By the time the doctor reached the infirmary, Porthos was pacing back and forth, glancing at the door after each pass. Athos had not stopped warming d'Artagnan's hands even after the skin had started to heat up. Aramis still knelt by the bedside, refusing to move back to his own sick bed until the doctor arrived, his rosary gripped between his fingers.

A soft knock on the door announced the doctor's arrival and he let himself in before Porthos could launch himself at the door. The candlelight highlighted the pale boy on the bed, his body trembling.

'What happened here?' the doctor asked, setting down his bag beside d'Artagnan's legs and pulling aside the bandage that Porthos had wrapped around d'Artagnan's abdomen.

'He was stabbed,' Porthos explained, standing at the doctor's back and peering over his shoulder. The wound was raw and red, the skin puffy around the edges. Athos winced internally as he stared at the wound in the dull light of the room.

'It certainly isn't fresh,' the doctor remarked, allowing the bandage to drop to the floor beside him and taking off his coat. He rolled his sleeves up and started unpacking his bag.

'It appears to have happened several hours ago. We were unaware he was injured until only an hour ago,' Athos spoke up, having placed d'Artagnan's hand gently back onto the bed and moved out of the doctor's way.

The doctor hummed unconvinced; 'If it did happen that long ago then this young man is a very good actor. He must have been in a lot of pain; this wound is very deep. I don't know how he hid it for as long as he did.'

Athos and Porthos shared a guilty look between them. Aramis had managed to push himself so that he was sitting back on the edge of his own sick bed, wrapping and rewrapping his rosary beads around his shaking fingers.

'Will he be alright?' He asked softly, leaning forward as much as he dared, his eyes frozen on d'Artagnan's slack face. He reached a hand over and pushed back the dark hair from the boy's face. He frowned as he rested a hand on his brother's forehead. 'He has a fever.'

The doctor nodded with a frown, getting his needle out of his bag and placing it in a bowl with brandy. 'I was afraid of that,' he answered, making his way over to the fire to get the now warm water, 'I didn't think we would be so lucky as to avoid infection.'

Porthos pulled a chair from the table over to beside d'Artagnan's bed for the doctor to sit on. The doctor grabbed a cloth and dipped it into the warm water, pressing it as harshly as he dared against the trembling skin beneath his hand, cleaning away the dried blood.

A soft whimper filled the silence of the room as d'Artagnan's head tossed from side to side, his body trying its best to escape the pain. Athos shushed him softly, placing a warm hand onto the top of d'Artagnan's head, his thumb rubbing against his fevered temple.

'Well gentleman, if you would like to leave, I'll get this young man fixed up,' the doctor nodded, reaching for the bottle of brandy beside him, ready to sterilise the wound. He looked up when there was no movement after several moments and smirked as he took in the men before him.

Aramis still sat on the edge of his bed, his pale face watching his friend vigilantly. Porthos stood beside the window, his arms crossed against his chest, his body leaning against the table, his eyes never moving from d'Artagnan's shivering abdomen. Athos had taken up residence on the bed beside the ill young man, one hand still resting on the boy's head, the other pressed firmly and comfortably against his chest.

'Right then, you'd better make yourselves useful and keep this boy calm.'

The doctor soaked another cloth with the brandy and pressed it against d'Artagnan's side. The boy's back arched and he whimpered against the burn but there was no further movement from him.

Athos kept his hand on top of d'Artagnan's head, his thumb rubbing continuously against his brother's temple, shushing his whimpers.

Porthos had moved back over to the bed and rested his hands on d'Artagnan's legs beneath the blankets, holding him steady against the doctor's ministrations.

'Not as bad as I was expecting,' the doctor nodded as he removed the brandy-soaked cloth and picked up his needle and stitching thread. 'This might be worse.'

When the first stitch went through the tender skin, d'Artagnan moaned and his eyelashes fluttered against his cheeks. His eyes flickered open and he blinked several times to clear his vision. Athos' face peered down at him, a soft smile on his lips.

'Hello you,' Athos whispered, patting his friend's chest lightly. 'It wouldn't be like you to wake up just as the doctor is starting the most difficult part of this now would it?'

d'Artagnan's forehead creased in confusion but his thoughts were quickly pulled away by the overwhelming pain in his side. A harsh whimper escaped his lips and he tried to shift his body away from the pain.

'Hush now,' Athos spoke softly, removing his hand from atop d'Artagnan's head and gently grasping his chin, making sure the boy's attention was directly on him.

'You've been injured. The doctor has to stitch you up. It would be better if you tried to go back to sleep and get some rest.'

d'Artagnan's eyes flickered around Athos' face, struggling to focus, confusion still evident.

'Why are you in my room? Is Aramis alright?' d'Artagnan's rough voice whispered. He coughed lightly to try and clear it but to no avail. He made to push himself up to look around the room but was quickly pushed back onto the bed, a soft tutting sounding above him.

'Aramis is fine, see?' Porthos chirped up, waving a hand in Aramis' direction. d'Artagnan managed to turn his head to the side to see a pale and swaying Aramis sitting on the edge of his bed.

'I think,' d'Artagnan started, interrupting himself with hiss as the doctor made another stitch in his side, 'I think we have different ideas of what fine means.' d'Artagnan closed his eyes and pressed his fists into the bed below him to contain the moans that he so desperately wanted to let out.

Athos smirked and Porthos let out a burst of laughter.

'He's not wrong, 'Mis,' Porthos chuckled, moving over to Aramis' bed and all but forcing him to lie down. Aramis offered no protest which confirmed his friends' suspicions of just how 'fine' he was feeling.

'Aramis will be fine d'Artagnan,' Athos assured him, replacing his hand back onto the top of d'Artagnan's head and offering him a smile when his eyes opened again.

'What happened? Why are you all in my room?'' d'Artagnan whispered. He bit into his lip as the doctor put more pressure on his side.

'You're in the infirmary, d'Art. Do you remember anything of what happened?' Porthos asked softly, glancing at Athos in worry.

'I got Aramis hurt. I know I have to leave I just didn't have the strength to. Just let me rest for a few minutes and I'll leave,' d'Artagnan nodded, his eyes fluttering closed. His breath hitched with each stitch that the doctor made. The doctor was trying his hardest to not involve himself with the Musketeers but his eyes glanced up at them when it was clear that d'Artagnan was close to unconsciousness.

'This young man is very lucky to not have any internal damage. He needs to rest for several days; and when I say rest I mean do not let him move from this bed. I don't know where he thinks he is going but he is certainly in no position to be moving anywhere. And if he tears my stitching I will not be amused.'

The elder Musketeers nodded at the doctor's stern face, watching as he gently wrapped a bandage around d'Artagnan's abdomen before packing his bag and leaving the dim room with a nod of his hat.

'Why didn't you tell us you were hurt d'Artagnan?' Athos asked, standing up and walking over to the chair that the doctor had vacated.

'Aramis was hurt,' d'Artagnan mumbled back, forcing his eyes open and staring at Athos. The elder musketeer frowned at the over bright eyes watching him. He reached his hand over and rested it on his friend's pale forehead. The fever he could feel building beneath the skin did nothing to settle his nerves.

'Yes,' Porthos nodded in agreement, sitting himself at the end of d'Artagnan's bed. 'But you were also hurt,' he added as though talking to a child.

d'Artagnan turned his eyes to start at the dark man, the words not making sense to him.

'Got Aramis hurt,' d'Artagnan whispered, turning his head on the pillow to look at his pale friend in the bed beside him.

Aramis vehemently shook his head despite the dizziness it caused.

'You saved my life d'Artagnan,' Aramis assured, reaching a hand out across the gap between the bed and grasping his brother's wrist. His brow furrowed as he watched d'Artagnan's face pale.

'Got Aramis hurt,' d'Artagnan mumbled, his breathing increasing until he was almost gasping.

'd'Artagnan, you have to calm down,' Porthos cooed, patting d'Artagnan's thigh and looking at Athos for help.

'd'Artagnan, breathe,' Athos all but ordered, placing his hand back onto d'Artagnan's forehead and cursing at the heat there. d'Artagnan's head turned back on the pillow and he stared up at Athos' worried face.

'Got Aramis...got Ara...hurt,' was all d'Artagnan managed to mumble before his eyes rolled into the back of his head and he fell unconscious.