A/N: So this is it. This chapter drove me nuts. But it got there. I hope it was all worth it :)

Chapter 5. Closure.

d'Artagnan stretched, lifting his arms high in the air. He relished as his joints popped and cracked, relieving the stiff tension that resided there. He shifted his long legs straight out in front of him, enjoying the shift in position. His movements were followed by a yawn, his mouth opening wider than he thought possible.

His grinned to himself as he settled back into a slump on the chair beside the bed. His mother had always chastised him for not covering his mouth in midst of a yawn. Having been so young when she was lost to him he didn't always remember a great deal about her. But sometimes on the rare occasion a memory would surprise him.

He shifted, pulling one leg up to rest upon his knee. He crossed his arms over his chest, sliding his hands beneath his armpits in an attempt to keep his fingers warm. He felt like he'd been up all night. In fact, aside from a short stint at sleep early in the night, d'Artagnan had been up all night. There was a chill in his bones that spoke of fatigue but he shook it off. It didn't feel right to fall into sleep while someone else still occupied his bed.

He glanced over at his friend. Aramis was asleep ... or unconscious. Despite Maynard's assurances, d'Artagnan wasn't all that convinced that Aramis' condition was as innocent and restful as sleep. He looked horrible. The Spaniards normal healthy complexion gave way to a pale and waxy one. Heat flushed his face and one side of his mouth was completely swollen. Once flushed out and cleaned, the doctor had packed the wound with clean strips of cloth, causing his cheek to bulge. A decent size bruise was showing, spreading out from the split lip he'd received due to the pliers. He looked like he'd gone a few rounds with a raging Porthos and lost spectacularly.

It had been hours since their friend had passed out, ceasing his agonized screams. It had been relief for them all when Aramis had finally lost his battle with consciousness. d'Artagnan would be happy if he never had to hear those sounds again. Since then Porthos and Athos had headed back out to see if they could find any sign of their horses. Porthos had argued that his place was with Aramis but Athos had somehow convinced the big man to leave the house, leaving d'Artagnan in charge of their friend's welfare. It was probably the most important job he'd ever been given.

Aramis shifted on the bed, rolling his head to the side. His eyes twitched under closed lids. As d'Artagnan moved closer he could have sworn he heard the older man mumble something but whatever it was he wasn't sure. d'Artagnan stood, vacating the hard chair and took a seat on the bed. He reached out and plucked the - now not so cold – compress from Aramis' head. It was warm. d'Artagnan, replaced the towel with his hand for a moment and frowned at the heat that still remained there. The danger of fever had still not yet abated.

Dipping the towel in the cool fresh water that Constance had left by the bed, d'Artagnan folded the material and then wiped down his friend's face and neck, careful to avoid the swollen side of his jaw. Aramis sighed but stubbornly kept his eyes closed. His breathing was still a little laboured for d'Artagnan's liking. Soaking the compress one more time in the water, d'Artagnan folded it neatly across Aramis' brow.

"How does he fair?"

Maynard entered the room, carrying a small bowl, a towel and a small bottle. d'Artagnan stood, awkwardly wringing his hands together in front of him. "I don't know. Shouldn't he be awake by now?" It was disconcerting to see their friend look so ill. Aramis was usually the life of the party. He was the one with an easy smile and quick remark that even managed to drag a smile out of Athos on occasion. Aramis seemed to be the heart of their little group. His current condition felt so wrong.

"The infection has infested strongly and his fever was already dangerously high before I arrived. Removing his tooth was the easy part."

d'Artagnan scoffed. Easy? "I somehow think Aramis might beg to differ." It certainly hadn't looked that easy when the old man had practically climbed on the bed to gain leverage to pull the tooth free. It had been a hard fought battle.

"Maybe so. But perhaps he'll be grateful he wasn't awake for the rest."

d'Artagnan had to agree. Lancing the abscess on his gum had been a disgusting and messy experience that Aramis would be blissfully ignorant about. He wouldn't soon forget the smell either. It was for the best that he'd passed out. d'Artagnan moved out of the way so that Maynard could take his place at the edge of the bed. His attention moved back to Aramis. His condition hadn't changed since the last time he glanced at him and he felt his concern return with a vengeance.

"He will be okay, won't he?" d'Artagnan asked, crossing his arms back across his chest.

Maynard focused on d'Artagnan for a moment, studying him. He nodded. "He is young and healthy. That plays well in his favour."

"His fever?"

"High," Maynard agreed. "But once it breaks most of the danger will be gone. In the meantime, I will aid him to fight the infection." He held up the concoction he'd mixed into a bowl.

d'Artagnan leaned closer, peering into the bowl at the greenish paste. He scrunched up his nose as the odd smell hit his senses. "What is it?" He asked, taking a step back.

"It is a combination of some herbs and a particular plant that has been seen to be quite effective in fighting infection. I use it sparingly as it doesn't exactly grow in these parts. This is my last sample."

"Perhaps we could get you more," d'Artagnan suggested.

Maynard shook his head. "You'd be travelling a long way, my boy. There are other herbs that work almost as well. Do not concern yourself over it."

They hadn't exactly given Maynard a choice to come with them. But d'Artagnan knew genuine care when he saw it. This man before him cared about his patient. He was confident and he hadn't once mentioned blood-letting for which d'Artagnan knew Aramis would appreciate … if he were conscious. Aramis had never really liked the idea even when necessary. "We do appreciate your help, Maynard, even Porthos."

"Porthos cares about your friend quite a lot I see," Maynard stated as he pulled blood soaked strips of cloth from Aramis lax mouth.

d'Artagnan nodded, finding himself trying not to look at the disgusting soggy pieces of material, instead focusing on his friend's closed eyes. There was a pinched look between his brows as even in sleep the ministrations disturbed him. d'Artagnan watched, expecting Aramis to wake up any second. He wanted to see the brown of his friend's eyes but despite his need to see Aramis awake and coherent, d'Artagnan thought it was probably for the best – once again - that he remain asleep … for at least this part.

"They're always together," d'Artagnan agreed. While the brotherhood between his three companions stood out amongst all the other Musketeers in the regiment, the bond that seemed to hold Aramis and Porthos together was something else entirely. You rarely saw one without the other. d'Artagnan himself had recently been faced with the fierce protective nature Aramis carried when Porthos had been wrongly accused of murder. Aramis had launched at him for even slightly doubting his friend's innocence. They seemed to know each other in and out. "They're brothers." There was no other term that fit better.

"Porthos always was loyal." Maynard applied his paste to Aramis wounded gum. Aramis moaned slightly and instinctively tried to move his head away. d'Artagnan moved around to the other side of the bed and rested his hand on Aramis' hot furrowed brow, preventing his escape. Maynard glanced at him with a thankful expression before continuing. "I can see he has found a home with his new friends. It is a shame that his loyalty didn't extend to his old friends."

"You're wrong," d'Artagnan replied with conviction.

Maynard raised an eyebrow, pausing only for a moment before he took fresh strips of cloth to pack inside Aramis' mouth. "Am I then?"

"Porthos is a good man. He was telling you the truth about Charon."

"What would you know of it?"

"I know that the Cardinal had paid Charon to sneak barrels of gunpowder into the court. I know that he'd paid Charon to destroy the court using that gunpowder."

Maynard finished his ministrations, shaking his head. "I cannot believe …"

"We have the confession from the man who paid for the gun powder," d'Artagnan told him. "I know that Charon had been planning on leaving the court with Flea. I also know that when Flea and Porthos found out about his plan Charon attacked them."

"Flea would have told me."

"Would she? Think about it. No-one in the Court knew. Why sully Charon's name when the threat had been eliminated? She didn't want to do that to Charon and she clearly didn't want to hurt you."

"You do not know her."

"You're right," d'Artagnan agreed, stealing his hand back from its place upon Aramis' head. "I don't know her. But Porthos does and he'll tell you he's a great judge of character. She didn't tell you because she obviously saw no point in disappointing you."

Maynard was quiet for a moment, his mind in turmoil over the possible truth in d'Artagnan's words. He brought a hand up to his weathered face, pinching the bridge of his nose as he took a long drawn out breath. This man cared … a lot. It was no wonder that a young man like Porthos had taken a liking to the healer.

"Porthos did what he could to save the innocent people in the court."

Maynard raised his head. "And himself. He killed a man that he'd once called brother."

"No …"

Both d'Artagnan and Maynard froze, their discussion halted as they looked down at the man in the bed. Aramis' eyes were open, just barely, his face tight with pain.

"Aramis?" d'Artagnan asked, hoping his friend was actually awake and not just in some fevered dream.

"I …" Aramis struggled to form the words around the ball of cloth in his mouth. "I d…did'it," he slurred sleepily. "…killed'im."

He moaned, quiet and strained. His eyes closed but d'Artagnan suspected he hadn't yet fallen back under the blanket of sleep. He sighed, closing his own eyes for a brief second as Maynard watched the young Musketeer on the bed and absorbed his words. Of course Aramis would take this moment to awaken and of course Aramis would feel the need - even in a fevered state - to clear Porthos' name and admit guilt.

"What … what does he mean?" Maynard questioned, and even with his eyes closed, d'Artagnan could feel the old man's gaze upon him.

Aramis moaned again. D'Artagnan opened his eyes in time to see Aramis' sluggish attempt at opening his own. "I … killed … C-Charon…" He stated slowly and concisely, taking the time to pronounce each word.

"Why?" Maynard ask, resting a hand on Aramis' arm.

"Because Charon 'ad been about to plunge a knife … in my back." Porthos' voice -though quiet- seemed to boom around the room. The shock of his entrance caused both Maynard and d'Artagnan to jump slightly. "Charon tried to take my life. Aramis saved it."

Maynard was quiet for a long moment, his attention on Aramis, avoiding Porthos as he walked into the room. Aramis for his part had fallen back into a trembling sleep. But he'd done his self-appointed job. He'd protected Porthos by clearing his name just as surely as he had protected him by running his sword through Charon's body. Always the protector.

Porthos moved into the room, the floorboards creaking with each step. His eyes were dark and his lips formed a thin line full of tension. Maynard kept his eyes on Aramis, his expression unreadable and d'Artagnan felt himself poising to defend his friend should the old man feel the need to exact revenge for an act that obviously disturbed him greatly.

"You know that 'e shot Flea?" Porthos questioned, his gaze challenging as he took a few more steps into the room.

Maynard's gaze finally tore from Aramis' face. He looked up at Porthos, shaking his head in denial. "No. He wouldn't."

"Why are you so quick to believe in Charon but not Porthos?" d'Artagnan asked, lifting his chin in defiance when Maynard's gaze turned to land on him for a moment.

Maynard stood, packing his items in his satchel. "This is none of your business." He paused to point at d'Artagnan. "I'll not be questioned by you."

"You know? I'd like to know the answer to that too." Porthos stalked over to his former mentor and pulled him upright. "What did I ever do to cause you to think so poorly of me?"

"You left!" Maynard shouted, rounding on Porthos.

The anger on Porthos' face simmered into one of confusion. "You gave me your blessing. You're getting' angry at me for that? You told me I could do great things. You told me I deserved more. Was'at a lie now?"

"Not at all. It weren't your leaving that disappointed me."

"Then out with it!" Porthos bellowed, throwing his arms up in the air in frustration.

d'Artagnan's hand reached for Aramis' forearm as the older man flinched at the sudden explosion. His eyes snapped open, glazed and alarmed. d'Artagnan hovered, watching as Aramis struggled to comprehend his surroundings. His forehead was still creased with obvious pain and d'Artagnan was half a second away from telling Porthos and Maynard to take their quarrel outside. "Por…thos?"

"Shhh ... he's okay," d'Artagnan soothed. He wiped the wet towel over Aramis' flushed face, wiping the cool material slowly over his shoulders and chest. "Just rest."

"You both made promises. Charon kept his," Maynard continued as if Aramis hadn't interrupted. "You promised you'd never forget where you came from!"

"So what? Your feelings are hurt, is'at it?"

When Maynard spoke again his voice was low and angry. "I called for you,"

Porthos looked up, his brows knitted further in confusion. "What?"

"I called for you. You don't remember? I sent Charon to find you and bring you home."

Porthos' head tilted to the side, his frown deepening even further. "I saw Charon … once. Many years ago. He mentioned nothin'. In fact he told me that you were all doin' just fine without me."

"No no no, that cannot be right."

Porthos laughed humourlessly. "Charon … 'e wasn't the honest, loyal student you thought 'im to be. Why did you call for me?"

There was silence again between the two men but d'Artagnan could feel the tension shift. The fire in Maynard's stance had abated and the old man looked older and more weary than he had the whole short time that d'Artagnan had been in his presence. He turned away, walking to the window. Aramis fidgeted again. d'Artagnan caught the musketeer's wandering hand as it reached for his jaw. "Leave it." d'Artagnan pressed the towel to the side of his face. Aramis' face was set in a pained expression. Releasing his friend's hand, d'Artagnan dipped the towel once again into the cool water and then folded it, pressing it to Aramis' forehead.

"You going to tell me or what?" Porthos asked, becoming impatient.

"It … It was winter. Flea fell seriously ill and …" Maynard paused and turned back to look at Porthos then. His eyes no longer angry but sad. "I'd heard of your commission with the Musketeers so I knew where to find you and I sent Charon to get you. Flea was … I thought her dead on many occasions but…"

"Flea was sick?" Porthos glanced between his friends, emotions running wild before his attention was back with his former mentor. "Charon never said. Come'ta think of it, Flea never said anythin' either."

"It seems Flea has neglected to tell us both many things." Maynard paused as he fell into the memory. "She called out for you many times, Porthos. I told Charon to bring you home but he came back without you. Told us you had no interest in coming back, that you had deserted us completely."

"An' you believed 'im?"

"I had no choice! You didn't return. Flea wouldn't believe you'd completely abandoned us … her, not in this way. She always said there must have been a good explanation."

"There was!" Porthos growled.

"What is going on in here?" Constance voice joined the chaos in the room. One glance in her direction and d'Artagnan could see her ire was up. Her gaze danced between Porthos and Maynard before she strode into the room, Athos following behind at a slower pace. She stopped in front of Porthos. "You ... you should be ashamed of yourself. Your friend is sick, you shouldn't be making a racket." She brushed past the large man and moved towards the bed. "If you must argue, you can do it elsewhere. Aramis doesn't need this." She snatched the damp towel from d'Artagnan's grip before he could protest and pointed towards the door. "All of you, out ... now!"

"Are you sure..." d'Artagnan started and then stood up, holding his hands up in defence of the fire that was about to get directed at him. This was not the time to argue with her.

"Come along, gentlemen. Aramis is in more than capable hands," Athos stood beside the door, waiting, looking pointedly at Porthos. Porthos stalked out of the room, anger and frustration radiating off him in waves. d'Artagnan followed his friend out of the room.

xxxxAll4Onexxxx

Porthos was angry and frustrated as he held the back of the dining chair in a crushing grip. He heard Athos quietly closed the door behind him and as d'Artagnan moved over to the corner of the room it fell into an uncomfortable silence.

His outside jaunt with Athos that morning had done nothing to ease his agitation. Athos had pulled him away from Aramis' bedside telling him that he needed help to track down their missing horses. While Porthos hadn't doubted the validity of the request he also hadn't been born yesterday. Athos was distracting him from the problems at hand. He had given him something to concentrate on other than his very sick best friend and a former mentor that seemed content to blame him for just about everything that happened since he'd left the court. Deep down Porthos had appreciated his friend's efforts but when their search for their missing steeds had turned up empty it had been just another stress added to the pile that was growing.

"I've sent a message to the Captain to let him know where we are and why we've missed this morning's muster." Athos explained to d'Artagnan as he remained leaning against the door frame. "Constance has been kind enough to allow Aramis to stay here until he is well enough to leave."

"Good ... that's good," d'Artagnan agreed and out of the corner of Porthos' eye he could see the boy figit, crossing one leg over the other as he leaned back against a small counter. His hands slipped in to rest at the waist of his breeches before he changed his mind and crossed his arms over his chest.

"We'll have to show ourselves soon however."

"I'm not leaving 'ere until I know Aramis is okay," Porthos stated without room for argument. There was no way he would be able to concentrate until Aramis showed signs of improving. Then he could strangle him for putting them all through something so stupid.

"I'm sure the Captain will understand," d'Artagnan tried.

"I should take my leave," Maynard interrupted his voice quiet and distracted.

Porthos looked up from where he was leaning forward and caught sight of the old man peering out the window by the door. "Leave? What about Aramis?"

"I have done all I can for your friend."

"He's not out of the woods yet," Athos stated matter of factly.

"No," Maynard agreed, giving sustenance to Athos' concerns. "His fever rages and his body fights infection. But with my herbal treatment and his loyal friends fighting against his fever, I believe he stands a better chance than some. I believe your friend will be fine."

"So ... it's just a matter of getting his temperature down," d'Artagnan queried.

"I've left some of the herbal paste beside his bed. Apply that until it's no more and keep trying to bring down his fever. It's the best you can do for him right now. Some might prescribe leeches but ..."

"Aramis hates the idea," Porthos grumbled, running a hand through his short dark curls. "Always has." Aramis' aversion to blood-letting almost rivalled that of his hatred of dentists. He was determined that the process made your body weaker and more susceptible to disease and infection. Porthos gripped the chair harder and looked down, his head hanging low.

Frustration, fatigue and emotions crashed around inside him in a chaotic mess. Charon's disloyalty had run deeper than he had even imagined. The lying and scheming, it saddened him. Whatever had happened between the two of them, wherever their lives had lead Charon had still been an important part of his life and yet some form of jealously had come between them. Porthos hadn't noticed ... or maybe he hadn't wanted to. It seemed bizarre to think that a man who was so determined to keep him out of their lives had gone out of his way to save him from execution.

"I ... cannot..."

"You've done a great deal for us, Monsieur. It isn't much but it is the least we can do."

Porthos looked back up to find Athos pressing a coin pouch into Maynard's hands. He hadn't even thought about the payment. He'd been so preoccupied with Aramis and the missing horses and the ... dredged up past that payment for Maynard's services had been furthest thing from his mind.

Maynard hesitated, meeting Porthos' gaze with an expression that Porthos wasn't used to seeing – uncertainty. Maynard was always sure of himself, even when he was very wrong. It seemed Porthos wasn't the only person rocked by the miscommunication and half truths that had been learned that day.

"Athos is right," d'Artagnan joined in. He stepped forward and added a couple of coins to the pouch. "We're grateful for your assistance."

"Thank you, both of you. I ... Porthos, would you see me out?" Maynard asked as he slipped the coin bag into his satchel.

With all eyes now on him, Porthos straightened up and rolled his shoulders, stretching his back muscles before moving around the table. "I'll be back."

Once outside, Porthos walked in silence with Maynard into the streets of Paris. It was bustling with all different kinds of people going about their daily business. The streets were filled with noise and life. The sun was bright in the sky despite the chill still in the air.

"I would have come, y'know," Porthos stated. He needed the man to know that. He would have come had he known Flea was ill. He would have been there in a heartbeat. 'What-if's' circled in his mind. What if Flea had died? He would have never forgiven himself; he would never have forgiven Charon.

Maynard slowed his pace, shifting the strap of his satchel higher on his shoulder.

"Had Charon told me..." Porthos began and paused, letting his sentence trail off.

"I know," Maynard sighed coming to a complete stop.

"Do you?" Porthos questioned. "Because you haven't believed a word I've bloody said from the moment we came to collect you. What's changed now?"

"Your friends."

Porthos raised an eyebrow. "My friends changed your mind?"

"They seem like good people."

"They're some of the best people I've known."

"And you trust them."

"With my life," Porthos agreed without hesitation.

"Their dedication to you is just as strong. Your friend - Aramis – he confessed to killing Charon."

Porthos shook his head. "He's an idiot." He would have to make sure his friend understood that it wasn't in his best interest to antagonise the person who was charged with saving his life.

"Maybe so but he is an honest one," Maynard stated resolutely. "He was in pain and feverish and his words were honest. I have much to talk about with Flea upon my return."

"She was tryin' to protect us both."

"She always did. She cares a great deal," Maynard told him. It was true. Flea was a strong woman and she put on a front of steel but behind all that she cared - about everyone.

"I'm sorry." The words were out of Porthos' mouth before he had a chance to think about it. He'd been raging against the allegations to his integrity all night and he was beyond tired. But he felt the need to apologise – for his attitude, for Charon not being the man that Maynard had thought he was. He was genuinely sorry.

"For what? For Charon? My boy, Charon's actions were his own doing, not yours. I am the one who should be apologising. I am sorry I was so quick to believe the worst."

Porthos allowed a smile to force itself onto his face. He shook his head, glancing at the venders across the street but not really seeing them. He glanced back at Maynard. "Think nothin' of it. Thank you for treating 'im. I owe you ... again."

Maynard shook his head and then reached out an old weathered hand. "Promise to visit an old man from time to time and we can forget any debts that may or may not be owed."

Porthos glanced down at the offering and smiled again, accepting Maynard's hand. "You 'ave my word."

"Bring your friend with you," Maynard said as he stood back. "I'd like to meet him when he's not delirious."

"I will. Can I see you back to the court?" Porthos asked.

"Don't mind me, my boy. I can look after myself. Go back to your friends."

Porthos watched as the old man didn't wait for a response. Maynard turned on his heel and began walking away from Porthos and the Bonacieux home. Porthos felt lighter than he had since this whole mess had begun the night before. In fact he felt lighter than he had since the whole debacle with Charon had happened a few short months before.

"Porthos!"

The sound of someone calling his name dragged his attention away from Maynard's retreating back. Looking to his right, Porthos could see that Claude – one of the more veteran Musketeers – was making his way over to him, his own horse trailing behind him.

"Is something the matter?" Porthos asked. They'd had a terrible night and now a fellow Musketeer was tracking him down in the middle of Paris. This couldn't be good.

Claude shook his head, dismissing Porthos' concern with a wave of his hand. "Don't fret. Nothing has happened. However…" he began as he stopped in front of Porthos. He reached inside his doublet and pulled out a folded piece of paper. "Captain Treville told me to find you here and give this to you or Athos on my way out of Paris."

"Thank you."

He handed the paper to Porthos, tipping is hat back a little higher on his forehead. He moved back towards his horse, moving the reigns back over his head and prepared to mount. He paused and looked back at Porthos. "A fair warning? The Captain seems in a foul mood. I would tread carefully."

Porthos nodded. "Noted." He moved forward and gripped the horses bridle as Claude pulled himself onto the horse. He stroked the Horses long nose, missing his own even more for doing it. He glanced up at Claude. "Where you off to?"

"Missives to go to Chatre."

Porthos remembered the last time the Captain had sent someone to Chatre. It hadn't turned out so well. "Be safe." He said, patting the horses neck.

Claude pulled away and tipped his hat forward and winked. "Always."

Porthos smiled as his comrade left. Looking down at the parchment still in his hand, Porthos' smile turned into a frown. Of course the Captain wasn't happy. They'd taken off in the middle of the night and they'd managed to lose their horses in the meantime.

He headed back into the house, hearing the quiet voices of his friends as he re-entered.

"Even if I did know the whole story, it is not my story to tell," Athos said.

"I'm betting Aramis would know."

"And he'd tell you the exact same thing. Why don't you ask Porthos yourself?"

"Ask Porthos what?" Porthos interrupted the conversation causing d'Artagnan to jump in surprise and Athos to smile knowingly at their young friend.

"d'Artagnan here was curious about something," Athos told him, pouring Porthos a cup of wine and handing it to him. Porthos looked at d'Artagnan expectantly.

d'Artagnan walked over and sat down at the table. "You mentioned before that Maynard saved your eye."

"He did," Porthos agreed, taking a seat across from the lad.

"What happened?"

Porthos glanced between his two friends and while Athos wasn't pushing for anything he was attentively waiting to see if d'Artagnan would get an answer. "Okay …" He started. It wasn't a secret. It was just something he wasn't exactly proud of. He didn't exactly go advertising his previous career choice. But these were his brothers and just like Aramis hadn't judged him all those years ago, neither would Athos and d'Artagnan.

"It's a simple story really. It was just before I left the court. I was still working for Maynard and I was real good at it. Real good. Practice makes perfect. I'd even say I enjoyed it. It was dangerous and excitin'."

"What changed?" d'Artagnan asked.

"I was gettin' cocky, hittin' bigger targets ... important targets. I 'ad a couple of close calls. Charon thought it was excitin' too but I started thinking, you know, about my mother."

"Your mother?"

"I was real young when she died but I remember certain things, like her kind eyes, her warm arms, she was beautiful and ... she always wanted more for me. I started to make wind about leavin', about doing something more honourable with my life."

"Given that you had become such a valuable source of income, how did your doctor feel about that?" Athos asked, including himself in the enquiry for the first time.

"Maynard wasn't all that 'appy about it." He remembered that conversation well. "He asked me to wait, to think about it, spoke about my raw talent. Anyway … the last job I went on I … I was in way over my head. I was in the middle of Paris in broad daylight, got caught red handed by the noble that I was thieving from. His men took me aside and decided to teach me a lesson. They sliced me up good." Porthos traced the scar on his eye.

"How'd you get away?"

"I didn't. They left me in some back alley to die. Next time I woke, I was in Maynard's home feeling all kinds of sorry for myself. Maynard looked after me. He was afraid I was gonna lose my eye. I couldnt open it probably for over a week. I don't pretend to know what he did. 'E's always concocting somethin' and whatever it was it eventually worked. In a couple of weeks I could open my eye fully and eventually it stopped leaking. The scar never went away though. I'd learned my lesson. But Maynard 'e'd changed his tune. Once I was healed enough to be movin' around again he told me I was right, that I could make more of myself. 'e told me that I deserved more than dying in some alley so if I wanted to leave, then I should."

"He was right," Athos told him, reaching over and patting his arm.

"He saved my life, my eye and gave me the final push I needed to leave. I joined the military and eventually found my way to the Musketeers thanks to the Captain… speaking of…" Porthos pulled out the note from the Captain that he had still yet to open. "Claude came by with this."

He handed the note to Athos who wasted no time in opening it. Porthos and d'Artagnan waited silently as Athos read the message from their leader. The older man's brows arched, he smiled and then winced, all without saying a word.

xxxAll4Onexxxx

The ache in his jaw was the first thing that Aramis recognised upon awakening. It had been constant for so long now that he wondered if he would ever feel normal ... ever again. The ache was dull now though, present enough just to remind him that his mouth had seen trauma recently.

He swallowed and then frowned, rolling his head to the left. He contemplated opening his eyes but he was so tired. He considered trying to let his mind wander and fall back under the spell of sleep but his head was starting to pound.

"Aramis?"

The voice startled him. It shouldn't have. Each and every time he'd woken up there had been someone there with him. His memories were a mixture of Porthos' hovering, Athos' quiet and steady presence, d'Artagnan's anxiousness and Constance's gentle touch. He wasn't sure whether it had all been imagined or not but it had helped to balance out the general awfulness that he'd felt.

Aramis forced his heavy lids apart, his bleary gaze eventually focusing on d'Artagnan's curious stare that was too close for his liking. The boy was peering over him like he was inspecting an insect. "d'Artagnan," Aramis whispered. He reached up with a tired hand and patted the boy's chest. "Personal space."

"Oh … sorry," d'Artagnan answered sheepishly. He pulled back, seating himself on the edge of the bed. "How are you feeling?"

Aramis thought about that for a moment as he took stock of himself. He felt heavy and tired and sweaty. He cringed as his tongue felt around the extraction site. There was still a foul taste in his mouth, a mixture of blood and that awful paste Constance insisted on administering. He cringed again as his tongue hit a tender spot.

"Don't. It needs to heal properly," d'Artagnan admonished.

"How long?" Aramis asked, squinting as he looked for the window. There was an early morning light shining through the curtains. He realised he had no idea what day it was. He glanced around the room, squinting more as if it would somehow help him see better. There was no-one else in the room. Athos and Porthos were nowhere to be seen.

d'Artagnan stood. He reached for Aramis, helping him to sit up against the headboard. The younger man reached behind Aramis to resituate his pillows. "It's been a whole day and night since Maynard left."

"Where … where are the others?"

"Captain Treville called them back to the Garrison. He wasn't exactly thrilled with three of his best soldiers disappearing in the middle of the night without a word. They'll be back soon though."

Aramis allowed himself to be pushed into a reclined position against the head of the bed. He watched d'Artagnan quietly as the boy fussed around him. He would have given Porthos a run for his money with his mother hen routine. He smiled at the thought.

"What are you smiling at?" d'Artagnan questioned.

"It's just … it's good to see you," Aramis told him. He reached up and felt along his lip, fingers pressing against the damaged flesh there. "Ow …"

d'Artagnan pulled his hand away. "I've been here all night."

"I don't remember," Aramis admitted. He remembered waking up here and there. He remembered everything being foggy and bleary and hearing comforting voices of his friends.

"I'm not surprised. Your fever got dangerously high. You had us worried. If your fever hadn't of broken this morning Porthos had been ready to walk back into the Court of Miracles and drag Maynard back here. As it was it took a lot of convincing to get him to obey orders and report to Treville."

"Maynard?" Aramis asked. d'Artagnan had used that name twice since he had awoken. Why did it feel so familiar?

"Porthos' healer from the court. Don't you remember?" d'Artagnan asked.

Maynard. Healer. He remembered now. Porthos had shared with him his past with Maynard not long after they had met. It had been months after the Savoy massacre. It had proved as a good distraction from the nightmares that plagued him and another stepping stone in the friendship that had been growing between them.

Remembering Maynard brought other memories to the forefront. He'd been trapped, in pain, held down by his brothers as Maynard had yanked and pulled at his broken tooth. The memory was all a haze of pain and fear and he cringed. "I remember now."

The door to the room opened, causing both Aramis and d'Artagnan to look towards it. A weary looking Porthos and Athos filed into the room. Porthos' eyes lit up as his gaze met Aramis'. "You're awake."

"So it would seem," Aramis commented.

"How are you feeling?" Athos asked, stopping by the foot of the bed.

"Like I have been trampled by a stampede of horses," Aramis admitted, rubbing at his jaw again.

"Don't talk about horses," Porthos groaned. He took hold of the chair next to the bed and twirled it around so it was facing backwards. He took a seat, resting his forearms on the back of the chair.

Aramis' brow furrowed at the curious words from his friend. "Why can't I talk about horses?"

D'Artagnan chuckled. "Porthos managed to lose our horses in our efforts to get you help."

Porthos swatted at their young friend. "I didn't lose our horses. They were stolen."

"I don't think Captain Treville appreciated the difference," Athos replied dryly. He folded his arms across his chest.

"We got them back," Porthos argued.

"How did you get them back?" d'Artagnan asked, twisting around to face Porthos.

"It seems our horse thieves tried selling our horses to the wrong person," Athos explained. "The buyer recognised the emblem on the saddle gear straight away and sent message to the garrison. Musketeers arrived to find the farmer holding four men hostage and our horses safe and sound."

"You're serious aren't you?" Aramis asked. He didn't know whether to be amused or concerned by the turn of events.

"See … no harm done," Porthos told them all with a smile.

"Sounds like you all had quite the adventure." Aramis ran a hand through his sweaty hair. It felt disgusting. A wash was definitely in his future. He glanced around at his friends, taking in their fatigue and the very real relief he could see in their body language.

"We were lucky," Athos stated, raining on Porthos' positive parade. "Almost unbelievably lucky. As were you." Their leader looked pointedly at Aramis, his gaze deadly serious.

"I'm sorry." The words were out of Aramis' mouth before Athos had barely finished his sentence.

"You scared the hell out of us," d'Artagnan told him earnestly.

Aramis sighed, looking towards the roof. "I never meant it to get this far out of control. I honestly thought I could handle it," he told them, bringing his gaze back to settle on his hands in front of him.

"You always do and you're always wrong when it comes to your own bloody health," Porthos growled in frustration. "Next time this 'appens? The tooth is better out than in. I will pull the damn tooth out myself."

"You won't need to. I can promise you I won't be so foolish twice." All of the drama that had occurred over something so small made him feel like an idiot. He was sure his friends would agree readily. He'd endured weeks of pain and stress and all because he'd been too scared to let a doctor near his tooth. Aramis shook his head, mentally cursing himself. He was certainly an idiot. "I have learnt my lesson and … I owe you."

"Of course you do. Porthos has already been scheming ways to make you pay," Athos told him, a certain amusement in his voice. Porthos laughed, his grin wide as more stress seemed to slip from his shoulders.

Aramis groaned. "I'm going to regret this aren't I?"

"Better that than ruining your reputation by dying from a toothache, I imagine," d'Artagnan chuckled.

"Touché," Aramis agreed.

The End

A/N: First of all, I want to thank everyone that has not only read this story but left their feedback. It was my first attempt in the Musketeers fandom and it was meant to be a short story simply involving a toothache and it ended up exploding into a 5 chapter monster. So thank you for all your support and feedback. I hope the ending was okay. And I hope if I decide to write more I'll see you all back again for more :)

Also, Thank you to my Bestest Friend Angelustatt and my mother for helping me with sanity reads :) You guys are awesome.