32
Malcolm had slid from the bed at as the sun shone around the curtains, deciding to get some brunch sorted.
Ianto woke to a sound, a clinking and immediately he was back in the penthouse, the day before.
.
.
.
Polishing the display case for a set of knives, he became awake of a subtle change in the atmosphere. A tickle against one ankle, a breeze.
Ianto canted his head as he listened, knowing Malcolm would want ot try and creep up on him but what he heard was definitely not Malcolm.
Clink.
Ianto turned to face the partition separating him from the intruder, knowing he was invisible from whoever was in the penthouse and grateful for Malcolm instilling in him the rule of always closing the sparring room door when in there.
It would appear as just another wall partition, invisible to the naked eye and Ianto watched as light spilled under the tiny crack at the base of the door, encouraging him to turn off those he had been using.
He was plunged into darkness … his old friend.
He padded to the control pad and keyed in Malcolm's panic code, plunging the entire top floor into darkness and then made his way to the dressing room off the main room.
They were making no pretence of their presence now as they swore and slammed into furniture Ianto knew instinctively by heart and he easily slid the partition a crack to peek, flicking a stun ball out before exiting, just in case night vision was evident.
He could have stayed there but the way they were searching, they know he was there somewhere and walls were already being tapped as they sought his hiding place.
He checked that the room was once more invisible with the door shut behind him and entered the penthouse, the smell of the intruders pungent and offensive to his delicate nose and his lips peeled back in a silent sneer if disgust.
He has smelt this before.
In the elevator.
MALCOLM.
Ianto felt a flare of panic.
They were here for Malcolm, they were making another play for his beloved Cariad and Ianto knew Malcolm was due home any minute.
He hoped the codes were still active as the month had just changed over, what if Malcolm had reset them and was going to tell him tomorrow?
What if Mal was walking into a trap?
Said trap he was currently hiding in?
Hiding?
Ianto felt a flash of anger, the flare burning out as indignation set up camp.
How fucking dare they!
He closed his eyes and listened, glad his hearing was restored, and grateful he was trained in using whatever sense was open to him.
He felt a change in air pressure and ducked to a crouch as the sword smashed into a display cabinet of china cats Malcolm had started collecting to be cute.
Ianto had always acted like it was one more thing to dust but had been silently pleased that each cat was black, lithe and with an air of danger.
The tinkling of broken china hitting the polished floor echoed.
Click.
Click.
Ianto roared as he rose, slamming the heel of his hand into the crotch of the man who was still dumbfounded by the agility of the Panther and Ianto was now grasping the man's hands, controlling the sword's hilt as he swung them both and twisted those wrists, driving the man onto his own word.
"live by the sword, die by the sword" Ianto panted, it coming out in Welsh due to his shock and the Welsh vowels bounced in the dark as he already shifted from the spot he had spoken in, seeing two figures in the moonlight angling for that area.
The sword was hefty, the man had been large and the sword's weight reflected that.
He had been a man who had practiced with this sword to have swung it with that much ease.
Pity he hadn't practiced with an unarmed advisory.
The second man didn't even know he was dead as Ianto clapped his hands over his ears from behind and gave a savage twist.
Unfortunately the sound of the body hitting the floor after the snap gave his position away to the third man.
Unlike the other two, this one knew his stuff and Ianto barely had time to acknowledge that he was caught before he was flying through the air, slamming against a pillar and barking as he felt his ribs give.
Strong.
Ianto looked up and the moonlight streamed through the windows let Ianto see his attacker.
He was huge.
Ianto felt his mouth go dry as fear spiked, scuttling his body back against the wall in an attempt to blend more with the shadows.
Could he smell him?
Each evasive maneuver was met, challenged and thwarted, Ianto soon in too much fear and pain to care about the damage being done to Malcolm's things.
Their things.
A heavy marble bust of Marilyn Monroe (don't ask) hit the window, spider cracking it.
Ianto started to wonder if he might fail this time, those bear like paws swipping the side of his head again and this time he was pulled by his hair into the monster's face.
Fetid breach and rotten teeth, snarling at him.
This man was an accomplished fighter with no regard.
Ianto now fought for his own life, Malcolm's forfeit if he did not survive this.
He knew his broken body would kill the last human part of his magician.
With a scream of torment, Ianto rose and launched himself at the man, scratching at his face in a cat-like way, sinking his teeth into his neck.
The man screamed too, apparently not expecting a fighting advisory to suddenly go a bit nuts.
This worked in Ianto's favor as he struggled with the heavy burden, swinging them both towards the large window.
The weight of the two men was enough to shatter the already shot glass and they tumbled over the edge, Ianto releasing his prey to grasp wildly for the edge of the building.
He swore as they freefalled, kicking away from his attacker and deploying the wings of the suit, getting a mental image a flying squirrel as he glided to the ground, landing almost half a block from the body that was now littering the sidewalk.
The entrance to the underground car park beckoned and Ianto ran for it, unsure if there were others, unsure if Malcolm was coming.
Unsure if he was safe.
He slid in behind the dumpster as the shaking started, the realization that he had just defied a promise to his beloved.
He had diced with death.
But he had won.
.
.
.
Ianto stalked to the doorway, on alert as the clicking continued, only to find Malcolm standing at the sink cutting potatoes into long finger length strips to fry.
Click.
The knife hit the bench surface, probably scaring it.
That man had no respect.
Ianto relaxed, smiled and rubbed his sore shoulder.
He closed his eyes and listened to Malcolm breathe.
Enough for now.