This is a continuation of "And the blades go round (again)". This might not make much sense if you haven't read that first. This is part 1 of 3, broken down simply to make reading a little easier, and because then I can post this before I've finished editing the rest!

Hope you enjoy

xx

D'Artagnan felt the familiar thump of the rotor blades sing through his veins. The feeling of flying, of hovering high above the city, a bird's eye view of everything still gave him a heady rush of adrenaline, a feeling that had never diminished however many times he lifted off the ground. It was only up above everything that he truly felt free.

He was alone in the helicopter, flying to co-ordinates due north to pick up a businessman for a lunch date in the city. D'Artagnan couldn't imagine having the money for a cab into the city, let alone a helicopter, but he had grown used to the idea of the rich clientele he worked with and the demands that were normal in their world. He was simply there to fly them around, and as it was one of the few joys in his life, he counted himself fortunate to at least be doing something he loved.

The flight was short and sharp, the client, accompanied by a bodyguard spent the journey on his tablet and didn't demand anything more from d'Artagnan than to fly the helicopter. Some of the demands of the rich had left him staggered. Expensive mineral water for a prized Shih Tzu. A fruit platter with the fruit arranged by size and colour. A cheese platter for a twenty-minute flight. A certain type of wine only available from one vineyard in Argentina. (D'Artagnan had googled it when he had got home, and almost had a belated heart attack when he saw how much that would have set him back if he'd dropped it.)

Scheduled to wait around, he talked last night's football with a couple of the restaurant waiter having a cheeky cigarette, then grew increasingly bored before four hours later returning the client to his home. A generous tip had gone some way to making up for the hours sat around waiting. It didn't quite stop his irritation when his return flight to base was delayed by ATC, who kept him from a suitable flight path for over 30 minutes before finally letting him in the air back to HQ.

Glad to return, he braved the cafeteria in search of coffee and something to eat. He had just settled in a plastic seat with something that alleged to be a chicken sandwich when he heard his name being called from across the room. He looked up at Aramis, suppressing a sigh as he watched the man bounce across the room towards him, smile wide on his face, Porthos just behind until he detoured off towards the food.

'Is that safe?'

D'Artagnan considered the sandwich in his hand. The bread was old, the lettuce just about to turn, and the chicken…the less said about that the better. His stomach growled audibly and he bit in, deciding he was too hungry to care.

'Does it even have any meat in it?'

Swallowing, d'Artagnan considered. 'It has meat, I'm just not sure what part of the animal it came from.'

Porthos took a seat, a burger and fries on his own plate, a muffin on another that he pushed towards Aramis. 'You've been avoiding us.' he accused d'Artagnan, gesturing at him with a limp chip.

'Avoiding you?' D'Artagnan asked innocently. 'I've been here, doing my job.'

'You're meant to be our pilot now.'

Unlike Porthos's assumptions that, once cleared with Treville, d'Artagnan would be assigned with them, Treville had simply made an offer to d'Artagnan. Grateful that he was being given a choice, he asked, and received, time to think on it, also taking the time to question exactly what would be expected of him. Treville had made it clear he would be working with all the different security teams, not just the investigators, assigned to the division rather than a single team.

D'Artagnan was due to meet Treville again at the end of the week. Two more days to consider his future, though Aramis and Porthos had been seeking him out at every opportunity to badger him into accepting. 'I haven't agreed to anything.' He said mildly.

'I thought it would be what you wanted.' Porthos said; d'Artagnan resisted the urge to squirm under the accusing look, feeling irritated that someone he had only met a few days ago would presume to know what he wanted.

'I asked for time to consider it.'

'What's to consider?'

D'Artagnan scowled slightly at how easy Porthos assumed it would be. He wondered what Porthos would say if he knew that he'd had a flashback at the sound of the gunfire, however short it had been. That the dreams which had gradually been subsiding over time had been reignited with a horrifying passion. That he hadn't slept without a light on since their first meeting.

Aramis must have interpreted some of how he was feeling, as he interrupted Porthos. 'Any exciting clients today?'

'Lunch meeting in the city.'

Aramis affected disinterest, studying his muffin. 'Sounds kind of boring.'

D'Artagnan shrugged. 'I got to fly.'

'What if you could do more?' Aramis suggested.

'What if that's all I want?' Deciding this conversation was done, he found his way hampered by a light hand on his arm.

'You are allowed to want more.' Aramis didn't try and hold him back again, but his words lingered in d'Artagnan's brain.

xx

He should have expected the knock on his door later that evening, though he was surprised that Athos had joined Aramis and Porthos in their campaign to make him sign up. Athos had apologised for the accusations he had flung at d'Artagnan, and the injuries he had inflicted, but there had still be a little distance between them, not helped by the look of guilt on Athos's face when he saw the still fading bruises on d'Artagnan's neck. They could be civilised, but till now Athos hadn't sought to spend time with him.

'We brought food.' Aramis told him cheerfully, offering up several pizza boxes.

'And?' D'Artagnan asked, hand still holding the door mostly shut. The smell emanating from the pizza made his stomach growl. He had to remember to get a spyhole cut in the door. And visit a supermarket occasionally, then maybe food would not be such a successful bribe.

'And beer.' Porthos said, holding up his offering.

D'Artagnan looked at Athos, eyebrow raised in question. Athos shrugged. 'I brought the wine, but I've no plans on sharing it.' He said.

D'Artagnan opened the door wide 'Fair enough, all tastes the same anyway, like vinegar.'

He heard indignant spluttering behind him as he crossed the hall to his tiny kitchen. 'It does not all taste the same. Or like vinegar!' Athos said in outrage, from just behind him.

He heard Aramis's rather audible sigh. 'Now you've got him started. He'll be talking about grape varieties and vintages all night now.'

'I'd rather talk about the beer.' D'Artagnan said, holding out a hand that Porthos obediently placed a bottle in. He eyed the pizza boxes in Aramis's hand. 'and the pizza.'

'I pegged you for an all meat guy.' Aramis said.

D'Artagnan shrugged. 'I'm not fussy. Never met a pizza I didn't like.'

Aramis made a face. 'What about anchovies?'

D'Artagnan grinned, 'anything.'

Aramis actually shuddered. 'Ugh.'

'Pineapple?' Porthos asked suspiciously. D'Artagnan looked at him blandly. 'Come on! You can't like pineapple on a pizza.' Porthos declared, flipping a lid on the top box and handing out slices.

'One of your five a day, right?' D'Artagnan said as he downed most of the slice in one large bite.

Porthos shook his head mournfully. 'That's just wrong.'

The pizza took very little time to be devoured between them. D'Artagnan found himself sat at the kitchen table, having a lesson on red wine from Athos. That they could sit and have a civilised chat was quite surprising, but the beer and wine had certainly loosened a few tongues, and on the subject of wine d'Artagnan found Athos to be rather loquacious. D'Artagnan still preferred the ale though, and whilst he preferred it from a pump, out of a bottle was a suitable substitute. He was just arguing with Athos that pizza was better accompanied by beer, when they were interrupted by Aramis.

'Is this your old unit?'

It was a simple question. Perhaps an obvious question given that he had been in the army, and he was holding a photo of a group of men in army uniform. D'Artagnan was on his feet, moving faster than his leg liked before his brain had really caught up with the instinctive movement. 'How dare you touch that.' He barely recognised his own voice. It sounded quiet over the roar in his ears, blood suddenly pounding in his head, but he knew he had yelled it.

Aramis looked up from the photo he had been studying, smile faltering d'Artagnan rushed towards him. 'I was just looking.' He quickly justified, hands up in a non-threatening gesture of subluxation, the frame hanging limp.

'Don't you dare touch my things!'

'D'Artagnan!' Porthos's voice, surprised at the sudden turn of events.

D'Artagnan ignored him. 'Get out! Get out now!'

'D'Artagnan!' If he had been himself he might have recognised the confusion in Aramis's voice, the shock. D'Artagnan was too far past hearing anything, rage a living, breathing thing. Snatching the photo from Aramis, he faltered, off balance as his bad leg spasmed at the movement.

Aramis's arm shot out to steady him, but one look at d'Artagnan had him changing his mind. 'I never meant to' Aramis started quietly.

'Get out!' D'Artagnan yelled, far too gone to hear anything, to even comprehend how illogical his actions might be, how unreasonable he was being.

'I think we should go.' Athos quiet voice filled the silence punctuated by d'Artagnan's rushed breath.

Aramis's look went past d'Artagnan towards the kitchen, and whatever he saw there made his shoulders slump in defeat. 'Ok, ok.'

D'Artagnan didn't hear them leave. He had slumped into the chair, the photo in it's cheap plastic framed crushed face down into his sweater, his hold hot and sweaty and shaking. He felt sick, the pizza and beer sitting uncomfortably under his ribs as they hitched with every breath he fought to draw. Memories that he tried daily to forget surfaced, claiming his attention, overwhelming his normal control.

xx

It took a while for him to calm down enough to bury the photo back in the box Aramis had pulled it from. The boxes were everywhere, his life still mostly packed away within. It wasn't the first-time Aramis had plucked a random item from one of them to ask about it. He was always curious, always digging around, pushing for answers to understand them, to explore them. D'Artagnan presumed it was what made him a good investigator.

D'Artagnan had never enjoyed the scrutiny, but mostly he could ignore the incessant questions often fired his way. Though they grated, he could push back against the questions, or pluck whatever object Aramis had unearthed from his hands, make some joke or laugh it off, or even resort to friendly physical violence.

But the picture was different. The memories were too much and the rage that Aramis had dared to ask about it had been instant and overwhelming. D'Artagnan lay in bed, wide awake, staring at the ceiling. He couldn't close his eyes. Couldn't turn the light off that still burned bright overhead. Couldn't get his mind to quiet.

The knock echoed around the still flat.

D'Artagnan turned on his side, pulled his pillow over his head. It wasn't enough to block out the sound of a repeat knock. Quiet. Insistent. Maybe if he was still enough, silent enough, the knocker would go away. Because he knew exactly who was at the door, and he wasn't even that surprised that he had come back. If d'Artagnan knew anything, it was that none of the three were cowards.

The knock came again, quiet still but longer, sharper somehow. Determined and insistent. D'Artagnan sighed as he rolled over, sitting up. He wasn't a coward either.

Aramis was still dressed in casual jeans and crisp white shirt, though his hair looked wild, like he'd spent the last couple of hours pulling at it. D'Artagnan didn't say anything when he finally opened the door to let him in, grateful when Aramis didn't try to apologise.

D'Artagnan couldn't face sitting on the hard chairs in the kitchen and led him to the lounge, taking a seat on the sofa where he could stretch out his leg. It throbbed uncomfortably, tension building in it resonating with the rest of him.

For a long time the room was filled with the sound of their quiet breathing. D'Artagnan gave in and massaged at his leg, the tense calf muscle giving way slightly under hard fingers. He felt Aramis's eyes on him, watching the movement.

'I was in the army till four years ago.' Aramis finally spoke into the silence. D'Artagnan continued to stare at the wall opposite though he was listening carefully. He had known that all three were ex-military but had never asked any questions. He didn't want to encourage them to ask questions back.

'I served in Iraq, Afghanistan. Probably the same places as you. Left on an honourable discharge, after 11 years to go into private contracting.' Aramis paused, sighed, and d'Artagnan couldn't help but look over, to study the man. He sat in the single armchair, his look on nothing, far away in the past. D'Artagnan wasn't sure he wanted to hear what Aramis had come to tell him, but didn't want to interrupt.

'Back in the early days of Afghanistan, after nine-eleven when everyone had a purpose and no one knew what they were doing, I led a unit into the desert. We had had intel that a group of Taliban were running training camps in a tiny hamlet. Long story short, the intel was wrong. Whether it was deliberate or not, the result was my unit walking into an ambush. Ten of us went in, only two of us got out.'

'You think it was deliberate.' D'Artagnan's voice sounded scratchy and underused.

Aramis finally looked at him, holding his look before finally nodding. D'Artagnan recognised the look on his face: he saw it reflected in the mirror all the time. 'Everyone denied it. There was an official investigation and everything. But nothing was ever proven. It still haunts me at times. Nightmares. Flashbacks.' The way he said it, not like a confession of anything wrong but a simple fact of life made d'Artagnan stare at him for a long moment. How could Aramis speak of such things like they were normal?

D'Artagnan shifted, swung his legs around. Aramis moved, opened his mouth but shut it again before he could offer to do something. D'Artagnan was glad as he stood up, needing to move, needing a moment away from the pain and hurt of another man's grief. He flicked on the kettle then just leant on the sides, weight bracketed on his hands, his head hanging as he listened to the water start to boil.

He wondered why Aramis had come tonight. To show that he understood? To share some insight into his past so that d'Artagnan would open up about his? D'Artagnan thought back to all the ways his life had changed in the last week. Aramis and Porthos sought him out, actively pushed their way into his life, as if they wanted him there. D'Artagnan wasn't sure why. He had considered that they were doing it out of pity, but it didn't feel right. They seemed to enjoy his company. Or enjoy annoying him. Even Athos, though the distance was still there, the relationship had thawed as the bruises had faded, and whilst Athos had never sought him out alone, he accompanied the others, sought his opinion, even listened to what he said.

D'Artagnan poured the now boiling water into 2 mugs, dunking the tea bags around, moving without thought to finish making the tea, bringing the two cups back into the lounge. He didn't have it in him to tell Aramis about the photo. He didn't have the energy, or perhaps more importantly didn't yet trust Aramis to let him into that part of his past. Didn't trust him with the pain that haunted him, physically through the constant reminder of his leg, and emotionally in a betrayal that had stripped everything he'd ever known from him. He couldn't talk about it like it was just normal.

But Aramis didn't push him to talk. They sat in silence, but it was comfortable silence, no pressure to speak, no pressure to do anything but simply sit and sip tea.

When he woke in the morning, he was still on the couch, the tea cups were in the sink, and he was covered in an old ratty blanket that had long been abandoned on the back of the sofa. He was surprised to find it was already 6am, and he had slept without the usual dreams. It was only as he was heading towards the bathroom that he realised Aramis had left the lights blazing.

xx

D'Artagnan was disappointed that he was the only regular pilot at the Musketeers with no scheduled job that day. He felt restless, even after a long swim and some gym work that morning. He had avoided going into the main building, embarrassment at last night's events keeping him in the hanger. He had run through every conceivable check on the helicopter and was now doing some tinkering in the main electronics panel, removing every plug to clean it, thoroughly checking every connection. Usually the engineers would do it, but d'Artagnan needed something to keep his mind and hands busy, and it was fiddly enough to keep his attention.

'We need a pilot.' D'Artagnan looked up from where he had just replaced one of the plugs he had cleaned, surprised to find Athos stood alone, watching him from a few feet away. He felt the red flush on his cheeks as he remembered last night, but Athos's attention was not even on him. He was looking at the exposed electrics, and he wasn't looking comfortable at having a view of the internal electronics of the machine. 'Though if your helicopter is not suitable for flying we will find another way.'

D'Artagnan had wondered why he was the only pilot without a scheduled flight that day, and had already been suspicious of some manipulating. Aramis and Porthos had been less than subtle so far with their wish of him to be their pilot, and it appeared that even last night hadn't made them waiver. He thought about seizing on the fear Athos had of flying and agreeing that his helicopter wasn't ready, but as there was absolutely nothing wrong with the machine, and he was really bored and wanted to fly, he couldn't quite bring himself to say no. Even if he was embarrassed and annoyed. 'She's fine. I was just finishing some checks.' He brushed off his hands and pulled closed the panel, standing and stretching indelicately, more than one joint popping.

Athos still looked uncertain, and d'Artagnan knew he would quite happily not fly, but equally would never admit to it. Finally nodding, he asked 'How soon can you be ready?'

'Five minutes?'

'Fine, we'll be ready.'

'No coming to collect you from the briefing room?' D'Artagnan asked, mildly sarcastic.

'I'm sure we can find our way out here.'

xx

'Where are we going?' D'Artagnan asked as he pointed the nose in the direction of the co-ordinates that had been sent through to his navigation. He had been watching Athos as he lifted off, faster and more urgently than perhaps the situation called for. He couldn't deny that watching Athos go pale and cling onto his seat with a white knuckled grip was entertaining to watch, especially when compared to his normal reserved nature.

'An estate out east.' Porthos answered.

'Have you been there before?'

'No, but there should be somewhere to land; other teams have flown there.'

D'Artagnan nodded at the information- he flew blind most days when he visited new estates, he needed very little space to land in anyway.

'Intelligence suggests the place should be empty.' Porthos continued. 'We're being sent to search out an item.'

'Oh?' Intrigued despite himself, d'Artagnan couldn't help but ask 'what?'

'I don't think' 'A USB flash drive' Athos and Porthos answered at the same time. D'Artagnan didn't smile but it was hard as he noticed the glare Athos was drilling Porthos with in the rear-view mirror, forgetting for a moment to stare at the horizon in front of him.

'What's on the disk?' D'Artagnan asked, mostly because he knew it would annoy Athos.

'That's not for us to know.' Athos replied, a heavy note of disapproval in his tone.

'Porn.' Aramis declared over the radio after a moment's silence.

In the mirror d'Artagnan watched Porthos shake his head. 'Emails to a mistress.' He countered.

'Animal porn.' Aramis countered.

'Accounts for illegal smuggling business.' Porthos disputed.

'Accounts for the drug business.' Aramis appeared to be getting into it now.

Over the radio, d'Artagnan heard Athos mutter 'I don't know why I bother.'

Aramis hadn't said anything beyond a general greeting that morning, giving d'Artagnan space though he could feel the tension in the air, mostly he knew at his own creating. Porthos hadn't acted any differently, greeting him in his usual booming tone from across the hanger, clapping him on the back as he took the safety pack d'Artagnan handed him. He was glad that he hadn't upset anyone with the outburst yesterday, and that no one was questioning him on it now. He wondered about his meeting with Treville tomorrow. Apparently even after his outburst last night they wanted him to be their pilot. D'Artagnan just couldn't figure out why.

xx

It wasn't the largest estate d'Artagnan had been too, but it had one of the best views. The lands backed into a sharp cliff edge, the grounds contained on three sides in the natural cut of a fast-flowing river some 150 feet below. The house itself stood large and compact, proudly gleaming in the cloudy day. D'Artagnan took a moment to appreciate the view that spread out from behind the house, the vast empty landscape beyond the cliff and river making the estate feel it was the only one around. D'Artagnan knew it wasn't quite as lonely as it seemed, that a small village was a mile down the road, and the city was around a two-hour drive away, but it was deceptively still. It looked empty. Unlived in, the garden not as immaculate as d'Artagnan was used to.

D'Artagnan took a slow circle around the estate, assessing the estate below him for suitable landing space. It wasn't hard, the grounds were large and sprawling but d'Artagnan knew that most of the countryside gentry did not appreciate him flattening all the flower beds when he landed. He eventually set down around 200 yards from the house, on some less cultivated land to the side of the house, well away from where the less than manicured gardens stood.

Athos's sigh of relief was almost audible as d'Artagnan put the engine into idle. The estate looked empty as Porthos had said, but after the events the first time d'Artagnan accompanied them, he didn't want to be without a ready escape.

'Stay here.' Athos commanded. D'Artagnan resisted the urge to salute him. He was surprised when Athos tossed a walkie talkie towards him, watching as Athos, Porthos and Aramis put in ear pieces. 'We'll be contactable if anyone turns up.'

D'Artagnan nodded his understanding, glad that he'd landed where he had a view of the only road that led to the house. The land was flat enough that he would be able to see them from some way out.

D'Artagnan walked around a little, stretching his leg as he checked around the helicopter, alert for the walkie talkie in his hand and the road before him. The only sound was the gentle beat of the rotor blades above him and the occasional bird call. The radio crackled in his hand, and he brought it closer to his ear to listen as Aramis and Porthos started a running commentary of the search inside the house, commenting on the empty house, the dust sheets over the furniture, arguing about what the USB flash drive would look like. D'Artagnan hadn't considered it, but he knew flash drives came in all sorts of shapes and sizes. He wondered whose estate this was, and who wanted the flash drive, then dismissed the thought. He didn't need to know that. Athos mostly remained quiet, occasionally butting in with a terse order to try doing some work instead of joking around.

The river was the loudest noise outside, a continual reminder of what lay just over the edge of the cliff that surrounded the quiet estate. Movement caught his attention first, therefore, a car going far too fast on the road from the nearest village, heading straight towards the house. Depressing the button on the walkie talkie, he interrupted a conversation about a hot tub Porthos had found to say 'we have company.'

'what?' Athos demanded, his voice no less bossy over the coms unit.

'car. About quarter mile out coming in quick.' D'Artagnan had taken a seat back in the pilot seat, watching the car closing in, throwing up dust on the dry road with it's speed. 'Black SUV, tinted windows.' He added.

'Ok, be ready to go.' D'Artagnan had already brought the rotor speed up, and now reached for his harness, buckling himself in, automatically carrying out the necessary pre-flight checks, plugging the walkie talkie into the jack of the radio so he could hear, even if it meant he wouldn't be able to respond.

He listened through his headphones as Athos had a quick conversation with Aramis and Porthos, commanding them to stay in the house, hide themselves away. He would join d'Artagnan and they would circle around, try and find out who else was visiting.

Ready, d'Artagnan was lifting off as Athos slammed his door, throwing the man back slightly as he fumbled for his harness. The car had turned into the estate and three men exited the car before it had been brought to a stop, hand guns pointed up at the rapidly retreating helicopter. Too far away for any shot to be a danger, d'Artagnan brought the helicopter up to a comfortable height then brought her around so that he and Athos could view what was happening on the ground.

A hurried conversation was going on by the car, the helicopter being watched carefully.

'Know who they are?' d'Artagnan asked.

Athos shook his head. Distracted by events on the ground, d'Artagnan was amused to notice that he had forgotten to grab hold of the seat or even to be too scared now that they were in the air. 'Three men coming in, armed.' Athos said, Aramis acknowledging the report over the radio.

'And ugly.' D'Artagnan noted.

'ID?' Aramis asked.

'Too far away.' Athos said.

'I'm guessing it's not the home owner then.' D'Artagnan commented. 'Can't be a coincidence that someone else is here.'

Athos shot him a sharp look.

'What on earth is on that USB that two groups are after it?' D'Artagnan wondered aloud, not expecting, and not getting an answer.

For a tense minute or two d'Artagnan kept the helicopter over the estates, too far away to be shot but its presence obvious and threatening.

'We may have a problem.' Aramis's voice was low over the radio and d'Artagnan had to strain to hear it. 'it just got very hot.'

'They're torching the place?' Athos asked in surprise.

'They've brought what look suspiciously like explosives.'

'Shit.' It was the first time d'Artagnan had heard Athos swear, and he was amused to hear he still sounded posh. 'Get out.'

'Where too? There's guard on the door, we'll be sitting ducks.'

'Get them out back.' d'Artagnan ordered Athos before he could comment. Athos looked appraisingly at him for a moment before relaying the order.

Aramis acknowledged the command. 'Porthos?' Athos asked.

A click of acknowledgement came over the coms, telling them that Porthos was keeping quiet for a reason.

'What's the plan?' Aramis asked in a whisper, the sounds of movement coming over the radio. D'Artagnan felt his own adrenaline kick in, imagining the two trying to sneak through the huge estate to the back and avoid detection.

'Be ready to be winched.' D'Artagnan replied, Athos barely glancing at him before relaying it over the coms.

'Be out in a minute.' Aramis sounded out of breath.

'Run straight for the edge of the cliff, we'll be as close as possible.' Athos echoed D'Artagnan's words as d'Artagnan felt the adrenaline sharpening his focus, his movements. He turned to Athos. 'Get in the back, free the winch and open the door. And hold on.' Athos regarded him for just a moment, face paling at the idea, before he obeyed the command.

Cold air rushed in, chilling the helicopter instantly with the door open, wind rifling through d'Artagnan's hair. Bringing the helicopter around he got as close as he dared, still out of range of any gunfire, but close enough that he knew the winches would reach the ground. The winch ropes were lowered down to the ground, Athos ensuring that the two ropes were not tangled.

'Have you ever done this before?' Athos asked, eyes on the ropes as they descended.

D'Artagnan fought to keep the bird as steady as possible, as Aramis and Porthos exited the estate at a run '…not exactly.'

'What does that mean?' Athos demanded, eyes now on him.

'Watched it on YouTube once.'

'YouTube?'

'Yeah, you know the video sharing site? Mostly of cats doing stupid things.'

'I know what YouTube is!' Athos hissed.

'You look kind of pale.' D'Artagnan commented, looking at him briefly in the mirror.

'I can't imagine why.'

'You need to get back, sit behind me.' D'Artagnan commanded, serious once as again as he watched Aramis and Porthos reach the rope. Two more people exited the estate, guns in hand and d'Artagnan could see the flash of colour as they fired, the sounds lost over the rotors. Not daring to wait any longer, and praying that the two below had clipped in already he rose higher, taking them out over the river where they could not be followed on foot. Keeping a steady climb, d'Artagnan hit the button to activate the winch, bringing the two closer in. He could feel by the sudden change in weight distribution that someone was on the rope, but without being able to see below him, he just had to hope that there were two somebodies.

A percussion of heat and light lit up the area in front of the helicopter where the estate had been, the explosion just audible over the sounds of the helicopter. D'Artagnan was frozen for a moment, the sight of the damaged house, the fire, flashing him back to an earlier time, another world of hell. A shudder raced through the helicopter, bringing back his focus as he righted it, keeping the helicopter as steady as possible.

His audible sigh of relief was matched by Athos, the most expressive d'Artagnan had seen him when two bodies clambered into the helicopter. 'Hurry up and close the door.' Athos ordered gruffly, clapping Aramis and Porthos on the shoulder. D'Artagnan allowed himself a grin as he pushed the helicopter into a faster path, taking a steep bend to bring them back on line with the city. Athos looked a little green at the movement he was amused to note, now that his attention was not held by a rescue or the fire blazing behind them.

'Nice flying.' Porthos commented after they'd all buckled in.

Aramis had climbed over and claimed the front seat as Athos didn't look capable of moving now, and clapped him on the back. 'Yeah, thanks for the rescue, that was quick thinking.'

'YouTube!' Athos's sudden outburst over the radio made all of them jump. Aramis and Porthos looked over at Athos like he had gone mad, whilst d'Artagnan let a satisfied grin lift his lips.

xx

thank you for reading, reviews are always welcome!

Rx