AN: This little ficlet was inspired by a scene in Chapter 15 of 'Fire and Ice' by the lovely Lokimis, who gave me permission to expand on their idea. You should all go check it out because it deserves far more love than it's been getting! Just click through to my favorite stories and go from there! :)
"I swear we'll be careful, Athos," Porthos promised as Aramis dragged him towards the center of the courtyard. D'Artagnan was already waiting, watching them with a ridiculously sunny grin.
It was far too early for this.
"I don't see why Aramis can't do it," Athos muttered darkly, glaring at the man in question and receiving only an easy smile in return.
"Because, mon cher, Porthos will be too busy demonstrating the technique to properly explain it to our young friend, and so I shall have to narrate while you act the part of the attacker!" Aramis said breezily.
"And Aramis is too light," Porthos added, his voice unnecessarily loud. "I might break 'im." Aramis smacked his arm, glowering as he continued to haul Athos along with more force than was strictly necessary.
Athos was beginning to feel this was payback for his refusal to stop drinking at a reasonable hour last night.
As if the pounding in his head wasn't enough of a punishment.
"How long will this take, exactly?" he asked with a heavy sigh as they reached D'Artagnan at last.
"On my honor, you'll be loose before you know it," Aramis promised with mock solemnity, an amused glint in his eyes. "Now get into position."
Athos groaned but obeyed, squaring up against Porthos. "I don't even know what exactly I'm meant to be doing," he groused, wishing the sun would stop shining quite so brightly. "I've never even heard of this move."
"That's because I made it up," Porthos said proudly, moving him into position.
"Watch closely," Aramis muttered, poking D'Artagnan in the ribs.
"Your narration leaves something to be desired," Athos said dryly, allowing Porthos to move him wherever it was he was meant to be standing.
Finally the larger Musketeer stepped back, looking pleased. "Right. Now, all you gotta do is come at me from behind, okay, and grab me around the shoulders. I'll do the rest."
"Fine," Athos sighed wearily. "Can we just get this over with?"
Aramis and D'Artagnan stepped back slightly, the lad watching intently as Athos stepped up. Athos stared at Porthos's broad back and sighed before charging in the faint hope that it would end faster if he just got on with it.
The next thing he knew he was staring at the too bright sky, his head aching worse than before and three worried faces peering down at him.
"Are we done now?" he asked, his voice ringing strangely in his own ears.
Aramis glanced at the others, a worried look on his face. "Ye-es, I think so, don't you?" he said, placing a hand on Athos's arm. He wondered when the other man had gone from standing above him to kneeling in the dirt.
"Yeah, we oughta head inside," Porthos added, hauling Athos to his feet. His head swam oddly and only the grounding presence of Aramis and Porthos's hands kept him from heaving over their boots.
D'Artagnan was hovering uncertainly just beyond them. Athos had a vague sense that he ought to say something to the boy, something reassuring, but when he opened his mouth, all that came out was a faint jumble of sounds.
Aramis and Porthos were urging him along a bit faster than seemed fair under the circumstances, but he made his way as best he could, trying to keep up.
A voice from above made them all freeze in their tracks, and it became immediately apparent why his brothers had been in such a rush.
"What is the meaning of this?" Treville roared from the balcony, and Athos's head protested violently at the explosion of sound.
"Please, captain, a little quieter," Aramis said quickly. "Athos has a concussion."
"And why would that be?" Treville asked irately, though he did lower his voice. "Perhaps it's because you lot decided to practice a move that was not ready for training? Dammit, I told you not to try it without further practice!"
Athos tipped his head to the side, watching Aramis and Porthos shift uncomfortably beneath the captain's reprimands.
Treville sighed, rubbing a hand across his face in obvious frustration. "The three of you are on stable duty for a week," he muttered at last.
"Me, sir?" Athos asked, his tongue feeling strangely heavy in his mouth. Right. Aramis had said concussion. He was concussed. Concussed and hung over.
"No, not you, Athos," Treville snapped, anger not quite overriding his concern. "I never told you not to go along with their fool plans. And you're already suffering for it." He turned his attention back to Aramis. "Get him sorted. I expect to see you lot back here first thing in the morning for stable duty."
"But sir," Aramis said, his voice suddenly smoothly persuasive. "You know how it is. If we don't stay with him, he'll be up and about long before he's ready and undo all my good work."
Even through his slightly blurred vision, Athos could make out the vein jumping in Treville's cheek. "Fine," he ground out, glaring down at them. "I don't want to see any of you for a week! You show your faces here, you'll be mucking out stalls faster than you can blink!"
With that he stormed back into his office. Aramis met Porthos's eyes over Athos's head. "I believe now is when we beat a hasty retreat," he said softly, shifting Athos slightly to get a batter grip on his arm. "D'Artagnan, run ahead to Athos's rooms and close the shutters, will you?"
Athos missed the boy's response when his stomach gave a sudden lurch. Porthos kept him upright as he heaved into the dirt.
He glared at Aramis when he straightened at last. "I am never doing anything you ask, ever again," he muttered darkly, turning to include Porthos in his proclamation.
Aramis smiled sheepishly, reaching out to grab his arm once more as they led him back to his lodgings. "Think of it this way, mon ami," he said brightly. "We've just earned a week of leave!"
The lot of them are all seriously adorable. Let me know what you thought in the comments, and go check out 'Fire and Ice' :)