This is my response to fariedragon who wanted some ill d'Artagnan.I found it fitted quite well after 'Thanks to the Thunder'.
d'Artagnan woke feeling strange. His nose was blocked and his head felt like someone had stuffed cotton in it. d'Artagnan attempted to sit up, and this proved to be a bad idea as it set off a coughing fit that took minutes to settle. It had obviously been very loud, as minutes later Constance was in the room, a frown on her face.
"You're sick," she stated, as she pressed her hand against his forehead.
d'Artagnan shook his head, ignoring how it caused drums to pound in the back of his head.
"I'm fine," he protested, however his words were weakened by how croaky they were.
Constance continued to frown at him and d'Artagnan could see the worry in her eyes. It had been three days since d'Artagnan and Athos had returned from their rather…enlightening venture and ever since Athos had proclaimed how lucky d'Artagnan was not to get sick, as had everyone else. d'Artagnan had pointed out that Athos was equally as lucky considering he had been in the same predicament, albeit without the head injury, but as usual, Athos ignored him. He had a worrying low amount of self-preservation which d'Artagnan vowed to remedy as soon as possible.
Regardless of all this, however, it seemed he hadn't been as lucky as they all thought and d'Artagnan was not happy. Having been on bed-rest the past two days; today was the day he was going to go and meet his friends and his… Athos, rather than them come to him to loiter around his room. They had been planning to spar and d'Artagnan had been really looking forward to it. He did not want to spend another day resting and doing nothing productive and he also did not want to worry Athos any more than he previously had.
Constance grew alarmed when d'Artagnan went to get ready for the day.
"What do you think you're doing?" She asked with her arms folded against her chest, looking seconds away from ripping his shirt from his hands.
"Getting ready," he replied with no ounce of embarrassment at her watching him dress. There were no romantic feelings between them and so he felt no awkwardness at all.
"But you're ill," Constance pointed out again as if he were a very slow child.
"I'm not too bad," d'Artagnan protested, though he was feeling pretty awful. He was not made for bed rest however, and two days had been plenty. He could handle this illness; it was just a common cold. It would not stop him.
"You felt warm to touch; you should be back in bed."
Trying to turn on his charm, d'Artagnan gave her earnest eyes. "I'm honestly not feeling too bad. I'm still off my duties until tomorrow. I promise I will return if I get any worse."
Constance was still unimpressed but she recognised that there was no way she would be able to keep d'Artagnan in bed. Even if she made him stay, he would find a way to sneak out.
"Fine, but the moment you feel worse you come straight back, alright? And make sure you tell the others."
"I will," d'Artagnan promised, with his fingers crossed behind his back.
"You sound different, are you feeling alright?" Aramis asked him, looking at him with concerned, keen eyes.
"Fine," d'Artagnan said in as healthy a voice as possible. Seeing as his malady was fairly obvious due to the congestion, d'Artagnan had taken to talking as little as possible. He knew the first inkling they got that he was ill he would be marched back to his bed.
Aramis didn't look to convinced, however he let it go for he had been looking forward to seeing d'Artagnan up and about almost as much as the Gascon himself. Athos didn't look so willing to let it go but he too remained silent. He trusted that d'Artagnan would tell him if something were wrong. They had not yet told their friends of their new relationship, having decided it would be more amusing to see how long it took them to figure it out.
"Alright then, who wants to go first?" Porthos said with a jovial grin. d'Artagnan knew it would be wise to make an excuse to say why he couldn't fight that would still allow him to stay, but d'Artagnan was not a wise man and he had been itching for some action since he'd first been confined to his bed.
At the shrugs Porthos received, he said, "Well, how about me and d'Artagnan then. I'm sure we'd all like to see how you've improved since last time. I promise to go easy on you," he added with a smirk.
d'Artagnan rolled his eyes. "I think that should be the other way around," he jeered, pulling his sword from its sheath. It was the blunt one he owned for mock duels such as these. His hands shook slightly as he gripped it but d'Artagnan dismissed it. Once the adrenaline got going he would be fine, or so he told himself.
Aramis and Athos stood back as Porthos and d'Artagnan began to circle each other, waiting for the other to strike first. Porthos was the one to begin the duel properly and he lunged at d'Artagnan, aiming his sword at d'Artagnan's chest. d'Artagnan anticipated this move, as it was how Porthos frequently started, and dodged out of the way, intercepting the sword with his own causing the ring of metal against metal to echo in the air. The two swords slid against each other as their owners stepped back. d'Artagnan looked for an opening, but he couldn't help but notice that his hand really was not very steady at all. Only stubborn determination stopping him from surrendering, d'Artagnan instead focused his efforts into a swipe at Porthos' stomach. Porthos jumped back from this and quickly got a jab in on d'Artagnan's shoulder. Now, had d'Artagnan been perfectly healthy when receiving this minor blow, then all d'Artagnan would have done was stumble back slightly. However, as we know, d'Artagnan was not of perfect health and this minor blow sent him reeling backwards, so much so that he fell to the ground.
A coughing fit immediately commenced this and it was so bad that d'Artagnan struggled to get air back into his lungs. He vaguely heard Athos call his name before he succumbed to the darkness.
When d'Artagnan woke, it was to someone wiping his brow with a cold cloth. It felt good and he automatically turned towards the touch.
"You're awake."
d'Artagnan knew that relieved voice. He opened his eyes and blinked at the sight of Athos sitting on a stool next to him. He was the one holding the cloth and d'Artagnan couldn't help but smile at the caring behaviour of the normally so stoic man. d'Artagnan liked that he could bring out this side to him. Athos returned his smile for a second before it turned into a frown.
"You should have told us you were ill, Constance was not best pleased when we returned with you unconscious. Apparently you promised her."
d'Artagnan could not hide the shame he felt. He knew it had been stupid to not tell the others, and even stupider still to engage in a fight with Porthos, but at the same time he had thought he would cope. He was sick of bed rest, however with Athos here continuing his ministrations; he had to admit it wasn't that terrible.
"I did. I'm sorry."
"You'll have to apologise to her, and to Porthos. He thought it was his fault you fell unconscious and swore for lord knows how long that he merely bumped you. It really was quite annoying."
Again, d'Artagnan felt shame. "I will. I was just tired of staying in bed. It's terribly boring."
Athos let out an exasperated sigh and d'Artagnan could see the concern he had felt from the worry lines around his eyes. This was what he had been trying to avoid, he didn't want to feel like a helpless child around Athos all the time, one that demanded protection.
"Well, thanks to your little stunt you'll be in bed even longer than had you just stayed there in the first place," Athos admonished.
d'Artagnan huffed but didn't argue. He knew he had no right to argue.
"I truly am sorry," he said.
Athos' eyes softened and he gave a half smile. "I know you are, but I wouldn't be surprised if you were to do it again, stubborn Gascon that you are."
d'Artagnan's eyes gave a wicked gleam. "Perhaps you'll just have to find incentives to keep me here." His sultry proposal however, was ruined by the large sneeze he let out and the throaty cough that followed.
Athos let out a laugh that secretly delighted d'Artagnan. It wasn't often that Athos laughed so every time he did, d'Artagnan counted as a great achievement.
"Maybe when you're less full of phlegm I'll consider it. Now get some rest, I'll still be here when you wake."
"I've been sleeping far too long," d'Artagnan protested, though in all honesty his body was still recuperating was already demanding sleep once more. He let out a yawn and Athos smiled.
"Sleep," he ordered and in a sudden, tender moment, pressed a kiss against d'Artagnan's forehead.
A flush rising, d'Artagnan turned his head and hid his smile in the pillows. He fell asleep seconds later, safe in the knowledge he was well looked after. He also got to return the favour two days later when Athos was the one to get his cold.