A/N: Thank you Uia and Laureleaf for your reviews! All the h/c here in this chapter. I hadn't thought about doing a sequel, but who knows where the muse might take me! However, I've got a ton of whumptober stuff I'll be posting just about every day for October and then a longer chapter fic I'm writing now for November. So lots in the pipeline!

Chapter 7

When the rowboat reached the pirate ship, Porthos laid Aramis down in the bottom of the boat and climbed up with the others. Then they used the pulley to heave the dinghy up out of the water and secure it to the hull. Once that was done, he hopped back in to retrieve his sick friend and lift him up to Athos and d'Artagnan. Aramis was barely conscious for it.

"Set sail," Athos commanded then, and the crew of the Aigrette darted about to get the ship moving.

"Do we take him below?" d'Artagnan asked uncertainly.

Porthos's jaw tightened at that; the berth deck where the crew were housed wasn't exactly sanitary.

"Captain's cabin," Athos replied.

They carried Aramis across the deck and into the cabin beneath the quarterdeck. Porthos wasn't sure what he'd been expecting, but the bed with heavy quilt and two pillows seemed rather opulent for what he imagined a pirate would reside in. But he supposed the captain would keep the niceties for himself when his crew plundered and pillaged.

There was a long table with two three-pronged candlestick holders, a wardrobe along one wall, some low cabinets beneath the back window, and a large chest at the foot of the bed.

They laid Aramis on the mattress and divested him of his boots and doublet, then tucked him under the quilt. He was shivering, his coughs guttural and crackling. Porthos exchanged a worried look with Athos.

The line of Athos's mouth was grim. "I'll go speak with the crew, see how far out we are from Guernsey."

"I'll find some water," d'Artagnan said and followed him out.

Porthos dragged a chair from the table over to the bed and took a seat, wringing his hands as he watched Aramis continue to cough and struggle to breathe. After a few moments, he stood and fluffed the two pillows behind Aramis, elevating him a bit. When he sat back down, slitted brown eyes were gazing at him with fever brightness.

Porthos leaned forward on the bed. "Hey. How're you feelin'?"

Another cough was his answer and Aramis's face scrunched up in pain.

"Yeah, never mind."

Aramis lolled his head back toward him and patted his hand weakly. "Don' be angry," he croaked.

Porthos shook his head. "I ain't angry at you."

It'd been easy to act like it when he'd first seen how bad off Aramis was, easy to blame him for pushing himself too hard, especially when "reckless" was Aramis's middle name. But he hadn't intentionally put himself in harm's way up there. None of them had signed up for this.

A ghost of a smile tugged at bloodless lips but it was quickly replaced with a grimace as another cough wracked Aramis's frame. Porthos watched helplessly. Normally he'd ask Aramis what herbs to steep in a tea to help, but they had none at their disposal.

The door creaked open with d'Artagnan's return and the lad shuffled in with a bucket of water, which he carried over and set next to the bed.

"There's nothing fresh onboard," he said regretfully, though that wasn't unexpected. There was a reason brandy was the drink of choice on the sea. "So I pulled it up from the ocean. Not the best solution, but it's cold and we can at least use it to try to lower his fever."

Porthos nodded. They were all covered in the grit of sand and dried sea salt and wouldn't have a chance to wash it off until they reached Guernsey.

D'Artagnan moved to the foot of the bed and flipped open the chest on the floor, rifling through the contents. He removed an extra blanket but the rest he left haphazardly disturbed as he shut the lid and moved to the cabinets below the window next. There he found some towels which he brought back to Porthos.

"Looks like the captain has his own private food stores. More pickled meat and sour brandy."

Usually Porthos could eat anything, but this time those did not sound appetizing. "I don' think he'll be able to get either of those down."

D'Artagnan shared a sympathetic look with him. "Yeah, I wouldn't try. But we should probably keep up our strength."

Porthos dunked a towel in the bucket of water and then wrung it out.

"You know that's what he'd tell you," d'Artagnan pointed out.

Porthos folded the cold cloth over Aramis's brow and sighed. "Yeah, I know."

D'Artagnan went back to the cabinet to pull out the stores.

Aramis gave a shudder and jerked his head to the side. "Cold," he muttered.

Porthos adjusted the cloth and held his hand over it to keep it in place. "I know you feel that way, but yer actually burnin' up."

Aramis coughed softly and then harder, nearly lurching up off the bed as horrible, violent hacks assaulted him. D'Artagnan ran back over and grabbed Aramis's shoulders, him and Porthos bracing him through the attack. Aramis sagged when it was over, wheezing sharply, eyes closed as though he'd passed out. Porthos and d'Artagnan carefully eased him back against the pillows.

"I've heard of men breakin' ribs from coughs that bad," Porthos said quietly, barely audible over Aramis's strained breathing.

D'Artagnan's throat bobbed, and he pulled the quilt down to run his fingers over Aramis's torso. "I don't think anything's broken."

The unspoken "yet" hung in the air like a guillotine.

Porthos felt his own lungs constricting. His mother had sounded like that before she died.

"Aramis is strong," d'Artagnan spoke again. "And we've all made it this far."

Porthos sank back into his chair and picked up the cool cloth again. He hoped d'Artagnan was right.

o.0.o

They made it to Guernsey without any further incident. Athos immediately left the ship to find a physician on the island and d'Artagnan and Porthos stayed with Aramis. It was painful to watch him besieged by coughing fit after coughing fit that drew choked cries of pain between desperate gasps for air. Though d'Artagnan had checked a few more times for cracked ribs and not found any, he suspected that at this point, they had to be at least bruised. Porthos was worried enough already so d'Artagnan kept that to himself.

It was almost an hour later when Athos finally returned, carrying a litter.

"The authorities are seizing the ship," he reported. "I've secured some rooms at an inn and the town's physician will meet us there."

He set the litter on the floor and d'Artagnan helped Porthos transfer Aramis to it. Then they carried their friend out of the cabin and down the gangplank where a cart was apparently waiting for them.

"How'd you pay for all this?" d'Artagnan whispered to Athos once Aramis was laid in the back and they were setting off toward the inn. His own coin purse had been lost in the wreck, as he was sure Athos's had as well.

Athos shrugged. "There was plenty of gold lying around."

D'Artagnan shook his head in amusement. He frankly couldn't think of a better use for it than compensation for them and the crew of the Aigrette. He wondered how much Athos had pocketed before the authorities had taken over, given they were likely to be stuck here for a while.

They arrived at the inn where a wiry man with white hair and spectacles was waiting inside, a Doctor Nouwen as Athos introduced him. They carried Aramis upstairs and laid him on one of the beds, then stepped back for the physician to do his examination.

The old man leaned over and pressed his ear to Aramis's chest. Then he directed Porthos to hold the marksman up so the doctor could do the same at his back.

"An infection of the lungs," he declared.

D'Artagnan rolled his eyes; that much was obvious. "Can you treat it?"

"I will make up an herbal mixture, but you'll have to get him to drink it. Also, I will show you how to break loose the congestion to help get it out." He gestured at Porthos. "Hold him up a little straighter, like this."

Porthos adjusted his hold as instructed.

Doctor Nouwen grabbed a bowl and set it in Aramis's lap, then moved around to lean behind him. Without warning, he raised a hand and slapped Aramis on the back, hard enough to jolt his entire body.

"Oy!" Porthos exclaimed.

"As I said, this will help to dislodge the build-up in his lungs." The physician hit him again, then a third time.

Aramis suddenly lurched with a cough and gagging sound, and d'Artagnan cringed as phlegm and mucus came up. It was disgusting, but the treatment appeared to be working. D'Artagnan paid closer attention to the procedure as the doctor repeated his demonstration.

"Do this three times a day until he coughs up some of that gunk, but no more than eight strikes in one sitting if nothing does," Nouwen instructed as he removed the bowl and Porthos laid Aramis back down.

"What about his ribs?" Porthos asked. "He's already coughin' so much…won't we risk breakin' 'em?"

"The strain is concentrated on the front," Nouwen replied. "And he will not get better if the build-up is allowed to fester."

"We understand," d'Artagnan put in. He could understand why Porthos might be afraid to exert too much force on their weakened friend, so he could take on that unpleasant task himself.

Nouwen moved to the table where he'd set his bag. "I will make up several herbal pouches for you to steep and give him throughout the day. He must drink as much as you can ply him with. I will return in a day to check his progress."

Athos thanked the man and paid him after he had prepared the pouches. After that, the only thing left for them to do was settle in and tend their brother.

The innkeeper sent up water to the washroom down the hall and they took turns going to bathe. The man also generously loaned them some of his and his grown sons' old clothes to wear since theirs were stiff and gritty from brine. The shirt d'Artagnan slipped into had moth holes in it but he didn't think he had ever felt so clean.

Despite Aramis's condition, they all decided that washing off the stickiness and grime would make a world of difference, as it had for them, so they carried him to the washroom and Porthos held him up in the tub while d'Artagnan and Athos quickly scrubbed him down and rinsed his hair of the remnants of the sea. He wasn't coherent through it, which was probably for the best.

Once all that was taken care of, exhaustion began to creep into d'Artagnan's bones, dragging his shoulders down.

"You should go sleep," Athos said. "The room next door is ours as well."

D'Artagnan stubbornly shook his head, trying to dispel the fatigue. "Aramis…"

"We'll have to take turns for the first day," Athos cut him off. "We are all weary and must rest. The next few days won't be easy." He glanced back at their sick brother.

D'Artagnan sighed; he knew Athos was right.

"You two sleep first," Porthos spoke up from Aramis's bedside with an unmovable tone that surprised no one.

Athos nodded and moved toward the door. "Bang on the wall if you need us."

o.0.o

The next few days were, in fact, tiring. Athos was unfortunately called away frequently to deal with the authorities and reports about what transpired when the Aigrette shipwrecked and ran afoul of pirates, leaving d'Artagnan and Porthos to care for Aramis, who was so lost in the throes of illness that he could barely follow what was going on around him. But he drank the tea they plied him with, though not without difficulty when a coughing fit interrupted and tried to choke him. D'Artagnan oversaw Doctor Nouwen's prescribed treatment of pounding his back until he coughed up globs of phlegm. Aramis often choked out cries of pain during the sessions, which pulled at d'Artagnan's heart. But he had to trust that the procedure was helping, and so steeled himself to keep at it.

Since Porthos refused to leave Aramis's side except to sleep, d'Artagnan also took on the task of washing their clothes, which was also labor intensive and took him several days to complete. But the scrubbing gave him a place to work out his frustration over having to cause his friend pain.

One afternoon Athos returned with a large bundle, and when he laid it out on the table, d'Artagnan was shocked to see it was all of their weapons.

"What kind o' witchcraft is that?" Porthos blurted.

Athos shot him a wry look. "The pirates looted a lot of our belongings from the Aigrette. It was a hassle proving they were ours and getting them released."

Porthos picked up one of Aramis's ornate pistols. "He'll be glad to have these back."

Athos turned toward the bed. "How is he?"

"He seems to be sleeping easier," d'Artagnan replied. "Doctor Nouwen was here an hour ago and said at least he's not deteriorating. That's something."

Athos canted his head in agreement. "One thing that apparently wasn't salvaged, unfortunately, were the trade papers." He paused. "Meaning our entire mission has been lost and the King will have to draft new ones to resend."

"Hell no," Porthos exclaimed. "Let's jus' tell 'im the gove'ner here declined the terms."

"Porthos," Athos chided.

"Maybe the captain can just assign someone else," d'Artagnan suggested. Because he, also, did not want to have to come back here and do this all over again.

o.0.o

It was a long, tense week before Aramis finally began to show tangible signs of improvement. The ordeal had been hard on all of them: for Aramis who suffered through bouts of coughing and struggling to breathe, and for his brothers who had to watch, not knowing if each strained wheeze would be his last. Athos had begrudged the duty that took him from his brother's side, risking that when he returned, Aramis would be gone.

But the marksman was currently sitting up in bed awake, though propped up with a bunch of pillows. His strength had been utterly sapped but his breathing was better, and the coughs, while obviously still painful on his abused ribs, had lost that disconcerting hoarseness.

"Now you can stop hitting me," he commented tiredly.

"Gladly," d'Artagnan replied from where he sat at the table with Porthos. "As long as that cough doesn't get worse again."

Aramis reached a hand up to his chest and winced. "Lord, no," he breathed in supplication.

Athos picked up the cup of tea from the nightstand and passed it over. "I will ask Doctor Nouwen to make enough herbal pouches for the journey back to France."

Aramis took a sip. "When do we leave?"

"Not until you're more recovered. I will not risk a relapse at sea. We'll remain here at least another week."

Aramis grimaced. "To be honest, I have no desire to board a ship home any time soon."

Athos wasn't all that eager himself, and neither were Porthos and d'Artagnan, he knew. "Unfortunately, we must. Unless we intend to resign our commissions and retire on Guernsey," he pointed out dryly.

"Well, I don't think that would be so bad," Aramis mused, sinking back into the pillows. "We could open a tavern."

Porthos snorted. "Athos would drink us out o' business." He rapped his knuckles on the table in d'Artagnan's direction. "D'Artagnan has farmin' experience. He could teach us that."

The boy shrugged with a smirk. "Sure."

Athos's lips quirked at the image.

But they all knew they would board that ship when it was time to sail back to France. That was where their lives, loves, and duties were.

And as long as they were together, they could stand in the face of their fears and emerge triumphant.