Chapter Text
She has not heard from him in four days.
It's not, in fact, the longest they have spent apart since their marriage (she remembers the month he spent in Spain while she was pregnant with unease), but she will always worry, whether she wants to or not, no matter his reassurances as he presses a soft kiss to their daughter's forehead and another to her lips. He tells her he'll miss her every minute they're apart but he'll return to his girls soon. How would he ever leave them?
And then he smiles, that warm, bright, infectious smile that makes him look so young and is impossible to resist. It achieves it's purpose, every time, lifting her already-aching heart as she returns with a small smile of her own. She has faith in him, in all of them, his brothers. In their skill, their abilities. But more than that, she has faith in their trust in each other. No one will be left behind, not while they still draw breath.
Four days is nothing to worry about. More often than not, they return to her,with ringing laughter and hungry stomachs and another story to add to regale her with as d'Artagnan bounces their daughter in his arms before one of the others insists on having their turn with their niece.
Porthos is already Marie's favourite... although Aramis insists that it's him.
It's then, when the waiting and aching and the worry is finally over, that she realises it's all worth it if this is what she gets to claim as her own...
She smiles to herself but her wandering mind is brought back to the present as she hears Marie fussing in her cot. She carefully folds up the dress she is mending for a newly-acquired client and moves to her daughter's side, still awestruck by how beautiful she is, ten tiny fingers and bright blue eyes, so warm, so real.
She grins as she picks up the babe before she really starts to wail, relishing the weight of her in her arms. "Yes, yes I know, my love. You're hungry..."
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She must have been more tired than she thought; she does not hear him enter, does not hear his tread on the stair nor the scrape of the door, nor even his approach to Marie's crib. It was only when she feels him sit on the bed that she bolts upright, hand already reaching for the sword she keeps by the bed until she recognises his silouette, the sweep of his cape, even in the dim moonlight.
"d'Artagnan?" she whispers, still lost in sleep.
He has his back to her. He does not respond, does not even acknowledge that he has heard. He stares down at his arms and Constance shifts towards him slowly to see that he has his sleeping daughter held delicately against his chest, as if he might break her. One hand rests on top of the soft blanket she is wrapped in. It is shaking.
She finally lifts her head to study his face and gasps. There's a yellowing bruise on his cheek, a cut to his lip and a trail of dried blood that his trickled from his hairline. He's so still, a glazed look in his eyes as he stares with parted lips at Marie. He trails a finger lightly over her cheek...
She reaches out her hand, grazing lightly over his roughly stubbled jaw. She's scared; she's never seen him like this and if this is the state of his face then how does the rest of him fare.
"d'Artagnan, please..."
"I've made them promise." His voice is harsh, rough with disuse, a long night's ride, lack of water. "I knew they would but I made them promise."
She draws herself closer, curling around, a hand on the back of his neck, brow furrowed and eyes wide. She can feel it; the tension in his muscles, the rising torrent in his soul. She's here...
"Should... should anything happen to me, they'll look after you both. They'll keep you safe." He holds Marie closer and the little girl shifts in her sleep, oblivious to her father's torment.
"d'Artagnan." Her voice is soft in his ear as her hand brushes through his matted hair. "What's wrong?"
For the first time since he returned, he looks at her. His brown eyes are wide, full of emotion that she cannot find a name for. Fear? Anger? Sadness? Perhaps even he doesn't know. He looks younger than ever.
He swallows around the lump in his throat and when he starts talking he cannot stop. "We were attacked. On the road back to Paris. English mecenaries. It was... so sudden, we had no idea. Aramis..." His face falls and her hand brushes against his cheek as she watches his eyes fill with tears.
"He pushed me out of the way. Just as they fired. There's a shot in his chest, Constance, and they don't know if he'll..."
His breathing is ragged, torn and he closes his eyes to try to stop tears that fall unbidden to his cheeks. Her hands tangle in his hair as her own sob escapes her lips at the thought of Aramis, cold and pale, at the thought that it could have been him and she leans forward to rest her forehead against his temple. Her free hand comes up to rest against the one that cradles their baby daughter as his arm tangles about her waist, pulling her tight against him.
And she knows why she's not with them, despite the fact that she's more than certain that Athos or Porthos told him to go. He's here because he needs his family close. He needs to see them, to feel them, the warmth of his daughter in his arms and the feel of his wife's beating heart.
They stay perfectly still for the longest of moments, calming their racing hearts, their frayed nerves and relishing the feel of each other, memorising each breath, each curve, each little sound their daughter makes. Marie stirs suddenly and d'Artagnan moves away on instinct, standing to rock his daughter back to sleep, mumbling nonsense under his breath.
Aramis always knew how to get her to sleep...
"You should go be with them," she murmurs as she stands, taking Marie from his shaking arms.
He shakes his head. "No. They will... tell me if anything changes. And I needed to see you." Carefully, as to avoid the babe, he takes her face in his hands and brings her lips to his, kissing her long and slow, full of every single emotion he cannot hide.
"I'm sorry..." he breathes as he pulls away, resting his forehead to hers.
"What for?" she asks, although she already knows the answer.
"For this life."
"This life?" Finally, after what feels like the longest time, she smiles, soft and light. "The man I love kisses me and holds me tight while our sleeping daughter rests in my arms. What do I have to be sorry for?"
He takes her hand, doesn't let go. "But what if he was not here? What if, despite it being his worst fear, he could not be here for you or our child? What if he was taken away? What if you were taken from him while he is away, when honour and duty seperates him from his family?"
His grip on her waist tightens and his gaze drifts to Marie. His voice is so soft she barely hears his broken whisper. "Is that really what he wants?"
She lifts his chin, forces him to meet his gaze. "Yes. Because that is who he is. Brave and honourable and good. A man who loves his brothers, will do anything for them, just as they will for him. A man who will always come back to his family, no matter what. A man who will protect them, even... even if he cannot be here to do it himself. That is the man I love."
He thinks, just for a moment, before the barest hint of a smile curls his lips. He lifts his hand to bring her palm to his lips.
"The man you love would not be the same without the kindest and bravest woman on Earth by his side..."
She nods, her smile teasing. "I am certain of it." Slowly, she lifts her head. "Now go. Be with him. Send him all my love and all my prayers. If he laughs at that thought, you must promise me you will slap him."
It does the trick for her husband's laughter rings throughout the dark room. "Thank you," he whispers against her lips as he kisses her again. He pulls away to press his lips to his daughter's head.
"We shall be here when you return."
His smile is beautiful. "I know..."