Chapter Text
Aramis barely gets a wink of sleep that night. Between being too congested to breathe right and coughing anytime he would lay down flat, it’s fair to say that he spent most of the night tossing and turning in the bed. Eventually, he gave up and gazed out of the window at the moon. It was around three hours later that he woke up on the floor… he must’ve taken a seat down there and dozed off.
Something of his usual appetite has begun to return, and so after he has eaten the porridge that Serge so kindly made, he draws himself a bath. His curls are a wild mess, and they truly need washing. The entire process takes up the rest of his morning; he’s barely dressed when there’s a short knocking sound against his door.
Brushing some damp waves of hair from his eyes and making his way over to answer it, not all that surprised to find none other than Constance Bonacieux standing there; a warm smile shining up to her eyes. “Afternoon!” She greets a little too cheerfully for his liking. “May I come in? I have a bowl of hot water with your name on it.”
Aramis’ brow furrows, yet he steps aside. “Hot water for— oh, steam?” He answers his own question as he comes to the realisation, and steps forwards to close the door.
“Exactly! If you take a seat at the table and lean over the bowl, I’ll put the towel on your head… although you really shouldn’t be sitting around with wet hair.” Constance scolds, having the set the bowl gently down and standing with her arms folded.
He falls quiet as she tells him off, for once not having a witty remark to come back with. But, her facial expression soon softens and she reaches out to guide him onto the chair. “I’ll fetch you some lunch if you promise not to run away,” Constance jests, waiting for him to lean over; before placing the towel over his head and around the sides of the bowl.
When she receives no reply, she makes her way down to the kitchens. Serge has once again made soup and so she brings two bowls back into the living quarters and up the stairs. Balancing a stick of bread under her arm and somehow managing to manoeuvre open the door without dropping everything. Setting it all gently down a little further away from where Aramis is relaxing, and settling herself on the chair opposite.
A few minutes of almost silence go by, before Aramis eventually re-emerges from his little steam tent; a flushed hue to the skin. “That was a wonderful idea,” he exclaims, a grin appearing on his face. “Thank you!”
There’s a pause, and he scrunches his expression slightly.
“Why didn’t I think of that?”
Constance exhales a soft laugh, whilst Aramis momentarily disappears into the bathroom with a handkerchief tucked between his fingers. He would not dare to blow his nose in front of a lady. That would not be very charming nor graceful of him. Tsk. Returning a few minutes later, and bustling around for a moment before joining her at the table.
She slides his bowl of soup towards him, and some bread if he would like it to accompany. “Do you feel any better?” The woman questions gently, eyebrows knitting closer with genuine feeling. Constance truly cares, and it’s quite clear why d’Artagnan could fall for someone like her.
“A little,” Aramis answers truthfully, stirring his soup for a moment.
The pair fall into a comfortable quiet as they eat, although Aramis finishes much before she does. Leaning back in his chair and glancing up at her, a sigh falling from slightly less chapped lips. “Constance,” he begins. “I appreciate all of this very much, but I truly do assure you that I do not need… babysitting.” He waves a dismissive hand, looking to be in thought.
“I never said anything about babysitting!” She responds simply, placing her spoon against the side of her now empty bowl. “But if that’s what you want to call it.” A smirk tugs at the corners of her lips.
Well, now that’s just unfair. “You and Athos have bad bedside manners,” Aramis grumbles to himself.
She simply beams at him, before getting up from her chair. “Will you let me change your bed sheets? You look exhausted, and I bet it’ll be nice to lie down on clean sheets, won’t it?” Constance is already making her way over.
Dammit, she’s too nice. “Constance,” Aramis is quick to stand. “You have already done enough.”
Stepping past him, she begins humming to herself and going about the task. “Aramis, I do this all the time at home. It is not like I’m not used to it, and I want to help.”
He’s left standing helplessly behind her, unsure of what exactly to do next. “Can I help?” He asks after a moment of consideration.
“Nope!”
“Not even a little?”
“Mh—mh.” She shakes her head.
And so, Aramis simply watches her leave the room with his sheets bundled in her arms. He spends his time waiting for her to get back by finding a salve in his cabinet— for the cuts on his hands. They are unwrapped now, and he’d put a little of the cream on his hands when he couldn’t sleep during the night. He’ll bandage them again later if need be. There’s a soft hiss as he clenches and unclenches his fingers, the scrapes stinging a little. A heavy sigh falling from his chest, followed by a short round of coughing.
“You look awful,” a rather familiar tone comes from behind him. Aramis turns, gaze settling upon Athos leaning up against his door frame.
Recovering from the coughs, eyebrows raised. “Athos? You’re back early?”
“The King took ill… a fever. God knows where he could have gotten such an ailment.” He stands up straight, making his way inside the room.
“Is he—“
“He will be perfectly fine. Lemay has confirmed that it seems to be a mild case.”
Athos’ gaze travels down to Aramis’ hands, and then back up to his watery brown eyes. “Madame Bonacieux tells me you had a fight with a tree. It all sounds very heroic.”
Aramis folds his arms over his chest, although quickly unfolds them as the fabric of his shirt rubs against his hands.
“It is good to see that your fighting skills are… branching out.”
“Athos,” Aramis cannot help but start to giggle. “That was the worst thing you have ever said to me. Ever .”
The corners of Athos’ mouth curl up just slightly, and he turns to face the door as Constance renters. “What are you two looking so amused about?” She queries, making quick work of putting the clean sheets onto Aramis’ mattress.
“Madame Bonacieux,” Athos greets. “I am in your debt for all you have done these past two days.”
She chuckles to herself, finishing her task at hand before turning to face him. “Nonsense,” Constance replies. “He wasn’t that bad. Just a smidge stubborn though.”
Aramis frowns, but walks over to the bed and sits down. “ He is right here… and he thanks you for all of your help.” The last part is mumbled a little sheepishly.
Athos offers to lead her to the door after that, conversing quietly with her for a moment and thanking her one last time. After insisting she will be fine to see herself out, Constance makes her way into the hall and down the stairs; leaving Athos and Aramis alone together.
He turns, gaze trained on Aramis. “I must get out of these clothes before they melt from my body, and I trust you will stay put?” Athos questions, an eyebrow quirked ever so slightly upwards.
A hesitant nod.
“Good.”
Athos is gone for the good part of an hour, and Aramis is juuust getting up to peer into the hallway and see if he’s alright… when the door opens and he walks in. They both stand opposite one another for a moment, before Athos shoots him a questioning look.
“What took you so long?” Aramis breaks the silence, turning around to get back on the bed before he is asked to do so.
“I had to bathe,” when Athos says ‘bathe,’ he really means dunking a bucket of cold water over himself. Soap is involved somewhere. “It was hot on the hunting trip.”
Now, he is dressed in clean clothing and no longer has to wear a full uniform— that god awful heavy leather is torture in the full summer’s heat. Having to listen to the King at the same time? Terrible. Making his way over to the bed, performing a small gesture of his head telling Aramis to move over so that he can join him.
It takes Aramis barely a moment to lean over and rest his head against Athos’ chest, closing his eyes. Athos’ hand finds its way into slightly damp curls, and all of a sudden everything feels right again.
He’s asleep within five minutes.