A/N: I'm so VERY sorry for the late update, life had been and still is a bit too busy and stressful, hadn't meant the delay to be this long.

Warning: Panic attack and violence [torture because Mendoza is not nice] and mention of alcohol abuse ahead. Not for young Teens

Red and blue flashed on the concrete walls as the police exited the underground parking lot. Aramis frowned, he could have sworn he had heard soft popping sounds in the distance, almost as if – he glanced towards the bright entrance beyond which the car taking Athos had disappeared. But with a shake of his head he forced his attention back to the men before him.

"We've got arrest warrants for Mendoza too," Leon told the Captain, "it seems he's made a mistake during his usually carefully constructed transactions and in that process he had been using Athos' bank accounts as the channel so to speak,"

"Athos has nothing to do with this," Porthos said, "He was framed,"

"I would like to believe that,"

"And what other option do you have?" Porthos growled.

Aramis tightened his hold on the man's arm, the tendons hard and taut under the cloth beneath his fingers. The scowl didn't diminish and the dark eyes pinning Leon in place didn't glance his way. The big man towered over the Detective Inspector and Aramis threw out an arm to stop his advance, his hand coming to press flat against Porthos' chest.

That got his brother's attention and Aramis shook his head minutely.

"What am I supposed to believe when you've turned a simple recon into a shootout only to find that one of you is in cohorts with the man I sent you after?" Leon demanded.

Aramis turned around and collard him.

"The same you believed for Cornet," his eye flashed and he gave the man a shake, "this is Athos," he reminded him.

"I know!" Leon shook him off and gritted his teeth, "you think that made a difference to my superiors? I told them but they –" he broke off with a hand through his hair, "they're desperate to get Mendoza,"

Aramis shook his head in thinly veiled disgust and glanced back up the ramp leading down to the basement, he felt his breath catch in his throat. Stumbling down the incline at an alarming speed was d'Artagnan.

He moved, instinctually aware of Porthos at his side as they jogged over to the younger man; fear an unpleasant taste in his mouth. They reached d'Artagnan just as he got to the bottom of the ramp and Aramis immediately noticed the harsh short breaths and the dilated pupils that made his eyes appear darker in the flushed face.

"Athos – you hav' t' help 'thos!" he clutched his sides and bent at the waist, wheezing as he did, "Mendoza's men 're there. Hafta help 'thos."

Aramis didn't have to glance aside to know that Porthos was already heading out with the Captain and Leon at his heels. His ingrained response demanded he follow but the young man before him was a sight he could not abandon, somehow, someway, Aramis could not bring himself to leave the gasping kid.

"Alright d'Artagnan we got that," he moved closer to the young hacker.

"Athos – help 'im,"

"Porthos is doing that, you did good coming to us,"

Pulling in a ragged breath d'Artagnan set his watery gaze on him, his brows pulling into a frown as he hugged himself tighter.

"M' fault," he shook his head, "din't think that 'thos wasn't t' blame. My fault."

"It'll be fine d'Artagnan but you have to breathe," Aramis said, "breathe with me alright? We'll count together yeah?"

He didn't wait for his acquiesce and guided the harsh panting until it finally resembled a rhythm.

Aramis raised his hands slightly, palms out as he approached the nervous youngster. He knew touching Porthos without forewarning during a panic attack would get him broken bones, not touching Athos would only make the man work himself up to the point of unconsciousness, but he had no idea how d'Artagnan would react when caught in the grips of fear.

"D'Artagnan?" he neared slowly, "d'Art?"

The dark eyes looked to him before darting off to the wall, to the cars, down to the floor, up the ceiling before the younger of the two shook his head and clenched them shut. A shudder rolled through his body.

"Stay with me pup,"

"Not a pup!"

"There you are," Aramis offered him a gentle smile, "can I touch you?"

His brows knitted tighter together, fingers twisting into the sides of his shirt before he gave a short nod. Doing his best to stay in the younger man's line of sight should he open his eyes again Aramis slowly grasped him by the upper arm; the adrenalin fueled shivers were obvious under his touch.

He remembered all that d'Artagnan had told them during the ride over and couldn't fault the young man to finally react the way he had. It had been clearly building in him and Aramis could only squeeze the arm in his grasp in quiet support when d'Artagnan turned his face aside and threw up.

He groaned and Aramis wrapped an arm around his back, easing the pressure off of his bruised ribs. Gently he guided the younger man between the nearest two cars and let him sag against the one at his back.

The young hacker slid down to the floor and let his head drop.

Aramis sat down beside him, their shoulders touching, and waited for the relative seclusion to calm the man further. Slowly, gradually, the tension bled away from the body next to him and Aramis stayed quiet as d'Artagnan wiped his sleeve over his eyes and under his nose.

"Sorry," he said.

"For what?"

"This," d'Artagnan drew a hand through his hair as he waved the other in an awkward sweeping gesture, "my over-reaction to everything,"

"Wasn't an over-reaction," Aramis shrugged, "unless you're a highly trained secret agent because that's the only way I'm seeing today's events as normal for you," he grinned slightly and poked a finger in the side pressed against his, "so are you?"

A shaky smile pulled on the younger man's face and he arched a brow as he turned to face Aramis.

"And you are?" he asked.

Aramis gave him an exaggerated horrified look complete with a fake gasp.

"Do you have no understanding of the word secret?" he said.

D'Artagnan snorted and ran a trembling hand through his hair, his eyes closed and he bit his lip.

"Athos," he said, "he made me get out of there,"

A part of Aramis knew this was a given reaction for Athos; that it was what anyone out of the three would have done if they had been in the situation but that didn't make it any less difficult to accept that somewhere out on the street Athos was alone and in trouble.

His clenched jaw twitched at the thought, fear spiking up a notch at Porthos' absence and everything in him demanded that he get to his brothers. He glanced towards his companion to see if he could stay back on his own and was relieved to see some colour back in his face.

"Can you –"

"I'm going after Athos," d'Artagnan got to his feet, "care to join me?"

"Since you asked so politely," Aramis rolled his eyes and followed him up.

They had only made it up to the sidewalk when they met Porthos and the Captain; Leon was nowhere in sight and more importantly neither was Athos. His heart sank down to his belly and froze there; the only thing that kept him from the stirring bloodlust that had taken its place in his chest was the grim face of his remaining best friend.

Porthos looked like he was ready to tear up the young man beside Aramis.

"Is this part of your plan?" his words were just shy of a growl, "did you plan to hand Athos over to Mendoza?"

"No, I didn't. I didn't know he would do this," d'Artagnan shook his head vehemently; "he came for me I'm sure. I was a lose end he had wanted dead anyway. But I survived and he knows I messed up his money transfer and oh –"

He smacked his forehead and clutched at his hair, eyes wide in horror.

"He must think Athos is in on it," d'Artagnan slid his hand to the back of his neck and his head dropped, "he must've wanted Athos too. His spies must have seen us together and he would've assumed – I'm sorry, I didn't think. I'm sorry –"

"You're sorry?" Porthos grabbed the younger man by the scruff of his shirt and hauled him up a little, "There was a shootout in the street, Athos is missing, and there are policemen injured and all because of your misguided vendetta against a man oblivious to your existence."

"I was told he was behind my father's murder,"

"You were told wrong,"

"And I know that now,"

"Let's hope it's not too late," Porthos let the younger man go.

"It won't be," Aramis caught his brother's shoulder, "we'll find him."

"I'd help you any way I can," d'Artagnan gave a determined nod.

"I don't think so," the Captain shook his head, "you're going to Leon or they'll stick this ambush on you."

"But I know it was Mendoza –"

"We'll take him," Aramis cut him off mid sentence and ignored the hurt that flashed in the younger man's eyes.

But he saw no other way to save d'Artagnan from getting pinned under this. They would get the boy cleared and see what Leon can tell them about Mendoza. Aramis looked to Porthos for support and knew that he had understood the plan by the way the coiled frustration eased from his shoulders.

"We'll take him," Porthos nodded, "We'll get him to Leon,"

Aramis didn't miss the frown on their superior's face. The Captain could not interfere in this matter officially but he also knew that the two of them wouldn't sit on the sidelines if there was a way to get their brother back.

"Don't do anything stupid or reckless," he warned.

Aramis pressed a hand to his heart in mock exasperation.

"Sometimes it's like you don't know us at all Captain," he smirked.

The first thing he registered was the smell, a cold rusty scent that filled the stale air and clung to the back of his throat like dry sand. He swallowed and cringed slightly at the thick bland taste that spoke of his recent bout of unconsciousness. A tug explained why he couldn't bring his hands in front of him and he frowned when he felt the rope pulled tight across his lap, fixing him in place on the chair.

Athos sensed movement near him a second before the slap connected with his face.

His sluggish brain sloshed in his head.

"That's it Athos, time to wake up and pay back what you owe me,"

Blinking and shaking his head he cleared the last cobwebs from his vision; the sight that greeted him was far from pleasant. The room was littered with discarded file covers and the stained walls were chipped behind the graffiti, most of which announced that 'Timmy was here!'

"Fascinating accommodations," Athos muttered.

The pale light from the dingy window told him he hadn't been out too long but it was blocked out too soon by the heavy man who smiled down at Athos; and that wasn't an improvement to the situation at all.

"Mendoza," Athos gave the man a bland look, "and to what do I owe this displeasure?"

The back hand across his face was expected.

"Where is my money?"

"Where is your brain?"

"What?"

"I thought we were playing a game of futile questions," Athos shrugged a shoulder.

"A funny one I see," Mendoza stepped back with a venomous grin that slithered onto his face.

He drew back and kicked Athos' bandaged ankle.

White hot pain shot up his leg, spiked up to his back and muffled in a gasp; only for the hit to come again and again and again. At the fifth impact Athos had a sickening feeling of something shift under his skin as nausea roiled in his gut and he groaned despite the effort to stay quiet.

Mendoza stopped, his chest heaving with exertion.

"Did I break the funny bone?" he wheezed in delight.

Sharp agony pulsed up his leg in waves and Athos grit his teeth to keep from screaming out loud. He forced his breathing to calm down, imagining Aramis in his head to guide him through. It was only a matter of time he told himself, he just had to hold on and wait for his brother to come for him.

Because they would.

And that belief settled his pounding heart more effectively than anything else could. It gave him the strength to glare back at the man that clutched his hair and forced his head up from where it had come to rest on his chin.

"Now are you ready to tell me where you've squirreled away my money?"

A defiant smirk curled on Athos' face.

"I wouldn't even if I knew where it was," he said.

The hand in his hair curled tighter until his scalp stung and Mendoza's delight was like slime on the man's face.

"I was almost wishing you would say that," he said.

Athos glanced aside at rattle of wheels that broke through the silence around them and his heart sank at the sight of the water filled barrel that was rolled in. He pushed his fear back into the corner and locked it there; he just had to hold on until Porthos and Aramis found him.

"So you were the reason Mendoza got hostile on the recon mission," Leon said.

D'Artagnan flinched where he sat in the chair even though he nodded.

"Old news, we need to focus on finding Mendoza to save Athos," Aramis spoke up from where he was leaning against the wall, arms crossed before his chest, "he likely thinks Athos knows about this plan to expose his money trail,"

From his place by the younger man's side Porthos saw d'Artagnan stiffen at the words and he knew there was something else that the boy hadn't let on. He had to admit that the man's cooperation was helpful and it seemed he was honestly upset about this unprecedented development by Mendoza.

Still if there was something important that he was keeping a secret, the big man wondered how he could go about extracting it without damaging the kid too much.

"That's not all," d'Artagnan said before Porthos could devise a plan to make him talk, "there's another reason Mendoza would want Athos. My final move to burry Athos was to direct half of Mendoza's finances to Athos' bank account."

Porthos closed his eyes as a knot tightened behind his and he breathed through his nose to ease the pressure. He shook his head to rein in the anger building in him, if nothing else the young hacker was thorough he mused.

"You weren't kidding when you said you wanted to destroy Athos," Leon said.

"Yes but he saved my life," d'Artagnan's voice was tight and Porthos opened his eyes to the sight of hunched shoulders, "he risked his life for me and you two did it for him, I'd never imagined –" he shook his head and drew a hand through his hair.

The note of wonder was unmistakable in his words and Porthos found himself clasping the narrow shoulder. The dark eyes held fear when they looked up at him but he was sure something must have shown on his face because the younger man's alarm abated slightly into something akin to confusion.

Porthos had to remind himself that from all the information that he had gleaned during their short interaction it seemed that this man hadn't had anyone in his corner for years. It was clear in his obsession of finding his father's murderer and they had after all seen the condition of the place d'Artagnan called home.

"So Mendoza would want his money back and he would force –" Aramis stopped short and paled suddenly, he pushed away from the wall and shook his head as though getting his thoughts on track, "at least that means Athos would be alive, he would want that to get his finances back."

"Which Athos knows nothing about," Leon sat down in his seat and looked to d'Artagnan, "you are going on record with everything you've said," he reminded him.

D'Artagnan nodded again, his face drawn but determined.

"Well then that straightens a lot of things,"

"But that again comes back to the fact that Athos is still in that man's clutches," Aramis pointed out.

"And we're looking for him. Our people are going down to all known properties that he owns and the places he frequents."

"We can help,"

"No," Leon shook his head, "you are not getting involved in this,"

"You talk like you have a say in the matter," though his tone was light Aramis' smile was a vicious thing.

Porthos forced himself to pull his attention away from the flash of violence on his brother's face and turned to the Detective Inspector. It had been a long shot to hope that the man would let them in on case sensitive information.

"Fine, but you'll keep us updated with the developments?" he asked.

"What?" d'Artagnan jerked in his seat and Porthos clamped down on his shoulder. The younger man looked up at him in surprise, "That's it, you're not gonna look for Athos?"

"Some things are out of our hands," Aramis said as he came to stand on d'Artagnan's other side.

Porthos cast him a sideways glance and unnervingly caught the same from his friend. In that fleeting second he knew they were on the same page, deciding on the same route and the same lead. He nodded back to Leon much to the man's surprise.

"You have our numbers," he said before grabbing the back of d'Artagnan's shirt and hauling him to his feet.

"Wait," the policeman said.

Porthos turned around to find Leon on his feet and rounding his desk. He had to appreciate the man's depth of understanding when he didn't even protest that they leave d'Artagnan behind like the big man was quite sure they were supposed to. Instead the Detective Inspector looked from Aramis to him and shook his head in irritation.

"At least let me be absent from the office for this," he hissed and walked past them to the door.

Porthos bit back a chuckle at the shocked expression with which d'Artagnan looked to the disappearing man and then back at him. With a shake of his head he guided the young man out of the building, not answering his indignant growls at them about giving up on Athos.

If looks could kill Porthos was sure his friend and him would have been dead ten times over during the ride that followed. He could feel the glare d'Artagnan had focused at the back of his head as he exited the car and opening the back door pulled out the younger man.

"Why are we at your place?" d'Artagnan shook himself free of Porthos' hand and glared at him, "I thought you'd be doing something to help Athos,"

"What makes you think we aren't," Aramis tossed over his shoulder as he led them in.

"And you know where we live?" Porthos raised a brow, "that's creepy,"

"Yes I know where you all live but why are we here?"

"So you can easily find out where someone lives if you have a bit of information about them?"

That gave the young hacker a pause. Porthos rolled his eyes and grabbing a sleeve he pulled him along up the stairs and through the door Aramis had left open. D'Artagnan squirmed out of his hold as they came to a stop in the lounge.

"Quit leading me around with my clothes,"

"Fine we'll buy you a leash," Porthos smirked, "now can you find us an address?"

"I'll need my stuff,"

"We're not going to your place, there could be a trap," Aramis came down the hallway with a laptop, "this will have to do," he placed it on the coffee table.

Porthos took out his mobile phone and went through the pictures he had taken for their latest assignment. He found one of Cornet and handed the device over to the young hacker.

"This is John Cornet," he said and nodded to the paper Aramis was scribbling on, "and that is all the information that we have on him. We need you to find his ex-wife. She was the last one he contacted and he might have left some clues about where Mendoza could go into hiding. Chances are that's where he took Athos."

As the boy got to work on the laptop, Porthos glanced up at his friend to catch him disappearing down the hall. It was simply the fact that Aramis was looking to put up distance from him that had the big man following him down to his room. He stopped in the open doorway and crossing his arms leaned against the doorjamb, watching his brother stare out the window.

"He could help with this," Aramis said without turning around to face him, "Mendoza's setup is something that would at least be on his radar."

Red flashed in his vision at the thought of that man and Porthos crossed the room to yank his brother around to face him.

"You don't need him,"

"But if it means we can find Athos, save him –"

"No," Porthos shook his head, "Athos wouldn't want that either."

And he was sure of that, neither of them would ever want their friend turning to his father. That monster had hurt their brother too much; they could not let him sink his claws back into the hold Aramis had torn free from.

"I could just ask –"

"And he'll use it as a way into your life and your mind again," Porthos resisted the urge to somehow confiscate his friend's mobile phone, "we'll find Athos and we don't need his help for that."

They both jumped a little at the sound of d'Artagnan's voice calling them from the lounge. Porthos hold shifted from restraining to reassuring on his brother's arm and he gave it a gentle squeeze. His friend still clasped his mobile phone in a white knuckled grip and Porthos didn't like the deliberate blankness in the eyes that reminded him too much of the times they had ignored it in their childhood.

"If this doesn't work I'm calling him for a favor," Aramis said as he went ahead to see what their hacker had found.

Porthos hoped it was something useful as he followed his friend out. The two of them reached the grinning young man who looked like he had unearthed some priceless treasure. D'Artagnan turned the laptop screen to them and Porthos found himself looking at a beautiful woman with dark hair and clear blue eyes.

"This is Alice Clerbeaux, John Cornet's ex-wife as of four years ago," d'Artagnan announced and held out the strip of paper he had torn off from Aramis' notes, "and this is her current address," he grinned.

It burned.

Up his nose and in his eyes.

A distant part of him wondered how ironic it was for the cold water to burn like it did, but mostly he just tried to not inhale the vile thing. He pursed his lips close in an effort to fight against the primal instinct to pull in a breath. He struggled, despite his best efforts not to and rubbed his bound wrists raw in the process.

Athos gasped when the hand in his hair yanked him back.

His chest felt tight and ached like he had ran the obstacle course a few times over in one go.

"Did that jog your memory?"

He gathered the water and saliva in his mouth and spat in the general direction of the voice. Mendoza's curses were music to his ears as the grip on him loosened and his head dropped forwards. The harsh tug in his hair that came next didn't matter anymore and when the blob of a face loomed in his bleary line of sight Athos was pleased to note the angry red tinge.

"Where is my money?"

Athos coughed.

His eyes watered and his face altered between numb and stinging by turns. The water had been cold, too cold. It had splashed all over his front and left him shivering.

"Where is my money?" Mendoza demanded.

His teeth chattered as Athos glared up at the man. He knew this man fed on fear, had seen his perverse inclination in the form of the bomb he had given d'Artagnan. It was supposed to go off in the young man's hold but the timer had just been to make the boy sweat, to have him stare down at his death and fear the inevitable.

Athos refused to let this man draw any such emotions from him.

"You're starting to sound like a broken record," he breathed out.

"Hmm, maybe I should wait for the boy to be brought in," Mendoza's eyes hardened, "he might be easier to break, or perhaps one of the two that seemed to be always at your heels?"

Athos blinked rapidly and it had nothing to do with the stinging in his eyes.

"Oh yes I saw you at The Hound's place, he's not the only hacker on my payroll you see" Mendoza leered, "I had been quite looking forward to that boom you know. But after the little stunt that mutt pulled I had wanted to have him brought in with you," the large man shrugged, "oh well I'll have to send Dujon after him when he's done with job for the day,"

Athos hadn't the chance to reply, he had no chance to pull in a breath or brace himself before his head was dunked again. The sharp chill of the water was still jarring after so many rounds and he was too late to stop the attempt to suck in a breath.

It burned in his nostrils and tore at his throat, the urge to cough making it worse.

His body thrashed on reflex even as numbness set in his mind.

Oblivion took Athos before he was pulled out again.

Alice Clerbeaux was kind enough to invite them into her penthouse, although he had a feeling it had something to do with the way her gaze lingered on Porthos. But d'Artagnan wasn't going to call her out on it if that was the reason she was being helpful about the matter.

"I've already handed over the letter to the police," she said as they followed her through the softly lit foyer into the main room; where the cream coloured walls framed a breathtaking view of the cool cerulean sky visible though the sprawling window, "but I did read it vague though it was. I still wonder why he would send it to me after all these years."

"You were his one contact he could trust and who he knew wouldn't be looked into immediately by his enemies," Aramis said.

"What did it say Ms. Clerbeaux?" Porthos asked.

"Please call me Alice," she offered him a fleeting smile, "John had asked me to contact the authorities, and he wrote that there was something big behind it although I don't know what 'it' is."

The hint of irritation wasn't lost on d'Artagnan, he could sympathize with her feelings of being patronized given the recent treatment he had had at the hands of these men. And yet a part of him that he would deny liked being a part of this friendship anyone could see between the three men he had met that day. A friendship he was happy to be in the periphery of even for a short period of time that he had.

"He probably didn't explain much for the fear of your safety," Porthos said.

"His job had made him paranoid," Alice nodded although her smile was bittersweet, "but he loved it more than anything else, even more than us."

"Anything else that you remember about the letter?" d'Artagnan spoke up before silence could descend, he was aware on the surprise of Porthos' face and the amusement in Aramis' eyes although his face remained blank, "We would really appreciate any detail you could give us," he added.

"He said that he had found the workshop," the woman said and picked up her mobile phone from the coffee table, "and he sent a card with that a letter,"

"A card?"

"A visiting card, I took a picture of it before giving it up," Alice handed her phone to Porthos, "this is it,"

D'Artagnan moved closer for a better look as Aramis came forward on the other side. He hoped there was some useful information on this card that could lead them to Athos. But his breath caught in his throat at the picture that greeted him, for there it was, a plain crimson card with a silver C embossed on it. He shook his head slowly at the sight almost wishing he was hallucinating, because if he wasn't it meant that he had pushed Athos into the hands of those responsible for Alexander d'Artagnan's murder.

That was exactly like the card found on his father the day he had died.

"That's a dead end," Aramis stepped back, "can you tell us anything about this workshop?"

"John didn't say anything about it in his letter, just that he had found it," Alice said, "I wish I could have helped mo –"

She stopped short at the knock on her door.

The passing frown on her face told d'Artagnan that she wasn't expecting anyone and he noticed the way the other two men raised a brow, clearly having picked up on her surprise as well. They had just turned into the foyer when Alice opened the door for the delivery man.

D'Artagnan recognized the face a second before the woman screamed.

They were moving before Dujon and his men had a chance to realize their presence. As he tackled one of them to the ground, Aramis pinned the other to the wall while Porthos pulled Dujon away from Alice and punched him hard across the face.

D'Artagnan groaned as the man in his hold slammed a knee in his chest, the pain in his bruised ribs flaring afresh. His fingers dug in the plush carpet as he gasped to get his breathing on track. The man he had caught slid out of his grip and made for the door Dujon at his heels.

Pushing himself straighter d'Artagnan spared Alice a glance, relived to find her unharmed, and then swung his head to catch Aramis go down the stairs after one man while Porthos chased the other up to the roof. Bracing his aching ribs with his arm, he forced himself up to his feet and staggered past the man Aramis had knocked unconscious.

D'Artagnan was gasping by the time he stumbled through the door on the roof and stopped short at the scene that greeted him.

Athos he had realized was a wolf, seemingly aloof with that disreputable yet noble air that made him not the king of the jungle but clearly the leader of his pack. His assumptions that the man was asocial had soundly shattered when he recognized that Athos didn't have a wide circle of friends but a small one that fitted him just fine.

Porthos he understood now was a bear, he was sheer power packed in the satisfied calm of a gentle soul; that is, only up till his family was threatened. Watching him in that moment d'Artagnan feared for the man cowering before the pure fury that emitted from the towering figure of Porthos as the man reached down lifted Dujon up by the front of his shirt.

"Porthos wait," he called out in a hurry, "this is Dujon; he might know where Athos is,"

"Is that so?" a vicious grin stretched on the big man's face, "then we'll have to make him talk,"

A squeak escaped Dujon before his teeth rattled with the force Porthos shook him with. D'Artagnan was worried that the big man might do something in a fit of rage that he would regret latter. It was a bone melting relief to find Aramis coming up to the roof; d'Artagnan felt the tension ease from his shoulders at the sight of the man who seemed to be an expert in remaining calm under duress.

"Put him down Porthos before he throws up on you," Aramis said.

Porthos stopped and let the man back on his feet although he didn't let him go.

"This is Dujon," he told his friend.

"Mendoza's right-hand man?" Aramis quirked a brow.

D'Artagnan nodded before he winced at the blow to the man's face that Porthos delivered.

"Really now Porthos, we're not brutes," Aramis said with a tiny smile as he went over to the two.

Unflinching was the man against the chilly breeze at this height as he moved with that inherent poise and went straight for his prey's jugular; like a natural hunter d'Artagnan's mind provided as Aramis clasped Dujon by the neck and dragging him along he stopped with the man held titled out over the edge of the roof.

Dujon's only link to safety was Aramis' hand wrapped around the man's throat.

"Where's the workshop?" Aramis asked.

His tone was conversational and d'Artagnan flinched at this tranquil violence that was all the more disconcerting for its calmness.

"I don't – I –" Dujon glanced down, "pull me up!"

Looking bored and just a touch indolent Aramis loosened his grip and Dujon yelled out. His hands scrabbling for purchase on the man's sleeve as Aramis' long fingers held on deftly to the front of his collar.

"You were saying?" Aramis said.

D'Artagnan shivered and it had nothing to do with the cold.

He glanced towards Porthos as the man slowly approached his friend; apparently even he was weary of this side in the otherwise cheerful man.

" 'Mis? Let's not take foolish risks that get the Captain mad us yeah?"

"We could always apologize later,"

"But how'll he explain our part in this if you shove him off the roof?"

"Who's to say that he was thrown off? We won't talk and he won't be talking when he goes splat," Aramis shrugged and looked back to Dujon, "What do you think? Would you make it from this height?"

"Please – don't –"

Aramis grinned at him and d'Artagnan was reminded of the feral way nature's predators bared their teeth before they ripped apart their victim.

"You can tell me where Mendoza's workshop is or," Aramis gave the man a jerk, "you can try your luck in the open skies."

"No! Just stop. Please. It's a factory –" Dujon blinked the moisture from his eyes as he gasped; "it's an abandoned meat factory he works out of."

He rattled off the address that d'Artagnan hurried to confirm it on the map in his phone. He found it in the list of plants that had been closed down over a decade ago and calculated it to be a couple of hours away from the city.

"It's there?" Porthos asked him.

"Yeah it's there,"

" 'Mis?"

Without a word Aramis yanked the man back onto the roof, letting him fall to his knees before he knocked him out cold. D'Artagnan looked from the crumpled man to the one straightening up, now as he watched Aramis he recognized this was a tiger; a lethal balance of graceful precision and ruthlessness, tempered only by playful compassion.

…his bones feel like lead and his flesh like cotton under his skin. It's a strange sensation to be sinking and floating at the same time. The light above him is fuzzy, shaky and blurred beyond the surface of water and he wonders how he got here.

He swallows and winces at the sharp pain in his throat.

Did he fall in the Thames?

He blinks and remembers the sidewalk, the people, and the journey, and finally the packet of her belongings that he had signed off on. His breath catches when he finally remembers the call that morning.

His head hurts.

"Athos?"

She was dead.

"Athos? You with me?"

Anne was dead.

"Talk to me,"

His wife was dead.

"I'm here Athos, don't do this please,"

It's the sheer familiarity of the voice, the stubborn persistence of it that had pulled him along these past months that reaches to him again. He realizes he had been staring at the ceiling and turns his head to regard the man at his side.

Aramis is sitting cross-legged in the chair like he would on the floor, with a thick book open in his lap. His clothes are rumpled and there is a curved gash on his forehead pulled close by butterfly bandages.

It hadn't been there that morning.

"Athos?" Aramis' grip on his arm is almost painful, "talk to me will you?"

He swallows the awful taste lingering in his mouth and glances down at the hand where he feels the pinch of a needle under his skin. He has no idea how he had made it to the hospital.

"Why'd you do it?"

He ignores the question.

"You do know about alcohol poisoning don't you?" Aramis holds onto him even tighter, "you could have died you idiot."

"She's dead," it comes out in a croak.

The brown eyes are round as saucers and he wonders if his friend is thinking about brain damage left in the wake of his latest splurge.

"Anne," he manages past his raw throat, "they called to tell me she's dead. Anne is dead,"

He knows he shouldn't be upset over it. She was a liar, a scammer, she had murdered his little brother and he shouldn't be feeling this spiky knot in his chest at the thought of her death.

What sort of a man does that make him?

What sort of a brother?

What sort of a son?

His fingers twitch to grasp a bottle of wine.

"I'm sorry to hear that," Aramis says, "it must be hard to lose someone you love this soon after Thomas,"

His head rolls onto the pillow so fast it leaves him tasting bile. Yet he cannot help but stare at the man whose bright eyes have a wet gleam over them. Despite the sting of the needle at the move, his grip tightens reflexively around the fingers that slip into his hand.

"But you need to stop this Athos," Aramis says, his voice far steady than he looks and with a strength that promises of deeper reserves, "You're not alone Athos. You need to fight and you need to live…"

… he pulled in a sharp breath that broke into a hacking cough.

His back hit something hard and flat as rough hands propped him up. His own bound hands grazed over the filthy wall at his back as he forced his head up from where it had hung low enough to have his chin resting on his chest.

"Back with us then?" Mendoza came forward.

Athos cleared his throat and glanced at the men who were closing the manacle around his waist.

"Unfortunately,"

"Don't be in such a hurry to leave us Athos; my money is still missing,"

"And it'll remain that way,"

"We'll see," Mendoza rubbed his hands together and stepped back from him.

Athos did his best to not put any weight on his damaged ankle, it was clear that he would be standing here for a while. The metal around his waist made sure of that and was supporting a big lock, the key of which was handed over to Mendoza.

He looked past the man at the room he was now in and realized he was in a long chamber that may at one time had been the main shop-floor of the building. But the conveyer belt looping around the hall was caked with dust and missing in places, the thick pillars that dotted the area were covered in random words painted in black and shades of neon dulled over time. The light of the morning was bright in the abandoned work area, filtering in through the smashed windows set in the far wall in front of him.

"See there?" Mendoza stood beside him and pointed to the nearest pillar.

Athos glanced at the way he pointed and felt his heart beat wildly against his chest at the sight of a primed crossbow targeting his way.

"And the one over there," Mendoza pointed to the one a few pillars over, this one set up higher, "there are eleven in all, and you see the clocks tapped with them? They're set up to the alarm in three hours from now. When the alarm rings…"

Athos didn't need for him to spell it out, he could barely make out the wire from the distance but he understood the meaning, he may not understand the mechanism but he could see what the result would be.

It took every ounce of his self control to give the man beside him a bland look.

"Shout when you've change your mind about talking," Mendoza said, "There are other matters I need to see to."

It was only when he was sure that he was completely alone that Athos resumed his efforts to free his hands. A huge part of him knew even if he succeeded he wouldn't be able to escape the metal around his waist without the key; he only hoped that his brothers found him in time because in three hours eleven crossbow bolts would execute him where he stood.

TBC

Thank you everyone who read, follow and favorite this story. Debbie, Clara, Ruth and Guest thank you for taking the time to leave me your thoughts, it makes me happy to know you're enjoying the story. To all those who leave me reviews, THANK YOU! hearing form you all makes my day.