It's just a short chapter, but I thought I'd post a mid-week chapter to lessen the tension about what's happening with Aramis. ROFL

Also, in the next chapter, there's a lot Tréville will have to answer for. :-)

Chapter 7
Bleak Prospects

"I'm going to have to ask you to accompany us to the police station. We have an arrest warrant. You are accused of planning and carrying out kidnapping, criminal assault and attempted murder." The police officer rattled down the charges, awkwardly glancing at Tréville occasionally.

"You've got it all wrong," Aramis replied, turning towards Athos. "Would you tell Anne what happened? Please ask her to call her lawyer. Tell her she doesn't have to worry." He rounded his desk while speaking, coming to a halt beside Athos. Grabbing his arm with a firm grip, he said quietly, inaudibly to anyone else, "Take care of her and Henri. Bring them to safety, I don't know what Autriche plans next. Please, Athos, promise me you'll keep them safe." He looked at Athos with an expression of great anxiety.

"Don't worry, you can rely on me." Athos squeezed Aramis' shoulder and they looked at each other for a short moment, a silent conversation going on between the two.

Tréville harrumphed. "I'll accompany you," he said, addressing the police officers. "Let's go."

The officer who had remained silent so far, produced handcuffs, holding them out to Aramis.

"That won't be necessary!" Tréville barked, a shade of red crawling up his neck. "Put them away."

"Sorry, sir, we've got our instructions," the officer replied, a tad less brisk than his colleague.

"Go on," the first police officer said and added, towards Tréville, "We have explicit instructions to arrest the suspect with the greatest caution, and this includes handcuffs. He's classified as dangerous. We've been informed he's a title winning sports marksman and coincidentally the one who shot the man he now claims to be responsible for Monsieur Autriche's abduction."

This statement and the implication of it left the former Musketeers speechless for a moment.

"You're making a big mistake," Athos uttered in a frighteningly calm voice, the knifing chill of his tone carrying a subtle threat.

Into the quiet following Athos' words they could hear the handcuffs snap closed. Aramis was escorted to the door, the officers walking either side of him, each of them having an iron grip on his arm. Tréville followed and Athos brought up the rear while Charlène remained behind with a troubled expression.

Two or three steps before they reached the entrance, the door opened and Porthos walked in, almost colliding with Aramis. He recoiled, stepping back and taking in the men in front of him. "Wha-?" He looked at Aramis, eyed the police officers, took in Tréville behind the three as well as the expression on Athos' face, until finally his eyes came to rest on the handcuffs holding Aramis' hands together in front of him. "What's that supposed to mean?" he growled.

"Athos will fill you in," Aramis replied softly.

"Monsieur, please step aside," one of the officers said, trying to shove Porthos aside.

"Whoa, get your hands off me! No one is going anywhere before I know what's going on. Captain?" Porthos asked, his eyes seeking Tréville. He crossed his arms, blocking the door.

"Monsieur, step aside. Now!"

"Porthos, it's okay. Let us through," Aramis urged, knowing what the big man was capable of when confronted with injustice, or threat, directed at his friends. There was many a men, then and now, who could contribute their mite about Porthos' wrath if irked.

"No, nothing's okay!" Porthos snarled, glowering at Aramis. He didn't back down.

"Porthos. Step aside," Tréville said evenly, his voice carrying enough authority to easily get across the order the Regiment's Captain was giving one of his Musketeers.

Eyeing his friend for a moment, Porthos was undecided. Finally, he obeyed and stepped aside, giving way to the police officers.

Throwing dark looks at Porthos, the officers pushed Aramis through the door and made their way downstairs.

Porthos watched the men leaving with Aramis until they had vanished from sight, then he turned to Athos with a stony, questioning look.

"It's worse," Athos said with a tiredness in his voice that made Porthos cringe.

"What happened? Why did the police arrest Aramis? Why didn't you stop them? Is Tréville responsible for his arrest?" Porthos' voice, right now, held potential to frighten not only little children.

Athos took a step back. He eyed his friend cautiously. "It seems evidence has turned up in Friaize tying Aramis to the crime scene."

"Evidence?"

"A paper. With Aramis' notes. It has his fingerprints, his handwriting, his jottings. And Aramis confirmed it's his. He's been set up, that's for sure, but what counts for the police is that the evidence matches their now main suspect."

"Main suspect?"

"Aramis, evidently." They had talked about it over and over again and knew Aramis and Anne were still the police's main focus. Why Porthos acted now as if he was hearing this for the first time was a mystery to Athos.

"Why didn't Tréville stop them?"

"Because he can't. It's proof, Porthos! They have tangible results even Tréville can't spirit away! It might lead to the exclusion of Tréville from this case based on grounds of bias. It's a bloody mess and we can't do anything!" Athos started striding towards his office, struggling to keep his countenance and a calm voice. "Grimaud is showing us up! Or it was Rochefort, or Autriche. I can't believe one of them managed to place a red herring the police is taken in by!" He could hardly suppress his anger any more, unconsciously flexing his fingers to keep his hands from hitting something.

"And what do we do now?"

"First of all, I'll have to tell Anne. She needs to send their lawyer. Then we have to discuss how we can get Aramis out of this mess as fast as possible. If Grimaud is behind this, Aramis is in great danger."

"Then I don't understand why you let them walk away with Aramis," Porthos muttered.

Athos darted an angry glance at the bigger man.

"I simply can't believe they have evidence on him."

"Come," Athos said, urging Porthos to follow him inside his office. "We need to work out a plan. Do you know where d'Artagnan is?"

Porthos shook his head and closed the door.

x-x-x-x-x-x-x

Aramis hadn't had any idea how exhausting an interrogation could be.

Again and again and again the officers had asked the same questions, waiting for him to contradict himself, to let something slip, to make even the tiniest change in his statement. And after a few hours, it had finally happened. He had made a reference to Rochefort's obsession with Anne that had come from another time.

When he had tried to explain why he believed Rochefort to be obsessed with Anne, leading to the abduction of her husband, Aramis had not been able to come up with an explanation why he would have such insight into a man's life Aramis claimed to have never met before the events of this year's summer. He had started to flounder, and the officers had started to nail him down on things he had said earlier.

Anne's lawyer had sat beside him like a watch dog on guard, a solid presence all the time, blocking a lot of questions and stopping him in time when he was about to say something he was not obliged to. But even his lawyer had had problems smoothing over what Aramis had accidentally come out with.

Finally, the solicitor had told him to stop talking to the police, and after another half hour listening to their questions without saying one word, he had been led away from the interrogation room and into the cell he would occupy for at least the next 72 hours. With the new anti-terror regulations in France, he knew they could hold him without charges and without arraignment for up to three days, and he was convinced they would make use of every single hour and not let him go one minute earlier.

He lay on the uncomfortable metal plank bed and stared at the ceiling, wondering what Anne and Henri were doing. He realised how close this was to the situation back then and pondered if for them, history would always repeat itself. If need be, he would bargain with God again to make this end well. His only concern was for the well-being of those he loved most.

x-x-x-x-x-x-x

"I don't understand," d'Artagnan said for the third time.

Athos sighed, feeling a headache crawling up slowly from his stiff neck muscles. He refrained from pinching the bridge of his nose again.

"Why didn't Tréville stop them? He knows Aramis has nothing to do with it."

Athos glanced at Porthos, the bigger man shrugging his shoulders helplessly with an apologizing expression. "I told you why. Just because we know Aramis has nothing to do with it doesn't make it true for others. They have first hand evidence and the conditions, for the time being, are against us. Tréville can do nothing other than abide by the police regulations."

"I know. But Tréville has more insight into everything relating to Rochefort than any other police officer working on this case. Why didn't he..., I mean, he could have vouched for Aramis, right? He's in a high position, couldn't he just have ordered them to not arrest Aramis?"

"No, and it would've only made things worse, giving Autriche further fodder for his charges. Tréville acted cautiously by not interfering. As it is, he already risked much when he informed us about the evidence before the officers showed up here."

Porthos strolled over and slumped down in the chair beside d'Artagnan. "So, what do we do next?"

Athos rubbed his eyes. He was tired and exhausted, but he knew he would certainly not get much sleep tonight. "Anne's lawyer is with Aramis at the police station. He promised to call me with news. What we need to do is find proof that Aramis is not involved in anything. I've no idea how or where to find this evidence, I only know we have to find it. Now." He waggled his mouse to wake up his computer. "D'Artagnan, carry on with the footage from Courville-sur-Eure. How much do you still have to sift through?"

"I'm through with about half of what I have, but I'm still downloading material, so there's still more coming in," the young man replied. "I could ask Constance to help me with it."

Athos pondered the suggestion for a moment. "She doesn't know what Rochefort or Grimaud look like. What if she doesn't recognize them?"

"No, what I meant was to ask her to sift through the footage. Whenever she spots something or someone she can give me a shout and I can check it. I already told you there are hours of material with no one showing up on the screen. Every car or tractor or human being she spots she has to report to me. That way we can double our efforts on screening the material."

"Good idea. Go on then, but she doesn't have to work overtime, tell her," Athos added with a glance at his watch, knowing full well Constance would not leave without d'Artagnan. Turning to Porthos, he said, "Can you go on with Aramis' Spanish papers?"

Porthos nodded and rose.

"I'll make a couple of phone calls, then I'll join you to help with the papers. Maybe Charlène can go through some of the documents, too. I fear we're really running out of time."

It was almost evening, and Athos knew even if they found clear proof within the next few hours, Aramis would have to spent at least that night in custody. Then it would be a matter of how well Tréville and Anne's lawyer were able to present the evidence to the committing magistrate to get Aramis free. Unfortunately, first they needed to find something at all.

Long after the street lamps and first Christmas illuminations had started to paint the Parisian streets with their warm lights, brightening the darkness that had settled over the capital, LaFère Security's windows were all still lit. Now and then a shadow flickered behind the glass, revealing to a random onlooker that the office was still occupied, that people were still at work there, even if the clockhand was approaching midnight. What the onlooker would not know, though, was that all the working hours the office's occupants had spent poring over their computers, had been in vain so far.

x-x-x-x-x-x-x

Aramis woke from someone pressing a gloved hand over his mouth and nose and registered at the same time the prick of a needle being stabbed into his upper arm. Not again, he thought, trying to put up at least a little bit of resistance before he was immobilized. "Shhh, quiet, Musketeer," someone hissed, and Aramis could have sworn he knew the voice. But his eyes rolled back in their sockets before he could finish his thought.