Aramis boarded the train in the early morning hours. Part of him felt like a coward, leaving so soon after...after everything. He closed his eyes tight and tried to block out the memories of what he had done. He told himself what so many others had. He had no choice.

The smell of Rebecca's blood on his hands. He swore he could still smell it. As if he hadn't scrubbed his hands raw many times over. The train whistle blew as it started down the tracks. Winter in Paris could be beautiful. He didn't want beautiful.

He didn't know what he wanted. Except peace. The memories flashed into his mind.


"Or what, Aramis?" Rebecca's voice cooed. "We both know you could never shoot me. A woman. Just let me go."

Aramis's finger relaxed ever so slightly on the trigger. "Turn yourself in, Rebecca. It's over." There was more. Something he wasn't saying.

She was waiting for something. Someone. Only, he would never come. Earlier that day, Doyle had lost his footing and fallen during a foot chase. He was being pursued by Porthos and himself, Aramis shuddered. His head hit the pavement, and hard. He didn't get back up.

Aramis tried to save him. It was no use. The man they'd hunted for months was dead. Bleeding out in the streets in front of their eyes.

"Is this seat taken?" A voice snapped Aramis back to the present and he jumped.

An older man sat down beside him as Aramis gestured to the open seat.

"I'm sorry. I did not mean to disturb your thoughts." The man said as he took off his coat. Aramis saw for the first time that his seating companion was a man of the cloth.

"No, Father. I'm glad of the disturbance."

He glanced out the window. His voice sounded pained even to his own ears. The Father cast curious and sympathetic eyes upon him.

"Are you going home for Christmas?"

"The opposite, actually. No winter in Paris for me. I'm heading to Scotland for the Holiday,"

The Father nodded. "All alone?"

Aramis shook his head in response. His dark hair falling into his eyes. As the train rolled out the two fell into comfortable silence. Occasionally, one would question or comment to the other, but mostly the man left Aramis alone to ponder his thoughts. Something he'd been doing too much of lately.

After Athos's wedding it was quiet for a while. That was until Doyle came across their radar again. This time, in Brazil. Far away from their home and everything they knew. Still, the trio were intent to bring Doyle and Rebecca to justice for everything they'd done to Athos and Elle.

But it had gone wrong.

Aramis had been haunted ever since. Porthos was stronger than the lot of them, and D'Artangan had Constance. Aramis, however...he felt things more deeply. More spiritually than most. And when it came to things like this..
It felt like he'd never get past them.

The train stopped and Aramis realized that when it began moving again he was seated alone. Guilt smacked him from not acknowledging the departure of his seat mate.

Not long to Edinburgh now. He text Porthos to check on the progress of his beloved vintage mustang. The car was in the shop having some repairs, and Porthos promised to have it shipped to Killin when it was finished.

Once Aramis arrived in Edinburgh he hired a car to take him to his cottage in Killin. He'd been here only once before, as a boy. He remembered it to be a magical and peaceful place. A little of both he desperately needed.

His cottage settled on the edge of Loch Tay and as he arrived a heavy fog crept off the water and onto the land surrounding the oversize home. Oversize due to the fact it was only him and the place boasted three bedrooms. It was cold. He set his bags down and immediately built a fire in the fireplace as well as cranked up the heat. He was frigid enough inside...he didn't want to suffer externally as well.

He went about putting his things away, and made himself a cup of tea before exhaustion overcame him and he passed out in the chair next to the fireplace.