People stared.

Confusion, surprise and curiosity followed them all the way to the interview room. Whispers trailed after but no one stopped them, or questioned or helped. Ignoring the impression of a choking fish that Laurent produced at the sight of them Athos reached out to lean against the wall and motioned for Porthos to go ahead and open the door for Aramis.

The boy was stirring lightly where he was draped on Aramis' back and Athos did not want him gaining consciousness into a position he could easily use to strangle his brother. Porthos hooked a chair with the toe of his boot and pulled it up for his friend to deposit his burden onto the seat while Athos checked his watch, limping over to take the other chair.

"We have about ninety seconds before the Captain comes here,"

"Any ideas how we'll explain this one?" Porthos tilted his head towards the limp form of the young man in the chair.

"Saying he followed us home definitely won't stick," Aramis leaned back with his hands on his lower back, "how about we're pet-sitting for a friend?"

"What did you do? Oh my –! Is he dead?" Laurent gaped from the open door.

"Yes Laurent we killed him and now we're lugging around the body to find a good place to dispose it off, any suggestions?"

The man blinked from d'Artagnan to Athos as if unsure of his words. With a shake of his head Porthos walked over and closed the door in the man's face; crossing his arms before him he leaned back against the wood grinning at the two of them.

"Best check him over for anymore weapons," Athos said.

And Aramis complied, but he only found some cash, a key, a mobile phone and a crumpled paper napkin in the boy's pockets. D'Artagnan groaned at the movement and their attention shifted to his face as his fingers twitched. Aramis tapped on his cheek only for the younger man to come around with a jerk. His hand wrapped wound the wrist that had been close to his face and dark eyes darted from the man closest to him to the farthest.

His eyes widening as Porthos stepped closer, clearly intent to help Aramis should the need be.

"What?" d'Artagnan's voice cracked, "Where –I –"

The raw fear that flashed in that gaze stoked every protective instinct he had and Athos got to his feet, needing to somehow ease the younger man's worry. He stopped in his tracks when d'Artagnan suddenly shot up from his chair and grabbing the edge of its backrest, heaved it up as he backtracked. He stopped only when he hit the wall behind him with the chair still held up before his chest.

"Where am I?" he looked about the room, "Where did you bring me?"

Athos looked from the eyes darting to find an exit to the wooden legs of the chair sticking out towards them.

"I had a dream like this once," he mused.

"Wasn't a dream, you were drunk and I was there," Aramis said, "pulled you back before you could meet the business end of a barstool."

"Was that where I used a melon as a dartboard and you as the melon stand?" Porthos turned to Aramis.

"That was the one I wish I was drunk for," Athos told them

"But it was more fun than the barstool one," Aramis shrugged, "And the melon juice did wonders for my hair,"

"We should do that again sometimes," Porthos grinned.

"Are you all insane?" d'Artagnan stared.

"Says the lunatic wielding a chair," the big man shook his head.

"I don't think you'll be able to swing it with those injured ribs," Aramis pointed out.

"But you do get points for trying," Athos said.

"What?"

It came out more of a squawk than anything else. Athos wondered if the young man had realized that he had lowered the chair he had been brandishing. He glanced towards his friends and saw the spark of interest in Aramis' eyes as well as the indulgent grin that spread on Porthos face. He was not the only one taking a shine to this confused boy who looked like he could use help but would certainly fight anyone should they try.

But the three of them did love a challenge.

"A bit low on the vocabulary aren't you?" Porthos asked.

"I think he's on medication give the boy a break," Aramis shook his head.

"I'd rather not he's already got his ribs taped up,"

"We do have bandages in a first-aid box somewhere around here you know,"

"I don't think anyone updates that box anymore,"

"I still keep extra supplies in my desk drawer?" Aramis offered.

Athos sat back in his chair and dropped his head in his open palm; they were going to scare the kid into jumping out a window he was sure. Glancing up he saw d'Artagnan's alarmed gaze flick from one man to the other like he was watching a particularly riveting tennis match where he was sure the ball was a bomb that would go off the moment it was dropped.

He was about to intervene when the door behind Athos opened and he knew before he turned around who it was; it had taken him complete two minutes to get here, the Captain was losing his touch. But Athos let none of that show on his face as he straightened as much as he could and let the older man's glare turn from him to his brothers.

"For the sake of my remaining sanity will someone explain to me what is going on with my men?" the Captain asked, "what is this I hear of you dragging in an unconscious man from the sidewalk?"

"Now that just sounds morbid," Aramis made a face, "I think I see your wisdom in hiring an official psychologist for your employees Captain,"

The Captain ignored the three of them in favor of the new face, eyes fixing onto the young man who was pressed back against the wall. D'Artagnan's white knuckled grip over the edge of the chair twisted when he saw the door filled out by the Captain, Leon, and Laurent.

"Who's this?" asked the Captain.

"The man we apparently dragged in," Porthos shrugged.

"He is Charles d'Artagnan, we had a misunderstanding on the street Captain and the boy was hurt," Athos clarified, "we thought we could sort out the matter in a better setting in a more civil way,"

He ignored the other two as they shared a grin at his words and instead looked to the Captain. The man's eyes had widened, his face a shade paler as he stared at the young man across the room, if Athos didn't know any better he would have thought the Captain looked pained.

"d'Artagnan?" Captain Treville frowned, "Charles d'Artagnan?"

"Yes," Athos nodded, "he seems to think I murdered his father,"

"You did! You can deny all you want Athos but I know you are involved in his murder," d'Artagnan moved from around the chair with renewed anger, his eyes flashing as a smirk pulled on his face, "and you will pay for that. When you're rotting in prison remember it was me who put you there,"

"What are talking about?" Porthos stepped in his way, effectively blocking his path to Athos.

While he appreciated his friend's preemptive move should the boy launch at him fists flying Athos was still a bit worried for the younger man, because even Aramis was looking at him with something akin to a frown. He needed to diffuse the situation.

"Forget it, he's delusional," he said.

"Oh really? Because I think I've been successful so far in shaking up your life," d'Artagnan sneered at him from around Porthos' shoulder, "you know of my work Athos, I'm The Hound."

Silence met that declaration.

Athos looked at the man who was the reason he was currently without his laptop and his mobile phone. He had no idea why the kid was so convinced of his guilt but he could not deny that he had been relentless in his hits. He had even gone ahead and tapped into his work profile.

"The Hound? The one who hacked into our database?" Captain Treville demanded, "You're the one who stole information from us?"

It was the anger in the Captain's tone that snapped Athos out of his thoughts. He cast a glance to his brothers and shook his head slowly, stepping just slightly in front of the older man's glare despite his throbbing ankle.

"A false claim most likely," he said, "given Serge's protection software that break-in was the work of an expert,"

"I am an expert at what I do!" d'Artagnan insisted.

"Nonsense you're just a kid," Porthos cut him off.

"I'm The Hound."

"More like a pup," Aramis shook his head.

"Not a pup!"

As much as he was grateful for his brothers' support Athos had to wonder about d'Artganan's sanity when the younger man almost growled and stumbled forwards to get away from those shielding him. Shoving aside Porthos and Aramis he grabbed Athos by the shoulder and swung him around.

"You don't believe me right? But remember my face when your life falls to pieces," d'Artagnan collared him, "know that it was Alexander d'Artagnan's son who put you there."

Before he could form a reply d'Artagnan was pulled off of him. Porthos deposited the boy back in his chair as Aramis hand on his shoulder steadied Athos. The anger in those dark eyes he had expected but it was depth of grief in d'Artagnan's venomous gaze that left Athos swaying.

"All right, you three in my office right," the Captain pointed to Laurent, "and you stay here to watch the kid. If he is who he says he is we can't let him get away like this."

"Captain –" Athos began.

"My office Athos,"

Biting back a retort Athos conceded, he could tell his boss was shaken and with the way their assignment had went that morning he knew leeway was the last thing he should be expecting. As Laurent moved past them Athos cast one last glance towards the young man who was scowling where he sat in the chair.

"Why does the Captain look like he's encountered a ghost?" Porthos asked quietly as he came to stand beside him.

Aramis grasped Athos' arm on his other side, taking his weight to help with the sprained ankle and spoke around his head in the same whisper.

"I don't know," he said, "I'm still wondering where he's keeping this remaining sanity he speaks of,"

The room he was in was small, with a window opening out that was useless to him at this height and another that opened to the main floor visible through the half drawn blinds. It was furnished with a table, an air-conditioner unit, a flat screen and a couple of comfortable chairs that were heavier than they looked as he had noted before. Wrapping up his quick survey d'Artagnan looked to the man called Laurent who had been left behind to watch him.

The man was the same height as him but with a bit more breadth in his shoulders and a clear look of displeasure on his face as he closed the door after the departing group. The scowl on his face didn't lessen when he turned to d'Artagnan and he couldn't help but regard the man with a raised eyebrow.

Someone was looking for an outlet for his frustration it seemed.

But Laurent ignored him and taking the chair Athos had vacated, he grabbed the remote control from the desk before turning his attention to the screen he had switched on. D'Artagnan shrugged and grabbed the cash and his mobile phone that his captors had dumped on the table.

He had expected some form of resistance but when none came he swiped his phone on and entered the password.

He needed to think of a way out before Athos and his Captain returned; better yet he had to get away before the police came for Athos. First thing he needed was internet, a basic necessity for him, and d'Artagnan set to work towards decoding the password of the Wi-Fi in the office. He frowned when he heard the cheering crowd and it was only instinct that he used his phone to lower the sound on the screen.

"What the –!" Laurent swore suddenly.

D'Artagnan glanced up at the back of his head just as the man raised the sound again.

This could work.

He grinned internally and waited for a few minutes before he used his phone to switch the channels.

Laurent stiffened and d'Artagnan waited with a baited breath, but the man never turned around and switched the channel back. And the young man changed it right back, stifling his grin when Laurent smacked he remote control on the flat of his palm before he switched the channel back again.

This time he took a minute before he turned the sound all the way up.

It was enough to get Laurent to his feet, trying his best to get the sound back down but d'Artagnan simply kept nudging it the other way. The man swore and the door opened to reveal a dark blonde head. He dropped his eyes to his lap and the hand holding his phone to his side, out of the view of the new comer.

The sound went back down under Laurent's command.

"Everything alright in there Laurent?" the woman asked.

"Its fine!" snapped the man, "stupid thing won't work,"

The woman nodded before slipping out and closing the door. D'Artagnan watched the man drop back in his chair and switch of the screen, with a wicked grin he switched it back on. The man's curses were music to his ears and he had to draw a hand over his face to keep from letting his mirth show.

As Laurent got to his feet and went to unplug the screen d'Artagnan turned his attention to the air-conditioner. Hoping it would take the command he decided to up the temperature in the room, a lot. It took ten minutes for Laurent to divest himself of his suit jacket, wiping his forehead as he did.

He glowered at the young man as he trekked up and down the room. D'Artagnan gave him the most unimpressed look he could muster while trying not to squirm in the stuffy room. Sweat was breaking on his hairline and he was considering changing his plan when.

"I'm getting some water," Laurent said, "do not move,"

As an answer he dragged out a bored nod and pointedly turned back to his phone. As the door closed behind Laurent d'Artagnan waited a few minutes before he sneaked it open again. Through the slim crack he watched the man hovering near the water cooler set by the far wall of main office-floor. What caught his attention was the row of three printers set nearby where Laurent stood.

It was too easy.

He tapped into the intranet of the office and found every printer there was. Choosing his favourite picture he grinned and ordered five hundred copies from every printer. As the distant sound of the first muffled whizz reached him, d'Artagnan grabbed the briefcase carrying payment from Mendoza and shrugged on Laurent's suit jacket.

As exclamations filled the air outside, he further eased the door open and waited until the whirr of the printers and surprised indignation had everyone's attention. Straightening his back he stepped out into the main floor and moving like he belonged in that place, d'Artagnan walked out of Treville's Company.

Not taking his chances he hailed a cab from right outside the office building and dared to glance back only when they were turning out of the street. When it seemed like no one was giving chase he let go the breath he had no idea when he had he and sank back into the seat. A thought nibbled the back of his mind that he hadn't seen the last of those three men but d'Artagnan pushed it aside as exhaustion took over.

He sat up with a jerk and immediately hissed at his aching ribs. Frowning at the motion that had snapped him out of his doze he glanced outside to see that they had pulled over outside of his building. Paying his due and thanking the driver he stepped out onto the sidewalk.

Every joint in his limbs felt like jelly and his stomach grumbled in long ignored hunger. Bracing an arm against the throbbing in the side of his chest he stopped first at the pizza shop below his flat, then took the stairs as he devoured half a pizza on the way.

Locking the door after him he pocketed the key and dumped the much lighter pizza box on the cluttered table, picked out another slice that he chomped on as he made his way to his room, toeing off his boots as he went. Booting up his desktop he switched on the music to it loudest and it poured out of the speakers placed all over the flat. It chased out the emptiness, seeped into the walls, pooled in every crevice and enveloped him like an embrace; the thrum and the base soothed his nerves like nothing else could.

Letting go a calming breath he wiped his hands on a paper napkin and pulled out his chair into the brightest spot in the room. Setting the briefcase on his knees he clicked it open. It was a barely audible snick that he noticed too late and pushed the lid open all the way.

The mechanism sprung into action as two tiny silver balls rolled into the centre of a circle set in the briefcase base under the clear plastic cover. And the countdown began on the screen set in the lid. D'Artagnan stared as he realized he had less than forty five minutes to live.

He had explained until his voice was hoarse and that was despite Athos stepping in to pick up the story. But by the look on Leon and the Captain's face he could tell they were not satisfied. Resisting the urge to let his head drop against the back rest Porthos drew a hand through his hair and a wince escaped him unchecked when the wound on his arm pulled.

He shifted in the chair and let his hand drop.

"The main room was empty save for the staff, Mendoza wasn't there but it seems like he had an army and ammunition to back it up there," he said.

The Captain stood behind his desk, one hand on his hip the other pinching the bridge of his nose. His brows pulled into a frown as he finally looked to Porthos.

"So they just dropped the flash bomb just as you were about to go up on the stairs and opened fire after; just like that?"

"We've told you how it happened. We don't know the why of it."

"It was almost as if they knew about us," Athos shrugged where he was sitting with his injured foot up on the coffee table and glanced towards Leon, "are you sure no one knows that you sent us in except for those who are supposed to?"

"We don't have a leak in out ranks if that's what you're implying," the Detective Inspector bit out.

"That still doesn't change the fact that those two nearly lost their lives," Aramis said.

"These two must have missed something then,"

"Or maybe you did,"

"Aramis…" the Captain warned.

But it was the silence from Leon that had Porthos looking his way. The Detective Inspector had gone from glaring at Aramis to frowning at his own shoes. When Leon glanced up, Porthos saw the way his eyes lingered on the bandage on his arm.

"After Cornet dropped off the radar his ex-wife received a letter from him," Laurent told the Captain, "It said there was a bigger ring behind Mendoza's setup, people involved that he could not name in the letter. But that still does not prove he has men in our ranks."

"Neither does it prove otherwise," Aramis shrugged.

Porthos' couldn't blame him for the distrust, his friend after all knew intimately how easily people's loyalties could be bought and their silence assured. He had suffered for it for years.

"Alright enough," the Captain shook his head but his thoughts were drowned by the beep and click of the printer at his side.

All eyes turned to the device that kept on spitting out paper after paper even as the Captain's frown deepened. Porthos cast a glance towards his friends when Treville's face took on a purple hue as he stared at the printout in his hand. He hadn't the chance to speak up as the Captain stormed out of the room and the four of them followed as fast as they could.

The whirr and click of the machines buzzed all around them as they made their way to the interview room. Porthos didn't know whether to laugh or fume when they found the place empty; clearly the boy had somehow sent Laurent from the room, possessed the printers of the office and made his escape.

"Captain! You should see – oh!"

"Yes Laurent oh," the Captain rounded on the man in the doorway, "where is the boy I left in your charge?"

"He was right there playing with his phone," the man looked around as though hoping his charge would spring into view, "he was right –"

"You let him use his phone?" Athos arched a brow, "you let a hacker use a piece of technology that is halfway a computer?"

Laurent looked from him to the Captain, his face slowly draining of colour as the realization about his actions sank in. As the man wiped the sweat from his brow, Porthos looked about the room and pulled at the collar of his shirt.

"Why is it so hot in here?" he asked from no one in particular.

"I don't know," Laurent moved as if in a daze and leaned back against the wall, "air-conditioner malfunctioned I think, the screen was going haywire too."

"Or it was our dear pup," Aramis pointed out.

Laurent shook his head, "he was nowhere near them,"

"He was using his phone," Aramis said, "it must have been equipped with an infra-red blaster."

Porthos remembered the madhouse their flat had been turned into just a month back when Aramis had found out this ability in his phone. And when he had gotten tired of randomly switching on electronics and one too many songs blasting on full volume as he walked past the sound system, Porthos had retaliated. That war had ended when Athos had put his foot down, heel first, on their phones because the beloved coffee maker had become collateral damage.

"I don't care how he made it out of here I need you to find him!" The Captain turned to face the three of them, "that's your new assignment; find Charles d'Artagnan, today."

"But Mendoza –"

"Is there anything productive my men can do towards that?" asked the Captain.

Leon grimaced and shook his head.

"Then you three get on and find him,"

Porthos watched their Captain leave, Laurent trailing behind him. Usually the Captain would have insisted they stick to their desks after they had come back from a shoot, especially with the aftermath like Athos limping around. But the man hadn't stopped to even consider that. He had a nagging feeling that Captain Treville was keeping something from them, something about this d'Artagnan that had shaken him. He looked back to his brothers and titled his head towards the door.

"He seems on the edge," he said.

"That boy stole information from us," Athos shrugged, "he's put us and our clients at risk."

Porthos looked about the empty room and couldn't help the grin that appeared on his face. Athos gave him a disapproving look before he rolled his eyes in clear exasperation. The big man chuckled and shrugged.

"You have to admit it took guts," he said, "he took a risk and played Laurent and just sauntered out of here."

"And he knows how to make an exit in style," Aramis grinned as he held up one of the many printouts now littering the office.

It was giant face of a pitbull sprawled in all shades of black and white on the paper with the words THE HOUND printed over it. Porthos couldn't disagree with his friend there; the young hacker certainly knew how to leave his mark.

"As tasteful as that is," Athos gave them a bland look, "how are we supposed to track down this wayward canine?"

"He hacked into our system so he must have left some digital evidence behind," Aramis offered.

Porthos hoped that it was so, they needed a lead or he had a feeling the Captain would send them to comb through the city on foot if it came down to it. He reached out to help Athos as they left the room in silent agreement, until Aramis called from ahead of the two of them.

"To the Serge Cave!"

"When we're done here, I'm confiscating his comics." Athos said.

"He knows where you sleep Athos and where you keep your shaving kit," Porthos warned as they followed their friend into the technician's office.

Serge didn't even glance up from the screen that was reflected back in the thick lens of his spectacles; his silver hair was tied back and his sleeves rolled up as he studied the narrow block script on the screen.

"This Hound just wouldn't leave us alone would he?" he muttered more to himself than anything else.

With a nod to the screen he pulled his gaze away and glanced at the three of them. Offering them a grunt of acknowledgement he picked up the phone from beside his keyboard and handed it to Athos.

"Your phone was useful," he said.

"Thank you?" Athos glanced from him to Porthos, before looking to Serge again, "how was it useful?"

"It was difficult with all the re-routing but I traced back the signals to their origins,"

Porthos felt a pressure roll of his shoulders, they had a point to start at least. He looked to the older man who seemed to have had his attention snagged back by his computer again.

"And…?" he prompted.

"And this," Serge pulled up a map, "is the area that falls under the tower the signal came from."

It was with a sinking heart that he noticed how large that area was. They would have to cover all that physically, going door to door. If that wasn't disheartening then there was the possibility that if d'Artagnan got the whiff of it he may pack up and leave that area altogether, or he may not be there to begin with.

"Well there goes our next two days," Aramis groaned.

"Or not," Porthos turned back to the door.

"What're you up to?" Athos called after him.

"We might just get a better point of entry," he tossed over his shoulder.

Porthos hurried back to the interview and over to the chair where d'Artagnan had sat. He remembered seeing it when Aramis had checked the young hacker's pockets and he hoped that the boy hadn't taken it with him. The table top was empty but he looked around it and a smirk broke out on his face when he saw it.

It was a paper napkin.

A paper napkin with the name of the establishment printed on it.

He picked it up and smoothed it out; his grin faltered. He didn't need Serge's map to know where this place was, it was the one he had made it a point not to revisit. It was right next to the place where it had all started for him, the downwards spiral that began with the loss of his mum's bakery….

…the papers are in his hand, the words quite clear despite the formal discourse and yet he cannot understand. He cannot understand how this had happened, how it had come to this.

"Why didn't you tell me before?" he asks.

"You've only been back a few months and after everything with Thomas I couldn't put this on you on top of that." She bites her lip and shrugs, "And before that you were on a different continent in a different time zone; I didn't want to worry you."

"You didn't want to me worry –" he shakes his head and looks up at his mother, "were you planning to ever share this?"

His mother unwraps one of her hands from the mug she holds and reaches out, slim fingers land on his own and give them a gentle squeeze.

"Eventually," she says, "not like this,"

He wants to scream, he wants to tear apart the papers in his hand but only ends up clutching them tighter. The crunch under his grip creases the words and it takes him a second to realize that his hand is shaking. They've lost the business and that meant the bank loans wouldn't be paid, in fact they've defaulted already.

He can't believe he's finding it out only now.

His mother's hand trails over his arm and holds on.

"It's alright you know," she says, "it'll work out,"

And he hates how placid she's being about this. His mother is a fighter, she never backs down and he can't believe she's not furious over this. She should be making plans and taking action, it's almost like she knows that she'll be defeated, like she already is defeated.

"It was your dream,"

"I have other dreams,"

"It's not just that is it?" he can't help but growl, "our home Mum, it's gonna cost us our home!"

Her fingers dig into his skin, the grip becomes almost painful and there's a flash in his mother's eyes like lightening itself.

"He can take away my business and he can take away the house, but no one can take my home Porthos," the fierce passion behind her soft tone makes her voice tremble, "No one can take that away from me because my home is wherever my boys come around."

It takes him a few seconds to absorb the words and his eyes widen at the realization.

"You said him, you know –"

"Porthos –"

"You know this isn't just bad luck –"

"Porth –"

"Who is it?

She shakes her head and lets go of him. Her eyes roam over the small kitchen before staring out the window where the sun is shining.

"Mum,"

She looks at him and shakes her head again.

"You need to calm down first –"

"Calm down?" he can't, "Calm down?" he pushes away from the table and gets to his feet.

Someone is conniving to take away his home, the home that he had grown up in, where he had spent so many nights camped out under the dining table with his best friends, where he had spent so many mornings baking with his mother, where they had all shared laughter and tears and tantrums and plans and hugs and fights and marked their heights on the kitchen doorjamb over the years.

He cannot calm down.

"I need air," he says.

He grabs his jacket and moves to the door…

…that was the first time he had gone down to the Court of Miracles, stumbled onto it in one of the empty halls in a building near his mum's closed down bakery. The Court where he had found the first of many more fistfights to come that he had used as a means to take out his frustration.

In those early days he had always found the Court in this area, around his mum's lost business and 'Enzo's pizza' shop; it were the days he only re-examined in the privacy of solitary sleepless nights.

He glanced up from the name and found Aramis in the doorway; it was clear by the pained look that flashed in his eyes that he had read the name and understood the problem.

"You don't have to go down there," he said, "Athos and I can take this one,"

"It'll take a lot more than an old haunt to keep me from helping you two," he got to his feet, sounding much more confident than he felt, "C'mon, let's ask Serge if this falls in the parameters he had marked."

He blinked as the bead of sweat rolled down into his eye.

He blinked again to clear the burn and dared not pull his hands away from the explosive in his lap.

He could see the wiring under the clear plastic cover and glanced back to the screen. His toes were numb, a dull throb had started in the side of his legs and down beyond his knees. Ten minutes of absolute stillness had left his neck stiff and his back rigid.

D'Artagnan cleared his throat and winced, screaming for help hadn't worked with the music blasting across his flat. He glanced towards his desk, eyeing his phone and tamped down on the desire to wriggle just a bit.

Tiny ripples crawled down his back as his muscles strained with the instinct to move while his brain demanded he kept still.

Holding in a breath he slowly eased his fingers away from the base of the briefcase and dared to clench his hand. The easing of cramps in that one only magnified the ones in his other hand. Yet he forced his eyes to remain fixed on the tiny silver balls balanced in the centre of the circle and slowly reached out to his desk.

Gently, carefully, he stretched his arm to the full.

Softly wriggled his fingers as they brushed the air by the edge of the desk, almost reaching it, almost, and he strained his shoulder and tasted blood where he had bit the inside of lip, eyes fixed onto the silver ball bearings.

He glanced sideways and he was so close, his leg jerked in the reflex to just move. The tremor wasn't too bad but one of the balls hit the circle's edge, the countdown drained rapidly and d'Artagnan forgot to breathe.

In a flash he had both his hands back where they started, easing the balls back to the centre.

He glanced at the screen and swallowed hard.

He was down to twenty minutes.

They had pulled over outside of the pizza shop that was busy with the afternoon customers. Carefully Athos peeled his hand away from the seatbelt and sat up straighter. He caught Porthos' gaze in the rearview mirror. The dark eyes that met his were steady and no longer had that hint of suppressed dizziness his friend had tried to hide at the hospital.

A relieved grin twitched on Athos' face.

"You're driving on the way back," he said.

"Clearly," Porthos nodded.

"If I wasn't the one driving we wouldn't have made it here before nightfall." Aramis frowned, "you should be thanking me."

Porthos turned a most solemn face to his friend.

"Thank you Aramis you have succeeded in making me appreciate every breath that I take,"

"Glad to be of service," the other grinned unabashedly before he shifted in his seat and turned to Athos, "You should sit this one out, wait here for us," he said.

Athos rubbed at his leg where the pain spiked up at regular intervals and shook his head. He would not let a simple sprain make him useless. Without a word he picked up the bag from the floor space of the car and pulled out the earpieces.

A conference call would have to do if they were to split up and remain inconspicuous.

"You can be our backup,"

"I'm coming with,"

Aramis' jaw twitched as he bit back the argument and Athos moved to exit the car. They stepped out onto the sidewalk and surveyed the building. He knew that Mrs. Du Vallon had a bakery here, had a hazy memory of the place as a wafting feeling of warm moments amidst the bitter alcohol soaked days that had been his norm at the time. While he had been getting over his own losses he knew Porthos and his mum had lost that business here.

From the corner of his eye Athos could see the grim set of Porthos' face and shifted closer to him in silent support.

"I take this one and you take the other two?" he asked.

"I don't think there are elevators in there so I'm coming with you," Aramis flashed him a smug grin, "would be so much fun to watch you hop all the way up."

"There will be no hopping," Porthos settled the matter.

And that was how Athos found himself flanked by his brothers as they stood outside the narrow door, knocking uselessly against the barrage of music that drifted out of the flat. No one answered even when Porthos used his fist against the discolored wood and Athos sighed.

At this rate they'd be lucky if they finished with one building today he mused.

"What's that?" Aramis sniffed the air, "is that smoke I smell?"

Athos rolled his eyes, he smelled a lot of things in the place that he dared not focus on but smoke wasn't one of them

"As a matter of fact it is," Porthos grinned, "do you suppose there could be a fire starting in there?"

"We better check and save the occupants of this flat," Aramis turned too earnest to be true eyes onto him and Athos wondered why he even bothered to pretend that he could keep these two in line.

"Go ahead," he said.

Porthos backed up slightly and two, much too delighted, kicks later the door swung open.

The deplorable state of the place was not a surprise. Athos limped ahead of the other two and crossed the small living space towards the open door from where light was spilling out. He turned into the threshold and stopped short.

There was Charles d'Artagnan in a chair, eyes wide with fear and suspiciously wet.

Athos glanced at the object in his lap and knew by the sheer stillness of the boy what it was. His blood ran cold when d'Artagnan demanded that they leave and evacuate the building. He turned back to glance at his friends who had stopped at the door of the room and they immediately walked back out to follow his silent order.

He strode in and switched off the music before studying the wires and the mechanism beyond the clear plastic, he only realized he had crouched down by the young man when his injured ankle protested at the move. Athos spared a glance at d'Artagnan when he insisted that he leave but turned his focus to the call he had just made.

This was the Captain's domain; he knew about explosives and was the only person on his contact list that had such knowledge.

"We have a problem Captain," he explained the situation even as the young man in the chair kept insisting that he leave.

Athos glanced at the numbers counting down and felt his heart sink to find they had less than four minutes and shook his head at the Captain's suggestion to call in the experts.

"Call them but I'm afraid it'd be too late, it's a weird contraption, will likely go off if he so much as twitches," Athos looked up from the younger hacker who was giving him a murderous glare when Porthos announced that they have evacuated the building, "good, now get out," he said.

He wasn't surprised when Aramis rolled his eyes.

"And let you have all the fun?" he asked.

Muttering under his breath about idiots his friend came to crouch beside him while Porthos studied the contents of the explosives from the other side. They were tossing ideas about how to proceed but Athos knew that the Captain's guidance would have to do. He sent a quick picture of the contraption to their boss and added Aramis into a conference call.

This would require steady hands.

Giving up his position to Aramis, Athos got to his feet and didn't miss the wide brown eyes that followed him; although d'Artagnan was persistent that they leave but the fear in his gaze spoke otherwise. It took a conscious effort for Athos to keep from reaching out and squeezing the narrow shoulder that was pulled taut in duress.

He watched as his friend eased a blade under the edge of the clear plastic cover and leveraged it up, sliding it off carefully. His head was canted to focus on the instructions the Captain was giving and Athos did not miss the tense short questions that flew in his ear with equally clipped answers at their tails.

They were down to two minutes.

"If I'm getting blown up then I'm taking you with me my dear Porthos," Aramis didn't look up from where he was carefully separating the wires.

"Wouldn't have it any other way brother," Porthos laughed.

One minute twenty seconds.

Athos glanced at his brothers and felt warmth bloom in his chest, if now was his time he would happily go out beside these idiots he decided.

"Gentlemen you've scandalized our target," he said.

"Nah, he's just petrified." Porthos smirked.

"Don't worry mi amigo," Aramis grinned as he looked up, "one way or another, this will end now."

The blade sliced through though wires.

Athos felt his breath catch.

But there was only silence.

He looked to his brothers and found wild-eyed grins; his own relief broke through in a helpless huff before a matching smile pulled on his face. Athos drew a shaky hand through his hair. Porthos plopped all the way down to the floor, one hand braced against the carpet as he pressed the heel of the other against his eyes.

And then d'Artagnan listed to the side.

Athos caught him before he hit the floor, grunting slightly as the boy fell against him like a string-less puppet.

"Whoa hey, let's not push our luck," Aramis grabbed the rigged briefcase and set it down carefully.

"D'Artagnan?" Athos shifted a little and brushed the fringes of hair from the young man's face, "d'Artagnan are you hurt?"

The limp form shivered against him and the boy made a pathetic attempt to move his limbs that ended with his hand flopping in a vague gesture. Swallowing hard against his suddenly tight throat Athos looked to Aramis, his friend merely offered a small smile as he held onto one of d'Artagnan's hands and kneaded it with his thumb and his finger.

"You've been sitting like that for quite a while haven't you?" he asked.

"Too long," the young hacker finally spoke up, "had to keep still,"

"And we all know how hard that is for puppies," Aramis grinned as he picked up the other hand and started soothing away the cramps in that one.

D'Artagnan gave him a bleary glare and Athos felt something unclench around his heart. He noted the lessening shivers as the younger man sagged heavier against him. Athos was too busy making sure that the boy wasn't unconscious that he didn't even register when Aramis was replaced by Porthos at his side.

He was grateful for his friend's strength as the big man eased the still wobbly young man upright and helped him out of the flat. Athos followed with the help of Aramis and sat down beside d'Artagnan on top of the stairs.

"I think this is the quickest we have finished an assignment," he said.

"Let's not have another one with such a countdown," Porthos rubbed the back of his neck, "I may have aged at least ten years in there."

The big man nodded towards the phone still in Athos hand.

"The experts arriving soon?"

"ETA ten minutes,"

"I'll bring 'em up then," he grasped d'Artagnan by the shoulder and gave it a squeeze, "hope you've learned to check the things you drag home pup,"

"Not a pup,"

But Porthos was already moving down, chuckling as he went. Athos glanced towards Aramis who nodded before he ruffled d'Artagnan's hair, earning himself a glare from the younger man. Aramis grinned wider and pointed a finger at his face.

"Stay," he ordered and d'Artagnan growled.

He turned his head to see Aramis making his way over.

Furious dark eyes flashed in his memory and brought forth the bloodstained face of his friend. The gash on Aramis' forehead had bled profusely amidst the horrible bruising and it had only been the sight of crimson that had doused Porthos' rage that day.

His eyes travelled to the scar arching over his brother's eyebrow and his lips pursed into a thin line, jaw twitching in an effort to not ground his teeth. He could not look away from the thin line, not when he still remembered the torn skin and the red trails down Aramis' eye and the side of his nose.

His hands were clenched into fists by the time Aramis came to a stop beside him. Grinning slightly his friend bumped their shoulders.

"I forgave you the minute I kicked you out of the car," he said and took a moment of consideration before he nodded, "alright maybe a few hours later but that was it."

Porthos was not surprised that his friend had guessed his mood and the reason behind it. He stared fixedly at their car, forcing himself to not glance at the shop space that was now an electronics store.

"You shouldn't have," he said.

"Your Mum was furious when I dropped you off; I figured you were facing enough,"

"That was the first time I hit you,"

"We've fought before that and after," Aramis shrugged.

He stepped ahead to lean his back against the car, looking too at ease for a man who had just disposed a bomb that was about to go up in his face. A knowing smile twitched at the corner of Aramis' lips.

"And we will be at each other's throat in the future too, I can guarantee you that," he said.

Porthos watched the man before him; his brother who had somehow tracked him down to the Court of Miracles his first day there and had dragged him out kicking and screaming, very literally. His aimless anger had found his friend a convenient target and what followed were one of the worst few minutes of Porthos' life.

"Yelling at each other, tackling, grappling, rough housing I get all that. But ya gotta know it was different that time 'Mis," he shook his head, "that was the first time I hit you,"

"And the last," Aramis caught his gaze and held it, "you were hurting in more ways than one, were drunk and ridding the high of the fights you've just had; but you stopped Porthos. When you saw I was hurt you stopped and yes I was livid but the way you were looking at me then – and then all the way to your home – you were gutted over it and that's what made a difference when you apologized later,"

His warm brown eyes bore into Porthos' mind, sifting and searching and easily understanding the thought that had tortured the big man every time his mind wandered back to his actions that afternoon. Porthos saw the second his friend caught on and held back a flinch when Aramis' eyes hardened suddenly.

"Don't you dare," his friend glowered, "don't you dare compare yourself to him. You will never be like that man Porthos."

He shrugged a shoulder in resigned self-depreciation, his eyes stinging now that his brother had found his fear and voiced it out. Porthos looked across the street watching nothing as he tried to understand why his friend thought he was different from his childhood tormentor when he had reacted exactly the same way as that man had. He was honestly surprised that Aramis had never considered his anger that day as similar to that of his childhood monster.

He glanced back when he noticed his brother had pulled away from the car in his agitation, one hand absently rubbing over the scar on his forehead. Porthos reached out and pulled his fingers away, finding himself looking Aramis in the face again.

"I took my anger out on you 'Mis, how does that make me any diff –"

"No," Aramis shook his head and jabbed an angry finger in Porthos' chest, "I can't believe you've thought like that the entire time."

"I –"

"Damnit Porthos you're nothing like him. You never were and you will never be," he ran a hand through his hair and left it there, pulling slightly before he let his arm drop and turned to glare at Porthos again, "If you ever insult yourself like that, even in your mind, I will never forgive you for it."

Porthos blinked in surprise at the glare focused his way, his friend looked grim and ferocious and he couldn't help it; he laughed.

"Alright 'Mis, alright," he nodded, "now stop looking like a disgruntled cat,"

Aramis sputtered.

He clasped his hands tighter together and dropping his chin to his chest d'Artagnan simply breathed. He was tired and aching and his muscles felt shivery under his skin. A warm hand settled at the back of his neck and squeezed gently.

His eyes stung.

With an effort he lifted his head and the hand from his neck shifted to his shoulder, he didn't want to dwell on the fact how grateful he was that it stayed there. D'Artagnan looked sideways towards the man sitting next to him on the stairs.

"You're not involved in my father's murder are you?" he asked.

"I told you I know nothing about it,"

And much to his horrific surprise d'Artagnan believed him. He snorted at his own stupidity and shook his head slowly. If he closed his eyes he could feel every bump and dent in the briefcase that he had so carelessly carried all over the city.

"I landed on it when I jumped from the window," his voice shook, "if it had gone off then, or at the hospital, or at your office, I – Athos it could have gone off at any of those places."

"But it didn't" the voice was firm, "and it didn't go off at all."

D'Artagnan watched Athos shift his injured foot and rub at his leg, something stirred in him at the thought of him limping up to his flat and orchestrating an impromptu rescue despite what he had put the man through. He ducked his head when the older man caught him watching.

"I may have made a mistake," he said.

Athos shrugged before he gave his shoulder another squeeze and let him go.

"Where did you get this briefcase from?"

"Mendoza," he ran a hand through his hair, "and I may have made a huge mistake,"

Athos didn't push the younger man for questions, even when it seemed like he was itching to talk. He made sure that the sight was secure before they headed down and to the car. It was on the way back that d'Artagnan explained his involvement with Mendoza and his attempt to frame Athos.

"At least now we know how the man had an idea about us," Porthos said as he guided the car down to the basement of their office building.

"And Leon can rest easy that no one is selling out information," Aramis nodded before he stared out of the car window, "what's going on here?"

Athos was about to ask the same question. While police was not a novel sight at their building there were too many cars for it to be a normal handover. With a frown he exited the car and looked to the Captain who was making his way towards them.

"Captain?"

"Athos they are here to –"

"Olivier d'Athos de la'Fere?" asked a policeman.

"Yes,"

"You are under arrest for charges –"

"Wait! Wait I can explain!" d'Artagnan sounded frantic, "I can explain –!"

The handcuffs were cold around his wrist; their click reverberated with a resounding finality in his ears despite the uproar by his friends. It didn't occur to him to struggle, to protest but he was sure that his brothers did. The hold on his arms wasn't restraining, the clasps were familiar and calming.

He wondered if she would have appreciated that, if his wife would have wanted that, if she had felt adrift like he was feeling…

….the bloodstained dagger in her hand drops by his brother who is lying cold in a crimson puddle. There's too much blood on the floor, too much blood on her hands…

…the grip on his arms tightened.

He glanced from one side to the other.

His brothers flanked him, stood by him like always.

"Athos I promised them there would be no trouble," said the Captain.

Athos blinked and noticed for the first time that Porthos and Aramis had a hand on their weapons, he was sure they were a breath away from drawing them. It was the fear of that more than anything else that broke through to him.

"And there won't be any trouble," he said and stepped out of his brothers' hold, "no trouble at all," he looked from one furious face to the other.

"But it wasn't him, I planted that evidence." D'Artagnan insisted, "I will go down with him and clear this out. Athos is not at fault here."

Leon nodded to the policeman waiting to take Athos.

"Let him go and give his statement," he said, "we'll sort this matter out,"

The few steps to the car flashing red and blue were some of the hardest Athos had taken in his life. His mind drifted back to his wife and the sight of her being lead away in handcuffs…

…her head held high, her eyes hard and staring ahead, no mute apology there. The wind ruffled her dark curls and brought her scent back to him…

…Athos slid in the backseat and d'Artagnan followed. He was suddenly grateful for the boy's presence and forced a smirk for his friends who looked ready to commit murder.

"I'll be back before nightfall," he said.

And then they were pulling away, out of the basement and back into the sunlight. The young man beside him sat with the grim determination of one heading for gallows and it dawned on Athos that he had willingly given himself up, admitted to his crime just to clear his name.

"d'Artagnan th –"

His world came to a screeching halt.

Blue eyes met brown as the sound of gunfire filled the air and they ducked,the glass of the car windows shattered under the hail of fire.

"Mendoza," d'Artagnan gasped.

"Are you sure?"

He cursed when the boy raised his head and yanked him back.

"It's his men," d'Artagnan said, "I'm sure,"

A shadow fell across Athos and he glanced up at the man approaching the car door on the younger man's side. He scrambled over d'Artagnan and kicked the door hard enough to send the man tumbling back. The pain that doubled in his ankle had his gritting his teeth.

"Get to Porthos and Aramis," he spoke over his shoulder, "tell them what happened."

Hands wrapped around the front of Athos' shirt and dragged him out. He punched the man looming over him and fell back against the car. He knew he wasn't going to win this with his disrupted balance and ducked into the car again.

His eyes met the younger man's.

"Run," he said.

"But –"

"Get out of here,"

And to his absolute relief the boy complied. D'Artagnan dodged the men grabbing him, elbowed the one who succeeded and scrambled back to his feet. He plunged into the gathering crowd and weaved through the shocked people.

As a sharp prick in his neck wiped out his consciousness Athos' last thought was that at least the boy had made it through.

TBC

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