A/N: Just wrote this, no beta reader, don't own Torchwood or either of the mentioned characters, it is 5:37 AM and I need sleep, I am aware that this is a pathetic run-on sentence, but am too tired to care, am publishing this now as it is, and beg that you will review after reading, because that is what really nice people do.

Summary: A few words from Toshiko Sato to Owen Harper in the form of a letter, well, an e-mail.

Subject: know you're off but read this

Owen,

You don't notice me, do you?

Yes, I'm there.

I'm always there,

But it never seems to register;

Not with you,

Hardly with anyone.

I'm what you'd call a shrinking violet,

Well, not you, but some.

I don't mean to be,

And I don't like to be,

It's just the way I am.

I don't want to be a bother.

I often feel like I am,

A bother, I mean.

In general, not just to you,

Because really, my daily life doesn't focus on what you think of me,

Or small touches that really couldn't possibly mean more,

But maybe they could?

No, you wouldn't want that,

Wouldn't want me.

I wonder if you even think of me as a female.

Now, hear me out before you go into a tirade about how ridiculous that is.

I know you don't think of me as a man,

But I don't think you see me as a woman either.

As something soft, and loveable, and capable of real warmth,

Maybe not even something all that deserving of real warmth.

To you I'm some human computer

Running checks on things, and clearing records.

But I'm more than that.

I'm a woman, a person;

I'm smart, and I have feelings, and thoughts about things like poetry and marathons of various Bond pictures they play at the cinema at midnight,

Which I asked you if you wanted to go and see with me,

But you said you made plans to go get pissed,

So I went with Ianto

Who's a good friend, but not the one I wanted to go with.

You know—well, you don't, but anyway— I'm funny, if you give me a chance, and caring, and I know a good person when I see one, and if only you did too, maybe we—

No.

What I'm saying is that you don't see me.

And you know what?

I'm worth seeing.

That is why I'm writing this.

Because most of the time you make me feel like I'm damn near invisible,

Or some sort of alien artifact that has to be dealt with before you can go home,

Or to a pub,

Or wherever the hell it is that you go,

I wouldn't know.

I love you, and you don't even see me as anything but another part of your job.

So here I am,

Making you see me.

I'm making you see me because being invisible comes with this empty sort of feeling that aches at night,

When you're lying there alone,

And sometimes it hurts so badly

That I can't even feel.

I shut off, and become that nothing that you see, or rather that you don't.

So, this is it.

I don't expect you to love me, or even like me,

Because that's not going to happen,

And I like to think that I'm above self-delusion,

But I'm hoping that maybe you'll understand, just a bit,

And that in time you'll start to notice me.

- Tosh