Sunlight was his enemy; Aramis groaned and rolled over to escape the devious rays only to find empty air. Arms flailing a bit, he fell with a loud thump on the hard floor; the action doing nothing to help him against the brain splitting headache. Moaning deep in his throat he raised a sluggish hand to rake through his dark wavy hair and grimaced when he felt the usually thick soft strands lying slimy and clumped together on his head.

Frowning, he retracted his hand, wiped it on his shirt and blearily contemplated the chipped ceiling that came into his view when he cracked opened his eyes; a glance around revealed bare furnishing of the place where the only thing scattered in abundance were empty wine bottles. He grinned as he deduced that they were in Athos's room, the one he maintained outside of the garrison. If only now he could get to the bottom of the sour fruity smell that permeated the vicinity.

Craning his neck, he stared upside down as Athos pushed himself into a sitting position on the tiny bed upon which the three of them had crammed together sideways. Apparently Athos had been in the middle Aramis mused, as the other Musketeer glared through the dark fringes of his hair that had fallen over his piercing blue eyes.

"No one should be able to glare that steadily after a night like last," Aramis groaned though it lost the impact with the smile that broke on his face at the intensely unimpressed glare his friend was targeting him with.

Athos didn't even lift his head where it hung between his shoulders as he rubbed a hand over his face; scratched lightly at his beard and kicked the legs sprawled out beside him. They slid across the floor like logs but it didn't even prompt a twitch from the man they belonged to. He kicked the nearer leg again, harder this time.

"Get up," he said.

Aramis pulled himself to sit up on the floor as Porthos lifted his head from where it had been pressed against the wall and rubbed the crick in his neck. Athos in the mean time had walked to his window from where he returned with a bucket full of water that had crystallized over the night into not quite ice.

He set the bucket near where Aramis sat, went down to his knees before it and dunked his head in the water. Aramis shot up from his place with a very unmanly squeak and perched himself atop the bed beside Porthos.

He tried in vain to brush off the cold stain spreading on the side of his breeches and cursed his friend's morning routine of attempted drowning, even though he knew he should have known better than to sit on the floor at the time.

"Who ordered fruit salad?" Porthos frowned as he sniffed the air while still rubbing at his eyes.

"Aramis," Athos replied as he went about getting dressed.

"I did not!"

"He's covered in melon," the older Musketeer didn't eve glance up from buckling his belt.

"I'm not!"

Porthos sniffed at him then leaned away.

"Yeah you are," he said.

"Why am I covered in melon?"

"Porthos shot it off your head." Athos slid his sword in its sheath.

"You did?"

"I did?"

Athos lifted the lid of the keg in which he kept water then looked from one man to the other and shook his head as though he was wondering what he was doing spending his time with these two. He turned and picked up the half filled bucket from the floor.

Aramis only got the chance to see him nod to Porthos.

The big man shoved him off the bed and as soon as he plopped onto the floor Athos emptied the bucket on his head. It woke him quite thoroughly and he was still sputtering when the second, third and the fourth bucket of ice cold water was dumped on him.

Before he could manage more than indignant yelps Athos tossed a towel to Porthos who set about drying his hair with more vigor than it was necessary.

"G'off me, get off!" Aramis wriggled and pushed until he could escape.

Darting to gain distance, he managed to send a rather bewildered glower to the big man who broke down in a fit of laughter and even Athos's lips had curled into a half smile. Had Aramis been able to look at himself he would have grinned too at the sight that he was; wet and rubbed dry like an alley cat at the hands of well intentioned school boys.

"Not the hair!" he growled.

He got a lumped up shirt to his face for his anger.

"Now I don't owe you for the one I bled all over." Athos said.

"And what about my soaking breeches?" he demanded.

"You're too old to wet your breeches my friend, its time you realized that." Athos shrugged dismissively.

Porthos laughed harder and Aramis just stared. That was the thing about Athos, people assumed he was an arrogant bore but his friends knew better. While Porthos moved to join Athos at the door, having slept fully in his uniform, Aramis grinned and grumbled as he changed into the other shirt.

"Don't worry 'Mis your coat and boots will hide most of it." The bigger man assured him.

Aramis rolled his eyes because true as it was he still didn't like the idea of walking around in soggy breeches. He decided to change once he got to his room in the garrison and as he began to towel himself off, his two friends exited through the door.

"You two better be waiting for me!" he called after them and hurried his efforts to get dressed.

He had just shrugged on his coat and was hopping about in his struggle to get his boots on when he heard Porthos laugh and the two of them move away from the door. It took him fifteen more minutes to make himself presentable then picking up his hat and locking the door after him; Aramis was off into the streets of Paris.

He dodged the early buyers, squeezed past the stalls just opening and had just skirted around a cascade of filthy water from some oblivious citizen when something rammed in his side with enough force to thrust him in the opposite wall.

It took him a moment to catch his breath and let the spots dancing in his vision to subside. When he blinked down it was to find his arms full of a young woman who was wriggling to get free. He let her go although he couldn't stop the grin.

"Watch where you're going will you?" she snapped.

"I apologize for breaking your fall Mademoiselle although I must say the pleasure was all mine."

She spared him a glare with her big cobalt colored eyes before she was off again and Aramis had to blink when he saw her nearly tackle the man she seemed to have been chasing. He dashed off after her when he saw the man brandish a knife in the hand that was not clutching a purse.

By the time Aramis reached them the woman had knocked away the small blade with the flat round metal the Musketeer hadn't noticed her wielding. Loud thick clangs and horrified shrieks filled the street as people began to pause and stare at the spectacle. For a few seconds Aramis simply grinned as he watched the woman beat the cowering man with a saucepan before his inner soldier pushed him to help the wretched soul that had dropped the pouch in favor of protecting his head.

Seeing no other way which would keep him safe from the vengeful cooking utensil, he simply grabbed the lithe form around the waist and picked her up. He swung her off from the man who quickly scampered away and Aramis deposited the woman on the other side.

A loud smack resounded in his head and Aramis clutched the side of his face where the girl had slapped him.

"Don't you dare lay your hands on me!"

Aramis raised his hands in surrender and backed up a step. He earned another glare from the young lady as she recovered her pouch from the cobblestone surface and the Musketeer cheerfully urged the people to go back to their business.

"….Just a Mademoiselle retrieving her property," he waved away the people and raised a brow at the woman, "It is your property right?"

"Of course it is! Aunty said it was a horrid place this city; filled with thieves she said!"

"First time to Paris I see, anything I can help you with Mademoiselle?" he asked.

"And why would you help me?"

"Because I'm a kind hearted man who hates to see a beautiful lady like you in trouble," he grinned cheekily, "and then there's me being a Musketeer and all."

"You are a Musketeer?"

"Please, no need to get nervous about it, we're people like everyone else," he waved a hand in blatantly fake modesty.

The girl who could hardly be past her sixteen years looked him up and down with intelligence in her gaze that far exceeded her age. She dusted off the smudges on her skirt, stuck her culinary weapon in the roll she carried on her back and came to stand before the young man.

"Etienne," she said, "I'm looking for Musketeer Etienne,"

There was no coyness in her stance and the bright face surrounded by loose reddish-brown curls had an air of innocent defiance about it. This lack of flirtatiousness Aramis found heartwarmingly refreshing and couldn't let the chance to tease go by.

"I can help you find him Mademoiselle or I can fill in for him," he wagged his brows, "I can assure you I won't disappoint."

The slap wasn't expected but not necessarily uncalled for Aramis decided as he blinked and rubbed his jaw where the small white hand had impacted. The Musketeer grinned to himself, this was a woman to keep around he decided.

"How dare you imply that!" the woman hissed in disgust, "I'm his sister."

Athos stared ahead and studiously ignored the Captain's glare that slanted his way during the morning muster. Standing at the front of the ranks there was really no other way to escape the man's ire and Athos mentally berated his absent friend for the trouble. It was with a scowl that the Captain handed him the roll of parchment to pin up on the wall between the storeroom and the armory.

"I thought the Captain would have us mucking stables instead of the guard duty." Porthos rechecked the duty roster Athos had just put up, "Can't say which one's better though."

"It's probably because of the size of the hunting party," Athos reminded him, "And it doesn't mean we won't be mucking stables after."

"Where is Aramis anyway?" Porthos followed him as the other Musketeers began dispersing for their duties, "I thought he was right behind us."

As though on cue the two of them looked across the now empty yard and caught sight of their friend as he walked in through the arched gateway, a bundled roll on his shoulder and a bright faced young woman beside him.

Porthos chuckled and Athos pushed down a sigh, it was far too early for this.

"These are my 'thos! Porthos, Athos allow me introduce Constance." Aramis grinned at his friends, "She's looking for Etienne and just to save you both considerable pain, I'll have you know that she's his sister."

"It couldn't have been that painful for a Musketeer." She huffed.

"It was my pride that was hurt Mademoiselle," Aramis gave her an unrepentant smile.

Athos didn't know Etienne had a sister but then he wasn't exactly one to venture out and strike up conversations with his fellow Musketeers. The two flanking him at the moment were enough to keep him busy.

He was about to ask the woman to return in the afternoon for the brother who had yet to return from his duty when he caught sight of the man in question stagger through the street beyond the garrison entrance. He was pulling along a waning Henri.

As Porthos and Aramis hurried forward Athos caught the woman by the elbow before she could turn to see what the matter was.

"Mademoiselle –"

"Constance, just Constance,"

Athos nodded and gently maneuvered her in front of him in a way that her back remained to the bleeding mess of the Musketeers whom his friends were helping. With a tilt of his head he motioned for her to go on and didn't stop until they had crossed through the threshold of the first room he could guide her to.

"If you would wait in the armory Constance I would see to your brother." he kept his tone soft and bland, "It may be a while but you can wait here, if anyone asks you can tell them Athos allowed you in here."

The big dark blue eyes regarded him with wonder and had he the presence of mind to spare Athos would have been amused by the soft pink streak that came onto the honest young face. He simply led the woman to the corner from where she could not see out into the yard from the open door and left her with a small tilt of his head. He never caught the eager grin that broke on the woman's face at the sight of the neat rows of muskets.

His stomach clenched at the sight that greeted him in the infirmary. Porthos was pressing a rapidly staining rag onto Etienne's shoulder while Aramis was murmuring to Henri as gut wrenching moans escaped the man. Aside from the dagger buried to the hilt in the Musketeer's chest, he seemed to be entangled in a silver wire that clung to him like a vine around his torso. Athos caught the glance Aramis sent his way and stepped out of the room to order Jacques to fetch the surgeon. When he returned to the infirmary Captain Treville was there.

"It was the Shredder," the Captain told him in a low voice, "Etienne says that he was covered in armor from head to toe."

"Captain," Aramis beckoned the two of them as he tried to stop the blood with an armada of bandages that he tied over and around the metal buried in Henri's flesh. The Musketeer had already fallen unconscious.

"The wire is serrated and it's wrapped up tight. If I pull it against its grain it will gouge out the flesh but if I pull it like it's supposed to go it'll –" Aramis paused and swallowed, "it'll shred through skin and muscle, no one will be able to stitch it all back before he dies of blood loss."

"Wielded it like a bull whip that one," Etienne gasped from where Porthos had forced him to lie down, "Couldn't stop him Captain, I fired but he just kept coming."

"He's losing blood too fast," Aramis glanced from one bed to the other.

Athos knew he was talking about both the men and he knew his friend enough to see that he was torn up with the decision about which man to help first. The bandages were staining red far too quickly and it was him Aramis was looking at not the Captain. Ever the older brother, Athos didn't mind the weight of responsibility that settled on his shoulders.

"See to Etienne first, I've sent for the surgeon for Henri," he said.

Aramis offered him a grateful look and nodded to do as he bid. As he began gathering material to clean and stitch the wound a tentative face popped through the open doors of the infirmary.

"Monsieur Athos?" it was Constance, "How long before Etienne gets back?" she asked.

His reply was drowned out by a loud scream as Aramis doused Etienne's open wound with some potent spirits. The young woman startled, caught sight of the man bent over a weakly thrashing form that sounded like her brother and she bolted towards them before any of the men could stop her.

"Let go of my brother!" she shoved Aramis with all her strength and slapped him hard across the face, "Are you insane? Leave him be!"

It was all Aramis could do to keep the pressure on the wound.

"Constance?" Etienne blanched and pushed himself to sit up, "Constance? What're you doing here?"

"Me? What's he doing to you?"

"He's trying to keep your brother from bleeding out." Athos cut in and holding the girl by her elbow he moved her away from the men as Porthos helped Etienne to sit up with his back against the wall.

"Why are you – How are you in Paris?" he gasped as Aramis began cleaning away the blood to get a better look, "And Aramis here is helping me –oh you just – Aramis I apologize."

"You know me Etienne, women can't keep their hands off me," He grinned and looked up from his work to wink at Constance, "And I do believe it is becoming our thing."

While Constance blushed and stammered out an apology, Athos signaled for Porthos to meet him outside. They were going to check the market and the surrounding buildings where Etienne and Henri were attacked, Athos had a feeling they could track down the Shredder; the people weren't likely to forget a man covered in armor from head to toe if he walked past them.

Athos was surprised when he heard the Captain call him to a stop. The man reminded him that they were still expected to travel with the Comte and it was that ingrained restrain that stopped Athos from gaping at his captain.

"We could still catch up with this 'Shredder', if we retrace his footsteps." He reasoned.

"And then what?"

Athos paused, he knew he wanted to end the bastard who had the nerve to move in bright daylight committing murders on the streets, it was just that he hadn't gone into the nitpick of details of how he was going to achieve this.

"We collect any information we have on this man,"

"And I will send one of my men to do so," the Captain nodded.

"He's instilling fear in the people of this city."

"But your duty lies with the Crown not the people," Captain Treville reminded him, the 'not anymore' went unsaid but Athos heard it still.

He was not a Comte; he was no longer responsible for his people, as a Musketeer he did what the King bid him to. Athos nodded and consciously shifted his stance in deference to his superior, out of the corner of his eye he saw Porthos do the same. Over the year since Aramis had joined the regiment, Athos had started becoming acutely aware of the way his two new friends had began looking to him for leadership. He had a feeling that had he walked out of the garrison on his ill-planned mission Porthos would have followed him despite the deep respect Athos knew the man held for their Captain.

It was humbling, it was heavy and it was frightening.

"I will send someone Athos and I will request an audience with His Majesty to discuss the matter," Captain Treville looked him in the eye, "I am aware that this is getting out of hand."

Athos could read the lines of tension in his Captain's shoulders; he had the bearing of a man weighed down by secrets. The Lieutenant knew it wasn't his place to ask but he was privy to at least one secret and he knew that their Captain would have to reveal it to the King after this.

"His Majesty will not be pleased with the nightly patrols you sent us on,"

"Let me handle that," the Captain told him.

Before Athos could reply he noticed the Captain's eyes shifted as the man caught sight of something behind the Musketeer.

"Ah yes! If you're standing here Porthos than it couldn't be Aramis I'm here for." Monsieur Ancel slowly hobbled up to the larger man who took the heavy medical satchel from Jacques.

"Not Aramis," Porthos shook his head almost thankfully; Athos could relate to that.

He followed the two of them into the infirmary and nearly ran into Porthos when the man came to an abrupt halt. He looked over the bent form of their old surgeon and found Aramis on his knees by Henri's bedside. One bloodstained hand clutching the other Musketeer's limp one while his other hand rested over the man's eyes. Athos wasn't a stranger to the stillness that permeated from the man on the small bed and he took off his hat even as Monsieur Ancel shuffled ahead to confirm what everyone could see.

Athos was relieved when the Captain asked Constance to accompany him to his office and wait there for her brother to regain consciousness. Even as she followed the older man out, she looked to Athos as though hoping for a reassurance. Her immediate trust in him easily floored Athos.

Porthos reached their friend first.

"Come on 'Mis" he gripped the taut shoulder, "Come on now,"

Aramis tipped back a bit until he came to rest against Porthos's legs. For a few seconds he leaned into the solid presence behind him before he gave a nod and let his hands drop away from Henri. It was one of the things that Athos always found himself marveling at; while neither he nor Porthos liked taking a life they still accepted it with the cynical stoicism of a man-at-arms but Aramis was a healer at heart despite the frightening number of lives he had taken, often with ruthless precision.

His was a ledger dripping crimson and at times like these Athos had to consciously remind himself of that; this was a man who had put to death much more people than his and Porthos' combined kills.

Yet behind the smiles that he wore like armor whatever this was that his friend carried, this vulnerability, Athos hated it and he loved it. He never wanted his friend to lose this piece of him and hadn't even realized when he had decided to protect it.

"Get a change of clothes Aramis, we ride out in an hour." He said.

Even as he left the infirmary Athos could hear the other two springing into motion and he had never been more thankful for a Comte's hunting party.

The piece of bread was soft and warm yet it could have been made of straw and the three of them would have dutifully gnawed and swallowed it. Mourning was a luxury they could not afford, not when the King and country called. If at the moment it was to protect a nobleman at his pastime than such was their fate, but that didn't necessarily mean that Aramis had to like it.

He jiggled his leg as he tore the bread roll into tiny pieces, his nails shredding the baked wheat without him even realizing it. He glanced up at the balcony in front of the Captain's office then down at Athos sitting from across him.

"Can't someone else do it?" he asked.

"We do what is assigned to us." Athos replied.

"But he attacked one of us," Aramis said, "He attacked a Musketeer."

"An' we'll get him in time." Porthos patted his back.

"When?

"When we are ordered to," Athos nodded with all the calmness in the world.

"So we wait until he's on our doorsteps?"

"We learn to follow orders," Athos said.

It was the light dip in his shoulders that silenced Aramis, the subtle change in a posture that spoke of a heavy weight of responsibilities. He had to remind himself that his friends didn't like it either. His understanding silence changed the look in his friend's eyes from resignation to gratitude and pulled a nod from the older man. He got to his feet as did Porthos but when Aramis followed; the bigger man placed a hand on his shoulder to keep him seated.

The reason became clear when he saw Constance coming across the yard towards him. It was purely unconscious the way his hand moved to rub the side of his jaw and that earned him a grin from Porthos.

"We'll get the horses," he patted his shoulder once and followed Athos to the stables.

"I knew you couldn't resist these dashing good looks." Aramis pushed to his feet and plopped his hat on his head, "Couldn't stay away for long I see."

She clasped her hands together and exhaled slowly as though physically refraining herself from losing her temper again. The attempt at propriety involuntarily brought a grin on his face as Aramis holstered his pistols. He didn't fail to notice the way her eyes lingered on the weapon not with fear neither disgust nor that morbid excitement that some ladies held in their romantic fantasies. He was surprised to see the curiosity in her eyes as though she was trying to glean as much information about the weapon as she could.

She realized she had been caught staring and blushed pink even as she smoothed her skirt unnecessarily.

"I wanted to apologize, Monsieur," she said, "For back there and thank you for helping my brother."

"Please call me Aramis," he tipped his hat slightly, "I must say that when Etienne talked about his baby sister you were not what I had in mind."

"That's the thing about older siblings," Constance shrugged, "They would always see you as someone to protect; you never grow up in their eyes."

He found himself glancing towards the stable doors before he could check himself. It was odd but Aramis realized he understood what she was talking about, eighteen years after he had been born he had felt it, this sense of older brothers when he had met Athos and Porthos nearly a year back. The realization settled like a warm cloud in the hollow of his chest.

"What better way than a surprise visit to remind him you're all grown up," he grinned.

"I've been told enough times that I'm all grown up, I don't think I'll be forgetting it any time soon," she snapped but then shook her head, "I'm sorry about that, it's not you."

She thanked him again for helping her brother before she bid him farewell and turned back to the infirmary. Watching her leave Aramis couldn't help but feel that he had found a kindred spirit, the deliberate pacing of her eager, fast steps; her flashing temper and her need to act resonated to him and left him smiling.

A loud shot rang out in the forest and the nearest trees rustled noisily as a handful of birds took flight, twittering and fluttering as they rose to the sky. In the clearing, about twenty servants set up the tables with food and wine while the Comtesse and her ladies sat fanning themselves in the shade of the brightly colored tents.

Porthos had to school his features to keep from scowling at the futility of it all. The death of a comrade fresh in his mind brought to the forefront other deaths at the hands of this Shredder. Most of the victims had been residents of the Court, he hadn't known them personally but he could read the signs, living on the streets marked you in a way that seldom faded. Yet he couldn't go up to them, Charon had made it clear once Porthos chose the life of a Musketeer. He couldn't help the people he desperately wanted to.

Another shot rang out and the ladies jumped prettily before the joyful murmur picked up again. Porthos didn't miss the way the female eyes tracked his friend as he returned after a round of the camp, not that Aramis didn't take pleasure in the attention focused on him; he was more than brazen in the cheeky courtesy he cast their way before he came to a stop beside Porthos.

The big man couldn't help roll his eyes as his friend cast one last cheerful look behind him then settled in a stance both at ease yet alert.

"I knew he'd get frustrated but I never assumed that he would attack in the light of the day, much less attack a pair of Musketeers." Aramis said in a voice surprisingly serious in contrast to his jovial demeanor.

"How'd you know he'd get frustrated?" Porthos murmured.

His eyes roamed over the five Red Guards that Athos had commandeered into position, another five were with the men out in the woods. It wasn't everyday that they got to lord over the Cardinal's men and Porthos couldn't help the twitch of a smile at the sight of the red cloaked men squirming where they were ordered to stand. Misery didn't just love company it enjoyed it, Porthos decided.

He didn't have to turn to face his friend to read the hint of insolence shift through the man's stance.

"I advised some working girls," Aramis looked straight ahead, "You know Jiminy from around the corner? The one with the violin? I told him too. They're the most vulnerable lot; I don't think it was wrong to pass on some helpful information even if we were patrolling in the night. So I asked them to keep in twos and threes and hinted the places the Shredder was likely to strike. And it worked. There hasn't been a death in a while…until today."

Porthos turned to the man wide-eyed, had he known what his friend had done he could have had a good night's sleep weeks ago.

"Why didn't you tell us?" he had to ask.

"Plausible deniability my friend," Aramis grinned and patted him on the shoulder, "If the Captain comes to know about it he wouldn't be able to pin it on you or Athos."

"We don't keep things from each other 'Mis."

"But we do my dear Porthos," Aramis smiled at him, "And we don't let it get in the way of our friendship."

Porthos blinked, and then chuckled warmly; for the first time since the Shredder had taken to the streets of Paris the Musketeer could breathe easy. Feeling incredibly lighter, he watched the Comte and his men as they thundered out of the woods with a sense of urgency in their movement. And then inexplicably, a thick cloud of fog pushed through the trees and unfurled out over the clearing.

Shrieks filled the air as the silverware clattered and the beat of hooves grew louder, but even as the two Musketeers and the five Red Guards formed a defensive line around the civilians the rapidly uncurling fog enveloped the riders and crashed onto the campsite like a gust from the sea.

He heard the whine of the horses as they were abruptly reined to a stop, followed by simultaneous sounds of boots impacting the ground as people dismounted. Someone fired a shot and Porthos moved in what he hoped was the direction of the ladies he was supposed to defend. He couldn't see his own hand, he felt it when he raised it and he felt the pommel in his grip but the thick white around him pressed his view into a range of no more than up till his own outstretched elbow.

"Aramis," he whispered.

"I'm here," a hand rested on his arm, "What is this?"

Before Porthos could reply shots began ringing out in the treacle like mist and even as he ducked blindly, he felt a trail of fire in his flesh. Grunting, he pressed a hand to the side of his upper ribs and clamped down onto the wet warmth. He didn't have to see his hand to know it was covered in blood; the pain alone had left dark spots dancing in his view.

He shook his head in an attempt to regain his balance but then one after the other, loud explosions rocked the world under his feet like a boat caught in a storm.

TBC

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