Thank you to everyone who expressed an interest in reading my future stories. I'm close enough to having this one finished, (and received some gentle prodding to hurry up and post - you know who you are!), so I've decided it's safe to share my next story. Shamelessly d'Artagnan-focused, although all of the boys appear throughout. I hope you enjoy.

His breaths came harshly as he sprinted down the street, the carts and vendors he passed a mere blur as he kept his target firmly in sight. Behind him, he could hear the pounding of Athos' boots, but he knew he was faster. Athos was the master swordsman, his skill and speed with a blade unmatched by any they had encountered; with a blade in his hands, Athos was invincible. Aramis' keen eyes and steady hands allowed him to hit targets that most men would miss, and after his successful shot he would smile demurely as if to dismiss the elegance of his craft. Porthos' exuberance for life was matched by the ferocity with which he fought, and his creative selection of weapons meant he was seldom found defenceless. But he was the swiftest, his feet scissoring so quickly that it appeared as though he glided across the ground rather than pushing off against it. His arms pumped powerfully in concert with his legs and he felt as though he might take flight at any moment.

An oblivious bystander caused him to swerve to one side to avoid a collision and then he sped up again, hair plastered to his head from the force of the rains that had been plaguing Paris for the past two days. A basket was knocked into his path and he leapt over it without slowing. He was gaining on his prey and put on another burst of speed, before bracing himself against the side of a building as he skidded around a corner, the water making the cobblestones beneath his feet slippery. He stumbled to a halt as he scanned the street ahead of him, the sound of a door slamming shut catching his attention and spurring him into motion again. As the door closed behind him he could hear a voice calling his name but there was no time to stop. Wiping a hand across his face, he scrubbed away some of the water that ran into his eyes and squinted into the gloom that was broken by intermittent torches on the walls. As his eyes adjusted to the poor light, he spied a set of stairs and threw himself downwards, exiting into a tunnel. Ahead, he could just make out the vague shape of the man he was chasing, spurring him into a run again.

He could hear someone thundering behind him, the sound of running feet amplified in the enclosed space. Pushing himself hard he could see that he was once again closing the gap between himself and the man they sought until suddenly he was upon him. The man had abruptly stopped and turned to face his pursuer, brandishing a sword in one hand, apparently having decided to try to fight his way out instead of continuing to run. Happy to oblige, he drew his blade and fell into the familiar pose as he waited for the other man to attack. Before either man could make a move toward the other, a rumbling sound caught their attention and both men looked at the dust and small stones that were beginning to pepper their heads.

Lifting a hand to protect his head, he squinted upwards to try and figure out what was happening, missing the other man turning and running away again while he was struck from behind as a body collided with his. As his head struck the wall of the tunnel and his vision dimmed, he heard a voice calling his name, "d'Artagnan!"

It was a slow return to wakefulness, punctuated by confusion and pain as he moved from one state of awareness to the next. First came the feeling of dirt in his mouth and the deep breath he tried to take caused him to choke and cough at the dust that hung in the air around him. Next came the feeling of moisture, which came in the form of an annoying drip that seemed to repeat after many long seconds, before trailing across his cheek to pool at the base of his neck, causing him to shiver. The shiver pulled him closer to awareness as the movement of his body awoke a pain in his side that, once realized, throbbed sharply with each beat of his heart. The pain was good and it sent a surge of adrenaline racing through his veins, reawakening his heavy limbs and clearing the fog from his mind. Clenching a hand into a fist, he forced open his eyes, blinking multiple times to clear his vision before realizing he lay in near darkness. A sound broke through the black that surrounded him and he listened intently, waiting for it to be repeated and, after several seconds, it was.

"d'Artagnan," a breathless voice called. The Gascon forced himself to roll away from the pain in his side and tried to identify the source of the sound. Propped on an elbow, he tried to quiet his breathing until he heard his name again. This time he was able to figure out the direction the voice came from and, with a grunt, he pushed himself upright, struggling to his feet. As he straightened, his side protested and he brought a hand to the source of the pain, shocked when it brushed against something foreign and pointed, causing the agony to spike enough that he dropped to his knees. Bent over, holding himself up with one hand on the ground, the young man panted against the fiery pain that threatened to consume him. When he'd managed to clear the black spots from his vision, he sat back on his heels and looked down at the hand that still hovered over the source of his pain. Lifting his hand, he squinted through the gloom to see it covered in something dark and wet. He looked down at his side, forcing his eyes to focus and spotted the source – he'd been impaled by a piece of wood and the end stuck horrifically from his side. The discovery caused d'Artagnan to pant, nauseous at the sight. He swallowed thickly, feeling the bile beginning to rise in his throat, and managed to turn his head to one side before falling forward and expelling the contents of his stomach. Each contraction of his belly pulled at the wound and he fell sideways when the sickness finally abated. He wasn't sure how long he lay there, but was roused by the persistent voice that was again calling his name. Gathering his strength he pushed himself up, deciding to check on the voice before doing anything further with his injury.

This time he made it to his knees and chose to crawl, the trembling in his limbs warning that standing was not currently an option. Several feet away he could make out another shape and his mind finally provided the information he'd been missing earlier – Athos! Scattered memories returned to him as he recalled the events from earlier. The chase through the downpour, the sudden quiet once they'd entered the tunnels, and Athos' steady presence behind him as they ran. There had been a rumbling and their man had gotten away, but he could remember Athos' voice calling his name before the darkness had descended.

"Athos," d'Artagnan croaked out, his throat still coated with dust. Coughing, he attempted to clear it and tried again, "What happened?"

Athos watched the young man's movements from his spot on the ground, recognizing the boy's addled state and wondering if he'd hit his head. "It would seem that the tunnels have given way under the recent rains," Athos replied.

The Gascon frowned at the weakness of the other man's voice, moving closer so that he could properly examine his friend. His was not pleased at what he saw, Athos' face sweaty and pale even in the dimness and creased with lines of pain. "Where are you hurt?" he asked.

"I seem to be pinned by some of the rubble," Athos explained as he lifted his head slightly to look at his lower body.

"Is that all?" the young man pressed, too familiar with his mentor's propensity to downplay his injuries.

Athos offered a partial shrug, "My leg may be broken."

The information drew a gasp from the boy and he scrubbed a hand across his face as he considered how best to help his friend. "Alright, I'll dig you out and get you out of here so we can have that leg seen to."

"I'm afraid it may not be quite that easy," Athos corrected him. "You were unconscious for quite a while so I've had an opportunity to consider our situation. I believe you'll find that both ends of the tunnel are blocked and we were fortunate enough to be caught in a relatively stable section in the middle."

d'Artagnan's head swivelled first in one direction and then other, confirming the accuracy of his friend's words, and from where he sat it seemed that Athos was correct. "Alright," the young man bit his lip as he thought about his next steps.

A soft voice interrupted his thoughts as Athos brought his attention back, "d'Artagnan, how badly are you injured?"

The young man's head snapped up at the question and he hesitated for a moment about how much information he should share, but remembering Aramis' advice about always being honest about one's capabilities, lest a hidden injury put a brother in harm's way, he decided to be honest. "I seem to have been stabbed by a…" he motioned to his side as he searched for the right word, "a piece of wood or something." Athos' eyes widened at the Gascon's words, his concern for his protégé increasing tenfold.

"How bad is it?" Athos asked.

"Not sure," d'Artagnan admitted. "When I tried to have a look at it earlier, I ended up getting sick." He swallowed with difficulty, wishing for some water to wash away the lingering taste of sickness in his mouth. "I thought I'd try to pull it out later."

"No," Athos exclaimed, "it's best to leave it. You could bleed to death if you pull it out."

d'Artagnan nodded and Athos was certain that the boy had just paled further at his words. "I should try to free you," he said, starting to push himself to his feet.

"Go check the ways out of here first to see they are truly blocked. If you are to expend your energy digging, it would be best directed towards opening one end of the tunnel rather than freeing me."

d'Artagnan offered another shaky nod and managed to regain his feet, standing badly hunched in deference to his injured side before he shuffled away to examine their possible exits. He moved slowly along one wall of the tunnel, keeping a hand on the side to brace himself as the ground shifted and swayed beneath his feet. He gave his head a shake in an effort to clear it, but it had the opposite effect and nearly brought him to his knees as a fresh wave of dizziness assaulted him. When he finally reached one of the blocked ends he pushed at the rubble before him, a few larger pieces forcing him to take a step back as they tumbled down. The rest of the pile remained intact and d'Artagnan could see no gaps or weak portions that might indicate a way through. Grunting, he made his way back in the opposite direction, catching Athos' eye and offering a quick head shake as he passed to let the man know he'd been correct about the blockage. A few feet past where Athos lay trapped, the young man squinted upwards, seeing a section that was lighter than the rest of their space and he held out a hand, noting that water was dripping from the ceiling in the same location. The other end of the tunnel was a twin to the first side he'd examined and, with a huff of frustration, he made his way back to Athos, dropping to his knees beside the man. He panted for a few moments to try and catch his breath before he lifted his head, "You were right, we're completely cut off."

Athos nodded, not having expected anything different. "There's a section a few feet away," the Gascon motioned with his head, "that's letting some light in. It may be possible for us to climb out of here and back up to the streets above."

Athos knew that he would not be climbing anywhere anytime soon, and doubted the young man was in any better condition to do so, but he kept quiet. d'Artagnan pulled himself wearily to his feet so he could start moving some of the debris away from Athos' body. "Why don't you rest for a bit first?" Athos suggested.

The Gascon shook his head, "No, I need to do this now. I'm not sure how badly I'm bleeding and I may not have the strength to do this later." Athos frowned at the honesty of the boy's words and lay back, allowing the young man to begin shifting some of the rubble that trapped him.

It was slow, painstaking work and each boulder, rotten piece of timber and pile of refuse he shifted caused his side to flare, bringing tears to his eyes. Athos watched despairingly from his spot on the ground, seeing the hitches in the Gascon's movements when he moved an especially heavy piece of debris and hearing the half-voiced gasps and whimpers of pain that he couldn't contain. Athos hated the fact that he'd placed d'Artagnan in the position of having to dig him out, especially while the young man was injured, and he resolved to have a look at the injury as soon as the boy allowed it. A particularly loud gasp had Athos looking up sharply and he saw the young man sway, eyes closed, before he folded nearly in half and dropped clumsily to his knees. Athos could hear the boy's wheezing breaths and wished he would lift his head so he could get a better sense of how he was doing.

"d'Artagnan, are you alright?" Athos asked, concern coloring his words.

The Gascon offered a short nod but remained bent over, his damp hair falling forward to obscure his face. After nearly a minute he raised his head to assure his mentor, "S'fine," he said breathlessly. "That stone was heavier than it looked and it caught me off guard." Athos nodded although he didn't believe the young man's claims of being fine. "Can you move at all?" the Gascon asked, wanting to gauge whether his efforts had improved his friend's condition. Athos was still covered from the waist down and had little feeling other than intermittent pangs of pain that shot up from his supposedly broken leg. He tried to move now to see how much latitude, if any, he had and managed to shift one leg slightly while the other was held firmly in place. He tried pulling himself out instead, pushing against some of the debris that lay at his waist, but that only jolted his injured leg and left him throwing his head back on the ground, gasping in pain.

The boy's voice finally cut through the haze of agony and Athos dredged up the strength to respond, "I'm alright." He lifted a shaky hand and wiped it across his brow, unknowingly causing the dirt that stuck there to create a ghoulish streak across his forehead.

Placing a hand on his mentor's shoulder, d'Artagnan countered, "That was not alright." The young man shook his head despondently, "I'm not sure I'll be able to move everything off of you. There are some larger pieces and…" He trailed off, not wanting to voice his guilt and despair at his failing strength that was preventing him from freeing his friend.

Athos' hand rose to join d'Artagnan's at his shoulder as he tried to reassure the boy, "It's alright, d'Artagnan, I know you've done your best. Why don't you rest for a bit and let me have a look at your side?"

The Gascon seemed to blanch at the thought but nodded, shifting to sit next to the older man so that his injured side was closest to his friend, then painfully unlacing his doublet to allow better access. Athos lifted himself up on an elbow and scrutinized the shaft of wood that jutted from the boy's torso. "May I?" he asked, reaching forward to pull the young man's doublet aside. d'Artagnan gave another short nod, closing his eyes and bracing himself against the discomfort that would likely accompany his friend's actions. Athos kept an eye on the young man's face as he slowly slid a hand under the man's doublet, pausing at a hitched intake of air and resuming again when the Gascon exhaled slowly. Having reached the point of entry, Athos slowly pulled the doublet away from d'Artagnan's body, managing to slide it along the length of the wood until it was free. d'Artagnan's face was now covered in a sheen of sweat but he gave another nod of encouragement for Athos to continue so the older man reached for the hem of his shirt, stopping when he realized there was an easier way.

Reaching for d'Artagnan's hand, he took it and guided it to the bottom of the shirt, "Can you rip it upwards from here?" The Gascon did as he was asked, biting his lip as the fabric jarred the debris in his side, then moving his hands away to allow Athos to continue his exam. Without the doublet and shirt covering the extent of the injury, it looked even more horrific, the skin around the wood extremely red and oddly stretched out of shape while it sluggishly oozed blood. Athos was uncertain about whether anything vital would have been damaged, since it really depended on the length of wood that was now embedded within the young man's body. "Brace yourself, d'Artagnan," Athos ordered as he placed a hand on the wood, testing how firmly it sat in the young man's side. For better or for worse, it seemed that it would take a good deal of effort to remove the object from the young man's body and Athos removed his hand as quickly as he could at the young man's whimper of pain.

As soon as his hand was gone, d'Artagnan curled into himself as much as his injury would allow, breathing harshly in an effort to contain his agony. "I'm truly sorry for that, d'Artagnan" Athos apologized, placing a hand at the boy's neck to comfort him. They stayed that way for a minute or two, the Gascon finally looking up, his eyes glazed with pain.

"Guess I'll be holding onto that a little longer," d'Artagnan attempted to joke, but the effect fell short because of the grimace on his face.

"It would seem so," Athos allowed.

"What do we do now?" d'Artagnan asked, looking to his mentor for guidance.

"Now, we wait. I'm certain that Porthos and Aramis will have noticed our absence and will be looking for us. Add to that the fact that the tunnel collapsing is hardly a quiet occurrence and I'm confident that we won't be alone for long." Athos put as much confidence into his words as he could muster, but truthfully he was more troubled by their situation than he let on. It could take rescuers several days to first locate and then dig them out and, based on their current conditions, neither of them was likely to survive more than a couple days; time was of the essence.

To be continued...