Author note: Thanks for all the reviews. I hope you enjoy the last part. I have germ of an idea for a follow up, if you think it needs it, although it would be a little more light hearted than this one turned out to be.

Chapter three

Porthos shouted as Aramis was pushed forward and fell. He shouted as Mollet kicked his friend. He shouted when Mollet began beating Aramis with the lash. He struggled, he pulled, he twisted. Nothing could release him from the grip of the men who held him.

Aramis had tried to fight, Porthos had been proud when he saw Aramis grab the lash and shocked when Mollet had kicked out catching Aramis on the shoulder and forcing him over onto his back. His bruised back, bruises that he had put there. Porthos felt guilty that he had contributed to Aramis' injuries and that his actions were now costing his friend.

The gun shot, when it came, had made everyone in the room jump. So intent were they all on watching the ongoing assault, that none of them had noticed the door open.

Porthos was the first to react, he shrugged off the men holding him and scrambled forward to grab Aramis. He wanted to pull the man away from Mollet. He was heartened to see Aramis trying to drag himself out of harm's way, having reacted only a second or two after Porthos. Despite his injuries the man was still alert enough to realise that something significant had happened.

Neither man needed to have worried. The threat of Mollet was gone. He was dead, his body falling to the floor, the lash still in his hand.

The other men in the room did not move, they did not know what to do. Porthos glanced around, picking out the man with the gun, and realised he had left it leaning against the wall, he was no threat.

He looked over and saw the unmistakable silhouette of Athos framed by the door, the gun still levelled pointing at the space where Mollet's head had been.

Porthos hooked his arms under Aramis and dragged him, as gently as he could, towards the wall. Aramis used his good leg to help push himself away from Mollet. They were both panting.

In his usual calm, commanding tone Athos spoke, 'against the wall,' he indicated with the spent gun for Mollet's men to move to the far wall. They did so, knowing there was no point in fighting. Without their leader, they were directionless.

As Athos dealt with the men Porthos spoke quietly to Aramis, 'can you walk? We need to get you out of here.'

Aramis nodded, although he was obviously in pain and shaken by the beating he had just taken he too wanted to get out. Porthos wrapped an arm around Aramis' waist and slowly pulled him up. He grabbed Aramis left arm and pulled it over his shoulder and manoeuvred him over to the door.

Athos had walked down the steps to give them room, he had picked up the gun that had been left against the wall and was now aiming it at the cowed men.

With difficulty and a few hisses of pain from Aramis, Porthos half dragged his friend up the steps and through the door. They both blinked in the afternoon sunlight.

The courtyard was littered with bodies. Mollet's men had been soundly defeated by the musketeers who had already begun to arrange the bodies for collection. A couple looked over at Porthos and Aramis. Porthos nodded in thanks to them.

D'Artagnan was at their side. He grabbed Aramis' other arm and helped them toward the house. The door was open, they entered the hallway. It was apparent that Mollet was only staying there temporarily, the place was sparsely furnished. A door to the right was ajar.

'In there,' Porthos said indicating the room.

D'Artagnan looked over at a chaise longue, but Porthos moved them over to the table and pulled out a chair, turning it round he manoeuvred Aramis onto it so that he was straddling the seat, leaning forward onto the backrest.

'He 'as injuries to his ribs and back,' said Porthos by way of explanation.

Porthos took in his friend, he had a sheen of sweat on him from the exertion of the walk from the outhouse to where he now sat. He was still panting, unable to take a deep breath as he clutched the back of the chair to keep himself upright. Porthos was worried that even though his ribs had not been broken earlier, that might be different now.

Aramis' shirt was torn in places and there were lines of blood where the lash had broken the skin. Porthos reached forward and grabbed a knife from the table. He started to cut the shirt off, Aramis was shaking, trying not to flinch as the material was peeled off the bloody cuts. Porthos sighed when he saw the state of his friends back. It could have been worse. The lash had not done as much damage as it could have. If the attack had gone on much longer Aramis would have been left with shredded skin that would probably never have healed properly.

A bowl of water and some linen was placed down on the table beside them. Porthos had not even noticed that d'Artagnan had disappeared. He glanced up grateful.

'Aramis?' asked Porthos, resting his hand on the man's shoulder. His injured friend had rested his forehead on the back of the chair once Porthos had finished cutting his shirt.

'Aramis, I need to clean your back, and wrap your ribs…it's not as bad as it could 'ave been.'

'I'm so pleased,' said Aramis quietly, the sarcasm bringing a hint of a smile to Porthos despite his continued feeling of guilt.

'Here,' said d'Artagnan handing Porthos a bottle of spirt he had liberated from Mollet's collection on a sideboard.

Porthos took a swig then handed the bottle to Aramis who took it with a shaking hand. He took a drink from the bottle and handed it back. Porthos noted that d'Artagnan was busying himself tearing the linen into strips.

'Ready?' asked Porthos.

Aramis nodded and grabbed hold of the chair, his knuckles white in anticipation of the pain. Porthos poured the spirit over the injured mans' back. A moan of pain escaped Aramis' lips but he remained upright. Porthos put the bottle down and grabbed one of the strips of fabric and after dipping it in the water began to clean the wounds.

Porthos tried to be as gentle as he could, it was difficult to avoid putting pressure on the bruises. They littered his friends back. He knew d'Artagnan had looked questionably at them. The bruises had clearly not been caused by the lash, any bruising from the lash would show up later. Only Porthos and Aramis knew how they had been caused. Porthos wondered if he would be able to tell the others exactly what had happened. Regardless of where the fault lay, he should not have assaulted Aramis. His anger, at the time, had clouded his judgement and his friend was suffering for it.

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Athos handed over guarding duties to a couple of the musketeers that had fought Mollet's men in the courtyard. He looked across to the entrance of the house and saw Traville waiting for him. Once he had walked the short distance to the steps of the house they both nodded a greeting.

'Well?' asked Traville. He had not been there for the fight having arrived shortly afterwards.

'Aramis is injured, Porthos appears to be alright. They were being held in that outhouse,' Athos pointed across the courtyard, 'Mollet appeared to be readying to leave when we arrived. His men were saddling their horses. Mollet was in there,' again in indicated the outhouse, 'he was beating Aramis with a lash when I killed him.'

'Why Aramis? I thought the man had an issue with Porthos?' asked Treville confused.

'I do not know. They are in the house.'

Athos followed Treville into the house. Porthos was busy wrapping Aramis' torso firmly with bandages. Athos noted the lash marks and bruising to Aramis' back as the bandages covered them up. Aramis was straddling a chair as Porthos tended to him, his head was bowed and he was clearly in pain. D'Artagnan was hovering nearby, ready to be of assistance if he was needed.

They waited until Porthos had finished. D'Artagnan stepped forward and gently wrapped a blanket over Aramis shoulders then placed a cup of water into his hands.

Porthos rose, satisfied that his friend was in good care. He walked over to the others. Athos could tell he was troubled, he had a look of guilt about him.

'We know this was not due to you cheating at cards,' said Athos in an attempt to placate the man.

Porthos looked at him, he made an effort to hide the guilty look, but his eyes remained the same. A hint of culpability about them.

'But I am still responsible for us being taken. Even if it's for somethin' I did years ago.'

'Don't be ridiculous Porthos,' said Traville reaching up and placing his hand on the big musketeer's shoulder, 'you cannot be held responsible for something you did when you were younger, your circumstances were very different then.'

Athos crossed to Aramis who had sat up straighter as he listened to the exchange between Porthos and Traville. His eyes were focused, but his face showed the pain he was in and trying to hide from the others.

'What are your injuries?'

Aramis smiled, obviously appreciating the chance to answer for himself, 'bruised ribs, not broken, I'm sure of it. A badly bruised knee, I cannot put weight on my left leg and the cuts to my back from the lash...'

As Aramis trailed off with his reply Athos wondered why he had not mentioned the bruising to his back, he had been unusually honest with this reply up to that point. Athos doubted the man was unaware of the darkening marks across his back. He did not want to force the issue, but knew that something else had happened that neither man was willing to talk about yet.

'Can you ride? There are several horses in the yard, if we can get you on the back of one it would probably be the best way to get you back to the garrison.'

'Yes,' Aramis replied. His breathing was better, but he was still taking shallow breathes, the pain from his ribs making deeper breaths impossible for the time being, 'but I doubt it will be very graceful.'

'D'Artagnan, see if you can find him a shirt,' Athos paused and looked over to Porthos, 'where are your weapons?'

'Don't know they took 'em, and our jackets, when we first got here.'

'I'll have a look,' said d'Artagnan as he left the room.

Traville pulled out a chair and sat next to Aramis. Porthos stayed where he was watching as Traville engaged Aramis in conversation in an attempt to distract him for a few minutes from his injuries.

Athos stepped up to Porthos and said quietly, 'is there something else that you are not telling me?'

Porthos did not look at Athos at first, he briefly looked down then made eye contact. He was obviously troubled by something. Porthos indicated that he wanted to leave the room to talk. They quietly walked out to the courtyard.

After a pause as Porthos gathered his thoughts he spoke, 'he tried to defend me, he spoke out of turn when Mollet was accusing me of attacking him years ago. Mollet had him beaten…when they 'ad gone I got angry with 'im and slammed him into the wall…more than once,' Porthos took a shaky breath, 'I caused the bruises on 'is back.'

Athos let Porthos finish and considered his words for a few moments.

'You were in an extreme situation,' Athos held up a hand as Porthos was about to speak again, 'I am sure Aramis will not hold it against you. You are clearly contrite about what you did. When Aramis is fit you should talk with him properly and clear the air. I do not want you dwelling on this.'

Porthos did not react he looked away, clearly still troubled. Athos realised the man needed to be kept busy for the time being.

'Bring a couple of the horses over. You can ride next to Aramis, he will probably need an eye kept on him. I am not sure how much longer he can last before he passes out.'

Porthos nodded and started out across the courtyard towards the horses. Athos returned to the house.

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Aramis knew he was fast running out of time. When Mollet had been shot he had felt a surge of energy rush through him, he had been able to help push himself away as Porthos had grabbed him. He had been able, with a lot of help to get up the steps and out onto the court yard. He had even managed to remain conscious when Porthos had cleaned his back and bandaged his ribs. But now after being inelegantly manhandled up on to a horse he could feel his reserves rapidly depleting.

It was not far to the garrison and a bed in the infirmary, Porthos was riding very close by, their legs had brushed against each other more than once. He knew Porthos was keeping a close eye on him, probably suspecting that he would pass out at any moment.

Aramis was determined to hang on, at least until they were off the streets and in the relative privacy of the garrison.

Porthos had been quiet on the journey back. The horses were walking slowly, both men knew Aramis would not have been able to cope with anything more, his injured knee making it impossible for him to grip the horses flank firmly. Aramis wished Porthos would speak, even an idle conversation about the weather would have done. Anything to distract him. But Porthos remained quiet.

Aramis knew why. He had been aware of Porthos and Athos disappearing outside to talk. He guessed that Porthos was confessing to their friend what had happened between them. Despite the apology that Porthos had made, despite Aramis accepting that he was to blame as well, Porthos was still holding the guilt. He had not accepted that Aramis had forgiven him, did not blame him, did not want him to feel guilty.

Porthos had assaulted him in the heat of the moment. He could not count the amount of times one of their little band had shoved another, even knocked each other down in anger. It was generally done when they were worried about the other's actions. Which was exactly what had happened today. Porthos really did not need to continue to dwell on it. If his energy were not being directed towards his desire to remain upright he probably would have berated Porthos by now. It would have to wait.

They entered the garrison and Aramis sighed with relief. Porthos was off his horse and reaching up to guide Aramis down in seconds. His injured leg giving away as soon as he was on the ground. With a grunt Porthos took Aramis' weight and guided him to the infirmary. The room was empty. Two beds were made up. Aramis guessed that Treville had prepared for them, not knowing if either of the two captured men would be injured.

Porthos helped him to sit on the edge of the bed and began pulling off the injured man's boots and stockings.

'Porthos…'

Porthos did not look up.

'Porthos, please.'

'I'm sorry. I can't.'

'Porthos, I'm going to be fine…I hurt, I'm going to need to rest, but I am going to be fine.'

Porthos helped Aramis out of his breeches before gently lifting his legs onto the bed so that he could look at his injured knee. Aramis was surprised at how swollen and darkly bruised it was, no wonder it was so painful. The kicks he had received were both to the same spot and had been hard.

'There really isn't anything you can do for the knee,' said Aramis, still trying to get Porthos to look at him, 'a cool cloth to try and reduce the swelling perhaps…' he paused, 'please talk to me.'

Remaining silent Porthos walked over to the table at the side of the room to collect the bowl of water and other medical supplies that had been laid out ready.

He knelt down by the bed and socked a cloth in the water and gently laid it over Aramis' knee. Aramis tried not to react, but even the act of placing the cloth over his injured leg hurt him. Porthos hesitated.

'It's alright Porthos,' Aramis was losing patience quickly. He wanted to make peace with Porthos, but knew that his need for sleep was overtaking him fast, he could feel his eyelids drooping. He lay back, it was uncomfortable, but sleeping on his stomach, on his bruised ribs, would be impossible.

As he began to embrace the darkness that sleep would bring he heard Porthos shift from the floor and a blanket laid over him. He was too close to sleep to react when his friend spoke again.

'I'm sorry…I just need a little time to accept what I did to you.'

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Athos reached for the cup of wine, he had almost finished the bottle that he had brought with him. He looked over as Aramis stirred. The injured man had not slept well, he was clearly uncomfortable, at one point he had turned on his side but that seemed to hurt his injured knee. When he had rolled back he had moaned in pain.

Porthos had stayed until Aramis was asleep and then had slipped out of the room. Athos had tried to encourage him to join d'Artagnan and himself at the table in the garrison yard but he had simply shaken his head and walked out of the garrison and into the city. D'Artagnan had wanted to go after him but Athos had stopped him. It was clear that Porthos wanted to be alone. Instead d'Artagnan and he had taken it in turns to sit with Aramis in the infirmary in case the injured man had needed them.

'Where's Porthos?' asked Aramis. Athos had not noticed that he had woken up fully this time.

'I don't know. He went off after you fell asleep. We thought it best to let him go.'

'He wouldn't speak to me. He's blaming himself. I told him several times that I brought it on myself, that it wasn't him.'

'I think he accepts that Mollet beating you is your own fault,' said Athos with a wry smile, 'but you did not deserve to be assaulted by Porthos.'

Aramis looked away, 'but I have said I don't blame him…several times.'

Athos did not say anything, there was nothing he could say.

'Why won't he accept that?'

'I don't know.'

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A few hours later Aramis had managed to get up and dressed, with help from d'Artagnan. He was very stiff and could not more very fast. D'Artagnan had found a walking stick for him and after a few false starts he had managed to make it across the yard to the table where he now sat drinking wine and eating some bread and cheese that Serge had put in front of him.

Aramis watched the garrison gate, watching for Porthos to return. He wanted to talk to him again. He needed the stubborn man to know that he did not blame him, could not blame him for what had happened. Their friendship meant more to him than this minor indiscretion under difficult circumstances.

It was not the first time that either man had been angry with the other. It was the first time that one had assaulted the other to such an extent, but that was not what bothered Aramis. What bothered him was that Porthos did not seem to be able to accept that he had been forgiven. Aramis wanted his friend back, wanted his brother. It had only been a few hours but it felt like days.

When Porthos did appear at the gate he saw Aramis sitting at the table looking over at him, he had paused and if Athos had not called him over to the other side of the garrison where he had been sparring with a cadet the man may have simply turned and walked out again. Aramis watched as Athos spoke to Porthos, wondering what they were saying.

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'Go and talk to him,' said Athos.

'I can't Athos…I assaulted him.'

'And he has forgiven you…and from he says he tried to talk to you yesterday and you would not speak to him.'

Porthos did not reply, he glanced over at Aramis and noted that he was watching with concern.

'You do realise that if you keep this up he is going to start blaming himself? He wants to get back to normal, and you are preventing it by stubbornly refusing to let the matter drop. We know that what you did was wrong, but it was done in the heat of the moment, you were reacting to Aramis' own stupidity. Now go over there, sit down with the man and have a drink with him. Talk to him,' Porthos was about to protest, 'not about what happened yesterday if you don't want to. But talk to him about something. This self-loathing needs to stop,' finished Athos firmly.

Porthos looked at Athos. Athos could see a change in his eyes. Perhaps he had got through to the man. Porthos nodded and turned and walked towards Aramis.

Athos watched as Porthos settled himself on the bench next to Aramis. Aramis poured a cup of wine for his friend and pushed the plate of bread and cheese in his direction. After a few minutes, they were deep in conversation, the tension disappearing from each man as they did so.

Athos left them to it, knowing that it might take a few days but they would be fine.

The End.