This is going to be a series of oneshots of D'artagnan x Constance. They aren't connected to on another unless stated, and they aren't following a certain timeline or anything.

I don't own the characters.

Please read and review.

"Constance... Constance!"

Her head ached and something warm was running down the back of her neck. She winced as she allowed the strong grip on her arm to pull her into an upright position, whimpering slightly as wave of pain hit her. She was lying on the hard ground, outside in the alley between her house and her neighbours.

She felt tired and weak and she wanted nothing more than to lean into the source of heat beside her and close her eyes again.

"No, don't sleep. Aramis said we must not let her fall asleep with a wound like that." A familiar voice spoke from above her.

With tremendous effort, she raised her head to look at the two men above her, gritting her teeth as her eyes met the bright sunlight.

"What happened?" She croaked out, allowing D'artagnan to help her stand. She swayed on her feet, reaching an arm out to his shoulder to steady herself. He wrapped a hand around hers, squeezing gently.

"It appears that my wife and your husband have conspired to murder you. For my wife's part in this plot, I must sincerely apologise, though I had no part in it and no warning of it as we are estranged."

Constance had spent a lot of time with D'artagnan's three friends since the Gascon took up residence in her house but apparently there was still a lot she didn't know about them.

"I'm sorry... you have a wife?"

She heard D'artagnan sigh beside her and turned her attention to him. He was scowling as he looked down at her but his eyes were soft as he placed a strong hand on her hip to keep her steady.

"Your husband has just tried to murder you and you are concerned about Athos being married?" He asked in exasperation.

Her head gave another painful throb as Constance frowned up at him, reaching a hand to the painful spot on the back of her head. When she pulled her hand back, her fingers were damp and red. At the sight of her blood her vision went hazy, and she leant against D'artagnan to stay on her feet.

"Oh." She murmured, still staring at her hand in wonder. "I think I might faint."

"Don't you dare." D'artagnan demanded. "We have to get you to the Musketeer garrison. Aramis will be back soon to deal with your wound."

"I'm afraid I can't move." She argued. "Without fainting."

"Constance, I have ridden, in this heat, for over an hour to make sure that I reached you in time. I am tired and sore, my horse is likely dead and we almost let Milady escape in order to save you. If you faint, you may not wake up and I will never forgive you for it."

She stared up at D'artagnan in surprise. He returned her gaze with dark, serious eyes before reaching a hand to rest a hand against her neck.

"I don't think you realise how much you mean to me, Madame Bonacieux." He told her softly. "And I will not allow you to die before I tell you."

She had always known he cared for her; it had been especially obvious ever since he taught her to shoot all those months ago. Even her husband had commented on how fond their lodger seemed to be of her, a bite in his voice that should have warned her to stay away from the younger man.

She had ignored the insinuation because she had no intention of being unfaithful, no matter how much she might want to.

To hear D'artagnan admit it now, and to see the intense look in his dark eyes, made her stomach clench in a way her husband had never been able to. This was how love should feel, she was sure of it, and it made her want to smile at him and reassure him that she had no intentions of dying until he admitted that he loved her, despite the blood she could still feel dripping on to her shoulder.

"I think you can stop calling me Madame Bonacieux." She spoke quietly. "My husband just tried to kill me, I'm not sure I'll be keeping the name."

Athos snorted from beside them and she started, turning her attention to him.

"May I ask why your wife was involved?"

"She believes I wronged her greatly and seeks vengeance." He replied, offering her an arm. She wrapped one hand around D'artagnan's arm before placing her other through Athos' and they started down the street slowly, both men adjusting their stride to match her slower one. "I believe she is trying to get to me through my friends."

"She is the woman who came to see you." D'artagnan admitted. "Milady, the one who frightened you."

"I suppose I was right to fear her then." Constance sighed. Her head still felt heavy and she was struggling to keep her eyes open.

"The more pressing question is why was your husband involved?" Athos asked. "I did not know you two had problems."

"We do not, for the most part. I believe he has gotten himself caught up in something he is too stupid to escape from; I have heard him talk of helping the Cardinal, but really how much help could a cloth merchant be to the man who rules France? And I do not know why this led to an attempt on my life."

"Let us be thankful it was only an attempt." D'artagnan muttered angrily. "It may save his life if we meet again."

"You are very calm about this." Athos commented. "Most women would be hysterical by now."

"I am not most women, as you should know by now." Constance smiled slightly. "And I am trying too hard not to faint to be worried about anything else."

"We are almost there and Aramis can look at the wound." Athos assured her. "It was exceptionally stupid of them to hit you with something and not check if you were dead."

"I walked in on them arguing." She remembered. "They were fighting over you, D'artagnan. I tried to listen but my husband spotted me. That's all I remember before waking up."

"But if they hit you inside, how did you make it outside?" Athos asked. "Did they carry you?"

"I... I'm not sure. I am sorry, I do not remember." She murmured. "My head hurts."

D'artagnan wrapped an arm more securely around her waist, allowing her to rest her weight against him as they approached the Musketeer's yard.

"Madame Bonacieux, it is good to see you." Porthos greeted her, exchanging looks with Athos and D'artagnan.

Normally the secrecy would have annoyed her but she found herself too tired to care much about anything other than closing her eyes and blocking out the pain.

"He's here." Porthos told them quietly. "Came storming in, shouting that his lodger had murdered his wife and left her body in an alleyway."

"You're looking remarkably beautiful for a dead woman." Aramis remarked as he joined them. "Madame Bonacieux, come this way. The Captain is allowing us to use his room to look at your wound."

"And then if you would say a word or two in my defense." D'artagnan laughed.

"I don't understand what's going on." She muttered. "What has any of this got to do with me? Why am I the one with a bleeding head wound?"

"Maybe we should discuss this after I tend to your wound." Aramis suggested. "The rest of you should go and speak to the Captain."

"I'm staying with her." D'artagnan tightened his grip slightly and Constance felt tears well up.

Everything was too much for her. The pain in her head, the confusion, the anger and D'artagnan's sudden willingness to admit that there was something between them were making her head throb angrily in a way she was certain had nothing to do with the wound.

"Constance? Are you okay?"

She looked up at his dark eyes and felt the world spin. Then it went black.