(A/N: Here we have it - the last story planned for Tea, Coffee and Sibling Rivalry. It's been well over four years, a shocking update schedule by anyone's reckoning, but I have enjoyed it immensely. Whatever I've been working through in life, I've been able to come to this and share a new story with you, and read through the truly lovely comments you've left, and see the hits and favourites grow. The response you've given to these ramblings has been really meaningful to me, so very sincerely, thank you to all of you. It's been wonderful to share the love of the Musketeers with you.

In this chapter, I've tried to round off a few plot points from within my story right back to Chapter One (with a conclusion I've had in mind since then), and also to borrow a little from the ending of the actual show - but, as ever, taking generous liberties to make things a bit happier too. I'm saving lives all over the place, and righting a few other wrongs. Despite my own issues with some of the last series, I really love the show, but there was room for the characters to be a bit happier. I hope this forms a satisfactory ending to a fic that grew far beyond its beginnings as a thousand-and-something word oneshot.

I'm loathe to say never, and I might end up adding little extras to this some day, but for now I'm calling it finished. Thank you, once again, for reading.)

When Grimaud went down, it was as the culmination of a year's work and the discovery of a tangled web of crime and corruption that investigators and the national press would be unpicking for months. It was the case where they could have lost Treville that started it, because they'd found a whisper of a connection between Grimaud and the haul of drugs, and that had begun everything else.

It was a case that kept them working late and led them down more dangerous roads than any other before. It made for a difficult year, yet for each of them it was an incredible one too, and to Athos there were moments that stood out like gold dust between the chaos. D'Artagnan and Constance's house warming party, where they all got thoroughly drunk - most memorably, Treville, whose tolerance had lowered after a long tee-total stretch following his injury, turned out (to general delight) to be a singer when he was completely drunk. Then there was Aramis and Anne moving in together, and not long after that came the announcement that Anne was pregnant. Regardless of what people said about pregnancy making women glow, Aramis seemed to be giving off his own delighted light for weeks after they found out. Then, towards the end of the year, Porthos had introduced them to Elodie, a woman who could very sweetly and calmly go head to head with Porthos in a way Athos had never seen before. She was also pregnant, with the child of a man who she hadn't heard from since she told him about the baby, but it was plain from the second Porthos made the introductions that he had already decided he would love the child as much as its mother.

A difficult year, but one in which their family became stronger and began to grow, undaunted in the face of even a campaign of violence and threats that Grimaud began against the Musketeers as their case against him strengthened. Seasoned Musketeers were getting hurt or endangered even on routine cases; Grimaud and his allies were trying to close a net around them in return. They were going after Grimaud's operations because it was their job but he was making in personal, and that only fired up every Musketeer to take him down.

It was when two of the young cadets, Brujon and Clairmont, ended up spending two days in hospital recovering from an attack right outside headquarters that Athos stormed into the office, a whirlwind of concentrated fury, and didn't leave the building for almost three days until he had a concrete lead they could use. It was the beginning of the end for Grimaud, and since then they'd successfully chipped away at his contacts and resources. He was the one who'd made it into a war, but Athos was determined to end it.

Their lives being what they were, the final showdown with Grimaud was dangerous, could have killed them all, and couldn't possibly have come at a worse time.

They managed to prevent a series of explosions at key sites around the city without anyone getting hurt, including an attempt to destroy the Musketeer headquarters itself. It had been intended as a damning, destructive blow against the city; instead, it turned around on Grimaud spectacularly. The last of his allies deserted him, and the Musketeers almost arrested him; he'd come to watch his planned destruction of the headquarters and Athos' team had nearly caught him, Athos even getting as close as clipping him in the shoulder with a bullet, but he'd managed to escape into a civilian area and disappear.

It had been a frustrating blow, until one of his ex-allies, clearly deciding to lay his allegiance somewhere safer, had tipped them off that the last of Grimaud's known hideouts in the city was a series of disused metro tunnels closed down years ago and mostly forgotten, accessed through a closed station in a busy part of the city.

There was always the risk it was a trap, but it was one they were going to have to take. The explosives Grimaud was planning to use had been stolen, but in foiling his plans they hadn't found all of them. The man might be alone now but he was still dangerous. Backup was coming but they would hit the ground first, and there wasn't time to wait. If he'd gone back to this base to recover resources, he wouldn't wait there long.

Which was why Athos was driving quickly around the mid-morning traffic, careful and tense. D'Artagnan, beside him, and Aramis and Porthos in the back were all silent, checking over equipment with steady, methodical hands even though they'd checked everything before they left. This was it, Athos could feel it, and he knew the others could do. They would end this today.

It was into that silence, as Athos manipulated the car expertly around corners and cars, that Aramis' phone rang.

Clearly startled, Aramis holstered his gun and pulled the phone out - and then, at one look at the screen, he scrambled to answer it.

"Constance?"

Athos glanced into the rear view mirror in time to see Aramis' face blanch.

"Oh my God." There was open alarm in Aramis' voice that immediately clenched something in Athos' gut, and he exchanged a quick look with d'Artagnan, who twisted round to look back.

"Is she alright?" Aramis was saying. He sounded strangely lost, scared even, although moments ago he'd been stoic in the face of walking into a battle. "Yeah, we have. I moved it - it's in the cupboard, just by the front d- yeah, that's it. Are you driving, or - yeah, that's quickest. Okay. I don't... Let me know when you get there. Keep me updated, I'll be there as soon as - as soon as I can. Tell her I love her. Okay. Thanks."

When he lowered the phone, Aramis fell silent. Athos chanced another glance back and was still more alarmed to see that his hands were shaking slightly.

Porthos shook him slightly, clearly worried. "What's happened?"

"That was Constance," Aramis said needlessly. Then, "Anne's gone into labour."

There couldn't have been a more stunned silence if their jaws had literally dropped open. It shouldn't be such a surprise, Athos thought vaguely, they'd known the baby was coming any time now. But right now... although maybe it would have left them speechless at any moment, something this huge. Then Porthos was clapping Aramis on the back, and d'Artagnan gave a small cheer.

"This is it, then," d'Artagnan said, a broad grin replacing his grim expression. "You're about to be a dad."

"I'm not ready for this," Aramis said, and his voice had a very uncharacteristic tremor. Maybe Athos was taking his eyes off the road more than was entirely wise, but he couldn't help another look; Aramis was still pale and his hands were now tapping an anxious rhythm on his legs. "I thought I was, but... And what about Anne..."

"Hey," Porthos said, knocking his arm gently into Aramis' then gripping one of his fidgeting hands. "You're going to be an incredible father, Aramis. You've read so many parenting books to us I've been ready to hit you over the head with them. You've got this sorted."

"And Anne's not alone," d'Artagnan pointed out. "Constance is driving her to the hospital now, right?"

"Yes," Aramis said, and he seemed to draw strength from concrete facts. "She just needed the bag we packed, I moved it last night. Oh my God, our baby's coming." Elation and terror had clearly merged into one hybrid emotion, but at least he was starting to smile instead of just panicking. "I'm going to be a dad."

"Aramis," Athos said quietly. He hated having to distract his friend from this burgeoning joy, but they were only a few minutes out now. "Do you want me to stop? You could get a taxi here, go to the hospital to be with her."

It wasn't a choice Athos would ever have wished on his friend, and he hated Grimaud for it because this should have been a day for Aramis to be with his girlfriend without guilt. He meant the offer sincerely, would have stopped without hesitation if Aramis asked it. If there was less at stake, and it was up to him, Athos would have driven them all to the hospital himself.

But he knew his brother.

Aramis closed his eyes for a long moment, but he was steady again when they opened. "Grimaud is dangerous, and we know he's prepared to use the explosives. We've got to assume he still has them, and this might be our only shot to stop him. The best thing I can do for my son right now is to make sure he grows up in a safer world."

How was it possible for his heart to be so full and break all at once? It wasn't just that Aramis might miss his son's birth and not be there to support Anne. It was also that this was one of the most dangerous enemies they'd ever faced, and it was possible any of them might not come back.

It reminded him of something he'd asked d'Artagnan once, a while after his wedding - whether it changed things, risking his life once it was no longer only his to lose. He still recalled the look in his friend's eyes and being struck in that moment by how much the young man had grown in the years they'd known each other, because there had been so much wisdom there and in his answer - 'It changes everything'.

Athos could live with Aramis missing the birth if that was what it took to make Paris safe, even though he wished it could be otherwise. But Aramis never returning home, and that baby never knowing its father?

That was not a world he could bear. Athos swore to himself then that if he could find a way to make this fight his, if he could spare the others the danger and take down Grimaud alone, he would do it. No matter the cost.

It went fast from there, though Athos remembered it all with perfect clarity afterwards. Pulling over and accepting his weapons from d'Artagnan, checking his vest was in place. Clambering over a chained gate and down a flight of steps, forcing their way through a door that had been blocked from the inside. Making their way by torchlight past the old ticket office and through the foyer, and stilling when Porthos threw out a hand, waiting and hearing his own heart racing when Porthos went to investigate his discovery.

"It's not a bomb," he said at length, gingerly closing the lid of the case. "Just the explosives. He's not had time to do anything with it yet."

Athos felt the others deflate with relief on either side of him, and his own pulse steadied.

"We can't carry it with us, and we can't leave it here in case he doubles back. Porthos, stay here, watch for him coming back. When backup gets here, hand it over and follow us. You two, with me. Check your comms are on."

He thumbed the button of the radio on his own vest to be sure, and checked the earpiece. The others nodded, faces set and grim - and, filled with a strange feeling suddenly, Athos held out one hand, palm down. The others understood immediately, and without a word spoken, their hands came in to cover his, caught in the beams of the torches, bright in that deep darkness.

One for all, all for one.

It didn't even need to be said.

Then they were moving, leaving Porthos with his gun drawn to protect the explosives. There were two tunnels leading off from the foyer, presumably down to the platforms, and a small red door marked for employees only. With glances and hand motions, Athos directed the others down to the platforms, and forced his way through the door himself.

In the narrow corridors, small rooms and access tunnels of the staff areas, the darkness and silence seemed to press in all the closer. With sight so limited, hearing seemed to be amplified; every step echoed. He kept his own transmissions on the radio as quiet as he could, but was reassuring to have the occasional check in from the others in his ear. No sign of Grimaud anywhere - yet the station entrance had been blocked from the inside, so either someone had found another exit from the tunnels, or he was in here somewhere.

He worked his way through what felt like a maze, finally coming to a last set of stairs and another door that led out into a much larger tunnel, large enough to be meant for a train though no tracks had, it seemed, ever been laid here. It clearly had a leak or burst pipe somewhere, though, because he was standing in an inch or two of water.

It was as he closed the door carefully behind him that he saw something far more important.

A bloody handprint smeared on the door frame, still glistening wet.

He was here.

And Athos made what probably ranked as the most strategically stupid choice of his career. There would be hell to pay for it later, he knew. Even with Porthos holding his position, Aramis and d'Artagnan were down here somewhere and could come to back him up. Every protocol and shred of common sense would say he should report his location and discovery to them.

Instead, Athos reached up without any hesitation or doubt, and switched off his radio.

Aramis' voice cut off midway through a report on his status. The silence grew absolute, but Athos could sense that he wasn't alone.

And then Grimaud spoke. His voice was formless in the dark, and echoed strangely off the walls and water so that it was impossible to place where he was.

"A year you've hunted me, Olivier Athos. How does it feel to be hunted back? It's taken you so long to find me - because I am everywhere. I have people across Paris. Do you think you can stop me?"

A year, and Athos had not come this far to be goaded into being distracted by a man like this. He kept his torch raised and his gun level, and stepped forward strengthened by the thought of those he was shielding.

The faintest hint of a splash and boots scraping over ground was all the warning he got, and it was barely enough for him to react. Athos twisted back fast enough that the knife slashed through the air near enough to feel like a faint breath of wind, but it missed his throat. Yet it distracted him enough for Grimaud to seize his right hand and smash it back against the wall, making his fingers spasm open. The gun flew from his grip and was lost in the darkness with a splash of its own.

What followed was probably the most vicious and challenging fight of Athos' life. Fought only in the light of his torch, which he had to drop a few seconds in to free up his hands, and with only knives as weapons, it lasted less than two minutes but saw Athos come within an instant of death more times than any mission he'd known before. Grimaud was a wounded predator, more deadly for his injuries and prepared to die rather than be defeated, especially if he could take Athos down with him.

And yet, for all that, it ended with Grimaud unconscious on his back.

As soon as Grimaud fell and didn't get back up, Athos dropped gracelessly to his knees. Drawing on reserves of strength he wasn't sure he had, he hauled Grimaud onto his side, shoved him into an approximation of the recovery position, then cuffed his hands behind his back.

It was all he could do, and Athos let himself fall backwards. It didn't even bother him that he was lying in cold water; he was soaked through anyway and maybe it would clear away some of the blood. The adrenaline of the fight seemed to have spent all his energy, and was no longer covering for the blows he'd taken. On the bright side, most of the blood on him was either Grimaud's or from his nose, though a few sharp stings from the water suggested cuts. Mostly he felt bruised all over, aching from impacts with the ground and walls, and his breathing sounded strangely loud as he tried to catch his breath. For a few moments he just stared up at the tunnel ceiling, all strange shapes and shadows in the torchlight, and rested.

A year long hunt, and who knew how long they'd really been fighting before that, how long Grimaud and Feron's influence had endangered innocent lives and poisoned the Musketeers. And it was done. A mission that had taken them across France through intrigues and violence and it ended here, in the dark beneath the streets of Paris, with Athos once again resigned to getting checked over in the hospital. But it had come close to ending so much worse so many times; he'd been so afraid for his brothers, for his city. And they were all safe now.

It might have been a couple of minutes before his higher level mental processing switched back on, and it occurred to Athos that this silence wasn't what he actually ought to be hearing right now. He grimaced as he remembered his neglected radio. He didn't regret his choices, but they were going to be justifiably furious at him for this.

Wearily, and feeling distinctly like his body was moving in slow motion, Athos turned the radio back on.

The crackle of voices in his ear was immediate.

"-still nothing, looks like a control room. It's like a maze down here. Aramis, anything?"

"No sign. I don't think anyone's been here in years. I'm coming over to you, Grimaud must be down there."

"You know what that means, though."

"I know. Athos will have found him."

D'Artagnan was already following him down the service tunnels. How long had it been? There was fear, tight and tense, behind their words, and guilt stirred in Athos - yet it was not as strong by far as the bone deep relief that they were still well and searching. He'd been sure he'd taken the danger out of their path by taking the path most likely to lead to Grimaud and fighting him alone, but there could have been another trap, and hearing their voices was a reassurance that the world was still as it should be.

He owed them the same reassurance in return.

"I'm here," he said, half-smiling in the dark as though they could see. "You're on the right track, d'Artagnan. Keep going until you find the stairs and down through a door, I've got Grimaud."

"I'm trying him again." It was Porthos this time. "Athos, come in. We're trying to find you. Can you hear me?"

Athos' heart sank. He tapped the radio. "Athos here. Do you copy?"

There was static filled silence, then Aramis' voice crackled over the line. "If anything's happened to him..."

"He's probably just out of range." D'Artagnan's voice conjured the image of his face set in stubborn refusal to acknowledge any misgivings, but he could hear footsteps quickening over the line. "He's down here somewhere."

"Can anyone hear me?" Athos tried again, but Aramis talked right through him.

"I'm at the door. D'Art, which way have you gone?"

Athos let his head fall back again.

"Shit."

Swearing didn't help much, but it was the most eloquent summary of the situation he could manage.

Grimaud was still only vaguely conscious, but there was no thought of trying to move him, because he felt weary enough trying to move himself. And handcuffed or not, he was hardly about to let Grimaud out of his sight.

The only option remaining was waiting to be found, and at least he knew they were going the right way. Heaving his reluctant body into motion, Athos retrieved his torch then hunted around until he had the gun and both knives secure, then frisked Grimaud, relieving him of a knife sheathed in one boot in the process. That done, he sat back down heavily against the wall, and angled his torch so that it lit as much of the space as possible, and settled his hand back onto the gun while he watched Grimaud closely.

Through all this, his brothers' voices were a constant accompaniment, as Aramis found d'Artagnan and the two of them reported their progress to Porthos, who in turn announced when backup had arrived and began running after the other two.

It was reassuring to have them there, but it was also a kind of pain he hadn't experienced before to hear the fear in their voices and have no way to comfort them. It was always their way, fearless about danger to themselves but so fearful for the others, but he was normally too out of it to be aware when that worry was directed at him.

They would find him, though. If there was one thing in the world he could be sure of, it was that those three would find him.

He called out to them as soon as he hear d'Artagnan mention the staircase. Walking turned to running and then the door was flung open, and d'Artagnan appeared in the doorway, staring at Athos for a second with wide, wary eyes, and then he sprinted forwards.

"Athos!"

"It's done," he said, the only words he could find in that moment. "It's done."

He nodded towards Grimaud. D'Artagnan followed his line of sight, then looked back at Athos, and dropped to his knees. More sounds of disturbed water alerted Athos to Aramis joining them.

"You didn't respond," Aramis said hollowly.

"It wasn't transmitting. You couldn't hear me."

"God." D'Artagnan covered his mouth with his hand for a moment, then gripped Athos' arm. "I thought you were dead."

The way Aramis was staring at him expressed exactly the same thought, and not for the first time Athos thought that it was a remarkable thing, to have the loyalty and love of these men.

"I'm alright," he said, a reassurance and a promise. "I'm alright."

Of course, despite his words, Aramis wouldn't let him move until he'd checked him over. When Porthos arrived and the full story came out, because they were sharp enough to know they ought to have heard something from him before his radio cut out, he was proved right about the inevitable - they all yelled at him enough that they properly woke Grimaud. This at least made it easier for d'Artagnan to haul the man to his feet, evidently quite keen to get him into custody, and between him and Porthos they half shoved, half dragged him back through the tunnels. Athos was left in Aramis' care, though he found that having rested for a little while it was easier to walk than he'd feared, and although Aramis fretted about the poor visibility and the risk of infection from dirty water, he did have to concede that Athos didn't seem badly hurt.

"I'm not sorry," Athos said quietly, letting Aramis help him to his feet. Something about the weight that seemed to have come off his chest made it feel freer to speak. "I regret causing you all pain, but I'm not sorry for my decision."

"I know, Athos," Aramis said, and there was so much understanding and affection in that reply that he could almost feel it. "It's just who we are, isn't it? I think you're an idiot, for the record, but I'd follow you into hell."

They met up with more Musketeers halfway through the tunnel system, forming an escort for Grimaud. They went through the foyer again and passed the bomb squad who'd arrived to secure the explosives, and then finally came blinking out into the sunlight, and handed their prisoner over to be taken away.

And the four of them, dishevelled and worse for wear as they were, looked at each other. They didn't even say a word, because they didn't need to. They'd done what they came for, and they were all still alive; that was all they needed.

Porthos broke the silence by gripping Aramis and Athos on the shoulders, and winking at d'Artagnan. "Right," he said. "That's that sorted, then. I think we've got a good couple of reasons to get to the hospital, boys."

They hadn't missed the birth. Aramis called Constance from the car and grimaced at whatever he was hearing through the phone, and promised he was on his way, going slightly pale-faced again. It was really remarkable, Athos reflected, relegated to the back seat beside their resident medic, how this was what Aramis was more afraid of than any criminals - though perhaps, he thought, he would understand if he was ever in the same position.

When they reached the hospital, Aramis, of course, disappeared the moment he got Athos in with a doctor, though not without extracting promises for immediate updates as soon as they were available. Athos tried to chivvy d'Artagnan and Porthos out after him, but they pointed out that they could hardly support Aramis right now, so Athos was stuck with them.

It was hard to argue with that point.

Ultimately, there was nothing wrong with him that wouldn't heal in a week or so, just exertion and bruises and light cuts that were easily treated. He was given strict instructions to go and have something to eat and a hot drink after the dunk in cold water, which was said within easy earshot of his minders, so they had to take a detour down to the cafe, and Porthos badgered him into changing into a spare shirt and jogging bottoms from the car so that he wasn't sitting around in wet clothes.

The Musketeers were all pretty familiar with this hospital. It was central within the city and not far from their headquarters, so they often ended up here, and they always made for an odd group - a handful of them, often half still in tactical gear and generally pacing the corridors while they worried about whoever had been hurt. They probably looked even stranger today, even though they'd left their gear in the car, because they all looked dishevelled but the mood was jubilant. Constance came and found them after Aramis took her place in the delivery room, and they filled each other in on what they'd missed. Porthos had been texting busily since they'd settled down and Elodie arrived after a while, excited and beaming and quick to join Constance in delivering yet another lecture to Athos on why his actions had been reckless. She also kissed him on the cheek, though, so Athos suspected that she understood.

They were there maybe two hours, eating and drinking questionable food and tea and talking so raucously that they started getting hushed, albeit in good humour, by passing staff - and then Aramis appeared.

No longer pale-faced or shaky, he stood there radiating nothing but blissful joy.

"Alright, you lot," he said, grinning. "Come with me."

They followed as one, and crowded after him into the little room. Aramis went to the head of the bed to stand beside an equally radiant Anne, who was cradling a tiny blanketed bundle in her arms.

"My friends," Aramis said beatifically. "Meet our son."

It was like the whole world had gone soft and safe and peaceful. Here in this little room, all the danger and threat of the morning just slipped away like a coat removed and left outside, and Athos forgot all about his aches. Here, it was just friends and family and the wonder of his friends' tiny newborn son.

"We've got a name for him," Anne added softly. She seemed to find it hard to look away from the baby, but when she did the smile she turned on all of them was beautiful. She looked up at Aramis and nodded.

It was like all the hard edges Aramis had ever had were softened. Athos had seen him fiercely happy before, but nothing compared to this - this brilliance that was like sunlight spilling out from him.

"We thought it would be hard to pick, but actually there was only one name that felt right to us," Aramis said. "We decided to name him after someone who's always been there for both of us. Who saved my life so many times and in so many ways. And I couldn't be a prouder father than if my son grew up just like him, just like his uncle."

And then - then his gaze settled on Athos.

"We're calling him Olivier."

Athos was powerless to do anything but stare. He'd have doubted his own hearing, but Aramis was still looking at him with that warm smile, and Anne with gentle understanding in her eyes, and Porthos and d'Artagnan clapped him on the back. Athos only rocked in place, unable even to look round, and he couldn't have spoken in that moment to save his life.

"Come here," Anne said softly. "Would you like to hold him?"

Taking that tiny, precious child into his arms was perhaps the most terrifying thing Athos had ever done. He sank into a chair, every sense hyper alert, every movement more careful than he'd ever been with anything, from the most delicate to the most dangerous. And then he just looked down at the little boy, at his tiny hands, his closed eyes, his gently kicking feet.

Olivier.

His throat seemed to have closed up, though it hardly mattered because his power to formulate words had fled the room anyway. And he found himself making a silent promise in his head. He'd sworn to protect his brother earlier; now, with whatever it took, he would protect this little boy. His nephew.

He'd once thought he was nothing but a danger to others, that he carried darkness around with him that drove off everyone he could have cared for. That was a long time ago - those were the thoughts of a different man. And here was proof of that change in the presence of a baby who had been given his name, and was sleeping contentedly in his arms.

He wasn't sure how long it was before he looked up. He'd been aware of the others speaking and moving but not processed a bit of it, so he was slightly surprised to see them all sitting down and chatting comfortably with Anne. Aramis, however, was perched on the edge of Anne's bed and was grinning at him.

"That happened to me too," he said, clearly understanding Athos' confusion. "I just watch him and it's like there's nothing else in the world that matters."

"Yeah, come on, Athos," Porthos chimed in, his broad grin teasing. "There are other uncles who want to hold him too, you know."

"And aunts," Constance added, punching Porthos lightly in the arm. "Wait your turn."

Athos stood carefully, keeping his motions smooth to avoid jostling the baby, and returned him to his father. Once Aramis had the child safely ensconced within Constance's arms, Athose finally pulled himself together enough to speak.

"He's beautiful," he said softly. "I'm so happy for you, Aramis. For you both. And - I'm honoured."

For once, Aramis didn't say anything in reply. He simply smiled, and in that smile were the shadows they had known and the beautiful memories that had come to stand against the dark. And, as brothers who'd won that fight together, they moved at the same time to pull each other into a hug.

They spent a happy time there, full of conversation, laughter, and some crying too when Olivier woke up. At one point Athos found himself squeezed onto a chair next to Constance with d'Artagnan perched on the arm, in this room full of so many of the people he loved best. Anne, Aramis and Olivier were at the centre of it all, of course. Athos looked at the three of them, the new parents gazing lovestruck at their son, at the look of peace and adoration on the face of one of his oldest and dearest friends, who had once thought he'd never find happiness or rest in the world.

And an idea came to him then, and he smiled. He had a gift to buy.

When the scandal broke, and the truth came out about the extent of Grimaud's operations, it wasn't only him that went down - Feron, Rochefort, and even Louis toppled too. The story would go on to headline in the press for weeks; corruption at the head of an elite taskforce, an alliance between a law enforcement agency's leader and a man whose influence extended into virtually every area of criminality going. It was Feron's alliance, but it took Louis down too. There was no avoiding it, not when Louis was the overall head of the organisation and had never even noticed Feron's abuse of his position.

Treville avoided suspicion, which was just as well - if he'd been fired, the rest of the unit would have walked out after him. But things were rough for him for a while, between court appearances, media interviews and arguing for the ongoing existence of the Musketeers.

Yet though he must have known better than any of them the difficulties that lay ahead, he came to that hospital room that afternoon too, so pleased and proud of all of them, and their family was complete.

Aramis came into the office the next day, though only briefly. Caught slightly off guard by the start of his paternity leave, he needed to collect a few things from the office and drop off a bunch of equipment. He came in late, and was greeted by a round of applause and several cheers - which, of course, he accepted with delight. He was also showered with a couple of dozen cards and gifts, and by the time he got to his desk it was a heap of happy coloured wrapping paper and gift bags.

Jean, who had been sleeping on his favourite jumper down the side of Aramis' desk, gave the proceedings a rather scathing eye and came skulking over to leap onto Athos' chair instead.

Once the crowd had ebbed away a bit, Porthos tugged Aramis into a hug. Athos grinned at him.

"Good to see you," he said, and tossed over another gift bag.

"What's this, Olivier Athos buying baby presents, surely not?" Aramis gasped in exaggerated shock, and peered inside the bag.

And then he smiled, and began to laugh, and carefully tipped the contents out onto his desk.

Hats. About a dozen hats, all tiny, all bright and colourful and different - cosy winter hats, sweet little sun hats, and even the masterpiece of a little wide-brimmed hat just like Aramis' favourite, although the smallest one Athos had been able to find wouldn't fit until the kid was about two.

"That," Aramis said firmly, picking up the hat and no doubt already picturing it on his son, "is brilliant. My little Musketeer."

Porthos grinned. "Yeah, Ollie's going to look just like his namesake."

Athos rolled his eyes, examined his desk for projectiles, and threw a stress ball at his brother's head.

Things would always be different from now on, and yet they hadn't really changed at all. Their family was just growing, and all of them had carved out a home together where they had each thought they'd never find one after what they'd lost. Athos had brothers and sisters and a father, family in all the ways that counted, and now a little nephew and a niece before too long. His heart had never felt so full.

And through it all, no matter what, his brothers would always be here beside him.

When he'd sorted through the rest of the hats with the same delighted expression, Aramis turned his attention to the pile of other gifts. "I'd better get all this to Anne before I start opening it. I feel like a lot of them are onesies, and I will start wailing about how little they are."

"I'll give you a hand loading the car," Porthos offered. "Oh, but first, d'Artagnan said you should open his card yourself. Dunno why."

Aramis looked round, no doubt wondering where their errant brother had gone, but he never could resist a mystery. He sorted through the pile, selected one, and read.

It was the long period of silence that drew Athos' attention, and he saw that Aramis' face had gone strangely blank.

He looked up. "Athos, Porthos," Aramis said very calmly. "Do you know where d'Artagnan is?"

Porthos looked as curious as Athos felt. "No. He chucked that on your desk, said about you opening it, then ran off just as you arrived. Down toward the Garrison or something."

"Thank you," Aramis said, still sounding calm, and set the card down - and then broke so suddenly into a run that Athos just stared after him, completely bemused.

He and Porthos started moving at the same time, but Athos reached the desk first and snagged the card. Porthos looked over his shoulder to read.

'Aramis and Anne - congratulations! We're both thrilled for you. You'll be incredible parents. Let us know if you and Olivier need anything at all, we're always here to help. Love, Constance and Charles d'Artagnan.'

This seemed innocuous enough, but there was another note at the bottom where Constance's neat handwriting conspicuously changed into d'Artagnan's scrawl.

'Aramis - I know this has bothered you for over three years because you're not subtle about how you've tried to figure it out and now seems as good a time as any to tell you. I didn't work out how Athos takes his tea, I just asked him. I'd say that still puts my detective skills above yours, though, especially since you never realised. Enjoy parenthood!'

Athos looked up, frowning. "Porthos, do you have any idea what this-"

But that was as far as he got, because Porthos burst out laughing next to him. He laughed so hard that he had to sit down on the edge of Aramis' desk, and would apparently be senseless for the foreseeable future.

Athos found himself exchanging a glance with Jean, and found what might perhaps be a worrying solidarity there; the cat lowered his head to his paws, closed his eyes and - very pointedly, it seemed to Athos - wrapped his tail tightly around so that most of his face was hidden from view.

From somewhere deeper in the building, Athos heard a bellowed "D'ARTAGNAN!" and an even more distant, delighted laugh.

The Captain of the Musketeers sighed, put the card back down and retreated to the relative safety of his office. They were all insane, the brilliant people under his command.

And for all the world, he wouldn't change a thing.

THE END

The following are the author's headcanons for later events in this universe:

- Athos meets Sylvie at a protest march. He wasn't really aware the march was happening, and just picked a really bad time to go grocery shopping; she was giving a speech to rally the protesters. He ended up so distracted by her speech that he nearly got hit by a car, albeit one that was moving very slowly, and she came over to drag him out of the way. When he tells the story later, the car was going at 60mph and she saved his life. They argue almost constantly at first, but end up falling in love.

-Jean/Jonny has a good run as the Musketeers cat, but eventually someone with a more severe allergy joins the team, so he needs a new home. Over a dozen people are desperate to take him, but Athos just looks at them all in a very particular way and the case is settled. Jean and all his many possessions move into Athos' flat.

-After the dust settles, Treville becomes the official head of the Musketeers. He has a lingering bad leg from the shooting, so he doesn't go into the field much, but he can still train the new cadets and direct the organisation into a better future, so he's happy. And during the time after the arrests when things are rough for him, Athos starts making sure he comes to dinner with the team at least once a week. They keep this up even when things calm down, and it becomes a family tradition.

-Marie-Cesette is a few months old when Porthos asks his brothers to be her godfathers. He is, however, a bit of a troll, and asks each of them separately, tells them they're the only one and asks them not to tell the others. This doesn't come out until a little while later, and Porthos thinks it's hilarious.

-When Anne and Aramis get married, Olivier and Marie-Cesette are the most adorable members of the wedding party. Athos keeps his promise and dances at the wedding, with Sylvie. Figuring they'll never see anything like it again, his brothers film as much as they can get away with. Athos deletes the videos, but ends up dancing again anyway when Porthos and Elodie get married.