Remy was cold, scared, and hurting. Badly. His head hurt, his ribs hurt, his arm hurt and his back hurt. It was dark, cold and damp in the cellar, and quiet, except for the dripping of water from the roof above, the occasional scuttling of a rat, and the rattle of the shackles if he tried to move too far. That was something else that hurt; his ankle, where the shackles were rubbing. He shivered and curled his body up into as tight a ball as he could manage without his back protesting. At this rate, it wouldn't matter if he kept refusing to help Killian with his master plan, because he'd be in no fit state to attempt any type of climb, let alone a tricky one, and at that point, he'd cease to be potentially useful. Remy tried to blot that thought from his mind.

He was dimly aware of loud noises from above. Yelling, thuds, metal clashing against metal. He closed his eyes and tried to ignore it. The yelling stopped, but the thuds continued. Duller thuds, more like wood on wood than metal on metal. Maybe the nights work was over. The gang had returned with their spoils. That meant Killian would soon be down to see him, gloating about his master plan and telling Remy how he could still be a part of it. Could be useful to him. Earn good money. Killian would look after him and protect him. He hugged his knees tightly and waited.

There was a loud bang, which sounded like the trapdoor being opened, and then footsteps clattering down the wooden stairs. More than just Killian. Maybe they were moving. Maybe he'd get a chance to run for it. A faint hope soared within him, but instantly plummeted. Who was he kidding? He was in no shape to out run anyone right now. He shivered again.

"Remy? Remy!"

The voice was familiar, but it wasn't Killian. Remy frowned. Why was it familiar? Someone he knew, but who did he know that would be here? It made no sense.

"Remy."

The voice was very close now and softer somehow. He opened his eyes, and then shut them quickly. The cellar was no longer dark. Light was flooding in through the trapdoor, and there were a couple of lit torches on the walls. And three people. A hand brushed his cheek, and he flinched.

"Remy, it's alright. We'll get you out of here. Damn it! Porthos, find the keys for this." The shackles on his ankle rattled. Remy forced his eyes open again. Athos was staring at him with concern etched clearly on his face. "There we go. Are you alright, boy? Hurting?"

Remy nodded carefully, not trusting his voice.

Aramis's face loomed into view. "Where does it hurt, Remy?"

Remy yelped as Aramis gently prodded his ribs, and then ran his fingers over his swollen eye.

"Porthos! Hurry up." Athos stared at the shackles on Remy's ankle, as though wondering if he could yank it free from the wall. From above, there was a groan, a loud thud, and then a low moaning noise. Porthos scrambled back down the stairs, jangling a set of keys in his hand.

"Didn't want to give them up. I had to persuade him." Porthos unfastened the shackles and Athos carefully lifted him upright, noting that Remy was trying to protect his left arm, and that his ribs seemed to be causing him pain. He looked at the stairs, and then at Remy.

"I think this is going to be tricky."

Porthos shrugged. "Quicker and easier if I carry him."

"Don't drop him."

"I won't." He hoisted Remy onto his shoulders as gently as he could, with just a few whimpers from Remy, and set off up the stairs, taking great care not to bang Remy's head on the trap door. He carried him out through the wreckage of the room, over upturned tables and chairs. Remy caught an odd glimpse of arms and legs scattered around the place, presumably still attached to their owners. A few groans told him that at least some of them were still alive, although a little worse for wear. Remy was secretly pleased by that thought.

Between the three Musketeers, they managed to get Remy onto a horse. Athos mounted quickly behind him, tugging him close and wrapping his cloak around him for warmth. Remy whimpered, but leant back against him, grateful for the feeling of warmth and security

He had no idea what route they took through the city, nor where they stopped, but it wasn't the barracks. Porthos lifted him off the horse and carried him carefully up a flight of stairs. Athos scrambled past them and opened a door to a large room, and then another door to a small bedroom. Remy vaguely made out a bed, a cupboard and a couple of chairs. Porthos lay him gently on the bed and stepped back out of the room, pausing only briefly for a muttered conversation with Athos.

Aramis checked Remy's injuries carefully, trying not to poke and prod too much, although Remy was too tired to really care anymore. Athos sat him upright and somehow managed to get his shirt off, growling under his breath as he saw the welts on Remy's back.

"Damn it, boy, you have to stop getting hurt like this."

Aramis peeked at his back and shook his head. "I'm going to need some damp cloths and some bandages. Oh, and something to help numb the pain. Alright, Remy, let's see what we can do."

Remy spluttered and coughed as Athos poured some sort of liquid down his throat. It didn't taste like the stuff he'd been made to drink when he'd had his arm stitched up, in fact this tasted quite nice. It made him feel warm inside, and very light headed. That was the last thing he remembered.

When he woke, he was tucked up in bed, bandages round his arm, ankle and ribs. His back didn't hurt as much either. His left eye was steadfastly refusing to open though, so he squirmed a little to try see where he was. Light was streaming through the window, and he could see Athos sat in the chair by his bed, his legs stretched out and his head back, snoring quietly. He closed his eyes and went back to sleep.

He woke in a sweat, images of Killian looming at him through the darkness. He tried to sit up, and yelped as a bolt of pain shot through his ribs.

"Lie still, Remy. I know, you're hurting, but try to stay still." Porthos sounded worried. He felt the big mans hand check his forehead. "You feel damp and cold, are you warm enough?"

"Cold. And my ribs hurt."

Porthos gently raised his head and poured some liquid into his mouth. He managed a couple of mouthfuls. Porthos laid him back down and grabbed another blanket from the bottom of the bed, draping it over him.

"There. Now try and get some sleep."

"Killian ..."

"He can't hurt you here, Remy. Not a chance. You think I'm letting him get past me? Aramis would kill me if I did. That's if Athos didn't kill me first. Just sleep."

Remy closed his eyes.

Every time Remy woke, he felt a little better. Sometimes Porthos was the one fussing over him. Sometimes it was Aramis, checking his injuries and wiping his face clean. More often, it was Athos, who said little, apart from growling at him to lie still. Remy lay still, but couldn't sleep for long. His mind was racing, trying to work out where he was and how much trouble he was in. Lucas had accused him of being a thief, and from the look on Athos's face when he saw that pendant, Remy decided he must believe it was true. Add to that the fact that they'd 'rescued' him when they'd raided the hideout of a gang of thieves, and Remy was beginning to think that getting out of Paris quickly might be his best bet. That would also have the added advantage of putting him out of reach of Killian. Maybe a visit to Jamie was in order.

The shutters on the windows were closed, but just enough light was showing under the door for Remy to make out where his clothes and pack were. He got out of bed and stretched experimentally. His ribs were sore, but not too painful. He dressed as quickly as he could, hoisted his pack onto his shoulder, and gently opened the door. He found himself in a large room, with plenty of chairs, a large table, a desk, and a fireplace. The light from the fire was casting moving shadows around the room, as the flames danced around the crackling logs. A couple of lanterns lit the far side of the room. Athos was asleep in a chair by the fireplace, his head slightly on one side. Remy crept over to the large door that he hoped was the exit, and gingerly opened it. It creaked ever so slightly, and Athos stirred, muttering something, but he settled back down again. Remy released the breath he hadn't realised he was holding, and slipped outside into the corridor, quietly closing the door behind him. It was darker out here, and he paused to allow his eyes to become accustomed to the light, before starting down the stairs.

He was halfway down, when a door opened at the bottom and Porthos strode in and started up the stairs. Remy froze as Porthos looked up and saw him.

"What the hell?"

Remy thought about making a run for it, but he wasn't sure he could out run too many people just yet. Besides, Porthos filled most of the stairway.

"Back upstairs. Now!" From the tone of Porthos's voice, this was not a good time to argue. Remy dejectedly turned around and trudged back up the stairs, with Porthos close behind him. Porthos pushed the door open and gently pushed Remy back inside.

Porthos looked around, and spotted Athos. He shook his head. "Figured. I didn't think he'd have let you just wander off. Athos!"

Athos woke with a start and looked around in confusion, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. "What is he doing out of bed?"

Porthos snorted. "Leaving, apparently. He was halfway down the stairs as I came in."

Athos looked at Remy with a strange combination of disbelief and disappointment. Remy stared at him defiantly.

"Why were you leaving, boy?" asked Athos.

"I'm just trouble. Best I leave. Not staying where I'm not wanted." Remy tried to sound more confident than he felt.

"Not wanted?" spluttered Porthos. "Jesus, Remy!"

"What is he doing out of bed?" Aramis wandered in, looking confused.

Athos sighed. "He decided to leave as he wasn't wanted." Athos's voice had a ring of defeat, which made Remy frown.

"Not wanted?" Aramis threw his hat on a table. "Hell, Remy, we spent a week ripping this city apart looking for you."

Remy turned to stare at Aramis in disbelief. Aramis rolled his eyes and shook his head. "You had no idea, did you?"

Remy shook his head, completely bewildered. Aramis reached out and pulled him close into a tight hug, being careful not to hug him too tightly.

"We searched everywhere for you, boy. Places I didn't even know existed. It's a good job you messed around with the Captain's map, or Athos would have had us tearing the streets up."

Remy was completely confused now. So they hadn't found him by accident when they raided the thieves. They were actually looking for him. Aramis let him go and ruffled his hair. "So, Remy, explain to me, properly, why were you leaving?"

Remy shrugged. "It seemed like a good idea."

Aramis smiled indulgently. "Well, it was a terrible idea. You're not healed properly yet, you're in no shape to go wandering the streets. Or further afield, if that was your intention."

Remy hung his head a little sheepishly. Aramis sighed and shook his head. "Thought so."

"Why did you think we didn't want you here, Remy?" Athos sounded tired.

Remy turned to face him, but couldn't manage to look him in the eye. "I'm not a thief." He hung his head. "Well, not really."

Athos sighed. "I think this might be my fault. Come here."

Remy edged a little closer.

Athos held Remy's pendant up in his fingers. "When I saw this, I admit, it threw me. I was confused and allowed myself to be distracted. So when you looked to me for reassurance, I didn't give it to you. That's my fault."

Porthos snorted. "That's Lucas's fault. He had no right to search through Remy's pack and steal that."

Athos nodded. "Well, yes, that too. But my reaction was not what Remy needed at that moment in time. I'm guessing it's been eating away at him ever since. Am I right, Remy?"

Remy nodded slowly.

"Alright, so let's put that to one side for now. How did you come by this, Remy?"

Remy glared at him, defensively. "I didn't steal it."

Athos smiled. "I never said you did, Remy, but I would like to know where you got it."

Remy took a deep breath. "My mother gave it to me, just before she died."

Remy shifted his gaze to the floor and completely missed the look of anguish that flashed across Athos's face. Aramis didn't, and he frowned. Athos rose and crossed to the desk by the window. He wrote something down on a piece of paper, folded the paper in two, and handed it to Aramis, before sitting back down.

"What was your mother's name, Remy?"

Remy frowned at Athos. "Marie Anne."

"And where did she get this pendant?"

"She didn't steal it!"

Athos sighed. "Remy, please."

Remy scowled at him. "She said my father gave it to her."

Athos nodded and stared at the ceiling. "What do you know about your father, Remy?"

Remy shrugged. "Not much. He died before I was born. Went off to some fight or other and never came back. That was all she had of him."

"Do you know his name?"

Remy shook his head. "She never said, and I never asked. She got sad the few times she mentioned him. I never liked it when she got sad."

"She wasn't married?"

"No. That's why she moved away. Her family weren't happy that she kept me. They said she should have given me up and got married, but she wouldn't. We did ok. Had a small piece of land, chickens and stuff. She took in sewing. I think her family sent money too. They'd visit sometimes. I always made myself scarce, fewer arguments that way." The words came tumbling out, and Remy had to stop for breath.

"How did she die?" Athos was still staring at the ceiling. At least, he would have been staring at it if his eyes had been open.

Remy bit his lip. "She got a fever. The doctor said she'd be alright, but she wasn't. I don't like doctors."

"And after she died, her family wouldn't take you in?" To Aramis's ears, Athos was choosing his words very carefully.

Remy shook his head. "Two of them came when she died. I think one was her uncle or something. I heard them talking. One said they should just leave me, that I was nothing to them. The other one said he knew someone who'd pay good money for a boy my size, no questions asked. They didn't own me. Had no right to sell me off."

"So you ran away?"

Remy nodded. "Yes. Grabbed my stuff and left."

Porthos reached out and ruffled Remy's hair. "Good for you." Remy managed a weak grin at him.

Athos opened his eyes and rubbed his nose. "So, where are you from, Remy?"

"Foix."

"That's not where your mother was from though."

"No, she was from Marseilles." Remy frowned as he said it, wondering how Athos had known that.

Athos crossed back to the desk and opened a drawer. "This pendant of yours. When I saw it that day in the courtyard, I was somewhat confused. You see, it seemed familiar to me."

He held his hands out. Remy's pendant was in his left hand, and a very similar pendant was in his right. Silver, circular, with a pierced scroll design, the same as Remy's, but this was slightly larger, and where Remy's had a small black stone mounted in the centre, this one had no centre at all. Remy stared at them in confusion.

"They're the same design." Porthos reached out and took them from Athos, examining them closely, before passing them to Aramis. Aramis stared at them, then quickly looked at the piece of paper that Athos had handed him, before shooting Athos a look.

Athos shrugged. "Now you know why I was confused."

He took the pendants back from Aramis and placed Remy's on top of his own, twisting the two items round, and then holding up the one pendant they created.

"Good God." Porthos's jaw dropped. "They fit together."

Aramis took the pendant from Athos, turning it over in his fingers, and handing the piece of paper to Porthos. "Clever design. It splits in two. You keep the outer pendant, and give the inner one to someone else."

Remy was staring at the pendant, dumbfounded. "How can that be? I mean, they can't ... it's just ... I don't understand." He looked pleadingly at Athos.

Athos just stared back at him, letting him work it out for himself.

Remy frowned. "If they fit together, that means ... no. No! No way. No!" Remy took three steps back from Athos and glanced over his shoulder to check where the door was. Aramis grabbed him before he could run.

"No you don't, Remy. You're not running this time."

Remy stared at him, with anger and disbelief in his eyes. "But it means ... it can't ... he can't ..."

Aramis hugged him close. "I think he probably can, Remy."

Athos sighed. "What color hair did your mother have, Remy? Porthos, care to tell him?"

Porthos frowned in complete confusion. "How should I know?"

Aramis chuckled. "Read the piece of paper, Porthos."

"It says, Marie Anne, Marseilles, blond hair and blue eyes ... oh!" Porthos finally realised what was happening. "You mean ...?"

Athos nodded. "Yes, Porthos. It means, whether he likes it or not, Remy is my son."