16
The Taff river, so still it looks like glass. The sky, bruised by the first rays of morning sunlight, is reflected in the water's surface. Taff River, Cardiff, Wales. - Present Day. The reflection of the sky begins to warp and ripple before it is broken up entirely by the blade of an oar.
The V-shaped bow of a single scull cuts through the water, its oars dip in and out of the water in powerful, rhythmic strokes. Ianto's morning exercise. His muscles ripple beneath the faded, sweat-soaked fabric of his button -up shirt. He pushes himself as if he were in a race, but there is no one else out here at this time of morning. Just him, the river, his scull, and his oars. He pushes himself until his muscles are on fire and he can't force another stroke. The scull glides over the Taff, cutting through the fog. He pulls the oars into the boat and catches his breath, stares out over the Taff to the Millennium centre in the distance of the far shore.
A few other rowers are just putting their sculls in the water. Ianto carries his scull upside down on his head and walks up the dock toward the Cardiff Boat Club to shower and change.
Ianto rides his bike to work along the street and through Cardiff towards work. A gorgeous commute. He has his earbuds in, listening to music. Loud. Energetic. Definitely not what you'd expect Ianto Jones, Kingsman and Gentleman to listen to, but this our Ianto, and our Ianto is cool. Sort of.
Ianto rides over the bridge. MUSIC blaring, as he glances both ways to cross the street onto the main road in as - HOOOOOOONNNNK! A black Chevy coming from the opposite direction, takes the turn fast, bearing down on Ianto - Ianto swerves at the same time as the Chevy - they miss each other by inches. Somehow Ianto manages not to wipe out and deftly guides the bike across another lane of traffic and comes to a stop, his momentum nearly ejecting him over the handlebars. He turns to look at -The Chevy skids to a stop in the street as the driver Ianto's age with murderous eyes, leans across the seat and yells out the open window "Wake up, wanker!"
The Driver punches the gas, and the Chevy speed off down the road, tires squealing as ianto mutters to himself "Asshole."
Ianto locks his bike in a bike rack on the quay retreives his i-Phone in a water proof pouch under his bike seat.
.
.
.
.
Ianto, wrapped in a towel, hair wet, opens his locker and begins to dress for work. His i-Phone busses with an incoming call. Ianto glances at the call screen but doesn't recognize the number. He turned that off, didn't he? He frowns as he scrolls though the message.
Ianto walks through the vault, most of the workspaces upstairs are still empty and dark at this early hour so no one will miss him for a while. He arrives at his old overloaded desk, sets his bag down, pulls out his thermos of coffee, and settles in behind his desk, powers up his monitors.
Ianto opens his folder, fumbling with his pages. He lays the autopsy report for the Womjay on his desk. There are some red stains on the page. He sighs as he curses the one who didn't take his gloves off while writing the bloody thing then he calmly takes shot on his phone to send to the one asking at the other end impatiently for a way to kill one.
Life and death … but then it always is, right?
He wonders where they have come across one … clearly London from the lack of emojis. London are sooo polite yet … pompous.
Ianto sits back to wait for a single ping that tells him it was what they needed and whoever is in battle had used the information to get out of their jam.
PING
Ianto can relax now, placing the file away and rising to stretch as he contemplates the day ahead of him then he freezes as if just thinking of something, staring into space of a moment before a soft hum, reaching out to touch a switch on the edge to the desk.
Up in the Hub Myfanwy wakes from her slumber, the hum of the motor that pulls back her cage doors alerting her to the fact her handler is relaxing her into the Hub for a fly around. This means he will come feed her in an hour or so after she has stretched her wigs.
Grand.
She lets loose a cry of glee, shooting out into the rafters and banks left, finding someone there as Owen looks up from the sofa here he is sitting with a report while waiting for his nightshift to finish. Shit, she hates him and is NEVER supposed to be loose around him. He gapes as he sees her, taking a moment to panic before he rises to run towards the kitchen but he is too late as she screeches, swooping low to shit directly in his lap, then rising again, she head off to check for rats in the far cornersof the Hub.
Owen screams as he again find a lap full of bird shit, like he does every time she catches him lately …. Owen sits and thinks.
"Ianto?" he calls out meekly "You there mate?"
No answer.
"fuck!"
