Aramis woke up feeling woozy- pushing it away as he swung his legs out of his bed and stood up, he closed his eyes against a muggy, cloudy feeling filling his head, making him reach onto his bedstead to centre himself.

How much did I drink last night? He thought to himself ruefully as he pulled on his clothes; the previous night had been a heavy session, but he didn't think he had drunk that much, he mused as he walked out of his lodgings, pulling the door shut behind him.

The day was to be a relatively easy one- the four of them had been put on a day's training, and for once Aramis was glad of it as he pushed open the Garrison door, his stomach doing flips as he headed to the wooden table to grab some breakfast; hopefully hot oats would soothe a quavering stomach, he told himself.

'Morning,' Athos called from the training area, on which he, Porthos and d'Artagnan were sparring.

'Morning,' Aramis nodded back, before frowning to himself as his voice almost echoed inside his head.

'You alright?' Porthos asked as he came closer, eyebrows raised. 'You look white as a sheet.'

'One too many last night, my friend.' Aramis gave him a small smile as he ate another spoonful of oats despite his protesting stomach.

'Aww, are you suffering?' d'Artagnan teased, before darting forwards to meet Athos' lunged challenge. The noise of clattering blades made Aramis wince; the sounds cut through him like a gunshot.

'Lads, steady..' he muttered, waving them away as he put his head in one hand, eyes squeezed shut as he leant over the table as the noise finally abated. He hadn't felt like this for a while, not since childhood now he came to think about it...

He tensed as felt someone join him on his bench. 'Everything alright?' Athos muttered, his voice creased with worry.

'I think so,' Aramis smiled at him, before shielding his eyes from the light despite the weakness of the early morning sun.

'You don't look it.' Athos sniffed, pouring his friend a mug of water from the jug on the table. 'Here, drink,' he instructed, watching as Aramis took a gulp.

'I'm fine- just a bit rundown and tired is all,' Aramis pushed the concerns away with a smile. 'Probably had a dodgy ale last night.' he added as he stood up, trying to ignore his shaky legs.

Athos quirked an eyebrow but said nothing- Aramis was a big boy, he told himself. He knew his own body.

'You look like you're about to keel over, old man!' The Gascon quipped, blade out ready as Aramis unsheathed his own weapon, a wry smile on his face.

'You'll pay for that, whelp!' he chuckled, pushing down the rising tide of nausea in his stomach as he started his attack. For a few minutes all was well- the two men dodged and parried as they did every other training session.

Soon, however, Aramis started to feel very strange indeed- everywhere he looked flashes of light caught his eye, making him lose concentration for a split second, causing him to concede point after point as the younger man took full advantage.

He stopped play as he started to get blind-spots in his vision; relaxing his arm to show he wasn't a threat he put a hand to his eyes, shielding them from the sun again with a groan.

'Aramis?' he heard Porthos call from somewhere behind him, before he felt a hand on his shoulder, thought he couldn't tell who it belonged to.

''M'alright...' he mumbled to whoever was closest to him, voice wavering. 'Dizzy...' he added.

'Sit, Aramis,' he heard Athos mutter, before he felt himself being guided backwards and onto the bench at the table once more.

'What's wrong?' he heard d'Artagnan from somewhere to his left. Removing his hand, he squinted into the daylight, alarmed by the continuation of the blind spots plaguing his vision.

'Can't see very well...' he muttered, eyes creased up as he continued shielding his eyes. 'Porthos, be a good fellow and stand in front of me...' he said, moving the larger man slightly to the side to get him into the right position, blocking out the sun entirely. 'There, thank you.' he smiled.

Porthos looked across to Athos, who was surveying the scene with a dawning comprehension. 'This ain't no normal hangover.' he said in a low voice, eyebrows raised.

'No.' Athos nodded in agreement, before he put a steadying hand on Aramis' shoulder as he watched his friend's face tense up suddenly. 'Didn't you say you used to suffer from migraines?'

'When I was a child, yes,' Aramis nodded, hoping it wasn't what this was. That hadn't been a pleasant summer. 'I haven't had an attack in years, though.'

Athos sat back with a sigh, 'I think this is what this is, Mis.' he said, before looking across to d'Artagnan. 'Go to the armoury to see if you can find a dark cloth, brown or black.' he instructed, before he and Porthos looked across to Aramis as he groaned, covering his eyes again.

'Won't be long till the headache hits,' Athos muttered; his aunt had suffered terribly with migraine attacks so he knew how debilitating they could be.

'Thanks Athos, that makes me feel better...' Aramis snorted, before he sighed deeply as he felt a horribly familiar feeling fill his skull. They all looked up as D'artagnan crossed the training area, a large swatch of cloth in his hand.

'This should be dark enough...' he said, passing it to Athos who gently draped it over Aramis' head, blocking out the sun.

'He can't stay out here, the others will be coming in soon,' he muttered, before another shadow fell over them.

'Why has Aramis got a cloth over his head?' Treville asked, arms crossed, an eyebrow quirked. 'Its not that bright out here.'

'We think he's suffering from a migraine, Sir,' Athos told him, a hand on the medic's shoulder as Aramis let out a sudden, low groan from under the cloth. 'We need somewhere dark and quiet so he can ride out the headache.'

'M'alright, really...' Aramis muttered, before he let out a breathy moan; Porthos watched as his whole body tensed up. 'Oh no...' he mumbled, hands clenched as pain throbbed on the right hand side of his face.

Treville watched with concerned eyes as Aramis continued to groan.

'Should I call a matron?' he asked after a few seconds, wincing himself as Aramis bent over the table, resting his forehead on the wood as he groaned through the cloth. He had never seen the medic like this; he felt a pang of paternal concern rise in his chest as he watched him suffering.

'They just need to take their course, I'm afraid,' Athos muttered, a comforting hand on his friend's back. Seconds later they all moved back a pace as Aramis suddenly turned and vomited onto the ground.

'M'alright...' he groaned as he straightened back up a few seconds later, putting his head in his hands. 'This is going to be a bad one...' he added in a gravelly voice.

'My office is free- I was going to the Palace for a meeting, but perhaps I should stay?' Treville said, coming closer to Aramis and putting a hand on his shoulder.

'That's kind of you, s-sir...' Aramis muttered as the cloth fell from his face. Treville winced as he saw the younger man's face was tensed up, pain evident as he groaned out again, eyes squeezed shut. 'But I'll b-be fine, I assure you.'

'If you say so,' Treville shrugged at the bravado- Aramis did hate to have such a fuss made over him, he knew, 'alright, but I'll go by the infirmary on the way back, I'll speak to a matron about a remedy.' He muttered, before gently putting the cloth back over his medic's eyes.

'As I said- my office is free all morning.' he said as he straightened , looking across to Athos, who gave an appreciative nod.

Giving Aramis one more, concerned, glance, Treville walked away, leaving the four of them together again.

'Is it bad?' d'Artagnan asked Aramis in a low voice.

'Nah...' Aramis groaned out. 'H-hardly hurts at all...' he added, before attempting to chuckle, but only managing a breathy whimper. 'W-worse than I remember, actually...' he added quietly.

'Come on, lets get you up to Treville's office.' Porthos said; he and Athos gently helped Aramis up, looking at each other in concern as Aramis groaned at nearly every step, his legs faltering as they made their way up the wooden stairs.

'W-wait...' Aramis muttered when they were halfway up. 'Feel sick again...'

'D'artagnan, go and fetch a bucket and bring it up, quickly!' Athos called down to the younger man as Aramis swayed dangerously between him and Porthos.

'I get all the best jobs...' d'Artagnan grumbled as he trotted up the steps- he barely got there in time for Aramis to vomit into it. Wrinkling his nose in distaste, the Gascon sighed as he followed the three men up to the darkness of their Captain's private office.

'Here, sit...' Athos said, gently lowering the medic onto a cushioned chair; 'Porthos, close the shutters, please.' he added; soon the room was enveloped in near total darkness.

He looked down as he felt Aramis latch onto the sleeve of his coat; his knuckles white as he rode another throb of pain.

'Just keep breathing, you'll come out the other side soon...' he assured him, despite knowing full well, as did Aramis, that these attacks could last hours, and perhaps even days.

'So p-positive...' Aramis muttered as he leant his head back, eyes still shut as the cloth came away from his face again. He gritted his teeth as the pain continued throbbing in his right temple; grasping the side of the chair he felt like his head would explode as the pain didn't abate after a few seconds.

'Aramis, you need to keep breathing, idiot!' Athos pushed him in the shoulder; Aramis released a breath he didn't even realise he was holding. Still the pain throbbed, like a lion against captive bars...

'Make it stop...' he heard himself moaning, yet it didn't even sound like his voice. 'H-hurts...'

'I know, I know...' Athos soothed, putting a hand on his shoulder and squeezing lightly. He looked across to Porthos and d'artagnan, who were surveying the scene with wide eyes. 'He'll be alright,' he told them with a nod. 'It's not like a normal headache.'

'I worked that out for myself, funnily enough.' D'artagnan quipped, face set in a pained expression of his own as he watched the usually-cheerful member of their group bite back a sob as he slowly let himself fall forwards onto Treville's desk, clutching at his head; he couldn't even keep himself upright any more...

They stood rather awkwardly for a few minutes, just watching Aramis groan in pain, clutching the sides of the table with white-knuckled fingers; they felt quite redundant and powerless.

'J-just shoot me...' Aramis finally groaned out, his voice muffled by the table he had pressed his face into. 'I don't care any more...'

'Don't tempt me...' Athos joked, before sighing deeply and pouring out another mug of water. 'Try and drink this, it'll stop you getting dehydrated.' He said gently, lifting the cup to Aramis' lips, hoping he would keep it down. The medic drank enough to whet his parched throat; his stomach protested at the liquid as he swallowed.

Breathing heavily, he lay his head on his forearm, glassy eyes unfocused as the throbbing continued. 'W-why don't you all go home?' he asked into the silence, wincing as his voice seemed to reverberate in his head. 'I'll be a-alright here by myself...'

'No chance, mate,' Porthos said from the corner of the room, where he had d'Artagnan had positioned themselves for the long haul. 'We're staying.'

'Now stop talking and just breathe...' Athos chided him from his side; he pulled a chair out and sat heavily in it as Aramis groaned out again, clutching at his head with his hands. Sitting backwards with a sigh, knowing all any of them could do was watch and wait, Athos looked across at his friend as he darted out a hand; catching the leather of his coat-sleeve once more Aramis squeezed tightly, the knuckles nearly popping as he breathed out a long moan.

'It'll be over soon, Mis,' Athos said gently, hoping he was right.

Five long, pain-filled hours later, Aramis seemed to be finally coming out the other side. His face seemed to relax for longer periods of time, and his groans slowly puttered out until he was just gritting his teeth at the residual throbs in his temple.

'I don't expect to see you here tomorrow, do you understand me?'Athos said as he watched the medic gingerly stand up; he could almost see the exhaustion radiating off of him. 'You need to rest- Treville will only send you home, so don't waste your energy coming here!'

'Whatever you say, my friend...' Aramis breathed out, a tired smile on his face as he looked across at his friends. 'Thank you all, for staying with me through this.'

'You're our brother, aren't you?' d'Artagnan scoffed, an eyebrow raised. 'What else would brothers do?'

'Touché.' Aramis nodded, touched beyond measure by the lad's words. 'Right, home it is...' he mumbled, yawning widely.

'I'll see you on your way...' Porthos smiled, before gently guiding Aramis out of the office and down the steps, d'Artagnan following close behind.

Smiling down at the three of them as they crossed the Garrison, Athos felt a sense of pride filling his chest; he thought, and not for the first time, how lucky they were to have stumbled upon each other and become the firm friends they had grown into.

Crossing the room to open the shutters of the office, ready for the Captain's return, he watched through the open window with a fond smile as Aramis was guided homeward in the middle of a Porthos and d'Artagnan sandwich, who each held an arm and were gently leading him onwards.

'Daft sods...' he whispered to himself with a chuckle, before he walked across the room and closed the door with a snap.

Thanks for reading, more soon!

Please review!

Also, on a serious note- if anyone has any idea about a word I could replace 'groan' with so I can finally stop repeating myself, I would be most grateful! Reading this back I can see I have used it a lot, but I can't think of any other word to use!