Another Rainy Day
It was raining. Again. Owen scowled, at the veil of water stream down from the awning, completely hiding the rickety wharf beyond.
The door, which Owen hadn't bothered to close (because, really, what was the point of having a futuristic/alien-enhanced door-closing thingy if you aren't going to use it?) swung wide, and Tosh stepped out from the Tourist office, expensive coat wrapped tight around her, laptop bag swung over her shoulder.
He watched her from the corner of his eye as she stared out at the downpour, her mouth curving into a frown as she clutched her computer tight against her side, as instinctively protective as a drunk with his last half-bottle of wine.
She stared at him for a moment, leaning against the wall of gradually splintering planks next to the doorway (he twitched his left shoulder, only to have another wooden sliver attempt to bury itself in his scapula), then turned her head to face the dark, scanning the watery shadows with wary eyes. After a moment, obviously seeing nothing but watery shadows, she looked back at him.
"Owen?"
"Hey, Tosh." Tosh had made it out. Second. That was an occurence bloody close to unprecedented. He'd be worried it was a sign of armageddon, but they'd already averted three of those in the last ten days, and besides, the Universe was too much of a bitch to give such an obvious warning.
He wondered what Gwen was up to. Tosh was usually the last one out (aside from Ianto and the boss, obviously) even more so since Gwen came back from the honeymoon. Mrs Cooper-Williams couldn't leave the Hub fast enough these days. Not that Owen minded. Marriage obviously suited her - she'd been disgustingly happy ever since she'd come back. Well, he consoled himself with, likely they wouldn't have to put up with it much longer. He could barely supress a snort at the thought of anyone from Torchwood having a happily-ever-after that didn't involve euphoria-inducing drugs and an unbreakable time-loop.
"Are you alright?"
Tosh asked. She turned towards him, and unconsciously shifted her laptop to the other arm, placing her body between it and the damp. Maybe more like an elephant with a calf than a drunk with a bottle, Owen mused.
"It's raining," he observed in relpy. "Again."
Tosh gave him a brief smile, the kind a stranger would classify as shy. Owen knew better. "It's Wales," she said, staring out at the Niagra Falls, which had somehow been diverted from twixt Ontario and New York and was now pouring quite solidly down between him and his car.
"It's Wales, she says," Owen mimicked, giving his eyes a lazy roll. He glimpsed a half-hearted glare from the corner of his eye, and hurriedly continued before Tosh decided to snap at him. "It's raining. Just like it was when we got in this morning. Like it has been every morning. For the past three weeks. I'm telling you, it's got to be the rift. This can't be natural. It's summer, for Christ's sake."
Tosh looked for a moment like she was going to go into lecture mode, her default setting, and, while given the right circumstances Tosh giving him a talking to would be incredibly hot (because, even though Lucy Liu had looked dead sexy in that scene, what with the whip and the tight leather skirt and the arse, Tosh could look nearly as good and give a much sterner lecture while doing it), he really was not in the mood to hear about air currents and tropospheres and altitude and orbits and El Niño and La Niña and fluttering fucking butterflies or whatever it was that was responsible for Wales being such a giant fucking armpit.
Tosh must have caught on, or she just knew him too well, because after a moment she just shrugged and said "Well, at least it's warm."
Oh, yeah, like that made it better.
God, he hated Wales. You'd think if the whole area had always been this wet, the rain would have washed the whole southern coast into the sea ages ago. Or washed away all the sheep, anyway. And then the farmers would have gotten all lonely and topped themselves.
Owen peered twisted to peer through the half-opened door, in what he assured himself was a completely un-guilty manner, to make sure the tea-boy wasn't approaching. Not that he'd said anything out loud, but, honestly, no-one is that good at predicting what someone needs before they know they need it. And, thanks to Little Miss Seduce-Me-Use-Me-I'm-Ever-So-Lonely Tosh, Owen knows that there' psychic alien tech out there. Yeah, Owen bet the tea-boy had something alien, he was reading their minds so he could freak them out with his inhuman ability to anticipate everything. Not that Owen'd go to Jack with his suspicions, though. Not about Ianto, the bloody Captain's pet.
The Information Centre was empty anyway. No Ianto in sight. He must have slunk back into the bowels of the hub, probably gone to find Jack so he can ...oh. my. God.
Owen took a mental note: 'Using the words Jack, Ianto and bowels in the same sentence will inspire an image that will make you wish you could scrub out your brain with hydrochloric acid. So don't.'
It wasn't that he was scared of what Ianto would do to him. Because he wasn't. It's just that last time the man had caught him 'perpetuating pathetically inaccurate racial stereotypes', as he put it (and who the hell speaks like that, anyway?), Jones had put him on a diet of food-that-wasn't-pizza-or-takeout, and liquids-that-weren't-coffee-or-booze. About which the others had been extremely unsympathetic. It wouldn't have killed them to share. Wasn't like they were undernourished or anything.
"You're the head of the medical department, Owen. You need to set an example. Lead, and others will follow you, away from the possibility of death at a young age from cholesterol poisoning and towards the likelihood of death at a young age due to disembowelling or skin liquidation."
Bloody sarcastic little Welshman. Sadistic, too. Owen's certain the little bastard had bought the others pepperoni pizza every day just to torture him.
He'd managed to put up with the rabbit food for a week (sure, Owen could have bought his own food, but that wasn't the point, was it?) before caving and apologising to Gwen, as the unofficial representative of the entire Welsh population. Which was slightly more acceptable than apologising to Lassie (he fetched, he carried, he was loyal, and he played with balls).
SO, no. Not scared of Ianto. Wary, at the most. And as the man was out of sight, Owen felt safe comfortable continuing his sidetracked train of thought.
He stared out into a drowning world, and thought, 'But you'd think if the whole area had always been this wet, the rain would have washed the whole southern coast into the sea ages ago. Or washed away all the sheep, anyway. And then the farmers would have all gotten lonely and topped themselves.'
No Ianto appeared, furious at reading subtle stereotype-re-enforcing thoughts involving sheep and farmers and sodomy from his mind, so he continued. 'There'd have been no city of Cardiff. Therefore, no need to guard the fucking Rift.'
And, therefore, no need for one Owen Harper to be IN CARDIFF. Trapped underneath an awning by loosely bound molecules of di-hydrogen oxide. Trapped just outside a secret underground base that reminded him of Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles and made him half-expect to see a giant mutant rat meditating cross-legged on the ground every time he turned a grimy corner. Trapped, with a bleeding-heart possessing all the sensitivity of a brick, the human blue-print of a protocol-droid, a time-travelling slut and a … a walking brain.
Owen glanced over at said walking brain, who appeared to be mesmerised by the warm, damp darkness that was actually an improvement over what the area looked like in the light of day. His brain went to a happy place for a moment, imagining Tosh examining somewhere else that was damp and dark, and warm, and almost jumped out of his skin when the head of the other person in that happy place peered out from behind the paneled doorway and asked, "Is it raining again?"
He dragged his mind kicking and screaming from the gutter. Placated his hormones by tucking the memory away for later. Gwen and Tosh lesbian fantasies were things to be treasured.
"No, Gwen," he replied, voice drenched near to drowning in sarcasm. "There's just a host of angels pissing down on us from above." Wales. God's toilet. He should write the tourism board and suggest it for the next campaign. The sado-masochistic christian underground would be on Cardiff like Jack on a virgin. Or a virgin on Jack.
"Well," Cooper-Williams said after a few moments of silence. "We making a run for it, or what?" She was cheerful. She was nauseatingly bloody cheerful. And she was ignoring him. Owen sighed. The old Gwen would never have let that one slide.
"Not likely," Tosh replied, caressing the nylon protecting her wrinkled little grey waif of a calf.
"Don't we have umbrellas or something?" Gwen asked as she stepped out of the office, pressing between him and Tosh.
He'd meant to bring his. Had propped it up in the shower to drain, intended to prop it by the door when he got up for his morning shower, but he'd had a bit of trouble getting rid of that blond thing from the night before and, well, umbrellas had been the last thing on his mind. "No, forgot mine."
"I'd meant to bring it, but I thought I'd come up with a way to prevent the Glorioli from sublimating by altering the Forian Transmuter to absorb excess kinetic energy from their cells, which should prevent them from changing into their gaseous forms and escaping through the -"
"I'm going to have to ask you to cut to the chase, Tosh."
Tosh looked sheepish. "Well, I got side-tracked."
"I see," Gwen mused. Smugly. "And how long have you two been living in Cardiff again?"
Now, that was a bit rich. "Sorry, Gwen," Owen said, not sorry at all, "I thought you were the Welsh one? And I don't happen to see an umbrella on your person. Or a slicker, or a hoodie, or a plastic bag, for that matter."
"I was about to leave and I had it in my hand, I swear, but Rhys was - "
She paused, and Owen tried to fill the silence. Crying metrosexual man-tears? Having a go at this move he'd seen in a porno once and put his back out again? Trying to look suave by leaning against the counter while I was making breakfast, and it collapsed under his collossal weight?
"– well, I got distracted."
They stared at the rain, and Owen wondered, not for the first time, why the hell the fuckwit who'd founded Torchwood Three hadn't just requisitioned the top level of an office-tower or something? Then they'd have a covered car-park. And secretaries in close proximity. And they wouldn't be here.
"Well, we can't just keep on standing here," Gwen proclaimed, her tone more like an officer to the troops than a newbie to two seasoned Torchwood agents. 'At arms troops, form up, out of the trenches and into no-man's land, over the thorned wire and onto the bayonets. Won't win the war by hiding our heads in the sand.' No thankyou, Gwen Cooper.
"We could have a sleepover," Tosh smiled, and even though he knew she was probably joking, and even though the Hub was the last place he'd ever want to sleep (no matter how many times that had actually ended up happening), the fantasy he'd tucked away earlier perked up and took notice.
"Oh, God yes," he said. A bit too enthusiastically, judging by the odd looks the girls were giving him.
"Not necessary." Saved by the butler.
Owen turned to stare through the door's gap, and saw Ianto standing just inside. He didn't try to come out. It could have been because he didn't want to force one of the others out into the sloshing waterfall, because really, the awning was not made to shelter three people for extended periods of time (not that he minded the close quarters, but he did enjoy breathing). But Owen thought it more likely that he didn't want to risk the suit.
Seeing what the other man held cradled in his arms, Owen felt his already-cowed daydreams slink off, whimpering.
"Oh, you're a love, Ianto," Gwen cooed, she actually cooed, and snatched an umbrella. Ianto looked ever so slightly offended, and Owen wondered if Gwen were getting broody. He hoped not. That never ended well.
"Thanks, Ianto," Tosh smiled, picking hers up carefully, using two hands, as if it were a gift – Owen had noticed that when she got presents, Tosh always accepted them with two hands. He wasn't sure if it was a Japanese thing or just a Tosh thing. He'll have to remember to ask her one day.
Owen took the last umbrella, grunting something that Ianto could probably interpret as thankyou, if he were feeling particularly delusional.
He noticed Tosh giving him a frown from the corner of his eye. Which made him feel a bit like the ungrateful bastard his mother always accused him of being. Owen rolled his eyes but managed to give the suit-clad kid something approaching a smile, and refused to wonder why the slightest sign of displeasure from Tosh had more of an effect on him than his mother's vicious harangues had ever done.
Ianto gave him a tiny nod, then swept his gaze over them all.
"See you tomorrow then," he said, before closing the door behind them, firmly enough that Owen wouldn't have been surprised to hear the lock tumble into place.
"Well," Gwen said, staring at the weathered door with a frown on her face. "They're clearly planning a night in."
Ianto, striding through the bowels of the hub, searching for Jack …
Note to self: taking mental notes to remind oneself not to think of something is like trying not to think of a pink elephant. Does not work. Give consideration to inventing mind-bleach.
"We should leave. Now."
Tosh nodded, then began to search for the strap that held the umbrella closed. They really ought to make those a different colour to the rest of the fabric, Owen thought impatiently. She darted the occasional look at the closed door, curiousity warring with courtesy. So was Gwen, but she looked more like someone was dangling sweets in front of her nose and telling her she couldn't have them. No prize for guessing who the candy was. Owen was watching the girls, and desperately trying not to think of pink elephants.
So he had a quick dig through the gutter of his brain, searching for pink-elephant kryptonite. He didn't have to look far.
"About that sleepover idea. . ."
"Hmm?" Tosh hummed, not really paying attention as she unwrapped the black folds of her umbrella.
"What?" Gwen asked sharply, squinting her eyes at him suspiciously.
It was hopeless, but he had to try. He looked at Tosh, then looked at Gwen, giving them both a thorough once-over, then grinned what he knew was an absolutely filthy grin. He'd practiced it in the mirror. Some girls went absolutely nuts for it.
"My place?" Even as he said it, he braced himself for a slap. And wasn't disappointed. Gwen gave him a glare, and as he rubbed a hand over his smarting cheek she moved off, walking backwards to give him the full benefit of her vicious gaze before it was washed away by rain and shadow.
"You're a sad little man, Owen Harper!" She yelled from the distance.
The snap of polyester drew his attention back to Tosh, who was flushed and giving much more attention to the opening of her umbrella than was necessary.
He gave her a quick wink, before she melted into a puddle of mortification. "I didn't hear a 'no', Tosh. Did you hear her say no?"
Tosh gave him a reluctant smile, one seen more in her eyes than her lips.
"I think it was implied."
The rain pelted against the wood, the impact throwing up tiny droplets, shrouding the ground in mist, barely audible over the growl of the tide against the shore below.
It was the perfect night to stay in, curl up on the couch with a bowl of pasta and a beer. Watch some DVD's with a mate, or just talk.
The perfect night for all those things that Owen usually didn't do. He was in the mood tonight, though. And Tosh was just there, like she always was.
"Hey, Tosh."
"Yes?"
"Want to come 'round tonight?"
Tosh stopped fiddling with her umbrella and looked up. The hint of surprise on her face made him feel a bit uncomfortable.
"Just to, err... hang out," he said hurriedly, in case she got the wrong idea. Didn't want her to think he was intending to take advantage, or something. "Talk, watch telly – whatever. I could do with a bit of company."
"I didn't think you had any trouble in that department," Tosh replied, sounding ever so slightly disapproving.
"Well, yeah," Owen replied, shuffling his feet. "I usually manage to find someone to ... But that's just ... it's like eating, Tosh. Or sleeping. It's hard to concentrate if I don't ..." He made himself stop babbling. What the fuck was wrong with him, that he thought he had to justify himself to Tosh, of all people? She was his friend, not his keeper. "Well, anyway. They're not really what I'd call company."
Tosh looked indecisive.
"Oh, come on, Tosh," Owen whined unrepentantly.
"Well ... do you still have those Farscape DVD's?"
"Oh, you're kidding me," Owen teased. "The science is non-existent, the special effects are second-rate, the costumes are dodgy ..."
"Well, yes... But the brilliant storylines and interesting characters more than make up for a few cosmetic defects," she replied defensively.
Bollocks, Owen thought to himself. She's just got a girl-crush on Chiana.
"Fine," Owen sighed. "But you're buying the beer."
Note 1: Views expressed by Owen Harper are not the views of the author. Owen is cool, and a mouthy little arsehole (insert grotty mental image here). Author is nerdish, and less vocal in her arseholishness.
Note 2: Author is not responsible for any inappropriate mental images inspired by this work of fiction. Hardly my fault if you lot have dirty brains.