Disclaimer: Neither The Musketeers nor the Cormoran Strike mystery books are mine. I'm just borrowing the concepts and characters for a little while.

Spoilers: Hints about things that occur in other Immortals AU stories, but no direct spoilers for those stories. The book, The Cuckoo's Calling, by Robert Galbraith* but not who the culprit is.

A/N: This story is an AU version of the first two chapters of part one of the novel, The Cuckoo's Calling, set in my Immortals AU. All you need to know about the AU for this one is that Athos, Aramis, Porthos, and d'Artagnan can die, but they resurrect, and are basically immortal. Throughout their long lives, they've had to assume many identities. More will be explained as you read.

Story/History Notes: These are denoted by an * and explained at the end. At times I did change historical or book-related facts to fit my story, but for these notes, I have made every attempt to get my details correct. If I have incorrectly noted something, please let me know and I will make changes.

I hope you give this story a chance despite its odd concept; I had a lot of fun writing it and hope you enjoy reading it.

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I cannot rest from travel: I will drink
Life to the lees: All times I have enjoy'd
Greatly, have suffer'd greatly, both with those
That loved me, and alone, on shore, and when
Thro' scudding drifts the rainy Hyades
Vext the dim sea: I am become a name…

~~~~~~~ Alfred, Lord Tennyson, "Ulysses" *

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Chapter One: March 2010* – Robin Ellacott

Though Robin Ellacott's many years of life had seen their moments of drama and incident, he had only rarely woken up in the certain knowledge that he would remember the coming day as long as he lived.

He'd awakened from a dream turned nightmare of the day he knew he would soon be marrying the love of his life. That conversation between him and his love, with his brothers nearby watching, and likely overhearing every word, had left him feeling happier than his paltry words could ever express. Despite being so recently in danger of dying, it had been in his view, one of the most perfect days of his impossibly long life.

At that point in time, he had simply been a Musketeer in love with a woman who was brave, generous, kind, and shined so brightly in his eyes that it left every other woman in shadow. At that point in time, he thought they had their whole lives to be together and believed they would never again be separated. And at that time, the Incident in that lonely part of France had not yet happened; he had not yet been changed by circumstances beyond his control.

Time had marched on anyway and proved everything he had once thought had been wrong. The dream had started with the promise of his marriage happening one day soon and had become the nightmare of his greatest love being taken from him by illness, forever separating them.

Unable to get back to sleep, he'd gone for a walk around the city. Shortly after midnight, he'd gone past the statue of Eros* in the middle of Piccadilly Circus and witnessed a man going down on one knee to propose to a beautiful woman with strawberry blonde hair. The look of surprise and giddiness on her face told Robin what her answer would likely be. He'd sped up so he wouldn't have to observe the moment the woman accepted the proposal. He couldn't believe that after his recent dream that Fate, God, or whoever would be so cruel as to have him stumbling upon someone else's happiest moment, when he still missed his wife with every fiber of his being.

That couple would have a story to pass down to their children, something he never had due to what had happened to him and his friends. He'd already had no more close family than his wife and his brothers of the heart; because of the Incident, he would never have any children.

Eventually, he returned to his flat for a couple of hours of sleep, and was now picking his way through the roadworks at the top of Oxford Street. This was to be his first day of a week-long secretarial-type assignment. When he'd updated the personal details of his current persona, he'd not known what he'd wanted to do with his current life, so he'd taken a job at a place called Temporary Solutions, hoping to hit upon something he would enjoy doing for a while.

He had some upcoming interviews for some more permanent jobs lined up, but for the time being was content to continue doing the temp work. When he'd signed up with Temporary Solutions, he'd quickly learned that the ratio of male to female assistants was quite low. The majority of his male employers tended to assume he was something he was not, and the eyes of most of his female employers tended to linger on certain parts of his anatomy a little too long. He'd taken it all in stride and enjoyed the variety of jobs and work environments.

The worst part of these piecemeal jobs was finding the offices he was to work in. He'd been in London many times throughout his nearly 400 years of existence and was quite familiar with much of the city. However, over time, some areas of London had become an almost insane maze of streets, and even he needed directions to find some places or risk getting lost.

The barricades surrounding the roadworks made it all the more difficult to see where he needed to go. He consulted the hand-drawn map he'd been given at the temping agency and continued past Center Point, making his way towards what he hoped was Denmark Street. He found it almost by accident after going through a narrow alleyway and past more construction.

D'Artagnan consulted his timepiece, a gold pocket watch his brothers had given him nearly 100 years ago for his birthday. He remembered that day with great fondness, which only served to remind him of how alone in the world he currently was.

Back then, they'd all been together, living in the same city, seeing each other regularly. The years when he had at least one of his brothers close by was much more preferable to the ones where he was forced to endure his immortal life on his own.

More often than not, he chose to reside wherever Athos settled down. He loved all of his brothers very much, but just seemed to get along with Athos the best, and generally preferred the older man's company over that of Aramis and Porthos. It wasn't unusual for the four of them to split into two pairs like that, each set going off to live their current lives separate from the others. Porthos and Aramis each also tended to go separately off on their own just as often, while he and Athos preferred to remain in each other's lives in some way, happy to have a brother close by.

Whether it was similar temperaments, the ability to understand how the major losses of loved ones could affect a life, or something else, d'Artagnan just seemed to find comfort in the fact that his big brother had a part in whatever identity he was living under at the time.

However, that had all changed nearly twenty years ago.

D'Artagnan hadn't made the pilgrimage in a while, but twenty years ago, he had felt the need to visit his wife's grave. For once, Athos had not gone with him.

Usually, but not always, Athos made it a point to keep him company whenever he made the journey to the cemetery he and his friends had moved his beloved wife's remains to after King Louis XVI had decreed that all of Paris' cemeteries were to be emptied* back in 1785. He had been devastated by Constance's death, the grief making him so desolate that he forgot himself, and had become a person he no longer recognized. It was only the strength of his brothers' love for him that had brought him back from the precipice.

In the time following his wife's death, d'Artagnan had spent far too long wallowing in all-consuming grief, where he hadn't cared about much of anything but the fact that his love was gone and that, because of his immortality, he would never be with her again in death or whatever lay beyond it. After he'd come back to himself, one of his brothers would accompany him to the cemetery, to be there in case he fell into inconsolable grief once more.

As the years had continued marching ever onward, it was Athos who more often than not had joined him on his visits to his beloved's grave. His best friend seemed to be able to sense when he needed someone to accompany him; it seemed like Athos knew when his ever-present grief would flare up into something that could overwhelm him. Yet, nearly twenty years ago, Athos had not gone with him; it had ended up being something he would regret for a long time to come.

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He had been on his way back to the hotel from the cemetery when he'd seen her.

The young woman looked so much like Constance, it was uncanny. She was almost the spitting image of the woman he had kissed the first time that they'd met.

Walking in the opposite direction from him, she was with someone who was presumably her father, given the similarities of their faces. He couldn't help but stare at her, and then after a moment's pause, couldn't help but discretely follow along after the two of them.

When father and daughter had gone through the cemetery's gates and eventually stopped at Constance's grave, the air had rushed out of his lungs like a popped balloon. Somehow, he'd had the presence of mind to go stand in front of another, nearby grave, pretending to pay his respects. It was something that was not too far off the mark. Over the years, the grave markers of those interred nearby had become as familiar to him as the one for his wife.

He had been close enough to overhear their conversation; when the young woman had begun to gleefully rejoice over the fact that she had finally found the grave of her 12 times great aunt, the one that had married a Musketeer, he suddenly forgot how to breathe. What he did or where he went after hearing those words, after standing so close to Constance's look-alike, his family by long-ago and too-distant marriage, he did not know.

However, by the time he came back to himself in a steep ditch with his neck and right leg fiercely aching in a particular yet recognizable way, he knew that whatever he'd done or had happened to him, had resulted in him dying. The realization that his most recent death and resurrection had yet again kept him from reuniting with his beloved had nearly dragged him under once more.

With great effort, he managed to haul himself out of the ditch and walked back towards his hotel, stinking of too much alcohol – and worse – and not knowing how much time had passed.

Luckily, his habit of paying a week in advance at the hotel had paid off. He still had a room to go to, though from the inquiries into his health, he knew he must look like death warmed over – which wasn't very far from the truth.

When he was being issued a new room key, d'Artagnan learned from the girl at the front desk that he'd been gone for four days. He managed to come up with the story that he had run into old friends and had ended up partying way too hard with them. Upon returning to his room, the first thing he'd done was head towards the phone to dial Athos's number, desperately needing to hear the older man's voice. Yet, there was no answer.

He took a desperately needed shower, and immediately tried calling again after he got out. Still, there was no answer.

He sent what items of clothing that could be reasonably salvaged out to be cleaned, and tried one more time to get hold of Athos. His friend continued to remain unreachable.

There were several reasons that he could think of why Athos would not be home to answer his phone, resolving to wait and try again later that evening.

After a resurrection, he and his brothers generally needed a few good meals and some sleep before feeling completely back to their old selves. When he'd awakened hours later, he had only delayed redialing Athos's number long enough to relieve his bladder.

It only briefly occurred to him to call his other two brothers, but they were off on some grand adventure; he didn't have the first clue how to get in contact with them. Besides, he felt only Athos truly understood just how paralyzed he could become with loss and grief. Too many times over the years they had helped each other through bouts of overwhelming depression for him to want to hear from anyone else but Athos at the moment.

It was late in the evening, so he was reasonably certain Athos would be home to answer the phone, especially since it had been four days since they had last spoken to each other. And yet, when he called the number he knew by heart, the phone continued to ring and ring. Athos didn't believe in answering machines, so there was not even a recording of the man's voice to help in restoring his equilibrium. Given the hour, there should have been a grumpy and annoyed, yet polite-sounding voice on the other end of the line; instead, there was only the sound of one phone trying and failing to connect to another.

Worry for his best friend set in. He paced his room, feeling off-kilter not only from his recent encounter and subsequent blackout, but from the idea creeping into his mind that something had happened to Athos; something which prevented the man from being able to get in contact with him. He called the front desk, asking if there had been any messages for him, but there had been nothing.

It wasn't until the next morning sometime after his fiftieth attempt to get in touch with Athos that a new, obvious possibility occurred to him. What if, after not being able to reach him for several days, that Athos had decided to come find him?

With that thought in mind, he was able to relax slightly, though his gut was telling him something was still wrong with that idea. He resolved to remain in the hotel for the day and wait for Athos to arrive, hoping the older man would get there sooner rather than later.

A day later and Athos had yet to show up at the hotel.

His worry for Athos ratcheted back up to previous levels, though he managed to keep his head for the moment. He called around the city to the other hotels he's stayed at in the past, just in case his friend had misremembered which one he had chosen, but he had absolutely no luck.

No one matching Athos's current description or alias had checked into one of the possible hotels in the past 24 hours. He knew that no matter the mode of transportation, it wouldn't take the older man so long to get to him. Only going by sea would it take more than 24 hours, and Athos would never choose that mode of travel in the case of an emergency, no matter how much he despised flying in airplanes.

Something had to have happened to Athos; something that might have killed him, necessitating a resurrection and subsequent change of identities. Yet, how would such an occurrence prevent Athos from getting in contact with him?

Unless...unless Athos had come back to life in the presence of witnesses – perhaps even the wrong kind of witnesses.

Unnerved by the new theory, he rushed to pack his belongings and check out of his hotel. He couldn't get an immediate flight out, so he'd been forced to take the train instead. It was when he was on his way to the dining car, that the train suddenly lurched and his world turned topsy-turvy.

When d'Artagnan awoke, it was to the certainty that he had just resurrected. If the blood saturating his pants leg was any indication, then he'd severed his femoral artery and had bled out. He felt weak from the lingering blood loss, plus his breathing was currently being compromised by the smoke from the fire rapidly heading in his direction.

He managed to pull himself together enough to scramble out of the train wreckage without anyone seeing him, though he had encountered several people that were beyond his help when he tried to get to them. Due to the severity of the wreck and the accompanying fire, he knew his current life was irrevocably over. It would be necessary for him to adopt a new alias and figure out what he wanted to do with his new life.

However, his first priority was to find out what had happened to Athos and where in the world the man currently was.

But he never did find his best friend.

There had been no trace of the man anywhere; no clues to where Athos had gone or what new name the man might be living under.

His brother had vanished, and being unable to get in touch with Aramis or Porthos, d'Artagnan was resigned to the fact that he would be living his new life alone, hoping that someday he would find one of his brothers.

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In the aftermath of that train wreck, where only a young woman in the very last train car had survived, Robin Ellacott had been born.

At the time, there had not been much choice in terms of possible names; he had gotten used to people assuming he would be a female before they came face-to-face.

He had moved England, taking up residence in the city of Masham, part of Yorkshire county. It was there that he had begun a quiet life as a bookkeeper.

Over and over and over again, he tried finding his friends, but he'd had no luck for the past ten years, even after repeatedly making use of their agreed-upon emergency signal – a predetermined personal ad in all the major newspapers. After not getting a response yet again, and with no other leads, he finally made the decision to give up for a while, feeling utterly abandoned by his brothers, yet missing them with every fiber of his being.

Eventually, he grew tired of Yorkshire, and once more craving big city life, he moved to London.

With a slight adjustment to his identification documents, he remained Robin Ellacott. It was growing more and more difficult to get new, clean identities; he saw no reason to waste this one, despite the female-sounding first name. He was also holding onto the likely ridiculous notion that if he didn't change his name, then he would be easier to find – assuming any of his brothers were looking for him.

He'd been in London a month now.

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Shaking his head to dislodge the memories the timepiece had brought to the fore, he checked and found he was ten minutes early to his new temp job.

Nondescript and painted black, the doorway stood to the left of the 12 Bar Café. The name of the occupant was scrawled on a piece of paper taped beside the buzzer for the second floor. Not feeling like standing around for the next ten minutes amongst the noise of the roadwork being done, he decided to go up early.

He had just reached for the bell when the door flew open from the inside, and a woman burst out onto the street. For one moment, they looked directly into each other's eyes, as they braced for the imminent collision.

However, his reflexes, having always been quick, helped him to barely dodge the woman. That split-second view of the pale-faced woman had left him with the chilling impression that Milady had decided to come back to haunt his lonely existence.

The dark-haired woman hurried off down the street and out of sight, her expression – lined, yet strangely exhilarated – lingered with him as he caught the door before it closed. Banishing the memories that rushed to mind with the sight of the woman who reminded him so strongly of someone who had died so long ago, he made his way up the old-fashioned metal staircase which spiraled up around the lift.

At the first landing, he passed a door with a sign saying Crowdy Graphics and continued climbing. It was only when he reached the door on the floor above that Robin realized what kind of business he'd been sent to assist.

The agency hadn't specified and neither had the name written beside the outside buzzer. On the glass door panel was engraved: C.B. Strike, Private Detective.

The words caused him to still. It had been many years since he'd had anything to do with law enforcement or any of its associated professions. In this current life, he hadn't even considered the possibility of helping people beyond filling a gap when needed as a temp worker.

Seeing the words private detective stirred something within him, and suddenly he was much more enthusiastic to start this temp job. Perhaps, if he got along with this C.B. Strike well enough, he might try to convince them to keep him on permanently – or as permanently as his current life would permit. His skills in this area may be a bit rusty, but he learned quickly and was confident he could become an asset if only his temporary employer would let him.

Savoring the moment of new-found purpose, he approached the door slowly. As he stretched out his left hand towards the handle, but before he touched it, the glass door flew open.

This time, there was no near-miss.

An unseeing, disheveled male about his height slammed into him; Robin was knocked backwards, backpack flying, arms windmilling towards the void beyond the staircase.

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To be concluded…

Next time: Chapter Two: March 2010 - Cormoran Strike

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Story/History Notes:

The Cuckoo's Calling,by Robert Galbraith: The first of three (so far) mystery novels written by J.K. Rowling under the pseudonym, Robert Galbraith. I started reading them after I found out that Tom Burke, portrayer of Athos in The Musketeers TV series, was chosen to play the main character in the film adaptations of the books. Because several scenes in the books strongly reminded me of Athos (e.g. Chapter 2 of Book 1), the idea of writing an Immortals AU story with Athos as Strike crossed my mind after I finished the third book. Because certain aspects of my AU and the books don't quite mesh, I had to tweak a few things. I also very liberally borrowed from the first two chapters of part one, which was necessary in order to write this story.

Alfred Lord Tennyson, "Ulysses": "Ulysses" is a poem in blank verse by the Victorian poet Alfred, Lord Tennyson, written in 1833 and published in 1842. The part quoted is from the second stanza. They are the last words of The Cuckoo's Calling and thought they were appropriate on more than one level.

March 2010: Book two, The Silkworm, mentions the engagement of Prince William and Kate Middleton, which was announced on 16 November 2010. Chapter 1 of Part 1 of The Cuckoo's Calling states that it's March.

Statue of Eros: Though Londoners call it Eros, the subject of the Shaftesbury Memorial fountain is more than likely Anteros, who was the brother of Eros and the Greek god of requited love. The Memorial commemorates Lord Shaftesbury, a Victorian-era politician, philanthropist, and social reformer.

"…cemeteries were to be emptied...": By 1780, the cemeteries of the oldest sections of Paris were full to overflowing and burials within the city were forbidden. Eventually in 1785, a decree requiring the removal of all remains was issued and an ossuary ("municipal ossuary"), now called the Paris Catacombs, was created. Disused limestone quarries under the city in the Tombe-Issoire district were renovated and restored so that the remains could be placed there. Today, it is possible to visit a two kilometer section of the catacombs. If you've read Broken Promise, then you might recognize the information in this note.

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Many thanks to Celticgal1041 for proofing this for me; remaining mistakes are mine.

Thanks for reading!