Yes I should be writing other things, and posting other things and such. I've just been toeing my way back into fandom by perusing a few prompts here and there as I work through my others stories. Besides, this was a quick one. :)

The full prompt was this: Can I have Constance and Aramis having the "OMG you idiot, what the hell have you done?" talk, sometime after the tent scene? Because O_o.

I'll Show You Mine

(If You Show Me Yours First)

Finally getting Aramis alone, Constance rounded on him in fury. "You idiot! What were you thinking!? Anyone - anyone could have walked in on you!"

Aramis blinked, then calmly shrugged. "Probably the same thing you were when you snogged d'Artagnan in the middle of the street in front of your husband's house last year," he said, voice so dry he would have done Athos proud.

Constance growled, her fingers itching to smack his face, but in the next heartbeat the fire had gone. "Yes, well," she murmured, trying to keep her face stern, "d'Artagnan is not the queen."

Aramis's lips twitched. "Good of you to notice. d'Artagnan must appreciate that."

She snorted despite herself, fighting against a smile. This, she thought, was the danger of Aramis. "Never mind what he appreciates," she huffed, working to maintain a level seriousness - then mortified when her voice emerged tainted with more regret than she thought she had to harbor. It pooled like ink in her stomach, sudden and heavy. "Which... I'm not sure is much of anything anymore."

Aramis's eyes darkened somberly and he took a step towards her, fingers out as if to touch her elbow. Turning abruptly, she stepped away, pressing her palms over the hasty and unwanted emotion rising in her cheeks.

"I know you still love him," Aramis said from behind her, in a timbre soft and kind - so boldly gentle it threatened to break her heart open all over again. Which, she could not - she would not.

One long, deep breath, and quickly under control again, she turned back to face him. "And I thought you had learned to have better sense," she whispered.

Lowering his chin and digging gruffly at his hair, he nodded. "At one time, so did I," he returned, then tried to smile as though to brush it all away, but it was a poor attempt, like a child trying to wear a paper mask after dragging it through the rain.

By pure reflex, she found herself touching his elbow instead. "Then we're both of us fools," she remarked, trying to make her voice light.

It didn't work. Her heart stayed heavy and his head stayed bowed.

Eventually, she dropped her hand, and that, more than anything, seemed to call his attention back to her.

Lifting his eyes, he met her gaze starkly. "Fools," he agreed, then glanced away with a shaky breath. "Fools trying to be sensible." When he finally looked back, all the steadiness she expected from him was in place - the mask dried and solid once more. The corners of his eyes wrinkled. "And how's that going on your end?"

She wanted to smile, but couldn't. "Painfully," she admitted.

Gently, he squeezed her shoulder, something ghost-like in his expression - something so delicate, it made her feel like porcelain - then he turned as if to leave.

With a surge of fear, she stopped him, just as he reached the door. "Be careful, Aramis. This... you and... Please. Be careful. You must."

Setting his hat on his head, he nodded once, and was gone.

x

Notes: Story title is taken from the lyrics of Rise Against's 'Swing Life Away.' The relevant lyric being, "I'll show you mine, if you show me yours first. Let's compare scars, I'll tell you whose is worse."