"Through A Glass... Backwards"

There was a tentative knock at the common room door, and Aramis and Porthos traded a confused glance. Who would knock...? Aramis shrugged, and Porthos called out, "Come in!"

The door opened, and Doctor Lemay leaned into the room. "Ah," he said. "Aramis. Your captain said I might find you here." He came in the rest of the way and closed the door behind him with a gentle click, explaining, "Her Majesty sent me to attend to you. She said you were thrown from a window during the... the events today?"

"I was indeed," Aramis said, "but I landed on a well-placed awning."

"Thank God!" Lemay said fervently. He looked at Aramis as if he didn't quite believe he was in one piece. "And you are... unhurt?"

"Well, I wouldn't say that," Porthos interjected.

"Just scrapes and bruises," Aramis said firmly. "Porthos, on the other hand," he added with a mischievous grin, "let the Comte de Rochefort dislocate his shoulder."

Lemay turned his surprise on Porthos.

"We were chained together," Porthos explained, "and I had to let him reach for a weapon. To be fair, he also put it back in for me." He slipped a hand inside his doublet to rub the offending joint. "Feels alright now. Good thing, too, I've been helping this one pick glass out of his hair for the better part of an hour."

Aramis waved a hand dismissively. "I'm sure we got it all. Sticking my head under the pump was a good idea."

"Just to be clear," Lemay said slowly, "no one requires a physician?"

There was a long pause. But as much fun as it was to make Lemay look back and forth like he was watching a tennis match, there was something Porthos didn't want to let go. "Seriously, Aramis," he muttered.

"It's fine."

"Yeah, well, you didn't see it."

"See what?" Lemay broke in.

Aramis sighed and gave up. "The back of my head," he said, gesturing.

Lemay, looking relieved to have something to do, moved to stand behind Aramis' chair. "From the glass?" he asked.

Aramis nodded, then stilled when he felt Lemay's hands searching lightly through his hair. He took the opportunity to ask, "Is the Queen well? And the Dauphin?"

"There were no other injuries," Lemay reported. "The Royal Family were all resting comfortably when I left the palace."

Aramis realized that he had not asked about the King, or Marguerite. He made a face when he felt something press against his head.

The pressure went away, and Lemay said, "I'm afraid this isn't all water, Aramis."

"Still?"

Lemay showed Aramis the bloody imprint on his handkerchief, a handsbreadth long.

"Oh, for heaven's sake," Aramis muttered, the long day pulling a rare blasphemy from him.

"Needlework?" Porthos wanted to know, a little too eagerly, earning a glare from Aramis.

Lemay wiped his hands on a clean corner of the handkerchief. "Not necessarily." He bent a calculating look on the back of Aramis's head. "Did you clean this?"

Porthos picked up a small, square-shouldered glass bottle from the table and waggled it. "Aqua vita. Carries it with him everywhere."

"I like to be prepared," Aramis said, resisting the urge to turn and look at Lemay as he spoke. The doctor was picking through his hair again and probably would not appreciate the movement.

"I commend your foresight," Lemay said. "You have need of it frequently, I imagine, in your line of work?"

"Me, no," Aramis said. "Porthos, on the other hand—"

Porthos scoffed.

Aramis started counting on his fingers: "Crossbow, axe, knife, another knife, the Duke of Burgundy's wolfhound puppy— Ow!" A tug at his hair made the cut on his scalp burn.

"Apologies," came Lemay's voice from behind him.

Aramis frowned, paying more attention to the feeling of his hair being pulled this way and that. "Wait," he said, "are you... braiding my hair?"

"I am," Lemay said. It sounded like he was smiling. "Scalp wounds tend to gape. I wanted to pull these edges together a bit, to encourage it to stop bleeding, but it's not bad enough to make you sit for the needlework. Small braids, with hair from either side, should do just as well. In theory."

"Where did you learn to do that?" Aramis wanted to know.

"I have four sisters," Lemay said. "However, I confess the practical applications didn't occur to me until moments ago."

"My question is," Porthos said, looking at Aramis with a grin, "why do you know what it feels like to have your hair braided?"

"Ah, well, I was popular with local ladies from a young age," Aramis said, putting on a nostalgic air.

"As their plaything?"

Lemay spoke before Aramis could retort. "As I recall," he said, "very small braids are difficult to get out. I think these will stay in overnight, especially since your hair is wet and the braids will settle as they dry. Or so the girls always told me." Lemay finished, and stepped around to where Aramis could see him. "If it breaks open and bleeds again, don't hesitate to send for me, but I think it will close now."

"Thank you," Aramis said, gingerly running his fingers over the back of his head.

"Don't touch it, please. Are you sure the rest is not serious?" Lemay asked. He was looking at Aramis's hands, every knuckle bloody from his fall and the subsequent climbing and fighting—but it was true that technically they were only scraped and bruised, to which Aramis had already confessed.

Porthos said, "I'll vouch for him."

"Very good. Then may I report your relative good health to the Queen?"

"Yes, of course," Aramis said a little too quickly. "And thank her for thinking of me, please," he added. "I'm... very honored."

Lemay bowed to them both, and slipped out of the room as quietly as he had come in.

Porthos waited a moment, until Lemay was reasonably halfway across the courtyard, and said, "I like him."

"Me, too," Aramis agreed, reaching for his neglected wine cup. He raised it. "To Doctor Lemay's sisters."

Porthos laughed, and they drank, and if Aramis felt his heart grow warm remembering who had sent the young doctor, he could always blame the wine.

Notes: "Hair apposition technique" is a real method for closing scalp lacerations; the modern version uses a dab of surgical glue to secure the twisted hair, and is actually superior to sutures in many cases. This story is also inspired by and dedicated to my best friend, who used to put teeny tiny braids in my hair during sophomore World History.