This is an attempt at a multi-chapter work. Three nights in the lives of Constance and d'Artagnan. Some fluff, some romance, some angst. Please read and review.

Obviously I own nothing. I wish I did. But at least I get to have fun!

He swears Constance has better instincts and reflexes than a Musketeer.

"I heard something." She says, shaking him awake.

They both listen in silence for a few seconds.

"I don't hear anything."

"I did."

"It's nothing. Go back to sleep." He tells her, burying himself under the blankets and cuddling up to her.

Just as he is falling back to sleep he feels a sharp jab to his ribs. He groans in pain, "Ow, that hurt. Sore ribs remember", he whispers.

He hears a slight rustling sound.

"Seriously, it's nothing. Try and sleep".

The rustling gets louder, now punctuated by tiny whimpers.

"Not my fault you get into fights with Red Guards all the time. Now get up. Your turn."

The whimpers get louder, turning into cries.

"Honestly," he says, swinging his legs out of bed, "You hear her before she even knows she's waking up."

Constance watches as he pads over to the crib and lifts the baby out. Her crying dies down, becoming a slow sobbing, as he holds her to his bare chest. "Shh, my sweetness," he whispers, rocking her gently "daddy's here. What do you want? Your mummy?"

Constance smiles as she watches the two of them. She sits up and holds out her arms to take the precious cargo, quickly putting the baby to her breast.

He climbs back into bed, "I did twice in a row now. Next time is yours. Plus I have to report early tomorrow."

"I am going to be doing every time while you are off musketeering. So I think the least you can do is each time tonight." He can hear the laughter in her voice, trying to disguise something else.

"Musketeering? Is that even a word?"

"It is now, because I said so." She gives him that look of defiance, the "don't you even think about arguing with me" look, and pushes the hair back from his face with her free hand. She looks serious now. The laughter is gone from her eyes.

"You'd better come back in one piece, you know, or I'll have your guts for garters."

"What a lovely thought. Thanks for that mental image." He raises his hand to trace her nose, to caress her lips. "Wake me up when she's done. I'll put her down for you."

He lies down next to her, hand on her leg, but now he can't sleep. The thought of leaving his girls for a long and (not that he is telling her this) possibly dangerous journey is scaring him. Not for himself, never for himself, is he scared, but for them. He knows she'd never ask him to change, to be someone else, but at times like these he wishes he could.

He listens to Marie sucking at the milk from her mother's breast. He moves his hand from Constance's leg to play with the baby's tiny fingers, remembering the first time he held her, three months ago, the first time he counted those tiny perfect digits on her hands and feet.

Constance pats his hand away. "Leave be. Do you want her to go back to sleep?"

He harrumphs an apology and returns to work on Constance's leg, tracing circles on her soft skin. This will be the first time he is leaving the two of them on a long journey. Treville has only given him short missions since Marie was born. But this time he has no choice. The King asked for him specifically, and when the King calls…

"She's done." He is startled out of his reverie. As Constance eases a sleeping Marie off her breast he crosses over to take her, settling her back in the wooden crib, covering her with the knitted blanket. He rushes back to burrow into the warmth of the bed. His hand begins to play with Constance's leg again.

"Go to sleep, I thought you had an early start." She says, teasingly.

"Some things are worth losing sleep over. In particular, you."

"Flattery will get you everywhere." She replies.

He moves closer to her, kissing her cheek, then her neck, planting small kisses on the hollow of her neck, feeling the pulse there beneath his lips. She makes a contented sound, clearly appreciative of the gesture.

Before he knows it he is kissing her, drinking in her smell, her taste, and she is responding with caresses. He sucks on her neck at which she pushes him away laughing.

"Stop it, you'll leave a mark." She cries out, laughter in her voice, giggles coursing through her body from the tickling feeling, swatting at him with her hands.

"Shush. You'll wake the baby. Then we'll have to stop."

And with that he rolls her onto her back and makes love to her.