Sorry for the delay...

CW: Mention of terrorism, cruelty of Islamic terrorists and short, graphic description of use of violence against "heathens" as punishment, ensuing the death of prisoners. If you don't want to read anything related to Islamic terrorism, skip the part between "Bonjour, captain, take a seat," Porthos said. - and - "It was definitely him, even if the quality was poor.[...] " Athos looked around.

Chapter 14

Bruised And Battered (but not broken)

Two weeks later

Aramis was released from the hospital on the 20th, and today was the day before Christmas Eve. He had spent the last few days at home in his bed or on the couch, and the Inseparables as well as Tréville had come by each evening to report on the progress of both the Autriche case and the hunt for Grimaud. Today was the first day Aramis had felt fit enough to fully dress in the morning and spent the day with more than sleeping, watching TV and playing with Henri. He was helping Anne in the kitchen when the doorbell rang. "I'll go."

"I hope we're not disturbing you, but Tréville has information he wants to share with us," Athos said as soon as Aramis had opened the door.

"He refused to tell us anything without you," Porthos added, giving Athos a slight push to make way for them. "He ordered us to come here immediately."

"He said he wasn't willing to repeat this over and over and how his time is too precious for it," d'Artagnan mocked, following Porthos. "It was his idea to come here unannounced."

"I think the exact wording was 'don't get on my nerves, d'Artagnan, and exercise patience'", Tréville said from where he sat on the couch in Aramis and Anne's living room, a cup of coffee in his hands.

"You're already here," Athos stated, covering his surprise eloquently. "I guess we can start right away then."

D'Artagnan grumbled something inaudibly to the others and slumped down on one of the armchairs.

"We've been waiting for you," Aramis said and turned to Tréville with a smirk on his face. "You can start now, captain."

"The police have dropped the proceedings against you and Anne and the state prosecutor has closed the case. He has officially brought charges for abduction, bodily injury and triple attempted murder against Grimaud in absentia. The prosecution was furthermore informed this morning by Autriche's attorneys, that Monsieur Autriche withdraws his accusations against you."

"All accusations?" asked Aramis.

"I'm not sure about his accusations on adultery and the paternity suit, but they would be civil cases anyway and have nothing to do with the police investigations. I'm sorry."

"Quelle surprise," Aramis muttered.

"There is still an International Arrest Warrant out for Grimaud, but we have no trace of him so far. He hasn't turned up anywhere, which could either mean he is dead of his injuries by now and lying somewhere undetected, or he has helpers and is lying low. But we're on to him and will find him in the end. I've talked to a friend in Mossad this morning, he might have something for me."

Athos eyed Tréville with a mixture of surprise and admiration. "You know Mossad agents?"

Tréville only shrugged.

"What's with Marcheaux and his colleague, Garonne or Garonnet," Porthos asked.

"Right. We've found Garronet."

"What? But you haven't said a word! What does he say?" D'Artagnan sat up in his armchair.

"Nothing." Tréville sighed and scratched his head. "He's dead. He was found in a car boot five days ago. It took until yesterday to identify him and the forensic pathologist says he has been dead for at least two weeks, likely longer. We assume Marcheaux killed him the day they abducted Aramis."

"That's unfortunate. What about Marcheaux?" Athos wanted to know.

"We have a trace. He seems to be in Spain and is believed to have crossed the border at Le Perthus exactly 24 hours after Aramis was taken from police custody. We received a police report from Barcelona where he surfaced in another police investigation. We're working on it. What troubles me a little is another name that turned up in the police report. Feron. It might be coincidence, but I have a bad feeling about this. Danglard will fly to Spain tomorrow."

"Tomorrow? But it's Christmas Eve!" Anne stood in the open kitchen door, a tray of fresh coffee and pastries in her hands.

"Yes," Tréville answered stoically, momentarily missing the context between Lieutenant Danglard and Christmas Eve and why Anne was surprised at it.

"But...," Anne trailed off and glanced at Aramis. "You are all still coming tomorrow, right?" She looked around full of expectation.

Athos nodded.

Porthos grinned from ear to ear. "You can definitely count on me!"

D'Artagnan's head bopped up and down excitedly. "Yes, of course! Constance and I are looking forward to it!"

Tréville said nothing and finally all eyes were fixed on him. He darted a glance at Aramis before turning to Anne. "I can't give my word I'll make it for dinner, but I'll be there. No later than dessert. Promise."

Anne smiled and finally set down the tray. "I'm so glad we'll all be able to spend Christmas together. Aramis is planning a grand dinner, he has spent the last days with nothing else than preparations for it, what to serve for the main course, the order of the courses and so on."

Aramis beamed at them. He could feel tears in his eyes and blinked them away. He was entitled to watery eyes; there was still the pain from the gunshot wound when he strained his leg too much, and some of the deeper cuts that had needed stitching tugged painfully from time to time. And sometimes he coughed so hard it brought tears to his eyes. He could try to persuade himself this was the reason why his vision blurred and why he had to swallow twice to get rid of the knot in his throat, and not the deep gratitude he felt. His eyes met Athos' stare, and the older man inclined his head a little, a smile playing around the lips. Two weeks ago, Aramis had been convinced he would not live long enough to see this day, to ever get the chance to spend even one Christmas together with Anne and Henri. And now they all were here together. In his eyes, it was no less than a miracle, but then, that was what Christmas was all about, in the end. "I'm not fit enough this year to go to midnight mass, so we'll have all evening. It doesn't matter if you're a little late, captain. We will wait for you, no matter how late it gets."

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

Five days later

Athos had discarded the sling supporting his injured shoulder that morning for good. The bullet wound had healed well and he just couldn't stand being restricted in his movements any more. He had already hissed four times in the course of the morning when a sudden movement had sent a pang through his shoulder, but he'd gritted his teeth and didn't let it show.

Aramis came by the office around midday for the first time since he had been arrested by the police more than three weeks ago. He finally felt fit enough to pick up work again and the doctor had confirmed that his double pneumonia was cured completely and no wounds showed signs of infection any more. The bruised ribs and sprained ankles had healed well and the colourful bruises his skin had been cluttered with had faded. There was only the merest hint of yellow left on some parts of his body only those who knew what had happened to him were able to detect.

"Autriche has still not filed a complaint until now, but I'm constantly expecting a court order in the mail." Aramis sat on the couch in Athos' room, a cup of coffee in his hand and Porthos at his side.

"The hearing date for the divorce was already set, why don't he just see this through now?" D'Artagnan leaned against the window.

Aramis sighed. "Because he is convinced things have changed, that it was Anne who cheated on him and not vice versa. This would give him a better starting position for the divorce proceedings and there is still the issue with the paternity he's challenging."

"That should be the easiest point to prove, don't you think?" Porthos asked, trying to hide the smirk.

"His lawyers haven't officially asked for a DNA sample from Henri until now."

"Anne could do it, all she would need is DNA from her husband," Athos suggested. "She doesn't have to wait and endure his accusations."

"She doesn't want to have anything to do with him any more. Not even as much as asking for a DNA sample. I already suggested it," Aramis replied. "She says if he thinks Henri is not his son, he should prove it. Impossible as it is, she would be more than happy if it were the case, then there would really be nothing linking her life to his any more once the divorce is through."

"You're in a dilemma at the moment, but it will sort itself out eventually. The divorce proceedings are still pending, there has to be a decision sooner or later." Athos opened the drawer and fetched some papers. "There's something else I wanted to discuss."

Before he could elaborate on it, he was interrupted by a knock on the door. The door opened and Tréville appeared. Startled, he paused when he saw all of them in the room. "I didn't expect to see you all gathered already," he said, closing the door. "All the better, I have news."

"Bonjour, captain, take a seat," Porthos said.

There was only the chair in front of Athos' desk left, and given how crowded it was already in the small office with the four Inseparables, Tréville stayed where he was and leaned against the door behind him. "The Israeli Intelligence Service has forwarded information on Grimaud. He was identified when he entered the Republic of Yemen, coming from Saudi Arabia on December 18th, accompanied by Yussuf ben Yahya and Abu Bakr ibn Umar, both known members of a branch of al-Qaida. The trace disappeared for two days, then he resurfaced in Habarut near the Oman border in the company of one Pakistani and two Afghans also familiar to Mossad. Five days later, a video appeared on an Arabic channel on the internet, showing the beheading of five prisoners in Afghanistan. The Israelis are sure one of them is Grimaud. The other four were an Englishman, a Syrian and two Afghans."

"So he's dead? Grimaud is dead?" d'Artagnan asked.

"It seems so," answered Tréville.

"Is this verified information?" Athos asked. "How sure is it the man in the video is Grimaud?"

Tréville regarded Athos for a moment. "I would say 90 per cent. I saw the video. The man looks gaunt and worn out and I have only seen him on photos in this life, but I would say it's him. The Israelis are convinced it's him, they say his name is mentioned in the video as well."

"What else does the video message say?" Porthos asked.

"That the men have to die because they betrayed the cause. That they are heathen, selfish, unworthy. It would suit to what you told us about Rochefort and Grimaud's connection to Islamic terrorists."

"Can we see it? The video?" Aramis spoke for the first time. "As you know, I've spent some time with him and might be able to judge if it's definitely him or not."

Tréville remained silent for a moment, then he nodded, pulling an USB stick from his pocket. "I should have deleted the file immediately after watching, Moshe trusted I would do so. This must never leave this room." He handed the stick to Athos who inserted it into the desktop and turned the screen. All men gathered around the desk and waited until the video started.

The video was only two and a half minutes long and started with a black screen and Persian writing, running over the screen from left to right. A male voice spoke in Farsi, probably reading the text. Then there was a cut and five men could be seen kneeling in the dirt, desert stretching behind them with a mountain range visible in the far background. Left and right behind the men stood two masked men, clad in traditional quamis, with machine guns in their hands. One of them had a scimitar attached to his belt. More Persian flashed at the bottom of the screen, a voice-over spoke on in quick Farsi. The camera started zooming in on each of the kneeling men.

When the face of the man in the middle filled the picture, Aramis gasped. "That's him. Grimaud. It is him."

"Yes, it's definitely him," Athos confirmed while the camera zoomed in on the next face.

They watched in silence how the camera zoomed out again to show all men, and the guard on the right side shouldered his machine gun and unsheathed the scimitar. Obviously meant as a sick act of kindness, the man on the left pulled dirty sacks over the men's heads to blindfold them. When he had finished, he resumed his position beside the prisoners while the other man stepped sideways. The picture flickered and froze for a second, then they watched how the man raised his arm. Before the scimitar came down to decapitate the first prisoner, d'Artagnan turned away and stared out of the window.

Tréville put his hand on the young man's shoulder, his eyes still fixed on the screen, even though he had watched the scene already twice before.

The man with the scimitar worked fast and efficiently, it was obvious it was not the first time he'd carried out such a task. Thankfully the camera stayed zoomed on the level of the heads hidden behind the coarse sackcloth until the last man had been beheaded, and didn't show them the chopped off heads rolling in the dirt. The screen went black after the last prisoner had lost his life. Either there hadn't been any more insurgent speeches after the beheading or the Israeli Intelligence Service had cut the video here. In any case, the Inseparables had seen enough.

"It was definitely him, even if the quality was poor. Grimaud is dead." Athos looked around.

D'Artagnan walked back to the window before facing the others. "Grimaud was a bad man, but that's something no man deserves."

"No, certainly not," Aramis said quietly. "Nevertheless, I'm glad we don't have to worry about him anymore."

The men remained silent for a minute, then Tréville asked Athos to destroy the video. "I need to go back, I have to join the coordination for the New Year's Eve festivities on the Champs-Élysées."

"My heartfelt sympathy," Athos muttered, pulling out the stick from his computer.

"Do you have news from Marcheaux? Is he still in Spain?" Aramis asked before Tréville had reached the door.

"No, there's nothing new, but we think he is still in Spain. The Spanish police are on him, they will let us know as soon as he shows up anywhere. I don't think your family is in danger, Aramis. Grimaud is dead and we don't know if Marcheaux even knows anything of your family there. But there is still increased surveillance in progress for your sister and your mother and the police is searching intensely for Grimaud's Spanish helpers."

"And Feron?" Porthos looked at Tréville expectantly.

"They are on to him, too. I think sooner or later Marcheaux will appear in his vicinity. Danglard is working on the case, he will fly to Spain after New Year's day again. I hope we'll soon have results. See you."

Tréville left and the others returned to their offices, too.

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

31st December, 9:00 am

They were ushered to the commissioner's office by a sour-looking Lieutenant Danglard. He was still suspicious of the four private investigators or whatever they called themselves; to the police departments in Greater Paris they were known as les Inseparables and he still hadn't found out what it was that connected his boss with those four. Danglard certainly didn't agree in the least with their meddling in things that were purely police issues and he felt it a disorderly behaviour to call his boss simply Captain, instead of Chief Inspector. He didn't understand either why his superior let this behaviour pass without comment. "Chief Inspector Peyrer will be with you in a few minutes. Wait here!"

Porthos' mouth already formed the word 'who', holding back the question at the very last moment. He'd been on the verge of asking the good lieutenant whom he was talking of, when it dawned on him that in this life Tréville's name was Jean Peyrer and none of his subordinates called him Captain Tréville. A fact the big man too easily forgot.

"Thank you," Athos muttered, his good breeding so deeply internalized things like a sulky police officer didn't stop him from being polite.

"Thank you for coming," Tréville said when he rushed into his office five minutes later. "I'm snowed under with work. Actually, I should already be in a meeting at the Ministry of the Interior." He glanced at the clock on the wall opposite him while seating himself behind the desk. "I can spare fifteen minutes, at the most."

"That suits us fine. Aramis is lagging behind with his New Year's Eve planning, so he's short of time, too," Athos replied wryly.

Aramis launched a dig in Athos' rips.

"This morning, I was informed of the fact that Monsieur Autriche died early this morning at 5.47 o'clock at the Hôpital Saint-Louis." Tréville glanced at the Musketeers and felt a childish, inner satisfaction for having been able to take them entirely by surprise.

"What?" Aramis uttered disbelievingly.

"How?" Athos asked. "What happened?"

"Monsieur Autriche spent the evening in a restaurant near Place Pigalle in female company. Around ten in the evening, when they had just been served the main course, Monsieur Autriche complained about feeling unwell. His companion apparently asked whether they should leave, which Monsieur Autriche denied. After a few minutes his condition deteriorated dramatically, he had problems drawing breath and complained about pain in his left shoulder. His companion asked for help from the waiters, two of which immediately assisted lying Monsieur Autriche down on the floor, the maître d'hôtel already calling for an ambulance. Monsieur Autriche obviously had a coronary and his heart stopped. The lady in his company immediately started CPR until the ambulance arrived seven minutes later. Monsieur Autriche was taken to the Hôpital Saint-Louis where he was revived twice before he passed away at 5.47 o'clock. Cause of death: cardiac failure."

There was a moment of silence where the Inseparables processed what they'd just heard.

Tréville shuffled a little more with the papers on his desk and finally looked up again. "The woman in Monsieur Autriche's company, dining with him yesterday evening was one," the captain pulled one of the papers a wee bit more towards him, reading from the sheet when he spoke on, "Madame, or I should rather say Milady, Anne de Winter."

D'Artagnan and Aramis gasped simultaneously while Porthos grunted something intelligible. Athos raised an eyebrow, but his mask of indifference cracked. "You're not serious."

Tréville nodded. "Lieutenant Denaux questioned her, her testimony was confirmed by the two waiters and other witnesses. She apparently looked quite shaken."

"She has always been a good actress. I doubt she would look visibly shaken by such an incident," Athos stated.

"Do you think I should ask the responsible commissioner if he has checked the wine and food they ate at the restaurant? Should I ask him to order an autopsy?"

"The wine and food had certainly been thrown away and the dishes done before Monsieur Autriche died at the hospital, so that would be a cold lead anyway," Porthos argued after a moment of contemplation.

Tréville's gaze switched from Porthos back to Athos. "And an autopsy? Should I suggest it?"

Athos mulled over it for a moment. "I don't think a pathologist would find something usable. If there really was something like, let's say poison, I guess it would be gone by now. Untraceable." He hesitated. "But I'm no expert in this field of science, nor am I a police officer responsible for such decisions."

Tréville squinted at Athos before he nodded. "I guess you're right." His gaze switched to Aramis. "We should be grateful for what we have. May he rest in peace."

Aramis still looked shaken, though when what he had just heard started to settle, he felt an incredible relief flood his body. It was a sad affair and Henri had just lost his biological father, but it would mean he and Anne and Henri could finally live in peace together. "The police won't try to frame me for this, too, will they?"

Tréville shook his head. "No. The investigation is already closed. The death certificate distinctly reads natural cause of death, cardiac failure. This happens all the time. And he died in a hospital surrounded by doctors who noticed nothing out of the ordinary. No one knows of the link between you and Milady. No one besides the five of us here knows that she uses a false name and passport. The case is closed for good."

Athos rose and mumbled something about having to make an urgent call and "See you later at the office." Then he was out of the door.

D'Artagnan looked after him with a frown on his face.

Porthos slid his chair a little closer to the desk. "So, this means Aramis is finally off the hook in every regard, right? Among us, do you think she killed him and if so, why and how?"

"To answer your questions, Porthos: Yes, I think Aramis and Anne won't have to fear any civil lawsuits any more, at least not from her late husband. The Autriche case is history. And yes, I think Milady killed Monsieur Autriche, though I don't know how. There will likely never be a way to prove this, which, for once, I don't care about. As for the reasons why: I have no idea. She certainly did Anne and Aramis a favour with it, but handing out favours it so unlike her I doubt this was her motivation. Maybe bad habits? Maybe she knew Autriche from another life? She killed more than once in the old days, as you know."

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

Athos pulled his mobile from the trouser pocket as soon as he had left the police building. Turning right onto rue de la Montagne-Sainte-Geneviève, he opened his contacts and searched for the entry he had labelled with M. M for Milady. He had found the paper a week ago, slipped under his door one morning with no name or message on it, just a mobile number. Even without recognizing the handwriting he had known whose number it was. He had filed it and never been tempted to call it ever since.

Now he hit the dial button and listened to the dial-up while walking away from the police commissariat.

"Athos, how nice to finally hear from you."

"Did you kill him?"

There was a short, pregnant pause. "You really need to work on your small talk."

"Anne, it's a simple question. I've just left Tréville's office."

"I don't really know whom you're talking about."

Athos breathed audibly. How many more were there? Was Autriche not the only corpse in his ex-wife's wake? "I'm speaking of Monsieur Autriche."

"Oh." There was another short pause. "A belated Christmas present for Aramis. Despite what you may think, I always liked him."

Who didn't? "Anne," he muttered, trailing off. What now? Thank you? Does it never stop? Why? "I need to see you. Can we meet?"

"Are you asking me out? Is this a date?"

Now it was Athos who fell quiet.

No!

(Yes...)

I don't know...

"Maybe," he muttered. He needed to sort his thoughts and feelings. Quickly...

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

New Year's Eve they all spent together again at Aramis and Anne's place, though with the news of Monsieur Autriche's death the mood was calmer than originally planned. Recalling the year's ups and downs and the providential coincidence that had brought them all together, they not only drank to the coming year, but to the enemies they had defeated and to their friendship, brotherhood and love that had stood the test of time.

A/N In case you wondered, this is not the last chapter, there'll be one more. ;-)