Disclaimer: Yes, I am Mr. Horowitz, just like I'm the King of the Bumblebee horde of Tachtitakita, three times winner of the Nobel Peace prize for carrots, daughter of an inversed rainbow, God of all Shortbread, Jester for the Pink cats of the Moon and a compulsive liar.
Crash.
Two bodies collided.
Alex might have been smaller then the thief, but the other man hadn't been expecting an attack and so fell heavily under Alex's momentum.
It didn't take long for the advantage of surprise to cease to exist though, seconds after toppling over onto the floor (and whacking his shoulder painfully on the corner of the doorframe); Daniel whipped his head around and lashed out at Alex with the metal hare clamped in his large fist.
Alex barely had time to launch himself wildly backwards before the lump of metal whistled past his face. For a split second that left itself oddly imprinted on his memory, Alex saw the hare's front paws fill his vision completely before both he and the hare went hurtling off in different directions.
Alex thumped down onto the carpet, his head barely missing a cabinet but one of his flailing arms catching painfully on a chair leg, which then followed Alex down, landing on him with a dull thump.
Such was the aggression behind Daniels' wild swing that the hare kept on flying right past Alex until it met the cream painted wall to the thief's left. With a loud crash, bits of cream wall flew like shrapnel across the room.
Dust motes swirled madly in the pale light of a dull London day, that filtered through the glass.
No one noticed.
No one cared.
There was no time for anything, no time even for thoughts, only instincts in this desperate battle for survival.
Daniel was now back on his feet, the metal hare statue (whose front legs where decidedly bent from their contact with the wall, as well as being covered in an uneven dusting of cream powder), still in his hand.
Alex threw the chair off of him and scrambled back up to his own feet.
Chests heaving the two males glared daggers of pure, primeval hate at each other.
Then suddenly there came a ragged yell from behind Daniel.
His face still screwed up in a snarl, Daniel started to turn round, but before he managed it there was a flash of red, then silver, then red again as blood, just seconds ago pounding round the criminals body, made a bid for freedom in a wide arc of scarlet liquid.
The thief cried out and swore viciously, instincts throwing him forward, away from what ever danger was lurking behind him.
He stumbled, bent over slightly with blood poring down from a wound on his shoulder. Within moments though he had straitened up, far enough away from Alex to react to any attack he might suddenly launch at him.
Still swearing, pain written all across his face as well as murderous anger, Daniel looked at the face of his new attacker.
Instead of seeing a male youth as he had expected (or at least, would have expected if he had had the time, inclination and imagination to think about such things), his flint-grey eyes met those of the red haired young women that he recognized as being the occupant of this house.
She was staring at him, wide eyed and wild haired. In her hand was a knife covered in blood, Daniel's blood.
She had meant to stab Daniel in the back but as he had turned, the blade had ended up connecting with his shoulder. And for some reason she just hadn't been able to full on stab someone, meaning that instead she had just slashed him. Even that had been enough to make her feel sick to her core. One thing was for sure, she was no killer. She hated seeing others hurt (especially Alex), and actually attacking someone with a knife was way outside her comfort zone. She wouldn't have been able to do it if Alex hadn't been in trouble. She would do what ever she had to, to help him.
It was as though someone had frozen the three of them in time. There was barely any movement, just the rise and fall of chests and the flickering of eyes taking in the scene.
No one seemed to want to be the first to move.
Daniel could see that the tables had turned; they were no longer in his favour in the sense that he was now both out numbered and the worst injured due to a knife wound to his shoulder.
He was still much stronger then either of them though.
And then the tables turned once more to the tune of swearing from upstairs.
Mike was awake, disorientated and in pain, meaning that the three of them downstairs could hear every cry of "Shit!" and every crashing noise as Mike made his way down the stairs, bouncing repeatedly off the banister and wall by the sound of things.
Then there was a pause in which no sound could be heard from the small man, followed shortly later by an angry and confused call of: "Daniel? Daniel! Where you gone? Daniel?!"
A smile played across Daniel's tanned face.
"I'm in here, you bastard! And I've got company!"
Mike was feeling awful. Really, really, really bad. He had the worst headache he'd had since the morning after the time someone had dared him to see how much vodka he could drink before he passed out.
The last thing he remembered before he got knocked out was robbing a house and trying to punch some random kid.
When he had finally awoke he had felt really confused. For a few seconds he couldn't even remember were he was. Then it all came back to him. He might have been a drug user since he was about 11, give or take a few months, but he still had his wits about him enough to work out what had happened. He had been knocked out. The throbbing pain and blood on the back of his head confirmed that.
He felt kind of sick looking at the blood. His own blood.
He didn't have much time to bother thinking about that though as the sound of fighting filtered up to him.
Shit!
It sounded as though Daniel must have bumped into that kid as well. Mike was pretty amazed that the kid was still standing (if that was in fact who Daniel was fighting down there)
Oh well.
He better go help. Weird though, it was usually Daniel who had to go and save his sorry arse from being beaten up by some drug dealer or other he hadn't paid or a stranger he had upset.
And here was Mike coming to the rescue, to help him beat up a kid! Though of course, he could be fighting someone else…
Mike had just woken up from being knocked unconscious. He was slightly confused, disorientated and unsteady on his feet.
If he had been thinking clearly (something he usually avoided doing as much as possible through the use of various illegal substances), he would have probably stayed up there hiding until it seemed safe to venture down, as, he was of cause, a yellow-bellied coward.
However, in his befuddled state of mind, his only thought was that he better go down there and help, or else Daniel would have a right go at him later. And man did that guy have a temper!
Getting down the stairs was absurdly hard though, the whole world kept tipping to one side or the other like he'd drank too much out to sea in a storm.
He kept bouncing off things painfully, making him swear.
He half fell down the last few steps and allowed himself to crumple to the floor with a quite groan. Mike shut his eyes, trying to block out the world as it spun round him dizzily. After a couple of minutes, (Or was it more? Or less? He couldn't tell.) the threat of being sick at any second receded, as did most of the dizziness.
He realised then that he couldn't hear anything else now, apart from his own purposefully deep breaths.
Had the fighting stopped? Why? Had someone won? Had Daniel lost? Nah, not possible, that…right? Confused thoughts swirled round his head, refusing to stand to attention to be counted.
Well there was one easy way of finding out what was going on…he called out to Daniel and was flooded with relief as he got a typically gruff, insulting reply from his partner.
'Got Company, aye?' Mike knew what that meant. It meant trouble. He would have been able to guess that without him saying anything though, sounds of fighting usually equalled trouble, or, a particularly violent film on TV.
Right then, if there was trouble he better get in there and cause more. As he dragged himself back onto his feet (which made him feel a little ill, but not nearly as bad as earlier. His head still bloody hurt though), he reached one hand inside of his jacket as though subconsciously seeking reassurance that something or other was still there
That done, and with a grim, thin-lipped smile on a face that could really do with a quick shave, (And/or wash), he carefully made him way over to were the noise had come from.
It was just through the door closest to him on the left, and peering round the corner he was perfectly able to see the scene set out before him.
There was Daniel, blood stained on his left side, holding a metal model of a rabbit or something. There was also a very nasty look on his face, smears of blood and clear-ish gunk staining his hair.
There was also the boy from before, bruises already showing up on the skin visible on his face and hands, and dried blood covering the bottom half of his face. There was some blood on his clothes as well, and a wary look in his brown eyes.
And then there was that women they had been watching, the one who they knew lived here. She stared at him wildly, a bloody knife clutched in her outstretched hands, a weapon, a barrier, a vivid threat, a dare to come any closer, directed at the two criminals.
Mike stepped into the room, bringing with him hope for Daniel and despair for the other two.
They were evenly matched number wise, but things were still far from even.
Though not quite in the way that the two men saw it. They knew they were both bleeding, but so was the boy, and after all, he was just a boy. And their other enemy might be holding a knife, but she was just a women.
Two fully grown, seasoned criminals against a half dead kid and a crazy looking lady who had probably never used a knife in her life for anything but cutting up vegetables, it was obvious to see who was going to win, right?
As back-up arrived for the thief, Alex dropped into a fighting stance, ready to take on what ever they threw at him.
Without thinking about it, Jack also adopted the pose Ian had taught her, so, so long ago. She held the knife in her right hand, out in front of her, at an angle that would allow her to lash out with it fast, and with maximum strength.
For a second, she thought of handing it over to Alex; surely a trained spy would be more used to handling knives then her? But that small action of passing the weapon over might leave them vulnerable to attack. It wasn't worth the risk.
But then, the tables didn't so much as turn once again, more as were sent crashing to the ground by Fate in an angry mood.
For as rock beats scissors, gun beats knife.
Mike's gun.
The one he was slowly, ever so slowly pulling out of his jacket pocket, savouring the power and the effect it had on the room.
Daniel swore in an oddly delighted sort of fashion.
Alex cursed as well, angrily and in despair, muttering to himself a string of offensive words. It was always him, wasn't it? He never got a break. Never got a damn break.
To him surprise, Jack also swore. She hadn't seen a gun in real life since she had left America; her father had owned an old rifle that he kept under his bed, and really wished she wasn't seeing one right now
Jack was swamped with wave after wave of toxic fear. It froze her to the spot, still clutching the now seriously out-trumped knife as though it was her only chance of survival.
But what good could it do? She doubted even Alex could stop a bullet with a knife.
Her only hope was the police. Surely they must be near now?
"Drop the knife." Mike commanded steadily.
Jack didn't move.
"I said drop the gun!" he snarled. "Drop it or I'll shoot the kid!"
Mike pointed the guns' small black muzzle towards Alex. It wasn't the first time he had found himself staring down the barrel of the gun, so he reverted to his usual angle on such a situation.
In acknowledgment of the danger he raised his arms up slightly, to about even with his head to show his surrender (though he kept his legs in the position of a fighting stance).
But, cheeky as ever he couldn't help saying, "Careful where you point that thing, you could poke someone's eye out with that!"
His only reply was a sneer and the click of a safety lock being removed. Oh hell…
Then there was another sound that was a mixture of a thud and a light 'clang' as Jack finally released the knife to fall harmlessly to the floor.
"That's it, that's it." Daniel grinned, before quickly snatching the weapon up, abandoning the hare statue as he did so.
The enemy now had a gun and the knife, all they had was a teenage-spy. Things really weren't looking very good from were Alex and Jack were standing.
But were to go from here? What was the next move to make?
Jack glanced at Alex and saw his brown eyes flicker towards the metal model laying on the ground, then back up to hers.
She glanced down at the hare, careful not to move her head as she did so.
She knew what Alex was implying but Jack wasn't sure if she could do it.
Her eyes returned to his, one last time for confirmation on the move she was about to make.
Then, she lunged. Jack grabbed for the hare but just as her fingers brushed it, a hand grabbed a fistful of her hair and pulled her viciously to the side, away from the statue.
Next second she was looking up into the blood shot eyes of Daniel, the knife still covered in his own blood, pinned against her throat.
He had dropped the hare there on purpose, knowing that Jack would not be able to resist trying to grab it.
Where was Alex in all this? Her body was twisted awkwardly to one side and she didn't dare move her head for fear that she would get cut, but out of the corner of her eye she could see him.
As Jack had dived for the hare, he had tried to grab one of the chairs, hoping he would be able to throw it at Mike, which should of at least have distracted him long enough for Alex to try and get the gun off him.
But now Alex was frozen with the chair raised but the gun trained steadily on him.
A look of pain crossed his bloody face as Alex saw Jacks predicament.
Both thieves were grinning darkly at him now. "Put the chair down kid and the women don't get hurt."
Put the chair down? Of course, what use was a chair against a gun anyway? You would have to be crazy to try your luck in that sort of situation.
Because of that, throwing the chair at Mike would have been a very unexpected thing to do. That's why he did it.
A chair flew through the air.
Two shots rang out.
Two men collapsed.
A woman screamed.
A distant siren drew closer.