Somewhere in the Himalayas.
Authors Note: Unable to resist writing this. Spoilers for The Sound of Drums.
The wind screeched through the mountain pass like a runaway train on its way to hell. Ice crystals flew through the air, scoured from the nearby rock faces, their stinging impact felt even through the thickest layers of padded coats and boots. The bitter cold crept thoroughly and mercilessly through quilt, wool and thermal layers to freeze muscle and bone.
Three figures stood on the mountain path bowed beneath the onslaught of the elements.
Owen was stumping around in small circles, each footstep creating a squeak of crushed snow, his arms crossed over his chest, heavily gloved hands tucked into armpits, a long and ever inventive stream of curses emerging deeply muffled from beneath the scarf that covered his face.
Gwen was squinting through her goggles, trying to ignore the headache caused by the glare off the ice . Hypnotised by the snow plumes streaming from the peaks high above, she was not aware that her fingers were drumming out a ceaseless rhythm, hidden within her gloves.
Tosh was standing still, her gaze as blank as the screen of her laptop that hung in a padded case from her belt. Surely, her cold benumbed mind was trying to suggest to her, the laptop should be somewhere where it might work, somewhere where she could work – doing her job, monitoring and analysing. There was something wrong – but her thoughts froze into stillness.
Their attention was finally caught by a figure struggling up the mountain path, Shrouded in a mantle of snow, arms full of sealed containers, Ianto clumsily pushed his way through the piled snowdrifts.
Reaching the others, he announced "Coffee?" in tones so bright that, in anyone else but Ianto, might have been seen as verging on the hysterical.
Owen grabbed a container, flipped the cap with the edge of a glove and quickly drank. And gagged.
"What. The. Hell. Is. This?" The glare he directed at Ianto was hidden by the dark lenses of his goggles.
"Coffee."
"Tastes like shit."
"Ah that would be the fresh yak's milk. We ran out of creamer yesterday. It's a bit strong but passable."
Owen did not say any more. He was aware that there was an undertone to Ianto's words that spoke of the young man being pushed to his organisational limits – that to push further might provoke an incident involving precipices and sharp pointy objects.
They sipped the "coffee" in silence as the snow began to fall thickly, piling in little drifts about their feet. Ianto sighed causing Owen to look at him sharply. There it was again, that feeling of something not being right, that they should not be here but somewhere else.
The two men stared at each other trying to capture the elusive thought. Toshiko stared at the falling snow. The snow plumes were reflected in Gwen's goggles.
Their train of thought was interrupted. A new figure bounded into view from behind a rock.
"Come on , lads and lassies – they're getting clean awa'."
Glasgow "Bob" had lost his goggles somewhere, the ends of his straggly hair and beard had escaped from his hood and were now so crusted with ice crystals that he looked as though he had dunked his head in a bowl of icing sugar.
His blue eyes were a little too bright, his stare a little too fixed.
Owen groaned. "What do you mean "they"? I thought we were only hunting one Yeti?"
"Found a second set of tracks. It's verra exciting though, by the looks of things, the beasties are getting a mite agitated about being followed." Bob grinned happily and started back up the mountain path.
"Don't drag your feet – we don't want to be catching up with them in the dark!" He called back over his shoulder before disappearing from view.
The howl of a creature both extremely large in size and extremely pissed off rent the air.
Owen dropped his empty carton into the snow and savagely stamped it flat with his boot.
"Oh Bloody Hell."
Fin
