A/N: So...now I'm writing random one-shots for a Modern AU. Yay.

These won't be in any particular order, because reasons.

Disclaimer: I don't own BBC's "The Musketeers" in any shape or form.

D'Artagnan is panicking.

There are several things that are causing his panic. The first is that photo of a woman on his laptop screen, which is staring accusingly at him from its pace on his cluttered, messy, and dirty desk. It's a face he knows well, a pretty face which he knows from bitter experience to be hiding a diseased, almost psychopathic personality. It's a face he would have been perfectly content never to see again for the rest of his life.

The second thing is the name written next to the picture; or rather, several names. Judging by the fairly detailed file which accompanies the picture, the woman in the photo has several different aliases. The first one is one d'Artagnan is all too familiar with: Milady de Winter. The second and more troubling name is Anne de la Fère.

And that, in turn, leads to the third thing, which is that Athos is going to kill him in the very near future.

The ex-assassin stares at the laptop screen some more, willing it to change, willing this nightmare to be over before it's even begun. When it inevitably doesn't, he stands up with a snarl and begins pacing frantically around his small apartment. Panic is bubbling in his chest like boiling soup and he feels like he's about to fall apart with the force of his shaking.

Stay calm. Stay calm. Stay calm. Think it through. There had to be a way out of this somehow.

Taking a deep breath in an attempt to calm his nerves, he darts into his kitchen, already putting himself through the motions of preparing tea, that heavenly liquid that has been his faithful friend so many times. The familiar actions help to calm him a little, and by the time a mug of chamomile tea is steaming on the counter-top, he already feels a little bit better.

Not that he's stopped panicking yet, but at least he's no longer considering throwing himself out the nearest window. That's always a plus in his book, especially considering that he lives on the sixth floor.

He wraps his shaking hands around the mug and sips from it, ignoring the way that it scorches his tongue and throat as he leans against the counter. It takes the consuming of about three-quarters of the mug before he feels ready to think about what he's just discovered.

Milady de Winter.

Anne de la Fère.

The first is the name of the woman who blackmailed him into becoming her pet hired assassin, going so far as to threaten him with the death of his fiancée so that he'd remain under her control. The second is the name of the woman who cheated on Athos and killed his brother. Both refer to the same woman, which means that for seven years, d'Artagnan worked for Athos' ex-wife. And that, in turn, means that Athos is probably going to kill him.

D'Artagnan nervously sips at his tea, and considers what he should do.

It takes thirty seconds before he comes to the conclusion that Athos is going to find out somehow anyway, so really, jumping out of a window is currently his best option.

He gulps down the last of his tea and slams the mug down on the counter, before raking his fingers through his hair almost angrily. Really, he was being ridiculous. Milady forced him to work for her. If he hadn't chosen to do as she asked, Constance would have died. He's the victim here, he and Constance and all the people who had fallen on the wrong end of his pistol.

But a part of him, the bruised, broken, paranoid part that continues to fear that his new-found 'friends' might turn against him at any second, the part that was trained to see danger in every corner, fears that Athos will not feel the same way. That the older man will blame d'Artagnan, will hate him for working with his murderous, adulterous ex-wife.

Being hated by Athos...it would destroy him. Athos is the closest thing d'Artagnan has had to a father since the untimely death of Alexandre d'Artagnan. He's d'Artagnan's rock and savior, having given the young man a direction and purpose after the ex-assassin was snatched from Milady's grasp. He's d'Artagnan's mentor and brother and father all wrapped up in one.

D'Artagnan can't lose a father again, he can't.

He won't.

Athos will find out sometime, though. He always does. Hell, all it took on d'Art's part to find out this stupidity is a brief glance through the Musketeer records. He's surprised Athos hasn't found out already.

...He needs to talk to someone. Someone who's familiar with both Athos' and d'Art's backstories, but who can be trusted to keep a secret.

Briefly, he considers Porthos, but the man can't keep a secret to save his life, believing fully in things like 'absolute trust' and 'no secrets between brothers' and a load of other shit which at any other time would sound fabulous but which is currently rather counterproductive for d'Artagnan's continued survival. Which leaves Aramis, resident seducer and 'that-guy-with-the-stupidly-smug-smile-that-just-begs-to-be-hit-with-a-brick'. Oh joy.

Already mentally groaning, d'Art fishes out his mobile from the pocket of the brown blazer he always wears and dials Aramis' number. It rings twice before the marksman picks up, his insufferably husky voice echoing over the line. "Hello?"

D'Artagnan crosses the fingers of the hand not currently holding the phone to his ear. "'Mis?"

"Well hell-o there, gorgeous!" Dammit, d'Art can practically hear the man's stupid smile. "How are you today?"

"First of all, don't call me 'gorgeous' ever again or I'll shoot you in the knee."

Aramis audibly pouts. "You're no fun, d'Artagnan."

"I'm an assassin, I'm not exactly in the business of being fun."

"Correction; you're an ex-assassin."

"...Whatever. I'm still a Musketeer. I still shoot people for a living."

"Ah, but you don't shoot them fatally, my little Gascon friend. Or at least, you try not to. I don't think you try to, at any rate. Do you try to?"

A sigh. "Aramis."

"Right. Sorry. What is it you wanted to talk about?"

D'Artagnan stared at the opposite wall contemplatively. "Something serious. Can you come to my apartment for a bit? I need your help."

He half-expects the Spaniard to make some kind of raunchy quip, but to his surprise, Aramis replies with all of the lighthearted humor drained out of his voice, his tone business-like and completely without laughter. "Of course, d'Art. Meet you in five?"

"Sure."

Aramis terminates the call before d'Artagnan is even able to take the phone away from his ear. D'Artagnan stares at the phone for a long moment before tossing it onto the counter-top and wondering whether he made a good decision or an awful, terrible, monumentally catastrophic one.

Well, if it turns out to be the latter, where there's a window there's always a way.

A/N: I swear to God I'm normally a better writer than this. But this fandom is hard for me to write for for some reason.

Anyway, au revoir, and sorry for inflicting this terrible story on y'all.