Archive of Our Own

Afterwards, Treville would have to admit that he couldn’t blame anyone but himself. In his own defense, however, who would have thought that his four best agents would have made the choice that they had? Obviously, not Treville.

Not in a million years.

Treville hadn’t wanted to attend the security conference in Orlando in the first place, but his superiors hadn’t given him any choice. Treville was told that he would be presenting a case study of a specific operation at the conference and that the team members involved in said operation would be participating.

That last bit was the problem. Treville had nothing against getting positive attention for the NSA, but the operation he’d been told to showcase had been a traumatic, if impressive, one. It had been d’Artagnan’s first with the team and had very nearly been the young man’s last. Nearly a year had passed since that FUBAR of an operation but instead of time making the memories easier to deal with, the opposite was true . When it happened, d’Artagnan had been a new, if promising, recruit. Now, however, d’Artagnan was their collective little brother – and Athos, Aramis and Porthos were far more aware of what they’d almost lost. As a result, the older agents flinched every time the name of that operation came up. Asking them to stand up in front of a room full of their peers from international agencies and talk about it was torture. Unfortunately, that was exactly what Treville’s superiors had demanded and there wasn’t a damn thing Treville could do about it.

D’Artagnan was the only one who hadn’t complained bitterly when the team had been told what would be required of them, but despite the negative feelings, they’d all done well. The presentation was as professional as Treville could have hoped for. Unfortunately, it had also been scheduled for the last day of the conference, meaning that his four agents had to behave themselves for two days beforehand, with the dread of a public speaking engagement – about a hated topic - hanging over their heads. Even so, Athos had managed to not verbally antagonize anyone, Porthos hadn’t hit anyone and Aramis hadn’t hit on anyone. As for d’Artagnan, normally the boy was a magnet for trouble, but even he’d managed to stay safe and in Treville’s good graces. Despite his penchant for running full-tilt into danger, d’Artagnan was not stupid. No doubt he had picked up on how traumatized his colleagues were about the particular operation they were showcasing, so perhaps he’d been extra careful in an effort not to make it worse for them.

Treville snorted as he thought about that. Yes, it was possible that d’Artagnan had curtailed his usual impetuousness as a means to help his brothers keep calm, but it was just as possible that Athos, Aramis and Porthos were in full protective mode due to the stirring of traumatic memories and simply hadn’t given their little brother the chance to put himself into harm’s way. It didn’t really matter to Treville; the end result was all he was interested in.

Whatever idiot who’d planned the conference had made the brilliant decision to end it late on a Saturday morning. Supposedly, it was to allow the international attendees ample to travel home in time for work Monday morning. Not allowed to book their own travel plans unless it involved an undercover operation, the travel administrator for the NSA had booked the team for the much cheaper Sunday morning flight home. As a result, while the team’s responsibilities were done by 10 am on Saturday morning, they were stranded for almost 24 hours.

“So, what are we gonna do all day, Captain?” Porthos asked. Like the other Musketeers, he used Treville’s military rank. Next to him, Porthos’ fellow agents had varying expressions of curiosity or annoyance on their faces.

Treville shrugged. He’d actually budgeted for this, although he hadn’t let on to his subordinates. “I don’t know; what would you like to do?”

“Something that doesn’t cost money,” Aramis said glumly. They were all aware of the notorious stinginess of the NSA.

Porthos shrugged. “The pool’s free.”

Aramis just shook his head. “Florida has a temperate climate, but it is January and it’s an outdoor swimming pool. Did you notice the fog coming off the water this morning? You, my friend, are hardy enough to swim when it’s only 50 degrees, but I would prefer not to have certain body parts shrivel up from the cold.”

Damn. Aramis was right. Treville had entertained daydreams of lounging by the pool, enjoying the sun and maybe a good cigar, but it was a little nippy for that. No doubt it would warm up later in the day, but at the moment the pool was out.

Undaunted, Porthos had another suggestion, this time accompanied by waggling eyebrows. “Well, we could go find a bar and maybe find you someone that can sufficiently appreciate your unshriveled body parts.” He grinned slyly. “Or at least one unshriveled body part.”

“It’s ten in the morning,” Athos drawled. “That’s a little early for bar hopping – even for me.”

Treville was beginning to feel a little out of control. “Gentlemen, I know having a day off is a rarity, but surely you can think of a way to entertain yourselves.” He quickly realized his mistake and was hasty to clarify. “A way to entertain yourselves that does not involve the destruction of property or putting any civilians in danger, that is.”

There was one member of the group who’d been silent so far and Treville was not the only one who noticed. Athos turned to d’Artagnan. The young man had a pensive look on his face.

“What about you, d’Artagnan?” Athos asked him. “Is there anything to do in Orlando that appeals to you?”

d’Artagnan’s smile was barely a twitch of his lips and he shook his head. “Not really, no.”

Athos’ gaze sharpened. “I think otherwise.”

“Really, d’Artagnan,” Aramis chastised him playfully. “You should know better by now than to try and lie to us.”

“Spill,” Porthos demanded. “Now.”

“It’s silly,” d’Artagnan blushed and looked away from the group. Clearly the young man was trying to deflect his brothers, but unfortunately his tactics were only serving to prick their curiosity – and their concern. “Stupid, even.”

Porthos snorted. “You weren’t with us when Aramis talked Athos and me into getting a mud treatment at that spa in New York. You want to talk about stupid? That was about as stupid as it comes.”

“Not one of my better ideas,” Aramis readily admitted. “But I didn’t know that the mud would cling so ferociously to facial hair. Really, gentlemen, I’ve apologized several times already.”

“It weren’t the way it stuck to the hair on my face that bothered me,” Porthos griped. “If you remember, it was an all-over treatment.”

“Yes, but your skin was smooth as a baby’s bottom for weeks afterwards,” Aramis reminded him. “Your girlfriend even thanked me.”

“Be that as it may,” Athos quickly interjected, flicking a concerned gaze at Treville. Clearly, the story was not meant for their supervising agent to hear and for that Treville was grateful. Even the little he’d already heard was enough to generate disturbing mental pictures. “As you can see, d’Artagnan, whatever your idea is, it will not be the most unfortunate that we have ever contemplated.”

“Out with it, boy,” Porthos growled.

D’Artagnan sighed deeply, but wouldn’t look at any of them when he finally answered. “I’ve never been to Disney World.”

It was said in such a wistful tone of voice that Treville did not laugh, although that had been his first instinct.

“Disney World?” Treville asked instead. “As in Mickey Mouse?”

The young man shrugged. “We were all set to go, when I was a boy, but then a week before the trip, my mother’s test results came back. She went into the hospital for treatment and never came out. It didn’t seem so important after that.”

There was a moment of thoughtful silence. It was a sad story, for certain, but Treville knew his men. A theme park was no place for the NSA’s most dangerous and deadly team. Even Athos wouldn’t give in to such an absurd, if heartfelt, suggestion.

“Disney World is full of small children and tourists,” Athos said slowly and then he did something terrible. He smiled. “I can’t imagine any place I would rather go.”

“Princesses!” Aramis crowed. “Splendid idea, d’Artagnan.”

“Pirates,” Porthos’ grin could only be called wicked. “I’m in.”

D’Artagnan lit up with one of those wide grins that changed the entire shape of his face. “Really?”

“Really,” Athos assured him and then the bastard gave Treville a bland look. “That is, of course, if our esteemed leader agrees. Treville?”

The four men looked at Treville, d’Artagnan with a big-eyed look of entreaty and the other three with something that bordered on being a challenge. Treville had been an NSA agent for years and, before that, a Navy SEAL. He’d been in combat and all other sorts of tight situations, so he knew when it was appropriate to take risks and, more importantly, when it was ill-advised.

“Disney World, it is.” Treville answered, smiling although he was cringing inside.

It wasn’t quite that simple, of course. Since they’d been giving a presentation, all five of them had dressed accordingly. They went back to their rooms and changed clothes, agreeing to meet at the hotel’s casual dining area for lunch before they headed to the parks. Hotel food was expensive, but Treville had a feeling that food at the theme park would be astronomically expensive. He’d budgeted for a treat, but there was no reason to simply throw money away.

Treville arrived first and while he was waiting, his phone buzzed for an incoming text. Expecting to see a message from one of the Musketeers explaining why they were late, he was mildly surprised to see it was from Constance. Their long-suffering administrative assistant had remained back at the office.

**R U really taking them to Disney World?**

Grimacing, Treville texted back an answer. **Yes**

He got a response almost immediately. Constance must have been waiting by her phone.

**R U crazy?!**

Far from offending him, the question made Treville chuckle. **Yes**

There was a longer pause, followed by two texts from Constance, one right after the other.

**Lots of pix**

**Or don’t bother to come back**

There was only one way Treville could answer that. **Yes, ma’am**

The brief exchanged lifted Treville’s mood. The Disney World visit would be challenging in its own way, but also likely to provide blackmail fodder for years to come.

“Looks like d’Artagnan’s not the only one eager to visit Mickey,” Porthos’ gruff voice interrupted Treville’s pleasant scheming. “If that smile’s anything to go by.”

Treville put away his phone. “Anything that makes my men happy, makes me happy.”

Porthos didn’t look like he was buying it, but didn’t protest either. The big man was wearing black jeans, a white Henley-style knit shirt with short sleeves, and a black leather vest. Since Porthos was rarely without at least one leather garment, it was about par for the course for him. He also had one of his bandanas tied over his head, protecting it from the Florida sun. Next to Porthos, Aramis was also wearing jeans and a red shirt. His ever-present fedora was perched on his head. They looked a little overdressed compared to the tourists at their hotel, but Treville couldn’t say anything. He was dressed in khakis and a polo shirt.

“Where are the other two?” Treville asked, realizing that they were missing some members of the team.

“I think Athos was trying to persuade d’Artagnan not to wear shorts,” Aramis answered. He nodded towards the entrance. “With the expected amount of success.”

Athos and d’Artagnan were walking over to join them and the younger man was indeed wearing short pants, although they were the baggy type and came almost to his knees.

Porthos chuckled. “Never seen anyone out-stubborn Athos before.”

“It’s good for him,” Aramis claimed, with a glint in his eye.

“I’ll tell him you said that,” Treville offered blandly.

Aramis blanched. “I don’t believe that’s necessary, sir.”

“What’s not necessary?” Athos demanded. His losing battle with their youngest had obviously put a damper on his mood. d’Artagnan, on the other hand, almost bounced with happiness.

“Those leashes you sometimes see parents use with toddlers,” Treville answered after a pause. It wouldn’t do to let Aramis off the hook too easily. “Aramis assures me that none will be needed today.”

Athos raised one eyebrow. “I think we can manage not to get lost.”

“I found a phone app,” d’Artagnan informed them. “It tells you how long the lines are and everything.”

It hadn’t even occurred to Treville that the park might be busy. “Wonderful.”

Lunch was hurried affair, with the three older musketeers catching some of d’Artagnan’s enthusiasm. They wolfed down their food and made their way out to the rental SUV. Treville immediately went to the driver’s position. Much to the other men’s frustration, he was the only driver listed on the rental agreement. Treville ignored their muttered complaints. The best way to keep his men from becoming involved in vehicular mayhem was to make sure they didn’t get behind the wheel in the first place.

Treville put the key in the ignition, but immediately realized they had a problem. “Where are we going?”

What he meant, of course, was which park. Disney World couldn’t be just one park; it was four.

“The Magic Kingdom’s open the latest,” d’Artagnan told them after checking his new app. “We can stay until midnight.”

“Is that the one w’the castle?” Porthos asked. “And the pirate ride?”

“Yeah,” d’Artagnan answered, smiling at his friend.

“Then that’s the one we’re going to,” Porthos said decisively.

Aramis nodded his agreement. “We’ll get our money’s worth that way.”

“It’s actually the government’s money,” Athos commented.

“And I will thank you to remember that the next time you decide it’s a good idea to drive a armored truck through a plate glass window,” Treville primly reminded him.

He was rewarded with Athos Glare #7, which was reserved for superior officers. Treville still didn’t know how the other man was able to convey a feeling of distain in that glare while still managing to look respectful of Treville’s rank. Athos was a talented man.

Finding the Magic Kingdom was not a problem, there were brightly covered signs all over the place. On the other hand, finding their SUV afterwards might be an issue, as there were thousands of vehicles. There was also a tram that would take them to the park entrance, but one look at Athos’ face and even d’Artagnan didn’t have the nerve to expect him to ride the brightly decorated conveyance.

At the gate, the younger men held back while Treville approached the window to purchase the tickets.

“How many in your party?” The young woman behind the glass had a bright voice and wide smile that would have been the envy of beauty pageant coaches the world over.

For a moment, Treville was tempted to just pay the entry for four, but he knew that Athos and the others would simply buy Treville’s ticket out of their own pocket. Sighing deeply, he gave himself over to a day of torture in the happiest place on earth. “Five, please.”

“And how many children?”

Treville looked back at his men, who apparently were in the process of teasing d’Artagnan about wearing short pants. Or, Aramis and Porthos were, from the way they were gesturing at d’Artagnan’s legs. Athos was pointing at d’Artagnan’s head, no doubt giving the younger man grief about wearing his baseball cap backwards. It was a particular peeve of Athos’ and Treville had come to the conclusion that d’Artagnan did it mostly to irritate his mentor.

“Sir?” The ticket seller didn’t sound irritated. Instead, she sounded almost apologetic for bringing Treville’s attention back to the task at hand. “How many children in the party?”

“Physically or mentally?” Treville asked, smirking a little at his own joke.

“The ticket price reflects their physical age, but Disney World has a commitment to making our guests’ visits as enjoyable as possible, no matter their individual circumstances.”

And then the ticket seller launched into a long explanation of the accommodations that Treville could request for any members of his party that might need them. By the time it was over, Treville heartily regretted his joke.

“Yes, thank you,” Treville said when she was finished. In the wake of her cheerfulness, he tried to sound sincere. “Just five adults, please.”

When he got back to his men, Treville was pleased to note that they’d managed to amuse themselves totally at d’Artagnan’s expense and had left the other park attendees alone. Athos looked at the sea of children, mostly possessing sticky fingers and/or screeching voices, with something akin to horror. Treville felt no pity. If the man was having second thoughts about backing d’Artagnan’s idea, then he’d just have to live with it. As far as Treville was concerned, Athos should have had first thoughts and nixed the whole idea. Since he hadn’t, Athos would just have to live with the consequences. Unfortunately, that also meant that the whole group, including Treville, would too.

Damn it all.

“What took so long?” Porthos asked.

“You don’t want to know,” Treville replied. Before Porthos could protest, he turned to d’Artagnan. “Lead on.”

Park attendees had to go through security before they could enter the front gate. Those with bags had to wait for them to be searched. The three NSA agents stood and watched for a moment.

“They call that a search?” Porthos scoffed. “Louis could do a better than that and he’s pretty much useless.”

“There’s hardly a need for a full body cavity search,” Athos replied dryly. He nodded at the swarms of children present. “Attempting such would get you arrested – and rightfully so.”

Since they didn’t have any bags, the five men sauntered through the special security line. Treville had a bad moment when he realized that he hadn’t told his men to leave their weapons behind, but he relaxed when it became clear that even the Musketeers didn’t feel it was necessary to come armed to Disney World.

Once inside, they ambled through the tunnel underneath the train tracks and then they were fully in the Magic Kingdom. All five of them stopped and gazed at the castle.

“We’re really here,” d’Artagnan stated in a voice full of awe.

Porthos looked just as gob smacked. “It’s like being dropped into the middle of a fairy tale.”

“Or a day care center,” Athos eyed the families around them suspiciously. “Or perhaps a modified Roman chariot race with baby strollers instead of horses.”

“Look at all the princesses,” Aramis’ eyes were almost glazed, but his gaze wasn’t on the little girls in their pastel princess dresses. No, he was eyeing their mothers.

My god, what had Treville been thinking? It was like letting a hungry shark loose in a fish farm.

To his surprise, Treville didn’t need to rein Aramis in, Porthos took care of it for him.

“Look here, you.” Porthos’ expression was at once both fond and stern. “This ain’t no MILF convention. Behave yourself – be good.”

Aramis seemed to shake himself, but then turned his face to Porthos, all but glowing with innocence. “Oh, but Porthos, I’m always good.”

Athos shook his head in exasperation. “Is that our definition of good or yours?”

The innocence that Aramis had been exuding quickly turned to something else as his smile grew sly. “I think that would be the individual princess’ definition.” He turned thoughtful. “Or perhaps princesses; we are here until midnight, after all.”

“Just remember, anything you do here will be judged by a higher authority,” Treville reminded him.

Aramis frowned. “And by that you mean. . . .?”

Treville’s smile was not pleasant. “Constance.”

Although Treville was their boss, Constance was the one more likely to keep the ‘boys’ in check with regards to their behavior towards the fairer sex. She’d be doubly hard on Aramis too, since she knew full well that he’d made romantic overtures towards Ann, who was not only Constance’s best friend and recent roommate, but was soon to be Louis’ ex-wife.

Sometimes Treville wondered if he were a senior supervisory agent at the NSA or high school principal.

“D’Artagnan, this was your idea,” Athos interrupted Treville and Aramis’ conversation. “Does it meet your expectations?”

As one, the four men turned towards their youngest member. The expression on d’Artagnan’s face was one full of wonder and his smile was wide and bright. He was the only one who hadn’t participated in the conversation about Aramis and his women and from the way his eyes shined, Treville doubted he’d even been aware of it. Seeing the young man’s happiness almost made Treville feel guilty about his grumpiness.

“It’s wonderful,” d’Artagnan exclaimed in a hoarse whisper full of awe. “It’s almost like a different world- wait, is that popcorn I smell?”

Nose twitching, d’Artagnan turned towards a nearby popcorn stand. Treville could have sworn when the young man turned back towards him that d’Artagnan’s eyes had grown at least two sizes. “Can we get some popcorn?”

“You just had lunch!” Treville protested.

“There’s always room for popcorn,” Athos was quick to his young friend’s defense. Then the bastard showed how truly skilled he was a strategist, because he added a phrase that was no doubt coldly calculated to manipulate Treville to the fullest. “I can always pay for it if your budget is strained.”

“I can pay for the popcorn,” Treville refused to give Athos the satisfaction of showing his irritation. “What size do you want, d’Artagnan?”

D’Artagnan looked at Treville as though Treville were asking a stupid question. “Large, so we can all share.”

“You take care of the snack,” Aramis grabbed Porthos by the arm and started dragging him towards a shop. “I see something in here of interest.”

Treville looked at the store’s name. His French was a little rusty, but he was pretty sure that “chapeau” meant hat in French. He shrugged; if Aramis wanted a souvenir, then it would be out of his own pocket.

It took longer than Treville would have liked to secure the purchase of popcorn. There wasn’t a long line, but the man ahead of them simply could not get his children to choose what they wanted. Finally, however, Treville paid far too much for their own popcorn and handed it off to d’Artagnan. After, of course, Treville snagged a kernel or two for himself. Just to make sure that what he paid for was acceptable, of course.

By the time they were done, Aramis and Porthos had emerged from the shop. Aramis had something hidden behind his back, but there was nothing at all concealed by the grin on both men’s faces.

Athos’ eyes narrowed in suspicion. “What have the two of you been up to?”

“Since this excursion was d’Artagnan’s idea and, since he’s been wanting to come here since he was a boy,” Aramis explained. “We thought it only fitting that he have something to remember this momentous event.”

With seamless teamwork, Porthos stepped forward and swept the baseball cap off d’Artagnan’s head just in time for Aramis to plop a set of mouse ears on top of the young man’s head. D’Artagnan grinned, but didn’t stop eating his popcorn.

“Thanks, guys!”

“We wanted to get your name embroidered on the back, but they wouldn’t let us.” Porthos explained.

“Was ‘d’Artagnan’ too long to fit?” Athos asked.

Porthos’ grin was wicked. “Nah, they said that ‘Pup’ or ‘Puppy’ weren’t appropriate.”

“It’s the thought that counts,” d’Artagnan assured them, although he didn’t look upset at having his nickname left off the hat.

“Here, let me snap a photo for Constance,” Treville got out his phone, but a hand on his arm stopped him from snapping a picture.

“Wait, we should get him one of those balloons first,” Aramis suggested, pointing towards where a young man looked to be about blown away by the truly impressive cloud of helium-filled balloons he was holding.

“No, don’t waste your money,” d’Artagnan protested, but his next words showed that he wasn’t at all offended at the suggestion. “I wouldn’t be able to take it on any rides anyway.”

Treville got to take the picture for Constance, without a single protest from d’Artagnan. Truthfully, dressed in shorts, holding a popcorn bucket, the mousears on his head and a bright grin on his face, d’Artagnan looked all six years old, for all that he was over six feet tall. Treville hit the send button with a sense of immense satisfaction. There was an almost immediate response.

“Apparently you are something called ‘Totes adorbs,’ whatever the hell that is,” Treville told d’Artagnan.

“You sent the picture to Constance?” d’Artagnan asked and when Treville nodded, he relaxed. “That means she thinks I’m cute.” He didn’t seem at all put out by the designation. Had Treville been d’Artagnan’s age and a woman as lovely and as impressive as Constance considered him cute, Treville figured he’d likely have the same reaction.

“Hey Porthos, give my hat to Athos,” d’Artagnan said as he started off down the ‘street. The rest of the men followed.

“Why? If you are under the impression that I’m carrying the blasted thing for you, you are much mistaken.” Athos asked and Treville filed the comment away for future contemplation. Contrary to popular belief, apparently there were things that Athos would not do for d’Artagnan.

D’artagnan handed the popcorn to Porthos and took the hat from him before he plopped it on Athos’ head. “You’re not carrying it, you’re wearing it.”

“The hell I am,” Athos fired back, whipping the hat off his head and running a hand through his hair to smooth it.

Unlike the others, Athos was dressed in a lightweight sweater and, from the looks of it, the garment probably cost more than what the combined value of what all four of the others were wearing was. It wasn’t flashy, though. It was a plain blue sweater paired with blue jeans, and finished off with very sedate deck shoes. Athos would never stoop so low as to wear something like sneakers.

D’Artagnan’s hat, on the other hand, was anything but subtle. It was white and blazoned with the logo of his favorite soccer club. Unfortunately for Athos, the logo was designed in vibrant colors of red, yellow and orange.

Expression set with a stubbornness that Treville had often seen, and cursed, on Athos’ face, d’Artagnan took the hat from Athos and once again perched it on the top of the older man’s head.

“You will wear it because if you don’t, your ears will sunburn,” d’Artagnan stated firmly. “Aramis, Porthos and me, we’re not bothered by the sun, but we’ve all got something on our heads.You’re either red or you’re white; nothing in between. It’s Florida, so you’re wearing a hat. End of story.”

“Treville burns too,” Athos muttered – but he left the hat on.

“Sorry old man, but I’ve got one of my own,” Treville adjusted his sedate black cap on top of his head. “Looks like the hat is all yours.”

Athos scowled at d’Artagnan with Athos Glare #17, one of the newest to the repertoire and one that was reserved only for d’Artagnan. It was equal parts irritation, fondness and patience and it always tapered off to mere fond exasperation at the end.

Treville noted with interest, however, that despite the glare, Athos kept the hat on his head. Porthos was indeed right, d’Artagnan could out-stubborn Athos and, even though he was the youngest, he had a protective streak as wide as his mentor’s too. Both were good things to know.

“Where are we headed?” Aramis asked, deftly changing the subject even though he was clearly amused by the whole hat issue.

“Let’s start with Adventureland,” d’Artagnan suggested. “That way we get to Porthos’ pirate ride a lot earlier.”

Athos shrugged. “One direction is as good as another to me.”

The area they first walked through looked like a small town that may have existed a century earlier; as far from adventure as it was possible to be. In fact, it seemed devoted to shops. D’artagnan led them through it and Treville was relieved that his men showed no further inclination to browse through the many stores. All of them were busy taking in the sights and grabbing the occasional handful of popcorn, which was again in d’Artagnan’s hands. By the time they went over the small bridge, the popcorn was gone and they were all ready to do something besides observing.

“There it is,” d’Artagnan crowed. “The Tiki Room.”

Porthos scowled. “The what room?”

“The Tiki Room,” d’Artagnan repeated. “It’s got some of the original animatronics in it. They’re birds.”

“Walt Disney World has a ride that features birds?” Athos said slowly, as though he was trying to work out a confusing puzzle.

D’Artagnan rolled his eyes. “It’s an attraction not a ride.” He got behind Athos and made a show of pushing him towards the attraction’s door. “It’s historic and you like museums, Athos, I know you do.”

Treville looked around at the Polynesian-style hut that d’Artagnan was resolutely leading them to. “It doesn’t look like a museum.”

“You’ll love it,” d’Artagnan promised. “It’s fitting that the first attraction we visit is one of the first Disney created.”

It was the first and very nearly the last attraction that the group visited. All five of them, even d’Artagnan, were speechless when they exited after it was over.

“Well, that’s ten minutes I’ll never get back again,” Treville stated when they were all blinking in the bright Florida sunshine. The Tiki Room had been dark.

“It had a catchy tune, you have to admit,” Aramis hummed a little bit of it and Treville very nearly took off his hat and swatted the sharpshooter with it. That damn song would be stuck in his head the entire day.

Athos turned to Aramis in horrified disbelief. “The totem poles sang.”

Aramis looked down his nose at his friend. “Technically, they chanted.”

“Nothin’s perfect when it gets started, right?” Porthos came between the two friends, wrapping an arm around each of them. “And Disney’s had a lot of time to improve since that thing was built.”

Treville observed the big man lean down and whisper something in Athos’ ear. From the guilty look Athos shot d’Artagnan’s way, Treville guessed that Porthos was reminding him why they were there.

“Come, d’Artagnan, what’s next?” Athos gamely asked their unofficial guide.

D’Artagnan consulted his phone. “Well, we’ve got the Jungle Cruise right over there and down the way is the pirate ride that Porthos is excited- . . . .” He was distracted by an attractive young woman walking by him, but when d’Artagnan spoke, the reason for the young man’s distraction was not at all what Treville expected. “Pineapple ice cream. Athos, they have pineapple soft serve ice cream!”

“That does look good,” Aramis’ gaze followed the young woman, but Treville wasn’t 100% convinced that the sharpshooter’s interest derived from the same reason as d’Artagnan’s.

“You just had popcorn, not an hour after you finished a big lunch,” Treville protested even as he followed his men towards the ice cream booth. “I can’t believe you want ice cream too.”

“It’s not ice cream,” d’Artagnan pointed to the sign. “It’s Dole Whip.”

Athos reached for his wallet again. “I would be happy to - . . . .”

“No,” Treville pinched the bridge of his nose. “I suppose you all want one.”

He got four nods in reply and d’Artagnan ordered for the group. The young man had generously ordered for five, just blinking innocently at Treville when his superior protested.

“There’s always room for Dole Whip,” d’Artagnan solemnly told him as he handed Treville a plastic cup.

Since the boy had already ordered it and Treville had paid, there was no use to protest any more. Treville took the ice cream from d’Artagnan and took his first bite with the stoicism of a former soldier who couldn’t stomach the idea of throwing away food. Once the first taste sensation hit Treville’s tongue, however, he changed his attitude. Dole Whip, as it turned out, was divine; certainly deserving the use of its proper name. Creamy pineapple, who knew? He ate with far more enthusiasm, until the pain of an ice cream headache hit. Treville glanced around surreptitiously. From his subordinates’ silence and the way they rubbed their foreheads, he could see that he wasn’t the only one that had let his enthusiasm overtake his common sense – but not a single one of them complained, not even Athos.

Even with all of the slowing down thanks to the pain, their Dole Whip was quickly consumed and the plastic cups discarded in the trash.

“That was good stuff, d’Artagnan,” Porthos clapped the younger man on the back. D’Artagnan stumbled, but just grinned up at his friend. “What next?”

“We still have the choice between the jungle attraction or the pirate one,” d’Artagnan told him.

“Can’t we do both?” Aramis asked and Treville snorted. Aramis was not known for denying himself pleasure. “Lead on, McDuff.”

D’Artagnan bit his lip while he thought, but soon offered a suggestion. “Let’s do the jungle one first and then the pirates.” He gave the others a worried look. “The Jungle Cruise is another one of the original attractions, so it might be a little . . . dated. But it’s still considered a classic!”

Aramis wrapped an arm around the younger man’s shoulders as they started walking towards their chosen target. “Some of my favorite things are classics… the line of a ’69 Corvette, the novel Lady Chatterley’s Lover, Marilyn Monroe. . . .”

“There are classics that have nothing to do with sex or sex appeal, Aramis,” Athos said dryly as they approached the Jungle Cruise.

“I know,” Aramis waved off Athos’ words with careless cheer and a cheeky grin. “And we’re about to experience one.

Unlike the Tikki birds, there was a line at the Jungle Cruise. The younger men kept themselves entertained teasing d’Artagnan about the texts he was exchanging with Constance and Aramis even went so far as to take more pictures and send them to her. Treville endured well enough, although the site gags on the props that decorated the queue area weren’t very promising. Still, the Jungle Cruise didn’t appear to have any theme music associated with it and with the Tikki song still ringing in his head, Treville decided that fact alone meant that it would be more enjoyable than their first foray onto a Disney attraction.

He was wrong.

The Jungle Cruise was indeed dated and Treville could not figure out why Disney was so revered when the robotic animals were so un-lifelike. The boats were obviously on a track, which unfortunately gave the skippers far too much time to make bad jokes. The only thing remotely funny about the whole attraction happened at the end. There was a bottleneck and they had to wait their turn to disembark from the boat. Two very real ducks swimming in the water next to their vessel chose to mate right there where they had a captive audience. Several of the parents went to great lengths to distract their children from the sight and Treville heard one mother say “Oh, Donald!” in a very disappointed tone.

It was no easy trick for men of their size to get off the boat, but luckily they were all athletic and managed. Ever the gentlemen, Athos and Aramis even helped a few of the ladies, offering a stabilizing hand to those having difficulty. Treville was amused to see that Aramis invariably chose younger women to assist and left Athos with the women that were more mature.

Athos was unfailingly polite to those he helped, but the friends who knew him well could see the irritation in his expression. The park crew tried to intervene, offering to help the ladies themselves, but Athos simply gave them a withering look. Treville had a feeling, though, that Athos’ annoyance had nothing to do with the process of disembarking from the boats and as soon as they walked away, Athos proved him right.

“Whoever wrote the humor for that abomination should be shot,” Athos said in a quiet, deadly voice that was as sharp as a shiny new razor.

“Aw, the kids liked it,” Porthos drawled, wrapping an arm around Athos’ shoulders. “And most of the adults smiled even when they groaned.”

Aramis joined in. “I found our skipper to be downright delightful.”

Athos snorted, but his scowl was definitely lightening. “I think that had more to do with the short pants of her costume than in her puns.”

“We each have our preferences, my friend,” Aramis wasn’t at all offended by Athos’ comment.

Treville shot a quick look d’Artagnan’s way, wondering if Athos’ attitude was dulling the younger man’s enjoyment, but d’Artagnan wasn’t even paying attention. Instead, he was focused on the next Disney experience. “Look, Porthos, there’s your pirate ride.”

“Arrr, mateys, thar she blows!” Porthos mixed his pirate and Moby Dick talk, but no one dared to correct him on it. “”What we be waitin’ fer?”

Athos rolled his eyes, but Aramis and d’Artagnan laughed. Porthos wrapped an arm around each man’s shoulders and led the way into the building. Treville and Athos followed along, Athos’ with a slight upward twist of his lips that showed that he was pleased at the others’ enthusiasm, even if he didn’t necessarily share it.

The wait area was built like underground tunnels and offered glimpses into dungeons and the like. The somewhat dismal view was at odds with the music that wafted through the space. After an amicable enough wait, Treville and the Musketeers were being asked how many in their party. Upon being told that there were five of them, the cast member directing guests eyed them warily.

“Would you mind being split into two groups?” He asked.

Porthos shrugged. He might be dressed vaguely like a pirate, but was too practical to act like one under the circumstances. The boats weren’t terribly huge and, with the exception of d’Artagnan, they were muscular men. Splitting them up was more than reasonable. “Don’t mind at all.”

They ended up putting Aramis and Porthos in one row and the others in the row behind them. Families with children were in the surrounding rows and Treville tried not to flinch at the kids’ excited, sharp voices. The sound seemed to bounce off the walls and grow even as it ricocheted.

Once the boat entered the tunnel and the ride got truly started, Treville finally got a taste of why Disney was so renowned for its theme parks. After their boat took a short plunge, they were in the middle of a pirate raid. The water battle was impressive enough for adults, but didn’t seem to frighten the children. The scenes of the town being looted by pirates were funny, although that might have been how easy it was to imagine Aramis as one of the pirates getting chased. Unlike the Jungle Cruise, the audio-animatronics had character and a sense of realness that was incredible.

And, of course, it featured another song that was doing its best to worm its way through Treville’s brain. At least a pirate song was manlier than the one about tiki birds.

Treville was almost sorry when the ride finished. Porthos turned around while their boat was waiting to unload and gave them a big thumb’s up. There was no doubt what he’d thought of the experience. The ride had taken them below ground level and so when they got off, they and the other guests, had to go up again. Disney accomplished that with a moving walkway. With the eye for detail that Treville was beginning to appreciate, there were footprints painted on the walkway and some of them were left by someone with a peg leg. It was a more subtle humor that Treville thought was more successful than what had been used in the jungle ride.

The exit emptied them directly into a souvenir shop that had, appropriately enough, a pirate theme. The children, who had been quiet while enraptured with the pirate ride, erupted again in the store. It was a cacophony of sound, much of which was comprised of kids begging their parents to buy them something.

“Genius,” Athos had a horrified yet impressed look on his face. “Diabolical, but genius.”

“Disney don’t miss a trick, that’s for sure,” Porthos looked around in admiration. “I never knew there was so much pirate stuff.”

“Are you a pirate?”

Like the others, Treville looked around to find the source of the piping voice and only belatedly looked down. It was a little girl who’d asked the question. Treville was no expert on kids, but she looked three or four to him. Blonde hair was pulled into pigtails that stuck out either side of a pirate hat. On top of the hat was a tiara and the girl was dressed in a black and white striped t-shirt and jeans. She also had a black vest over the shirt and a pink tutu with sparkles was worn over the pants. A black felt eye patch, also with sparkls, hid part of the girl’s face, but from what Treville could see, she was wearing a determined expression.

Porthos chuckled, clearly charmed by her attitude. “Aye. I be Porthos “Salty Dog” Vallon, Buccaneer of Musket Bay.”

“I’m Princess Mindy, I’m a pirate too.” The girl pulled her arm out from behind her and Treville realized that she was holding a sword. Unlike the ones the store was selling, it didn’t appear to be plastic. In fact, it looked to be made of solid wood. “Yo ho!”

And then she hit Porthos on the shin as hard as she could. Treville winced as he heard the meaty thump as the sword hit Porthos’ leg. Though Mindy was small, she had a good swing and a ruthlessness that took agents years to cultivate.

“Oi!” Porthos yelped and grabbed his wounded leg, hopping on one foot as he hoisted it in the air.

“Dance, Pirate!” The little girl laughed, delighted with her work. “Do you surrender?”

“Why you little s-. . . .”

Athos cleared his throat, loudly, and Porthos amended what he was going to say.

“Sweetheart,” Porthos finished his revised sentence through gritted teeth.

“That’s quite an arm she’s got.” D’Artagnan looked at Mindy with something like respect. “She’s natural, just like Constance.”

Aramis put a hand under Porthos’ elbow, steadying him. “Do you think you’ll live?”

“We could always rent him a wheelchair or one of those scooters,” Athos added dryly.

Treville didn’t say anything; he was too busy sending the picture of Porthos, hopping on one foot in front of his diminutive attacker, to Constance.

A harried-looking woman came out of the crowd, three more children in tow. “Mindy! You apologize right now!”

Mindy stomped her little foot. “But I vanquished him, Mama!”

Apparently giving up on her daughter obeying her, the mother looked at Porthos sheepishly. “Sorry about that,

Porthos’ face was flushed with the need to contain his swearing, so Aramis answered for him.

“Think nothing of it,” Aramis took off his hat and bowed to Mindy. “All hail, Pirate Princess Mindy, vanquisher of Porthos “Salty Dog” Vallon and savior of this marketplace.”

Mindy giggled.

“Don’t encourage her.” Far from being grateful at the gracious reaction, the woman glared at Aramis. “It won’t be so funny later on when she decides to vanquish her little brother.”

Athos had enough of his brothers being attacked, either physically or verbally. “Then perhaps it would be wise not to arm her with such a sturdy weapon. Foam or plastic would do a lot less damage.”

The woman glared at him. “Everyone’s a critic. Come on, Mindy, let’s go.”

The mother grabbed her daughter and flounced off as well as she could manage, herding four children in front of her. Mindy turned around and waved at them before her mother hustled her off.

“Well, that was fun,” Aramis grinned brightly at no one in particular.

One of the Disney store employees approached. “Sir, are you all right? It looked like she really whacked you one. There is a first aide station if you need it.”

“I’m fine, thanks.” Porthos gave her a pained smile, but it changed to a glower directed at his friends as she walked away. “At least someone around here was worried about me. More than you lot, anyway.”

Aramis looked at him with feigned innocence. “What? We just have confidence in you, that’s all.”

Treville decided a change in topic was needed “What next?”

He really should have expected what happened next.

“Look,” d’Artagnan pointed. “They have hot pretzels shaped like Mickey Mouse.”

Sighing, Treville got out his wallet without trying to argue. He gave money to d’Artagnan, who promised to share.

“Does he have a hollow leg?” Treville asked the older agents.

Porthos looked at their newest member with obvious pride, his injured shin forgotten for a moment.. “I can drink anyone under the table, but that boy can eat out-eat anyone I’ve ever met.”

“He’s still growing,” Aramis defended d’Artagnan. “Not taller, but filling out.”

“And now you know why my expense reports always exceed our per diem,” Athos stated quietly.

“I’ll see if I can get your dining funds increased,” Treville promised.

When d’Artagnan came back, he insisted on sharing the pretzel, although Treville could see that Athos, at least, only took some only to please the young man.

They walked on, but their conversation was soon interrupted by loud screams. As one, five heads shot up, gazes instantly sharp and focused – only to realize that the screams came from those coming down the final hill of a log flume ride.

“Wow,” d’Artagnan exclaimed. “Can we - . . .?”

“No!”

The answer came from all four of the others and d’Artagnan stepped back, startled by their vehemence.

“It’s too cold,” Aramis stated firmly. “Especially since you’re wearing shorts.”

The temperature had risen as the day went on and was, in fact, in the low 60s and sunny too, but Treville heartily approved of Aramis’ reasoning. He might have been persuaded to come to Disney World, but he’d be damned if he’d walk around the place soaking wet.

“Isn’t that a roller coaster over there?” Athos asked. Treville wasn’t sure if the enthusiasm on the man’s face was sincere or if Athos was just concerned that they’d dimmed d’Artagnan’s enthusiasm. If it was the latter, Athos shouldn’t have worried.

After checking with his app, d’Artagnan’s face lit up. “Yeah, that’s Big Thunder Mountain and you’re right, it’s a roller coaster.” He looked around the group. “Everybody in?”

There was significantly more enthusiasm as the other agreed to this ride and started making their way to it. A roller coaster was a true classic and even if the ride operators told bad jokes, hopefully the coaster would be moving too fast for them to register.

Porthos stopped everyone just shy of entering the queue. “Wait a minute, fellas. Athos, c’mere a minute, we gotta check something.”

Athos approached slowly, one eyebrow raised with obvious suspicion. “Yes?

“You gotta be 48 inches tall to ride this one,” Porthos grinned widely as he pointed to the sign. It conveniently had a measure for just how tall 48 inches was. “We better make sure that you qualify.”

Aramis chuckled and d’Artagnan looked down quickly, loyal to Athos but still struggling not to laugh. The older Musketeer was the shortest of the group and tended to be a little sensitive about it. Athos was normally so unflappable that concern about height was uncharacteristic for him, which of course meant that the others loved teasing him about it. Well, Aramis and Porthos did; d’Artagnan usually refrained.

“Very funny,” Athos leveled Athos Glare #3 at his friends. It was the glare that showed that he loved his brothers dearly, but that fact wouldn’t keep him from killing them. Slowly and with great pleasure. “Now if you gentlemen are done making jokes at a brother’s expense, we have a roller coaster to ride.”

Athos stalked into the queue and the others followed, Porthos and Aramis giggling like teenagers. Treville shook his head at their antics, but also made sure that he was the last of their group to enter. That way, he could let himself grin widely without any of the others catching him. The look on Athos’ face had been priceless.

The line wasn’t too long and soon their group was boarding. They made Porthos sit by himself, which left Treville to sit with Aramis, since it was a given that d’Artagnan would be paired with Athos. Thankfully their youngest was still of an age to be limber, because it took some doing for d’Artagnan to fold his long legs into ride car. Treville noticed that the young man was careful to safely stow his mouse ears so that they wouldn’t blow away.

Soon enough, they were off.

Treville had ridden a roller coaster in years. Decades, even. It was just as thrilling as he remembered, although perhaps a bit jerkier. Or maybe it was just that Treville was older and his body not quite as flexible as it used to be. Either way, he was surreptitiously rubbing at his neck as they disembarked. The entire group looked at Athos, by now expecting a withering comment about what they’d just ridden on.

“That was far louder than any roller coaster has a right to be,” Athos said.

Treville bit back a smile. That was relatively mild, coming from Athos. The other man must have liked it more than he was willing to admit.

“Was my kind of ride,” Porthos rubbed his hands together with glee. “Reminds me of the car chase we had in Istanbul. Remember that, Aramis?”

“Istanbul wasn’t that bad,” Aramis huffed. He’d been behind the wheel for that one. Treville remembered too, since he’d been the one to authorize the checks to the dozens of civilians who’d needed to be reimbursed for the damage his agents had caused.

“Big Thunder wasn’t anything like Istanbul,” d’Artagnan disputed Porthos’ claim. “It didn’t even go airborne and Aramis managed to get that car some serious air time.”

“You will not hear me complain about this train staying on the tracks,” Athos stated dryly. “Lead on d’Artagnan.

The five men walked through Frontierland, which seemed to be populated by an unusual number of sea gulls and other birds. They swooped and dove with abandon, to the delight of some and concern of others. As long as tourists fed the pests, Treville supposed that they would be hard to discourage.

One particularly loud shriek from a nearby woman caused d’Artagnan to grin and shoulder Athos. “I bet you’re glad I made you wear my hat now, aren’t you?”

The woman in question had been bombed by a bird and was frantically wiping at the mess the dirty bird had deposited on her shirt.

Athos watched the scene and shuddered. “Indeed I am.”

The group kept walking, for which Treville was grateful. Apparently d’Artagnan had missed the fact that there was a shooting gallery, but Treville hadn’t. He didn’t point it out, though, knowing that his men could get quite competitive and he did not want to referee them in public.

“Over there is the Liberty Square Riverboat,” d’Artagnan pointed out, but he didn’t get any further before Athos interrupted.

“No,” Athos said firmly. “I refuse to go on any more boats pretending to be floating free, but that are actually on tracks.”

“You just don’t want any more bad jokes,” Porthos teased. “Like with that jungle thing.”

“I’m not sure that those qualified as humor of any kind,” Athos replied dryly.

“Okay, no more boats,” d’Artagnan readily agreed. “The next closest attraction is the Hall of Presidents. It goes over the history of the country and has animatronics of every president.”

Aramis made a sound of distaste. “Sounds boring.”

Porthos readily agreed. “What else is there?”

“Wait a minute,” Treville protested. “We work for a government agency, that sounds like exactly the kind of thing we should take the time to see.” He stared down the unruly looks his comment caused. “I get to choose something once in a while too, don’t I?”

“Of course you do, sir,” Athos was the only one who didn’t look dismayed at the thought of viewing what sounded essentially like a history lesson. He looked pointedly as his companions. “Especially since you so kindly paid for this outing.”

“The Hall of Presidents!” Aramis did an about face and exclaimed in delight. “What a wonderful idea.”

The five men trooped over to attraction’s building, which looked appropriately colonial in design. There was a short wait before the show. Athos and Treville spent the time wondering around the central lobby, looking at the items displayed, while the other three stood and chatted. None of them wanted to sit, since there were other guests there that obviously needed the benches more. Although the temperature had climbed since they’d arrived, it still couldn’t be called hot. The day was sunny, however, and Treville enjoyed a respite from the brightness outside.

They didn’t have to wait long and since the park wasn’t that busy, there also wasn’t a rush to get inside. Treville was happy to see bona fide theater seating, complete with comfortable upholstered padding and enough space for an adult. When the presentation started Treville was fascinated with how lifelike the presidential figures appeared. He sat transfixed throughout the entire show and when it was over, felt like applauding. When he turned to his companions, however, he discovered that not all of them had been so enamored. Athos was still awake, but the other three appeared to be dozing.

Since the theater quickly emptied, they were soon the only ones present. Athos tilted his head towards his brothers and glanced at Treville, the look in his eyes unusually mischievous.

“I would consider it a favor,” Athos whispered quietly.

Treville grinned. He stood quietly and drew in a deep breath. “Musketeers, REPORT!”

The second word was uttered in a volume just short of a shout. The cast members at the door looked at Treville oddly, but he wasn’t interested in their opinion. Instead, he watched with vast amusement and satisfaction as Porthos, Aramis and d’Artagnan all leapt to their feet, and stood ramrod straight. They didn’t relax until the female cast members’ giggling clued them in that they’d been pranked.

“Very funny, sir,” Aramis’ smile was a little wan. “Glad to see that your sense of humor is as sharp as ever.”

“Come on, gentlemen, there’s no time to lag,” Athos wasn’t smiling, but he still managed to look vastly amused. “We have the rest of the park to explore.”

By the time they’d made it outside, Porthos and Aramis had shaken off any embarrassment at being caught napping, but d’Artagnan still looked sheepish. Athos walked beside the younger man, though, and briefly squeezed his shoulder. That was all it took for d’Artagnan’s happy grin to reappear. Treville sighed. Oh, to be that young again and that easily reassured.

“What’s next, Oh Mighty Professor of All Things Disney?” Aramis asked.

Treville would have thought that the teasing would have made d’Artagnan pleased, but instead the young man’s faced paled. “The next major attraction is the Haunted Mansion.”

The four agents known as the Musketeers were all brave men, the type that ran towards danger instead of away from it. Despite that, each did have their own Achilles heel. For Athos, it was fire. Treville didn’t know the details, only that it had something to do with the burning of Athos’ familial home. He respected the other man enough not to ask for anything more. Ever the opposite of Athos, for Aramis it was cold. Treville knew all too well the reasons behind Aramis’ personal terror. Savoy. Even only thinking of it briefly brought a temporary chill to the moist Florida air and Treville again vowed never again to lend Aramis to any other team, no matter how convincingly they begged for his sniper skills. For Porthos, his fear was being alone, no doubt from his mother dying when he was so young and being abandoned on the streets. All of the musketeers would die for one another, but for Porthos that tendency was to a dangerous extreme. Treville did not like to think of what might happen if one of the others were killed in the line of action.

For d’Artagnan, his trouble spot was ghosts. For a normally pragmatic young man, he had an unnerving belief in them. Treville only knew about it because d’Artagnan had balked at using an abandoned hotel for their base during an operation – a hotel that was rumored to be haunted. The young man’s reaction did not seem faked. Even if that alone didn’t convince Treville, the way the others offered nothing but genuine sympathy instead of teasing would have convinced him.

“Well, that’s no good,” Aramis waved off the attraction with a gesture. “What’s after that?”

“No,” d’Artagnan’s stubbornness made him protest. “There’s no need for us to miss it just because I’m a baby about ghosts.” He smiled, but it was a wan imitation of a true smile. “Besides, it had to be designed for kids; how bad could it be?”

Predictably, Athos was quick to reassure the younger man. “You’re not being a baby, you’ve just had different life experiences that have made you wary.”

“Yeah, if I’d seen what you had, I would’ve sh-. . . .” Porthos glared at Athos, who’d kicked his shin. The older Musketeer gestured to the small children around them. Porthos’ glare faded and he finished his sentence using a different word. “I would’ve messed my pants if I were you.”

“There’s no need for you to force yourself to go on the ride if it’s just going to make you miserable,” Aramis continued. “That’s contrary to the whole reason for visiting this place. I think I speak for all of us when I say I’d far rather skip it than cause you any discomfort.”

If the set of d’Artagnan’s jaw was anything to go by, that argument wasn’t even close to persuading the young man. When d’Artagnan spoke, Treville’s guess was proven true. “No. I’m not ruining your trip with my stupid superstitions.”

As the Musketeers protested Treville wondered about the reason behind d’Artagnan’s fear of ghosts. He had a vague memory of being told that it had something to do with d’Artagnan’s mother or grandmother, but clearly there was more to it than he’d previously thought. He’d have to ask Athos about it later. In the meantime, Treville had a situation to deal with and something another visitor walking by was carrying gave him just the perfect solution.

“Gentlemen, there is a third solution,” Treville interrupted the discussion. “I believe there is somewhere nearby that sells waffle sandwiches. I’m guessing that d’Artagnan could be convinced to try one while the rest of you enjoy the attraction.”

Athos’ face cleared and his relief was evident. “And you, sir?”

Treville clapped d’Artagnan on the shoulder. “Why, I must accompany d’Artagnan, to pay for the waffle.”

“Sir, I’m perfectly capable of getting a waffle by myself,” d’Artagnan protested. “You don’t need to miss out too.”

“Nonsense,” Treville’s voice was firm. “This is Walt Disney World, it’s best enjoyed with company.”

Treville’s solution settled things and, after agreeing on a meeting spot, the older three Musketeers soon strode off towards the Haunted Mansion. Athos leaned close as he walked by Treville and whispered “Well done, sir.”

The sign in front of the Haunted Mansion indicated that there would be a 40 minute wait, so Treville knew they had plenty of time. As d’Artagnan looked up the waffle shop on his phone, Treville tried to think of when he’d spent any alone time with the newest Musketeer and came up blank. Walt Disney World was hardly the place for a heart to heart talk, but he was glad of the opportunity to spend some quality time with his newest agent.

The waffle shop was very close to where the group had split and, as expected d’Artagnan was more than ready to have another snack. Other than what was necessary to get to their destination, there was no conversation.

“Do you want to split one, sir?” d’Artagnan asked as they approached the counter to order.

Treville hadn’t planned to indulge at all, but when he saw the golden brown waffles up close, oozing with chocolate hazelnut spread and practically drowning in fruit, he changed his mind.

“No,” he grinned at his companion. “I want my own.”

Deciding what they wanted and ordering broke the ice between the two men. Luckily, they managed to snag a table; Treville didn’t think he was capable of balancing his overfull plate on his lap, not when it was made of flimsy material.

Almost in simultaneously, the two men took their first bite, identical looks of rapture on their faces as they got a good taste. The twin expressions of ecstasy made d’Artagnan laugh.

“I will take this over a theme park ride any time,” d’Artagnan admitted. “I’ve never been so grateful for being afraid of ghosts. Let’s not tell the others what they’re missing, though.”

“Maybe we should,” Treville countered. “That way they’ll want to come get their own. . . .”

“And we can have another,” d’Artagnan finished for him. “You really are a great strategist, sir.”

Treville smiled at the praise. “So, d’Artagnan, now that you’ve been in the job for a year, how do you like it?”

He felt somewhat guilty for talking work in the middle of their downtime, but Treville didn’t often have d’Artagnan away from the others. He wanted to see what the young man was like when not surrounded by his mentors. To his pleasure, he found d’Artagnan both intelligent and insightful. No wonder the others championed d’Artagnan so strongly.

He was still going to have d’Artagnan tested for tapeworm when they got back home, though. Young or not, the ability to put away that much food was just not natural. Some sort of parasite had to be involved.

By the time they were finished eating, it was time to make their way back to the meeting spot. Treville and d’Artagnan beat the others there, but not much. Per the usual, Porthos and Aramis exited with smiles on their faces, but Athos looked grumpier.

“How was it?” d’Artagnan asked as soon as the other three got close enough.

“Fun,” Aramis replied, although he didn’t seem inclined to embellish his comment.

Porthos hummed before answering. “Another catchy tune.”

“Now I know why they call it a dark ride,” Athos said. “I’ve never knew that glow in the dark paint was made in so many different colors.”

Aramis bumped shoulders with the disgruntled Musketeer. “You’re just crabby because that ghost took your head off and switched it with mine. Quite an improvement for you if you ask me.”

Treville watched as the color drained from d’Artagnan’s face. He wasn’t the only one to notice, either, because Athos was quick to react.

“It was just playing with light and photos,” Athos hurriedly explained. “Totally harmless and no ghosts were involved.”

In the background, Porthos was lecturing Aramis with a hoarsely whispered, “You idiot, we agreed not to talk about any details.”

“Sorry, d’Artagnan,” Aramis apologized, his face a study in contrition. “Athos is right; it was all in good fun.”

“Where next, d’Artagnan?” Treville asked. He didn’t really care where their next destination was, he just wanted to distract the young man.

D’Artagnan took a deep breath. “Fantasyland.”

“That’s just the thing,” Aramis rubbed his hands together in anticipation. “Princesses!”

The others rolled their eyes at him, but Aramis’ antics had the desired effect of dispelling the last of d’Artagnan’s discomfort. With renewed enthusiasm, the five men entered Fantasyland. Treville had expected to lose Aramis fairly quickly due to his obsession with the princesses, but it turned out that the characters didn’t wander around. They were contained in a “meet and greet” area and there were plenty of other things to keep them entertained.

Treville had to admit that the place had charm, but for him, most of the fun was watching the reactions of the other men. D’Artagnan’s grin reminded Treville of just how young his newest agent really was. Aramis was easily amused and seemed to be having almost as much fun as their youngest member. As for Porthos, he was finding the childhood he’d been denied earlier when he was young. He, even more than d’Artagnan, was enthusiastic about every attraction they rode on.

By far, however, Athos was the most entertaining to watch. The normally taciturn Musketeer would always have something disparaging to say when they walked off of an attraction, in that dry, cultured tone of voice that almost made it sound like a compliment. Then, realizing that he might dampen d’Artagnan’s enjoyment of the park, Athos would visibly give himself an attitude adjustment and wax almost enthusiastic about the next attraction – that is, until they’d actually finished riding it and then the process started all over again.

According to Athos, the Peter Pan ride was probably underwritten by detergent companies, since the lighting made it clear who used laundry detergent that had optical whiteners and who didn’t. The Little Mermaid ride was deemed to have been a boon to bikini manufacturer’s everywhere and the Seven Dwarfs Mine Train was compared to a motorcycle chase through the streets of Paris.

“It was nothing like Paris!” Aramis disagreed. He’d been the driver of the motorcycle that he and Athos had shared. “There was no side to side motion in Paris like with this roller coaster.”

“You weren’t in the side car the way I was,” Athos replied. “I assure you, there was plenty of side to side motion.”

“Yeah, you were kinda green after that one,” Porthos agreed. “I always thought it was because d’Artagnan was being held hostage by the terrorist we were after.”

His comment caused d’Artagnan to complain next. “I was not a hostage, I was bait!”

“Bait with a gun to your head,” Porthos scoffed. “That means hostage.”

They were getting sideways looks and some glares from the parents around them, so Treville shushed his agents. “Gentlemen, let’s leave the shop talk for another time.”

“Princesses now?” Aramis asked hopefully.

D’Artagnan checked his phone app. “Sorry, Aramis, looks like it’s still closed.”

Porthos slapped the crestfallen Musketeer on the back. “Don’t worry, lover boy, I’m sure it’ll open up before we leave.”

There was a quick stop so that d’Artagnan could have another snack, an ice cream bar shaped like Mickey Mouse’s head. They group walked while d’Artagnan ate and by the time they’d finished, they found themselves in front of yet another attraction. Treville’s lips twitched when he realized which one it was; this ought to be fun.

“Ah, ‘it’s a small world,’” Treville gestured for the others to precede him into the queue. “I’ve heard of this one. Trust me, I don’t think it will remind any of you of a car chase.”

Porthos glanced down into the boarding area. “A boat chase, more like.”

Athos had been looking at Treville warily, his suspicion clearly growing as he got a look at the queue’s décor. “I have a bad feeling about this.”

Once again checking his precious phone app, d’Artagnan looked apprehensive. “This one’s another classic.” Clearly, he remembered the group’s reaction to other classics.

Treville, however, was having none of it. “Come now, we’re blocking the entrance.”

It wasn’t entirely true, but there was one young couple with a stroller that was eyeing them suspiciously. Athos sighed dramatically and entered the queue. “Very well.”

All but rubbing his hands together with glee at the thought of Athos being confronted by an army of singing dolls, Treville brought up the rear, making sure none of the Musketeers tried to get out of it. Unfortunately, his strategy backfired. Instead of getting to sit with Athos, Treville was regulated to the row just behind where Athos sat with d’Artagnan and Porthos.

As their boat passed underneath the giant tower that served as an entrance to the attraction, a cheerful ride cast member waved to them from the operation booth. Porthos gave her a jaunty salute in return.

“Gotta say,” Porthos said. “Everybody sure is friendly here.”

Their boat drifted into the first idyllic scene, the sound of the song swelling in volume around him. Before it reached the second stanza, Porthos was humming along.

“Aw,” the big man said, head swiveling from side to side. “Sure is cute.”

In front of him, Treville could see Athos also turning to look at each side as their boat slowly sailed through, but he couldn’t see the other man’s face. Treville sat back in his seat, telling himself to be patient and enjoy Athos’ reaction when they disembarked. No doubt he would say something clever and cutting and it would be a welcome contrast to the cuteness overload their vessel was making its way through.

Hopefully Athos’ reaction would also be worth having that infernal song stuck in his head the rest of the day.

The pace of the ride was not fast, but a funny thing happened as the boat slowly drifted through scene after scene of singing dolls. Instead of getting impatient, Treville started to relax and even nodded his head in time to the beat. When he noticed what he was doing, though, he stopped and made himself sit straighter in his seat. Disney World, Treville thought, was an insidious and he only hoped that the country’s enemies didn’t catch on to the theme park’s brainwashing expertise.

There was a wait to disembark as Disney employees helped guests get off of the vessels in front of them . The boats gently bumped into one another, which at least helped to keep Treville awake. When it was their turn, Treville grinned. It wouldn’t be long before he could see Athos’ reaction.

The five men made sure there was no other guests that needed help getting off the boat, but the Disney staff had things well in hand. Silently, they walked up the ramp and back into the Florida sunshine. The other three kept giving Athos sideways glances, so Treville knew he wasn’t the only one wondering how their opinionated friend would react.

When they were a safe distance from any small children, the group stopped and the four of them stared at Athos in anticipation.

“What?” Athos asked, clearly uncomfortable.

Treville sighed. Of all times for Athos to go shy on them. “What did you think of the ride?”

Athos blushed and looked away. “I rather liked that one.”

“You liked it?” Treville couldn’t believe his ears. Hundreds of singing dolls lip synching to perhaps the most cheerfully evil song in the world and Athos liked it?

“I knew the charm of this place would finally work on you,” Aramis clapped Athos on the back. “Good man.”

Porthos hummed the tune. “Catchy song too.”

D’Artagnan just grinned ear to ear, happy that his mentor finally found something in the park that he could enjoy.

While Treville contemplated having them all sent off for a mental review, d’Artagnan checked his phone again and crowed. “Aramis, looks like the princess meet and greet just opened up again. Not much of a line, either.”

The four Musketeers took off, presumably towards the princesses, with Treville trailing in their wake. Aramis needed no directions from d’Artagnan, not where pretty young women were involved. When the group reached a building called the Princess Fairytale Hall, Treville started looking around for somewhere to sit; he had no intention of meeting any princesses.
Unfortunately, he hadn’t counted on Porthos.

“Come on, sir,” Porthos said, his strong grip on Treville’s arm making it an order rather than a suggestion. “You won’t want to miss this. Aramis and princesses – ought to be one hell of a show.”

That’s what Treville was afraid of; he just hoped no one ended up in jail.

The line wasn’t very long, but what there was of it was comprised of excited little girls and their parents. Sans children, Treville and the Musketeers stood out like sore thumbs, but the girls were too wound up to pay mere mortals any attention and, as for their parents, they were too busy trying to corral their daughters into some sort of order. As they drew towards the front of the line, Aramis’ pulled out a brightly colored book from where he’d had it stowed under his shirt.

“What is that?” Athos looked at the book warily.

Aramis fished a pen out of his pocket before answering. “This, my friend, is a genuine authentic Walt Disney World autograph book.”

Athos looked at the other man with disbelief. “An autograph bo- Aramis, are you a child?”

Porthos wrapped an arm around Athos’ shoulders. “Hey, today we’re all kids, Aramis is just the biggest one.” He shot a sly look at d’Artagnan. “Well, maybe the boy gives ‘im a run for his money, what with those mouse ears and all.”

D’Artagnan just grinned at him.

“There is room in this book for more than autographs,” Aramis waggled his eyebrows suggestively. “If one of the lovely young ladies chooses to share her phone number with me, there will be ample room for her to write it down.”

“I should have known.” If anything, Athos looked more disgusted with his friend than when he just thought the man wanted the princesses’ autographs.

When it was Aramis’ turn, the Disney staff member acting as hostess didn’t even bat an eye with being presented with five strapping adult men instead of squealing little girls. She did, however, ask a question which at first delighted Treville, but later would have personal consequences.

“Are you going to use the Disney Photo Pass or would you like me to take pictures with your camera?” She asked as they waited for the child in front of them to finish.

“Oh, the Photo Pass, I forgot about that,” d’Artagnan turned to the others. “Their photographers take your picture and then you can order copies of the photos online later.”

“Splendid,” Athos said, although from the way his jaw was working, Treville suspected that the Musketeer was speaking through clenched teeth.

Aramis could not be bothered with mundane concerns like photographs, not when there were fair maidens to meet, so d’Artagnan answered about the photos. The princesses were actually arranged in duos and they’d gotten in line to meet two princesses that Treville had never heard of – Anna and Elsa. The first one was a young woman in a green dress and a wig of red hair.

“Ah, Princess Anna,” Aramis stepped forward when the hostess motioned for him to and made an elaborate bow to the young woman, taking off his hat and bending down so low that his head almost touched the ground. “Believe me when I say it is a pleasure to meet you.”

“Oooh,” the eyes of the woman portraying Princess Anna got wide as she got a good look at the handsome man bowing in front of her. “How very chivalrous of you.”

“But, of course,” Aramis stood and pressed his hand to his heart. “I am a gentleman and what else could a gentleman do when he is full of admiration for a lovely sight such as yourself.”

“He’s full o’ something, that’s for sure,” Porthos muttered softly, although he was grinning fondly at Aramis’ antics.

The Disney photographer snapped several photos, as did Treville, and then the princess signed Aramis’ autograph book. The little girls behind them were getting restless, so the hostess shooed them on towards the next princess. Princess Anna, Treville noted, was a little loathe to let go of Aramis’ hand.

“My fiancée, Kristoff, is such a dear,” she sighed, finally releasing his fingers. “But there’s a thing or two you could teach him, I think.”

“I’m sure I could,” Aramis replied, even as his friends hustled him away.

“Come on, lover boy, you’ve got another princess to meet,” d’Artagnan teased him when Aramis protested.

The next princess was a blonde dressed in a gown that was icy blue in color. From the murmurs of excitement from the girls in the hall, she was even more popular than Anna. Again, when it was Aramis’ turn, he was in full form.

“Princess Elsa, for someone renowned for her winter powers, you are as radiant as the sun.”

And so it went.

Aramis melted the ice queen and belatedly became aware of the camera. When he did, Aramis demanded that his friends come forward and be in the picture too. Not for the first time, Treville was glad that his men were taller than him, although it was the only time he could remember being happy that he could hide behind them in a photo.

After Elsa, they got into another line for the other two princesses that were available for a meet and greet. By that time, the lines were getting longer, but apparently Anna and Elsa were more popular than their older counterparts, so the wait wasn’t appreciably worse. With Cinderella, Aramis managed to kiss the princess’ glass slipper and with Rupenzel, Aramis ended up with her golden hair wrapped around his waist. Each princess lingered over signing her name in Aramis’ book, as did some of the young women – and men – serving as hosts and photographers.

“Satisfied?” Athos asked as they finally emerged from the building.

Aramis was flipping through his book. “Very.” He showed them some of the pages. There were phone numbers on every page and some even sported lipstick imprints.

“If Aramis has his fill of royalty, what next, d’Artagnan?” Treville asked.

D’Artagnan had been checking his phone app while they were in various lines and didn’t even need to consult it before answering. “Tomorrowland.”

They walked by a ride that was comprised on small racecars that didn’t just go around a track, but were on a track so that the steering didn’t matter. Both Aramis and d’Artagnan received some good-natured teasing about brushing up on their driving skills, but Treville put the kibosh on any of the Musketeers going on that ride. Despite the admonishments in signs and over the loudspeaker about no racing, he knew his men and knew that their competitive natures would take over. He’d spent too much money on the park visit to have them kicked out over something so childish.

“We have to go on Space Mountain,” d’Artagnan’s tone brooked no argument. “It’s a roller coaster that’s in the dark. It’s one of the most popular rides.”

Athos looked at the large, oddly shaped building with some dismay. “If it’s popular, won’t there be a long line.”

“Nope,” d’Artagnan’s grin was smug. “I used my phone to reserve times for us. We might have to stand in line for a few minutes, but it won’t be long.”

“Well, what are waiting for?” Porthos asked, eyes glinting with anticipation. “Let’s go.”

Treville liked roller coasters and the idea of riding a dark one was intriguing. D’Artagnan was right about there being on a short line in the queue for “FastPasses” and they didn’t have to wait long. Treville was pleased – until he saw the size of the ‘cars’ they would be riding in.

“How many in your party?” The Disney staff member asked them.

“Five,” Athos answered for all of them.

The young man pointed to a spot on the floor. “Rows 1, 2 and 3.”

While d’Artagnan and Aramis expressed happiness at being in the front, Treville eyed the contraptions they were going to ride in with dismay. They were small, to say the least.

“Are you sure two of us can fit?” Treville asked the nearest Disney person.

“Oh, yes,” he assured Treville brightly. “I load and unload hundreds of people every day and you’ll be fine.” He winked at Treville. “Besides, the tighter the squeeze, the safer you’ll be.”

Treville wasn’t exactly reassured.

For this ride, Treville had been paired with Athos and his riding companion wasn’t any happier than he was at the arrangement. Porthos, the lucky bastard, got to ride by himself. Treville got in first and Athos was positioned in front of him. The roller coaster car was rather long and narrow. The ride operator was right, both Athos and Treville fit, but barely.

“It’s like squeezing yourself into a tube of toothpaste,” Athos complained. Treville grimaced; the description was entirely too accurate.

Treville had the sense to take off his hat and stow it safely, but the need to do that was the last clear thought he had for several minutes. The roller coaster was dark and Treville hadn’t given enough thought to what that meant. Despite some blinking lights, he couldn’t see the track and so was unable to anticipate the various corners and dips. The effect was disconcerting, although more exhilarating than frightening, and Treville no longer resented the tightness of his seat. Instead, it felt reassuring that it was so secure.

Finally, they lurched to a stop and Treville became aware things other than the thrill of the roller coaster – namely that his neck and back hurt. Getting into the damn car seemed like a breeze in comparison to getting out and Treville could only hope that the fiends at Disney hadn’t installed secret cameras that took souvenir photos of passengers as they tried to climb out. Athos, wisely enough, did not offer a hand to Treville in assistance. That would have been even more embarrassing.

As if in apology for the rough ride, Space Mountain was another Disney attraction that offered a moving walkway for exiting. Treville rolled his neck as it carried them along, pacified a little by seeing some others doing the same. His weren’t the only bones rattled by the roller coaster.

The Musketeers regrouped far enough away from the exit so that they weren’t blocking it.

“Now that was more like it,” Porthos grinned. “Dark and fast and wild cornering - you know what it reminded me of?”

Aramis and d’Artagnan grinned back at him, although Athos looked a little grumpy. Well, grumpier than usual.

“New York!” The three younger Musketeers announced at the same time.

Athos’ lips thinned. “It was nothing like New York.”

“I dunno, you were driving pretty crazy that night,” Porthos retorted.

“D’Artagnan was bleeding.” Athos gave Porthos the Athos Glare #18, yet another glare that had developed after d’Artagnan joined the team. It differed from #17 in that it was full of protectiveness

“And you went all Papa-thos on him,” Aramis added. “If I remember correctly, it was a simple through and through.”

D’Artagnan came to his mentor’s defense. “There was a lot of blood, though. And no one got hurt when Athos clipped that bus stop shelter.”

“Gentlemen,” Treville interrupted, looking at them pointedly. He remembered the New York operation and d’Artagnan being wounded, but no one had reported any civilian damage. “Do you really want to talk about this in front of me?”

“Uh, no,” d’Artagnan blushed. “Sorry, sir.”

“This part of the park looks promising, if Space Mountain was anything to go by.” Porthos was quick to change the subject. “What else does it have, d’Artagnan?”

D’Artagnan checked his phone. “We are right near something called Stitch’s Great Escape.” His face fell as he read more. “Oh. It involves sitting in a darkened theater, with a shoulder harness holding you down, while Stitch wanders around and causes chaos.”

All five of them shuddered. Each of them, even Treville, had been in prisoner or hostage situations that involved being held in the dark. It wasn’t fun and none of them looked eager to experience it again, even in a theme park attraction.

“I think we can safely skip that one,” Aramas was pale and Treville knew why. So many of Aramis’ demons had to do with Savoy.

“Right,” D’Artagnan consulted his phone. “There’s also the Monsters Inc. Laugh Floor, it’s a comedy club show, only with animated characters.”

“No,” Athos swiftly and firmly vetoed that one. “If that damn jungle ride is anything to go by, Disney’s attempt at humor falls short – and painfully so.”

Porthos looked ready to disagree, but took a good look at Athos’ face and let the subject drop. Treville was glad. The sight gags imbedded in many of the Disney attractions were funny, but Athos wasn’t the only one that thought the deliberate humor in the Jungle Cruise had been torturous.

“Okay,” D’Artagnan gamely checked his phone again. “We’re right next to Buzz Light Year’s Space Ranger Spin.” He read some more and grinned. “It’s sort of a sharpshooting contest, only with light guns.”

All three of the other Musketeers looked intrigued, but none more than Aramis. “That sounds like it was made for us.”

As though his speaking up caused the other three to remember that Aramis was a sharpshooter, Porthos, Athos and d’Artagnan all said the same thing at the same moment. “I’m riding with Aramis.”

“Hey, I’m Aramis’ partner, I’m riding with him,” Porthos objected.

Athos, for once, did not give in to d’Artagnan. “I’m the oldest; Aramis rides with me.”

“I’m the youngest; I’m riding with Aramis,” d’Artagnan countered.

Far from being offended at being the bone of contention, Aramis crossed his arms over his chest and watched the debate with a smug smile. Treville had been in charge of the Musketeers for years, however, and there was a reason he was so successful at it.

“All of you are riding with Aramis,” Treville intervened. When they looked at him in surprise, he merely shrugged. “The line isn’t that long, you’ll take turns.”

“We will?” Porthos asked, but thought better of it after look at Treville’s expression. “We will.”

D’Artagnan was keener on the idea than Porthos was. “You’ll take a turn too, won’t you, sir?”

“I will not,” Treville told them, but continued before there could be any protest. “D’Artagnan, does your app tell you where the smoking area is? I’m in sore need of a cigar.”

“Ah,” d’Artagnan made a quick check. “It’s by the castle, sir.”

Treville nodded his thanks. “Very well, here is what we will do. Each of you will take a turn with Aramis, going in alphabetical order. I will have a cigar and, afterwards, meet you at that bench.” He pointed to a particular seating spot. “In the meantime, if there are any plan changes, Athos will text me or I will text Athos.”

Porthos smiled broadly. “Good plan, sir.”

“What has you cheery all of a sudden?” Athos asked him, suspicious at how quickly Porthos had changed his attitude, especially since the alphabetical order meant that his turn with the sharpshooter was last.

“I can see the scores you losers put up,” Porthos claimed. “I’ll know what I need to beat.”

“All right, hop to it,” Treville ordered, although he smiled as he did. “We’ll regroup when the mission is finished.”

Aramis gave him a sloppy salute and the group broke up. Treville shook his head fondly as he watched his men troop into the brightly colored entrance. Buzz Light Year didn’t know what was about to hit it. Treville set off towards the smoking area, his need for a cigar increasing with every step. At least the castle was a large enough landmark that he had no trouble navigating.

It was decidedly odd, being alone in a place so geared towards families and groups. Treville found that he didn’t mind it, though. The chances for people watching were incredible. He did grab a park map on his way to his destination. It wasn’t that he doubted d’Artagnan’s navigating skills, but unlike his newest agent, Treville hadn’t attempted to eat his way through the park. By the time the Musketeers were through with their shooting contest, it would be time to consider dinner.

Treville found the smoking area easily enough and nodded at the trio that were already there, two women and one man. Two were an obvious couple, but the other seemed to be solo, like Treville. No one found the need to talk to one another, though. Perhaps they were all appreciative of a few moments of relative solitude. Treville used his quiet time to read the map, determined to find something substantial for them to have for supper.

There weren’t too many true sit down restaurants in the park and Treville would be damned if he were subjected to another fast food meal. His choice was obvious and a quick phone call set up a reservation about for about 90 minutes later. Content with his cigar, Treville sat back and let the noise and the colors wash over him.

A good cigar could take up a couple of hours to smoke properly, but Treville never brought one of those with him while traveling. The thin cigar he had with him was a poor imitation, but at least took the edge off. It was comforting, but the bench Treville was sitting on was not comfortable. After about 20 minutes, he was done with his smoke and ready to face the park throng again.

Treville nodded to his fellow smokers and relinquished his bench. He still had half an hour before he was to meet the others, so he had some time to waste. He thought it best to stay in the immediate area where the Buzz Light Year ride was, so he went back to Tomorrowland. When he got there, Treville noticed something he hadn’t before. There was a raised track that a ride car traveled upon and it traversed the entire “land.” Deciding that this would be a good way to while away the time before meeting the others, Treville walked up the ramp to board.

There wasn’t exactly a crowd looking to board the ride, so Treville had a car all to himself. It was very pleasant, riding above the crowd. The noise was less, making it quite tranquil, and the breeze from the car’s movement was pleasing too. The track took him through the Space Mountain ride and Treville’s neck tensed at the remembered pain. Luckily that didn’t last long. The car also gave a view of the Buzz Light Year ride and Treville snickered as he got a good look at its vibrant green and purple color scheme. It looked like buckets of fluorescent paint had vomited; Athos must be having a fit.

As his ride neared its end, Treville got a text from d’Artagnan that they weren’t quite through. He considered his options and when he got to the area to disembark, simply asked if he could ride stay on for another ride. The Disney staff member working was a man about his own age and smiled in sympathy at Treville’s question.

“Kids running you ragged?” The man asked.

Treville smiled back. “You have no idea.”

The second time around was as enjoyable as the first. Treville sat back in the car, arms stretched out to either side along the back of the seat, and let the atmosphere of the park sink in. By the time the second circuit was complete, he’d received a text from Athos that the Musketeers were done and got off when the disembarking area came around again.

“Hang in there,” the Disney staff member told him with a wink. “Everyone’s a kid at heart at Disney World, but some of us have legs that get tired faster than others.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Treville grinned back.

He met the Musketeers at their agreed-upon bench. Aramis looked smug, but the others were obviously a little put out.

“I guess I don’t need to ask who got the highest score,” Treville said by way of a greeting.

“As it turns out, you were competing against the person you were riding with and not competing as a team.” Athos explained. “And one of us had an unfair advantage.”

Aramis cast his eyes down in a pseudo show of humility. “I am a sharpshooter, after all.”

Before a full-scale war could break out, Treville changed the subject. “Come, I’ve made dinner reservations for us.”

“Good, I’m famished.” Aramis, however, was not done rubbing his victory in. “Winning always gives me an appetite.”

“I thought that it was sex that gave you an appetite?” d’Artagnan asked, wide-eyed with feigned innocence.

Athos shrugged, but his eyes twinkled. “Clearly, it’s bragging that gives him an appetite.”

“Well, the man is hungry, that’s the main thing and I am too.” Porthos turned to Treville. “You said something about some eats?”

“Back over by the entrance,” Treville told them, amused by the teasing. “This way.”

Porthos and Aramis weren’t the only hungry ones because none of the men allowed themselves to be distracted as they made their way over the little bridge that connected Tommorrowland to the central hub of the park in front of the castle. From there, they walked down Main Street and to a restaurant titled “The Crystal Palace.” It featured a glass dome, as well as a plethora of windows, and Treville assumed those features were what gave it the name. Surely, in a park teeming with throngs of young children, there wouldn’t be real crystal involved.

Treville checked in for his group at a podium and was told there would be a short wait. Luckily, there were restrooms nearby and the men made use of them. By the time they were done, their table was ready and the Musketeers, hunger making them cooperative, meekly followed the hostess to their table.

The inside of the restaurant wasn’t as fancy as it had appeared on the outside and featured the expected crowd of little children. Their shrill voices reverberated off the glass windows, causing even more sound. Treville winced as he sat down; since it was a buffet, hopefully they would be in and out quickly.

“Have you dined with us before?” Their hostess asked them.

When they all shook their heads no, she explained the procedure for using clean plates, etc. Everything was the same as any other buffet restaurant Treville had ever been to, until the hostess got to the end of her spiel.

“And of course Winnie the Pooh, Tigger and Eeyore will be around to visit soon.” Her smile was a little like a smirk, given the ages of the men she was addressing. “Don’t worry, they’ll visit every table, so you’ll have an opportunity for hugs.” She started to walk away and then turned to add one little tidbit before she left. “And pictures, of course.”

The five men looked at each other in surprise and soon four heads swiveled slowly to look at Treville for an explanation.

Embarrassed, Treville shrugged. “Sorry, didn’t realize that when I made the reservation.”

D’Artagnan had been tapping away at his phone. “It’s one of those character meals.” He looked up and grinned. “We absolutely have to get a picture of Athos with Eeyore.”

“No.” Athos sputtered. “Not just no, but hell no.”

There was a new glare on the normally unflappable Athos’ face, one directed at d’Artagnan. It made it clear that no matter how fond Athos was of d’Artagnan, the young man’s head would roll if he continued on his present course. Treville hadn’t cataloged that one yet and so wasn’t sure what number to give it. Constance was the official keeper of the list; he’d have to ask her later. Surreptitiously, he took a photo of Athos with his phone so he could give her a visual reference.

“Eeyore is perfect,” Aramis crowed, ignoring Athos’ protest.

“Over. My. Dead. Body.” Athos growled.

“No.” Athos sputtered. “Not just no, but hell no.”

There was a new glare on the normally unflappable Athos’ face, one directed at d’Artagnan. It made it clear that no matter how fond Athos was of d’Artagnan, the young man’s head would roll if he continued on his present course. Treville hadn’t cataloged that one yet and so wasn’t sure what number to give it. Constance was the official keeper of the list; he’d have to ask her later. Surreptitiously, he took a photo of Athos with his phone so he could give her a visual reference.

“Eeyore is perfect,” Aramis crowed, ignoring Athos’ protest.

“Over. My. Dead. Body.” Athos growled.

“Let’s just get food,” Porthos got up and headed towards the buffet. “I’m starving.”

D’Artagnan hastily followed. “Good idea”

Treville snorted. He supposed d’Artagnan was hungry, since he’d gotten through all of Tomorrowland without eating a single snack.

It was reasonable to assume that Disney was used to feeding hoards of guests and that was a good thing, because the Musketeers hit the buffet with gusto. The food itself wasn’t anything fancy, but it was hot and fresh. Better still, it was all you could eat, which was the main reason why Treville chosen the Chrystal Palace in the first place. The others might not be walking stomachs like d’Artagnan was, but they could eat more than their fair share too. As Treville loaded up his own plate, he could have sworn some of the cooking staff peeked out of the kitchen and blanched when they saw how much Porthos was taking.

“This is good stuff,” Porthos was popping a French fry into his mouth as Treville returned to the table. He was the last to arrive, the others were already seated, each man with a plate piled high in front of him. Treville was surprised that the table wasn’t groaning from the weight.

“What they lack in quality, they make up in quantity,” Athos was less enthusiastic about the fare.

“It’s not that bad,” Aramis took a bite of carved roast beef and smiled at the taste. “In fact, it’s quite good and the selection is fairly broad. Even you should find something you like.”

“Did you notice what was missing?” Athos asked. When all four of them shook their heads, Athos’ expression darkened. “Alcohol. How is anyone expected to deal with all of these children without any wine?”

“That’s kind of the point, Athos,” d’Artagnan chided him with a grin. “The Magic Kingdom is fantasy, all of it. Liquor doesn’t have any place here.”

“The lack of wine,” Athos pointed his fork at d’Artagnan. “That’s just another piece of evidence of why this park is unnatural.”

His comment made the others laugh and even Athos smiled at his own joke. Frankly, Athos had taken the news that Magic Kingdom was “dry” rather well, all things considered. The conversation trailed off as the hungry Musketeers dug into their meals. D’Artagnan, despite having snacked most of his way through the park, was the first to empty his plate. Treville rolled his eyes. Someday d’Artagnan’s metabolism would slow down and, used to eating whatever he wanted, the young man would gain weight. Get chubby, even. Treville only hoped he’d live long enough to see it.

D’Artagnan started to get up, no doubt to get even more food, but he almost immediately sat down again, eyes wide and trying not to smile. Treville was seated next to Athos, which meant he was across from the other three. He’d forgotten all about the extra experience that the restaurant offered until a heavy, furry paw landed on his shoulder.

“Oh, Lord,’ Athos murmured softly. A quick glance showed that a paw was on Athos’ shoulder too.

Treville looked up and back. A large costumed figure was right behind them. It was large and orange and striped. Maybe a tiger?

“Tigger!” Athos had also looked back, but his expression was far from annoyed. Instead, his whole face lit up and Athos stood so quickly that his chair almost turned over. “Treville, do you have your camera ready’

Surprised by the usually stoic Musketeer’s uncharacteristic reaction, Treville actually didn’t have his phone out, but after a moment’s scramble, he rectified that situation. He took several photos before Athos could regain his sanity. Once he got a picture of just Athos and the tiger, Athos insisted that the others get in the photo with him. The whole process only took a few moments and soon Tigger was moving on to another table. The other four looked at Athos with wonder.

Athos cleared his throat, twitching with discomfort. He’d removed his hat while they ate and Treville could see the tips of the other man’s ears turn red. “My grandmother used to read Winnie the Pooh to me and I read it to Thomas. Tigger was always my favorite.”

Before any of them could respond, Athos cleared his throat again. “I think I’ll get dessert.” He abruptly left the table.

Still a little unnerved about their friend’s reaction, the other four men were silent. Before long, however, d’Artagnan leaned forward and addressed the others with a solemn intensity. “We don’t tease him about this. Ever.”

Aramis nodded, equally seriously. “Of course not.”

“Cross my heart,” Porthos made an x gesture over his chest.

The three of them looked to Treville. “Not a peep,” he vowed.

By the time Athos came back to the table, the tension was gone and he was able to take his seat with a semblance of normalcy. The meal continued, with the men getting up as necessary to refill their plates. Treville couldn’t help but notice, however, that all of them made sure to be at the table when Winnie the Pooh, Piglet and Eeyore came by to visit. Athos did get his photo taken with Eeyore and while he didn’t exactly smile for it, neither did he look completely grumpy.

Finally, even their appetites were assuaged and, seeing that there were people still waiting outside to be seated, they didn’t linger in the restaurant. Shortly after they were done eating and the payment taken care of, the five men found themselves outside. While they’d had dinner, the sun had gone down and the park was lit with a myriad number of twinkling lights.

“So, what now, d’Artagnan?” Aramis asked their youngest member.

“We’ve been through the whole park once,” d’Artagnan was hesitant. “We could go back to the hotel. I know this isn’t exactly your cup of tea.”

“Nonsense,” Athos put his arm around d’Artagnan’s shoulders. “We’ve only been here a few hours. I’m certain there is more for us to see.”

“Yeah,” Porthos chimed in. “Ain’t Disney famous for fireworks? I’m not leaving until we see fireworks.”

D’Artagnan’s grin was happy and wide. Clearly, he’d been willing to leave if his brothers were bored, but was thrilled when they wanted to stay. “There’s a nighttime parade too. And Big Thunder Mountain is supposed to be even better at night. Oh, and Aramis, we missed a princess. I read where you can meet Belle from Beauty and the Beast.”

“Well, that settles it then, we’re staying.” Athos said firmly. “Didn’t you say the park was open until midnight?”

“Yeah,” d’Artagnan answered, looking almost as excited as when the group first agreed to come to the park. He darted a look at Treville, though, and some doubt crept into his expression. “That is, if it’s okay with you, sir?”

Treville didn’t even need to think about it. He’d been surrounded by shrieking children all day and squeezed into all sorts of uncomfortable positions in order to fit into ride cars and be slung all over the place. On top of that, he’d been subjected to badly written jokes and exposed to more pixie dust that was seemly for a man of his age.

On the other hand, Treville had also seen Athos open up more than he had in all the years that Treville had known him, witnessed Aramis successfully flirt with royalty, watch Porthos felled by a three year-old, and had a chance to get to know d’Artagnan better.

“I can’t imagine anything I’d like more,” Treville answered.

And thanks to the magic of Walt Disney World, he meant every word.

~the end~