I only wish I owned rights to Dumas' and BBC's The Musketeers. I don't though so damn my lack of luck.

If only I would stop finding distractions that keep me from re-watching The Musketeers.

I've finished the first season. I'm going to have this be only for the first season; a sequel possibly showing up when I have finished the next semester of school.

Hope you enjoy.

"Thought I told you to keep him away from the Queen."

"I wasn't able to, given the circumstances."

"Have it known that I warned you," d'Artagnan hissed from where he was sitting.

Athos glanced towards the boy, feeling as if he'd been dropped into a strange world as the moonlight lit the Spartan room in a low light. D'Artagnan's olive skin took on a blue hue due to his post under the window. His neck was in shadow, hiding the scar Athos knew was there in such a way that Athos found it easy to imagine the skin unblemished.

"You warned me," Athos sighed as he turned his wrist to shake the bottle in his hand.

He'd hoped that he could hide it from the boy, wishing to take away any risk this secret may cost the boy. It didn't matter that d'Artagnan thought he had enough weight on his shoulders. If taking this secret meant keeping d'Artagnan – and Porthos – safe from any possible reprisal, it would be worth it.

But, d'Artagnan was perceptive. He wasn't sure how d'Artagnan had picked up on it. It was likely Aramis' not so subtle way of being overly protective of the Queen or the looks he knew he and Aramis were shooting at each other. He didn't wish to know the exact time d'Artagnan had learned of this either. It was bad enough that he knew.

"Oliver," he whispered.

"We can't say anything," Athos murmured. "It's not going to be fair to Porthos but we can't say anything. It'll keep him safe."

D'Artagnan frowned twisting his old scarf in his hands. Athos was beginning to think it was a good thing the boy had stopped wearing the scarf. The poor thing was worn and threadbare. He noted some of the hesitance to continue wearing it stemmed from the boy wishing to distance himself from his past whilst embracing it. Thought, now, d'Artagnan wore the scar itself like a badge of honor.

Like the pauldron, it was a symbol of his overcoming something.

Unlike the pauldron, the scarf was more of a hindrance to him than anything else. It held him in a state of perpetual nervousness. It wasn't a shield in the traditional sense but Athos could see it for what it was either way.

Like the locket he'd left behind and the wine in his hand, that scarf was something for d'Artagnan to hide behind and simultaneously shove himself into painful memories.

It had also been a bit of a comfort to know where the scarf was during the last two days of not knowing where d'Artagnan was standing while risking his life for all of them…Again.

"You still think he's not that stupid?" d'Artagnan asked.

Athos snorted, shaking his head as he stared at the bottle in his hands. His feet were killing him but he wasn't about to sit on d'Artagnan's bed when they were both in such sour moods. It was taking all his willpower to not scream, to not down the entire bottle, to not hold d'Artagnan like a lifeline.

"Learned my lesson once more," he mumbled, not noticing d'Artagnan had moved until the young man's hand was wrapped around his wrist and tugging him to the bed. "And it won't stick, I'm afraid."

"As am I," d'Artagnan whispered, pulling Athos down to the mattress and pressing his head against the man's shoulder. He tried to pretend the bandages around the boy's ribs weren't there, that those three simple words didn't hold so much weight and truth.

"Porthos can't know," Athos mumbled. "No one can know. You weren't supposed to know."

"I can pull my own weight Athos. I can help."

"I wish for you to never have to," Athos sighed, pressing a kiss to the boy's temple like he used to when they'd stayed in Gascony.

He missed Gascony in the spring. Out of all the things he missed from his past that was high on the list. Having his second little brother nearby ranked a little higher still but both were cast in shadow of seeing d'Artagnan smile again.

"You may wish all you like," d'Artagnan murmured, dragging the bottle form Athos' hand and taking a long swig. "It won't change the fact that I know and am angry at Aramis."

"You're not mad at me for not telling you?" Athos asked through a soft chuckle.

"I'm more angered at Aramis for putting you in the situation than I am at you for trying to hide it from me," d'Artagnan admitted. "You did that to protect Porthos and me. I can support the decision even if it annoys me."

Athos smiled, looping his arm around the young man's shoulders and holding him close.

"I'm a truly horrid brother to have," Athos murmured.

"Nonsense. You're just human."

Athos hummed, tugging the scarf out of d'Artagnan's limp hand and tossing it onto the chair nearby.

"I'm sorry about Madame Bonacieux," Athos whispered.

"Her husband gave an ultimatum," d'Artagnan shrugged, taking another swig.

"A rash one," Athos snarled.

He loosened his hold on d'Artagnan to shed his boots and weapons. They clattered to the floor by the table, the jacket following close after. The bottle was shoved into his hands then, d'Artagnan following his lead in shedding layers. He took a small sip, handing the still mostly full bottle back to d'Artagnan.

They leaned against the wall, d'Artagnan sitting between Athos' legs because Athos had decided he'd prefer to give the boy some sort of barriers should he continue drinking the bottle on his own – which he was.

"Think he's bluffing?" Athos asked.

D'Artagnan shrugged. "I do. She might not. I'm not willing to ask her though."

A wise choice in some respects. It would spare both of them having to say those feelings aloud. It would, however, still leave them separated and powerless to change the situation. There would be no sharing of feelings for while either from what Athos was seeing.

The sweet reunion earlier had been too short for him to really gauge anything from it past the facts that were glaringly obvious. D'Artagnan and Constance looked very good together and their loved seemed true.

Truer than what he'd had with his own wife.

"It was a nice dream while it lasted," d'Artagnan mumbled. Athos nodded, wrapping his arms a little tighter around the boy as tears fell over his olive cheeks.

Ever so slowly, the silent sobs stopped, d'Artagnan's breathing evening out as he lost himself to sleep. Athos caught the bottle and finished the last gulp that had been left in it before allowing it to roll off the bed and into the pile of clothes and weapons on the floor. With some effort, he shifted them both so they were horizontal.

There were still a few Musketeers who weren't caught up on the act yet. A few had been since they'd caught Milady only to set out to save Constance. There were a few who had already tripped over themselves to apologize for anything the young man might have heard.

It hadn't helped that d'Art was in the middle of dealing with what had happened with Constance. He hadn't responded to the apologies and Porthos and Aramis had had to glare at the fellows to shove off. Athos had had a few choice words to impart as well.

Tréville had looked livid with the way his men were acting no less; so Athos had no illusions on how Tréville would deal with it. Old Serge and the stable boy had been the only ones who had instantly accepted the dear boy back apparently; hugging and feeding d'Artagnan without a second thought.

There would be others to deal with. The men who had been out of Paris for a mission would return to find the ones who'd been present tiptoeing about. They'd get the whole story automatically and they'd end up knowing who all had screwed up. They'd give their quartet congratulations and move on with life, understanding if d'Artagnan decided not to speak to some of them or other Musketeers.

He sighed, running his fingers through d'Artagnan's hair to soothe both of them. He lifted his hand to drag a blanket over both of them. As the blanket settled, d'Artagnan pressed against Athos' side. Athos smiled, tightening his grip on the young man as he shifted to lie on his side. He tucked d'Artagnan's head under his chin, weaving his fingers into the young man's hair.

He pressed a kiss to d'Artagnan's brow, closing his eyes against the worries of the day as he did.

He'd inform Porthos and Aramis of what had happened with Constance and her husband in their absence later. For now, he let himself be rocked to sleep by the steady breathing of his little brother. Things would be rough in the days to come but Athos knew that they would find their way through anything that came their way. He wouldn't allow himself to lose those he cared for again.

He wouldn't lose his brothers.

The second season based sequel may take a while to appear; if it does. I hope it will appear here. I do. I'm just trying to get through the semester at this rate so far though so, again, priorities.

Reviews are welcome. I love reading your opinions.