Ah, it may be short, but I swear it is sweet. Thanks for all the reviews guys, they keep my cold Canadian feet warm and give me the fuzzies.

To all the readers south of the border, enjoy your turkeys!

Hope you enjoy!

It was something in the air that made D'Artagnan look up from inspecting the gravel path. It was as if the temperature had dropped and his insides turned to ice with anticipation of what was to come. The pain from his shoulder had lessened, but he still found himself unable to gather enough strength to get farther than sitting. He brought his head up to see Constance leading the three people he wished to see the least straight towards him. If D'Artagnan could have run, he would have been halfway to Gascony by now. Farther still if he had enough energy.

He felt worse at the expressions on their faces. Porthos looked smug, Aramis was worried, but D'Artagnan froze at the rage Athos wore on his face and that in his movements. D'Artagnan wished desperately that he had thought to get his sword before pulling himself out of the path, because Athos looked set to murder him.

"Boy!" Athos roared when he was still twenty paces away, "What were you thinking?"

D'Artagnan opened his mouth to start some feeble attempt at an excuse but a growl from Athos made his teeth click together before any words could escape his lips.

"That's right! You weren't thinking, when do you ever think? Never! I thought you might have learned something from your time with us, but apparently you can't take anything in through that thick skull of yours. Did you even think about the Lady? You could have gotten her killed!" Athos roughly pulled D'Artagnan to his feet as he raged and shook the poor boy once.

D'Artagnan felt his heart sink and his stomach begin to roll. He felt ashamed. How could he have been so stupid? His ego was apparently five times bigger than his brain and now he could see it. In fact, everyone present could see it. Including Constance, the girl he loved, and now would be shamed to stand in her presence. The three men he idolized thought he was an idiot and would kick him out of their lodgings and perhaps even run him out of Paris to be rid of his stupidity. Then where would he go? Not back to his family, for they would shame him as well at failing his goal of becoming a musketeer.

Tears blurred D'Artagnan's vision and he bit his lip. He was not looking in Athos' eyes, but the man would recognize tears if they started falling down his face, for there was no rain to mask the drops.

He could vaguely hear Aramis say something to Constance and he could hear the rustle of her dress as she walked away. He silently said goodbye to her, believing this to be the last day he would ever spend in Paris.

There was a stillness around D'Artagnan as he realized his legs wouldn't support his weight for very much longer. He had to get away with his pride before he fell on his face. D'Artagnan flinched as a cold hand brushed his forehead and he blinked into the worried eyes of Aramis.

"Your fever has returned," He said quietly and made a move towards D'Artagnan's shoulder.

Flinching again, D'Artagnan tore himself from Athos' grasp and backed away. The three men advanced, and the boy could swear he saw malice in their forms. D'Artagnan began to flee, but the prideful exit he had planned turned sour when his knees buckled with the lack of strength and he collapsed like a card tower.

Three cries of "D'Artagnan!" echoed behind the boy as he fell. None of the men reached him before he slammed into the gravel path and pain once again lanced up his shoulder. His good hand came up to hold it and D'Artagnan could feel the wetness of his own blood staining his jacket. The wound had opened up again. D'Artagnan curled in on himself and felt heat rise to his cheeks as his attempts to mask the pain escaped his lips and high-pitched groans tore themselves from his throat. Next thing he knew there were hands touching him, setting him upright and cupping his face and pulling off his jacket to inspect the wound. Half-hearted attempts to bat the hands away failed.

"Stop" Aramis commanded and D'Artagnan ceased his movements.

"Boy, you look like you've not slept for a week. How did you hope that your chérie would think you dashing while you look half dead?" Porthos rumbled in his ear as his strong arms found their way behind his shoulders and under his knees. With a mighty lurch D'Artagnan's world spun, then righted itself as the tall man rose with him in his arms.

"Wait," Aramis spoke, and D'Artagnan opened his eyes a bit. He hadn't noticed them close.

The thin man dug in his pocket for a couple of handkerchiefs and bound them around D'Artagnan's bleeding shoulder tight enough that the boy saw stars and made (what he insisted was) a manly grunt of pain. Out of instinct D'Artagnan looked for Athos, but the dark man was brooding some ten feet away and glaring. Their eyes met briefly, but Athos' glare didn't break at the sight of his charge's pained expression.

D'Artagnan felt his heart tighten. It was as he feared, the man he admired like his father really did want nothing to do with him. Somehow, the rejection hurt more than he would have thought possible considering the short amount of time he had known the man, but it hurt like a knife to his heart. Perhaps Milady de Winter had left her ice around his heart, and he was not going to let anyone touch it until the pain of her betrayal melted away. Suddenly it was very important that Athos knew D'Artagnan was sorry for being a burden.

"Sorry," He murmured, getting the attention of all three.

"What was that, D'Artagnan?" Aramis gently questioned.

"I'm sorry," D'Artagnan repeated.

"Whatever for?" Porthos rumbled.

"I'm sorry for making you take care of me. I'm sorry to be such a burden," D'Artagnan wiggled a bit and tried to get free, "You don't have to care for me. I will be fine. I swear I'll leave Paris as soon as I'm strong enough. You can be rid of me forever."

Silence met his statement and D'Artagnan momentarily believed that their anger was what left them at a loss for words until Athos spoke in a dangerously quiet voice.

"So you want to leave. So you would just give up on your goal?" D'Artagnan couldn't see the dangerous narrowing of eyes and glaring from the other two men, his eyes were fixed on the suddenly expressionless Athos.

"No, but I am a burden to you, and if I am to you, I must be so to the entire guard of musketeers," All of D'Artagnan's cockiness had disappeared and left the insecurities bare for the three men to see.

Athos heaved a great sigh and pushed his hair back. As if by unspoken agreement the party began to move down the path towards the city.

"You're not a burden, D'Artagnan," Athos was leading the way so D'Artagnan couldn't see his face, but he heard sincerity in the older man's tone.

Nothing more was said during the long walk home in the falling dusk, but D'Artagnan felt that this wouldn't be the end of the conversation.