A vibrant stream of sunlight burst through the high windows of the church as the clouds parted, illuminating the gold that was guiding the altar, momentarily drawing Constance's gaze away from the three-week-old baby in her arms, but not for long. She looked back at her daughter and smiled at her, all the while listening to the priest performing the christening in front of her. He was a small man, she had noted, with a closely cropped white beard and milky blue eyes. He was extremely old yet a kindness still radiated through him as he spoke.

She was sat in the front row of a church much grander than the one in which she had married d'Artagnan, with her family and friends surrounding her. Even Queen Anne had managed to attend, though she sat in the balcony, surrounded by musketeers and with a veil covering her face so as not to steal the limelight too much. Constance's mother and brothers and Alice sat to her and d'Artagnan's left and Aramis, Porthos and Elodie to their right, ready to take their place as godparents.

D'Artagnan placed a hand on the small of her back and leaned close to watch Joséphine's wide, brown eyes staring back up at them, taking in sights and noises different from those of the garrison for the very first time. However, she didn't seem too pleased about it.

"Oh, no," d'Artagnan whispered, glancing up nervously at the priest who was still speaking. "She's making that face."

"That I'm about to start crying face," agreed Constance, but before Joséphine could disrupt her own christening, Constance placed the tip of her little finger in her mouth to pacify her. "There," she said, with a satisfied grin. "I'll feed her when he's finished." She nodded up to the priest and settled back against d'Artagnan's shoulder to listen. d'Artagnan, however, wasn't concerned with what the priest had to say.

"How are you feeling?" he asked under his breath, looking concerned. "Today is the first day you've properly left the garrison, it isn't too much?" Constance rolled her eyes.

"I'm perfectly fine," she muttered, without taking her eyes off the priest. "And I'm trying to listen to the word of God."

D'Artagnan smirked. "I'm just checking, and I'm pretty sure he can't hear us." His voice quickly lost the humour that had been there seconds before, and switched back to worry. "Be honest with me though, how do you feel? Are you okay?" Constance smiled but coloured her voice with mock anger when she spoke.

"d'Artagnan, I love you," she said, "But if you pester me about my well-being again during this service I swear I will stand up in front of the congregation, the priest, and God himself and declare that Joséphine's father is actually Aramis." D'Artagnan laughed but quickly disguised it as a cough.

"Well," he said, "We both have first hand knowledge that claims of illegitimate children against Aramis don't tend to stick, so I think I'll be fine."

"You two are aware," Aramis muttered from beside them, still watching the service attentively, "That you aren't whispering anywhere near as quietly as you think you are."

The priest talked on for another twenty minutes or so before it was time for them to stand. Constance led the way up to the alter, with d'Artagnan hovering close beside her, and passed Joséphine over to the priest, trying her best to make sure she didn't squirm too much.

Constance's mother cried, d'Artagnan laughed when Joséphine managed to somehow kick holy water over Porthos, and Aramis looked as serious as she'd ever seen him when he took his vows as a godfather. Overall the part of the service they had to actively participate in passed quite smoothly considering the hungry baby, but even so, Constance was relieved when they left the church and headed to the tavern for the celebration that followed.

Constance settled herself in a quiet corner of the room with her mother and Alice and began to feed Joséphine; an odd sensation and something she was still getting used to. D'Artagnan was at the bar with Porthos and Aramis - who were both slapping him on the shoulder, congratulating him - and Elodie, ordering drinks. Constance didn't think she'd ever seen him as happy as she had these past few weeks. Although he was always concerned about her recovery, any time he set eyes on their little girl his face lit up and nothing could dampen his mood. Constance's mother followed her line of sight and smiled.

"So," she said, conversationally. "Have you thought about where you and d'Artagnan are going to go?" Alice looked towards her expectantly, as though she too was interested. Constance herself wasn't altogether sure what her mother was talking about.

"Er… like on a holiday?" Constance quipped. "We have only just had a baby, mother, give us some time." She laughed and pulled her dress back up, placed Joséphine on her shoulder, and patted her back to wind her.

"No, Constance, that's not what I mean." Sabine furrowed her eyebrows, obviously judging Constance's technique with the baby.

"Well, what do you mean?" Constance asked, marginally irritated now. Her mother sighed and looked disapprovingly at her at her tone.

"When will you be finding another place to live?" she said, in a matter-of-fact voice.

"Oh," Constance said, lost for words at the question and raising her eyebrows. "Well… I don't think we… It's not really been…"

"Oh, don't be silly, Constance," her mother laughed, condescendingly. "You can't raise a child at a military garrison – especially not a little girl." She tittered at her and reached out to take the baby. Constance didn't pass her over. Instead she narrowed her eyes and looked hurt at her mother's words.

"Well, why on earth not?" she said, abruptly. Sabine's expression dropped to one of surprise, as if the idea of living at the garrison with a baby would be absurd to anyone. Alice surreptitiously sipped her drink to avoid being drawn into the conversation. Sabine reached forward to take Constance's hand.

"Darling, you can't be serious?" she said, dropping her voice to a whisper. "It isn't safe for a baby, especially when she starts walking. All it would take would be for one careless swing of a sword or a wayward gunshot while she's running around the yard and then…well, I don't think I need to go into details. But you must also consider that the place is a target. You almost died when someone tried to blow it up two years ago! How can you know something like that won't happen again?"

Constance's indignation at her mother's words melted away as she spoke and she became more in tuned to the weight on her shoulder, the little heartbeat she could feel, and the breathing that was so quietly whispering past her ear. She moved Joséphine to cradle her in her arms and looked down at the tired face. She was struggling to keep her eyes open, completely unaware of the dangers that were being discussed.

"I'll speak with d'Artagnan," Constance said with a resigned sigh. She was right. Despite it being their home it was far too dangerous. However, before they could move on to a different topic the attention of the whole tavern was drawn to Porthos, who had just stood on a table, drink in hand and sword drawn.

"Good God, what is he-?" Alice began, but Constance burst into laughter and cut her off.

"Alright!" Porthos boomed in his warm, powerful voice. Everyone fell silent except Elodie, who, like Constance, was struggling to stifle her laughter. Porthos swayed slightly on the table top and Aramis stepped forward with his hand outstretched, though if it came to catching Porthos, Constance knew he wouldn't fare very well. Porthos quickly regained his balance and straightened up, raising his sword higher and clearing his throat.

"I would like," he said, sombrely. "To propose a toast." He pointed his sword at d'Artagnan's chest, who was leaning against the bar with a bemused, yet entertained, expression.

"To Captain d'Artagnan," he continued, then pointed the sword at her. "And Constance d'Artagnan. After all you two have been though, I, like everyone else here, am happy to see you finally get the blessing you deserve. Congratu-"

But before Porthos could finish the door of the tavern swung open with a crash that caused those nearest to it to jump.

"Hey!" Porthos shouted, spinning around precariously on the table top, still brandishing his sword. "Can't you see I'm making a speech?"

Porthos dropped his sword. There, in the doorway, stood a familiar man. His hat was pulled low and his cloak was draped around his body, hiding most of him. However, there was no denying that stance, the way he stepped into the bar, or the woman that followed him in.

"I apologise for my late arrival," Athos said, as he removed his hat. "We only arrived in Paris a few hours ago." He walked straight to d'Artagnan and took his hand, shaking it. "Congratulations, my friend. Where is Constance?"

D'Artagnan pulled his friend into a hug. When he stepped back he nodded to the corner where Constance was seated.

"Constance," Athos said as he came over. "I'm so happy for the both of you. Is this her?"

"Joséphine Françoise d'Artagnan," Constance said as she positioned her daughter so that Athos could see her. "It still feels odd to say her name, even now."

"Believe me, I know what you mean," Athos said, looking over his shoulder to Sylvie, who was joining them, her own child in her arms. "This is Isaac Adrien, my son."

The child on Sylvie's hip was a perfect mixture of both his parents. He had Sylvie's endlessly deep brown eyes, that were now fixed curiously on Constance, and she could already tell his face would greatly resemble Athos's when he grew older. Constance grinned up at him and Isaac's face split into a smile as he let out a bell-like laugh.

The celebration lasted a few hours longer, it was only when dusk began to roll into the city that their friends and family began to leave. Constance's family drifted off to the house and various other guests melted away as the afternoon turned into evening. Eventually only Porthos, Elodie, Aramis, Athos, Sylvie, d'Artagnan, and Constance remained, all of them crowded around the one table. Joséphine had fallen asleep in d'Artagnan's arms and Elodie was rocking a sleepy Isaac as Sylvie smiled on.

"I'm guessing that you two are back in Paris permanently then?" Aramis said, as he took a drink.

"We hope to be," said Athos, carefully. "The Queen summoned me back to Paris; where I go is up to her."

"Well, if that's the case, I have insider knowledge – you aren't going anywhere," Aramis said with a sly wink. A ripple of laughter ran around the table but it was quickly shushed by d'Artagnan who had his eyes on the sleeping baby in his arms.

"You were called back after what happened at the Louvre," Constance said. "So, I don't see why you'd be sent away from Paris."

Sylvie frowned at her.

"What happened at the Louvre?" she asked as Athos took a swig from his cup.

Constance raised her eyebrows, surprised.

"You didn't hear?"

Sylvie shook her head.

"There was an attack," Constance said, utterly bewildered at her friend. "Around fifty people died! Aramis was nearly one of them."

Athos gagged on his wine.

"An a-attack?" he spluttered. "When? By whom? Why weren't we told?" He looked wildly at everyone, waiting for someone to give him an answer. Porthos cleared his throat and spoke.

"Christmas. It hit us out of nowhere. They were working for the new Duke of Lorraine but we're pretty sure we got them all," Porthos shrugged and looked apologetically at Athos. "To be honest with you, hardly anyone knows. People at the Palace worked hard to keep it quiet within the nobility and the only people who were there and who frequent places like this-" he gestured to the empty tavern around them "-were us and other musketeers, and they aren't likely to go shouting their mouths off about it. It was decided that if something like that got out, that there was an attack on the Louvre and very nearly on the King himself, by citizens of France, it would be catastrophic for the moral of our troops at the front and could only help the Spanish. We didn't tell you because we couldn't put it in a letter that could be easily intercepted and we couldn't spare a messenger when there wasn't anything you could do."

Constance listened with her mouth open. She had had no idea that the attack had been so effectively covered up, but the more she thought about it, the more their reasoning made sense. Her eyes flicked to Athos to gauge his reaction but it appeared he hadn't even listened to the later part of Porthos's speech; his gaze was fixed intently on Aramis. Aramis stared into his cup as he swirled the dregs of his wine.

"They nearly got the King?" Athos asked, his voice heavy with feeling as he looked at his best friend. Aramis didn't look up, he just continued to avert his eyes from everyone, though Constance saw him swallow against the emotions returning to him as he thought about that night. Eventually he gave a sharp nod. Athos looked towards his son, who had climbed back into Sylvie's lap, and then back at Aramis. The two shared an understanding look.

"But you stopped them," said Athos, as though it settled the matter.

As quickly as he had gone into the vein of contemplation, Aramis was back out of it.

"I would have done if I hadn't been shot," he said with a laugh. "Porthos and d'Artagnan got the only one who got anywhere near Anne and the King."

"Well done," said Athos with a smile, raising his glass slightly toward them as a toast.

"We can't take all the credit," said d'Artagnan. "Constance gave him a pretty nasty blow with a poker. It was impressive." The group laughed at this, causing Joséphine to stir and start wailing.

Back at the garrison, Constance rolled her neck to ease the knots that had formed in her shoulders from carrying Joséphine all day. She was now sleeping soundly in her crib and Constance was stood by the window in their bedroom, staring out at the dark city. Warm hands started to rub her shoulders and she leant back into d'Artagnan's chest as he gently worked the tension from her neck.

"Good?" he asked.

"Very," Constance sighed. She turned to wrap her arms around his waist and placed a kiss below his jaw. "She's asleep." She added, jerking her head towards the crib.

"For how long though?" quipped d'Artagnan with a dark smile. He took Constance's wrists and gently led her to their bed. She went gladly; the day had been a long one and she could think of nothing better than falling asleep in his arms. They laid down facing each other and d'Artagnan's eyes flickered shut immediately. Constance studied his face for a while, taking in the tanned skin, the long lashes, and the dark hair that was falling messily across his face. She reached out and gently pushed a lock back and she heard a hum of pleasure emit from deep in his chest and the corner of his mouth twitched upwards. Constance smiled and pressed a light kiss to his lips, which was eagerly reciprocated. She let out a low laugh as she pulled back and let the arms the now enveloped her pull her down so she was resting her head on his shoulder and her arm was draped over his chest. Constance sighed, content, but then a thought came back to her and her eyebrows constricted.

"We have to leave the garrison," she said, bracing herself. Constance expected confusion, argument, even anger at such a suggestion, but instead d'Artagnan spoke with resignation in his voice.

"I was waiting for you to bring that up," he said.

Constance frowned. She pushed herself up onto her elbows so she could see him better. His face was passive, as though he knew exactly how the conversation would end.

"Have you been speaking to my mother?" Constance asked, suspiciously.

D'Artagnan raised his eyebrows.

"Should I have?"

"No, but she suggested it to me today."

He shrugged and shifted himself into a more comfortable position, with his shoulders resting against the headboard.

"I don't want to leave," he said dejectedly. "This is where the most important part of my life started. Without the garrison I wouldn't have met you, or the others – we wouldn't have Joséphine. I knew we would have to more somewhere else at some point, it isn't practical or safe to raise a child here, anything could happen. But… well, I guess I didn't want to initiate it. If we talked about it, it would make it real – we would actually have to leave. I think by waiting for you to bring this up I was just trying to buy myself more time here. I was being selfish, but this is my home."

Constance placed a hand on his cheek and stroked her thumb across his cheek bone.

"I don't want to leave either," she said. "The garrison was like my safety net. Whenever I had a problem I could come to the Musketeers and they would try to help. And then you came to Paris. You might have lived at my house but this is where you spent your time. For me, the garrison is you. It is the beginning of us and I was safe from Bonacieux, from Milady – before she saved our lives – and from anyone else who wished us harm when I was here. Joséphine was born here, in this very room, and I don't want to say goodbye to that." Constance let her hand drop to his chest and shook her head gently. "But I almost died here. Others did die. My mother is right; the garrison is a target and always will be. We can't live here with our daughter."

They stared sadly at each other as they both came to the realisation that they had outgrown their garrison, a place that was so much more to them than just a base for the regiment.

"We don't have to go far," Constance added with a grin, trying to lighten the mood slightly. "Just enough to put some distance between our baby and the guns and swords."

D'Artagnan's eyes had been full of emotion at her words, but he still laughed along with her and pulled her close to him again.

"We'll start looking tomorrow," he said, his fingers combing through a section of her hair. "There's always your old house? It looks quite nice now that you've-"

But Constance cut him off.

"No."

"Sorry?"

"I can't live there again," she said firmly. "I have no issue with renting it out to paying guests but I can't live there, I won't do it."

D'Artagnan nodded understandingly and let it drop.

"As long as you're happy, I'll live anywhere," he said, humour colouring his voice. Constance smiled to herself and they drifted off together, sleeping soundly, only to be awoken an hour later by a crying baby, who was hungry and didn't care who knew it.

AN: I'd just like to say a huge thank you to everyone that has followed/favourited/reviewed this story. This has been my first go at writing and I've loved it. This won't be my last Musketeers story so keep an eye out for my next update. I hope you've all enjoyed it!