Breathing

So It Begins...

"There is a nagging fear growing in the back of my mind, doctor." Aramis expressed his anxieties and unease. "I'm worried that if Athos gets sick like these men he is going to end up vomiting, which is how he tore his stitches out in the first place."

"You will have to keep a close eye on him, Aramis. However," Molyneux paused, "you will not know if Athos was exposed to the illness until he awakens. If he becomes ill, there are extra precautions we can take to help prevent him from tearing his stitches.

Porthos brought over the stretcher to carry Athos out of the infirmary. "Cap'n got Athos's room ready for 'im so we can take 'im there."

"Alright gentlemen, carefully, we must lift him together." Molyneux instructed. Once lifted onto the stretcher, the men carried Athos to the room and carefully transferred him from the stretcher to the bed.

"Thank you, gentlemen," Molyneux said. "Now all of you must begin round-the-clock vigilance of Athos, while I take care of the men in the infirmary. If there is an emergency with Athos, please do not hesitate to come fetch me. Aramis, if you will follow me, I will get the herbs for d'Artagnan's rub and show you the exercises he must do to help his arm heal."

"Oh, I'm sure d'Artagnan will be thrilled to begin therapy." Aramis winked at d'Artagnan with a wry grin.

The young Gascon rolled his eyes at the sarcasm.

"Remember, do the exercises and your arm will heal." Molyneux squeezed d'Artagnan's shoulder and shook his hand. "Come, Aramis. I won't keep you but for a few minutes."

"I'll sit with Athos first." Porthos informed the group.

*****

Minutes Later:

"Cap'n knows where we are and has given us permission to be wit' im. So we might as well pull up a chair 'n get comfortable." Porthos pulled the nearest chair—the only chair—and plopped his large frame down. He stretched out his longs legs and crossed his arms, settling in for the long haul ahead.

"What?" Porthos raised his eyebrows, feigning innocence, while giving a devilish grin at his two friends staring back at him.

"You just took the only chair in the room." d'Artagnan shook his head and rolled his eyes. "Who said you get to have the chair?"

"There's plenty o' chairs in the other rooms—go steal one." Porthos smirked.

"Steal one?" d'Artagnan's questioned the instruction.

"Steal one, Porthos?" Aramis repeated drily. "Um, very unsound advice, mon ami. Seniority does have its privileges, however." Aramis turned to d'Artagnan and clapped a hand on his shoulder. "I think it's the pup's turn for this mission."

"My turn?" d'Artagnan's eyes widened at Aramis's delegation of the chair hunting. "Why do I have go steal the chairs?"

Porthos slapped his knee and gave a hearty laugh. "You don't really have to steal 'em, pup. Just go next door and borrow the chairs—we'll give 'em back when we're done wit' 'em."

"That's Giroux's room next door," Aramis motioned his head to the right. "He won't mind if we borrow his chairs—just be sure to take both."

"Oh no, I hardly know Giroux that well—nor does he know me well." d'Artagnan protested. "If I am going to his room to borrow his furniture, youare coming with me." He grabbed Aramis by the arm. "If he catches me in the act or later inquires where his chairs disappeared to. . . I'll tell him it was all your idea!"

"Smart pup," Porthos quipped. "Always thinkin' ahead, eh. Athos is teachin' him well."

"Besides," d'Artagnan added. "I still have an injured arm and I can't carry two chairs."