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The night had been nothing short of purgatory, the lack of fire accompanied by the drop in temperature and dew covering everything in sight left the Musketeers cold and miserable. Aramis had at least managed to sleep, his body's exhaustion too much for even their harsh surroundings to overcome and d'Artagnan prayed that the rest would help the man fight the infection that had taken hold in his wound. He had spent the long evening hours intermittently dozing before startling himself awake, only to sit up and stare into nothingness as he sat shivering, doing his best to stay aware and watch out for his sleeping friend. He'd experienced weariness in the past, the life of a soldier often requiring hours of diligence, or possibly boredom, interspersed with hours on horseback; but never could he remember a time when he'd been awake for so long, been required to be alert without rest for so many hours in a row, that his eyes no longer focussed and his head felt lightheaded from fatigue.

He'd come aware when his head dropped to his chest for the umpteenth time that night, and he was grateful to see the lightening sky, heralding the arrival of a new day. Dawn's approach meant an end to his lonely vigil, offering the promise of movement and possibly conversation to help him fight off the exhaustion that threatened to overwhelm him every second that he remained sitting. With a great deal more effort than he cared to admit, the Gascon managed to roll to one side and then onto his knees so he could crawl to his friend's side, currently lacking the coordination to rise to his feet. With a hand on the man's shoulder, he roused the sharpshooter, "Aramis, it's morning. Wake up."

Aramis was understandably unmotivated to open his eyes, awareness bringing with it the discomfort of the previous day's fever and the dull ache in his side. Despite that, the tone in his friend's voice implored him to wake and he grudgingly opened his eyes, blinking tiredly at the trees that surrounded them. He'd slept on his side, curled tightly to preserve what little warmth his body possessed, unaware that he'd actually been quite hot with fever and only felt like he was cold. Now, he found himself quite comfortable and was surprised to find himself underneath a pile of blankets, the Gascon obviously having covered him with nearly everything they carried with them.

He rolled slowly onto his back and squinted up at d'Artagnan who still sat next to him, waiting as he gathered his wits about him. Although the light was still poor, the sight that greeted his eyes did not bring him much confidence, the young man looking haggard and gaunt, dark circles etched beneath both eyes. "d'Artagnan, did you get any sleep last night?"

The Gascon bit his lip as he considered his answer and Aramis immediately decided to disregard anything the boy said, the mannerism an obvious tell and a more truthful answer to his question than what the young man might offer. "You didn't sleep, did you?" Aramis tried to keep the accusatory tone from his words but could see that he'd failed miserably when the young man winced. "d'Artagnan," Aramis softened his tone, "was it your wounds?"

The Gascon jerked in surprise, rushing to assure his friend that it wasn't injury that had kept him awake, but duty. "No, Aramis, no," he repeated, unsure of how to proceed. "I was worried…about you. Last night, you were so hot and I know we were both exhausted, but I couldn't risk Pritchard's men taking us by surprise. I stayed up to keep watch."

Aramis' expression was a mix of gratitude and despair, appreciating the young man's selfless act but recognizing how much it must have cost him to stand guard all night. d'Artagnan sat waiting for the medic's reaction, hoping his friend wouldn't be too upset, and shivered involuntarily, the dampness of morning seeming to chill him to his core. Aramis' eyes narrowed when he noticed, and his eyes returned to the pile of coverings that he'd slept beneath, realizing that the Gascon had likely gone without anything more than the blanket that still sat around his shoulders.

"Help me up," he grunted, doing his best to dig his way out of everything, d'Artagnan helping by pulling some of the covers away. Aramis pushed himself up to a seated position, hand landing momentarily on his wound to confirm that the slice was still tender. Before he could stop it, d'Artagnan's hand was on his forehead and Aramis scowled at his friend in response.

The Gascon was nonplussed and simply pulled his hand away after a few seconds, stating, "Better than last night, but you're still warm."

Aramis grunted but didn't dispute the claim, feeling the familiar flush of fever and knowing that his wound was still infected. "I'm going to go…" he trailed off, hand waving generally in the direction of the trees, indicating his intention to take care of his morning needs. d'Artagnan nodded, deciding to do the same but as he attempted to rise, the light-headedness returned and he found himself back on his knees, barely holding himself up with one shaky arm.

Aramis was leaning over him a second later, hand on his shoulder as he spoke, "d'Artagnan, what happened? Are you alright?"

"Just a little dizzy," d'Artagnan mumbled, head still hanging low between his shoulder blades.

Aramis gripped him by both arms to help him ease to a sitting position, only to have the Gascon hiss in pain and jerk away from his grasp. The medic pulled his hands away as if burned, horrified that he'd forgotten about the young man's still dislocated arm. In the act of pulling away, d'Artagnan had fallen to sit on his side, hand cradling his injured arm to his chest as he tried to curl over the limb. "d'Artagnan," the medic spoke soothingly, "I'm so sorry. Are you alright?"

Clearly the young man was far from alright, his eyes squeezed tightly closed and Aramis could see the convulsive swallowing that signalled an agony so great that the Gascon felt sick to his stomach. After nearly a minute, d'Artagnan prised his eyes open, shuddering breaths beginning to even out again and he gave a shaky nod. "S'Alright," he managed, still looking pale with pain.

"You need to let me look at that shoulder," Aramis stated, hoping that the young man would not argue with him. The joint had been terribly swollen the previous day and he knew that their care of it since then had been lacking, but the arm would need to be put back soon to avoid risk of permanent damage.

d'Artagnan drew several steadying breaths before he agreed, "Alright, you can look now."

Aramis did all of the work, pulling back the layers that d'Artagnan wore, the medic cursing to himself again as he recognized how cold the night must have been for the young man. By the time he'd helped the Gascon slip his arm out his doublet sleeve, d'Artagnan was trembling in pain, sweat dotting his brow despite the cold air around them. The medic tugged at the collar of the boy's shirt, exposing the grotesquely swollen joint and Aramis tugged at his beard as he considered what to do.

"Please, Aramis, you've got to put it back." Aramis raised his eyes from the young man's shoulder to his face, uncertain how to respond. "Aramis, please." d'Artagnan swallowed against his churning stomach once more. "It's been too long, you know it has."

Aramis shook his head as he replied, "I'm not sure if will go back in. We should have been more diligent about wrapping it in cold cloths…"

d'Artagnan interrupted him as he was wracked with another violent shiver, "Trust me, Aramis, I couldn't be much colder than I am right now. It has to be enough."

The pleading tone made Aramis nod, "This will be extremely unpleasant."

The medic's understatement brought a bark of laughter from the Gascon, "Aramis, it was unpleasant the first time you fixed it. I expect this experience will be ten times worse."

Aramis gave a soft smile as he agreed, "Well, as long as you know what to expect."

The medic helped d'Artagnan lay down on the ground, concerned that the boy would be unable to hold himself upright once he began to manipulate the arm. With a final look to the young man, he began, focusing on the tension and resistance he felt in the shoulder joint rather than the gasps of pain that d'Artagnan was unable to contain. He persisted for over a minute, the arm stubbornly refusing to pop into place. Aramis paused, holding the limb in his hands, and after several seconds, d'Artagnan opened his eyes, blinking away the tears that sat there. "What?" he croaked, wondering why his friend had stopped.

Aramis' expression conveyed the anguish he felt at causing the Gascon pain as well as his frustration at not having been able to relocate the arm. "It's not working," he said quietly, hoping that the young man would release him from his promise and allow him to stop trying.

"Try again," d'Artagnan gritted out between clenched teeth, the fire in his damaged joint increasing with every second that passed. "Please," he gasped, eyes closing again.

Aramis gave a nod that the Gascon missed and he tried once more, pushing more forcefully against the damaged muscles that prevented the arm from shifting back into place. With a final powerful push as he rotated the arm, he felt it grudgingly slip into place, a strangled shout spilling from the young man's chest as it did. Aramis bent the arm at the elbow and laid it gently across d'Artagnan's chest, releasing it and sitting back while the young man heaved breaths as he tried to cope with the pain. The tears that had glistened in his eyes were now streaming down his cheeks, and Aramis watched them sorrowfully as they traced a path through the dirt on his face from the last several days.

After several minutes, the Gascon's breaths slowed and he'd moved his good hand to hold the wrist of his injured arm, stabilizing it until it could be bound. "I'm sorry, d'Artagnan," the medic said once he was certain his words would penetrate the haze of agony that had engulfed the young man.

d'Artagnan looked at him through half-slitted eyes as he slurred, "S'alright, needed to be done."

Aramis nodded, "But that doesn't mean that I can't feel bad about causing you pain."

The Gascon's lips quirked with humour, "Aramis, you feel for your patients more strongly than anyone I've ever met, but you'll have to trust me when I say that the pain you caused was well worth the relief I now feel."

The words brought a faint smile to the medic's face and he clasped a hand lightly on the young man's uninjured shoulder. "Are you ready to sit up so I can bind that for you?"

The thought of moving brought an unwelcome lurch to d'Artagnan's belly but he nodded regardless, doing his best to roll his upper body upwards as Aramis grasped his good arm and pulled. Aramis helped d'Artagnan into his doublet, neither of them willing to have the arm restrained underneath the piece of outerwear, lest he need to use it at some point. The medic's sash was again relegated to being a makeshift sling, Aramis wrapping its length underneath the Gascon's arm and then both around his shoulder and his waist so the limb was supported in two directions.

As he admired Aramis' handiwork, d'Artagnan shook his head with a rueful grin, "Quite the pair, aren't we?"

Aramis gave a cheeky grin in return, "Not sure what you mean. I'm still a dashing Musketeer, despite being a bit worse for wear."

The Gascon had no reply and only grinned more widely, welcoming the brief bit of humour given the difficult days they'd endured. "Shall we?" Aramis asked, having risen and now extending a hand to his friend. d'Artagnan grasped it gratefully and was pulled to his feet, the two men maintaining their grip for several seconds afterwards, drawing strength from each other as they prepared to face another challenging day. When they let go, they moved towards the trees together, shoulders bumping occasionally from the close proximity they maintained.

Their day had an almost leisurely quality to it and they might have described it as pleasant were it not for the reality that the hours spent at the inn added to the time that separated them from their brothers; that and the fact that both men were nursing serious injuries that could have been life-threatening if left untreated. Athos continued to cough throughout the day, slipping into sleep frequently as he battled a low-grade fever and the exhaustion that accompanied severe illness. Porthos took advantage of the time as well, helping the older man through his coughing fits and taking advantage to eat or rest when his friend was dozing.

When Madame Fontaine returned late that afternoon, she was pleased with the condition of both men and elicited a promise from them to take their medicine, eat a hearty meal and rest as much as they could before they departed. With little more to be done, she left them a short while later, promising to make arrangements for dinner to be delivered to their room, stating that she would return the following morning to check on them before they left. Dinner was eaten at Athos' bed, the older man only getting up when he needed the chamber pot but otherwise using every minute to regain his strength. Porthos sat on a chair at his side and passed him bread and a small amount of stew before helping himself.

As they ate, Porthos broached the subject that had been weighing heavily on his mind, even more so now that he worried for their absent comrades. "You ever wonder what's happened between the four of us?" Athos seemed surprised by the question as he looked up from his bowl of stew, and he waited for his friend to continue. "I mean, there was a time we would do anything for each other but now it's like we can't wait to be apart." Athos chewed slowly, uncomfortable that the other man had brought up the discord between them. Porthos sighed as he said, "I never had any proper friends like you and Aramis when I was growin' up," he stated wistfully. "Is this what happens over time? Do friends just eventually grow apart?"

It was clear that Porthos was struggling with the strain between them and was looking for reassurance – the one thing Athos was uncertain he could provide. Although his upbringing had been nearly the exact opposite in every way to the larger man's, he also couldn't recall ever having friends who were as dear to him as the other inseparables, nor ones whose acquaintance had lasted as long. Carefully clearing his throat, he replied, "I have never been fortunate to have friends such as you in the past, but I know others who relate stories of lifelong friendships, suggesting it is possible."

Porthos nodded thoughtfully, recalling Treville's joy at being reunited with General DeFoix, a man who he'd known since his early days of soldiering. Taking another bite of stew, he was silent until he'd swallowed and then offered another question. "Do you think it's the secrets that are gettin' in the way?"

Athos nearly choked on the bite of food in his mouth and Porthos thumped his back soundly as he coughed, painfully clearing his airway. The large man helped him with a drink of water as Athos cursed his friend's perceptiveness, having instinctively recognized that there was something unspoken between them which was the source of at least some of the tension.

As he controlled his breathing, not wanting to suffer from another bout of coughs, Athos reflected that he shouldn't be surprised at Porthos' instincts. The man had grown up in the Court of Miracles where the ability to size up a person and correctly read their intentions was practically a prerequisite for survival. That he would have noticed the strain between himself and Aramis, and then the way in which the sharpshooter had progressively distanced himself from them, should come as no surprise. Throat still raspy from his most recent fit, he offered a neutral reply, "Secrets have a way of creating a wedge between those who were once most intimate."

Porthos nodded in sympathy and Athos realized that his words accurately described the situation between himself and Milady, and it was possible that the large man believed it was those circumstances to which he now referred. He felt a momentary pang of guilt at potentially misleading his friend before remembering that the secret that existed between himself and Aramis was not his for the sharing, regardless of what Porthos might sense. The large man then surprised him further, but Athos' mouth was empty, saving him from another episode of choking, "I figured you wouldn't say, but I'm warnin' you now, whatever this is between you two, I plan to get to the bottom of it when I see Aramis next."

Athos swallowed carefully and considered the conviction in his friend's expression before offering a slow nod. Perhaps Porthos was correct and they'd allowed things to go on too long, needing something drastic such as their current separation and fear for the others to remind them of what was truly important. After all, Athos reflected, despite everything that had happened, he would still happily sacrifice his life for the others and was certain of their willingness to do the same. In danger, they still acted as brothers and it was their peacetime relations that needed to change. Surely men who felt such devotion for one another could find their way back from the despair they'd succumbed to in the past months - couldn't they?

Porthos was staring at him and Athos gave an embarrassed quirk of his lips, nodding again but this time with greater confidence. He would support his friend's plan. They'd allowed too much time to pass, treating each other worse than strangers; when they were reunited, they would find a way to behave as brothers once more.