Athos sighs heavily and rolls his eyes for the implication that he will remain like this. "No, I don't," he finally concedes, pushing the blanket off and leaning forward to stare her down, unwilling to look away from the woman in his bedroom, when at one point in their lives, it might have been their bedroom. Unbidden, memories flood his mind and he flushes pink when he thinks of their history.

Of fields and white dresses and forget-me-nots and Athos' mouth between...

He clears his throat and looks askance to avoid eye contact now. "Something of d'Artagnan's might suit me. He's slight," Athos remarks.