Chapter Eleven

Alice and Emily had grudgingly gotten Tosh on the next boat to New York, and also lent her one of Emily's dresses. It didn't quite fit, and Tosh felt uncomfortable as she sat below decks, mostly from the sway of the boat and the corset. It wasn't supposed to sway that much, was it?

She quietly sat on the bed (apparently, nineteenth-century Torchwood agents had a lot more leeway in, say, getting good tickets on a transatlantic trip), checking herself. There was a flattened blob of metal with a weak perception filter stashed in her corset (Tosh was rather unhappy with the lack of pockets in Victorian fashion); an alien device beneath her glove similar to those pranks that shocked you when you shook hands, but on a larger scale; and something that looked suspiciously like a fob watch but wasn't. It turned back time for thirteen minutes precisely. She decided to take off the gloves so her hands could breathe. She wouldn't be in any danger until she was in New York anyway.

Tosh's suspicions were confirmed when there was a loud clap of thunder. A storm. She was promptly thrown into the wall as the boat nearly rocked over. Her chest crashed into her leg, shattering the bone. There was a horrible sound of timber breaking, shrieks, and a deafening yell of 'Get to the lifeboats!'. Breathing through the pain, Tosh reached for the watch in her pocket and pried it open.

It was calm. Tosh lay on the floor, trying to breathe. Her leg. Still broken. She pulled herself up by the bed and then, with a deep breath, headed for the door. Pain. Lots of pain. But she managed to get the door open, and thanked whatever powers that were that Sylvester Evans was in the hallway outside. He was eccentric, rich, and Welsh, with a tendency to complain about his sister. He was quite culturally insensitive, but at the very least he tried.

"Miss Sato! What on earth happened to you?"

"I need to get to the deck, Mr. Evans. It's urgent that I speak to the captain. Now." The perception filter was enough to convince him that of course she had a legitimate reason (she was mostly just saying whatever came to mind— she thought she had a semblance of a plan), and (ever the gentleman) he lifted her up to take her to the captain.

She arrived on the deck in style, Mr. Evans carrying her, and her leg hurting like hell. Captain James stood, dark hair mussed by the breeze and light rain.

"I'm just here to observe," she said, "Don't mind me! You can put me down now, Mr. Evans."

She got a few suspicious looks, but a cheerful "Don't mind me!" usually put them at rest. Tosh had often felt as if she had her own personal perception filter, so it wasn't any surprise. The rain got harder, cold and keeping her from wandering. The wind blew stronger, and Tosh steeled her attention. This probably wasn't the best plan, but it was the only one she had.

When the first wave crashed, she knew how and when they needed to avoid it. Same with the lightning strike that splintered the mast, and the next wave that got salt water up her nose, and when she thought ten minutes had passed, she opened the watch just before a broken piece of wood impaled her.

She was lying on deck, pelted by rain, her leg numb.

"What are you doing here, Miss Sato?" asked the patronizing blond crewman.

"Captain James!" She ignored him, waiting for Captain James to turn to her in surprise. "Turn left right this instant. Don't ask why, just do it."

And she must have been more commanding than she thought, or maybe perception filters could give you more of a presence instead of less, because he did. The wave hit the side but didn't rock the boat like it had. Tosh hoped she'd done these calculations right— if not, her fingers were on the watch.

Tosh spent at least twice as long as everyone else in that storm, possibly longer. She didn't know. The rain and cold kept her awake, trying to focus, making mistakes, going back again. She took the watch off her jacket so her arm didn't cramp and just lay there, salt water up her nose and soaked to the bone, even with all the water vanishing off her every thirteen minutes. They stared at her in awe and fear— she wondered if they thought it was an 'Oriental' thing, breaking her leg so she could have foreknowledge of the storm.

The rain lightened and Tosh found her eyes slipping closed. "Captain James..?"

"Yes, Miss Sato?"

"You can sail through this, can't you?"

"I've sailed through worse."

"Good…"

With that, she allowed herself to drift off to sleep.

She woke up with Mr. Evans sitting at her side, in a warm bed that was certainly more comfortable than the decks.

"We made it, then."

He laughed. "Yes, Miss Sato, we did. All thanks to you. Was that—"

"Don't," she cut him off, "No, it wasn't. What I did, I'm the only one who could do it. All right?"

"All right." He nodded politely. Mr. Evans made it a point never to argue with a lady. "You, Miss Sato, are one of the bravest women it has ever been my pleasure to meet."

"I'm certainly braver than your sister," she mumbled.

"Yes, Miss Sato." He laughed. "Most people are braver than my sister!"

After Mr. Evans left, her watch was nowhere to be found. Tosh didn't find it in her to be disappointed. She mostly just wanted to sleep.

"Jet lag," she said idly as she pulled a pillow over her head.