A moan from across the candlelit room had D'Artagnan raising his weary head from where it had fallen against the mattress. He was slumped on the floor, his jacket discarded, and his shirt sleeves rolled up. He clutched a damp cloth in his hand. The smell of illness was clinging to the walls of the darkened room and D'Artagnan felt his shirt sticking to his back with the heat.

'Athos?' He called out, reaching up to wet the cloth in a bowl of cool water beside him and wipe his brother's face. The fever had struck him down just a day after Aramis and Porthos had become ill and refused to let him go. D'Artagnan had honestly lost count of how many times he had emptied and cleaned the chamber pots in the room, all three soldiers having been violently ill until there was nothing left from them to vomit.

Athos groaned at the feeling of the cool cloth on his overheated skin and his eyes fluttered open, a frown crossing his face as he looked around the room.

'Where?' Athos asked plainly, swallowing convulsively to keep his nausea at bay.

'Aramis' room. There wasn't enough room anywhere else,' D'Artagnan answered with a yawn, struggling to his feet when Aramis started groaning from the bed across the room. D'Artagnan fell onto the mattress and reached for the cloth beside the bed, rinsing the cool water from it and placing it against Aramis' forehead.

'Why not the infirmary?' Athos asked through a groan and D'Artagnan made his way towards the fireplace where heated bricks lay ready to soothe aching muscles.

'It's full. A lot of others are ill as well. I figured you lot would be more comfortable here than in a packed infirmary,' D'Artagnan explained, wrapping the bricks in warmed blankets beside the fire and placing one beside Aramis' stomach and another beside Porthos'.

'Have you been taking care of us?'

'Well no one else was going to,' D'Artagnan responded with a smirk, moving aside the blankets and setting the heated brick beside Athos' aching belly.

'That feels amazin', lad,' Prothos called from his sick bed, rolling over until he was lying on top of the brick and sighed in relief.

D'Artagnan chuckled and shook his head, slumping down onto the chair beside Athos' bed and exhaling deeply.

'Are you alright? Did you not get ill?' Athos asked, narrowing his aching eyes as he took in his young friend.

The young Musketeer nodded in earnest.

'Truly I'm fine. The sickness didn't get to me. Probably because you're all getting on in years,' D'Artagnan teased in an effort to both lift his friends' spirits and also remove the attention from himself. He wasn't feeling ill but he felt exhaustion creeping up his spine and making him want to collapse with tiredness. It had been a long few days.

'How long have we been ill?' Aramis' croaking voice made him jump out of his thoughts and he offered him a smile.

'3 days, give or take. I think you're on the mend now though. None of you have vomited in a while,' D'Artagnan explained, gathering up his remaining reserves and pushing himself back to his feet. He opened the window and felt the cool twilight breeze brush passed him.

'3 days? Have you slept at all?' Aramis asked, struggling to push himself up, his arms weak beneath him.

'I have slept. Not a lot, but I slept. I promise. Do you think you could handle some food? Serge has had broth made for anyone who feels up to it?'

Aramis scrutinised the boy in front of him before nodding reluctantly. Even in the darkened room he could see the dark bags hanging under D'Artagnan's eyes and the bowed shoulders; evidence of too many long hours sat caring for them.

'I could always eat!' Porthos assured D'Artagnan, pushing himself up and swinging his legs over the side of the bed. He immediately regretted the sudden movement as the world span before him but he planted his feet on the ground. 'Any chance of some wine to go with it?'

'I'll see what I can do. The Captain probably won't be too happy with you drinking wine so soon but I'll try and sneak some in. Don't squeal on me.'

D'Artagnan left the room quietly and Aramis relaxed against his headboard. The other two soldiers lay on cots against the walls, blankets towering over them.

'How do you feel, honestly? The boy has gone,' Aramis asked, pulling his sweat soaked nightshirt away from his chest. If he had enough energy, he would have loved a long soak in a tub to clean the illness off him.

'Been better. Feel like I could sleep for a week,' Porthos groaned as he stretched his back. He pulled his shirt off and threw it to the foot of his bed. Grabbing a cloth from the bowl beside his bed he wiped it across his chest and under his arms to remove the sweat. He sighed deeply.

'That's better.'

Athos could barely lift his head from the pillow beneath it. His muscles ached and his head throbbed. His eyes drifted closed and before he knew it he was asleep.

D'Artagnan was back moments later, a tray in his hands.

'I managed to sneak a bottle from the kitchen, don't tell Treville,' he said with a smirk, setting the tray down on the table and pulling a bottle of wine from the waistband of his trousers.

'Aw kid, you're a lifesaver. In more ways than one,' Porthos assured him with a nod, pushing himself to his feet and stumbling over to the table. He collapsed into the chair, almost inhaling the bowl of soup and bread before him. D'Artagnan rolled his eyes before grabbing a bowl and bringing it over to Aramis.

'Try and eat something. It'll make you feel better.'

'I'm usually the one taking care of you, remember? I know what to do,' Aramis said with a fake sigh, his trembling limbs taking the bowl with a smile.

'I remember all too well. And I hope you won't have to take care of me again too soon. Just take care of yourself for a change,' D'Artagnan patted Aramis' shoulder before he stood up and shrugged his jacket on. He was buckling on his weapons belt when Porthos grunted, pointing at him questioningly with his spoon.

'Where do you think you're off to?'

'Guard duty. There are so many ill there aren't enough to cover. I'm taking the night watch tonight, but I promise I'll be back in the morning.'

'Don't bother,' Athos groaned, having been awoken by his brothers talking. 'Just get some rest. No sense in you getting ill as well.'

'I won't, I promise,' D'Artagnan responded with a smile and a salute and he was out the door.

'Foolish boy,' Athos sighed.

'He's running himself into the ground,' Aramis tutted, setting his empty bowl of soup on the table beside his bed. 'He's going to get sick.'

'He's one of the few that hasn't. Let's hope it stays that way,' a voice from the doorway called. The soldiers looked up to see their Captain entering the room with a smile.

'How are you feeling? It's been a long few days.'

'On the mend, apparently,' Athos responded, pushing himself into a seated position to face his superior, 'How many are ill?'

'All but six,' Treville responded with a sigh, taking a seat beside Porthos at the table. He noted the bottle of wine and smirked at the younger man.

'I didn't tell you about that,' Porthos pointed out through a mouthful of bread.

'The secret's safe with me,' Treville chuckled. He sighed and looked at his men.

'I'm glad to see you're feeling better. I hope to have you back to full strength again soon. God knows D'Artagnan needs a break. Running himself ragged. I'll make sure when he's finished guard duty he goes straight to his quarters.'

Athos nodded gratefully. He thought about asking Porthos to bring him some wine, but his eyes started closing of their own accord. Before he could get the words out of his mouth, he was asleep.

The three soldiers slept until late the next afternoon and woke with aching muscles but a renewed energy. After a quick wash in the bath house and a fresh set of clothes they made their way to their usual table and were greeted by Serge's smiling face.

'Glad to see you three up and about,' he nodded, placing a basket of bread before them. 'I'll bring some soup out for you too.' And with that he disappeared back into the kitchen.

Aramis poured them all some wine as they watched the garrison coming alive. It was strange to see so few soldiers about so late in the day.

'Ah gentlemen, glad to have to back,' Treville called as he trotted his horse through the gates. He slid off his horse's back and handed the reigns to the stable boy.

'Where is D'Artagnan?' were Athos' first words. Treville smiled at him.

'As promised, he was sent straight to his room this morning.'

'I'm sure he appreciated being sent away like a bad child,' Porthos smirked around his wine glass.

'He was exhausted. I don't think he was thinking much of anything. Maybe, after breakfast, you can check on him,' Treville stated in a thinly veiled suggestion before walking to his office.

A shared look passed between the three friends and they were heading towards D'Artagnan's room before Serge returned with their soup.

The first thing that hit the Musketeers when they entered D'Artagnan's quarters was the stench of illness and vomit and it stopped Aramis in the doorway.

'He's sick,' he stated, pointing at the window for Porthos to open it and walking towards the bed. Athos stepped into the room behind him, noticing the fact that D'Artagnan was lying coverless on the bed, solely in his shirt and braies. He spotted the stained sheets piled in the corner of the room, the vomit-filled chamber pot not far away from them.

Aramis knelt beside the shivering boy and placed a hand on his forehead.

'Burning up,' he sighed, resting back on his heels and taking in the full form of his suffering brother. Even beneath the shirt he could see D'Artagnan's stomach muscles contracting painfully as the spasms wracked through him and Aramis winced in sympathy. He slid his hand under the young man's shirt and rested it on the taut stomach.

'Porthos, could you run and grab some heat bricks from the infirmary? His stomach is in agony.'

Porthos took off at a jog, his muscles still aching from his illness but unwilling to let his brother suffer if he could help it.

Athos sat on the opposite side of the bed, resting his hand in D'Artagnan's hair.

'We should try and get him warmed up. God knows how long he's been lying here like this,' Aramis nodded, pulling himself to his feet and leaving the room to remove the dirty linen and replace it with clean sheets.

Athos couldn't take his eyes off his protege.

'You stupid boy. Why didn't you tell anyone you were ill? Why didn't you get help?' Athos sighed, pushing D'Artagnan's hair back from his face. D'Artagnan's face was pale and his teeth were chattering. A groan left the boy's lips and his dark eyelashes fluttered against his fever-stained cheeks as he opened his eyes. He blinked owlishly around the room, not entirely sure where he was. He turned his head when he felt a presence beside him, and Athos smiled down at him.

'Foolish boy,' Athos admonished lightly, pressing a hand to the warm forehead. D'Artagnan leant into the touch, sighing at the coolness of Athos' palm. He opened his mouth to ask how Athos was; one of his last memories being his mentor ill in bed but was cut short when he felt his stomach revolting against him.

'No,' he whimpered, pushing weakly at Athos to move but the man refused to budge from his side. With one last burst of energy, D'Artagnan pushed himself up and over Athos' lap, just in time for his body to start gagging. After the hours he had already spent vomiting there was nothing left for him to expel except for a small amount of bile that he was thankful hit the floor and not his friend. He whimpered at the burning in his throat and the agony in his stomach as his body continued to gag.

Athos winced in sympathy as he felt the boy's stomach muscles contracting painfully against his thighs and he rubbed a soothing hand up and down the boy's quivering back. He was thankful when the gagging stopped and D'Artagnan took a moment to control his breathing. He was spent. He had nothing left. No energy to move.

'Gimme a minute,' D'Artagnan mumbled, sucking in a breath and trying to gather the energy to push himself off of Athos' lap. Athos simply rolled his eyes and grabbed D'Artagnan under his shoulders, rolling him back over until he was lying back on his bed.

D'Artagnan wanted to thank his friend but a cramp shot so suddenly through his stomach that he had no choice but to curl around himself and whimper.

'You'll be okay,' Athos cooed, rubbing the boy's back and thankful that Aramis had returned with clean bedding.

'He vomited again,' Athos stated as Aramis stretched the mountains of clean blankets across D'Artagnan and tucked them in around him as a mother would a child.

'When was the last time you ate anything and kept it down?' Aramis asked, the medic inside him taking over. D'Artagnan could only hum in response, not sure when he had last eaten or drank anything. If he was honest, he wasn't even sure what day it was or how long he'd been ill.

'Wrong answer, kid,' Porthos' voice boomed across the room as he let himself into the cool room, two bricks under his arms and a pile of sticks in his hands. He sat beside the small fireplace and quickly started a fire, putting the bricks into the flames to heat.

'You need to eat something. Maybe some broth?' Aramis suggested. The groan he got in return made him frown.

'At least have some water. You're bound to be dehydrated,' Aramis nodded at Athos who left to empty the chamber pot and get some water.

'I don't think I can keep it down,' D'Artagnan mumbled, pulling his legs as close to his stomach as he could and curled his arms around his pillow. He hid his face in his arms and shuddered.

'You need to try, kid,' Porthos stated from his place beside the fire, poking the flames with a stick. He grabbed one of the bricks with a pair of metal tongs and wrapped it in a blanket before handing it over to Aramis.

'This should help, D'Artagnan,' Aramis spoke softly, untucking the blanket at the side of the bed and reaching into the ball D'Artagnan had curled himself into. He placed the heated blanket against the quivering stomach and smiled when D'Artagnan groaned in pleasure.

Athos came back and sat beside him, pushing his hair off his forehead until D'Artagnan's eyes opened.

'Let's try some water,' Athos suggested with a smile, reaching behind D'Artagnan's neck and raising it enough for him to sip the cool liquid.

D'Artagnan swallowed the water with a sigh. He thanked Athos and allowed his eyes to close again. A whimper escaped him as another wave of agony ran through his stomach and he curled around the heated brick and hid his face in his pillow.

'Shh, you'll be alright,' Aramis whispered, petting the boy's sweat soaked hair. Porthos added more wood to the fire before standing up and heading for the door.

'I suspect we'll be here for the rest of the night. Wine?' He asked, leaving before the other two replied. He knew the answer.

It took longer than the soldiers would have liked but eventually D'Artagnan's body relaxed into sleep, his stomach muscles still trembling.

'He broke his promise,' Aramis stated with a smirk. Athos raised an eyebrow at him.

'I'll be sure to reprimand him when he awakens.'

'Make sure you do.'

D'Artagnan awoke several hours later, his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth. He peeled his eyes open and looked dazedly around the room. His friends were asleep in various positions around the room, but a smile graced his face when he felt Athos' hand gripping his from where his friend was asleep in the chair beside his bed.

For a moment D'Artagnan thought about waking his friends but he didn't have the heart to. He was sure his friends were still tired from their own illnesses. He closed his eyes and fell asleep quickly. He would thank them in the morning.