Right people, I do apologize for not updating this as quickly as I wanted to but I unfortunately had some pointless tests and coursework to complete. Now that's done though I can give you guys my undivided attention! Yay!
Here's the next chapter, longer than the last and will explain a lot, or a little depends on my mood.
Chapter 10
FLASH!
A man, old and grey-haired, running towards a box; a blue 1950s Police Box. Shouting out for someone, another person, his companion...
FLASH!
A middle-aged man, black hair, running towards a box; a blue 1950s Police Box. The same box as before...
FLASH!
Another man, older than the last; grey-haired and wearing a large bow-tie. Running towards that same blue box! That 1950s Police Box...
FLASH!
A different man now, younger than the others. A mop of unruly, curly brown hair. A long, knitted, multi-coloured scarf; reaching down to his ankles flowing out behind as he races across some baron land towards that same blue box! That box...
FLASH!
A young fellow now, blond haired, pale suit, with a piece of... celery? Yes celery. Gallivanting around some unknown corridor that looks to have its origins in science-fiction. He's running for that blue box, that same blue box...
FLASH!
Another man, crazy curly hair, blond as well. Mind-bogglingly colourful attire, perhaps he chose to mix and match his clothing. He's walking this time, not like the others; they were all running around. But he's going to the same place, or to the same thing! That blue box! The same one that was with all the others! That blue...
FLASH!
That box! That same box! With another man, different again. Wearing a hat, he's not old but nor is he young. Black hair, different from the others. His attire though is just as absurd. But that box...
FLASH!
Yet another man! Younger than the last, earlier thirties to hazard a guess. His attire, not unlike that of the 19th Century. But out of place in the long corridor he's standing in, a metallic and precisely built corridor; he stands out for sure. One of the things he has in common with all those other men. And that box! That blue 1950s Police Box! Why is always with them? That same blue box...
FLASH!
Another man! How many more? Leather jacket, black outfit. Well, at least his attire isn't as absurd as the others. Large ears though. Oh look! He's running. That's a surprise. He's with someone else though. A girl, barely in her twenties from the looks of her. Blond-haired. That god-damn blue box! It's everywhere! Blue boxes everywhere...
FLASH!
Oh, another man! Definitely a surprise, wasn't expecting that! Younger than the other one, but haunted. You can see it in his darkened eyes; ghosts of the past. A pinstriped suit. Well, at least that's suitable attire; doesn't stand out like celery! Can't say the same about his hair though. That's more noticeable than an Daleks in London! He might need a comb... or a haircut. He's walking towards... a blue box. Again! That infuriating blue-bloody-box!
FLASH!
"Ianto! IANTO!"
A voice screamed at him, he could hear it. It was male, he could tell that from the deepness to the scream, he knew who it was. He knew who it was very well infact. Forcing his eyes open he looked up to see a blurry figure standing over him. Even blurred he could recognise who it was. He'd known that voice for quite a while, he'd heard it in his sleep for years ever since he could remember. He just needed to put a name to it, he needed to name it; him, he needed to name him. An identity for the owner of the voice that I know of.
"He' awake! I think!"
"Get out of the way you mad bastard!" Another voice, he knows that one too. As if he could forget that snarkiness, the way that voice feels like a blade when its owner's pissed about something. Owen. Owen Harper M.D. "Ianto, Ianto mate can you hear me? Come on mate open your eyes!"
He hadn't realised that his eyes had slid shut, instead of dwelling on the fact that he hadn't realised his eyes had closed, he forced them open again and this time found that the blurry figures around him were more defined. Deciding that he should try and speak, he opened his mouth to speak and found an ice-chip slipped in there. He sucked on as he couldn't speak with an ice-chip lodged in his throat, he waited until it was gone before trying to speak. His throat, that had felt dry before, was moist but it still hurt to speak slightly; therefore his voice was raspy and croaky.
"Yeah, I can hear ya' Owen. Stop shoutin' would ya'!" he fought the urge to close his eyes again and instead focused on the several people surrounding him, he didn't know why they were there. "What are ya' all doin' suffocatin' me? An' what happened?" his speech wasn't nearly as perfect as it normally was which was proof of how much his throat hurt and it seemed that Owen realised this; how he realised this exactly would always remain a mystery to Ianto. He felt the effects of some random drug that would ease the pain and discomfort as it trickled through the IV line and directly into his blood stream. He hadn't even realised he'd been hooked up to anything.
"Later mate. You need to get over this infection first. Then we'll talk." Owen said, his voice uncharacteristically kind. If Ianto hadn't been sucumming to the effects of said drug then he would've asked why Owen was being kind, it just wasn't him! But, as he was drifting off into a drug-induced sleep he couldn't really be bothered about it.
"Later..." was the last thing he said before he was, metaphorically-speaking, dead to the world.
TWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTWTW
Well, it's not super long but it's a bit longer than chapter 9 so I'm not complaining.
SO! Just a little question? Does anyone know what's going to happen next, or can you at least hazard a guess?
Also, please review this. I like reviews A LOT! No reviews = unhappy author. Unhappy author = bad, or no chapters. Bad, or no chapters = riot on the digital streets of fanfiction! Can't be having any of that! No riots allowed, so you have to review! See, can't beat my logic!!