Constance has caught a cold and d'Artagnan tries to rustle up something for her (and fails miserably, though adorably)
She was not used to being idle. Her limbs were heavy, yes, and her head was pounding. She sneezed once more into her hankerchief, head falling back against the pillows with a groan. It was hardly the first time she had been ill…
But it was the first time she was allowed to feel it.
d’Artagnan had sent her to bed, and she had little strength to argue. With a sigh (that was promptly followed by a wretching cough), she succumed to the raise of his brow and his stern face and made her way to her room.
He said he would make her some soup. A lovely gesture. Constance remained unconvinced.
A rather poor decision on her part. It didn’t take long for the smell from the kitchen to waft upstairs. It was, by all accounts, delicious, and her empty stomach rumbled in anticipation. She should not have been surprised; he was a farm boy, after all. She wondered if it was his mother who taught him how to cook…
Her wandering mind betrayed her, as lathegic as she was, and she felt her eyes start to close, her head lulling to the side as she couldn’t fight the pull of sleep any longer.
The last thing she heard was the front door…
It was the scent of burning that awoke her. It snapped her to attention almost immediately. She couldn’t have slept long, but it took effort to haul herself out of the bed and race down the stairs… to find d’Artagnan dousing the small fire that had broken out on the stove.
"What have you done?" she cried, voice raw from her illness even in her surprise. fetching some water and throwing it on the flames. There was little damage; he had caught it in time…
Although his meal was ruined.
"I’m sorry, I…" Her turned to her with that wide eyed look and she already forgave him, no matter his explanation. He gestured to the window. "There was trouble in the square. I went to help and I… forgot… this…"
She raised a brow, sniffing loudly once more, and rather ruining her attempt at a disapproving face. “I see. So your being the hero means burning my house down does it?”
He said nothing, dropping his gaze to the floor.
"More than that you ruined my dinner." She pouted, eyes wide with mirth. "It smelt delicious…"
He was pleased by that, returned her smirk with a grin of his own. “Then I’ll make some more.”
She caught his wrist before he pulled away. “No, you won’t. One near-disaster is close enough for one day…” She smiled softly, leaning in to reach for his lips.
He stopped her, fingers against her mouth, eyes bright, teasing. “Exactly. So I’d rather you not give me the plague as well.”
She kissed him for his cheek. He didn’t protest.
