Just in case you guys are curious, D'Artagnan is the musketeer I get asked to whump the most and Athos is the least. Take that as you will.

Athos laid on the bench lazily, enjoying the warm sun raining down on him. He was off to the side of the training area in the front of the garrison. The sky was a gorgeous blue with a nice layer of clouds covering it like gauze, not that Athos could see it with his hat positioned low over his eyes. It was breezy, but it was nice. Kept it from being too hot out.

The rhythmic sounds of training near him were mollifying. Mixed with the relaxed exhaustion of his already worked muscles, it could almost put him to sleep. He enjoyed being left alone when the sun and sounds were soothing like this.

Until a hand shook his shoulder.

Athos pushed his hat back to see a scraggly, scrawny man in a frayed and patched shirt with torn sleeves.

"I'm so sorry to bother you, sir," he stammered, his thin, unshaven face looked terrified that he would be reproached for this, "but I need help and everyone else seems busy." He was older and obviously poor, but his eyes were filled with a kindness and hope almost solely found in children.

As Athos stood up he tried to sort-of smile to put the man at ease. It was a musketeer's job to help.

"I'm Athos. If I can help you, I will."

"Thank you, sir. I'm Pascal. It's not really an emergency, or anything, but it would really mean a lot to me if you could get him."

"Get who?" asked Athos.

"My cat. He went and got himself stuck on your roof."

Athos looked up and, sure enough, a fluffy orange cat sat lazily flicking it's tail on the roof of the building Treville kept his office in.

"I can't climb up myself and get him and I was hoping-"

Athos sighed, removed his hat, and raised a hand to stop him talking. "I'll get him for you."

As Athos climbed the stairs he couldn't help mentally complaining about having to save a cat. Even the red guards could handle that. Rescuing people, sleeping, and self-loathing destructive habits. Those were his talents and cats weren't anywhere on the list.

He reached the top landing. He still had a seven foot climb to the roof. He balanced on the railing connected with the wall, gripped the edge of the shingled roof and hauled himself up. The shingles bit through his pants and scratched grooves in his gloves. He mumbled angrily about this.

There the cat was. Just sitting about three feet away and staring at Athos with lidded eyes and flicking tail.

"Alright cat," said Athos, "you're coming with me."

He bent over to pick the cat up, slightly off balance from the angled roof and thick wind that pushed against him and tugged at his hair. As soon as he lifted it, it turned into a fluffy whirlwind of claws and hissing. Athos held it out as far from him as possible, gripping tightly as it tried to escape his grasp and rip his face. With the wind and the crazy cat and the sloped roof, it was inevitable.

He accidentally stepped backwards off the roof.

There was a weightless second of empty air before he crashed through the landing. Pain erupted throughout his back and bones.

Athos was unconscious before he hit the ground.

He awoke slowly, as if ascending one level to consciousness at a time. He was aware of lying in a bed. Then that he was lying on his stomach. Next the pain. A dull ache at first, but as he awoke it deepened, sharpening at spots. As far as he could tell his injuries were mainly located from his shoulders to his lower back.

"Do you have any idea how many splinters we pulled out of you?"

Athos opened his eyes and shifted his slightly sore neck until he could see Aramis slumped tiredly in a chair by his bed. They were in his room. Porthos sat in his own chair behind Aramis, head bobbing as if he were desperately fighting to stay awake. It was a losing battle. D'Artagnan had given up and sitting in the floor, propped up by the wall, snoring quietly.

"What?" asked Athos, voice dry and cracked.

"No, seriously, we lost count around 112."

Athos licked his dry lips. He was trying to figure out how to tell him this had happened because of a stupid, fleabag cat. He should have left it up there. He should've told the man that since his cat got himself up there, he could get himself down.

"If it makes you feel better," said Aramis, "the cat is perfectly fine. Pascal just left. He said he owes you."

Darn right he does, thought Athos.

"If you ever need anything just let him know, he said."

Athos would remember that.

Aramis began chuckling quietly to himself. Athos' voice wouldn't cooperate so he growled to make him stop.

"I'm sorry," said Aramis, "I just can't picture you being the cat rescuing type. You try so hard to hide it but you're a softie."

Athos let his face speak for him, knowing Aramis knew him well enough to read it. I am no longer the cat rescuing type.

"But don't you feel good about it?"

I feel terrible.

"Isn't saving some poor, defenseless creature worth a few splinters?"

That thing wasn't defenseless.

Aramis chuckled. He patted Athos' thigh before standing. "I'll let you rest. Perhaps tomorrow we can discuss the practicality of implementing cat fighting techniques into our training."

I'm going to kill you.

"Goodnight to you too."

So yeah, it's not a theme or anything. Two cat stories in a row just kinda happened. I hope you enjoyed them both!