A/N: While I try to get myself better focused on finishing my measly wip, I'm gathering up some short one-shots that've been collecting dust. I also have a few roughly drawn Athos-centric short fics, and one Porthos one, but if those see the light of day, I'll do it in another post. So, for now, Aramis.

First prompt: As Aramis never flinches on the show, even when a musket is being fired at his feet, the prompter wanted a fic playing on this premise.

Unflinching

-o-

As though calming his nerves to load a musket under duress, d'Artagnan took a steadying breath, centering his weight on the balls of his feet. With his back to the wall he peered around the corner and found the walkway empty all the way to Treville's office. Perfect.

Body appropriately galvanized, he tiptoed to the balcony with silent precision, hefting the weight in his hand with nimble fingers as he darted a quick glance over the railing to ensure his quarry hadn't moved.

And there he was down below. Aramis. Feet kicked onto the planked table as he lounged precariously. His weight balancing hazardously on two shaky legs of a tilted stool while his back took rest against a support beam. Head bent sedately over a book. Absorbed. Unprepared.

D'Artagnan smiled. Narrowing his eyes with determination, he aimed the farrier hammer in his grip at the stacked metal plates sitting at the end of the bench below and counted under his breath.

One.

Two.

On 'three' he set the hammer free, watching with anticipation as it arched quietly through the air.

Striking a mere sword-span away from his quarry's nonchalant lean, it crashed into the plates with a bang and clatter that echoed through the garrison like a musket shot.

Two soldiers near the gate startled upright and glanced over while Serge jerked out from behind the stairs in a twitchy, battle-braced stance. Near the lower level of the armory, Cartier brought to guard the sword he'd been examining and Auguste reached for his flint-lock. The horses outside the stable in the back huffed and snorted while the Musketeers cleaning their coats dropped their brushes and spun.

Aramis however...

Aramis' body did not so much as release a tremor.

No flinch. No cringe. No recoil.

The dangerously balanced stool below him remained as steady as sovereign's throne.

"Good morning, d'Artagnan," he greeted placidly, not even lifting his head as he turned the page in the tome he was reading, perfectly engrossed. His voice raised just enough to be heard. "Feeling restless today?"

Frowning through this new defeat, d'Artagnan didn't bother to answer him. Instead, he folded his elbows onto the railing in front of him and slumped, taking no heed as the other occupants in the yard shook their heads at him before going back to business as usual.

Sensing a presence a moment later, d'Artagnan glanced to the side to find Athos had joined him.

"That is not normal." D'Artagnan pointed, watching as Aramis laconically flipped another page. "I mean, I've seen him upset, frustrated—emotional even. But this? Not even a tic? I don't understand how he does it."

"Must it be understood?" Athos asked, cocking his head sideways.

D'Artagnan looked up, believing from the dry tone that he was being teased, then feeling a tiny itch at the base of his neck when he caught the hint of seriousness in Athos' eyes, fleeting though it may have been. Straightening, he examined Athos' face looking for a trace of what he might have missed, then glanced away and sighed glumly. "Perhaps not."

Shuffling closer, Athos patted a hand to d'Artagnan's shoulder. "For what it's worth, that time you hid in the armory and sprung up yelling, I believe you came very close to startling him."

"Not hardly," d'Artagnan returned sourly. Aramis had barely glanced at him, while Porthos had spent the rest of the afternoon mockingly deconstructing the pitch of d'Artagnan's scream.

Very nearly smiling, Athos clapped his shoulder again, glanced over the rail to glimpse Aramis down below, then moved on toward the captain's office.

Bending back over the banister, d'Artagnan braced his elbows and frowned anew.

Perhaps it didn't need to be understood. But like most of the mysterious quirks these three men had brought into his life, he wanted it to be.

-o-