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Chapter Text

Constance was just signing the service order for the coffee machine maintenance when Athos sauntered in with a Tim Hortons coffee cup in each hand. The coffee maintenance guy ducked his head as she smiled at him and handed over the service order. Grabbing the sheet, he thrust it into his trolley of tools and coffee supplies and hurried past Athos towards the elevator.

Athos stared after him briefly before shrugging.

“Was it something I said?” he asked with a smirk.

Constance laughed “I don’t think it was just you! He must be new because I haven’t seen him before.”

“If he bothers you, just say the word, and I’ll break his legs,” he said with a dead pan voice, but Constance could see the brief twitch of his lips and the crinkle beside his eyes that reassured her that he was just joking.

Clearing his throat, he handed her one of the cups in his hand, “Tims had a special on this morning so I brought you one.”

Constance was touched that he had thought of her, “Oh, Athos, that’s so sweet! It’s too bad that I’m not drinking coffee for a few days.”

Athos raised an eyebrow. She smiled and made a dismissive wave before leaning closer conspiratorially.

“It’s the Captain. His doctor ordered some medical tests so he’s trying to avoid coffee until the tests are done. I said that I would avoid coffee, too, so he wouldn’t have to do it alone.”

“Ah!” responded Athos tilting his head to one side, “I guess I will offer this to Porthos.” He looked around, “where is Porthos?”

“I’m not sure. He hasn’t come in, yet. Nor has Aramis.”

Athos frowned slightly but nodded and started towards Team One’s seconded conference room. Before he could reach it, Treville popped his head outside his office.

“Where’s Aramis?” he asked.

At Athos’ shrug. Treville turned to Constance. She also shrugged. Quirking his mouth in irritation, he retreated back into his office. Constance and Athos exchanged looks. What had Aramis done now?

Just then, the elevator dinged and the man in question appeared around the corner. He nodded briefly to Athos, gave a quick smile that didn’t reach his eyes to Constance and disappeared down the hall towards the break room before anyone could say a word. Porthos, who had been a few paces behind Aramis, stopped by Athos and gave him a look.

“He’s not sleeping again. I can’t wait until he finishes with Team Nine. I don’t know what’s going on with their mission, but it must be serious.”

Athos handed Porthos his extra coffee before saying, “Treville is looking for him. Perhaps he is going to take him off the mission.”

Porthos eagerly accepted the coffee and took a deep draught sighing in satisfaction. He then looked in the direction of the break room. Aramis reappeared with a large mug in hand emblazoned with “Hands off the Captain’s Coffee.”

Constance said, “The Captain is looking for you, Aramis.” Just as Treville’ door opened again.

“Aramis, my office, please,” he said in French.

This surprised Constance since he usually used English first in the office unless he was upset. He didn’t sound upset, but clearly something was up. Aramis paused mid-stride, took an enormous swig out of his cup and turned back towards the break room.

“Need more caffeine, Captain,” he called over his shoulder.

Treville merely raised his eyebrows, shook his head and disappeared into his office. Porthos and Athos watched as if it was a show put on for their private amusement. This was further supported by the sudden appearance of D’Artagnan from the Team One room.

“Hey, Athos, Porthos. Have you seen Aramis? Rob, the new guy from Team Nine is looking for him.”

D’Artagnan, who had been looking at his team mates while heading towards the breakroom, nearly collided with Aramis who was returning from it. Aramis managed to swerve just in time, grabbing D’Artagnan with his free hand and spinning them both around in an almost waltz turn without missing a beat or spilling his coffee. He continued to Treville’s office, entering it after a brief knock.

Athos sipped his coffee and remarked, “Clearly the waltzing classes are paying off.”

Porthos shrugged, “For him, maybe. As for me?” he put his hand out and waggled it from side to side indicating “not so much.”

D’Artagnan shook his head and then continued on his way to the break room.

Constance turned to the remaining members of Team One and cleared her throat pointedly, “Show’s over, boys.”

As one, the two men exchanged looks and then sauntered over to their conference room.

Taking a deep breath, Constance looked at her In Box and considered where she would start her day’s work.

“Constance,” D’Artagnan reappeared by her desk, “did they change the coffee again?”

Exasperated by the new interruption, she retorted, “Honestly, how am I supposed to get anything done with you lot hanging around all the time?”

Grimacing, D’Artagnan retreated, “okay, okay, I’m sorry.”

He swiftly retreated, following Porthos and Athos into their conference room.

She rolled her eyes and then she noticed most of Team Nine was hovering by the elevators. At her glare, they all hastily scurried down the hall towards the break room.

“At last,” she said as she spread her hands over her paperwork and settled in to get some work done.

*****

Athos took another sip of his now lukewarm coffee and compared two files. There was something bothering him about them, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on it. He glanced over at the door, wondering when Aramis would return. Although their marksman was still supposed to be working with Team Nine, he still tried to look in on his own team whenever he was in the office. Aside from missing his friend, Athos knew that he was particularly good at spotting the gaps or the oddities in files that others might miss. His eyes swept around the room, passing over Porthos who was frowning at something in another file, before halting at D’Artagnan. The youngest of their quartet was grimacing, but not over the laptop. He was rubbing his stomach.

Concerned, Athos said, “What’s the matter, D’Art?”

His friend gave his stomach another rub before saying, “I think this new coffee is disagreeing with me.”

Porthos looked over at him, “You sure it wasn’t something you ate?”

D’Artagnan shook his head, “I was feeling fine until a few moments ago. And the coffee tasted a bit weird."

Athos considered his young friend, “You are looking a little pale. Perhaps a stomach bug? Perhaps you should go home and rest before you pass it along to the rest of us.”

D’Artagnan winced, and this time, he rubbed his head, “Yeah, maybe I should. I am feeling kinda dizzy, now.”

“C’mon, pup, I’ll drive you,” said Porthos, standing up.

Athos nodded and waved them towards the door. “Go, go. I’ll let Treville know.”

As Porthos opened the door for D’Artagnan, the sound of commotion came out of the lobby.

Treville, sounding alarmed, shouted, “Aramis!”

Porthos abruptly disappeared as he raced out the door, quickly followed by D’Artagnan. By the time Athos leapt over the table and out the door, the reception area was full of people. Treville was crouched over a supine Aramis. Porthos was holding onto D’Artagnan who was doubled over clutching his stomach. Constance was racing towards them all from behind her desk. Athos paused to look around for the source of the chaos.

Then, Team Nine came racing down the hall from the break room. Lily, the team lead, was the first to reach the reception area, but she seemed to wobble just as she passed Constance’ desk, and then she just crumpled into a heap. Hard on her heels, the other three members of her team, managed to prevent her from cracking her head on the desk. But then, they, too, seemed to struggle to stay upright. Within minutes, all four were on the ground. Lily and Rob were out cold, while the other two were groaning and curled up.

Constance changed direction and raced towards Team Nine. Porthos had already lowered D’Artagnan to the ground and was checking his pulse. Treville had his fingers on Aramis’ pulse point at his throat.

Six down, four standing, Athos noted to himself. He pulled out his weapon and checked all the entrances and exits.

“What happened?” he asked Treville. He crouched down and grabbed Aramis’ wrist for himself. To his relief, the pulse was there. Faster than it should be, but there all the same. He looked over at Porthos, who glanced up and nodded his reassurance.

“I have no idea,” said Treville looked around the chaos of the reception. Athos noticed that he had not taken his hand off Aramis, instead transferring his hand from the other man’s throat to his hair. He looked at Athos, sharply and firmly added, “But this feels like we’re being attacked. Athos, hit the alarm then you and Porthos go check the other floors. I’ll recall Teams Six and Five.”

Chapter Text

“Sixteen people,” muttered Athos to himself as he sat between the hospital beds, Aramis on his left and Rob-the-new-guy from Team Nine on his right.

Both men were unconscious and in the ICU area that had been hastily reserved for the ones who had been most affected by the attack on the Garrison. After racing through the Garrison, Porthos and Athos had found another ten Musketeers on the two floors above their own who also seemed to be suffering from whatever ailment had struck their floor. Most of them were just feeling dizzy or nauseous, but two were in rough shape. It was Porthos who realized that all the people who were affected had been drinking the coffee. Fortunately, most of them had only managed to down one cup or less before succumbing to the effects of the drug. Less fortunately, somehow, both Rob and Aramis had managed to down two cups in that space of time. Athos wondered if the need for such a quick infusion of caffeine was driven by the pressure of the mission that they had both been on.

The other fourteen musketeers were being monitored in other rooms. They were all conscious, although many were still uncomfortable and dopey. Once the hospital lab had examined the coffee from all the Garrison break rooms, they confirmed that the top three floors had been adulterated with something. The hospital was doing its best to figure out what the contaminant was, but until they had more information, both the doctors and Treville wanted them together and under medical supervision. Porthos, Athos, and all four members of Team Six were taking turns guarding the Musketeers. Team Six was guarding the Garrison. Everyone else was either investigating the attack or were on missions that could not be interrupted.

Athos yawned and stretched. He paused suddenly when he heard a small noise. He looked at Aramis, but he was still out. He turned to Rob and saw that the young man’s eyes were starting to flutter. Rob was so new that he was still called Rob-the-new-guy so Athos didn’t know much about him. Aramis seemed to think he had promise as a sniper, and Lily was pleased with what he had managed to do so far in her team. But lying in bed hooked up to the machines made him look so very young - younger than D’Artagnan, even. When Rob fluttered his eyes again with another whimper, Athos decided it was time to call for reinforcements. He pulled the cord to summon the nurse.

Along with the nurse came Treville and Porthos. The former looked calm while the latter was looking anxious. Athos waved the nurse to the slowly reviving Rob and then stepped back to give her room. Treville stepped forward to the other side of Rob’s bed from the nurse and put his hand on the younger man’s shoulder. The two of them murmured to Rob in reassuring voices while the nurse did her usual checks.

Porthos had moved to Aramis’ bed and gently stroked the sleeping man’s hair. Aramis didn’t react. Athos walked over to Porthos and put his hand on his shoulder, murmuring his own words of reassurance. Dr. Lemay appeared in the doorway and joined the nurse so Treville stepped back.

He looked up at Athos and Porthos and said firmly, “You two, go home, eat, and sleep. I need you back here in two hours rested and ready.”

****

Aramis awoke suddenly and fully and absolutely certain that something was terribly wrong. He simultaneously tried to sit up and move his arms and was unable to do either. Something bad was happening and he couldn’t move! Even his mouth appeared to be covered. What was happening?

Warm hands rested on his wrists and thankfully a familiar, trustworthy voice said, “Be calm, Aramis. I need you to be calm and breathe for me.”

Aramis forced himself to relax and breathe as directed which is when he realized that there was an oxygen mask on his face. Then realizing that his eyes were still closed, he tried opening them. The first thing he saw was Treville’s reassuring, smiling face. The second was the familiar ceiling tiles and machinery of the hospital ICU.

Before he could process anything else or even do a self-check for injuries, Treville asked him, “are you with me, Aramis?”

Aramis nodded and said, “yes.” The oxygen mask must have muffled his response but it reassured Treville because he smiled wider.

“Okay, I’m going to release these restraints, then.”

As Treville gave his wrists a firm squeeze, Aramis realized that was why he had been unable to raise his hands. He had assumed that it was because Treville was holding them. He started to feel his emotions surge along with adrenaline. Why was he restrained? They knew how he felt about that. Treville finished releasing him and then took hold of his right wrist and rubbed it gently.

“Aramis,” he said apologetically, “I’m sorry that we had to restrain you like that. We just didn’t know how you would react to the poison. We didn’t want you or any of the hospital staff to get hurt if you woke up swinging.”

Somewhat pacified, Aramis took a deep breath and expelled it along with the tension of finding himself restrained. Then, the full extent of what Treville said hit him: he had been poisoned! What about the others? The adrenaline surged back. A machine to his left began beeping and flashing red lights. He jumped and the beeping increased. Treville gripped his wrist harder and put his other hand on Aramis’ chest.

“Whoah, there! You need to calm down. I can see all the questions on your face, but you need to be calm or else we will be swarmed by doctors and nurses.”

Aramis nodded and tried to control his breathing, again. After a few breaths, the machines stopped beeping and flashing red as the numbers settled into a normal range. Treville watched his face the whole time. With the renewed quiet, the captain nodded.

“Good, lad. First up, it was the coffee that was tainted. Neither Athos nor Porthos drank any so they are both fine. You, D’Artagnan and fourteen other musketeers drank it. Most are fine and ten have already been cleared to go home. You and Rob-the-new-guy drank the most and consequently are the most affected.”

Treville paused for a moment to give Aramis a chance to process the information before continuing, “Second, we don’t yet know what it was or why. Clearly, it was meant to bring down the Garrison, but why us, we don’t know. We do know when the coffee was tainted because both Constance and Athos noticed a new person servicing the coffee machines. Although he tried hiding his face from Athos, both he and Constance are pretty confident that they would be able to identify him.”

Treville looked at the machinery for a moment. Aramis realized that he was reading the numbers to see how well Aramis was taking the news. How bloody convenient for the Captain to not have to rely on the admittedly not always reliable self-assessment from Aramis himself! Aramis found himself resenting the machines.

Thoughts and ideas began tumbling through Aramis’ head. Suddenly, one jumped to the front so he pulled off the oxygen mask.

“Why didn’t you get poisoned? You usually drink more coffee than anyone.”

Treville sat up straight before responding, “I have some tests ordered by the doctor tomorrow so I was avoiding any coffee. But, you’re right. Normally both Constance and I would have been on our second cups. I wonder if that was as miscalculation?”

“Ah, Aramis, I’m glad to see you awake and with us,” came the voice of Dr.Lemay.

The doctor strode over and looked at Aramis with his usual pleasant smile and then changed his focus to the machines. Aramis looked at the machines, too. Most of the lights and displays were a cheery green, but not all. He realized that his heart rate was elevated above his normal rate, and his blood pressure was wonky, too. He sighed. Lemay was not likely to let him out today.

As if reading his mind, Lemay gave him with an understanding look, “you know what I’m going to say about the possibility of you leaving today, right?”

At Aramis’ pout, Lemay smiled again, “okay, then, let me tell you something that you don’t know which is that you were drugged with a derivative of methamphetamine. It’s something the lab has not seen before so we need to be cautious about monitoring the short term effects. The good news is that the lab is adamant that there will be no long term effects. The bad news is that we don’t know how long it will take to work out of your system, and while it is there, you may suffer from heart arrhythmia from time to time.”

Treville asked, “what does that mean? Do we need to restrict his activities?”

Since that was Aramis’ initial worry, too, he paid close attention to Lemay’s response.

“No, it shouldn’t restrict him much. Maybe dial back on some of the more strenuous exercises or at least build up to them a bit more slowly. Slow down if you start to feel the arrhythmia. I’ll give you a monitor that will alert you when it’s starting. I can’t imagine that it will be for more than six to eight weeks.”

Treville frowned, no doubt thinking of how he was going to ensure Aramis didn’t overdo it over the next six to eight weeks.

He looked up at Lemay, “How about the others? Rob was pretty bad, too.”

“Rob and Aramis received the highest dose so we think their symptoms will last the longest, but it does seem to affect people very differently. D’Artagnan, for example, had the worst stomach pain but almost no impact to his heart rhythm. Aramis, on the other hand, has had almost no stomach distress, but his heart rhythm and blood pressure are all over the place. The others seem to be at different places on the spectrum. I’m going to keep anyone with heart arrhythmia in the hospital until they’ve had twenty four hours of stability. Then I suggest that they go home and rest for another twenty-four hours before even considering returning to work.”

At that precise moment, Aramis felt a peculiar sensation in his chest and the heart monitor started to bleep and flash red.

Lemay looked at Aramis and said firmly, “your clock has just restarted so get comfortable because you’ve got at least another twenty-four hours here.”

*********

Athos nodded his thanks to the nurse who pointed in the direction of the room where he would find the rest of Team One. Porthos who had been trailing him surged ahead and entered the room first. Athos could hear the noise level rise as the occupants greeted him. Nevertheless, he was still surprised by the number of people in the room. It had been more than a day since the incident so many of the SITRU agents had been sent home.

It was one of the large wards with six beds. Aramis occupied the central bed on the left side of the room. D’Artagnan and Constance sat on the bed furthest from the door on the left, and Porthos sat on the chair between D’Artagnan and Aramis. Etienne from Team Two was on the other side of Aramis surrounded by the other members of his team. On the other side of the room, Adeeb from Team Nine was furthest from the door with Rob-the-new-guy taking the centre bed. Closest to the door, the rest of Team Nine perched on the otherwise unoccupied bed.

“What is this? A challenge to see how many Musketeers you can fit into a hospital room?” asked Athos in his usual drawl.

“We had a few more a while ago, but they kicked them out to go home to rest. They said that they were going to create a new rule to set a maximum of twelve Musketeers per room,” replied D’Artagnan with a grin. He added, “they were going to send me home, too, but Lemay said that I should stay until one of you two showed up." He cast a meaningful glance at Aramis who had a jumpy look about him that Lemay must have picked up on.

“But now that you are here, I’m taking this one home to bed,” announced Constance firmly. At the resulting hoots of laughter, she huffed and said, “get your minds out of the gutter!”

And with that, she took D’Artagnan by the arm and pulled him out of the room. He gave them all an impossibly smug grin as he left. Athos sauntered over to take their spot. After settling into place, he looked up to a room of expectant faces.

“I suppose you want to know what we learned?”

At their decisive nods, he began, “Porthos and I tracked down the little weasel who actually poisoned the coffee. He was a small time hood for hire called Dujon. Basically, he received the instructions, drugs, and uniform from a dead drop. But, he dropped his own coffee on the instructions before he had read them fully. Since he couldn’t remember which floor he was supposed to do, he decided to do them all. He had just finished our floor when I came in. He recognized me which flustered him so he ended up leaving the other floors. Somehow, he must have got the right floor, anyway, because he still got paid.”

“Wait, how did the person who hired him know to target a specific floor?” asked Rob.

“And which floor was he targeting?” added Lily.

Porthos crossed his legs and said, “It’s got to be the fourth floor. Taking out the teams on the top floors would piss us off, but not incapacitate us. Taking out the Captain, Constance, and even Athos puts a significant hole in the command structure of the Musketeers.”

Beside him, Aramis twitched and looked down. Beside him, his monitor started flashing. He gave it an irritable glance before starting to do some deep breathing exercises. They didn’t seem to be helping much. It was then that Athos recalled the last time the Garrison had lost so many Musketeers to an unforeseen attack. His own heart did an unpleasant flip, so he walked over and sat beside Aramis on the bed. He casually rested his hand between Aramis’ shoulder blades and waited. Aramis tensed for a moment, but then some of the tension seemed to drain out of him as he gradually leaned against Athos. His monitor stopped flashing red.

At that moment, Dr. Lemay and a crew of nurses entered the room.

“Sorry to break up the party, my friends, but I do believe that some of you may have passed the twenty-four hour mark and can go home.”

He headed towards Etienne, first. He leaned over his monitor for a moment as he said, “Let’s see your results for the last two hours. Oh well done, no arrhythmia. You, my lucky friend, have just received a Get Out Of Jail Free card.”

Etienne and his team gave a ragged cheer. .Lemay then made his way around the other monitored patients. In the end, everyone but Rob and Aramis was given permission to leave. Much to Lemay’s surprise, but not Athos’, they all seemed reluctant to go.

Athos pointed at the door, “Go home! You need to be rested so you can convince Treville that you are ready to help catch the bastards who did this. Porthos and I will remain here for the night. If you think of anything that might help, just text us.”

Porthos piped up, “actually, use the All teams group chat. That way we all know what’s going on. The more of us contributing, the better.”

With that, the other Musketeers filed out the door. Lily made a parting comment to her sniper to behave himself for the babysitters before she quickly ducked out the door to avoid the pillow Rob threw.

Although they laughed, Porthos and Athos both knew that it was not going to be Rob who would be the problem. Wordlessly, Athos stood up, kicked off his shoes, and removed his jacket after pulling out his phone. He then gently shoved Aramis over to one side of the bed before climbing in beside him. Aramis made snide comments about pushy people taking over other people’s spaces, but he smiled and wriggled until they were both comfortably settled. Porthos just shook his head and covered them with a blanket. He pulled out a pack of cards and asked Rob if he wanted to play.

Chapter Text

Treville looked over at D’Artagnan and Athos seated on the couch in his office. The former looked quite fresh and alert and latter less so. Treville understood that it had not been a particularly restful night for the members of Team One who had stayed at the hospital. Dr. .Lemay had phoned Treville at 5am to let him know that he was discharging Aramis since it wasn’t doing him any good to be in the hospital. Instead, he would wear a heart monitor for the next three days to see if the arrhythmia continued. .Lemay hoped that in his own environment, he would be less stressed and everything would settle down.

Treville had been up for much of the night supposedly working on how he was going to handle the work he had with only half of his workforce, but in reality he was avoiding his own memories of the last time he had to do this after Savoy. As a result, he was more than usually brusque and direct with Aramis and then Porthos about his expectations around Aramis’ recovery time. Porthos, who was seldom on the direct receiving end of Treville’s ire, was sufficiently cowed to make a rash promise that he would personally ensure that Aramis would recover at home.

As a consequence, he only had half of Team One in the office. That would have to do for now. He pulled open his desk drawer and retrieved a file folder and handed it to Athos. He gave it a tap.

“Team Nine was assigned a fairly straight forward assignment. They were short-handed with Chris on parental leave. Since Lily is still new to her role and Rob is, of course, brand new, I sent Aramis along to assess Rob and provide Lily any support she might need. He’s usually very good with the new recruits, and I know that the work I wanted Team One to tackle was more suited to the rest of you, but not so much Aramis.”

Athos nodded in agreement, “and we did appreciate it.”

D’Artagnan smirked beside him.

“Unfortunately,” continued Treville, “the straight forward tracking assignment revealed something bigger and uglier. Or, at least, that is what Aramis thought. We were just going to discuss how to handle it when he collapsed.” He paused to tap the folder again, “I’m handing this over to you, Athos. Team Nine is on desk duty. They will be available for any research you might need.”

Athos nodded, “I will hand over our case to them so we can focus on this one.”

Treville nodded in approval. It was a neat solution and one that he probably should have thought of himself. He rubbed his hand over his face. He really needed to get some sleep.

Constance appeared at the door, “Captain, I postponed your test. I didn’t think it would be a good idea to do a stress test right now. I do think it would be a good idea if you got in a nap, though.”

She gave Athos and D’Artagnan a very pointed look and a jerk of her head – an equally clear indication for them to make themselves scarce. Taking the file folder as well as the hint, the two men left their Captain to stretch out on his couch, safely guarded from interruption by Constance until she had deemed he had sufficient rested.

Back in their conference room, Athos sent Porthos a text to let him know about the new assignment and to share the last minute directive from Treville to stay home for another twenty-four hours or else they would be scrubbing the Garrison toilets.

Then he opened the file folder and motioned for D’Artagnan to sit next to him. Together, they started to leaf through the materials. It was pretty sparse and seemed to be just surveillance of a low level drug dealer to see if they could link him back to an international crime syndicate. Apparently, Team Nine hadn’t even had time to document their most recent findings before the coffee incident. D’Artagnan sighed, stretched and then frowned as he rubbed his chest.

Concerned, Athos asked, “Are you alright? What hurts?”

D’Artagnan smiled, “I’m fine. When I fell, I twisted oddly and pulled a muscle.”

Athos narrowed his eyes, not entirely willing to believe him. He tapped the table with his fingertips for a moment before closing it and standing up. “C’mon, let’s go visit the others. Aramis might be able to fill in some of the gaps in this report.”

D’Artagnan, startled, looked at him.

“I thought Aramis wasn’t supposed to work for another twenty-four hours?”

“No,” said Athos with a smirk, “Treville said that he wasn’t supposed to come to the office for anther twenty-four hours. Dr. Lemay just said no work for another day which technically ends by 5pm.”

D’Artagnan grinned and said, “sounds right to me! How about we pick up some Chinese take-out on the way?”

Constance narrowed her eyes at them as they passed by and said good-night. “Where do you think you’re going?” After sharing, she frowned before adding, “better save some for me because I’ll be by to supervise and make sure you don’t wear out the convalescents.”

Athos gave her a smile and a nod as he dragged a protesting D’Artagnan away.

*****

“So,” said Porthos after swallowing a mouthful of chow mein, “you think this has something to do with that small time dealer?”

“Dujon?” replied Aramis, “nah! He was just a bit player in a bigger game. We thought he might be a link to the next level which we could use, but then a really big fish showed up. A shark, even. A nasty Great White called Rochefort.”

Athos perked up his head and then said thoughtfully, “Rochefort? Why do I know that name?” He tapped his mouth with his fingers. The others went silent. Or, maybe they just decided that this was a good opportunity to finish off the remains of the Chinese take away. Athos was pleased to note that both Aramis and D’Artagnan were eating as heartily as usual. Definitely a good sign.

And then he remembered where he knew Rochefort from.

“Rochefort was involved in some pretty rough stuff years ago. I was only peripherally involved in the case where he was accused of racketeering with one of the motorcycle clubs. In the end, he disappeared before he was formally charged. I always assumed that one of the bikers took him out.” He paused and frowned as he tried to recall more.

Aramis piped up, “I recognized him from when I was in the SRU in Toronto. He showed up as a bit player in a huge drug bust we did. At least that’s what we thought. It turns out that he was actually a significant player in the Outlier bike gang.”

“Wait a minute!” exclaimed D’Artagnan, “both you and Aramis have a connection to this Rochefort?”

“No, it’s unlikely he’d remember me,” said Aramis with conviction, “I was a sniper. I saw more than I was seen.”

Porthos reached over and grabbed the last egg roll out of the carton before asking, “so what did you see this time?”

Aramis pushed his plate away and leaned back in his chair, arms folded behind his head.

“Rob and I were positioned in the top floor of a building on the other side of the street. Not exactly across the road so that we could get better sight lines. We were expecting to see Drapeau enter with his next level up contact. Instead, we see him enter with Rochefort. And then, Feron pulled up. That’s when I knew something big was going on. I pulled Rob back and called Lily to let Treville know. This was way beyond what we were prepared for.”

The others stared at him. Aramis advising caution was not what they were used to. He looked back at them and then spread his hands out to the sides.

“What! They’re a new team! I wasn’t going to put them in the sights of Feron! That guy scares even me!”

He paused to cough. And took a few deep breaths. A faint beeping sound came from Porthos’ pocket. Porthos took out his phone and looked at it. He frowned at Aramis.

“The heart monitor says you need to lie down,” he warned.

Aramis just grimaced and said, “Just let me finish. Anyway, Rob and I kept watch on the place until an hour later when Treville pulled us off. He wanted us out of there before we were spotted.”

Athos steepled his fingers in front of his mouth, “Feron? Isn’t he the leader of the Outliers gang?”

“Yep. But, he’s normally behind the scenes. He’s practically crippled from an accident a decade ago.”

“Hmm,” hummed Athos, thoughtfully. He looked over at Aramis, “Regardless, that’s enough to be going on with. I fear that Porthos is going to physically toss us out of here. C’mon, D’Artagnan, let’s leave these two to their own devices.”

D’Artagnan nodded and collected empty cartons and containers to drop in the kitchen. Athos followed with the dirty glasses and a handful of chopsticks. They said their farewells to their friends and headed out the door and up the stairwell to Athos’ unit.

Chapter Text

Treville walked into the Team One conference room, surveyed the occupants, and deliberately looked at his watch before meeting Aramis' eyes.

"I said twenty-four hours, D'Herblay,” he said ominously.

Aramis looked at him in genuine alarm and hastily looked at his own watch. Suddenly, Treville remembered that Aramis was supposed to avoid shocks.

He hastily added, "Relax, Aramis, it's been twenty-four hours. I was just kidding."

Aramis glared at him so Treville laughed as did D’Artagnan and Porthos, and the latter smacked Aramis on his back.

"Well done, Captain," Athos said drily, but with a small smile.

Aramis scowled and then started to smile as well. It wasn’t often that their Captain teased them this way. Finally, Treville clapped his hands together calling their attention.

"Alright, gentlemen, what have you learned?"

Succinctly, they outlined to Treville their findings including the connection to Rochefort and through him to the Outliers and Feron. They also shared their concerns about how Rochefort knew so much about the inner workings of the Garrison and whether he had been targeting specific teams like Team 9.

Treville rested his hip on the conference table, crossed his arms and then looked up at the ceiling. The others recognized that he was thinking through the problem so they settled in their chairs and waited for him to respond.

“I wonder,” he began thoughtfully, “I wonder if the Outliers are preparing for another turf war.”

Everyone sat up straighter.

Treville continued, “The Outliers were only ever bit players during the Quebec Biker Wars,” he glanced at D’Artagnan, “that was about fifteen years ago. At the time, they appeared out of nowhere, it seemed, and tried to worm their way in by making friends with some of the more influential gangs. Although, they did try to avoid crossing the major players like the Hell’s Angels and the Rock Machine.”

Aramis piped up, “But that war was over a long time before I saw them in Toronto.”

“True,” agreed Treville, “but that’s because Feron had his accident before he could become more influential at that crucial time. Without his leadership, the Outliers floundered and lost their place in Montreal. Then, about five years ago, it looked like Feron had teamed up with a new player called Rochefort to revive their power base in Ontario. Rochefort became the focus of attention thanks to the great work of the SRU in Toronto. The made him too much of a hot potato for Feron’s needs ”

Aramis, who had been part of the team in SRU at the time, stood up and took a bow saying, “You’re welcome!”

Porthos whacked him on the butt and said, “sit down, you idiot.” D’Artagnan sniggered while Athos shook his head.

Treville merely continued as if nothing had happened, “If Rochefort is back on the scene with Feron, they might very well be making another play for control, but in Quebec City instead of Toronto or Montreal.”

“But,” said D’Artagnan hesitantly, “how would they know so much about us?”

Treville looked at him levelly. He said, “It would be absurdly easy to find out that information. With the right persuasion in the right ears, anyone could find out.

“I, too, thought it would be hard, but last night I considered what I would do if I wanted to find out where people are located on each floor. I started to ask around this morning, and it turns out that we are all creatures of habit. The cleaning staff know most of you by name, because you are all respectful and friendly. Apparently, they were very happy to help your “friends” arrange a surprise party for me and Team One by telling them exactly when and where we would all be.”

He looked around at the stunned faces, “To be clear, I don’t blame the cleaning staff. Nor do I want to change how we treat each other. I will have to think about what measure we need to put in place in the future that will protect us as well as all the other staff here in the Garrison. This building is our workplace, but it’s the people that make it the Garrison. I don’t want to change that.”

Athos asked quietly, “but for now, what should we do?”

Treville scrubbed his face with his right hand before answering, “If it is the Outliers, then we need to know more about their plans. I believe we will need Richelieu’s help.”

With the exception of Aramis who already knew about Treville's prior history with Richelieu and the biker gangs, the team looked at their leader with varying degrees of astonishment or dismay.

Treville winked at Aramis before explaining to rest of the team, "Richelieu’s team have deep contacts within the biker gangs, the Outliers in particular. It wouldn't surprise me if Rochefort isn't one of his contacts since it strikes me as odd that he managed to come back in such a strong way. In any case, I'll call him.”

With that he left, planning how he was going to address this with Armand Richelieu.

*****

Armand Richelieu took pride in the fact that very little happened in the political scene in Quebec, or indeed anywhere in Canada that might affect Quebec, that he didn't know about. This included the more unsavoury maneuverings of organized crime. In fact, it was the plans of these underground organizations that were of particular interest to him since they could be extremely disruptive to his own plans. So, when Jean-Armand Treville called him about the Outliers, he knew exactly what Feron and Rochefort were up to. He was only surprised that they had gone after the Musketeers so directly and so swiftly,

"Jean," he said placatingly, "if I had known that they were going after your men, of course I would have warned you."

He pulled the phone away from his ear, slightly. When upset, Jean's French became very Quebecois, and his voice got very loud. The combination offended Richelieu's ears. There a pause on the line so Richelieu pressed the phone against his ear once more. He could hear Treville talking deep slow breaths. Armand decided diplomacy might be in order. He was, after all, quite fond of Treville.

"Jean," he began again," I don't know anything for certain, but what I do know is at your disposal."

Treville took one more deep breath and let it out. He spoke in a much calmer voice and in more comprehensible French.

“Thank you, Armand. That is very much appreciated. I will send Athos to liaise with you so you can pool your resources.”

Armand nodded as he decided that he could work with Athos de la Fère. The man was very bright and spoke a more cultured French. Thank goodness it wasn't that skittish peacock Aramis D’Herblay or that lout Porthos de Vallon.

Jean continued, "he'll bring Aramis who has some experience with Feron and Rochefort from when he was in the SRU in Toronto."

Armand grimaced and rolled his eyes, grateful that Treville couldn't see him.

"Armand," warned Treville, "Aramis is good at this kind of research and he was poisoned two days ago. Be kind."

"Yes, mother," responded Richelieu wondering what had given him. Likely their long relationship.

"And also," added Treville, "I'll need some of your men to help guard the Garrison."

"What?"

"Were you not listening to me?" Treville's voice was rising again, "I have almost half of my team recovering from, poisoning!"

"Yes, yes," sighed Richelieu, "how many?”

"As many as you can spare. This was an attack on Quebec law enforcement. I want to show a united front against Feron.”

Richelieu blinked. He hadn't considered it that way, but it did make sense. The city police and the Musketeers didn't always get along, but outsiders might not be aware of their differences. In a different set of circumstances, it might very well have been Richelieu's own men drinking poisoned coffee. Yes, Jean was right, they needed to be united in this.

"Alright, you will have 20 of my people on a rotating shift so that there are never fewer than 10 present. But," he paused for affect, "they will be under Marcheau’s command. And Marcheau will only report to you and me.”

"Agreed," replied Treville promptly, Richelieu was somewhat surprised but then realized that Treville must have been truly rattled by the attack. This was so unusual, that Richelieu added, "I'll speak to Marcheau and have the first shift report to you in an hour."

"Thank you, Armand," said Treville with relief palpable in his voice, "I'll send Athos and Aramis to you as soon as I've spoken to them."

After a few more words of thanks, the two men hung up their phones and went to organize their teams.

Chapter Text

Athos drove the team’s SUV down the street with Aramis in the passenger seat beside him. Out of the corner of his eyes, Athos could see Aramis’ leg start to hammer up and down.

"Aramis," he sighed, "would you rather go home and rest?"

"No!" came the response, quickly and decisively.

"Then, calm down. All we need to do is exchange info with Richelieu. He's very knowledgeable. I worked with him when you lot were at the disastrous Eclipse Foundation event."

Aramis stopped moving his leg and began drumming his fingers on his thighs. Then he said unexpectedly. “Did you know that Treville is friends with Richelieu?”

Athos kept his attention on the road despite the sudden urge to turn to Aramis.

Instead, he said, "Where did you hear that?"

"Treville told me. Actually, he told me about when he used to work with Richelieu as his security guard."

This time, Athos could not restrain himself. He shot a glance at Aramis. His friend was staring straight through the front windshield with a serious look on his face. He wasn't joking, then.

"When did he tell you this?" Athos asked curiously. Aramis told him about the story of the mermaid or rather siren tattoo that Treville had shared with him.

At the end of his story, he added, "Treville considers him one of the most dangerous men he knows."

Athos thought about that. He considered what he knew about Armand Richelieu. In the end, he agreed with Treville. He was dangerous but also on their side in this matter.

"Well, then, we'll just have to be careful, won't we?"

Without looking, he already knew that Aramis was giving him a side eye. He just smirked.

***

Armand Richelieu looked up from his disk and regarded the two men who had just been ushered in. Athos de la Fère with his hooded watchful eyes and calm expression, greeted him respectfully. Aramis D’Herblay, the gadfly, also greeted him respectfully, his eyes darting around the room as if he'd never seen an office before. Reigning in his own irritation, Richelieu motioned both men to the chairs in front of the desk. Athos sat, but his companion demurred and started to wander around the room, looking at the photos instead. Most of these consisted of Richelieu with various powerful politicians and the occasional celebrity. He even had a series of him with past Prime Ministers and Premiers of Quebec.

Richelieu turned his attention back to de la Fère saying, "I hear that you are looking for my help to solve a little puzzle.”

De la Fère raised one eyebrow at the use of ‘little puzzle.’ D’Herblay turned his head and gave him a long look. Oh right, the gadfly was one of the men who had been poisoned.

“Please forgive my turn of phrase," he added smoothly, "It is, of course, not a little puzzle." Both men relaxed a fraction, so he asked, "Would you like to tell me more about the problem?"

De la Fère sent what could only be interpreted as warning glance at his partner because the other man nodded once and returned to staring at the photos reaching out to touch one in particular. Ah, yes, he had found the one of him and Jean Treville at the latter's inauguration as Captain of the SITRU. Richelieu remembered that day with fondness. He would have to remind Treville of how ridiculous he had looked in his dress uniform.

Turning to the seated man, he raised his eyebrow in inquiry. De la Fère pulled out a sheaf of papers from a messenger bag at his side. He laid them on Richelieu’s desk in three neat piles.

Tapping the first pile, he said, "this is a description of a mission that has been in play for the past two weeks. We thought it was going to snare a mid-level drug dealer, but then, this week, these gentlemen showed up.”

At this point, De la Fère turned over the second pile to reveal two photos taken at a long range but still dearly identifiable. Richelieu sat up a little straighter. He knew exactly who those men were: Rochefort and Feron. He could feel a little tickle of excitement. This could be an opportunity to make a charge that he had been angling for. He must remember to thank Jean for this gift. He raised his eyes to look De la Fère. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed that D'Herblay watching him via the reflection on the photos.

"There's more," said De La Fère now was tapping the third pile, "two days ago someone hired a man called Dujon to poison the main command structure at the Garrison. Not enough to kill, but enough to disable ad distract. We just don't know what they wanted to distract us from.”

Richelieu sat back in his chair and steepled his fingers in front of his mouth. This was interesting.

"Any theories, gentlemen?" he asked. D'Herblay had moved from the photos to the shelves and was running his fingertips along the edges. Richelieu sincerely hoped that he wasn’t one of those people who touched things. When De la Fère spoke, he had to wrench his attention back.

"We are working with the theory that Feron is hoping to make another bid for control of a bigger piece of the drug trade.”

Richelieu nodded, "Very good. Yes, this is likely a power play, but not for a section," he paused for effect, "but for all of it."

He was pleased to see both men turn to stare at him.

"All of it?" D'Herblay asked, and then his eyes seemed to catch something in the ceiling before he grinned, "Of course, that explains it!"

He looked back at the no doubt puzzled look on both Richelieu's and De la Fère's faces.

He grinned wider, "It explains why the poison was not meant to kill us.” He paused again expectantly. De la Fère motioned impatiently for him to elaborate. "If they had killed Treville and Athos or seriously incapacitated them, Commissioner Bourbon would have automatically turned over control to you, M. Richelieu. And that is not what Feron and Rochefort would want. They want the Musketeers in disarray and distracted. M. Richelieu," here he paused to bow slightly in his direction, "would spot their master objective right away. And furthermore, would be in a better position to stop them if he had full control of both the Musketeers and his own men."

Richelieu was actually impressed. He might have to start paying more attention to this gadfly.

De la Fère nodded his head and added, "not many people would have thought that the Leader of SITRU and the head of City Police would willingly and swiftly reach out to collaborate. The big question still remains on what exactly they are up to right now while they think we are distracted."

Again, a good observation, although Richelieu had expected nothing less from the man. For a long time he had been convinced that the impressive achievements of his team were due to his bright and extraordinary leadership. It was only now that he was starting to wonder if there was more to the team than he had thought. Yes, he needed to pay more attention to this motley bunch.

Pushing that thought to one side for now, he sat up and pulled the first pile towards himself and flipped through the pages, picking out the bits of information that started to coalesce in his mind with the data that he already had on Rochefort and Feron. While he looked at the paper, De la Fère picked up the third pile. D'Herblay continued to wander the room before finally ending up at the window. Armand decided to ignore them both.

When he finished with the first pile, he looked up at his two visitors. De la Fère was reading the third pile which was about the attack on the Garrison. Irrelevant information in Richelieu's opinion. D’Herblay was staring out the window. There was something in his posture that caught Richelieu's attention.

"What is it that you are looking at?" he asked, remembering that the other man was a trained sniper.

"Did you know that someone in the building block east of us on the 7th, 8th, and 9th floor could take you out as you entered or left this office?" D'Herblay asked in a conversational voice.

"No, I did not," said Richelieu carefully, "should I be exercising caution in exiting the room?"

"Not especially right now. Something to think about in the future, perhaps. Right now, we should be more concerned with the guy watching us from the roof of the building across the road. He’s not a sniper, but I suspect that whatever advantage of surprise we had regarding our unexpected collaboration has now been lost. They now know that the Musketeers are working with the City Police."

Richelieu clicked his tongue with annoyance. Still, he knew exactly what he had to do to pull Feron's claws. He had, after all, been expecting him to at least attempt a comeback. The complication was Rochefort. That little worm had been particularly hard to pin down. Indeed, he had hoped he had already been dealt with by the Toronto chapter of the Outliers years ago.

Still, he might as well make use of Treville's men. They had proved to be surprisingly adept.

"Well, gentlemen, it seems that I have some strings to pull to deal with Feron. I will leave Rochefort to you. You have about 24 hours before Rochefort will be alerted to the imminent downfall of his sponsor. I imagine that if you don't catch him by then, he will slip away again.”

After exchanging a few more notes on their respective targets, the two Musketeers left. Richelieu was equally dismayed and amused to watch how D'Herblay carefully skirted the east side of the office and kept to one side of the doorway as he exited. Yes, he would have to keep a closer eye on those men. It would not do to be underestimating them. But first, he needed to arrange for bullet proof windows.

Chapter Text

Porthos looked up as Athos and Aramis walked in. Aramis looked exhausted but with that wired look that meant he wouldn’t be ready to wind down and rest anytime soon. Athos was hovering a little close to Aramis. Porthos took that as a warning that Athos was also concerned about Aramis.

Porthos told them, "Constance made D'Artagnan go home a while ago. He looked wiped out."

When the only response he got were nods and grunts, he decided that a less subtle hint was needed.

"I'm thinking that she had the right idea. We should do the same."

Both of his friends looked up with frowns. Porthos decided a different approach might achieve the same end.

"Alright, since you disagree, tell me what Richelieu told you.”

At that Athos pulled out a chair across the table from Porthos while Aramis wandered over to the window, taking a position to one side. Oh, it was one of those times. Porthos pulled his phone out and snuck a peek at the app connected to the heart monitor that Aramis was still wearing, or rather, was supposed to be wearing.

"Porthos," Aramis said without turning away from the window, "I'm perfectly fine."

"Oh yeah?" retorted Porthos, "then why'd you take off the monitor?"

He brandished the app which showed a red warning indicating the monitor was disconnected.

Athos frowned, "When did you take it off? You had it on before we left.”

Aramis shrugged without taking his eyes off the window. The others remained silent, waiting him out.

Finally, he responded, "It was making me uncomfortable. Like I was being watched. Made my skin crawl,"

"So where is it?" demanded Porthos.

Again, with his eye firmly gazing out of the window, Aramis reached into his jeans pocket and fished out the wristwatch-sized device, holding it up.

Porthos took a deep breath and let it out slowly before he stood and walked over to Aramis. He wrapped his arms around the other man from. behind and just waited. He could feel the tension in Aramis. It was more than he anticipated, in fact. But, he was at heart a patient man, especially when it came to Aramis. Eventually, Aramis eased back into Porthos' embrace. Not quite relaxed, but definitely not as tense.

Athos sauntered up to stand beside them. He quietly bumped shoulders with Aramis, before taking the heart monitor into his own hands and fastening it around Aramis’ wrist. Aramis reached over and gave Athos a brief side hug. They stood together, connected and supported.

Aramis then said in a conversational tone that didn’t fool either of the other two, "There are at least 15 perfect places to fire into this office from neighbouring buildings."

"Yes, you have mentioned it a time or two,” responded Athos carefully, “Is this a particular concern or a general observation?"

Aramia hummed indecisively. Porthos decided it was his turn to try.

“Do you think someone is watching us?"

Aramis was definite in his response, "I know someone is watching us. I just haven't been able to see them, yet."

Athos exchanged a look with Porthos. Time to go.

Porthos said, "What do you say, we go see the pup and Constance and work out a plan to handle Rochefort?"

Aramis took a deep breath and expelled it before nodding.

*****

D'Artagnan was grumpily nursing a cup of some dreadful herbal tea that Constance had insisted he drink after he woke up from the nap that she had also insisted he take. She had been right about the nap, but he was less convinced about the tea. He sipped it again. It was still terrible.

He was debating if he should just dump it down the sink and hope that she wouldn't notice when the rest of Team One barged in. Athos first, followed by Aramis and then Porthos. The former made an immediate bee-line for the coffee maker on the kitchen counter beside the sink. Porthos pushed Aramis towards a kitchen chair across the table from D'Artagnan, but Aramis neatly evaded him and leaned against the counter instead. In the exact place where he could see both the window and the door. D'Artagnan looked at Porthos who was staring unhappily at Aramis. He opened his mouth to say something, but Athos nudged D'Artagnan's shoulder. D'Artagnan looked at him. Athos frowned and shook his head slightly. Oh, okay, let Porthos deal with this.

“How are you feeling?" asked Athos as he waited for the coffee.

D'Artagnan shrugged but replied, "fine, I guess. I had a nap this afternoon. That made me feel better.”

Athos gave a pleased noise. The coffee pot gave a final gurgle and hiss, indicating it had reached the end of its cycle. He turned to pull four cups out of the cupboard. After filling them with coffee, he turned and handed one to D'Artagnan.

"Here," he said, "this probably tastes better than that tea." Athos grimaced slightly, "Constance used to give me that stuff after a particularly rough night."

D'Artagnan eagerly took the cup of coffee and handed over the tea in exchange. Athos put the tea beside the sink. Grabbing two of the remaining coffee-filled cups, he sat himself at the table and handed one to Porthos. Aramis, who had been staring at the door, gave him a disgruntled expression and folded his arms. Athos merely raised an eyebrow. D'Artagnan took a grateful sip of coffee while he watched the silent communication between the two men. Evidently, Athos won because Aramis heaved a sigh of exasperation as he sat down at the table beside Porthos.

"Doctor said to lay off the stimulants," Athos explained to D’Artagnan with a small smirk.

Athos reached back towards the sink, grabbed the abandoned cup of herbal tea and placed it in front Aramis. Aramis narrowed his eyes. But, before battle commenced, Porthos put his cup of half-drunk coffee in front of Aramis.

"Enough, you two," he said firmly, "Mis, stop sulking. You can finish mine. Athos, stop teasing and tell us what you learned from Richelieu.”

Just then, Constance walked in. Athos promptly stood up, offered her the last full cup of coffee and his chair. She accepted the coffee and seat and only frowned slightly when she saw that D'Artagnan had switched her tea for coffee.

Thinking quickly, D’Artagnan said, "I offered it to Aramis since he's not supposed to have coffee for a few days.”

Constance’ face softened as she smiled at D'Artagnan. Out of the corner of his eye, D’Artagnan could see Porthos smothering a laugh and Aramis glaring a promise of pay back. He just gave Constance a besotted smile while sneaking a rude hand gesture at Aramis.

Athos cleared his throat to get their attention and then summarized the meeting that he and Aramis had had with Richelieu. When he was done, everyone thoughtfully sipped their drinks. D'Artagnan was amused to see that Aramis was drinking the tea and Porthos the coffee. Neither of them seemed to notice.

"Well," said Constance, "I could see what we have on file for Rochefort."

"Do that, Constance," said Athos, "in the meantime, any other ideas?"

There was a moment of silence before Porthos frowned and asked, "what does Rochefort get out of this?”

D’Artagnan hadn't thought of that either. Was he hoping to ride Feron's coat tails to power?

He said as much to the others before ending with, "Isn't there something we could offer him to lure him out into the open?"

Porthos responded, "Do we want that, though? Then we would have to deal with him. It would be easier if the Outliers just took him out."

"That didn't work last time," Aramis pointed out.

"Unless," Athos said slowly and then stopped.

The others sat back to give him space to think through his thoughts. It gave D'Artagnan time to think through his thoughts, too. He was not around the last time Rochefort and Feron were on the scene. Indeed, he had only been in Quebec City for the past two years. He did have some experience with biker gangs, though. He grew up in the Lac-St. Jean area and served with the police in Trois-Rivières before making his way to SITRU. Both areas were quite active with Motorcycle Clubs like the Heaven’s Demons. Was there something that he could contribute? These days, the Heaven’s Demons preferred to negotiate and keep a lower profile than back in Treville's day, but that didn't mean that they couldn't be provoked.

"Unless," Athos continued and paused.

D'Artagnan smiled and said, "unless we get a different group to take him down. Like the Heaven’s Demons?"

They all turned as one to look at him. Athos gave one of his rare smiles, "our pup is growing up. Tell us your idea, Dart."

Chapter Text

D’Artagnan took a deep breath and resisted the temptation to check the mic hidden in his clothes. He knew it was working. After all, it wasn't his first covert operation with the team. It was the first mission that he had planned, though. His idea was to persuade Rochefort to agree to an opportunity to strike a significant blow to the Heaven’s Demons. He thought that Rochefort would be tempted by that if he was aiming to make his way up the Outlier food chain. Rochefort would believe that creating a weakness in a rival as big as the Heaven’s Demons would give Rochefort significant clout in the Outliers.

What Rochefort didn’t know, but D’Artagnan did – through his contacts dating from his Lac St. Jean days with inside information on the Heaven’s Demons – is that the Heaven’s Demons were about to negotiate a partnership with the Outliers. A partnership would be far more advantageous to the Outliers than open conflict. D’Artagnan was hoping to record Rochefort agreeing to the opportunity to hit the Heaven’s Demons. Then, he would send the recording to his contacts in the Heaven’s Demons. With any luck, neither club would be happy with this plan and the Outliers would agree to hand over Rochefort as a show of good faith if they didn’t take him down themselves.

Since Rochefort knew all the Musketeers, Athos had persuaded one of his contacts to lure in Rochefort. There were microphones planted everywhere, and D’Artagnan, as the newest Musketeer and the one least likely to be recognized, would sit at a nearby table. Athos and Porthos were going to loiter outside the café, close by but out of sight. Aramis was monitoring the communications and recording equipment in a van nearby. Naturally, he wanted to be part of the action, but that was vehemently vetoed by everyone, including Constance.

At last, everyone was in position, and they were just waiting for Rochefort to show up. After forty minutes, Athos’ contact casually stood up and went to the washroom. D’Artagnan followed him just as casually. Once in the toilets, they checked to make sure they were alone before the contact spoke.

“I don’t think he’s gonna show. I’ll stay another fifteen minutes and then I’m outa here.”

D’Artagnan agreed and then made his way back to his seat. The contact followed after a few minutes. Fifteen minutes later, the contact paid his bill and left. Feeling disappointed, D’Artagnan did the same. As he left the cafe, he was joined by Athos and Porthos from a nearby alley.

“No show?” asked Porthos.

D’Artagnan nodded. They all walked around the corner to where the van was parked. Porthos opened the back door and then swore.

"Where's Aramis?" D’Artagnan asked.

"Your guess is as good as mine," retorted Porthos.

"I swear to God, I'm going to tie that asshole to this seat was next time!" snarled Athos.

"What’s that?" said D'Artagnan as he pushed forward and picked up a note on the chair.

It read, ‘Rochefort has gone after Richelieu. Don’t worry, I’m on it.’

Now, it was Athos’ turn to swear. Porthos leaned over and picked up a phone lying on the floor of the van. It was Aramis’. He heaved a huge sigh. Finding Aramis had gotten a whole lot harder.

Chapter Text

Armand Richelieu sat at his deck and considered the notes in front of him. He had just finished a fruitful conversation with a few of his less official contacts. The wheels were now in motion. Soon, Feron would start to feel the heat. Hopefully this would result in either the snake slithering back into his hole or attempting to fight back. Richelieu rather hoped he would do the latter. It would be much more satisfying and efficient to take him out completely than have to worry about when he might pop up again.

The door latch clicked. Odd, Richelieu was sure that he had locked the door. He looked up and frowned. Standing hipshot and leaning against the door frame stood Rochefort. Richelieu sat back and raised an eyebrow.

"Well," he said finally, "what do you want?"

Rochefort gave a one-sided smile and sauntered into the room.

"What do I want?" "asked Rochefort, “Surely the question is what do you want?"

He then started to wander the room, touching objects and pictures in a way that strongly reminded Richelieu of Treville's gadfly. Richelieu leaned forward and neatly folded his hands on top of his desk, making sure to rest his thumbs on the edge of the desk so that the right one would press the alarm button inset on the underside of his deck.

Rochefort turned to look at him and smirked. He said "Do you really think anyone will hear that alarm when I disconnected it earlier today?"

He sauntered over to the desk and tapped the top imperiously, "Again, I want to know what it is that you are hoping to get from this?"

Richelieu stared at him wondering how he could have found out about his plans so quickly, "Perhaps you could elucidate on what you are referring to?"

"You have just tried to set me up to take a fall with the Heaven’s Demons. I’m assuming that this is an attempt to take me down and Feron along with me. What I don’t understand is why. Is this your master plan to take over the Outliers? Or, are you starting your own organization?”

Richelieu was inwardly astonished. Did Rochefort think that this was all personal power play? Good grief, if Richelieu had just wanted that, he would have had it years ago. Evidently this this man-child had no idea who he was dealing with.

"I have no idea what you mean. I have no need to start my own organization. My focus is to keep Quebec safe. And my current position allows me to do this adequately."

As he looked at Rochefort, Richelieu noticed a small red dot appear on the door frame. It vanished and then reappeared. In a blinding flash of clarity, he recalled Aramis D’Herblay describing how easy it would be to take out someone in Richelieu’s office. Was someone hiding across the street getting ready to shoot Richelieu as soon as he tried to leave?

The small red dot blinked on and off in a very deliberate pattern. Clearly someone was signalling something. There was something familiar about the pattern. Then it hit him: Treville’s call pattern. It was the pattern he used to signal when all was under control while he was guarding Richelieu. So, it was either someone who had done their research very well or it was one of Treville’s team. Richelieu prayed that it was Treville’s team.

Taking a chance, he slowly rose to his feet and walked towards the window. Rochefort perched himself insolently on the edge of the desk, casually moving the edge of his jacket to show the handgun hidden in a holster under his left arm. Richelieu ignored him and peered out the window in the direction where D’Herblay had indicated would be a good sniper perch.

"Now, M. Richelieu, or can I call you, Armand? You and I both know that you have a lot of connections with powerful people. I can't believe that someone with access to that kind of influence only does it for altruistic reasons. After all, you have a nice home, nice clothes, and a nice car that you don't even drive yourself. So, tell me, how are you affording these little luxuries?"

While Rochefort was nattering on, Richelieu raised his hand to place it directly on the glass. The dot appeared directly on his palm and flashed on an off in Treville’s pattern. It must be D’Herblay. Only an expert could manage that and Treville was always bragging about the prowess of his gadfly at marksmanship. He curled his hand and nodded once.

Rochefort had still been maundering on about something but apparently took Richelieu's nod as agreement or capitulation because he was smiling as Richelieu turned once more to face him.

"Good, Armand, I thought you might agree;" he said.

Since Richelieu had no idea what he'd been babbling about, he merely raised his eyebrow and sat once more in his chair before saying, "Oh, were you still speaking? I was just checking to see if the rain would come before I had to leave for an appointment.”

Rochefort's face darkened. It was actually impressive how menacing his whole demeanor became. He was not a very big man, but in that moment, he seemed to grow in size. Despite himself, Richelieu felt a frisson of concern ripple up his spine. Time to get this man in D’Herblay’s line of sight.

***

"Anything, yet?" asked Athos as he drove down the street in the black SUV issued to SITRU.

Porthos looked at the app on his phone that was connected to Aramis’ heart monitor.

“Nope, but I still think he'd be in this area. D'Art, have you managed to contact Richelieu?"

D'Artagnan, behind Athos, was frantically tapping his phone as he replied, "I couldn't reach him on the phone so I texted his assistant. He thought Richelieu was going to the Garrison to meet Treville. Constance says that Richelieu isn't there. Now, Marcheau is on his way to Richelieu’s office.”

"Wait, I think I've got him," shouted Porthos, "his heart monitor just connected to the app."

Athos slowed down and pulled over by the curb. He realized that he was parked almost next Richelieu’s office. He looked up at the building just to the east of Richelieu’s office and remembered Aramis' strange statement about how easy it would be to snipe someone from one of its floors. The heart monitor app might be picking him up from either building.

Beside him, Porthos stared at him and then asked, "What's wrong?”

Athos frowned, “I’m trying to decide which building Aramis might be in. That one is Richelieu’s building and this one provides excellent sight lines into Richelieu’s office.”

He glanced at Porthos, "What does the heart monitor say?

"It's steady, but slow."

"Slow?" added Athos sharply.

"That's good, isn't it?" asked D'Artagnan.

"Depends," responded Porthos, " on whether you're the one in his sights. When he's perched, he slows his heart rate and breathing. He says it improves his aim.”

"So, it's likely he's found a position in this building and getting ready to take someone out. Who do you think?" Porthos asked, staring at Athos.

“Rochefort, I hope,” responded Athos, “but we have no way of knowing unless we go see for ourselves. We’ll split up so we can get to both Aramis and Richelieu. Question is, which floor is Aramis on?”

Porthos asked, “Which window is Richelieu’s?"

Athos indicated the floor and window. To his surprise, Richelieu’s figure suddenly appeared in the window.

"Okay," said Porthos, "Aramis will be the eighth floor.”

Now, it was Athos' turn to look at Porthos. Porthos gave him a tight grin.

"He always says that higher is better, but start as close as you can. Based on where Richelieu is the seventh, eighth, and ninth floors have the best chance. He’d go with the eighth."

“D’Artagnan, I need you to go find Aramis. We need to be able to communicate with him and since that idiot has no phone, you will need to bring it to him,” Athos declared and then turned to Porthos, “you and I will go to Richelieu. And if Rochefort is with him, we’ll try to deal with him before Aramis is forced to take a shot.”

With that he pushed open the SUV door and charged in the direction of Richelieu’s building closely followed by Porthos. D’Artagnan dashed into the building where they hoped Aramis was hiding.

Athos and Porthos entered the elegant chrome accented foyer at full charge just as a well-dressed woman exited the nearest elevator. Without missing a beat, the two Musketeers veered around either side of her and entered the elevator. Athos punching the floor of Richelieu’s suite The elevator was swift and quiet. It emitted the most gentle of pings as it opened the doors. Athos swiftly and quietly led the way down the hall. He paused as the hall made a right-hand turn. He indicated Richelieu’s suite was the first door on the left, and stood up ready to charge. Then, they heard a very distinctive thud of a high-velocity long range bullet hitting a wall. Loud shouting and banging erupted followed by another thud and then a cry of pain.

Athos charged around the corner just as a blonde-haired man staggered out of the office clutching his left shoulder. Porthos grabbed him and pushed him to the ground. Athos paused at the door and called out Richelieu’s name.

Richelieu responded with, "Do you have Rochefort? It's all clear in here.”

Athos pushed open the door cautiously, before walking in. He saw Richelieu standing in the window looking over to where Athos believed Aramis was perched. The window was pierced with two holes.

"He's very good, isn't he?" said Richelieu with obvious surprise.

Athos still standing near the door, said, “Yes, he’s the best we have.”

“It only took him two shots to get Rochefort.”

Athos was about to join Richelieu at the window to signal all-clear to Aramis but stopped to look at the two bullet holes in the wall. One at eye level and the second just below shoulder height.

He pointed to the higher hole and said, "No, that one was a warning shot."

Richelieu crooked an eyebrow. Athos merely walked over to the desk, picked up a yellow sticky and put it on the wall a bit below and slightly to the right of the upper hole. He then motioned for Richelieu to move away the window. Finally, he pulled out his phone.

"D’Art, is Aramis still in position? Is Betsy still set up? Okay, then tell him to put a hole in the yellow sticky for me."

He paused and looked at Richelieu, Richelieu looked at him in disbelief which quickly changed to amazement after he heard a thud. Athos did not need to turn aloud to know that the sticky note now had a nice neat hole.

He spoke into the phone, "Tell Aramis thanks. He can pack up now. We’ll meet you downstairs as soon as Marcheau gets here.”

He turned to Richelieu who was peering at the pierced paper.

"Sorry about the extra hole. It shouldn't add to the overall repair bill," he said.

Richelieu nodded absently still staring at the holes in the wall. When Athos said that they needed to deal with Rochefort, he waved him away with, "Tell Jean I'll take care of Rochefort. I’ll call him later."

Athos left the office and found Porthos applying field dressing from a first aid box to Rochefort. Hovering over them was very agitated Marcheau.

"How is M. Richelieu?" he asked anxiously.

"He's fine," replied Athos, "Aramis was aiming at Rochefort not him."

Marcheau gave him an irritated look and then marched over to the office. He entered after a polite knock.

"What do we do with him?” asked Porthos jerking his head towards Rochefort.

Athos shrugged, "We bind him and leave him for Richelieu."

***********

"So, Armand," prompted Treville, "what did you do with Rochefort?"

Richelieu put down the piece of scone that he had been crumbling slowly for the past five minutes. He looked at Treville and frowned slightly.

"Rochefort? Oh, you need not worry about him any longer. I have neutralized him."

Treville crooked an eyebrow at that somewhat cryptic statement but decided that sometimes ignorance was bliss and let it go. He was about to compliment his friend on the quick efficiency of Marcheau and his team when Richelieu spoke again."

"Where did you find D'Herblay?"

This time, both of Treville's eyebrows rose.

He responded slowly, "I hired him from the SRU in Toronto. He wanted to return to Quebec and his commanding officer recommended him to me. Why?”

"He's an extraordinary shot."

"Yes. Don't tell him I told but he is the best I've ever seen."

"But he has issues, doesn't he?"

Treville stiffened. He did not like where this was going. Aramis did have issues, but they were no one else's business.

"Armand, I don't know where you are going with this but let me make it very clear that Aramis has my full support and protection. I would be very unhappy and would take it as a personal attack should I find that he is being targeted in any way. Do I make myself dear?"

Richelieu’s face crinkled in amusement.

"Now, now, Jean, you can lower your hackles. I have no intention of taking your toy away. I was just curious how a man with such conflicting…traits…ended up with you. Seriously, he was like a hyperactive child in my office, couldn’t stop fidgeting and touching things. And yet, the next day he was so steady that he made three perfect shots from a building across the street. I am, of course, very grateful that he did. It merely made me curious."

Treville relaxed and picked up his coffee and took a sip before responding.

"His story is his own, but rest assured that I know how to manage him and others like him.”

Armand nodded and then tapped the newspaper he had brought over and changed the topic to dissect the latest political faux pas in the press.

Treville sipped his coffee, smiled and nodded, but let his mind wander to how lucky he was to have such a strong Garrison. At the same time, he was glad that Armand was also starting to realize that. Their adversaries were getting stronger and smarter. It would pay to have a more united front between their units. He would need to consider additional opportunities to build those bridges.

For now, though, he was content to know that this time they had come out on top and intact. He could not ask for a better outcome. Then he remembered that he still needed to do that dratted stress test. Sighing, he put down his coffee cup and pushed it to one side.