Well I don't know about you, but it seems that once a plot bunny takes hold, it must be fed or it gets vicious and attacks! I debated waiting until I had more of this better plotted out, but figured I'd put it out there and see what you think. I think I need to borrow Tom Burke for a bit, but I'm not sure where to find him. He may have gone into hiding when he heard what I was planning! In his absence, comments, feedback and opinions are all welcome. I always finish anything I start, but I'm not sure how quick updates will be posted.

Rest in Peace

The morning had begun like so many others before it, although he knew it had been some time since he had been in quite this bad a state. The fact the day before had been his wife's birthday had been enough to send him back into the downwards spiral he had been trying to climb out of. Memories of more joyous occasions had finally been silenced by enough wine. The room reeked of stale alcohol and he looked around with bleary blood-shot eyes. The months since she had left, when he had told her to leave Paris and never return, had been a challenge to navigate. He knew he had made the right choice when he chose clemency over revenge, but the dull ache in his chest had not really left as he had hoped it would. Something had shifted though. He couldn't quite define it; try as he might. His friends had watched closely, while trying to give him the privacy to deal with his grief. Because it was definitely grief that threatened to swallow him whole as he walked away from them that day, after setting Milady free. Even if he had tried to deny it, he could not really fool himself. Or his friends, apparently. They had watched as he had finally tossed aside the locket that held him trapped in the past. If only the chains around his soul could be so easily discarded.

"Perhaps I was saving myself."

His own words echoed around his head and he stared at the floor. The bucket he had hauled through the window stared back at him. At least the weather was warm enough that it hadn't frozen over, but he still stared at it in dismay. Perhaps Anne was right. There truly would be no rest for either of them until they were both dead. Even then, he didn't expect much rest. If Aramis was right and there was an afterlife, he deserved his place in Hell. No amount of good deeds could expunge his guilt from this life and he knew he was beyond saving.

Athos sighed as he knelt down on the floor and plunged his head into the bucket. The ritual really was getting old, however it had proven useful more times than he could count.

By the time he was done dressing and felt almost human again, Athos had mostly managed to shake off the hangover-induced maudlin thoughts. His soul may be beyond saving, but as long as he lived, there were still things he could do to bring some measure of atonement in this life.

He strapped on the last of his weapons, placed his hat low over his face and headed for the door. As he opened it, the sunlight assaulted his eyes and he blinked furiously. He looked down to shield his eyes and almost stepped on a folded piece of parchment that had been slipped under his door sometime during the night.

It had no wax seal or identifying mark and he easily flicked it open. The words were written in a neat style that he did not recognise. An icy hand wrapped its fingers around his heart as he read the letter and he looked up and down the street to see who may be watching him. When he couldn't make out anyone who seemed to be even vaguely interested in him, he turned back to the paper in his hand.

You deserve each other. Your fates are now tied together forever. You will both suffer before you die. Then you may be able to rest in peace.

He stared at the words and felt the weight of the threat in them. What he could not fathom was who had written them. Not many people knew about Anne and those that did would most certainly not be taunting him like this. Only six other people knew of his remission of sentence over his wife. Treville had, of course, expressed concern that she may not honour the agreement. He had ultimately left it in Athos' hands, with an unspoken understanding that if she ever showed her face again, he would take matters further. Athos knew that if she ever came back, he would not need Treville to intervene. He also knew none of his friends would have revealed anything and he knew that Anne herself had nothing to gain by declaring her fugitive status.

Athos quickly crumpled the paper into his fist and shoved it into his pocket, before walking out the door towards the garrison. He was not in the mood for stupid games. His head hurt enough already.

Aramis watched as Athos stalked into the practice yard. He knew they had left their friend wrapped around a bottle of wine the night before and he winced in sympathy. At least Athos had allowed them to steer him to his room before dismissing them and he knew the man had probably at least had some sleep. Not enough, judging by how low slung his hat was, but they could not force him to take care of himself. He glanced across to Porthos and noted his friend making the same observations. A quick look passed between them, followed by a shared smirk. Aramis chewed slowly on the crust in his hand and watched as Athos made his way to the bench. It was clear their friend was in a mood and experience had shown them the best cure was to wait it out. Something always came up that dragged his attention to his duty and the mood would evaporate. In some ways, Athos was totally predictable.

D'Artagnan made his way down the cobbled alley and barely avoided colliding with a servant girl as she carried the scraps out of a tavern kitchen. He apologised rather absently and continued his way back towards the garrison. He was too caught up in his own thoughts to notice the shadow following along behind him. His hand rested inside his vest and he felt the smoothness of the piece of paper secreted there. He had no idea who had delivered it under his door the night before, but it was unnerving, to say the least. He couldn't define an actual threat, or real reason to be concerned and as he got closer to the garrison, he felt less inclined to share it with anyone. It felt foolish in the light of day to say he was actually bothered by it. It just seemed strange.

You deserve each other.

He wondered again if somebody was trying to encourage him to try again with Constance. The only ones who knew about her were his friends and they would not be so subtle as to send him an unsigned cryptic note. Her wretched husband would most definitely not have sent it. So who else was there?

Then again, maybe it was a note of condemnation, saying they deserved punishment over their mutual failings. The only person who would have said such a thing was Bonacieux, but he really couldn't see the man having the nerve. After all, he had chosen a coward's way to keep hold of his wife, rather than loving her into staying with him.

If not him, then who? Hence the unease in the pit of his stomach. He had gone for a walk to clear his head, but having found no logical answers, he retraced his steps back to where he knew breakfast would be waiting. And at least two of his friends. He smiled to himself as he wondered if Athos would be gracing them with his presence on such a fine morning.

The shadow slipped quietly along behind the musketeer while expertly sliding into doorways and gaps in walls. He knew his coin was riding on doing his job well. The pretty lady had said she had use of his skills and had even given him partial upfront payment. That in itself was enough to get his attention and compliance. His hand clasped the coin in his pocket as he watched the tall, dark-haired man nearly run into a serving girl. So far the job was totally boring as the man simply went from one place and back again, without any obvious reason. As he felt the weight of the coin and the promise of more, he decided he didn't care if it was boring. So long as nobody saw him. The musketeer turned into the garrison and he casually continued on his way. Time to find his benefactor and give his report. As boring as it was.

She watched as the waif ran off down the street. It was far too easy in the filthy back streets of Paris to find hungry children who were eager to make a few coins. The early morning sunshine cast a warm glow over the area. She felt a similar warmth in the core of her being, but it had nothing to do with the sun. The list in her hand looked nothing short of delicious. The piece of parchment contained all of her plans for the next weeks and possibly months. It all depended really on how quickly Athos fell apart. Knowing him as she did, so very intimately, she knew that would take some doing. She smiled as she folded the list and slipped it into her bodice. Next to her heart. It may take some time, but she planned to enjoy every second of it and the warmth crept up to her face.

The man she considered responsible for her downfall, would be brought to his knees.

At her feet.