Flea gradually got better, and also her strength. The Musketeers took turns sitting with her, listening as she relived the horror of her little home blowing up before her eyes.
Her eyes were always sad, thinking that someone hated her enough to do something like that. If she hadn't left for a few minutes right before it happened, she would have perished inside. She realized, too, that possibility was probably just what the attackers had planned on.
Three weeks after she had come to the garrison, she took her first tentative steps, Aramis and Porthos supporting her on each side. She was able to walk across the infirmary several days later.
One day, she asked Aramis how long it would be before she could return to the Court. She knew he was their medic, so she would probably have to be well enough in his eyes before she would be allowed to go.
Aramis hesitated for a few moments before answering. "Flea, you are not nearly well enough yet. The burns need more time to heal properly. Just take it easy and rest for a while longer."
That wasn't the answer Flea had been hoping for, and the disappointment showed in her face, but she knew in her heart that he was right.
Nodding her head, she placed a hand gently on his arm, saying, "I thank you for saving my life. If you hadn't come along when I was at the gate…"
Aramis said softly, "You are Porthos' dear friend, and are now friends with each of us. We take care of our friends, Flea. Always remember that. Now, rest," pulling the blanket up to cover her, then standing.
I will be here reading should you have need of me," before walking to a table in the center of the infirmary and sitting down to read.
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"We still don't know who did this, and she wants to leave?" Porthos increduously said to Aramis later when his brother told him about the conversation with Flea.
"Porthos, the Court of Miracles is the only home she has ever known," Aramis replied patiently. "Of course, she longs to go back. She is also the de facto leader of the Court, and she knows only the leader can command any respect there, without complete lawlessness running even more rampant than at present. The poor families who live there wouldn't stand even the slim chance they have now if there was no leader whatever. You know this."
"I know," Porthos said, as his shoulders sagged in acknowledgement of the truth of Aramis' words. "But I don't like it."
"I don't either, Porthos. But she cannot leave until she is stronger than she is at present. We just need to keep a close eye on her for now."
Flea became a model patient in the next few days. She did whatever they asked, took Aramis' medicines for pain and to sleep, and ate what they laid before her, which quieted Aramis and Porthos' worries.
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A week later, Athos returned from a meeting in Treville's office.
"Rochefort has convinced Louis that we have had enough, as be calls it, 'time off', so Louis wants us on Palace duty tomorrow. Treville was able to persuade Louis that Aramis tires too easily yet to withstand long hours on his feet, so he will still be able to be here for Flea."
"That figures," Porthos said disgustedly said. "Rochefort always tries to make us look bad, and Louis is spineless enough to be manipulated."
Aramis looked affronted that he had been made to look like such an invalid, but finally conceded that Treville had been quick-thinking in outwitting Rochefort.
"Someday," d'Artagnan quietly said, "Rochefort will meet the justice he deserves," the others nodding silently in agreement.
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Porthos came to spend a few extra minutes with Flea next morning before leaving with Athos and d'Artagnan for guard duty.
"Now you behave yourself, Flea, and I will see you when I return this evening," he said. "You've done so well, and your burns are healing. Aramis will be here with you, if you want anything or need to talk."
From behind him came Aramis' teasing voice. "And Porthos promises to be on his best behavior at the Palace today," earning him a mock glare from his brother, which he answered with a pat on the big man's shoulder and a big smile.
Flea, watching their interaction, already knew from Porthos that Aramis was his best friend, someone he would lay down his life for, and someone he knew would do the same for him.
Knowing this, she had tried very hard to get to the bottom of the attempts on his life, and who was behind them. Even though she had no evidence to support her suspicions, she knew her house had been targetted because of her attempts to find answers.
She had decided this morning to find an opportunity to get back to the Court today. It was her home and she missed it. She also needed to find out if her men had uncovered any information yet.
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It turned out to be fairly easy to be alone for the few moments she needed. At midday, she said she felt really hungry, and Aramis volunteered at once to check with Serge about a meal for both of them.
He teased her, saying, "Keep out of trouble," as he closed the door, causing feelings of guilt to niggle at her conscience. But she shrugged them off, determined to follow through with her plan.
Wrapping her old cloak that she had found in the corner of the infirmary about her, she quietly opened the door and looked around.
No one was in sight. Probably having their midday meal, she thought, as she eased her way out the door.
She could feel her healing burns protesting as she moved cautiously across the compound towards the gates.
Once she was through the gates, she breathed a little sigh of relief, before moving a little more quickly away from the garrison.
She hadn't got very far, though, when trouble materialized.
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Aramis came back to the infirmary laden with two large trays of food, Serge having gone all out again for his favorite
It didn't hit him at first that he didn't have to lift the latch to enter the door, pushing it open with his foot instead.
But once he was inside, he saw no sign of Flea anywhere in the infirmary.
Laying the trays down on the table, he called her, even knowing with a sinking sensation that she was gone. He hadn't seen her around the garrison on his way back with the food, either.
His brothers would probably not return until later in the evening, later still if Louis took it into his head, as he sometimes did, to throw a party or some other entertainment for visiting guests.
Sighing in frustration, he hurriedly buckled on his weapons belt, and added two pistols to it, before heading back out the door.
Reaching the gates and passing through them, he turned to the left, figuring she was probably heading for the Court of Miracles, recalling her wish to return home.
He got no further than a dozen steps before he saw her straight ahead of him, her arms were being held by two men, whose clothing looked much as the denizons of the Court did. The man on the right had his hand covering her mouth, as well.
"Let her go!" he commanded loudly, starting to pull out his pistols.
The distinct sound of a pistol being cocked sounded right behind him. He froze.
"I wouldn't do that if I were you, Musketeer", a growling voice snarled from behind him, as the pistol he had heard now pressed against the back of his neck.
"We are all going back to the Court of Miracles."