This story is a virtual birthday present for Runner043, who provided the list of prompts that guided this story. I've done my best to incorporate all of them and will include the list at the end of the last chapter. Hope you're having a wonderful birthday, my friend, and I hope you enjoy your story!

This story takes place in season 1, before d'Artagnan is a commissioned Musketeer. New chapters will be posted on Wednesdays and Sundays due to real life wanting far too much of my time. Enjoy!

He held the cup to Milady's lips, once again marvelling at the wonder she'd introduced him to – a straw. Who knew such a thing even existed? d'Artagnan could recall numerous times when it would have been useful to have. For such a simple item, it was still rare and relatively expensive, explaining why it wasn't a common item and available everywhere. His gaze settled on it as Milady drank, wondering if he could take the straw with him and reuse it.

"d'Artagnan?" Milady's voice was a bit breathless as she reclined against the fluffy pillows behind her head. The fall she'd taken from her horse had painted her temple in dark bruising that seemed out of place on her perfect, alabaster skin. The woman herself had been brave in the face of her injury, doing what she could to carry her own weight, but it was clear that the knock she'd taken had addled her senses, leaving her with a sharp aching in her skull that was, so far, refusing to abate.

d'Artagnan shook himself from his thoughts, realizing that he'd let his attention drift as he'd contemplated the wonder of the simple straw. His mind was somewhat fuzzy as well, something he blamed on his lack of sleep the previous night because he'd stayed by Milady's side to tend to her. "Hmm, sorry," he said contritely, a shy smile appearing as his focus returned to his charge.

Milady's smile was just as charming as always, barely dulled by the pain of her injury, and d'Artagnan found himself drawn to her once more. "I was just saying thank you for taking such good care of me," she replied. d'Artagnan ducked his head for a moment, uncomfortable with his patient's praise. "Perhaps you could find us something for breakfast?" Milady suggested, and d'Artagnan nodded at once.

"Of course," he replied, already rising from his spot at her hip. "Are you sure you'll be alright while I'm gone?"

The sweet smile reappeared on the woman's face, and d'Artagnan took the nonverbal response as his cue to leave. As soon as the Gascon had exited, gently closing the door behind him, Milady's expression turned to frustration, her left arm coming up to rest across her eyes. The previous day had been a shambles, and her plan to innocently seduce the budding Musketeer again had turned into chaos.

They'd been riding outside of Paris, Milady having convinced the naïve young man that she knew of a secluded spot just outside the city gates, when they'd been set upon by four men who were eager to fill their purses with the contents of hers. She'd been seated sideways on her borrowed horse, having had no time to arrange for a carriage when she'd unexpectedly bumped into him and concocted her plan. The result was that she was ill-suited to be riding in her fine dress, and more than a little helpless when it came to trying to defend herself.

d'Artagnan had acted true to his nature, gallantly pushing her out of the way of a pistol that had swung in her direction, only to have her unbalance and fall to the ground. Given the unexpected action, she'd been lucky to suffer nothing worse than a bump to the head. Sadly, it had been enough to leave her lying on the ground in a daze while the Gascon dealt with the robbers. She had little memory of the actual fight, recalling only glimpses and snatches of images as men moved around her, swords clanging as they met.

When d'Artagnan had knelt at her side to check on her, she'd realized that the bandits had all run off, presumably to lick their wounds in private after their embarrassing defeat by a lone man. Milady had privately snickered to herself at that; despite the young man's age and inexperience, he was a fearsome warrior when someone he cared about was threatened.

He'd carefully raised her to her feet, the ground shifting alarmingly and making it difficult to remain upright. Again, d'Artagnan was there, holding her close with an arm wrapped around her waist, the action both intimate and comforting, and she'd found herself leaning into his embrace. He'd willingly stood there while she regained her equilibrium, before lifting her onto the back of his steed, hers having run off in fear when one of the robbers had discharged his pistol. This time, he'd walked, leading the horse slowly back towards the city, while keeping a careful eye out for any further signs of danger.

They hadn't gone very far, the knock to the head making Milady queasy and lightheaded, and she'd found herself begging her companion to simply find a room where they could spend the night. That her ploy would also allow her to get the young man alone didn't escape her, even in her somewhat befuddled state.

That night, d'Artagnan had been the perfect gentleman, much to Milady's chagrin. Rather than falling for her numerous charms, the Gascon was attentive, patient, and caring, almost to a fault. He'd wiped away the dirt on her hands and face from her fall, loosened the fastenings on her dress and corset, and even turned his back when she'd undressed to get into bed, leaving her in nothing but her undergarments. It had made her want to scream.

Instead, she'd continued in her role of helpless patient, allowing d'Artagnan to fuss over her and assuage some of his guilt. She'd seen it in his expression every time she'd caught his gaze, and filed the information away to hopefully use at some later date.

Throughout the night he'd refused to leave, so she'd eventually given in to fatigue, allowing her eyes to close and sleeping deeply. His foray downstairs to get breakfast was the first opportunity she'd had to be alone with her thoughts since they'd arrived. She now racked her aching brain to find some way to salvage the situation, and gain some minor advantage from the many hours she'd lost.

Her ruminations were interrupted when the door opened, d'Artagnan following it into the room. His hands were full so he pushed the door closed behind him with a booted foot, before placing the items he'd brought on the table. "Let me help you sit up so you can eat," he said, already moving to gently pull her forward and adjusting the pillows at her back.

Milady smiled at his consideration, although secretly hating how she was being treated. She watched as he moved to pour some liquid into a glass he'd brought, and scoop up a plate that was covered by a square piece of linen. Handing her the glass, he removed the cloth from the food it hid, revealing two pieces of fresh bread along with a small pot of honey. "Whenever I was ill, my mother would tempt me with a sweet treat to help my flagging appetite. I hoped it might be the same for you."

The sentiment was truly considerate, and Milady found herself reaching for a slice of bread and topping it with honey without thought. After biting off a piece and humming contentedly at the flavour, she said, "You've never really spoken much of your family."

d'Artagnan's expression shuttered, and she realized that perhaps she'd made an error by asking. Adopting a contrite look, she attempted to salvage the situation. "I'm sorry, d'Artagnan. Clearly this is a sensitive topic for you. Please, forget I asked."

He graced her with one of his boyish smiles, this one tinged with sadness as he countered. "No, it's alright. It's just that my mother died when I was young, and you already know that my father was killed only a few months ago. I have no one else."

Reaching out to clasp his hand, she disagreed. "That's not true. You have your friends in the regiment, and you have me." The last words were spoken with a meaningful look that made the young man blush. Sensing the shift in the room, Milady changed tact. "And what of the merchant's wife? Has she not been kind to you?"

d'Artagnan's response solidified her belief that the Bonacieux woman was in fact very important, and she adopted a neutral expression as the Gascon began to speak. "Constance has been very kind – perhaps too kind. I haven't had much income from my farm, and she's generously allowed me to stay even though I'm several months behind on my rent." Hesitating for a moment, he went on. "I don't think Monsieur Bonacieux likes me very much."

Milady tutted softly. "Surely that's not the case."

If possible, d'Artagnan looked even more miserable as he replied. "I don't think he was ever fond of having me as a boarder, but recently it's gotten worse. I don't think it's helping any that I can't pay my rent, and he's becoming quite forceful about getting his money."

Milady resisted raising an eyebrow at the information the Gascon had shared. "Perhaps you're not the only one with money troubles?"

d'Artagnan's eyes widened in surprise at his companion's perceptiveness. It was true that the Bonacieux household had recently fallen on difficult times, though Constance refused to reveal the full extent of their hardship. He knew that she had intentionally withheld some of the details to prevent him from feeling guilty about his contribution – or lack thereof – to their current circumstances. For d'Artagnan, it was enough to know that he wasn't helping them with his continued inability to pay, and the heavy weight of it was obvious in the tense lines of his shoulders and back.

His father had been a proud man, and had instilled in his son a strong work ethic coupled with a streak of honor as wide as the Seine. It demanded that he pay his own way and find some way to compensate his landlords for everything they'd given him – the only challenge was to figure out how. The lack of income from his farm had initially confused him, the feeling soon morphing to worry, and then finally to fear as he wondered how long Bonacieux would allow him to remain under his roof. While the amount he'd been receiving didn't allow for an elaborate existence, it would have been enough to tide him over during the long months in Paris as he trained to become a Musketeer.

A slender finger beneath his chin pulled d'Artagnan's focus back to the present. He found his head gently titled upwards and a pair of green eyes staring back at him. Milady wore a somewhat amused expression as she asked, "Are you back with me now?"

d'Artagnan flashed her a smile that was a mix of embarrassment and apology as he nodded in reply. "Sorry, wool gathering." Clearing his throat, he said, "Would you like some time to attend to your morning routine before we leave?"

She carefully considered the offer for a moment, weighing the benefits of a bath against her desire to return to the centre of the city. "A few minutes at most," she replied, deciding that she could get by with only a splash of water on her face and neck, and a quick use of the chamber pot.

d'Artagnan took that as his cue to leave, collecting the used dishes and retreating with them to allow Milady some privacy. As soon as she was alone, she sighed, her mind once again considering her next move with the young man. In the end, a solution to her situation refused to come as her brain protested its continued use. Resigning herself to the fact that her plans would need to be delayed to another day, she finished dressing and exited the room.

She startled for a moment when she found d'Artagnan waiting for her just outside the door. Recovering quickly, she conjured a smile and offered her hand, which he quickly took and guided to the crook of his elbow. Ignoring the rush of warmth and safety that was sparked by the Gascon's touch, she allowed herself to be led outside and helped up onto d'Artagnan's horse, the Gascon mounting afterwards and seating himself at her back.

For once, she let her personal needs override her more nefarious objectives, relishing the feeling of the young man's arms around her waist and leaning against his chest, letting her cheek to rest against his doublet. It was a few moments of vulnerability, but she smiled when her actions prompted d'Artagnan to cover one of her hands with his own as he slowly guided them away from the inn.

Milady allowed her thoughts to drift as they travelled, lulled by the warm body behind her and the gentle cadence of the horse beneath her. If she'd allowed herself to relax more fully, she was certain that she would have fallen asleep. Instead, she let her mind wander, thinking about everything and nothing at the same time. She was startled from those thoughts as the strong torso beneath her cheek suddenly tensed and straightened, pulling her from her musings and prompting her to see what had garnered the young man's attention.

Letting her eyes drift across the street ahead of them left her just as confused as the moments before. She glanced at d'Artagnan instead, noting the direction of his gaze and following it with her own. There, nearly hidden by a merchant's cart was Madame Bonacieux. Milady bit back the caustic remark that immediately flew to her lips, irritation rising at once at the lack of attention now being paid to her.

She kept her eyes fixed on the cloth merchant's wife, her mind already racing to dredge up the words that would prompt d'Artagnan to continue on without risking the possibility of alienating him. That train of thought ended abruptly as the high-pitched cry of a woman's voice reached her ears, though it took her several seconds to realize the sound came from the Bonacieux woman.

Before she could process what was happening, d'Artagnan had swung his leg over his mount's back, sliding neatly from the horse. A moment later, he was pressing the reins into her hands. "Stay here; I'll be right back." With that, he swiftly turned and headed towards his landlord's wife, Milady groaning silently to herself at this latest unfortunate turn of events.

To be continued...