Wilbur was normally the sort of man who could keep his worries contained.

Part of this was probably the privilege he had of passing on most concerns to Phil and Techno. In a most literal sense, Phil was the one who bore the burden of responsibility as their leader. He was the one who had to sign off on any final decisions - good or bad. It made sense he was also tearing himself up over Tommy's situation to an unhealthy degree. Phil had allowed Tommy to step into that danger, despite all of them agreeing it was a necessary risk. And Techno was just paranoid by nature.

Wilbur had found it easy, comfortable even, to occupy the role within their group of the careless, laid-back one. Somebody who would balance the others, so to speak.

Currently, that was a very hard role to fit.

All eyes were on the royals. Wilbur was acutely aware of how the crowds surrounded them on all sides, leaving only a narrow path for the procession to move through. His musket was in his hand, though the gesture was meant to be performative. When escorting the king and queen, the musketeers would move with weapons drawn. So the sight did not elicit any panic in the commoners. They were cheering, loud and boisterous. Some raised their cups of ale or wine at the group as they walked past. Women wept tears of joy, children reached out their hands eagerly as if the slightest brush of the queen's fine silken gown would bless them by mere touch. The queen waved at the crowd with dainty gestures. The king did the same, though his shoulders were pushed back a bit more in weary agitation. His nervous nature meant he never took as well to this sort of stuff.

But Wilbur had little attention for him.

He knew Techno would have not spilled a word to either the captain or to Phil. Truly, it was not their business anyway. Wilbur could allow a flight of fancy to be just that, a temporary hysteria of good mood. He knew how to reel himself in.

Even when the queen tilted her head to the side a bit, where Wilbur was walking next to her, and smiled.

He was worried about Tommy's well-being. And knowing that they were allowing an assassination plan to go through, Wilbur was worried about her as well. Explosives could make many innocent victims. How much blood would stain the streets of Paris today if they were not careful? How cruel of them not to warn the civilians currently lining the procession walking through without a hint of the tragedy they knew was planned.

Some of his anxiety was waylaid by his friends, at least. Captain Sam was ahead of them, taking charge of clearing the road so their walk back to the palace could continue smoothly. On the king's side, Phil was in much the same position as Wilbur - the royal couple squeezed between them. From the crowds, Wilbur caught the occasional glance of Techno. They had posted several musketeers not in the procession itself but moving more hidden within the throngs of screaming people.

And thus it had become a waiting game. They knew Vadim would strike. They just didn't know how or when exactly.

Once, Wilbur caught Phil's blue eyes, lined with a lack of sleep. Tommy might be dead. Soon, they might join him.

The arched roof of a carriage became visible around the next corner. Far be it from the royals to walk all that distance from Notre Dame to the palace, only the first handful of streets would be covered by foot. Once inside there, some peace would return. The odds of a successful assassination would also drop dramatically.

No wonder, then, that a cry would rise out above the crowd before they got there.

"Death to tyrants!"

Panic seized control immediately, grip tight as iron shackles. Yells of jubilation and joy turned into horror and fear. Commoners started to run in every which direction, blindly. They could not see where the threat was coming from. Even Wilbur couldn't. He was calmer under pressure, but the chaos was instant.

Then he saw it, several people from within the mass with scarves tied around their faces. Either to keep anonymity or to protect their airways from smoke, as they had muskets and small iron canisters filled with gunpowder. Hand-crafted grenades Vadim and his men poured hours over to make.

"Over there, in the crowd! Move, protect the king!"

Even before Sam finished relaying his commands, the musketeers moved as one. They fell back into formation, flanking the royals from all sides. Two men in the front knelt, aiming their guns. This also allowed a clear line of sight from the others. Wilbur spotted Techno jumping into action too, throwing his arms over another man from the back to strangle him into unconsciousness. Phil was not so merciful. His musket had already fired one shot, the iron bullet finding home in some poor sod's chest.

As it was, terrorists would not get a trial. Trying to assassinate the royals was unforgivable in the eyes of the crown.

Since these were the people responsible for Tommy's blood staining the floor at the underground hideout they raided, Wilbur felt very vindicated all the same.

"Move! We need to make our way forward," Phil said sternly. Wilbur blinked out of his swirling thoughts, this was no time to get distracted.

"Got it." He pulled the trigger, shooting one man trying to approach with a dagger drawn. Running forward to clear the area, he slammed the heel of his boot into the stomach of another attack and reloaded the barrel when a third insurgent hooked his arm around the waist of a woman trying to flee the attack.

A rush of hot air from nearby explosions made Wilbur stumble forward.

"Take the shot!" Phil commanded, herding the royals along behind Wilbur, trying to get to the carriage.

The hostage cowered, hands clasped and lips moving in what Wilbur could only assume was muted prayer. As if God himself would strike down the sinners. Her eyes were pinched closed, chest spasming frantically with frightened inhales. The man who had taken hold of her grinned, assuming Wilbur wouldn't shoot. They held something in their other hand.

One of those improvised grenades.

Wilbur raised his gun and looked down the barrel. When he pulled the trigger, blood splattered against the polished sandstone of the building behind them, the insurgent hissing at their torn open skin. Only a graze, no true shot. But the hostage remained unharmed.

Not that it stopped them from chucking the grenade towards him in the next moment.

Wilbur followed the arch over him as if slowed in time, watching the metal canister continue rolling after hitting the ground until it came to a stop mere inches from the queen's feet.

"Back! Back!" Sam was already yelling, dragging both royals away in a messy formation. Wilbur turned and ran towards them.

The distance was not enough. The risk of shrapnel was too great.

"Wilbur, no!" Phil must have realized what he was planning. Drawing the blue half cape over his elbow, Wilbur skidded to the ground so he could throw the fabric - and subsequently his own body - over the grenade. He patted at it urgently, having only luck to thank when it was enough to douse the flame.

"Fuck, that was close," he said to himself.

The musketeers walked past him. Phil was too busy leading the royals, but his stern glare told Wilbur that he'd be getting an earful about his foolish heroism later. Not that he could bother to feel bad about it. He'd done the right thing. This could have ended a lot worse.

And it was a nice feeling to have the queen look at him with open admiration at his bravery.

He smiled at her. Then he took the cross hanging around his neck, the very same one she gave him at the palace the other day, and raised it to his lips. The smooth jewelry was already stained from him wearing it all the time. But she saw and the glint in her eye told Wilbur that she realized the good luck charm it had become for him.

Hastily, the royals were shoved into the carriage with a bit more chaos than was optimal. Wilbur got up, feeling a hand land on his back. He almost turned and started to fight again, adrenaline running high in his system. But it was just Techno coming to check in on how he was.

"Surround the carriage, go, move!" Sam was still barking orders as usual.

"It's a dud…" Wilbur said, looking at the grenade at his feet. He picked it up and indeed, the canister was empty. Phil joined them.

"They were never meant to go off," the older man said, looking around. Wilbur realized it was true, he hadn't heard a single explosion within the mayhem of the attack. "They're all duds."

And at that exact moment, Paris seemed to shake from a distant blast.

"He made us look in the wrong direction," Techno said.

"It's coming from the palace." Phil gestured, urging the other two to follow him. "He's not trying to kill the king. He's going to rob him."

Tommy was in some deep, deep, deep shit.

Right as he thought everything was going his way, and he could earn himself a quick ticket into Phil's good graces and win the musketeer's respect, everything went wrong. He assumed he had it in the bag, sitting in that underground base surrounded by grown men plotting an assassination. The next thing he knew, Vadim hit him in the temple with a heavy bludgeon.

He pulled Tommy's head back by his hair, ignoring the pained hiss that came from Tommy's throat.

"You thought I wouldn't notice a snake hiding in plain sight?" Vadim asked, voice cold. All of the fragile trust they built up over the past week was gone.

Tommy thought he was about to die. "I already told the musketeers everything," he spat. Blood spilled down his shoulder, the warmth of it soaking his shirt. "Your plan is ruined."

"You told them exactly what I wanted you to," Vadim said. A smirk made his teeth gleam in the flickering candlelight. "I explained how the trick worked, Thomas. You should have been paying better attention."

And that was how Tommy found himself in his current predicament, rough ropes binding him against a wooden casket filled with gunpowder. A lot of other barrels surrounded him. The entire thing would blow up in exactly ten minutes unless Tommy found a way to stop the candle that was slowly burning down so flames could catch on the fuse. Vadim had discovered these underground tunnels while working in the palace. They ran from the palace all the way to the outskirts of Paris, an ancient escape route should the royals be laid under siege. With a little bit of effort, they had become both a distraction and an entry point for Vadim's thievery.

"Fuck."

Sweat slid down the back of Tommy's neck, stinging where it crept under his collar. He struggled, finding he was tied up too tight to do much. If he pitched one way, the rope pulled taut over the wood. Lean the other way, it went slack again. The sound of chafing annoyed him.

But it was the best plan Tommy had.

Embarrassing as it was, he had no choice but to wiggle like a worm stuck on a hook, desperately hoping it would fray the rope in time. Thank God Techno wasn't around, that guy would make fun of him forever if he could see Tommy struggling like that.

The candle burned out and for a moment the room was thrown into darkness. Tommy was almost relieved, until a spark caught and the fuse itself started to burn. Tommy wiggled faster.

One arm came loose and he pulled, his wrist aching from having to force it free. He used it to work at the rope tied around his other arm quickly. Then his legs. He got up, using the barrels as support so he wouldn't fall. His head was pounding and he was dizzy. He might have a concussion.

First things first though. Using the heel of his shoe, Tommy stomped down on the lit fuse and put it out, snuffing the flame before it could do any damage.

He kicked some sand over it for good measure before stumbling back. He needed to find Vadim, who had no doubt robbed the palace blind in the meantime and was perhaps at this very moment escaping with the loot. Tommy walked over to the door, pulling on it. He didn't see Vadim lock it, but the steel gate still snagged on something. Sighing in exasperation, Tommy pulled harder.

The gate did open then, though the motion was accompanied by an odd hiss and three more fuses being lighted by the friction. Tommy blinked down at them, only just noticing the thin cords running over the ground. Vadim had been prepared for anything, huh?

Tommy jumped over and tried to stomp on these sparks too, but they were quicker and had caught more flammable. The room was also rapidly filling with smoke, until Tommy had to cough in his elbow and found he couldn't breathe.

It was a lost cause.

Deciding his life was worth more than the integrity of this cursed underground structure, Tommy turned and ran.

His vision swayed, blurring around the edges. Tommy had no fucking clue where he should go, the tunnels were a maze. But getting as far as fucking possible from the room with the tons of explosives in them seemed like a decent start. Heartbeat pounding a mile a minute, Tommy felt adrenaline run hot through his veins.

And it felt amazing.

Phil had said something once during training, about how the best men for the musketeers were those who had so little to live for that danger would become appetizing to them. Back then, it had seemed a rather grim comment. All Tommy had done was wonder what that meant for Wilbur, for Techno, for Phil himself.

The grin spreading on his face did not leave much hope for Tommy either.

"Vadim!"

He could hear a voice in the distance. Phil? Tommy picked up the pace, knowing that the explosives could blow at any moment. He needed to warn them, they all needed to get out.

He rounded the corner just in time to see the three others, and then Vadim himself who had already put his hands over his ears to protect them from the blast. Phil's eyes went wide when he saw Tommy, and he only had a blink to savor the pride there.

"Get down!" Phil yelled.

The entire tunnel shook with the explosion, the heat of fire traveling along cracked rocks. Rubble came down on them, and a rock hitting Tommy's head stole him away into darkness.

If his ears hadn't been ringing before, that second explosion would have certainly done the trick.

Tommy felt hands on his face, a strong grip hooking around his shoulder to help him up.

"I'm fine," he said, voice shaky. "Phil, I'm fine."

"You had us fucking scared shitless," Phil said candidly.

"The others- Are they?"

"All four limbs are attached," Techno confirmed, coughing a few times as dust and ash filled the air. "Where's Vadim?"

"Took off while we were knocked out," Wilbur said.

"He couldn't have gone far, half the tunnel collapsed." Phil helped Tommy onto his feet properly. "And we were only out for a few minutes at most."

Picking up a torch from the ground, Techno lit it with the flintlock mechanism of his gun. Shadows drew along the wall. "Let's not waste time then."

"Are you okay to continue?" Wilbur asked while putting a hand on Tommy's shoulders, not-so-subtle in his attempt to scan the younger man for any injuries. Aside from the likely concussion (especially likely after the second blow to the temple. Tommy really was a lucky guy), Tommy knew he was unwounded. Or unwounded enough to keep going.

"I'm good."

Wilbur nodded, allowing Phil to lead the way into the darkness. Before long they heard sounds ahead of them, luring them toward an exit maybe. Or deeper inside the bowels of the catacombs. A man was lying prone on the ground up ahead, unmoving.

"It's…" Tommy stopped, gasping. "It's Vadim's right-hand man. Did he-"

"Stabbed," Techno confirmed after turning over the body. "I suppose Vadim did not inform them he was setting them up to throw duds?"

"Wanted to take all the spoils for himself?" Phil wondered out loud. "Was all his talk of revolution also a front?"

"Maybe." Techno straightened again. "Does it matter? Stealing a fortune from the royals is as much of a resistance as any uprising."

Phil snorted as they kept going, weapons in hand. Not long after, they came upon another group of men, more of Vadim's people. They were looking for an exit too. And they would not be arrested, preferring to go down with a fight.

"Go ahead," Phil said, trusting his own torch in Tommy's direction. "Vadim can't be far. We'll be right behind you."

Tommy nodded, anxiously clutching the wood.

He would see this through to the very end.

The darkness became more impenetrable the further he went. Tommy shivered, the temperature this far below the earth was always lower than air touched by the sun. He wasn't wearing much armor, a sudden thought that popped up and almost made him double back. Until Vadim's voice beckoned from the darkness.

"Perhaps I underestimated you."

Tommy pulled out his sword. "You're not going to come easy, are ya?"

After spending a few days in the prisons of Paris himself, Tommy found he could almost not blame the man.

Vadim swung first, the grand move meant to gut him with one motion. Tommy jumped back, the torch illuminating the walls of the tunnel. He could not drop it, lest he lose the only advantage he had. Though the way Vadim seemed to blend into the shadows with ease made it feel almost more like an inconvenience. He could fight one-handed but it left him encumbered, clumsy. Another slice almost saw Tommy lose his hand at the wrist, though he stepped to the side and turned, bringing his sword against Vadim's lower rib cage. He could feel the sharp edge dig into the meat there, tearing open flesh.

Vadim cursed and balked, disappearing into the dark again. His footsteps receded.

Tommy had rarely met a man this stubborn.

"Tommy," Phil asked, coming up behind him. The others too. They must have dealt with those few men remarkably easily. Tommy expected nothing less.

"He's wounded. Badly. He won't go far."

They followed the trail of precious jewels and blood, the tunnel growing narrower until it ended in a rusted grate. The bars were too wide to stop anybody from slipping through, though Vadim had pitifully sunk to his knees on the sandy river bank of the old Seine. The river used to run there before the royals moved it.

But at least Vadim would die looking up at the sky and not those wretched stones laid by an uncaring monarchy.

A laugh more dry humor than desperation came from Vadim's bleeding chest when he saw Tommy. "I should have killed you when I had the chance," the man said. His eyes were half-empty already.

"Then why didn't you?" Tommy asked. None of them had their swords drawn anymore. There was no point.

Vadim chuckled, more spit stained pink by blood running down his chin. "For the fun of it. It was a good trick." His hand clutched at something. The coin he was holding in the cell. "It was a good trick, it should have worked."

Tommy watched the life snuff out of him, and then the river bank was silent.

"It almost did," he said.

The others did not press him afterward.

Where the end of their first missions together had been full of drink and laughter, celebrating the victory well earned, what left them this time was more hollow.

Tommy wanted to sleep for a thousand years.

Niki insisted on dinner, she always did. And it lifted his spirits some that as she put away the cups and plates they had used, her blue eyes stayed stuck on her hands as she worked while she cleared her throat. "You know, things used to be a lot calmer before you came around. There was no nonsense of me hiding wanted criminals or any of that."

"Sorry," Tommy said, leaning back in his chair. "You must miss the peace and quiet."

He did, sometimes. The simple life of a farmer.

But Niki grinned at him. "Not even for a second."

And he did smile back at her.

He went up to his room, closing the door behind him. He wondered what tomorrow would be like, in the barracks. So occupied was he by this, Tommy almost didn't notice the small bound flowers on his pillow.

Just the tiniest cluster of forget-me-nots, which would always be accompanied by the memory of a mysterious woman with almost purple eyes.