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The first sign that something was wrong was the silence.
Will had come home later than usual, and so expected to come home to Mac, but instead it was silent, and the smell.
Cheap tobacco and gasoline.
He froze, gently putting down the gift bag beside his house keys on the table, slowly reaching for the light switch.
Click.
Nothing happened. A chill crept up Will’s spine as he cautiously made his way into his own apartment, his other hand reaching into his pocket for his phone.
“Hello, Will,” a voice said from the darkness of his living room, standing up from the end of the couch, taking a puff of their cigarette, before rudely stamping it out with their foot against his pristine floor.
“Easy to be so cowardly behind a screen,” he said, calmly, and the blood drained out of Will’s face.
That was the exact sentence Will McAvoy had stated two nights ago on air in response to a stupid tweet.
Will turned around, ready to dash out of his own apartment, to get back to the elevator, and call the cops – he’d had his fair share of creeps and stalkers, and fighting back with his fists wasn’t exactly his style, but the man was faster – before Will could even reach his door, something heavy slammed into his ribs.
The air left his lungs in an agonising whoosh, and he crumpled, hitting the ground hard. A gasp escaped him, and he tried to inhale again, but his side felt like he was on fire.
“Not so cowardly anymore, am I, Will McAvoy. You shouldn’t scramble to leave just yet – don’t you want to hear what I have to say?”
Will continued to scramble backwards, and unfortunately, away from the door, kicking out blindly, and by sheer luck, his foot connected with a shin. His assailant grunted, and Will used the moment to push himself up to his feet, ignoring the screaming protest of his ribs.
How did this guy get inside?
Hell, how did he get into the building?
He bolted towards his kitchen, hands blindly flying out, trying to find something, anything, that he could use to defend himself.
His hands began to dance over the island, and he grabbed a chef’s knife from the block, spinning around, trying to keep the granite top between him and the man whose face he still couldn’t see.
“Who are you?” Will demanded, trying to keep his voice steady even as he felt weaker by the minute.
The man just kept approaching, the moonlight filtering through the terrace doors illuminating him just enough for Will to catch a couple of features that gave him absolutely nothing.
His assailant was average from the looks of it, someone who could have been his neighbour, or someone whom he passed on the way to the office.
“I’m the feedback, McAvoy,” the man stated, his tone still the same as it was when Will first walked into his apartment, “The negative kind. Looks like that kind was getting to you so I had to. Guess I’m not a coward now.”
He lunged, and Will slashed with his knife, but his assailant ducked with skill and finesse, swinging what looked to be the treasured baseball bat he kept in his bedroom towards him, catching Will’s forearm.
Crack.
Will howled in pain, the knife clattering to the floor as his arm went numb, pain shooting up his arm and shoulder. He stumbled back, head ricocheting off the cupboards.
“Run, Will,” the man taunted, “Go and hide. Make it a little bit more interesting for me.”
Will didn’t have to be told twice. He wasn’t exactly a physical fighter. He retreated down the hallway, towards his bedroom, slamming the heavy oak door and locking it, somehow managing to drag his dresser in front of the door, before collapsing on his bed, wheezing in pain, his injured arm uselessly hanging by his side.
He was trapped.
He reached into his pocket, trying to find his phone, cursing when it was empty.
Must have dropped it in the scuffle.
Thump.
The man hit the door.
Thump.
“For someone who runs such creative broadcasts, I’d thought you’d have a more creative solution to your predicament, Will. Or is it MacKenzie that’s in charge of the creativity department?”
Fuck, MacKenzie.
As she wasn’t home when he arrived, she no doubt was on her way in – it was their second wedding anniversary, and they’d agreed to meet up at their apartment before heading out to dinner.
He needed to warn her.
He turned to his bedside table, glad for the fact that he had insisted on getting an intercom installed here. He could get through to his doorman, at least, who could make sure Mac didn’t set foot on this level whilst this maniac was on the loose.
Just as he settled on that plan, the intercom buzzed, Mac’s voice filtering through, cheerful.
“Will, you coming down? I know you’re home.”
Shit, she was already here, if she used her keys…
“Mac,” he picked up the receiver, “Mac, go back down, call 911. Do it now – there’s someone in our house,” he said, trying to keep his voice steady.
That was not fooling Mac.
The bedroom door was on its last legs, and no sooner did he grab the bedside lamp, anything better than nothing to defend himself, when the door burst open, as thought the dresser was semi-melted butter and no obstacle at all.
Should have never answered that tweet.
The intruder pushed into his bedroom, spotting Will still sitting on the bed, barely holding the lamp at eye level. The terror on Will’s face was delightful.
“Was that MacKenzie? Oh, do I love her style. Make sure to tell her that she has an admirer.”
Will lunged at that comment, perhaps rather stupidly, but his assailant was taken by surprise, and Will smashed the lamp against the guy’s temple, connecting with it with a sickening crunch.
The man staggered, and Will kicked the baseball bat out of the guy's hand, wanting to go for an extra swing, but a jolt of pain jerked from his side this time, and Will stumbled backwards, splayed over his own bed.
Will’s assailant managed to get to his feet, woozy from the concussion courtesy of the news anchor, and was ready to call it a day – he was never going to kill McAvoy, no, just send a message.
“See you tomorrow night on screen, Will,” he said, leaving the news anchor teetering on the edge of consciousness from the pain.
*
“Will!”
Someone was calling his name.
“Will, can you open your eyes?”
He complied with the request from the sweet voice, opening his eyes to see his wife’s face coming into focus.
“Medics are coming up in five, Will. Cops are here too, but they haven’t caught the invader yet.”
He tried to sit up, but MacKenzie gently pushed at his chest to keep him down.
“Easy there, Will. Easy.”
He lay back down, squeezing Mac’s hand with his good hand, glad that for once, she was tardy getting home.
If she had come first…