Chapter Text
Sure enough, Aramis has fallen into a fitful slumber by the time she returns. He doesn’t seem particularly comfortable, but that’s only to be expected a few days off a bad injury, she supposes. And she isn’t really going to wake him, threats to the contrary aside, so she just sets the bread and cheese beside the bed and settles in with the pistol at her side.
Things have quieted down outside, but not to the degree where she feels comfortable leaving him alone and undefended. Eventually she’ll have to go back to the queen and hopefully fetch Lemay to get Aramis properly cared for, but the logistics of that set of maneuvers escape her frazzled mind at the moment. He can wait another day.
Probably? Or would it be better to risk it to get him proper medical attention (and out of her cellar)? If the wound becomes infected and he cannot be moved, there is no way to avoid her husband finding out, and that is something she would like to avoid at all costs…
As it turns out, the choice is made for her. It’s not long before there’s a series of quick, sharp raps on the door upstairs. Startling out of a light doze with her heart already racing, she checks to see that Aramis is still out and then climbs the stairs as quietly as she can, smoothing her sleep-ruffled hair. Another string of knocks. Pistol hidden in the folds of her skirt, she strides up to the door with much heavier steps, calling softly, “Hold your horses out there, I’m coming, what do you—”
And when she opens the door, d’Artagnan is staring back at her, the tense look on his sweet face immediately giving way to relief when he sees her. Ignoring her furtive glances at the windows past his back, he pulls her in close to his chest. “Oh, thank God. I was so worried when the queen told me you’d gone and hadn’t come back after the protests started.” He pulls away, checking her over and running his hands down her arms. “You haven’t been injured…?”
His search finds the gun and wraps around it, lifting their joined hands with an amused cock of his eyebrow. “Yes, alright,” she mutters, tugging him inside. “I asked you to teach me for a reason, you know. Come in before someone sees you!”
Once the door’s shut he draws her in again for a kiss, which she grants with a bit of a sigh, the relief of not having to handle this all on her own anymore washing over her like sunlight from behind a cloud. After less time than she’d really like, though, she ends it with a chiding push to his pauldron. “That’s enough, I’ve got something you need to see.”
He follows her easily down the hall. “Right. Right. Uh– Aramis. You haven’t happened to run across him? He’s been missing since his patrol a few days ago.”
“As a matter of fact, I have,” she says grimly as she rests her hand on the cellar door, heart panging as his eagerness at seeing her drops into dread at her tone. “He’ll be alright, but we’ll need to get Lemay to see to him, and we can’t stay here forever or my husband will find out he’s here. We’ve already had one close call with him. The Guard can’t see him, though, he’s wanted by them.”
A hint of amusement flickers under his worry. “What did he do this time?”
“They were going to shoot a woman in the street outside, he… got in the way.”
The amusement vanishes immediately. “When you say got in the way—”
“I said he’ll be alright, as long as he gets proper medical attention. Lemay might think I’m gifted in the art of healing, but I’m no battlefield medic.”
He presses a quick kiss to her temple before pushing past her through the door and hurrying down the stairs. “I know you’re not, cœur. Thank you. We’ll get him sorted.”
She takes a moment there at the top to steady her breathing. She did it. Aramis survived long enough to get help. He’ll be fine soon, she can return to the palace and they can turn their attention to addressing this untenable situation with the Red Guard. The weight of responsibility and fear and paranoia that she hadn’t even realized was settled on her shoulders starts to slip off, and she all but floats down the stairs to join the two musketeers.
d’Artagnan is kneeling at Aramis’ side with a familiar kicked-puppy look on his face as he studies the sleeping face of his fallen brother, and Constance can’t help a little smile as he seems to rouse himself and takes Aramis’ hand in his. The injured man’s brow creases as he returns to the world of the living, and he hisses softly as the pain must catch up with him. As his eyes flicker open, they find d’Artagnan hovering over him and his breath catches before his face splits into a grin.
“Morning again, sleepyhead,” Constance says as she bustles past, back turned to collect herbs for a fresh pain reliever and to give them space. “Look who I found! Or who found us, rather.”
“Oh, you were looking for her , weren’t you. What am I, a common garden slug?”
Aramis’ tone was wounded, but when Constance turns again with the tonic in hand he’s still smiling widely. Teasing, then. d’Artagnan, for his part, looks genuinely hurt at the assumption. “Of course we were looking for you, but I knew exactly where she was meant to be! You didn’t leave much of a trail, did you, for a slug! And the others have been searching since the moment we got back as well, I just happened to get lucky, it seems.”
“Both of us in one place, who’d have imagined,” Constance says, starting to help Aramis sit up. d’Artagnan takes the hint and they prop him up to drink, both murmuring apologies when he tenses with pain. She goes to lay him back down once the cup is empty, but he shakes his head. “All my tending and it’s just his presence that gets you feeling better? If I’d have known that, I’d have run to get him much earlier!”
Aramis tips his head to her. “Not at all, chérie, it’s only the logical next step. I’ve come far under your care.”
She notes as he brings her hand to his mouth and kisses her knuckles with lightly chapped lips that he’s careful not to linger too long, and the looks he gives her have lost even a playful air of flirtation. A pulse of gratitude and fondness hits her— d’Artagnan likely knows that Aramis would never try to steal the woman he loves out from under him, but nevertheless she appreciates the decidedly familial bent to his usual exuberant affection. It reminds her of her brothers, which warms her greatly. She does love these musketeers.
“You’re on the mend, then?” d’Artagnan asks, trying to get a peek at the bandages on Aramis’ bare torso under the blanket pooled in his lap.
“I believe so,” Aramis says, “and I’ve got important information for the captain. We should head to the garrison as soon as possible, we’ll need to—”
“Whoa there,” Constance cuts in disapprovingly even as d’Artagnan is nodding. “You’re in no immediate danger, but you’re in no way fit for duty. You can pass the information to d’Artagnan if it’s so urgent, or the two of you will wait until you’ve been given the all-clear by Lemay to be moved. Am I understood?”
d’Artagnan looks baffled, while Aramis manages to look reasonably chastised. “Yes, madame. Will d’Artagnan here stay with me, then, while you go and fetch the good doctor?”
She narrows her eyes at them as d’Artagnan brightens suspiciously. “Yes, that’s a great idea, Constance! You go get Lemay, and Aramis and I will– debrief!”
“I’ll do no such thing,” she scoffs, turning on her heel to clean up the herb packets. “I’ll not leave you two to crack some harebrained scheme to get him halfway across the city on his feet in the state he’s in, or I’ll be scraping you both up off the streets on my return.” They both look offended when she comes back to them with a dusting rag in hand, but she could care less. “d’Artagnan, go to the palace, tell the queen I’m alright and will be back soon, and have her fetch Lemay to here. You’d better stay there just in case, no sense risking getting followed back here if the Guard figures they might as well see if you just so happen to be going to visit your two missing friends. And I’ll stay here with Aramis. If we need assistance transporting him to the garrison discreetly, I’ll come to the palace and let you know.”
They both look at her for a moment, trying to find a flaw in her plan. “You aren’t tired of my company already?” Aramis offers feebly.
She smiles sweetly at him. “How could I be? You’re such a charmer.” Before d’Artagnan can offer another rebuttal, she snaps the cloth at him, making him yelp in surprise. “On your way, then!” Another snap at Aramis, or rather at the food at his bedside. “And you, eat. If we must move you, you’ll need your strength.”
d’Artagnan had jumped to his feet to avoid the crack of the rag, but he just stares at her for another moment, bemused and, if she were to flatter herself, admiring. Aramis leans forward silently and tugs the back of his doublet, making him startle again. “She’s got a tactical mind to rival the captain’s, eh? Maybe I should be recommending she get promoted over us both when I get back.”
The younger man just gives him a slap to the shoulder firm enough to jolt him forward, gives Constance a fast but passionate kiss, and vanishes up the stairs, shaking his head the whole way. When she looks back down to Aramis, ears burning, he’s rubbing his shoulder and still grinning. “You’ve got that lad good and entranced, haven’t you? Good thing he miraculously got his sense back and didn’t go running after Milady for too long. She’d have just left me to bleed out in the street, I think.”
“ Eat, ” she says exasperatedly, and goes upstairs to make sure the door’s properly shut and bolted and get more wine. And if she pauses at the window to watch her musketeer until he vanishes around the corner, well, no one’s any the wiser.