"Constance!" Aramis called, stumbling to a halt and panting for breath. Bent in half with hands bracing his upper body on his thighs, the Musketeer looked up with wild eyes through disheveled curls. "Beautiful Constance, most noble among women, fiercer than most men-"
"What, Aramis?" She grinned as she pinned a sheet to the clothes line in her yard.
"Is your husband at home?" He straightened, casting his gaze around the area.
"No, he is not." Constance paused her pinning to peek at him from around yet another sheet. "Did you really flatter me only to ask about my husband?"
Aramis huffed in amusement but became increasingly antsy with every passing second. "No, see I'm in a spot of trouble and while fleeing for my life I thought I'd stop by and inquire if I could, perhaps, if it's no trouble, hide in your home?" When he finished his plea, Constance watched Aramis attempt disappearing into his own skin as he braced for the slap he believed was headed his way.
She nodded toward the open door indicating that he should go in. As Aramis passed, she snapped him with a towel. What good was slapping him when he expected it?
Mere seconds after Aramis disappeared inside, a trio of Red Guards ran past but then doubled back almost immediately.
"Excuse me, madame, but did you see a woman run by a moment ago?"
Constance had presumed the guards were after Aramis, but when the one mentioned a woman, she found she didn't have to fake a reaction like she thought she would.
"No, monsieur, I have not. Is she…" Constance took a deep breath to calm herself. "Is she dangerous?"
"She and her three friends are quite dangerous, madame. It would be best if you stay inside until we apprehend these criminals."
Constance nodded slowly as she pinned the final piece of her laundry on the line. "What exactly have they done?"
"I did not witness the crime, but I'm told they attacked a group of guards without cause. Now please, madame, go inside and lock the doors."
The man walked her to the door and bid her farewell before departing.
Constance threw the lock, and leaned back against the door, her gaze searching the ceiling. It was still very much a possibility that the Musketeer hiding in her house was, in fact, the woman the guards were after. After all, Aramis had been wearing a long cloak that concealed his entire person save his head. But his facial hair… The longer she considered the matter, the less sure she became of whether or not Aramis' trademark facial hair had been present earlier. Eventually curiosity got the better of her, but thinking it rude and a bit odd to go after Aramis without some hospitable offering, she prepared tea and a small snack for her guest.
"Aramis?" She called when she reached the landing at the top of the stairs.
A distinct thud came from d'Artagnan's room followed by a muffled groan. Upon reaching the door she found Aramis crawling out from underneath the bed and rubbing the back of his head with one hand.
She cocked her head to one side as she moved to set the tray down and then help the Musketeer to his feet.
"One never knows when the Red Guard will decide to be thorough in their search." He lifted his face while speaking, causing Constance to cover her mouth in shock.
"You shaved!" She recovered from the surprise quickly and took his face in her hands. "I've never seen you without that moustache! Wait a minute, what's under the cloak?" Her hands landed on her hips, and her foot began tapping as she awaited the answer.
"Constance!" He furthered his false modesty by pulling the cloak tighter around himself.
"Aramis," she warned, foot stilling.
The right side of his mouth hinted at a smile as he unclasped the cloak and cast it off onto the bed behind him.
Constance fought the laugh bubbling up inside her for several seconds before letting loose. She might as well enjoy herself while her husband was away.
"So they were after you," she tittered, "and the others as well?"
"It's been an interesting morning," he sighed and shrugged.
"I'd say so."
She took a step back so she could full appreciate the sight of Aramis. In her time she'd seen a few men in drag, but the man before her outdid them all. He wore a teal dress that stopped just short of resting on his more feminine looking boots and had managed to convincingly stuff the bosom to give a woman's form. The dress was sophisticated in its simplicity and perfect for blending in with the more 'common' women of Paris.
"You've only got one earring."
Aramis' hands immediately shot up to his ears at the news. "I must've lost it with the wig." He pulled the remaining earring off and tossed it onto his cloak.
"There was a wig?! Pity I didn't see it."
"I looked quite wonderful."
"I'm sure. Are- are you wearing make-up?" She stepped close once more as she noted how the lines of his face were softer than they would have been after a shave alone.
"I had a part to play." He raised his chin as though he were an indignant actor.
"Do the others look as good?"
"They did before the Red Guards decided to prey upon us."
"I was told the four of you attacked them."
Aramis dropped onto the bed and shook his head. "Well of course they did. Why would they tell you they found four women attractive and decided they needed to get a little too friendly? What sort of gentlemen would they be then?"
"I expect you to remember that the next time a woman tries to tell you she's been attacked."
"My dear Constance, I am entirely aware that many men are less than honorable and seldom think with their brains. Although I will admit that today was a clear reminder."
They were quiet for a moment while Constance poured tea and then handed a cup to Aramis.
"Where are the others then? And why exactly were you four dressed as women?"
"Someone was selling palace secrets. We did what we had to in order to find out who. We were on our way back to the garrison when the guards appeared and we were forced to defend ourselves. We split up in the hope that at least one of us could make it back to the Captain. D'Artagnan seemed to make a clean break, so if any one made it, it's probably him."
"Did you all shave?"
"No, somehow Athos and Porthos were allowed to cover their faces."
"I'll get some water, if you'd like, so you can wash your face."
"Yes, thank you," Aramis begged as he adjusted his stuffed chest. "How women run in dresses is beyond me…" he mumbled as Constance left the room.
Nearly half an hour later Constance answered her door and found the Captain of the Musketeers standing before her.
"I'm sorry to trouble you, Madame Bonacieux, but my men ran into trouble earlier today. Have you seen any of them?"
"Aramis is upstairs," she said and bade him enter.
"D'Artagnan made it then?" Aramis inquired when Tréville strolled into the Gascon's room.
"He did. He's staying at the garrison until I feel he can leave without trouble. I brought clothes, well, different clothes, assuming you want them," Tréville smirked.
"Are you implying something, sir?" Aramis' eyebrow crawled up his forehead.
"Should I be?"
Aramis wisely chose to let that conversation die; it was not one they should have in front of a lady.
"I'm guessing by the assortment of leather here that you haven't found Athos and Porthos yet."
"I have not. I will not. I've been called on at the palace. You three are so fond of hide-and-seek, I suppose it won't be much trouble for you to find them." There was mischief in Tréville's eyes, and Aramis groaned inwardly. The captain never let him live that first game down. "Try not to break a leg this time," Tréville said with a wink before tipping his head in farewell to Constance and made his exit.
Constance stood blinking at Aramis for a minute after the captain left, not because Aramis was divesting himself of his disguise in favor of his normal wear, but because the most dangerous men she knew played hide-and-seek. And Tréville said they were fond of it.
"Yes, Constance?" The marksman prompted when he began shrugging his coat on.
"You play hide-and-seek."
"And?" He wound his sash around his coat with time-honed precision.
"Why have I never been invited?" It wasn't what she was expecting to say, and he grinned because it was so clearly written on her face.
"My fair lady, had I known you wished to play, I would have invited you years ago. I shall not make that mistake again."
"Good. So you're going to let me come with you now?"
"Of course. Don't tell d'Artagnan."
And with that they set out in search of Porthos and Athos.
"Do you know where they're hiding?" Constance had her right arm looped around Aramis' left as they made their way down the street. She was trying to distract Aramis from lamenting the absence of his hat and the familiarity of his facial hair.
"Haven't the faintest. If they were dressed normally I'd have a few ideas, but they're dressed as women. It changes the game."
Constance thought for a several strides before wondering aloud, "Would they hide in a church?"
"Why?"
"Sanctuary."
Aramis' expression lit up in a silent 'ah'. "Porthos is rather fond of Notre Dame. It's not far from where we split up." He looked over and down at Constance with fondness. "Good thinking."
When they finally entered the cathedral, Constance's steps faltered. "Where do you think he'll be?"
Aramis flashed her a knowing smile and lifted his face to the ceiling. "Come on," he whispered and lead her by the hand to a stair case that climbed up to the bell towers. "While in Paris, on should always look for Porthos on higher ground."
"And when you're not in Paris?"
"Good luck. He can disappear when he wants to."
Many stairs later they came across Porthos leaning against the wall and gazing out across the city. Constance's inhale was audible as she took in the view.
"There's nothing like it," Porthos sighed and turned to Aramis. "Please tell me you brought proper clothes."
Aramis grinned and shook the sack hanging over his shoulder.
Once they'd returned to ground level and Porthos was dressed normally once more (much to Constance's disappointment; she quite liked Porthos' gypsy costume and the large golden hoop he'd replaced his usual earring with), the duo now a trio set off to find Athos.
"So, Porthos, I heard you boys play hide-and-seek often."
Porthos chuckled. "Did Aramis mention how often he gets hurt playing that?"
"He did not," she purred even as Aramis groaned at the turn in conversation. "You'll have to tell me over dinner."
"Hold on," Aramis murmured when they set foot on a bridge.
"What?" Constance asked.
"Listen," Porthos whispered, having picked up on whatever had caused Aramis to halt.
Constance slowly filtered out the hollering of street vendors, the chattering of pedestrians, the clatter of carriages on cobblestone, the clapping of horse hooves, the lapping of the Seine, the splashing- "The splashing?"
Aramis nodded and remained focused on the sound despite a rather round and self-important man shoving him aside. Suddenly he was moving in the direction of a flight of stairs leading down to the water, and Constance and Porthos scurried to catch up.
Tucked up under the bridge, casting stones into the river, and wearing a look that could curdle milk they found Athos. His dress was filthy and torn in several places. Drawing nigh Aramis tossed the sack of clothes to Athos before turning to Porthos to say, "So it's true! Trolls do live under bridges."
Athos stood with the speed of a lightning bolt striking the earth and tossed Aramis into the Seine.
"I admit I deserved that," Aramis sputtered when he resurfaced.
"What took you so long? You're getting slow, Aramis."
"Someone decided to hide out in Notre Dame's bell tower. I can only climb stairs so fast, Athos."
"Worth the climb, I say," mused Porthos.
"Come on, boys. D'Artagnan's probably decided you've all been arrested by now."
There was agreement all around and more than one complaint of hunger as they wandered back to the garrison.
"Constance, stay for diner," Aramis begged.
"What about the husband?" Porthos grunted.
"Away on business," Aramis replied before Constance had a chance to do so for herself.
"Then you should stay," Athos advised in that low tone of voice you would miss if you weren't listening.
"Alright, you've convinced me," she accepted.
Just then a group of Red Guards ran past shouting about a possible sighting of Paris' most wanted women.
"Perhaps we should hurry," she urged them.
"Yes," agreed Athos.
"That would be best," Aramis added.
Porthos walked backwards as he watched the guards scamper about. "Nah, we can take 'em."
"Porthos," the others said in unison,
"Fine, but next time…"
