Author's note: All right, guys, we're taking a little break before starting the next phase, mostly because I haven't decided what's going to be next. Whatever it is, it will post at the same time as this one, Tuesday night/Wednesday morning. But it probably won't be next week.

Thanks a million to everyone who commented, kudos, and followed along the way. You're amazing. ::hearts::

Entr'acte, part 6

Porthos arrived back at the farm shortly after sunset. Treville was on guard in the yard; he didn't blink when Porthos Faded in, only followed him towards the well.

"It was the mummers all right," Porthos said, drawing up the bucket. "It's about burned through them as well. Their new headman promised they'd stay away from people another week or so. I said I'd bring 'em supplies if I could. You might want to take a step back." He picked up the bucket, dumping it over his head. Water splashed everywhere, and it didn't really touch the dirt caking him, but he felt better for it.

Treville took the bucket from him, hooking it back on the rope and lowering it again. "You were digging."

"Helping to bury their dead. Didn't seem much point in burning them now."

"No, I suppose not." Treville pulled the bucket back up again, letting Porthos take a drink before plunging his hands in.

"The others?"

"d'Artagnan woke for a while. He seems…" Treville considered. "More himself. He wore himself out talking to Athos and went back to sleep. The others are fine."

"Talking to Athos's enough to wear anyone out. D'you want me to take guard?"

"No. Aramis is going to relieve me in a while. Go eat something." He waved towards the barn.

Porthos nodded, shaking water off his hands absently as he crossed the yard. The barn door was open a crack and he slipped inside without opening it any wider. Athos glanced up as he crossed the floor to the small area they'd colonised.

"Welcome back," he murmured. "How are the mummers?"

Porthos shook his head, easing down to sit. d'Artagnan was fast asleep; on his other side Aramis lifted his head, mumbled something, and rolled over.

"You should change your clothes," Athos murmured. Porthos grunted agreement, stripping to his braies without embarrassment and pulling on the spare clothes Athos tossed him from the saddlebag. He wasn't sure any of these were his, but they'd do until his own dried.

Athos passed him a wine skin. "There's stew."

"More stew? Hooray."

"Aramis cooked."

"Even better." He took the plate when Athos offered it to him, though, eating it mechanically. "How long're we staying?"

"As soon as d'Artagnan can travel, we're leaving. Treville's going to leave some of the men to help here for a time, until the villagers get back on their feet. I'll be happier when Aramis is far away from here."

Porthos nodded, glancing over at Aramis. "How is he?"

"Focusing on d'Artagnan." Athos shrugged at his look. "He says he's fine."

"He always says he's fine, that's how you know to worry."

"We won't be here much longer, and he won't be going back to the village."

"I can hear you," Aramis mumbled.

"Good," Athos retorted.

Aramis rolled onto his back, staring upwards. "I'm fine."

Porthos glanced at Athos, who smiled faintly. "Go to sleep, Aramis."

"I'm supposed to relieve Treville."

"Not yet," Athos told him. "You have some time."

"Oh, good," Aramis murmured, falling back into sleep almost before the word was out.

Athos sighed, looking at Porthos. "How tired are you?"

"I could sit up a bit. What's the plan?"

"You sleep now. I'll relieve Treville in a couple of hours and wake you to watch in here. If one of us isn't awake, Aramis will wake to check on d'Artagnan."

"Yeah." Porthos sighed. He was bone weary, but someone did need to sit up. "Yeah, all right. Guess I can sleep in the saddle or something. Wake me when you need me."

There was room on this side of d'Artagnan. Porthos settled down, carefully not thinking of the mummers in the forest, letting himself drift into sleep.

Aramis was sitting beside d'Artagnan when he woke, cleaning his pistol. d'Artagnan watched for a while, until he realised the steady movements had all but lulled him back to sleep. Shaking it off, he reached for Aramis' arm to steady himself as he sat up.

"How are you feeling?" Aramis asked, holding still as d'Artagnan steadied himself.

"Not too bad."

"Hungry?"

"No, but I'll eat."

"Good man. I think it's probably fruit."

"Fruit's fine."

Aramis grinned, wandering off and coming back with a handful of apples and half a loaf of bread. "I'm not sure about the bread," he said apologetically, smacking it against the floor a couple of times.

"I might pass, thanks," d'Artagnan agreed, biting into one of the apples. "Although these aren't much better," he added indistinctly.

"Eat up, they're good for you. And you haven't been eating much lately."

d'Artagnan did his best, but he had to give up an apple and a half later. Aramis put the leftovers aside and held up a hand. "May I?"

"Do you ask the others every time?" d'Artagnan asked curiously.

"The others can't block me quite as efficiently as you can." Aramis wrapped his fingers around d'Artagnan's wrist, concentrating for several moments.

"Well?" d'Artagnan asked. "How am I?"

"You'll recover," d'Artagnan assured him. "It's going to take some time, though."

"So everyone keeps telling me. I've seen people recover from influenza. I know it takes time."

"Knowing it and experiencing it are two different things."

"I'll behave."

"Glad to hear it," Aramis said briskly. "I've arranged a cart to get you back to Paris."

"Ara –" d'Artagnan cut himself off as Aramis' amusement washed over him.

"If you're good, I'll let you ride into the garrison," Aramis promised.

d'Artagnan nodded. "Are we riding through the village?"

"It's the quickest way back. The road at this end means a long diversion. Why?"

"Can you ride with me? Just through the village. Pray with me?"

"If you think it'll help."

"It will. Thank you."

Aramis smiled faintly, patting his arm. "We'll be moving soon. Get some rest."

"I just woke up."

"And you're tired."

d'Artagnan scowled. "Am I that annoying?"

"Sometimes," Aramis said airily, grinning at his look and heading out of the barn. d'Artagnan leaned against the wall, idly tracking the others – Porthos was back, he noted – until Athos came in.

"Told you I could get him to agree," d'Artagnan said with a grin.

"I shall never doubt you again," Athos assured him. "Let's get you loaded up."

Getting into the cart was enough to convince him Aramis had been right not to let him on a horse. He was able to sit up, but not much more than that; he leaned against the side of the cart, padded with his cloak, and watched as the others finished the last couple of jobs around the yard. Eventually Aramis swung up into the back of the cart with him, Porthos climbed onto the seat, and they jolted into motion.

"Ready?" Aramis asked, settling beside him and pulling out his rosary.

"Ready," d'Artagnan agreed.

The journey back to Paris went slowly.

d'Artagnan spent a lot of it dozing, or wrapped in his cloak watching the countryside pass by. Athos wasn't really worried about him. Aramis was certain he'd recover once he had some time to rest properly. Athos would be glad when he recovered. d'Artagnan was doing his best not to complain, but they could see him getting restless as the day dragged on.

Athos had been keeping an eye on Aramis. Despite d'Artagnan's best efforts, Aramis had clearly been upset as they passed by the tavern; Athos had readied himself in case he needed to intervene to keep him in the cart, but Aramis had kept his concentration and as they drew further away from the village he'd relaxed. A full day away and with d'Artagnan firmly on the mend, Aramis was all but himself again.

Athos nudged his horse up to join Treville at the head of the group. "What excuse are we using this time?"

Treville snorted. "Your contact hit the barricades when he tried to enter the village. I received his message almost the same time as yours. Naturally, we set out straight away."

"Naturally," Athos agreed dryly. Depending on when Treville had Seen them, the Musketeers would have been ready to go long before the message that provided their excuse. "And did you meet the contact?"

"I sent a man. It went fine."

"I'm glad to hear it." He was only a little sarcastic. He didn't wish harm on his fellow Musketeers, after all.

Treville snorted again. "How are the others?"

"Aramis seems himself. d'Artagnan is either asleep or complaining. Both, on occasion."

"We'll be back in Paris tomorrow. He can recover at the garrison."

"As long as everyone knows he's not to practise until Aramis clears him."

"Don't worry, Athos. We've seen influenza before, and the men are familiar with d'Artagnan. We won't let him wear himself out."

Athos nodded. "I'm sure he'll be fine."

"Are you?"

"He won't have much choice, Captain, not with us taking care of him."

Treville smiled faintly, and Athos turned his horse to go back and join the others.

Aramis kept an eye on d'Artagnan as they drew closer to Paris. He was recovering, but still tiring far more quickly than he was used to, and Aramis had every intention of keeping him to his promise he wasn't going to take any risks.

So they were well within sight of the city when he called a halt. d'Artagnan looked up as he halted by the cart.

"You can ride from here," Aramis told him, dismounting. d'Artagnan grinned, shuffling towards the back of the cart; Aramis untied his horse, steadying him while d'Artagnan mounted straight from the cart.

"Stay with us," he reminded him, passing up the reins. d'Artagnan nodded, falling into step beside the cart. Aramis remounted and followed at the back of the little procession.

d'Artagnan stayed upright all the way to the garrison, and he dismounted without any particular sign of tiredness, but he didn't argue when Athos waved him to a bench. When Aramis looked over d'Artagnan caught his eye and smiled; Aramis took that to mean he was all right, going to take care of his horse.

Serge had been around by the time Aramis came back to the bench. d'Artagnan was cradling a bowl of something steaming hot. "Do you get sick?" he asked as Aramis sat beside him.

"Pardon?"

"Do you get sick," d'Artagnan repeated. "I know you can't affect yourself, but do you get sick?"

"I get sick, yes." Over d'Artagnan's head he caught Athos' eye, gesturing him away without moving; Athos nodded, turning to intercept Porthos and take him upstairs.

"You took a risk, then."

"No more than the rest of you," Aramis said carefully. d'Artagnan seemed oddly – well, reflective was one word. Disconnected was another, and one Aramis didn't like to use.

"We knew you'd help us if we fell ill."

"I knew you'd help me if I fell ill."

"That's not the same thing."

"It's enough for me." d'Artagnan didn't seem convinced; Aramis added "Every time you fight with us, you risk the Dark Place."

"I risk the Dark Place anywhere I am. People die." He looked up from his bowl for the first time in the conversation, seeming to climb out of his own head. "What does it feel like? When someone's hurt nearby?"

"Like a pull. An urge. I can ignore it, but there's effort involved. Much like you ignoring us, I imagine."

"It's worse the worse someone is hurt?"

"Everyone calls at the same level no matter how badly they're hurt. A person bleeding out from a stomach wound is the same as that person with a sprained ankle."

"That seems wrong. How are you to know who needs help more?"

"By using my eyes, mostly. d'Artagnan, are you all right?"

d'Artagnan blinked, focusing on him with a clear effort. "Yes. I'm just getting used to Paris again."

"How can I help?"

"Keep talking to me? About anything, not just that."

"I thought of suggesting we stop for you to swim on the way back, but I was afraid you'd sink."

"I probably would have," d'Artagnan agreed with a smile. "Tell me which of your lady friends you're planning on seeing first."

"A gentleman never kisses and tells, d'Artagnan. Besides, I won't see anyone for a day or two yet."

"Do you think we're still contagious?"

"I'd rather be certain we aren't. That influenza wasn't quite like any I've seen before. It moved very quickly. It would devastate Paris if it got here. Luckily, a disease that moves that quickly usually burns itself out just as quickly. We should be free of it very shortly."

"Good," d'Artagnan murmured. "I'll be glad when it's done. Keep talking to me, Aramis."

Aramis obliged, wondering about what might have happened in the city while they were gone, and how the ladies might have missed him, and how the Red Guards had probably not missed Porthos but the tavern owners had certainly missed Athos, and somewhere in the middle of it all d'Artagnan drifted off, wedged against his shoulder.

Almost two weeks passed before Aramis stopped monitoring everything d'Artagnan was doing. d'Artagnan had mostly born it patiently, occasionally complaining to Porthos or Athos when Aramis wasn't around.

He made time, once Aramis was happy they weren't contagious, to go and see Flora. Her tutelage had probably saved his sanity; he wouldn't have weathered the town nearly as well without the shields she'd taught him to construct. Flora made him promise to keep coming back to see her and he agreed easily.

He hadn't seen Constance in a long time, and he hated to think of her trapped with her husband, but he couldn't think of a way to help her; not until he heard that one of Anne's ladies in waiting was leaving. Ladies were always leaving, of course – it was the nature of the position – but this time it occurred to d'Artagnan that this could be the answer he needed.

The next time he was guarding the royal couple he contrived to get a couple of moments alone with the queen to extol Constance's virtues. Nothing would be done until after the birth, of course, but the queen promised to interview Constance as soon as she could see people again. d'Artagnan thanked her profusely and withdrew as Louis returned.

He couldn't warn Constance, and he couldn't be sure she'd take the position, but he thought she would. Bonacieux couldn't possibly protest, not if the queen herself asked for her. It was all he could do for her.

They were getting ready to go on a mission – the first since they'd returned to Paris – when Treville stepped out onto the balcony and shouted for the regiment to assemble. "At four fifteen this morning," he said wearily, "Armand Jean du Plessis de Richelieu died."

"Died," Porthos repeated. "He's dead?"

"It appears his heart gave out." Treville was looking through them, past them. "Athos, your mission continues. All other missions are cancelled immediately. His Grace will be buried with all honours."

Treville was grieving, sharp and deep. d'Artagnan lowered his head, one hand pressed to the centre of Aramis' back while he rebalanced himself. Porthos shifted slightly, only a handsbreadth away on his right, warm and solid.

"One more thing," Treville said from above them. "I am aware that you all have your opinions of Cardinal Richelieu's character and conduct. If I hear so much as a rumour that any Musketeer has been disrespecting him, expressing pleasure at his death, intimating in any way that this is a good day for France, that Musketeer will be immediately dismissed. A man of God has died and we will display the appropriate respect and solemnity. Am I understood?"

The regiment murmured agreement and Treville dismissed them sharply, turning on his heel to march back into his office. The regiment dispersed slowly, coming together in groups to murmur.

"You're not surprised," Athos accused Aramis as soon as they had something approaching privacy.

Aramis shook his head slowly. "I was aware that his heart was weak."

"You were?" Athos repeated. "And didn't tell us?"

"It wasn't mine to tell. What good would it have done you to know, anyway? You couldn't have benefitted from it or speeded his death."

"I did not like the man," Athos said softly. "But I would not have attempted to hurry his death."

Aramis grimaced, rubbing his face. "No. You would not. Forgive me."

Athos clapped his shoulder gently. "Come. Our mission is waiting for us. Time to go."