are," Flea agreed. "What do you need?"

Porthos glanced at d'Artagnan and back at Flea. "Got any empaths in the Court?"

Flea eyed d'Artagnan curiously. "People or things?"

"People's more important right now, but either'll do."

"You Musketeers get all the good ones," Flea said with a sigh. Turning, she shouted to one of the guards, "Send someone to fetch Flora."

Porthos didn't recognise the name, but it didn't surprise him. The occupants of the Court were constantly changing. "Flea," he said softly, and she let him usher her a few steps away. "Boy's a bit nervous," he murmured. "He's out of Gascony and they're strict there. He's still getting used to me."

"Flora'll be gentle," Flea assured him. "She's a good sort. He having problems?"

"Self taught. Tricky thing to get right, the way I understand it."

Flea draped her arms around his neck, grinning at him. "You know, it might take him a while to learn. We should probably find something else to do in the meantime."

"Flea," he said, half warningly. His hands came to rest on her hips, though, fitting as though made for the space.

"Come on, Musketeer boy. Don't you want to show me your weapons?"

d'Artagnan choked from across the room and Flea turned in Porthos' arms to glare at him. "Have Flora explain about eavesdropping," she ordered.

"Yes ma'am," d'Artagnan said quickly, turning away to stare intently at a blank patch of wall. Flea grinned, leaning comfortably against Porthos, but she didn't push any further.

Flora arrived a few minutes later; she was a matronly woman close to Porthos' age, and she immediately took charge, bustling d'Artagnan into a corner. Porthos watched for a few minutes, until it was obvious that d'Artagnan was co-operating, and then he let Flea guide him out.

They didn't do anything, in the end, just strolled through the Court, talking quietly. Flea had always been easy to talk to, and Porthos found himself giving her a general version of the problems they'd been having lately. In return, she talked about the Court, about the Cardinal's never ending attempts to clear them out and about the constant struggle to keep her people fed and someway safe.

"He always that obvious?" she said in the middle of a discussion on which taverns were working with them to rob the patrons.

"Who?"

"Your boy. Didn't bother to hide he was listening to us."

"Nah, that's not usual. Not around other people, anyway. Guess he believed me."

"Believed you?" she repeated.

Porthos shrugged. "Told you he was nervous about showing his Ability. I promised him he'd be safe here. I guess he heard me."

"Flora's told me the Court feels safe. Maybe he's picking that up. He sensitive?"

"Can be, when he's trying. He's been pretty closed off the last couple days. Trouble with the team."

Flea kissed him very gently. "It'll pass," she murmured. "Nothing keeps you four apart. I could see that much soon as I saw you."

"I hope so. It's bad, Flea."

"It'll pass," she repeated. "And if your boy needs to relax some, feel safe, he can come here whenever he wants. We'll take care of him." Smile turning wicked, she added, "Could take care of you, too, if you'd let me."

"Not funny," Porthos warned her, kissing her before turning to wander on.

Flora sent for them some hours later. d'Artagnan was sleeping, looking completely exhausted; Porthos brushed a hand over his forehead before turning questioningly to Flora.

"That boy's holding himself together on sheer determination," she said flatly. "I'm surprised he made it this far without proper training. Can you bring him back?"

"He's an active Musketeer," Porthos warned her.

"He has time. Not much, but some. Get him here whenever you can. Even Musketeers get days off, yes?"

"Yeah, but not regular."

Flora smiled faintly, patting his cheek. "I'm usually here. And whatever's going on with you lot, get it fixed. Stability's important for us."

Porthos nodded. "We're working on it. Flora?" She made a questioning noise, and he said carefully, "We have a friend, knows a bit about empaths. He says d'Artagnan's strong, stronger'n most. That right?"

"Strength is hard to define for empaths," Flora said thoughtfully. "Is the stronger empath the one who picks up a little from many people, or a lot from a few...? Certainly d'Artagnan can Read people from a far greater distance than I can. So yes, I suppose he is strong."

"Thank you," Porthos said politely. Flora nodded, slipping out of the room, and he glanced at the sleeping d'Artagnan.

"I've got to go," Flea said quietly. "Court business. Shout if you need anything, someone will be around."

"Cheers, Flea."

d'Artagnan slept for another hour or so before waking, looking hazily around the room before focusing on Porthos. "H'lo," he murmured.

"Hello," Porthos echoed. "How do you feel?"

"Tired. Flora's a – a hard worker."

"Do you think it helped?"

d'Artagnan rubbed his forehead. "I think it will. Eventually. Like exercising after injury. Right now it just hurts."

"She says you've to come back to her. Flea's already promised you're allowed in whenever."

"Yes." d'Artagnan reached for his arm, bracing himself as he sat up. "I'll need to come back, I think."

"Treville'll let you off. Or you can come down nights, whatever."

"I'll work it out. Porthos? Thank you."

"Told you," Porthos said gently. "Anything that helps you. You ready? Let's get back, Aramis'll be back by now and he'll worry if we're not there."

Treville had been waiting for the Inseparables, watching for them, half expecting them to all come back together. Something was wrong there, he knew that, but he couldn't imagine anything coming between them, not for long.

Aramis and Athos returned from the palace. Athos immediately sat at the table and started cleaning his pistol; Aramis brought food, but he was half hearted about making him eat, and that was wrong, too.

Porthos and d'Artagnan arrived a while later, d'Artagnan settling beside Aramis, Porthos leaning against the nearby support column, out of view under Treville's balcony.

"Where have you been?" Athos demanded.

"I was with Porthos," d'Artagnan said easily, reaching for the bread on Aramis' plate.

"Where were you with Porthos?"

"In the city."

Aramis touched d'Artagnan's chin to get his attention, studying him. "Were you swimming?"

d'Artagnan smiled. "No. I wasn't swimming."

"Not a bad idea, though," Porthos said. "We should think about that."

"Maybe," d'Artagnan agreed.

"Where were you?" Athos asked, this time to Porthos.

"We were in the city," Porthos said blandly. "d'Artagnan, I've got to talk to Treville, you want to come?"

d'Artagnan shook his head. "I'm hungry."

"You all right with me telling him, then?"

"It was your idea."

"What was?" Athos asked, but they both ignored him, d'Artagnan eating and Porthos swinging out from under the balcony to head upstairs. He didn't look surprised to see Treville on the balcony, only glanced towards the office. Treville nodded, waving him in and closing the door behind them.

"If I should happen to ask where you were, what would you say?" he asked conversationally, rounding the desk to sit.

"In the city," Porthos told him. "Getting d'Artagnan the help he needs."

"He needs help?"

"Problems with his shields. Aramis can't help, right now, and Athos won't, and I'm not enough on my own. So I went and found him help."

"Found," Treville repeated, carefully non-committal.

"You know me, Captain. Nothing I can't find in this city if I'm trying."

That was as good as admitting they'd been to the Court. Treville didn't bother to push. Deniability was important, sometimes.

"Athos won't help," he said belatedly, frowning. "What do you mean?"

"Athos is angry at the kid."

"Why?"

Porthos shrugged. "Aramis'd explain it better. Something about the shields d'Artagnan's been using being based on us, makes it easier for him to read us. Athos doesn't like the thought."

"If your team is having problems –"

"It's Athos' problem," Porthos said shortly. "And d'Artagnan won't push him on it. Aramis and me, we're fine with it. Aramis just has some problems of his own right now."

Treville tapped the desk idly for a minute. "I see. And this help?"

"It's gonna take him some time, he'll have to go back. He's holding together on spit and determination at the moment. He thinks it'll work out in the end, though." Porthos hesitated before adding, "If it's possible to keep him in the city for a while…"

"I can't promise it, but I'll see what I can do," Treville answered, running through rosters in his head. He didn't expect to have to send them anywhere for a while. "This trouble, with Athos…"

"It won't affect our duties," Porthos promised.

"I'm glad to hear it, but what about you personally?" Porthos shook his head, and Treville insisted, "I've seen you. Things are wrong, Porthos."

"We're working on it," Porthos said. "Promise. This isn't going to beat us."

"I hope not. Send Athos up here, please."

"Captain…"

"Was there something else?"

Porthos hesitated for a long moment before saying "No. Nothing else, Captain."

"Good. Then you're dismissed. Patrol tomorrow, don't be late."

"Yes, Captain."

He'd reached the door when Treville added "Porthos?"

"Captain?"

"Swimming?"

Porthos grinned. "He likes swimming."

"Mmm. I'll keep that in mind."

Porthos left, leaving the door open behind him. Treville could hear the others talking, though he couldn't make out the words; they fell silent as Porthos appeared, and a moment later Athos came up the stairs and tapped at the door.

"Come in," Treville said, watching as Athos took exactly two steps inside. "Close the door," he added. "And tell me what's gone wrong between you and d'Artagnan."

"Captain," Athos said mildly. Treville was often surprised at how much Athos managed to fit into two syllables; this one said clearly I've no idea what you're talking about, where did you get that idea?

"Tell me what's gone wrong," he repeated firmly. "I'm not as blind as you seem to think I am."

He could see Athos trying to decide how to get out of it. "A slight disagreement over the application of his Ability," Athos said finally, and even the fact that he'd said Ability was wrong. Athos was always, always, careful and circumspect.

"Indeed? Do elaborate."

"It's personal."

"It's affecting the working of my best team. Tell me. Or should I call d'Artagnan up and ask him?"

Athos stared straight ahead, jaw working for a moment. "His shields, for some time, have been based on us."

"Yes?"

"He did not see fit to inform us of this."

Treville leaned back in his seat, considering. "From what I know of empath's shields, his basing it on you would not have affected you in any way."

"That's not the point, Captain."

"Not the point, but a point. Something to remember, I think. I understand that d'Artagnan finds the city difficult to manage, sometimes."

"Yes," Athos agreed, stone faced.

"I can't imagine it," he said reflectively. Sitting forward and shuffling through the papers on his desk, he added briskly, "If you feel this will continue to be an issue for you, I can remove him from your team. Any of the others will be happy to have him."

Athos stared ahead again. Treville sighed – that was his last idea – before standing and rounding the desk to face him. "Athos. Explain this to me. You've known what he can do for a long time now. What's changed?"

"I –" Athos shook his head, looking down. "I had not realised how deeply he sees. When he uses us to shield he feels everything we do, as deeply as we do. It – disturbs me."

"Do you not trust him?"

"With my life, Captain. But my feelings are mine. They should be mine alone."

Treville considered him for a moment, wondering if he'd imagined that tone. "He won't break, you know," he said carefully, and Athos' complete lack of reaction was enough to tell him he was right. "Your demons are dark, but they're not enough to make him turn from you."

"Because he can does not mean he should have to."

"They're not enough to scare him away, either. He's made his choice, Athos, anyone can see that."

"The best of a bad choice," Athos agreed.

Treville scowled, turning away. It wasn't his place to argue Athos out of his bouts of despair; a word to Aramis later would take care of that. "Sort this," he ordered. "I'm not having my best team fall apart over something this trivial."

"Captain," Athos drawled, turning to let himself out.

Treville counted twenty heartbeats before he slid the door open to listen, but the Inseparables were already gone.