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Chapter Text

Athos came awake slowly, his head throbbing and thoughts muddied. Prying his eyes open sluggishly, he squinted at the ceiling of his quarters for several long moments before deciding to drag himself out of bed. Every muscle protested the movement, his head especially. As soon as he was upright, he was bowing forward and catching his aching head in his hand. He forgot how fantastically drunk he could get when they were docked on a planet with good quality wine.

Grabbing his flask from the bedside shelf, he took a swig of whatever foul vintage was left in it to take the edge off his hangover. He then pulled himself to his feet and shuffled over to the wall where he opened the sink compartment and turned the faucet on. The water was cold and sent a shudder down his spine as he splashed it over his face. But it did its job in waking him up a little more.

Athos turned the water off and backed into the center of the small space. He stretched out his aching limbs, noticing a twinge in one knee. He'd probably banged it on the ladder on his way down. Aramis kept telling him one day he was simply going to fall through the hatch trying to get to bed and break his neck, but it hadn't happened yet. Usually because someone was always there to catch him.

Once he'd finished unlocking his joints, he changed his shirt and slipped into his leather coat, then clipped his pistols to his belt. His sword in its scabbard was hanging from a hook in the ceiling, which he grabbed on his way up the ladder to the main deck of the ship he was captain of—Luciole. The Firefly class ship was a transport vessel with multipurpose functionality. It was part of a fleet commanded by Commodore Treville. Most of the employees were soldiers, nicknamed "musketeers," but they took a variety of jobs ranging from cargo deliveries to escort details.

Athos stepped out into the corridor in time for Aramis to walk past, looking like he was on his way out. The man flipped his hat up onto his head without breaking stride.

"I'm going to fetch Porthos from whatever dive he's still playing cards in," Aramis said. "Treville left a message with a job for us."

Athos acknowledged him with a nod and headed for the bridge. There was a recorded transmission from their commander simply saying they had a new assignment and to contact him for further details.

Athos sank into the seat at the comms station across from the helm and flipped on the telephonix, calling Treville. After a few moments, the image of a man with short graying hair filled the small screen.

"Commodore," Athos greeted.

"Athos. Any duels take place last night that I should know about?"

"No," he drawled. "We have a mission?"

Treville huffed and said without further preamble, "We've been hired by Ninon de Larroque to ferry her and a shipment of medical supplies on a humanitarian mission to Newhall that's experiencing an outbreak of disease."

Athos arched a brow. A high-born lady taking on that kind of journey was certainly unusual. "When are we to depart?"

"She'll meet you at the docks in two hours."

"Understood. Luciole out."

He switched off the monitor and stood, strapped his sword to his belt, and then made his way down to the engine room to inform his engineer about the trip. But when he stepped into the compartment, he came upon d'Artagnan and Constance engaged in a passionate embrace, tools discarded on the floor at their feet. Athos crossed his arms and leaned against the wall.

It took them another moment to notice his presence, and then they were breaking apart in a hurry. Constance's cheeks flushed while d'Artagnan gave a sheepish smile and ran a hand through his hair.

"You have a room, you know," Athos remarked dryly to the married couple.

D'Artagnan cleared his throat. "Right. Sorry."

Constance shook her head. "I was just finishin' up recalibratin' the compression coil I installed yesterday."

"Is everything in order? Because we've received a job."

"When are we leaving?"

"Two hours."

Constance nodded. "The ship'll be ready, Captain." She turned to d'Artagnan and started shooing him toward the corridor. "If someone will let me get my work done."

D'Artagnan threw her a look of mock betrayal as she ushered him out. Just as she turned around, he snaked an arm around her waist and twisted her back to steal a kiss before then dancing away from her immediate smack.

Athos's lips quirked in a barely contained smile. He may not have held any personal love of, well, love, but he didn't begrudge those two their happiness.

"So what's the job?" d'Artagnan asked as they walked through the ship.

"Escorting one Ninon de Larroque and a shipment of medical supplies to Newhall."

D'Artagnan frowned. "Isn't Ninon de Larroque a noblewoman?"

"Yes."

"That should be interesting." He sounded mildly intrigued.

Athos, however, was not looking forward to it.

o.0.o

He and his crew had assembled in the open cargo bay to meet Ninon when she arrived at the docks. As Athos expected, she was dressed in a noblewoman's finery—a richly patterned gown and finely stitched bodice. Long blonde hair fell in cascading ringlets over her shoulders.

"Madame de Larroque," Athos greeted with stiff formality. "I am Captain Athos. This is Aramis, Porthos, d'Artagnan, and Constance. Welcome aboard."

The woman nodded to each of them before turning back to him. "Thank you for your help in this matter."

"You are paying us to do a job," Athos replied blandly.

She canted her head at him for an extra beat. "So I am." Turning around, she gestured to the men behind her to start loading the crates she'd brought.

Aramis and Porthos helped them secure the cargo, while Athos beckoned Ninon to come inside so he could show her around.

"This is the mess. You're welcome to any provisions there are." He led her down the corridor to her guest quarters and opened the opaque sliding door. "If you need anything, you have but to ask."

"What if it is company I desire?"

Athos faltered. "I'm sure any one of my crew might indulge you in the mess."

Aramis, particularly, would likely be happy to, though Athos also dearly hoped the marksman wouldn't seek out something further than that. They did not need a complication from his Lothario ways.

"And what about you indulging me?" Ninon prompted.

Athos didn't know what to say to that. He was not interested in a passing flirtation or fling.

"It is only a day and a half to Newhall," he said instead. "I'm sure the journey will pass quickly."

He walked away.

He met Aramis and Porthos on the catwalks above the cargo bay, the doors now shut.

"We're all loaded up and ready to go," Porthos reported.

Athos nodded, then turned to Aramis. "You might need to entertain Madame de Larroque for the duration of our journey," he said lowly.

Aramis's brows rose in surprise. "Not that I'm not willing to keep a lonely woman company…but why are you suggesting it?"

Athos's jaw ticked. "I'm not saying bed her—in fact, don't. Just…keep her otherwise occupied if need be."

Porthos narrowed his eyes and exchanged a bewildered look with Aramis. "We ain't gonna be flyin' that long."

"I know that. I'm just saying…"

"Captain Athos," a lilting voice called out.

He grimaced but made sure to clear it when he turned to look over his shoulder. "Madame?"

"I've never been on a Firefly class vessel before. Perhaps you will give me more than the standard tour."

"Perhaps later."

She gave him a coy smile before retreating back into the corridor.

A pair of snickers sounded behind him.

"So you want me to distract her because the fair Ninon de Larroque fancies the captain," Aramis said with a grin that was taking far too much pleasure in this.

Athos rolled his eyes. "I have work to do."

"Yes, Captain." Aramis saluted cheekily.

Athos ignored him and headed to the bridge where d'Artagnan was at the helm fiddling with the controls.

"We're ready to take off," Athos told him.

D'Artagnan flipped a few more switches and took hold of the joystick. The engines fired up and the ship vibrated with the vertical take-off that lifted them from the docks. Once they reached a certain altitude, d'Artagnan switched the orientation of the thrusters and directed them up into the atmosphere.

o.0.o

The ship hummed quietly, every thrum more prominent with most of the crew bedded down for the night. Athos checked the auto-pilot and the course before heading into the mess. He reached all the way to the back of one of the top shelves to pull out a bottle of wine, then sat at the table to drink. He knew he couldn't let himself get black-out drunk like he may wish, but he could go for halfway there.

Movement caught his attention and he stiffened as Ninon wandered in, draped in a floor-length robe. Athos was both mildly surprised and relieved that Aramis had apparently not taken the woman to bed. It was better not to mix business with pleasure, though at the same time, Athos found himself inexplicably uncomfortable in her presence. It irked him.

"It's late," he said.

"I can never adjust to space travel where there's no sun to mark the passage of time," she replied, moving forward and sliding onto the bench seat across the table from him. "Offer a woman some wine?"

Athos stood wordlessly and retrieved a cup. Returning to the table, he poured some wine into it and slid it across the table to her. "It's unusual for a woman of your standing to show such hands-on interest in humanitarian causes," he said.

She took a sip, eyeing him over the rim of the cup. "Just as it's unusual for a man of your station to become captain of a cargo ship in the musketeer regiment."

He wasn't surprised she might have recognized him. He'd been a lord by birth, but he had little use for such a title after his wife had destroyed everything.

"I have no interest in station."

"And I have no interest in abiding by societal roles."

Athos inclined his head; he could respect that.

Ninon set her cup down. "I've sent aid in the past, but it has not made it to the people who need it. There's corruption in the government, and my inquiries with the Alliance have been dismissed with vague promises that the matter will be investigated. It hasn't been, and I will no longer wait. This time I will personally see to it that the aid gets where it needs to go."

Athos nodded. "My crew will ensure it does."

o.0.o

They arrived at Newhall and d'Artagnan landed the ship just outside the small town of Barton. From there they loaded the crates onto a cart attached to the ATV and headed into town while Constance stayed with the ship. Ninon directed them to stop on the outskirts next to an old building constructed in the style of a church. There was even a cross on a spire on the roof. The place was an orphanage under the care of the Church.

A shepherdess in a black habit came out and immediately embraced Ninon. "Bless you for coming."

"Of course," Ninon replied. She gestured to the supplies where Porthos was dismounting the ATV. "We've brought medicine and other medical supplies."

Aramis stepped forward. "Sister, I'd like to take a look at your patients and offer help where I can."

"Are you a doctor?"

"Not by trade, but I've picked up some things here and there."

The shepherdess smiled. "Your assistance would be most welcome."

Aramis glanced at Athos, who nodded as the shepherdess led him inside the orphanage. The others set to unloading the crates and carrying them inside, depositing them in the foyer. Beyond that was the refectory, which had been transformed into a makeshift hospital, with cots and pallets laid out in rows along the walls. Men and women in habits moved in and out among the patients, most of whom were children, though there were some adults as well. A somber silence permeated the room, broken here and there by a cough.

Athos and his crew stepped back as the orphanage caretakers immediately set upon the crates of medicine to pop them open and begin distribution. Since this wasn't within his realm of duties, Athos headed back outside to stay out of the way. D'Artagnan followed, saying he was going to go back to the ship. Athos gave him a nod.

He stood outside the orphanage and surveyed the street. Ramshackle buildings coated in dust almost blended into the arid landscape. This town was certainly on the poor side. Sickness had driven people indoors, it seemed, as there was little foot traffic, at least this close to the orphanage.

A few moments later, Porthos emerged. He ran a hand down his beard, expression taut.

"Are you all right?" Athos asked.

The large man gave himself a sharp shake. "It's pretty bad in there. We might have trouble getting Aramis away."

"We're not due back yet," Athos replied. "We can spare some time." He waited, letting his friend shift and fidget in apparent agitation. When he still wasn't forthcoming, Athos prompted, "Porthos."

"Jus' brings back bad memories," he finally confessed gruffly.

Athos nodded in understanding.

Porthos glanced back at the closed door, eyes likely seeing beyond to what lay within. "My mother…she looked jus' like that. Don' know if it was the same sickness. They're all the same anyway. An' the little ones…"

Athos placed a hand on his friend's shoulder. There were no words of comfort in this situation. Or, well, the shepherdesses would disagree, but Athos didn't believe in their hollow platitudes. So he offered his silent but steady presence instead. It was all he had to give.

Porthos flicked his gaze over with a wan smile. It was enough.

o.0.o

D'Artagnan returned from the ship with Constance, who wanted to help with the sick when she learned they'd be staying a bit. Her husband had tried to assist as well, but after finding himself out of his depth, he'd rejoined Athos and Porthos outside, and now the three were nursing some alcohol between them as they stood around, feeling rather useless.

A few of the townsfolk had wandered over, curious about the new arrivals. They'd been suspicious at first about strangers claiming they'd delivered medical aid, but after being reassured by the shepherdess, they'd stopped eyeing the musketeers with open mistrust and gone back to their business.

That was, until a group of five, rough-looking men armed with guns and swords came storming down the street toward the orphanage. Porthos tapped Athos's shoulder and jerked his chin toward them. The musketeers set their cups aside and stepped into a line of three, blocking access to the building.

"Are you the ones that ship belongs to?" one of the men demanded, pointing toward where the Luciole was parked.

"It does," Athos replied. "I am Captain Athos."

"Your ship is in violation of customs."

Athos exchanged a look with Porthos and d'Artagnan. Curious, they hadn't said their business here involved goods.

"We are on a humanitarian mission sanctioned by the Alliance," Athos replied calmly. "And medicinal supplies are not subject to customs laws."

"The governor of Newhall will decide how resources are allocated," the man spat. "Confiscate everything." He cocked his head at his men, who started forward.

The musketeers stood their ground, hands going to the hilts of their swords.

"I advise against it," Athos warned.

The men surged forward. Athos ducked a fist swung at his head and followed-up with a punch to the attacker's kidney. Kicking the man to the ground, he drew his sword and whirled in time to block a strike aimed at his back. Steel clashed with a screech. Athos shoved the blade away and thrust his own into the man's stomach.

Porthos knocked another man flat on his ass and let out a battle cry before swinging his schiavona around and cutting down the next.

D'Artagnan was in a fist fight with the last man but holding his own. After a few exchanged blows, he managed to fling his opponent to the ground, and then he drew his sword to point it at the man's throat.

The leader went for his holstered gun, but Athos twirled his blade and smacked the tip down on his wrist in warning. The man stiffened, his nostrils flaring with vitriol.

"Leave," Athos said. "And don't trouble these people again, or I will report you to Alliance authorities."

The man was shaking with rage, but he knew he and his thugs had been thrashed. With a stiff nod, he slowly moved his hand away from his gun and started to back up. The musketeers kept their weapons raised as the rest of the men shuffled away with their wounded. Only once they were out of sight did Athos sheath his blade.

"That probably ain't over," Porthos commented.

"No," Athos agreed. "We'll set up a watch, and I'll contact Treville."

o.0.o

Athos stood in the foyer just outside the refectory of the orphanage, watching Aramis lean over a child's sickbed and dab the boy's forehead with a cool cloth. The marksman had shed his doublet somewhere and rolled up his shirt sleeves, diving into the task of tending to the sick with full abandon. His skills would have been useful in setting up the watch, but Athos didn't begrudge his desire to help these people. And as the official medic of the crew, it was like asking Aramis to choose between two duties. So Athos was content to leave him be. For now.

He met Constance's eye across the room and gave her a silent order to make sure Aramis slept at some point during the night. She gave a subtle nod in response; she could try, in any case. They both knew Aramis was too giving for his own good.

Athos turned and stepped back outside, the sky a brilliant orange as the sun sank toward the horizon. Porthos was there, eyes peeled against the shadows that would be upon them shortly.

"D'Artagnan and I set up some trip sensors," he reported. "If they come during the night, we should get some warning."

Athos nodded in approval.

"Aramis is gonna work himself into the ground," Porthos huffed next.

"Constance will keep an eye on him."

"What'd Treville say?"

Athos sighed. "That getting a contingent of feds out here anytime soon would be like getting snails to race. He's going to see what he can do."

Porthos grumbled something unintelligible under his breath. "The wealthy think the poor don' deserve things like simple human decency."

Athos kept his silence at that. He'd once been one of the wealthy class. "We will make sure these people are helped." It was the only promise he could give.

Porthos clapped Athos on the shoulder. "I'm gonna check the perimeter."

He set off, and Athos looked around, equally on guard for incoming threats.

The front door creaked open and Ninon stepped out. While her dress was still rich, she too had rolled her sleeves up and cast off her jewelry, her hair tied back but strands flying loose from the dry air.

"I only paid for you to transport me here," she remarked, coming up to him.

Athos quirked a questioning brow at her.

Her lips twitched. "Your man is doctoring the sick. Your engineer is playing nursemaid. And the rest of your crew is protecting everyone here from unscrupulous thieves. Since I'm not paying you for those services, I can only assume you're doing it out of…honor."

"Is that so hard to believe?"

"Not of a musketeer," she replied with a smile. "Why do you think I came to your company?"

There was a moment of silence. Then another. Athos just stood there as Ninon started to lean closer, and then her soft lips were suddenly pressing against his. For a moment, his body responded before his head as he embraced the kiss, but then he broke away and clasped her arms, holding her at bay.

"Madame…"

"Is there someone else?"

His heart gave a pang. "No. But I have sworn off romance."

"Hm." She tapped one delicate finger against his chest. "Pity."

With that, she went back inside. Athos let out a breath and wished he could get drunk.

o.0.o

They split watches through the night, but the sensors weren't tripped and nothing amiss happened. In the morning, Athos checked on Aramis and Constance, and found Madame d'Artagnan curled up with her husband on a cramped cot. Aramis, however, was still seeing to patients. Athos rolled his eyes as he crossed the room.

"Have you eaten?" he asked.

Aramis glanced up, looking caught off guard. Definitely little to no sleep then.

Without waiting for a response, Athos passed over a protein bar. "Do not pocket that," he said sharply.

Aramis froze, and then with a sheepish duck of his gaze, he ripped the package open with his teeth and hungrily dug into the small bar.

"Has there been any improvement?" Athos asked.

Aramis nodded. "The medicine is working. But those who were the sickest when we arrived…they're still struggling."

Athos roved his gaze over the many beds and the small bodies tucked under the sheets. Some seemed to be sleeping peacefully, but others had cheeks flushed with fever and faces grimaced in distress.

"You've helped a lot of them," Athos said.

Aramis nodded mutely. It wasn't enough for him, Athos knew.

Heavy boots stormed into the refectory and they both jerked their attention over to Porthos. He held up a hand-held reader that was beeping furiously. "We got incoming."

Athos rounded the bed. "How many?"

"Twenty or so." Porthos tapped the screen and held it up. One of the sensor cameras displayed a large group of men, heavily armed, heading down the street toward the orphanage.

Athos waved down the shepherdess. "Is there access to the roof?"

"Yes…"

Athos didn't even have to say it for Aramis to immediately ask the woman to show him.

"Wha's happ'n?" d'Artagnan mumbled, pushing up from the cot blearily and jostling Constance.

"Our friends from yesterday didn't take Athos's warning seriously," Porthos said, already heading for the door.

The sleepy couple scrambled after him, and the four of them hurried back to the ship to retrieve as many weapons as they could carry. Porthos grabbed a couple assault rifles, d'Artagnan an Uzi and extra ammo. Athos preferred his revolvers but he snatched up a sniper rifle for Aramis.

"I want ta help," Constance said.

D'Artagnan shook his head, even as he pushed a pistol into her hand. "Stay in the orphanage with the children."

She huffed, pulling back the slide to check it was fully loaded.

They booked it back to the orphanage.

"How close?" Athos asked.

Porthos fished out the receiver from his coat and checked the screen. "Two minutes."

Athos passed the sniper rifle to Constance and she hurried inside, knowing to get it to Aramis.

Athos surveyed the street, pointing out places for the rest of them to set up with some cover. Porthos took the first alley across from the orphanage while Athos and d'Artagnan positioned themselves behind a pile of crates. Athos craned his neck back to glance up, catching the thin barrel of a rifle extending from the roof. He turned back to the road.

A few moments later, the group appeared, a cloud of dust kicked up behind their tread and spreading a hazy film over the town.

"That's far enough!" Athos shouted.

The men drew to a stop. The leader from before took one step forward.

"In the name of the governor of Newhall, you are ordered to surrender!"

D'Artagnan leaned toward Athos. "Are we the lawmen or the outlaws here?"

"Depends on how you look at it," he replied mildly. "I do not recognize your authority!" he shouted back. "Unless you care to present a signed writ, all the supplies in this orphanage are property of the caretakers."

The leader waved a hand and two of his men pulled something from their weapons belts. It took Athos a split second to recognize the grenades. A rifle shot cracked the air and one of the men dropped dead before he could pull the pin. The second jerked in surprise, and the rest of the men aimed their guns and started peppering the street with bullets. Athos and d'Artagnan pressed themselves behind the crates as ricochets splintered the ground and building behind them.

More shots fired as Aramis took out more men from his perch. But it gave away his location and someone started shooting a machine gun up that way. Athos swung low as he came around the edge of the crates and fired back. He shot the guy blasting the machine gun with his second hit and then ducked back under cover.

Porthos roared as he came out brandishing his assault rifle in a sweeping arc that sent the armed thugs scattering. A grenade bounced across the ground and Porthos barely managed to dive back into the alley in time before it exploded.

Athos and d'Artagnan fired off more rounds, but then some of the men had gotten too close, and they switched to swords, charging out from behind their cover and striking down those who had dared challenge them. For those who tried to shoot them from a distance, Aramis's sniper fire continued to cover them.

A cry rose up in the streets, and Athos paused for just a moment as he saw townspeople pouring into the street with guns and clubs, coming at the enemy from behind. He turned back to his opponent, their blades striking in a staccato rhythm before Athos finally disarmed him and thrust his sword through the man's chest.

The last of the battle sounds faded and Athos took a step back to survey the damage. Bodies were sprawled everywhere, mostly the governor's corrupt muscle, but some townsfolk as well appeared to be wounded. They had, however, won the day.

The orphanage's door opened and Constance and Ninon emerged. Ninon's eyes were wide as she took in the scene. And then her gaze landed on Athos.

"Are you all alright?" she asked.

He sheathed his sword, doing a quick assessment of his crew. "Yes."

Aramis came jogging out a moment later. He had an abrasion on his cheek that looked like he'd been caught in some plaster exploding when the machine gun had ripped through the top of the building, but otherwise unharmed.

"I'd hate to think what will happen if the governor tries to send more," he said.

Indeed.

Aramis's gaze caught sight of some wounded townspeople and he immediately set his rifle down and hurried over to help.

Athos was just starting to ponder how to go about cleaning all this up when a grunt and cock of a gun drew his attention. He'd barely turned when a sharp report split the air, and then he blinked as one of the goons fell back, the pistol in his hand slipping from his fingers.

Everyone had frozen, and then Athos turned to see Constance holding a smoking gun. Her husband gaped at her.

Constance rolled her eyes. "Why do you all always forget I can shoot as well as any of you?" With a huff, she turned on her heel and strode back inside.

D'Artagnan glanced around at the others. "My wife," he said with a touch of pride.

Porthos grinned.

Athos, Porthos, and d'Artagnan set about securing the men who were still alive and tying them up in a nearby building that wasn't in use. Aramis, of course, went back to running himself nonstop stitching up gunshot wounds and treating burns from the firefight.

Treville finally sent a message that an Alliance ship was en route and would be there in a few hours.

"O' course they swoop in after all the work's been done," Porthos grumbled.

Athos merely pulled out his flask and took a swig before passing it over.

When the authorities finally arrived, Athos gave his report and handed over the prisoners. The lieutenant promised there would be a full investigation into the governor. Athos wasn't going to hold his breath, but at least the people of Barton were going to be keeping Ninon's generous donation.

"Thank you for your help," she said as they stood outside the ship getting ready to depart. "I can pay you extra."

"That's not necessary," Athos said. "It was our pleasure to help."

She smiled. "I'm going to stay for a while, make sure things do improve."

Athos's lips twitched. He could just imagine the feds having to deal with her. But he wished her luck.

They bid farewell and he watched her walk back to the orphanage before he boarded his ship last. Constance closed the cargo bay doors behind him, while Porthos was already tugging an obviously exhausted Aramis toward the stairs up to the main deck.

"Food and then bed," the larger musketeer ordered.

"I think I prefer bed first," Aramis replied wearily, his feet dragging.

"I'm gonna put 'im in one of the guest quarters," Porthos said over his shoulder to Athos.

Aramis jerked, affronted. "My room is just fine."

"You'll never make it down the ladder without fallin' on yer arse."

"Athos does it all the time."

Athos didn't even bother responding to that.

Constance climbed the steps to the catwalks on the other side. "I'll make you some tea," she called as she ducked into the corridor.

Athos listened to the quiet bickering fade before he headed up to the bridge where d'Artagnan was already at the helm and firing up the systems. With a silent look between them, he switched on the thrusters and they took off into the stars.

Chapter Text

It wasn't often Athos and crew were summoned in person to Treville's office. Most jobs were conveyed over the telephonix, as were most reprimands when his crew skirted the line of legality a little too closely. Something they hadn't even done recently, so Athos couldn't guess what this was about.

He knocked on the commodore's door.

"Enter!"

He turned the handle and entered first, Aramis, Porthos, and d'Artagnan filing in behind him. Musketeer headquarters was located in a modest building of simplistic architectural design that housed a variety of company offices. Three of the walls were sage green, the fourth light brown, with a large window that looked out upon the metropolis.

Treville was standing behind his desk, facing a thin man with sun-weathered features on the other side. "Gentlemen, this is Nevin Bertrand," the commodore introduced. "He's come to us for an extraction job."

Ah, that explained the in-person meeting. Extraction jobs were…delicate.

"What is it we'll be extracting?" Athos asked.

Bertrand shifted to face them. "My daughter, Jeanne. She was kidnapped by my neighbor, Darren Renard, in exchange for me signing over the rights to my land. But when I gave him what he wanted, he refused to let her go. Please," he said earnestly. "I can pay you with everything I have left, but please save my daughter."

"Why didn't you call the authorities?" d'Artagnan asked incredulously.

Bertrand shook his head. "Renard has men within the local sheriff's department on his payroll. I've heard of the musketeers though. You're skilled and honorable men." He glanced between them. "Will you help me?"

Treville flicked a questioning look to his men. For jobs that carried a certain kind of danger, he always left it up to his various crews whether they wanted to take it on.

Athos exchanged a silent look with the others, knowing immediately what they would say. "We'll do it," he said to Treville and Bertrand.

Bertrand's relief was evident. "Thank you."

"Do you know where your daughter is being held?" Athos asked.

Bertrand nodded and hurriedly pulled a data stick from his coat. He passed it to Treville, who plugged it into the desk terminal. The wood facade top shimmered as it switched to screen mode. Bertrand tapped an icon and pulled up a map with what looked like an estate in the middle.

"These lands have been in our families for generations, since the planet was first terraformed," Bertrand explained. "But now Renard's son, Edmond, has come of age and wants a holding of his own."

"And they just blackmailed you into giving up yours?" d'Artagnan said.

Bertrand leveled a look at him. "This is my daughter, what else was I supposed to do?"

"Clearly Renard is not a man of his word," Athos interjected.

Bertrand shook his head. "I fear for what they're doing to her."

Athos could imagine. "You believe she is being held in the house?"

"The only other structures are the granary and bunk house for his men."

"How many does he have?" Porthos asked.

"Two dozen. They're field workers/private militia."

Aramis raised his brows. "Sounds fun. We'll need a stealth approach."

"And a quick exit once we get the girl," Porthos added.

"A ground vehicle?" d'Artagnan suggested.

"Horses would be better," Aramis put in.

"I can provide those," Bertrand said.

Athos glanced at his crew one more time and nodded. "Time to gear up then."

o.0.o

Aramis checked his pistol and clipped it to his weapons belt that also held his second revolver, spare ammunition, dagger, and sword. They'd flown Bertrand from the city out to the country and parked the ship in a gorge between Renard's and formerly Bertrand's lands to avoid detection, though Renard didn't seem to have very high tech security. Bertrand had then departed to secure them some horses for this little rescue operation.

Porthos passed Aramis an earpiece, which he deftly fitted into his right ear.

"Testing," Porthos said. "One, two, three."

Aramis threw him a wry look. "I'm standing right next to you."

Porthos rolled his eyes and handed out earpieces to Athos and d'Artagnan before slipping a fourth into his own ear.

A few moments later, a cloud of dust rolled into the bottom of the gorge, and the musketeers stood at the open cargo bay doors as they watched dark shapes take form upon drawing closer. Bertrand sat atop a horse with three others trailing behind. The man drew to a stop just outside the ship and dismounted.

"I'm sure Renard will claim these as belonging to him if they're not removed from the property soon," the man said. "But with Jeanne in trouble, I haven't given any thought to what material things might still be legally mine."

Aramis's heart burned with indignation at Renard's schemes. If only Bertrand had come to them first instead of giving in, but it was difficult to find someone who would care out on the border planets. Aramis couldn't blame the man for thinking of his daughter first.

Athos walked up to take the reins from him. "Stay here. We'll return with your daughter as soon as we can."

"I- I want to know what's happening," Bertrand said.

Athos regarded him for a moment, then nodded to Constance up in the cargo bay. "Constance will be monitoring. You can sit with her and listen only."

Bertrand nodded quickly at the stern tone.

Constance beckoned him to come aboard. "Good luck!" she called out.

Aramis waved and mounted one of the horses. D'Artagnan gave her a sober nod before doing the same. Porthos eyed the last horse warily as it fidgeted under his touch.

"Be nice," he muttered and finally pulled himself up into the saddle.

"We should have procured some sugar cubes," Aramis said, patting his own horse's neck.

"Gentlemen," Athos said and turned his mount around to head out of the gorge.

Aramis tugged the reins to follow suit, as did the others. Once they were out in the open they picked up speed into a canter until they reached the woods, then they were forced to slow down again. It was three miles to Renard's estate and took them a little over half an hour to make the journey.

They stopped at the edge of the tree line along the side of the main house and dismounted, throwing the reins over some bushes to keep the horses tethered until they returned. Crouching behind some shrubbery, they surveyed the house. Raucous noises were emanating from the downstairs in what sounded like a roisterous celebration. A scan of the grounds showed no one standing guard along the perimeter or out in the fields working. They were all apparently invited to the party.

Athos raised a hand and waved two fingers to head around back. One by one they stood and darted quietly across the yard to press against the wall of the house. Porthos pulled out his set of lock picks and had the back door open within twenty seconds. Unfortunately, while they suspected Jeanne was here, they didn't know where exactly.

They moved quietly through the house, but most of the downstairs was parlor rooms and hallways. They needed to check upstairs…hopefully Jeanne wasn't being held in the cellar.

As they passed an office, Athos paused, eyes narrowing. He then gestured to Aramis and Porthos and the staircase up ahead. "Find the girl."

"What will we be doing?" d'Artagnan hissed.

"We're going to see if we can find those land rights."

D'Artagnan blinked while Aramis grinned. With a quick nod, he and Porthos continued upstairs to the second level. They passed a few empty rooms before coming across one whose door was closed. Aramis pressed himself up against it and listened, but didn't hear anything. Wrapping one hand around the knob and his other on the grip of his pistol, he waited for Porthos to nod he was ready, and then he pushed the door open and swept inside.

A young woman was sitting on the bed, wrists bound to the posts with linen. She jerked and opened her mouth to scream, but Aramis put a finger to his lips urgently.

"Your father sent us," he said quietly as he reached for one of her hands to free it.

Porthos went around the other side of the bed to release the other.

"Are you hurt?" Aramis asked, noting the dried tear tracks on her cheeks.

Jeanne shook her head jerkily. "They- they were waiting, for a- a celebration."

Aramis exchanged a taut look with Porthos over the girl's head; they'd arrived just in time then.

"Let's go," Porthos said.

Aramis took Jeanne's hand and helped her up. They retreated back into the hall, only to pull up short as a young man came sauntering up the stairs, his suspenders already hanging off his shoulders. His hands froze where they were fiddling with the buttons of his shirt and his eyes blew wide.

"Father!" he shrieked.

Porthos surged forward and swung a punch so hard and fast that the kid went slamming into the wall before crumpling bonelessly to the floor.

Aramis pulled Jeanne down the hall the other direction. "We've been made," he said into the comm link.

He found another staircase but jerked back as a man appeared below with a gun. A bullet struck the ceiling and Aramis dropped low to swing around the corner and return fire. He hit his mark.

"Dammit," Porthos growled as they backtracked to the bedroom.

"Yes, this is a problem," Aramis agreed, looking around.

"Wait, I 'ave an idea." Porthos ripped the sheets off the bed and started ripping them into strips. Then he tied one end around the bedpost and shoved the window open to toss the rest of the fabric over the sill.

Aramis leaned out to get a look and found not only a straight drop without any buildings or structures to use as stepping stones, but the sheets barely even dangled half the length.

"Porthos, my friend, I think you're overestimating our ability to fly without the ship."

Porthos snorted and shoved them all toward the closet, wedging in behind them so that a shelf was digging into Aramis's kidney and Jeanne's chest was being squashed up against his side. The door closed, dousing them in darkness, and Aramis did his best to keep absolutely still and silent.

Heavy footsteps clomped into the room.

"The girl is gone!" someone shouted.

"She can't have gotten far," another responded, and then it sounded like they were rushing out of the room.

Porthos waited another few moments before pushing the closet door open and letting them out. "I can't believe that worked," he said.

Aramis patted his shoulder. "I shall never doubt you again."

They slipped out of the bedroom, Jeanne safely between them, and hurriedly made their way downstairs. But they'd barely taken two steps into the foyer before men were charging at them.

"Spoke too soon." Aramis drew his sword and parried a blade aimed for his neck. He dispatched the man with another thrust and raised his left hand to shoot another coming at him.

Porthos had merely grabbed the arm of his assailant and twisted it back and up until it dislocated. Then he'd swung the man around to smash face first into the wall, knocking some picture frames down.

The sound of several guns cocking and Jeanne's gasp had Aramis slowly raising his hands. Sure enough, they were now surrounded by half a dozen men armed with semi-automatics.

An older gentleman pushed his way through to the front. Based on his fine coat and manicured nails, Aramis could guess he was the lord of the manor.

Renard flicked his gaze to Jeanne and then over Aramis and Porthos. Amusement flickered in his eyes. "I didn't think Bertrand had it in him to hire mercenaries."

"Musketeers," Aramis corrected darkly.

Renard arched a brow, lips quirking. "Musketeers? Oh my. Well, it was brave of you to attempt a rescue, but foolish." He tutted. "Trespassing, assault, and murder will put you in prison for a very long time."

Aramis gave him a predatory grin. "Yes, let's call the feds and explain the kidnapping charges you'll be faced with. Not to mention extortion."

"Sure there's lots more where that came from too," Porthos added, dark eyes seething.

Renard smirked. "This is my land. I can just deal with you here how I see fit."

"Aramis, give him your earpiece," Athos's voice came over the comm link.

Aramis didn't blink in the face of his surprise. He slowly raised one hand to his ear and removed the bud. "Apparently there's someone who would like a word with you," he said, holding the earpiece out.

Renard narrowed his eyes. "Excuse me?"

Aramis just gestured for him to take it. "Trust me, he doesn't like to be kept waiting."

o.0.o

As Aramis and Porthos had slipped upstairs in search of Bertrand's daughter, Athos and d'Artagnan had entered what looked like Renard's office and shut the door. Hopefully the man would be too busy with his entertainment to come in here.

Athos started with the desk, rifling through the papers on top in search of the land title Bertrand had handed over to the extortionist. But most of the papers seemed to be inventory of his own holdings.

"Check the cabinet," he told d'Artagnan as he searched the drawers next.

"We've been made," came over the comm link, followed by an echo of a distant gunshot a moment later.

D'Artagnan threw Athos a wide-eyed look. They should abandon the search. Jeanne was the mission here, not the land rights. Athos was just about to call it off when he caught sight of a piece of weathered parchment tucked between some newer, crisper documents. He yanked it out and found the original title. The piece of paper on top of it was Bertrand's signature handing it over to Renard.

"Got it," Athos announced. "Let's go."

"Wait," d'Artagnan said. "I found something else." He turned with a ledger open in his hands and angled it for Athos to take a look.

A quick survey revealed a tally of business dealings, but some of the details were quite specific—and illegal. Athos made a split second decision since they hadn't been discovered in the office yet.

"Scan that," he told d'Artagnan, then put a hand over his ear. "Constance, we're sending you an upload."

D'Artagnan went to the desk terminal and began scanning the pages of the ledger as quickly as he could. Athos tapped a few commands and started an upload stream to the Luciole.

He could hear Aramis talking to someone on his end of the comm link, likely Renard. It didn't sound like it was going well.

"Aramis, give him your earpiece," Athos said.

There was a pause and then crackle of static as the device changed wearers.

"Who is this?" a gruff voice demanded.

Athos watched d'Artagnan finish the upload. "I'm the man who just sent a copy of your illegal business dealings to my associate, and if you don't want them forwarded to the feds, who I imagine won't be turning a blind eye like the local sheriff, you had better let my men and the girl go."

"You're bluffing."

Athos flipped one of the pages of the ledger. "Insurance fraud in the amount of three thousand, extortion of the local mine, and selling contaminated grain to the poor," he read off as proof. He then waved at d'Artagnan for them to move, pausing at the door to peek out. The hall was clear. They slipped out of the office and around to a back door.

"How about I kill your men," Renard threatened.

"You can certainly try," Athos replied mildly as he and d'Artagnan crossed the yard into the woodland. "But you'll lose a lot of men in the process, perhaps even your own life. And if any harm does come to them, you will die by my hand. That, I can promise you."

Tucked under the cover of shrubbery, Athos and d'Artagnan waited tensely for several long beats.

"How do I know you'll keep your word?" Renard finally spat.

Athos's voice dropped an octave. "I'm going to pretend you didn't say that."

There were a few more moments of bated silence, then a crackle.

"We're coming out," Aramis said through the comms.

Athos's hand came to rest on his pistol as he watched. A couple of beats later, Aramis, Porthos, and a young woman rounded the corner from the back of the house and hurried toward the tree line.

"Nice negotiating," Aramis complimented when they arrived.

"Let's go before Renard decides letting us live isn't worth his secrets," Athos replied, mounting his horse.

The others did the same, Aramis pulling Jeanne up behind him. Then they turned and set a quick pace away from the manor.

o.0.o

Once they cleared the woods, they rode hard to get back to the ship. Aramis periodically glanced over his shoulder to check for signs of pursuit, but it seemed Renard had taken Athos's threat seriously and was letting them go.

As they rode up to the Luciole, Bertrand came sprinting out of the open cargo hold. Aramis had barely brought his horse to a stop before Jeanne was flinging herself from the saddle and running to meet him. They embraced fervently, tears of relief and joy streaming from the old man's eyes. Aramis smiled as he watched; jobs like these fulfilled a sense of purpose.

Bertrand broke away from hugging his daughter and looked up at the musketeers. "Thank you. Thank you so much."

Athos dismounted his horse, the barest smile touching the corners of his mouth. "We're glad it worked out."

Bertrand gave Jeanne another squeeze, then cleared his throat as his expression turned abashed. "If it's not too much trouble, could you perhaps give us a ride back to the capital? I can offer the horses as payment, since I'm sure I won't be able to access any of my other assets before Renard comes after us."

"He won't be coming after you," Athos replied, looking over as Constance exited the ship and handed him a data stick. Athos passed it to Bertrand. "There's enough evidence here to have the Alliance put Renard away for a long time. You can do with it as you wish, but as long as you hold onto it, Renard won't attempt any retaliation against you. We've secured a copy, just in case. If he gives you any trouble, just contact Treville."

Bertrand stared at the data stick in his hand in stupefaction.

"And there's this," Athos added, pulling some sheets of paper from the inside of his coat and handing them over as well.

Bertrand and Jeanne looked even more flabbergasted as he unrolled the parchment that was the land title, and the signed contract changing its ownership.

"You should incinerate that," d'Artagnan said with a knowing nod to the page.

"I…don't know what to say. This is more than I could have ever dreamed…I'll have to transfer more funds from my account to pay you."

"No need," Athos said. "We were only righting a wrong."

"It was our pleasure," Aramis added as he finally swung down from his horse, Porthos and d'Artagnan doing likewise. Porthos's horse swung its head his direction and he backpedaled sharply. Aramis laughed. "Now, Porthos, aren't you going to miss your new friend?"

"Think he just missed takin' a bite out o' me," the big man grumbled.

Bertrand's mouth twitched. "Are you sure you won't take the horses as payment?"

"Take horses on a spaceship, 'ave you lost yer mind?" Porthos exclaimed, marching past to head back into the ship.

Aramis and d'Artagnan shared a snicker.

Athos rolled his eyes and held out his hand for Bertrand to shake. "Farewell, monsieur. And good luck."

The musketeer crew boarded their ship as Bertrand and his daughter mounted their horses and rode away. Aramis stood at the edge of the cargo bay, looking out at the beautiful countryside out beyond the gorge. When the engines rumbled to life, he hit the button to close the doors and strode back inside, looking forward to their next job.

Chapter Text

The docks were crowded as usual with vendors, ships, and travelers searching for passage off world. The musketeers had just finished a job delivering some goods, had gotten paid, and were making their way back to the Luciole. The cargo bay doors were open and Constance was sweeping out the hold. D'Artagnan jogged up the ramp, arm tucked behind his back, and presented her with a box of candied apricots he'd bought with part of his share from the job.

Aramis grinned at the delighted expression that lit up her face.

"Hello, old friend," a familiar voice issued from behind him.

Aramis froze. He hadn't heard that voice outside his waking dreams in a long time… He slowly turned. "Marsac?"

The man looked different since the last time they'd seen each other, though it was obviously him. His blond hair was longer and shaggier, and he wore a wide-brimmed hat to shield his face from the sun. A long poncho draped over his shoulders, and if Aramis wasn't so stunned, he might have tried calculating how many weapons could be concealed underneath.

Marsac grinned. "It's been a long time," he said, taking a step closer.

A surge of fury burst up from where it'd been so carefully buried for years, and Aramis threw a punch so hard that the impact with Marsac's jaw radiated up his ulna. Marsac hit the ground, landing on his back.

"That's for leaving me in the forest with twenty dead soldiers," Aramis seethed. He pivoted and headed back to the ship where the others had stopped and were watching the scene unfold.

"Aramis," Marsac called. There was a shuffling sound like he was getting up off the ground.

Aramis didn't turn around, but Athos suddenly drew his pistol and pointed it past him.

"Walk away," Athos warned, voice low and lethal. "Or I will shoot you."

"Aramis, come on, just hear me out!"

Aramis continued to ignore him as he marched onto the ship. His head was spinning and his lungs felt like they were being compressed by some invisible vise. Footsteps followed behind him, and then there was the whir and grind of the cargo bay doors closing.

"Who was that?" d'Artagnan asked.

Aramis supposed the question had been directed to him, but when he didn't answer after a few beats, Porthos did it for him.

"Marsac," he practically growled. His dislike for the man wasn't a secret. "He was in Aramis's unit in the military."

"He's a deserter," Athos said coldly, his disdain also not a secret.

Aramis could feel the captain's eyes on him but he assiduously ignored it. Shaking himself out of his stupor, he turned to d'Artagnan. "Marsac saved my life. Our unit was traversing through a province called Savoy when we were ambushed in the night. I was wounded and Marsac pulled me to safety."

"And then he left you there to die," Porthos added angrily.

Aramis shook his head, a spiky lump sticking in this throat. "He didn't go back to fight," he explained to d'Artagnan and Constance, who didn't know the story. It wasn't something he liked to talk about. "Every other soldier in our unit was killed. Marsac was devastated by the loss. He tore off his insignia and left." Aramis shook his head. "I should have stopped him, told him it wasn't his fault."

"You were gravely wounded," Athos said.

Aramis shrugged. He knew Athos and Porthos held a grudge against Marsac for his actions that day, but they hadn't been there, hadn't witnessed the slaughter of their closest friends, couldn't imagine what it had been like. Yes, Aramis had been angry that Marsac had left him alone among the dead, but the fact of the matter was Marsac had saved his life; Aramis wouldn't be here if it weren't for him.

Maybe he shouldn't have dismissed him so summarily…

It was probably too late now, and Aramis wasn't about to go running through the teeming crowds searching in case Marsac had decided to risk Athos's ire by hanging around. Besides, what was there to say, really? It was years ago, done and over with.

With a half-hearted gesture, Aramis excused himself from everyone and made his way to his room. He pushed the hatch in and climbed down the ladder, then closed it before plopping on his bed, images of swirling snow and crimson flashing through his mind. He pressed his palms to his eyes, trying to banish them.

He had often wondered where Marsac was, what had become of his life. Whether he woke screaming in the night like Aramis sometimes had in those early months after the massacre. Aramis had been discharged from the army not long after, too wounded to be of use anymore. Athos and Porthos had applied for honorable discharge shortly after that, and the three of them had followed their former commander, Treville, to the company he later founded. If it weren't for them, Aramis didn't know what his life would be like, perhaps barely scraping by in some backwater planet or moon. He had a lot to be grateful for.

The intercom crackled. "Aramis, we're headin' out for a drink," Porthos said. "You comin'?"

He sighed and rolled over to reach for the speaker button. "Not this time. Make sure Athos doesn't drink through his entire share in one night," he added for levity's sake.

Porthos huffed, and Aramis could imagine he wanted to say more, cajole Aramis into getting out of his room and accompanying them, but he didn't push. The intercom went quiet and Aramis stayed laying on his bed, staring at the ceiling. He knew brooding wasn't healthy, and it was more Athos's thing, but sometimes quiet contemplation was what he needed, when the memories reared their ugly heads and pushed everything else aside.

A dull thud reverberated through the hatch door. Aramis sighed and pulled himself up, grabbing the bottom rung of the door to open it. Constance peered down at him and gave him a sheepish look.

"Wasn't sure you were still awake," she said, then hesitated. "There's a call for you on the comms. It's Marsac."

Aramis frowned as he climbed out onto the main deck. Constance was gazing at him with concern, so he drew his shoulders back and worked at exuding confidence as he headed up to the bridge. Constance, bless her, didn't follow so he could have some privacy.

Aramis slid into the comms station seat and picked up the handheld radio. "Yes?" he said, perhaps a tad more gruffly than he'd meant to.

"Aramis," Marsac's voice crackled through the speaker. "Wasn't sure you'd give me the time of day."

Aramis reached up to rub his forehead. "I'm not sure I should," he admitted.

"I found out who was behind the ambush."

He stiffened. What? "What are you talking about?"

"Not over a comm link. Will you meet me? The Wren, south side of the docks."

Aramis pursed his mouth. "Alright," he relented. He leaned back in the seat and cast his gaze out toward the corridor. The others had already gone out, and he couldn't ask Constance to accompany him and leave the Luciole unattended. Besides, he didn't need backup for dealing with Marsac.

Aramis rose to his feet and went by the engine room where he found Constance tinkering as she was wont to do.

"I'm going out for a bit," he said.

Her mouth turned down. "With Marsac?"

Aramis hesitated, unsure whether to feel indignant or fond amusement over her touch of concern. "We're just going to talk. Catch up."

Constance sighed but gave him a wan smile of understanding. "And what shall I tell the others when they get back?"

He flashed her a debonair grin. "Nothing. I'll be back before Athos has had his usual fill of wine."

Constance rolled her eyes and went back to her work.

Aramis shrugged on his leather coat and grabbed his weapons belt before heading out. The sun was just setting, the halogen lamp posts buzzing on in the retreating light. Aramis wove his way through the docks to the southern end and scanned the local establishments until he spotted a sign for the Wren. It was a rowdy place, crowded with boisterous drinkers and billiard tables in the back.

Aramis roved his gaze over the patrons until he spotted the familiar figure in one of the corners. He made his way over, sliding easily into the seat across the table from Marsac.

Marsac beamed at him and waved over a barmaid. "My friend will have…?"

"Nothing," Aramis said tersely, eyes fixed on Marsac. "You said you found out who was behind the ambush in Savoy."

Marsac sighed as the barmaid left. "Down to business, got it." He leaned forward across the table. "It was Victor Amadeus."

Aramis blinked. "The arms dealer?"

"The one and the same." Marsac took a swig of his amber colored drink.

Aramis eyed the glass dubiously. "Are you sure? What reason would he have had to attack a contingent of soldiers?"

Marsac slammed the bottle down. "I have spent the past five years trying to find who was responsible for the massacre of twenty of our friends. Believe me, I'm sure."

Aramis held up a hand in conciliation. "All right, I believe you."

Marsac reached across the table to seize his forearm. "We're going to get justice, Aramis. Finally, after all this time."

"Do you have any proof?" He couldn't imagine how they might go about proving Amadeus had anything to do with the ambush.

Marsac straightened. "I know where we can get it."

Aramis frowned, his gut pinging. "What exactly are you asking for here, Marsac?"

"Your help in getting justice for our friends." He cast a quick glance around the bar and lowered his voice. "I found the location of one of Amadeus's caches on this moon. We'll find proof there. All we have to do is retrieve it." Marsac smirked knowingly. "Isn't that the type of job you do now?"

Aramis inhaled tensely. After all this time, he'd just accepted that he would never have answers regarding Savoy, never have justice for his slain comrades. But now…if it was a possibility…

"I'll speak with Athos about it," he said.

"No!" Marsac said sharply. "Athos wouldn't understand. He wasn't there. Plus he despises me. No, this is something we need to do." Marsac gestured between the two of them. "Help me do this, Aramis. For our friends."

Aramis shifted in his seat, torn. He did owe this to his friends who'd been murdered, and Marsac for saving him. He shook his head in frustration at the circumstances. "The Luciole has a shuttle…" he grudgingly said.

"Perfect. We can cross the moon under cover of night undetected if we leave now."

Aramis's brows rose sharply. "Now?"

Marsac huffed impatiently. "Asking questions draws attention. It's only a matter of time before Amadeus gets wind of someone taking an interest and he moves what we're looking for."

Aramis shook his head. He didn't like this. But striking hard and fast was the best way to go. "Fine," he bit out. "I'll help you."

Marsac grinned, but then sobered quickly again. "Can you get to the shuttle without alerting the others? They can't know what we're doing."

Aramis bristled. "I won't lie to them."

"You don't have to lie, just don't say anything. You know they'll try to stop us."

In truth, Aramis didn't know if that would be the case. Athos would certainly stop him from going now; he'd want more information and some reconnaissance, which there was nothing wrong with. But Marsac's argument had merit too, and if Amadeus decided to move his cache, they might lose their chance.

Aramis stood up abruptly. "There's a vacant space two blocks west of here. I'll bring the shuttle and pick you up there."

Marsac rose to his feet as well and nodded. "Tonight's the night, my friend."

Aramis, somehow, did not feel as inspired, but he nevertheless returned to the Luciole. As he'd predicted, the others weren't back from their own bar escapades yet. He quietly crept through the ship, keeping an ear out for Constance. The hatch to her and d'Artagnan's room was shut, and when he paused outside to listen, he could hear muffled giggles and noises within. So d'Artagnan had returned early. All the better for Aramis, as those two would be too occupied to hear him taking off with the shuttle.

He really did not like leaving his crew in the dark though. They might not agree with him, but surely they would understand. Or, well, maybe not, but they'd forgive him. Aramis stopped in the mess and rifled through the drawers until he found some paper and a pencil, and he quickly scribbled out a note to leave for the others. Then he made his way to the compartment where the shuttle was docked and slipped inside. The noise of starting up the engines made him cringe, but he was committed now. Firing up the thrusters, he opened the bay doors and let the automatic release sequence launch the shuttle.

He flew a small arc over the docks and set down in the vacant spot he'd told Marsac to meet him at. The man was waiting, and Aramis opened the side door to let him in.

Marsac slapped a piece of note paper on the dash. "Here're the coordinates."

Aramis plugged them into the navigation; they were only fifty klicks away. He lifted the shuttle up and steered them that direction. Though the flight wouldn't be that long, Aramis found the silence stifling.

"I've thought of you many times," he said quietly. "Wondered how you were living."

Marsac shrugged. "A gun for hire, with thieves for company and one eye on the door." He breathed out a heavy sigh. "I'm weary of it."

Aramis had nothing to say to that. Times were tough and work could be scarce, even more so for a labeled deserter. Aramis would have suggested a place with the musketeers, but the harsh fact was Marsac would never be welcomed among those ranks.

A shipping yard came into view up ahead, columns and columns of shipping containers stacked in rows.

"Over there," Marsac pointed. "The security grid will tag the shuttle, but we can go in on foot. It's not far if we set down here."

Aramis guided the shuttle around to outside the perimeter of the yard and landed. He turned off the engines as Marsac went over to open the door. Poking his head out, he tapped a band on his wrist that then lit up with an LED beam. Aramis trailed after him as he exited the shuttle and strode into the yard.

"Please tell me you know how to find the right one," he muttered as he surveyed the nearly identical containers.

"Of course."

Marsac did seem to know, as he confidently took a left, then a right, and finally stopped in front of one of the shipping containers. Then he pulled a handheld blowtorch from his belt and bent over to start cutting through the lock.

Aramis shifted his weight nervously as he kept an eye out. He didn't know whether there were any personnel on guard duty or if the system was run by drones only. Either way, Marsac had better know what he was doing.

"Got it," he announced after a few minutes.

Aramis stood back as Marsac grabbed the edge and wrenched the door open. The interior was somewhat more sparse than Aramis imagined—only a single pallet holding something nearly five feet high and covered with a tarp. Marsac yanked it off, revealing stacks of gold bricks that glinted in the beam of his flashlight.

Aramis frowned. From what he could see, this was the only thing in the container. "Marsac," he hissed. "I don't see any 'proof' here."

Marsac's shoulders heaved. "There is no proof, Aramis," he confessed. "Not any that would satisfy a court of law, anyway." He bent down to examine the base of the pallet. "But Amadeus is responsible for the massacre. And this, well, this is recompense for the lives he ruined that day."

Aramis stood suspended in dismay as his brain struggled to catch up with what he was hearing. "You—" He lunged forward, grabbing Marsac by the front of his poncho and slamming him against the inside of the container. "You used me!"

"I'm helping you!" Marsac snapped. "This is the least we deserve after what happened, after what that criminal did. He'll never see the inside of a prison cell, while I'm forced to live day to day scraping by, on the run. It's not right!"

Aramis shook his head in mounting fury, fists tightening in the folds of Marsac's poncho.

Marsac folded his hands over Aramis's wrists. "We can do anything we want with this kind of money, Aramis. Retire somewhere nice, away from want and violence."

Aramis shoved away from him. "No. I'm not doing this." He pivoted and started to storm out.

"You're just going to leave me here?" Marsac shouted after him.

He whirled back around. "Like you left me?" he seethed. He shook his head, trying to get his raging emotions under control. "Give this up, Marsac. I'm leaving, with or without you."

The sounds of several guns cocking made him freeze, and Aramis slowly turned around to find multiple armed men had surrounded the container. A tall figure with short, light colored hair and scraggly beard stepped forward, eyes glinting with murder. Aramis's stomach dropped. Victor Amadeus.

o.0.o

Athos had barely shaken off his hangover the next morning before Porthos was shouting at him to get up to the bridge. His harried tone had brought d'Artagnan and Constance too, and now they were all congregated after having read the note Aramis had left on the console. Athos crumpled the piece of paper in a fist. Damn him. And damn Marsac.

"I don't get it," d'Artagnan said worriedly. "Why would Aramis do this? After what happened earlier, I thought he wanted nothing to do with Marsac."

"I'm sorry, I should have told you he'd gone to meet 'im," Constance said, sounding distressed.

"Aramis makes his own decisions," Athos replied coldly.

"Yeah, but he can't think straight when it comes to Marsac," Porthos put in with pointed anger.

"What do you mean?" d'Artagnan asked, but his eyes widened as though he'd realized the answer. "Aramis feels guilty. That Marsac deserted."

Porthos snorted. "That, and for bein' the only soldier to come back from the massacre. It took 'im months to recover, and not just physically."

"And now Marsac comes and dredges it all up," Constance said morosely.

D'Artagnan rubbed her arm. "What do we do?" he asked.

Athos breathed out through his nose and lifted his head. "We go after the idiot."

"Which one?" Porthos huffed.

"Ours."

o.0.o

Aramis's teeth clacked together as another surge of electricity shot through his body, a choked scream vibrating through his jaw. When the current shut off, he slumped against the battery coil at his back. Marsac's arm kept twitching next to his where he was tied to Aramis's right. Jumper cables ran from the battery to the metal handcuffs on their wrists, creating a nice direct circuit for the current.

After being caught by Amadeus and his men, they'd been hauled a short distance to another shipping container holding nothing but a battery and switch for flipping it on and off. Aramis had been confused as to its purpose at first, but he'd quickly learned. Amadeus was a ruthless man, who favored electric shock as much as the knife. Between volts of pure agony, he'd taken a blade to his captives, starting with shallow slices across the arms and chest.

"You know, in the old days on Earth-that-was," Amadeus mused out loud, "thieves who were caught lost a hand." He slid the blade along Aramis's left wrist, kissing the tender flesh with only a small nick. "No one steals from me," he sneered.

Aramis raised his eyes to the ceiling and tried to control his ragged breathing. He was soaked in sweat, his muscles trembling and every nerve ending on fire.

"I'm- I'm sorry," Marsac stuttered, lolling an equally exhausted gaze toward him. "Nev- never should've…dragged you into this."

Yes, well, it was too late now. Yet somehow, a small part of him deep down couldn't imagine leaving Marsac in this situation alone. Being alone was the worst thing Aramis could imagine suffering.

He mustered a bit of energy to straighten a fraction. "Were you responsible for the ambush at Savoy five years ago?" he wheezed at their captor.

Amadeus cocked his head. "Now why would you be interested in that?"

"I'd like the truth…before I die."

Amadeus flicked his gaze between the two of them, and then his eyes lit up. "You were there." He barked out a laugh. "I thought I'd killed them all."

Aramis's blood was already running hot, but the admission fueled it further. "Why?" he hissed.

Amadeus shrugged. "You were getting too close to one of my bases, and I couldn't risk you coming upon some of my clients in the middle of a business deal."

Aramis closed his eyes. He hadn't thought the truth was going to make it any easier to bear, and he was right. Instead the senseless deaths had only been confirmed as a waste, a product of being in the wrong place at the wrong time.

"And now here you both are, in my grasp again. How poetic."

Marsac snarled a slew of curses at him, but Amadeus reached for the crank and turned on the battery again. Lightning forked through Aramis with vicious, ripping intensity. He screamed until his throat was raw.

It cut off, and he sagged further this time. Marsac's whimpers barely filtered through the buzzing in his ears.

Then there was a sharp crack. Aramis was in so much pain he at first thought something inside of him had broken. But two men standing at the front of the shipping container dropped. The rest whirled, whipping up their guns and filing out to return fire. More shots echoed outside, and this time it was someone else screaming.

Aramis blinked through sweat-blurred vision as a large figure came barreling into the container. Someone that sounded like Porthos swore venomously. Hands roughly tugged at the cuffs on Aramis's wrist, and he couldn't hold back a groan. There was more jostling, urgent utterances, and then he was falling forward against a large, padded pillar.

"Easy, easy," Porthos rumbled in his ear.

"Aramis?" Marsac croaked.

"Shut up." Porthos's chest vibrated with the growl, sending lances of fire through Aramis.

He blinked rapidly to clear his vision, and saw another shadow step into the container. His eyes widened, but his throat was too raw to shout a warning.

Marsac suddenly swung around, grabbing a gun from Porthos's belt and pivoting in front of them to fire. Two shots shattered Aramis's eardrums. Amadeus fell backward, landing with a heavy thud. Marsac half turned, his eyes wide. And then his legs buckled and he dropped to his knees.

Aramis pushed off of Porthos and caught his friend around the shoulders. Red was blossoming from his chest.

Marsac's head lolled upward. "Our friends are…avenged."

Tears welled in Aramis's eyes as he folded himself over Marsac. He felt his friend go limp in his arms.

The sounds of fighting had stopped, and harried steps announced Athos's and d'Artagnan's arrival. They pulled up short at the scene, and Aramis was grateful when no one said a single word.

o.0.o

Aramis was eventually pulled away from Marsac's body. By then exhaustion and pain made him fuzzy on the details of returning to the ship, which was parked out where he'd left the shuttle. It didn't really surprise him, or maybe he was too numb to feel much of anything at this point.

Athos and Porthos half dragged, half carried him up to the infirmary and laid him down on the examination slab. Athos prepared a dose of something in the injector and shot it into Aramis's neck. He felt a sharp prick at first, and then a blessed lightness swept through his body, easing some of the pain. Porthos busied himself with ripping open packages of antiseptic and gauze.

"Not sure if these are gonna need stitchin'," he said gruffly, eyeing the mess of cuts Amadeus had graced Aramis with.

"There are electrical burns too," Athos added.

Aramis tried to lift his head to look, but his vision was blurring again. "'S okay," he slurred.

"Lie still," Athos ordered.

Aramis closed his eyes against an upwelling of guilt and remorse, the painkillers having released the floodgates on the last of his barriers. "'M sorry," he rasped.

"Shh," Athos responded sternly, tugging open Aramis's shirt to expose the cuts more.

"I'm sorry," he repeated desperately. "Please don't leave."

There was a pause in the flurry of activity, and then a sigh. Athos placed a hand on the top of Aramis's head. "We will never leave you, Aramis. You know this."

He did. "True brothers," he mumbled. "Not like- not like Marsac."

"Then why'd you run off wit' him?" Porthos all but growled.

"Our friends…deserved justice. He begged me…not to tell you. Knew you…wouldn't approve." Aramis snorted derisively. "Should've listened to…my gut…an' told you…anyway." He flailed his hand until someone caught it. "Wanted to tell you. 'M sorry."

"We know," Athos soothed.

Aramis lolled his head in agitation despite the floating feeling of the meds. "That's twice now…Marsac saved…my life. And it…only led to…his ruin." His chest hitched. "I can never repay the debt," he whispered.

"Marsac's choices then and now aren't yer fault," Porthos said earnestly. "You can't carry the blame for that."

The words made sense, on some level beyond the grasp of his pain and drug addled mind.

Light footsteps entered the infirmary. "We're up," Constance reported. "Where do you want to go?"

"Back to Beaumonde," Athos said. "I want to get as far away from this moon as possible."

"How is 'e?"

"He'll live."

"I'll tell d'Artagnan."

Aramis winced and moaned as Athos and Porthos continued to patch him up. He was on his last dregs, his body taken past the brink of what mortal vessels should bear. But he managed to pry his eyes open fully one last time.

"Thank you," he rasped.

Athos laid a gentle hand on his shoulder. "There are no debts between brothers. Now sleep."

Aramis felt his lids slide closed and the world ebb away, but he knew he was safe in the care of his family.

Chapter Text

Normally a ferry job meant dropping off passengers at a dock and letting them disembark into whatever bustling port they'd deigned to travel to. This assignment was a little different. The Luciole had been tasked with taking a select group of investors to a new resort development on the planet Newhope. Thus, after landing the ship, the musketeers then had to escort their passengers from where they parked to a meeting point with the lead developer, Mr. Mauvoisin.

The walk in the fresh air was nice, though perhaps a little dampened by somberness. Porthos craned his head back to look at the sky. He couldn't see it through the atmosphere but knew it was there somewhere in orbit—the skyplex he'd grown up on, dubbed by its inhabitants as "The Court of Miracles." It was neither a court nor filled with miracles, but was rife with poverty and destitution. Porthos's mother had ended up there, an infant in her arms and crushed hope in her heart. Five years later it was where she died.

Aramis came to a stop beside him, close enough to barely brush his shoulder. "You all right?" he asked softly.

Porthos brought his gaze back down to the glittering structures rising up from the landscape. "Yeah. Jus' thinkin' about the past."

Aramis didn't say anything; he knew what it was like for old memories to resurface.

They started walking again, and Porthos became aware of the voices from the group up ahead, one statement in particular catching his attention.

"I admit your plans are promising, but what about that skyplex in orbit? It's known as a den of thieves. How can you expect our clientele to feel safe here?"

"I assure you, I am taking measures to ensure every guest's safety and comfort," Mr. Mauvoisin replied.

"Still," another potential investor spoke up, "it's somewhat of an eyesore for incoming vessels."

Porthos couldn't hold back a snort, not that they paid him any mind. All this wealth being poured into pampering the rich; how many people up on the skyplex could it feed instead? Or what if those people had been offered the jobs this resort would provide and a chance to escape the squalor?

But Porthos knew all too well that the world didn't work that way.

o.0.o

Constance left the cargo bay doors open to get some fresh air circulating throughout the ship. While the boys were out finishing up the job, she took the opportunity to enjoy some sun while doing an examination of the exterior of the ship to make sure it was keeping in good shape. Constance sometimes wondered how shiny she'd look with a good wash and polish, not that the captain would give her leave to overhaul the hull. Surface aesthetics weren't important to Athos. Still, surely he'd consent to touching up the fleur-de-lis emblem, which was looking a bit scratched and faded.

An arm snaked around her waist from behind and a knife slid up under her throat. Constance gasped and flinched, a body pressing firmly against her back to prevent her recoil.

"Easy, love," a man said in her ear. "Don't scream and I won't have ta slit yer throat."

Constance mashed her lips together and swallowed a whimper. She was pulled back from the hull and turned to where another man was standing at the cargo hold ramp.

"Behave," the one holding her hostage said. "And no one has ta get 'urt."

He dragged her onto the ship, his companion armed with a gun that he swept up and down as they made their way to the stairs up to the catwalk. But no one else was here. Constance bit her lip to keep from letting out another undignified sound.

They reached the engine room and the second assailant stowed his gun so he could yank out the aft alternator from its configuration, ripping wires and cords loose with a crackling spark. Tucking that under his arm, he stopped to grab a fuel cell as well.

"Let's go," he said.

The one holding the knife leaned close to Constance's face, his nose brushing her cheek. "Thanks, love." Then he shoved her away into the wall.

She caught herself with her palms but her legs nearly buckled they were shaking so badly. She twisted around as the men fled, seemingly done with robbing them. Her heart pounded against her rib cage painfully and she took a few moments to focus on her breathing. She needed to alert the others.

But her blood was still singing with terror as she slowly straightened. She grabbed a wrench from her toolbox and held it up as a weapon as she cautiously ventured toward the corridor. There was no sign of the thieves, but there was a chance they'd decided to raid another part of the ship.

Sucking in ragged breaths, Constance darted for the bridge, relieved to find it empty. She frantically flipped the alarm switch and then hunkered down on the floor under the console, hoping the others returned quickly.

o.0.o

The tour was drifting off toward the buildings under construction and Porthos was ready to ask if that meant they could be dismissed until it was time to take their passengers back to the planet they'd picked them up at when Athos's wrist device started beeping. The captain raised his arm to look at the screen, the lines around his mouth tightening.

"An alarm on the ship is going off."

D'Artagnan visibly stiffened and immediately turned to head back.

Athos gestured for Aramis to quickly inform their clients they would be returning to the ship and then he and Porthos hurried to keep up with d'Artagnan. The Luciole was exactly where they'd left it and all was quiet. There were no system alarms going off, which meant that the one that'd been triggered was linked to the comm device only.

D'Artagnan sprinted up the ramp into the cargo hold. "Constance!"

Porthos swept his gaze around cautiously, muscles tense. Athos had a hand on the hilt of his sword.

"Constance!" d'Artagnan yelled again.

"Here," she finally replied, poking her head out from the corridor above.

Porthos arched a brow at the wrench gripped in her hands like a bludgeon.

D'Artagnan bounded up the steps to the catwalk. "Are you all right? What happened?"

She flicked a nervous gaze around the cargo hold before finally letting the wrench drop to her side. "We were robbed."

"What?" d'Artagnan exclaimed, taking her by the arms. "Are you hurt?"

Constance shook her head.

Footsteps clomping up the ramp alerted them to Aramis's arrival. "What's going on?" he asked.

"Some men came," Constance explained. "Out of nowhere an' took me by surprise. They took the aft alternator and a fuel cell."

"But you're not hurt?" d'Artagnan asked again, looking her over urgently.

"No."

She looked shaken though. Porthos clenched his fists, incensed by the violation—and ashamed because at one point in his life, he had been one of these men.

Constance shifted in obvious distress. "But we can't fly the ship without those parts."

"I know where the thieves would've gone," Porthos said darkly. "I'll take the shuttle up and get the parts back."

Athos and Aramis exchanged a look.

"I'll go with you," Aramis said.

Porthos almost opened his mouth to say that wasn't necessary, and it was better if he went alone. But he hesitated. His friends knew of his past and didn't judge him for it, nor did they judge him for the actions of others, even by distant association. Besides, it wasn't wise to go into a hostile environment without backup.

So Porthos gave a clipped nod and turned to Athos. "Stay on guard in case anyone gets wind she's dead on the ground and decides to pick 'er clean."

Athos nodded gravely. "Be careful."

Porthos's lip curled upward. Care wasn't the language people in the Court understood. But Porthos knew how to deal with them.

Armed with their weapons, he and Aramis boarded the Luciole's small shuttle and took off, making their way up through the atmosphere into orbit. They circled half the planet before the skyplex came into view, and Porthos guided the shuttle up to dock with it.

"Let me lead," he told Aramis as he powered down the shuttle.

The docking bay doors opened and they disembarked, stepping into a narrow corridor that joined up with other passages like one big intersecting maze. The structure was obviously impoverished, with rusted walls draped with tarps and sheets to make little cubbies. Strings of broken glass and frayed tassels hung from oxidized joists, giving the otherwise dim and dreary place a bit of color.

Porthos led the way down old familiar paths until he came to a larger nook that looked like a merchant's stall. He ducked under the partial drape to enter, eyes roving over the shelves of ship parts. The scruffy man shuffling around in the back wasn't the person who'd been in charge back when Porthos was a kid, but things changed hands often in the Court when sickness and foul deeds claimed as many lives a year as ships stranded unfortunate souls there.

"What you want?" the man barked.

"In the market for some parts," Porthos replied gruffly. "Heard yer the man ta see."

The thief squinted up at him, lips parting in a toothy sneer. "I got a lot o' parts."

Porthos sniffed as he looked around again. "How about an aft alternator? Transport ship size. Nothin' big an' fancy."

The man's eyes lit up. "Got one in jus' today." He rummaged around in the back for a moment before carrying out the item and presenting it for inspection. "Firefly class. Wit' some proper riggin', can fit a variety of vessels."

The fact that it was a Firefly class part was probably enough of an admission of guilt, but Porthos pretended to look it over. He glanced at Aramis, who was poised near the entrance, watching and waiting. Porthos wasn't very knowledgeable about ship parts; that was Constance's thing. But Aramis took a gander at the alternator and then gave a subtle nod in confirmation.

"Yeah, alright," Porthos said, sounding less than eager. "You happen ta have a fuel cell on hand? Those are harder to come by."

The man gave him a knowing grin. "That they are." He went back to the same pile of junk and produced a fuel cell.

Porthos eyed the two items. "We'll take 'em."

The thief rested one arm over the parts. "Two hundred platinum."

Porthos scoffed. "One hundred."

"Don' waste my time."

"Yer the one wastin' time. And business," Porthos rejoined. "Ninety platinum, and I'll throw in a crate of soaps I was thinkin' of unloading on the surface."

The merchant eyed him carefully for a long moment, then leaned off the parts. "Deal."

Porthos picked up the items and passed them to Aramis, then turned back. "You know where you got these from?" he asked with a thread of menace.

The man frowned. One of the cardinal rules of black market dealings was don't ask where things came from.

Porthos leaned in. "My ship. Your boys shoulda been more careful who they chose to steal from."

The merchant's hand whipped under a shelf, but Porthos seized his wrist and squeezed until he yelped, the weapon he'd been reaching for untouched.

"So I'm jus' gonna take these back, an' maybe I'll forget all about this."

"You think you'll get out o' here alive?" the man seethed.

Porthos merely grinned. "You think you will if we don't?" He exerted a little more pressure on the joint and the man dropped to his knees with a cry of pain. Then Porthos released him. "You don' know who you decided to mess with."

"But I do."

Porthos spun at the new voice as someone ripped down the drape concealing the stall, exposing them to the outer court. Aramis shifted, but with his hands full of the ship parts, he couldn't draw his pistol. Porthos stood stiffly in the face of the dark-skinned man standing before him. Charon looked him up and down with a smirk, and then turned and raised his voice.

"Take notice!" he called out. "A long lost brother of the Court returns!" Charon turned back to him. "One of the best in his day. Before he went an' got honest."

Rumbles and murmurs rippled through the crowd of people that had stopped at Charon's pronouncement.

"Charon," Porthos greeted warily. "We don' want trouble."

Charon's face cracked into a grin that wasn't entirely friendly. "I seem to recall you used to enjoy trouble quite a bit." He canted his head at the stall merchant. "Seems this was jus' a misunderstanding though."

Porthos exhaled a fraction. "Yeah."

Charon waved the man off. Porthos frowned at the action.

"Oh yes, I'm King of the Court now," Charon said with a touch of smugness.

Porthos's brows rose in surprise. "Oh. Well, congratulations…"

"Come," he said. "You and your friend can join me for a meal."

Porthos hesitated and glanced at Aramis. They should get back to the Luciole…but now that Porthos was here and facing his childhood friend after all these years, a small part of him felt a tug to stay, to catch up.

Aramis, for his part, kept his peace and waited for Porthos to decide.

"Sure," he finally said. "That'd be nice." He still cast a cautious look around the other denizens as he exited the stall, but the people parted for Charon like he was real royalty.

They followed him through the skyplex to one of the upper levels and into a large room with a desk along the left wall and a long table to the right with chairs around it. A door in the corner led into another chamber, and Porthos pulled up short as a woman with voluminous blond hair stepped out. She also stopped upon seeing him, her eyes glinting with a flash of steel.

"Flea," Porthos breathed.

"Porthos."

Charon walked over and slipped an arm around her waist. The possessive posturing clearly telegraphed their relationship, and Porthos found himself shifting in awkward discomfort.

"What are you doing here?" Flea asked coldly.

"Er, some parts from my ship were stolen. I came ta get 'em back."

Flea's gaze shifted to the alternator and fuel cell Aramis was still carrying. "I see."

"Come, Flea," Charon said with what sounded like exaggerated cheerfulness. "Our old friend has come home. This is cause for celebration."

Flea stepped away from him. "He's not come home, though, has he?"

Porthos fidgeted. "Perhaps this was a mistake."

Flea sighed and gestured to the table. "Forgive my manners. Please, sit."

Aramis looked to Porthos questioningly, and Porthos took the lead of moving to sit first, Aramis following suit. Flea took a seat across from them, and Charon sat next to her, pressing close again.

Porthos felt a strange pang in his heart. He cleared his throat. "I'm happy for you two."

Flea's expression was still chilled while Charon almost seemed to gloat. Porthos had never felt more like an outsider.

"You two rule the Court now," he went on.

"Yes," Flea said proudly. "It isn't much, but it's home."

Porthos ducked his gaze. Yes, the Court of Miracles had been his home growing up, but he'd wanted more. He'd wanted a real life, not one scraping by, taking advantage of others. Glancing at Aramis, he reminded himself he'd forged a new family. The Court may have been where he'd come from, and he'd never forget it, but it wasn't his ball and chain.

o.0.o

Aramis thought the tension in the air could be cut with a table knife. He knew Charon was Porthos's childhood friend, but there was an undercurrent of hostility in every smile, innocuous remark, and unsolicited touch to the woman next to him. Porthos bore it stoically, asking about their lives, how they'd been. Flea, in turn, politely asked the same, even including Aramis in the conversation, but he kept his answers short and superficial, deferring to Porthos on how much the man wanted to share.

After the meager meal was finished, Aramis excused himself, claiming he'd like to go for a walk. Mostly he wanted to afford Porthos and his old friends some privacy. He wandered that level of the skyplex, aware of the suspicious glares being shot his way. But no one accosted him; it seemed Charon's invitation to dine with him had been an indirect declaration of protection to the denizens of the Court.

He paused as a particular gentleman caught his eye. The man was slinking away from a corner, and he looked familiar, though in a way that Aramis couldn't quite place. And then it clicked—the man had been on the planet with Mr. Mauvoisin, one of his staff perhaps. Aramis didn't think Mauvoisin was the type to hire anyone from the Court, so what was he doing up here?

Aramis drifted over to the corner. There was a huge tarpaulin tossed over a large bulge. Looking around, he knelt and lifted a corner. He spotted a mess of wires and raised the tarp further. His eyes widened on the large black casing with more wires protruding from it and a digital counter that was most definitely ticking down, with three hours on the clock.

Aramis quickly covered the device again and made his way back to Charon's chambers. The tension hadn't dissipated with his absence, and there was a moment of intense staring before anyone looked his way.

"We have a problem," he said. "There's a bomb on the skyplex, set to go off in three hours."

Porthos surged to his feet. "What are you talkin' about?"

Flea also leaped up, eyes flashing.

"I saw one of Mauvoisin's men up here," Aramis explained. "He was acting shifty so I took a look at where he'd been. The device is on this level, four corridors from here under a tarp. Looks like it's close to some power conduits."

Porthos's jaw visibly tightened. "There's no way to evacuate the entire skyplex in three hours. We'll have to remove the bomb."

"There could be tripwires or motion sensors," Aramis countered. "Might be better to try disarming it."

"There could be tripwires if we try an' do that," Porthos growled and shook his head. "But you're right."

"Show us," Flea said, rounding the table.

"No."

They turned their eyes to Charon, still sitting at the table. He stood up now and reached behind him, pulling out a gun. Aramis tensed as he aimed it at Porthos.

"You never should have come back here."

"What the hell is this?" Porthos demanded.

"Charon," Flea breathed in disbelief. "What are you doing?"

"What I have to."

Aramis had a sinking suspicion he was loathe to confirm. "You're not worried about the bomb," he stated.

Charon sneered at him. "There's time for me an' Flea to leave."

Flea gaped at him. "Leave? Charon, what have you done?"

Aramis felt a smidgeon of relief that only one of Porthos's old friends had betrayed him. It was a brutal blow for anyone to deal with.

"I hate this place!" Charon spat. "With the money Mauvoisin is giving me to destroy the skyplex, we can start over. Live somewhere nice like we deserve."

"But this is our home."

"No it's not! This filth and squalor…I deserve better!" He beckoned with his free hand. "Flea, let's go."

She shook her head adamantly. "No. These are our people. I'm not leaving them. And I won't let you murder them either."

Charon's cheeks puffed puce. "So you're choosing Porthos over me."

"This has nothing to do with him!"

Charon shook his head, gaze hardening and narrowing on the object of his ire.

"Porthos!" Aramis shouted in warning, but it was Flea who moved first, throwing herself against the large man as the gun went off.

They both hit the floor, and Charon took off out the door. Aramis dropped down beside them, searching frantically for a wound. Flea gasped as she rolled off of Porthos and clutched at her upper arm. Blood seeped out to soak her sleeve.

"Flea!" Porthos exclaimed, reaching for her.

She shoved him away. "Go!"

Sparing her one last regretful look, Porthos launched to his feet and charged after Charon.

Aramis prised her fingers away to get a look at the wound. "Through and through," he said. "You'll be fine."

"The bomb," she gritted out.

Right.

"Do you have a comm?" he asked.

Flea struggled to her feet and Aramis helped brace her. She hobbled to a cabinet and opened it to reveal a communications system. Aramis dialed into the Luciole's frequency and clicked the handheld radio.

"Athos? It's Aramis. Please tell me you're listening."

He waited a few moments until the comm crackled with a response.

"What's your status?" Athos asked.

"Oh, on the verge of impending disaster, nothing unusual," he quipped, and he could almost hear the captain's sigh.

"Aramis," Athos said flatly.

"Mauvoisin wants to blow up the skyplex," he explained. "Porthos is currently chasing one of the conspirators. But I need help disarming the bomb."

There were several moments of silence through the link, perhaps as Athos sent up a silent lament to the universe.

"Can you send an image?"

"Erm, no. But I'll describe it to you. Give me a minute." Aramis tapped a few keys and routed the comm connection to his wrist device. Then he darted from the room and down the corridor to where he'd found the explosive. Flea trailed behind him.

Aramis yanked the tarpaulin away, revealing the device, and crouched down in front of it. "There's just under three hours on the countdown," he informed Athos. "Looks like an IC07. There's a central casing and lots of wires. Can't tell if there're any sensors."

"Is there a side panel on the left?" Athos asked.

Aramis leaned over. "Yes." He pulled out his dagger and used the tip to prise it open. "Okay, there are six wires and nodes in here. Three red, three yellow."

"Strip the casing and see what they look like inside."

Aramis proceeded to do so. "At least one is a smaller gauge."

"That's the timer," Athos said. "The larger gauges are for the explosives. Cut that one and it should stop the countdown."

Aramis breathed out through his nose. "Should?"

"Depends on how devious the bomb maker was."

Yeah, they'd seen a few diabolical devices during their time in the military, bombs that had taken out the squad sent to disarm them. But this was some businessman trying to clear out undesirable company above his new resort. So, probably not the artist type.

Aramis cut the wire. He held his breath as the timer froze, and when the device didn't explode in his face, he finally let it out. Beside him, Flea sagged.

"Aramis," Athos said impatiently.

"We're good," he reported. "But I'd still like to jettison this thing out the nearest hatch."

"I'll take care of it," Flea said.

Aramis almost argued with her, but the stern look in her eyes made him hold his tongue. This was her domain after all. His thoughts instead turned to Porthos, but it was too late to catch up with him. Aramis could only hope his brother had as much success as they just did.

o.0.o

Porthos barreled after Charon, chasing him down corridors that were as familiar to him as they were to his quarry. How many times had they chased each other through these passages as children?

Porthos expected Charon to make for a docking bay, but the man was taking turns deeper into the skyplex. When Porthos finally caught up to him, it was in the compartment with the generators.

"Charon!" Porthos roared.

The man skidded to a stop, nowhere left to go. Shoulders slumping, he turned around. An almost rueful grin cracked his features and he shook his head. "I couldn't believe how perfect it was, you showing up today. On the off-chance anyone survived, they'd blame you."

Porthos gaped at him, flabbergasted. "What have I done to earn this hatred from you? We were friends!"

"And then you left."

"I asked you to come with me!"

"And serve the very people who oppress us?" Charon snorted. "Not a chance."

Porthos shook his head in disbelief. Charon had always possessed a certain bitterness about their poverty and those who had more than they needed. He'd never expected it to grow into utter vitriol and hate.

"Murderin' hundreds of people to get what you want," Porthos said, "how's that make you better than them? Better than people like Mauvoisin?"

Charon's lip curled up in a sneer. "You think you're better than me. Always have. And then Flea chose me, and I thought I'd finally won." His gaze hardened. "But you come back and all of a sudden she's yours again."

"That isn't what this is about."

Yes, Porthos had once held feelings for Flea, maybe still did. But their lives had taken different directions and they'd both made their choices.

Charon shook his head again. "If I can't have my dreams, I can at least make sure you don't either."

He raised his gun toward the fuel cells of the generator. Porthos whipped out his gun and fired. Only one shot cracked the air, and Charon fell backward. Porthos moved forward and kicked the weapon out of lax fingers. Charon stared up at him, blood trickling out of the corner of his mouth. Porthos bent down and squeezed his shoulders, anger and grief battling for dominance. Charon had once been his best friend, but the man he'd killed was someone he hadn't recognized. And he didn't know how to reconcile that.

o.0.o

Porthos stood with arms crossed, watching anxiously as Aramis stitched up Flea's bullet wound. She bore the nip and tug stoically, as she had the news of Charon's death. It was a strength Porthos had always admired in her.

"Will you be all right?" he asked.

Aramis tied off the thread and cut it, and Flea pulled her tattered sleeve down.

"I'll live," she replied stiffly. But then her eyes softened marginally. "We all will."

"Mauvoisin may try again," Aramis cautioned as he cleaned his instruments.

Flea drew her shoulders back. "The people here are survivors."

Aramis flicked a knowing smile at Porthos then back to her. "Indeed."

She took a step toward Porthos and placed a hand on his arm. Then she lifted onto her toes to press a gentle kiss to his mouth. "Goodbye, Porthos."

His heart gave a pang. "Maybe I can stop in now an' then…"

Flea smirked. "This isn't your home anymore," she said, though there was no barb behind it. She glanced at Aramis. "You have another home now. And I have mine."

Porthos nodded, overcome with both gratitude and remorse. He'd always known there was no going back for him. And Flea would never leave the Court, not even for him. Not even for Charon.

They bid farewell and Porthos and Aramis returned to their shuttle with the stolen parts. The flight back to the planet was quick, and Constance was relieved to see them well. They handed over the parts so she could fix the ship before their passengers were ready to depart.

Porthos drifted outside, finding himself gazing up at the cloud covered sky again.

"Are you all right?" Aramis asked.

"I got away," he said. "Made a better life. Not everyone is that lucky."

"It wasn't luck. It was hard work and determination." Aramis clapped a hand on Porthos's shoulder. "You made the life you wanted for yourself."

"Still, not everyone gets the chance," Porthos argued. He flashed his best friend a grin. "Not everyone meets people like you an' Athos."

Aramis grinned. "That's true. But thanks to you, the people up there will live to have another chance tomorrow."

Porthos tipped his head back. He hoped some would take it. But Aramis was right; Porthos had worked hard for this life he now had. And he wasn't going to waste it.

Chapter Text

"That's a lot of guards for one piece of cargo," Aramis commented.

Athos merely hummed as he watched their contact lead a procession of men and a forklift carrying a large crate toward where the Luciole was docked. Even stranger, the container had several small holes all around the sides.

"Mr. Thompson," Athos greeted.

"Captain Athos, a pleasure," the man replied. He gestured to the crate. "We've just given it a dose of sedative, so it should be out for several hours. You just have to give another tranquilizer halfway through the journey."

Athos and Aramis exchanged a look.

"I'm sorry, what?" Aramis asked.

Thompson quirked a confused brow at them. "You are here to transport the tiger to the wildlife preserve on Albion, are you not?"

Athos's brows rose marginally. "Tiger," he repeated. Yes, their job was to transport some cargo to Albion, but no one had said anything about a live animal.

Thompson shifted nervously. "You mean you weren't informed?"

"Not as such," he replied dryly.

Aramis stepped forward to get a look through the air holes. He let out a low whistle.

"Is this going to be a problem?" Thompson asked nervously. "Because this tiger is a precious species and needs to be moved to the preserve immediately."

Athos exchanged another look with Aramis, who shrugged. "It won't be a problem," he told Thompson.

The man looked relieved and quickly started directing his men to get the crate onto the Luciole.

Aramis came back to stand at Athos's side. "Porthos is not going to be happy about this."

Athos watched the container holding a very large, very wild beast being loaded onto his ship and sighed.

o.0.o

"No, no way," Porthos railed. "I did not sign up for this."

Athos had to bite back the urge to sigh again. "You didn't sign up for the pirates we encountered last week either."

"No, pirates I did sign up for. I love pirates. Bring 'em any day o' the week. This is not okay!" He jabbed a finger angrily at the crate now secured in the cargo hold. "'Ave you lost yer minds? Bringin' a wild animal into space!"

"It is sedated," Aramis pointed out. "Should sleep right through the journey."

"As long as we give it that second sedative later," Athos mentioned.

Porthos shot him a black scowl. "No," he continued, shaking his head fervently. "I'll quit."

"Now, Porthos," Aramis tried to cajole. "It'll be fine. Think of the great service we're doing for the preservation society."

"Yeah," d'Artagnan spoke up. "Besides, if it hasn't woken to you raging about like a lion, I don't think a little space travel is going to bother it."

Constance ventured toward the crate, trying to see inside. It was mostly dark, but Athos had been able to glimpse patches of orange fur with black stripes through the holes.

"I've never seen one outside o' pictures," she said in wonder. "I bet 'e's beautiful."

"Until he tries to eat us," Porthos retorted.

"The tiger is secure," Athos said flatly, tired of the argument. He turned to d'Artagnan. "Would you be so kind to get us off planet now? The sooner we complete this job, the sooner we can unload our passenger," he said with a pointed look thrown toward Porthos.

The larger man grumbled under his breath, but despite his threat, he didn't walk out and quit.

Athos shook his head to himself. D'Artagnan had it right; there was room for only one restless beast on this ship.

o.0.o

D'Artagnan sat at the helm, their course set and steady, and so he only needed to keep one eye on the controls while Constance sat in the seat across from him at the comms station, flipping through pictures of tigers on a compact database pad. They were halfway through their journey and everything had been smooth sailing.

"Look at this," Constance said. "There are white ones too." She angled the pad up so he could see.

"I wonder if the preserve has one of those," he mused.

"Do you think we'd be able to look around when we get there?"

D'Artagnan pursed his mouth. "It's not really our place. We're just the couriers."

Her face fell. "Right."

"But maybe I can take a slow sweep over the area when we're coming in, try to catch sight of something on the monitor."

Constance's expression lit up again. And then sobered as alarms started going off.

D'Artagnan straightened sharply and leaned over the console. "Shit."

"What is it?"

D'Artagnan grabbed the handheld radio set and opened the ship-wide intercom. "Heads-up, we've got a magnetic storm inbound. Buckle down everyone."

Constance's eyes widened and she quickly strapped herself into the comm seat. D'Artagnan thrust his arms through the straps of the pilot chair and buckled the clasps. Then he grabbed the joystick with both hands and fought to keep the ship on course as the first wave of charged ions hit. They bombarded the hull, kicked up by a solar flare interacting with a planet's magnetic field. The navigation system immediately spritzed out. The ship juddered, the joystick jerking in d'Artagnan's grip. They lurched to the side and then back, and he gritted his teeth as he wrestled against the outside forces.

After several minutes, it finally stopped. D'Artagnan let out a breath of relief and sagged back into his chair. Then he immediately slowed the ship and powered down the engines, letting them drift in space.

Constance unbuckled herself and stood. "I'll go check the engines for damage."

D'Artagnan nodded, and she passed Athos on her way off the bridge.

"Status report," the captain said.

"Navigation needs to be rebooted," he replied. "Doesn't look like we took much damage, and Constance is checking the engines to make sure there's no electrical charge buildup before we resume propulsion."

Athos nodded and checked his wrist band. He then picked up the radio for the intercom. "Aramis, check on our cargo. It's also about time for the next dose." He set the radio down and turned back to d'Artagnan. "How long of a delay do you think this will cause?"

"Depends on what Constance says about the engines, but it's probably just a minor delay."

Hurried footsteps came clomping onto the bridge as Aramis arrived, looking harried. "We have a problem."

Athos raised his eyes to the ceiling. "Of course we do."

D'Artagnan hastily unbuckled himself to follow after them as they made their way down to the cargo hold. Most of the storage containers had shifted around a bit, but nothing had toppled over. The tiger's crate, however, had not only been knocked about a bit, but the door was broken and hanging open.

D'Artagnan pulled up short in alarm as Aramis strode straight toward it and gestured inside. Athos followed, his brows shooting up. D'Artagnan crept forward and then gaped in stupefaction. It was empty.

"Where is it?" Athos demanded.

Aramis's mouth was pressed into a thin line. "I don't know."

"It couldn't have gone far." The captain started roving his gaze around the other storage containers in the hold that created dim nooks and crannies along the edges.

D'Artagnan's heart suddenly lurched and he bolted up the stairs to the main deck, heedless that a tiger might be up there waiting for him. He had to get to Constance.

He found her in the engine room checking over everything, no sign of the tiger. "Oh thank god," he breathed, catching himself on the joist to slow his adrenaline-sped heart.

Constance gave him a dubious look. "What's wrong?"

"The tiger is loose."

"What?" Her eyes widened and she glanced behind him into the corridor. "On the ship?"

"Yeah."

"How?"

He shook his head. "The storm knocked its crate around and it looks like the latch broke." He held out his hand. "Come on, we should regroup."

A moment later, a bellowing "What!" echoed through the ship.

D'Artagnan grimaced.

o.0.o

Athos stood with his arms folded as Porthos loaded a shotgun. "We can't shoot our cargo," he pointed out.

"I'm not gonna jus' stand around an' wait to be tiger chow," Porthos rejoined, cocking the weapon.

"The animal is probably disoriented still coming off the tranquilizer," Aramis said. "Not to mention thirsty."

"That jus' makes it more dangerous." Porthos grabbed a gun, checked its magazine, and tucked it in his belt.

"No," d'Artagnan spoke up. "That's a good point. We can try to lure it out with food and water."

"Can't you just shoot it with the second tranquilizer?" Constance asked.

Aramis shook his head. "We'll have to get it back in the crate first, or it will be too heavy to move."

Porthos huffed.

"We stick together," Athos decided. "Aramis, get the trank ready. We'll check the mess first and…see if we have anything we can entice it with."

Once Aramis had the trank gun loaded, they carefully made their way up to the main deck and into the mess. There was still no sign of the tiger. Athos didn't know how a beast that large could hide so easily. With Porthos keeping guarded eyes switching between the two archways on either end of the mess, the rest of them started rifling through their food. But as Athos had suspected, they didn't really have anything that would appeal to a carnivore.

"Dried MREs aren't going to cut it," he commented.

"Yeah, the only fresh meat on board is us," Porthos grumbled.

"Porthos, for once, you are not helping," Athos shot back.

"We need to cook somethin'," Constance said. "Get a strong smell goin'."

"Aha!" Aramis exclaimed and came up from one of the cupboards he'd been digging around in with a package of preserved bacon.

"Perfect!" Constance snatched it away and quickly flicked on the stovetop so she could cook it. A few minutes later the scent and sizzle of bacon filled the room.

Athos divided up the meat with d'Artagnan and directed Constance and Porthos to go with him out one way while he and Aramis took the other.

The two men crept cautiously through the corridor, Athos's hands turning greasy from the bacon.

"Now I'm getting hungry," Aramis murmured.

Athos ignored him. He pulled up short as he caught sight of what looked like a tail swishing around the corner. Silently signaling to Aramis, they continued forward.

The tiger was pacing the next corridor and was much larger than Athos could have pictured. Aramis shot him a look and shrugged.

Taking a deep breath, Athos took a step and held out the bacon, hoping the smell was strong enough to capture its attention.

The animal, of course, noticed the movement and immediately bared its teeth. Its nostrils flared and whiskers splayed as it sniffed the air, and then it started loping toward them.

Athos backpedaled and nearly ran into Aramis, but they both turned and sprinted onto the catwalks and down toward the cargo hold. There was a clang as the tiger took the first set of stairs at a leap, landing with a rattle. Athos and Aramis barreled toward the crate, stopping to turn before they ran into the closed bay doors. The tiger followed halfway but then slowed, staring at them intently.

"Give it a piece," Aramis prodded.

Athos cringed but broke off a bit of bacon and tossed it at the great cat. The animal snatched it up ravenously.

Footsteps sounded above as Porthos and the others arrived, and Porthos took up position with his shotgun aimed over the railing.

"Stand down," Athos hissed.

The tiger noticed their arrival though and flinched. Its fur bristled and a low growl emanated from its chest.

Aramis grabbed the back of Athos's coat and pulled him back a few steps. Athos threw another chunk of bacon into the crate and another just outside the door.

The tiger looked between it and them warily, and they backed up further until they were essentially trapped if the tiger decided they looked more appetizing. But thankfully the smell of cooked meat did draw it in; the tiger trotted forward and gobbled up the bacon, then ventured into the crate.

Athos threw himself at the door and slammed it shut. The tiger immediately whirled and knocked against it, and Athos gritted his teeth as he held firm. Aramis took aim with his rifle and after a few taut beats, shot the tranquilizer through one of the air holes. The tiger let out a vicious yowl and the crate juddered more violently. Athos pressed his whole body weight against it and Aramis joined him, both of them keeping that door closed until finally the tiger turned sluggish and eventually lay down.

Once they were sure it was out, Constance brought a spot welder and sealed the crate again. The wildlife preserve could handle getting the animal out.

Athos sagged in relief when it was done.

Porthos glowered at him. "Never again," he warned, jabbing a finger the captain's way.

Athos didn't disagree.

Chapter Text

Aramis ducked the swing aimed at his head, only to get tackled by another assailant that drove him backward into the bar counter, the rim ramming painfully into his lower back. He grappled with the brute of a man as punches flew and furniture broke in the melee happening behind him. Aramis flailed one hand over the counter at his back until his fingers grasped a bottle, which he smashed over his opponent's head.

In the breath between attacks, he tapped the comm link on his wrist band and brought it to his mouth. "D'Artagnan, we could use some help here."

And then he was set upon by another filthy lout. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Porthos throw someone into a wall and turn with an excited bellow for whoever was next. He always did like to brawl. Aramis, not so much. Nor Athos, who had been quietly nursing his cup in a back corner before the fight broke out. He'd waited a few moments to see whether Porthos and Aramis could handle it, but they'd apparently decided to visit a bar where most of the customers felt a sense of bloodthirsty loyalty to each other, and the two musketeers had been quickly overwhelmed.

Athos had his main gauche drawn and was using it to fend off thrusts from broken bottles and one knife. Even halfway to being drunk, he possessed more skill than these ruffians.

But ruffians often had brute strength, and Aramis suddenly found himself seized by a second and being propelled across the room and flung toward the window. The flexi-screen wobbled as the right amount of momentum struck it so that the offending object flew right through rather than shattering actual glass. Aramis hit the ground hard and rolled, pain radiating up his spine where the pistols on his belt dug into already forming bruises. A moment later the door to the establishment banged open and Athos was tossed out, though he only stumbled before catching himself. Several men poured out after him.

Aramis forced himself to his feet. This was turning into an annoying day.

Porthos threw a man out ahead of his exit, but he was then quickly shoved through the crowd so that he stood next to Aramis and Athos…with a cliff at their backs.

"Enough!" Athos shouted. "You've made your point. We're leaving."

One of the larger bar patrons stepped forward and cracked his knuckles. "I think a point still needs to be made," he said, eyes fixed on Porthos.

Porthos smirked in response, feet balanced shoulder width apart in anticipation.

Several men drew their guns and pointed them at the musketeers.

Porthos faltered. "Hey now, fellas. It was just a good ole bar brawl. No need to get yer panties in a twist."

Aramis's fingers twitched toward one of his pistols and he grimaced with his own expectation of what was to come next. But then an updraft rippled along the back of his shirt and he heard a growing thrum. Chancing a look over his shoulder, he almost reeled back as the Luciole suddenly rose up to crest the cliff, hovering behind the musketeers. D'Artagnan's voice came over the amplified speakers.

"Everyone go back inside, or I will blow a new crater in this little moon."

The thugs hesitated, the gusts from the engines kicking up dust around them. Aramis heard the whir and grind of the cargo bay door opening and he turned to see Constance standing at the control panel. With another wary glance at potential pursuers, he took a running leap to land on the ramp, Athos and Porthos behind him. Once inside, Constance hit the button to close the door.

Porthos chuckled. "Fools. Didn' even know Firefly ships ain't armed with weapons."

Athos rounded on him, snatching at his wrist and turning his arm up. A King card peeked out from under his sleeve. The captain leveled a disapproving look at him. "Porthos."

The man had the grace to grimace. "Yeah, I need ta work on that."

Athos released him, and with nothing more than an upbraiding glare, turned and headed up to the catwalks.

Aramis braced an arm against a stack of storage containers and closed his eyes as he breathed through a spasm in his back.

"Will you never learn?" Constance scolded.

He opened his eyes to find her standing in front of him, arms crossed. He managed a small smile. "They did throw the first punch."

"Mm-hm. Come on, I'll get you some ice."

She took his arm and tugged him toward the stairs.

Porthos's brow furrowed in worry. "You a'right?"

Aramis smiled again. "Nothing a little of Constance's TLC can't fix."

Constance scoffed. "You deserve some bruises, actin' like idiots."

Aramis leaned toward Porthos. "That would be tough loving care," he whispered.

"Don't think I won't slap you," she snapped. "Since you seem to want to get hit today."

"But I'm walking wounded," he said in mock hurt, placing a hand over his heart. The wince he made when he reached the stairs, however, was hardly put-upon.

"And whose fault is that?"

"Well…" Aramis slid a sidelong look at Porthos. Not that he would ever hold hard feelings over the incident, but it was Porthos's penchant for cheating that had ignited the fight.

Porthos gave him a sheepish half smile. "I will work on it," he promised.

Aramis reached out to clap his friend on the shoulder. "We all have our vices. Although I do think it's unfair that I'm the one getting scolded." He flashed Constance a charming smile.

"Yes, well, I believe the captain will figure out a proper punishment."

Porthos suddenly blanched. "Aw, hell."

As though on cue, Athos reappeared in the corridor. "Porthos," he said in a deceptively normal tone. "Apparently d'Artagnan had parked the ship under the path of some migratory birds and the hull is now covered in excrement. It needs to be scrubbed off."

Porthos frowned. "But 'aven't we already left the moon?"

"Yes. So you'd better suit up."

With that, he turned and left.

Porthos closed his eyes and groaned.

Aramis scratched the back of his head. "Suddenly Constance's lectures are more preferable."

She rolled her eyes and resumed steering him into the kitchen, leaving Porthos to follow their captain's order and perhaps reflect on his choice of recreational activities.

Chapter Text

Athos waited as d'Artagnan completed the landing protocols, settling the Luciole down on the docks of the planet Persephone. Treville was waiting for them when they disembarked.

"Commodore," Athos greeted.

"Didn't think you got off Beaumonde much anymore," Aramis quipped.

Their commander huffed. "Yes, well, this assignment is a bit personal."

"I'm still not clear on exactly what we're doin'," Porthos said.

"Lord Louis of Bourbon is hosting an extravagant party," Treville explained. "He's asked me to provide him with a security detail."

"Is he expecting trouble?" Athos asked.

Treville sighed. "Louis can be…paranoid. But there have been no concrete threats."

"Then why're we doin' this?" Porthos pressed.

"I knew his father, was there when he was assassinated."

"That explains the paranoia," Aramis remarked.

"Yes, well, I suppose I feel I owe the boy," Treville finished. "It's a simple enough job. The party is this evening, so you have until then to find some appropriate attire." He fished out a coin purse and handed it over. "Louis's wife, Anne, will also be in attendance." Treville looked at Constance. "Would you feel comfortable shadowing her?"

Constance looked surprised but quickly nodded. "Of course."

"Then I will see you tonight." With a farewell nod, he turned and departed.

Aramis opened the coin purse and peeked inside, then let out a low whistle.

Porthos glanced over and grumbled under his breath. "Do I really 'ave to get dressed up like a peacock?"

Aramis grinned. "I didn't hear the Commodore mention anything about a masquerade ball."

"You know what I mean."

"It could be fun though," Constance put in. "I've never been to an elegant party."

"They're vapid and dull," Athos said.

Everyone's eyes shot to him, the hold suddenly filled with a tense silence.

Athos turned on his heel and strode down the ramp to disappear into the city.

o.0.o

The crew of the Luciole arrived at Louis's mansion early that evening after having gone shopping for fine attire. Nothing too extravagant, just enough to blend in with the guests while still maintaining functionality. Aramis was wearing black pants and a cerulean embroidered coat. The rapier that hung from his belt could be taken for ceremonial dress, but should any trouble arise, he'd be quick to draw it. His pistols, which happened to have ornate filigree in the handles and barrels, looked equally decorous though they were fully loaded.

Porthos kept tugging at his red bow tie and rolling his shoulders in his black satin coat. Aramis couldn't hold back a grin at how uncomfortable he looked, like a fish out of water. D'Artagnan, on the other hand, held himself formally, dressed in russet browns and forest greens. Constance was on his arm, looking both shy and delighted in the pale pink gown she'd found, with rippling folds down the skirt and a lace rimmed bodice. She looked exquisite, which Aramis had been sure to tell her with a rakish grin. She'd slapped his arm but had practically beamed at the compliment. There was no sword to drag down her dress, but she was carrying a clutch with a concealed pistol.

Treville strode toward them as they were admitted into the house. "Where's Athos?"

Aramis hesitated and glanced at the others. They had no idea where their fearless captain had gone off to or whether he would even be joining them. Aramis was slightly worried he'd found a bar and gotten too deep in his cups and lost track of time.

He was still trying to think of an excuse when Athos walked in. He was dressed in a simple white shirt with a navy blue jacket and his hair appeared clean if not fluffed. At least he didn't look like he'd just walked off the ship, nor did he look drunk, so that was something.

Treville gave him a clipped nod and gestured for them to follow him over to where a young man and woman stood off to the side.

"May I present Lord Louis and his wife, Anne," Treville said. "My lord, this is Captain Athos and his crew. Aramis, Porthos, d'Artagnan, and Madame d'Artagnan."

Louis had long brown hair that fell in curls over the front of his shoulders, covering some of his white and gold suit. He had a boyish face that was only emphasized by the toothy grin he gave them.

"You all look marvelous," he said with obvious glee. "And the swords…" He threw Treville a giddy look. "Those are sure to make a statement."

"Yes, sir," Treville replied with put-upon patience that one might use with an actual child. "My lady, this is Constance. Don't let the dress fool you; she's a capable musketeer."

"I'm sure she is," Anne replied, possessed of far more regality than her husband.

Aramis found himself struck by her gentle bearing yet genuine sparkle in her eyes. Athos elbowed him and he shot his captain a droll look. Honestly.

Anne and Constance went off to chat, and Louis excused himself to finish getting ready for his guests.

Aramis lowered his voice to the Commodore. "Are we here for protection or show?"

Treville sighed. "A little of both."

"He's young," Athos put in. "I'm sure other lords often try to take advantage of him."

"Indeed," Treville agreed. "He's just trying to exert some authority."

With that, he moved away to check in with the servers. Athos took the dismissal and made himself scarce.

"He seems surlier than usual," d'Artagnan commented, watching their captain's retreating back.

"Athos isn't a fan of nobility," Aramis replied.

"Why?"

Aramis shrugged. "He used to be one."

o.0.o

Athos couldn't believe he'd found himself back in this kind of environment, with all the pomp and circumstance, frills and exorbitance. When he'd joined the military and then Treville's transport company, it was to spend time anywhere else but here. A job was a job though and Athos was a professional. He could handle security duty for one night.

But as guests started arriving, he recognized some of them from his former circles. It was probably too much to hope that they wouldn't notice him. Athos kept to the edges of the room, weaving through buffet tables and potted plants more than people. Alas, someone managed to corner him.

"Athos, do my eyes deceive me?"

He inwardly cringed as he was forced to stop lest he bowl over the woman who'd stepped into his path. "Lady Frieda," he said.

She gave him a coquettish smile. "It's nice to see you after all this time. We'd thought something horrible had befallen you when you went off to war."

No, something horrible had befallen him that spurred him to seek out war.

"But now you're back," she went on, batting her eyelashes in time with her hand-painted fan.

"Where is your husband?" Athos asked.

"Oh, I've yet to marry," she replied and edged closer to him.

Ah, that explained her interest. Like vultures to fresh meat.

"You've missed quite a lot in your time away," she went on, slipping an arm smoothly into his like he'd offered to be her escort.

Athos cared nothing for frivolous drivel, but his attempts to disengage his arm were met with firm resistance, and Frieda prattled on as if she hardly noticed he wanted to escape her.

D'Artagnan suddenly stepped in front of them. "My apologizes for interrupting," he said with a half bow. "But I'm afraid I need to confer with the captain on some of the security measures for the party." He flashed Frieda a charming smile. "Work calls."

She furrowed her brow in confusion at Athos. "You're a captain now?"

"Yes," he said, finally pulling free. "Excuse me."

He followed d'Artagnan halfway around the edge of the room before coming to a stop next to some windows.

"What is it you need to discuss?" he asked.

"Oh, nothing. I just thought you could use a rescue."

Athos was taken aback. Had he really appeared that uncomfortable, or was his pilot just that perceptive? Either way, he decided not to look a gift horse in the mouth. "I appreciate it," he muttered.

D'Artagnan suddenly started looking fidgety. "Aramis said you used to be nobility."

Athos gritted his teeth and shot a glower across the room toward said man. It went unnoticed, as Aramis was currently busy flirting with a group of ladies.

"Why did you accept this job?"

He looked back at d'Artagnan. "I'm not going to be ruled by my past," he answered.

Music started up and people began to clear the center of the room for dancing. Athos recognized the tune for a waltz.

D'Artagnan's attention had wavered and he was now staring across the way at Constance, who was watching the dancers in open rapture.

"You should go ask your wife for a dance," Athos said.

D'Artagnan jerked guiltily. "We're on duty."

"You can be spared for a few minutes."

Grinning, d'Artagnan crossed the room and held out a hand to Constance. She looked hesitant at first, but Anne beckoned for her to go. They slipped into the flow of other dancers, bright smiles lighting their faces. Despite the tension of being here, Athos could appreciate the fact that they could enjoy themselves.

Then a gravelly voice slithered out from behind him. "Well, if it isn't the Comte de la Fère."

Athos clenched his jaw and slowly turned. There were many nobles he cared never to see again, but Rochefort was a vile snake at the top of the list.

The man's lip curled upward in a smug sneer. "I'm surprised Lord Bourbon invited such low trash to his gala."

"You're here," Athos replied mildly.

Rochefort's gaze hardened. "Careful, Athos. I'm in a more prominent position since you've been gone."

Athos turned around and tried to walk away, but the man's smarmy voice followed, raised just enough to draw attention. "It's interesting that you would show your face. Even years later, the scandal of your wife is still quite the talk."

Athos froze. People within earshot had stopped their chatter to watch and listen.

"The murder was bad enough," Rochefort went on. "But that you actually married a Companion…"

Athos spun, fist swinging and connecting with Rochefort's jaw so hard that the man fell to the floor. The music abruptly stopped. Several gasps rippled through the guests and the rest of Athos's crew rushed over, including Treville.

"What the bloody hell are you doing?" the Commodore hissed.

Rochefort picked himself up, wiping his bloodied lip with the back of his hand. His face cracked into an eager grin. "I accept."

Athos paused, and it took him a second to realize what he'd done.

Rochefort's valet walked up and raised his voice to the guests. "By the laws of chivalry, the duel will commence immediately."

"Wait, duel?" d'Artagnan sputtered. "What's going on?"

"By punching Rochefort, I issued a challenge," Athos explained.

Aramis eyed him carefully. "Did you intend to issue a challenge?"

"No." But now that it was done, he didn't regret it. Rochefort was a pompous ass who deserved what was to come.

"Then why'd you punch 'im?" Porthos asked.

"It doesn't matter. Once the challenge is accepted it can't be withdrawn."

"Athos," Treville snapped under his breath. "Duels are to the death."

"I'm aware."

"Are you mad?" Constance interjected.

"Apparently," Aramis muttered.

"Enough," he commanded. "As I said, the challenge cannot be withdrawn." He shucked off his coat and drew his rapier.

Rochefort's valet handed him a sword and the Comte stepped forward. The rest of the guests quickly dispersed to the edges of the room to give them space.

Rochefort smirked. "You've been away for years, Athos. You're probably rusty."

"Even on my worst day, you couldn't best me."

"We'll see." Rochefort lunged first.

Athos parried the thrust and riposted, the clang of steel resounding through the ballroom. He swung twice in quick succession, Rochefort able to deflect each time. The smarmy man was no amateur.

Their blades clashed and locked, sliding against each other with a discordant screech. Rochefort leaned in close with a leer and Athos shoved away from him. Re-centering himself, he attacked again, feinting left and then quickly scoring a cut along Rochefort's right bicep. The man hissed and spun away, pausing to inspect his torn sleeve. Furious eyes flashed dangerously at Athos.

This time Rochefort charged, swinging and slashing relentlessly. Athos's quick footwork kept his balance as he backed up under the assault, parrying each blow so that none hit their mark. Before he could be driven to the point where his back was up against a wall, Athos ducked under a swing and pivoted around, slicing Rochefort along the ribs as he went. The Comte staggered and whirled, cheeks puffing red with exertion and rage now.

"Still think you're superior," Rochefort spat. "But you're a disgrace. What happened to your brother and wife was just a fitting reflection of that."

Athos saw red and nearly lunged, but then Aramis's voice barked out,

"Keep your head!"

Athos sucked in a sharp breath, then another steadier one. He was the master swordsman here, and he wasn't going to let this worm of a man goad him into forgetting it.

Athos attacked with quick and adroit precision. Rochefort struggled to keep up as he let his emotions get the better of him. After several more exchanges, Athos finally twisted Rochefort's blade out of his hand and stabbed his rapier into the man's chest.

Rochefort looked shocked, and there was a collective hush through the crowd. Athos yanked his blade free and stepped back. Rochefort's face was still frozen in that expression of dismay as he fell backward. Sightless eyes stared up at nothing when he hit the floor.

And then the spell broke and the guests began to disperse, murmuring to each other. D'Artagnan walked over and handed Athos a napkin, which he used to clean his blade with.

Louis came over as well, a delighted grin cracking his face. "Well, wasn't that exciting," he said to Treville. "I should hire these men more often!"

o.0.o

Later that night after the party had ended, Athos, his crew, and Commodore Treville had returned to the Luciole to debrief.

"I apologize for losing my composure," Athos said to Treville preemptively.

The Commodore snorted. "Louis found it amusing, as did everyone else there apparently."

Yes, the cavalier attitude of the guests was contemptible but not surprising to Athos.

"I won't pretend to understand some of the customs of the nobility," Treville went on. "But I also gathered that many despised this Rochefort and thought you did them a favor by ridding them of him."

"There will be no love lost over his demise," Athos agreed.

"Am I to take it that means you two had a history?" Aramis surmised.

Athos gave him a half shrug in response.

"The man may have had it coming," Treville said. "But I still want to know what set you off so I can make sure I don't send you on jobs where it can happen again."

"It won't," Athos promised.

Treville merely crossed his arms and skewered him with an unyielding look. The rest of his crew were also looking at him expectantly, though with more patience than their boss.

Athos remained silent for several long minutes, conflicted. But when it was clear no one was giving up without an explanation, he resigned himself to telling the story. Besides, who knew what snippets of gossip they might have gleaned at the party already. Better he deliver the truth than let wild rumors run rampant on his ship.

"Most of you know I was a comte who gave up my title. I had a younger brother, Thomas. And…a wife."

There were several raised brows at that.

"She was a Companion," Athos continued. "I didn't know that when we first met. We fell in love and she left the Guild so we could marry."

Aramis let out a surprised sound. "That's unusual."

"Unheard of," Athos corrected. "But we didn't care. We were in love." The word came out twisted with bitterness.

"What happened?" d'Artagnan prompted gently.

"She murdered my brother."

"What?" Porthos blurted. "Why?"

Athos clenched his fists. "She claims he tried to force himself on her, that she was only defending herself. I…I didn't know what to believe. I turned her over to the feds. Renounced my title a few days later, left, and never looked back."

He lifted his chin to meet their gazes with head high. His crew was silent.

Then Aramis canted a knowing look at him. "Did you honestly think that knowing this would change our opinion of you?"

"It did among the nobility."

Porthos gave him a toothy grin. "We ain't them."

Standing in the hold of a beat-up old ship, dressed in borrowed finery, and exchanging quarter smiles, Athos took a good long look at his crew, his family, and his mouth finally twitched in response. "No, you are not."

"I'm sorry it happened to you," Constance said. "But it wasn't your fault."

Fault was a matter of perspective, and a burden Athos couldn't fully relinquish, but he felt some measure of relief that his friends had not judged him.

"Well then," Treville said. "I'll bid you all goodnight. Will check in later with the next job." With a nod, he departed.

Constance let out a dreamy sigh. "The party was fun while it lasted."

D'Artagnan grinned and circled around to face her, holding out his hand. "May I have this dance?"

There was no music, no sparkly lights, but Constance took her husband's hand and he pulled her into a dance frame and they began to sway to their own rhythm. They reminded Athos of him and his ex-wife, once upon a time, and the memories still hurt. Yet he was still somehow able to find joy in the family he'd forged since. Leaning against a storage container next to Aramis and Porthos, they watched the happy couple with beaming smiles of their own.

Chapter Text

Aramis stood over Porthos where he sat on a barrel outside the local trading post, dabbing at the bloodied mess on the side of his head. The cut was likely shallow, a product of getting beaned by a small ball some children had been playing with in the street.

"Stop laughing," Porthos snapped.

"No one is laughing," Aramis assured him, though he exchanged a look of mirth with Athos over their friend's head.

"I know what yer doin'," Porthos growled.

"I'm just trying to see the damage," Aramis promised. "It's a good thing you have such a hard head. I don't think you have a concussion."

Porthos continued to grumble grumpily as Aramis examined the injury. It had stopped bleeding.

"I can do a weave back on the ship if you want."

"'M fine." Porthos shrugged away from him and stood.

Athos gave Aramis a questioning look for confirmation, to which he nodded.

"Finish up restocking supplies then," Athos said and walked off.

Aramis sighed. "I shudder to think what acerbic backwater wine our captain is going to find for himself on this planet. I will not be patching up the hole he burns in his gut."

Porthos harrumphed, though whether in agreement or his own sour mood, Aramis couldn't tell.

"I'm goin' back to the ship to clean up."

He too walked off, leaving Aramis alone on the street.

"Yes, fine, I'll handle the supplies," he muttered to himself.

He went into the trading post and looked over the food stores for sale. Not much was appetizing, nor was there much variety. Aramis picked out some spuds and dried figs, paid for them, and then headed out.

As he was passing an alley, a sackcloth was suddenly thrown over his head and hands seized his arms roughly. He dropped the box of goods and instinctively rammed an elbow backward. One of the assailants released him and he threw a wild punch. Even blindfolded, he knew the general shape and size of a man and his fist connected with flesh. He was rewarded with a grunt, but there must have been more attackers because more hands grabbed at him and he was forced to the ground, arms wrenched behind his back and lashed with rope. His weapons belt was yanked off, along with his wrist band device.

Aramis let out a shout, trying to draw attention from anyone who could help. The hood was briefly removed and a gag stuffed into his mouth. Then he was blindfolded again and hauled to his feet and dragged off.

He struggled every step of the way, but there were too many and his efforts were hampered by his bonds. He wasn't sure how far he was being led, though it seemed like quite a ways. He knew when they left the town because leaves and twigs started crunching under their feet and he kept tripping.

His captors paused for a moment and the hood was finally ripped off. Aramis blinked as he oriented himself, and saw that they were now in the woods and that there were three assailants. He had no idea what they wanted or where they were going, nor could he ask with the gag still in place.

"Keep moving," one of the men said gruffly.

The other two seized him by the arms again and dragged him along, into the hills.

o.0.o

D'Artagnan looked up from helping Constance move around some crates in the cargo hold when Porthos walked up the ramp, blood matting the curls on the side of his head.

"What happened?" he exclaimed.

"I don' wanna talk about it."

D'Artagnan raised his brows. "Where're Athos and Aramis?"

"Athos went off somewhere an' Aramis is gettin' the supplies," Porthos replied, reaching up to poke at his head.

Constance intercepted him and tried to get a look.

He batted her hand away. "Aramis already did the fussin'. I jus' need to wash up."

She put her hands on her hips and huffed. "If you're sure."

"I am." He moved past her and headed for the stairs up to the main deck.

"Maybe we should go help Aramis with the supplies," d'Artagnan suggested.

Constance nodded, watching Porthos's brooding figure retreat into the upper level. "Good idea."

They left the ship and made the walk into town. It was a dusty settlement with tumbleweeds lazily rolling across the dirt road. They stopped in the trading post first, though Aramis had apparently already left.

Constance roved her gaze over the chinaware and wood carvings of water fowl on some display tables. "Is that a duck?"

D'Artagnan studied it for a moment. "A swan?"

She smirked. "More like someone tryin' to imitate a swan from pixelated data pictures."

He grinned. "Do you want something?" He cast an appraising eye over the painted porcelain plates, wondering which one she might like.

Constance turned and placed a hand on his chest. "Not from here. Though I would like to get some new curtains for our room."

D'Artagnan didn't know what was wrong with the ones they had, but he smiled and rubbed her arms. "We can buy some the next time we're on Beaumonde," he promised.

She beamed at him and they left the store, meandering up the street in search of Aramis or Athos.

Gunshots suddenly cracked the air, freezing them in place. D'Artagnan only hesitated a split second before bolting into a run toward the source. The town wasn't that large, and a few streets down, he and Constance pulled up short at the sight of a body on the ground and Athos standing a few feet away being handcuffed by the local sheriff's deputies.

D'Artagnan tried to push his way forward but was shoved back by a lawman. "Athos!"

"It's fine," the captain replied, calm as ever as he was led away.

D'Artagnan thought it was anything but fine. Constance clung to his arm and he squeezed back. "Come on, we need to get Porthos and Aramis."

o.0.o

The trees finally thinned and Aramis found he'd been brought to a small village. The gag was yanked out and the ropes around his wrists untied. He spat on the ground to get the rancid taste from his mouth.

"What do you want?" he demanded. "If it's ransom, I'm afraid I only have a few coins to my name."

The lead kidnapper recoiled the rope around his shoulder and elbow for future use. "Welcome to your new home, doc."

Aramis furrowed his brow in confusion. "I'm not a doctor."

"I saw you patchin' up your crew mate and talkin' like a doctor."

"I'm a medic."

"Good enough."

The man cocked his head and Aramis was once again tugged forward through part of the village and to a building where he was thrust inside. The space was average size, with a few beds in the back and pallets on the floor along the right wall. A couple of adults were laid out on those while two children sat on the mattresses in the back. A dark-skinned woman wearing a white head scarf looked up at their entrance.

"Doralee, meet our new doctor," the lead kidnapper said.

Her face lit up. "Praise the Lord."

Aramis was still trying to process this turn of events as the men left. They'd kidnapped him because they needed medical help?

"What's your name?" the woman, Doralee, asked.

"Aramis."

She smiled. "Aramis, the Lord has answered our prayers by bringing you to us."

"The Lord didn't bring me here; I was kidnapped," he rejoined.

"God works in mysterious ways," she replied.

Aramis scoffed and his gaze drifted back toward the door. No guard had been stationed outside. He wondered how far he'd get before he was spotted trying to leave though. But a strained cough from one of the patients gave him pause, and he glanced back over his shoulder at them, eyes lingering on the children.

"Has there been an outbreak?" he asked.

"No," Doralee said. "People get sick or hurt, an' most of the time they heal up on their own. But sometimes…"

Aramis felt a weight settle on his shoulders at the realization. "Sometimes they need a doctor," he finished.

He did not approve of these people's methods for obtaining said help, but as Doralee brought over one of the children, Aramis couldn't deny the fact that they were in need, and he had the means to help them.

The child had a linen bandage wrapped around her hand, and Doralee undid it to reveal a cut that had become infected. Aramis knelt in front of the girl, resigning himself to helping, just for the moment.

"Do you have comfrey?" he asked.

Doralee nodded. "Yes, some dried on the shelves, but it also grows nearby."

"Fresh is better," Aramis said. "I'll have to lance the wound and then a poultice can be used to draw out the infection."

The child flinched, trying to jerk her hand out of his.

"I'll be gentle," he coaxed. "And you'll feel better afterward, I promise."

"He's a doctor, Ruby," Doralee said, as though he was some kind of prestigious guest instead of hostage.

He still wasn't happy about the situation, but he might as well do what he could for the sick people here. After all, his brothers would be looking for him soon.

o.0.o

D'Artagnan and Porthos stood in the sheriff's office, both of them visibly fuming and on the verge of leaping over the desk to throttle the man on the other side.

"We've been over this!" d'Artagnan shouted. "Athos was trying to stop a robber."

When the chaos of the shooting had died down and d'Artagnan and Porthos had finally arrived at the sheriff's station, Athos was just starting to give his statement, explaining that the man he'd shot had come in to rob the tavern keeper and attacked him when he didn't hand over the coin fast enough. Athos had chased him into the street and ordered him to stop when the robber drew first, forcing Athos to return fire. Athos had just been the better shot.

The sheriff leaned back in his chair, rolling his eyes in irritation. "We can't corroborate that until the tavern keeper wakes up. But 'e took a hard knock to the head, so who knows when that'll be."

D'Artagnan threw his hands up and spun away. Porthos made a grumbling comment about people getting hit in the head in this town.

D'Artagnan took a few steps toward the hallway that led to the holding cells where Athos had been languishing for the past few hours and would continue to until the only witness to the robbery could give his statement. Of all the times for Aramis to not be around when they needed a medic! D'Artagnan had no idea where the man could have gotten to, and he was loathe to think that maybe he had found a pretty girl to dally with and was ignoring their comms at a time like this.

It was getting late when a deputy finally came in.

"Harnish woke up," he reported. "Told it just like the man we arrested said. Josiah came in with a gun demandin' coin an' attacked him when 'e refused."

D'Artagnan whirled back toward the sheriff. "There, see?"

The man rose from his chair. "Alright then. We can release him."

"Thank you." D'Artagnan shook his head in vexation as the deputy went to retrieve Athos from the holding cell.

A few minutes later Athos emerged, hat and belt in hand.

"Are you all right?" d'Artagnan asked.

"Fine," he said curtly. "But I'd like to leave."

Without any further exchanges, they left the sheriff's office and headed back to the ship.

"D'Artagnan, get us off this planet," Athos said once they boarded.

D'Artagnan pulled up short with a wince. "Um, Aramis isn't back yet."

Athos shot him an incredulous look. "Where did he go?"

"Um…" He shared a look with Porthos. "We don't know. He wasn't answering us on the comms band."

Athos scowled. "Of all the nights for him to find some female distraction," he muttered, storming off with a rattle up the stairs.

D'Artagnan grimaced.

Porthos shook his head. "Aramis better be back bright an' early in the morning," he said ominously.

o.0.o

Night had fallen by the time Aramis finished tending everyone in the sick room. Doralee brought him a plate of food, which he hesitated to eat, but he knew he needed his strength if he was going to escape.

"You were good with Ruby earlier," the woman commented as she sat across from him at the table. "You'll fit in well here."

"I'm not staying."

She just gave him another one of those patronizing smiles. "This is your home now. There's even a house all ready for you."

"Excuse me?"

"We've been waiting for a doctor for a long time," she said. "And God finally brought you to us."

Aramis pushed his food away. "Enough. God didn't bring me here. Kidnappers did."

The perverted twisting of faith to justify their crimes was despicable and infuriating, and it felt like a personal affront to the faith Aramis held so dear.

Doralee didn't seem offended at all. She stood and gestured for him to follow. Aramis did, and she led him to his "house." It was simple and small but not a hovel. Doralee bid him goodnight and left.

Aramis sat at the small kitchen table and waited. He couldn't try to leave now, as trying to navigate the hills in the dark would be too dangerous. The fact that he wasn't under guard also made him cautious; these people apparently weren't worried about him escaping.

Yet at the first hint of dawn, Aramis slipped out of the house and into the woods. There was just enough pale light to see by. Unfortunately, he couldn't be sure he was even heading the right direction back to the town. But it was better than staying in that place and playing their twisted game.

He didn't get very far though before he stumbled across a tripwire. It almost sent him sprawling as it snapped, but then a huge cargo net dropped from the treetops on top of him, driving him to the ground. Empty cans were tied to the ends and clamored and clanged as he thrashed underneath it. Aramis fell still, aware of making too much noise, but he couldn't attempt to get out without rattling the cans.

It didn't matter because the villagers must have heard the initial ruckus and it was only a few moments before pounding footsteps caught up to him. The net was pulled off him and Aramis gritted his teeth as he was seized yet again and hauled back to the village.

An older, very tall man hobbled over as they returned. By his bearing, Aramis placed him as someone in charge.

"No one who comes here ever leaves," the elder said.

Aramis tried to shrug off his captors but they held fast. "My friends will come for me."

The elder snorted. "No one ever comes, and you will learn your place eventually." He nodded to the men. "Take him to the cellar."

Aramis struggled as he was dragged away toward a portion of the village where some cellar doors covered the ground. He was forced inside into a small chamber that had a mattress on the floor, a toilet in the corner, and long chains bolted to the opposite wall. A single lantern provided illumination. Aramis grunted as the shackles were snapped around his wrists and ankles. Then the men left, shutting the cellar doors behind them.

Aramis shuffled a few steps in the chains. They had enough slack to allow him movement from the bed to the toilet, but that was it. He gave them an experimental yank and wasn't surprised to find them secure. He sank onto the mattress despondently.

It wasn't long before the door opened again and Doralee came down, bearing a tray of breakfast.

"Why can't you accept that this is fate?" she asked, setting the tray down on the end of the mattress. "I see you wear a crucifix," she added, nodding to the collar of his shirt. "So you must believe in God's plan."

"I do," he said staunchly. "And this isn't it."

"How can you know? Who are we to question the Lord?" she pressed.

Aramis clenched his jaw and turned away to face the wall. He was done trying to reason with mad people. They would never be swayed from their twisted beliefs.

Aramis closed his eyes and prayed to the God he believed in that his brothers would find him soon.

o.0.o

D'Artagnan paced the cargo hold anxiously. Aramis still wasn't back yet, and while Athos had yet to emerge from his quarters, he was bound to be surly when he did if they weren't ready to take off immediately.

"I'm going into town to look for him," he told Constance.

She gave him a sympathetic look and nodded.

He took the ATV to get there quicker and parked it once he reached the town. From there he simply walked up and down the streets, scanning windows for a certain Lothario. But the town wasn't that big and Aramis was nowhere to be seen.

D'Artagnan was getting very annoyed. He didn't want to go back empty-handed and face Athos's wrath, which would be unfairly vented on the rest of them until Aramis deigned to show his face.

A glint of metal caught his eye as he passed an alley. He only stopped because the piece was thin, like a rapier, and was mostly concealed under a canvas cover. There wasn't really anything suspicious about it, except that there was also a small wooden box laying on its side and some figs smashed into the dirt, like there'd been a scuffle.

D'Artagnan went over and lifted the covering. His heart dropped into his stomach. It was Aramis's weapons belt with his sword and pistols. And…dammit, his wrist band.

D'Artagnan gathered them up and quickly made his way to the sheriff's office. The man was behind his desk, the same picture as of yesterday. Narrowed eyes focused on d'Artagnan as he rushed inside.

"Have there been any other robberies or muggings reported from yesterday?" he asked urgently. "Or was someone found injured? One of our crewmen is missing and I just found his things in an alley." D'Artagnan lifted the weapons as evidence.

The sheriff gazed back at him mildly. "Nothin' reported. But disappearances are common around here."

D'Artagnan quirked a confused brow. "What? What the hell does that mean?"

"People often get snatched by the hill folk," the sheriff replied. "Mostly tradesmen."

D'Artagnan blinked incredulously. "Why haven't we heard about this?" he demanded.

The sheriff lifted his brows and pointed behind him. D'Artagnan turned to the window where a bunch of postings hung. And sure enough, there was the warning, plastered in big bold letters. D'Artagnan mentally groaned.

"We have to mount a rescue," he said.

"Those hills are filled with booby traps. Anyone who tries to go up there will most likely end up dead."

"So, what, you're saying that's it? You just leave those people to whatever fate happens to them out there?"

The sheriff shrugged.

For the second time in two days d'Artagnan wanted to punch the man. Instead he tucked Aramis's belongings under his arm and hurried back to the ATV, then booked it back to the ship. The others were all up by now and d'Artagnan could see Athos silently fuming as he drove up the ramp into the cargo hold.

"Aramis has been kidnapped," he said before the captain could erupt.

That got them all straightening in alarm.

"What?" Porthos exclaimed.

"Yeah, apparently it's a common occurrence around here," he said sourly. "The hill folk come down and just snatch people. Tradesmen, according to the sheriff, who by the way doesn't think it's worth trying to rescue anyone."

Porthos bristled with ire. Athos, too, looked murderous, though d'Artagnan was pretty sure it was now redirected from their missing crewman to the ones who had taken him.

"Why Aramis?" Constance asked. "He's not a tradesman."

D'Artagnan frowned, then shrugged. "I don't know."

Porthos let out a groan. "Tradesman…dammit, Aramis was patchin' me up in the middle of town yesterday."

D'Artagnan's brows rose sharply. "So they grabbed themselves a medic."

"And the sheriff won't help?" Athos asked.

He scowled. "No. Said there's booby traps all through the hills and it's too dangerous."

"Great," Porthos muttered.

Athos's lips thinned in thought. "Porthos and I will go in on foot, gives us the element of surprise. But we'll also likely need the ship for a quick escape, so you two will need to have her ready."

D'Artagnan nodded. "Be careful."

"We will." Athos walked over to one of the storage containers and started pulling out weapons. "Now let's go get Aramis."

o.0.o

The sun beat hotly down on Athos's back as he and Porthos trudged through the woods into the hills. It made his leather coat cling uncomfortably to him, but he ignored the discomfort, focusing instead on keeping an eye out for booby traps.

"You think Aramis is all right?" Porthos asked after a while, breaking the monotonous rhythm of crackling twigs beneath their feet.

"The hill folk need a healer," Athos replied. "They'd have no cause to harm him."

"Aramis might give 'em cause," Porthos huffed.

Athos didn't respond to that because it was true. But it was also true that any sick or wounded would tug on Aramis's heart and he'd feel compelled to help them. He had a limit though; it was just a question of how long before he reached it.

Athos felt the wretched coil of regret slithering around his insides for not having looked for Aramis the previous night. Even though it wasn't unusual for him to find female company in whatever place they docked at for the night, he always told one of them when he was going off with someone. Athos had just been so irritated by yesterday's events that he'd been past the point of patience and hadn't bothered to look deeper. He was captain; it was his responsibility. And now Aramis had been missing for a day because of Athos's negligence.

So wrapped up in his morose thoughts, he didn't see the trip wire stretched across the ground. He heard the twang as it snapped though.

Hands shoved him behind just as Porthos yelled, "Watch out!"

Athos caught himself before he face planted and turned to find a crossbow bolt sticking out of a nearby tree. He traced its path and moved to a cluster of branches where a crossbow was wedged into a nook. He looked at Porthos and gave him a nod of thanks.

"We're getting close," Porthos commented.

Athos tapped his wrist band. "D'Artagnan, what's your status?"

"We found the village," his pilot responded. "We're staying over a hill and out of sight until you give us the word."

"It should be soon."

Athos signed off and continued his trek through the underbrush. Eventually he spotted some rooftops through the thinning trees and drew to a stop, exchanging a look with Porthos. He raised his wrist to his mouth. "D'Artagnan, go now."

They waited until the high-pitched whir of engines rent the air as the Luciole came swooping down to hover over the village, kicking up gusts and dust. The bottom hatch of the cargo hold was open and Constance was leaning out, braced in a harness with a shotgun primed and ready. Then Athos and Porthos drew their own swords and pistols and stormed out from the trees toward the crowd of people that had gathered at the disturbance.

"You have something that belongs to me," Athos shouted above the noise. "Return him. Now."

These people had grit, Athos had to give them that. All of them stood unmoving with hardened expressions. He clenched his jaw.

Above, Constance cocked the shotgun and shot a wind vane off a fence post.

"I won't ask again!" Athos yelled.

An older man stepped forward. "The people who come here are brought by God's will."

"I don't give a damn about God's will," he snapped. "We are leaving with our medic. Or perhaps you all would like to meet your Maker today." Athos adjusted his aim toward the self-professed leader.

Beside him, Porthos bored holes into everyone else, his own aim unwavering.

The moment was long and fraught with tension. Athos did not want to instigate bloodshed, but he would not stand for anything less than his man being released.

The village elder must have finally come to that conclusion, for he took a deferential step back. Athos moved forward, placing his sword to the man's back.

"Take me to him."

With Porthos and Constance covering him, Athos followed the elder across the village square to a set of cellar doors. He let the old man open them, and then pushed him inside first.

At the bottom of the depression he found Aramis, shackled hands and feet, curled up in the corner of a ratty mattress.

"Athos," he breathed, voice tinged with desperate relief.

"Are you hurt?"

Aramis shook his head as he quickly stood, the chains rattling.

Athos pressed his blade firmly against the elder's back. "Do you have the keys?"

The man nodded to a hook near the door. Athos snatched the key off it and tossed it to Aramis, who quickly set to freeing himself.

"I'm really glad to see you," Aramis said once the last shackle fell away.

Athos grabbed the back of the elder's collar and thrust him back out the door. Constance dropped a ladder from above and they made their way toward it, Athos keeping his guard up as he directed Aramis to go first, then Porthos. Finally he sheathed his weapons and climbed up last. Once he was on board and Constance had shut the hatch, he tapped his wrist band to tell d'Artagnan to get them out of there.

Porthos scooped Aramis into a bear hug. "What the hell are you doin' goin' an' gettin' yourself kidnapped?" he growled.

"Took you long enough to come after me," Aramis quipped back, patting Porthos fondly.

The large man stepped back with a grimace. "Er, yeah. We 'ad some delays."

"Which I apologize for," Athos put in. He looked Aramis over critically. "You're unharmed?" he asked again.

Aramis nodded. "They wanted a doctor." He snorted. "Too bad they didn't take the time to ask if I actually was one." His expression pinched. "I did help some of the injured and sick when I first arrived. It wasn't the children's fault what the adults had done."

Athos shook his head; Aramis didn't need to apologize for common human decency. If anything, it was a testament to his character that he was willing to help those who'd kidnapped him in the first place.

"What got you relegated to chains?" he asked.

"I tried to escape the next morning but got caught in a trap. That's when they decided to upgrade my accommodations."

D'Artagnan came rushing in from the main deck, taking the stairs down to the hold two at a time. "Aramis! Are you okay?"

Aramis smiled. "I'm fine. Thanks for the rescue." He then turned to Porthos. "How's the head?"

Porthos rolled his eyes. "It's fine. But let's not take any more jobs that bring us to this godforsaken place."

Aramis's expression fell. "I don't think God's forsaken these people. But…I don't believe he would bless their actions either."

Athos reached out to clasp his shoulder. "Nevertheless, I'll tell Treville not to give us any jobs in this sector for a while."

That drew a small smile from the others and a quiet "amen." Athos finally let himself release the tension he'd been holding onto. He'd gotten his crew back safely; he'd done his duty.

Chapter Text

Porthos sat in the back of the covered wagon as it jostled over the pebbles in the shallow stream. It was the slowest and most uncomfortable means of transportation in the whole verse.

"You really think this'll work?" he asked.

"The bandits have laid claim to this road," Athos replied. "They don't let anyone pass without paying their 'toll.'"

Porthos let out a soft snort. "Road" was an overstatement. But it was the route between the nearby town and any others they would trade with. When the Luciole had delivered some goods directly to them, the crew had learned that the poor town was being besieged by bandits who ambushed anyone coming and going from the place. Resources were already stretched thin and the townsfolk couldn't sustain themselves much longer under such oppression. Aramis had suggested they help with the problem, which was how the musketeers found themselves setting up their own ambush.

Porthos gripped his shotgun at the ready and peeked through the flap in the canvas toward the front where d'Artagnan and Constance sat, hooded in cloaks like a poor couple trying to flee town.

A few minutes later the wagon lurched to a stop as a voice called out,

"Going somewhere? There's a fee for crossing these lands."

"We don't have hardly anything," d'Artagnan replied.

"Well then maybe we'll take payment in the form of somethin' else. Say, maybe, some quality time with yer lady there."

Porthos and Athos stood, taking up position on the sides. There was the sound of a gun cocking.

"There will be no more payments," Constance declared.

"Take them!"

That was their cue. Porthos and Athos flipped up the sides of the canvas cover and leaned out. Porthos fired his shotgun, pumped the cartridge, and fired again. There were over half a dozen bandits who immediately started to shoot back. Constance and d'Artagnan scrambled to take cover behind the wagon while returning fire. Screams rent the air followed by splashes as men were unhorsed. A bullet ricocheted off the side of the wagon and Porthos dropped low. He abandoned the shotgun for his schiavona and charged out. One man aimed his weapon but Porthos was already too close and he cut the bandit down before he could get a shot off.

Another one, however, had the distance and was whipping Porthos's direction. The small crack of a rifle shot preceded him flying sideways off his horse. Porthos grinned; he couldn't see Aramis somewhere up in the hills but knew the marksman was there. With their sniper covering them, they made quick work of the rest of the bandits.

"Not so tough when yer victims fight back," Porthos commented as he sloshed through the water, plucking up weapons and checking the bodies.

"Line them up on the shore," Athos said. They wouldn't go to the trouble of burying the dead, but they'd afford them a small measure of dignity in not letting them rot where they fell.

Porthos took hold of one bandit and lugged him out of the water. Athos and d'Artagnan helped while Constance stood guard. They were just finishing when Aramis joined them. Granted, he'd been a good distance away, but Porthos suspected he'd taken his time so as to get out of the heavy lifting.

They headed back to the town, and the people there were so grateful to them that they insisted on throwing a celebration that evening. Athos, as usual, didn't look keen on the idea, but the barely suppressed enthusiasm among the rest of his crew was obvious and so he reluctantly acquiesced. It'd been a while since they'd been to a proper shindig—that one on Persephone protecting the nobles didn't count—and when was the last time they were the guests of honor? No, Porthos was going to enjoy this.

That night there was a bonfire and music and platters of food. And the wine was flowing, which was enough to content Athos. Aramis found a lovely young woman to flirt with, while d'Artagnan held Constance in his arms as they reclined by the fire.

Porthos was sitting on a log next to an old man who was showing him a rain stick. The idea that shaking a stick with rice inside could make it rain was ridiculous, but Porthos still found himself fascinated by the piece of culture from Earth-that-was. Especially when the town elder offered it to Porthos as a gift. He tried to decline but the man was insistent. Porthos accepted it with a grin and started to rattle it in time with the music.

He stood up and wove through the celebration, pausing when a lithe woman with strawberry blond hair approached him. She held a wreath in her hands and beckoned for him to lower his head. He wasn't really into flowers, but he bowed anyway so she could place it upon his head. Porthos could get used to receiving such appreciation; most of the time they got none.

The woman then picked up a bowl from a nearby table and held it up to him. Dark colored wine rippled within, and Porthos accepted the drink to be polite. After a sip, she took the bowl back and set it aside with the rain stick, then took his hand and pulled him out into the center of the square to dance. Porthos didn't know the steps, but then there didn't seem to really be any. Those dancing just lifted their feet in buoyant synergy with the music. Porthos tried to keep up.

Aramis caught his eye as they made a circle around the square, and the marksman tipped his hat at Porthos with a grin before turning his attention back to his own company.

By the time the dance was over, Porthos was breathless and a bit tipsy. His partner had disappeared, so he tracked down his rain stick and went to sit with d'Artagnan and Constance.

"Look at this," he said proudly, presenting the item to them.

D'Artagnan gave him a dubious look. "It's a stick."

"It's a rain stick." Porthos shook it so the rice inside swished, almost like the sound of rain drops.

"Okay…"

"I think it's nice," Constance said.

"Yeah," Porthos agreed. "How often do we get gifts for bein' heroes anyway? I'm gonna treasure this rain stick."

D'Artagnan smirked and Constance grinned. Porthos leaned back as the heat from the bonfire buffeted his face, and settled in to enjoy the rest of the evening.

o.0.o

The night of revel was a nice break, but it was back to work the following morning. Townsfolk had turned out to bid them farewell, once again peppering them with praises for saving them from continued oppression. Finally the Luciole took off and headed out of the atmosphere.

Porthos and Aramis puttered around the cargo bay, organizing the fresh stores they'd picked up. Porthos grabbed a sack of squash from a mesh basket in one of the carts to take up to the mess, when a flash of red hair had him dropping the bag and reaching for a sword not currently on his belt. The squash thudded on the floor and went rolling at the same time as a woman yelped and cowered behind the crate.

"What the…"

Aramis hurried over. "Porthos?"

He gestured to the woman, at a loss. "Guess we picked up somethin' extra on the planet."

"So we have." Aramis wedged himself between the crates and held out a hand. "Come on out, mademoiselle."

The woman slowly got to her feet. She didn't take Aramis's hand but did come out from behind the crate. Porthos thought she looked vaguely familiar.

"What do you think yer doin', stowin' away on a ship like this?" he demanded.

She kept her head ducked demurely. "I'm not a stowaway," she answered. "I'm your wife."

Porthos blinked. "My what now?"

Aramis's brows rose to his hairline. "Porthos, is there something you'd like to tell me?"

"What? No!" he spluttered. "I don't have a wife!" He narrowed his gaze. "Hang on, I remember you. We 'ad a dance last night."

She nodded. "And were bound in sacred marriage."

"I think I woulda remembered that part." Porthos shook his head and turned to Aramis. "Tell Athos to get down here."

Aramis moved to the radio set by the control panel and got on the ship's intercom. "Would everyone please come down to the cargo bay. Immediately."

Porthos whirled on him. "Hey now, what'd you go an' do that for?"

Aramis's lips quirked. "I think this is a matter for the whole family, don't you think?"

Porthos shot him a dirty look, but it was too late, as the others were quickly descending the stairs down into the hold.

"What is it?" Athos asked. His expression sharpened when he spotted their stowaway.

"Apparently, this is Porthos's wife," Aramis replied cheekily.

"She's not my wife!"

The young woman cringed at the outburst, her face puckering up like she was about to cry. Porthos instantly felt bad for frightening her.

"I'm sorry," he said in a lower voice. "But we're not married. There's some big ole misunderstandin'."

"We engaged in the marriage ceremony last night," she said. "You accepted the laurel and wine, and then we danced to seal the union."

Porthos's mouth moved soundlessly as he floundered for a response.

Athos shot him a dry look. "You didn't."

"How was I supposed ta know!" he exclaimed. "What kind o' marriage ceremony is that?"

The woman shied away again. "Do I not please you?" she whimpered.

"Ah," Aramis interjected, "you're very beautiful. I think we'd all just like to know why you would marry a complete stranger who most obviously had no idea what you were asking of him."

"I was a gift," she said. "From the town leader. In appreciation for what you did for us."

Porthos's jaw went slack again. A gift was a rain stick, not a- not a wife!

"We need to take her back," Athos said with his usual calm detachment.

"Uh, we can't," d'Artagnan put in. "One of the bandits had rich family ties. A bounty just went out over all the bands. We try to go back, we'll find ourselves in a firefight we can't win."

Athos's jaw visibly tightened. "Fine. We'll drop her at the next planet on our route."

The woman made a soft sound of distress and turned to run off.

Constance crossed her arms and glared at their captain. "This is hardly her fault."

"She doesn't belong on this ship. Unless Porthos intends to keep her." Athos arched an inquiring brow at him.

"What? Of course not!"

"Nevertheless," Aramis said, "you'd better go after her."

Porthos shot him an incredulous look. Go after her and do what? This mess wasn't his fault either!

Grumbling under his breath, he headed up the stairs in the direction the girl had gone. At least on a ship this size she couldn't get far. Porthos caught up with her on the upper catwalk.

"Hey," he called out.

She stopped, keeping her back to him.

"I'm sorry about all this," he said. "An' I'm sorry you can't go home. But we'll drop you off at one of the better planets, help you find good work. You can make a new life for yerself, yeah?"

She turned around, eyes wide and beseeching. "Why can't I stay with you?"

Porthos blinked. "Uh…for starters, we don't even know each other. I'm sure you're very nice," he added quickly. "But I'd like to know a woman's name before gettin' married."

She smiled softly. "My name is Saffron."

"Oh. That's pretty."

Saffron stepped forward, closing the distance between them. "When the town leader first picked me as an offering, I was afraid. I'd seen other girls sold off to men, much older men. Some were cruel, and if they were displeased…" She bit her lip, then lifted her gaze to his. "But when I saw you, I immediately knew you had a kind heart. You're a hero who saved the town." She raised a hand to gently alight on his chest. "I could please you."

Porthos swallowed thickly. "I'm sure you could."

Her expression brightened. "Give me a chance to prove I can have a place at your side. Are you hungry? I can cook something."

She spun on her heel and bounded off toward the mess before Porthos could formulate a response. He followed her into the kitchen.

"That's really not necessary," he said.

"Of course it is," she replied and pushed him to sit at the table. She then went and rattled around in the kitchen with the pots and pans.

Porthos fidgeted in discomfort, but as she started cooking, the tantalizing aroma of food made his stomach rumble. Maybe it wouldn't hurt…

Several minutes later when she placed a plate in front of him, Porthos couldn't help but salivate in response. The food looked amazing and he took a hearty bite, moaning in pleasure at the splash of spices on his tongue.

"Mm, tha's good."

Saffron beamed at him.

"What smells so good?" d'Artagnan asked as he and Constance entered the mess.

"Saffron cooked," Porthos replied.

"I'm starving." D'Artagnan reached to snag a potato wedge off the plate, but Saffron smacked his hand.

"That's for Porthos," she said sharply.

D'Artagnan cradled his hand, looking more stunned than hurt. "Okay…"

"I'm sure your wife would be happy to cook you something," Saffron went on, flashing a saccharine smile at Constance.

Constance's brows rose. D'Artagnan turned puppy eyes toward her, to which she scoffed indignantly and slapped his arm. He cringed.

"Why don't I just make something myself," he said, edging toward the kitchen.

Saffron pursed her lips smugly and remained standing behind Porthos's shoulder. He felt a tad bit crowded with her hovering, but the food was really good. So he went back to eating. Constance rolled her eyes and left while d'Artagnan puttered about the kitchen as unobtrusively as possible. Porthos did feel bad for not sharing, but it really was so good that he finished off the whole plate himself.

Saffron set to cleaning up the dishes, and Porthos slipped out so he could find Athos. The captain was with Aramis on the bridge discussing routes.

Porthos cleared his throat. "Look, I know it'll take longer, but can't we at least bring her to Beaumonde? There are better work opportunities there."

"Has she divulged any skills?" Athos asked.

"She's a good cook."

Aramis broke into a grin. "Ah-ha, she knows the way to your heart."

Porthos huffed and crossed his arms. "She was jus' tryin' to be nice. This whole thing can't be easy on her either."

Athos's shoulders heaved in a put-upon sigh. "You want to save her."

He quirked a confused brow. "I jus' wanna make sure she's taken care of, tha's all."

"That is not your responsibility."

"I know what's it like to have nothin', to get handed a raw deal. I don' wanna see 'er end up in the slums."

"That would not be on you if she did," Athos replied. "The marriage ceremony was done without your informed consent which is grounds for annulment as soon as we reach a planet we can register the claim with."

"Yeah, but that ain't her fault either. She was bein' handed over as a gift. Like a piece of property! Hell, it's probably fer the best we couldn' take her back to that place."

"Maybe so, but she is not a member of this crew."

Porthos dropped his gaze. He almost opened his mouth to ask why not, maybe they could do with a cook. But he knew Athos was right, and it wasn't fair to lead Saffron on when there wasn't even a relationship between them to build upon.

"Porthos," Aramis spoke up. "We're not just going to drop her off on a dock and fly away. We'll find her some good employment."

He nodded. That was what was best for everyone.

Porthos left the bridge and returned to the kitchen, but Saffron wasn't there anymore. He stepped back out with a frown and ran into d'Artagnan. "You seen Saffron?"

"I showed her to one of the guest quarters," the pilot replied.

"Oh. Good."

D'Artagnan quirked a brow at him. "You okay?"

"Me? Yeah." Porthos shrugged one shoulder. "I jus' can' help feelin' responsible."

"This isn't your fault."

"That's what Athos said."

D'Artagnan grinned. "Then it definitely isn't. You know if it was, Athos would be the first to say so."

Porthos huffed. That was true. He just felt bad—he had his crew, his family, to support him through this. Saffron had no one.

He clapped d'Artagnan on the shoulder and headed down to the cargo hold to finish up his task from earlier that he'd been startlingly interrupted from. He hoped he could do right by this woman. He wanted to do right by her, responsibility or no.

o.0.o

Porthos didn't see Saffron for the rest of the day. It was probably best to give her space until they could talk concrete plans. Athos had sent a transmission to Treville asking for contacts that had any job openings on Beaumonde, and as soon as the Commodore got back to them, Porthos would have that discussion with Saffron.

He retired to his bunk for the night. Shucking off his coat, his gaze landed on the rain stick he'd been gifted from the town elder and he felt a pang of regret over this whole mess.

When he turned around, he nearly startled out of his boots, knocking backwards into the low shelf. Saffron was laying in his bed, shoulders bare and only his sheets covering what he was certain was a very unclothed body.

"What in the blazes are you doin'?" he blurted.

"It's our wedding night," she replied, stroking the empty space beside her. "When two are to become one."

Porthos averted his gaze. "We've been over this, we can't really be together. We don' even know each other!"

"We can get to know each other."

Porthos glanced back and immediately looked to the side again, as she'd started sliding from the bed, the sheets draping lower over her bosom. He swallowed hard. "That'd be takin' advantage of you," he said, although a small voice was whispering that it kind of felt like the other way around.

Saffron stepped closer so that he could feel her presence standing right before him. Porthos couldn't help but glance at her face, and she dropped the sheets to pool on the floor. He lifted his eyes to the ceiling. Oh boy.

Saffron laid a hand on his chest. "If I cannot stay by your side, then I will go." She lowered her voice seductively. "Only let me have my wedding night."

Porthos felt warm, and he was starting to wonder if there was any harm in it. After all, she was willing. And it wasn't like Porthos was averse to engaging in a night of passion. He'd just always felt that if he was going to, he should have some kind of long-term intentions toward the woman. He wasn't into casting her aside like garbage—and neither was he keen on feeling cast aside either.

While he was still deliberating, Saffron leaned up on her tiptoes and pressed a kiss to his mouth, and he let her. His body was starting to ignore his head, incited by the spark of her lips and taste of exotic spices. He really should stop before they went too far, but…

A wave of dizziness struck him and he jerked back. His vision wobbled as the edges blurred, and he felt a strange tingling in his lips.

"What…"

Saffron stood there, smirking.

"Aw, hell—"

Everything went black before he hit the floor.

o.0.o

D'Artagnan fiddled with the controls at the helm, double checking everything before he'd set it on autopilot for the night. The sound of the bridge doors being pulled closed had him swiveling in the pilot's seat, and he furrowed his brow at the sight of Saffron smiling coyly, the doors shut behind her.

"Uh, what are you doing?" he asked, getting to his feet.

She sashayed over to him, swinging her hips in an almost deliberate sway. "Porthos doesn't want me," she said, affecting a wounded moue. "He's…a rough sort of man. But you, you're kind, and gentle. I could see that the moment I laid eyes on you."

D'Artagnan blinked in confusion at the strange shift in behavior. "I'm married," he pointed out.

"Your wife doesn't respect you."

He frowned. Respect? "Yes, she does."

Saffron drew closer and d'Artagnan sidestepped to keep a few feet between them. "Not from what I saw in the mess earlier."

"Uh, you slapped me first, remember? And Constance is her own woman, which is one of the things I love about her."

Saffron kept moving, head tilted slightly and doe-like eyes trying to pierce his. It felt very much like a seduction, which made d'Artagnan skeptical. Any woman desiring company naturally drifted toward Aramis, who was more often than not willing. Not that even he would take advantage of a poor girl in this situation. Although, the Saffron they'd met initially had been shy, almost childlike, whereas this one was turning on the sultry feminine wiles rather thick.

She leaned in for a kiss and d'Artagnan twisted away. "I'm happily married," he said, reaching to open the door. He needed to find Athos and discuss the curiousness of their passenger.

But before he could get the doors fully open, something struck him from behind and his head slammed against the rim of the door. Pain shot through his head before he fell into darkness.

o.0.o

Athos was just starting on his second flask of wine when Constance screamed. He bolted from his bed and snatched a gun off a hook before clambering up the ladder onto the main deck. Up the short set of stairs to the bridge, d'Artagnan lay sprawled on the ground with Constance leaning over him.

"He's bleeding!"

Athos rushed over, intending to open the bridge so he could call Aramis on the intercom, but the doors refused to open. He whirled just as footsteps pounded across the metal grating and Aramis gently nudged Constance aside so he could examine d'Artagnan.

"It's a shallow cut," he reported. "The bruise will likely be worse. D'Artagnan?"

Their pilot moaned and started to loll his head.

Athos knelt beside him. "D'Artagnan, what happened?"

The young man blinked dazedly. "S-Saffron. Ow." He reached a hand toward his head, but Aramis grabbed it and passed it to Constance to hold onto.

"Saffron did this?" Aramis asked incredulously.

"Yes. Don' know…why."

Aramis whipped his head up, eyes wide with alarm. "Porthos."

Athos shot to his feet. "Stay with them," he said as he turned to cross the deck to Porthos's bunk. There was no answer when he knocked, so he used his captain's code to override the internal lock. When he climbed down the ladder, he found the man unconscious on the floor.

Athos's heart leaped into his throat and he hurried over to press two fingers underneath Porthos's jawline. He was awarded with a strong, steady beat. A quick once-over didn't reveal any obvious wounds or blood. He climbed back up to the deck.

"Porthos is unconscious but appears uninjured."

Aramis's brows knitted together at the news. "I'll get my med kit. Can you get d'Artagnan down to Porthos's bunk? I can better treat them both together."

Athos nodded and helped d'Artagnan to his feet. "Constance, I need you to get those doors open," he said.

Constance pressed her lips together, her eyes full of worry for her husband, but right now Athos needed his mechanic.

"Constance."

"I'm fine," d'Artagnan assured her. "Go."

She finally tore herself away and went to inspect the doors to the bridge. Athos helped d'Artagnan down the ladder into Porthos's bunk. The large musketeer was still out cold.

Aramis joined them a few moments later. "I checked the shuttle bay," he said as he ripped open a patch of gauze and handed it to d'Artagnan, guiding the lad's hand up to press it against the cut on his forehead. "Shuttle's gone."

He then went to Porthos, crouching beside him and checking his vitals. Frowning, Aramis reached for his bag and drew out a vial and a syringe. He loaded the reservoir with whatever medication that was and snapped it into place in the injector, then stabbed the dose into Porthos's neck. It took a few minutes for the man to stir.

Porthos groaned and fluttered his eyelids before squinting at them in confusion. "Wha…wha' 'appened?"

"Your wife shanghaied us," Aramis replied glibly.

"We've been locked out of the bridge," Athos explained. "And Saffron has escaped on the shuttle. It seems her 'marriage' may have been more planned than she led us to believe."

Porthos squeezed his eyes shut as Aramis helped him sit up. "But- but she seemed so…"

"Innocent?" Aramis supplied. "The poor victim?"

"She definitely didn't play innocent with me," d'Artagnan muttered.

Porthos frowned at him. "She kiss you too?"

"What? No! She tried to. But when I wasn't having any of it, she kicked me in the head."

Porthos blinked dumbly.

"Aramis," Athos prompted, studying their friend with concern.

"Drugged," he replied. "And by my guess, it was in the lipstick she fondly kissed you with."

Porthos's face flushed red. "That…that…connivin'…"

"Captain!" Constance yelled.

Athos turned and climbed up the ladder, the others slowly following. There was a blowtorch on the floor and the bridge doors were burnt along the edges but at least open. He entered the bridge and found Constance laying on her back and looking under the console.

"What's the damage?" he asked.

"Bad. We don't have navigation, and I can't stop the ship."

Athos's jaw tightened. "Can you tell where we're heading?"

She pushed herself up and leaned over the control panels. "Yes, but there's nothin' out this way."

D'Artagnan wedged himself into the pilot's seat and tapped the view screen. "I'm picking up a massive electromagnetic disturbance. Looks like…a circle."

Athos peered over his shoulder at the screen with the bright red energy waves writhing in waffling ripples. He stiffened. "It's a net."

"A what?" Constance asked.

"A carrion house for catching ships and chopping them."

"We can defend the ship," Porthos said.

Aramis shook his head. "The electrical charge will burn us all to a crisp the moment we pass through it."

"Did Saffron send a signal before she left?" Athos asked.

D'Artagnan clacked a few keys on the keyboard. "Yes." He let out a frustrated sound. "Seems like this was one big set-up."

"She really mucked things up, Athos," Constance said, kneeling on the floor next to the console again. "I can fix it, but not before we reach that net."

Athos looked out the window as the net came into visual range. They were coming up quickly. He straightened and pointed to a series of nodes along the ring. "If we can disrupt these breakers, we can disable it." He turned to Aramis. "Suit up."

"Um, not that I can't make the shot," the marksman protested. "But guns need oxygen to shoot."

"I know." He gestured for Aramis to follow him and they headed down to the cargo bay.

They pulled the space suits from storage and donned them as quickly as they could. Athos grabbed a third suit and stuffed Aramis's sniper rifle into it, lining up the barrel against the face shield of the helmet. Aramis arched a brow at him and then grinned.

They finished suiting up and then made their way into the airlock compartment between the cargo hold and outer hull. Athos punched the controls to depressurize the space, and then pulled the door open, exposing them to outer space.

Aramis knelt on the floor and braced the suit covered rifle on his knee as he took aim. Up ahead, the net crackled with blue squiggles. The seconds ticked by as Aramis kept adjusting his aim, gaze intensely focused, as the ship drew closer. Athos simply waited, putting his trust in the marksman.

Then Aramis pulled the trigger, and the bullet shattered the face shield on its way out. One of the breakers blew and the explosion cascaded through the other ones. The net shorted out, and the Luciole passed through unharmed.

o.0.o

After Constance and d'Artagnan fixed the ship, they tracked the shuttle to a nearby planet and landed out in a field. From there, Porthos, Athos, and Aramis loaded up their weapons and made the trek through the woods to a lone cabin.

Porthos kicked in the door, surprising the occupant inside. Saffron jumped to her feet. She was dressed in silk and wearing make-up, and didn't look anything like the poor girl they'd picked up on Triumph. She lunged for a gun on a nearby table, but Porthos surged forward and grabbed her wrist, twisting it so that the gun fell from limp fingers. He spun her around and pinned her arms in his, her back against his chest.

"It's over," he growled. "Your trap failed."

"Pity," she said. "Although I do have to say it's nice to see you again. Is this how you like to get women into your arms? If I had known, I would have tried it sooner."

"Enough!"

"I liked you, you know," she went on. "Most men give in after five minutes. I enjoyed the challenge you provided."

"You are to be bound by law for your crimes," Athos said from where he and Aramis remained by the door.

"Honey, I haven't been caught yet." She suddenly rammed her head back, smashing into Porthos's face.

The shock of the unexpected blow and the brief moment of stars loosened his grip so that she wriggled free. She grabbed his gun and tried to wrest it away from him, but that spurred Porthos's instincts into fighting back. They grappled for the weapon before they both tripped over the corner of a coffee table and went crashing to the floor, Porthos on top of Saffron. She continued to struggle, scratching at his arms and even going for his face.

"I've never hit a woman before," he grunted, and then sucker punched her in the jaw and she went limp. He leaned back, chest heaving. "But this time I'll make an exception."

He pushed himself to his feet and stepped away as Athos came over to tie her up. The authorities had already been notified, so they would just leave her to be picked up. They retrieved their shuttle and flew the short distance back to the Luciole.

"'M sorry," Porthos mumbled on the way. "I was so stupid."

Aramis clapped a hand on his shoulder. "You weren't stupid, Porthos. She had us all fooled. She was a very skilled actress."

"Still, I almost got us all killed." He flicked a remorseful look to Athos.

His captain merely returned a bland expression. "That's par for the course in our line of work," he replied dryly.

Porthos smiled tentatively at the implied forgiveness.

Athos then speared him with a serious look. "But next time, no wine dances with fair maidens."

Aramis barked out a laugh.

Porthos snorted. "No problem."

Chapter Text

Athos crashed heavily to the grate floor of the cargo bay, rattling the hinges. His body trembled as hot life blood pumped out over the gaps beneath him to trickle into the bowels of the ship. He shivered. A bright light hit his face with blinding intensity and he squinted against it. The beat of his pulse in his eardrums began to fade, replaced with a muffled voice from far away.

"I'm starting a company and I'd like you to captain one of my ships…"

o.0.o

Athos walked through the dingy halls to answer the chime of the front door. He didn't know what this visit from his former commanding officer was about; he'd formally discharged from the military a few months ago and had nothing more to do with them.

The large white door opened with a telltale creak of the house's disrepair. "Commodore," Athos greeted mildly.

"I'm not a commodore anymore," Treville replied. Indeed, he wasn't even dressed in his uniform, but a stitched brown leather coat and tan trousers.

"You retired," Athos said, surprised.

"It was time."

Athos stepped back to invite him in, and led him through the hallway to the kitchen, one of the few rooms in the house that actually looked lived in. "Coffee?"

"Thank you."

Athos picked up the pot and poured some of the brown brew into one of the last clean mugs. The sink was full of dirty dishes. They tended to pile up without servants around to wash them after every meal, but Athos would never hire any on.

Treville took the cup and cast an appraising eye over things as he sipped. "How's Aramis?"

Athos glanced out the kitchen window to the gardens where Aramis was sitting in the sun under the watchful eye of Porthos. "Healing."

Aramis was the only reason Athos had even returned to his family estate on Persephone. After the massacre at Savoy, the military had discharged the marksman and left him adrift to deal with the trauma on his own. Athos and Porthos had put in for discharge soon after, and Athos had brought them to his estate so they could help their wounded friend recover. It'd been a long and difficult process, for mental wounds healed more slowly than the physical, but Aramis was making progress.

"What can I do for you, Commodore?" Athos asked, keeping the title. Treville would always be his commander.

"I'm starting a company and I'd like you to captain one of my ships."

Athos furrowed his brow slightly, taken aback. "What kind of company?"

"Transport mostly. Some other assignments as I choose to accept. What do you say?"

"I'm not a captain."

"You're a leader and a skilled soldier, and a man of integrity. Exactly the kind of person I want."

Athos hesitated as his gaze drifted out the window again.

"I'm sure Porthos and Aramis would be willing to serve under you," Treville added.

Athos snapped his attention back to the man.

Treville smirked. "I know you three are a package deal. And I can't think of a better crew for my flagship."

Athos honestly didn't know what to say. He hadn't given much thought to their futures, intending to give Aramis as much time as he needed to heal. But Athos did not want to stay in this place or even on this planet forever. The estate had served its purpose, but now perhaps it was time to venture out into the world again. All three of them were men of action after all.

"I'll discuss it with them," Athos replied.

o.0.o

Athos hooked his fingers through the floor grating as shaky breaths sent spasms of fire through his torso. With a grunt, he leveraged himself up onto his hands and knees and clutched at his bleeding stomach. He tried to keep his breathing shallow, knowing that the oxygen levels were dropping rapidly. The fire in his gut seemed to help banish some of the chill trying to pervade his bones.

He wrapped cold fingers around a bulky machine part on the floor next to him and heaved himself to his feet. Forcing one foot in front of the other, he staggered up to the catwalks and onto the main deck, past the empty dining room…

o.0.o

Laughter reverberated through the dining room as everyone sat around the table with plates scraped clean of the well-cooked meal they'd put together as a special treat. Aramis caught Porthos's eye and nodded over the man's shoulder as Constance brought out a cake from the kitchen and set it in front of him.

"Happy birthday!" they proclaimed.

Porthos grinned widely and took a hearty breath to blow out the candles.

As Constance began cutting out slices, the others started presenting Porthos with their gifts. D'Artagnan gave him a new bandana, which he promptly tied back over his dark curls. Aramis presented him with a fifty-caliber Magnum revolver that could take down a bear, should they ever find themselves encountering one.

Porthos ran his hand over the silver barrel in appreciation. "I wanna see it in action."

He got up from the table and went into the kitchen to rustle around, then popped back up with a melon, which he tossed to Aramis.

Aramis merely returned the eager grin and went to stand at one end of the dining room. Porthos moved to the opposite end, and Aramis placed the melon on top of his head.

"He can't possibly make that shot drunk," d'Artagnan said, eyes wide and incredulous as he moved out of the way.

"He's never made it sober," Athos replied blandly.

"You're all fools," Constance chastised. "And I'm not cleanin' up after you."

Aramis beamed confidently as he balanced the melon on his head and then moved his hands away slowly. Porthos raised the revolver and aimed. But before he could shoot, the lights flickered with the groan of a power failure. The ship rumbled, followed by a strange sound reminiscent of a muffled roar.

"I'll go see what's the matter," Constance said and started toward the engine room.

From the other side of the dining space, Aramis caught sight of a bright orange glow down the corridor. It took his brain a second too long to process that a giant fireball was rushing toward them.

Porthos pushed Constance out of the way right before the preceding pressure wave slammed into him, flinging him clear across the room. Everyone else got clipped as well and thrown down. The melon smashed as it hit the floor.

Athos scrambled to his feet and threw himself at the rear door, slamming it closed before the fireball could reach them. The door juddered under the impact and the flames split down the corridors.

Aramis lurched upright and ran to Porthos, dropping beside him and reaching to search for a pulse. The ship groaned under the increasing pressure and Athos yelled to d'Artagnan to seal the rest of the compartments and vent the atmosphere.

o.0.o

Aramis looked around the empty and dusty interior of the Firefly's cargo bay. She didn't look like much, a piece of rusted metal in a scrap yard. But Treville had chosen it for a reason. Maybe she was run-down and busted in places, but Aramis thought that gave her character.

"This is a death trap," Porthos declared.

"It needs some fixing up," Athos conceded. "But it'll run, get us where we need to go and back again."

Porthos huffed. "If you really wanna do this, I'm wit' ya."

"Aramis?"

The query was gentle and tentative, as though his opinion was the deciding factor here. Athos and Porthos had given up their careers and lives for him, and he didn't want to hold them back any longer.

He turned to Athos. "I appreciate everything you've done for me these past few months. I know it hasn't been easy, especially being back in that house."

Athos's mouth turned down.

Aramis held up a hand. "I'm not so absorbed in my own demons I can't recognize when someone else is plagued by them." Athos hadn't volunteered anything, nor would Aramis or Porthos press.

Aramis roved his gaze around the cargo hold. "It is time to move on." He gave his friends a small smile. "And I think this could be home."

Athos's rare smile looked pleased, while Porthos exhaled in apparent relief. It was time to rebuild. And what better place to do it than a broken down ship getting a second chance? Much like Aramis himself.

o.0.o

Constance wrung her hands in the hems of her jacket as the alarms on the infirmary's monitor blared shrilly over the patient on the table.

"Don't do this, Porthos," Aramis uttered, slapping the monitor and then the unresponsive man's face. He spun toward the counter and yanked a drawer open, pulling out a prepackaged syringe. Tearing it open, he turned back to Porthos and ripped the man's shirt, then stabbed the huge needle straight into his chest.

Constance winced and almost turned away but couldn't. Porthos arched off the table and the alarms shrieked. She couldn't believe that only a few moments ago they'd all been celebrating his birthday.

A presence stepped close to her. "Constance."

She looked up at Athos.

"I need you to check the damage."

Right. Of course. She nodded shakily and tore herself away from the infirmary. Tears welled in her eyes as the frantic sounds faded behind her but she swallowed them back and quickened her pace to the engine room.

There were fragments everywhere from an explosion and the walls were scorched from the resulting fire. She stepped over the shrapnel and examined the engine. It wasn't hard to find what had gone wrong—the catalyzer had blown. Which meant they were dead in space.

She went to the control console and ran a few diagnostics with what power was left, then quickly shut it off as her chest constricted further at what she'd found. She went back to the infirmary.

Athos was standing in the doorway, watching Aramis mutter between the monitor's erratic vital signs readings and Porthos still unconscious on the table.

"Captain," she said softly, a spiky lump threatening to prevent her from saying what she had to. "The catalyzer blew."

"Can you repair it?"

She shook her head. "It's not something that can be repaired, only replaced." She swallowed thickly. "Life support has been disabled. And after venting the fire…we only have a few hours of oxygen left."

Athos remained silent as he absorbed the pronouncement.

Constance bit her lip. "I'm sorry, Captain. This is a problem I can't fix."

o.0.o

Constance stood in the shipyard, admiring the Firefly class ship illuminated in the sun. The model had been discontinued, but the ships that had been manufactured were good quality, a bit shabby after years of disuse, but capable of functioning with the right care.

Movement within the open cargo hold drew her attention, and she took a few moments to muster her courage, then marched straight up to the ramp and asked for the captain.

Three men were lugging crates around and stopped at her intrusion. One of them stepped forward.

"I'm Captain Athos."

"I'm here about the mechanic job."

The other two men exchanged a look, and Constance drew her shoulders back. Maybe she should've worn her greasy coveralls instead of her best dress, but too late now.

"I've grown up around ships," she said. "Could wield a wrench before I could ride a bike."

The captain regarded her for a long moment, then said, "Come with me."

Constance was relieved just to have gotten in the door, and she followed the man through the ship to the engine room.

"We've been unable to get it to start," he said.

She surveyed the engine, then knelt down to get a look at the underside and immediately spotted the problem. "Your reg couple is bad."

"Is the part hard to come by?"

"Oh, you don't need it anyway. It doesn't really serve a purpose." She reached under the engine and yanked the part off, then shoved it into the captain's hands and ducked under to tinker with the loose connections. "It jus' tends to gum up the works when it gets tacked," she explained. "Do you have a wrench?"

One was placed in her outstretched hand and she made a few adjustments.

"If you plug your g-line straight into the port-pin-lock, it should…"

A whirring sound started up as the turbine began to turn.

Constance pulled out. "Work jus' fine," she finished.

The captain flicked a neutral gaze over the now working engine, then back to her. "You're hired."

o.0.o

Athos staggered into the infirmary and crashed into the counter, smearing blood over the top as he fumbled to open one of the drawers. His vision was darkening around the edges and his limbs turning to mush. He managed to grasp one of those prepackaged syringes Aramis had used on Porthos—a shot of pure adrenaline.

Gritting his teeth, Athos stabbed the needle through his shirt into his chest and depressed the plunger. A guttural scream tore from his throat as liquid fire coursed through him, igniting nerve endings with a vicious snap. His heart jack-hammered against his rib cage, fit to explode its way out. And maybe it would, but not yet. Not until he was finished.

He hastily applied a pressure bandage to the gunshot wound in his stomach and wrapped his torso with bandages as tightly as he could manage, choking on pained gurgles as he knotted it.

Then he picked up the machine part again and continued making his way toward the engine room…

o.0.o

D'Artagnan stood on the bridge with Athos as they took stock of their situation.

"We're too far out from the regular travel routes for anyone to pick up our distress beacon," he reported. He hung his head, wracked with guilt. "I'm sorry, I should have planned our route better, been more attentive, instead of getting caught up helping Constance with Porthos's birthday celebration."

"It wasn't anyone's fault," Athos said.

D'Artagnan looked away. He was their pilot; it was his responsibility. And now they were stranded with waning oxygen levels and unable to get Porthos to a medical center.

Athos stood with arms folded across his chest and a ruminative expression pinching his brow. "Can you divert the nav sats to the transmitter to give the beacon a boost?"

D'Artagnan quirked a confused look at him. "Sure, but all that would do would be to disable the navigation of anyone who did happen to pass by this neck of space…" He trailed off and could smack himself for once again failing to see the whole picture. "They'd be forced to stop and dig out our signal before they could go anywhere." He quickly turned to the console to do that. "It's still a long shot," he pointed out.

"I know." Athos picked up the radio and switched on the intercom. "Aramis, if you can spare a few minutes, I need you on the bridge. You too, Constance."

D'Artagnan had finished diverting the sats when they arrived. "How's Porthos?" he asked urgently.

Aramis ran a hand through his hair. "Stable for now." He let out a soft snort. "He'll actually last longer than the rest of us, using less oxygen while unconscious."

"Actually, we'll freeze to death before we run out of air," Constance put in, then ducked her gaze.

"That's why you three are going to take Porthos in the shuttle and go," Athos said. "You won't get very far, but maybe just enough to find help."

D'Artagnan shot his captain an alarmed look. "What about you?"

"I'm staying. We sent out a beacon, and if by chance a ship out there comes to investigate, someone needs to be here to answer."

"Absolutely not," Aramis said. "We all stay or we all go."

"We have limited oxygen left," Athos argued calmly. "The shuttle's life support system can sustain you longer than the Luciole can right now. Splitting up will increase our odds of survival on both ends. Not by much, but I'll take it."

"Then one of us can stay with you," d'Artagnan interjected.

"You're needed to pilot the shuttle. The ship is already dead in space, so, Constance, there's nothing left for you to do here, so you need to go with them in case the shuttle experiences any problems. And, Aramis, Porthos needs you."

Aramis grabbed Athos by the lapels of his coat and shook him. "Do not make me choose between you," he hissed. "I will not leave you to die alone in the cold."

Athos reached up to clasp the sides of his head, capturing that seething gaze. "This is not the same," he said firmly.

Aramis glared back at him. "What about all for one?"

"This time, it must be one for all," Athos replied somberly. "This is the best chance we all have. And it's an order."

D'Artagnan watched as something in Aramis's eyes seemed to crumble and Athos extricated himself from the marksman's slackening grip.

"Get Porthos ready," Athos said.

Aramis turned mutely and left the bridge. Constance shot a worried look at them before hurrying to follow.

"D'Artagnan, go."

"I will," he said. He may not have liked it, but he would follow his captain's orders. "But if someone does answer the beacon, then you're gonna need a way to call us back. It won't take long to set up."

Athos nodded, and d'Artagnan turned to quickly rig up a recall device for the shuttle. Because this wasn't a final farewell and their captain was not going down with his ship. They would find help and they would come back.

D'Artagnan refused to give up hope.

o.0.o

D'Artagnan stormed onto the docks and up onto the ramp of the Luciole's cargo bay where the crew was busy loading up some goods for transport.

"I'm looking for Captain Athos!" he declared loudly.

The men stopped, and one of them spoke,

"You found him."

D'Artagnan pulled his gun and pointed it at the man. "You sabotaged my ship and stole my job. I'm here for satisfaction." He set the pistol down on one of the crates and drew his sword.

Captain Athos regarded him with mild disinterest. "I don't know what you're talking about. I did not sabotage your ship or any ship."

D'Artagnan gestured sharply at the boxes they were in the middle of loading. "Goods bound for New Kasmir? This was my job. Only now I've got no money and no working ship to make a living. Now draw your sword and fight me!"

Athos shook his head as though bored. "I am not the man you're looking for."

D'Artagnan let out a raging cry and charged. Athos drew his rapier quicker than expected and sidestepped, bringing his blade up to deftly block d'Artagnan's strike. D'Artagnan threw every ounce of strength into each blow, but Athos parried them like he was little more than an annoying gnat.

Athos slid his blade along d'Artagnan's and artfully twisted, pinning his arm as he was shoved against the wall. "Enough!"

D'Artagnan's chest heaved with labored breaths, but this man didn't even look winded.

Athos's mistake, however, was releasing him.

"Get off my ship," he said, stepping away.

D'Artagnan swung his sword up and down at the man's back, but a second blade intercepted him, twirling his around and slamming it down on top of one of the crates.

"He said that's enough."

D'Artagnan took a second to catch his breath, muscles coiling with mounting fire. "Fine. I'll fight the two of you."

He tried to wrench his blade up, but another whacked down on top of the two.

"Will you fight all three of us?" the third, larger man said.

Athos's sword joined the pile, and d'Artagnan looked down in exhaustion. But he refused to give up. With a raging roar, he heaved all their swords up, forcing the men to stagger backward a step.

"If I have to," he declared, raising his rapier again.

Movement to his right distracted him and he flicked a guarded glance at the ramp where a woman with reddish hair was jogging up. She pulled up short at the sight of them, eyes widening.

"What the hell is goin' on?" she demanded.

"This young upstart has impugned our honor," one of the other men said glibly, as though this were all a game. It fueled d'Artagnan's ire further.

The woman put her hands on her hips. "Well, if you can pull your egos out of your arses for a moment, we have bigger problems. I found an explosive device in one of the turbines."

The men faltered, their swords lowering a fraction. D'Artagnan glanced between them uncertainly.

"Did you disable it?" Athos asked.

"Of course I did. But that's not the worst news. I just saw on the broadband that Cornet was found murdered outside a bar."

Athos exchanged looks with his other men.

"Who's that?" d'Artagnan found himself asking.

"Who are you?" the woman rejoined sharply.

"Um, d'Artagnan."

"Cornet was supposed to be our pilot," the second crewman said. "This was to be our first assignment."

Captain Athos turned to d'Artagnan. "It seems your saboteur has a vested interest in not letting anyone take this job."

D'Artagnan wavered. He'd been so sure Athos was to blame for his ship being destroyed; the man had gotten the job when d'Artagnan could no longer follow through, after all. But could he have been wrong?

He warily lowered his sword and the others did the same.

"We need to find the ones responsible," Athos said.

As he and his men began to plot, d'Artagnan found himself somehow being included. Not that he had anywhere else to be and he wanted to find the true guilty party as well.

It turned out it wasn't Athos at all. D'Artagnan was glad to see the man responsible arrested, but it didn't fix things, didn't change the fact that d'Artagnan was now broke and bereft.

Athos came to stand beside him as the authorities departed. "So, you're a pilot."

D'Artagnan huffed morosely. "What's a pilot without a ship?"

"I have a ship."

D'Artagnan slid a sidelong glance at him.

"And I'm willing to give you a trial run."

He didn't know what to say. It was a weird offer, especially since he'd come bursting into the man's ship trying to kill him. And now Athos was offering him a job? But he didn't exactly have any prospects at the moment.

D'Artagnan shrugged. "Yeah, alright."

o.0.o

Athos watched the shuttle fly off into the black of space. The ensuing silence and profound sense of emptiness of the ship weighed heavily on his heart but he knew he'd made the right decision. If he'd given his crew, his family, even a one-percent increased chance of being rescued, then it was worth it. And as captain, it was his responsibility to go down with his ship.

It was freezing, so he grabbed a blanket and a bottle of wine and settled in the pilot's seat to wait for the inevitable. It wasn't as though he hadn't faced death before; as a soldier he knew very well the possibility of falling in battle. It was an honorable end he could accept. This…he hadn't felt this adrift and alone since his wife had murdered his brother. Aramis and Porthos had changed that, had latched onto him like wayward comets that refused to leave his orbit. They'd dragged him out of the empty shell he'd become and helped him find some semblance of life again.

He closed his eyes, trying not to imagine them dying slowly on that shuttle.

And then there was d'Artagnan and Constance, too young and innocent to know real horrors but brave and unyielding in anything they had faced thus far. Their burgeoning relationship had added a new facet to the crew's dynamic, had incorporated them into the family Athos, Aramis, and Porthos already had. Aramis had walked Constance down the catwalk and Athos had performed the marriage ceremony. And surprisingly, he had not begrudged the happily married couple.

"Till death do us part." Athos leaned his head back in the seat. Death would not separate those two.

The wine warmed his belly and dulled his senses so that he drifted off peacefully.

But then something woke him, a crackling static.

"This is…S.S. Wal…distress…you read?"

Athos pried his eyelids open heavily, his limbs numb and half frozen. His mind was muddled as he looked around trying to figure out what was going on.

"Firefly Luciole…read?"

Athos swiveled toward the vid monitor and the distorted image on the screen.

"This is Firefly Luciole, I read you." He frantically clicked a few keys and switches, trying to clean up the signal. The ship's power reserves were already so low and he had to divert more from the waning life support. But help had arrived, against all odds.

Once he got the signal stronger, Athos explained his situation to the captain of the private salvage ship, the S.S. Walden.

"I'm sorry for your troubles, Captain. But you do understand I can't invite you on board my vessel. I don't know you."

Athos bit back a huff of annoyance. There were places in the verse where the name musketeer meant something. But not everywhere.

"I'm not looking for a ride," he said. "Just a little push to get going again."

"Right," the other captain replied. "Your mechanical trouble. Compression coil, you said?"

"It was the catalyzer."

"It's possible we might have somethin' that would do ya. Just came from a big salvage job off Ita Moon." The captain pursed his mouth. "I suppos' we could dock, take a look around, see if there ain't some way we might come to terms."

"I would appreciate it," Athos said, holding himself still against the shiver that wanted to wrack his body.

The salvage captain leaned to the side for a moment. "I'm told we do have the part. Trouble is, how can I know for certain your story's truth? Ambush could be waitin' for me and my people when we come aboard."

Athos suppressed another eye roll. "You can see the shuttle has been launched, as I said. And I'm sure you've scanned the ship by now and know I have no life support."

The salvage captain seemed to consider it for a moment. "I don't expect to see any weapons when we board."

"And I expect to see that engine part before I open the door."

The other captain grinned. "Then it sounds like we can do business."

The vid screen went dark and Athos pushed himself out of the chair stiffly. His chest was tight as he slowly made his way down to the cargo bay, each breath strained and shallow. He made it to the control panel and waited while the other ship lined up to dock with the Luciole. Through the small window, he could see a group of men preparing to board. Athos didn't open the airlocks until the captain held up the catalyzer.

The puff of fresh air felt hot against his face and he sucked in the blessed oxygen deeply. So occupied with being able to breathe, it took him a second too long to notice the salvage crew pointing five guns at him. Athos slowly raised his arms.

"This what you meant by ambush?" he said dryly as one of the lackeys frisked him for weapons and the others went off to search the ship.

"Can't be too careful," the captain replied.

They waited until the men returned, declaring the ship clear and the catalyzer blown as was reported.

"Shall we discuss terms?" Athos said.

The other captain shrugged. "I already decided what I want." He raised his gun and pulled the trigger.

Athos staggered, molten fire searing his stomach. His body was still recovering from deprived oxygen, and his knees buckled and he fell backward. His senses warped, though he vaguely heard the salvage captain giving orders to take the ship. He lolled his head to the side, the edges of his vision darkening, but he saw the outline of a gun duct taped to the underside of the workout bench. Porthos.

Athos heard his friend's voice in his head urging him to get up. Rallying the last bit of his strength, he lurched upward and snatched the gun free. He rounded on the salvage captain and cocked the hammer as he lined up the barrel with the man's head. "Stop. Leave the catalyzer, and get off my ship."

The captain wavered, less cocky staring down the barrel of a gun. "Do as he says."

The men started edging back toward their ship and the captain slowly set the catalyzer down.

"You would've done the same," the man said.

Athos's gaze was as cold as steel. "No, I wouldn't have."

Once the men were on the other side of the airlock, Athos hit the button to close them. Pain rocketed through his abdomen and he crashed to the floor, the lights from the departing salvage ship blazing through the window.

o.0.o

Athos lumbered into the engine room. The shot of adrenaline was keeping him on his feet but his lungs were on fire. The ship's alarms blared, alternating between the warning horn and the computer's droning voice saying, "Life support failure, check oxygen levels."

Athos's hands were slick with blood and his coordination was already hindered. He dropped the catalyzer three times before finally getting it installed. Throwing himself against the switch, he clung to the panel to hold himself up as the engine finally started to rotate. The ship thrummed with the power starting up as well, and oxygen began to faintly waft into the compartment.

But the captain's task wasn't done yet. Athos dragged himself back to the bridge, stumbling to reach the recall device to bring his crew home. But he tripped and collapsed on the floor underneath it, the last of his strength bleeding away into an abyss of cold.

o.0.o

Porthos sat in the small alcove along the right wall of the infirmary, one leg drawn up and an arm draped across his knee, watching tensely as Aramis oversaw a blood transfusion from d'Artagnan to Athos. When Porthos had awoken on the shuttle and learned what happened, that they'd left Athos, he'd been furious. He would have yanked d'Artagnan out of the cockpit and flown them back himself had he been able to sit up at all. Apparently he'd nearly died, but that was no excuse for them abandoning Athos like that.

Aramis had promptly said he agreed and given the others an expectant look. D'Artagnan and Constance needed no convincing, and they'd turned the shuttle around.

They had not expected to find Athos bleeding out on the bridge from a gunshot. Obviously he'd somehow gotten the replacement part, as the ship was running when they arrived, but it apparently hadn't gone well. Aramis had dug out the bullet and done his best with an impromptu surgery, but Athos had lost too much blood, thus d'Artagnan getting to be a donor.

Porthos leaned forward as Athos finally started to stir. The captain's eyelids fluttered sluggishly before he seemed able to focus on those around him.

"You're back," he whispered.

Aramis smiled. "And so are you." He loaded a dose of medication into a syringe and injected it into Athos's arm.

Athos tracked the room until his gaze found Porthos, and for a moment there was a rare glimmer of sheer relief before Athos composed himself again and gave a small nod. Porthos returned it.

Athos then looked at d'Artagnan and the blood filled cannula attached to the crook of his elbow and frowned. "Are you okay?"

D'Artagnan smiled. "I'm fine."

"Get some rest," Aramis said. "You saved the ship and everyone's okay."

Athos hummed and closed his eyes, but then jerked them open again. "You'll still be here when…"

Aramis placed a hand on his shoulder. "Of course."

"Wouldn't be anywhere else," Porthos promised.

o.0.o

"Musketeers, huh?" Porthos said.

Athos nodded as they watched the fleur-de-lis being painted on the side of the Firefly class ship that would be their home from here on out.

"The Commodore has a thing for Earth-that-was ancient history," the newly minted captain replied.

"Has a nice ring to it."

"I'm glad you decided to join me," Athos said sincerely.

Porthos grinned. "Where else would I be?"

He glanced into the cargo hold where Aramis and their two newest additions to the crew were getting acquainted. Constance was a firecracker. She'd already slapped Aramis once over an offhanded comment, which the man had found more amusing than anything. D'Artagnan was impetuous and equally fiery, but there was something about him, and Athos hadn't had any qualms about offering him a job. The lad was also quite taken with Constance, and Porthos didn't know how that was going to turn out. But it had been a while since he'd seen Aramis smile so much in a single day, and that made flying this death trap into space worth the risks and potential for trouble.

"One for all?" he said to Athos, who quirked a small smile at that.

"And all for one."

Chapter Text

Aramis counted the pulse beats in Athos's wrist for a minute before nodding in satisfaction and laying the hand back down. "Your vitals are strong."

"Then can I return to my quarters now?" Athos asked grouchily.

"When you can climb up and down the ladder without pulling out my fine needlework," Aramis replied, unfazed.

It had only been a couple of days since the disaster that left the ship stranded in space and culminated in Athos getting shot in the stomach. They'd repaired the ship and their captain would live, but Aramis was taking no chances and insisted he remain in the infirmary under Aramis's watchful eye. It had been too close. And he was considering it revenge for Athos ordering him to evacuate on the shuttle with the others, forcing him to leave his brother alone on a dying ship.

Athos thunked his head back against the headrest with a disgruntled huff. "Will you at least bring me some wine?"

"Absolutely not. You're hopped up on pain medication."

Athos shot him a surly glower. "Aramis."

Taking pity on him, Aramis offered to give him something to help him sleep. It was getting late and the others were probably retiring to bed if they hadn't already.

"I would sleep fine in my own bed," Athos muttered.

"If you behave, I'll move you to one of the guest quarters tomorrow," Aramis compromised, pulling a vial of sleeping medicine from one of the cabinets.

A noise came from somewhere outside the infirmary, followed by what sounded like a thump. Aramis paused, exchanging a look with Athos. When there were no further sounds, Aramis set the vial down and headed for the door.

"I'll be right back. Don't move."

Athos scowled.

Aramis stepped outside the infirmary and looked up and down the corridor. It was quiet. He headed toward where he thought the noise had reverberated from. If someone had dropped or bumped into something, he would have expected to hear a muffled curse to go along with it.

He rounded the juncture to the corridor of the crew quarters, and his heart plummeted into his stomach at the sight of Porthos unconscious on the floor. Aramis sprinted across the grate flooring and dropped down beside him, instantly reaching out to search for a pulse. He should have kept Porthos in the infirmary with Athos; both of them had nearly died from severe injuries though Porthos had been doing much better, just a little stiff and sore.

Aramis breathed out a sigh of relief when he felt a steady pulse. He started running his fingers through the dark curls in search of a head injury when the cold touch of a gun's barrel pressed against the back of his head. Aramis froze.

The gun moved away but only to shift into his line of sight as a dark skinned man in a red leather suit stepped around to face him. Aramis gaped in shock. They were in the middle of space. How…?

The man smirked. "It strains the mind a bit, don't it? You think you're all alone…" He took a few steps back toward the door to d'Artagnan and Constance's quarters, the gun still pointed at Aramis. With a few clicks on the control panel, he sealed the door from the outside. "That's the last of the crew all tucked in for the night. Now, where is your captain?"

Aramis clenched his jaw. He had no weapons at hand—why would he; they were in the middle of nowhere on their own ship. "Couldn't say," he said glibly.

The man took a few more steps backward, putting more distance between them, but even if Aramis wanted to make a run for it to their weapons locker, he couldn't leave Porthos. The intruder looked down the open hatch to Athos's bunk. "This is his room."

Aramis didn't see any point in denying it. "Yes."

"It's empty."

"So it is."

"So is it still his room when it's empty?" the man went on in a musing tone. "Does the room, the thing, have purpose? Or are we…what's the word…" He trailed off, gaze cast down at the hatch.

Aramis stared at him warily. If he weren't several feet away, Aramis might have tried to grab the gun, but he'd never make it without getting shot, and any move he made he'd have to ensure Porthos wouldn't get hurt.

The man lifted his head. "The plan is to take your captain, get paid for the job. Imbue, that's the word."

Aramis couldn't tell if this guy was slightly unhinged or whether his demeanor was meant to unbalance his victims. "So you're a bounty hunter."

He shook his head. "No, that ain't it at all."

"Then what are you?"

He leaned back to glance up into the bridge before turning back. "I'm a bounty hunter. Name's Early. I'm known to some. Probably not your set though."

Okay, now Aramis was leaning toward this guy being completely mad. How the hell had he gotten onto their ship?

"Why are you looking for Athos?"

"Because that's the job. So tell me where he is."

Aramis snorted. "How should I know? The captain's his own man."

Early stalked closer and pointed his gun at Porthos. "You're going to help me search this ship for him, or I'm going to visit all kinds of violence upon the rest of your crew. You understand my meaning?"

Aramis gritted his teeth but slowly nodded.

The bounty hunter reached his free hand into his jacket and pulled out some zip ties, which he tossed on the floor in front of Aramis. "Secure him to the bulkhead."

Aramis's blood boiled with fury, but he slowly picked up the plastic and shifted Porthos's arms toward the wall. The man didn't even stir and Aramis worried about a concussion or worse. He slipped the zip tie around a pipe along the bulkhead and then cinched it around Porthos's wrists.

"Now put those on yourself," Early said, gesturing to the other zip tie.

Aramis picked it up and looped it around his own wrists, pulling it tight with his teeth. Early then indicated with his gun for Aramis to stand.

"Now, let's go find your captain."

Aramis pushed himself up, keeping his movements slow and steady. He turned around and started down the corridor. Then, at the first juncture, he nonchalantly went left toward the kitchen and away from the infirmary.

o.0.o

When Aramis didn't return right away, Athos grew impatient. He might currently be an invalid, but he was still captain and he knew his limits. He wanted to get out of the infirmary and away from these sterile walls he'd been staring at for the past few days. Not to mention the reclining chair was not the most comfortable bed. He slowly sat up, wincing as his still healing stomach muscles pulled. If Aramis walked back in now, Athos was in for an earful.

But there was no sign of the medic. Athos slid off the chair, socked feet pressing into the cold floor. His abdomen twinged but he staunchly ignored it and shuffled for the door. It took more effort than he wanted to admit, and he could feel a cold sweat breaking upon his neck. Aramis would be furious.

And as loathe as he was to accept it, climbing down the ladder to his own quarters was probably outside his limitations at the moment. He just needed to get to one of the guest rooms and get himself settled so it would be too much of a hassle to force him back to the infirmary.

As he limped through the quiet corridor, the timbre of a voice that did not belong on his ship stopped him in his tracks. It didn't sound as though it was coming through a comm link, and Athos braced a hand against the wall as he listened.

"I'm a bounty hunter. Name's Early. I'm known to some. Probably not your set though."

"Why are you looking for Athos?"

"Because that's the job. So tell me where he is."

Athos tensed, his blood running cold. A bounty hunter had infiltrated the Luciole? How was that even possible?

"How should I know?" came Aramis's flippant reply. "The captain's his own man."

"You're going to help me search this ship for him, or I'm going to visit all kinds of violence upon the rest of your crew. You understand my meaning?"

There was no response.

"Secure him to the bulkhead," the intruder instructed.

Secure who? Where were the others? Athos couldn't hear anyone else speaking though, and he would make too much noise trying to get closer to look. This man was here for him, but why? Athos had broken no laws, though he had his share of men he'd pissed off in his time. A revenge bounty?

Athos leaned more heavily against the wall, cursing the tremble in his limbs. He was in no shape to fight, not to mention he didn't even have his weapons on hand. Plus, anyone who could sneak up on a ship in the middle of space and board without being detected had to be formidable. Athos would have to think of another way to deal with this bounty hunter without endangering his crew. Aramis was already a hostage, and likely someone else. The quiet of the ship was unnerving.

Clenching his jaw, Athos forced himself to turn around and retreat down the corridor.

o.0.o

Aramis stepped out of the shuttle after it'd been searched, confirming Athos wasn't in it. They were gradually running out of places and Aramis didn't know how much longer he could stall.

They crossed the catwalk in the cargo bay and Early shone a flashlight around through the darkness. A locker against the wall was ajar, and he yanked it open, raising his gun. But it was empty save for some space suits. Early stepped back, his gaze roving over the walls. He spread his arms and lifted them in an arc.

"I like the way the walls go out," he remarked. "Gives you an open feeling. Firefly's a good design. People don't appreciate the substance of things. Objects in space. People miss out on what's solid."

"You're out of your mind," Aramis muttered. The inane musings and misinterpreted phrases throughout their search had only cemented that conclusion for the field medic.

Early threw him a warning glance. "That's between me and my mind."

He turned to look down into the cargo hold. Aramis straightened as he realized the man was standing close to the edge where there was no rail. If he just…

Early's gun snapped up to point at him before he'd barely taken a step. The bounty hunter turned his head with a wry smirk. "I know you're a soldier. Survived the massacre of your unit."

Aramis stiffened, the oxygen stealing from his lungs.

"I do research on my targets," Early explained. "Including everything to do with them. I can respect your gumption, might even be eager for you to try it." He paused, eyes narrowing pointedly. "But it's not your moment."

He gestured with his weapon for Aramis to get moving again. They were coming around the other side of the ship now where the infirmary was located, and his heart started racing. Athos was in no shape to defend himself, nor, Aramis realized belatedly, did he know whether the bounty was for Athos to be taken alive or dead.

The doors opened with a pneumatic whoosh and Aramis stepped inside, only to pull up short in shock when he found the room empty. A blanket lay pooled in the chair in the middle of the room, but otherwise it wasn't obvious that someone had been residing there.

Early tutted. "Not here either."

Aramis honestly didn't know whether to be utterly relieved or furious that his patient had disobeyed direct orders to rest after nearly dying. Granted, he was glad Athos still remained removed from Early's clutches, but now Aramis had no idea where he was or whether he was going to hurt himself further doing something stupid.

Early paced the length of the infirmary, not that there were any hiding spaces in the small room. Then he waved his pistol at Aramis to back up and keep going.

They made their way up to the bridge from the deck below, having checked the whole ship. Aramis was a little flummoxed at Athos's sudden disappearance, though he was grateful for it too.

"How can one captain give me so much trouble," Early grumbled.

"Athos is a constant source of trouble," Aramis replied blithely as he sat at the comms station. "I feel your pain."

The bounty hunter pointed his gun at Aramis's head again. "The plan wasn't to shoot you. The plan was to get the captain. If there's no captain, then the plan…well, it's like the room."

Aramis held the man's gaze but didn't say anything. When Early moved away, Aramis tried to see out into the corridor where Porthos was still lying unconscious, and his stomach tightened with worry for both his brothers. At least d'Artagnan and Constance were currently safe, though that could quickly change.

"Now I know you're on this ship so here's how this goes!" Early suddenly shouted. "You show yourself and we finish this exchange, or your brother's brains'll be flying every which way." He turned to Aramis. "You understand, I'm sort of on a clock here, it's frustrating."

Aramis held his tongue, watching Early carefully for an opening in which he could try to take the man down.

The intercom suddenly crackled and Athos's voice sounded through the speaker. "Who are you and what are you doing on my ship?"

Early startled slightly at the unexpected response. "Name's Early. I'm a bounty hunter. And I'm being paid to take you in."

"For what?"

"Don't know. I'm just doing a job."

"Who's paying you for this job?" Athos persisted.

Early shrugged. "A woman. She didn't give her name. She seemed rather serious in her intentions, put a high price on retrieving you."

Aramis frowned. He had no idea who this woman could be. Someone from the nobility in Athos's past? What could possibly be the reason for sending a bounty hunter after him now?

Athos was silent on the comms.

Early furrowed his brow. "Will you come along quietly? Then I won't have to hurt any of your crew."

The intercom remained quiet.

"Captain?"

Nothing. Aramis tensed as concern coiled around his stomach.

o.0.o

Athos stared at the frozen image on the vid screen of the bounty hunter's ship, captured from the last transmission the man had received. It was his ex-wife. Athos would recognize her anywhere, though she looked different, dressed in a dark green dress, sable colored hair done up elaborately. Her eyes were hard, cold, a stark contrast to the soft green orbs that had pleaded with him when he'd turned her over to the feds.

She was obviously no longer in prison.

And she had sent a bounty hunter after him. But why? Revenge? She was the one who had betrayed him, not the other way around. What other choice did he have but to call the authorities when she'd been found standing over his brother's dead body, the murder weapon in hand?

"You are going to make me hurt this man!" the bounty hunter shouted through the open channel.

Athos snapped out of his stupor. "Don't," he warned, wracking his brain for a plan. He had to get Early away from his crew. "I'll go with you."

"Athos," Aramis spluttered.

"I want your word you'll leave my crew unharmed," Athos said, raising his voice over the marksman's protests.

"Of course," Early replied. "I only hurt people 'cause they keep getting in the way of finding you. Tell him."

"What am I, your advocate?" Aramis's disdainful tone came through the comm.

"You are starting now."

Athos heard the hammer of a gun being cocked.

"Yes, he's really very gentle and fuzzy," Aramis said sardonically. "We're becoming fast friends."

Athos could have rolled his eyes if the situation weren't so dire and he wasn't fighting back an increasing throbbing in his stomach. Putting on a space suit and exiting the Luciole to board the bounty hunter's ship may not have been his brightest idea, but he'd wanted to get a sense of his adversary and find out who he was working for. The shock of what he'd discovered, however, was doing him no favors.

"I think you took this job because you like hurting people," he said, trying to buy time while he attempted to locate the source of the transmission from his ex-wife. "These trinkets—a girl's bracelet, a pocket watch…" Athos flicked his gaze at the various knick-knacks decorating the man's console. "They're souvenirs, aren't they?"

"Well I'll be a son-of-a-whore," Early cursed. "You're on my ship!"

"It's a nice ship," Athos replied dryly. "Full of so many switches and configurations." From what he could tell, the transmission had come all the way from the Core planets. Narrowing it down further would take more time though.

"No, no, don't go touching any of that," Early said frantically.

"I won't, if you leave my crew and ship alone." Athos looked at the image of his ex-wife, his heart giving a pang even after all these years. "And I'll go quietly."

"Alright then."

"No!" Aramis shouted.

There were sounds of a scuffle, grunts, and crashes against metal.

"Aramis, stand down!" Athos ordered.

A gunshot echoed through the speaker.

"Aramis!"

Heavy breathing filtered over the comm. "I respect your tenacity," Early's voice broke through the static. "But I always get my man."

Athos scrambled out of the pilot's seat, grimacing as his stitches pulled under the torquing movement. He put the helmet of his space suit back on and sealed it, then climbed out of the bounty hunter's smaller craft. It was in a stationary hover above the Luciole, and Athos had to gently push himself off the hull to glide back down to his ship. At least the no gravity made it easier to move around in his weakened state, except when the magnetic grav hooks in his boots made contact with the Luciole's outer shell and anchored him. Chest heaving as his breaths became more labored, Athos forced himself to shuffle along.

A few moments later, the hatch behind him opened up and a man in a red space suit climbed out, attention focused on the ship above.

"You made the right move, Captain," Early said through the comm link now routed into Athos's helmet.

"You think so?" he said, straightening right behind the intruder.

Early turned and Athos shoved him in the chest, knocking him off the hull and sending him careening into space, limbs flailing as he grew smaller and smaller.

Athos moved toward the hatch and descended back into the ship. Once the airlock was closed he took the helmet off, dropping it on the floor and nearly doubling over from a wave of pain. He sucked in a sharp breath and forced himself to move, limping through the corridor.

As he drew closer to the bridge he heard shouting. Athos staggered around the corner and found Porthos lying on the floor, hands zip tied to a pipe in the wall and yelling Aramis's name. Athos looked toward the bridge and could see a body on the floor.

Banging reverberated up through the wall along with d'Artagnan's muffled shouting from below. Athos knelt on one knee, gritting his teeth against the fire in his abdomen, and pulled the small knife that Porthos always kept in his boot. He quickly cut him free and drunkenly waved at the locked crew quarters as he staggered to his feet again and lurched toward the bridge.

Aramis was lying on his back, eyes squeezed shut as he clutched at a bullet wound in his thigh.

"You idiot," Athos chided as he dropped down beside him.

Aramis cracked his eyes open. "Athos," he breathed in relief.

"Did you really think I was just going to go off with him?"

Aramis closed his eyes and bit back a groan. "Well, you do have a penchant for self-sacrifice."

"You're confusing me with yourself." Athos pressed both his hands over the wound to help apply pressure, needing all of his body weight to do so, as his own strength was rapidly failing. Aramis choked on a garbled cry.

Porthos wobbled in a moment later, followed by d'Artagnan and Constance.

"What the hell just went on?" d'Artagnan exclaimed. He quirked a confused brow at Athos. "Why are you wearing a space suit?"

"Later," Athos replied. "Aramis needs medical attention."

"Porthos," the marksman blurted out. "He was unconscious. Head injury."

"I'm fine," Porthos said with a touch of fond exasperation as he knelt down to cut the zip tie around Aramis's wrists. "Bastard got the jump on me." He reached up to rub his jaw. "Knocked me out with damn ninja moves."

"How did he even get on board?" Constance asked in alarm. "And why was he after the captain?"

"It's a long story." One Athos wasn't sure how to tell. He waved at Porthos and d'Artagnan to help Aramis up, as that was beyond him now.

"Did you tear your stitches?" Aramis asked accusingly, somehow managing a stern glare through pain-filled eyes.

"I assure you, the only one bleeding all over the place is you."

Athos rocked back and scooted away so Porthos and d'Artagnan could move in and haul Aramis off the floor. Constance reached for Athos to help him gain his feet, and they all hobbled their way to the infirmary.

Athos eased himself down in the alcove bed as Aramis was laid on the exam chair. Porthos ripped the back of his pants open to get a look underneath.

"No exit," he said grimly.

"I can feel the bullet," Aramis confirmed, breathing harshly through his nose. "I'll talk you through an extraction."

Porthos's eyes widened and he stepped back. "That's all you, d'Artagnan."

The pilot sputtered at him.

"You'll do fine," Aramis assured. "The instruments are in that drawer over there."

Athos watched as Aramis directed d'Artagnan on what to get. The medic rigged up his own pain drip so he could control how much to give and still keep his faculties through the procedure. D'Artagnan looked nervous but stoically followed Aramis's instructions as he dug the bullet out and then proceeded to stitch the wound closed.

When it was all finally done, Aramis dropped his head back against the headrest. "I think I'll pass out now."

"Go ahead," Porthos replied. "But I'd like to know what the hell just happened."

Everyone's eyes turned to Athos.

"I'm sure you heard through the intercom," he began. "Someone hired a bounty hunter to come after me."

"Who?" d'Artagnan asked.

"A woman," Aramis mumbled.

Athos pursed his mouth. This was not something he liked to talk about, with anyone. But he knew he couldn't keep it from his crew. If his ex-wife was going to come after him again, they could all be at risk.

"My wife," he grated out as though the words were broken glass. "She was the one who hired the bounty hunter."

His crew threw each other incredulous looks.

"I thought she was arrested for murdering your brother," d'Artagnan bravely spoke up.

"She was, but apparently she's no longer in prison." It burned his heart to think she was now free, her crimes prematurely pardoned. He also couldn't fathom what she would be doing, how she could even afford to send a bounty hunter after him. There was no way the Guild would take her back as a registered Companion.

Porthos's expression was grave. "So what do we do?"

Athos lowered his gaze. "I don't know."

Silence filled the room.

"Well," Aramis said after a few moments. "The verse is big. And if she comes after you again, she'll have to get through us."

Athos gave him a wry look. Going through them was exactly what he didn't want happening. But it wasn't like he wouldn't do the same for any of them.

Aramis's eyelids were fluttering and d'Artagnan patted his shoulder.

"You should get some rest."

"Mm. Athos is still not fit to leave the infirmary!" he rallied.

Athos rolled his eyes and lay back in the alcove. "At least now I'll have company in this wretched place."

Aramis didn't respond, already out.

D'Artagnan came over with an apologetic look. "Please let me check your stitches."

"Fine." Athos closed his eyes and consented to the examination. He was so exhausted that he drifted off before it was even complete, able to rest easy in the knowledge that his family was right beside him.

No matter what.

Chapter Text

"This is a nice moon," d'Artagnan commented. "The terraforming took well here."

Aramis smiled in shared appreciation as he inhaled deeply of crisp, clean air. The forests around them were lush and the mountains in the distance capped with snow. It was nice.

"I once considered retiring to the monastery here," he said as the two of them strolled down the dirt road toward the church that was an hour outside of one of the main towns. Aramis tried to make detours whenever they docked in places near churches.

D'Artagnan quirked a disbelieving look at him. "You, become a Shepherd?"

Aramis shrugged. "It's the vocation my parents wanted for me. And then after Savoy…well, Porthos and Athos wouldn't let me," he said with a grin.

D'Artagnan smiled in return. "I'm glad they didn't."

A woman's scream rent the air, shattering the tranquility. Aramis and d'Artagnan immediately broke into a run, barreling around the back of the church toward the frantic shrieks. Out in the field behind the church, a man had a woman restrained in his arms, a knife to her throat as she screamed and struggled.

"No, Henry! Help me!"

There was a second man placing a baby in a plastic basket, which he quickly slung over his shoulders and went to mount a horse. "Finish her!"

Aramis whipped out his pistol and fired as he vaulted over a low stone wall. His shot struck true and the man fell dead before he could slit the woman's throat.

D'Artagnan drew his gun as well and aimed at the second man, but the other guy shot first and d'Artagnan yelped as his pistol fell from his hand.

"No, Henry!" the woman screamed. "Henry!"

Aramis took aim yet faltered. He was good but couldn't risk hurting the child if the man tumbled off his horse.

D'Artagnan ran toward the second steed of the man Aramis had shot and swung up into the saddle, kicking the animal into giving chase. Aramis watched him go, gritting his teeth as they disappeared into the forest.

He turned around to check on the woman, only to find a knife being waved in his face.

"I swear I'll kill you," the previously distressed damsel snapped. "Who are you?"

He put his hands up. "My name is Aramis and I mean you no harm. You'll note I did shoot the man trying to kill you."

She hesitated for a second, but it was enough for Aramis to deftly pluck the knife out of her hands and toss it over his shoulder. She blinked, stunned.

"Who were those men?" he asked.

She continued to regard him warily as she answered, "I have no idea." Brushing past him, she picked up her pace hurrying toward the church. "Shepherd Duval!"

With a sigh, Aramis followed.

"Shepherd Duval!"

No one responded to the woman's frantic calls as they entered the church. A sanctuary like this was meant to be quiet, but Aramis had a gut feeling prickling at the back of his neck. When shuffling sounded in the office to their left, he quickly shot out a protective arm to hold the woman back. She threw him a look equally dubious and incensed.

But then a man in a preacher's uniform stumbled out, one arm bracing himself against the door jamb while the other hand held the side of his bleeding head.

"Shepherd Duval!" the woman exclaimed, rushing forward.

Aramis was quick on her heels, reaching out to support the older man and guide him back into the office where he could sit. The room had been ransacked, books strewn about and a lamp smashed on the floor. By the flecks of blood, Aramis guessed that was the offending bludgeon.

"Easy, Shepherd," he coaxed, gently pulling the man's hand away from his head so he could examine the wound. Aramis pulled out a handkerchief and pressed it to the split scalp. "It's not very deep, but head injuries do tend to bleed a lot. Just keep pressure on it."

Shepherd Duval nodded shakily and turned to the woman. "Agnes, I'm so sorry."

She frowned. "Why? What's happening? Why did men come and take Henry?"

He sighed, his hand dropping away from his head. Aramis gently lifted it back to continue applying pressure.

"Shepherd Duval, do you know who attacked you?" he prompted.

"Not personally, but I know who they work for." He lifted a regret-filled gaze to the woman, Agnes. "Your husband, Philippe, was of the Medici line."

Agnes gaped at him.

"Who are they?" Aramis asked.

"The Medicis rule this moon," Duval explained. "It's a patriarchal structure. The current Baron is the son of Marie de Medici, who is in exile after trying to usurp power from him years ago."

"What does any of this have to do with Henry?" Agnes interrupted.

Shepherd Duval took a breath. "When Marie was pregnant, she became ill on the road and stopped at this church. The birth was difficult, as there were two babies. The first…was deformed."

Agnes frowned. "Philippe?"

Duval nodded. "Marie was horrified. She left the child in our care and swore us to never speak of his existence. The second child was born healthy and whole, and she took him home where he grew up to inherit the baron-ship."

Agnes shook her head in obvious frustration. "I still don't understand what this has to do with Henry."

"Your son is the legitimate heir to the baron-ship," Aramis said, looking at the shepherd. "I assume Marie is the only one who knew?"

Duval hung his head. "I kept her informed as to her son's well-being. I'd hoped…I'd hoped she held some love for him within her heart. But now…"

"Now she wants to use baby Henry as grounds to challenge her other son," Aramis finished.

"That is most likely," Duval said grimly. "The men who came here took the birth and marriage records."

"No," Agnes blurted, tears welling in her eyes. "No. He is my son. They can't just…they can't…"

Aramis instinctively reached out to enfold her in his arms. "I promise I will help you get your son back," he said.

He had no idea how, but that never stopped him. This woman was in need and he could not on his honor abandon her.

"You are stepping into a sordid family history," Duval warned.

"I can handle it," Aramis assured him.

With help, of course.

o.0.o

D'Artagnan had followed the kidnapper all the way back to town, intentionally keeping his distance so he might find a better place to liberate the child, since he couldn't risk a direct confrontation in the woods.

He rode through the streets until the man ahead finally pulled up in front of a ramshackle manor next door to a dye house. D'Artagnan dismounted and crept to the edge of a building and watched through the flapping laundry lines as the man took the baby inside. He caught a glimpse of at least two more men within, which complicated things. He didn't think he was going to be able to rescue the child himself.

He watched and waited for a bit, debating what to do. His wristband comm had been clipped by the kidnapper's bullet and he was unable to contact the ship, and he couldn't leave in case the men decided to move the child.

He finally snagged a young boy off the street. "Hey, I need a message delivered." He reached into his pocket and held up a coin. "Can you do that?"

The boy nodded.

"There's a Firefly class ship parked outside of town on the south end. Tell the captain to meet d'Artagnan at the dye house. Got it?"

The boy nodded and snatched away the coin, then ran off.

D'Artagnan turned back to watching the manor.

o.0.o

Aramis stood in the cargo bay with Athos, Porthos, and Constance, having just explained the situation. Agnes sat on the other end, wringing her hands in her skirts.

"Can't we jus' call the authorities?" Porthos asked.

"And say what?" Aramis replied. "This is technically a family dispute. Not to mention that the authorities would work for the Baron, and if he found out there was a challenger to his rule…" He shook his head. "Agnes has no one else she can turn to."

"And what do you propose we do?" Athos asked blandly. "We have no idea where the child was even taken."

"D'Artagnan was following the kidnapper," Aramis rejoined.

"Yeah, by himself," Constance put in worriedly. "And he hasn't contacted us."

"He'll find them," Aramis said with confidence. "And then we get Agnes's son back and take them far away from this moon, to a planet on the other side of the verse."

Athos and Porthos exchanged reluctant looks.

"We have to help her," Aramis pressed. "We've done this kind of job before. Just because she isn't a paying client doesn't mean we can just walk away. I was at that church today for a reason."

Athos shrugged one shoulder in concession to that, but before they could discuss it further, they were interrupted by a young boy appearing at the ramp and looking for the captain.

"Yes?" Athos said.

"I have a message: Meet d'Artagnan at the dye house."

Aramis smiled in relief at the word from their pilot.

Athos arched a brow. "Is that all?"

"Yup." The messenger boy scampered off.

Athos turned back around. "I'll go meet d'Artagnan then."

"I'll go wit' you," Constance said. She paused by Aramis on her way out and cocked her head toward Agnes. "Try to make her eat something."

As they left, Aramis exchanged a look with Porthos, who just shrugged. With a sigh, Aramis walked over to Agnes.

"Why don't we go up to the kitchen and get some food?" he suggested.

She just sat on the bench, morosely staring at the floor.

"I don't want to have to fight you again," he prompted.

Agnes closed her eyes. "Being apart from him…it's like a wound that won't heal. The pain only gets worse."

Aramis slowly sat down beside her. "He's your flesh and blood," he said sympathetically.

She lifted her gaze to his. "Do you have a family?"

"Not unless you count the crew of the Luciole." Which he did. Theirs was a bond not born of blood but no less strong for it.

Tears welled in her eyes. "Philippe and Henry are my family. But Philippe's gone, and now Henry…" She broke off with a sob.

"What happened to your husband?" Aramis asked gently.

Agnes didn't answer.

"Shepherd Duval said he was…deformed."

Her head snapped up. "Do not judge him," she bit out harshly.

Aramis held up a placating hand. "I do not. Shepherd Duval said Marie de Medici left him in the church's care. How did you meet?"

She studied him with a wary guardedness for a long moment. "I was sent to be his nurse," she finally said. "He'd been locked away so long, he never learned to fend for himself. He was like a helpless child when I first met him." Agnes's eyes turned soft. "But he had the kindest heart I'd ever known. He was shy and confused. Frightened. But full of innocent love and goodness. I was lonely and he was kind. I soon learned to see the beauty of his soul. And I fell in love with him."

Aramis smiled. "That sounds lovely."

She nodded. "We married in Shepherd Duval's church. And when Henry was born, everything was perfect." Her expression fell. "But then there was an accident. Philippe was repairing the roof after some rain damage and fell."

Aramis took her hand as her chest hitched. "I'm sorry for your loss."

"He's still with me," she said, voice cracking, hand fisting in the folds of her blouse against her bosom. "In here. And in Henry." She broke down into sobs.

Aramis shifted closer, trying to offer comfort though there was little that could be given until her son was in her arms again.

"I promise you, on my honor, the safe return of your child," he vowed.

o.0.o

D'Artagnan was growing restless watching the manor. Plus the odors from the dye pools were beginning to give him a headache. He roved his gaze around the street with a huff, only to straighten when he spotted Athos and Constance. He caught their eye and beckoned them over.

"So this is where the baby is?" Athos asked without preamble.

"You've talked with Aramis," d'Artagnan replied.

"Yes."

Constance batted his arm. "Runnin' after kidnappers alone, honestly."

"Hey, I knew what I was doing," he replied with mild affront. "Anyway, I haven't spotted another way in other than the front door, and I don't know which room the baby is in. I did see a woman dressed in finer clothes and another man go in not too long ago, but they left quickly."

"That was probably Marie de Medici," Athos said with an almost resigned air.

"Who?"

"The baby's grandmother."

D'Artagnan furrowed his brow in confusion. "This isn't a normal kidnapping, is it?"

"No. The child is to be used in a power play for the baron-ship of this moon."

He shot a dubious look between Athos and Constance. "Okay… Are we going to do anything about it?" he asked carefully.

Athos sighed. "Aramis made a promise to the mother."

Constance rolled her eyes. "Of course we're going to. We just have to…figure out what."

They turned their attention to watching the manor for a few minutes, though it wasn't like anything new was going to present itself.

"I have an idea," Constance suddenly said.

Or not. D'Artagnan arched a questioning brow at her.

"The baby needs to feed," she said. "I just need some formula and I can get in the front door."

D'Artagnan frowned skeptically. "I don't know, sounds dangerous."

"Do we have any better ideas?" she countered.

"I hate to say it," Athos interjected. "But no."

o.0.o

Constance drew in a deep breath and fiddled with the handle of the basket in her arms, fighting back nerves as she prepared herself to approach the manor.

"We need to know which room the baby's in," Aramis said. "And how many men there are."

She nodded. She could do this. It was her idea to begin with. And her entire crew would be right outside ready to come storming in as soon as she conveyed the information.

Agnes worried at her lip. "He likes music. If he cries, sing him a lullaby."

"Will humming do? My singing might frighten him," Constance tried to joke. It didn't really work.

"Then give him this." Agnes handed over a crocheted blanket. "Tell him I love him."

She nodded.

"Be careful," d'Artagnan whispered in her ear.

Constance was too nervous to give a retort. She steeled herself and walked across the road, up to the front door, and knocked.

It swung open almost immediately and a gruff looking man holding a rifle frowned at her. "What do you want?"

Time to sell it.

"I'm here with the baby's formula."

"Formula?" he repeated dubiously.

"Yeah, for feeding a baby."

He continued to look at her in confusion. Honestly, men.

"Should I leave it with you?" she asked, lifting the basket. "You know how to warm it and make sure it's the right consistency and not burn the wee one's mouth?"

"Uh…"

"This is the right house, isn't it?" she rambled on. "I'm pretty sure I got the address right. Oh no, if the baby misses its feeding, it'll get right cranky real quick."

The man's face twisted into a scowl. "Get in here." He gestured sharply with his weapon.

Constance didn't argue and kept her head down, eyes flicking surreptitiously around to count the number of men: two on the door, four upstairs in an antechamber playing poker and drinking beer around a coffee table with a monitor on in the background with some sports event. She heard a toilet flush and saw another come out from a back bathroom.

"Who's she?"

"She's here to feed the baby."

Constance was led to a small room and for a moment she felt a thrill of worry when she didn't spot the child. Then she heard a gurgle and her eyes were drawn to the right where a dresser stood against the wall. The middle drawer was hanging open and the baby was lying inside on a blanket.

Constance set the basket down and went to pick him up. "Hello there," she cooed. She glanced at the man hovering in the doorway. "Do you have a hot plate?"

He huffed. "Yeah, I'll get one."

As soon as he left, Constance pulled the baby blanket off her arm and nonchalantly sidled up to the open window. "Such a beautiful boy, you are," she said while reaching out and giving the blanket seven deliberate shakes, indicating how many men were inside. Now all she had to do was wait.

The man returned with the hot plate and Constance set to warming up the formula she'd brought, rocking baby Henry in one arm so as to keep him close and guarded.

"Hey," someone shouted from down the hall. "Boss lady's on the radio."

The man who'd brought her the hot plate and had been watching her turned and walked away. He seemed the one in charge here. Constance angled one ear toward the door and listened as a woman's voice crackled through a speaker.

"The DNA test proves the child's lineage. I'm coming to retrieve him."

Constance quickly turned away, shushing the baby as he started to fuss. The others had better act quickly.

She resumed making the formula, having to stop and read the instructions since she'd never had to make this stuff before. Thankfully, she did not have to wait long for the echo of a gunshot to reverberate from downstairs. Constance propped the baby up against her shoulder and whispered soothing nothings in his ear as she waited for the musketeers to find their way to her.

A man ran past the doorway, but then a shot cracked the air and he let out a cry as he was flung backward from the impact of a bullet. Aramis appeared a moment later, pistol in hand.

"Let's go."

"You have good timing," Constance said, clutching Henry close and hurrying forward. "A woman just called saying she's got the DNA proof and is coming to get the baby."

Aramis's expression was earnest with the intent to escape, but the moment he laid eyes on the baby he seemed to melt. "So you're the one all the fuss is about."

Constance would have found it adorable if not for the fact that one of Medici's men was suddenly coming at them from the other end of the hall. She snatched Aramis's second pistol from his belt and fired around him. The thug hit the floor and didn't get up.

Aramis arched a brow. "Nice shot."

She smirked at the compliment and kept hold of his gun in one hand, the baby in the other, as he led the way out toward the antechamber where the others were finishing off the rest of the kidnapping gang. Then they made their way downstairs and out into the street where they reunited with Agnes.

"Henry!" the woman exclaimed, reaching out desperately for her son.

Constance was only a little reluctant to hand him over.

Agnes clutched her son to her chest, tears streaming down her cheeks.

"We can't stay," Aramis cautioned. "Marie de Medici is on her way for the boy."

"We'll see Agnes back to the church so she can pack her things," Athos said. "D'Artagnan, get the ship and meet us there. We leave as quickly as possible."

Agnes snapped her head up. "What? What do you mean pack my things?"

Aramis gently took her arm. "You have to leave this moon, you and Henry. Go far away and disappear."

"But this is my home. This is where my husband is buried."

"Marie de Medici will never stop coming for your son," Athos said curtly. "And if the Baron learns of his existence, there will be a bounty on his head. I assure you there are men out there who will have no qualms slaughtering an infant in his crib."

Agnes's face drained of color and she reeled back, clinging to Henry protectively.

"We'll take you somewhere else," Aramis said, tone much more gentle than the captain's. "Help you get set up. You and Henry can live your lives in peace. That's what matters here: that you both get to live."

"Think of your son," Constance put in.

Agnes's eyes were red and she still looked terrified, but she nodded.

D'Artagnan ducked in to share a quick kiss with Constance, and then they split up so they could get Agnes and Henry on their way off this moon.

o.0.o

D'Artagnan jogged out toward where the Luciole was parked outside the town. He used his code to unlock the airlock of the cargo hold, but just as he pulled the door open, hands roughly shoved him from behind and the barrel of a gun was pressed up against the back of his head. D'Artagnan froze.

"Where's the baby?"

"What baby?" He winced as the gun was pushed harder against his skull.

"I recognize you from the church, and you were loitering outside the dye house."

"I really have no idea what you're talking about," d'Artagnan maintained.

He was yanked around so he could face his assailants—a whole group of them. And the one holding the gun was definitely the one he'd pursued from the church. He should have paid attention to whether that man had been with the others they'd taken out at the manor. But of course Marie de Medici probably had plenty in her employ.

D'Artagnan's gaze was briefly drawn over the lead man's shoulder to where the messenger boy he'd sent to Athos earlier stood at the edge of town, watching. His heart sank.

The men forced him inside the ship and several spread out to look around. D'Artagnan kept his mouth shut, wracking his brain for a way out of this.

"Baby's not here," someone came back to report.

The leader shot a seething look at d'Artagnan. But instead of questioning him further, he grabbed him by the arm and hauled him up to the bridge. Thrusting him into the chair at the comms station, he raised the gun to d'Artagnan's head again.

"Contact your captain."

o.0.o

Athos didn't think Marie de Medici's people would think to look at the church again for the baby, but he nevertheless waited outside with Aramis and Porthos to stand watch while Agnes packed her things.

His wrist band beeped and he lifted it to his face, tapping twice. "D'Artagnan, what's your ETA?"

"I have your man, captain," a stranger's voice sounded through the link.

Athos stiffened, and Aramis and Porthos gathered closer to listen intently. "Who is this?" Athos demanded.

The man didn't answer. "If you want him returned alive and intact, you'll bring the baby to the river crossing outside the town in one hour."

"How do I know he's still alive?"

There were a few beats of silence and then,

"Athos, don'—" He was cut off with a muffled noise.

"One hour," the first man repeated, and then the link disconnected.

"What do we do?" Porthos asked in a low growl.

Athos's jaw tightened. He raised his voice but kept his tone sedate, "Constance, can you come over here for a moment?"

She was currently rocking baby Henry under the shade of a tree while Agnes was inside and made her way over. "What is it?"

"D'Artagnan has been taken captive by Medici's men and they want to trade him for the baby," Athos laid out.

Her eyes widened and her mouth parted with a barely audible gasp. She reached one hand up to cup the back of the baby's head, looking torn between her husband and an innocent child. But Marie de Medici needed the boy alive—she wouldn't harm him.

"We can't hand him over," Aramis said in alarm.

"These people are determined," Athos replied. "It won't matter how far Agnes and her baby run; Marie de Medici will hunt them down eventually."

"Not to mention the rest of us fer knowin' where they might be," Porthos mentioned under his breath.

"Unless everyone believes the child is dead," Aramis spoke up in a low voice.

"What?" Constance blurted, shooting him an incredulous look tinged with horror.

Athos studied him. "You want to fake the baby's death."

Aramis nodded. "It's the only way Henry and Agnes will ever be safe."

"It's risky. We could end up personal enemies to Marie de Medici."

"I'm willing to risk it," Aramis declared. "Besides, her men have presented us with the means to do it."

Porthos quirked a confused brow. "How?"

"I have an idea." Aramis's expression turned grim. "But in order for it to work, we can't tell Agnes."

Constance shook her head. "I don't know about that. Lying to a mother about her own son…" She glanced at the baby in her arms.

"It's the only way to get d'Artagnan back too," Aramis said.

"Alright," Athos interjected, making the decision for them. "What do you have in mind?"

o.0.o

D'Artagnan didn't know whether to hope to see his brothers or not when he and his captors emerged from the tree line and stopped at the end of a wide bridge stretching out over a river, but the sight of Aramis holding a swaddle of blankets in his arms filled him with a rush of alarm. Surely Aramis wouldn't hand over the baby. No, it must be a fake. D'Artagnan clenched his fists, wishing he could be of more use in a fight without the cuffs on his wrists.

The lead thug clamped a hand on d'Artagnan's shoulder, gun in the other hand, and shouted, "Bring the baby over!"

"We'll meet halfway!" Aramis called back.

The leader gave d'Artagnan a shove as they both started out onto the bridge. Four men accompanied him and the leader while six more stayed behind. As far as d'Artagnan could see, Aramis was alone, but he knew that wasn't the case. He just wished he knew what the plan was.

"No!"

Everyone whipped their heads up to where Agnes was running through the woods toward the bridge.

"What are you doing? Stop!"

Porthos stepped out from behind a tree and caught her in his arms.

"No!" she screamed, pounding her fists against him but he didn't budge. "Please don't do this!"

D'Artagnan shot a wide-eyed look at Aramis, who looked back at him with a stony expression as he kept moving forward. D'Artagnan felt his heart drop into his stomach.

They finally met in the middle of the bridge and the barrel of a gun was pressed firmly against his skull.

"Hand over the baby," the leader demanded.

Aramis didn't move, but his eyes shifted over to meet d'Artagnan's again. No words passed between them, but he understood the signal. Trusting his brother, d'Artagnan twisted abruptly, swinging his cuffed hands up to knock the gun aside. Then he dropped low and kicked out the man's legs.

A gunshot cracked the air and another goon just behind the first fell. More gunfire erupted from the trees and the men who'd stayed at the head of the bridge came charging forward now, returning fire. D'Artagnan stayed down as bullets flew above his head.

"Don't shoot the baby!" the leader bellowed.

Two men stowed their guns and lunged at Aramis, grappling with him for the bundle. Aramis tried to twist away but the hands were pulling him in opposite directions. Then he hit the railing and the bundle went flying from his arms and over the side, Aramis's arm extending out over the rushing water but grasping only air. D'Artagnan could only stare in suspended horror.

A horrible, gut-wrenching keen echoed from the tree line. Agnes finally broke away from Porthos and came running out onto the bridge, screaming Henry's name. She tried to climb over the railing but Aramis hauled her back and trapped her in his arms.

The marksman shot the lead thug a scathing glare. "What more do you want!"

The kidnapper hesitated, eyes wide with the same shock they were all feeling. Then Athos and Porthos approached the end of the bridge, guns raised, and he gestured at his men still standing to retreat.

D'Artagnan slowly stood up, his heart fracturing at Agnes's anguished sobs.

Athos and Porthos came out onto the bridge and Porthos picked the handcuffs on d'Artagnan's wrists.

"I'm sorry," d'Artagnan whispered hoarsely.

Porthos gave him a level look. "Wasn't yer fault."

Still, they wouldn't have been here if he hadn't gotten captured.

"We should head back," Athos said somberly.

Aramis guided Agnes off the bridge and back through the woods, but a few moments later she shoved away from him.

"I trusted you!"

Aramis looked absolutely stricken but didn't respond.

D'Artagnan couldn't quite process how it had all gone so wrong so fast. They had been trying to help, and they'd just made it worse. They'd gotten an innocent baby killed.

He blinked as he realized his wife wasn't there. "Where's Constance?"

"Waiting for us," Athos replied.

A few minutes later they walked out of the woods and d'Artagnan blinked in surprise to find the Luciole sitting parked in a meadow.

Aramis quickened his pace to catch up with Agnes, trying to get her to meet his eye. "I am so sorry for what you just went through," he said. "But if you hadn't been convincing as a grieving mother, they would have seen right through it. This was the only way I could see you and Henry having any kind of life together."

D'Artagnan furrowed his brow in confusion.

"What life?" Agnes asked bitterly.

Aramis looked toward the ship, and d'Artagnan followed his gaze just as Constance walked out of the open cargo bay with a bundle in her arms.

"Henry?" Agnes gasped.

The sounds of a baby fussing emanated from the swaddle of blankets.

"Oh, Henry!"

Constance happily handed over the baby and then hurried over to d'Artagnan and threw her arms around him. "Are you all right?" she asked.

He was frankly a little stunned by this revelation but managed to hug back and kiss her temple. "I'm fine."

"Now no one will be looking for you and you can start over, live in peace," Aramis told Agnes.

The poor woman lifted tear-filled eyes to him, but now they were ones of joy instead of grief. "Thank you. You kept your promise."

D'Artagnan looked at Constance. "You went and got the ship while everyone was preoccupied with the hostage exchange."

She beamed at him. "I did. Although flying a ship and bouncing a baby on one knee is a bit of an acrobatic feat."

He grinned at the image. "Do you ever want any kids?" he asked thoughtfully. It wasn't something they had really talked about before.

Constance scoffed. "Why? When I've already got four to look after."

Athos wrinkled his brow in an affronted look.

Aramis and Porthos broke into wide grins.

D'Artagnan slipped an arm around his wife's waist. "Come on, I think it's time we got off this moon."

They had another family to get set up in a new life somewhere.

Chapter Text

"What about a new tool box?" d'Artagnan said, surveying the shops on the street. "The one Constance has is pretty old and beat up."

Aramis slung an arm over his shoulder. "D'Artagnan, my young friend, the purpose of an anniversary present is to ensure you have another one the following year."

"But Constance values her tool box," he persisted. "And it's practical. It shows thought—"

"Not the kind of thought you should be going for." Aramis raised his eyes to the sky as though in despair of him. "How did you ever manage to woo that young lady?"

"Hey. Obviously I have some charm."

"But not taste, which is why I'm along for this excursion."

D'Artagnan briefly wondered if he should have asked Athos or Porthos for help shopping for a gift, but no sooner had they delivered their cargo on this border planet had those two run off, Athos to drown himself in wine—a habit that'd been increasing in severity ever since he'd learned his wife was no longer in prison and was gunning for him—and Porthos to his customary vice of local card games. Which left d'Artagnan with Aramis floundering to find Constance just the right present for tomorrow. He'd take her to dinner tonight because they were due to leave early the following morning and would give her the gift once back in space.

They meandered through several shops but nothing was really striking d'Artagnan as the perfect present, and he did want it to be special, despite Aramis's quips that he was failing in the romantic department. After an hour, they stopped in a bar to slake their thirst. D'Artagnan couldn't help but rove his gaze around the sparse afternoon crowd to see if their captain had holed up here, but he hadn't.

"Jewelry is always a winner with women," Aramis said and took a sip of his ale.

"Yeah, but the only thing I could afford would be made of paste, and I don't want to give Constance fake jewelry."

Aramis canted his head in concession.

D'Artagnan sighed morosely. "This whole anniversary thing was easier in the beginning when candies and flowers worked. Every year I feel like I have to try harder."

"Such is the burden of marriage."

"Like you would know," d'Artagnan retorted.

Aramis gave him a rakish grin. "I know enough to stay in the candies and flowers stage of a relationship."

D'Artagnan snorted into his mug. 'Relationship' wasn't how he would characterize Aramis's dalliances. "Just you wait. One day you'll find a woman who will make an honest man out of you."

Aramis tugged at his hat roguishly. "I'm afraid my heart loves too freely for such things."

"Right."

Someone cleared their throat and they looked over to see the bartender sidling closer behind the counter. "Sorry, couldn't help but overhear you've got anniversary problems."

"Not problems," d'Artagnan scowled. His marriage was just fine.

"Woes then," the man said, raising his hands in conciliation. "I know a place, a few streets over. Sells real nice stuff very suitable for lady folk. Just look for a red awning."

Aramis arched a beaming look at d'Artagnan, who shrugged in response. Couldn't hurt to check it out.

They finished their drinks and left the bar, navigating the streets according to the bartender's directions. When they finally spotted the red awning, it was on a narrow street that looked more like a back alleyway. As they drew closer, d'Artagnan threw up his hands.

"I can't buy Constance a gift from a pawn shop."

"Why not?"

"Because it's used goods!"

Aramis shrugged. "One man's discards are another man's treasure. Besides, sometimes when circumstances get rough, people are forced to sell precious possessions in order to scrape by."

D'Artagnan just shook his head at him. "Yes, that definitely screams romance."

"Well, if you—"

Aramis was cut off by someone leaping out from a side alley and jumping him, the force driving Aramis into the wall. D'Artagnan surged forward but three more men charged out, two intercepting him. He took a punch to the face that disoriented him for a moment and hands seized his arms, trying to wrench them behind his back.

Aramis threw an elbow into one of his attacker's gut, but the second was close enough to jab what looked like a little black box against the back of Aramis's neck. The marksman cried out and went rigid for a few suspended moments before the assailant backed up and Aramis crumpled.

D'Artagnan struggled to break free, but then he felt a pair of prongs get rammed into his neck, followed by a jolt of electricity coursing through his limbs and lighting every nerve ending on fire before everything crashed into blackness.

o.0.o

D'Artagnan woke to a stiff ache in his neck that flared with each lurch and jostle of the surface beneath him. He tried to roll away from it, but his limbs were weighted. It took him a moment to realize the heaviness on his wrists felt like iron shackles and his eyes shot open. He immediately squeezed them shut against the blinding light and moaned.

"D'Artagnan? Are you with me?"

"Aramis?" He pried his eyelids open again slowly. Blurry shapes gradually coalesced into a small compartment with latticed sides and a canvas covering. Based on the bumpy motion, he was gonna guess they were in the back of a wagon.

With effort, he pushed himself upright, wincing as every single aching muscle twinged in protest. He reached a manacled hand up to touch the back of his neck and hissed at the raw and swollen skin that felt like a burn.

"Taser," Aramis said.

D'Artagnan looked over to where Aramis sat across from him, hands similarly shackled with a lengthy slack of chain between the cuffs. His hat and weapons belt were gone. Aramis turned his head and lifted some of his unruly curls to reveal a burn patch with two holes in the center on his own neck. D'Artagnan remembered the attack in the alley now.

"What's going on?" he grunted.

Aramis leaned back. "I don't know. We've been traveling for less than an hour—that I've been aware of." His lips thinned. "But I haven't heard any sounds to suggest we're still in the city."

D'Artagnan's pulse gave a flutter at that. Who were these men and what did they want?

The wagon suddenly lurched to a stop and they both straightened in apprehension as movement could be heard outside. The back flap was flipped up and a door in the wooden frame unlatched and opened.

"Out," one of the men commanded.

D'Artagnan and Aramis exchanged a glance, but they gained nothing by refusing and so scooted forward. As soon as they were within reach, hands grabbed them roughly and hauled them out the rest of the way.

They were definitely outside the city; in fact, a quick glance in every direction revealed nothing but arid terrain with rocky dips and rises. Off to the side, eight more men were congregated on the ground, also shackled. With d'Artagnan's and Aramis's arrival, however, the group of kidnappers went over and directed them to stand. Then they were all lined up two by two and one long chain slipped through the links in their shackles.

"Get moving," someone barked, and by the way he carried himself, d'Artagnan guessed he was the leader of this little band.

"To where exactly?" Aramis demanded. "What is it you want?"

The leader strode over and backhanded him across the face so hard his head snapped to the side.

D'Artagnan gritted his teeth against a flare of fury.

"Attitude will not be tolerated," the leader declared loudly as though speaking to all of them. "Neither will the weak."

"Please," another prisoner blurted. "I have a family, children."

The lead kidnapper's eyes narrowed, and he slowly stalked around the line toward the one who'd spoken up. Once in front of him, he pulled out a gun and pointed it in the trembling man's face. "Say goodbye to your old lives, gentlemen. You're destined for the mud pits on Higgins' Moon."

D'Artagnan's eyes widened as he realized these men were slavers. He shot an alarmed look at Aramis, who gazed back at him grimly.

"You can either embrace your new life," the leader continued. "Or get shot right here and now. I don't carry dead weight. Either way, you're never seeing your family again."

The man cowered away and the leader lowered his weapon.

"Move out."

They had no choice but to start the march, their group being herded like chained chattel down a slope into a ravine where they were out of sight should any aircraft do a flyover.

D'Artagnan worried how they were going to get out of this. Slavery was illegal, but out here on the Rim it wasn't unheard of where there was less of an Alliance presence to maintain law and order. And the expanse of the verse that was the border planets was so vast that once someone was spirited away to another location to be enslaved, it'd be impossible to find them again.

D'Artagnan rubbed at his wrist where the shackles chafed. His comm device had been taken, as well as Aramis's, so there was no way they could send a distress call to the Luciole. D'Artagnan's stomach only twisted further the longer they trudged over the rocky terrain.

They finally arrived at a camp set in a small valley between some hills where a couple dozen more men sat on the ground, shackled and chained to posts in the ground. All were young and strong looking. The group of ten recent arrivals were unhooked from the long chain and shoved over to various vacant spots where their chains were then attached to hooks on the posts and locked in place. D'Artagnan and Aramis were pushed to the ground at the base of a rock scarp together.

The leader shouted at one of his men. "Get on the radio and report a full load. Tell Vincent to be here tomorrow afternoon with the ship to pick up the cargo."

D'Artagnan tensed and exchanged a look with Aramis. They had to escape before they were put on that vessel, or their brothers would have no chance of ever finding them after that.

Aramis shuffled back to lean against the rock. "I still have my set of lock picks in my boot," he whispered. "Apparently these men need a lesson in searching their prisoners."

D'Artagnan roved his gaze around the camp. Though they weren't under strict guard, men were constantly walking back and forth between the lines of captives, shrewd eyes sweeping over them with each pass.

"We'll have to wait for the cover of night," d'Artagnan said tautly.

"Yes," Aramis agreed.

With no other choice, they settled in for an anxious wait.

o.0.o

Porthos grinned happily as he patted his pocket with his winnings and strolled down the street. The lights began to flicker on as the sun receded, morphing the bustling city streets into darker alleys and passageways. He glanced over his shoulder to make sure no sore losers had followed him from the pub. He hadn't cheated—much. Just a sleight of hand here and there to up the stakes. And it'd paid off.

Mood buoyant, he headed into the bar Athos had retreated to earlier that afternoon. The captain was deep in his cups as expected and in no shape to make his way home in the dark. Porthos strode over and clamped a hand around the man's upper arm.

"Come on, that's enough fer tonight."

Athos tried to shrug out of his grip but only succeeded in swaying in his seat. "'M fin'," he slurred.

"Uh-huh." Porthos hauled him out of the chair and tossed a few coins from his winnings onto the table to pay for the empty wine bottles. Then he gently manhandled his friend out of the bar and back toward the Luciole.

Athos barely kept his feet the entire way, and once they reached the ship, Porthos resigned himself to slinging the drunk man over his shoulder. Athos was too sloshed to realize the indignity of it all.

Constance emerged from one of the corridors as Porthos grunted his way up to the catwalk. She was decked out in a nice dress and shawl but her face was pinched.

Porthos frowned. "Weren't you goin' on a dinner date with d'Artagnan tonight?"

"Yes," she said stiffly. "He's an hour late."

Porthos grimaced. The lad was in trouble now. "Did you try raising him on the comms?"

"Him and Aramis," she replied, mouth turning down further at the sight of Athos dangling across Porthos's back. "They were out together this afternoon. Neither of them are responding."

Porthos stiffened as unease prickled down his spine. And it wasn't from Athos's weight.

"Try again," he suggested. "I'm gonna get Athos to bed."

Constance nodded and walked away.

Instead of going through the hassle of getting Athos down the hatch and ladder to his own bed, Porthos simply deposited him in one of the guest rooms to sleep it off. He then headed up to the bridge where Constance was sitting at the comms station looking as though she didn't know whether to be cross or worried.

"Still nothing," she said.

Porthos walked over and clacked a few keys, pulling up the beacons from their wrist bands. They were stationary, and Porthos pulled up a map of the city to find out where.

"I'll go check it out," he said.

Constance stood up. "Maybe I should go with you."

"Nah," he said, trying to be nonchalant about it. "You should stay in case they come back. I bet Aramis got distracted by a pretty girl and d'Artagnan didn't want to leave him alone."

Constance leveled an unconvinced look at him, and Porthos swallowed against his own anxiety because he also knew it was a lame excuse. He just didn't want to jump to any conclusions yet.

He dropped off his coin in his bunk—no sense carrying a bunch and asking to be robbed while he was looking for his wayward brothers—and strapped his schiavona to his belt before making his way back out into the darkening streets.

There wasn't much on the street Porthos had narrowed down the beacons' location to: no bars or brothels, not even homes where Aramis might have accompanied a woman to. Porthos huffed as he paced up and down the street, seeing nothing. Pausing for a moment, he lifted his arm to tap his own wrist band. A beep sounded from a few feet away and he turned toward it. He took a few steps and tapped the flashlight on his wrist band on. His heart plummeted into his stomach at the sight of two identical wrist bands lying on the ground.

Porthos scooped them up and quickly searched the alley for bodies, thinking maybe Aramis and d'Artagnan had been mugged. But there was no sign of anything.

The alley was behind a pawn shop, pretty much the only thing that didn't look vacant on this street. And it was still open. Porthos strode inside, intending to ask the proprietor if he'd seen or heard anything…but he pulled up short when he spotted Aramis's ornate pistols in a glass case with price tags attached to them. A few feet away on a coat rack was a familiar hat with blue and golden feathers. Porthos whipped his gaze around until he spotted two swords also on display.

A wiry man with spectacles came out from the back. "Evenin'," he greeted. "See anythin' in particular you're interested in?"

Porthos stormed over and reached across the counter to grab a fistful of the man's shirt, yanking him halfway across the glass top. "Where did you get those pistols?" he snarled.

"Wh-wh-," the man stuttered.

Porthos hauled him all the way over the counter and dragged him to the display case. "Those pistols. Where did you get them?"

"So-someone traded them in!" he bleated.

"Who? When?" Porthos gave him a rough shake.

"This afternoon."

Porthos spun the man around and slammed him against the wall. "Name. Now."

"Le-Lemaitre!"

"Where can I find 'im?"

"I don't know!"

Porthos growled and clenched his fists tighter, cinching the fabric tight against the man's throat.

"I swear! He comes in regularly once a month but I don't know where he lives or anythin'."

"Once a month sellin' items he stole off of people?" Porthos glowered.

The shop owner flinched. "He has a brother!" he blurted. "Bruno Lemaitre. Owns a bar not far from here."

Porthos narrowed his eyes menacingly to gauge the man's truthfulness. He was quivering like a foal, so Porthos finally shoved him away hard. He snatched his brothers' swords off the rack, retrieved Aramis's hat, and then went over and smashed the glass of the display case, plucking out the pistols. A nearby scarf wasn't stolen, but Porthos grabbed it anyway to wrap up the items and then tucked the bundle under his arm as he finally stormed out in search of this bar.

The place was busy when he entered, the nightly crowd well under way. Porthos had to weave through the bustling throng to reach the counter where he waved down the bartender.

"You Bruno Lemaitre?" he said harshly.

The man arched a brow at him. "Who wants ta know?"

"I'm lookin' for yer brother."

Bruno snorted. "He ain't here."

Porthos leaned over the counter, expression dark with barely restrained fury, and the only reason he didn't give this guy the same treatment as the pawn shop owner was there were too many patrons who might come to his defense.

"Yer brother attacked mine," he growled. "So tell me where I can find 'im before I decide to embrace the whole 'eye fer an eye' creed."

Bruno narrowed his eyes, not appearing as fazed as the shop owner had been. He finally shook his head and let out a sound of derision. "Look, I don' know where he is. We're estranged. My brother is a good-fer-nothin' piece of scum who's in the slaving business."

Porthos's blood ran cold. "Slavery?" he repeated numbly.

Bruno shrugged one eyebrow. "I take it your brother is missin'? Look, I'm sorry about that, but I have nothin' to do with it. I run an honest business." He spread his arms to encompass the bar. "And I wish I could help ya, but my brother doesn't share his illicit dealin's with me."

Porthos leaned back, his mind swiftly succumbing to shock. After a prolonged moment, he nodded to the bartender and turned to leave. His feet navigated the streets of their own accord while he wrestled with how to tell Constance that her husband was missing, likely kidnapped by slavers.

And Porthos had no idea how to find them and get them back.

o.0.o

As soon as the sun had gone down, d'Artagnan shifted to partially shield Aramis from sight as the marksman pulled out his lock picks and set to work on the chains leashing them to the posts. D'Artagnan kept a watch on the guards and a few times had to elbow Aramis into stopping as one of them passed by. It slowed their progress and d'Artagnan tried not to shiver as the temperature steadily dropped.

His gaze flitted over the other huddled prisoners. "What about these other people?" he whispered to Aramis.

Aramis didn't look up from his concentration. "Even if we could get a weapon from one of the guards, we're still outnumbered," he replied quietly. "The best way we can help them is to escape and alert the authorities."

D'Artagnan pursed his mouth. He knew Aramis was right, but it didn't make his stomach curdle any less.

He finally heard a soft clink and looked over as Aramis disengaged their chains from the post.

"We should go now," Aramis whispered. "I can pick the shackles once we're safely away."

D'Artagnan nodded. They gathered up their chains so the links wouldn't rattle as they crept along the rock face, trying to keep to the shadows until they could climb out of the valley. The guards were between passes right now, so they should have enough of an opening—

"Hey, wait," someone hissed. "Help me."

D'Artagnan went rigid and spun around to face one of the captives who was leaning forward earnestly. "We'll be back with the police to help everyone," he promised quickly.

The man's eyes widened. "No, don't leave me here!" At his raised voice, alerted shouts went up among the guards.

Aramis grabbed d'Artagnan's arms and yanked. "Run!"

They scrambled up the incline as the alarm was sounded. A gunshot cracked the air and d'Artagnan stumbled as fire tore through his side. He almost went crashing to his knees, but Aramis grasped his arm and hauled him along, both of them struggling to keep their feet over the rocky terrain with nothing but a quarter moon for scant light to see by.

D'Artagnan pressed a hand to his burning side and felt a warm wetness. When he pulled it away, his fingers glistened darkly. "Ar-Aramis."

Aramis glanced over his shoulder and pulled up short. Hands roughly seized d'Artagnan's wrists. "You were hit? Where?"

"S-side."

Beams of flashlights bobbed erratically in the distance.

Aramis swore under his breath. "Come on, just a little further."

D'Artagnan didn't know where "just a little further" was supposed to get them, but he forced himself to follow.

A few moments later they tumbled into a gully and Aramis nudged d'Artagnan into sitting down and leaning back against the declivity.

"Let me see," he said, though he didn't actually wait for permission before tugging d'Artagnan's shirt up and palpating his stomach.

D'Artagnan arched at the unexpected flare in his side and was unable to hold back a cry. He knew he had to keep quiet, that he could give their position away, so he clamped his jaw shut and swallowed his next sob.

"The bullet didn't penetrate," Aramis reported. "It grazed you, but deeply. There's a lot of blood."

He sat back on his haunches and started unwinding his sash from his waist, which he then wrapped around d'Artagnan's and knotted it. D'Artagnan choked on another pained cry at the applied pressure. A hand reached out to squeeze his shoulder.

"I know it hurts, but we have to keep moving," Aramis said regretfully.

D'Artagnan managed a nod and groaned as Aramis hauled him to his feet again. He sucked in a sharp breath through his teeth and took one lumbering step after the other, keeping to the gully to stay out of sight of their pursuers.

o.0.o

Athos sat at the kitchen table, aching head in his hands, as Porthos set a cup of strong coffee in front of him. It was 4am and Porthos had just finished explaining what had happened the previous evening while Athos had been too drunk to even be aware. His crew had needed him and he hadn't been there, passed out in the guest room because he'd drank himself into numb oblivion. He knew he shouldn't let his ex-wife get to him like that, but damn it, he'd loved her. Maybe still did on some level. And that twisted him up inside as much as his hatred over her betrayal did.

"It's not yer fault," Porthos spoke up.

Athos lifted his head to squint at the blurry figure standing next to him.

Porthos huffed. "I know that look. But there wasn't anythin' you could've done." His expression darkened morosely and he looked away. "There still isn't. We don't know where to look."

Athos dropped his gaze back to the brown brew in front of him. Maybe that was true, but it didn't change the fact that he was supposed to have been there. Perhaps he could have thought of some avenue to pursue if his mind hadn't been muddled by wine.

Constance's footsteps echoed more loudly than usual as she entered the mess. "I went through the comms system link to their wrist bands, down to the code, just to see if I could retrace their steps," she reported but quickly deflated. "I know that doesn't help us find where they are now."

Porthos held his hand out and she passed him the data pad she was carrying. His expression was grim as he scanned the results, but then he made a sound like a half growl.

Athos straightened. "What is it?"

"This says they were in the bar that belongs to the brother of the reported slaver. I questioned 'im and he said he didn't know anythin', but this can't be coincidence."

Athos chugged down the rest of his coffee, the acidic liquid sloshing unhappily in his already caustic stomach. "I agree. Let's question him again."

All three of them headed out, making their way swiftly through the dark and empty streets at this time of morning. It was after closing time of most nocturnal establishments, and they found the bar in question empty and the owner cleaning up.

"We're closed," he said as they barged in. His eyes widened as Porthos bore down on him like an angry bear.

"I don't think you were completely honest wit' me yesterday," he growled.

"I don't know what you're talkin' about," the man started to protest, but Porthos lashed out and grabbed a fistful of his shirt.

"The men your brother kidnapped were in this bar shortly before they went missin'. That's no coincidence."

"It's a big city—"

"And people go missing all the time," Athos interrupted impatiently. "But if we were to contact the authorities, would they find a pattern of missing people last seen in this immediate vicinity?"

"You can't prove nothin'."

Porthos shoved the man back against the bar counter, eyes turning wild and dangerous. "Bad things jus' happen, right?" He strode around the counter.

The barkeep turned and Athos drew his sword, pointing the tip at the man's throat to discourage any movements.

Porthos surveyed the rows of alcohol on the shelves. "Accidents happen," he mused, reaching out one finger and tipping a bottle over so it smashed on the floor.

"Hey!"

Athos pressed his blade more firmly into the barkeep's throat.

"Earthquakes maybe," Porthos went on, singling out another very expensive vintage and nudging it to a shattering end.

Athos lamented the loss but quashed his regret; wine was what had gotten him into trouble.

"Stop!" the bar owner cried. "You can't do this!"

Porthos whirled toward him. "How much money do you make helpin' your brother steal men's lives? What is it, one man equals the same as a bottle?" He picked up another and let it dangle precariously from a lax grip.

"Alright!" the man exclaimed. "I'll tell you. Sebastian has a camp out in the wilderness a few leagues east of the city."

Porthos's eyes darkened and he let the bottle fall. Before the barkeep could shout in protest, Athos moved forward and cold-cocked him in the head with the pommel of his sword.

"Let's go," he said. "Constance, looks like you're taking the helm again."

She gave a staunch nod and they exited the bar, urgency hastening their pace.

o.0.o

Dawn broke across the sky in smeared swirls of pale blue and pink. Aramis's shoulders slumped as he turned in a slow circle, surveying nothing but arid landscape as far as the eye could see. They should have reached the city by now if they'd been going in the right direction. That's what came of blundering through the wilderness in the dark. And now he had no idea where they were or which direction they needed to be going in.

His stomach tightened as he glanced at d'Artagnan. The lad's pallor was pasty and ashen, the sash around his waist soaked a dark wine color. Aramis had nothing out here with which to treat the wound and he was forced to watch his brother continue to fade while Aramis pushed him on relentlessly.

D'Artagnan hadn't seemed to notice that Aramis had stopped and lumbered past him, only for his knees to buckle and he collapsed on the ground with a moan. Aramis dropped down next to him, his own exhaustion pulling at his limbs already weighted with the heavy chains. He grabbed d'Artagnan's shoulders.

"D'Artagnan, stay awake."

Heavy-lidded eyes slowly tracked upward. "Aramis. I-I'm not…gonna make it."

"Yes, you are," he replied fiercely.

"You keep going," d'Artagnan mumbled. "Tell Constance…" His breath hitched and his eyes grew watery. "Tell her I love her."

"Tell her yourself," Aramis barked, grabbing his arm and yanking hard to pull him upright.

D'Artagnan groaned and tried to curl in on his injured side. "Aramis…just go. You can get help. I'll wait here."

"We are going together or not at all." He would forgive the boy for suggesting otherwise since he was suffering from blood loss. But Aramis would never leave a wounded brother to die alone in the wilderness.

He sighed and let d'Artagnan slump back down. "We can both take a rest though."

While d'Artagnan closed his eyes, Aramis got out the lock picks and at least tried to get their shackles off, since that was impeding their movement. He did d'Artagnan's first, then his own, letting the heavy chains fall to the ground with a clatter. He wasn't sure how much time it had actually taken him, but he spotted a cloud of dust rising in the distance. Their pursuers likely had some kind of all-terrain vehicles and would catch up quickly.

"Come on, d'Artagnan," Aramis urged, hauling him upright again. "We need to keep moving."

The boy groaned at the jostling movement and Aramis slung one of his arms over his own shoulder, then picked up their lumbering pace.

o.0.o

Constance detected the slavers' camp on the sensors and set the ship down behind the hill adjacent to the valley. After shutting down the engine, she loaded herself up with a shotgun and pistol, unwilling to stay behind, and went with Athos and Porthos to infiltrate the camp.

They crested the rise of the hill, keeping low to the ground, and peered into the valley. Athos pulled out some binoculars and scanned the area.

"I count at least a couple dozen prisoners," he said. "But no sign of Aramis and d'Artagnan."

Constance's heart fluttered. "Were we wrong about who took them? Or…are we too late?"

"We ain't wrong," Porthos rumbled.

"If a ship had come to take them, there wouldn't be this many men left," Athos added. He paused. "I count only four guards. Rather small number for an operation like this."

"Where do you think the others are?" Porthos asked.

Athos lowered the binoculars. "Let's ask."

He took the lead and they all snuck around to a gradual slope to enter the valley. Once at the bottom, they waited in some concealed bushes until one of the guards made a pass. Porthos reached out and grabbed a fistful of his shirt, yanking him into the shrubbery and slamming his back against a boulder.

"Where's Sebastian?" he growled.

The man's eyes widened and he opened his mouth as though to yell. Athos pointed a pistol at his head.

"Answer the question. Quietly."

His throat bobbed. "Not here."

"Two of our friends were taken," Porthos snarled. "Where are they?"

Constance hastily pulled out a small pad and showed the man a holo photo of d'Artagnan and Aramis.

The man swallowed again. "Yeah, they escaped last night. Sebastian took some men to go after them."

Constance felt a swell of relief, but it was quickly tempered because if they weren't here they were still in danger.

"Which direction and how many men?" Athos asked.

The guy pointed across the valley. "Eight."

Athos lowered his pistol and nodded. Porthos seemed to take that as his cue to punch the guy so hard that his head cracked against the rock and he crumpled. Then they marched out from concealment, presenting themselves to the remaining three guards with guns raised.

"Lower your weapons and surrender," Athos declared.

The slavers froze, evidently taken off guard. After a brief moment of hesitation, one went for his gun. A pistol shot cracked the air before Constance could think to react, and out of the corner of her eye she saw a trail of smoke wafting from the barrel of Athos's gun.

"Anyone else want to try it?" he asked mildly.

The last two raised their hands in the air. Constance kept her shotgun aimed at the ready to cover Athos and Porthos as they relieved the men of their weapons and searched them. Porthos came up with a set of keys, which he tossed to the nearest chained captive. Once the man had freed himself, Porthos and Athos secured the slavers in the shackles.

"Take care of the others," Athos instructed the freed man. With a nod to Porthos and Constance, they turned their attention to tracking down their missing crew mates.

o.0.o

Aramis grunted as d'Artagnan suddenly went limp in his arms, his dead weight nearly dragging them both to the ground.

"No, no, no, come on, d'Artagnan," Aramis pleaded, adjusting his grip and reaching over to tap the lad's cheek. He got no response. D'Artagnan was ghostly white, as though more of his blood was now occupying Aramis's sash than it was his body. And the slavers were closing in on them.

Aramis jerked his head up as the sound of ATVs drew closer. He whipped his gaze around and spotted a small cleft in a boulder. It wasn't much, but hopefully he could hide d'Artagnan there. He dragged his friend's limp body over and pushed him underneath as much as he could. Then he lurched to his feet and staggered in the opposite direction, trying to lead the slavers away.

They were upon him in moments, the ATVs circling around and kicking up more dust. When one of the men dismounted and came at him, he tried to throw a punch, but lack of food and water left him off his game and he was swiftly knocked to the ground instead.

The lead slaver walked over and pointed a gun at him. "Where's the other one?"

Aramis gritted his teeth. "Dead. One of you shot him."

The man narrowed his eyes as though trying to discern his veracity, but the blood transfer on his clothes was obvious.

"Fine then. You've proven not worth the trouble."

He shifted his aim to Aramis's head, and Aramis forced himself not to flinch in the face of his death, and d'Artagnan's too.

But the sound that abruptly filled his ears wasn't that of a gunshot, but of whirring engines. He shot his gaze up as the Luciole came sweeping down from the sky to hover overhead, cargo bay doors open. Anchored in harnesses on the platform, Athos and Porthos leaned out and started shooting. Men yelled as they went flying off their vehicles from the impact of bullets. Some took cover behind the ATVs and returned fire.

Aramis leaped to his feet and tackled the nearest slaver, delivering a punch that instantly knocked the man out. He then snatched up a gun and started shooting as well until the barrage of weapons fire petered out and nothing but the Luciole's engines roaring in his ears remained. The slavers were all dead.

Aramis scrambled back to where he'd stashed d'Artagnan as the Luciole set down. He'd barely pulled d'Artagnan out into his arms before hands were reaching to help.

"Aramis?" Athos prompted.

"Get him to the infirmary," he urged. "He's lost a lot of blood. Probably needs a transfusion. You're a match."

Athos's grip on his shoulder halted his ramble. "Okay. We've got him."

Porthos entered his field of vision, brows raised in question as he reached to take d'Artagnan from him. Aramis nodded and forced himself to take a breath. He couldn't fall apart right now; d'Artagnan still needed him.

He pushed himself to his feet with Athos keeping a grip on him and stumbled after Porthos and d'Artagnan.

"We made it, d'Artagnan," Aramis said. You can't give up now.

o.0.o

D'Artagnan woke feeling groggy and oddly floaty. Was the internal gravity off? Constance should check on that.

Constance…d'Artagnan remembered wanting nothing more than to see her one last time, to touch her face and kiss her and tell her he loved her. But he'd been dying…stranded in the middle of nowhere and bleeding out. So why was there now an annoying beeping above his head?

He pried his eyelids open and blinked blearily at a set of white walls.

"D'Artagnan?"

He shifted his gaze to the side to find Constance sitting in a chair, her hand folded over one of his. He frowned as more awareness seeped in. "Is this heaven?" he croaked. "Because I didn't think heaven came with wires and leads in very uncomfortable places." He winced as he flexed his hand with the IV port in it and felt the catheter he didn't want to think about.

Constance shook her head as she let out a watery half laugh. "You're not dead. Though I've half a mind to kill you for scaring me like that."

His brow pinched. "I'm sorry."

She shook her head again and leaned forward to gently kiss his forehead. "I'm just glad you're okay. It was close." Her lips thinned as a haunted expression filled her eyes.

D'Artagnan turned his hand over so he could squeeze hers. "I tried really hard to make it back to you."

"And you did."

D'Artagnan took a moment to simply drink his wife in and then roved his gaze around the infirmary. "Where's Aramis?"

"Sleeping. It's been a rough thirty-six hours."

That long?

Constance stood and went to the intercom. "Captain, he's awake."

She came back to take her seat, and a few moments later Athos and Porthos came in, Porthos beaming at him and Athos's smile more subdued but no less present.

"Welcome back," Athos said.

D'Artagnan smiled in return, but then frowned in confusion. "How'd you find us?"

Porthos smirked. "The way we always do."

D'Artagnan huffed a laugh at that, only to grimace and grunt as it pulled his stomach muscles.

"You still need rest," Athos said.

"What about…the slavers' camp?" he asked, drowsiness taking hold more quickly than he expected.

"Cleared out and the men returned home."

"Mm. Good."

He drifted into a lulled doze, not hearing when Athos and Porthos left. But just as he was about to nod off completely, he jerked awake again.

"I missed our anniversary! I'm sorry, Constance. I don't even have a gift for you."

She leaned close, eyes soft and warm. "The only gift I need is you."

D'Artagnan was pretty sure that wouldn't apply to next year, unless he had another near-death experience—which, hopefully not. But in the meantime, he fell back into a contented sleep with the sensation of Constance's fingers carding through his hair.

Chapter Text

Another shipment delivered, another job completed, and this would be the time when Athos would weave through the bustling port city in search of a tavern to get drunk in. But he'd decided he wasn't going to let himself wallow anymore. So what if his murderous ex-wife wasn't in prison anymore? So what if she apparently wanted revenge against him? He'd moved on, built another life for himself. And he wasn't going to let her or the ghost of what they'd once shared continue to drive him to the bottle. Not in excess, anyway.

So instead of granting the crew shore leave, he decided to get them back into space and heading back to Beaumonde. Only Porthos protested missing out on a good card game.

"Play with Aramis," Athos responded. "He has trash duty this week. I'm sure he'd love the chance to pawn it off on you."

Porthos grumbled under his breath and Athos knew the man was missing more than just a simple card game. They'd agreed long ago never to cheat when playing with brothers.

"Ah, gentlemen!" a voice called out from the bustling docks.

Athos and Porthos turned as a man dressed in rusted reds and oranges and wearing a hat with several feathers fluttering from it waved to them from the bottom of the cargo ramp.

"Yes?" Athos answered.

"Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Emile Bonnaire and I'm looking for passage off this planet. Not too far out of the way, just to a moon in this same system. Might you have room?"

Athos exchanged a look with Porthos. It wasn't unusual for people to troll the docks in search of passage, though there were plenty of vessels that hung around looking to pick up a large group to make some money off of. The Luciole never had to do that, but a job was a job.

"Very well." Athos strode down the ramp to meet him. "I am Captain Athos. That's Porthos. I'll give you the company's account number you can transfer payment to."

Bonnaire pulled a face. "Oh, I don't trust banks. They're so conglomerate and impersonal, commerce reduced to strings of numbers on a screen. What happened to good old fashioned, tangible things?" He held up a finger with one hand and reached into his pocket with the other. "Coin is much more reliable."

Athos regarded the pouch for a moment before relenting. He could just transfer Commodore Treville's percentage from his own accounts.

Athos accepted the pouch and checked the amount, satisfied it was fair. "Do you have any luggage?"

Bonnaire brightened. "Ah yes. You there, could you give me a hand?" He waved at Porthos.

Porthos lumbered down the ramp and followed him a short distance to where a miniature forklift was parked. Bonnaire picked up a duffel bag that was sitting atop a larger container and smiled at Porthos, who climbed behind the control stick and drove the forklift up the ramp. Then Athos helped him get the container off the pallet, straining under the unexpected weight of it.

"Oy, what do you have in here?" Porthos grunted.

"Rare books."

"Books?" Porthos repeated dubiously.

Athos staggered as they finally got the container off the pallet.

"Yes," Bonnaire replied. "Paper is a collectible, you know. Very valuable in an age of data pads."

Porthos angled a skeptical look at Athos. "Right."

He backed the forklift down the ramp and deposited it at one of the loading stations for another person to use. Then he closed up the cargo bay doors and Athos got on the intercom to tell d'Artagnan to lift off, informing him of the detour stop they were going to make for a last-minute passenger.

Athos turned to Bonnaire. "If you'll follow me."

He led their guest up the catwalk to the main deck where the guest rooms were located and showed him to one he could use for the duration of the journey.

Bonnaire nodded in appreciation at the accommodations, but then snapped to attention as Constance strolled down the corridor toward them. "Mademoiselle, what an unexpected ravishing beauty to find aboard a vessel like this."

Her brows rose sharply.

"Constance, this is Emile Bonnaire," Athos introduced. "He's hired us for passage. Constance is the ship's mechanic."

"Ah, a fine trade for such delicate hands," Bonnaire declared. "I could have been a mechanic, but alas, I lack the dexterity for it." He held up his fingers and wiggled them. Then he deftly plucked one of the feathers from his hat and held it out to her. "The tail feather of an Amazonian macaw, quite the loveliest bird in the terraformed jungles, but not half so lovely as you. It matches your eyes perfectly."

Constance's cheeks flushed. "I thank you for the compliment, monsieur, but I'm married."

Bonnaire straightened. "As am I, but a man cannot deny beauty when faced with it. That would make him disingenuous."

Constance flicked a look at Athos, and he cocked his head to give her permission to leave.

"Excuse me, monsieur," she said politely. "Welcome aboard."

Bonnaire's eyes tracked her as she hurried past them.

Athos stepped in front of him and held out his arm for the man to accompany him the other direction. "I'll show you the kitchen."

Bonnaire grinned, and Athos led him around the corner to the mess.

"Meals are served three times a day," Athos informed him. "You are welcome to eat with us."

Bonnaire nodded eagerly as he roved his gaze around. "This is a nice ship. Firefly is a good quality. It should never have been discontinued. If I'd been able to at the time, I would've kept up production of these fine vessels."

Athos held back a sigh. "We'll arrive at our destination late tomorrow. If you'll excuse me, I have some business to attend to."

"Yes, of course." Bonnaire waved him off. "Captain-y things to be done."

Athos ducked out of the kitchen and made a hasty beat to the bridge so he could get on the comms and report their impromptu client to Treville in case the Commodore had another assignment lined up for them.

At least this side job would be a quick one.

o.0.o

Porthos sat in the kitchen with Aramis, listening to Bonnaire regale them with tales of his adventures. Apparently he'd been all over the verse, engaging in some entrepreneurship or other.

"You'd think you'd have yer own ship for all this travelin'," Porthos commented.

Bonnaire cocked a finger at him. "That's next on my list. And five years from now, a whole fleet. Just like your musketeer company. You know, I could've taken to this life. My father raised me on stories of the musketeers and their great travels."

Porthos furrowed his brow. "The company didn't even exist back then."

"Right you are! Here, I've got something you should try."

He leaned down to reach into his duffel and Porthos shot a look at Aramis, who just rolled his eyes. Bonnaire came back up with a jug of dark colored glass, some liquid sloshing around inside.

"This is a brew I found in a small settlement out on Three Hills. I'm in the middle of contract negotiations for distributing to the Core. It'll be a hit." He plopped the bottle down in front of Porthos. "Have a taste."

Porthos would never say no to wine, and so popped the cork out and took a swig. The splash of sweetness on his tongue surprised him. "Oh, that's good." He passed the bottle to Aramis.

Bonnaire leaned back with a grin. "Told you."

Aramis took a sip and then pursed his mouth appreciatively.

The intercom crackled and d'Artagnan's voice came over the speaker. "Captain, can you come up to the bridge?"

Normally curiosity would get Porthos to meander up that way, but he was enjoying the free wine and took another drink as Bonnaire launched into another story of some business dealing, though Porthos was beginning to doubt how much truth there was in these tales.

The ship suddenly jolted like it'd been hit with something and Porthos was nearly flung from his chair. Wine spilled down his sleeve.

"What was that?" Bonnaire asked in alarm.

Porthos leaped to his feet and shoved the wine jug into the man's hands, then hurried after Aramis toward the bridge.

Athos was already there, one hand gripping the back of the pilot's seat while d'Artagnan appeared to be wrestling with the control stick. A reverberating boom rocked the ship again.

Aramis caught himself on the guard rail in the ceiling. "What's happening?"

"We're being pursued," Athos said tautly.

The ship lurched, throwing Porthos against the comms seat.

"And shot at," d'Artagnan muttered as he cranked the control stick left, then right. "Captain, maybe I can lose them in the atmosphere."

Porthos saw a planet looming just left of their window.

"Do it," Athos replied. He grabbed the radio for the intercom and pressed the speaker button. "Buckle in."

Porthos briefly thought of Bonnaire and hoped the man had gone back to his rooms. The kitchen wasn't the best place for things to go flying around in. Constance had a safety belt in the engine room so she'd be fine.

The planet's hazy atmosphere filled the window, blotting out visibility, and then it was down to navigation sensors and d'Artagnan's piloting skills. As they broke through to clear skies, the proximity alarms started blaring. D'Artagnan jerked the control stick, and a shot went streaking past their port side.

"Didn't lose 'em," Porthos muttered.

Athos pointed out the window.

"I see it," d'Artagnan gritted out and veered the ship toward some mountainous rock formations that erosion had hollowed out.

Porthos swallowed hard as he realized what d'Artagnan was planning. "Um…"

"We can fit," the lad said staunchly.

Porthos gripped the back of the comms station chair and cringed as the rocks zoomed larger. He squeezed his eyes shut right before he expected them to crash into the side of the mountain, but then snapped them open again when nothing happened. He wished he'd kept them closed. The ship was sweeping between rock clefts and under arches.

A burst of weapons fire shot past, lighting up the cavern before striking a crag up ahead. Rock exploded into hundreds of falling chunks.

"D'Artagnan!" Porthos yelled as the pilot cranked the stick, barely evading the avalanche toppling down on top of them.

The Luciole continued to glide lower into the cavernous labyrinth, the other ship too large to follow.

Athos tapped d'Artagnan's shoulder and pointed to a place where they could land.

"So who are our new friends?" Aramis asked once they'd touched down and shut the engines off.

"We don't know," Athos replied. "They didn't identify themselves."

D'Artagnan snatched up the radio. "Constance, are you okay?"

"I'm fine, though I won't be if those bastards keep shooting holes in my ship."

Aramis arched his brows and mouthed, "Her ship?"

D'Artagnan rolled his eyes. "We should be safe for a little while."

There was a rumble from far above and they all froze. Some tiny rocks shook loose and fell like sand a few feet outside the window. A few moments later another reverberation rattled the cavern.

"Or not…" Porthos uttered.

"They're gonna bombard the surface until they can triangulate our location," d'Artagnan guessed.

"Or bury us," Aramis added.

"We need a plan," Athos said. "Porthos, would you check on our guest? Tell him to stay in his room until someone tells him he can come out."

Porthos nodded and left the bridge, heading back toward the kitchen. Bonnaire wasn't there. He wasn't in the guest room either. Frowning, Porthos turned down the corridor and found their passenger down in the cargo hold fussing over his container.

"Everythin' alright?" Porthos asked, clomping down the stairs.

Bonnaire jerked upright like he'd been caught doing something naughty. "Yes, of course. No problems here. Except for that ruckus earlier. Is something wrong?"

"We were under attack. But we're safe at the moment. The captain requests you remain in your room until we've resolved the issue."

Bonnaire hesitated. "Oh, alright. I understand."

The shifty way he kept glancing at his container pinged something in Porthos's gut.

Porthos narrowed his eyes. "You wouldn't happen ta know anythin' about it, would ya?"

"What?" the man spluttered. "Of course not! That's absurd."

"Uh-huh." Porthos moved around him and surveyed the container, noticing how Bonnaire was twitching more nervously. "Hope none of your books were damaged." He grabbed the lid.

"Now wait just a minute, you can't—"

Porthos shoved the lid so hard that it slid completely off and crashed to the floor, forcing Bonnaire to jump back. Porthos stared in stunned disbelief at the contents, which were not a bunch of hardbound books, but a bunch of solid gold bricks.

Footsteps clamored on the catwalk above.

"Porthos?" Aramis queried.

"You'd better get Athos," he called, not taking his eyes off the shiny, glittering gold.

A few moments later, the rest of the crew had joined them in the cargo hold.

"This here might be the reason for our surprise friends," Porthos said, gesturing to the container.

Athos's eyes narrowed a fraction as he took in the contents. "Books?" he intoned, skewering Bonnaire with a pointed glare.

Aramis came around to get a better look. "They're imprinted." He huffed in agitation. "Alliance."

"It's illegal to deal in Alliance gold," Athos said, glowering at Bonnaire.

The man gave a nervous laugh. "The best business ventures require some risk."

"The ship that attacked us didn't identify themselves as Alliance," d'Artagnan pointed out.

"Ah, that might be my business partner," Bonnaire explained. "Terrible sense, he has. If we make a run for it, I'll cut you in for a percentage." He waggled his eyebrows suggestively.

"That would be the percentage your business partner was expecting?" Athos replied drolly.

"Come on, he would just as soon have shot me and taken the gold for himself," Bonnaire whined. "Running was self-defense."

Athos turned to the others. "We need a plan of escape."

Bonnaire leaned in toward their circle. "Good, yes!"

"So we can reach the authorities and turn Monsieur Bonnaire in," the captain finished.

"Hey!"

"We could use the shuttle as a decoy," Aramis suggested.

"That's risky," Porthos interjected. "They might shoot it out of the sky."

Aramis grinned. "Not if they think the gold is on it."

o.0.o

Aramis powered up the shuttle and disengaged from the Luciole's docking bay. As he sped out of the rocky caverns, Athos's voice came over the comms.

"Bonnaire, get back here!"

It was an open channel, and sure enough, it didn't take long for the attacking ship to swoop down on Aramis, the much larger vessel keeping pace right on top of the shuttle and forcing it toward the ground. Aramis immediately landed and flipped off the engines. Then he got up from the pilot's seat and opened the side hatch, looking out as the other ship finished landing a short distance away. One of its doors opened and five men disembarked. Their hostile expressions turned even more furious when they got close enough to spot Aramis.

"Where's Bonnaire?" the man in the center demanded.

"He's not here at the moment. Can I take a message?" Aramis called back.

"Find the gold!" the man exploded, and his goons whipped out their guns and started shooting.

Aramis ducked back inside the shuttle for cover as bullets ricocheted off the hull. Taking a breath, he drew his pistol and leaned out to return fire. He shot one guy in the leg but had to jerk back quickly to avoid taking a bullet himself. He was outnumbered and the men would be on him in moments.

Then he heard the whir of the Luciole as it finally joined them. The rate of gunfire increased and Aramis chanced a look outside. Athos and Porthos were charging out of the ship's cargo hold, guns blazing. With the armed men's attention divided, Aramis swept out and started shooting again.

The fight was over quickly with the only casualties on the side of the marauders. The musketeers strode over to pick up the weapons in case any of them were still alive. They could crawl back to their ship or wait for the authorities to come get them once this whole incident had been reported.

The dust hadn't even settled yet when Aramis heard a small engine revving. He looked up to see Bonnaire driving one of their ATVs off the ship, the back laden with gold bricks, and careening away into the wilderness.

Porthos huffed. "Where's he think he's gonna go?"

Aramis just shrugged.

They got the shuttle back on the Luciole and then flew after Bonnaire. It wasn't hard to catch up with him, considering the ATV had been low on gas to begin with. They landed barely a mile away from the scene of the ambush, and after the loading ramp was lowered, Aramis and Porthos just stood at the top of it for a few moments as they watched Bonnaire struggle to bodily lug some of the gold bricks across the ground.

The man finally gave up and collapsed against them. Huffing and puffing, he lifted his head toward the musketeers. "Are you sure I can't offer you a cut?" he called.

Aramis and Porthos shared a smirk and marched down to retrieve him. Once he and the gold were back on board, they flew to the nearest Sheriff station and dropped off both Bonnaire and his illegal cargo. It was a job well done, though with nothing to show for it.

"They could've given us a reward at least," Porthos groused as they headed for the door.

"We did the honorable thing," Athos replied.

"Coulda given us a reward for that too."

Aramis shook his head in amusement and paused to hold the door open for a beautiful woman with dark hair. She flashed him a coquettish smile as she passed, her voice wafting out behind him as he followed his brothers,

"Hello, Sheriff. I'm Emile Bonnaire's attorney…"

Chapter Text

Athos took a whiff of the leftover dregs of coffee from yesterday, considered making a fresh pot, and then simply poured it into his mug. He'd need a second cup anyway, and maybe someone else would happen into the kitchen to make it before then.

"Hey, Athos?" d'Artagnan called from the entryway. "There's a distress call coming in. It's Madame de Larroque, and she's asking for you directly."

Athos frowned. Ninon de Larroque? He set his cup down on the counter and moved past d'Artagnan. "Make a fresh pot, would you?" he tossed over his shoulder on his way to the bridge.

There was an open connection at the comms station, the vid screen filled with the image of a woman. Ninon looked much the same as she had when they'd met half a year ago: a refined woman dressed in a silk gown with her hair done up on her head. The background, in contrast, was worn wood walls and corrugated siding.

Athos sat at the comms station. "Madame de Larroque. I understand you're sending a distress call. Where are you?"

"Athos, straight to business as usual," she replied. "I'm on Salisbury. I've started a school for girls just outside the town of Roark."

Athos furrowed his brow. "And the nature of your distress?"

Ninon's shoulders rose and fell with a sigh. "The locals disagree with what I'm doing here. There's been vandalism so far, but it's escalating. I'm worried about what they will do next to try to run me out."

It was fortunate the Luciole was already in the Kalidasa system. Athos glanced at the navigation panel; Salisbury's current location in orbit was not too far away.

"We can be there to pick you up in two days," he said.

"You misunderstand," Ninon interrupted. "I'm not asking for a ride. I will not abandon these girls."

Athos hesitated. "Then I don't know what you want me to do about it."

She leaned forward toward the screen. "No one cares about these young women. They are given no education and used as little more than breeding stock." A coy smile tugged at her lips. "But I was hoping some honorable men would take an interest."

Athos slumped back in the chair with a sigh. It wasn't terribly out of the way…

"Fine. We will come take a look. But no promises."

Ninon smiled again, this time sincerely. "Thank you." She reached for something to the side and the call signed off.

Athos let that sigh out. He was going to need that coffee now.

o.0.o

Two days later the Luciole was landing out behind some old outbuildings on the planet Salisbury. It was just the kind of rural, underdeveloped frontier a philanthropist like Ninon de Larroque would set her eye on. D'Artagnan and Constance stayed with the ship while Athos, Porthos, and Aramis disembarked and walked toward the building Ninon had appropriated as a school.

They rounded the last outbuilding, only to find smoke and flames spewing from one part of the school. Athos spotted Ninon at a side door ushering a bunch of young women out.

"Find water!" he shouted at Porthos and Aramis as he bolted into a run toward the women.

The wind was blowing the smoke back toward that side door, obscuring visibility and smothering the girls trying to escape.

"Is anyone else inside?" Athos shouted when he reached them.

Ninon coughed as she grabbed the last girl and hauled her across the threshold. "No!"

With an arm at their backs, Athos ushered them a safe distance away. Aramis and Porthos got a hose attached to a water pump and turned it toward the building to spray down the flames. Athos spotted a rain trough and ran to fill a bucket from it, which he then carried back to throw upon some flames licking their way to the corner. It took several minutes to put the blaze out, though thankfully it hadn't been that big to begin with. Eventually Porthos and Aramis turned the hose off and only tendrils of smoke were wafting through the broken window frame.

"Is anyone hurt?" Aramis asked.

Ninon swept her gaze over the young women huddled together. "No, we got out quickly."

Athos surveyed the fire damage. "What happened?"

"Someone threw a Molotov cocktail through the window."

All three musketeers instinctively looked around for the culprit, though they were sure to be long gone by now.

Ninon took a breath and smoothed down her skirt. "Thank you for coming."

"It was our pleasure," Aramis said, removing his hat and tipping his head slightly. "It's lovely to see you again, Madame de Larroque."

Her mouth quirked. "And all of you as well, though I wish it was under better circumstances."

"I don't get it," Porthos spoke up. "Why are the townspeople harassin' you?"

Ninon raised her chin. "They fear their young women having a mind of their own instead of being subservient daughters to be married off at the whims of men."

Porthos blinked as though he'd been expecting a different answer. Perhaps one not so passionate.

"What do you teach here?" Aramis asked curiously.

"A variety of subjects: philosophy, astronomy, science, anatomy. All things readily available to those who are privileged living in the Core."

"We are far from the Core," Athos pointed out.

Ninon directed a fierce look his way. "That is no reason to withhold a better way from those on the Rim."

"Societies entrenched in a certain way of life do not change overnight," he replied matter-of-factly.

"Progress has to start somewhere." She glanced back at the young women who looked like a reluctant audience to their discussion. Ninon sighed and turned back to Athos. "I didn't know who else to turn to. Can I pay you to stay on for a few days? Help clean up the damage and provide a bit of protective presence? It would put the girls' minds at ease." She paused. "And mine."

"I will take it up with Treville," Athos said, tone implying he wasn't making any commitments.

"Porthos and I will take a look at the damage," Aramis volunteered. "Since we're here."

Athos left them to it and headed back to the ship where he informed d'Artagnan and Constance of the situation.

"Do they need any supplies?" Constance asked in concern. "Food?"

"I'm sure they're well stocked," Athos said. "It's repair work they need."

"Well, I'm a mechanic, not a builder," Constance hedged. "But I'll get my tools and see what I can do."

"I'll rejoin you after I speak with Treville."

Athos headed up to the bridge and switched on the comms, placing a call to Musketeer headquarters. It was a toss-up whether the Commodore would be at his desk, but the screen flicked to a live picture after a few seconds.

"Athos."

"Commodore."

"Are you back on Beaumonde? You made good time."

"No, we're on Salisbury," Athos replied. "We answered a distress call from Ninon de Larroque."

Treville arched a brow. "Is everything all right?"

"The locals are taking issue with Madame de Larroque's current philanthropic pursuits. We just arrived in time to help put out a fire someone started. Madame de Larroque is requesting we stay on for a few days as a protection detail."

"What kind of philanthropic pursuit is she on about, exactly?"

"A girls school."

Treville shook his head in disdain, though Athos figured it was directed toward anyone who would take issue with a school.

"I had a shipment for you to pick up tomorrow, but I can divert Joubert's ship instead. Tell Madame de Larroque we are at her service."

Athos nodded; he had expected as much.

"Be careful, Athos," the Commodore warned.

Athos saluted and signed off.

o.0.o

With the crew staying on, they set to work cleaning out the room that had burned. There wasn't much structural damage, thankfully, but more than half of it was covered in scorch marks. A couch sagged on the floor like a blackened husk. Exploded light fixtures left halogen dust sparkling on the floor. And the caustic odors of burnt plastic and leather irritated Athos's nose as he swept broken glass into a dustpan.

Aramis and Porthos busied themselves with hauling out the larger debris that wouldn't fit in a trash bin. D'Artagnan had found some paneling and he and Constance were boarding up the broken window the incendiary device had been thrown through. It was only a patch-job to tide them over until proper reconstruction could take place.

"The townspeople aren't likely to sell you the supplies or labor needed to remodel this room," Athos speculated aloud.

Ninon dumped a pan of ash and rubble into the trash bin. "Some well-placed rugs and tapestries can cover a multitude of blemishes." She swiped a strand of hair out of her eyes with the back of her hand but still managed to smear some soot on her forehead.

Athos closed the distance between them and removed his scarf. "You have some…" He gestured vaguely, then slowly proceeded to rub the smudge off.

Ninon angled her gaze up at him. "Have you met anyone who's changed your stance on romance since we last met?"

Athos stilled. "No." After a moment's hesitation, he finished cleaning away the soot and tucked his scarf into his pocket.

Ninon merely smiled. "Well, such long-held ways of life can't be expected to change overnight."

They lingered like that for a few beats, a breadth's apart but a chasm between them. Athos wondered what it would be like to cross it, just once.

D'Artagnan poked his head into the room from the hall. "The girls made some sandwiches and lemonade."

Ninon smiled and stepped back. "Take some refreshment; you've all earned it. I'll set a room up for you to stay in."

She excused herself and Athos followed d'Artagnan outside to where the others were partaking of the food the young ladies were serving. Aramis, of course, was dazzling a handful of them with his rakish smiles and discussions of poetry. Athos was going to have to remind him that protection detail didn't include checking individual beds to make sure they were "safe."

After they'd finished eating, they did a little more clean-up before the sun began to set, then Ninon showed them where they could wash up and provided them with pillows and blankets to bed down in a room upstairs. Athos set a rotating watch for the night, giving himself the last shift before dawn. Then they settled in for a hopefully quiet night.

o.0.o

The night did pass uneventfully, but the tranquility of the morning was broken by a raucous pounding on the front door.

"I know you're in there!" a man's voice raged. "Open up!"

Athos's hand went to the hilt of his sword, but Ninon gestured for him to hold back as she went to open the door. Outside was a portly man, face red with his blustering.

"Where is she?" he demanded. "Fleur! You get out here this instance!"

"Please calm down, monsieur," Ninon said levelly.

He jabbed a finger in her face. "You are a charlatan, invading our town and upsetting our way of life!"

Athos stepped up behind Ninon. "The lady asked you to calm down," he said in a low tone.

Spittle flew from the man's mouth as he seethed, "I will not have you filling my daughter's head with inane drivel! Now where is she?"

"An education is not drivel," Ninon replied. "You are the one filled with antiquated belief systems."

"Why you—"

The man took a step forward and Athos pushed Ninon behind him.

"Take a step back," he warned, hand on the hilt of his sword.

"You will hand over my daughter!"

"She is not here," Ninon snapped.

The man looked ready to burst into the building, so Athos stepped across the threshold, his sheer presence forcing the man to move back. "Leave, now. I will not ask again."

The man's eyes flicked to the sword, then over Athos's shoulder to Ninon. "This isn't over!" he yelled and spun sharply to storm off.

Athos waited until he was past the grounds before turning around. "Is his daughter missing?"

Ninon drew her shoulders back. "She would have good reason to be—he beats her." With that, she pivoted on her heel and swept back inside.

Athos held back a sigh. It wasn't right, but it wasn't illegal for a father to discipline his children how he saw fit. At least not all the way out here on the Rim. Which was exactly Ninon's point.

Athos knew she meant well, but this might be one case of taking on Goliath that she was not going to win.

o.0.o

"I think you enjoy confrontation," Athos commented as he accompanied Ninon back from the Luciole where she'd used their system to transfer payment to the Musketeers' account.

Her lips twitched in a small smirk. "It's a language men understand."

"You're courting it."

She stopped and rounded on him. "I believe in what I'm doing here. And I won't back down for anyone. Would you turn away from a need if you had the means to help?" She scoffed. "If so, then you're not the man I thought you were."

She spun to storm away and Athos caught her by the arm. "I'm a captain, and a soldier, which means I have to look at the whole picture and make the best decisions I can with what's available, because I have lives to consider. And sometimes that means giving ground."

Ninon stared at him for a long, taut moment. "But you hate it," she finally said. "It goes against everything inside you to retreat."

Athos released her.

Ninon just gave him a knowing look and resumed walking back toward the school. Athos heaved a sigh and followed.

As they reached the school, sounds of muffled crashes echoed from within. The doors flew open to bang against the wall as Aramis bodily threw a man out. The marksman's hair was askew and he was breathing heavily. He looked up and saw them, his expression livid.

"Trouble," he yelled and swept back inside.

Athos quickened his pace and jogged through the door. The place was in chaos: half a dozen men were ransacking the large common room while Aramis, Porthos, and d'Artagnan brawled with half a dozen others. Constance was pressing the young women back into a corner protectively, trying to avoid the items being tossed through the air and the bodies grappling with each other in the melee.

Porthos had two men trying to wrestle him to the ground, so Athos charged forward and ripped one off. He spun the man around and sucker punched him so hard he went flying into a cabinet. Athos would have drawn his sword, but none of these thugs were armed aside from some bludgeoning objects they'd picked up off the floor.

"Aramis!" he shouted, grabbing a heavy book and tossing it across the room.

Aramis caught it, gave a shrug, and clobbered his opponent with it.

"Here she is!" someone shouted from a back room.

Athos glanced over as a man wearing a Sheriff's badge emerged, dragging out a younger girl. There was an immediate lull in the fighting.

"I told you she was here!" It was the man who'd been there earlier that morning.

"Found her and some others in a hidden room," the Sheriff announced.

Athos shot a look at Ninon, who only gazed back unapologetically.

"Ninon de Larroque," the Sheriff said. "You're under arrest for kidnapping." He waved and some men moved forward to surround her, producing a set of handcuffs.

"Were the girls being held against their will?" Athos interrupted. "Because harboring them is not the same as kidnapping."

The Sheriff snapped his attention toward him. "And who are you?"

"I'm Captain Athos. We're here providing some humanitarian aid. You may have noticed the fire damage when you barged in here."

The Sheriff narrowed his eyes. "Better tell your men to stand down, Captain, or you'll all be arrested as accomplices."

Athos's jaw tightened as Ninon was cuffed and hauled out, along with the underage girls.

"What do we do now?" d'Artagnan asked.

Athos exhaled sharply. "Hope the law here will see reason."

o.0.o

Athos left d'Artagnan and Constance with the remaining young women at the school while he, Aramis, and Porthos went into town to ensure that Ninon was treated fairly. He had not expected to find a trial so quickly initiated, a large crowd filing into the assembly hall. The musketeers pushed their way inside to where Ninon stood before a panel of magistrates.

"This woman stands accused of witchcraft!" the Sheriff declared.

"What?" Ninon gasped as a hush of scandalized whispers rippled through the audience.

Athos stared, stupefied.

"Witchcraft?" Porthos blurted. "What the hell are they on about?"

"That's a dangerous accusation to throw around," Aramis commented quietly, flicking his gaze over the crosses mounted on the walls.

And a better way to rid this town of a troublesome woman than flimsy kidnapping charges, Athos realized.

The Sheriff picked up a handful of books and held them up. "We found these spell books in her so-called 'school."

"Coven!" someone shouted from the back.

"Order!" the head magistrate snapped with a bang of his gavel. "Have you any witnesses?"

The Sheriff beckoned two deputies forward, who escorted the young girl up to stand before the judges. "Fleur Baudin was found locked in a hidden room."

"No, that's not it at all," the girl cried. "I begged Ninon not to tell my father I was there. He didn't want me to go to school."

"And what have you been learning at this school?" the magistrate asked.

"Oh, many things. Like philosophy, and the anatomy of our bodies."

"Your bodies?" the judge repeated in disgust.

"Naked rituals are part of witchcraft," the Sheriff put in.

Fleur's eyes widened in horror. "No, that's not- it's science!"

"She has been bewitched!" the girl's father proclaimed.

The Sheriff nodded. "The only way to free our daughters of this evil influence is to burn the witch at the stake."

Murmurs of assent rustled through the gathered crowd.

Athos finally broke through to the edge of the throng. "This is a mockery of justice!" he shouted.

The magistrate banged the gavel so it echoed through the hall. "And who is this?"

"Strangers from off-planet," the Sheriff answered. "They have no standing here."

"The law has standing everywhere. This woman has the right to a defense."

"Enough!" the judge bellowed. "The evidence is condemning. The witch is sentenced to be burned at the stake, effective immediately!"

Athos could only stare in horror as Ninon was seized and dragged toward the door, her frantic protests swallowed in the bloodthirsty din of the crowd. It took everything within his power to hold back and jerk his head for Aramis and Porthos to follow him out the back. Once outside, he tapped his wrist device.

"D'Artagnan, get the ship ready to leave now. We're getting Ninon and getting out of here."

"Okay…what about the other women here?"

"Any who want to come can, but we're leaving and not coming back," Athos replied tersely and signed off.

He jogged around the back of the hall and out to the main street where the crowd had congregated. Ninon was being manhandled toward a lone post in the ground, stacks of dried branches already tied into bundles lying at the ready, proving this had been no real trial, that the townspeople had planned for this outcome all along.

They had minutes to do something. Athos counted how many men he'd have to take down to get to Ninon, and then how many they'd have to fight off in their escape. But if he killed any lawmen, they would become wanted fugitives.

"I have an idea," Aramis said, slapping their shoulders and darting off.

Athos and Porthos waited tensely, struggling not to interfere as torches were lit and carried toward the pyre.

"Come on, Aramis," Athos murmured, hand closing around his pistol.

A shot split the air and suddenly an explosion erupted from down the street. People screamed and flailed as black smoke and fire mushroomed up above the rooftops. Another gunshot echoed, setting off another explosion, and Athos caught sight of a barrel careening through the air. People started running as flames fell toward buildings and caught them on fire. More barrels started going off without Aramis firing a shot; they must have held gunpowder.

Athos spun toward Ninon, now forgotten in the chaos. His heart dropped into his stomach as one of the torches was dropped too close to the pyre. The edges of some sticks caught and the fire roared to life.

Athos drew his sword and plowed through the throng. He ducked around one man who leaped out to stop him and heard a grunt as he met Porthos instead. Athos leaped over the stick bundles and sliced through the rope. He then slipped an arm around Ninon's waist and helped her down, careful to avoid the flames inching closer to the stake. Porthos covered them as they made to flee, having to only fight off a handful of men as more explosions of gunpowder occupied everyone's attention.

Aramis met them at the edge of town.

"You think you could have made a slightly smaller distraction," Athos chided.

Aramis just shrugged. "They liked fire so much."

Athos couldn't really pass judgement, anyway; he would have cut down them all if they'd stood between him and Ninon.

They hurried back to the Luciole and Ninon was too much in shock to protest as they ushered on board and the ship took off into the atmosphere.

o.0.o

Athos placed a cup of tea in front of Ninon and took a seat perpendicular to her at the kitchen table. Aramis had checked her over for burns and smoke inhalation and given her a clean bill of health, but she was obviously still shaken by what happened.

There was a spot of soot on her cheek, and Athos leaned over to rub it off with his thumb. She looked up at him, startled, then a small smile entered her previously lifeless eyes. She slipped a hand out from the blanket held tightly around her shoulders and grasped the cup of tea.

"I left them," she whispered.

"You had no choice. They understand that."

Ninon shook her head. "I abandoned them."

"You are alive to continue helping others," Athos countered. "Besides, everything you did there is not erased by your departure. Your legacy will live on in those whose lives you touched. They will take up your work."

She let out a soft snort. "That sounds rather idealistic for a man of your pragmatism."

Athos canted his head in a shrug. "They chose to stay behind."

Ninon looked up. "You really believe that?" she asked softly.

"I believe there is no stopping a woman when she puts her mind to something," he replied.

A wan smile graced her lips. "Thank you."

Athos nodded and stayed to keep her company in contemplative silence.

Chapter Text

Athos knocked on the door to Treville's office.

"Come in."

Athos entered with a measure of guardedness. He wasn't often summoned for an in-person meeting.

Treville stood up from behind his desk. "Athos. I have a job for your crew."

"Assignments are usually delivered over the telephonix," he replied blandly.

The commodore shot him a wry look, then said casually, "It's a protection detail for Lord Louis of Bourbon again."

A muscle in Athos's jaw ticked and he turned to leave.

"It's an easy gig," Treville called after him. "You don't even have to dress up this time."

Athos stopped and pivoted. "There is not enough money in the verse to get me to go back there. Send another crew."

"Louis asked for you specifically. Apparently he was impressed with you after you killed Rochefort."

Athos heaved a measured sigh. He didn't regret killing that varlet, though now he wished he hadn't done it quite so publicly.

Treville turned his attention to the data sheets on his desk. "Louis is hosting a small, private party at a planetarium on the coast of Lake Chatillon. You are to accompany the group there, stand around looking useful, and then escort them back."

"We're for show again," Athos said with disdain.

"We're being well paid."

"Who's on the guest list?"

Treville picked up one of the thin data sheets. "I thought you might want to know." He passed it over.

Athos scanned the names. Louis and his wife Anne, of course, Louis's sister and her five-year-old son, along with four other nobles, none of whom Athos had any personal issue with.

"Fine," he bit out, handing the sheet back.

"I'll let Louis know to expect you."

"You're not coming this time?"

"I have plenty of work here," Treville replied. "Besides, last time he didn't know the rest of you and needed some personal assurances. Now he knows he's in good hands."

Athos felt a scowl trying to creep out.

Treville leveled a pointed look at him. "Enjoy yourself, Athos. Think of it as a paid outing. I hear the planetarium is fascinating."

Athos didn't bother to respond to that. His mood now thoroughly soured, he excused himself to go inform his crew of this latest job.

o.0.o

Constance hadn't had much interaction with the nobility aside from that one shindig a while ago, and the rest of her knowledge base came from what Athos said about them, which wasn't very flattering. But sitting on the monorail on their way to the planetarium, Constance found Anne's company to be quite pleasant. Anne spoke to Constance like an equal, asking about her job as a mechanic and seeming genuinely interested in her answers. It made Constance feel comfortable enough to ask questions in turn. Anne said she was thinking of going into politics, how there was so much she wanted to do in the world.

"I bet you'd be good at it," Constance said.

Anne smiled demurely. "That's kind of you to say, Constance. My husband doesn't agree."

"Oh, what do men know? Either they want the playing ground all to themselves or they don't think anyone should bother."

"Is that what your husband thinks?"

Constance floundered. "Oh, no. D'Artagnan has always been supportive. He taught me to shoot when I asked him."

Anne gave a soft smile. "You're a very lucky woman."

Constance didn't know what to say to that. She was lucky she'd met the love of her life, but that didn't seem something to say in the face of a woman who perhaps hadn't…

Fortunately, their conversation was ended by their arrival at the planetarium. A four-story tower stood on the edge of a cliff overlooking Lake Chatillon. Sunlight glinted on the water's surface, which was speckled with yachts out enjoying the afternoon weather. The whole scene was picturesque and Constance wished she had a camera so she could capture it.

They all disembarked from the monorail, which then reversed and went back down the track to town. A man in black and wearing a masquerade mask came out from the tower.

"Welcome my lords and ladies," he greeted. "Right this way."

They followed him inside and through a corridor up some stairs to the second level that opened into a large chamber with a high domed ceiling. There were several more people dressed in black and masks, adding to the ambiance of the party.

The nobles started taking off their coats and Constance jolted as a garment was dumped in her arms.

"Uh, excuse me, she's not a valet—" d'Artagnan tried to intervene, but another man thrust his jacket at him. He sputtered in dismay.

The other nobles barely looked their way as they deposited their coats in Constance's and d'Artagnan's arms as well. Anne shot them an apologetic look though. Constance just bit back a huff and bore it.

"It's fine," she said, holding out her hand to take Anne's coat too. Then she carried the garments over to a rack on the wall to hang them up.

D'Artagnan still looked offended as he followed.

"It's no big deal," she whispered to him.

"You are not a servant," he hissed back.

"No, we're here to be pretty props with swords," she rejoined. "Or, the rest of you get to carry swords. I just have a pistol in a thigh holster under my skirt."

D'Artagnan leaned in and lowered his voice huskily. "I'd like to see you draw it."

Constance slapped his arm lightheartedly. "Get back to work."

She moved away, catching Athos, Aramis, and Porthos watching them tensely from across the room. They probably didn't like the nobles' behavior either.

The musketeers spread out, looking like the security they were supposed to be. Constance stayed a few paces behind Anne, d'Artagnan not far from Louis. Athos kept to the rim while Aramis and Porthos went up to the balcony to keep an eye out from above.

"Come on now," Louis said imperiously. "We're here for a show."

One of the men in masks hurried toward a console that was in the middle of the chamber and tapped a few keys. The lights dimmed, plunging everything into pitch black for a moment. Then a holographic image was cast up onto the ceiling of hundreds of stars. Delighted awes rippled through the nobles. It was just like being out in real space without the frame of a ship's window.

The stars started moving, zooming past as the projection narrowed in on a solar system, then a planet of brilliant blue with some land masses between the oceans. An automated voice started talking about Earth-that-was.

Constance was captivated. So captivated, that she barely registered the footsteps around her. Not until someone had grabbed her arm and wrenched it behind her back. She yelped, but it was drowned out in the screams that suddenly rent the air. Constance could barely make out what was happening. Then the lights flicked on and she saw the men in masks throwing the nobles to the floor. Two had grabbed Louis and held daggers to his throat. Anne tried to twist away but she was yanked back and flung to the floor. The man holding Constance thrust her down beside Anne and aimed a gun at them.

Constance saw d'Artagnan struggling against two men trying to restrain him. Athos had drawn his sword and was moving to cut someone down when a terrified scream made them all freeze.

One of the men had taken off his mask. He had blond hair and beard, and was holding Christine's son against him with a knife to the child's neck. "Lay down your weapons," he ordered. "Or I'll slit the boy's throat."

Christine let out a sob. "No, please!"

Constance watched the others exchange a look, and then Athos let his sword drop. D'Artagnan stopped struggling and he was promptly shoved to his knees. Up on the balcony, Aramis and Porthos had their weapons taken away. Constance couldn't believe every single one of the men in masquerade masks were part of this. And what was this exactly?

Athos was unceremoniously pushed down next to d'Artagnan and the men pulled out some zip-ties to secure their hands.

"My name is Marmion," the apparent leader said. He shoved the boy toward his mother. "The rules of the game are simple: transfer fifty-thousand platinum for each head to the account I'll provide and you will be released." He pulled a data pad from his vest and thrust it at the nearest noble. "Don't hold back, or there will be consequences."

Constance saw Anne was shaking and reached out to grasp her hand. She could feel the press of metal against her thigh and wondered if she could get to the gun without anyone noticing. But they were sorely outnumbered and there was no way she could take them all before someone got hurt.

The noble fumbled with the pad, his large thumbs struggling to hit the proper keys with how badly he was quaking.

"What's taking so long?" Marmion yelled over his shoulder. He waved the knife in his face. "Do you value your wife's life so little?"

The man whimpered and his wife let out a choked sob.

"Have some compassion," Aramis called out from the balcony. "They're doing what you want."

Marmion straightened and angled his head up toward the second level. Then, with a composure Constance found scarily calm, he stalked up the stairs, walking right up to Aramis.

"What did you say?"

"Have some compassion," Aramis repeated in a conciliatory tone. "At least let the boy and his mother go."

Marmion just stood there for an extra beat. Then, without warning, he abruptly shoved Aramis backwards—right through a window. Constance jolted so hard that her hand spasmed in Anne's grip.

"Aramis!" Porthos shouted.

"No!"

The tinkle of broken glass rang in Constance's ears as she stared at the space Aramis had been. They were already on the second level. The balcony was the third story…

Sounds of a scuffle moved around them and when Constance was finally able to tear her stunned gaze away, she found Athos on his feet and swinging his bound hands like a club. Porthos bellowed like a raging beast.

Constance was about to go for her gun when a shot fired into the ceiling, drawing everything to a standstill once more.

"The next shot is for the boy," Marmion calmly announced.

Christine clung to her son, trying to shield him with her body.

Athos grunted as a boot was planted in his back and he was shoved to the floor again. Upstairs, Porthos was held fast by three men.

"I'm gonna kill you," he snarled at Marmion.

The madman merely regarded him uncaringly. "Take him downstairs and lock him up," he said, then made his way back down to the level below. He eyed Athos speculatively. "Him too."

Athos struggled as he was hauled to his feet and dragged away, his eyes almost wild with mania as he passed Marmion.

Marmion seemed unbothered, but then suddenly that composure snapped and his cheeks were flaring red and spittle flying into his beard as he spun and raged at the rest of them, "The nobility think themselves better and more deserving than everyone else!"

Constance flinched at the abrupt change.

"Have we wronged you in some way?" Anne spoke up bravely, though her voice quavered.

Marmion turned toward her. "Not you personally. But all nobles are the same: selfish, arrogant." He whirled toward Constance and she jumped again. He pointed at her and then d'Artagnan. "You treated these two like servants the moment you walked through the door, thinking them beneath you. Well, I'm here to show you that you're worth no more than any common man."

He gestured to one of his men who reached down to grab Constance's arm and haul her up. She cried out in terror and pain at his bruising grip.

"No!" d'Artagnan shouted.

Constance was pushed into a chair. Then Marmion seized one of the noblemen by the back of his collar and dragged him over, throwing him at her feet.

"Clean the lady's shoes," he commanded.

Constance blinked, her heart hammering too fast in her breast to comprehend what Marmion had said.

The nobleman spluttered in equal confusion.

Marmion grabbed the man's scarf and twisted it until he started choking. He held it for a few seconds before letting up and yanking the article off. He dropped it on the floor at Constance's feet. "You heard me. Clean the lady's shoes."

Constance shot a look at d'Artagnan, utterly terrified and now so wrong-footed that she felt sick to her stomach. He just held her gaze intensely, trying to convey strength and encouragement through orbs swirling with grief in equal measure to her own. Tears welled in her eyes and she swallowed hard as the nobleman picked up his scarf and then one of her feet and began to polish her scuffed up shoes.

Marmion turned to the others. "Hurry up with that money transfer!"

o.0.o

Athos struggled futilely as he and Porthos were manhandled downstairs and down a corridor. Porthos did manage to drive the three men on top of him into the wall, but it did nothing to actually dislodge them. They were taken to the boiler room and forced inside, then extra zip-ties were looped through the ones on their wrists and around some pipes in the wall to secure them. Once that was done, the men left, slamming the door on their way out.

Athos slumped against the wall, numbness quickly sweeping through his marrow. He kept seeing Aramis being pushed out that window. It was three stories up; the fall would have killed him. Or if not…god no, Athos squeezed his eyes shut against the image of his brother's broken body lying on the ground, breaths stuttering out in panicked wheezes, unable to move…

"Athos. Athos!" Porthos kicked him in the shin. "Don' you dare give up on me now. Or Aramis."

"Aramis is dead," he said hollowly.

"No he ain't," Porthos declared staunchly. "This is Aramis. He's like a cat. Now help me figure a way out o' this so we can go find him and rescue the others."

Athos lolled his gaze over their predicament. He and Porthos were sitting on the floor facing each other, their hands tied to the same pipe. "Do you have any ideas?" he asked bitterly. "Because I think we're beat here."

Porthos growled low in his throat at that. "I got a lock pick in my boot. Can you reach it?" He tried to lift his leg but almost kicked Athos in the elbow.

"Porthos…" Athos huffed.

"Hang on." Porthos leaned back as far as he could and raised his leg again. He bumped Athos's head trying to get it up and over to where his hands were tied. It required more contortionist moves than Athos thought the large man capable of, but he finally got his foot braced against the pipe. Athos strained his wrists against the plastic ties as he stretched his fingers up to snag Porthos's sock. He grasped and tugged, trying to dislodge the lock pick from its snug resting place. After several long minutes of straining, Athos finally managed to brush against them.

He nearly dropped them when they fell out but caught it just in time. Both of them let out a breath at that. Then Athos carefully maneuvered the pick in his fingers and inserted it between the notches of the zip-tie around the pipe. Taking a breath, he yanked, and the plastic strip slid free. He then did the same to the tie looped through Porthos's cuffs.

Released from the pipe, Athos ducked under Porthos's raised leg and away so the man could lower it without clobbering Athos in the face.

Porthos let out a loud exhale. "Okay, now there's a knife in my other boot."

He reached down to pull it out, which he then used to cut through the plastic tie on Athos's wrists. Athos took it next and did the same for him. Porthos then rolled up his sleeve and produced another small blade from a strap on his forearm.

Athos arched a brow at him.

"What? They barely searched us."

"That might as well be a letter opener."

Porthos glanced at the small knife and shrugged. "I've done worse with a fork."

Athos almost shook his head in fond amusement, but the familiar banter made him painfully aware of their missing third.

"Let's go," he said, dark vengeance on his mind as they ventured out of the boiler room and back down the passage.

o.0.o

Aramis woke to a pulsing throb through his back. Several more in his limbs responded, singing like a chorus of pain. His face scrunched in confusion and disorientation. He felt a hard flat surface beneath him and a breeze wafting over his face. It brushed a series of small stings across his skin, lighting them on fire anew.

A high-pitched "keow" sound rattled his head and something padded on top of his stomach. Aramis flailed an arm weakly and got a squawk in response. He squinted against blurry vision until the blobs around him took shape and he found a seagull cocking its head at him. He batted it away and it took flight.

The small gesture made every muscle twinge in agony and he thought better against moving more. Blinking up at the sky, he saw the side of a tower looming over him. Confused, Aramis tried to crane his head around and winced. He reached back and felt a shard of glass poking under his hair. He stared in befuddlement for a moment at the blood all over his hand and then back up at the tower. Memory gradually filtered back in. He was at the planetarium at Lake Chatillon. Men had taken everyone hostage.

Aramis grimaced as he slowly sat up. He was on a scaffold several dozen feet up from the lake and a rocky bottom. A construction tarp and some steel rods suggested the planetarium was working on reinforcing the cliffside. Lucky for Aramis it was there to break his fall.

He cringed as he sat up straighter. Break was right. There wasn't a single part of him that wasn't pulsing with pain, but a quick survey of his arms and legs revealed he hadn't actually broken any bones. A miracle from God.

He looked around and realized the only way off this thing was back up. His abused body quavered at the thought, but he didn't know how long he'd been unconscious and his friends could still be in trouble.

Steeling himself, Aramis stood and ran his hands along the outer wall searching for purchase. His hands were nicked and covered in blood, as he imagined a good portion of his face and head was. He could feel blood trickling down the back of his neck. But he found a foothold and pulled himself up with a grunt.

Slowly and carefully, he scaled back up the side of the tower, angling sideways to avoid the window he'd been pushed out of and to find another one he might slip through unnoticed. He found one on the second level, thankfully not too far to climb, and slipped inside. His leg nearly gave out when he took a step and his back twinged again with a sharp prod. Aramis bit back his discomfort and limped his way down the hall.

As he passed a closed door, he stopped at the faint sound of muffled crying. He paused and listened, then carefully turned the handle. He was greeted with a few yelps as a group of four people huddled on a closet floor flinched away from him opening the door.

"Shh." Aramis raised a finger to his lips and crouched down, wincing as it strained his leg. "You work here?" he asked quietly.

One of them nodded shakily. Their hands were all zip-tied, so Aramis pulled a knife from his boot to cut them free.

"Is there a back way out of here?" he asked next.

"Y-yes. A fire exit." The employee pointed down the hall.

Aramis's lips thinned. "That will set off an alarm."

"N-no. They turned the system off."

"Where's the security office?"

"Two doors down that way."

Aramis nodded. "Make for the fire exit, as quietly as possible. Once you're outside, head for town and don't stop."

He ushered the staff out of the closet and watched them reach the exit. He held his breath for the alarm but it didn't go off. Once they were safely in the stairwell, he turned to find the security room.

The door was open and the guard dead on the floor. Aramis checked his pulse before taking the guard's gun and then sitting at the console. He looked over the controls until he found the key needed and sent a silent alarm to the authorities. He then checked the security monitors and found everyone still in the projection chamber. Marmion was pacing around as the nobles huddled on the floor. Perhaps they were still busy transferring money.

Aramis counted d'Artagnan and Constance but tensed when he couldn't find Athos or Porthos. No…

Forcing himself up despite the pain, Aramis gripped the guard's gun and headed out, praying he wasn't too late.

o.0.o

D'Artagnan seethed as he watched Constance forced to be the center of this spectacle. The nobleman had finished cleaning her shoes but Marmion wouldn't let him up.

"This floor is looking a little dirty," the madman said. "Perhaps you should clean it next." He leaned down to whisper in the nobleman's ear. "With your tongue."

"Why are you doing this?" Louis bleated.

D'Artagnan briefly closed his eyes, wishing everyone would just keep quiet and not provoke this man.

"Why?" Marmion repeated, voice slithering like a snake's hiss as he sauntered over. "Because you've never had to lift a finger for anything a day in your life. You've never had to work for food, never had to see the disappointed looks in your children's eyes when there wasn't supper on the table at night. You live in wasteful extravagance while others barely get by!"

"Marmion," one of the other thugs spoke up. "We've got the money. Now let's go."

"I'm not done yet," he snapped.

"This wasn't part of the plan."

Marmion smirked, and the glint in his eye made d'Artagnan wonder if maybe it was the plan from the beginning, the others just weren't in on it.

"Hey," another of them shouted. "The alarm has been set off!"

"Shit, Marmion, the feds will be on their way. We need to leave."

Marmion swung his gun around at the hostages. "Who set the alarm off!" he bellowed. "Which one of you was it?"

The nobles screamed and cowered as he jabbed the gun in their faces one at a time.

"None of them could have done it!" d'Artagnan yelled. "They've all been here this whole time!"

Marimon fumed at him but didn't retaliate. D'Artagnan swallowed as he waited.

"Get those two from the basement," he snapped.

"Marmion, we need to leave—"

Marmion raised his gun and fired, shooting his own man dead where he stood. For a moment there was stunned silence and then he was yelling again. "Stop worrying! We have plenty of valuable hostages."

The men exchanged hesitant looks before a few headed out to do his bidding.

Constance finally bolted from her chair and threw herself into d'Artagnan's arms. He clung to her as best he could with his hands bound, whispering in her hair.

"It'll be okay," he promised, even though it was a lie.

Aramis was gone.

Nothing was ever going to be okay again.

o.0.o

Athos and Porthos had just made their way back up to the second level when two men rounded the corner. The thugs pulled up short in surprise, giving the musketeers the chance to attack first. Porthos slammed one's head into the wall while Athos threw every bit of rage into a punch that felled the other one instantly. They quickly relieved the goons of their guns.

"That takes care of weapons," Athos remarked. "We still need a plan for rescuing the others."

Footsteps from the stairway above drew their attention and they whirled, taking aim to fire. Only to freeze when Aramis appeared on the landing. For a moment, Athos could only stare in disbelief.

Then Porthos chuckled. "Like a damn cat."

Aramis hobbled down the steps and Porthos clapped him on the back, which made Aramis jerk away from him with a hiss.

Athos clasped his forearm. "Are you all right?" He searched his brother's face for the answer. There were a lot of minor cuts and scrapes all over his face and hands, and his hair appeared matted with something that Athos was going to guess was blood. But otherwise he appeared intact. Mostly.

"I landed on a scaffold," Aramis answered. "And I'm pretty sure there's not an inch of me that isn't going to be black and blue tomorrow, but for right now, we have some people to save."

Athos supposed that would have to do for now. "Yes, Porthos and I were just discussing strategy."

"I tripped the silent alarm, so the authorities should be on their way," Aramis informed them.

Athos finally felt a smile twitching at the corner of his mouth. He shot his brother a wry look. "Nice work. But next time use a door."

Aramis huffed.

The three of them then silently made their way to the hall outside the projection room. There were various doors around the circular room and Athos gestured for them to split up and attack from multiple angles. With a firm nod, they spread out.

Athos waited until he was sure Aramis and Porthos had time to get into position, and then he kicked in the door and barged in, immediately seeking out men in black and shooting. At this point, they would take no prisoners.

The doors across the room banged open and Aramis and Porthos charged in, guns blazing as well. It swiftly became a firefight with the men in black trying to take cover behind the center console and shoot back. Athos saw Constance rip a slit up her skirts and grab a gun holstered to her leg. She shot two men before they even realized there was another shooter in the middle of them.

Athos spotted Marmion running for a back door. Leaping from his position, he barreled after the man, tackling him in the corridor. His gun went flying in the process, but so did Marmion's. The man bucked to throw Athos off and then swung an uppercut that clipped Athos's jaw and sent him reeling back against the wall. Dazed, Athos threw a clumsy punch that Marmion easily ducked. The man grabbed Athos by the front of his jacket and flung him to the floor. Then he was on top of him, straddling him as he delivered punch after punch to Athos's face. The tang of copper splashed between his teeth.

"Why would you care to save these useless sods?" Marmion raged.

Athos finally got an arm up to block the next blow. "Because," he grunted, throwing an elbow into Marmion's face and knocking him off. "Even sniveling nobles are better than the likes of you."

Sirens blared in the distance, drawing closer. Marmion blinked, then leaped up and started running again. Athos whipped out Porthos's knife and arched his arm back to throw. The blade flew end over end through the air until it landed dead center in Marmion's back, hilt deep. The man went sprawling on the floor and didn't get up or even twitch.

Athos snatched up the guns and hurried back into the chamber to find the rest of the fight over, the remaining men in black either dead or out cold.

"Aramis," Constance breathed, looking at the marksman in stunned amazement.

D'Artagnan jogged over to them, eyes wide and equally disbelieving. "We thought…"

Aramis gave a smile that came out more of a grimace. "So did I."

"I want to get out of here, now!" Louis shouted, ruining the moment.

Athos rolled his eyes and was about to suggest they do just that when Aramis suddenly stumbled. The marksman blinked rapidly a few times as though trying to regain his balance and then collapsed.

"Aramis?" Constance yelled, dropping with him in an effort to catch his fall.

Athos bolted across the room, Porthos a second behind him.

"Aramis, what's wrong?" d'Artagnan asked urgently.

Aramis's head lolled back and forth, his eyes still blinking repeatedly.

"Aramis." D'Artagnan frantically patted him down. "There's no bullet or stab wound." He reached for Aramis's wrist with one hand and put the other on his chest. "His pulse is weak but his heart is racing. What does that mean?" He looked desperately at Athos, but Athos didn't have the answer. Aramis was fine; he'd been fine…

Athos looked up at the stupefied nobles. "We need an ambulance!"

They exchanged uncertain looks, not moving. But then Anne was running from the room, hopefully to meet the police outside.

Athos turned back to Aramis and clasped both sides of his neck. His head was in Constance's lap, blood smearing across her skirts.

"Aramis, hang on," Athos ordered. "Just hang on."

o.0.o

The repetitive beep, beep, beep of the heart monitor made a monotone backdrop for the hospital room. But it was steady, and that was all Athos cared about as he sat in a hard plastic chair by Aramis's bed. They'd gotten him to the hospital just in time. The doctors said his spleen had ruptured, probably from the impact of the fall. He'd been bleeding out internally, but they'd managed to repair the damage.

The rest of the crew had more or less camped out in the hospital room since Aramis had gotten out of surgery, though d'Artagnan had finally just taken Constance down to the cafeteria for some coffee. Constance had been through quite the psychological ordeal at the hands of Marmion.

They all had.

Aramis's face scrunched up. Ever attuned to the marksman, Porthos immediately surged from his perch by the window and moved to the side of the bed. Athos stood and leaned against the opposite side, both of them patiently waiting as Aramis's eyelids slowly fluttered open.

"Mmp," he mumbled groggily.

"Hey there," Porthos said softly, taking a bandaged hand in his.

Aramis squinted up at him. "What happened?" he rasped.

"You, my friend, cannot fly," Athos replied, grabbing a cup of water from a nearby tray and slipping the straw into Aramis's mouth. He took a few sips and then blinked blearily up at him. "You had some internal bleeding," Athos explained. "But this is a good hospital on Persephone and you're going to be fine."

Aramis squeezed his eyes shut. "I hate hospitals."

"We know," Porthos said sympathetically. Recovering from Savoy had not been easy on many levels.

There was a light knock on the door and Athos turned, surprised to see Louis's wife, Anne, in a slim blue dress and blazer, her hair done up in a bun.

"I wanted to see how Aramis was doing," she said, a question in her tone.

"He's going to recover," Athos said, gesturing to said patient.

Anne walked in and smiled at him.

Aramis, of course, tried to rouse enough to smile in return. "My lady, are you all right? And your nephew?"

"It's been an ordeal," she said. "But we're all glad it's over. I wanted to thank you for your bravery, for all of your bravery," she added with a glance at Athos and Porthos. "And for saving our lives. My husband is grateful too, but I'm afraid he's been rather upset over it and has taken ill."

"That's unfortunate," Athos said as mildly as he could muster.

"I'm glad none of you came to harm," Aramis said drowsily.

"I am sorry you did," Anne replied. "But I'm most relieved to hear you are on the mend." She smiled when he started drifting off. "I'll take my leave now. Will you give this to Constance?"

She held out a letter envelope, which Athos took with a nod. Then with a nod to Porthos, she turned to leave.

"Oh, Captain Athos," she called from the door.

Athos moved away from the bed to join her.

"I've spoken with the hospital and all of Aramis's medical expenses have been taken care of.

Athos blinked, honestly taken aback. "That's not necessary…" It hadn't even occurred to him that he wouldn't handle the bills himself like he'd done after Savoy.

"He was wounded in service to me and my husband; it's the least we can do." She gave him a knowing smile. "And I should like to take care of those I might hire again in the future."

Athos quirked a curious brow at her. Somehow he doubted she would hire them for frivolous parties.

He dipped his head humbly. "Thank you."

Anne departed and Athos went back to resume his vigil. Porthos was still standing by the bed, one hand on Aramis's head as he slept. He and Athos had been here before, after they'd received word of Savoy. News of Aramis possibly having perished in the ambush had been bad enough; seeing him "killed" right in front of them was going to give Athos nightmares for weeks to come.

He reached out and laid a hand on top of Aramis's arm, understanding all too well Porthos's need to reassure himself their brother was still with them.

When d'Artagnan and Constance returned to take up their watchful seats as well, Athos could finally let himself doze in his uncomfortable chair. Because his family was all together, and if not whole at the moment, at least safe.

Chapter Text

Constance wove through the streets she'd grown up in, a smile breaking across her face at the familiar sign up ahead. Bonacieux Salvage Yard was where she'd learned how to take apart an engine and put it back together. Raised in a houseful of men after her mother passed, she'd played with wrenches more often than dolls, not that her father and brothers hadn't tried their best to treat her as a little princess, just a grease monkey one.

Fond memories guided her steps around the lot to the house situated on the west end. Her job flying with the Luciole often took her all across the verse, so whenever it did dock back on Beaumonde, she took the opportunity to visit home.

She knocked on the door and heard movement within. It wasn't but a moment that the door opened and she found herself scooped up into the arms of Jared, her middle brother.

"Look what the cat dragged in!"

Constance gave him a playful slap before hugging back and then inching around him to get inside.

Her eldest brother Adam looked up from the kitchen counter where he was chopping vegetables. "Hey, Squish," he said with a smile.

She walked over and gave him a peck on the cheek, then turned to where her father was seated at the table. Her smile faltered for a moment at his rather worn appearance. There were lines around his eyes and mouth she didn't remember being there before and an almost grey complexion to his pallor.

"Papa," she greeted tentatively.

"Hello, sweetheart," he said, mustering a warm smile for her and rising to give her a hug. "It's wonderful to see you. You look well."

"I am," she said.

"And how is that husband of yours? Treating you right?"

Constance shot him a chiding look. "Yes. He would have come if he wasn't tired of Jared and Paul's constant ribbing."

"Someone's gotta keep him honest," Jared replied.

"Constance, hey!" Paul, the youngest brother interrupted as he came into the kitchen and swept her up in an embrace. She let out an "oof" from the fervency of it. "How long are you in town?"

"Not long, I imagine," she replied.

"But you're staying for dinner?"

"Depends. Did you have a hand in trying to cook it?" she teased.

Paul cuffed the back of her head and tried to smother her in a headlock, but she twisted away easily.

"Dinner's almost ready," Adam interrupted in a low tone that immediately doused the fooling around.

Constance quirked a confused brow at him and Jared as they busied themselves quietly at the stove. She glanced at her father and found him sitting at the table and staring at the worn wood.

Paul gave her a wan smile and went to get the dishes. She helped him with the silverware and a few moments later Adam and Jared brought over the bowls of steaming food. Then everyone sat and started serving themselves.

"So how are things?" Constance asked.

There was a beat of silence in which her brothers seemed to be pointedly staring at the food on their plates.

"Fine," her father answered, a warped smile trying to lift his face but failing. "Tell us about your travels."

Constance frowned yet proceeded to tell them about their recent visit to a planet's region that was experiencing winter and how she got to see snowfall and even build a snowman. Her family smiled and chimed in with the appropriate banter as expected, but she couldn't help but notice a palpable tension in the room.

When the meal was almost over, she finally set her fork down and folded her arms in her lap. "Alright, what's going on?"

Adam and Jared exchanged a look.

"Nothing," Adam said.

"I'm not an idiot." She looked at her father and softened her tone. "Papa, are you- are you sick?" she asked, already bracing for the answer.

"No, sweetheart," he answered gently. "I'm fine."

Except he wasn't, that was clear as day. He was pale and thin and if he wasn't sick then something else was exerting an undue amount of stress on his body.

"Then what is it?" she pressed.

Adam reached over and patted her arm. "It's nothing you need to worry about."

"When you say that, I do worry. Now just come out with it because I'm not leaving until you do."

Adam took a measured breath through his nose. Jared looked subdued and her father simply stared at the table. Paul turned his head away.

"We're…we're going to lose the salvage yard," Adam finally admitted.

Constance gaped at him. "What? How? Business can't be that bad and I send you money…"

Both Adam and Jared flicked a look at Paul, the first time they'd looked at him all evening, Constance realized.

She angled herself toward him. "Paul?" she demanded.

He looked back at her, expression wrecked by what seemed like guilt. "I, uh…" He cleared his throat. "I got into trouble with some people. I owe them a lot of money."

Constance's eyes widened. "You've been gambling? How much?"

"Enough," he said. "Chang says he'll take the title for the salvage yard to cover the debt. And, if I don't…" Paul shook his head, eyes suddenly pleading for understanding. "He's gonna kill me."

Constance reeled back and shot a look at her other brothers who simply gazed back grimly. "How could you not tell me about this?"

"We didn't know until it was too late," Adam said with a touch of bitterness.

She whirled back to Paul. "And how could you gamble away so much money?"

He suddenly shoved himself away from the table and stood. "I've gotten the lecture a dozen times over, Constance. I don't need it from you too." With that, he stormed out of the house.

Constance sputtered helplessly at the others. Her father quietly got up and said he was going to bed, never mind it was barely seven o'clock. He shuffled from the kitchen, his physical state now completely understood.

Constance still couldn't believe it. "How much does Paul owe?" she asked Adam.

Her oldest brother gave her a sad look. "Fifty thousand platinum."

She almost stopped breathing.

Adam's mouth quirked ruefully. "Yeah." He stood and leaned over to kiss the top of her head. "It's really good to see you, Squish. I'm glad you have a life separate from this and will be all right."

"I'm not just walking away from this," she argued.

Adam shrugged as he started collecting the plates. "There's not much to be done about it."

Constance slumped in her seat, gaze automatically roving around the home she'd grown up in, that her mother had died in. It couldn't just be taken away like this.

She left that evening in a daze, walking the friendly streets of her childhood that were about to become the unfriendly streets her family would be tossed out on. And she was helpless to do anything. Just like when her mother died.

"Hey, Constance," Porthos greeted, jolting her from her stupor as she realized she'd made it back to the Luciole. He pushed a crate to the side but one look at her and he stopped. "What's wrong?"

She blinked. "No-nothing."

His mouth turned down. "You look upset. What happened?"

Constance almost snorted; she couldn't hide anything from her crew just like her family couldn't hide things from her.

"My brother's in trouble," she admitted. "It's bad." Oh god, it was her brother's life or her family's lives, because losing the salvage yard was going to kill her father.

Porthos's expression furrowed with concern and he gently reached out to take her by the arm, guiding her up the stairs to the catwalk and shouting for d'Artagnan as he led her into the kitchen. Once there, he moved away to get a cup of water while she took a seat at the table.

D'Artagnan jogged in. "What's up?"

"Don' know yet," Porthos replied, passing Constance the water.

She took several sips to wash down the spiky lump in her throat. "My brother Paul got into some gambling debt. Fifty thousand platinum." She choked on the amount. "The man he owes, Chang or something, is demanding he sign over the family business or…or he'll…"

"Oh, Constance," d'Artagnan breathed, coming over and taking a seat beside her to wrap her in his arms.

Porthos had a firm knot between his brows. "I know of Chang. He's a dangerous man."

Constance let out a hiccoughed sob. "He'll kill Paul if he doesn't pay up, but there's no way my family can afford that without signing over the salvage yard. But that's their livelihood and it's everything to my father. The loss will kill him." She threw her hand up and shook her head helplessly. "How can I choose between my father and my brother?"

D'Artagnan rubbed a hand up and down her back. "We could always have Porthos go in and win the money back," he said lightly, but then sobered. "We'll think of something. I could get a loan."

Constance straightened sharply. "I am not going to drag you into my family's problems."

"You're my wife. That makes them my family too." D'Artagnan ran a hand down his jaw. "I'll talk to Treville about an advance." He rose from his seat and kissed the top of her head. "Don't worry. We'll figure something out."

Constance watched him go, warmth swelling in her breast. She hadn't thought she could love him more than she already did but he never ceased to surprise her.

The weight of the burden she was forcing him to share, however, crashed down upon her with renewed gravity and she wrung her hands in her skirt.

Porthos cleared his throat. "I could do that," he spoke up tentatively.

"Do what?"

"Go to Chang's, play his card tables. I don' think I could win fifty thousand platinum, but I could get a big chunk of yer brother's money back."

Constance quirked a confused brow at him. "Gambling's what got us into this mess. I hardly think risking more is going to help."

Porthos gave a guilty looking grimace, and Constance suddenly understood what he and d'Artagnan meant—Porthos's penchant for cheating.

"Porthos," she admonished.

He just shrugged. "It's fer a good cause."

Constance hesitated. She couldn't believe she was actually torn over this. She absolutely did not approve of Porthos's cheating…and yet this was her family at stake.

Porthos gave her a soft smile. "Yer like the little sister I never had, ya know. I want ta help."

He got to his feet, looking as though he'd already made up his mind.

Constance hurried to stand as well. "I'm going with you."

o.0.o

Porthos had tried to talk her out of it, but since this was Constance's problem, there was no way she was going to let her friend do this on his own. As they ventured into a sketchy part of town, however, she did begin to feel a trickle of unease and doubt. This wasn't a world she ever wanted to visit. It was Porthos's world, though, and Constance didn't know whether that made her feel slightly safer in his company or nervous at seeing this side of him.

They walked down an alley and to a back door of a seedy looking building. Porthos rapped his knuckles on the metal and almost instantly a sliding grate opened up at eye level. A grisly bouncer with tattoos all over his face leered out at them. Constance tried not to flinch under the piercing gaze.

A moment later the door was opened and they were let inside. Porthos took Constance's arm like she was his date for the evening and they walked down a dark hall into a crowded room full of hazy smoke and the smell of alcohol. Card tables were set up on one side, while the other had a stage and poles with some working girls for entertainment. Constance was appalled her brother had been hanging out in a place like this.

Porthos moseyed around the card tables before picking which game he wanted to join. He slid into an empty seat and nodded for the dealer to deal him in. Constance stood at his shoulder and watched. For the first few rounds she was confused, thinking his intention had been to cheat from the get-go, but she hadn't caught him doing it. But, then, she had heard he was very good at it.

Porthos laughed heartily at the pot he'd just won, an ecstatic smile stretching his cheeks. He enjoyed this, relished it, and Constance suddenly regretted feeding his habit. Wasn't she just trading one brother for another again? This had been a bad idea.

She leaned down to whisper in his ear. "Maybe we should go."

Porthos waved her off, already focusing on the hand being dealt out. He picked up a coin and pressed it into her palm. "Why don' you get us some drinks?" he suggested.

Constance watched helplessly as he dove into another round.

o.0.o

Athos and Aramis slogged into the elevator and then counted the floors up to Musketeer headquarters. That delivery had taken much longer than anticipated. The client hadn't wanted to pick up his shipment at the docks, which meant they had to rent a truck and transport it across town to his personal residence in one of the more affluent neighborhoods. Athos had hoped to be reclining with a good bottle of wine by now, but they still had to stop by Treville's office to hand over the signed receipt of goods.

The elevator dinged at their floor and they stepped off. The door to the commodore's office was open slightly and Athos arched a curious brow at Aramis when he heard d'Artagnan's voice within. Athos knocked on the door to announce their presence, holding up the receipt as reason for the interruption.

Treville nodded then turned back to d'Artagnan. "I'll see what I can do."

"Thank you, sir," d'Artagnan replied. He flicked a sheepish look at Athos and Aramis before following them out.

"What was that about?" Aramis asked.

D'Artagnan let out a sigh. "I was asking for an advance."

"Oh? Buying something special for Constance, are you?" Aramis said with a brow waggle.

The boy's face, however, was anything but conspiratorial. "One of Constance's brothers got into some gambling trouble. They're going to lose their business. I thought if I could get an advance from the commodore, they could at least keep their home." He ran a hand through his hair. "I'm also gonna have to see about getting a loan from a lender."

Aramis's brows rose. "That sounds like a lot of money."

"Yeah."

"Yet you haven't asked me for help," Athos put in.

D'Artagnan shot him a startled, slightly horrified look. "Oh, no, I- I didn't want to impose on our friendship, Athos."

He just gave the boy a look. "We're family."

D'Artagnan's expression softened. "Thank you. And I will pay you back. Might take me a decade or more, but I will."

Athos wasn't worried about that but he didn't say so. He knew how important honor was to the lad.

The three of them arrived back at the ship to find it locked and dark, which was strange. Usually at least one person always stuck around.

"Constance?" d'Artagnan called, even though the ship felt empty.

"Perhaps she went back to see her family," Athos suggested.

"Yeah, you're probably right." D'Artagnan frowned. "Though I thought she'd wait until we had concrete news for them."

"It's strange Porthos didn't wait for us," Aramis commented. "I guess he got too impatient for a card game."

D'Artagnan abruptly froze, eyes widening.

Athos straightened. "What?"

The boy's mouth moved soundlessly before he slapped a hand to his forehead and groaned. "They wouldn't…"

Athos exchanged an impatient look with Aramis. "Who wouldn't what?"

"I didn't mean it seriously when I said it!"

"Said what?"

D'Artagnan grimaced. "That Porthos could win back some of the money easily."

Aramis's expression slackened in realization and Athos rolled his eyes toward the ceiling.

"We'd better find them."

o.0.o

Porthos laid his cards on the table face up, revealing the royal flush. He clapped his hands together and let out a victorious crow as the other players gaped in consternation. Porthos couldn't stop beaming. He'd won a lot of their money this evening and there was nothing quite like the high from winning coupled with the buzz of ale.

He felt Constance fidgeting at his shoulder. Right, there was a point to all this. Porthos glanced at the time and realized they'd been here for a few hours. He hadn't won back everything her brother owed, but it would cover a good chunk of it. Enough to at least save her family the business and their home. So even though he was still enjoying himself, Porthos decided to finally call it a night.

He leaned away from the table and began pocketing his earnings. "I'm out."

There were some grumbles and angry looks between the other players who no doubt wanted a chance to get their money back. Tough for them.

Porthos stood and took Constance's arm to escort her out. They were almost to the door when they were stopped by two big goons. Porthos faltered, and movement in his peripheral vision had him turning as two more hemmed them in from behind.

"We were just leavin', fellas," he said amiably.

"Boss wants a word with you." The thug indicated a side hallway.

Porthos clenched his jaw and debated going along, but a gasp from Constance had him glancing over his shoulder to where the other two had hands on the grips of machetes at their belts. It was close quarters; Porthos could probably take them. But he had Constance to think about.

So he reluctantly turned down the dark corridor. There was a door at the end that exited out back. An Asian man in a suit stood in the alley, a lit cigarette between his fingers.

"Mr. Chang," Porthos said.

The man let the cigarette drop and ground it with the toe of his shoe. "You know of me."

Porthos shifted. "Yeah."

"Then you should also know that I don't tolerate cheating."

"I didn't cheat."

Chang narrowed his eyes. "Nobody wins like you just did tonight."

Porthos smirked. "Some are touched by luck."

"Then it is your lucky night. You work for me now."

Porthos's brows rose sharply. "Excuse me?"

"Win like that every night and you'll get to keep ten percent. Oh, and your kneecaps." Chang flashed him a predatory grin.

"I'm jus' on planet for a short time. My ship heads out soon."

"Tell them they'll have to leave without you."

Constance clung to Porthos's arm like she wanted to drag him away from there, but it wasn't like they could just walk out.

Porthos's expression hardened. "Not interested."

Chang shrugged. "Your loss." He nodded to his men, who drew their machetes.

Porthos stepped in front of Constance. One against four wasn't great but wasn't terrible. If he could just give Constance an opening to run…

A shot rang out and one of the goons dropped. The remaining three turned as Athos, Aramis, and d'Artagnan charged into the alley with swords brandished.

The back door of the establishment banged open at the commotion and more thugs poured out. Porthos drew his schiavona and met them head on, colliding steel pealing through the night.

Constance snatched up the machete from the guy who'd been shot and leaped into the fray as well. Porthos tried to keep one eye on her and make sure she wasn't overwhelmed, but she seemed to be holding her own. She at least held off her opponent long enough for d'Artagnan to swoop in and finish him.

The last goon dropped and Porthos turned to find Chang with his back against a wall and Athos's rapier at his throat.

"Give me an excuse not to let you live," the captain intoned.

Chang held his palms up. For a tough guy, he was quivering like he was about to wet his pants.

Porthos smirked as they backed away and headed away from the alley. "That was good timin'," he commented.

"What were you thinking?" Athos said with a reproving glare.

Porthos shrugged. "It's Constance."

"I'm sorry, Athos," she broke in miserably. "This is all my fault."

"Your brother made his own choices," Athos replied. "As did Porthos."

"An' I'd do it again," Porthos said. "An' it all worked out anyway."

Aramis clapped him on the shoulder. "Yes. Some are just touched by luck."

He finally had the grace to be abashed and ducked his head. He probably could have gone about things better, but he didn't regret doing everything he could to look out for his own.

o.0.o

Constance dropped the pouch of money on the kitchen table. "That's enough to cover your debt."

Between what Porthos had won that night playing cards and what the others had pooled together, they'd made it.

Her brothers stared at the money pouch in shock. Adam looked up and narrowed his eyes.

"How did you get this?"

"It doesn't matter." She turned to Paul. "This is it. You get help and you stop."

He nodded fervently. "I will."

"I mean it. You get into trouble again…" She took a breath to steel herself. "You're on your own."

Her brother blinked, looking hurt for a moment, but he nodded again more soberly.

"We'll make sure of it," Adam said, and Jared nodded his agreement.

"Take care," she said, kissing each of them goodbye. She then stopped by her father's shop where he was tinkering and smiled at the renewed spark in his eye. She bid farewell to him and headed back to the Luciole.

Porthos was in the cargo bay, moving things around to get ready for their next job.

"I didn't properly thank you for what you did," she said.

He shrugged it off. "It was nothin'."

Constance stepped in close and placed a hand on the side of his face. "It wasn't nothing. Thank you." She stretched on her tiptoes to give him a peck on the cheek. "And never do it again."

Porthos grinned.

Chapter Text

Treville arrived at the office early as he did every morning. He could sleepwalk through his routine of starting up the coffee machine and waiting for it to spew out the dark brown brew while he stood at the counter and casually browsed the news headlines on his data pad. Then when his coffee was ready, he took the mug and sat down at his desk to go over his messages.

Pierre's ship reported they'd picked up their cargo on New Kasmir and were en route to deliver it to Salisbury. That would be a short trip since they were in the same system.

There was a shipment request from a regular client with four separate drop-off locations and a note that they were urgent.

Treville shook his head. One of the things he'd disliked about being a commander in the military was the paperwork, but at least here he was his own boss. That made up for a lot of shortcomings. Business was good too. Treville fired off a quick response that he would check if he had any ships in the area.

He then sifted through the papers on his desk, pausing to frown at an envelope he didn't remember being there last night. It wasn't sealed or marked but he knew it wasn't the brand he had a purchasing contract with. He opened it and pulled out a single sheet of paper with one word scrawled in red.

"BOOM."

Treville stared at it for a prolonged beat until he became aware of a small beeping sound. Scooting back in his chair, he bent down and peered under his desk, eyes widening at the chunk of plastic explosives taped underneath with various wires protruding from it to a small counter with bright red numbers ticking down. 00:05. 00:04.

Treville leaped to his feet and bolted for the door. An explosion ripped through the office and a concussive force slammed into his back, flinging him into darkness.

o.0.o

"You should be dead," Serge groused.

Treville grimaced as he pushed himself to sit upright on the cot. His various bruises protested the movement and the burns on the back of his neck and arms chafed against the bandages. "With any luck, LeBlanc will think I am."

Serge's expression was troubled and he puttered around his small garage of a home to cover it. "You really think it was 'im?"

"I'd say the theatrical flair gave him away," Treville answered, remembering the note. "Besides, I don't have too many enemies who'd choose to blow me up."

"Yer jus' lucky that damn bookcase took the worst of it."

"And that you dragged my ass out," Treville added.

When he'd woken up on Serge's bed, Treville had been confused as to how he'd gotten there. The last thing he remembered was trying to escape the bomb and failing. He'd been flung against the wall and behind a large antique piece of furniture, which had apparently protected him from the main fireball. Serge had been in the street below prepping his food truck for the day when he'd seen the building explode. Despite his limp, he'd rushed upstairs and pulled a wounded and unconscious Treville from the burning building and taken him back to his home where he'd called an unlicensed, back-alley doctor to come patch Treville up. Treville had been a little horrified to learn that, but since he hadn't needed anything major aside from some bandages, he supposed he should be grateful for the care.

Serge, the old coot, had deemed it necessary to keep Treville off the grid and therefore out of a hospital, but given the circumstances and who Treville thought was behind the attempt on his life, it had been the right course of action. If LeBlanc found out that he'd failed, he would come for Treville again.

Treville inched himself toward the edge of the cot, wincing at every pulsing throb it caused. He needed to figure out what his next move would be, though that was proving difficult when his entire body protested movement of any kind.

"Thank you for your help, Serge," he said. "You should lay low for a while in case LeBlanc recognizes you."

His old friend whirled on him. "An' where do ya think yer goin'?"

"LeBlanc isn't going to stop until I'm dead. I need to get ready."

"Don' be daft. Ya can't take 'im on alone. Reinforcements'll be 'ere soon."

Treville quirked a confused brow. "What do you mean?"

Serge gave him a sly smile. "I sent word ta yer flagship, the Luciole."

"You did what?" Treville surged to his feet, biting back a grunt of pain. "I will not bring them into this. It isn't their problem."

Serge crossed his arms. "I remember LeBlanc. He's a crazy bastard wit' nothin' ta lose. An' yer already wounded. What're you gonna do agains' 'im on yer own? 'Sides, most o' those boys are soldiers. It's gonna take a unit to take a man like LeBlanc down an' you know it."

Treville gritted his teeth. A knock at the door interrupted any further argument, and Serge grabbed a gun before going to look through the peephole. After a beat, he unlocked the door and opened it. Athos and his entire crew squeezed their way in, expressions curious at first but quickly morphing into alarm as they spotted Treville.

"What happened?" Athos asked.

"Bomb went off at Musketeer headquarters," Serge answered.

Eyebrows shot up to hairlines.

Aramis immediately strode forward and Treville recognized him going into medic mode. "How close were you to the blast?" he asked, reaching to examine his injuries.

Treville pulled away in chagrin. "I was inside, and my wounds have already been tended to."

Unfortunately that little movement pulled at his abused muscles and he couldn't hold back a grimace. Aramis gripped his arm and nudged him into sitting on the cot and then proceeded to check his injuries anyway.

"I gather from Serge's cryptic message and the fact that you're here and not at a hospital that it wasn't random," Athos surmised.

Treville sighed. "It was a personal attack against me. The bomb was under my desk and there was a note." He hissed as Aramis peeled back a bandage that had begun to stick to a particularly raw burn.

"Who was behind it and why?"

"That is my problem to deal with."

"An attack against our commodore is an attack against all of us," Porthos growled.

"It has nothing to do with the musketeers," Treville pressed. "It was before I was even your commander in the military."

Four stony, unyielding expressions simply gazed back at him, waiting. Aramis said nothing as he continued to inspect Treville's injuries, and Serge looked a touch smug.

Treville's shoulders slumped in resignation. "It's a man named LeBlanc. He was a munitions officer at a base I was stationed at back before I was a commodore. I caught him stealing weapons and selling them on the black market. With my testimony and the evidence, he was court-martialed. He's supposed to be in prison."

"'E was released a few months ago," Serge put in.

Treville arched a surprised brow at him.

"I checked wit' an old buddy of mine while you were out," he explained.

Treville exhaled slowly. "And yet you weren't convinced it was him."

Serge shrugged. "We don' exactly have solid proof, but I believe it."

"Then we need to find this LeBlanc before he decides to try again," Athos said. "Aramis, d'Artagnan, and Constance, get the commodore to a safe house. Porthos and I will see if we can get a location on LeBlanc."

"We can start with where he might have gotten the explosives," Porthos suggested.

Athos nodded.

"Wouldn't the Luciole be safer?" Constance asked.

Athos shook his head. "The ship is registered under Treville's company. Best we stay off the grid until this is resolved."

Treville cleared his throat. "You do realize I'm the boss here."

Athos leveled an unfazed look at him. "With all due respect, Commodore, not today."

With that, he and Porthos excused themselves and Aramis flashed Treville a grin.

"Let's go."

o.0.o

There weren't too many brokers in the area that dealt in explosives. One in particular was former military, so Athos thought that would be a good place to start. LeBlanc might have appealed to some old ties to get what he needed.

Spike's "office" was a booth in the back of a seedy pub dark with a heavy curtain of cigar smoke. Athos and Porthos made their way across the room and slid into the opposite bench seat from their target, a man with fiery red hair that stood up at the tips.

"What can I do for you, gentlemen?" Spike asked.

"We're looking for a shipment of plastic explosives," Athos replied.

Spike bobbed his head. "I can hook you up with that. How much you need?"

"No. We're looking for a shipment you sold recently. To this man." Athos nodded to Porthos, who took out a small holographic imager and presented LeBlanc's service photo to Spike.

The weapons dealer leaned back in his booth. "Can't help you." He flicked his gaze over their shoulders, likely to signal a bouncer.

Porthos folded his arms on the table and leaned forward. "This man tried ta kill our boss. Commodore Treville. Maybe you've heard of 'im."

Spike's expression faltered, and after a moment he nodded his goon off. "I know of Commodore Treville."

"Many do," Athos replied. "He's an honorable man. Unlike LeBlanc."

Spike held up his palms in placation. "Look, I didn't know that was his intent. He came to me, said he knew a buddy of mine from the ranks. We army guys help each other out, ya know?"

Athos nodded. "We know. Which is why we're not going to let him go after our commander again. Do you know where LeBlanc is?"

Spike shook his head. "We didn't buddy up ourselves."

Porthos shifted forward menacingly.

"I can tell you where I had the goods dropped," Spike said quickly. "Down in the south-side warehouse district. Most of those buildings are abandoned."

Porthos leaned back and exchanged a look with Athos.

Athos nodded to Spike. "Address."

Spike grabbed a cocktail napkin and scribbled it down.

"Thank you," Athos said, taking the note and sliding out of the booth after Porthos. With a lead in hand, they left the bar and headed down to the warehouse district.

The address was indeed abandoned, as were most of the buildings on the block in an obvious state of disrepair. Those windows that weren't completely oxidized were broken and there was no sign of any person around as Athos and Porthos made their way down the stretch. It was a good place for a man to hide out.

The door to the warehouse had a padlock but it'd been broken some time before. There was no way to tell how long ago or by whom. Athos kept one hand on the hilt of his sword as he cautiously ventured inside, Porthos following behind.

There were some old pallets and machinery but otherwise the place was sparse. They kept their footfalls light, listening for sounds of their quarry, but everything was still and silent.

Porthos cleared his throat softly and cocked his head to the left. Athos followed his gaze to what looked like a nest set up between two stacks of wooden pallets—there was a sleeping bag, canteens, and empty MRE meal packets littering the floor. No sign of the person they belonged to though.

Athos circled around, keeping his senses peeled. He stopped as he rounded one of the pallets and found dozens of notes tacked to the wood. They were notes on Treville's schedule and habits. There was even a copy of the layout of the building where Musketeer headquarters was situated.

"Looks like we've found our man," he commented.

"Yeah, only he ain't here," Porthos huffed. "Think he knows Treville survived?"

"There's no way to know." Athos swept his gaze around for more clues and bent down to pick up a stub off the floor. "It's for a brothel," he said, holding it up for Porthos to see. "We could look there."

Porthos shrugged. "He could be out havin' a celebration."

"Then let's interrupt it."

They started to leave when a metal canister came bouncing across the floor toward them.

"Grenade!" Porthos shouted.

Athos tried to dive out of the way but the flash bang went off, instantly blinding him with its searing supernova. His knees hit the concrete floor with a jarring thud and he twisted, instinctively trying to defend himself. But his vision was completely white and his ears were ringing. Something collided with the back of his head and the blinding light was replaced with black.

o.0.o

Serge shuffled around the kitchen, muttering to himself about the business he was losing for the day by staying home and off the streets. But Treville had insisted he lay low while LeBlanc was out there, and since the commodore was going into his own protective custody reluctantly, Serge figured he could oblige his old friend. They'd served together, though Serge had been permanently discharged many years before Treville's own career had ended with retirement. When they'd run into each other on Beaumonde, it had been quite the reunion, and they'd get together every once in a while for drinks and to reminiscence about the old days.

Serge scrubbed a frying pan clean and stuck it in the dish rack. He turned around and nearly shitted his pants to find LeBlanc standing in his home. The ex-officer grabbed Serge and slammed him against the wall.

"Hey, Serge," LeBlanc sneered, pressing his forearm into Serge's throat. "Long time no see. Life hasn't been kind to you, has it?" He angled a look down at the knee that'd been busted too many years ago and hadn't healed right. LeBlanc tutted. "It hasn't been kind to me either."

Serge pawed at the unyielding arm as he struggled to draw breath.

"So I know Treville was here," LeBlanc said casually. "That my little gift didn't kill him."

Serge coughed and gasped.

"I talked to a Dr. Kroger, who said he came down here to patch up a guy after that bomb went off." LeBlanc finally eased up on some of the pressure. "So where is Treville now?"

Serge gagged on the fresh burst of air that seared his starving lungs and abused throat. "Don' know," he spat out. There wasn't any use in denying it, and LeBlanc wouldn't believe him anyway. "I didn't ask where they were goin'." He forced out a toothy grin. "Plausible deniability."

"Hm," LeBlanc hummed. "I bet you know how to get word to him though. You were always a resourceful bugger. So you tell Treville that I've got two of his men."

Serge tensed, which unfortunately LeBlanc noticed.

"That's right," he said with a smug smirk and stepped off. He reached into his pocket and withdrew a piece of paper, which he slapped against Serge's chest. "I'll wait a few hours for Treville to show before I dump the extra baggage."

He pivoted and strode out the door. Serge fumbled to keep ahold of the piece of paper with an address on it, his chest heaving like he was having a heart attack. After several moments trying to catch his breath, he limped to the door and peeked out. It seemed LeBlanc had left. Still, Serge slammed it shut and latched the deadbolt and chain. Then he quickly hobbled his way to the comms system in the corner. He knew the secure channel Treville used for his company and that LeBlanc wouldn't be able to hack it. With trembling fingers, he sent the message.

o.0.o

Treville could not be more irritated at the role reversal of being treated like a protectee client. He was the one who'd survived numerous battles and commanded troops before any of the three currently "protecting" him were old enough to hold a toy pistol. Yet here they were.

Aramis stood by the window, watching the street below through a gap in the sheer curtains. A rifle was propped against the wall within easy reach.

Constance had been puttering around in the kitchen but now she brought over a mug of coffee and held it out to Treville. He mustered enough politeness to give her a grateful quarter smile.

"Do you need anything else?" she asked.

"No, thank you." Nothing that could be easily gotten. Serge had given him a shirt and coat to borrow, but his pants were still singed and smoky.

The door opened and d'Artagnan came in. "The back gate is chained up tighter than a cursed coffin," he reported. "And the dog downstairs barks at every footstep that walks by his door, so there's our advance warning system."

"Cursed coffin?" Treville repeated with a touch of amusement.

D'Artagnan shrugged. "Like from old Earth-that-was movies."

Aramis's wrist device beeped.

"Is that Athos?" Treville asked.

Aramis frowned as he tapped at the screen. "No." It kept beeping. "It's an encrypted channel but it's not taking my password."

Treville stood from the couch and gingerly walked over. "Let me see."

Aramis held his arm out and angled it so Treville could see the screen. It was an encrypted channel alright, and one of his. He tapped in the code to access it and furrowed his brow as the message scrolled across the screen. He reached a hand up to his mouth.

"LeBlanc has Athos and Porthos."

"What?" d'Artagnan exclaimed, crowding Aramis to see for himself as the marksman yanked his arm back to look at the comm.

Treville stepped away. "He's calling me out."

"It's a trap," Constance said.

"Of course it is, but if I don't go, then Athos and Porthos are dead."

"What if it's a trick?" d'Artagnan posed.

Aramis was already tapping at his wrist device and Treville knew what he'd get—no response. Athos and Porthos were good and they probably had found LeBlanc. The problem was, LeBlanc was good too.

Treville scooped up his jacket. "I'm going."

"We're all going," Aramis corrected, grabbing his rifle.

Treville wanted to protest but knew his people would never back down when their own were in danger. Besides, someone would have to get Athos and Porthos out while Treville faced LeBlanc.

The trek to the warehouse district was hard on Treville's abused body and he was sweating by the time they arrived.

"I'll scout ahead," Aramis said.

Treville didn't object as he took off at a jog around the back of a warehouse; the marksman knew how to stay out of sight. Treville used the time to catch his breath and gather his strength. When he went to confront LeBlanc, he didn't want to show any weakness.

D'Artagnan's wrist device beeped.

"I'm on the roof," Aramis's voice commed. "Athos and Porthos are inside. It's too dark for me to see their condition. No visual on LeBlanc."

Treville exhaled slowly. It was time.

He ignored the worried looks from d'Artagnan and Constance as he strode forward to approach the designated meeting place. They hung back to stay out of sight until LeBlanc showed himself.

The warehouse door creaked as Treville pushed it open, spilling light into a gloomy interior. It took a few moments for his eyes to adjust as he cautiously ventured inside. When they did, he found Athos and Porthos tied to two chairs facing him in the middle of the space, duct tape over their mouths. They were conscious, eyes wide and beads of sweat trailing down their faces and necks. It wasn't that hot in the warehouse.

Treville pulled up short as he spotted the unusual bulges around their chests. And wires.

Terror and fury surged through his veins.

"LeBlanc!" he shouted, voice echoing.

The man in question stepped into view from around a cement support column to the right. "Treville."

It had been two decades since Treville had last seen LeBlanc, and at least one since a single thought of the man had even entered his mind. Faced with him now, Treville remembered how infuriating that smug bastard's demeanor had been. He clenched his fists at his sides.

"This is between you and me. Let them go."

"They came looking for me first," LeBlanc replied.

"But they're not who you want to see dead."

LeBlanc's eyes hardened. "No. I spent years planning for this moment. You took everything from me."

"You did that to yourself," Treville retorted. "Your actions, your consequences."

LeBlanc straightened, rage glinting across his face before he got it under control. He smirked. "I'm glad you survived the bomb this morning. Because now I get to watch your face as I take away the things you seem to care about." He reached into his pocket and pulled out a remote detonator.

Treville's heart seized.

LeBlanc slid around the column so that he would be shielded from the blast. "You might survive this one too. But your guys won't."

A window high above shattered and LeBlanc cried out, dropping the remote. His other hand immediately went to draw a gun from a side holster as he ducked around the other side of the column. Treville lunged, tackling him to the ground. The impact jarred through his bruises and he had to bite back his own cry of pain. He caught LeBlanc's hand as it reached for the gun again and swung with a vicious right hook. LeBlanc's head snapped to the side but the man quickly recovered and delivered a punch of his own. Treville went reeling back. Another blow sent him crashing to the ground where the wind got knocked out of him. Treville lay on his back wheezing as LeBlanc scrambled to his feet and finally got his gun in hand. Treville braced for him to squeeze the trigger.

A series of staccato gunshots echoed through the warehouse and LeBlanc's body jerked before toppling backward and hitting the ground. Treville whipped his gaze to the open door where d'Artagnan was sweeping into the warehouse with Constance at his back. They rushed over, only to skid to a stop when their gazes landed on Athos and Porthos.

"Oh god," Constance breathed.

D'Artagnan shook himself out of his shock and went to check on LeBlanc, kicking the man's weapon away.

Treville pushed himself upright with effort, his body singing with pain. D'Artagnan straightened and quickly came to give him a hand.

A rattle outside snapped their attention to the right where Aramis was leaping down from a fire escape and jogging inside, gaze sweeping over each of them in earnest.

"Anybody hurt?"

"No more so than when this started," Treville grunted, turning to Athos and Porthos. Constance had cautiously made her way over and was peeling the tape from Athos's mouth.

Athos grimaced as the adhesive ripped out hairs from his beard.

"Sorry." Constance moved around to Porthos next.

"Are those armed?" d'Artagnan asked nervously.

Treville took in the blinking lights on the charges and his men's composures. "Looks like it," he said grimly.

"Alright then," Aramis said and set his rifle down before moving closer and kneeling in front of Porthos. "Just like old times, huh?" he quipped.

"Except the bombs we used ta defuse we were never wearin'," Porthos retorted, his entire body vibrating with nervous energy.

"D'Artagnan, get Constance out of here," Athos ordered.

"We can't just leave," she protested, despite the obvious fear on her face.

D'Artagnan looked torn between his friends and his wife.

Constance bent down to untie Athos but he snapped at her.

"Don't! Don't touch anything. Just get out, now."

"You should do as he says," Aramis spoke up calmly. "I need to concentrate."

Treville nodded to the couple and cocked his head toward the door. Casting reluctant looks over their shoulders, they nevertheless made their way out.

"You too, Commodore," Athos said.

Treville didn't bother responding to that. They were his men, not the other way around, and he'd never left a man behind.

Aramis carefully and painstakingly slowly picked at the wires to examine the device strapped to Porthos's chest. "Red, green, and blue. Not even all primary colors. And it's blue and yellow that makes green, not blue and red. That wire should be purple."

"Seriously?" Porthos growled.

Aramis ignored him. "Athos, I don't suppose you can see very well from where you're sitting."

"What is the not-purple wire attached to?"

Treville held his breath as Athos talked Aramis through the process of figuring out which wire to cut. He had no hands-on experience himself, and so could only offer a steady presence at Aramis's back as he gambled all their lives on the wire he was about to pull. Porthos squeezed his eyes shut.

Treville tensed. The light on the device stopped blinking.

Everyone let out a ragged breath of relief, though it was short-lived as Aramis then repeated the process on the bomb Athos was wearing. Fortunately, LeBlanc's flair for dramatics didn't include making two different explosive devices and defusing the second one went quicker. Then Treville and Aramis hastily cut Athos and Porthos free and helped them out of the bomb vests.

"I could use a drink," Athos huffed.

Aramis let out a weak chuckle. "Me too."

"Think I could use five," Porthos muttered.

Treville had to agree. "It's on me."

o.0.o

Treville stood in the wreckage of his office, surveying the damage. It had taken a while to sort everything out with the local authorities, but the evidence against LeBlanc was conclusive and eventually they had all been released to return to their lives. Or what was left of it.

Footsteps crunching debris came up behind him and Athos appeared at his side, holding a wine bottle and two glasses. He passed one to Treville.

"Will you rebuild or find a new location?" he asked as he popped open the bottle and poured some into the glasses.

"I haven't decided yet."

It wasn't that this spot had any personal sentimentality for Treville. But it was the place he'd set up base and built up this company from. Either he wouldn't let LeBlanc take that from him, or he'd let the tides of change bring him to new avenues.

They fell silent and sipped at their drinks for a bit.

"Whatever you decide," Athos spoke up, "we're with you."

Treville smiled at that. Yes, that loyalty couldn't be destroyed. He'd earned it and fostered it, making a name that carried more weight across the verse than one building did.

Treville turned to one of his captains and raised his glass in a silent toast to his musketeers.

Chapter Text

Porthos picked at a loose stud on his coat, glanced at the bustling activity coming and going from the mine opening, and huffed. They'd been waiting around for nearly an hour for the shipment they were supposed to pick up to be brought out. Porthos was utterly bored, and Athos was visibly growing impatient, the lines around his jaw tightening by the minute and his gaze flicking around restlessly. Aramis was amusing himself by examining nearby equipment, but it was only a matter of time before he started pushing random buttons and switches and that was sure to cause a ruckus among the miners. Would serve them right though.

The foreman jogged out of the mine shaft toward them. "I'm sorry," he apologized yet again. "We located the ore and it has been packaged. But I'm really short-handed today and don't have the men in that section to bring it out yet."

Athos's nostrils flared with the force of his exasperated exhalation. They had a schedule to keep and their client would not appreciate waiting around for his shipment.

Porthos shoved away from the drum container he was leaning against. "Why don' we jus' go in and get it?" he suggested.

The foreman pursed his mouth reluctantly.

"Do you anticipate having anyone available in the next ten minutes?" Aramis put in.

The man sighed. "Alright. Harold!" he called.

A miner in a hardhat that'd been heading for the shaft abruptly turned to come over.

"Take them to section B12 so they can pick up a shipment," the foreman instructed, then turned to Athos. "The paperwork is in my office."

Athos looked like he was barely holding onto his normally bland affect as he followed the foreman. Porthos and Aramis went with the miner into the tunnel, taking several junctures that led them deeper into the mines. The man stopped at another branching tunnel shaft.

"It's straight down that way," he said. "I got my own section to get to. Follow the red line to get back out."

Porthos exchanged a look with Aramis as the man hastened off, leaving them alone in the passageway dimly lit by lightbulbs strung across the ceiling. Porthos looked around for the red line the miner had been referring to and spotted it up near the top with a bunch of other wires and pipes.

"Right," he said gruffly. "Let's get the stuff and go."

It was only a short distance down the shaft before they found some packaged crates and the two that were labeled for their client. Aramis put his hands on his hips and swept his gaze around.

"Seems no one thought to leave any equipment for carting it out," he commented.

Porthos gritted his teeth in annoyance. He didn't have much confidence in finding someone to help them. "Let's just go look for the first forklift we come across and 'borrow' it."

Aramis shrugged.

Yet before they'd taken two steps back down the tunnel, the ground began to shake. Porthos threw his arms out for balance and whipped an alarmed gaze around. The ground gave another violent groan and roll, and then the ceiling of the cave came crashing down on top of them.

o.0.o

Athos was thrown against the doorframe exiting the foreman's trailer when the earthquake struck, and he clung to the jamb for both shelter and to stay on his feet. Across the yard, an explosion of dust belched out of the mine opening. The shaking went on for almost two minutes before finally ceasing, and then workers were running around shouting. Athos lurched down the steps and toward the mine, reaching out to snag a miner as he ran out, covered in dirt.

"What happened?" Athos yelled.

"Mine collapsed!" he coughed out, wrenching his arm free and lumbering away to safety.

Athos stood in a stunned stupor as more men came staggering out of the dusty haze. His wrist comm beeped.

"Athos!" d'Artagnan's voice came through. "Are you guys okay?"

Athos blinked, still staring at the mine entrance. "Aramis and Porthos were in the mine," he managed to reply. "There was a cave-in. I- I don't know where they are."

"I'm on my way."

He'd signed off before Athos could even think whether he should stay with the ship or not. It was chaos all around him, but he caught sight of the foreman rushing about and shouting at various men. Athos strode over.

"Status report," he demanded with a captain's authority, despite the fact he held no authority here. The foreman didn't seem to remember that.

"Multiple tunnels collapsed. I've got dozens of men unaccounted for." He broke away, gesturing wildly and shouting out orders.

Athos could only look back at the mine helplessly. He tapped his wrist comm. "Aramis, Porthos, do you read?"

There was no response. Athos kept trying until d'Artagnan appeared at his side.

"What do we do?" his pilot asked.

Athos's jaw tightened. "Find a pickaxe."

D'Artagnan gave a firm nod and the two of them ventured into the mine to join the rescue operation.

o.0.o

Aramis woke up choking on dust clogging his mouth and nose. He coughed viciously, craning his head back and forth as he tried to orient himself. It was dark save for a single shaft of hazy light from a lantern lying on the ground. Aramis pushed himself up onto his elbows and winced, reaching one hand up to brace his aching head. His fingers brushed against something slick and when he pulled them back, he saw red smeared grit. He blinked, his fingers morphing into blurred shapes.

Another cough punched its way up his throat, making his head feel like someone was banging it like a gong. When he finally caught his breath, he twisted around in search of Porthos. The dim light cast an ocher halo on a leather coat but the rest of him was encased in darkness.

Aramis scooted over to snatch up the lantern and then crawled over to his friend. Porthos lay on his back, covered in a thick coating of dirt and dust, eyes closed. His leg was pinned under a pile of rocks.

"Porthos," Aramis gasped worriedly, setting the lantern down and then running his hands over limbs and bones in search of injuries. There was some muted blood discolored by dirt around abrasions and scrapes, but nothing that looked too serious.

Porthos let out a groan and his eyelids slowly fluttered open. "Mmph, wha' 'appened?" he mumbled.

"I'm not sure," Aramis replied. "I think it was an earthquake."

"We're on a moon."

Aramis couldn't help but quirk a smile. "Seismic disturbance then, if you want to be picky about it."

Porthos's brows knitted together as he lolled his head to look around. He pushed his elbows against the ground to lift himself up but stopped when he realized his leg was trapped.

"Easy," Aramis said at the distressed look that filled his brother's eyes. "Don't move. I'll try to find something I can use for leverage to get you free."

He tore himself away and cast his gaze around the shaft. He had to stop and squeeze his eyes shut a few times when the dizziness made everything warp and blur. Eventually he was able to spot a pipe which he picked up and brought back to wedge under the rocks. Aramis paused to make sure the pile wasn't holding up a larger chunk that could come tumbling down and do more damage.

"Can you pull yourself out?" he asked.

Porthos braced himself on his elbows again and nodded. Aramis took a breath and put all his weight on the lever. The rocks shifted and Porthos cried out. Aramis pushed with all his strength, praying it would be enough, and saw Porthos shimmying backwards. Once he was clear, Aramis let up and the rocks went rolling. He jumped back to avoid getting clipped, his head spinning so badly that he almost lost his balance. He staggered blindly toward Porthos, his vision clearing enough to drop down beside him. The moment he touched the leg, Porthos yelped.

"Sorry," Aramis grimaced. "It's broken." Which meant walking out of there was going to be a challenge.

Actually…Aramis lifted his head and looked around. Every direction was nothing but rock. He squinted, trying to remember which way the tunnel exit was supposed to be. Those two walls were smooth rock…the back had a bunch of crates. And the last was a bunch of boulders piled tightly together in what he was sure was supposed to have been their escape route.

He rocked back on his haunches.

"We're trapped, ain't we?" Porthos grunted.

"A rescue will be coming," Aramis replied. Assuming they weren't buried too deep…and what about oxygen? Were there any gaps or crevices in the caved-in rocks to let air in?

Porthos tried to push himself up into sitting, choking back garbled sounds of pain. Aramis grabbed his arm and helped him shift back to lean against the wall. He scanned Porthos's face, etched in deep creases of discomfort. He didn't have a med kit with him or anything to ease his best friend's pain.

Picking up the pipe he'd used to free Porthos, Aramis shuffled over to the cave-in and began poking at the rocks, trying to see if there was a way he could dig them out himself.

o.0.o

D'Artagnan pulled another rock away, finally breaking through this current blockage and allowing a stream of men from the other side to come spilling through. He searched the wounded and dirty faces for Aramis and Porthos, but so far none of the men rescued were his brothers. He sagged back against the tunnel wall and rested his arms for a few minutes. They'd cleared a couple of shafts but there were still many more to check.

Athos slumped next to him, hair lank and damp from sweat, his face coated in a sheen of grime from the hard labor.

"D'Artagnan!"

He straightened at the sound of Constance's voice and was shocked to see her pushing her way through the line filing out to reach them. "Constance, what are you doing in here?"

"I came to check on you," she huffed, crossing her arms. "I couldn't get through on the comms." Her expression pinched. "I've been trying to reach Aramis and Porthos but they're not responding either. The minerals in the rock must be blocking the signal."

D'Artagnan gnawed at his lip. They had no way of finding out if their friends were alive or badly hurt, or even where within the network of mine tunnels they were.

The line of evacuees thinned out, which meant it was time to venture further in and clear the next section, but before they could, the foreman was making his way toward them.

"How far in are we?" d'Artagnan asked.

The man's face was grim. "Two junctures. I've got men working all the way back through twelve."

"How could this have happened?" he accused. "Shouldn't you have safeguards for something like this?"

"D'Artagnan," Constance hissed under her breath.

"This has never happened before," the foreman said. "The moon is stable!"

"Until today," d'Artagnan shot back.

"How deep underground does the mine go?" Athos interjected calmly.

The foreman blinked. "I don't know. A couple hundred kilometers."

"Several drill points could have altered the stability of the moon's crust."

D'Artagnan clenched his fists. How could they not have foreseen this?

The foreman at least looked genuinely distraught over the disaster. "We need more equipment and men. But our communications array was damaged and we haven't been able to send a distress call to the nearest town."

"I can contact them from the Luciole," Constance put in.

The ground suddenly rumbled and began to shake again. D'Artagnan grabbed Constance and threw himself around her as much as he could, his arms shielding her head as pebbles and silt shook loose from the ceiling. The moon groaned, but the quake was less severe than the first had been and it stopped after only a few seconds. D'Artagnan cautiously lifted his head to look around.

"Aftershock," Athos said, his mouth pressing into a grim line. "There could be more."

"Everyone out!" the foreman yelled.

"There're still men down there!" d'Artagnan snapped.

"And I can't risk losing more if there's another collapse. We'll have to wait until the tunnels can be shored up." He gestured at his men to get moving.

"Athos," d'Artagnan protested.

His captain shook his head regretfully. "He's right. We need better equipment. We can take the ship to the nearest town and bring some back that much faster."

D'Artagnan gritted his teeth. He knew Athos was right even though it went against everything in him to turn away and leave Porthos and Aramis down here. With Constance gripping his arm in understanding, they hastened to escape the tunnel.

o.0.o

Porthos's heart jackhammered painfully against his ribs as the ground vibrated and moaned. When it stopped, Aramis slowly lifted his head from where he was bent over Porthos, covering him, and looked around warily. When the shaking didn't start up again, he slumped back next to Porthos and leaned his head against the rock wall.

Porthos shifted in an attempt to alleviate some of the pain in his back, but the movement ignited a burst of pain in his leg. He clenched his jaw against the pain and frustration. He hated being trapped and helpless like this.

"How can anyone work in a bloody mine?" he said to fill the oppressive silence. "It's a death trap."

"I recall you saying the same thing about the Luciole," Aramis remarked tiredly.

Porthos grumbled under his breath. "At least when things break down there, Constance fixes 'em. You can't fix the moon if it's gonna start shiftin' around on ya."

Aramis hummed.

Porthos turned his head and eyed him closely, stiffening when he noticed crimson matting some of his hair. "Hey, look at me."

Aramis lolled his gaze toward him and blinked. In the dim light from the lantern, Porthos could see one pupil was larger than the other. He mentally cursed.

"Did you know you have a concussion?" he demanded.

"It occurred to me," Aramis mumbled, closing his eyes. "Not that it makes a difference to our situation."

Porthos huffed. "Jus' stay awake. No noddin' off on me." Pain pulsed through his leg like a wrecking ball and he grunted in surprise. He tried to breathe through it, but in another moment it spiked again, stealing his breath with a gasp.

Aramis's eyes flew open. "What's wrong?"

"My leg," he stuttered, biting back a strangled cry. "Ungh, it's killin' me."

Aramis swiftly sat up straighter and pulled the knife from his boot. Bending over Porthos, he cut through the pant leg, then sucked in a sharp breath.

Porthos forced his eyes open and lifted his head to look. The flesh of his calf was swollen and a dark puce color. "How bad is it?" he asked, nerves on edge.

Aramis ran a hand over his hair. "Compartment syndrome. Pressure is building up from internal bleeding."

Porthos's heart lurched. "Am I gonna lose my leg?"

Aramis seemed to give himself a small shake. "Not if I can help it." He threw Porthos a pinched look. "But I have to bleed the leg to relieve the pressure. And I'm sorry, my friend, but I don't have anything to give you for the pain."

Porthos drew in a shaky breath and nodded. He grabbed the collar of his coat and pulled it around to put between his teeth. Then he gave Aramis a firm nod to go ahead.

Aramis lifted the knife, and Porthos turned his head away so as not to look. When the blade pierced his flesh and began to carve, he threw his head back against the rock wall and screamed into the leather.

o.0.o

Aramis's hands shook as he wrapped Porthos's leg with strips of his own shirt he'd torn off. His best friend's screams had pierced right through his heart and it was a mercy when Porthos had finally passed out. Too much blood had turned the dirt beneath the leg to dark mud. Aramis had done it to save Porthos's life, but the fact that he'd caused tremendous pain and further harm was something that made him sick regardless. He hadn't even been able to properly sterilize the knife before using it to cut his brother's flesh, but he'd had to prioritize the current life threatening situation over the chance of future infection that could be treated once they were out of here.

If they ever got out of here.

With Porthos unconscious, Aramis felt the weight of loneliness pressing in on him in the dark. Their lone light flickered and buzzed.

A shiver ran through Aramis's muscles and refused to release them. He vaguely recognized the symptoms of shock. His head was pounding.

Aramis settled back next to Porthos, shoulder to shoulder, and tried to stay on watch. But his eyelids grew too heavy to keep open and he eventually drifted off.

o.0.o

Athos watched the excavator slowly dig through the rocks and rubble of the next tunnel. The shaft was awash with pale blue LED light from the stabilizers that'd been installed to prevent further cave-ins should more aftershocks strike. Next to him, d'Artagnan fidgeted anxiously. They'd cleared several tunnels, making their way closer and closer to the section Porthos and Aramis were supposed to have been.

A large chunk of rocks suddenly fell away, creating a gap large enough for one of the rescue workers to peer into the cave on the other side.

"We've got two bodies!"

Athos surged forward, nearly pushing the man aside to look for himself. His heart skipped a beat at the sight of his brothers laying propped up against each other in a dim halo from a single lantern. He crawled over the rocks without waiting for the rest of the way to be cleared, d'Artagnan right behind him, and hurried to his men. Both their eyes were closed, but a hand on each of their chests quickly confirmed they were breathing.

Porthos's leg was a mess with blood everywhere and he didn't react to the arrival of their rescue, but Aramis let out a low moan.

"Aramis," Athos coaxed, clasping the side of his neck in desperate relief.

"Mmph." His eyelids fluttered open groggily. "Wha's goin' on?" he slurred.

"We're getting you out."

Glazed eyes gazed blearily at him. "Out?"

"Yes. What's Porthos's condition?" Athos assumed Aramis had to have performed first aid on the wounded leg.

"Porthos?" Aramis repeated.

Athos frowned as he lolled his head to the side and squinted at said man.

"Where are we?" Aramis asked, sounding utterly confused.

Athos stiffened. The air when they'd broken into this section had been stale but not thinned, so he didn't think Aramis's confused state was due to oxygen deprivation. There was blood on the side of his temple though. Athos did his best to swallow the resulting surge of alarm at that realization.

"We need medics in here!" he shouted over his shoulder.

He and d'Artagnan were forced to stand back as rescue personnel filed in and transferred Aramis and Porthos onto stretchers. Then they followed their injured brothers as they were carried out of the mine and loaded onto a hover craft to be taken to the nearest hospital. Athos pushed his way forward to ride with them.

"Meet me there with the ship," he called back to d'Artagnan.

The flight to the hospital was fraught with tension as the medics assessed their patients' conditions and relayed them to the hospital staff. Athos had no idea what the numbers and stats meant. Aramis would have been able to tell him.

Once they arrived, Athos was barred from following them behind the trauma doors they were whisked through. He took a seat in the waiting room and bowed his head. He wasn't religious like Aramis was, but it was moments like these he wondered if believing in a benevolent deity truly offered some measure of comfort.

D'Artagnan and Constance arrived and Athos felt marginally bolstered by their presence. They waited in silence for what seemed like hours before a doctor finally came out.

"Captain Athos?" a man in blue scrubs addressed him.

"Yes," he said, rising to his feet instantly.

The doctor looked at the data pad in his hand. "Porthos suffered a broken leg and he lost a lot of blood. It wasn't a compound fracture. Looks like someone cut his leg to bleed it."

"Why would Aramis have done that?" d'Artagnan asked in shock.

"Based on the blood loss, I suspect there was internal hemorrhaging. That would have developed into compartment syndrome. Your friend is lucky his companion knew what to do. We set the bone and the surgery to repair the internal rupture was successful."

"And Aramis?" Athos prompted.

The doctor swiped at his pad. "He has a concussion. He's woken briefly a few times but has been very confused. That could be from the head trauma or simply from being trapped for as long as they were. But I see in his medical record that he's had a severe head injury in the past."

"Yes," Athos said, chest tightening with worry again. He knew the dangers of repeated head injuries.

"We'll keep a close eye on him," the doctor said.

"Can we see them?" Constance asked.

"As soon as they're settled. I'll send a nurse out." With that, he excused himself.

Athos let out a tense breath. They'd be all right. They were getting care and their injuries hadn't seemed life threatening at this point. That was what he had to keep repeating to himself, though the forced optimism was not his default disposition. Still, he knew from past experience not to discount his brothers' propensity for luck and dogged will to survive.

o.0.o

Porthos woke to a cotton-filled mouth and the sight of Constance sitting by his bed. He smiled tiredly at her. "Knew you'd get us out," he rasped.

Constance returned the smile and grabbed a small cup from a nearby rolling tray and gave him a spoonful of ice chips. The cold immediately soothed his mouth and throat.

"How are you feeling?" she asked.

Better than he should have, he thought and looked down at the IV line in his hand. "Not bad. Must be on the good stuff." His gaze shifted a little and he noticed his leg was propped up on top of the sheets with a pillow underneath and a metal brace with pins keeping the limb immobilized.

Athos entered his field of vision. "You are on the good stuff."

Porthos felt his eyelids growing heavy again but he forced them to stay open as he roved his gaze around the rest of the room. Aramis was lying in the next bed over with d'Artagnan sitting on that side. "He okay? I think he had a concussion."

"He does," Athos confirmed. "But he's been waking at the prodded intervals since you were rescued yesterday, and an hour ago he was a little more lucid. The doctor thinks he should fully recover."

Porthos couldn't help but frown; he'd believe it when he saw it. He flicked his gaze back to his leg. "How bad?" he asked nervously.

"You won't be bunking in your room for a few weeks," Constance answered. "But you'll make a full recovery too."

A few weeks…that was going to get tedious. And boring.

His train of thought was interrupted by d'Artagnan suddenly scooting to the edge of his chair and leaning forward.

"Aramis."

The marksman's eyelids were fluttering sluggishly as he slowly roused. "Mm, where…?"

"Hospital," d'Artagnan replied like it was something he'd said a dozen times before.

Aramis lolled his head around until his unfocused gaze landed on Porthos. His brow furrowed. "Are you okay?"

"Fine an' fit."

Aramis didn't correct him, which showed how out of it he still was. He simply closed his eyes again. "Okay," he murmured, like that was all that mattered.

Exchanging glances with the others, Porthos supposed it was.

Chapter Text

Aramis jogged across the catwalk to the bridge after receiving Athos's summons. The captain, d'Artagnan, and Porthos were already there.

"What's going on?" Aramis asked.

Athos nodded out the window to where a larger vessel was adrift in the black of space. "We picked up a distress beacon, but so far no one is answering our hails."

"Scans show life support isn't functioning," d'Artagnan added.

"Maybe they took a shuttle outta there," Porthos suggested.

D'Artagnan flipped a few switches on the control dash. "Doesn't look like the shuttles have been launched."

"Depending on how long they've been in distress, the crew may or may not have succumbed to the lack of oxygen," Aramis pointed out.

"We'll head over and take a look," Athos decided, clapping a hand on the back of d'Artagnan's pilot seat. "Go ahead and dock with it." He then nodded to Aramis and Porthos, who followed him off the bridge and down to the cargo bay.

Since they couldn't be sure of the oxygen level on the other ship, they went ahead and donned their space suits while d'Artagnan was busy lining up the airlocks. The docking procedure sealed the space between the two ships, and then Athos pulled open the small door in the middle of the cargo hatch. Porthos handled the control panel of the other ship to gain them entry.

The other ship was surprisingly lit, so whatever problem the life support system was having, it didn't appear to be a power issue. Aramis took a reading of the oxygen level, a pit forming in his stomach.

"Zero oxygen," he reported. The likelihood of finding anyone alive had just rapidly decreased, though it was possible the crew could have found a way to tap into another oxygen source, like from space suits or a shuttle's independent systems. But then why not escape in those, or answer the Luciole's attempts to contact them?

The first few corridors the trio ventured down were deserted, and Aramis began to feel as though they were traversing through a ghost ship.

Then they found the bodies.

One was sprawled on the floor outside the bridge with two more inside.

"Poor bastards," Porthos muttered. "Why didn't they jus' leave the ship?"

Aramis knelt next to one of the corpses and frowned. "I'm not sure running out of oxygen is what killed them."

The victim's skin had a pale blue tinge to it from the freezing temperature, which made the flecks of blood around his lips stand out in that much more contrast. Aramis searched him over for a wound that might explain internal bleeding but found none. He straightened and entered the bridge to check the other two.

"There's signs of sickness here," he announced.

"Sickness?" Porthos repeated.

"What kind?" Athos asked.

Aramis shook his head. "I don't know."

"Maybe we should go," Porthos said, edging toward the corridor.

"Let's look around a little more," Athos countered. "We're protected in the suits."

Porthos muttered under his breath as he followed them down another passage. There were more bodies in the corridors, and even Aramis had to admit it was disturbing to move past them. The more they saw, the more he doubted there were any survivors. But what kind of sickness could have swept through an entire ship, obliterating the crew?

Athos stopped in front of a set of glass doors that looked into a large room filled with lab equipment. "Perhaps this ship was a research station."

Aramis punched the button to open the doors and stepped inside. There were countertops with microscopes and slides, racks of vials, and other high-end equipment that looked like very serious lab work. Curious, Aramis walked to one of the work stations and started rifling through the papers.

"They were working with pathogens," he said in dismay. He looked toward the back of the lab where he could see more bodies in white lab coats.

"You think that's what killed them?" Athos asked.

Aramis shrugged. "If they were somehow infected." He skimmed over a few more data sheets, pursing his lips in thought. "Maybe they turned off the life support themselves. Thought they could contain it, or maybe they were just trying to prevent it from leaving the ship," he mused. But why would they be working with such a deadly bio agent? Some of these notes even looked like they were about gene splicing.

"Okay, now we really need ta get out of here," Porthos urged.

Aramis moved to a counter and picked up one of the vials. It was labeled with a numerical value, not a name like he'd been hoping. Not that he would have necessarily recognized the proper scientific name for whatever they'd been working with.

A loud boom suddenly reverberated through the ship, making it lurch. Aramis caught himself on the edge of the counter and the vial broke in his hand.

"Another ship just came out of nowhere and is firing on you guys!" d'Artagnan's harried voice came over the comm.

"Back to the ship," Athos ordered.

They turned and sprinted their way back through the corridors to the airlock, trying not to lose their balance every time another strike rocked the vessel.

"Who the hell fires on a dead ship?" Porthos groused.

Aramis grimaced at the bad pun.

They reached the airlock and scrambled through, slamming the doors behind them.

"D'Artagnan, disengage and get us out of here!" Athos commanded.

"On it," came the stressed response.

Beeps and clacks sounded outside the door as the Luciole separated from the other ship and began to veer away. Athos yanked his helmet off and made his way up the stairs to the catwalk, Porthos close behind. Aramis moved to follow, but when he reached up to detach his helmet, he noticed a slit in his glove. In the one that had been holding the vial when it broke.

Heart lurching, he changed course and hastened to the med bay. The ship took a hit and he nearly fell back down the stairs from the impact, but adrenaline surged him forward. Aramis barreled into the infirmary and locked the door behind him. Then he frantically yanked at the clasps of his suit to get his glove off. When he finally did, he flexed his hand and stared at the small cut on his palm and thin trickle of blood.

o.0.o

Athos tripped upon reaching the bridge as another weapons' blast skimmed past the ship. "D'Artagnan," he said, clipped tone asking for a sit rep.

His young pilot was cranking the joystick back and forth as he tried to evade the ship pursuing them. "I can't shake them," he said through gritted teeth. "I don't get it. They just appeared and started firing on that other ship! I don't think they even noticed us until we broke away."

Athos clenched his jaw and grabbed the radio. "Unknown vessel, this is the Firefly class Luciole. What is your reason for attacking us?"

Porthos snorted. "Yeah, like they're gonna answer."

Athos scowled at him. "Unknown vessel—"

Other sensors started blaring and Athos cut off the transmission.

"What is it?"

D'Artagnan's brows knitted together as he split his attention between flying and reading the dashboard. "Another ship just entered the area. It's Alliance!"

Athos instantly switched the comm channel to a known Alliance frequency. "Alliance ship, this is the Firefly class Luciole, requesting assistance. We are under attack."

The vid screen showed the attacking ship immediately veering off as the Alliance vessel joined the party. The much larger cruiser fired off a warning shot at the retreating ship but did not give pursuit.

The comms monitor flicked on with an incoming signal. "Firefly class Luciole, this is Captain Harken of the Alliance vessel, Magellan. Do you read?"

Athos stepped into view of the monitor. "We do. Thank you for your assistance. I am Captain Athos."

Captain Harken held himself with a stiff posture, the high collar of his military jacket looking a bit too starched to be comfortable. "What was the nature of your altercation with that other vessel?"

Athos kept his expression neutral and his explanation to the facts. "They did not declare themselves. My ship was responding to a distress call from another vessel. Their life support systems weren't functional, so I and two of my crew boarded in space suits to investigate. We found the crew dead, signs of an outbreak on board. There was evidence of bio research being conducted, but my resident medic would be able to explain more on that. While we were there, that other ship appeared and immediately began their attack, first on the disabled vessel and then on us when we tried to flee."

Captain Harken's expression furrowed. "An outbreak of a bio agent, you say? I would like to speak with your resident medic."

Athos turned, only to start when he realized Aramis hadn't come up to the bridge with him and Porthos. He grabbed the radio for the intercom. "Aramis, your presence is requested on the bridge."

There was a brief pause before the speaker crackled with a response. "I can't."

Athos narrowed his eyes, but before he could make it an order, Aramis spoke again.

"D'Artagnan, close all the vents to the med bay. Now."

"What?" the boy said dubiously.

"Just do it!"

Athos's stomach dropped with a really bad feeling. "Do it," he told d'Artagnan quietly and left the bridge, ignoring Harken's raised objections.

He hurried down the corridor to the infirmary, only to pull up short when the sliding glass doors didn't open automatically at his arrival. He punched the button and the panel beeped irritably. He was locked out.

"Aramis, open the door."

Through the glass, he could see Aramis leaning against the back counter. He'd shed his space suit and dropped it in a pile on the floor, leaving him in his trousers and shirt. He looked up and gave Athos a regretful look.

"I can't."

He held up his hand, displaying a reddened cut on his palm.

Athos huffed in exasperation, not seeing the point.

Aramis's mouth twisted bitterly. "When we were in the lab and that first hit struck the ship, the vial I was holding shattered and broke the seal of my suit."

Athos stared at him for a moment more in incomprehension before his world tilted violently on its axis.

o.0.o

Aramis felt like a specimen in a terrarium. He knew the others were worried, but he did not appreciate them hovering outside the med bay doors and staring in at him through the glass.

Athos had gone off somewhere, probably to deal with the Alliance ship, but now he was returning with a man in a white doctor's uniform in tow.

"This is Dr. Lemay," Athos introduced to everyone, the intercom to the med bay having been flipped to the continuously on position.

"I understand you were exposed to an unknown biological agent," Dr. Lemay said, getting right down to business. Aramis appreciated it.

"Yes." He recounted what he'd found on the other ship and how he'd become contaminated.

"Are you experiencing any symptoms?"

"Not yet."

Aramis knew it was only a matter of time though.

Dr. Lemay's serious expression suggested he knew it as well. "I hear you have some medic skills. Would you be able to take samples of your own blood and image them, then forward them to my lab?"

Aramis nodded.

"Good. I'll advise Captain Harken to head for the ship you visited so we can see exactly what we're dealing with." With a nod to Athos and the others, he turned and left.

Aramis shifted. "Don't you all have work to do?" he bit out when everyone else lingered outside the infirmary.

"We docked in the Magellan's hangar bay," Athos replied. "The only thing we need to do is fix this."

"I'm afraid that's beyond all our expertise," Aramis said ruefully. "But I'd better get to work on those blood samples."

He turned and opened one of the drawers to get out the phlebotomy supplies he'd need. When he angled himself back around to figure out the best place to do it, he noticed everyone still hovering outside.

"Your staring is making me uncomfortable," he snapped. All his brash tone got him, however, was more worried looks.

"Come on," Athos finally said, nodding to d'Artagnan and Constance.

The three of them slowly tore themselves away but Porthos stayed. Aramis's shoulders sagged; of course his best friend wouldn't budge.

Porthos didn't say anything, and Aramis did his best to ignore his presence as he set about drawing some of his blood.

o.0.o

Porthos couldn't believe this was happening. He knew they should have gotten the hell off that ship. Space suit protection be damned; one stroke of hideous bad luck and his best friend was now facing the possibility that he'd been infected with some kind of deadly virus. And Porthos was stuck on the other side of this damn piece of glass when he should have been in there with him so at least he wouldn't be alone.

But Aramis didn't look sick. Maybe the vial he'd been holding hadn't actually contained anything harmful. Maybe he'd cut his hand on something else and didn't realize it. That Dr. Lemay fellow would check his blood and declare it had all been a false alarm.

Aramis puttered around in the med bay, idly rifling through drawers as though he were doing inventory, but Porthos could tell he wasn't really focused on it and was just keeping his hands busy. Neither of them spoke, not really knowing what to say, and Porthos hated that too.

The rattle of the catwalk drew his attention as Athos strode toward him and Porthos straightened at the grim set to his mouth.

"We found the research ship," Athos said. "It's been destroyed."

"What?"

"Likely that other ship went back to finish what it'd started. Whatever research they were doing, it looks like someone didn't want it getting out."

"I can imagine why," Aramis muttered through the open intercom.

"So what now?" Porthos asked.

Athos opened his mouth but Aramis responded first.

"Nothing. If Dr. Lemay can't identify the pathogen, he can't identify a cure."

"He'll have to work from scratch," Athos corrected.

"He can, though, right?" Porthos pressed. "This a fancy Alliance ship an' all. They've got the best equipment."

Athos nodded mutely, but the look he cast Aramis's way belied any sort of reassurance Porthos had been hoping for. Inside the med bay, Aramis turned away from them, perhaps to conceal his own fear, but his brothers knew how to read him too well. After an uncomfortable moment, Athos left again.

Porthos abided the silence for a minute more before deciding that helpless inaction was not something he could stand to do. "Hey, why don' we play a game to pass the time?"

Aramis turned back around with a wry look. "What game?"

"Cards."

Aramis snorted. "We can't exactly deal them back and forth under the door."

"I could hold up yer hand for you to see," he suggested, undaunted by the obvious obstacles.

"So you can see them reflected in the glass?" Aramis shot him a pointed look.

Porthos crossed his arms and huffed. "You got another idea then?"

For a moment, he wasn't sure if Aramis was going to be stubbornly surly, but then his expression softened and he moved away from the back counter.

"We could play chess."

That wasn't Porthos's type of game, but he knew the rules of it and it would work given their constraints. "Alright, let me go get Athos's set."

His stomach twisted at leaving Aramis, even for a brief moment, but Porthos headed to Athos's bunk where he knew their captain had a chess set. Then he brought it back to the infirmary and began to set up the board and pieces on the floor outside the glass doors. Aramis came over and took a seat on the other side, leaning back against the counter and propping one arm over his raised knee. Porthos went first, starting with a simple pawn moving forward. Aramis told him which squares to move his pieces to and they proceeded to play a round that way. It was slow going, as Porthos didn't have all the chess squares memorized and he had to think about his own moves for a longer stretch of time. Aramis was patient; he always was.

Then Aramis started coughing into his fist and Porthos looked up, thinking he was subtly signaling his impatience, only for his own heart to seize as he realized it was real. Aramis coughed again, his whole body thrown into it. When it stopped, their eyes met for a split moment. Then Aramis shifted his gaze away in discomfort and Porthos felt a pit get carved out of his stomach.

o.0.o

It took all of Athos's willpower not to grab a bottle of wine and drown himself in it. He hated feeling helpless like this. He was the captain and his crew were his responsibility, but in this situation he was useless, not only with his ship docked in the Magellan's bay and under the jurisdiction of another captain, but none of his many skills were applicable to a situation like this. His urge to check in with Dr. Lemay periodically warred with his sense to not distract the man from doing his job. Which left Athos mostly just standing around and waiting as each hour ticked by. It drove him mad, and the call of alcohol grew ever stronger.

But he refused to succumb to it. He may not have been able to do much, but he could at least remain in control of his faculties and act like the pillar his crew—his family—needed him to be right now.

The intercom crackled. "Athos," Porthos's taut voice came through. "You'd better get over here."

Athos was out of his chair in an instant. He hurried through the corridors at an urgent pace, dread mounting as he neared the infirmary.

Porthos was standing at the doors and looking down to where Aramis was sitting just on the other side. "He's got a fever."

"I told him not to worry you," Aramis said sullenly. "It was bound to happen and it's not even very high yet."

Yet.

Years of schooling his demeanor kept Athos's expression neutral as he studied his friend. There was a red flush to his cheeks and a paleness leeching the color from the rest of his pallor. Aramis rarely complained about physical discomfort but it was obvious in the minute twitches and creases in his brow that he was feeling other symptoms as well. Athos considered now would be the time to interrupt Dr. Lemay's work, but before he could head for the bridge's comm station, said doctor had entered the corridor.

"Apologies for not calling ahead," Lemay said. "But I thought to deliver my news in person." He came to a stop at the glass doors and frowned down at Aramis.

"Forgive me if I don't get up," Aramis said tiredly.

"Of course. I was going to ask if you were experiencing any symptoms but I can see the answer is yes."

"You said you had news?" Athos interjected.

Lemay nodded soberly. "I identified the pathogen. It's based on the pandemic flu."

"The flu?" Porthos repeated dubiously. "That ain't so bad. I had it once when I was younger and was laid up for two weeks."

"He said pandemic," Aramis murmured, any color left having bleached from his face.

Porthos glanced between them. "Wha's that mean?"

"That at one time it managed to spread across an entire planet," Athos answered.

"It's extremely virulent," Lemay confirmed. "And to make matters worse, this particular strain has been genetically modified, which means the normal treatment won't be effective."

Athos's lungs forgot how to breathe.

"Why would scientists be messin' with somethin' like that?" Porthos asked angrily.

A muscle in Lemay's jaw ticked. "Not for anything good."

Athos swallowed around the spiky lump in his throat. "Can you develop a cure for this strain?"

Lemay cast them a regretful look. "I can try." He turned to Aramis. "I'll need new blood samples. And, as unsavory as it is to say, your progression of symptoms will help when it comes to testing the effectiveness of treatments."

Aramis let out a humorless huff, which descended into a string of coughs.

Lemay's expression was sympathetic. "Can you control the door pressure from inside the infirmary?"

"Yes." Aramis pushed himself to his feet with obvious effort, having to grip the edge of the counter for balance.

"Good. If you feel comfortable taking the samples, then you can engage the negative door pressure and slide them out without risking exposure to the rest of the ship. But if you need assistance, I can suit up and come inside."

"No," Aramis said hurriedly. "I can manage."

Athos clenched his jaw as he watched Aramis hobble across the infirmary to where the needles and tubes were laid out, watched his hands shake as he tied a rubber band around his bicep and then angled a needle into the crook of his elbow. Of course he had to insist on doing it himself, and it saved time in the long run, but that didn't mean Athos had to like it.

Once Aramis had filled several vials of blood, he put them inside a sealed plastic container, and then went to punch a few buttons on the room's control panel. The doors hissed open only a few inches and Aramis bent down to slide the plastic container across the floor.

Having put on gloves, Lemay reached down to pick it up and quickly stuffed it into a plastic bag.

Aramis immediately slapped the control panel to shut the doors, sealing himself off from them once again.

"I'll let you know as soon as I have anything," Lemay promised and made his retreat.

Athos and Porthos returned their attention to their brother.

"I told you I don't like the staring," Aramis muttered, reaching up a hand to rub at his head.

"Maybe you should get some sleep," Athos suggested.

Aramis shook his head. "I doubt I'll be able to."

Right; none of them were the type to just lay down and wait for defeat. Which made their shared helplessness that much harder to bear.

Athos noticed his chess set on the floor, pushed off to the side. He caught Porthos's eye and cocked his head. "Go get something to eat. I'll take my turn at a match."

Porthos's lips thinned, but after a reluctant moment he headed off.

Athos lowered himself to the floor and began to reset the pieces on the board. "Come on," he said when Aramis stayed standing.

Aramis lingered for a beat before shuffling over in resignation. "Are you going to go easy on me since I'm unwell?"

"No." Athos took his rook and made the first move.

o.0.o

Aramis shivered violently. His fever had steadily increased over the past few hours and he'd devolved into vicious, hacking wet coughs. The virus was attacking his respiratory system, making it more and more strenuous just to breathe. He'd given up on chess a while ago, unable to concentrate past the pain anymore. He'd also retreated to the back of the med bay, not wanting to give the others an up close view of his rapid deterioration. Sitting on the floor wasn't doing him any favors, but at this point he was too tired to climb up into the alcove bed.

"I increased the oxygen input into the infirmary," d'Artagnan was saying. "Is it helping?"

"Yes," Aramis lied in the face of d'Artagnan's youthful hopefulness. When the lad had come to relieve Athos, he'd started prattling on about what he could do to make Aramis more comfortable. Aramis let him.

It probably would have been prudent for him to get out an oxygen mask, but he knew it wouldn't change anything in the end and he didn't want to make things look worse to the others who refused to leave him alone for even a minute. So he sat half curled in on himself against the back cabinet putting on a brave face.

Constance walked into view through the doors and she and d'Artagnan exchanged a silent look that set Aramis's teeth on edge. D'Artagnan nodded, threw Aramis a forced smile, and left.

"Was wondering when you'd get around to coming to say your goodbyes."

Constance frowned. "Don't say things like that," she said sharply. "No one is giving up here and you sure as hell better not. What if it was one of us in there, would you be preparing to 'say goodbye'?"

Aramis ducked his gaze abashedly. "I'm sorry."

He wasn't even sure why he'd let his facade drop in front of her, except that Constance had always been easy to open up to. Her anger was sharper but also purer than his brothers', reprimanding but not judgmental.

Her expression softened. "I know you're feeling pretty miserable, but you can't give up hope."

Aramis looked away for a moment. The problem with hope was sometimes not even it could overcome the cold hard facts of reality.

"What have you been up to?" he asked to change the subject.

Constance shrugged. "Figured I'd give the Luciole a tune up while we're jus' sittin' here. Not that she needed much. But Captain Harken seems determined to hunt down that other ship that attacked us, so who knows how far out in the verse we'll be when we can finally leave."

"Have you been out on the Magellan?"

"A little. It's big and fancy, more like a flying city than a ship. It's got like six engine rooms."

"That would keep you busy," Aramis remarked.

Constance shook her head. "You can't get to know a ship personally when it's that big. Systems like that have failures, not quirks. I like the Luciole just fine."

Aramis smiled, but then his lungs contracted and he bowed forward as a wretched coughing fit punched its way up through his chest. He couldn't draw breath and tears pricked the corners of his eyes as his whole body was wracked with the attack. A wet globule splatted his hand but he couldn't pay it any attention until the coughing finally abated. Then he blinked at the red color splashed across his fingers. This time when his lungs seized, it wasn't for another cough.

Aramis lifted his head and saw Constance's eyes wide with terror that must surely have reflected what was on his own face. His head swam and his vision darkened around the edges. He heard Constance's muffled voice shouting for Athos as he lost his hold on consciousness.

o.0.o

"We're out of time," Athos barked, gripping the back of the comms seat with white knuckles as he leaned over the telephonix screen.

"I've only just spliced together a potential cure," Dr. Lemay replied. "I haven't been able to test it on infected tissue yet and can't guarantee it will work."

"Send it down," Athos ordered, never mind Lemay wasn't one of his crew. "We'll test it now."

He disconnected the comm and turned sharply on his heel to march down to the cargo bay where the doors were wide open. It took ten minutes for the medical team to arrive.

"My team and I will have to suit up," Lemay said.

Athos scooped up the ampoules and snatched some cloth face masks from the tray as well. "No, you don't."

Ignoring Lemay's stuttering protests, Athos took the stairs two at a time up to the main deck and toward the infirmary. D'Artagnan and Constance were huddled together against the opposite wall while Porthos was leaning both fists against the glass doors and staring at Aramis, who was slumped over on the floor and unconscious inside.

Athos threw one of the face masks at Porthos. "Put that on." He didn't bother giving him a choice; he knew Porthos wouldn't leave for anything. "D'Artagnan, Constance, seal off this corridor," he instructed, putting the other mask over his nose and mouth.

D'Artagnan's eyes widened but he and Constance only hesitated a fraction of a second before splitting up and hurrying to do as ordered. Once the bulkheads were in place and d'Artagnan commed that the ventilation was now restricted in their section as well, Athos drew his pistol and shot the glass.

Shards scattered across the floor and Athos and Porthos crushed the bits under their boots as they hurried to Aramis's side. Athos crouched down and immediately rolled up Aramis's sleeve to inject one of the ampoules.

"You know you and I will probably have to take this too," he mentioned casually.

Porthos didn't respond, instead focused on grabbing a piece of gauze and wiping the blood from Aramis's hand and the corner of his mouth.

Athos injected the synthesized cure into the marksman's arm, then sat back on his haunches.

"How long before we know if it works?" Porthos asked quietly.

"I don't know. Let's get him off the floor."

Together they lifted Aramis up and moved him to the exam table. Porthos grabbed a blanket to drape over him and Athos filled a bowl with water from the sink. He soaked a small towel, wrung it out, and then folded it over Aramis's fevered brow.

All that was left to do was tend him and wait.

o.0.o

Porthos laid down his hand of cards. "Flush."

D'Artagnan scowled and threw his own hand down on the chair they were using as a table. "Okay, let's just play for matchsticks now. I'm already doing trash duty for a month."

Porthos just grinned as he collected the cards and shuffled them.

To his right, Aramis lay in one of the guest cabin beds, asleep. After the cure had started working and Lemay had lifted the need for quarantine, they'd moved Aramis to somewhere more comfortable. Lemay had wanted to transfer him to his med bay, but Athos had convinced him familiar surroundings would be better for Aramis to wake up to.

Porthos's arm was still sore from the injection he'd gotten, but he didn't begrudge it. He should have busted his way into the infirmary sooner. At least now they were all well—or getting there—and safe.

D'Artagnan straightened suddenly. "I think he's waking up."

Porthos turned sharply toward the bed where Aramis was indeed shifting. He scooted closer and rested a hand on top of the dark head of hair. "Aramis, hey. You ready ta finally rise an' shine?"

Aramis's eyelids slowly peeled open as Porthos coaxed him fully awake. He blinked at the ceiling in confusion before lolling his gaze to the side and stopping as he took in Porthos and d'Artagnan. Then an almost relaxed sigh seemed to weight him further into the mattress.

Porthos smiled. "Yeah, you're okay. Dr. Lemay found a cure."

D'Artagnan reached over and squeezed Aramis's hand, then got up to comm Athos and Constance.

"How're you feelin'?" Porthos asked.

"Tired," Aramis murmured, eyelids fluttering. "M' head hurts. Though…not as…bad."

"Yeah, the doc warned you'd be feelin' out o' sorts for a bit." He lowered his voice. "That was a close one."

Aramis prized his eyelids open all the way to look at him. With a wan smile, he raised his hand and weakly patted Porthos's knee. "Aren't they all?"

Porthos huffed. Wasn't that the truth.

Athos and Constance arrived, elated to see Aramis finally awake. Porthos didn't relinquish his spot by his brother's head and kept one hand in physical contact at all times. He'd come too close to losing him. Again.

But Aramis had the luck of the devil, and the stubbornness to match.

Yeah, he'd be all right.