They are standing on a rundown street somewhere in East London, among council houses and walls covered in graffiti, a shuttered news agent on one corner and an off license on the other, trying to arrest a suspect. Only it hasn't gone according to plan. They weren't expecting the man to be well armed and according to intelligence he should have been at home alone, so four on one should have been no problem.
Unfortunately, he wasn't alone and he, as well as all his three friends, have a variety of weapons at their service. Forced away from the house onto the street in a fierce gun battle, civilians screaming and diving for cover, d'Artagnan sees Aramis fall down, a bullet hitting his leg. He ducks out from his temporary hiding spot behind a white Ford Escort to pull the other man into safety.
"Shit!" d'Artagnan exclaims, taking a look at the wound. Aramis is white as a sheet and breathing heavily through the pain.
"Where are the others?" Aramis bites out.
"I don't know. Let me put something on this and then I'll look for them. Here, press down on this," he has pulled off his jumper and balled it up to press down onto the wound in the hope of stopping the bleeding, pulling his jacket back on over just his t-shirt.
"I'm going to try and see what's going on, okay?" he asks, and Aramis nods weakly.
Putting his head around the car, he gasps in horror at the sight that greets him. Somehow, one of the men has got hold of Athos and has a gun to his head. Porthos, ten paces away, has his own weapon trained on the man, but there's no way he can get a shot without killing his friend.
"Put your weapon down or your friend gets it!"
Porthos and Athos lock eyes, and with a tiny nod from his friend, Porthos does as he is told, slowly lowering his gun to the ground and kicking it away.
D'Artagnan can hear the faint sound of sirens. The others hear it two, and the man holding Athos hostage looks worried.
"Good. Now, we're going to get into our car and drive away. Ok? Good. That's it, move it," he pushes Athos forwards towards a red car, gun at the base of his neck now. Porthos stands frozen.
D'Artagnan scans the street looking desperately for a way to stop them. They'll certainly kill Athos once they get far enough away, and by the time they can start tracking his phone it will only lead them to a corpse. No. He needs to stop them, or at the very least follow them. That's when it hits him.
As they arrived, he'd seen a pizza delivery boy going into a house three doors down. He looks around the car and sees that the motorbike is still there. Under the cover of the cars he makes his way to the delivery boy.
"I need to borrow your bike!" he tells him, impatiently, "give me the key."
"What-" the kid looks at him in shock.
"Now! I'll make sure you get it back!" d'Artagnan shouts. Athos is in the car already, in a minute it will have left. He's running out of time.
"Are you like MI5? That's so cool! Here!" The kid snaps out of his amazement and gives him the key. D'Artagnan throws his leg over the bike and starts the engine just as the car is pulling out.
"Hey!" the boy calls out. D'Artagnan turns to him and has a helmet thrust into his hands. "Be careful!"
And he drives off, shouting at Porthos to take care of Aramis as he passes him, assured by the approaching sirens that they'll be fine.
Following the car from a safe distance he weaves in and out of traffic until they reach a main road and pick up speed. Amidst his worry and fear, he remembers how much he loves riding a motor bike. He thinks about the bike he had when he was in sixth form, riding around the quiet country roads with his girlfriend Katy hugging him from behind. But the good memories are pushed away when he has to duck to avoid bullets aimed at him. He hasn't been careful enough and they know that he's on their trail. He swerves and nearly skids off the road, but manages to regain control at the last minute.
D'Artagnan decreases his speed to put distance between him and the car, always keeping it in his line of sight. Of course the driver doesn't indicate, but he has enough warning that he is able to follow when it pulls off into a slip road. By now the houses are thinning out and he knows that soon they'll be in the Essex countryside. There are also fewer cars on the road.
He isn't familiar with the roads, but he looks out keenly for any opportunities. He will have one chance to stop the car and take on four men, so he needs to make it count. He knows that what he is going to do is dangerous, to both himself and Athos, but he can't think of any other way.
Finally he gets the break he needs. He sees a sign indicating twisting turns in the road approaching. He puts his foot down on the accelerator, making the bike go as fast as he can. As he gets closer to the car, he is noticed again and the passengers in the back seat start firing at him. That's good, he reassures himself, he needs them to run out of ammunition. So he keeps swerving and skidding, pleased that he wasted so many hours on his bike in his teenage years, despite all the reprimands from his father.
When he sees the first bend approaching he speeds up even more, first pulling level with the car. A bullet hits the bike, and he curses his promise to get it back to the kid. He hopes Treville will pay for the repairs. If not, this is going to be coming out of his pocket and Constance is not going to be impressed. In fact, she's going to be really angry. She hates motorbikes with a passion, having seen so many people hurt riding them. He pushes the thoughts out of his mind as he crouches low over the front of the bike, another bullet glances off the helmet. Thank heavens the kid made him take it.
He's past the car now, a few strides ahead, when a bullet punctures the tyre. Luckily they are coming up to another bend. He's losing control fast, but uses every ounce of his energy to hold on tight, turning the bike suddenly to head straight in front of the car. As the driver sees him, and the bend approaching, he panics, and tries to swerve. Losing control, the car crashes through the grey barrier and rolls down a ditch, coming to a sudden halt. Meanwhile, the bike careers onto the side of the road and d'Artagnan battles to keep it upright. He slows it down but can't get it under control and it falls to the side, dragging him with it until they make contact with the barrier about 25 metres further down the road.
D'Artagnan checks himself for broken bones and, deciding there are none, extracts himself from under the bike painfully. His trademark brown leather jacket has protected his arm but his jeans are ripped and he can see a bloody gash along his left leg, where it was dragged under the bike. He gets to his feet and begins to limp painfully towards the ditch. He takes out his phone to call for backup, but it was in his left pocket and is completely smashed from the impact. Other cars are slowing to see what is happening and he hopes someone will call the police.
As he approaches the car he takes his gun out. The back passenger door is open, so at least one of the men has made a run for it. He drops down into the ditch in a crouch. The car is smoking a little, and silent. He approaches the front passenger door first, where he knows Athos is. The driver is out cold on the steering wheel and Athos's head is slumped forward on the dashboard. No airbags then. In the back, one man had not been wearing a seat belt and is clearly the worse for wear, but two have got away. He checks his friend for a pulse, sighing in relief when he finds one, and tries to rouse him, seeing the blood on his forehead.
He gets up and looks around, trying to see where they have gone. Not back to the road, where he came from, so into the field on the other side of the ditch. There are no trees or hiding places nearby, so it shouldn't be hard to find them.
He climbs up the ditch, pain searing through his leg, and the sight that greets him on the other side causes him to laugh hysterically. Two of the criminals are standing surrounded by a herd of cows, waving their pistols at the animals threateningly. The cows, however, keep coming closer, causing the two men to back into each other. D'Artagnan stands back and watches in delight.
"What's so funny?" he hears a weak voice behind him.
He turns to see Athos, struggling out of the car, legs wobbly.
"Athos! You're ok. Thank goodness!" he says. Those men are going nowhere, he can leave them for the police to deal with. What's important is to get to his friend.
He goes back down into the ditch and reaches Athos just as he stumbles over. He catches him, collapsing under the other man's weight when his leg gives out. He probes Athos' head wound and then runs his fingers over the rest of his scalp, looking for injuries, while all the time Athos tries to swat him away.
"Doesn't seem too bad," he declares finally.
"I could have told you that. I'm fine."
"You were kidnapped at gunpoint and in a car crash. That's not fine," D'Artagnan states.
"You caused said car crash. You could have got us both killed!" remarks Athos darkly. Then he breaks into a smile. "That was some pretty amazing riding. Didn't know you had it in you."
"Oh, there are lots of things you don't know about me," he replies with a grin.
He can hear sirens approaching now and relief is settling in, the pain in his leg getting stronger.
"Just don't tell Constance what I did. She'll kill me!"
It's hours later when they limp into visit Aramis, finding him surrounded already by bunches of flowers sent by his many admirers, along with balloons and, of course, enough grapes for an army. Porthos is munching his way through some as Aramis dozes in the bed. He looks up at them and nods a greeting, his mouth too full to speak.
D'Artagnan eases himself into another chair, putting his crutches to the side, while Athos goes to look for a third.
"s'okay," Porthos says eventually. "He's gonna be fine. Was a bit worried about you two though."
Before either can reply, Treville joins them. He doesn't speak, just looks at the four of them.
D'Artagnan breaks the silence. "Sorry, sir."
"Sorry? What are you sorry for?"
"Well…it was a bit of a cock up…wasn't it sir?" He looks at the others, who are studiously studying their shoes. Ready for a bollocking for the very public gun battle and car crash they have caused so far today. "Cock up? Oh yes, I should say so. But not only did you get our man, but another three we were after and had no intel on. It's fantastic. And I've heard you handle a motorbike rather expertly! "Well done d'Artagnan!" he says, slapping him on the back.
They all let out a sigh of relief. But not for long.
"What's this I hear about motorbikes?" calls Constance from the doorway, contemplating d'Artagnan's bandaged leg and crutches. She stands there, hands on hips, looking ready to explode.
"Yeah, I may have let something slip about you riding off to the rescue on a motorbike," says Porthos, looking abashed. "Sorry."
"Oh man," breathes d'Artagnan, "I'm in for it now…. I already have twenty stitches in my leg. Isn't that punishment enough?"
"Oh, don't worry. That's nothing on what I'll be doing to you buster!" she declares, turning on her heel and causing the others to fall into fits of laughter.
"Constance! Come back! Wait!" he rises and hobbles after her, "It was an emergency…."
"Someone won't be getting any for a while!" remarks Aramis from the bed, smirking. "I, on the other hand, seem very popular with the ladies…"
