Archive of Our Own ^beta

One of the nice things about spending his days off in Paris, Porthos often thought, was discovering how much of the city he hadn’t yet seen, or hadn’t seen with his husband. D’Artagnan was still feeling his way around the city’s many beautiful sights, and insisted that Porthos come with him so they could enjoy them together. Which Porthos had no objection to at all.

One of the worst things about spending his days off in Paris was that it was Paris, tourist central, and even on this grey, murky and cold day, there was still a hell of a queue to get into the Louvre. “Maybe we should come back,” d’Artagnan murmured.

“It never gets better. Just wait. We’ve got all day.” Porthos put his arm around d’Artagnan’s shoulders. “Besides, you’ll like it. The Dutch artists are great.”

D’Artagnan grinned at him. “Take your word for it.”

The line was moving again, thank fuck. Keeping his arm around d’Artagnan, Porthos scanned the area out of habit, though there were plenty of police and security around. The line on this Thursday was almost all foreign tourists and school groups, although here and there he guessed this or that person was a local, as he and his husband were, sort of. Working in Paris, living in Antony, Porthos claimed both cities as his own, and felt peculiar possessive of Paris as the ornament of France.

One of the waiting tourists had stepped out of the line, probably fed up with waiting. Porthos watched him idly, really for want of nothing better to look at, and that was the only reason he saw the pistol emerging from his coat before any of the police and security guards did.

“Gun!” he yelled, shoving d’Artagnan away before diving towards the man. A blazing pain along his ribs told him the man had fired the weapon, but Porthos held him down and pinned the hand holding the gun with his own hand, forcing the man to let go. Around him people were screaming, d’Artagnan was yelling at people to get away, to move back, and the police were barking at him to not move.

Porthos went still, knowing his fellow officers would not know which of them was a cop and which the perp.  “He’s a police officer,” he heard d’Artagnan yelling. “The black guy is a cop.”

Porthos raised his head. “I’m Lieutenant Porthos du Vallon, DCSP. Someone take his gun, for fuck’s sake.”

For a few moments, no one moved, then one of the police officers stepped forward and kicked the gun away. “On your knees, hands in the air,” another officer snapped.

Porthos obeyed, but grunted and leaned over the gunshot wound. “He’s injured,” D’Artagnan yelled, running over to him and ignoring the bellowed commands to stop. “He’s a cop, damn it.”

He knelt next to Porthos. “Charles, stay still. Do not move or say anything, and do not try and get my ID.” D’Artagnan, staring into his eyes, obeyed. “Officer, my ID is in my coat. D’Artagnan here is a SAMU paramedic.”

The man who he’d been lying on, suddenly tried to make a break for it, but D’Artagnan and the officer immediately tackled him, and he was held down on the ground again, this time with several rifles aimed at his head.

Another police officer came over to Porthos. “You,” he said to D’Artagnan, “open his coat and remove his ID. Slowly.”

“Yes, sir.” D’Artagnan obeyed, Porthos wincing as every move made fire shoot up his side. “Call SAMU, he’s been shot.”

A quick look at Porthos’s ID, then the man barked orders into his radio. He looked down at Porthos. “On their way, lieutenant.”

“Can I treat him now?” D’Artagnan asked.

“Yes.” The officer—Menard—knelt beside d’Artagnan and together they pulled back Porthos’s jacket and shirt and exposed the wound.

“Porthos, are you injured anywhere else?”

“No.” He grunted in pain as d’Artagnan felt around the injury. “Think I might have a cracked rib though.”

“Yeah, possibly. Thanks, mate.” Officer Menard had given d’Artagnan a dressing to put over the wound. Porthos hissed. “Sorry, love.”

“If you’ve got him under control,” Menard said, “I need to clear the area.”

“Go, I’ve got him,” d’Artagnan said distractedly, his eyes not lifting from the injury. “It’s not too bad. Probably hurts like a bitch though.”

“Sylvie won’t let me say that word.”

“Technical term,” d’Artagnan said, smiling reassuringly. “Good work, love.”

“They’ve arrested him?”

“Being carted away as we speak. Where the fuck are the paramedics? Oy, has anyone got a first aid kit? I’ve got a police officer down over here!”

Someone ran over with a kit, from where, Porthos wasn’t sure, and by the time the ambulance arrived, d’Artagnan had cleaned and re-dressed the wound, and checked Porthos’s vitals. He was able to walk to the ambulance with d’Artagnan’s help, and together they rode to the hospital.

“Hell of a way...to spend our day off together,” Porthos said, grunting against the pain.

“Can’t be helped. My husband is a bona fide superhero and we all know that means never being off duty.”

“Superhero, not so much.”

D’Artagnan held his hand and smiled, his eyes full of love. “You are, always. To me, at least.”

************************

Sylvie called Aramis at work and caught him while he was on a break. “Don’t freak out on me, darling, but Porthos has been shot. He’s fine,” she added quickly before Aramis could draw breath to yell.

“How, where, and when?”

“Stopped a gunman, outside the Louvre, about an hour and a half ago. D’Artagnan was with him. He has a long, shallow gunshot wound along his ribs, and one of the ribs is cracked. He’ll be home in a couple of hours.”

“Bloody hell.”

“I know. D’Artagnan says he’s being doped up against the pain, but he’s not in any danger.”

“No, probably not.” Aramis ran his hand through his hair in frustration at not being there to help. “Will he make the wedding tomorrow?”

“No idea. I haven’t called Athos yet. Should I?”

“No, no, leave it. I’ll talk to d’Artagnan when they get back. How is Berthe?”

“Still snuffling. I’m worried about taking her out in this weather, to be honest.”

“And it’s supposed to be wet tomorrow. Leave it with me and I’ll talk to Athos.”

“Okay. Bye, love.”

Aramis didn't have a chance to call Athos because his friend called him first. "How the hell did you find out so fast?"

"Did you forget what I do and where I do it?” Athos answered calmly. “Treville had a report twenty minutes after the event. Also, D'Artagnan rang me. Porthos will be ridiculous over this and insist on coming to the wedding. D'Artagnan needs our help in stopping him gracefully. Any ideas?"

"In fact I do. Berthe has a cold and Sylvie is worried about taking her out in this weather. How about she picks up our lad and takes him and the gosling straight to the café? D'Artagnan can pick me up. Only thing is, will Constance mind?"

"Of course not, and neither will I. It's the second time around for us. The novelty has worn off. Take lots of photos, and it'll be fine. Do you want me to call d'Artagnan?"

"Let me. I can explain about Berthe and make the arrangements."

"And if Porthos tries to be silly, tell him we're just glad he can make any part of the day."

Aramis grinned. "I thought you were going to threaten him with finishing what the gunman started."

A pause. "It was too close for that.” Athos’s voice had gone quiet. “He could have died. And if he hadn't spotted the gun, he and D'Artagnan and many others could have died too. He was carrying explosives."

Aramis sobered. "Shit."

"He's a genuine hero, Aramis."

"He is. I'll convince him he's doing us the favour, don't worry."

"I'm counting on it. And tell him from both of us that we're bloody proud of him."

"Will do. Love to Constance, and I'll see you tomorrow."

His break was over, but there was no point in calling d'Artagnan yet. He waited until he got home and had a chance to ask Sylvie about it all, then rang d'Artagnan's number. "How is he?"

“Asleep, and off his face when he’s not."

"Best thing for him." Aramis explained what they had arranged and D'Artagnan agreed with obvious relief. "Although I'm not sure he can walk without help or get downstairs."

"Then we’ll sort something out. Just don't let him be stupid about it."

"It's almost like you know him or something."

Aramis laughed. "Long experience, my friend. Yell if you need help."

"Of course. See you tomorrow."

"Okay?" Sylvie asked as Aramis hung up.

"All sorted." She handed him their daughter and he settled her, tsking at her breathing. "Poor gosling. Colds suck."

"Especially when you're too little to blow your nose."

"We better hope Porthos doesn't catch it. Coughing and sneezing with a cracked rib would hurt like fury."

"Then we better make sure he doesn't. It was on the news. He was named as the man who saved the day. He's famous."

"That should cheer him up. We should take some food over to them."

She gave him a wry look. "Already in hand, beloved."

"Best wife in the world."

She leaned in to kiss him. "And don't you forget it."

************************

Porthos would have strenuously objected to being treated like he was an invalid, but he was too busy being unconscious or in too much pain to care. When his husband came into the bedroom at ten o’clock to ask him if he needed anything because he was just popping out for a couple of hours, but that Sylvie would be here shortly to look after him, his brain was too befuddled to do anything much but grunt and wave d’Artagnan goodbye. By the time Sylvie let herself in, it was too late to change the arrangements his sneaky friends and husband had made.

“It’s like they don’t trust me,” he grumbled as she helped him sit up in bed.

“They just didn’t want you to hurt yourself, darling. Now let me make you some coffee and give you something to eat while you keep an eye on the snufflechuck.”

He raised a smile at that. “Still got a cold?”

“Yes, which is why she’s over there and not coming any closer.” She patted his cheek. “Breakfast and then a shower?”

The idea of leaving the bed wasn’t appealing. On the other hand, he would have to piss at some point. “Yeah, okay.”

He took more pain medication because d’Artagnan would give him hell if he came home and found Porthos hadn’t done so. This made the morning pass in a haze, though he did look at the video on Sylvie’s phone of Athos and Constance standing outside the clerk’s office after the ceremony, while Aramis and d’Artagnan threw confetti over them, much to Athos’s obvious disgust. Captain Treville, who had done the filming, probably felt the same.

“The look on Athos’s face.”

Sylvie chuckled. “Oh yes. He told me at least twice he didn’t know why he couldn’t just do all this over the internet. Although, I don’t know why we can’t.”

“Constance looks so happy.”

“Doesn’t she.  She picked a good one. Almost as good as mine.”

Porthos smiled, and lay back. Next time he woke up, the apartment was full of people, and d’Artagnan was hugging him. “You couldn’t come to the party, so we brought the party to you.”

“Bugger. I’m in my pyjamas, d’Artagnan.”

“No one cares, love. Athos? Bring the missus in here.”

Athos appeared at the doorway, arm in arm with Constance. “How do you feel?”

“Sore and cranky. I didn’t want to miss it.”

Constance came over to kiss his cheek. “You haven’t, sweetheart. This is just paperwork. The real wedding is in April, so please don’t get shot again.” She sat on the bed and held his hand. Athos joined her.

“If this is what happens when I’m not working as your partner, I’m going to insist I’m returned to active duty immediately.” Athos’s words were stern, but his eyes were soft and worried. “I’m glad you’re not dead.” He bent and kissed Porthos’s cheek too.

“Me too. And hey, day off. You wouldn’t have been there anyway. Oh, hi, boss.”

“Porthos.” Treville, in his best going to weddings and funerals suit, folded his arms and stared down at him. “Good work, lieutenant. I’m putting you forward for a bravery award.”

“No need. I just jumped on the guy. Instinct.”

That brought four separate sounds of derision from his visitors. “I’ll ignore that as the stupidity it is, du Vallon,” Treville said, smirking.

“Anyone for cake?” Aramis leaned on the doorframe and grinned at Porthos. “On a scale from one to ten, how angry are you?”

“Eleven,” Porthos growled. Aramis’s face fell and Porthos grinned. “Gotcha. Nah, not mad. I can’t even get to the loo on my own. Your missus had to help me, poor girl.”

“It was my pleasure and an honour,” Sylvie said, ducking under Aramis’s arm to get into the bedroom. “Aramis has eaten half the cake already, so if you want any....”

“I have not, fibber.”

“Three pieces.”

“Three teeny insignificant pieces.”

“Well that’s enough, you gannet. Go and fetch some plates and we can picnic in here.”

She was serious, and very soon afterwards, the party had moved to the bedroom. D’Artagnan joined Porthos on the bed, making sure Porthos didn’t have to move a centimetre to exert himself. The rest of them sat in around the bed on chairs from the kitchen, using the bed as their table.

Porthos ate cake and drank a very small amount of champagne under the watchful eyes of his paramedic friend and paramedic husband, and listened to the sounds of people being happy in the happiness of others. Athos and Constance were filled with joy so intense, Porthos swore they glowed. Or maybe that was just the drugs again.

No one minded that he drifted in and out, and d’Artagnan always caught his plate when he nodded off. But eventually the pull of sleep grew too much for him and when he woke, he and d’Artagnan were the only people in the apartment.

“Bugger, they’ve gone?”

D’Artagnan came over to sit on the bed on his good side. “It’s nearly three, love. Constance was so happy, though. Said it was definitely the best wedding party she’d ever been to.”

“It was nice.” Porthos felt a little better, and the pain had subsided somewhat. He suspected if he moved, that would change, so he didn’t. “What did I miss?”

“Constance wants to write a piece about you for the paper—I said I thought you wouldn’t mind, and Treville will pass it on to the police media team.”

Porthos made a face. “I hate fuss.”

“Yeah, but you told me praise and glory were two of your favourite things, remember? So, no whining.” D’Artagnan leaned over to kiss him. “You’re a hero and we’re proud of you.”

“Yeah, yeah. Anything else?”

“Aramis told that woman with the kid that he wasn’t up for playing daddy.”

“How did she take it?”

“Surprisingly well, he says. She apologised for getting carried away—the boy is just missing his Papa so much she was desperate to help him get through it and hadn’t realised the implications. But she’s asked Aramis and Sylvie to consider being the boy’s guardian should something happen to her.”

Porthos raised both eyebrows in surprise. “She doesn’t have someone in the family?”

“She does, but she doesn’t want them to do this, if at all possible. Aramis told her he’d talk to Sylvie about it, and they’ve agreed to meet her. I think they’d make great guardians for a little boy but there’s a lot to consider.”

“Hell yeah. Sylvie’s okay with this?”

“Sounds like. Can he be trusted seeing this woman, do you think?”

“He’s a fool if he can’t, but he’s mad about Sylvie, and he’s not stupid. He’s had affairs with other people’s partners, and a couple of threesomes where one of the others weren’t as okay as they said they were. That was messy.”

D’Artagnan pursed his lips. “Has he ever cheated on his own partner though?”

Porthos scratched his face as he thought. “See, Sylvie’s the first real long-term relationship I’ve seen him in. Everyone else was casual. Always had a couple of people on the go, nothing serious.”

“So, what you’re saying is that you don’t know.”

“Yeah. But knowing how he is with her, I can’t see him wanting to mess that up. He was always saying he was in love with this or that boy or girl. But not like this. Not in love enough to marry one of them and settle down.”

“I hope he doesn’t mess it up. I like Aramis and Sylvie so much. I’d hate anything bad to happen to their relationship.”

“Same here.” Despite Porthos’s resolution not to move, his body had other plans. “Um, I need the loo.”

“Thought as much. It’s going to hurt, I’m sorry.”

“Thought so.” He grunted in pain as d’Artagnan helped him up. “I’d trade all the praise and glory if I didn’t have to go through this.”

“Next time, don’t fall on the bad guy’s gun.”

“I didn’t!”

D’Artagnan grinned. “Teasing. I’m still amazed at you. Super hero.”

The pain made him grumpy. “That’s going to get old real fast, Charles.”

D’Artagnan kissed his cheek. “Give me today, love. Tomorrow I’ll be jaded about the whole thing.” He managed to get Porthos into a standing position. “Now would be a good time to show me if you have a super power of levitation.”

“You wish, mate. You wish.”

************************

“Tea?” Aramis asked once they had settled Berthe and he’d changed out of his suit.

“Please.” Sylvie came into the kitchen to hug him from behind as he filled the kettle. “That was lovely.”

“It was. Constance is still giving me the evil eye over Ana though. What on earth has Athos been telling her about me?”

“Um, I think it’s more my fault. When I started going out with you, you were so obviously much more experienced and pretty—”

He turned in her arms, and tilted her chin up. “Not remotely true.”

She smiled. “You are to me, Aramis. Anyway, I might have a bit of a moan from time to time about that to Constance because I never thought you would settle for me.”

He kissed her on the mouth quite thoroughly to prove she was wrong, wrong, so very wrong about that. “You were saying?”

She blushed. “Yeah, well, I was wrong.”

“I would never cheat on you or Berthe. I wish you could believe me.”

She took his hands in hers. “I do believe you. Ana worried me before, but now I know where she’s coming from. She just wants the best for her baby, same as me. What parent wouldn’t do anything to stop a child crying their heart out, night after night?”

“Only a bad one.” He kissed her forehead.

“I’ll talk to Constance. I think the boys tend to big up your exploits a bit. And you are polyamorous.”

“That’s not the same thing as being unfaithful. Besides, my interest along those lines doesn’t seem very potent any more. I’ve found what I always wanted in one person.”

“What if I stop being enough?”

He held her closer. “Not possible. I’ve been searching a long, long time for something to fill the hole in my heart completely. And you, Sylvie, sweet wife and my darling, are it.”

“You’re going to make me cry, aren’t you?”

He grinned down at her. “If that’s what it takes.”

They snuggled on the sofa with the tea under a blanket. “We should make arrangements for a guardian for Berthe,” Sylvie said after a long silence. “Your parents are a bit old to inflict a small child on permanently.”

“Funny, I’ve been thinking that myself after Ana’s letter. I was thinking Porthos and d’Artagnan.”

She twisted to look at him. “Not Constance and Athos?”

“They would also be wonderful. Porthos has the experience of losing his parents very young, and d’Artagnan is so full of energy.” He shrugged. “Not much in it. I love them all, and all four would be excellent guardians.”

“Then let’s ask Porthos and d’Artagnan. Porthos is black. I’d like Berthe to have a parent who looked like her.”

“That’s certainly a consideration. Agreed. Now that weighty problem is solved, what shall we do about world peace?”

She giggled and he smiled as he tucked her closer against him.

************************

Porthos was signed off work for a week, and by Tuesday was already going nuts with boredom. It would have been okay if d’Artagnan had been able to stay with him, but he’d gone back to work on Monday once he’d assured himself that Porthos could look after himself.

Sylvie had dropped over on Monday to give him lunch and keep him company, and said she’d been back the next day, which she was. This time, probably because Porthos was more awake and in less pain, she mentioned she and Aramis had talked about asking the two of them to be guardians for Berthe. Porthos was ready to agree immediately for his own sake. He adored that little girl. When he mentioned it to d’Artagnan that evening, his husband only wanted to know what was involved legally before agreeing formally, but he was keen.

“I always assumed I’d have kids. And a wife,” d’Artagnan added apologetically. “Not now, of course.”

Porthos grinned. “Glad you added that. I’d never have worked it out otherwise. We can still have kids, if you still want them.”

“I really do. You would be such a good father.”

“You would too, love. You’re thinking adoption?”

“I thought, using a surrogate.” D’Artagnan frowned at Porthos’s wince. “What’s wrong?”

“Me and Samara kinda promised each other we would always adopt ahead of having bio kids, because of what we went through. Black kids always have a harder time finding forever families.”

D’Artagnan’s expression lifted. “Oh, right. Of course. Then let’s adopt. I don’t care where they come from, Porthos. I just want to give a child, or children, the same happy childhood I had. The one you didn’t get a chance to have. We make the world better when we raise good kids.”

Porthos thought his heart would burst with happiness. He leaned his head against d’Artagnan’s. “Then soon as I’m back at work, let’s apply.”

“Wait, wait. First, we need to make sure we can afford this. We’ll have to prove we can, and that we have a good place for a child to grow up, all that. And decide how we want to do this—one of us to stay at home, or rely on childcare, all that. I want to do this right.”

“Of course you do. Okay, let’s start doing the calculations and research, then we apply.”

Porthos said he’d do the basic maths the next day, and it quickly became obvious that money was going to be tight, especially if one of them stopped work to look after a kid. And which one of them would do that? Porthos was aiming for captain, as was Athos, although Athos’s injury had hindered his career progression. D’Artagnan was on a lower pay grade because he was younger and had been working for less time, but he had a good chance of rising as high as he wanted. Aramis said d’Artagnan was the best damn paramedic he’d ever worked with.

When Sylvie turned up on Wednesday, Porthos poured out all his thoughts to her. “And now you see why so many women work as teachers and nurses and jobs which accommodate dropping in and out,” she said. “Which, by no coincidence at all, are less well paid than jobs which don’t, and which tend to attract men.”

“But what do we do? We don’t have enough money now for one of us to quit work, even if we can work out who will.”

She rested her head on her chin. “Why not save with kids in mind for a couple of years, and see where you’re at then. A lot can happen in two years. One of you might be injured at work and not be able to continue.” Porthos nodded. “Or one of you might just get fed up, or decide there’s a job you want to do more, that fits your plans better. By then you’ll have had plenty of time to look after Berthe, and Constance’s baby when she has one. Maybe the reality will put you off.”

“No way. I love kids. I can cope with all of it. And Charles has so many nieces and nephews. We’re ready.”

“You still need money. And you need to talk. It’s not easy for a lot of people to decide, especially if the woman earns more than the man. Kids mean sacrifice.”

“I want to make sure our family will be secure. No point in throwing away a career that can keep them safe and fed.”

She smiled. “I know. Take your time. Toss the ideas around. Aramis and I did, for months. It was easier for me to be flexible, but he was keen to be a house husband if I didn’t want to go part-time.”

“Heh, he’d be good at it, I bet. We’ll talk, like you said. But I don’t wait too long. Don’t want to be too old to play with them.”

“I won’t tell Aramis you said that,” she said with a cheeky grin.

“Better not.”

“No. So, you watch the kidlet, and I’ll make our lunch. Do you need pain pills?”

Porthos screwed up his face in disgust. “No, cutting down. Damn things, it’s like being drunk, but without the fun.”

“I don’t find being drunk much fun, but those pills sound bad.”

“I have no idea why people take them for fun.”

“Me either. Oh, Constance suggested tomorrow for an interview? She’s coming down to deal with stuff at the café, and thought she could bring lunch over. We can both be there, if you feel like it.”

“Whatever works. I’m not bothered.” He didn’t know what Constance would write about. He was dead boring and normal. But if she wanted to, and Treville would be happy, then it cost him nothing. His mates at work would take the piss out of him for sure.

************************

“Constance’s article was rather nice,” Aramis said, handing Berthe to Porthos. “D’Artagnan has a copy up on the notice board at work. Milking the ‘hero for a husband’ angle for all its worth.”

“I am not. I just happen to have a hero for a husband,” d’Artagnan said, his hand on Porthos’s shoulder.

“Yes, you do,” Sylvie said, kissing his cheek. “Thanks so much for this. Porthos, you be careful with that rib. She’s heavier than she looks.”

“So is he,” d’Artagnan joked, rubbing Porthos’s shoulder.

Porthos growled in mock-anger. “Are you finished? Because I’m gonna hand this baby back to her mum so I can smack you.”

“You are not,” Sylvie said. “I don’t know when we’ll be done.”

“Take your time,” Porthos said. “Bet you could do with a break for a day.”

Sylvie’s rueful expression spoke for both of them, Aramis thought. “We’ll try not to linger,” he said insincerely.

“Go, go,” d’Artagnan said, shooing them out. “We’ve got this. Have fun, take your time. You know we love this kid.”

“We know.” Aramis bent to kiss his daughter’s head, then patted Porthos on the shoulder. “Thank you. I’ll call you when we’re on our way home.”

Ana de Bourbon could have met them in Antony, but Aramis thought Sylvie could do with a day out in Paris after nearly three months stuck in the apartment with only short excursions outside to visit friends. Date nights had been hard to organise, so he was determined to make this day a good one—coffee with Ana, a late lunch with his love, and maybe even a quick visit to an art gallery. The weather was still cold and miserable, so it would have to be indoors. Aramis was willing to bet Sylvie wouldn’t care so long as it was a childfree outing away from Antony.

They held hands on the train and as they walked out of the Métro station. “Smell that?” Sylvie said as they emerged into the cold air outside.

“No?”

“Smells like freedom.”

Aramis grinned and kissed her cheek. “Going a teeny bit stir crazy?”

“You have no idea. I want to get back to work. Is that horrible of me?”

“Not a bit. In a month, you’ll be begging to run home to housework.”

“Not in a million years, Aramis.”

They took their time walking to the café in Le Marais where they’d arranged to meet Ana, who lived locally. “All right for some,” Sylvie said. “If I had her money, I’d live in the countryside.”

“Even rich mothers crave company and excitement, I suspect. Ready for this?”

“Why wouldn’t I be? We hold all the cards. Anything shifty, and I’m walking.”

“Me too. But it won’t be like that.”

As they approached the café, Aramis spotted Ana on the diagonal corner of the pedestrian crossing, and waved. She grinned and waved back, pointing him out to the little boy at her side. Louis. His son. Aramis struggled to keep his expression calm as he waved to the child.

The lights changed in Ana’s favour and she stepped forward. Louis tugged free and ran toward Aramis and Sylvie. Ana ran after him, caught him, then saw the red car careening toward her child. She threw Louis towards Aramis, out of harm, but the speeding car smashed into her, knocking her flying.

People screamed, fleeing from the danger. “Grab Louis, call 112!” Aramis shouted over his shoulder at Sylvie as he bolted towards Ana. The car which had struck her had hit a bollard and come to a halt. People swarmed over it, pulling the driver out, while others tried to help the injured woman.

“I’m a paramedic, let me through!” Aramis fell to his knees beside Ana, lying like a stringless puppet, arms and legs flung outwards. She was conscious, and moaning for her boy. “My wife has him, Ana. He’s okay.” He lifted his head and saw Sylvie a little distance away, with a frantic Louis in her grasp. “He’s safe. Help’s on the way. I’m going to do what I can.

“Aramis. Hurts. Hurts!” She groaned and bit her lip as he felt her abdomen.

“Okay. Let me check your eyes.” Without his kit, he could only check basic vitals, but she was responsive, pupils equal and reactive, pulse strong but fast, and her breathing okay. She’d hit her head but hadn’t been knocked out. No serious external bleeding, and while her face was very pale, it lacked any worrying blue or grey tinge. The main injuries were to her pelvis and her right leg, so internal injuries were a strong possibility. He pulled out his phone and dialled 112, and while holding Ana’s hand and smiling at her, identified himself as a paramedic and gave the updated information to Dispatch. He was still on the phone as an emergency vehicle arrived. He let the team take over, while sticking close and reassuring Ana about her son.

Sylvie brought Louis over but stopped him going to his mother with quiet words and a careful hold. “We’ll take him to the hospital after you,” Aramis told the team. “We know her.”

Ana confirmed this was okay, and in between gasps, managed to tell him, “Take...phone. Call my PA...Lisette. Tell her...pick him up.”

One of the paramedics handed Aramis the phone from her handbag. “I’ll bring this up to the hospital too. Is there anyone else to call?”

“No...just...her.” The paramedics had now given her some morphine which helped with the pain.

“It’ll be fine,” Aramis said, patting her hand. “Louis, your mother will be fine. We’ll take you to the hospital in a taxi, okay?”

“Maman!”

“Shhhh,” Sylvie said, kneeling beside him, but letting him see his mother. “Look, she’s awake. She’ll be fine, sweetheart.”

“No, she’ll die like Papa!”

Aramis knelt by him too. “No, not a chance. She just has a couple of broken bones. The doctors will fix them and she’ll be all better again.”

As Ana was being loaded into the ambulance, she managed to whisper a couple of words of comfort to her son, asking him to be good. She looked pleadingly at Aramis. “We’ll take good care of him, I promise.”

Taking only a moment to give his name, ID number and contact details to one of the police officers dealing with the driver, and saying he’d seen the whole thing, he led Sylvie and Louis away from the scene to hail a taxi. Fortunately, Louis allowed this to all flow over him, though he cried quietly the whole time. Sylvie did what he could while Aramis called Ana’s PA and told her what had happened.

“My god. Where is Louis?”

“With my wife and me, on our way to Pitié-Salpêtrière Hospital. We were actually on our way to meet Madame de Bourbon, and I know her from a long time ago. If you can come up to the hospital to collect him, we’ll wait with him until you arrive.”

“Of course. I’m not in Paris though. It’s my day off. It will take me a couple of hours at least to get back.”

“That’s fine. We’ll wait.”

“Very good, monsieur. Let me have your phone number.”

Louis tugged on Aramis’s sleeve when he hung up. “Can I see Maman at the hospital?”

“Probably not right away, but we can find out what’s happening. You’re scared?” The child nodded. “I understand. But it’s not like your papa, Louis. Your maman wasn’t sick. It was just that car went too fast. She’s not sick, just injured. She’ll get better again.”

The boy stared up with soulful brown eyes. “Promise?”

“Promise.” Praying that there would be no complications from Ana’s injuries to make a liar of him, Aramis held out his pinky for the boy to hook onto. “I look after people in accidents all the time. It’s my job.”

“When I’m a big boy, can I do that too?”

“Why not? If you still want to, you should.” He looked up and found Sylvie smiling at him. He smiled back, hoping she understood he would be this way with any child in this situation, as she would.

The taxi was only a couple of minutes behind the ambulance, so the three of them could only wait once Aramis had given their names and relationship to Ana to the receptionist. Louis alternated between fretful and curious, so they did their best to calm and entertain him. Ana, or someone, had done a good job raising the child to be polite and considerate, and while Aramis would have been fond of him whatever he’d been like, Sylvie was also very obviously charmed too. It made Aramis absurdly happy.

Twenty minutes later, a doctor came out and introduced herself as the one who had seen Ana on her arrival. Aramis explained who they were, and that the child with them was the patient’s son.

The doctor crouched down in front of Louis. “Your maman needs to have an operation. Do you know what that is?” Louis shook his head. “She has some broken bones in her tummy. You know what a bone is?” He stuck out his arm. “That’s right. So, we have to help put them back together so she can be well again. We do that in an operation. That will take about an hour, and then she will come out to have a nice long sleep.” She looked up at Aramis and Sylvie. “Will you wait for that?”

Aramis answered. “We’ve called her PA. It depends when she gets here.”

“Okay. Anyway, your maman will be okay. Do you understand?” Louis nodded. “Good boy.” She stood. “I’ll try to keep you updated, but you can ask if you need more information.”

“So, we could be here a while,” Aramis said to Sylvie after the doctor left. “Want some coffee?”

“Please. Louis, are you hungry? Would you like something to eat?”

“Yes, please.”

“Why don’t you take him?” she said. “I’ll call Porthos. Maybe the de la Fères will be free later and we could visit them.”

“Maybe. Sorry, love. Not the date I planned for you.”

She shrugged. “Stuff happens. Go, go.”

Aramis had no idea what Ana would allow her son to eat, but Louis knew what ‘allergic’ meant and said he didn’t have any allergies, unlike two of his friends at school. In the circumstances, Aramis was happy to let the boy choose what he wanted, and was pleased when that turned out to be a small cookie and a box of milk.

Louis knew all about hospitals unfortunately, having spent too much of his young life visiting his father in one. Aramis encouraged Louis to talk about school, and what he liked to do, anything that wasn’t about his mother being injured, or people being sick and dying. The boy wanted to know more about Aramis’s job, so he talked about that, and his friends the police officers, which Louis thought was too cool for words.

“I wish I could meet them,” he said as they walked back to the waiting room.

“Maybe you will. They’re very nice, and very brave.”

“Do they get shot?”

“Actually, yes. Both of them have been shot, one just a couple of weeks ago.”

Louis’s eyes widened. “I would be so scared to be shot.”

“He wasn’t too happy about it. It’s a dangerous job to do.”

“I could do it! Maman says I’m very brave.”

Aramis ruffled the boy’s dark curls. “I’m sure you are. There’s Sylvie.”

Sylvie accepted the coffee gratefully. “Porthos and d’Artagnan are fine with Berthe even if we don’t get home until dark. Athos and Constance are free later if we want to meet. I said we’d love to.”

“Yes, we would.” Aramis wanted to give Sylvie at least some fun today, but he wasn’t sorry to have a few hours to get to know this child he could never claim as his own, even if he would never have chosen these circumstances to do so.

Three hours later, they turned up at Athos and Constance’s apartment. Constance pulled them inside and hugged them. “You poor things. We have lunch for you, if you want it.”

“I love you. Have I told you I love you?” Sylvie said, grinning at her friend.

A smiling Athos shook Aramis’s hand. “You lads are making a habit of being at the right place at the right time. At least you didn’t get shot.”

“For which I am grateful,” Aramis said. “We’re really starving,” he hinted.

Over home-made bread and a thick, delicious lentil soup, they were persuaded to give all the details. “Ana was out of surgery by the time her PA arrived, so Louis was able to see her. Poor girl is going to find life a trial for a couple of months.”

Athos nodded. “A broken pelvis must be awful,” Constance said. “And what’s the boy like?”

She’d stared at Aramis as she asked but it was Sylvie who answered. “A little darling, actually. I was expecting a brat, or some precious little flower, but he’s completely normal, polite, considerate, and a tribute to his parents. Ana must be doing something right.”

“Under the circumstances, I take it you didn’t have a chance to discuss guardianship,” Athos said.

“No,” Sylvie answered. “But I’m much more in favour of it.”

“Are you sure?” Constance asked, glancing at Aramis.

“Absolutely sure,” Sylvie said firmly, taking Aramis’s hand. “Once she’s on the mend, we’ll arrange another meeting.”

“Does he look like Aramis?”

“A little,” Sylvie said, not avoiding Constance’s sharp gaze. “Does it matter?”

“No, I suppose not.” Constance’s brow creased up in a worried frown.

“Constance,” Aramis said, “Louis is Ana’s son, and Berthe is our daughter. I sincerely hope we will never need to act as Louis’s guardian, though today was a perfect example of why such arrangements are needed. Beyond that, if Ana and Louis want to be friendly with the two of us because of the accident, then we’re both fine with that. Louis misses his papa, and took to us. That’s all.”

Athos patted Constance’s hand. “This is all sensible, darling.”

Sylvie smiled brightly. “I thought you might have baby news for us, actually.”

“In two weeks?” Athos asked.

“What, have you been slacking?”

Athos grinned and Constance blushed charmingly, so the subject of Aramis and his son by another woman was blessedly dropped. The next couple of hours was as pleasant as Aramis could have hoped for Sylvie, and despite the earlier events, she seemed happy as they caught the train home.

“Would you mind?” he asked. “If Ana and Louis became friends?”

“No. I mean that. It’s obvious this was all about Louis for her. I trust you to guide her away from anything else, if her feelings head that way.”

“Thank you. Should we ever tell Berthe, do you think?”

“Hmmm. Play it by ear. She deserves to know, but the timing is important. Something else for another day, love.” She leaned on his shoulder. “Never seen you in action before. You’re good at it.”

“Don’t sound so surprised.”

“I’m not. I’m impressed. If only you’d been shot, Constance could have written an article about you too.”

“And don’t sound so disappointed,” he complained, kissing her hair.

************************

Among the other crap in his in-tray, Porthos found a private letter addressed to him at work. He opened it, read it, then walked straight over to Athos’s desk and dropped it in front of him.

Athos only raised an eyebrow before picking up the letter and reading it. He looked up. “Unexpected.”

Porthos rolled his eyes. “You think?”

“What are you going to do?”

“Talk to d’Artagnan. Fucking hell.”

“Quite. Are you all right?”

“Just...you know...shocked. Could it be a scam?”

“If you like, I’ll check it out and let you know. Leave it here and you can pick it up at the end of your shift.”

“Thanks, mate.” He felt on the verge of throwing up, and went in search of some water. He desperately wanted to ask his husband about it, but put it off in case it was a scam, and he didn’t really have a secret father getting in touch with him for the first time in his life.

Athos called him a couple of hours later. “I thought you’d be stressing about this, so I got on with it. I called the firm. They’re real, and the letter is also real. It’s up to you what you want to do.”

“Thanks, Athos. Fuck. What should I do?”

“Take your time. Decide what you’ll do if he is your father, and how you’ll feel if he’s not. There’s no hurry.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“Are you all right?”

“I’m good. Just need to speak to Charles, that’s all.”

When he came back to the office, he took a picture of the letter and sent it to his husband, who would be home before him. We’ll need to talk about this when I get back. Then he packed up and headed back to Antony.

D’Artagnan greeted him at the door with a long, welcome hug, and pulled him inside and over to the sofa. “How do you feel?” he murmured.

“Shaky. Angry.”

“You don’t have to do this. Just because this guy suddenly developed a conscience and decided to contact you, doesn’t mean you have to play the game.”

“Yeah. But if I don’t, then I’ll always wonder, won’t I?”

D’Artagnan squeezed his hand. “Yes, you will. If he is your father—”

“Sperm donor. Never my father.”

“Okay. If he is, then you can tell him off to his face, right?”

“At least hear what he thinks is a good reason for abandoning my mother and me.”

“Exactly.” D’Artagnan kissed him on the cheek, and sat with him until Porthos was ready to move and get on with other things. They didn’t talk about it again.

Just before they went to bed, Porthos sent the photo of the letter back to the law firm as proof he was the recipient, and said they could sent the DNA kit to him at the station. He didn’t want to give them any more information than they already had about him, because he didn’t trust surprise fathers, and he distrusted lawyers even more. Then he refused to give it another thought.

The kit arrived two days later. He ran the brush around his mouth as per instructions, stuck it in the tube, put the tube into the bag, and sent it off. He still didn’t think this would come to anything, and he hoped it wouldn’t. He’d coped for a long time without a father in his life, and would continue to do so without any trouble. He refused to look up the man named in the letter, or spend any time wondering what he was like.

But this unwanted intrusion into his happy existence was like a band around his chest, and nothing—not his friends, not the love of his husband, or the job he loved—could ease it. Already he hated this guy, and if the DNA did prove a connection, Porthos wasn’t sure the only contact he’d make wouldn’t between the man’s nose and Porthos’s fist.

The lawyers wrote back in a week and told him the test was positive and proved he was indeed the son of Marcus Belgard, inventor, industrialist, and multibillionaire. Porthos was invited to attend their offices at his convenience to receive further information.

He showed the letter to Athos. “Now what?”

“What do you want to do?”

“Go, I suppose.”

“Would you like me to come with you?”

Porthos sagged with relief. “Would you? You know about rich people and lawyers and that kind of thing. D’Artagnan would come for sure, but he knows less than I do.”

Athos smiled. “I would be honoured to help.” He told Porthos which were his days off over the next couple of weeks, and suggested he talk to d’Artagnan about whether his husband should go with him as well. “I would also suggest I or Aramis come with you if you decide to meet this man.”

“You think it still might be a scam?”

Athos pursed his lips. “The more witnesses you have, the better. That’s as far as I want to push it.”

D’Artagnan deferred to Athos’s greater knowledge, and since his shifts didn’t align very well with Athos’s, he told Porthos to go ahead and meet the lawyer without him. “But please don’t go to see this guy without me.”

“What if he doesn’t like gay men?”

D’Artagnan’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “Then you’ll know, won’t you?”

Porthos grabbed him and held him tight. “No fucking supposed father is coming between us.”

“I never thought for a second he would. And don’t sign anything, love, or hand over anything.”

“He doesn’t need my money by the look of it.”

“I wasn’t talking about money. I’m glad Athos will be with you.”

Having his former partner at his back was a relief, Porthos had to admit, and reinforced how much he’d missed Athos out on the streets. The trial that would enable him to return to active duty was still more than two months away, unfortunately.

Before they entered the building, Athos put his hand on Porthos’s shoulder. “Relax. Remember, they can demand nothing of you. This is all about what you want, not him, not the lawyers. No emotional manipulation allowed.”

“Keep reminding me, yeah?”

“Of course.”

He’d worn his uniform, same as Athos. He could have chosen a day off to do this, but he refused to give up his time with d’Artagnan, and besides, it never hurt to remind people, especially lawyers, that they were dealing with a police officer, someone sworn to uphold and defend the law. Any funny business and Athos would provide the best witness Porthos could want.

The lawyer was an older man, about Athos’s father’s age, Porthos judged. He welcomed them politely and offered them coffee or tea, which they declined. “Then let’s go straight to business. Monsieur du Vallon, I am authorised to do three things. The first is to formally acknowledge you as the only son of Marcus Belgard. The second is to extend an invitation on his behalf to visit him at his home or another place, at your convenience. And the third is to give you this.” He handed over a slip of paper, which turned out to be a bank draft.

Porthos nearly dropped it in shock, and bit back swear words. “I can’t...ten million euros?” Athos took the cheque from his nerveless fingers. “That’s too much.”

“Monsieur, I am advised that this is the same sum as Monsieur Belgard gave his daughter on her coming of age, and furthermore, is much less than you would have received in the way of gifts over the years. Also, he asked me to tell you that the money is yours whether you decide to meet him or not.”

“What do I do?” Porthos whispered to Athos.

“Put it in your pocket and say thank you.” Athos gave him back the cheque.

Porthos carefully folded the paper and put it in his jacket pocket, which he then zipped up. “Thanks. Uh, okay. Now what?”

The lawyer handed over an envelope. “In that, you will find details of how to contact Monsieur Belgard. You should also be aware that as his bona fide child, you will naturally inherit half of his estate when he dies, as prescribed under the law. Monsieur Belgard is not married.”

Porthos could only sit there blinking in shock. Athos patted his arm. “I have a question, if I may?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Did Monsieur Belgard leave any information about the circumstances of Porthos’s conception or why his mother was abandoned?”

The lawyer shook his head. “I regret that I do not have any such information or explanation, monsieur. I am willing to forward a request for this to him, if Monsieur du Vallon wishes.”

Porthos shook himself. “No, I don’t wish. I can contact him if I want to know.”

“And will you?” the lawyer asked.

“Dunno.”

“May he contact you?”

“No.” Athos turned to look at Porthos. “Not yet, anyway. I need time to think. It’s a lot to take in.”

“I quite understand. Do you have any other questions?” Porthos shook his head. “Then our business today is done. If you change your mind about contacting him, or asking him anything, you may get in touch with us again. He made it very clear that we are to assist you in every particular.”

“Thanks. Uh, okay. Athos?”

Athos led him down to the street. “Breathe, my friend.”

“Ten million euros!”

“Yes, I know. I suggest you bank it as soon as possible. I also suggest before you do anything with it, you get some proper advice.”

“I need a drink.”

Athos obliged by leading him to the nearest bar and ordering him a neat whisky, with tea for himself. “My hands won’t stop shaking,” Porthos said.

“Not surprised.”

“You think it’s blood money? On account of him leaving my mum?”

“Not as such. It’s probably inspired by guilt of some sort, but I don’t think his lawyer was lying about it being the same for your sister.”

“Sis—” Porthos choked. “Holy fuck.”

“Yes, not just a father, but a family.”

“I already have a sister. But another one...I wasn’t even thinking about that.” The drinks arrived and Porthos downed his whisky in one swallow. Athos silently signally for the waiter to bring another. “Sorry. I’m not planning to get drunk.”

“I know. I’m certain my father would be happy to talk to you about what to do with your money if you would like. He can recommend someone to help if you do not.”

“Your dad helping would be great. We can have that kid Charles wants. That we both want.”

“I’m glad. But still wait a bit, Porthos. This could set you up for life. Set you both up. And that’s before you inherit from his estate.”

Porthos shook his head. “He’s worth like, twice your dad’s fortune.”

Athos laughed. “Try something like five hundred times more. Dad’s comfortably rich. Belgard is one of the one percent.”

“Still too much of a shit to look after my mum though.”

“Sadly, that often goes with the money. But I doubt he was all that wealthy when you were conceived.”

“Doesn’t matter, does it? He didn’t look after either of us.”

“No.” Athos sipped his tea and kept his thoughts to himself.

“I don’t know if I want to meet him or not. I guess I should thank him.”

“The lawyer will do that. You owe him nothing.”

The second whisky arrived and this time, Porthos sipped it slowly. His heart had stopped thumping so fast at least. “I just want to know why.”

“It’s not likely to be something that will make you happy.”

“Yeah.” At the same time, his mind kept coming up with reasons why a man might abandon a pregnant girlfriend. Maybe he didn’t know she was pregnant. Or he was in prison. Or in a coma. “I could ask through the lawyer.”

“That might be best.”

But would Porthos believe it unless he saw the man’s face as he said it?

“Your bank will still be open,” Athos hinted.

“Yeah. But I’m putting it in our joint account. What’s mine is his.”

“I would expect nothing else from you,” Athos said, saluting him with his teacup.

************************

“Then he hands over this receipt from the bank which shows he deposited ten million bloody euros into our account!”

Aramis stared in amazement. Now he had a better grasp on why d’Artagnan had been so desperate to tell him about Porthos’s meeting with the lawyers as soon as they started their shift. “That’s....”

“Unfuckingbelievable. And then he tells me, ‘right, now we can adopt’.” D’Artagnan ran his hand through his hair. “Our lives just got turned upside down and inside out.”

“You don’t look happy.”

“I’m worried. This doesn’t happen to real people, Aramis. There has to be a catch.”

“What did Athos say?”

“What? Oh, I haven’t spoken to him yet. But Porthos said Athos had told him to stop and think before he did anything with the money other than bank it.”

“Excellent advice.”

“But now I’m married to a millionaire!”

Aramis grinned. “So is he, remember.”

“But in a few years, when this guy dies, Porthos will be super rich! I don’t think I want that. I like my job,” he added miserably.

Aramis put his hand on his partner’s shoulder. “Calm down. First of all, nothing says you can’t still work. Secondly, Porthos doesn’t have to accept the inheritance. And thirdly, think of all the good things you could do with it. You could become fairy godfathers to so many people who need it.”

“And be pestered to death by scammers and beggars. I’ve read about people who win lotteries. It never makes them happy. This is the same.”

“It doesn’t have to be like that. When is Porthos going to meet the man?”

“He says never. I don’t know if he’ll change his mind. You can understand why he’s a bit conflicted.”

Aramis did understand. Over their long friendship, they had spoken several times about Porthos’s childhood, the father who let his mother and her child down, and Porthos had never been anything but angry and disdainful about the man. “What do you think?”

“I think he should do what he wants to do and not be pressured by me or Belgard.” D’Artagnan heaved a sigh. “Sorry. You’ll be sick of me talking about this by the end of the day. How was your time off?”

“Very nice. All three of us went to Paris to visit Ana and Louis. Louis was so adorable with Berthe, saying how much he wished she was his sister. You should have seen our faces trying not to say anything.”

“I can imagine. How is Madame?”

“Uncomfortable to say the least. But speaking of rich people, she and Sylvie started talking about refugees. You know how passionate Sylvie is about wanting to help them. Ana said that one of the things she wanted to do with the money she inherited from her late husband was to help the poor in some practical way. Sylvie opened her mouth to say that she had plenty of ideas, and the next minute, Ana had offered her a job so she could put those ideas into action.”

“Wow.” D’Artagnan stopped checking their supplies to stop and stare at Aramis. “A real job or a ‘get close to Aramis’ job?”

“A ‘does my partner need a smack’ job, actually.”

“Sorry.”

“You should be. No, Sylvie can mostly work from home. Ana won’t be up to much for a while, so she’s offered Sylvie a year’s contract, with the first couple of months just researching and putting forward ideas. Now she’s had a chance to take it all in, Sylvie’s over the moon.”

“Perfect for her. What about the paper?”

“She’s talking to them today. They might be happy to keep her by-line until she wants to come back, and there’s Constance wanting more work too.”

“I don’t think I can handle all this good news,” d’Artagnan joked. “I need a drink.”

“After work, partner, not during.” Their radio came to life just then. “And duty calls. Let’s go.”

Aramis had a chance that evening to talk to Porthos himself about the sudden changes in his life, because Sylvie invited their friends over for a meal. She’d spoken to Constance, who’d mentioned the news, and that Porthos was in a flap. Wise woman that his wife was, Sylvie had realised Porthos could do with Aramis’s company, possibly his advice, and certainly his support.

When Porthos arrived, it was all too obvious that Aramis’s usually preternaturally under control friend was a mess about this. Aramis kissed Sylvie’s ear and whispered “thank you” as Porthos and d’Artagnan went past them to sit down on the couch. They fed their guests before raising the subject. Porthos was eager to talk about it.

“What if I meet him and his reason is ‘well, I didn’t want a black kid’ or something horrible like that?”

“Sounds as if he’s changed his mind if that’s the case,” Sylvie said. “He might very well regret a poor decision in his youth and be trying to make up for it now.”

“Did you ever find out how he found you?” Aramis asked as he poured more wine.

“Oh yeah, that was in the first letter. Constance’s article. His investigator recognised the name.”

“An investigator?” Sylvie asked. “Then he’s serious about this.”

“And since you don’t have Facebook or any other obvious social media, he wouldn’t have seen you online before,” Aramis pointed out.

“Maybe.” Porthos still looked glum.

“Athos and I and Charles should all go with you. That way, we can stop you punching him, but also, protect you from someone who might try to hurt you. Emotionally, I mean. You don’t need physical protection.”

“Okay.”

Aramis raised his eyebrows and looked at d’Artagnan. “He’s not still on those painkillers, is he?”

“Piss off,” Porthos said.

“You can imagine why I’m surprised. You’re not normally this easy to convince.”

“Husband,” Sylvie said, tapping his wrist, “quit while you’re ahead.”

“I’m gonna send him a text. What date?”

After speaking to Athos on the phone, it became clear that days off for all four men didn’t align for at least six weeks, and the best they could do was an evening. Belgard lived in a chateau in Chilly-Mazarin so Athos and Porthos would travel down from Paris to Antony after work, and Aramis would drive them all to the meeting. If Belgard agreed, that was.

Porthos sent the text after supper, and had a reply within ten minutes. “He’s up for it.”

“Then let’s do it,” d’Artagnan said. “All for one.”

“And one for all,” Sylvie said, smiling at the three of them.

************************

“I thought your parents lived in a big house,” Porthos said to Athos as Aramis drove up to the gates.

“They do. This is bigger.”

“A lot bigger,” d’Artagnan added.

Security was tight, which was no surprise, and their IDs were checked both at the gate and at the entrance to the house. But once inside, things became rather less imposing. A butler or manservant—Porthos had no idea what you were supposed to call these people—came to greet them and led them through a mostly silent, dark house. “I’ve got a bad feeling about this,” Aramis whispered.

“I knew you were gonna say that,” Porthos said.

The destination was a huge dining room lined with dark wood, holding a long table set with tableware for at least twenty people. There were only three in the room—an older man with long, straggly grey hair, and a man and woman closer to Porthos’s age.

The old man stood. “Porthos! Come in, my son.”

Porthos walked to the middle of the room, but no further. His friends spread out beside him in a line. “You Belgard?”

“I am. Marcus Belgard, your father.”

Porthos bared his teeth. “Let’s get one thing clear from the start, mate. You’re not my father. You’re the man who got my mother pregnant and abandoned her.”

Belgrade went still, and the other people tensed up. Porthos was ready for anything, including a brawl. But then the man nodded. “Yes, I can see how it looks. Please, do sit down. Supper will be served soon. Porthos, this is your sister, Eleanor, and her husband, Antoine Levesque.”

“Half-sister,” the woman snapped.

“Nice to meet you,” Porthos said, not changing his expression. She snarled in response. Lovely.

“Please, sit. I see you brought your friends. Do you want to introduce them?”

“Not particularly.” Porthos pulled out a chair and sat in it facing Belgard, not the table. The others did the same. “Okay. You wanted to meet and talk, so talk.”

“Why are you even bothering with this thug, Papa?” Eleanor said with a sniff. Porthos’s hackles went up at the word ‘thug’. “Surely you don’t want him to be part of this family.”

“He’s already part of this family. Porthos, obviously this is a very painful moment for you, and I don’t blame you for hating me. But what you don’t know is that your mother and I were very much in love. She ran away when she found she was pregnant, and I never saw again. I searched and searched, and asked at the hospitals when she was due to give birth, but nothing. For years I’ve employed private detectives to scour records for you, but it was only when one of them saw a report about a man with your grandmother’s maiden name, with a mother from Haiti, that I finally hoped I had found you. And I have, at last.”

Pretty convincing speech. Porthos kept his arms folded. “Never thought to look through an electoral roll? I ain’t exactly been hiding.”

“My agents were most thorough, Porthos. I’m sorry if they missed the obvious. I knew as soon as I saw that article about your heroism that it was you. You look just like her.”

“He certainly doesn’t look like us,” Eleanor sniped.

“See, that’s what I call a good thing,” Porthos said.

Eleanor’s husband leapt to his feet. “Did you just insult my wife?”

“Yes, he did,” Athos drawled. “Right after your wife insulted him. Sit down, monsieur. I should hate to have to arrest you for being an idiot.”

Levesque obeyed, but husband and wife scowled mightily at Porthos and his friends. Porthos couldn’t say it bothered him at all.

“Sorry about that,” Belgard said. “It’s been something of a shock to Eleanor who’s been under the impression for many years that she’s my sole heir.”

“You never told her about me?”

“No. I thought I might never find you, and...well, I’m somewhat ashamed of myself.”

“You should be.” That was d’Artagnan, glaring at Belgard as if the man personally offended him. Maybe he did.

“I know. If you want my apology, you can have it. But what else I can do, I don’t know. More money, perhaps?”

“I didn’t come here for your fucking money!” Porthos stood, his hands clenched into fists. “I came here to find out why you never wanted me, and why you left my mother stuck with a kid she wasn’t well enough to care for.”

“Is she still alive?”

“No, thanks to you. She died when I was still a baby. If she’d had some of your precious money, lived like you do,” he threw his arms out at the lavish, oppressive room, “then maybe she’d be alive, and I wouldn’t have had to grow up in foster homes, shuffled from place to place like a bag of dirty clothes no one wanted to wear no more.” He turned to his friends. “I’ve heard enough. I’m going.” They all stood immediately.

“Wait,” Belgard said, standing also. “Porthos, don’t you want to at least eat? Get to know us?”

“No thanks. I’ve seen enough.” He walked out, the others at his heels, and startled the manservant/butler person standing outside the door. “We’re leaving.”

D’Artagnan took his hand and all four of them walked out almost in lock step. Aramis started the car and drove off without waiting for permission from the guards, and revved the engine impatiently as the gate was opened, before speeding out of it. He stopped when they were long out of sight of the house, and turned off the engine.

He twisted to look around at Porthos. “You okay?”

Porthos shook his head and managed to choke out a “No.”

“That sister is an appalling human being,” d’Artagnan said. “That didn’t come out of nowhere.”

“I’m not sure I find Belgard’s explanation convincing either,” Athos said, looking at Porthos in the rear-view mirror. “On the other hand, maybe its lack of polish lends it verisimilitude.”

Porthos didn’t want to admit he didn’t know that word. “You mean, he’d have come up with a better story if he was lying?” d’Artagnan asked.

“Possibly,” Athos said. “Though I’m struggling to think of a reason why he would lie. Why pursue Porthos at all, if his daughter hates the idea of him? Belgard stands to gain absolutely nothing except the son he never knew.”

“I ain’t his son.”

“I’m sorry,” Athos said, twisting around. “I meant, from his point of view.”

“What do you want to do now?” d’Artagnan murmured.

“Go home, spend his money, and forget the bastard exists.”

“Even if he’s telling the truth?” Aramis said.

“Even if he is. You think I want to claim that woman as a sister?”

“The Porthos I know wouldn’t let a small-minded racist like her stop him doing anything.”

“I done what I came here to do, Aramis,” Porthos said, glowering at his friend. “End of story. I just want to go home.”

“As you wish, my friend. I’m sorry it wasn’t a more satisfying meeting.”

Porthos was fighting tears and didn’t want to say any more. They drove in silence back to Antony. Athos was staying over with them, so Aramis dropped the three of them off. “Any time you want to talk,” he said to Porthos.

“Yeah, I know. Thanks.”

Climbing the stairs felt like too much effort, but d’Artagnan grabbed his arm and helped him, and once inside their apartment, Athos made some tea for them all. “Do you want to be alone together?”

“No. I’d kinda like it if you sat up for a bit with us, if you don’t mind.”

Athos didn’t, and brought the tea over to the coffee table. Porthos wiped his eyes, then accepted a cup of tea. “Sorry for being a flake over this.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Athos said. D’Artagnan took Porthos’s hand and held it tight.

“I didn’t like him. Or any of them,” d’Artagnan said. “That house gave me the creeps. Who lives like that?”

“Someone with more money than friends,” Athos said. “The situation with the daughter is a bit odd. I’m surprised Belgard invited her to this first meeting. It’s almost as if he wanted her to show her true colours.”

“Or show her mine,” Porthos said.

“He was poking her?” d’Artagnan asked.

“Maybe. I mean, first she doesn’t know I exist, then he springs it on her, along with the news that she’s not gonna get as much money as she thought because of me. I could have been Prince Valiant and she’d still have hated me.”

Athos frowned. “I wonder what the exact relationship is between them? I mean, financially. Does she run any of his businesses?”

“Wouldn’t be a surprise,” d’Artagnan said.

“Exactly. But as Porthos isn’t going back, I suppose there’s no need to speculate. How do you intend to spend the money?”

“A house,” Porthos and d’Artagnan said together. Athos grinned. “Your dad said that was a good idea provided we paid the right sum. Told us to do our homework, and said you’d help.”

“I will indeed. And you’re still going to work?”

“For now,” d’Artagnan said. “If we’re approved to adopt, then either I’ll give up for a bit then Porthos will, or we’ll hire a nanny. It’ll work out. It would have worked out anyway, but the money makes it easier.”

“And adopting means we don’t pass any of that bastard’s genes along.”

Athos leaned over and put his hand on Porthos’s knee. “My friend, you’re walking proof that genes mean very little when it comes to moral fibre and courage. And decency. Eleanor has his genes too, but only one of you is worth knowing.”

“Thanks.”

“It’s nothing but the truth.”

“I still wish I knew what he was up to,” d’Artagnan muttered. “Men like that don’t do stuff for no reason.”

“Perhaps his creeping mortality? He’s not exactly a young man,” Athos said.

Maybe that was what it was, Porthos thought. But as he lay in bed with d’Artagnan’s arms around him that night, he couldn’t help but think that he’d missed something. Some clue. If he’d stayed, he’d know now.

Still, he was well out of it. Let bitchy Eleanor have all the money her daddy owned. Porthos had everything he wanted right here in this bed with him.

************************

Porthos did his best to put Belgard right out of his mind after that. Fortunately, work was busy and in the rare times he and d’Artagnan actually shared any downtime, they had houses to look at on the internet. Athos and Constance were a fund of knowledge on the subject, both having bought places before, and were happy to advise when asked about the must haves and must not haves. Porthos and d’Artagnan wanted a minimum of three bedrooms and a decent garden, and were seriously thinking about a fourth bedroom. D’Artagnan was worried that they might not be approved to adopt and then the house would be an overlarge reminder of what they didn’t have. “We can still foster,” Porthos said. “And what about all the nieces and nephews?”

D’Artagnan reluctantly admitted he might have a point. But approval to adopt remained their goal.

Samara was ecstatic to learn of their plans, but shocked when Porthos insisted he was going to give her two million euros. “You can’t. That’s money for your family.”

“Yes?”

“Your real...oh. Shut up, Samara.”

“Yeah, shut up,” Porthos said, grinning at her face over Skype. “Send me your bank details. D’Artagnan wants this as much as me. And hell, that still leaves us with eight fucking million euros!”

“I can’t think in money that big.”

“Me neither. Get some financial advice too, will you? My mate told me to do that and he’s right.”

“Don’t know where to start.” So Porthos gave her the name of the firm Athos’s dad had given him, at least as a starting point.

He was sure, and relieved to think, that he’d heard the last of Belgard. But he was wrong. Two weeks after the meeting with the man, a posh looking envelope turned up in Porthos’s in-tray, and he knew before he opened it who it was from.

It was handwritten, to his surprise. Belgard’s handwriting was strong and sharp, distinctive. He apologised again for not helping Porthos’s mother, and for the scene at the house. “Eleanor has become my tyrant,” he said. He’d put her in charge of the family company seven years ago, where she had been a great success. Her husband worked for the company and held a substantial number of shares. Belgard was frightened of him. Eleanor had changed, Belgard said, since she’d married Levesque. She’d become abusive, driven away their family friends, sacked most of their household, and now Belgard felt isolated in his own house. He no longer ran anything, he said, although he was still a major shareholder in the company.

“Porthos, when I learned you were alive, and not only alive, but a brave and honest police officer, I felt hope again. I have always wanted my family around me, to be my support, but my mistake was to trust my daughter too much, as hers was to trust her husband too much. I need you, my boy, to help me escape from a nightmare that I freely admit I helped create. Help me get free of them. I ask this of you, not as your father, but as an old, foolish man in need of a hero. Please.”

Porthos couldn’t bring himself to talk about this to anyone, not even d’Artagnan, for a whole day and night after he read it. Was it true? Could a man of Belgard’s wealth really be under the thumb of anyone?

When he did talk about it, it was to Athos’s father. Porthos emailed him a copy of the letter and asked what he thought. The reply was detailed and thoughtful, as Porthos had come to expect from the elder de la Fère.

“You don’t mention his age, but the internet tells me he’s over seventy. It’s possible that he’s frail in body as well as mind, which makes it easier to dominate anyone. As for his company, if he is not on the board, and a majority shareholder, he could have her removed, but it’s difficult when it’s a family member, in that he would have to deal personally with the fallout. It would also affect the share price if he doesn’t have a good financial reason to remove her. I would say his story is plausible, but I can offer no opinion on whether it’s true. Tread carefully, Porthos. And sign nothing without getting advice from your lawyer. Taking Athos with you if you meet him again would be a wise precaution, in case he’s trying to manipulate you. Do please let me know if you want more help.”

Finally, Porthos showed D’Artagnan Olivier de la Fère’s email, along with the letter which sparked it. His husband took some time to read it and think about it before answering. Porthos put supper together while he waited for d’Artagnan’s thoughts on the matter.

Once they sat down to eat, d’Artagnan gave his opinion. “He says he’s not appealing to you as a father, but he is, isn’t he? I mean, he could write to any police officer if he meant that, but he wrote to you.”

“Yeah. And he must have lawyers and stuff who could help him.”

“Hmmm. But when someone’s being abused, their ability to think clearly is affected. He didn’t look that scared of either of them when we were there, though.”

“But he let her do what she wanted. And that house really is lonely and creepy.”

“I’ll come with you again if you want to talk to him.”

Porthos paused before answering. “I was thinking of going on my own.”

“But Athos’s dad said—”

“I know. But it might be easier to get a read on him if it looks like I’m taking him seriously. I’m not an idiot, Charles.”

D’Artagnan stared at him, his head tilted. “You really aren’t. But this guy has been chewing up people and businesses and spitting them out again longer than I’ve been alive. Longer than you’ve been alive.”

“I know. But I won’t sign anything, and I’m not in physical danger from him.”

“What about his daughter and that rat-faced husband of hers? I don’t trust them, and I wouldn’t put it past them to get rid of you permanently.”

“I’ll make it clear that you guys all know where I am, and are expecting a check in every hour from me. I’ll even wear a vest if you want me to.”

D’Artagnan frowned. “If you think you can handle it, then you can. But please be careful, love. Everything about this stinks to high heaven.”

“Totally agree with you on that.”

Athos was just as wary as d’Artagnan and tried to persuade Porthos not to go alone. “We certainly can arrest him if he kills you, my friend, but it won't bring you back to life.”

“Why would he kill me, though?”

Athos stared at him, his affection and worry clear, but he had nothing to say to that question. “We will check with you and we will enter the house to find you if you don’t answer your phone.”

“Fine by me.”

D’Artagnan insisted on driving him and waiting in the car at the front of the house. “You don’t have to tell him I’m here.”

“Okay.” It wasn’t worth fighting over it, since his husband was just worried for him. “Find us a nice house while you’re waiting, eh?”

This visit was in the morning, so the house looked a little less creepy in the daytime. Still empty, and the manservant still nervous as he led Porthos through to Belgard’s office. This room, at least, looked normal, stacked with books and files and papers. Belgard clasped Porthos’s hand and shook it. “Thank you. I knew you were too fine a man to ignore my plea.”

“I’m only here to find out why you can’t use your fancy lawyers to kick your daughter out. I don’t know what you expect me to do. I can’t evict her for you.”

“Do sit down, Porthos. Would you like coffee? Tea? Something stronger?” Porthos shook his head. “Very well. find it so hard to stand up to Eleanor. She’s the very image of her mother, and she went through such a hard time when Elizabeth died. Cancer, five years ago. That’s when she married that man.” Belgard’s face twisted with disgust. “Everything changed then. She became hard and cruel to everyone, not just me. He’s not an honest man.”

“Then sack him. Sack them both if you don’t trust them. What’s the big deal?”

“I can’t. I’m not a majority shareholder any more. I hold a large number of shares, but not more than forty-nine percent in any company. Elizabeth and I had fifty percent together, but she left her shares to Eleanor. Unless I can force a vote with other shareholders, Eleanor will stay until she resigns.”

“Okay. But you own this place, right?”

“Only half. She owns the other half.”

Porthos was beginning to see the problem. “Then why don’t you move? You could live anywhere.”

“This is my home. Elizabeth loved it. We both did. She died here. I can feel her spirit around me. Don’t you know what that’s like?”

“No. I don’t even have a picture of my mother. I can’t remember her at all.”

“I’m sorry, son.” Porthos could have jumped on him for that, but the man looked so sad...and yes, frail...he didn’t have the heart for it. Belgard opened a drawer and drew out two frames. “That’s Elizabeth. And this is your mother.”

Porthos’s heart lurched in his chest. Belgard handed him the small frame, and Porthos stared at the image. The girl was young, dark-skinned, hair in tight braids. Did he look like her? “She was pretty.”

“A very beautiful girl. I loved her so much. It broke my heart when she ran away from me. I met Elizabeth a couple of years later and that helped, but I never forgot Marie-Cessette.”

Porthos held the picture, wishing it could speak. “You can keep it,” Belgard said. “It’s precious to me, but to you, it would be worth more than gold.”

“Yeah.” He put it carefully in his pocket, then cleared his throat. “What do you want me to do?”

“Let me tell people about you? I want Eleanor to know I’m not ashamed of you, that I’m not going to push you away because of your colour as she wants, but that in fact I’m proud of you. And once I’ve done that, and she can’t pretend you don’t exist, then maybe you and I could confront her and Levesque together. I hate to force her out of her own home, but....”

“She should leave. That’s how it works when you get married.”

“Yes. Do you think me a monster, Porthos? For be afraid of my own child?”

“No. It happens. Seen it with old, young, men and women. You want to tell people about me, go for it.”

“And I want to give you some shares in the company. After all, one day half of them will be yours.”

Porthos held his hands up. “Mate, I’m not interested in your money. I mean, thanks very much for what you gave me before, but that’s enough.”

“I can’t disinherit you, dear boy. You’ll have to sort it out with Eleanor when I’m gone.”

“Fine. But that's how it is.”

Belgard laughed. “You’re one in a million, Porthos. You could be wealthy beyond the dreams of avarice.”

“I’m already richer than I ever hoped to be. My husband’s waiting in the car, actually. So, I’m gonna go.”

“Husband?”

“You met him. Handsome young bloke, little beard.”

“Ah, yes. Protective of you. I liked that.”

Porthos smiled with relief. “He’s the best. Who needs money when you’re happy with the one you love, right?”

“Quite so.” He stood and so did Porthos. “I’m so glad you came back. I wish things had been different, and there may not be much time left to us, but I hope you might let this foolish old man bask in the pleasure of knowing you. At least a little.”

“Yeah maybe,” Porthos said, still wary but less than he had been. “I’ll see you then.”

“Certainly. Jacques?” The manservant came in. “He’ll show you out. Thank you, Porthos. You don’t know what this means to me.”

“You’re welcome.”

D’Artagnan wasted no time on small talk, starting the engine before Porthos got into the car, and driving off the second the door was shut. Only when they were outside the estate did he ask how things went.

“Fine, actually. And look, no holes.”

“I’m pleased about that. Now tell me the rest.”

“Long story.” One which took the rest of their journey to tell. Even when they got home, d’Artagnan was still frowning and puzzling over it.

“Why doesn’t he just buy her out? At least buy out her half of the house?”

“Maybe he offered and she refused. I don’t get it either, love,” Porthos said. “But you and I have both seen enough domestics to know what families can be like.”

“Still doesn’t smell right.”

“I get that. But I don’t see any harm in letting him tell people about me.”

“No, suppose not.”

************************

“My god, you’re going to need security guards,” Aramis exclaimed. “He’ll make the pair of you kidnapping targets.”

D’Artagnan was taken aback. “Seriously?”

“Seriously. Ask Ana. She feels safe in central Paris, but outside it, she has guards all the time for herself and Louis. That’s why they don’t leave the city very often.”

“Shit.” Aramis’s partner stared through the window of the ambulance as Aramis drove them to their next job. “I should call Porthos and get him to stop Belgard.”

“Yeah, as soon as we’re done, I think you should.”

D’Artagnan didn’t get a chance to call his husband for several hours as he and Aramis were kept busy with jobs until their lunch break. Porthos said he’d contact Belgard, so that would be enough, Aramis hoped.

“I’m so stupid,” d’Artagnan lamented. “I mean, Belgard’s place is locked up tight. I should have thought about this.”

“This has all been very shocking and unsettling for the two of you,” Aramis said. “Don’t beat yourself up.”

When he arrived home, he found Sylvie breastfeeding Berthe and deep in a Skype call with Ana. He waved hello to Ana over Sylvie’s shoulder. “Oh, take her, will you?” Sylvie asked, handing Berthe to him. “She needs changing.”

“Welcome home, daddy,” he joked. “Oh daughter, you are very smelly.”

“I know,” Sylvie said as Ana laughed at Aramis’s expression.

“May I ask Ana a question before I head off to the poo mines?”

Sylvie swung the screen so he could see it. “Ana, do you know anything about Marcus Belgard? Sylvie will explain why I want to know.”

Ana frowned. “The name rings a bell.... I’ll let you know. Now change that child’s nappy.”

“Yes, madame.”

He returned a few minutes later with a happy, now fragrant baby in his arms. “Ana wants to speak to you,” Sylvie said, swapping places with him on the chair.

“Hi, what have you got?”

“Not much, but I remembered that Belgard approached Louis a few years ago to ask him to invest in a project together. Louis was tempted but took advice, and decided that Belgard was a bad risk to work with.”

“Belgard himself? Or his company?”

“No, Belgard himself. They met up in person. I remember Louis saying there was something off about him. He didn’t talk much about the industry people he met with, so that was unusual, him saying that.”

“Right. And this was in the last five years?”

“No, no, more like seven. Before I became pregnant.”

“Ah.” So, before the death of the wife and the daughter’s marriage. “Thanks for that. How are you doing?”

“Ugh, don’t ask. But Sylvie and I are making wonderful progress. I don’t suppose I can entice you to move to Paris once I’m healed so I can have her all to myself?”

Aramis laughed. “Er....”

Sylvie slapped his shoulder. “She’s joking. You are joking, right?”

“Only a bit. Don’t worry, I’m not really expecting it. But you’re such a find, Sylvie.”

“I keep telling her that, but does she believe me?” Aramis said, looking up fondly at his wife. He got out of the chair. “Thanks for letting me interrupt.”

“We were nearly done,” Sylvie said. “You can start supper when you’re ready.”

“Just need to make a phone call first.”

************************

D’Artagnan had nothing to report when he and Aramis next met up for work. Aramis had duly warned Porthos about what Ana had told him, and Porthos said he’d already spoken to Belgard about keeping quiet. That was presumably that. Athos had told Porthos that Constance was sad that she couldn’t write up the amazing “Billionaire discovers hero cop is long lost son!” story, but she completely understood the reasons.

“Um, he wants me to ask you,” d’Artagnan said as they ate lunch together. “Would you mind if we gave you and Sylvie two million euros?”

Aramis spat his coffee back into the mug. “What?”

“He’s giving Samara that much because she’s his sister. But you and Athos are his brothers. Our brothers. Athos doesn’t need money because of his dad, but you and Sylvie aren’t rich. So, we want to give you the same.”

“You can’t, d’Artagnan. What about the children you want to have?”

D’Artagnan frowned. “How much do we need for that? We’d still have six million in the bank. You’ve got a daughter already without anything like that much. We don’t want to raise rich kids, we want to raise happy ones.”

“Yes, but...we don’t need it.”

“No, but it would help, right? You could buy a house, stop paying rent, put some aside for Berthe’s education, and for the next baby. He really means it. We both do.”

D’Artagnan had weapon-grade puppy eyes, and he was using them on eleven right now. Aramis caved. “Then...and only if you honestly, truly think you don’t need the money yourselves, we would be honoured. But, Charles, we’ll manage without, honestly.”

“I know. I’ll tell him.”

“Thank you. You two are amazingly generous.”

“Nah. We’re the lucky ones, having you as friends.”

Aramis had to hug him for that, and ruffle his partner’s hair. He was even more glad the two of them had agreed to be Berthe’s guardian if needed. What better people could anyone want for their child?

Sylvie nearly fainted with shock when Aramis told her what their friends wanted to do. “They can’t! It’s too much.”

“Said all that, made no difference. Best thing we can do is accept it gracefully and use it wisely.”

She pulled out of his embrace. “I’m calling that big goof right now.” Which she did.

When Athos spoke to Aramis next, he joked that they should start their own village, because he and Constance wanted to live in Antony again as well. “And with all these children, we should have big walls and strong gates.”

“I don’t mind if you don't mind. We want to live close to you wherever you end up.” The irony was that Athos and Constance already had a home of their own, since his parents  had given them the apartment they’d been using as a wedding gift. They planned to keep it, and use it as a Paris base when needed. Their closest friends were welcome to use it too, Athos had told them.

“So maybe we should coordinate our house-hunting?”

“Or plan to build if we don’t find anything we like.”

“Sounds like a good idea, actually.”

Sylvie was keen on that idea. “Building my own house has been a dream of mine since I was little. But I never actually thought we could.”

“Then maybe we will.”

The happiness that Porthos and D’Artagnan’s generosity had created lasted exactly three days, until Sylvie called Aramis at work. “Hey, I thought you said Porthos had told Belgard to stay quiet? There’s a report in Le Monde about the two of them, Belgard’s long lost son and all that. They interviewed Belgard the day after Porthos called him.”

“Really? Can you send me the link?”

By the time she’d done so, d’Artagnan came off his call to Porthos and reported what their friend had told him. “The media are badgering his office about him. Belgard went ahead despite what he said.”

Aramis opened the link Sylvie had sent him on his phone, and showed his partner. “Fuck. What do we do now?”

“Time to get some advice about avoiding kidnappers,” Aramis said, completely serious.

Life became absolute hell for his friends. Begging letters, emails, and phone calls, their work places being deluged with requests for interviews with them, and for Porthos, a side dish of nasty racism to go with it all. Athos and Aramis did what they could, as did Sylvie and Constance. Porthos and d’Artagnan both got new phone numbers and email addresses, and had their mail redirected for Porthos to collect at the post office and sift through for genuine letters. Treville and d’Artagnan’s boss both issued a blanket refusal for interviews on behalf of their officers. There were a few doorstoppers, but Porthos dealt with them by threatening them with arrest.

“I could kill him,” Porthos fumed when the six of them met up at Constance’s café for dinner. “Why would he do that? Selfish dickhead.”

“You haven’t called him?” Athos asked.

“No, and I’m not gonna. Played me for a fool and all. And what for?”

“Good question,” Constance said. “His company’s share prices dropped like a stone the day that article came out. They’ve recovered, but what kind of investor puts out a story that makes his own shares fall?”

“Why would they fall?” d’Artagnan asked.

Athos answered. “Because Belgard said in the interview that he was looking to bring Porthos into the company, maybe even as chief director one day, and he said some unflattering things about his daughter’s management. Stock markets worry about inexperienced individuals in charge of companies, and also spats within family businesses.”

“But why would he do that?” Porthos asked. “He offered me shares and I turned ‘em down.”

“Why indeed,” Athos said, looking thoughtful.

“Anyway, that puts paid to me being in touch again. Wanker. I don’t like being lied to.”

“Understandable,” Aramis said. “And you can’t write it off as him being giddy with excitement. You got in touch before that interview took place.”

“He can take care of his flippin’ daughter on his own,” Porthos said. “I’m done with the lot of them.”

************************

Porthos had thought that to be nothing but the truth, but it turned out he was rubbish at prediction. Captain Treville called him into his office as soon as Porthos turned up for his shift. “Porthos, I’ve taken the liberty of de-rostering you for three days.”

“Sir? Did I do something wrong?”

“Not at all. Have a seat, son.” Porthos obeyed, still worried about what he could have done to bring this on. “I didn’t tell you this before because, well, I didn’t want to influence your decisions, but I’ve known of Marcus Belgard for a long time. My late wife was a teacher at the secondary school where he taught science.”

It was news to Porthos that the boss had ever been married, as well as Belgard having been a teacher once upon a time. “Okay?”

“Belgard inherited money from a childless uncle when he was thirty, but he remained a teacher for at least a year after that. However, he left that school, and teaching, rather abruptly during the final semester in 1983.”

“The year I was born?”

“Yes. Could have been coincidence, but when I heard he’d claimed to be your father, I went back over my wife’s diaries, our letters, and then did some digging. It turns out Belgard left that school because he’d made a student pregnant and was about to be disciplined and most likely sacked over it. A fourteen-year-old student. And it wasn’t the first time there had been unsavoury rumours about his behaviour with young girls.”

“Nice,” Porthos said. “But what—”

“Wait. I contacted the hospital where you were born. You believe your mother died when you were young, yes?” Porthos nodded. “Actually, she gave you up for adoption at the hospital where you were born. She gave a false name, her mother’s maiden name, and once she left the hospital, she disappeared. But that wasn’t her first visit to hospital. She’d turned up several months before at an emergency room suffering from a cracked wrist and severe bruising on her abdomen and thighs. She admitted that she’d been beaten by the father of her baby, but refused to give his name, and ran away before more details could be obtained.”

“Belgard,” Porthos whispered. “She’s...alive?”

“Yes.” Porthos gripped the edge of the desk to steady himself. “I wanted to be certain before I told you this, because I know what an enormous shock it will be. But she’s alive and living in Calais. This is why I’ve de-rostered you. I’ve done the same for Athos. I’m giving you three days to go find her, Porthos, and he can go with you.”

“Boss.” All Porthos could do was stare at him.

“Athos is telling your husband as we speak, so he'll understand. Athos knows d’Artagnan isn’t free this week, but we didn’t want to delay telling you any longer.”

“He knew?”

“He helped, but I swore him to secrecy until we had confirmation. He has a car arranged, the full details on where your mother is living, and my blessing.”

Porthos wasn’t often lost for words, or unable to speak because of raw emotion. He was now. “Boss, I...you did this?”

“With pleasure, Porthos. You deserve a much better parent than Marcus Belgard, and I believe you still have one. So, go find her.”

Porthos staggered out and over to Athos’s desk. “You bastard.”

Athos lifted an eyebrow. “Yes. Are you ready to go?”

“Charles?”

“Send his love and encouragement. You can call him while I drive.”

“I just...my mum?”

“Is alive. Come on, none of us are getting any younger.”

They only stopped to pick up their spare clothes from their lockers before going to the garage to collect the hire car. Athos drove smoothly and quickly, and in complete silence, waiting for Porthos to speak if he wanted.  But Porthos didn’t. He clutched the piece of paper with the name and address on it, and wondered if this was real, or some fantasy cooked up by his brain to compensate for the shit Belgard had put him through.

************************

“I should be with him,” d’Artagnan fretted after Athos’s call. “He’ll need me.”

Aramis knew the kid was worried so he stayed patient. “Yes, he will. But Athos will take the first shift, and you can collect all the pieces and glue them back together again.”

“Do you have any idea what this will mean to him?”

“Yes, I do. Our job will be help him, and also stop him heading over to Belgard’s house to kill him once he absorbs what this all means about what Belgard told him. ‘Love of my life’, my backside.”

“He was thirty-five, thirty-six, and she was fourteen. What a fucking creep!”

“Yes. You were right to be wary. Now stop worrying. He’s in the best possible hands, and he’ll call you when he’s had a chance to absorb it all. We have work to do, my friend.”

************************

The journey to Calais took three hours. Porthos found his hands clenching and unclenching on his thighs. Finally, Athos took a hand off the wheel and put it on Porthos’s wrist. “I am not taking to your doom.”

“What if she don’t want me? She gave me up. That’s nearly as bad....”

“As Belgard? A fourteen-year-old girl, beaten by her lover, abandoned by him or running from him in fear?”

“When you put it that way....”

“And even now, it would not be easy. It would have been less so thirty years ago.”

“Do you know if she has family?”

Athos put his hand back on the steering wheel and shook his head. “Not for certain. Treville concentrated on finding her, for good reason.”

“Belgard doesn’t know?”

“I bloody hope not.”

Athos’s unusual fierceness made Porthos really look at his friend’s expression for the first time since they’d left. “You think...he’d hurt her?”

“He did before. And for all his playacting with you, he’s a powerful and nasty man. Papa had brief dealings with him a long time ago, and told me Belgrade made his skin crawl.”

“He never said.”

“It wasn’t relevant to your question. Papa does not gossip.”

Porthos nodded. “No, he doesn’t.”

“And the son-in-law seems to follow his father-in-law’s lead when it comes to women. He has a record for assaulting young girls. Fortunately, if you have good lawyers, many things can be made to...disappear.” Athos’s nostrils flared in disgust as he said the last bit.

“When did you know all this, Athos?”

“Not soon enough. I’m sorry.”

“Doesn’t matter. He showed his true colours soon enough.”

The neighbourhood was poor, the house belonging to the address even poorer. Athos hung back to watch the car, or so he said, while Porthos walked up to the shabby door and knocked. No answer. He felt...old. Maybe this was a dream.

But when he knocked again, it was opened as his hand fell back to his side. A short, thin woman with fine, lined features, hair in neat cornrows, stood there. “Good morning, madame. I’m looking for Marie-Cessette Dumas, also known as Marie-Cessette du Vallon.”

She raised her hand and touched his cheek. “Porthos?”

His heart stopped. He reached out and clasped her hand. “Maman.”

************************

“Of course you have to bring her back here. Right away, Porthos! God, I’m so happy for you! Love you.”

D’Artagnan hung up and turned to Aramis with a huge grin. “He found her, and she wanted him.”

“And he’s bringing her to Antony.”

“Yes. She’s got nothing, she’s poor and ill, and Porthos just swept her up and told her he was taking her home. I think I might cry, I’m so happy for him.”

“We all are. When will they get back?”

“I don’t know.” He looked at his watch. “Three, four hours? Just after we get back, I think.”

“Hope you’ve got food in the fridge.” D’Artagnan looked stricken. “I’ll ask Sylvie to help.”

“Thank you. This is brilliant news!”

Aramis laughed, so pleased for his friends, and desperately curious to meet Porthos’s mother and learn the true story behind her son’s abandonment.

************************

Porthos sat in the back with his mother all the way home, and she held his hand tight, as if she was afraid he would disappear on her. “My son, my beautiful son,” she kept saying as tears fell down her face.

“It’s all right, Maman. We found you and I’m never leaving you again.”

They stopped for a meal in Arras, and found a café nearly as good as Le Roitelet. His mother kept apologising for not being well dressed enough and that the food was too expensive for someone like her, and that she didn’t need something this fancy.

Athos took her hand. “Madame, this is the happiest day of my best friend’s life. Will you allow me to celebrate this with him, and with you?” She nodded silently. Athos bowed and kissed her hand, then took her into the café like she was a queen.

Over the meal, Porthos learned some of what Belgard had done to her. He had seduced her when she was thirteen, and had become frantic when she became pregnant when she was barely fourteen. A devout Catholic, she would not consider an abortion, and he went insane with anger.

“He kicked me and hit me to try and make the baby come early. I put my arm in front of my stomach like this,” she showed them, “to protect the baby...to protect you, Porthos...but he kicked it and broke my wrist. When I screamed, he got frightened someone would hear, and ran away.”

Porthos put his arm around her. “You’re a brave woman, Maman.”

“Not really. He said he would kill me and my child, and I believed him. So, when the time came, I used another name, and hid you under it, to give you away. Then I ran away from my family to my mother’s relatives in Calais. Eventually my papa found me, but I didn’t want to come back to Paris because I was too scared of Belgard. You were a beautiful baby. My heart was torn to pieces when I let you go. My heart didn’t stop bleeding until today.”

Porthos held her tight and looked at Athos with eyes so full of tears he couldn’t see his friend. “We will keep you safe now, madame,” Athos promised. “He will never hurt either of you again.”

She ate like a bird, but she loved the meal. Porthos vowed to feed her as well as this every day for the rest of her life. “And you can live with me and my husband as long as you want to.”

“Husband? Is he nice?”

“Very nice.”

She smiled shyly. “Is he...handsome?”

Porthos grinned, and pulled out his phone to show her. She stroked the screen.  “Oh my God. He’s a pretty one. But is he a good man?”

“The best. Athos?”

“Yes, I assure you, Charles is a very good man. Only Porthos is a better one.”

“Of course he is,” she said, smiling at them both.

************************

Athos called twenty minutes out from their arrival to let them know he would be dropping Porthos and his mother at the building, and driving back to Paris, leaving them to settle in peace. Aramis and Sylvie would only stay long enough to make sure Porthos and d’Artagnan would be okay and had everything in the apartment they needed. D’Artagnan had pleaded with them to stay at least that long. The kid was jumping out of his skin with nerves. “What if she doesn’t like me?”

“D’Artagnan, have anyone not adored you as soon as they met you?” Sylvie shook her head as she said this, looking at Aramis who grinned back.

“Of course.”

Sylvie fixed him with a look. “Name one.”

“That...that woman. The one who bit me and called me the devil. Aramis, you remember?”

“The ninety-year-old with dementia who thought you were a burglar?”

“Um. And that guy who swore at me.”

“Ah yes, the bag snatcher you tripped by accident, allowing the police officer behind him to catch him.”

Sylvie rolled his eyes. “Charles, you aren’t real, I swear. Anyway, she’ll love you, I just know it.”

“But what if she doesn’t?”

“I give up.” She turned to Aramis. “How the hell do you cope with him?”

“I’m talented and patient.”

“Must be.” She looked out the window. “There they are. Porthos and his mother.” She waved. “They saw me. Now look normal, d’Artagnan.” D’Artagnan sat down, then bounced up again. Sylvie sighed. “Just...stand there.”

They heard the key in the lock, and a tiny black lady came in, with her enormous son behind her. D’Artagnan dashed forward to clasp the woman’s hand in his. ‘Welcome home, maman. I’m Charles.” He bent to kiss her cheek. “Come in.”

She smiled at him and let him lead her to the sofa, but then she spotted Sylvie and Aramis. “Porthos?”

“Maman, this is Sylvie and Aramis. Guys, my mother, Marie-Cessette.”

Sylvie came over and clasped Marie-Cessette’s hand. “Byenveni, manman.”

“Mèsi poutèt ou, mwen renmen anpil.” She turned to Porthos. “You have Haitian friends?”

“I do,” he said, staring at Sylvie in surprise.

“My grandmother was from Haiti, manman, but I only speak a little creole. This is my husband, Aramis. He works with Charles.”

Aramis came over, took her hand and kissed her cheek. “I’m very pleased to meet you, Marie-Cessette.” He looked up at Porthos. “We’re going now. We just wanted to meet this beautiful lady.”

“I’ll call you, okay? Thank you for helping us.”

“No problem. Have a lovely evening together, my friends.”

Sylvie laid her head on his shoulder as they walked to the car. “I think I might cry, it’s so lovely. Porthos deserves this.”

“They both do,” Aramis said. “I think I might cry too.”

************************

Discovering his mother was alive, having her with him, gave Porthos more joy than he knew what to do with. But at the same time, he was angry and incredibly sad at what Belgard had done to her, and how his actions had destroyed her hopes and happiness. She had had a very hard life. She hadn’t finished her education, so she ended up working for her relatives for long hours and little pay in food processing, until arthritis made too difficult for her to continue four years ago. She wasn’t even fifty but she moved like an old woman. She had never married, although a couple of times she had hooked up with men who had treated her badly. It was like Belgrade had poisoned her entire life.

When he said this to her, she’d only smiled. “But he could not poison you, and you have come back to me. So, he has lost and I have won.”

He kissed her hand, his cheeks wet with tears. “We both won.”

She was amazed that Belgard had given him so much money, some of which he insisted she would have, and the idea of living with Porthos and d’Artagnan was a dream come true, she said. She wanted to contribute in some way, so Porthos suggested she could cook if she felt like it, but not do any other chores. He quickly realised that this was a mistake, because that made her feel like a guest, afraid to take any initiative. So, he said she should do what she wanted, but that ‘her two sons’, as she called them, would take care of her, not the other way around.

He arranged a phone and cash, applied for a debit card on his account she could use, and told her she should spend what she liked. He was afraid she would be lonely and bored once he went back to work, so he enlisted Sylvie’s help. On the days when Porthos and d’Artagnan were both working, and Aramis wasn't home, Sylvie would pick her up and take her back to their apartment, so Maman could watch Berthe while Sylvie worked, and the two of them could talk about Haiti or anything else they pleased. Sylvie knew the best places to buy good ingredients too. Maman said she loved to cook, so Constance suggested that if she was interested, Le Roitelet would be happy to sell Haitian sweets like pen patet and bonbon sirop.

It would take a while for them all to settle into a routine, but it would work out. Maman and Porthos had grieved for each other all their lives, and now that grief was over. Everything else would be easy.

One thing Porthos bought before he returned to work was the biggest box of the best cigars he could find in Antony. Treville had a weakness for them, and Porthos owed him so, so much.

D’Artagnan was off work the day Porthos was due to return. He came downstairs with him to say goodbye. Since the weather was dry, he thought he might take Maman for a walk, and out to lunch. “You give her a wonderful day,” Porthos said. “So far as I’m concerned, every day is her birthday.”

D’Artagnan grinned. “Fine by me. I love treating nice people.” He leaned in to kiss Porthos’s cheek. “Have a good day, love.”

Porthos started to answer, heard the crack of a gunshot and felt D’Artagnan’s shudder, and clutched at his husband as he sagged to the ground. Another gunshot, and someone further down the street screamed in fear. He dragged D’Artagnan behind the car, little protection though it was, and pulled out his phone, dialling 112. “Officer Porthos du Vallon.” He gave his location and police ID. “Shots fired. Officer needs assistance. Civilian down. Repeat, shots fired, gunman at large.”

The gunfire stopped. He didn’t dare peek over the car to look or draw his service pistol to return fire, and to drag d’Artagnan into the building would expose them. Frantically, he felt around D’Artagnan’s body to see where he’d been hit. There was so much blood, he couldn’t tell at first, but worked out the bullet had hit the side of the chest, an entry wound visible but no exit wound. “I’m a police officer,” he yelled as he stuffed his handkerchief against the hole and held it there. “I’ve called for help. You can’t get away!”

He heard sirens. He kept his head down, his right hand holding his service pistol, and his left hand over the wound in D’Artagnan’s side. D’Artagnan was conscious, face sweaty and pale. “P’thos.” His voice was barely a whisper.

“Don’t talk, love. I’ve got you.” He looked around. The street was empty, but there were people around, he was sure of it.

A police vehicle pulled up behind his car and he risked raising his hand to signal them. He told the two officers where he thought the shots had come from. They stayed behind the vehicles waiting for the SWAT team, one keeping watch while the other helped Porthos with d’Artagnan.

When the SWAT team arrived, they gave Porthos and the others cover while they rushed d’Artagnan was rushed to safety, and to the SAMU team waiting around the corner. Porthos watched despairingly as the doctor and paramedics worked on his husband, then, far too late, remembered that Maman would be upstairs frightened and worried.

He called her and did his best to calm her, telling her to stay inside, and someone would come up just as soon as it was safe. He couldn’t understand the stream of worried creole that followed, but he got the gist. “Maman, I’ll be fine. Stay inside. I’ll call you again as soon as I can.”

A flurry of excitement across and down the road, with armed officers shouting and aiming their weapons. Porthos tore his eyes off d’Artagnan to look at what was happened. Someone was bailed up just out of his line of sight.

One of the paramedics called his attention back. “We’re taking him to the hospital now. You’ll follow?”

“Yeah. Charles?” He took d’Artagnan’s hand. His husband was drifting, but his eyes opened a slit when Porthos called his name. “Stay with me. You refuse to die, okay?”

D’Artagnan’s lips moved, repeating Porthos’s words although no sound came out. “Love you,” Porthos said, then let the paramedics take him into the ambulance.

He called Aramis, his eyes now on the scene unfolding down the road. They had someone under arrest, but he couldn’t tell who it was. “Aramis, there’s a situation outside our building. Someone just shot Charles.”

“My God. How is he? Are you safe?”

“He’s...not good. He was shot in the side of the chest, towards the back. I’m okay, but I gotta go to the hospital. Can you come over here to pick up Maman? Call her first and check if the lockdown is over. I think they’ve got the guy, so, hopefully that’ll be soon.”

“Of course. Don’t worry about her. Tell him to stay strong.”

“Yeah,” Porthos said, though he didn’t know d’Artagnan would ever be awake again to hear it. The wound was enormous. “Gotta go.”

“Call me when you have news. I’ll tell Athos.”

“Thanks.” He hung up and walked over to the nearest armed officer. “What’s happening?”

“You the reporter? We have a suspect. Did you get a look at the shooter?”

“No. I dived down with my husband as soon as he was hit. Who is he?”

“Someone called Antoine Levesque. We’re running a check on him now.”

Porthos felt like someone had shot him with a Taser. “Fuck. I know who he is. Why was he trying to kill my partner?”

The officer raised an eyebrow. “Why do you think he wasn’t trying to kill you?”

************************

To Aramis’s relief, Marie-Cessette was as calm as anyone could expect of someone in her situation, though understandably worried about her ‘sons’. He could give her little comfort beyond collecting her from Porthos’s apartment and bringing her back to theirs, but she took it all with good grace and apologised for being a nuisance. “I could stay there. I’m not helpless.”

Sylvie hugged her. “Maman, Porthos would worry, and he doesn’t need that now. Please stay?”

“Of course, my child. If you want to go out, I can mind the baby.”

They’d had plans, but knowing d’Artagnan had life-threatening injuries and Porthos would be going out of his mind with worry meant those plans were suddenly of no importance. Aramis ran some errands while Marie-Cessette looked after Berthe, and Sylvie did the essential tasks for Ana, who was aghast at the news and urged Sylvie not to worry about her but concentrate on her friends and their maman. “Is there anything I can do?”

“No, darling,” Sylvie said. “We’re just holding on for news. But thank you.”

“Let me know, and please give them my good wishes.”

“I’ll call Athos while I’m out, though he might already know about this,” Aramis said, putting on his coat.

“And we thought things were going so well,” Sylvie said, her mouth drooping sorrowfully.

Athos hadn’t heard, in fact, probably because it wasn’t Porthos who’d been shot. “I’ll come to the hospital as soon as you or he thinks we won’t be in the way. We can do shifts to look after Berthe and Marie-Cessette.”

“Thanks. I haven’t worked out how we’ll do it, but we’ll manage. Athos, if d’Artagnan dies....”

“We’ll just have to get Porthos through it. No point in worrying now. Christ, what a year and it’s only mid-March.”

“If you want Charles at your wedding, you might have to push it back a bit, if your mother is okay with that.”

“She’ll be fine. She’s doing well, which is one bit of good news. Just worry about them for now. If I hear anything...hang on, the captain is just....” Athos put his hand over his phone, so Aramis waited. “Jesus. The shooter was Antoine Levesque.”

“The son-in-law? Why in God’s name would he want to kill d’Artagnan?”

“Or Porthos. It has to be tied to Belgard.”

“Does Porthos know?”

“Yes. They already asked him about the connection. He has no idea why Levesque or Belgard would want either of them dead, and Levesque isn’t talking.”

“Then you and your mates better deal with that, while we handle the victim side. Porthos will want blood for this.”

“He won’t be the only one. Talk later, my friend.”

Levesque was a creep to match his father-in-law, but why the hell would he want to kill Porthos or his husband? Just because the two of them had faced off the family that once? Or did Belgard want to cover up what he had done with Marie-Cessette?

Aramis had seen a lot of evil things in his life, but he’d never been able to fathom the mind-set of someone wanting to kill another person who had never done them a scrap of harm, and he hoped he never would.

************************

It was three in the afternoon before Porthos was able to see his husband, and only briefly. He was taken to the ICU, and allowed in to the ward where d’Artagnan lay, surrounded by drips and machines, on oxygen and leads to a heart monitor. “Hey, Charles.” He touched d’Artagnan’s hand.

No reaction at first, but when he took a firmer grip on d’Artagnan’s hand, d’Artagnan’s eyes opened and he gave Porthos a weak smile. Porthos grinned back in teary relief. “You had to go one better than me, didn’t you? Not just shot but proper wounded.”

He stroked d’Artagnan’s hand with his thumb. “They caught the bloke. Belgard’s son-in-law. Fucked if I know what his problem is.” D’Artagnan’s heart rate increased. “Settle down. Your job is to get well and out of this place. Maman is okay. Aramis and Sylvie have her. The doctor says you’re doing well. Might be a while before you’re back at work though. Constance will have another story for the paper.”

D’Artagnan smiled again. “You in pain?” D’Artagnan moved his head in a tiny nod to indicate he wasn’t. “Good. Listen, they won’t let me stay long, love. I’ll probably come back tomorrow as soon as they’ll let me see you again.” Porthos bent and kissed d’Artagnan’s hand. “Just get better. Don’t worry about us. I love you.”

He saw d’Artagnan’s lips moving. Probably saying “I love you too.” Porthos stood and kissed d’Artagnan’s cheek. “And don’t go flirting with them nurses. I know you got a thing for them.”

D’Artagnan rolled his eyes and Porthos grinned. “Gotcha. See you tomorrow.”

The doctor on duty assured Porthos that between the sedation and the pain relief, d’Artagnan would be mostly out of it until mid-morning the next day. “He’s in good hands, and we will call you if his condition changes.”

Porthos nodded. He didn’t ask for meaningless promises because he knew that even a minor injury could go sour. He thanked the doctor for his help, and headed to his car, calling Aramis on his way to say he was coming over.

“How is he?”

“Stable. Drugged to the eyeballs.”

“Yes, he will be. Come back, brother, so we can feed you.” Aramis’s words made him hungry, and he remembered then he hadn’t eaten since breakfast.

He was wrapped in three pairs of arms when he walked into Aramis and Sylvie’s apartment, but his main worry was that Maman was okay. She held his face in her hands. “Baby, is he safe?”

“For now, Maman.” He broke down and she held him tight, even though she only came up to the middle of his chest. Sylvie guided the pair of them over to the sofa, and a little later, Aramis put a mug of tea into his hand. “Have some bread. Supper’s coming up.”

He felt so bad about crying all over his maman like this, but still, she was there to cry over and he would never not be amazed by that. She petted him and soothed him and told him Charles was strong and brave and would come through this. He wiped his eyes and tried to be strong, but she saw through that. “He is your love. Of course you’ll cry.”

When he calmed down, Sylvie told him to come and eat. His hunger woke up again and the lamb casserole was exactly what he needed.

“Feel better?” Aramis asked when he finished a bowlful and polished off some bread.

“Much. Sorry.” The others all tsked at him.

“Did they say how long d’Artagnan was likely to be an in-patient?” Sylvie asked.

“No. A while, I suppose. A week?” Aramis nodded. “I’ll take leave. I’ll be a wreck at work.”

“Until they know whether Levesque was acting alone,” Aramis said, “and what his motives were, Athos said to tell you that you should be cautious about leaving the apartment. They can move the two of you if you want.”

“How the hell am I supposed to stop someone coming after me in broad daylight in the middle of the street?”

“Maybe you should call him.” So Porthos did.

After he told Athos how Charles was, Athos repeated what Aramis had passed on. “Treville can arrange protection for the two of you, or you could go to a safe house.”

He wasn’t doing that to his mother on top of everything else. “No way. Guards if you think we need it, but has that shithead not said why he did it?”

“He’ll crack, don’t worry. Just have the protection for twenty-four hours. Forty-eight at the most. Marie-Cessette will be safe then if you’re at the hospital.”

“Yeah, okay. We’ll go back to our place in an hour or so.”

“They’ll call you when they’re ready, and you can arrange them to follow you. Is there anything you need?”

“The head of Marcus Belgard in a bucket.”

“I’ll see what I can do. Uh, don’t contact him, will you?”

Even though his friend couldn’t see, Porthos shook his head in exasperation. “Athos.”

“Yes, I know. Stay away from any of that crew. Give my love to your mother. And to you and Charles, of course.”

“Thank you. Love to Constance as well.”

He sighed as he hung up. “Looks like you lot are going to be the only couple of the three of us who isn’t under armed guard.”

“They think there’s someone still out there?” Sylvie asked, her hand reaching for Aramis’s.

“They don’t know because Levesque ain’t talking. Don’t worry, Maman,” he said as she looked at him. “It’s not a big deal, and not for very long.”

“We sincerely hope not,” Aramis said. “Belgard’s head in a bucket?”

“For my birthday. Put it on the list.”

“Of course.”

************************

As Athos predicted, Levesque finally cracked, and before breakfast. Porthos was the target, his wife the instigator, and both Levesques were now in custody. That meant the close protection was no longer needed, which was one thing off Porthos’s mind.

Even better, d’Artagnan was more conscious when Porthos came to see him the next day, and Maman was allowed to visit as well. He looked better too, though he still had as many appliances and drips attached to him. Maman held his hand and assured him they were fine and that he was well loved. Porthos told him what they knew.

“Why?” d’Artagnan whispered.

“Jealousy, Levesque said. Has to be more to it.” He stroked d’Artagnan’s hair back from his forehead. “Don’t worry about it. There’s a bunch of cops working on it because shooting a cop’s spouse is considered nearly as bad as shooting one of us.”

“Shooting...is bad...for...anyone.”

“True.” He bent and kissed his forehead.

A nurse came in. “Monsieur, madame, we just have to change his dressings. Would you please step out for a few minutes?”

“Sure. Back soon, love.”

To Porthos’s surprise, he had visitors in the waiting area—Athos and Captain Treville. “Hey, boss, nice of you to come visit. This is Maman.”

Treville offered his hand to Maman, who took it. He bowed, then kissed her hand. “It is my great honour to meet you, Marie-Cessette.”

“Maman, Captain Treville worked with Athos to find you, and send me to you.”

She clutched her hands to her breast. “You are an angel, captain. You both are.”

“No, madame. Just doing our job, righting a terrible wrong and bringing our friend to the woman who needed him. And the son needed you.”

She patted his hand and he let it go. “Are you here to see my other son?”

“Yes, madame. But we also need to speak to Porthos—in private. Would you be offended if I asked if you could stay with Athos while I speak to your boy?”

She smiled. “Not at all. How could you ever offend me?”

Athos offered his arm and she took it, letting him lead her towards the cafeteria. The captain went over to a chair and indicated Porthos should join him. “Eleanor Levesque and her husband are busy blaming each other.”

“Aw, how sweet.”

“Quite. But they’ve given some information which has implicated Belgard in other matters. Porthos, we want your help. It’s not absolutely essential but it’ll help make a stronger case. It’ll mean going to see him and wearing a wire.”

“When?”

“As soon as possible, so you can pose as the enraged husband of a critically injured d’Artagnan.”

Porthos snarled. “I am the enraged husband of a critically injured d’Artagnan.”

“Then it should be easy to burst in and confront him on that basis. Only...you can’t really act in anger. You’re there to obtain admissions from him. Can you do that?”

“Yes, sir, I can. Today soon enough?”

“What about d’Artagnan?” Treville frowned. “Don’t you want to give it a day or so?”

“Sir, if Marcus Belgard is behind this, I want to know. If he’s guilty of littering, I want him put away. He raped my mother. We can’t get him on that, so I want to get him on what we can.”

“Understood. But this has to be strictly by the rules. I know you want vengeance, but if you lose your job, think of how d’Artagnan and Marie-Cessette will feel.”

Porthos sat up straight. “I’ll do my job as a police officer, boss. If you have any doubt, then don’t send me.”

“I have no doubt whatsoever, lieutenant. So, when you’re done here, I’d like you to come to the Paris office. What about your mother? She could come with you, wait in the office.”

“I’ll arrange something for her with Sylvie. I don’t want her involved or near anything to do with Belgard. She’s suffered more than enough because of him.”

Treville nodded. “Yes, of course. Take your time. Athos was hoping to see your man, I know.”

“Charles will want to see him too. Now, tell me why those buggers really tried to kill me.”

************************

Porthos wore his uniform because it represented everything Belgard wasn’t, and what he had made of his life despite his sire’s attempt to end it before he had even been born. He stood straight and tall, and walked with dignity behind Belgard’s butler. It wasn’t an act for the listening detectives or his boss. It was because he knew he was better than Belgard and always had been, money or no money. He had nothing to fear, and nothing to be ashamed of.

Belgard received him in his office again. “Porthos! You should have called. We could have had lunch together.”

“Would’ve been a little difficult to arrange about hospital visits.”

“I don’t—”

“Your son-in-law shot my husband, because your daughter told him to. Which I’m sure you knew.”

Belgard held up his hands. “I didn’t. Good heavens. Why on earth would they do such a thing?”

“I’m sure you know. He’s alive, by the way. Thanks for asking.”

Belgard smoothly covered his mistake. “I’m glad to hear it. I still don’t know why they would want to hurt your husband.”

Porthos pulled out a chair and sat in it on the other side of Belgard’s desk. “They didn’t. They wanted to kill me.”

Belgard put his hand over his heart. “No. Even Eleanor wouldn’t dare.”

“Yeah? You gave her plenty of reason to, Papa. Telling her you were gonna kick her out of her job, make me chief director.”

“I never said that,” Belgard said, his tone measured and calm. “I don’t deny I want her out of the position, but why would I say you would replace her?”

“I dunno. You tell me. You told the papers that. Made your share prices drop. You would have noticed that.”

“I merely expressed a wish that my son would take a leading role in the company. There’s nothing wrong with saying that. The share prices did take a brief hit, but they recovered.”

“So, how many shares in the company do you own now? Enough to boot her? Because you don’t want a murderer in charge, do you?” Porthos surprised himself at how calm he was sounding. Inside he was a volcano of anger.

“Actually, I’ve been able to acquire enough shares to take me over fifty percent, so yes, I can remove her.”

Porthos picked up a letter opener and carefully didn’t hold it in a way that might be seen as an actual threat. Belgard’s eyes followed its every move. “When did you get the shares? You didn’t have them when you wrote me that letter, or when I came to see you.”

“Oh, here and there.”

“When?”

“Recently.”

“Like the day the share price dropped?”

“I might have picked up a few then, yes,” Belgard said warily. “I don’t deal with that personally, of course. I have a stock broker who handles all that for me.”

“Sure you do.” Porthos stabbed the letter opener into the desk. Belgard winced, but quickly recovered. “See, I think you’re lying. If you’d had enough shares, you wouldn’t be giving her shit about sacking her. You’d just do it, and gloat after. So, you set up an insurance policy in case you couldn’t vote her out. Me.”

“Porthos, that’s not—”

“Shut up. That was your goal all along, bringing me here, throwing me in her face, goading her. You knew she would fight to keep her job, and you knew Levesque was the kind of bloke to solve the problem with violence. He's more like you than I am. You went out of your way to pose me as a direct threat, hoping they'd try something which put them in prison and out of your way. Your only interest in me was as a weapon."

“Nonsense." But Belgard's eyes didn’t quite meet Porthos’s gaze.

“No, it’s true. I know what kind of man you are.” He pulled the little photo frame Belgard had given him out of his jacket and tossed it onto the desk in front of the man. “That’s fake. Friend of mine did a reverse image search and what do you know? Turned out to be a stock image taken five years ago. My mother's been dead for nearly thirty years. You gave me a fake picture and told me it was my mother, because you think I’m that stupid and needy, and you wanted to tie me to you.”

For the first time, Belgard looked really worried. “Porthos—”

Porthos slammed the flat of his hand down onto the desk. “Why did you lie to me? Why did you try to trick me?”

“I was just trying to give you some comfort, that’s all. Because you had so little.”

“Aw, that’s real nice of you. Considering how you got her pregnant when she was fourteen, I don’t think you cared all that much about comfort for either of us. The hospital said she was beaten and bruised when she came in for her first check-up. Said her boyfriend did it. Who could that have been, do you think?”

“She had another man in her life. I wasn’t the only one.”

Porthos smiled, like the shark with pretty teeth, dear. “Is that right? But you were the one who got her pregnant. I mean, we just proved that and everything. At fourteen. That’s rape.”

Belgard stiffened. “You can’t prosecute. It’s too long ago.”

“Ah, so you did know it was rape. You’re right. You can’t be prosecuted, not for what you did to her. But you can be exposed, and it just so happens I have two friends who are journalists, who will write up the story of what you did to me and my mother, and when they do that, your name will be shit. People will know you’re a rapist, a paedophile, an abuser, a liar. And thanks to you, I’ve now got a high enough profile that papers will want to buy the story. The long-lost son of the billionaire industrialist who raped and abused the girl who bore him.”

“I’ll sue for defamation if one word of this is printed! You have no proof!”

Belgard’s face was now flushed with anger, and ironically, that made Porthos even calmer. “I have hospital records. I have her birth certificate. I have the information from the school where you were employed and where she was your student, which sacked you for your improper behaviour. Oh, I got lots of proof, Belgard. But better than that, I have Marie-Cessette herself.” Belgard stood and backed away. “Yeah, she’s alive. Safe and ready to tell all of it.”

“You lied. You said she was dead!”

“Yeah, you wanted to believe that. I thought she was, but I have good mates who found the truth. We can’t prosecute you for what you did to her, but when we tell her story, then I’m betting other girls will come forward. Because it’s never just one with arseholes like you, is it, Belgard? I bet you’ve been fucking kids for years, and using your money to cover it up. Just like you covered up what your son-in-law was doing. Did he threaten to expose you? Is that why you helped him? And do you think he’ll keep covering for you now?”

“Get out. Get out of my house now!” Spittle flew from his mouth.

Porthos stood. “Yeah, I’m gonna. Of course, one day it’ll be half mine. The house, the company, all of it. Until you die, I’m going to make it my job to drive you and your reputation into the dirt where it belongs, and after you die, every single centime I inherit from you will go towards helping victims of men like you. I’m going to help your other victims tell their story, use the money you gave me to protect them from you, and do my best to see you in prison for what you’ve done.”

“Get out!” Belgard picked up a walking stick from against the wall and swiped at Porthos, who easily dodged it, then grabbed the stick and yanked it out of the man’s hands. “Get away from me!”

Porthos spoke for the benefit of the microphone. “Boss, now might be a good time.”

He went to the door and opened it. Outside stood Athos and Treville. “Sir? He’s all yours.”

Treville walked into the office. “Marcus Belgard, you’re under arrest for insider dealing. Lieutenant de la Fère, please cuff him and take him into custody.”

“With pleasure.” Athos winked at Porthos as he restrained Belgard’s hands behind him, and made him walk past the other two men out the door.

“Well done, Porthos,” Treville said, smiling at him. “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine. Was that any use?”

“Yes, it was. It proves he was trying to remove her, and that buying the shares was part of that plan. The journalist who interviewed him has notes to say he definitely wanted to put you forward as chief director.”

“And Maman? I’m serious about going public.”

“You should. You’re right. There will be other victims. But one word of advice, son—don’t let it eat up your life or hers. Tell the story and move on. You’ll have a good many years to enjoy each other, God willing, and he’s not worth staining them over.”

Porthos nodded. “Make sense. Thanks, boss.”

“No, thank you. I’ll have someone drive you home, or to the hospital, whichever you prefer.”

“Hospital. D’Artagnan needs to hear about this.”

“So he does.” Treville clapped him on the shoulder. “Belgard could have had you as a real son if he’d behaved like a decent human being.”

“Nah. I wouldn’t be me, if I hadn’t been through the system and all that. Samara and me talk about it, how it made us tougher, harder. If I grew up with him, I’d be soft and lazy, a wanker like Levesque. I ain’t ashamed of what I am and what made me like this.”

“Son, there isn’t a thing in your nature to be ashamed of, and I am proud to be your captain. Now, let’s get you back to your husband.”

************************

Aramis drove to the hospital as soon as Porthos sent word he was on his way back. Porthos found him in the waiting room, and to Aramis’s intense relief, looked okay. “How did it go?”

“Pretty well. I need a shower with bleach though.”

“Nothing that man does can stick to you. You’re worth a hundred men like him.”

“I don’t want to talk about him. How’s Maman?”

“Worried but calm. We both adore her, you know.”

Porthos grinned. “Of course you do. She’s my maman. Let’s go find my man.”

D’Artagnan had been moved from ICU to a respiratory high dependency care unit, and to Aramis’s eyes, looked pretty good considering how badly injured he’d been. Porthos grasped his husband’s hand. “How are you, love?”

“Better.” Porthos bent and kissed him. “Hi, Aramis.”

“Hi yourself. There are easier ways to get time off work, you realise.” D’Artagnan gave him the finger. “Lovely. I think the spouse here has news for you.”

They got comfortable in hard chairs, then Porthos told them about confronting Belgard. “He tried to tell me he gave me a fake picture of Maman to ‘comfort’ me.” He made the air quotes with his fingers, his mouth twisting in disgust. “But he fell apart when I told him I planned to expose him. That’ll hurt almost as much as prison.”

“Prison is where he belongs,” Aramis said. D’Artagnan nodded.

“Yeah, agreed. And maybe he’ll end up there anyway. The insider dealing is a serious charge, though he’ll probably get off with a massive fine.”

“You can’t charge him with inciting murder?”

“Unfortunately, no. But what he did there will all come out at the trial and in the reports. HIs reputation will be worthless. I want him to be alone and friendless, living in that creepy old house, until he dies. It’s what he tried to do to Maman.”

“And Eleanor?”

“She’s gonna go to prison, so will that husband of hers. She’ll get out eventually and still be rich, but no one will want to hire her after this.”

“My hero,” d’Artagnan said quietly.

Porthos smiled and shook his head, but Aramis agreed with d’Artagnan. “You’ve taken a shitty situation and made the best of it.”

“They nearly killed Charles. A little lower, a little closer....” Porthos reached for d’Artagnan’s hand. “Scared the shit out of me.”

“Sorry.”

Porthos kissed d’Artagnan’s hand and smiled at him. Aramis stood. “I should leave you to it. Stay for supper tonight?”

“Yeah, I’d like that. Tell Maman I’ll be about an hour.”

“Of course. D’Artagnan, Sylvie will come by tomorrow.”

“Good. Thank you.”

Aramis waved and left. Disappointing though it was that Belgard was not likely to go to prison, Aramis felt that Porthos had left things in a way which gave him closure and satisfaction. And he had his mother.

It was time Aramis called his parents. He missed them, and he needed to tell them he loved them. He was a very lucky man to have them.

************************

Porthos stroked d’Artagnan’s hand. “What do you think?”

“I think I love you very, very much.”

“Me too. Soon as you get out of here, we buy a house. Or land.”

“Land. Three houses. Guest rooms for Samara and her kids, and my mum.”

“Okay. Sylvie designs them?”

“Yep.”

“And kids?”

D’Artagnan grinned. “Yep.”

“You’d agree to anything right now, wouldn’t you?”

“Yep. Because you would never do a bad thing. You’re my superhero, P-man.”

“And you’re my D-man.”

D’Artagnan twisted his hand so he was holding Porthos. “Just your man,” he said. “Always and only yours.”

Porthos raised their hands to his cheek. “Always.”