Did you know that this is my first AU? At least, I think it is. I'm pretty sure. So yay.

I've been meaning to write a modern AU of the musketeers since I first saw the show and since I'm a part of the big bang, I figured this might be a good place to start.

Athos was exhausted. He'd not been home in two weeks since Treville had decided that his skills would be of most use in South America of all places, despite the fact that for all his education, he barely spoke two words of Spanish and even less Portuguese. When he'd questioned the Captain's motive, he'd just shrugged and said that was what Aramis was for. Their sniper-turned-linguist had been both smug and offended at the implication there.

In all it amounted to a fortnight of utter ridiculousness that left Athos questioning why he ever thought it would be a good idea to befriend the loud-mouthed, flirtatious Chilean and wishing that he could just collapse into his own bed. He'd never slept well in hotels, even Before.

As soon as he walked through his front door, he knew something was wrong. The alarm had already been deactivated – he never left without switching it on – and some of the clutter on the side table in the hallway had been moved, just a little. Someone had been here.

'No,' he corrected himself when he felt ice shiver down his spine, 'someone is here.' He had his gun in his hand before the thought had even truly processed and moved sideways so that he was hugging the wall. Aramis and Porthos were still out by the car, gathering the things they'd need for the night (Aramis had informed them that the elevator in his apartment building was broken and he had absolutely no intention of walking up twelve flights of stairs tonight so one of them would just have to deal with him. Porthos' apartment was barely big enough for the man himself, let alone a house guest as sprawling as Aramis so Athos had grudgingly offered him a sofa that had somehow evolved into 'sleepover at Athos' place' without any input from him besides mild disgruntlement.) and they'd be there any moment.

There was no point in trying to stay hidden; whoever was here would have heard him come through the door – he hadn't been trying to be subtle.

"Who's there?" He called out, pleased that he was able to sound even and calm. He could have been commenting on the weather.

There was a vaguely surprised pause and then a voice called out from the living room, "In here."

Keeping his gun up in front of him, Athos moved carefully to the doorway and flicked on the light. There was a man – little more than a boy, actually – sat on his sofa calmly with a laptop perched on his knees and a SIG Pro 2022 beside him on the cushion. He looked thoroughly unbothered by the gun pointing in his direction.

"Who are you and what are you doing here? You law enforcement?" It was a logical leap considering he had entered uninvited and was carrying the standard issue sidearm of Parisian police.

The man laughed a little – it was an unhappy noise – and shook his head. "Not even close, I'm afraid. As for the other questions, my name is d'Artagnan and I'm here to kill you."

As he spoke, Athos became aware that Aramis and Porthos had appeared at his shoulders, hands on their own weapons as they calculated the situation. Unsettled and more than a little confused, Athos frowned at him. "If you're killing me, you might be a little outnumbered."

"That doesn't matter," d'Artagnan replied breezily, glancing up from his laptop only momentarily before freezing. "I wouldn't touch that if I were you," he snapped.

Nonplussed, Athos took a quick glance round and saw Porthos with his hand half extended to an innocuous duffle bag on the floor by their feet – it wasn't his. Porthos glanced at him with a look of intense worry and muttered, "Athos, that thing is beeping."

d'Artagnan scoffed a little. "Of course it's beeping. Bombs tend to."

Athos could feel this situation rapidly spinning away from him and goddamn it, all he'd wanted was to go to sleep. He was too tired for this shit. "You brought a bomb into my house?"

"It's only insurance. You don't try to shoot me and I won't trigger it – happy?" d'Artagnan actually looked a little irritated that he'd been side tracked from whatever it was he was doing on that laptop.

Athos lowered his gun a little, still wary but unwilling to do anything that might break d'Artagnan out of his bizarre calm. "So you came here to kill me. Might I ask why?"

The man sighed and finally looked up properly. "I wasn't being wholly honest. I came here to talk to you and depending on what I learned, leave here peacefully or shoot my way out. Though I must admit, the latter seems more likely."

"Have we met before?"

"No. You met my father once."

"Oh?"

"You killed him."

Well, that made things make a little more sense. Revenge was a much more understandable motive for all of this than a desire for random carnage. "I will admit to having killed people in the past – it's hard not to in my line of work. But the men I kill have never given me any choice," he said honestly. He'd never killed anyone that wasn't trying to kill him, except for one person, and that person sure as hell wasn't this kid's father.

"Don't lie to me," d'Artagnan warned, and he said it so damn calmly, as though this whole thing was happening to someone else, not to him. He laughed mirthlessly for a moment. "His last words were your name. It was harder to find you than I expected. There aren't many Athos' in the world so I figured it would be a short search but you are one well hidden man. It took me longer than it should have done to realise 'Athos' might be a code name."

"There aren't many people who could learn that name," Porthos pointed out, sounding uncertain. "Are you a Musketeer?"

d'Artagnan laughed again, more genuinely this time and shook his head. "God no. Do you get many Musketeers in here, out for revenge? I'm not police, army, secret service, nothing. I'm just good with computers."

"You couldn't have hacked into the Musketeers' database. That thing is impenetrable," Aramis scoffed in disbelief.

"Nothing is impenetrable," d'Artagnan retorted. "But in this case, you are correct. It would have taken too long to get into your system so I found a back door instead. The Red Guards have plenty of data about you three."

"Richelieu," Porthos cursed under his breath. Just one more reason to hate the man, Athos supposed.

"What was your father's name?"

"Alexandre d'Artagnan of Lupiac. You shot him twice in the gut nine days ago."

The voice in Athos' head marvelled, 'You found me with nothing but a name in nine days?' but what he said out loud was "Nine days ago I was in Santiago, Chile, trying to work out if the man we were looking for had been there recently. I was most certainly not shooting anyone, let alone a Gascon I'd never met."

For the first time in this whole bizarre situation, d'Artagnan looked uncertain. He stared at Athos piercingly for a moment and then asked, "What name did you travel under?"

"Athos de Breuil," he answered easily. If proving his innocence meant that d'Artagnan would disarm the bomb sat at their feet then he would do so willingly. Once they were free from its threat, he had every intention of arresting him.

d'Artagnan typed for a moment, eyes flickering from the screen to the three of them and back again, calculating. After a long moment he seemed to sag into the sofa beneath him, looking utterly defeated.

"Well?"

"It would seem that unless you have a twin – and your birth certificate tells me you did not – then you did not kill my father."

"You have my birth certificate?" Athos squeaked in surprise, even as Aramis butted in with, "So you'll disarm your little bomb then?"

D'Artagnan's eyes went from the bag, to their guns, to his own weapon sat beside him. "And if I do that, how exactly am I supposed to get out of here?"

"How did you even get in?" Athos asked belatedly, suddenly realising that it should have been impossible.

"Back door."

"It was locked."

"Locks are easily picked. Even ones as complicated as yours."

"There was an alarm."

"I told you, I'm good with computers. When your alarm goes off, it sends a signal to the local police via the internet, meaning that it has the capability to do so. If something connects to the internet, I can get in."

"Athos," Porthos whined softly, glancing down meaningfully at the bag again. In all his confusion and exhaustion, Athos' body didn't seem to understand that he was in mortal danger here and he wasn't reacting quite like a sane human being should.

He turned back to d'Artagnan. "You came here to find out if I killed your father and kill me if I did. I didn't. Are you planning on killing us anyway?"

d'Artagnan actually looked a little offended by that. "No, of course not. But if I turn that bomb off now, you're going to try and arrest me and I cannot let that happen. You didn't kill my father but someone did and I fully intend to see them dead, even if it means they drag me into the grave too. It's pretty hard to get revenge from inside a prison cell."

"Would your father want you to get yourself killed, avenging him?"

"My father didn't want to die. Shit happens."

"So what are you planning on doing now kid?" Porthos asked, starting to sound truly strained. "If you're not going to detonate the bomb-"

"I didn't say I wouldn't. I just don't want to."

"But if you do detonate it, who's going to get revenge for your father?" Aramis pointed out. "You're hardly protected."

d'Artagnan's eyes dropped to the bag again – he obviously hadn't considered that. "I…" he started, then hesitated. "I guess I didn't actually expect to be leaving here at all."

"Well," Athos started, taking a measured step forwards carefully, "If you're not planning on blowing us all to hell, I think we'd all appreciate it if you would disarm it."

He hesitated for a long moment before he sighed and reached for his pocket. The movement wasn't threatening but the three of them were too wired to see it as anything but an attack and Athos stepped back quickly as their guns rose in unison. d'Artagnan flinched a little then froze.

"That bomb will still go off if you shoot me now so I wouldn't suggest it as a course of action. I'm just reaching for my phone, alright?"

Aramis squinted at him. "How is shooting you going to set it off?"

d'Artagnan rotated his hand carefully so that they could see the inside of his wrist, revealing what looked like an IV line leading to the pocket he had reached for. "It's monitoring my pulse. My heart stops and they're going to be rebuilding your house."

"For some kid looking to get revenge, your plan is pretty brutal," Porthos pointed out as d'Artagnan fished the phone out of his pocket slowly.

"I learned enough in the Red Guard files to know that I shouldn't underestimate you three. I figured it was always better to be prepared and I didn't much care about survival once I was done." He tapped on his phone screen a few times and the bag on the floor suddenly emitted a rapid staccato of high pitched beeps – Athos thought for a heart stopping moment that d'Artagnan had lied and had triggered the bomb anyway but then the room went dead silent, apart from the over-loud sound of their breathing.

d'Artagnan hissed a little as he pulled the wire away from his wrist, revealing the needle that had been inch deep in his flesh. Athos felt his own skin twinge in sympathy. "Well then, officers, are you arresting me?"

Aramis and Porthos both looked at Athos for instruction, deferring to him as their leader in all situations. He thought about it. "You want to go after whoever it was that shot your father?"

"Yes."

"You'll kill him when you find him?"

"Yes."

"Admitting premeditated murder to three secret agents? Great plan," Aramis muttered, clearly feeling a little sore at being so horrendously diverted from his plan to burrow into Athos' sofa for at least 24 hours.

d'Artagnan glared. "I'm not a liar."

"Just someone that can hack my alarm, pick my locks and create a bomb?" Athos replied with a little bitterness himself. He'd really been looking forwards to bed. "And find my birth certificate apparently. Seriously, I don't even know where it is."

"I'm good with computers. Though I'll admit, the lock picking does look a little suspicious."

"Just a little," Aramis replied sullenly.

Porthos frowned a little at him, stung. "I could pick locks before I met you. You never judged me for that, did you?"

"That was different," Aramis defended. "You had no choice."

"Maybe he didn't either. Sure he just tried to kill us all, but we don't know jack shit about him," Porthos reasoned carefully. Athos listened to them bicker for a moment before sighing and rubbing at his eyes.

"This man you're after, he called himself Athos?"

d'Artagnan shrugged a little helplessly, looking a whole lot smaller now that he wasn't holding a bomb over their heads. He looked like a child who had swum out of their depth. "I don't know, I wasn't there. I heard the gun go off and I ran in but by the time I got to him, the attacker was already gone. My father repeated Athos a few times before…" He stopped there, looking away quickly.

Athos sighed again, feeling every hour of his life weighing on his bones. He looked at the thoughtful Porthos and the irritated Aramis and then to d'Artagnan. It might be a stupid decision but then it was already past midnight and the best of worst decisions always happened in the early hours – it might come out alright. He was already down the rabbit hole; he might as well head for Wonderland.

"If someone is killing people under my name, I want to know about it. d'Artagnan? How do you feel about working with the Musketeers?"

Twelve months later, and Athos knew with absolute certainty that he had made the right decision that day. d'Artagnan had proved his worth twenty times over and, despite initial hostility, he'd fitted in brilliantly with their team. Treville had been badgering him for years that Team Alpha needed a fourth member (though when he'd met d'Art for the first time, he'd yelled at Athos saying that he'd meant for the fourth person to be 'oh I don't know, an actual agent?') and now, he'd gotten his wish. Of course, d'Artagnan wasn't actually a Musketeer yet, but he was certainly on his way.

Athos also knew that allowing d'Art and Aramis to become friends had been an awful, awful idea. "Please," he begged over the comms, not for the first time, "please, just stop, alright? Can we at least pretend to be professional about this?"

He was immediately replied to with "He started it," in unison. He sighed heavily and focussed on his mark again. "Porthos?"

"I see him. I can't get across the plaza though, there's too many guards."

"d'Art, can you give us a distraction?"

"Did you have anything in mind?" He sounded far too cheerful in the tense atmosphere but that had always been how Aramis and him had dealt with the stress. Athos couldn't really fault him for it.

"Just try and clear some of the men. It's too crowded for Porthos and I to get close."

"One distraction, coming right up." Their usual strategy for such things was to have d'Artagnan nearby, surrounded by his beloved computers, Athos and Porthos on the ground and Aramis perched on a rooftop, rifle in hand, watching over them all. It was a system that worked well for them.

Athos watched as the Russian diplomat and war criminal they were after saluted at the crowd and moved to step off the stage. It would be so much easier if they just had to eliminate him, but Treville had specifically ordered that they bring him in alive for questioning – regardless, he knew that Aramis would be sat somewhere with his finger on the trigger. They all cultivated a special sort of disgust for the kind of man Dagarov was.

"We'll lose him in this crowd Athos," Porthos warned.

"Aramis can keep tabs. d'Artagnan, where the hell is this distraction?"

"Give a guy thirty seconds, won't you? I can only type so fast."

"Less talking, more typing. We're on the clock here."

There was a disgruntled huff, followed a moment later by a burst of rapid fire Russian and then very soft cheer of triumph as every guard in the vicinity suddenly put a hand to their radio to listen to the message. Athos had to smile as he saw a large group of them move away, down towards the far end of the plaza and out of his sight.

"Nice job."

"You speak Russian?" Aramis asked in surprise.

"Конечно, не так ли?"

"You are, of course, aware that none of us know what you just said."

"Yep," d'Artagnan replied happily, popping the 'p.'

"How long do we have?" Athos couldn't let them distract him from the mission. They couldn't screw this one up or Treville would have his head.

"I told them that they had to investigate a disturbance two streets over. Should buy you ten minutes at least."

"Porthos?"

"Moving into position now."

"Aramis?"

"I've got eyes on you both."

"Okay. Let's do this and then get the hell out of here. It's too damn hot for this shit." It was actually a perfectly temperate 27 degrees but Athos was feeling just a little bitter about being sent on a mission so soon after getting off their last one. He'd really been hoping for at least a week of lazing around in the Parisian summer with nothing more to worry about than whatever mischief Aramis and d'Art were causing.

But it wasn't the time to worry about that now. With casual ease, Athos made his way through the thick crowd, making sure that the bodies pressing against him were never able to feel the handgun tucked into his holster and saw out of the corner of his eye Porthos doing the same. He'd almost made it to Dagarov when d'Artagnan spoke up again.

"Err, guys? We might have a problem."

Immersed in the crowd, Athos couldn't talk into his comms piece without looking like a crazy person and drawing attention, so it was Aramis who replied. "What sort of problem?"

"The sort of problem where an APB just went out, warning everyone in the vicinity that four men were here to take Dagarov."

Crazy or not, Athos needed in on this conversation. He ducked towards Porthos and snatched at his arm, leaning close that they looked like they were talking to each other. "How is that possible?" He snapped irritably. "The only people who know we're here are Musketeers."

"And Richelieu," Porthos pointed out.

"He wouldn't betray us outright like this," Athos disagreed.

"Unless he thought that we'd all be killed and unable to implicate him."

"It might be on his system," d'Artagnan pointed out. "I hack in there often enough to know that someone else would be able to if they knew where to look. It's not exactly a complicated encryption."

"I don't think this is the major issue right now," Aramis reminded them. "The guards are trying to get Dagarov out of here. They're heading to a convoy at the top of the plaza. If we're doing this now, we have to do it quickly."

"We'd never make it. He'll be surrounded by guards," Porthos said firmly.

Athos grimaced. "But if we leave him, they'll ferret him away to a secure facility that we can't enter without causing a multitude of diplomatic incidents. Treville would skin us." He thought hard and quickly, aware that their window of opportunity was bleeding away quickly. "Maybe if we could get the crowd to scatter then we could get close enough to hijack one of the vehicles. d'Art, can you give us something to work with?"

"With pleasure."

"Aramis, be ready to start shooting. Only go for clean shots, we can't afford collateral on this one."

"Have you ever known me to miss?"

"Just a reminder. Porthos, you ready?" The big man grinned and nodded, adrenaline burning bright in his eyes. "d'Artagnan?"

"Ready?"

"Do it." There was a momentary delay and then a muffled explosion before smoke started pouring out of shattered windows from a building a few hundred metres away. Athos, like all the civilians around him, stared at it in blank surprise for a moment before he rallied himself and took off after Porthos, their mad dash covered by the swarming, terrified crowd all around them.

"Jesus shit d'Art, what the hell was that?" He yelled hoarsely, coughing a little as the smoke filtered through the plaza.

"The building was empty and registered for demolition anyway. I just gave it a nudge in the right direction."

He could hear Aramis laughing his head off somewhere but he didn't doubt for an instant that the man still had them covered. And then Athos didn't have time to care anymore as he fell onto a guard in front of him, knocking his gun away and driving a fist so hard into his face that he felt his nose break. The man hit the ground so quickly that Athos didn't even have to stop running.

Somewhere off to his left he saw a guard drop the ground with a spray of blood, though he was too far away to hear the rifle shot. Thanks to the absolute calamity about them, they were able to get to the convoy without encountering that many men. Between them they were easily able to secure the main jeep and slip inside, Porthos quickly getting to work hot wiring it – he thanked the stars for Porthos' criminal past – as Athos kept watch.

Dagarov was only a few steps away, being hurriedly pulled towards the vehicle by his body guards. Athos waited until the last moment before springing out the door, jabbing his fist into the throat of one, kneeing a second in the groin and then grabbing Dagarov. A third guard took one of Aramis' rounds to the head when he moved to pull a gun and Athos was able to scramble back into the jeep, pushing his charge in front of him, before anyone else had time to react. As soon as they were in, Porthos was driving, getting them out of there as fast as he could go.

"Package is secure," Athos told the others. "Regroup at site C."

"On my way," Aramis reported dutifully.

There was a long moment as they all waited for d'Artagnan to respond, but there was nothing. "d'Art?" Athos refused to let the worry coiling in his gut take over. Dagarov was screaming at them in Russian but Athos slapped some cuffs on him and forced him into his seat.

"I'm not far from his position," Aramis said. "I can try to get to him."

"Can you see the building he's in?"

"Negative. The angle's wrong. If I get onto the next roof, I might be able to get a better look."

"Go." Athos looked over at Porthos who was concentrating fiercely on the road, his hands white where they gripped the steering wheel.

After a moment Aramis spoke again. "I can see where he was. His laptop's gone but some of his other stuff is still there, as though he left in a hurry."

Before anyone could formulate a response to that, there was a burst of static over the line and then d'Artagnan was back, talking so quickly it was hard to understand him. "Hi, sorry about that, still here. Some of the guards must have worked out that the message I sent them was a ruse and must have tracked the signal back to me, it was stupid, I should have bounced the IP but there wasn't time and-"

"d'Art, shut up," Athos ordered. "What happened?"

"They found me. I only had a few seconds warning so I ran upstairs. I thought that if they saw the desk was empty, they'd just leave but they're looking for me. I couldn't talk before because they were too close."

"Can you get out of there?"

"They left men by the door. I could try and rush them but there's not really any cover worth a damn."

"Don't. Can you get to the roof?"

"That's what I'm trying to do now."

"Aramis is across the street. Get yourselves together and get the hell out of there. If you can get up the main street we can pick you up," he said, nudging at Porthos' shoulder and indicating he make the next turn. For several tense minutes they drove in silence, then d'Art started cursing violently.

"Yeah, the roof's not going to be an option."

"I can take out the ones I can see d'Art," Aramis offered, "but there's too much cover on the roof for me to get them all."

"Don't bother, there's more inside. I'll never get through them all."

"So now what?" Porthos was vibrating with tension and Athos could feel his own heart rate skyrocketing unpleasantly. From Dagarov's smile, Athos could almost believe he knew what was going on.

"Can't go up, can't go down. Any of you know how high you can fall without dying?"

"You're not serious?"

"You have a better plan?" d'Artagnan snapped, sounding far more stressed than his usual carefree demeanour ever was. "Fourth floor isn't so bad right?"

"You'll kill yourself!"

"They'll kill me if I don't move."

"Land on your side," Aramis told him, cutting off Athos' next words. "I've jumped from a few roof tops in my time. You land on your back or your head and your spine will snap like a twig. Land on your front and your ribs will shred your lungs. Word of warning, your arm is almost certainly going to end up broken."

"Well, doesn't that sound- Oh, shit!" d'Artagnan cut off abruptly and there was another rush of static as a loud noise – Athos vaguely recognised the sound of breaking glass – swept through the comms.

"d'Art?" Porthos demanded a moment later, taking a turn too sharply and sending Athos and Dagarov tumbling sideways. In the whirl of movement, Athos caught sight of two army jeeps hot on their heels.

"Porthos, faster," he muttered quietly.

"d'Art, get the hell up," Aramis snapped suddenly. "The ones on the ground are heading your way."

d'Artagnan groaned, long and loud, in response to that and it was the greatest thing Athos had ever heard. "Come on kid, we're almost there."

"Remind me not to do that again. Who thought jumping out a window was a good idea?"

"That would be you kid."

"Past me was a fucking moron."

"Current you is a fucking moron, I'm sure. Turn left, I'm heading down the fire escape above you."

"Start heading North. We'll pick you up but we have to move quickly, okay?"

"Copy that."

Athos reached out and took Porthos' gun, before rolling the window down and siding so that he was sitting on the door with clear sight lines on the jeeps following him. He was nowhere near as good a shot as Aramis, especially from a moving stand at moving targets but that didn't mean he wasn't damn good. The windshields were bulletproof but the tyres were woefully unprotected. He was able to take out one of the jeeps with just three bullets.

Unfortunately that was when the second jeep caught on to what he was doing and a man with an assault rifle popped out the side to return fire. Athos caught a bullet in the arm and ducked back inside his own jeep hurriedly.

"You hit?" Porthos grunted.

"A graze. I'm fine."

He didn't look convinced but he let it go. "Aramis, we're a street away, where are you?"

"We'll be there, just hurry. We've got men just behind us."

"What a coincidence, so do we." Athos took a deep breath and fired out the window again, getting off two shots before he was forced to duck back inside. He couldn't risk blind-firing with the number of civilians on the streets.

Dagarov seemed to be growing more restless again, muttering in agitated Russian before he said, in very scratchy English, "You American?"

Athos laughed just a little and shook his head. "French. Or at least, working for the French," he replied in his own, spotless English. "Fabius and the people at the Quai d'Orsay would like a word."

The information seemed to stun Dagarov back into stillness. Porthos stirred unhappily beside him. "We're almost there. Get ready."

"Porthos, we're here," Aramis told them at almost the same moment.

"Let's do this then." Porthos slammed hard on the breaks, bringing them to a skidding halt directly in front of their teammates. Aramis was supporting a pale d'Artagnan but they rushed towards them without too much trouble. The jeep that had been behind them raced past, going too fast to react quickly enough to brake when they had, but able to release a burst of gunfire along their flank. Athos barely got the bulletproof window back up in time.

As soon as Aramis had bundled d'Artagnan into the back and scrambled in himself, Porthos hit the gas again, spinning the wheel to send them swerving back the way they'd come. Further down the road, the other jeep was doing the same.

"All in one piece?" Aramis asked brightly, apparently undeterred by the fact he was almost in the lap of a man who had been responsible for several brutal massacres.

d'Artagnan swore at him unhappily and Porthos laughed. Athos felt good humour glow in his stomach for the briefest of moments before Porthos obliterated it. "Athos is hit."

He glared at him, his eyebrows screaming 'traitor' with as much venom as he could muster until Aramis climbed over, into his lap, to take a look at him. Despite his natural desire for space, Athos had never quite managed to dissuade Aramis from his tactile disposition and by now he was used to the frequent invasions.

"Show me."

"We have bigger problems right now."

"Athos."

Sighing in defeat, Athos presented his arm for inspection. It honestly wasn't a problem, the bullet had only skimmed him and there was barely any blood. Aramis probed at the graze for a moment then sat back, relieved. "It's a scratch. This is what you were moaning about?"

Unwilling to dignify that with an answer, Athos tilted his hips and deposited Aramis heavily into the foot well in front of him. Unbothered, Aramis just scrambled back over to d'Art, shoving his ass into Athos' face in retribution as he went.

d'Art's face was drawn tight with pain, tan skin pale as he gripped helplessly at his left arm. At least he'd had the sense to land on his less dominant side. "How're you doing, kid?" Aramis very gently pulled the injured limb away from his chest to assess the damage, wincing in sympathy as he felt the give in the ruined bone.

"Athos?"

"Yes d'Artagnan?"

"Don't ever let me just out of a fourth floor window again please."

"I'm not entirely sure I 'let' you do it this time. But if it will make you feel better, I promise that I will stop you from throwing yourself out of buildings whenever I am able."

"Thanks. Aramis?"

"Yes?" He was busying himself by making a sling out of the sash he kept tied around his waist and didn't look up.

"Once my arm's in a cast and I've had some morphine, I'm going to punch you."

"Oh. Might I ask why?"

"You thought it would be a good idea for me to jump out a fucking window."

"You thought it would be a good idea. I merely offered sufficient advice to stop you from killing yourself in the process."

"I'm still going to punch you."

"Alright."

Athos found himself ridiculously glad that Dagarov didn't seem speak any French. His team would always get the mission done, always, but they didn't necessarily ever look like they knew what they were doing. Treville indulged them a little but even he would have been embarrassed by this exchange in front of an international criminal.

"If we could focus gentlemen."

"Don't lump me with them," Porthos replied mildly. "I'm doing my goddamn job." The words were only just out of his mouth when the jeep shuddered around them and they all jerked violently forwards. It would seem that their pursuers had caught up with them. "Son of a bitch."

The little colour that had lingered in d'Art's face had drained away and he blinked owlishly at Athos for a moment. "I think," he slurred eventually, "That I'm going to pass out now." He slumped forwards bonelessly.

Aramis cursed a little in Spanish as he caught him, leaning him back in the seat and snapping the seatbelt closed over him, keeping him pinned to the seat.

"How's his arm?" Athos asked, studying d'Artagnan's lax features.

"Very, very broken. I think he busted up some ribs too. I'm impressed he's stayed conscious this whole time."

The jeep behind them rammed them again and Aramis swore colourfully, relieving d'Art of his hand gun and rolling down his own window to fire of a few shots at the windshield to try and distract the driver. The jeep swerved a little but kept on relentlessly, the assault rifle spitting at them and forcing Aramis back into cover.

Athos turned to Porthos. "Get us out of the city and head west. Once we're across the border in Belarus, we can head to a safe house and contact evac."

"You'll never get away with this," Dagarov informed them in English. "I will see you executed for this."

For a moment Athos was vaguely glad that Porthos didn't speak any English because he knew that his friend would never stand threats to his team without responding. The pleasure lasted all of about ten seconds before Aramis leaned across d'Artagnan and punched Dagarov square in the face and knocking him out cold.

"Why did you not do that sooner?"

Athos shrugged, not willing to get upset over scum like that. "Something about punching unarmed men seemed a little… brutal."

"He's not a man. He's a monster."

"What did he say?" Porthos asked, irritated to be left out.

"Idle threats of a man who's going to spend the rest of his life behind bars. Don't worry about it," Athos reassured.

Aramis poked himself out of his window again and fired once, hitting the other gunman square in the face. He fell from the jeep awkwardly, twisting as his legs caught on something until he was dragged under the back wheel. Athos tried to pretend he didn't hear the sickening crunch. The sudden bump at the speeds they were going was too much for the driver to control and the vehicle wrenched itself out of his control and swerving sideways wildly, careening into the side of a building and stilling.

Feeling slightly safer, Athos settled himself down in his seat, slipping his seatbelt on for the first time. Behind them, Aramis was muttering a Spanish prayer, just as he always did after taking lives but Athos and Porthos didn't comment. They left Aramis to his faith, and he never tried to force his views on them.

"This could have gone better."

"I don't know," Porthos comforted. "We've had worse."

"That is true. d'Artagnan hasn't."

"He was going to get badly injured sometime. At least this is something that we can fix."

"Stop talking about me," d'Artagnan muttered sullenly, his thick voice indicating that he hadn't fully woken up yet. Porthos laughed and Athos allowed himself a smile. It could always have gone worse.

"d'Artagnan's going to be out of action for how long?" Treville snapped, his voice climbing dangerously high as he stared down his three best men. "What the hell did you do to him?"

"Technically he did it to himself Sir-" Aramis started but Porthos stamped on his foot to shut him up.

"It was the only way out of a hopeless situation Sir," Athos supplied instead. "He was about to be overrun."

Treville still looked irritated but he let it slide, looking instead at the case file on the desk in front of him. "Well, I would have been happier if you'd gotten Dagarov without a HSC through the streets but I suppose you did what you could in the circumstances. We've looked through the files to see who might have given away your presence but everyone with authorised access checks out. Someone must have hacked the system."

"There's not a trace anywhere?" Athos knew that corrupt systems were all over the world but he couldn't believe that he worked for one. The Musketeers were the best of the best, and he couldn't think about them betraying them like this.

"Our technicians are working on it, but so far there's nothing."

"d'Artagnan will be out of hospital in two days. Give him a laptop and ten minutes and I guarantee he'll get you a lead," Athos told him.

Treville raised an eyebrow. "You want me to grant a civilian full access to classified files?"

"I think civilian isn't quite the term. d'Art's been driving to get a commission here for months. Let him prove himself. I'm telling you, there's no one better with a keyboard in front of them."

Porthos and Aramis both spoke up as well, voicing their support of their friend. They weren't just trying to help the kid because they liked him, he truly would make an amazing Musketeer one day if only Treville would give him the chance.

"Alright," the Captain agreed eventually. "But I want you there with him at all times. I'm not giving him access and then just letting him run wild through our system."

Athos thanked him and rose, shuffling away awkwardly. He'd never quite known how to act around the Captain and even after years of service and being able to call him a friend, it was still hard to find his footing. It was due in no small part to the fact that Treville was, in fact, a General and the ex-soldier in Athos trembled at such authority. He still had no idea why he preferred 'Captain' as his title.

When they told d'Artagnan of the news, he'd beamed at them – looking for all the world like a puppy with a treat – and thanked them profusely for their support of him.

"It's not like we said anything that isn't true. You're a menace with that laptop of yours."

d'Artagnan glanced away for a second, his joy flickering at the inadvertent reminder. His own laptop, the one he'd looked after like it was sacred since they'd first met him, hadn't quite survived the jump out the window. He had every intention of trying to fix it as soon as he had both hands available, but for now at least, it wasn't of any use. None of them had had the heart to ask him why this specific laptop was so important – they had a feeling it was something to do with his father, who still went almost utterly unmentioned.

"Well, we all have our talents. Mine is being a nosy little shit," he said after a moment, the smile returning only slightly strained.

"You still haven't told me how you found us. I can't understand how you went from one word to finding three covert agents in nine days. We're supposed to be hard to find," Aramis griped. He was still just a little bitter about that bomb.

"Well, I didn't know that," d'Artagnan mocked gently, smiling. "And you really need to let that go."

"You tried to blow us up!"

"I didn't though, did I? And besides, I didn't even know who you were. I think you're just annoyed I got the jump on you."

"Actually I think he's just annoyed that you got to the sofa before he did," Porthos pointed out. "He really wanted a nap."

"I was tired, okay? So were you as I seem to recall."

"I'd had two weeks of you jabbering on at a hundred miles an hour in Spanish, of course I was fucking tired."

Aramis did his best to look offended, tackling Porthos playfully and jabbing at his kidneys before the other man could twist away. Athos and d'Artagnan shared a look that clearly said 'children.' Eventually, Athos had to pull Aramis off Porthos before the larger man folded him in half and put him down carefully into one of the chairs at d'Art's bedside. "Stay."

"Bossy."

Athos sighed, looking so world weary that d'Artagnan laughed out loud, wincing a little as pain sprung up all down his side. Athos caught the flinch with a frown.

"Are you in pain?"

"Only when I breathe," d'Artagnan admitted easily. "It's not so bad."

Aramis snorted disbelievingly. "What was the final count? A broken arm, some ribs…?"

"Ulna and radius, humerus, collarbone, four ribs broken, two cracked and a few hairline fractures on my pelvis. It could be worse."

"You're a fucking idiot," Porthos admonished.

"At least I didn't get shot," d'Art replied with a lopsided shrug. "It's not like I haven't broken bones before."

"You've never broken anything with us," Athos pointed out, still looking a little tense from realising how badly d'Art had managed to hurt himself. "It's different."

"I swear to god, if you start blaming yourself for my stupidity, I'm going to be punching you straight after Aramis. This is entirely on me. And Dagarov, but I figure he'll get what's coming to him without any help from me."

"I was hoping you'd forgotten about that punching thing," Aramis muttered sullenly, eying him from just out of arm's reach. "It really wasn't my fault."

"No, but you usually deserve a punch for something or other," Porthos reminded him, smiling beatifically. Aramis hissed at him, clutching his chest as though wounded.

"Who did I piss off in a past life to end up with you three?" Athos muttered to himself, his lips twitching when d'Art snorted. The kid would be alright, eventually and that was what mattered; he didn't blame Athos for getting hurt and he didn't seem to regret his actions. They'd be alright.

The next hour or so was spent lounging about in d'Art's private room – being a Musketeer's apprentice had some perks at least – while Aramis flirted with every nurse that came within a ten foot radius and Athos started questioning his life's choices. To Aramis' eternal amusement, d'Art was hopelessly awkward with any member of the opposite gender except for Constance, a member of Sierra team he'd been sweet on since the moment they met. Any time a female nurse or doctor spoke to him directly, he'd blush adorably and mutter the answer towards his own feet. Even Athos had to admit the effect was charming.

After the third time this happened, Aramis was a quivering, giggling lump curled up on his chair, burying his tear-streaked face in his knees and d'Art was looking about himself for ammunition. He'd already thrown the pen and paper on his bedside table and seemed to be genuinely considering the glass of water too.

"Ignore him," Athos instructed him, hoping that he wouldn't be left explaining to the hospital why their room had transformed into a battleground. "He's being an idiot." He swotted half-heartedly at Aramis' curls.

d'Artagnan continued to glare but stopped eyeing the glass thoughtfully, so Athos considered it a victory. Very quietly, he muttered, "Should have blown you up when I had the chance."

Aramis – ever able to hear things that he shouldn't – looked up with fake heartbreak on his face, laughter dying instantly. "How can you say such hurtful things?" He gave d'Art a moment to snicker and then leapt at him, launching himself onto the narrow hospital bed and somehow miraculously not knocking into d'Artagnan's numerous injuries. The younger man squeaked in surprise, trying to squirm out from beneath his friend but he couldn't shift the weight. Defeated, he groaned.

"Athos, please get him off me," he said after it became clear Aramis had no intention of relenting.

"You did provoke him. And regret not blowing up my house," Athos reasoned, a smile curving his lips. "Besides, he looks really quite comfortable." To prove the point, Aramis started pretending to snore, obnoxiously loud in d'Art's ear.

"If I apologise for that, will you get off me?" Not breaking the mime of being asleep, Aramis nodded slowly. "In which case, I most sincerely apologise for ever thinking of killing you three fine gentlemen. I assure you, such a thing will not happen again." There was a long, pointed silence in which Aramis didn't move a muscle and d'Artagnan glared at the ceiling, trying once more to shove the weight off him. "Dude," he whined after a moment, "get off me."

"You didn't sound sincere," Aramis muttered very quietly, then started snoring again.

d'Artagnan just sighed and looked pleadingly at Athos. When that got him nowhere, he turned his puppy eyes on Porthos, who had a history of being unable to resist his wide, honest stare. The big man shifted uneasily under his gaze. "He's doing that thing," he moaned to the others. "You know I hate the thing."

"Be strong Porthos," Aramis told him. He'd had to lift himself slightly to speak and d'Artagnan finally managed to weasel around enough to get his unbroken arm up so that he could elbow him in the ribs. Aramis hissed a little and shifted away, collapsing into the minute space between d'Artagnan and the edge of the bed. "That was mean. Your elbows are sharp."

"And you're heavy. I do quite like breathing thank you very much."

They went back and forth for a few more minutes, Porthos joining in easily. Athos leant back in his chair, one eye on the door – a habit from so many years in the service – and the other on his friends. He'd fought for every inch of this and the reward had been this small, loyal family; he wouldn't change anything about it.

d'Art says 'Of course, don't you?' in Russian (I used google translate, sue me, I don't speak Russian. Correct me if I'm wrong).

The Quai d'Orsay is the home of the French equivalent of the foreign office. Laurent Fabius is currently its minister.

Also, HSC refers to high speed chase, not health and social care.