He should have at least tried to shuck them off the second she had disappeared, should have taken the chance when he had it, but now he was just too scared to lay his eyes on what was beneath the leather covering his hands. He gritted his teeth against the fresh spark of agony as he pressed down harder onto the Red Guard's chest. The man gasped out a scream and Aramis glanced back over his shoulder.

"Where the hell have you been?!" he demanded from Marsac.

"I'm not a bloody seamstress you know." The other Musketeer growled as he carefully laid out the thread he'd salvaged from the many ruined shirts of the wounded.

The Red Guard between them whimpered and Aramis ignored the reek of wine coming from his slightly wobbly comrade.

"The ladies love a scar with a good story, you'll be the tormented hero they can take care of," Aramis offered a tight smile to the man gasping under his hand.

"Go to hell,"

"Not if you're getting there first," Aramis lifted his hand and checked the blood flow.

He hadn't wanted to perform a surgery out in the field with what limited knowledge he had of the matter but the man had soaked through too many bandages. Aramis needed to stitch him up and that meant he needed to get the bullet out first.

"So François, any particular lady you want to impress?" he asked as he upended half a bottle of wine on the open wound.

He thanked the Comte's love for alcohol that had resulted in the ample supply at hand while his patient cursed Aramis through his teeth. Marsac cleaned one of Aramis's boot knives with the rest of the wine. François groaned loud and long when the tip of the knife pushed under the musket ball and leveraged it up and out of the wound.

"Amy," he ground out.

"No it's Aramis," the man smirked as he threaded his needle.

"The girl I'm going to marry,"

"Really? Is she blind?"

"She's beautiful,"

"I'm sure, but touched in the head then?"

"She's perfect."

"I don't think so, she chose you didn't she?"

François frowned and reiterated in a murmur how beautiful the girl was before he succumbed to unconsciousness with a smile on his face. Aramis finished stitching up the wound and sat back on his heels. He wiped his forehead with the back of his wrist before he wiped his fingers onto a rag that once upon a time had been a part of the marquee. New gloves were in order he decided and cast a glance at the small group of injured men in various positions between lying and sitting up.

Getting to his feet Aramis whistled the combination for his mare and felt a surge of affection when Risas trotted out of the woods to greet him. He had won her soon after he had left home, from an owner who wasn't much disheartened over the loss of an animal that he apparently couldn't control. She had seen him through some of the darkest moments of his life, even through the loss of Isabel and their unborn child and as he leaned against the strong flank of his horse Aramis couldn't keep from wondering if she would have to see him through another loss.

Athos had seen what he was and he hadn't liked it, there was no doubt in Aramis' mind that he would tell Porthos and that would be the end of it. He would lose the only two friends he had actually wanted to keep and all because of this thing he could do. He was a monster, even his mother had been cautious of him long before she had actually showed the signs; and seeing that same distance, that quite reserve in Athos had brought back his last evening at his home.

Risas snorted over his shoulder and his hair that he had tied back tickled his neck.

"Makes you wonder what it's all for doesn't it?" Marsac walked up to him, "Blood of a soldier spilled for what? A Comte's entertainment?"

"At least no one's died," Aramis said.

"Yet," the other Musketeer shrugged, "We don't know if all of them would make it, and if they do there's always the next noble waiting to go on a hunting party."

"You my friend are a bitter drunk," Aramis plucked the bottle of wine from the man's fingers and sniffed it before taking a gulp himself.

It didn't numb the ache in his head nor the sting in his hands, he handed it back to Marsac. The man seemed to need it more he decided, questioning the sanity of an insane world as he was. Aramis liked to believe he didn't mind it himself, most days he loved adding to the chaos that was life but then he found himself wondering if there really was something wrong with him.

"My father was a soldier you know," Marsac added, "Mama said he died for the King, died for honour."

"So did mine," Aramis surprised himself with the reply.

"Yeah?" Marsac nodded like he understood something though for the life of him Aramis couldn't say what, "Makes you think doesn't it? Left dead or crippled with a mourning family. And for what? It's bloody senseless!"

"We do it for honour,"

"And what does an ex-bandit know about honour?"

Aramis didn't deny the life he had lived just a short year ago but his hand reached for the pauldron that he had deposited on his saddle when he had taken off his long coat. Picking up the stiff leather bearing the fleur-de-lis, he turned the engraving towards the other Musketeer.

"We bleed side by side and we don't leave a man behind, that's honour." He said and suddenly another clearing in another time flashed before his eyes.

They skirt the lip of the clearing to guess the distance between the four high watch towers and the ruined castle beyond. The night is lit by many campfires but each one belongs to their enemies and they keep a cautious silence as they scope the area….

He isn't one to easily follow other people's plans, having lived by the trust in his own instincts. But Athos's and Porthos are different, they are familiar and dependable in a way that is scary, he has only just met them. But he isn't surprised by himself when he accepts their plan.

"All for one," Athos says.

"And one for all," Aramis adds without really thinking about it.

Aramis shook his head because that wasn't honour; that was something else, something just among the three of them or so he had hoped. His eyes narrowed when Marsac gave him a wide grin, it was a brutal thing, all sharpness and teeth.

"So we choose honour," he raised his bottle; "We live a lonely life and leave no one to cry over our graves."

Aramis snatched the bottle away before Marsac could take a drink.

"The Musketeers, the regiment, that's who you leave behind," he said, "You die a Musketeer and your regiment would mourn you."

"Would you mourn me Aramis?" it was just above a whisper and Marsac's own eyes widened.

He dropped his gaze from Aramis' face to look down at his hands and scowled fiercely at whatever he saw. Aramis pried the cork free from his comrade's other hand and closed up the wine bottle. Securing it in his saddlebag, he threw an arm over the man's shoulders.

"Of course I would," he said.

When Marsac looked at him again there was awkward gratitude in his gaze. It dropped quickly and the man rubbed the back of his neck with a snort.

"I have a feeling you would haunt me if I wouldn't," Aramis grinned, "And who wants a drunken ghost following him around?"

Marsac snorted again and shoved him off. They turned together at the sound of approaching horses and Aramis was relieved to see that the carts had arrived.

Porthos watched Monsieur Ancel putter around in the infirmary and glanced at Athos who stood leaning against the doorjamb. His friend was there physically but it was clear that he was wandering on a different plane behind the cool blue of his eyes. Swallowing back a grunt, Porthos adjusted the pillow behind his back and turned to the surgeon.

"Why don't you see to Etienne Monsieur? Constance took him out for some fresh air."

Monsieur Ancel glanced from the man on the bed to the man in the doorway who showed no sign that he had heard the conversation. With a nod the old man clutched a few rolls of fresh bandages and hobbled past Athos, it was unsettling how the Musketeer didn't regard him as he passed him by.

"Athos," the big man called out, "Athos?"

His friend's eyes slid to him, the man pushed away from his support as he came forward and wordlessly sat down on the bed from where Porthos had drawn up his legs. His head was tilted exactly enough for the rim of his hat to cast his face in a shadow just so, while it may have once come off as aloof boredom now the same posture screamed at Porthos that his friend needed to get something wrangled off his mind.

"Did he say something?" Porthos asked.

"Who?" Athos looked up at him in surprise.

" 'Mis who else? Something happened between the two of you," Porthos chuckled at the look of mute wonder that flashed across Athos' face, "You wouldn't have left him there as easily as you did, he wanted to get rid of both of us too. And you didn't go with the carts to retrieve him."

He arched a brow in challenge for the other Musketeer to deny his claim but his friend exhaled softly before he pulled off his hat and deposited it on the bed on his other side. Drawing a hand over his face, he rubbed at his beard and let his shoulders drop.

"I thought I saw a ghost today," he said, "Only Aramis could see her too."

"Maybe it wasn't a ghost."

"It was," Athos snapped at him before he shook his head, "I apologize my friend, I'm sure that the woman I saw could not be alive and Aramis, he is different, he admitted to that."

"Different?" this was news to Porthos, "Different how?"

Athos opened his mouth to speak but before he could explain Captain Treville crossed the threshold of the infirmary. His eyes went from one Musketeer to the other and his face was leeched of colour. Porthos could have sworn their Captain had come across an apparition as well.

"I think I can explain that to you gentlemen," he said.

Then to Porthos' surprise their Captain closed the door behind him. He marched up and down their rather small infirmary checking corners as he went before he closed the only window the room had. They watched in silence as the Captain came to sit on the cot next to Porthos'.

"First you need to explain what happened with the Comte today," Captain Treviile said.

He listened quietly as the two Musketeers explained the odd attack, Porthos knew that his friend was hiding something when he mentioned the ghost but he didn't call him out on it with the Captain there. He listened silently when Athos told them about what Aramis had said about this ghost.

"Weaver? Are you sure that's what he said?" The Captain asked and when Athos gave a nod to affirm he let his head drop in his hands.

Porthos wasn't sure how to react to that, their Captain wasn't the man who would sit on the edge of a cot clutching his hair like a man lost. He was not the man who would look this defeated. The big man glanced at his friend for guidance but Athos only offered a slight shrug.

"It's worse than I thought," the Captain spoke at length, "You two need to know this but not a soul out of this room should hear a whiff of it."

Porthos listened to the man explain to him things that he had heard whispers of in the Court of Miracles. Only there was no showmanship, no enticing description nor any alluring promises, just simple facts, cold and harsh. Athos for once was staring at their Captain with unveiled disbelief as the man went on about Knots, Tethers, and Watchmen.

"And this Weaver is a danger to a born Knot; we cannot under any circumstances let Aramis come into contact with her again."

"What sort of danger?" Porthos had to ask.

The Captain hesitated before he looked his soldier in the eye.

"A world threatening sort of danger."

"And how do you know all this Captain?" asked the injured Musketeer.

"I have my sources," Treville said, "On both sides."

Porthos whistled soft and low, he could tell that the Captain was not divulging some details and he wasn't sure if he should be glad or insulted. He looked to Athos who had yet to blink since their Captain had started talking.

"Athos?" he prodded gently.

His friend stood up with a jerk and moved towards the shelves set in the far wall. He reached for the bottle of brandy and pulling open the stopper he took a gulp large enough to make Porthos flinch. The Lieutenant made his way back to his perch with the bottle still clutched in his hand.

"That is for medicinal purposes," Captain Treville said.

"I'm not feeling particularly well," came the bland if rather hoarse reply.

Porthos snorted and shook his head; he looked to the Captain to go ahead with his explanations since it seemed that the man hadn't been done with his piece. Treville pointedly avoided looking at his second-in-command who had brought the bottle to his lips again but had taken a considerable smaller amount.

"Now this Shredder is sent by one of the Watchmen," Captain Treville told them, "They fear the threat to the world that this Weaver poses by coming for a born Knot and this Shredder is supposed to take the born Knot out of the equation."

"Aramis," Porthos couldn't help but wonder if this Weaver person would come for his friend again in that clearing, "We left him there alone."

"You believe all this?" Athos' inquiry was loud despite it being no more than a whisper.

It might have been because of his life at the Court of Miracles, or because he had witnessed a ghost of a living woman in a forest some three years ago when the Comtesse had asked them to murder a Comte's brother, Porthos didn't wish to go into the details but he had no problem believing the Captain's words.

What he found odd was that Athos did not. He knew that the man didn't talk about his past but Porthos could read between the lines, he knew a noble born and bred when he saw one. He knew this was the Comte whose brother's murder had been a task offered to him and his friends; and he had later found out that the ghost-woman who had approached them was the Comtesse. It didn't take a lot of brain power to connect the two but Porthos was surprised that his friend appeared to have not known about his wife's witchy abilities.

He grasped Athos by his uninjured shoulder and waited until the blue eyes met his.

"Why do you not?" he asked.

"How are we these –" Athos closed his eyes for a second and gathered his bearings, "According to the Captain we're both tethered to Aramis."

Porthos couldn't decide if he should be shocked that it wasn't the lack of rationality that was a problem for his friend but the utter weight of being somehow linked to another human. In that moment, with his eyes wide and rounded Athos looked like he had never before, Porthos had never seen him look so damn young.

Shifting his grip from his friend's shoulder to the back of his neck, Porthos gave it a gentle squeeze.

"It's pretty obvious if you think about it," he smiled, because all the Psychic stuff aside they were in a way linked to each other; had been the second they had crossed paths. Even before Aramis the two of them had shared a hostility that had still left them spinning around each other. He couldn't see what was so wrong with adding to it on some supernatural plane.

"You can't deny being our friend Athos."

Porthos was well aware that it was the first time one of them had audibly acknowledged their friendship. He hoped that he wasn't overstepping the easy camaraderie that had developed between the three of them.

Athos nodded, glanced from him to the Captain before he shifted out of Porthos's hold and stood, grabbing his hat as he did. Placing it back on his head, he gave another nod to the two of them before he walked out of the infirmary.

There wasn't enough air in the infirmary, there wasn't enough space either and Athos inhaled deeply as he sat down on the bench in the yard. Resting his elbows back on the table he tipped his head up until he could see the sky beyond the rim of his hat. Sometimes there wasn't enough air and space in the entire city and he imagined himself back in the gardens of his father's château at the time when the estate wasn't his, when it wasn't an estate at all but a home. With sunbeams in the rooms pooled at the foot of long windows and a garden full of adventures ready to happen. He could still hear Thomas' childish squeals of delight if listened hard enough.

"Heard you were caught in an ambush, any idea who it was?" Etienne walked up to him.

Psychics and Watchmen and people just walking up to talk to him, what was the world coming to Athos wondered quietly. The Musketeer before him somehow took his silence as an invitation to sit down on the bench beside him and Athos had to ponder exactly when had he turned into an inviting personality for the general public.

"I just wanted to thank you Athos," Etienne winced slightly, "For keeping Constance away when I stumbled in the garrison as a bloody mess."

Athos nodded and hoped that it signaled the end of conversation. From the corner of his eye he watched Etienne scrub a hand over his face and contemplate his boots.

"I just sent her to the inn to get some rest," he said with a shake of his head, "It's not easy being an older brother you know, you do everything you can to keep the little ones safe and they would pull the most dangerous stunts anyway."

Unbidden in his mind came the time when Porthos had jumped off his galloping horse to tackle a bandit, followed by the image of Aramis dropping down into a flaming stable through the roof to save the horses.

"Hey Porthos shoot this, shoot this," Aramis grins as he places a melon on his head.

Athos closed his eyes and nodded empathetically.

"It is indeed difficult," he said.

"Our aunt took us in after our parents died, she raised us the best she could and now she's set up Constance to marry this cloth merchant in Paris," Etienne said, "And my sister just ran away, she's come to me to tell me that she's only sixteen and would like to do something remarkable in her life before marriage. She's sixteen, she's a woman; what else is she to do but get married? "

Etienne looked at his empty hands lying in his lap as though the answer would just fall into them from the sky above. Athos took pity on the man and handed him the bottle of brandy. The other Musketeer raised the bottle in a silent salute before he took a mouthful.

"She says she'll only marry for love," he shook his head at the idea, took two more gulps from the bottle and snorted with a grimace; "She never did care for what the world thought."

"How is an unmarried woman supposed to live alone respectfully and not bring the honour of her family in question?" Etienne wanted to know and since no answer was forthcoming, he took some more gulps from the bottle.

"She says Bonacieux sounds dull and I can't force her Athos. She's the only family I've got."

Athos nodded and took the bottle back from the man; the alcohol seemed to have pulled down any barriers that the man possessed while he had been hoping Etienne was the silent broody drunk.

"She's my baby sister, I want what's best for her but she won't listen. And what sort of a brother does it make me if I don't guide her?" the man asked.

Before Athos could be forced into answering a distinct clink reached his ears. He turned his head to the sound and found in the arched gateway of the garrison a man covered in black armour from head to toe, his metal bullwhip was looped in his hand and the dagger at its tip glinted in the afternoon sunlight from where it hung. The Shredder turned his head fully to scan the yard through his visor even as Athos moved fluidly to his feet with his sword at the ready.

He wasn't the only one; every Musketeer in the yard dropped what he was doing and moved to stop the intruder. Some fired shots from over their heads and the musket balls pinged off the chest plate, not even leaving a dent where they had hit.

They needed a plan Athos knew that as he searched the armour for a weak point, his gaze roamed the black metal for any patch of flesh left unprotected.

"How dare you set foot in our home?" Etienne growled, sounding quite inebriated from beside Athos.

The man lunged forward with his sword raised even as Athos barked at him stop. It took just enough time to blink in which the thin metal wrapped around the man and the dagger landed in the hollow under his neck. Etienne's wide blue eyes met his own before a sickening, squelching whir sounded and Athos closed his eyes against the warm spray that landed on his face.

"Wait!" a booming voice broke through the dull buzz that had begun in Athos' ears.

"No! Porthos get back here! That's an order!" the Captain shouted from somewhere behind them.

Athos didn't even register when Porthos, despite his wounds, pushed through the line of men and came to stand before the Shredder. His throat went dry but the big man wouldn't look at him. Porthos' ferocious scowl was set on the armoured figure before him.

"You want the knot right?" he demanded.

The metal creaked as the Shredder looked up in the face of the man standing before him in his shirtsleeves, yet exuding power by his sheer courage. The visor of his helmet wobbled a little as the Shredder nodded.

Porthos leaned closer to the man and Athos itched to grab him and yank him back. He found himself beside his friend with his fingers tangled in the back of his shirt. He was close enough to hear Porthos talk to the murderer.

"I'm tethered to 'im," Porthos said, "Take me and he'll come looking."

"No." Athos yanked the man back, "No you won't."

"It's the only way to save others," Porthos voice was low as he gestured to the men on their other side, "He takes me to catch Kit and he leaves the rest of the city alone."

"Fine then, take me." Athos turned to the Shredder.

The situation would have been comical if it wasn't so desperate Athos decided, as the man in the armour looked from one to the other. Standing this close he could see the pale eyes behind the shadow of the visor.

"Porthos! Athos! Back the hell down." The Captain growled as he reached them.

But then the decision was made for them as the Shredder raised a spiked gauntlet clad hand and grasped Porthos. The man went willingly although Athos didn't miss the flinch as the wound in the big man's side was jostled.

The Musketeers moved to attack.

"Don't!" Porthos and the Captain bellowed in synch.

It didn't stop Athos as he lunged forward and the metal whip curled through the air. He was pulled back sharply at the last moment and strong arms kept him put. Athos didn't register it was the Captain holding him; he didn't feel the strain as he tried to pull away and he didn't realize where he was until the Captain had dragged him back to the bench in the yard. He could only watch the street corner around which the Shredder has disappeared with Porthos.

"We'll get him back Athos," the Captain assured him, "He bought us time, we'll get him out of this."

TBC