"Athos! Athos! Wake up. You're having a nightmare."
Fever-bright green eyes stared uncomprehendingly upwards, as the wild thrashing continued. Two more sets of hands joined the first pair on his overheated body, pinning his legs, arms, and shoulders to the mattress.
"Stop struggling You're going to rip my stitches!" The far-away voice tried to reason with the flailing man.
A small tendril of recognition, sluggishly, worked its way through his delirium, enough to get him to cease his struggles for a moment and instead focus his wavering attention on the shadowy shapes hovering over him.
Gradually, both his eyes and his brain comprehend the same picture and a hoarse exclamation escaped his parched throat. "Aramis. Porthos. d'Artagnan. You're alive!"
"Very much so, my fevered friend. It is you who has been courting death these last few days," Aramis replied in his bedside medical voice. "You scared the pup," he said dropping his voice into a confidential whisper.
Porthos loosened his hands on Athos' legs and settled his body comfortably on the bed next to his Captain. "Yeah. The boy's been spending more time sleeping at your side then his new wife's."
The Gascon gave both of the men a look of fond tolerance. "And it will take only one whiff of those two, to realize they haven't left your side either. We were worried, Athos."
The other two men nodded in concurrence. "It was a damn stupid thing you did the other night, Captain, chasing that assailant by yourself, especially down a dark alley."
"Yeah, if we did something that dumb, you'd severely lecture us and put us on stable duty for the rest of our lives. Can a Captain be put on stable duty?" d'Artagnan questioned as he glanced over at his other two brothers.
"Probably not by us," Aramis said with an exaggerated sigh before he brightened. "But Minister Treville could and I dare say we still have some sway with him. Perhaps, we shall bring this to his attention."
The medic noticed Athos' eyelids drooping and he reached over and patted the ailing man on the arm. "We'll let you rest more. No more nightmares."
As he drifted off again, Athos clung to the hope that Aramis' words would act as a talisman to keep the night terrors at bay.
After Athos' eyes shut, Aramis made a quiet gesture to the rest of his brothers. They rose and the three men walked out of Athos' room, silently closing the door behind them.
"Is he alright to leave alone?" d'Artagnan questioned as they their way down the stairs towards the courtyard.
The trio nodded to a few men and answered inquires as to the health of their Captain, as they headed for the mess. d'Artagnan had been telling the truth that none of them had left their brother's side for two days. They were exhausted, hungry, and in need of some personal hygiene.
Constance, who had seen them from across the garrison's courtyard, hurried over the dry, dusty surface and entered into the common room. The three had already settled at a table and were tearing into the food they had procured. She quickly made her way across the room.
"How is he?" she asked as she approached the table.
"His fever has broken. He regained consciousness for a few minutes and now is resting comfortably," Aramis informed her, taking a break from shoveling food into his mouth.
"Is he alright to leave alone?" she asked in a strange repetition of the same question that her husband had asked a few minutes ago. Her hand brushed d'Artagnan's overly long hair out of his eyes in an unconscious wifely gesture. "You need a haircut. And a bath," she added wrinkling her nose. "You all do."
"Only a month of marriage and they are already becoming peas in a pod," Aramis remarked jokingly, referring to the fact that the husband and wife seemed to be on the same wave length.
Constance simply rolled her eyes at the medic, something she did very well. "How about I go sit with Athos, while you all bathe and get some rest." The three musketeers appeared dubious, and she sought to reassure them. "Really, I have tended to our stubborn Captain before. He doesn't scare me."
She could still see the reluctance in their eyes and she didn't take offense, understanding how tight-knit the Inseparables were. When she married d'Artagnan, it had been with the full knowledge she would always share his heart with the other three men.
"How about this," she suggested with a resigned sigh. "You eat, bathe, and then one stays with Athos while the rest of you sleep. Take turns. Like on watch. You need to sleep. Can't have you getting sick too. Not with the war coming."
After a bit of grumbling, they agreed to Constance's plan, not that they really had any other option. She was a formidable woman. It was decided that Aramis and d'Artagnan would sleep first, while Porthos kept vigil by the recovering Athos' bedside. But first, Porthos had to bathe per Constance's insistence. Hen pecked indeed.