Aramis awoke slowly and painfully three days later, the soft light of the moon filtering through the curtains hurting his sore eyes; he blinked a couple of times and breathed out deeply as he felt a pulse begin behind his eyes already. He forced himself to keep his eyes open and to look around- the room was wreathed in silence and darkness; he looked to the thin curtain that was gently moving in the breeze and could just about make out a dark, starry sky in the world beyond.

As he lay in his comfortable bed his eyes wandered to the hospital room at large; it was quite big, but sparse. A portrait hung on the wall opposite his bed, with a large wardrobe just to the left- as Aramis peered round the semi darkness of the night his eyes came to rest on two shadows slumped in chairs, one on each side of his bed.

He at once recognised one of them to be Porthos, if not from his familiar size but from the sound of his deep snoring that he now realised filled the room. He smiled fondly at his friend's sleeping form, before his eyes flicked over to the shadow to his other side. He gave a small start as he realised the figure was not asleep as he had originally thought, but very much awake and staring at him, his eyes never leaving his face.

'Evening.' Athos muttered, his voice thick with tiredness.

'Hello,' Aramis replied, before he swallowed and cleared his throat. As Athos sat up a little straighter in his chair Aramis could see one arm was in a white sling, pinioned across his chest. 'You alright?' he asked him, nodding across at his arm.

Athos shrugged as he settled back down with a low hiss of pain. 'It'll heal.' He muttered, before sighing deeply and looking across to Aramis. 'We've been more worried about you.'

'Me? 'Aramis chuckled lightly, but stopped with a wince as his whole body protested. He inhaled a quick, pained breath, before relaxing back into his bed. 'It'll heal...' he muttered, eyes closed as his bruised body flared in pain. He gently moved his legs, his eyes creasing as he realised his left leg was encased in something hard, as was his left wrist.

'The surgeon managed to stabilise your broken bones.' Athos commented, as if reading his mind. 'He said it would take a few weeks to heal properly. You'll be out of action for most of those weeks with your wrist the way it is, I'm afraid.'

Aramis sighed at that, before he told himself it could be much worse. He could've died, he realised. A few week's rest would be a small consolation. 'How about you?' he said instead, looking back to Athos. 'And the others? How are they?'

'I'm fine, bar some bed rest for my ribs-'

'Which you are abiding to so well, Athos.'

'Well, I can't stay in bed can I?' Athos growled, his mouth turned up as Aramis chuckled as much as his body allowed him to. 'I told Treville I'll spend more time in the garrison for a while, perhaps tending to the ledgers, if he must keep me from active duty.'

'Good idea.' Aramis nodded, feeling tiredness press behind his eyes despite the fact he had only just woken up. He stifled a yawn as Athos continued his report on the condition of Porthos and d'Artagnan, his eagerness to know of their welfare surpassing his need for sleep.

'd'Artagnan has been confined to his bed, less he incurs the wrath of Madame Bonacieux,' Athos said with a snort. The Gascon's head injury was worse than had been originally thought, so once he was discharged from the hospital Constance and Treville had conspired to ensure he took enough rest to recover. 'He should be allowed out again in the next couple of days,' Athos added, before looking across to the man on the other side of Pothos' bed. 'He hasn't left your side since you were brought in,' he recounted, to which Aramis smiled and shook his head. 'The Matrons even had to tend to his wound and affix the bandages onto his head in this room, so loathe was he to leave your bedside.'

'That sounds like Porthos.' Aramis smiled, before holding his chest and scrunching his eyes up in pain as he coughed and caused his ribs to flare in pain. As the sounds of the pained gasps filtered round the room Porthos' eyes snapped open before he sat up, as alert as a cat. 'Aramis?' he muttered, a wide smile filling his face as Aramis waved weakly at him as he sank into his pillows.

'I'm so glad to see you open your eyes!'

'Likewise, my friend,'Aramis smiled, the tiredness washing over again so much he felt his eyes flicker shut a couple of times.

'You need to rest- the surgeon said you would need many days of just sleep to let your body recover.' Athos muttered, picking up his hat and gloves from Aramis' bedside table.

'That sounds wonderful...'Aramis breathed, the softness of his pillows and the sound of crickets outside lulling him slowly but surely into dreamland.

'Come on Porthos- I daresay you need sleep too,' Athos said, standing up with a groan of pain as his own ribs protested against the movement. Three days of sleeping on a wooden chair had hardly done them much good, he mused to himself.

'What if he needs help?' Porthos asked, his eyes creased in concern as he too stood.

'He is in hospital, which is the best place for him.' They both looked down at their friend, tired smiles on their faces once more when they saw that Aramis was now asleep, his mouth curved into a contended expression and slightly open.

'See, he'll be fine- we can come back tomorrow and check up on him.' Athos nodded to Porthos, who sighed and nodded his agreement.

'Alright, I 'spose.' he muttered, before the two of them left the room quietly, leaving Aramis to his slumber.

Three weeks later

d'Artagnan sat back in the leather armchair by the fire in the Musketeer common room as the rain cascaded down outside, trying desperately to conceal the smile on his face as he looked down at the hand of cards he had been dealt by Porthos. Athos looked across at him, rolling his eyes as he saw the younger man's eyes light up at whatever he had been dealt.

'You have a terrible poker face, lad.' he commented, taking a gulp of wine as he placed his own cards face down on the table between the four of them before he too sat back, his face impassive.

'Or he could be tricking us into thinking he'd got a good hand?' Aramis countered, an eyebrow quirked. 'He could be a master bluffer!'

'I think you give me too much credit...' the Gascon muttered, to which the three older men laughed.

It had now been three weeks since the explosion in the docks- an investigation had ruled that somehow a spark had been created near the barrels of gunpowder that had been delivered. It hadn't been a particularly hot day, therefore either a dock worker's pipe had ignited the cargo, or some other nefarious culprit was to blame. Either way, it could not be proven; the area was too badly damaged for a thorough investigation.

Aramis had been released from hospital three days earlier, on strict instruction to rest as much as he could, and under no circumstances was he to go back to active duty until the surgeon had deemed him fit. As each of the four men had more or less been given the same instruction, they had spent much of their time together, either in Athos' spacious living quarters, in the numerous taverns dotted around the city, or in the common room they were in now, where Musketeers could go to rest and eat between shifts.

Aramis hissed in pain as his slowly-healing leg protested at the angle it was in; with a low groan he reached down and lifted it up before depositing it on Athos' knee with a contended sigh. The other man looked down before looking back up and quirking an eyebrow at the medic; Aramis grinned and leant over to refill Athos' wine goblet as way of a thank you, causing Athos to chuckle and sit back so Aramis' leg had more room.

'Right, gents- lets see your cards!' Porthos announced, but before they could reveal their hands the door to the common room opened, heralding a man who was most definitely not a Musketeer.

'Well, look who it is...' Porthos whispered as they watched Clement walk down the room towards them, an unsure expression on his face as everyone turned to look at him.

'Can I sit, gents?' he asked as he came level with them, voice meek.

'Pull up a chair.' Athos nodded, before each of them waited as Clement resolved to drag an armchair across the room rather than pick up the wooden chair next to d'Artagnan.

The merchant wiped his sweaty face as he sank into the chair, eyeing each man nervously.

'So, how are you, Clement?' Aramis asked, genuinely interested to know.

'My business was flattened, most of my men died, and I lost all my equipment.' Clement replied tartly. 'How do you think?'

'Steady,' Athos growled, irritation already rising. 'You're not down in the docks now.'

Clement took a deep breath, giving Aramis an apologetic look. 'Sorry,' he muttered.'I've had a bad few weeks. Trying to build up the business again is taking longer than I had hoped.'

'I can imagine,' Aramis replied, his voice soft. 'If we can do anything, please let us know.'

'That's very kind, but I don't know what a bunch of Musketeers can do...' Clement said, before breathing in deeply again and smiling up at him sadly. 'The King waived my debt in the wake of the explosion, which was decent of him.' he said, giving a small shrug.

'Why did you come here, Clement?' Porthos asked, a questioning look on his face.

'I...I came here to apologise.'

'What for?' d'Artagnan muttered, eyebrow quirked. 'For abandoning us? For refusing to get help when we begged for it? For-'

'd'Artagnan, enough.' Aramis said quietly, eyes locked on Clement, who looked down at his feet, ashamed.

'I'm sorry I didn't get help- I...I should have.' The older man swallowed hard. 'My only thought was for my son, you understand?'

'Of course we do.' Aramis said, patting the man on the shoulder. 'Regret is in the past, of which we no longer have any control. Let us look to the future, yes?'

'Yes,' Clement nodded. 'Thank you for...understanding.' He stood, brushing down his trousers. He looked across at the men, who seemed to be in varying states of understanding at the present moment. 'I-I spoke to Captain Treville before coming in here. I wanted to show my apology rather than just say it...I've given the Garrison three months supply of fish, just to show you how sorry I was.'

Athos nodded- with the state of his business at the moment, he knew Clement was taking a big drop in profit to do this. 'I'm sure Serge will appreciate it, as will we.' He gave him a small smile. 'Aramis' offer still stands- if you need any help, please ask us and we will do our best.'

'Thank you.' Clement nodded. 'You're not as bad as I thought,' he added, to which Porthos threw out a laugh. The Merchant chuckled nervously at the reaction, before nodding to the four of them and walking away, leaving the Inseperables watching his retreating back.

'Well, free fish!' Porthos chuckled as the door closed behind Clement, taking a large gulp of wine. 'That's not bad, is it?'

'Bedpans at the ready, eh, Aramis?' Athos quipped, to which Aramis snorted and closed his eyes with a pained expression. 'Can we just please play cards?' he asked the group at large, who grinned at his discomfort.

'Alright- loser buys the next round!' d'Artagnan announced, before the four of them continued their card game, the warmth and light of the crackling fire a welcome contrast to the storm raging outside.

The End.

Thank you to everyone for reading this small tale- I hope you enjoyed it!

Please review one last time...I would really love to know your thoughts ^^

Until next time...

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