Porthos, cradling his precious burden closely in his arms, had turned and begun the long walk back to the garrison, anxious for a physician to see Aramis as soon as possible. But he had taken no more tha a handful of steps when he realized that his other brothers had both disappeared.

He was just about to ask some of the neighborhood men who were still milling around the are to go fin out about Athos and d'Artagnan. But just then, Treville and several more Musketeers rounded the corner, and headed straight for him. He blew out a hugh sigh of relieft at the sight.

"One of the men informed me of what happened," Treville told him. "How is Aramis?" looking with great concern down at his unconscious marksman.

"Something caused an explosion in Fr. Luc's house," Porthos replied, "and Aramis was caught in it. We found him with his legs pinned beneath a beam that had come down."

"What are his injuries?"

"Looks like he has a concussion. He keeps fading in and out. He has a bad gash on his forearm, and a lot of bruising about his body. But his legs have the worst bruising. They're totally black and blue. We did a quick check, and didn't feel any broken bones, but he still needs to have a doctor look to make sure."

"Take him back to the garrison, Porthos," Treville said. "Michel, get Dr. Lemay to the garrison as quickly as you can, " he told one of his men, who took off running.

"Captain, d'Artagnan thought he saw someon hiding behind the house watching us. He may be the man who has been after Aramis. D'Artagnan took off after him. Athos didn't want him walking into trouble without backup, so he took off to catch up with him. Neither of them has come back," Porthos spoke as he began heading down the street, worry for his missing brothers added to the one he held gently against his chest.

"We will take care of it, Porthos. Just get Aramis back. We need to get him checked out as soon as possible," said Treville, already turning and issuing orders to his men to spread out and head around the back of the house from both sides.

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D'Artagnan had come back around the edge of the house just in time to see Athos felled with the handle of a pistol by a man with a scarf around his face and his hat pulled low on his forehead. Taking off at a run, he yelled "Hey," at the man, who increased his speed running away.

By the time d'Artagnan had reached Athos, the mysterious stranger had disappeared between two houses further on. D'Artagnan would have continued to pursue him if he hadn't seen blood streaked across Athos' forehead. He wouldn't leave his brother in the dirt alone. He thought angrily to himself, that man is going to be one sorry person when we finally catch up with him.

D'Artagnan reached out a hand to lay on Athos' shoulder, hoping he would wake up. Before he got that far, Athos' head moved, and he groaned.

"Athos!" d'Artagnan softly said. "Lie still for a few minutes. The man I was chasing caught you as you came around the corner, used the handle of a pistol. You need to give it a few minutes before trying to get up, all right?" rubbing his brother's shoulder gently.

Athos was silent for a few moments, then asked, "Did Porthos finally leave with Aramis?"

"Yes," said d'Artagnan, "and we are being joined by a few Musketeers. The Captain must have come," as several men came into Athos' sight.

"Vincent," Athos said, "getting the young man's attention. "Is Treville indeed here?"

"Yes, he is. He had us come around the house from both sides. We didn't see anyone, though."

D'Artagnan said, "He took off before you arrived. He will be long gone by now. We will catch him soon," and the tone of voice he used told them he wanted to get his hands on the man badly.

Athos began to lift himself up, d'Artagnan instantly reaching to assist him. He was able to get to his feet, but was dizzy, so d'Artagnan and Vincent grabbed a shoulder each to support him a little. Then, they slowly came around to the front of the house where everyone was still gathered.

"D'Artagnan, go with Athos back to the garrison. I want Lemay..."

Athos interrupted, "I do not need a doctor, Captain. Just a few..."

It was Treville's turn to interrupt, saying, "This is not open to debate. You will let Dr. Lemay take a look at you, and even if he says you are fine, you will take the rest of today off, as well as tomorrow. Understood?"

Athos knew when he was defeated, so reluctantly nodded his head. He, d'Artagnan and Vincent turned around and headed back to the garrison.

Treville got his men's attention, then said, "Canvas the neighborhood. See if anyone has seen this man lurking around, or anything else that seems suspicious. Report back to me when you are finished. Dismissed!"

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About halfway back to the garrison, Aramis came awake coughing again. He tried to speak, but couldn't quite get the words out through the coughs. "What...wh..." is as far as he got before hacking again. Porthos had noticed, though, that his brother had been wincing as he spoke. What was wrong? He was going to look over his whole body once he got him into a bed.

"We are on the way back to the garrison, Aramis. Lemay may already be there. Maybe he can get the rest of the stuff out so you stop coughing. Just don't try talking, all right?" giving Aramis a gentle squeeze as he said this. And just like that, he was out again.

The in and out of consciousness was really disturbing Porthos. What kind of concussion is this, he thought. Aramis has had concussions before, they all had, but the symptoms were different than the ones he had ever exhibited. He just hoped it wasn't anything bad. Porthos had no medical training, so when symptoms he didn't usually see started happening, he got a little more worried.

They finally reached the garrison gates, and a few minutes later, Porthos had Aramis laid on a bed in the infirmary. Grabbing a couple of wet cloths, he began cleaning away the dirt and grime from the explosion from his face and body with gentle pats. He was relieved when he didn't uncover anything new. That was, there wasn't anything new until he turned Aramis on his side to reach around to his back to clean.

Several long slivers of wood were imbedded in the skin on his back. He tried gently pulling on one of them to get it out, not expecting the reaction. Aramis shot straight up with an agonized cry.

Porthos pulled him against his chest again, soothing him, saying, "Sorry about that, mon ami. Just trying to clean you up a little-in case one of your lady friends comes calling," trying to tease him to calm Aramis down.

Porthos began threading his fingers through Aramis' hair, as they all knew that was a soothing motion that often worked if he was sick or injured. It did so once again, as after a few moments, his body relaxed and quieted. Unfortunately, Aramis was out again, though. Porthos eased his brother's body back down on the bed, this time keeping him sideways to keep the slivers from being pushed further into his skin. Then, he got to work carefully extracting them.

Porthos continued to take care of Aramis. He found Aramis' medic bag, and searched through it until he found the salve he had seen his brother use on cuts and bruises. He rubbed it in on the numerous ones he found on his brother's body, shaking his head at how many there were. After he had used it on the gash on his arm, he wound a clean cloth around it, and sat back. I hope Lemay gets here soon, he thought. I don't know that much about medical stuff, so he needs to make sure I took care of all of it.

He again wondered, as they all had, why his friend was being targeted like this. Aramis was the kindest, most caring individual he had ever known. The man would drop whatever he was doing to help anyone in time of need, even at the risk of his own life. He had saved each of his brother's lives more times than he could name. He continually sought more medical expertise to make himself of even more help. He was so very loved by himself, Athos, d'Artagnan, Treville and who knew how many others. Why would someone do this-and do it repeatedly in various ways and in different areas of Paris? They would find out, of this he was sure, and whoever it was would be sorry he was every born, Porthos swore to himself.

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Dr. Lemay arrived a short while later. As he looked over Aramis, he shook his head, asking Porthos, "Why would anyone do this?" to which Porthos had no answer.

Lemay inspected him thoroughly, glad his patient was not conscious while he was doing so, as he could do it more quickly. He told Porthos he did a very good job, and then said, "We need to keep an eye on that gash, and hope it doesn't show any signs of infections. The legs have no broken bones, which is very good. But they are going to be extremely painful for him for at least a week or so, as there is some deep bone bruises. The head injury concerns me. You say he keeps coming to, then passing out again?" to which Porthos answered by nodding his head with a question in his eyes.

Lemay shook his head again, saying, "We need to keep a close eye on that, too. Hopefully, that will cease soon. If not, there might be something more serious causing it that we will need to be concerned about. Keep applying the salves. When he wakes up, try to get some liquids into him. He may not want to eat anything solid yet. Concussions tend to make many patients nauseous. I will be back tomorrow. If you need me sooner, just send someone for me, and I will be here as quickly as possible. Good day, Porthos."

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Not long after the good doctor left, d'Artagnan came through the infirmary door supporting Athos, who was now moving fairly easily. D'Artagnan just wanted to make sure his brother was really doing that much better, and not just saying he didn't need any assistance.

He insisted that Athos lay down on a bed next to Aramis for a while to give his head further rest, to which Athos glared at himand protested vehemently. "I need to see how Aramis is. I do not need a bed."

What none of them expected was a weary, faint voice saying, "Athos, lay down on the bed."

Looking over at their brother, they found his eyes once more open and concerned, as he got a look at Athos. Athos had been so surprised that he automatically did as he was asked, although his eyes never left his brother's.

Aramis had a note of worry in his voice now as he asked, "What happened?"

D'Artagnan looked at Athos and Porthos, not sure if they should be sharing right now in Aramis' condition. Aramis saw the looks and his face morphed into lines of worry as he said, "Will someone please..."stopping to cough again. "Will someone please tell me what is going on?"

Exchanging looks again, they resigned themselves to telling him what happened, as even if he was injured and barely awake, Aramis could be like a dog with a bone when he wanted to know about the state of their health or any danger they might have been in. He just looked up at them with a raised brow and waited.

D'Artagnan began, "After we found you, I saw someone watching from around the corner of the house. I took off after him. I didn't know at the time, but Athos came after me to be backup. Just as I was rounding the opposite corner of the house, Athos was waylaid by the man with the butt of a pistol."

At this, the worried expression in Aramis' eyes greatly increased. He intently looked at Athos, asking him, "How is your head?"

Athos, who had disliked having what he considered a mistake on his part of not watching his own back being recounted now, said, "I am all right. There is some pain, but manageable. You are the one I am concerned about,brother."

Aramis started to reply that he was 'fine', but instead, his eyes again closed. Athos and d'Artagnan, worry on their faces, looked at Porthos, and Athos asked, "Has Dr. Lemay been here yet?"

Porthos replied, "Yeah. He checked him over. Said he was concerned about Aramis not being able to stay conscious for very long. He also said for us to keep an eye on the gash on his forearm, that it doesn't get an infection in it."

They all three settled down, Athos at his brothers' insistance lying down on the bed next to Aramis, and Porthos and d'Artagnan on chairs at Aramis' bedside to keep watch, which they always did when any of the four was sick or injured.

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Philippe leaned back in his seat, stretching out his legs to the fire in his father's luxurious room at the palace. Idly, he leaned his elow on the arm of the richly upholstered chair, a wine-filled crystal goblet in his hand.

His thoughts turned to the subject that had occupied his mind for some time now-revenge. How sweet it would be when it came fully to its frution, he mused. And it may be close to happening now.

He had just received a note informing him that the explosion had gone off as planned, and that the Musketeer had been injured in it. So what they had orchestrated had been successful! Now, if only the wretched man indeed did die, he would have his revenge.

He himself wouldn't have cared which of the four obnoxious Musketeers died. It would serve his obsession for vengeance no matter which one it was, as he had heard the talk at the palace about the Inseparables, as they were called, and how much they cared for each other. If one of them was killed, it would break the hearts of the other three. Perfect justice, in his eyes, for all four of them.

His 'partner', however, had one condition that had to be met for the end to be attained through the partnership they had forged. The Musketeteer to die had to be Aramis. The man had refused to share his reason why, but Philipped had eagerly agreed anyway.

The only part of the shared vendetta he cringed from was his having to enter into such an endeavor with a commoner, a man so far beneath him that he shuddered to remember having had to shake hands with him to seal their agreement. Normally, he barely even noticed the existence of commoners, peasants in his mind, whom he regarded as unworthy of existence except for serving him. But in this one instance, he had lowered himself to achieve his ends.

LIfting his glass in a mock toast, he silently hoped their common goal had been achieved.

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Athos and Porthos sat silently beside their beleaguered brother's bedside, both of them now worried as they tried to calm Aramis' restlessness. It had begun a short while ago, accompanied by a slight rise in his temperature. Athos had sent one d'Artagnan to find and bring back Dr. Lemay, hoping with Porthos and d'Artagnan that Aramis' symptoms were not signalling the onset of an infection.

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The young man, watching in the shadows, fervently hoped infection was indeed setting in, and that it would take Aramis' life. It would save him having to plan yet another attempt on the Musketeer.

Backing away silently, the man slipped out the back door of the infirmary. Wrapped in a black cloak and hat, the figure faded into the dark of the night.