A/N: Thanks for all your reviews! I really appreciate your feedback! Our musketeers are injured! What will happen next?!

The Package

Chapter 4

Roger was sweating when they arrived back at the garrison. Christine dismounted and stumbled slightly in her haste. She wrapped her arms around her middle for a moment to steady herself before she dashed towards the infirmary. She froze at the door as she took in the scene.

Aramis lay in a bed near the back of the room. D'Artagnan was sitting up on the bed next to him. On another bed on the other side of the room, sat Porthos, Etienne redressing the wound in his leg. She paled as she looked at her love turning fitfully beneath the white starched infirmary sheets.

Silently she glided ghost-like over to him and stroked the hair from his face. Treville, sitting by D'Artagnan, rose.

Athos put a hand on her shoulder and she flinched. "We were attacked on the road. Aramis was stabbed. He knew we didn't have the medical knowledge to properly treat the wound, so he packed it and rode on towards Paris. He collapsed about an hour's ride from the city."

"Etienne," she said, not taking her eyes from Aramis' face. Her hand ran down his chest and settled on his pendant.

"The wound seemed to be made by a serrated blade. It was torn pretty badly. He was right not to have the others attempt to stitch it."

"He still shoulda told us," said Porthos angrily.

Etienne sighed and continued. "He had tried to clean it, but given the circumstances and its positioning…by the time they arrived here he had lost a lot of blood. There mights be signs of the start of a slight infection – but not bad, all things considered. He's suffering from a fever. I think it's from a combination of things – the exertion of the trip, the loss of blood…plus two weeks on the road can suck the energy from any man."

"Has he eaten anything?" she asked, turning to look at him, her eyes soft.

"There's a broth awaiting him by the hearth. So far he's hasn't come around to take any in though."

She smiled at him and nodded.

Christine looked at the others in the room. She looked at Porthos and smiled sadly. "And what happened to the rest of you?" she said moving towards him.

Porthos returned her smile. "It's nothing. Knife to the calf. That fool spent his energy patching me up instead of dealing with his own injuries. Guillaume too." Christine could hear the hurt and fear that edged his voice and squeezed his hand.

"And D'Artagnan?" she asked turning to look at Treville and Athos.

"He took a pistol blow to the back of the head," said Athos.

"I am here, you know. And I'm feeling much better," grumbled the young musketeer.

"I'll believe that when you can keep down a mug of broth," said Etienne, causing D'Artagnan to pale.

oOo

The night wore on and Aramis' fever worsened. Christine and Athos took turns replacing the warm damp cloths with fresh and cool new ones. When after a few hours and his colour hadn't improved, Christine insisted on trying to coax some food into him to help combat the blood-loss. Athos held him as Christine carefully spooned some broth into him with little success.

Porthos looked on in concern. He had insisted on being moved closer to his brother and so sat by the foot of the bed with his leg propped up on a chair. D'Artagnan was resting. He had been lucid for a few hours, but still felt weak. He was able to eat a little, but was dizzy when he tried to stand.

Dawn broke and Aramis worsened. His body was now overcome by strong trembling.

"Christine…" he moaned feverishly, his eyes moving rapidly behind their lids, his breathing harsh and shallow. At these moments, the only thing that seemed to calm him was the sensation of Christine's hand on his face and her muttering into his ear.

As the trembling grew even more violent as the morning wore on to afternoon, Athos and Etienne were engaged to restrain him. Christine's words were no longer able to penetrate the fevered fog in his mind. They alternated by covering him with a thick blanket as he shuddered from the cold or tossing it off him as his temperature rose.

At some point Porthos fell asleep, but Christine refused to rest. She paled more and more as Aramis shuddered. Etienne watched her warily as he re-entered the infirmary carrying some fresh supplies, followed by Treville.

"Christine," Etienne said softly as he placed a fresh stack of cloths next to her, "You need to rest. You will be no good to him if you too collapse from exhaustion."

Christine glared at him. "I am fine," she said as she reached for the bowl of cool water that rested on the side table next to the linens. Unfortunately, her hands betrayed her in that moment as the bowl clattered to the floor tumbling from her shaking hands. She flushed and bent to tidy the spilled water.

"Christine," said Treville bending next to her and pulling her to her feet. "I insist you rest – Even if it's for only an hour. I will notify you immediately if anything changes, but you need to rest."

"Captain – "

"That's an order Christine. Think of what Aramis would say if I allowed you to go on about the way you are."

Christine frowned at him, her eyes flashing mutinously. His ice-blue eyes met her eyes, which were a steely shade of grey.

"You too Athos," Treville said without looking away from her. "You're both near collapse which helps no one. Escort Christine to Aramis' chamber before getting some rest of your own."

"I promise I'll send for you," said Etienne, a pleading in his voice and eyes.

Christine looked away from the Captain to meet her friend's gaze. "Immediately," she said, and she marched angrily from the infirmary.

oOo