"Doctor, is there nothing left that we can do?" Porthos pleaded.

"There is one more option—I was saving it only as a last resort," the doctor said in a resigned tone.

"What is it?" Aramis asked, his voice quivering.

"It's something that has never been done before, and I'd say it's very risky. I don't know if it will work," Berteau stated flatly. "But it's his last and only chance now to save his life."

"What are you thinking of doing, doctor?" asked Aramis.

"I need for the garlic mixture to pull this infection out of his body but it's not doing the job effectively enough from the shoulder," doctor Berteau stated.

"It is obvious that the infection has spread," Berteau continued grimly. "We need to get to where the infection has gone—into his organs and his blood stream."

"What are you saying, doctor?" Porthos asked cautiously.

"I'm saying that I'm going to reopen the incision in his side and pack the entire area next to his kidney full of a garlic, honey and butter-herb poultice," informed the doctor.

"You can't be serious, doctor," d'Artagnan said in disbelief. "That's the only option left? This is your best idea; this is it?"

"Hold on, d'Artagnan," Aramis held up his hand to the young Gascon, finding the suggestion intriguing. "That just might work."

"The function of the kidneys is to filter and clean waste from the blood as it flows back to the heart, am I correct doctor?" Aramis inquired.

"You are correct, Aramis," said M. Berteau.

"So, you're thinking that if we insert a poultice next to the kidney, perhaps it will leach the infection from the kidney, and ultimately, the blood circulating through the organ?" Aramis stated rather than questioned.

"That sounds crazy," d'Artagnan said. "Are you sure it will even work?"

"No, I'm not certain it will work, my young friend," said the doctor grimly. "But if it doesn't. . ."

"If it doesn't work," Aramis intervened, "there's nothing left to try, d'Artagnan. We don't have any other option at this point. Though I do have a question, doctor Berteau," Aramis pressed.

"Yes, Aramis?"

"You mentioned reopening Athos' right side to access his kidney," Aramis stated. "What about increasing his chances by accessing the second kidney?"

"In other words," Aramis continued, "let's open him up on his left side as well. Is this a feasible option, doctor?"

"Aramis, are you out of your mind? You can't seriously be suggesting that they cut into perfectly healthy flesh with the hope that this plan will work!" d'Artagnan said, incredulous.

"Do you have a better suggestion, Doctor d'Artagnan?" Aramis snapped.

"Hey, we're not going to help Athos any if we start fighting with each other again," Porthos stepped in. "I'm no doctor, d'Artagnan, but we're all out of options. I don't know what else they can do for him but this is one last option we have to try." Porthos paused, not wanting to finish, yet he knew he had to.

"It's either we try this or we watch him die," Porthos stated with a frown. "Athos may die anyway, but we have to know that we did everything possible to save him."

"If the good Lord still wants to take him, at least he didn't go without a fighting chance!" Porthos finished.

The silence in the room was thick as each contemplated the gravity of the situation. Athos' life, literally, hung in the balance of one impossible life or death decision.

"We double his chances by using the poultice on both kidneys. We have his kidneys do the work at pulling that infection from his blood because what we are doing right now is not working." Aramis motioned to Athos while glancing at everyone in the room for possible rebuttal.

The two physicians glanced at each other and shrugged, with M. Molyneux nodding affirmation. "I see no other viable option at this point; it's either this or nothing."

"Agreed M. Molyneux, we must prepare for surgery," M. Berteau decided. "Cécile, I will need you to fetch Jean-Luc; I have a list of supplies that we will need in order to proceed."

"I can help Cécile get some things too," offered Porthos. "What do you need?"

"The list is quite long, I'm afraid, Porthos," Doctor Berteau said. "Cécile, will you write these things down so we make sure that nothing is forgotten, please?"

"Yes, doctor," Cécile said while grabbing paper and ink. "I'm ready."

"Alright, let me see," Berteau began. "We will need the honey, garlic, turmeric, butter, wine and vinegar, linen strips, bandages, gauze, lemon or limes, oregano oil, my medical bag and tools, and plenty of boiling water and cold water. Did you get all that, my dear?"

"Yes, doctor," answered Cécile.

"Mon Dieu," d'Artagnan exclaimed. "Why don't we just bring up the entire pantry while we're at it?"

"D'Artagnan, if you can't keep your smart comments to yourself. . ." Aramis warned.

"Or what?" d'Artagnan challenged, calling his bluff.

"Gentlemen, please," M. Molyneux interrupted impatiently. "We don't have time for this."

"May I suggest," Molyneux continued, "that each of us fetch a portion of these items-so we may get started that much sooner?"

"Great idea, doctor," Porthos said as he rubbed his hands together in anticipation.

The group divvied up the supplies, each scattering to retrieve their prescribed list—all except d'Artagnan who was left alone with Athos.

Taking the older Musketeer's hand in his own, d'Artagnan began to pray, "God in Heaven, I've never been much of a praying man, but I don't know where else to turn," he said with a shaky voice.

"As you know, it doesn't look promising for Athos. We're on our last resort, with no other options left to save his life," d'Artagnan paused.

"This is the most insane plan I've ever heard suggested, but what else is there left for us to do? You haven't exactly been helping us out down here!" he said angrily.

"When I was riding beside Athos on the road, he mentioned—several times—how stupid this whole idiotic decoy plan was. He was worried about going into Torfou. You could've stopped all of this from happening then, but instead. . . here we are!"

"I've never been so afraid in all of my life. What will we do—what will I do—if we lose Athos?" d'Artagnan's voice broke. "How can I go on being a Musketeer without him?" he cried.

"You helped me when I didn't know if I'd ever be able to walk again, so may I ask that you help Athos the same way you helped me?"

"I haven't asked that much from you, but I have never wanted anything more than this, than Athos's life!" d'Artagnan pleaded.

"I would gladly trade my own life for Athos' right now, if you would allow it. I'm sure the other two would rather have Athos around than me anyway—to keep The Inseparables together."

"Athos' life is more valuable than my own," d'Artagnan choked out through his tears.

Just then, Aramis entered the room having overheard the last part of d'Artagnan's prayer. "That is not true," Aramis said softly.

D'Artagnan jumped at the unexpected voice, "Dammit, Aramis!" he yelled angrily.

"Do you really think I'd rather have Athos with me—with us—than you?" Aramis questioned.

"In all honesty, yes I do, Aramis."

"Well, you're wrong, d'Artagnan," Aramis said matter-of-factly. "I don't want to choose between either of you; and I shouldn't have to. I want bothof you by my side as Musketeers-as brothers.

D'Artagnan shook his head, saying nothing.

"Ever since you stormed into the garrison looking for a fight with Athos, I knew you were something special." Aramis smiled at the memory.

"It takes a man of courage to stand up to men of Musketeer caliber the way you did—that took guts. I've been impressed with you ever since," Aramis admitted.

"You never told me this before," d'Artagnan said quietly, tears welling in his eyes.

"Haven't had a reason such as this where we bare our souls to each other in the face of death until now either." Porthos said from the doorway, his arms full of supplies.

"How long have you been standing there?" asked d'Artagnan.

"Long enough," Porthos answered.

"D'Artagnan," Aramis began, "we're strongest when we're four brothers. Each of us has a uniquely strong attribute, but together, we each contribute a quality that makes us, as a group, more formidable."

"And we're going to have to be realistic," Porthos added. "God forbid, if Athos doesn't make it, we're going to have to be prepared to carry on somehow without him. We'll only be able to get through this if we stick together."

"I'm not going down that road, Porthos," Aramis retorted, shaking his head. "I refuse to even consider that possibility."

"Athos is going to get better—this is going to work—it has to!" Aramis exclaimed.

"'M-Mis," Athos called, causing everyone to turn toward the man on the bed who, until now, had been sleeping.

Aramis took Athos' hand, "I'm here, brother."

"T-t-take. . . c-care. . . of. . . each. . . oth'r d-don't. . . fight." A lone tear sprung from the corner of Athos' left eye, rolling across the bridge of his nose to drip onto the pillow.

"Oh God, don't do this, Athos!" Aramis panicked. "Don't go there!" Aramis' eyes scanned with utter panic over Athos' face. He shook his head in denial and fear, refusing to accept a farewell speech.

"I can't do this! You are not doing this to us, Athos. Do you hear me?" Aramis ordered.

"You've got to fight, dammit!" Porthos growled. "Don't let this infection beat you."

"Please, Athos, fight this with everything you've got left—don't give up on us!" d'Artagnan pleaded.

Suddenly, Athos stiffened and began to seize, the convulsions sending tremors throughout his body. Aramis threw aside the pillows to brace Athos' head.

Molyneux and Berteau returned to the room to see their patient seizing and rushed into action. "Molyneux, where's the cold water? Bring me a cold cloth to sponge him down with now!" Berteau ordered.

Molyneux dipped the cloth in the cold water and handed it to Berteau; he then dipped another cloth to assist in cooling the patient. The doctors wiped their cold cloths over Athos' face, neck and chest until the tremors slowed to only an occasional shiver.

Just as suddenly as the tremors began, Athos went motionless. His head lolled to the side, his limp hand dropped beside the bed.

The Musketeers stood frozen in place, suddenly unable to move. All stood—jaws open and eyes wide with panic-holding their breath in fear for Athos' life.

"Doctor?" Aramis managed to croak, his throat constricted.

M. Berteau felt the neck, searching for a pulse. He let out the breath he was holding and cried with relief, "I have a pulse!"

A loud squeal of joy resounded in the sickroom, everyone releasing their breaths and pent-up tension with audible sighs of relief.

Aramis fell down to one knee and crossed himself, his head bowed in prayer of thanks.

Porthos doubled over at the waist with his hands resting on his knees, shaking his head side to side in relief.

D'Artagnan fell limply into the chair beside the bed and leaned over the bed in a crumpled heap, his shoulders shaking from relieved sobs.

"Okay," M. Molyneux cleared his throat and wiped at his eyes. "We need to get back to work; we must reduce his fever or surgery is out of the question."

"We need cold water—immediately!" M. Berteau ordered everyone. "We will fill the tub with cold water, I will also add in the wine and vinegar to bring down his core temperature in the safest, yet quickest manner possible."

Everyone set to gathering buckets of cold water to fill the tub. Finally, Porthos picked Athos up and carefully placed him into the tub of cold water. Though semi-conscious, Athos stiffened suddenly, and then began to weakly resist—as much as his strength would allow.

"Easy now, brother," Porthos soothed softly, "you trusted me to take care of you in the water before, remember? I won't let anything happen to you- you're going to be alright."

At the first hint of Athos' lips turning colors, M. Berteau ordered the patient to be taken from the tub and prepared for surgery.

After Athos was dry and no longer shivering it was time to begin. It was time for the final leap of faith.

M. Molyneux mixed together the dwale potion and helped Athos drink the anesthetic, with measured sips until finished. After Athos was asleep, M. Berteau took his scalpel to cut along the stitching of his previous incision on Athos' right side. The physician laid open the side and with use of a probing tool, he searched until he located the desired organ.

With the assistance of Molyneux and Aramis, the doctors worked together in perfect harmony in a last-ditch effort to save the Musketeer's life.

They took turns wiping away excess blood, keeping the incision open and clear. Doctor Berteau began to tightly pack the cavity with the life-saving poultice all around the delicate kidney.

Molyneux then brought the linen strips, soaked in wine and vinegar, to cover the poultice and open wound.

The same was repeated on the left side, but with a fresh incision being made in the location of the kidney—the same packing and wrapping done on the left side—until, finally, the surgery was over.

"Now all we can do is wait to see if he makes it. He will be on an hour-by-hour watch," said Doctor Berteau. "We will check the poultice and change it every hour or two, depending on need. All of us should pray for healing—it can't hurt."

All three Musketeers kept constant vigil beside the bed. They sat watching their friend and brother, so still and pale, with bandages now covering three wounds on his fevered body.

Every hour the doctors returned to check on his condition, changing the poultice and dressing like clockwork.

Over time, Athos was becoming more aware, yet moving listlessly, and moaning in pain, mumbling indecipherable words.

"Athos? Athos, can you hear me?" Aramis held a fevered hand tightly in his own.

Athos moved his head side as he began to dream, "go in the trees. . . run. . . too many raiders!"

All three Musketeers glanced at each other with alarm. "Athos, we're not in the forest anymore." Porthos attempted to calm the distressed patient. "We're safe—you're safe now."

"No. . . get 'Mis 'n d'Art'n to safety. . . go! Can't come. . . mus' stay." Athos mumbled more incoherent fevered orders.

"He's delirious due to the fever," Aramis stated calmly. "He's reliving everything that happened over again in his mind. We need to keep talking to him, reassure him that he's safe."

"I'm sorry. . . Porth's. . . save. . . bro'trs."

"Athos, I'm here. . . it's Porthos. I'm safe; and you're safe now too! It's over—you saved us. Do you hear me, Athos? You saved us," Porthos said, wiping at his wet eyes.

"'Mis. . . don't cry. . . over me. . . I did it. . . for you. I Love you. . . the pain. . . will end. . . in time. Don't. . . quit. . . Musk'trs 'cause of me. Don't leave. . . 'cause of me."

At those words, Aramis suddenly went white as a sheet. The cup of tea he had been holding dropped to the floor, crashing into a thousand pieces across the floor. "Oh God. . ."

"'Mis? What's wrong? d'Artagnan asked, suddenly afraid.

"I n-need to get some air," Aramis got up, swaying on his feet slightly.

Porthos jumped to his feet, "I'll come with you," he steadied Aramis.

"No, I want to be alone," Aramis said. "I'll just be outside in the courtyard for a while. I need to think," he said, leaving the room in a rush.

"What in the hell was that about?" d'Artagnan asked. "Porthos? What's going on? What just happened?"

"Aramis dreamed Athos died earlier." Porthos informed d'Artagnan of all the details he knew about the dream. "Evidently, it was quite a vivid and realistic dream. He woke up screaming in terror, afraid Athos was dead. He really believed Athos was dead," the Musketeer recalled sadly.

Outside In the Courtyard:

Aramis walked outside to the courtyard, sitting on a bench he cradled his head in his hands, elbows resting on his knees. "Athos, my friend, I don't know what is real anymore. . ."

"May I join you?" Cécile asked, sitting down next to the Musketeer.

Aramis didn't answer, only the sound of soft crying muffled through trembling hands was heard.

Cécile rubbed his back softly. "You Musketeers must be very close. I've been watching how you treat Athos with such devotion and care," she said with admiration.

"I've never seen that kind of love among friends before—I am so deeply touched by all of you," Cécile paused.

"Please, don't cry. . . Athos will be alright. You'll see," Cécile said. The nurse took Aramis' hands, pulling them away from his face, smiling as she dried his cheeks with her handkerchief.

"Thank you," Aramis sat up and smiled at Cécile. The medic's cheeks were flushed with embarrassment.

Cécile wrapped her arm around Aramis as they sat on the bench talking for quite some time. They laughed and mulled over personal memories, learning they had much in common.

Time passed, each unaware how long they had been together on the bench. Finally, Cécile leaned into Aramis to whisper near his ear. "Are you going to sit out here all day or are you going back in there to support your brother, Athos?"

"You're right," Aramis smiled, "I need to get back up there." Aramis stood, swaying on his feet slightly.

Cécile grabbed his arm, "I'll walk with you. I want to make sure you don't fall on that handsome face of yours," she laughed.

They walked arm-in-arm back inside the château to just outside of Athos' room. They paused, gazing at each other, reluctant to part.

Cécile let go of Aramis' arm and gave him a soft kiss to his cheek. She then turned and ran down the hall then down the stairs.

Aramis smiled and stared down the hall, long after they had parted ways.

The medic finally entered the sickroom, where he was met by Porthos at the door. "Hey, about time you got back. He's awake and has been asking for you."

Aramis sat beside the bed, taking Athos' hand in his own, "I'm here, brother."

Athos opened his tired eyes, giving the faintest hint of a smile. "Was. . . worried 'bout you. I'm not. . . leaving you. . . alone." Athos' eyes slipped closed, falling into an exhausted sleep.

"I was worried about you too," Aramis smiled, his eyes watering. "I'm glad you're not leaving us, brother; we need you here. All for one, remember?"

Later:

Cécile and Molyneux brought trays of food and drink for the Musketeers. They each knew this was going to be a long night of vigilance and worry for their ill friend.

The boys spent the night, sometimes quietly lost in their own private thoughts. Other times, laughing at old memories and tall tales. The doctors came in and out changing the poultice and bandages, without interruption, noting Athos' condition and progress.

~§~

Porthos sleepily looked at the tray of dishes and leftover food and laughed. "I'll be damned," he said.

"What?" d'Artagnan asked with a yawn.

Porthos took a fork from the tray and held it up to stare at it. "This looks just like the fork I used as my dueling weapon after I won at lansequenet in that tavern. I may have cheated. . . a lit'le."

"You? Cheated? No. . ." d'Artagnan laughed.

"Athos said it wasn't a fair fight if I was unarmed. That fork happen' to be there so I grabbed it," Porthos laughed.

"That was when that guy took your sword, right?" d'Artagnan asked. "I remember you mentioned that one time before," he smiled.

"Yeah, and I would've beat the guy too but Athos knocked him out. He was growing impatient, sayin' we were late meetin' with Aramis," Porthos recalled.

"Before we left, I went to the table to collect my winnings and Athos saw the cards I hid in my sleeve," Porthos said slyly.

"What did he do?" d'Artagnan asked.

"You know how Athos cocks his head to one side and give us 'that look'?" Porthos demonstrated the question.

"Yeah, Athos does that all the time," d'Artagnan and Aramis said in unison.

"Athos cocked his head and gave me that 'look.' He said, 'Porthos.' That's all-just my name-but it's the way he said it. And the whole time, he's trying not to smile." Porthos laughed at the memory.

"Then Athos asked me where Aramis was," Porthos continued. "I didn't want to answer that but when I didn't he said, 'tell me he's not that stupid.'"

Aramis laughed. "That was the time I had to jump out of the girl's bedroom window just before Armand arrived. Bloody hell, that was a long drop down, two or three floors up. It wasn't exactly the softest landing I've ever had," he frowned.

"There was nothin' soft about that time at his old house in La Fère when he punched me!" Porthos growled.

"Hell, I'm sorry about that, brother," Aramis shrugged. "But it's like Athos said, it's the best way when dealing with you-we've learned from experience." He reminded the brooding man.

"I think Athos enjoys punching me just a lit'le too much! He knew I couldn't fight back and took advantage of the situation."

"We were about to perform surgery on you, you fool," Aramis joked. "Would you rather endure the pain of me cutting into you?"

"He could've given me some of that wine he had hidden away upstairs," Porthos grumbled.

"We tried wine before," Aramis snorted. "It doesn't work, remember? That's why knocking you out is the best option. Athos has a better punch than I do."

"Yeah, he can throw a good punch that's for certain," Porthos nodded

"Do you guys remember that challenge between the Red Guard and the Musketeers?" d'Artagnan asked.

"How could we forget?" Aramis and Porthos chimed in together.

"When Athos would spar with me, to help prepare me for the duel, I'd fall and he'd kill me. Or, he'd disarm me. . . and then kill me," he laughed, shaking his head.

"We would go in circles," d'Artagnan circling with his hands as he recounted the story. "All while we're sparring, Athos is instructing me on how to be a better swordsman.

"God, I'm panting for breath and he's not even breaking a sweat! He's calmly talking away as we dueled like it was nothing to him."

"It was nothing to him," Aramis said matter-of-factly.

D'Artagnan glanced at Aramis, and then stared at the sleeping Athos. He shook his head and smiled. The young Musketeer replayed the lesson in his mind, remembering exactly how he felt that day.

"Getting Athos' approval of my abilities as a fighter—as a swordsman—was all I ever wanted," d'Artagnan said with a sigh.

"When I sparred with Athos, he always defeated me easily and miserably," d'Artagnan grumbled. "I couldn't keep up with his ability—and it was embarrassing. Do you remember, Aramis, when you and I dueled?"

"How could I forget? You really proved yourself that day, kid." Aramis told d'Artagnan proudly.

"After I defeated you, I looked to Athos for his opinion. He gave me a nod of approval and smiled. God, that meant more to me than anything. Up to that day, I had never been more proud."

"But then after I defeated the Red Guard's thug at the challenge," d'Artagnan paused.

"When Athos slipped the pauldron on my arm and gave me that pat on the shoulder-that was the proudest moment of my life," d'Artagnan said, his voice cracking.

~§~

"Oh God," Aramis said quietly. He scrubbed both hands over his face and shook his head. He paused, covering his face with both hands.

"'Mis?" Porthos asked with concern, "what's wrong?"

"I don't know. . . I don't know how to explain. . ." his voice trailed.

"Explain what, 'Mis?" d'Artagnan asked.

Aramis jumped up from his chair, leaning on the back for support. He turned away from his friends to stare at the wall. "I could swear that I've had this exact conversation before."

Porthos and d'Artagnan exchanged quiet glances of concern.

"What are you talking about?" d'Artagnan asked.

"I'm getting strange feelings of dèjà vu. . . but that can't be possible," Aramis whispered.

"God, what the hell is going on with me?" Aramis asked aloud. "I don't know anymore what is real and what isn't."

"Maybe I hit my head and I'm still caught in some bad nightmare of reality," Aramis shook his head. "This isn't real! Athos isn't really lying there. . . he's dead. . . I know he's dead!"

"That's enough, 'Mis!" Porthos grabbed his friend by the shoulders to shake him. "Do you feel that? You are not dreaming! You are standing here in front of me—you are wide awake—and this is not a dream!"

Porthos led Aramis to Athos' side. "Do you see Athos lying there? He's breathing and he's alive! When are you going to believe that this is real and everything you're afraid of is only a dream? It was all a really, really bad dream, 'Mis!"

"'Mis?" Athos called, his eyes open and filled with concern.

"Athos?" Aramis looked down at his friend watching him. He reached down with a shaking hand to touch Athos' face. "It's real."

Aramis partially collapsed over his friend. He put his own head to Athos' and sobbed tears of relief. "Thank God. Thank you, God. . . thank you, God! Athos, I thought. . ."

"'Mis, don't cry anymore." Athos pleaded, his own eyes filled with tears. A tear escaped, rolling sideways across his temple, disappearing into his brown hair.

"That goes for you too, then. No more crying," he tenderly wiped away the tear.

Aramis' eyes widened at the sudden realization that Athos' face felt cooler and no longer fevered. "Athos?" the medic placed a hand across Athos' forehead. He then moved both hands to cup his friend's cooling cheeks.

He let out a laugh. "Mon Dieu, your fever is gone! Look, his fever broke!" He yelled to his brothers, though they were already on their feet beside the bed.

Porthos reached out to touch Athos on the face, having the need to actually feel it for himself. He then grabbed Aramis and pulled him into a tight hug. He swung him around in circles, his feet completely off the floor.

"His fever has broken!" Porthos yelled out, clapping his hands together with excitement.

"Can you believe it, 'Mis?" D'Artagnan laughed like a giddy child.

Molyneux and Berteau entered the room at hearing the yelling and commotion, worried they would find a different outcome.

At finding the Musketeers cheering, M. Berteau checked over Athos. He nodded at finding the patient's skin much cooler to the touch and no longer red with fever.

"Well, for the first time in days," M. Berteau said with a proud smile, "I believe I can safely say that Athos is going to make it. He is not out of the woods yet, but I think the worst is over."

"We should be able to clean out the poultice and close him up. . . in all three places," Doctor Berteau said cheerfully.

Molyneux clapped Aramis on the shoulder happily. "Thank God. Oui, thank God. Athos is going to be alright!"

Later:

Athos continued to improve, with his wounds healing nicely. The physicians were impressed with his recovery. "It appears that soon M. Hurault may be allowed to have his house once again to himself," M. Berteau said happily.

"M. Molyneux and I will return home," the doctor continued. "I can see that Athos is in most capable hands with you here, Aramis."

Aramis smiled, "thank you, doctor."

"I do indeed believe that you missed your true calling, young man," Berteau said candidly. "If you ever decide to leave the Musketeers, please be sure to look me up. I would be honored to have such a talented and capable physician like yourself working on my team."

"Thank you, M. Berteau," Aramis blushed. "I will certainly keep your offer in mind, if or when, I tire of the Musketeers. I certainly cannot stay a Musketeer forever." He smiled as he shook the doctor's hand.

"I'll be taking my assistant, M. Molyneux, with me." Gérard Berteau informed the medic. "However, Cécile will stay here until you leave, assuring you have the help you need."

"Take care, Aramis." M. Molyneux shook his hand. "It was a pleasure getting to know each of you gentlemen. It was truly an honor to work alongside you. Aramis, you are a talented physician. I hope we can work together again one day."

"I would listen to M. Berteau," Molyneux smiled. "He doesn't hand out compliments like that to just anyone, trust me. You really impressed the doctor-and me as well. Farewell, may we meet again soon."

"Goodbye, M. Molyneux. I too hope we will meet again. In fact, I'll make sure that we do." Aramis squeezed the doctor's shoulder tightly as they shook hands.

In Aramis' Room:

"It's hard to believe you will be leaving soon," Cécile said sadly. "I mean, it's good that you are going home and that Athos is recovering. But I've gotten so used to you being here."

"I'm not that far away in Paris," Aramis said warmly.

Cécile nodded but remained quiet. A tear rolled down her face, which she quickly tried to hide.

Aramis reached over to tenderly wipe away the tear. Leaning in to her, he kissed her softly on the lips. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have done that." Aramis instantly apologized and turned away.

"Sorry, why?" she asked. The nurse turned his face back to hers, staring deeply into his eyes. Cécile bravely followed with a soft kiss of her own to his lips.

Aramis took Cécile into his arms, pulling her close. Their lips pressed passionately together, a longing finally realized, as they met in a slow and desirous kiss.

They pulled apart, as though coming up for air. Aramis allowed himself a moment to gaze at the woman in his arms. His eyes took in her beauty-her flawless alabaster skin, pink lips and large, sky-blue eyes. Her long blonde curls draped gracefully around her shoulders.

Cécile pulled Aramis close, her warm breath on his neck sent chills down his spine. Again their lips found each other, locking with such deep and heated intensity it took his breath away.

Cécile pushed away, giggling and blushing like a schoolgirl.

"What's so funny?" Aramis asked as he caressed her cheek.

"Your mustache was tickling my skin." The nurse ran her fingers over his mustache and beard softly. "I feel so happy in this moment, yet my heart is breaking. I know that you will be leaving in the morning."

"Oh, Cécile, I wish that we had more time," Aramis whispered. "I want you so much." He pulled her in for one more electrifying kiss, leaving him dizzy with desire.

"I must go," Cécile pulled away. "I have to get some things for M. Hurault today; but I will see you off before you leave in the morning."

She gave Aramis one more short kiss to the lips again. . . and again. . . and again before tearing herself away and running down the hallway.

Aramis sat for a while thinking of the past several days in disbelief. "This can't be real. . . I must be dreaming again."

"I can't be this happy. There's always a catch-I don't ever get the girl. Not me."

His mind recalled bits and pieces of his dream. Still, he couldn't quite figure out what was real and what wasn't.

I'm not allowed to be happy—there's always a price to pay and it's expensive. I have to give up one love to gain another.

Cécile's kisses cannot be real—I only found her love after Athos. . .

"God, what is it that has me so troubled?" he wondered. "I need to see Athos, make sure he's alright."

Last Morning at Château:

Your Captain Tréville and the Musketeers are here to escort you home, gentlemen," M. Hurault informed the four men.

"Porthos, since you brought us all here, with each of us not consciously aware of what happened once we got here. . . may I ask, where is my doublet, weapons belt and sword?" d'Artagnan asked.

"I would like to ask the same as d'Artagnan. Since I have seen neither of my belongings either." Athos inquired.

"Your things are in the extra bedroom, next to Athos' room." Porthos informed the men. "But. . ."

"But what, Porthos?" Athos asked suspiciously.

"I'll. . . um. . . just let you see for yourself." Porthos said as he led the way to the room.

On the large bed the four swords were placed side-by-side, neatly in a row. Nearby on a table were the weapon belts, main-gauches, harquebuses. As were the gloves, cloaks and hats.

What Porthos didn't want d'Artagnan and Athos to see were their doublets—each cut into two parts.

At the sight of his destroyed doublet, d'Artagnan's jaw dropped and eyes widened in shock. "No, you've got to be kidding me!"

"Damn," Athos demurred. "Do you know how long it took me to break in this doublet?" He scowled as he picked up the separate pieces.

"Sorry 'bout that but the doctors didn't have time to do anything but cut them off. They were in a lit'le bit of a hurry," Porthos apologized.

The only sound in the room was Aramis' soft giggling.

Porthos, Aramis, and d'Artagnan donned their uniforms, complete with assembled weapons belt—sword on the hip—finishing with blue cloaks, gloves and hat. Athos only gathered his belongings since he would be riding in the wagon, lying down. Everyone helped carry Athos' belongings to the wagon.

"I've been dreading this day-this moment-for so long." Cécile said through her tears. "I told myself that I wasn't going to cry. . ."

Aramis took her face in his hands, wiping away the tears with his thumbs. "Don't cry, sweetheart." He soothingly whispered in her ear. "We'll see each other again soon, I swear to you. I'm not letting you get away so easily."

Cécile laughed, "I was going to say the same to you." She smiled as fresh tears fell down her cheeks.

Aramis pulled her close, his arms wrapped tightly around her body. He kissed her lips gently, sweetly, passionately. . . until he had to let her go as it was time to leave.

"Goodbye, Aramis." Cécile turned away, running into the château, sobbing into her handkerchief.

Aramis turned to find his three brothers, and his captain, watching him. Their jaws were dropped open in surprise.

D'Artagnan laughed. "We didn't realize that you two had feelings for each other. . . you've kept that well hidden. Or, you just move really fast, mon ami!"

"'Mis, when did you? How did you. . .?" Porthos shook his head. "Aw hell, never mind. Glad you're happy, that's all that matters."

"Damn, after everything we've been through these last few days—being happy is all that matters!" Porthos laughed and clapped Aramis on the shoulder. Turning away, he climbed onto his horse, ready to leave.

"I really wish that you would ride in the wagon, d'Artagnan," the captain said. "I'm not so sure you are ready to ride just yet."

"Captain," d'Artagnan protested. "The wagon ride home will be worse than sitting on my horse. I can manage the distance. However, I'm worried about Athos, he might be better off on horseback also.

"No," the captain refuted the suggestion. "He will be in the wagon—horseback is too dangerous for him yet."

Athos was in no condition to protest the captain's orders. He had no choice but to willingly allow himself to be loaded into the wagon on a stretcher.

The wounded Musketeer knew the captain would order him straight to the garrison infirmary—a place he thoroughly detested—once they arrived in Paris. He would rather have finished healing here at the château. . . but the king wanted his Musketeers home.

Orders must be obeyed. This sounds all too familiar.

Aramis sat beside Athos in the wagon for a moment, deep in thought. "I think it will be best if I ride with you in the wagon, just in case you require my help. I'll harness my horse to the back of the wagon."

"Fine, whatever you think is best," Athos said, yawning.

"I'll go let the captain know," Aramis walked away to speak with the captain to get permission to ride with Athos. He returned to the wagon a few minutes later.

The Musketeer medic smiled at his friend, closing his eyes, suddenly unable to speak.

"What is it, my friend?" Athos asked.

Aramis opened his mouth to speak but decided to keep his thoughts to himself.

I could swear that in the dream, I saw Athos leave here in a carriage. . . but it was adorned in black. I saw that same carriage in a funeral procession going to Notre Dame Cathedral.

Aramis quickly shook the horrible thoughts from his mind, "God, I can't. . ." he paused.

"You can't what, 'Mis?" Athos asked, his brow furrowed with concern.

"I, um. . . I can't believe we're finally going home—all of us—together." Aramis quickly improvised rather than reveal his awful vision. "This nightmare—this entire horrific nightmare—will soon be over, finally."

Aramis' eyes watered at the chilling memories of the last few days—the vivid fear he had of d'Artagnan and Athos not surviving their wounds.

God, how could I have made the trip back home accompanying their lifeless bodies to be buried in a cold grave?

"What a mission, right?" Athos said absently, as he clung to Aramis' shoulder.

"Well, there is at least one good thing that came out of this," Aramis paused. "From you getting wounded, that is."

"What could possibly be good about me getting wounded?"

"Because of you, my friend, I think I've found the one. Cécile, she's the one!" Aramis smiled happily.

"In that case, I'm happy to oblige." Athos said, his eyes growing heavy. "Though, I would have preferred an alternate method of your meeting, my friend."

"Oh," Athos suddenly remembered something in his pocket. "The captain found this in your satchel and thought I might need it for the ride home."

Athos gave a sly smile, "I think you might need it more than me." Athos tossed to Aramis a small brown drawstring bag, still full of aromatic feverfew.

"Why would I need this?" Aramis asked, confused.

Athos pointed to the fresh scars on Aramis' head, the bandages having been removed days ago. "Thought you might have a headache," he joked.

"Thanks a lot, my friend," Aramis said sarcastically.

He looked down at the bag in his hand, shaking his head as the memories took him back to the beginning of this dreadful trip.

"To think it all began with a headache. . ."

Finis

A/N:

I fell in love with the characters in this story (besides the 4 lovely Musketeers) and feel compelled to do a few spin-off stories. I would love to see more of the Aramis and Cécile romance! I believe a romance would be captivating and fun-let's have Aramis finally get a love interest that doesn't have strings attached..for a change!
Also, I still want to do a one-shot of Porthos having nightmares of the bodies in the forest!

Anyway...so now that we are at the end of the story, what did you think of the alternate ending? I didn't want an alternate ending that was completely out-of-the-blue different than the main body of the story. I thought it would be best to weave together the chapters into a seamless finish.

Question: Was Athos's death just a bad dream? Was ALL of Chapters 10 and 11 only a vivid picture of what Aramis was seeing in his dreams due to severe head trauma?
Interesting theory. Perhaps it was all just a dream...but I'll leave that to your own imaginations!
At least we ended this story happily, knowing that the boys-ALL 4 of them-are going home together! And Athos is healing...and very much ALIVE!

Thanks for reading, my friends!