Considering the tension in chapter two, I think the boys (and You) deserve some 'brotherly affection' and tender, loving care, wouldn't you agree? Thank you all for reading!

And one ran and filled a sponge full of vinegar, and put it on a reed, and gave Him to drink, saying, Let alone: let us see whether Elias will come to take Him down.
Mark 15:36 KJV

Vinaigre des Quatre Voleurs

"Aramis has been asleep all day; he feels rather warm to me," Athos reported to Captain Tréville. He frowned as he wiped a cool cloth over the medic's face. "Where is Doctor Lemay?"

"He is taking care of an emergency outside of Paris," Tréville sighed. "His Majesty called on the doctor, so it seems we are on our own in caring for Aramis."

"What about the nuns?" d'Artagnan asked as he and Porthos entered the infirmary after training exercises. "They are nurses, why aren't they here?"

"Perhaps the nurses had to get back to where they were heading when I ran into them on the road." Athos vacated his chair so Porthos could take his place at Aramis' bedside. "Captain, did the nurses leave?"

"No, I asked them to stay nearby in case we needed them." Captain Tréville watched as his lieutenant prepared to go after the nurses. "If they haven't left on their own, they should be at Les Bouvreuils."

"I'll go see if they're still there." Athos donned his hat and turned to leave, but paused as he glanced back at the sleeping medic. "Let us hope they have not yet departed; I'm afraid Aramis has acquired a fever."

"Do you think his wound is infected?" Porthos asked as he took Aramis' hand in his own and squeezed it gently.

"That is why I am going after the nurses," Athos muttered as he left the infirmary.

"Wait, I'm coming with you!" d'Artagnan yelled, running after his mentor.

"I need to get back to my paperwork." Captain Tréville placed his hand on Porthos' shoulder. "There is fresh water over there and clean cloths," he pointed to the table. "If you will stay with Aramis and care for him until Athos returns with the nurses…"

"Of course I will," Porthos replied without looking up. "Didn't have to ask, Cap'n; I would've stayed, regardless."

"I know you would have," the captain smiled as he squeezed the shoulder under his hand. "Aramis is in your charge; take good care of him."

"You know I will, sir."

Captain Tréville stood in the doorway watching as Porthos laid Aramis' hand down before walking to the water basin to wet a clean cloth. He wrung out the excess water then returned to the medic's side; he gently wiped away the sheen of sweat glistening on his skin. The captain smiled as the Musketeer tended to his friend, softly whispering words of comfort intended only for the ear of Aramis. Tréville returned to his work knowing that his medic was in very capable hands.

"You sure have a way of gettin' yourself into unnecessary trouble, 'Mis," Porthos shook his head. "You and that restless spirit of yours, always lookin' for action when you don't need to. You're never happy just sittin' still; you have to go lookin' for somethin' to do, and this is what happens."

"You could 'ave brought a book, like Athos did," Porthos chuckled at the thought. "Did he tell you what book he brought and what it was about? Oi, I never thought Athos would have read such a book." The large Musketeer continued his ministrations, having moved on to wiping the damp, cool cloth over the fevered chest of his friend.

"Now, if you played cards like I do, you could have brought a deck and entertained yourself with a game or two. I've tried teachin' you La Belle Lucie or Le Loi Salique, but you always got too distracted," Porthos laughed. "It only took one pretty face to turn your head away; you never paid attention when I tried to teachin' you the rules."

"I'm… not that bad," Aramis rasped. The medic huffed with amusement as Porthos stopped his ministrations, surprised his patient was awake and had heard his one-way conversation.

"Nice to see you awake," Porthos flashed his bright teeth in a large smile. "But I 'ave to tell ya, yes, you are that bad, mon ami. Now, d'Artagnan, he was easy to teach…"

"Rubbish," Aramis smiled weakly. "I could take d'Artg'n…"

"Rubbish," the large Musketeer winked. "The pup's a right fast learner… and he was good too." Porthos smiled as his comment elicited a frown from Aramis. "I think he's my best student yet."

"You wound me, brother." Aramis smiled as he put his fist over his heart and softly thumped.

Porthos allowed a hearty laugh at Aramis' reaction. "Just givin' due credit, my friend."

"Well, it is indeed a good sign if the patient is awake and talking, even just a little." Sister Angelica interrupted cheerfully as she and Sister Maria arrived with Athos. d'Artagnan soon followed carrying a handful of clean cloths and bandages.

"It is good to see him awake." Athos tipped his head in appreciation at Porthos. "Whatever it is you did to wake him, and get him talking, I commend you," he clapped his friend on the shoulder.

"Oi, it was nothin'," Porthos smiled. "We were just talking about how good d'Artagnan was at playin' cards."

"Don't believe everything he tells you, mon cher." d'Artagnan rolled his eyes and shook his head. "I was terrible; he beat me at every game."

"He always was… good at telling… stories," Aramis whispered with a grin. He allowed his heavy eyes to slide closed as he slipped back into an intermittent sleep.

Sister Angelica put her hand on the medic's brow and frowned. "Indeed, he is running a fever. We do have some remedies that should prove helpful. The first thing I need to do is check the wound for infection."

"Is there anything you need us to do, Sister?" Athos asked. The lieutenant attempted to keep himself occupied, busy doing something—anything—as Aramis lay wounded. As long as he was busy, his mind wasn't dwelling on…

"Yes, I need hot water for tea and some bread," replied Sister Angelica. "I'm going to administer some oil that is easier to swallow with a bite of bread."

"I'll go and get those things for you." Athos nodded before turning on his heel to leave.

"Sister Angelica, would you prepare the vinaigre des quatre voleurs?" Marie instructed the nun. "We will need enough for a rub as well."

"Yes, Sister."

"What do you plan to do, Sisters?" d'Artagnan asked, his brow crinkled in confusion.

"Have you not heard the tale of the Four Thieves and their concoction of vinegar and garlic?"

"Um, should I have heard such a story?" d'Artagnan asked, glancing between the nuns and Porthos, who merely shrugged as he raised his eyebrows.

"I've… heard… the story." Aramis peeled open his eyes, showing a sliver of his dark brown irises. "The vinegar and garlic… helped them to survive… the plague, Black Death."

"What?" Porthos blurted out with surprise. "Are you serious about this? Is that a real story or somethin' someone made up?"

"No one really knows if it's true or not," Sister Angelica laughed. "It has been told in so many different manners, no one can confirm its truth. Some say the thieves came from Marseille, while others say Toulouse; even the date of when the thieves survived Black Death changes, depending on who is telling the tale."

"Then how do you know if this… concoction will work?" Porthos squared his shoulders, setting his jaw. "I don't like it," he said. The Musketeer was quite wary of any so-called magical potions being used on his friend, or any of his friends for that matter. Growing up in the Court, he saw his share of quacks, each professing they had the miraculous 'cure-all' to any ailment.

"Oh, it works, Monsieur, I can assure you," Sister Maria smiled. "I have used the vinegar mixture for many years, and I will swear by its healing benefits."

"We always keep a base mixture of it with us for unexpected occasions such as this," Sister Angelica chimed in.

"Why haven't you ever used it, 'Mis?"

"It requires… too many herbs… can't afford it." Aramis stiffened, wincing in pain as the nuns began unwrapping the bandages from his ankle. His face twisted as he squeezed his eyes shut against the sudden stabbing pain that took his breath away. "Ah, damn," he hissed through gritted teeth.

"I apologize, Monsieur Aramis." Sister Maria frowned, making a tsk tsk sound. "The wound does indeed show early signs of infection; the ankle is inflamed, quite red and warm to the touch. We need to get this treated immediately before the infection worsens and spreads. Let us hope that we have caught this early enough so that it does not affect his health too severely."

"I am awake and can… hear you talk about… about me, Sister." Aramis huffed as he ghosted a smile. "I am… a medic…"

"Forgive me, Monsieur, I do not mean to cause you worry; nor do I mean to treat you as a faceless patient."

"Not worried… 'cept… how this is going to make me smell."

"Indeed, Monsieur Aramis!" Sister Angelica laughed as she patted the medic's hand. "You will be quite aromatic after your treatment."

"You will either scare away any visitors by the odor of the garlic," Sister Maria paused, "or draw the hungry, as you will smell of dinner cooking at the corner café!"

"Really, Sister Maria!" Nurse Angelica uttered in jest.

Porthos and d'Artagnan burst out in laughter just as Athos returned with the requested goods. "Did I miss something amusing?" the lieutenant raised his eyebrows in question.

"The Sisters were just telling us the tale of the Four Thieves; supposedly, they stole vinegar and garlic and then survived the…"

"… the plague, Black Death," Athos interrupted the Gascon with a grin. "Yes, I have heard of the tale."

"Is there anything you do not know, my friend?" Porthos queried with a grin.

"There are a few things of which I am lacking in knowledge," Athos replied cleverly.

"Don't get… him started, Porth's." Aramis motioned his chin toward the lieutenant, who merely ghosted a smile before averting his eyes to the floor.

"Alright, the first thing I want you to do, Monsieur Aramis, is take this tablespoon of vinegar with some bread." Angelica held a plate with a piece of bread saturated in the mixture in front of the patient.

Aramis stared at the plate, suddenly hesitant.

"Help me sit him up just a bit so he can eat this then wash it down with a sip of water, please," she asked of Porthos and d'Artagnan.

Aramis crinkled his nose at the smell emanating from the plate in his hands. "No," he said, swallowing hard as he pushed the plate away.

"Either you eat this bite of bread, young man, or I will feed it to you myself," Sister Maria threatened. "One… two…"

"Alright, Sister… I'll eat it." Aramis opened his mouth and popped the bread in. His face twisted with disgust as he chewed quickly then swallowed with a gulp! "God have mercy…"

"God will not have any mercy on you if you do not finish your medicine!" Sister Angelica scooped up the remaining liquid on the plate with a spoon. "Open your mouth," she ordered.

Porthos and d'Artagnan exchanged glances, doing their best to stifle the laughter threatening to bubble forth. The hard glare from Athos immediately doused the duo's amusement.

Aramis opened his mouth and obediently took the spoonful of mixture, swallowing it quickly. "Ach, that's foul!" he choked. "Water…"

Porthos handed him a cup and watched with amusement as the medic downed the water in one swallow. The large Musketeer chuckled as he wiped the dribble of water running down the medic's chin.

"There, the medicine is gone and you can rest now." Porthos took the cup as he and d'Artagnan settled Aramis back down on the bed so he was lying comfortably.

"Now I am going to administer the vinegar to the wound." Angelica warned, nodding to the men to be prepared. "This may sting, so please be ready to hold him secure."

"Are you ready, 'Mis?" Porthos whispered in Aramis' ear.

Aramis nodded but then instantly bucked as the mixture touched his wound. Strong hands held the medic in place as the vinegar stung his foot like fire, causing him to scream out in agony. The screams ceased as the medic's tense body went lax, causing the Musketeers to gasp with alarm.

"It is alright, Messieurs," Nurse Angelica assured. "Aramis has passed out again," she sighed. "Considering the torment this vinegar causes, it is for the best; let us finish quickly and leave him to rest."

"We're going to stay here with our brother tonight." Athos stated to the two nurses once the ministrations were complete. "There are plenty of beds open if we get tired."

"Of course, we will leave you alone with Aramis for a while; we'll return to check on him later." Sister Angelica nodded. "Your captain has kindly provided a room for us here so we will take our leave and get some rest. Should an emergency arise, please come and get us."

"Rest assured that we will, Sister, should anything come up," Athos replied. "d'Artagnan, please escort the Sisters to their room."

"Of course." d'Artagnan stood at the doorway waiting for the nurses to gather their belongings.

Athos took a chair and placed it on one side of Aramis' bed while Porthos plopped down in a chair on the opposite side. "How long do you think he'll be unconscious?"

"I don't know." Athos sighed as he took the medic's hand in his own. He placed his free hand on the fevered forehead and frowned, shaking his head at the heat beneath his hand. "You had better go fetch some more cold water; we're going to need to keep him cool over the next several hours."

"Of course," Porthos grabbed the empty bowl. "Think I'll stop by the kitchen to see if Serge can scrounge up somethin' for us to eat… seein' that it's going to be a long night."

Athos said nothing but nodded in acknowledgement as he swept a strand of sweaty bangs from Aramis' face. The lieutenant sat beside his friend saying nothing for several minutes as he clung tightly to his limp hand.

"I should have told you to bring a book," Athos finally whispered. "I don't know why I didn't think to remind you…" his voice trailed. "You could have brought your Bible; you said recently that you wanted to start studying again."

Athos dropped Aramis' hand to fidget with the blanket. "What was it that you wanted to study?" he asked as he stared up at the ceiling. "Oh yes, the four Gospels—Matthew, Mark, Luke and John."

"This is my fault… if I hadn't told you to go searching for that damned branch, this never would have happened." Athos sat back and scrubbed a hand down his face. "This was supposed to be an easy assignment," he scoffed. "Nothing is ever easy with us, is it?"

"Why did I tell you to go wandering around out there, we were supposed to be watching the road." Athos sat forward, resting his head in his hands, as the constant ringing of Aramis' screams echoed in his mind. He dropped his hands and allowed his head to hang down with regret.

"You were fine right where you were sitting," he huffed. "There were plenty of branches where you were sitting, so why did I tell you to go searching for more? It was damn foolish of me," he muttered angrily.

Athos took Aramis' hand once again then sighed deeply. "You almost lost your foot because I told you to go find more branches. Why?" he questioned in a low voice. The Gascon returned earlier from escorting the nuns but had stayed quietly in the doorway, rather than interrupting. However, after overhearing the heartfelt confession, laden with such sorrow, he moved to lay a reassuring hand on the lieutenant's shoulder, squeezing it lightly.

"Athos, this is not your fault," d'Artagnan uttered softly. "You had no way of knowing this would happen; you had no way of knowing that trap was hidden underneath the leaves. You cannot blame yourself for this accident."

"I am to blame," Athos replied brusquely. "I told Aramis to get a larger branch to whittle," the lieutenant sneered, "to keep himself occupied so I could read my book. There is no one to blame but myself."

"You are wrong, Athos," d'Artagnan retorted angrily. "If you want to place blame, then blame the sadistic person who hid that trap underneath the pile of leaves. Blame that person for nearly costing Aramis his foot."

"I nearly cost him his foot…" Athos muttered, ignoring the Gascon's words.

"Dammit, Athos!" d'Artagnan exploded. "Why should you take the blame for that gruesome injury to Aramis' foot?" he pointed angrily toward the bed. "This was not your fault! The fault rests solely on the person who hid that trap, since it's his trap that almost bore its teeth right through the foot of a Musketeer. There is no one to blame for this accident but the person who laid that trap!"

"I tried to get it off," Athos lamented. "I didn't have the strength…"

"Of course, you wouldn't have the strength, Athos." d'Artagnan sat in the chair opposite his mentor. "Those devices are meant to hold a large bear, my friend. I would have been very impressed with your strength if you had managed to open the jaws on your own."

"That would have been some feat," Athos huffed. The Musketeer lieutenant seemed to shut down, as though withdrawing inside his own tortured thoughts. His eyes stared ahead, gazing at an invisible scene while absently rubbing his thumb over Aramis' hand.

d'Artagnan watched his mentor with concern but remained quiet. Nothing more could be said to alleviate Athos' regret, so he left his friend to his own private thoughts. He picked up Aramis' other hand and frowned at the heat he feel radiating from the skin. He reached over the grab the cloth, still wet and quite chilled from sitting unused.

The Gascon placed the cold cloth on the medic's head, causing him to flinch at the touch. "Sorry, but we need to cool you down, brother," d'Artagnan apologized. He continued smoothing the damp cloth over Aramis, frowning at the heat rising from his skin. "I pray your fever isn't worsening."

"I wish the captain hadn't split us up," d'Artagnan spoke glumly to Aramis. He was crestfallen at the fevered state of his friend, especially since it was caused by such a senseless and unnecessary accident. "If we had stayed together, we could have all played cards and Porthos might not have picked on me so brutally in lansequenet."

"At least, you never would have gotten your foot hurt because you wouldn't have been bored in the first place. On second thought," d'Artagnan huffed with amusement, "if all of us had played, my loss would have been much more embarrassing. You should have seen the pile of rocks Porthos had in front of him! It's a good thing we weren't playing for money; I would have lost the shirt off my back."

"You would have lost more than your shirt," Athos quipped, giving a slight grin to his younger brother.

"Athos is right, li'l brother." Porthos laughed heartedly as he entered the infirmary balancing a plate full of food with a bowl of cold water, splashing some of the liquid as he walked. "You might owe me your entire wardrobe."

"Probably true," d'Artagnan laughed along with Porthos. Athos quietly sat back in the chair, watching as his two friends shared a moment of laughter.

"You three donnn make it eassy to get any sssleep," Aramis slurred sleepily. He peeled open his eyes then licked his lips. "Thirssty…"

Porthos poured a little fresh water into his cup then handed it to d'Artagnan. Athos lifted Aramis' head so he could drink without spilling the liquid all over himself.

"While you're awake," Athos said, looking intently into Aramis' eyes, "it's time for more of that medicine. Do you want it with bread, or are you feeling courageous enough to take a spoonful plain… maybe with a sip of wine?"

"N-noo mmoore medicine… sstufff isss awful," Aramis protested.

"Not an option," Athos countered. "The nurses said you have to take the medicine every few hours if you want to get better."

"Nooo…"

"Aramis, you have an infection," Athos reminded tersely. "You can beat this, but we have to combat the infection—both inside and out."

"Alwayss the ssoldier," he smiled at his friend."

"So what will it be, eh?" Porthos interjected as he held a spoon in one hand and a piece of bread in the other. "With bread, or plain… followed with a sip o' wine?"

"Not hungry," Aramis sighed. "I'll take it plain."

"You are brave, mon cher!" Porthos poured the vinegar mixture into the large spoon then carefully poured the medicine into Aramis' open mouth. The large Musketeer cleared his throat as the medic began turning various shades of green. "Don't throw that back up now!"

"Drink this, quickly," Athos said, handing over the cup of wine. Aramis drank it down, swirling the wine around in his mouth to remove the bitter taste of vinegar. "My God…"

"Is it really that bad?" d'Artagnan asked. He took a whiff of the vinegar mixture in the jar and instantly grimaced at the odor. "Merde, I'm sorry for asking!"

Aramis scrunched his eyes closed, doing his best to keep his stomach contents down. He paled as he fought against the nausea, increasingly looking as though he would lose the battle with his churning belly.

"If you throw that medicine up, brother, we're just goin' to give you more!" Porthos threatened.

"God help me… keep it down," Aramis prayed, almost chanting in desperation. "Keep it down… keep it down… keep it down…"

d'Artagnan dipped a cloth in the bowl of cold water then ran it over Aramis' forehead and neck, soothing away the nausea with its refreshing touch. "Shh, it'll be alright."

"Think you'll make it?" Athos asked, gently squeezing the medic's hand.

"He'll make it," Porthos interjected. "He's stronger than he thinks."

Aramis relaxed at the calming effect of d'Artagnan's gentle ministrations. "Try to go to sleep… I'll take care of you."

Slowly, the nausea and heavy lines of pain on Aramis' face began to smooth away. "Iss not… your fault… 'Thos." The medic whispered, lightly squeezing Athos' hand before his breath evened and his head lolled to the side.

"What did he mean by 'at?" Porthos questioned. He glanced between Athos and d'Artagnan, but neither seemed willing to offer a reply.

"Just sleep, brother." Athos whispered quietly as he pulled the blanket under Aramis' chin. "Get the rest you need so your body will heal, my friend. I'll be right here with you all night…"

"Correction, we will be here with you all night," d'Artagnan smiled warmly at his mentor.

"Better believe it, brother," Porthos added, staring at Athos. "Guess you're stuck wit' us."

"We will be right here, beside you all night." Athos corrected, blinking back a mist of tears. "We're all right here with you, Aramis, and I promise, we're not going anywhere."

TBC

A/N

Vinaigre des Quatre Voleurs: Translates to Vinegar of the Four Thieves. The mixture was a concoction of vinegar infused with herbs, spices and garlic that was believed to protect users from the plague. The recipe for this vinegar mixture has almost as many variations as its legend.

One such vinegar recipe (hung in the Museum of Paris in 1937) is said to have been an original copy of the recipe posted on the walls of Marseilles during an episode of the plague. This is a copy:

Take three pints of strong white wine vinegar, add a handful of each of wormwood, meadowsweet, wild marjoram and sage, fifty cloves of garlic, two ounces of campanula roots, two ounces of angelic, rosemary and horehound and three large measures of champhor. Place the mixture in a container for fifteen days, strain and keep in bottle. Use by rubbing it on the hands, ears and temples from time to time when approaching a plague victim.

~~§~~

Modern beliefs for users not contracting the plague was that the herbal concoction contained natural flea repellent, since the flea was the carrier for the plague. Wormwood has properties similar to cedar as an insect repellent, as does sage, garlic, camphor, rosemary, campanula. Meadowsweet was used mainly to mask odors of the decomposing bodies.

The usual story states that a group of thieves, during a European plague outbreak (sometimes storytellers referred to the Black Death specifically), were robbing the dead or the sick. When they were caught, they offered to exchange their secret recipe, which had allowed them to commit the robberies without catching the disease, in exchange for leniency. The city in which this happened is usually said to be Marseille or Toulouse France; and the time period is anywhere between the 14th and 18th century, depending on the storyteller.

I can't imagine the flavor of such a concoction, but anything that has 50 cloves of garlic would be extremely overpowering! This mixture would surely keep the vampires away.