Chapter Text
In. Out.
He is fine. On the mend.
In.
She shouldn't have watched. Out. In retrospect, a thought never to be voiced aloud: she really wished she hadn't watched. The blood... In - "Oh, for God's sake!"
She shot to her feet, the finger she accidentally pricked flying to her mouth. She sucked on the tiny droplet, the other arm subconsciously wrapping around herself.
"Really, Constance, what's gotten into you? Fussing over a little wound - he's a Musketeer, so get a grip!" Thus berating herself, she picked up the work she'd just put aside and sat back down. Needle in.
The tiny piece of metal slid easily in and out of the soft cloth in her hands, the rusty brown thread trailing it down underneath. Out, and the red came back to the surface like a swimmer coming up for air. The drops of blood with each new puncture on d'Artagnan's side - really! - she'd chosen an unfortunate color to work with tonight!
In...
To be fair, d'Artagnan had not made a sound. But his jaw had been so tightly clenched that Constance thought it probably gave him trouble now. Then again.. That would be the least of his worries, wouldn't it, with that ugly wound in his side?
"How is it coming along?"
Her head whipped around at Bonacieux's curt query, who had stuck his head in through the door and was frowning at her. Constance schooled her expression into a smile; locked her eyes with her husband's, and bit the thread off.