The next few days passed slowly as the two men recuperated- Aramis was determined to get up and about as soon as he could to ensure all was in order with Athos' care, often to the detriment of his own well-being; more than once Athos had had to be firm and order him to sit down as he saw thin stripes of blood ooze through the back of Aramis' bed shirt, signalling a stitch or two had come undone due to extreme exertion.

Aramis was running himself ragged, he saw; his face was pale and pinched, his eyes red-rimmed, yet there was no talking him out of it as he fussed over Athos' covers, or gently unpicked the bandages on his hand to check the wound, much to the chagrin of the matrons.

It was easier to let him do it, to get it out of his system, Athos had resigned himself to thinking; he mused Aramis had taken on the role as penance for his supposed failings and letting it happen in the first place. It was no use convincing him otherwise at the moment; he supposed a lot of it was subconscious, anyway.

As it happened, and to everyone's great surprise, his own wounds were healing nicely and with no apparent outward issues, he had been advised by a relieved head physician, who had once more told him how close he had been to losing his foot. The pain lancing up the limb was sometimes unbearable at times, though, and more than once he had had to ask a matron for more balms, oils and draughts to stop the pain, or fruitlessly ask for the splint and bandage to be loosened; he was determined to keep moving it, no matter the agony he felt.

He was now able to move his fingers on his right hand with only moderate pain, however; once or twice he had cursed loudly into the silence of the infirmary as he flexed his hand prematurely, making Aramis start from his own bed, eyes creased with worry. The skin around his knuckles had grown calloused as scabs had erupted over them, catching painfully on his bandages whenever the wounds were re-dressed, but he was sure it was nothing a few days training wouldn't sort out once he was able to move freely.

Porthos and d'Artagnan visited often, carrying baskets of treats and wine for the two of them as they lay propped up in their beds, listening to them regale them with tales of the Garrison in their absence.

One afternoon, as October melted into November and cold rain pelted the infirmary windows, Aramis was sat on the edge of Athos' bed as the two played cards to pass the time, when they both looked up as footsteps were heard approaching.

'Ah, I hoped you would both be awake.' Captain Treville said, looking each man over as he stood in front of Athos' bed.

'Sir,' Aramis smiled over at Treville as he and Athos threw their cards into a pile on the covers.

'Glad to see you're both on the mend...' the Captain continued, sitting down on the wooden chair next to Athos' bed. 'Each time I've come to see you you've both been asleep. How are you feeling?'

'Better.' Athos nodded, giving him a reticent smile.

'Healing.' Aramis added, voice quiet as he looked over to his friend.

'Good.' Treville nodded as he let out a relieved sigh. Running a hand down his face, he let out a small chuckle. 'Funny way to get out of cleaning duty, I must say...'

Athos looked over to Aramis as his friend tensed; he knew the guilt would stay with him for a long while. 'We will pick up where we left off.' he said instead to Treville, who snorted.

'Don't be a fool, it's been done- I'm never letting you two out of my sight again!' he said, a dry laugh escaping him. 'I was only gone a few hours!'

He put a hand out as Aramis opened his mouth; he could see the flush creeping up his neck. 'If you're going to apologise you can close that mouth right back up again,' he said, withholding a sigh as Aramis snapped his mouth shut and averted his eyes. 'Porthos told me the whole story.' he added, looking from one man to another. 'What's done is done- no punishment shall befall you; you are both suffering enough.'

Athos cleared his throat painfully, eyes on the Captain. 'Renard?' he said, voice dark. The name felt like poison on his tongue, acrid and rotten.

'In the Bastille.' Treville said, before looking away with a sigh. 'His trial is set for a week's time, but-'

'I'll be there.' Athos growled, hands curling into his covers despite the pain in his bandaged hand.

'Athos you know the wealth the Baron possesses, I am afraid that-'

'No, he will hang for what he has done, he must!' Aramis interrupted, voice high and eyes wide as he looked over at his Captain. 'Justice must be served- he cannot get away with this!'

'Steady, Aramis...' Treville soothed, giving him a comforting smile as Aramis sat back, shaking his head. 'I will use whatever influence I can.' he said, before standing up. He knew the King or the Cardinal could help, somehow. 'Now rest.' he added, before nodding down at his two men and turning away, his footsteps echoing as he walked away.

Athos was determined to walk, to see the Baron's trial in person- the next morning he drew back his covers before anyone else had awoken, fortifying himself with wine before he drew his legs out of the bed, wincing as he placed his right foot on the floor, the bandage pristine against the greying tiles.

'What the devil do you think you're doing?' a passing matron gasped, dropping a swatch of cloth onto the floor as Athos, steeling himself, hoisted himself off the bed and onto his feet, where he promptly turned an un-fetching shade of green and fell back to the mattress with a gasp, legs shaking.

Rushing forwards, the matron put on her best stern face as she hauled his legs back into the bed and placed the covers back over the swordsman, who got a very long scolding for his troubles as she fussed over him. Next time he would use Aramis as a lookout, he thought to himself ruefully as the matron walked off, shaking her head.

It was Aramis who came up with the plan to use crutches- the long wooden implements were tucked uncomfortably under his armpits, but at least they kept him stable as he finally teetered upright without feeling sick. Aramis had also warned him against trying to use his leg so soon after it had been treated, and to wait a few more weeks before even trying to put weight on it. This advice naturally fell on deaf ears as Athos willed himself to move forwards, however much it hurt to do so.

Porthos was dismayed as he walked into the infirmary room one day to find Athos halfway from his bed, clasping hold of two long sticks as Aramis tried to drag him back into a standing position, shaking his head with concern and pain of his own as they made their slow way back to the bed.

D'Artagnan, however, helped the most- upon talking to Constance one night over dinner, she had commented that her elderly neighbour, who had hurt her hip falling in the street, had been made a special chair with wheels that she could carefully wheel herself around in, to allow a semblance of autonomy as she healed.

The young man had then spent the next day searching around the city for such a contraption, and was pleased to find one at a reasonable price; wheeling it into the infirmary, Athos at first thought it childish, like he was being pushed around like an infant, but after a few trips around the wide corridors of the infirmary he got used to it and, when his healing hand allowed, he could even push himself short distances without too much trouble, instead of relying on the others to wheel him around.

And so it was that Treville found the four of them in the infirmary grounds two days later, playing cards in the winter sun, his face lined and set in a stoic expression.

'Lads,' he started as he sat heavily down, looking over to Athos in particular. Aramis, who knew Renard's trial was soon to be starting, spoke first, leaning forwards despite the pain in his back. 'What's wrong?' he asked, voice laced with concern as Athos paled next to him. No one liked the tone of their Captain's voice.

'The Baron's trial.' he said, voice dark as he looked over at the medic- the look in Athos' eyes were too much for him to bear at that second. 'It's not going to happen.'

'What?' Porthos barked, as Aramis looked across to Athos, who visibly sank down in his chair, face ashen white. 'Why?'

'Like I said before when I came to see you,' Treville said, pulling a tired hand down his face. 'He has money, power...' he looked over to his men who were staring at him with dumbfounded expressions on their faces. 'Influences.' he finished, sighing angrily. 'He and the Judge, they must be friends- he made a sizeable donation to the treasury and his release was ordered,' he said, voice dark.

'That can't be allowed, surely? 'd'Artagnan said, his eyes flashing with incredulity as the injustice swirled in his stomach.

'It's done. I even spoke to the King,' he looked over to Athos, who was staring at him with an expression he couldn't read. 'I told him of your plight, and he was very sympathetic, but the order was made- he couldn't do anything.'

'So that's it.' Aramis said, voice icy as he sat back, face terse. 'He goes free.'

'He has been banished from Paris on pain of death, that was all the King could do.' Treville said, voice low, hardly disguising his own anger at the situation.

'Spose that's something...' Porthos scoffed, shaking his head.

'He's still out there.' Athos' voice was quiet. 'Somewhere.'

'He's been told in no uncertain terms that if he is ever seen round these parts he will be shot on sight.' Treville muttered, voice now dark as he watched Aramis place a comforting hand on Athos' shoulder. 'The King was very certain on that.'

The five men sat in a weighted silence, each one occupied with their own thoughts. Finally Treville stood, placing a hand on Athos' shoulder and squeezing lightly. 'I'll drop by on you two later,' he promised, before nodding to them and making his way out and into the darkened corridors.

A week later, and the two men were discharged with strict orders of bed rest- Athos had expected to be recuperating alone, in the confines of his house and of his wine, yet Aramis was determined they stay together through their convalescence.

Aramis didn't tell the other man that this was due to knowing that neither of them should be alone throughout these first nights away from the infirmary, Athos in particular- the swordsman had not stopped freezing at loud noises, or balking away at candlelight and shadows thrown across the room. More than once he had had to rouse his friend from a nightmare-fuelled slumber, worry piquing in his chest as Athos curled a sweat-slicked hand round his wrist, eyes moving wildly under the lids.

The pain in his foot was also teetering on the unbearable, Aramis knew, despite Athos' continuous assertion to the contrary- he had seen the way he had paled every time he attempted to put weight on the limb, the way his Adam's apple bobbed in his throat as he swallowed down the pain as he sat back down.

Coming home would do him good, Aramis knew. Familiar surroundings, smells, even routines. Athos had the bigger lodgings, with a moderately-sized spare room, so it was natural that he set up home there whilst they rested, where he could keep an eye on his friend. They spent many a night in silence, which suited both men; they rarely needed to speak to keep the atmosphere comfortable.

Athos, although he wouldn't say it out loud, was immensely grateful to have Aramis with him once they had been discharged; he would never admit but he felt vulnerable being alone for too long. Every loud noise made him reach for a blade that he knew was not at his side, for his equipment had been stored at the Garrison. Flickering candlelight made him panicky, on edge. Every shadow was Renard, until it wasn't.

It was exhausting, and he was grateful that Aramis never made too much of a fuss, bar some quiet words and a grounding hand on his shoulder when the panic got overwhelming, and never really questioned him unless Athos spoke first, which he rarely did; he supposed he had seen it before, had experienced it himself after Savoy.

It was a quiet evening on their seventh day home from the infirmary when Treville knocked on the door; Aramis opened it and let their captain in, looking carefully at the older man as he sat down on the edge of Athos' armchair- Athos was sat in his wheeled chair by his bookcase on the other side of the room.

'You bring news?' Aramis asked as he sat heavily in the other armchair, eyes wide.

'I thought I should let you two know first, before it gets around the city...' Treville began, fingers lacing in his hat he held at his lap as he looked from one man to the other.

'What?' Athos said, voice low. 'Speak plainly.'

'It seems that Baron Renard was killed last night.' His Captain's voice was calm, measured. 'An accident on the road, so I was told. Possibly a theft gone wrong, but who can tell with these things...' his voice tapered off as he looked up at Athos, who was processing his words.

'I see.' he said after a few seconds, nodding slowly.

'As to the perpetrators, well... they're long gone.' Treville added, now looking across to Aramis, a knowing look crossing his features, 'I doubt we'll ever find them now. I'll make a report, but it looks like it will remain a mystery...'

Aramis swallowed hard, nodded his understanding at what his Captain was actually saying to them. 'Shame,' he whispered eventually, voice catching in his throat. Justice had finally been served- one way or another.

'Indeed.' Treville replied in a clipped voice, before looking back over to Athos, whose face had turned almost expressionless apart from his eyes, which had grown glassy as the seconds passed. It was over.

'Athos?' Aramis cut through the silence, voice gentle.

'I'm alright.' he replied, clearing his throat and collecting himself as much as he could. He gave his captain the requisite smile he knew he was looking for, to show his gratitude. 'Thank you for letting us know.' he said, giving Treville a small nod. 'I appreciate you coming to tell us in person.'

Smiling sadly over at him, Treville sighed quietly and stood, placing his hat atop his head as he crossed the room with Aramis, leaving Athos alone in the room.

Swallowing hard, Athos took in a deep breath, feeling as if an enormous invisible weight had lifted from shoulders. For the first time in days he felt lighter, as if a glimmer of hope was shining through the darkness. As he heard Aramis close the front door and cross the hallway he thought to himself how lucky he was to have the friends he did; he didn't know how he would cope if he didn't, despite his grumpiness he sometimes displayed. He smiled over at Aramis as he joined him at the bookshelf, his first real smile for some time.

Their road to recovery would be long and painful, he knew, yet he also knew that with Porthos and d'Artagnan helping them along, they had nothing to worry about as long as they stayed true to their unwavering friendship and loyalty.

Of that he had no doubt.

The End

Thank you for reading- I hope it was worth the wait.

Please review one last time, it really helps inspire and also improve my writing- even one word would be perfect.

Quick question- would you guys be interested in a modern AU Savoy fic? Please let me know ^^

Thank you, as ever, for sticking with me, it truly means the world!

Until next time...

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