As had become their routine, Aramis and Porthos alternated in caring for their friends as well as ensuring their arrangements at the inn continued for as many days as they might need. Porthos was leery of allowing Aramis to do too much, fearing the return of his fever or further injury from his broken ribs. For his part, the medic was just as protective of his friend, keeping an eye out for any signs of pain that indicated the large man had overdone things, and urging him to rest when the ache in his arm grew too fierce.

Athos had finally begun to improve, his fever falling marginally and his awareness improving as a result. He was still coughing and persistently short of breath, but his eyes were clearer than they had been and focused steadfastly on the young man in the bed beside him. They'd suggested moving the two beds apart and Athos had glared at them until they realized the folly of that recommendation, the older man unwilling to shift from his protégé's side. d'Artagnan had begun to show increasing signs of waking, often punctuated by anxious movements that Aramis feared were causing the young man pain. Each time, Athos managed to soothe the Gascon with a touch and soft words, and the older man ended up keeping a consistent point of contact between them, even when he slept.

It was now late afternoon and Athos was laying partially reclined in his bed, enjoying a brief span of wakefulness, an occurrence that had been all too scarce over the past few days. He could hear Porthos' muted snores from where the large man slept on the pallet he'd made near the fireplace, and knew that Aramis had taken the opportunity to step outside for a few minutes when he'd seen Athos awake and resting comfortably. Rolling his head to the side, his gaze landed on the Gascon, shocked to see two dull, dark eyes watching him.

"d'Artagnan," he whispered, taking great care not to aggravate his throat and chest. "How are you feeling?"

The young man licked his cracked lips, struggling to answer the man's question, "Wha'?" He broke off as his dry throat closed and he coughed weakly against the feeling. Giving his arm a squeeze, Athos released his hold and moved carefully to his other side where the small table now sat holding a pitcher of water and a cup. Fortunately, the latter was already filled and he wrapped his hand around it, shifting once more to the opposite side so he could help d'Artagnan drink.

Carefully raising the boy's head with one hand, he tipped the cup toward the Gascon's mouth with the other, and the young man had several sips before it was pulled away. d'Artagnan grimaced as his head was replaced on the pillow, bringing a cringe to Athos' face as he realized the motion must have jarred the boy's broken collarbone. He waited patiently as the young man breathed shallowly in an effort to manage his pain, opening his eyes to look at Athos when he felt better. "What happened?"

Athos dropped his head for a moment, wondering where to begin and how much of the horrific events the boy recalled. "What do you remember?"

d'Artagnan's gaze skittered away for several moments as he searched his memory, eyes returning to Athos' face when realization dawned. "Oh, God, the ship was sinking," he said, voice filled with panic.

Athos returned his hand to the boy's arm as he nodded, "Yes, be we got you out." He stopped there, unable to finish the rest of the sentence – but not before you died.

d'Artagnan swallowed and the older man helped him have another drink, the action pulling again on his broken bones. The Gascon's eyes flicked to the source of his pain and he asked, "What happened to me?"

Deciding to stick to the facts, Athos explained, "Your left collarbone is broken and the burns on your chest became infected. Your side and your hand both needed stitches and are healing well."

d'Artagnan tried to make a fist with his right hand, stopping part-way through the motion as he gasped at the sharp pain that flared. Athos moved his hand down to gently cover it, giving his head a shake to prevent further attempts. "That's probably not a good idea just yet."

The Gascon gave a slight nod as he stated, "I was trapped." Athos gave a dip of his head, forcing himself to meet the boy's gaze. "I thought I was going to die there."

The statement had Athos turning away, and he used the excuse of replacing the cup on the table as an opportunity to regain his composure before facing the young man again. "But you didn't." He said, forcing his voice to stay steady.

"Is that why you forgave me?" d'Artagnan asked, causing Athos' breathing to hitch and making him cough for several seconds. When he'd managed to calm his rebellious lungs, the Gascon continued. "Are you sick again because of me?"

Clearly the young man remembered far more than Athos had given him credit for, now asking questions that he felt wholly unprepared to answer. Biding his time again, the older man reached for the cup and took a sip to soothe his throat before he returned to answer. "The answer to both questions is no. I am sick because a madman decided to blow up the ship and I forgave you because I wanted to."

d'Artagnan was observing Athos carefully and though his eyes were still glazed with fever and pain, his comments had proven that his mind was sharp. He looked unconvinced and was waiting for Athos to continue, something that the older man was loathe to do, not having the right words, but he held back a sigh and pressed on regardless. "d'Artagnan, the months since Milady's return have been unsettling. Finding her with you and the King was…unexpected. To know that she now lies with Louis is…" he trailed off, unsure how to describe his feelings about his wife's current lover.

"Disturbing?" d'Artagnan offered, making Athos' lips quirk softly at the understatement which was so similar to what he would have done.

"Yes, disturbing," he agreed softly. "I know that doesn't excuse my conduct and I can only ask that you forgive me for my poor behaviour. I should not have expected you or the others to be a party to it, nor relied upon you to return my drunken form home each night."

d'Artagnan's right arm was shifting, his hand moving now to loosely grip Athos' as he countered, "You should not need to expect it; you should simply know it to be fact." The older man looked at him sharply as the Gascon continued. "We are brothers, Athos, and yet we have treated each other worse than strangers these past months. It ends, now."

Athos gave a slow nod of agreement, once more impressed by his protégé. "The others?" d'Artagnan asked, needing to know that the dissonance that had plagued their foursome would not endure.

"As Porthos would say, we're good," Athos replied, a hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

"Good," d'Artagnan breathed out as his grip relaxed further and he seemed to sink back into the mattress, the brief conversation sapping his limited energy.

"You're in pain," Athos stated, seeing the lines around the young man's eyes deepening even as his breaths quickened, now paying for his earlier resolve to settle things between himself and the older man. He stayed silent and Athos began to move away, intent on locating the pain medication Porthos had been given, but the larger man beat him to it.

"Here," Porthos said as he handed the vial to Athos. At the older man's questioning eyebrow, the large man shrugged and said, "I caught the end but didn't want to interrupt."

Athos wanted to be upset but found he didn't have it in him, too relieved that d'Artagnan had woken and that they'd resolved the discord between them. He tipped the vial to the Gascon's mouth, allowing a couple of drops to fall, and d'Artagnan swallowed them gratefully, desperate for some relief. The longer he and Athos had talked, the worse the pain had become, until he could no longer ignore the escalating throb that centred in his clavicle and dispersed outwards from there, mingling with his other injuries until he felt nearly overwhelmed. He felt Athos' hand return to his arm and focused on the sensation, hearing a litany of low words in the background that lulled him back to sleep.

When d'Artagnan's breathing evened out again, Athos pushed himself back against his pillows, allowing the coughs that had been building in his chest to release and then gratefully taking the cup of water from Porthos' hand to ease the rawness of his throat. He passed the empty cup back and let his eyes land on his friend's face, Porthos now sitting on the edge of his bed. "You alright?" the man questioned, concern evident in his eyes.

Athos gave a dip of his head, "Better, actually."

Porthos' eyes darted to the sleeping Gascon, "You good?"

The older man couldn't help the wistful smile that emerged as he answered, "We're good."

Porthos' face lit up with a grin. It seemed that his friends were finally on the mend, but most importantly, had overcome the conflict that had grown between them for so many months. Gone were the days of harsh words and unkind gestures, the space they'd occupied filling once more with the camaraderie and devotion they held for one another. Athos' face had grown lax as he'd drifted off to sleep and Porthos observed him fondly, still sitting at the man's side when Aramis entered, sensing the shift in atmosphere at once.

Moving to stand beside the larger man, he placed a hand on Porthos' shoulder as he asked, "They talked?" Porthos gave a nod in reply and Aramis' features softened as the tension leaked from his bones. They could finally begin to heal.

They remained in Le Havre for another week, receiving word from the Captain to take as much time as they required, as well receiving additional funds to cover their expenses. It was an unnecessary kindness that put a smile on the men's faces, appreciative of Treville's generosity despite the fact that the Captain knew Athos would pay for whatever was required.

When they finally arrived back home, Treville invited them to his office and poured them each a generous measure of brandy as he related the tale the English Ambassador had shared with him. It seemed that anti-French sentiment in England was high and there was no love lost for the French Queen who sat at the English King's side. The rebels who'd attacked them during their trip had been the same ones who'd attacked the previous convoys, and their members had been just as active at home on English soil, although their efforts there had not been nearly as violent.

Pritchard had been known to the Ambassador, and the diplomat had found out later that Bertrand had been the rebel's accomplice. It was Bertrand who had placed the gunpowder on the ship and he'd died, along with the missing valet, when the charges went off prematurely. Later, they discovered that innkeepers and tavern owners along the routes between Paris and Le Havre had been coerced into providing the rebels with information, paid handsomely each time they sent word that soldiers were travelling past. Despite the fact that the Musketeers hadn't taken advantage of any of these luxuries during their journey, the roads they'd been on had taken them within sight of the rebels' informants, which prompted the mercenaries' attacks.

When the four men heard the tale, they downed Treville's expensive brandy and left without a word; there was simply nothing they could say about a mission that had turned into such a fiasco. But the experience hadn't been all bad and it had brought the men back together, a fact that did not go unnoticed by the Captain, the anxiety in his chest easing as he realized the inseparables were back. It had taken several weeks for things to return to normal, but they eventually did, Porthos' prediction coming true when he and d'Artagnan were off duty the longest while they waited for their broken bones to mend. Athos and Aramis were their constant companions whenever duty allowed, despite the fact that Constance doted on the Gascon during his infirmity.

The months after that mission had not been easy, but the men's newfound bonds had been resilient enough to buffer them against the worst of their woes and in the end they'd survived Porthos' discovery of his father, Bonacieux's death, d'Artagnan and Constance's wedding, Aramis' admission and Athos' change of heart regarding his wife. Now, they stood on the brink of war, riding to collect the Spaniard and convince him to release himself from the promise he'd made while in prison. Despite the uncertainty that lay ahead of them, one thing they were sure of was that they would face it and survive together, as brothers.

A/N: It was pointed out to me that this story has received over 300 reviews, a fact that astonishes and overwhelms me and I can only say thank you for all the encouragement this story has received and for the great reviews, favorites and follows. As always, I'm sad to see the end of a story and have started work on another, this one a collaboration with another talented author on this site. I hope you'll join us when we begin to post and, until then, thank you for taking some of your valuable time and choosing to spend it reading this story.