Games and Growing Pains
Summary: The age at which Raoul gets a little too old for a certain favorite game. Adults and children alike are not allowed to go 'boom!' A one-shot from the 'From Bitter Memories to Sweet Havens' storyline.
A/N: In my livejournal account this story is published under a different title, 'Flying Babies.' At the time I wasn't quite sure what to call this, but this one seems a little better after some revisions. Inspired by a video of my brother at a slightly older age doing the same thing, but jumping from a couch onto the floor-or rather hitting both my dad and the floor at the same time.
Warnings: Don't give two-year-olds the same idea. This is from a slash universe, and includes a little bit of innuendo later on. Also, a slight spanking episode (just one swat) toward the end for obvious reasons. I have no opinion on spanking personally, but I was spanked as a kid for stupid stuff, and rightly so now that I look back on it-but that's just my perspective from my history, not a philosophy on child-rearing in general.
Disclaimer: Alexandre Dumas is the author. Obviously his works are public domain, but I still like to give all the credit where credit is due. I freely admit I am a serial borrower.
One second.
One second was all it took to lose track of a two-year old.
D'Artagnan tore through the rooms on the second floor, leaving no potential hiding place untouched. He was done keeping track of how many times he called the boy's name, done with how many times he searched every room, and nearly at his wit's end. The closed gate Athos and he had constructed to keep the boy away from the stairs was still locked, which meant the little one had to be somewhere D'Artagnan hadn't checked yet.
And D'Artagnan didn't like running in circles one little bit, not since his men nearly made him do the same insufferable thing on a daily basis. Sometimes he didn't know who tried his patience more, his pride-driven collection of young boys in the guard or a two-year old with the quickness of a full grown horse who suddenly discovered the use of the word 'no.'
He checked the library again, rushing from one corner to another, peering under chairs, tables, behind cases and curtains. Then he turned around from the doorway, almost ready to give up and call for reinforcements (in the form of Raoul's nursemaid, because God forbid he admit to Athos that the little demon had bested him…again), and spotted the two-year old perched on top of the desk. His cheeks were red with mirth and exertion, and he had a big toothy grin from ear to ear once he saw D'Artagnan lay eyes on him.
D'Artagnan very carefully schooled himself and wiped his face clean of anything that might further spur those unsteady and wobbly legs from their precarious position at the edge of the desk.
"Raoul," D'Artagnan called, softly but with all seriousness and no amount of usual playfulness. "Get down from there."
"No," the boy exclaimed with a cheeky grin.
D'Artagnan couldn't help but frown at the impudence of the child. He'd spent nearly an hour and a half searching for him and now he was going to refuse to let the game drop? Oh, no. No, no, no, no, no. "Don't you tell me no, young man. I said, get down. Now."
The little boy bent his knees and leaned forward, looking at the nearby cushioned chair, which would in no way be a comfortable fall, but rather a dangerously likely harmful one, with a gleam in his eyes and a wicked smile on his face-not to mention it was too far away for someone of Raoul's size to even attempt to reach jumping from the edge of the desk.
D'Artagnan stepped forward, but slowly so as not to cause the boy to jump prematurely, with a warning finger pointed at the boy. "Don't you dare!"
Raoul giggled and bent his knees a little more.
"Raoul," He said, taking another step forward, and another, and another. "Get. Down!-"
D'Artagnan dove forward on instinct with arms outstretched the second before he saw the boy go airborne. Somehow he managed to reach forward and wrap both arms around the small body, tucking the precious head into the crook of his arm. Said arm banged into the corner of the chair arm with a loud crack on their way down, and both landed with a loud thud that likely echoed throughout the house.
Instead of crying, D'Artagnan heard unrestrained laughter, as his heart pounded and his arms struggled to hold a squirming little boy.
D'Artagnan sighed. Parenthood certainly was no trip through the flower fields. No wonder Athos was so uptight some days. At this rate the boy was barely three and he was going to give both his fathers a heart attack before his next birthday! "No more airships for you, little fish."
Raoul smiled and used his little arms to push himself up off of D'Artagnan's chest. "BOOM!"
D'Artagnan put on his best Athos-face and gave the two-year old a stern look when he picked his head up. "You of all things are not allowed to go 'boom.'"
"And neither are you," Athos said from the doorway. In an instant, the older man was kneeling next to them, manhandling his son under one arm and helping D'Artagnan to his feet with the other. "That sound wasn't what I was looking forward to hearing when I returned."
D'Artagnan held back a grimace as he peeled back his rolled up shirt and already saw a colorful bruise starting to form. At least this time he didn't draw blood. "I can imagine. I would apologize, but I can't take all the blame."
Athos stared at him and sighed. Raoul squirmed and started to whine, kicking his feet, to which Athos gave him a swift but soft spank on the bottom. "You know better than that, Raoul."
The boy started to whine like he was going to cry. D'Artagnan felt sorry for the boy and pulled down his shirt sleeves as he reached out to take him from Athos. He set the upset boy down on a familiar stool in the corner and just before he was about to have a temper-tantrum, D'Artagnan kneeled in front of him and put a finger to his lips.
"Look at me, little fish," he said in a firm, but kind and soft tone.
Big tears started falling from the boy's eyes and he started to hiccup, but as soon as the child mustered the courage to look up, D'Artagnan pulled his sleeve up again and showed Raoul the bruise on his arm.
"That could have been your head. Do you understand? You are far too young and too small to be jumping from furniture. Do you think your father or I would like to see you hurt yourself?"
Raoul, eyes still tearfully fixed on D'Artagnan's arm, shook his head.
"No, indeed."
After D'Artagnan felt the point was made, and before Raoul descended into a full-on crying fit, he opened his arms and the boy launched himself at him. D'Artagnan picked him up and held him against his chest as the boy let out some sobs and hiccups.
Athos put a hand on the boy's back and ruffled his hair when the boy started to wear himself out. "What do you think, supper or a nap," he asked D'Artagnan.
"Are you hungry, little fish?"
The boy sleepily picked up his head, rubbed his eyes, and wordlessly reached out for his father. Athos settled the boy in his own arms and kissed the top of his head. "Sleep it would seem, but maybe some chicken pie wouldn't go amiss?"
At the mention of his favorite food, the boy perked up and itched to get down on his own two feet. Needless to say, both his little hands were trapped in one from both Athos and D'Artagnan.
"It seems I need to start keeping a record," Athos whispered to D'Artagnan as he seated Raoul in his chair downstairs at the dining table.
D'Artagnan glared at him and whispered back, "Try and you'll regret it, I promise you."
Athos raised an eyebrow. "Does someone else need a time out?"
D'Artagnan turned to Athos and narrowed his eyes. "What kind of timeout?"
"Keep that up and you'll find out."
D'Artagnan rolled his eyes and smartly dropped the subject, not just for Raoul, but for himself. He didn't want to admit or give Athos the impression that, for the first time since the days of his childhood, he was looking forward to what punishments awaited bedtime for adults.