AN: Not my best, but it was completed rather quickly, just an idea that kept bugging me!

Any thoughts/criticisms/compliments are welcome and appreciated (some a bit more than others)!

"Aramis," Athos sighed, holding the bridge of his nose in irritation. "We have looked everywhere. It is time to admit defeat,"

"I never thought I would hear such words from you, Athos." Aramis scowled, eliciting a groan from his three companions sitting warily at the table.

"'Mis, this ain't exactly a priority," Porthos intervened, careful that Athos did not loose his usual calm countenance. It had been a few days, yet their brother was not dropping their ridiculous search.

"It's just a hat!"

"You would say that," Aramis turned to the young Gascon after gasping theatrically. "You would not understand."

"'E's right, though."

"Perhaps it is time to let this go, mon ami."

"What?" Aramis stared at his brothers as if each had grown another head, several in fact. Were they mad? "Well you can if you choose, but I need to find it!"

"Aramis-"

"I see our motto comes with conditions," pouting, the young Musketeer stormed off, out of the garrison, presumably to his quarters.

"We can't leave 'im like that." Porthos sighed, looking round to d'Artagnan and Athos. He had never seen Aramis so frustrated, and all over a hat.

"Maybe he'll calm down," d'Artagnan suggested, but his voice was weak with disbelief. "What else can we do? We can't keep searching for it!"

Athos stood calmly, without a word, but waited for the others to follow his lead. They did so, however confused, and waited. "Let's see if we can settle this," he inhaled deeply, prepared for whatever Aramis would throw their way. "d'Artagnan is correct, we cannot keep on like this."

Aramis' neighbour was kind enough to inform the Musketeers that their friend had returned home, seeming rather despondent, barely saying a word to her. D'Artagnan noted she appeared rather worried, and wondered just how harshly Aramis had stormed home. He was still trying to understand how his friend was so distraught over losing a hat. It seemed neither Athos nor Porthos had seen him in such a state either, and so in a strange way, he was quite glad he was not the only one lost for once.

Stumbling through into Aramis' small, humble home, they found their charge sitting quietly in the garden, his back to them. "Are you just going to stand there, or do you intend on joining me at some point?" he threw back to them, and d'Artagnan was unsurprised by his uncanny awareness.

"'Mis," Porthos greeted, as they sat across from him on the grass. D'Artagnan took a moment to look around, noticing how Aramis kept the place neat and warm. Although he would never have imagined Aramis living in such a home, now he was here he couldn't imagine the usually calm man living anywhere else.

"It has been three days, Aramis." Athos observed their friend's anger had dissipated, leaving nothing but sadness in its wake. Aramis had barely picked his head up from the ground since they arrived, and they weren't sure he would do so when they told him their reason for coming. "We cannot keep searching for it."

"I know," the young Musketeer sighed resignedly, finally picking his eyes up for a brief moment, an apology brimming on the tip of his tongue. "I understand. Please, I apologise for what I said. Thank you for helping me search these few days, it is a shame we could not have found it."

Porthos held out a hand to his brother's, grabbing it and holding it tight. This was going quite a bit better than expected d'Artagnan thought, and a smile began to emerge on his face. "Why does it mean so much to you?"

"What?" Aramis seemed rather offended by the question, causing d'Artagnan to quickly reassure him.

"I didn't mean any offence," he shook his head. "I just wondered, what is so special about it?"

Athos and Porthos looked quizzically at the boy, and then their eyes wandered over to Aramis to see if perhaps there was a story to be told.

"It was a gift," Aramis acknowledged, opening up some about his past. "My father gave it to me."

Aramis had not seen his father in a long time, having removed himself from their home in a hurry. Still, it was difficult not to recognise him as he now stood at the garrison entrance, beckoning him over. Somehow, he managed to remind his legs how to move, unfreezing himself to make his way over to his aging father. He looked older than he should, Aramis thought briefly, regret overwhelming him as he reached him.

"Aramis," his father beamed, placing his hands on his son's arms, drinking in the sight. All the anger of years past seems to have disappeared, but Aramis isn't sure what to make of it.

"Father?" was the only word he could speak, still confused by his presence.

"It is good to see you, son." His father nodded solemnly, dropping his hands as he worried the warmth he arrived with would not be reciprocated. "I wonder, could I see you? Just for a moment."

Aramis stared into his father's eyes, trying to figure out what he wanted. It had been so long since they had spoken, so long since he barely even said goodbye. His heart still ached at the memory, and he wondered if his father's did, too.

"Why are you here?" He asked, a little harsher than he had intended. It was difficult to fix on a tone, considering he wasn't sure how to approach the man any more.

"A moment?"

"It has been a long time." His father spoke after a long, uncomfortable silence. Aramis fidgeted under his gaze, unsure of everything. "It took me a while to find you,"

"You knew I was a Musketeer," Aramis sneered, remembering their last fight. The fight that led to this awkwardness.

"Yes," his father dropped his head shamefully, trying to continue. "I came once before to the garrison, but you were not there. I wondered, perhaps it was a sign. Maybe it has been too long, maybe you no longer want to see me. I would not blame you," Aramis sat stoically, listening intently as his father's words washed over him. "I left, thinking I should heed the sign. Then, I saw you. You were just arriving at the garrison, talking to another Musketeer. You seemed happy, and it made me smile.

"I decided to stay, to see you. I had to see you, Aramis." The Musketeer felt his hands being gripped by the older man's, but his focus was solely on the tale. "I couldn't bear to think that you could no longer smile with me, as you do now with your friends. As we used to," his fingers stroked across Aramis' hands as he struggled to process everything at once. "I knew I had to stay and see you, to apologise."

Aramis' eyes widened as he dropped his hands from his father's grasp. The pained expression forming on the older man's face was another to bring Aramis' attention, grasping his father's hands himself.

"I have missed you," he spoke finally, letting out a breath he held since he first lay eyes on his past. "So many times I have wished to write, I was unsure how you would take it."

"Oh, 'Mis." His father shook his head, tears forming in his eyes. "I regret it so much every day. I would have been pleased had you written, having thought of doing so myself. I thought you would have moved on and ignored my letters."

Aramis stared at him in disbelief once more, gripping at his hands as if they were anchoring him.

"I should never have reacted as I did," his father confessed. "The Musketeers are honourable, and I should be proud of you. I am, so very proud." Beaming, he raised a hand to stroke in his son's bushy hair, brushing down to hold his head.

"And I never should have left as hastily as I did," Aramis snuffled, leaning into his father's gentle touch. "It has haunted me, our feud. I always thought you never wished to see me again. That I was an incredible disappointment," as he finished, he felt his father's gentle touch grow stronger.

"Never." He stressed, catching his son's eyes and holding their attention. "I was angry, stubborn, as are you," he chuckled. "Will you accept an old fool's apology?"

Watching tears willingly drop from his father's wrinkling eyes, he freed his own, nodding. "If you will accept a young one's." Nodding vehemently, they instantly locked together, holding each other so close neither wanted to let go.

"He gave me the hat a few moments later," Aramis finished the tale for his friends who hadn't uttered a word. "Then he stayed for a couple of days, but had to leave. He was quite ill, you see. He refused to tell me how ill, still a stubborn fool." A small smile played on his face of affection, but soon vanished. "It was the last I saw of him before he passed."

"'Mis," Porthos whispered, squeezing his friend's hand reassuringly. Aramis nodded in kind but stayed quiet.

"I'm sorry," d'Artagnan managed, the weight of what Aramis' story still hitting him.

"Please," Aramis shook his head. "I made amends with him before it was too late, and for that I will always be grateful." To anyone else the Musketeer appeared rather unaffected by his past, but his friends could see the pain that lay underneath his bravado.

"Aramis," Athos called out, catching the attention of not only Aramis but Porthos and d'Artagnan too, who followed into the armoury where Athos stood, leaning his weight on one leg as he stared frustratedly at his brother.

"Athos!" Aramis failed to notice the glare he received from the older Musketeer, instead focusing his attention on the object he held.

"How'd you find it?" Porthos grinned, watching the scene play out as Aramis instantly went to grab his treasured possession.

"It was right here," Athos pointed to where he had found the hat, laying discarded. "Where d'Artagnan had checked." The older Musketeer's glare now found its way to the young Gascon, waiting for some sort of excuse. Aramis too, turned and shot d'Artagnan a hurt glare, although the happiness for finding his hat overwhelmed him, and he soon lost interest in his friends.

"I did check," d'Artagnan shrugged carefully, "I just… It must have been dark?"