AN/ Much comfort in this scene :)

Also, I huge thank you to everyone who has faved, followed, and reviewed so far. I've tried responding to most people, but sometimes drop the ball as I'm all over the place at the moment in terms of rl. So I just wanted to say how much I appreciate all of my readers.

Disclaimer: I do not own BBC's The Musketeers.

When he next awoke, he was back in bed and the sunlight was filtering into the room.

Aramis lay still for all but a moment before shooting up into a sitting position. The blood rushed to his head and he flinched at the dry feeling in his parched mouth and at the emptiness in his stomach… an emptiness that felt entirely out of place in a body that felt so leaden.

He tried to focus but everything felt rather hazy, as if he was drunk. He closed his eyes and tried to put the jumbled thoughts back together inside his head.

"Aramis?" a soft voice called from near him.

Aramis jolted and looked to his side to find d'Artagnan lying prone. He was pale and obviously tired, but his eyes were clear, and despite his apparent discomfort, he seemed intent on checking over Aramis. Aramis looked over the Gascon. He noted the residual bowl and cloth on the bedside that served as a sign of there having been a fever, while the bandages wrapped around the lad's chest were all too clear to see.

Belatedly, Aramis realised they were in the infirmary. And as this realisation surfaced, he found himself moving towards his bedbound brother.

"What happened?" he asked d'Artagnan. "Are you okay?"

D'Artagnan startled by the questions and looked unsure as to how to answer.

"Aramis?" he asked his friend. "What do you remember?"

"I… I…" Aramis stopped momentarily to think, and realised he didn't know how he'd gotten here. At least…

When the memories finally resurfaced they hit him like a lightning bolt and his legs almost gave out from under him.

"Aramis!" d'Artagnan shouted towards him. He groaned as he unsuccessfully managed to sit up in his bed. "Aramis. We've been through this. This isn't your fault. Aramis—"

"The whelp's right," Porthos' booming voice intervened as both Athos and he entered the room with breakfast and quickly registered the scene before them. "Aramis—"

"I know… I remember… at least… I remember last night," Aramis said quietly, almost too quietly for the others to hear. "Was that last night?"

"It was," Porthos said. "You've slept the morning away, but now the two of you must eat."

Carefully, Porthos helped Aramis back onto his bed, and looked over the other man fearfully, worried that his friend might spiral back into that same catatonic state he'd been in when they first found him.

Slowly, Porthos cajoled Aramis to eat, while Athos helped d'Artagnan sit up in his bed, held up by a bunch of pillows, and then helped him with his food also.

After they finished eating, Aramis sat silently and watched the Gascon with wary eyes.

"I want to see the wound," Aramis said finally. He paused for a moment. "I'd better make sure Fabien didn't make a hash of his stitching." The joke fell flat, but no one stopped the medic in his quest to check on the d'Artagnan's injury.

As he peeled the bandages away and Aramis checked both the holes in the lad's chest and back, with d'Artagnan wincing intermittently, no one spoke. Finally, satisfied, Aramis rewrapped the chest and sat back on his bed.

"I'm a very good marksman," he tried to joke. But there no laughter in his voice, and his eyes were haunted.

"Clearly not good enough," d'Artagnan responded, with a lightness to his voice that Aramis found both startling and unnerving.

Athos and Porthos watched their two brothers, unsure as to what they should do next.

"Do you remember shooting me?" d'Artagnan suddenly asked. More than anything, he sounded curious, and he was looking directly at Aramis, not accusingly, but merely inquisitively.

Aramis looked flustered and opened his mouth only to shut it again. He was silent for another moment and then shook his head.

"Shall I tell you how it happened?" d'Artagnan asked. His tone was gentle, as if he was speaking to a small child. Normally Aramis would have been offended by this treatment, but he appreciated the tone now. Slowly the medic nodded and lifted his eyes to finally meet d'Artagnan's.

"We were trying to track you down. You didn't come back after the night out," d'Artagnan began to explain. "I went ahead and found you on the trail just beyond the city limit. You were walking rather aimlessly, and I called to you. You were startled by my shout and turned, with your weapon drawn. But the thing is, Aramis, you weren't there. Your eyes were all glassy, like you were in a drunken stupor. In fact, you moved as if you were drunk.

I called out to you again, I put my hands up to try and show you that I wasn't a threat, but I don't think you could even see me at that point. I took a step forward and that's when you fired."

Aramis flinched.

"I'm not going to lie, Aramis, it hurt, it still does, but there was something up with you. You didn't know you were firing at me. I don't think you even knew where you were."

"You moved away from me," Aramis said. "I followed the blood-trail…"

"You collapsed almost as soon as you shot me. You grunted like you were in pain. I think your head was hurting. After you fell down, I moved away a little. I didn't want you to wake back up and take another shot at me…" d'Artagnan barked a laugh that came out as a wheezing cough. "I figured I could tell the others what had happened when they caught up, but you found me first."

"I'd woken up…" Aramis said.

"Yes," d'Artagnan agreed. "You still looked a little drunk, but your eyes were clear… you knew who I was."

"D'Artagnan…"

"Do you see why I don't blame you, Aramis?" d'Artagnan interrupted. "You didn't know what you were doing. Whatever happened to you before I caught up with you… you didn't know. You didn't realise."

Aramis was looking intently now at d'Artagnan, with tears rolling down his face.

"Can you remember what happened before you joined the trail out of Paris?" Athos asked from the end of the bed.

Aramis shook his head.

"Sorry, no."

Athos dropped his head, but held back the sigh that was threatening to emerge.

"That's alright," Porthos said. "Now you're on the mend, you can keep an eye on d'Artagnan while we go figure it out."

"Porthos…"

"You're staying put," Porthos said firmly. "Look after the patient."

D'Artagnan, for his part, looked like he wanted to protest, but was stricken by a rash of coughing at that particular moment. Aramis jumped to tend him, and Porthos pulled Athos away, a smile playing on his lips.

"They'll look after each other," Porthos told Athos. "Now we've got answers to go in search of."

Athos looked behind to see Aramis sitting on the edge of d'Artagnan's bed, helping the Gascon drink from a cup, and knew that Porthos was right. Both their brothers were now out of the woods, and he and Porthos had work to do.

As you may be able to tell... the mystery is about to be solved, but there's still some more angst before we reach the end of our tale.