Thanks to: thedeejay, L.A.H.H. and Keira for reviewing my last chapter. This is for L.A.H.H., who misses them too.

This has an impending Owen language warning, and parts of it will possibly only make sense if you've watched enough Doctor Who to get the gist of things, in particular what happens at Christmas. That said, I have watched very few of the Christmas specials, but I think I still get the gist of them. Watching the one from this Christmas, in particular, would probably be helpful.

The Obligatory Christmas fic

"So what shall we do?"

Owen shrugs. "Thought you had something planned."

"Not really."

Ianto leans back on the sofa. "I thought the plan was to watch London get destroyed."

"Yeah." Tosh doesn't sound enamoured.

"Have it as a drinking game." Owen offers. "Take a swig for every alien you see, down a shot if Big Ben gets blown up…"

"Or if a spaceship lands on it."

"Or that. Down one if the London Eye gets used as a broadcasting machine for deadly alien space rays…"

"I don't think you could actually do that. I'm not sure what it's made of, but the frequency needed…"

"Tosh."

"…would – Yes?"

"I know its your flat, but shut up. And find us a decent news channel. None of that Christmassy nonsense: Disney, and tv specials and shit."

"We could watch 'The Snowman'."

"You can shut up too, Ianto."

"Cheerful Christmas, Owen."

"Should I be cheerful?"

"You've got a day off."

"We've all got a day off. Nearly. Jack's watching the Rift, Gwen's cuddling her boyfriend and I had nothing better to do than sit here getting drunk with you two."

"'Team bonding'."

"Hmmp."

Tosh plonks wine on the table and gets busy with the laptop. "Nothing on the news sites yet. Satellite view says nothing's got blown up either."

"Are we sure London's going to get invaded?" Ianto hesitates to ask.

"Course we are." Owen scoffs, pouring himself a generous amount of drink. "Happens every year. Nearly. And every year we sit back and do nothing, partly 'cos it's London, which is Torchwood One's business, and partly 'cos Jack says it'll get sorted anyway. But not by One. We all know that. One's useless."

"I was in One."

"Proves the point."

"Owen, that was harsh." Tosh makes apologetic eyes at Ianto on his behalf.

"Just because Gwen's not here doesn't mean you have to take over, Toshiko. Why aren't we using the telly?"

"It's broken."

"Broken?"

Ianto furthers the query. "Broken to the extent where you can't fix it?"

"It's showing the wrong channels. Well, the right channels but at the wrong time."

Raised eyebrows.

"I sort of… experimented, with one of those harmless bits that came through two weeks back…"

"'Harmless'."

"Well, mostly harmless. I'm picking up programmes from 2011. Same date otherwise, and only a few hours out."

Ianto takes this in stride and mentally labels it 'comparatively normal'. "And is the TV any better in 2011?"

"Not really much different. If it keeps up until next year we'll get to see the Olympics though. London's hosting, provided it doesn't get blown up tonight. Owen-"

"Advert, adverts, adverts, boring adverts…" Owen was flicking through channels. "This is worse than watching London not burn. Boring film, more adverts, shopping, quizzes, Narnia, adverts…"

"It's not Narnia! It had Bill Bailey in it!"

"He still around then?" Owen sounded mildly interested, and flicked back. "Yup, and he's wearing a yellow metal suit. How tasteful."

Forty minutes later and the bickering has started. Tosh is trying to explain the complexities of time vortexes to Owen, who is too busy demeaning 'warm, fuzzy, environmentalist, make-you-want-to-puke feel-good plots' to Ianto, who is calling on 'the spirit of Christmas' to support his argument.

"Mad though. Stupid plot." Owen is determined about this one. "Ridiculous characters. Who would really be that stupid?"

"Didn't you stroll into that Ha'araki flight pod the other day?"

"Yeah, but it was camouflaged. Chameleon coloured. Not my fault."

"That was a pretty plotless day." Tosh muses. "Most of our days are. Just pure craziness. So maybe crazy plotless telelvision is actually realistic."

"I think we've got a plot to our lives." Ianto begins. "Some bits of it make sense, and-"

Owen raises a hand. "No philosophy. I'm not drunk enough yet. When I am I want to contemplate the transience of life while Tower Bridge gets disintegrated."

"You don't like London much, do you?"

"I lived there once and I'm never going back again, if I can help it."

Tosh pauses, remembering a time when she had ended up taking on Owen's London mission because he was too hungover to go. She was now beginning to question his diagnosis. "Why not?"

"None of your business."

"I thought you were from London?"

No reply.

"I'm not going back there either." Ianto adds quietly. "Even if the weather is better. You lot are far more fun."

"Really?" Tosh asks.

"Oh yes. And we get Christmas off here."

"How come you aren't off visiting family then?" Owen demands suddenly.

Ianto's face stays blank. "Family issues."

"Huh. Who?"

"Parents."

Owen nods sagely. "What about you, Tosh? Troublesome relatives too?"

Tosh turns her glass round slowly, looking down into it. "No. I just can't visit them."

"But you want to." Ianto states thoughtfully.

Looking uncomfortable, Tosh nods. "Not now please, Ianto."

Owen tops the glasses up. "Feel like playing happy families here then? Know it's a bit out of character, but someone's got to say it. And I brought crackers."

The other two stop looking so maudlin and stare at him in surprise.

"What? It is Christmas!"

Tosh leans back into the sofa, dozing off gently. Owen is pushing cold chips round a polystyrene box beside her, the rest of the takeaway boxes still decorating the floor along with Tosh's new empty wine bottle collection. Ianto is on her other side, a paper hat hanging off his head where it's slumped on Tosh's shoulder, long gone. He had got halfway through a long, drunken, rambling story about a girl he'd once known in London, but had nodded off before Tosh had managed to find out anything more. To add to the sharing atmosphere, Tosh and Owen had swapped their university stories. No one had said anything more about family histories.

"Oh! Yes, yes! Shit!" Owen turns his bleary eyes away from the TV after his long vigil in disgust at his thwarted hopes. "Only bloody fireworks!"