Author's note: Let's all thank my beautiful beta, who came to the rescue when I couldn't get the file to load on my tablet by hunting out this week's chapter, copying it and emailing it to me. Thank you! :D

Interlude, part 6

Back at the garrison, Aramis watched d'Artagnan practise with Porthos. Athos came to join him, frowning as he watched.

"Problem?" he asked mildly. Following Aramis' glance at d'Artagnan, he added more seriously, "Something went wrong?"

"Not wrong, but she didn't lift the shield; he's to go to her on the way out of the city for our mission."

"That's not so far away."

"Longer for him than for us, I think." He looked over again as Porthos heaved d'Artagnan to his feet, and he was sure he wasn't imagining it; d'Artagnan held on a moment longer than he should have needed.

"He's doing that on purpose," Athos murmured.

"He's not trying as hard as he could," Aramis agreed. Pushing away from the wall, he called over "Porthos! Stop beating him up and come eat."

"I was starting to get it," d'Artagnan protested breathlessly, slumping onto the bench.

Aramis cheerfully pushed Porthos out of the way so that he could sit next to the Gascon, shifting to press against him, shoulder to shoulder. "Of course you were," he agreed, feeling d'Artagnan push against him. "In another few years you might even manage to beat him."

"Never happen," Porthos said easily, shoving the plates towards them. Aramis glanced up, catching his eye; Porthos had noticed the way they were sitting, but he didn't comment.

"What, not going to bet on it?" Aramis asked, rocking d'Artagnan slightly.

"I think he has the advantage."

"You need to worry less about strength and more about speed," Athos told him.

"Hmm. Right now I need to worry about eating something."

Aramis stayed exactly where he was when they finished eating, and d'Artagnan didn't seem too eager to move either. If anything, he was pressing harder as he started to doze, drifting off where he sat.

Porthos kept the conversation going, even fetching a bottle for them to drink there when Athos suggested leaving. Eventually d'Artagnan's head slipped and he startled awake, looking around blearily.

"It's late," Aramis said without moving.

"Is it?" d'Artagnan grimaced, stretching. "Why are you all still here?"

Porthos reached across to ruffle his hair. "You just looked so sweet, we didn't want to disturb you."

"You just wanted to gloat more."

"There's that," he agreed. "You right? I didn't think I was working you that hard."

"I'm fine," d'Artagnan assured him.

"Get some rest," Athos told him. "You worked hard today."

d'Artagnan nodded, pushing away from Aramis with obvious reluctance. "I'll see you tomorrow."

"Good night," Aramis agreed, watching him make his way to the dorms.

"We should get him rooms out of here," Porthos noted. "Treville wouldn't mind."

"Something to think about," Athos agreed. "What are you doing, Aramis?"

Aramis hesitated. "I'm putting my hat on to leave."

"Not what I mean, and you know it."

Aramis sighed. "He wouldn't have told me, but Flora manoeuvred him into it. He's having difficulty without his Ability, and touching him helps. Contact, of any kind."

"That's why he's letting me throw him all over the garrison?" Porthos demanded.

"Contact," Aramis agreed.

"How does it help?" Athos asked.

Aramis shook his head. "He didn't seem able to explain. But it does help him." He glanced at Porthos again. "I had to promise to be very careful; he's afraid of what might happen if my skin touches his. Can you – casually – touch him a little more?"

"Do you think that will fool him?"

"It will until the day after tomorrow. And if it doesn't, he'll pretend it is."

Porthos nodded. "I'll see what I can do."

"And I?" Athos asked carefully.

"If you start touching him, he'll know something's up," Porthos pointed out. "Better leave it to us."

"If this is something he needs..."

"Give the boy his pride, Athos," Aramis said gently. "It's only another day and a bit. We'll manage. And now I am going to bed. I shall see you in the morning." Nodding briskly to them, he headed out of the garrison.

Porthos was already at the garrison when Aramis reached it the next morning, sitting across from d'Artagnan at the table. Both were cleaning weapons, and every few minutes Porthos reached across, gripping d'Artagnan's hand or wrist to demonstrate something, turning the weapons to show him whatever he was talking about.

Aramis took the tray Serge offered him with a grin, crossing to sit beside d'Artagnan. "Ready to eat?" he asked brightly, motioning with the tray at the pile of weapons on the table. "Did you empty the whole armory?" he added.

"Porthos is showing me how to clean weapons when you don't have the normal supplies," d'Artagnan offered, carefully clearing away the blades to make room.

"Always useful to learn," Aramis said approvingly. "One doesn't always know what supplies one will have to hand."

"That's what Porthos said."

" 'Cept I wasn't so posh about it. Pass the honey."

d'Artagnan suggested another round of hand to hand when they were finished eating, but Porthos shook his head. "It's not good to do the same thing every day. How're your stances? Stand up, there, get your sword."

Stances done Porthos' way, d'Artagnan swiftly learned, were even better for contact than hand to hand; Porthos physically adjusted him to whatever position he wanted him in, pushing and pulling and turning. Aramis lounged against the table, idly cleaning some of the weapons they hadn't got to, and watched the pair work.

"I know this is boring," Porthos said, an hour into it, "but good stance is at the base of everything else. Now, lunge and hold."

They stopped for lunch when Athos arrived, and immediately after they were finished Aramis declared his intent to deal with d'Artagnan's shooting stance as Porthos had his fighting stance. d'Artagnan made a token protest, Aramis overruled it, and they spent another couple of hours in contact more often than not.

"Thank you," d'Artagnan murmured as Aramis lined him up for his final shot.

"You were our apprentice," Aramis said, deliberately misunderstanding. "It reflects badly on us if you are not up to standard. Ready, Porthos," he added, and Porthos set the grain sack target swinging.

"Now, breathe, watch the swing, and shoot when you're ready." He reached to pat d'Artagnan's cheek and thought better of it at the last moment; he'd discarded his gloves long ago. "Breathe," he said again.

"Breathing."

Aramis stepped back. d'Artagnan eyed the target, grinned, and fired.

Treville had been expecting the knock on his door for a while. He'd taken Athos' team off a mission they'd been working for a while, and while three of them would accept it without a murmur their fourth wouldn't be so easily dismissed.

"Come in, d'Artagnan," he called, signing the paperwork he was working on and setting it aside.

d'Artagnan closed the door carefully, crossing to stand in front of the desk. "Captain."

"I took your team off the Dubois mission because of you. Because your plan was to send you undercover, and I'm not doing it."

d'Artagnan frowned. "If I've given you some reason to doubt me –"

"You haven't. Sit." He obeyed, and Treville studied him for a moment. "I have no doubts that you could complete the mission, d'Artagnan."

"Then why –"

Treville raised a hand and d'Artagnan fell silent. "The first time you went undercover, the regiment blamed Athos and the others. The second time you went undercover, they blamed you."

"I was here," d'Artagnan reminded him.

"Not after you killed Athos; you weren't here then." No one had come to him directly, but Porthos had reported later that he'd had more than one offer of help when the time came to 'teach that little Gascon bastard a lesson', and he knew Aramis had been approached as well. Treville had seriously worried for d'Artagnan's safety, enough that he'd been glad the Cardinal was keeping him locked down. "Your plan calls for you to betray us again, just as publicly."

"Yes," d'Artagnan agreed. "And when it's done you'll tell them it was a plan all along."

"The more often you betray them, the more they will come to think that you might actually do it. They won't mean to think it, they'll feel guilty for it, but once they've thought it it will never fade away. You use the Musketeers for your shields, yes?"

"I do," d'Artagnan said slowly.

"That kind of distrust can't be good for you. Unless absolutely necessary, as it was with Milady de Winter, you will not go undercover again."

d'Artagnan was obviously thinking. Treville waited patiently. The better d'Artagnan knew someone, the better he could read them; he came close to true telepathy with the Inseparables, but he didn't know Treville that well yet.

"That happened before," d'Artagnan said eventually. "To another of your empaths."

Or perhaps he did.

"The first empath who joined us," Treville agreed. "The first couple of years after the king created the regiment, we were recruiting mostly from gaols, those accused of Abilities. But we couldn't simply walk up and demand to see them, that would have raised suspicions. Francis was my good right hand. He deliberately cultivated a reputation for himself as a hot headed, drunken gambler."

"The kind of man you'd expect to see in gaol."

"The kind of man you'd expect to see in gaol," Treville agreed. "The regiment knew the truth, of course. After all, he'd recruited most of them. But he came to me after months of this work. He said that the others were beginning to believe in the mask he wore. That they didn't mean it, they couldn't control it, but they were hurting him."

"The gaols might have hurt him worse," d'Artagnan murmured.

"Maybe," Treville agreed. "Either way, he's a brother in a cloistered order now."

"I'm not going to join an order."

"And I'm not going to have you hurt when you don't have to be."

"I'm the best undercover you have."

"Perhaps I should deal with that."

"Another empath will have the same problem."

"Surprising as it may be, d'Artagnan, people who are not empaths are also capable of going undercover. You are currently the best I have. So I'll save you for the important missions. This one doesn't have to be you." He studied d'Artagnan for a moment. "You weren't looking forward to it."

"I would have done it."

"I know you would," Treville said patiently. They needed to work on training that knee jerk defensiveness out of him. "But you won't. My decision is final, d'Artagnan."

Sensing the dismissal, d'Artagnan rose to his feet. "Thank you for explaining, sir."

"I'm not convinced you wouldn't have run off and done it just to prove you could if I hadn't," Treville muttered, and from d'Artagnan's blush he knew he wasn't far off. They'd have to work on that, too. He was far too expressive when he wasn't paying attention. "Go on back to your training, there'll be another mission soon enough. And tell Porthos to come up here when he's finished with the apprentices."

"Yes sir." d'Artagnan let himself out, closing the door quietly.

Athos would teach him courtly manners. Aramis would teach him to seduce and charm. Porthos, who'd dragged himself out of the Court of Miracles and now served the King of France, would teach him about believing your mask so completely it became real. Athos would take over from Treville someday, unless he was called back to la Fere. And some time, hopefully years from now, d'Artagnan would succeed Athos.

But right now there was paperwork, and planning for another mission, and Porthos wouldn't be up for some time yet. Sighing, Treville drew the layout of the target camp towards himself and began to work.

It was Aramis again who accompanied d'Artagnan to the Court just before lunch the next day. In full Musketeer uniform, ready to ride out, they drew rather more attention than normal, though no one tried to stop them or challenge them.

Flora's friend was waiting, but she made d'Artagnan practise the shields before they did anything else. "Once we're sure your own shields are holding, we'll work on getting you shielding other people," she said when she was satisfied.

"Can he do that?" Aramis asked in surprise.

"Some can, some can't. One way to find out. We'll worry about that when we know he's holding. Now, sit, d'Artagnan. And you, Aramis, don't touch him until I tell you you can."

Aramis obediently backed away and d'Artagnan sat, concentrating on holding his shield. Flora leaned over, one hand on his arm, ready to help if she could, and nodded to her friend.

For a moment it was like drowning, like the whole Court shouting at him at once. d'Artagnan pushed back against the shield, forcing it into place, filtering the input down to something he could deal with. There was Aramis, and Flora, her friend, and there was the background noise of the Court. Relaxing, he looked up to meet Aramis' eyes.

Flora let go of him, taking a step back. "You can touch him now, Aramis, if you need to."

"Do I need to?" Aramis asked.

d'Artagnan shook his head, concentrating on Aramis to draw his awareness back a little. "No, I'm all right. A little foggy. That will clear."

"Come back and see me when you get back to town," Flora reminded him. "Be well, d'Artagnan."

He kissed the back of her hand, smiling at her, letting gratitude surge through him. "Be well, Flora. Thank you," he added to her friend, bowing. The man returned the bow and he turned to Aramis. "Let's go. We have a mission to complete."