Time has slowed to a crawl. Each second lasts an eternity, ticking past so achingly slowly Ianto feels he could go insane between one tick of the clock and the next.
Sixty seconds a minute, three thousand six hundred an hour, eighty six thousand four hundred a day and it’s only been two days, one hundred and seventy two thousand eight hundred seconds.
“You’re on suspension, four weeks,” Jack told him.
Ianto doesn’t know how he can stay sane for another two million three hundred and thirty two thousand eight hundred seconds, or if he even wants to.