A/N: Is it May already? Where does the time go. I hope you are well, and coping in these continuing strange times. Many thanks for continuing to read these little tales. There are a few in the pipeline still.

oOO

119. A Precautionary Measure

Athos awoke with a splint on his arm.

The wood extended into his palm and his fingers curled around it, exploring.

"A defence injury," Aramis said, beside him. "I am told you were protecting your head."

A memory of a particular enthusiastic sparring session came to his mind. He turned his head to squint at Aramis.

"I did the same last year, if you remember?" Aramis continued, lightly.

Athos grunted, his eyes raking over the wood, bound in place with a thick bandage.

"A little unnecessary," he murmured.

"Athos, my dear friend," Aramis replied. "It may be broken."

"And it may not," his disgruntled friend returned, as he attempted to shove himself up into a sitting position; carefully avoiding using the encumbered arm, which may or may not be broken.

"Enough for you to faint," Aramis said, handing him the small metal cup he used for his concoctions.

Athos eyed it as if it were the Devil himself.

"I did not," he grunted, affronted, ignoring the proffered cup.

"Alright," Aramis replied, swirling the mixture around thoughtfully;

"You temporarily lost awareness and stumbled gracefully into Porthos's arms, where you took the opportunity to rest your eyes, thereby giving me enough time to splint your injury, which was very gracious of you. How's that?"

Athos did that thing with his eyes. One moment he was glaring at the cup and the next, glacial green eyes slid up and pinned Aramis with an icy glare that had him once more in the classroom as a boy trying to explain to the priest why a girl's curls were more interesting than his lesson.

Every time. Athos didn't even have to actually do it. The mere thought of being on the receiving end of that frozen glare was enough to temper any idea that he could better him. Athos did not respond well to sarcasm, although he was not averse to using it himself! He could be so annoying at times.

"You can be so annoying at times," he said, thrusting the cup forward a little too harshly, the contents sloshing over the top and onto the bed covers.

Athos waved a languid hand over the splintered arm, still holding Aramis's reluctant gaze.

"I wonder why," he said, in that low, menacing voice he used for people who actually offended him by trying to kill him. "I enjoy the odd practical jest, Aramis, but this is ridiculous."

"It's a precautionary ..." Aramis began;

"It is as ridiculous and as unnecessary as the King's Master of Ceremonies," Athos interrupted, rather coldly, Aramis thought. However, he had to try and hide a smirk, in which he failed.

"Flaubert is one of the King's favourites," he replied, looking quickly down, so as not to catch Athos's resultant change of expression. That was another uneasy moment they had all endured at one time or another.

"And, as I recall," Athos said, his voice now bordering on terse "Your injury did not require this amount of scaffolding."

Aramis pressed his lips together. It was something he did when he needed to think.

"It needs support," he pointed out, after a few moments of tense silence.

"Very likely," Athos replied, snatching the cup and downing the contents in one go. "Porthos is a very enthusiastic sparring opponent. Now remove this contraption and pay the man what you owe him and we will say no more about it."

"Pay who?" Aramis asked.

Athos sighed.

"If I am not mistaken, your experience would tell you that these," he said, waggling his fingers with deft dexterity, "are not fingers attached to a broken appendage."

"And you can come in now," he called out. "The joke is over."

Low rumbling laughter preceded Porthos, who appeared in the open doorway and leant on the door frame.

"You can't blame us, wantin' to get the better of you occasionally," he said.

"This is oddly perverse," Athos said. "Even for you two."

Porthos shrugged, his eyes holding Athos's. "You alright, then?" he added, gently.

Athos huffed.

"Now that you have lost your bet, I am feeling somewhat better."

Aramis and Porthos exchanged a shrug.

And then a knowing smile.

"What?" Athos asked.

"It was a double bet," Porthos winked. Aramis dropped his head and ran a hand through his hair.

Athos looked at the splint on his arm, and then looked up at Porthos.

"What was the other one?" he asked, warily.

Porthos took the cup from Aramis's hand and a feral grin spread across his face.

"That you would take your medicine, like a good patient," replied, breaking into a soft chuckle at Athos's face.

He looked horrified.

"Gentlemen do not bet on such things, dammit!" he ground out.

"We ain't no Gentlemen," Porthos smirked, pulling the blanket around him.

"Speak for yourself," Aramis muttered.

Later, as Athos slept and Aramis tidied up around them, Porthos sighed from his chair beside Athos.

"I really thought I'd broke 'is arm," he said, a catch in his voice.

"And I thought it was broken," Aramis replied, "Until the moment he moved his fingers."

He began to unwind the bandage around the splint.

"And, whatever he thinks, this would have been the right splint for the job. He's so suspicious!"

Porthos sniffed.

"We probably shouldn't have gone along with him," Aramis said, as he removed the splint and peered at the bruised arm beneath. "It paints us in a rather bad light."

"I thought you always said "humour the patient," Porthos replied.

"This is Athos we are talking about," Aramis said, "And the term "patient" is academic with this one."

"Yeah, he's in a class of 'is own," Porthos nodded, before he suddenly frowned and shook his head forlornly.

Aramis came up behind him and clamped both hands on his shoulders companionably and gave him a shake.

"Accidents happen, Porthos," he said, softly. "And a little double bluff does not go amiss with our stubborn friend once in a while. It was just a ruse to get him to stay put for a little while. He'll be happy he thinks he found us out."

"Think he'll believe we didn't actually bet on 'im?"

"Probably not, given our reputation," Aramis sighed.

"When will he wake up?"

"Around noon, I should think." Aramis replied.

"We'd better be ready."

"Hmm. I'm not looking forward to explaining," Aramis replied. "Though I am told I can be quite persuasive."

"Yeah, good luck with that," Porthos laughed. "Three livre says he won't believe you?" he added, eyebrows raised in expectation.

Aramis thought about the challenge for a moment. He did have a reputation to uphold, after all.

"Done!" he replied, spitting on his palm and taking Porthos's outstretched hand.

Porthos roared with laughter.

"Sshh!" Aramis hissed. "Don't wake him! I need some time to think."

oOo

Thanks for reading! More soon.