By the time D'Artagnan and Porthos skidded to halt on entering the barracks, dawn was breaking over Paris. As they ran through the gates they came face to face with Aramis, Treville and at least two dozen more musketeers coming towards them looking extremely serious. Everyone stopped.

"D'Atagnan!" Aramis was obviously delighted to see him, moving away from the captain's side to come and clasp him warmly by the shoulders. "Are you alright?"

D'Artagnan was seriously confused. He had run full pelt all the way back to the barracks, praying fervently that Athos would not be dead, this was not what he had expected to be greeted with. "Where's Athos?" he asked Aramis desperately, ignoring his question.

"Let's move men!" The captain nodded at D'Artagnan and Porthos, then started moving again, leading his troops towards the gates.

"What's going on?" Porthos watched the men march past them.

Aramis still had his hands on D'Artagnan's shoulders and was looking him up and down, trying to assess for himself if their young friend was injured. He glanced at Porthos as he gave him an answer. "We were coming to get you both, and then clear out the docks. Marchal's operation has to be stopped this time." Porthos nodded and Aramis turned his attention back to D'Artagnan."Are you alright? Answer me or I shall have to check you for myself!"

D'Artagnan replied with a glare that he was fine and repeated his earlier question, with more anger in his voice than before. He needed to know what had happened to Athos, now! He heard Porthos repeat his request for information.

Aramis sighed. "There is a surgeon with him."

Porthos sounded appalled. "Is it so bad that you couldn't deal with it yourself?"

Aramis quickly shook his head. "No, no. I didn't even look at him. The captain saw us staggering through the gates and called the surgeon out. He had sent for him while he waited for us. The surgeon wouldn't let me stay, so I joined the forces ready to go back to the docks."

D'Artagnan was trying desperately to control his breathing as the familiar feeling of panic moved through him. He shook Aramis' hands off and ran towards the stairs.

"D'Artagnan! There's nothing you can do just now, he won't even let you in!" Aramis shouted after him sadly.

"The hell they won't!" The other two watched in silence as he sprinted up the stairs and along to the room the surgeon usually used, knocking on the door once before pushing it open and disappearing inside.

"How bad is it?" Porthos slid his eyes to Aramis, who sighed and looked down.

"I honestly don't know. We made it back here, but I don't know how much further he would've managed. He didn't get run through and it's in his side, not his stomach or chest, so we just need to pray." His right hand moved to the cross that lay under his clothing. Both men sighed simultaneously.

"So now what?"

"Well, either we follow the captain and help bring in Marchal, or we wait here and get drunk and wait to see if Athos makes it."Aramis shrugged.

"Well I know what I'd prefer to do."

"Me too. But I think we would go mad waiting, so let's go and get the bastards that got us into this mess in the first place."

The two musketeers looked once more up the stairs to the room that held their ailing friend, sadness and worry etched clearly on both their faces. Simultaneously, they turned away and headed towards the gates in determined silence.

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"I asked to be left alone with my patient!" Was the curt greeting that met D'Artagnan as he entered the room.

"Then you should have locked your door." He shook his head firmly as the surgeon turned to look at him, "I won't get in your way, but I'm not going anywhere." He folded his arms for good measure.

The surgeon sighed. "Fine. I'm finished here for now anyway, so you can do your duty by this soldier and stay with him until I return to check on his progress."

D'Artagnan took a step forward; irritated that he still could not see the patient. "What do I do?" He asked nervously. The surgeon moved away from the bedside to wash his hands in a bowl of water on a table at the side of the room. D'Artagnan felt something swoop horribly in his stomach as he noted the blood that covered the man's arms to the elbows. He looked away and took his place by Athos' beside. The view that greeted him there didn't make him feel any better.

Athos was grey and unconscious. He looked...weak. It made D'Artagnan feel very strange to see this normally strong and sure man brought to such a poor state. He hastily wiped at his eyes as he felt tears well up before they spilled over. The musketeer looked like death.

The surgeon appeared at his side. "Stay with him." D'Artagnan nodded hastily, unwilling to speak lest his voice should crack. "If he wakes give him water, food if he wants it. He will be weak and in pain, but I will return later to help him sleep again. If he begins to seem feverish, have me fetched immediately."

"Will he live?" the question was whispered.

A hand rested on D'Artagnan's shoulder. "I don't know. If he wakes without fever then the signs are good. He has lost a lot of blood, but I do not believe his injury on its own would be life threatening if it were not for that." With one last look at his patient, the surgeon left, pulling the door shut firmly behind him. D'Artagnan immediately dropped to his knees beside the bed, reaching out to squeeze the hand that lay on the bed in front of him.

"Athos?" Now his voice definitely cracked. "I'm so sorry, this is all my fault. Please don't die. Please don't go. I'm sorry, I'm truly sorry." D'Artagnan leaned forward and rested his head against their two hands. "I should never have gone to that damned inn. I should not have lied to Porthos and Aramis and should've gone to my rooms like I said. If I had done as I promised then none of this would've happened. You have to live Athos!" He raised his head to look at the scarily still man in the bed. "You can't let me spend the rest of my life with this guilt, surely?" He smiled crookedly at him, before dropping his head back to their hands.

With a sigh he closed his eyes. "I should've spoken to you sooner. I just...didn't want any of you to judge me. Instead I decided to drown my sorrows in wine, took a leaf out of your book, you know?" D'Artagnan rose to his feet and began to pace the room, his emotions swirling through his head and heart. "So stupid."

He paced for a few more minutes, pausing to look over at Athos every now and again, just to see that his chest still moved and hadn't stilled. Exhaustion was starting to set in with the young soldier, but he refused to let his body rest until he had some sign that he was not going to be responsible for the death of this man he admired so much. He couldn't be.

But it wasn't long before his body began to protest at the pacing and demanded he sit down. He dragged a three-legged stool to the bedside and sat looking over his friend, his hand reaching out as before to clasp around the pale one on the bed. He slid his fingers round until they were pressed on the underside of Athos' wrist, feeling for that comforting rhythm that would tell him he had not been left alone. It was still faint, but it was steady for now. D'Artagnan leaned forward and once more laid his head on their joined hands.

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A few hours later, the door to the sick room opened gently as Aramis and Porthos stepped quietly through it. They were greeted by the sight of their friend and leader, still lying pale and still in the bed, with the head of a sleeping Garcon on the bed beside him. His head had rolled to the side and both men could see the clasp he still had round the wrist of the musketeer lying close to death in the bed before him.

Aramis stepped forward and gently shook his shoulder. "D'Artagnan? Come on, wake up."

Two dark eyes blinked blearily for a moment before his head shot up to look at Athos. "Is he...?"

"Still sleeping. Like you. Now come on." Aramis gently removed Athos' wrist from his grasp and pulled him to his feet.

"What? No, I'm not going anywhere." D'Artagnan tried to pull himself out of the musketeer's grasp, but he didn't have the strength.

"Yes you are. You are going with Porthos to get something to eat, and then washed up."

"But, Athos..."

"Will do just as well with me by his side as you. I want to have a look at his injuries anyway, and I don't think he would appreciate the audience." The look on Aramis' face gave no room for argument, and was backed up by the loud noises suddenly issuing from D'Artagnan's stomach as his brain registered that all he had eaten in at least two days was one bowl of sludgelike stew. Porthos' hand on his arm was the final decision.

"Come on, let's get you fed. I think maybe a chat is in order too, eh?"

D'Artagnan nodded and let himself be led from the room, aware that he owed all three of his friends an explanation, and hoping that one at a time would be easier on him.

Aramis took a seat on the stool the younger man had vacated and looked at his friend sorrowfully. "C'mon old friend, it's about time you were waking. I don't want to be left with a grieving young pup to have to save from himself. I'll have enough to do, thank you very much. I think you've owed me enough over the years to avoid putting me in that position, don't you?"

Athos remained still. Aramis sighed, and began to pray.

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D'Artagnan was sure he would not be able to eat, but as soon as Porthos put a bowl of stew that actually looked like stew in front him he latched on to it and ate ravenously. The two of them sat in a private room at the barracks, while the musketeers outside dealt with the arrests they had made at the docks.

"Are you sure you're alright? They didn't hurt you?"

D'Artagnan shook his head. "N, iddit urt mu. Ust Ucumfble an ode. Kp me nis fr clant."

"I think I'll wait till you've swallowed for an answer that I can understand, thanks."

He swallowed the mouthful and smiled sheepishly. "Sorry, no they didn't. I was just uncomfortable, and cold. They were keeping me nice for his client, whoever the hell he was."

"You sure?"

D'Artagnan nodded. "Yeah. They knocked me out a couple times, so my head's a bit sore. But I'm fine."

"They didn't..." Porthos looked for the right words. "Interfere with you, in any way?"

"No." He blushed, slightly awkward in the conversation. "They had a good look at me I think, while I was unconscious."

"What makes you say that?" Porthos raised an eyebrow.

"I was a little bit, um, uncomfortable, but I couldn't work out why. Until I realised I had no underwear left on. No-one 'interfered' as you say though, I'm sure of that."

"Bastards."

"Do you know who they were?"

Porthos sighed. "The man who ordered you taken, was a dirty scumbag called Marchal. We've come across him before. It all went a bit wrong last time, and the bastard got away. Athos never really got over it, blamed himself. He didn't react well when we told him that was who had you."

A warm glow started to seep into D'Artagnan, but he tried his best to ignore it. He didn't want to think about Athos just now, even if it was that the musketeer had been worried about him. He still had to ask. "Why would he blame himself?"

"Doesn't he always?" Porthos asked wryly, and the younger man had to agree. "Well, we only found out about Marchal because we found a runaway. A young girl, Jacqueline. She managed to escape as they were putting her and some others into a cart to take south. We found her when we took refuge from a storm in an old barn a few days later. She was weak from cold and hunger, and exhausted. She'd already been raped, by at least three men before she escaped, she told us."

"My God."

"We brought her to the city, fed her, got the surgeon to her, but..."

"She died."

Porthos nodded. "It was awful, as you can imagine. Athos took it pretty hard. He eventually told us he had a sister who died, aged 9 which we assumed Jacqueline was close to. Her name was also Jacqueline." D'Artagnan felt a lump grow in his throat as he thought of the suffering his friend had been through. "Anyway, we spent months looking for Marchal. We discovered he had been abducting people from the streets to sell on to his clients for years. Nobody had ever seen the man, and nobody has yet. We found nothing. Eventually the tales of people disappearing died out, and we had to assume he had moved on. Until two days ago."

D'Artagnan was appalled at what he heard. To think that countless numbers of people had been in his situation, and had been sold around the country to rich bastards who thought they could do what they liked with their 'purchases'. He felt a little sick and pushed his almost empty bowl away.

"Got more than they bargained for with you though, eh?" Porthos grinned.

"Yeah, they weren't best pleased to realise who my friends were, that's for sure." He replied to the grin with a small smile.

"Friends who you can't share your troubles with?" Porthos' voice was suddenly stern. D'Artagnan sighed. He owed his friend an explanation.

"I got a letter from my mother."

"Go on." The big musketeer looked at his friend with nothing but encouragement on his face.

"She...she asked me to go home. The farm is falling to pieces, according to her, and the money I send her is not enough to help. She says if I don't go home and take over the farm, if I don't help her fix it, then she will be homeless, destitute, ruined, and any other word she could think of for it."

"I'm getting the sense that you don't entirely believe her?"

"She likes to exaggerate." D'Artagnan shrugged. "She's always been a little dramatic. To be honest I think she's just trying to get someone in the house for her to boss around a bit, since my father's no longer there."

"And this is what's been worrying you?"

"Not entirely no." Another sigh. "I wrote back and said I wouldn't come. Then I wrote to my uncle and told him my mother couldn't look after the farm anymore, and I knew he always wanted the farm for himself so if he and his family could go there, as long as they let my mother stay then I would be grateful if they could take over."

Porthos was genuinely confused. "So you sorted the problem! This is what you've been keeping secret?"

"Yes. But the worst of it is that she has always hated my uncle. She detests him actually, and I have condemned her to a life in his company." He could feel the guilt flooding through him once again as he thought about it. "She wrote to me again. She said how disappointed she was in me, that I obviously had no care for her at all. That I dishonoured my father's memory by doing what I had done."

"D'Artagnan, look at me." He looked up into Porthos' kind face. "She's grieving. She will come round. I do not think for a second that you do not care for her, or that you have dishonoured your father in any way. I am sure that Aramis and Athos will feel exactly the same. I am also sure that if you keep writing to your mother, before long you will have a reply from her taking back what she said, and telling you that she is glad you are following your heart to become a musketeer. You always said you two were close, did you not?"

A glum nod was his reply.

"Well then. Grief carries with it many emotions, but she will come round. Now, don't you wish you had just spoken to us sooner?" Porthos raised an eyebrow questioningly.

"I'm sorry, Porthos. I should've trusted you." D'Artagnan lowered his eyes, toying with the spoon he still held.

"Yes, you should have."

"If I had then none of this would have happened."

"Yes, but we would also not have learned that Marchal was back, so that we could do something about it this time. We will find him."

D'Artagnan was not to be consoled. "But if I had then Athos wouldn't-"

"Athos will be fine. You wait. He's been through worse." Porthos tried to look a little more confident than he felt. D'Artagnan nodded doubtfully.

"D'Artagnan? Porthos?" Both men looked up at the sound of Aramis' voice at the door. He was smiling. "He's awake."

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D'Artagnan ran ahead as the three men bolted along the corridor to the sick room. He thrust the door open, remembering to catch it before it banged against the wall inside. He stopped and stared dumbly at the bed, relief flooding through him as he looked into Athos' eyes, which were finally looking back at him.

"You're awake!"

"You're alive." Athos answered him dryly, but weakly. He smiled crookedly at the young man who still stood frozen in the doorway, and the two musketeers that appeared at his back.

"Come on, come on. Get inside the room boy, I'd like to see this for myself." D'Artagnan felt himself being thrust out of the way by an eager Porthos, who moved quickly to the bed and clasped Athos' hand in a firm handshake. He grinned at him.

"You gave us a fright this time. What have I told you about taking on three swords at once?"

"Well I wasn't sure you could handle any of them." Athos grinned back, before growing serious. "Marchal?"

Aramis shook his head. "He wasn't there, of course. But we brought some of his men back, so hopefully we'll get somewhere."

"And the men who took him?" Athos head nodded towards where D'Artagnan stood leaning against the wall, still unable to speak.

"Dealt with."

"Good." Athos reached for the water at his bedside, wincing in pain as he moved. Aramis quickly moved to hold the tankard at his lips, letting him have a long drink.

"You're still in pain, you should sleep some more." Athos nodded to Aramis' suggestion. "We'll wake you with some food in an hour or two. Come, let's leave him. We should go to Treville, start making plans for Marchal."

Aramis and Porthos began to leave the room, passing D'Artagnan who hesitated before turning to join them.

"D'Artagnan? Stay for a minute, please."

He turned back into the room, closing the door softly behind the retreating musketeers. He moved to the side of the bed, waiting for Athos' nod before he took his place on the stool once more.

"Athos, I'm so sorry, you should never have been in this position..."

"Wait-"

"It's all my fault, I never-"

"Wait! Let me speak please," Athos reached out and grabbed D'Artagnan's hand to catch his attention, before letting it go and dropping it back onto the bed. "Are you alright?"

D'Artagnan just nodded dumbly, amazed that after all of this the man's first thought was for his safety. He watched as Athos closed his eyes in relief, a sigh escaping his lips. To his shame, he felt his tears well up as he watched the musketeer.

"I'm sorry," he whispered.

Athos eyes opened and he turned to look at the young man at his bedside. "No more of that. It was our duty to save you." D'Artagnan felt something akin to disappointment grab hold of his heart. Athos shook his head slightly. "No, more than that, we needed to save you. I needed to save you. I don't care what you think you did to get yourself in that situation, nothing excuses what that man stands for, understood?"

Again, he nodded dumbly. The disappointment melted away instantly as he realised that Athos' eyes held their own sorrow at the situation – a remembered feeling of fear and horror.

"Although we will still have a little chat about the dangers of lying to your friends, and drinking alone."

"You? Really?"

"I never drink alone unless I am safe in my own home." Athos' face was serious. "My brothers are always with me to look out for me. A mistake you will never make again, understood?"

"Absolutely." D'Artagnan readily agreed.

"Good. Now I must sleep some more." He closed his eyes, cracking one open once again when he heard no movement beside him.

"I'm staying."

Athos rolled his eyes. "I'm not going anywhere you know." D'Artagnan shrugged and looked at him stubbornly. "Very well."

As he settled himself back to sleep some more, desperate to regain some strength to join in the fight against Marchal, he let the full extent of his emotions sweep over him for an instant, almost gasping aloud at the strength of the relief he felt as he thought of the young man sitting by his side; safe and well, and with them once more. That is why he said nothing when he felt D'Artagnan's fingers slide gently over his before gripping his right hand tightly.

That is why he let himself smile as he felt D'Artagnan's forehead lean down and rest against their hands.

That is why his left hand reached over to the young man's head and gently stroked his hair.

A/N – Phew! That took a bit of doing! Thank you for all your support and encouragement throughout. Now to decide if I have a sequel in me... thoughts?