Toshiko did not always like her job, and, since there was no time-clock for her to check-in, she did not always rush to get there early in the morning. So, today, it was not unusual to find her wandering around the local convenience store feeling aimless. She flicked thru the usual array of celebrity magazines looking for something ordinary to catch her attention, give her mind something to feed on. She passed over all of them, picking up a weekly news digest instead. Naturally enough, that nice Mr. Saxon was featured on the cover, his smile beaming out. The cover headline promised pictures and more inside. Tosh was pleased that he had won the election. Everything he had said was just right. Something to do with a sick society, something to do with a cure. She never really bothered herself beyond that.
Just a few weeks before the emergency election, Tosh had noticed an intercepted communication about Torchwood and its connection with national security. Out of interest, she had tapped into the U*N*I*T conference call and watched the video feeds as they conferenced together. The then Defence Minister was chairing the Joint Outside Intelligence committee, blatantly undermining Prime Minister Jones, promising the world to the selected representatives who listened enthralled. But more importantly, what caught Tosh's attention, was that there would be more resources (which she assumed would mean more money) for the Torchwoods in their fight against… Well, in their fight. She did not always like to visualize what they did. It helped to get her out of bed in the morning. But she had felt good about Saxon.
Clutching the magazine, Tosh found herself waiting at the busstop outside the store. She stared into space, not even concerned if the bus was late or not. Her car, of course, was still being repaired after yet another timewash incident. It always seemed to happen to her. Little splatters of energy would spurt from The Rift and, for the next few hours, swirl around the city randomly shorting electrical equipment, traffic signals and microwave ovens. But Toshiko Sato seemed to attract more attention from the little splatters than anyone else. She would wake in the morning and find her radio alarm had switched itself off, her coffee machine heated the water too slowly, her mobile phone said the wrong date, and her car would not start. Jack would make fun of her.
"Why would a little energy splash pick on you?" He would laugh with his lovely smile. "My car always starts in the morning. And I've been a very bad boy." He would raise his eyebrows and she could smile safely.
This time there was no Jack to reassure her, to make light of the jokes that the universe played only on her. He was gone. Noone knew where. And noone knew if he would ever be back.
So, when on Saturday morning, she had woken blinking at lunchtime to a house devoid of electrical activity, she had been a little sheepish about calling for help. She thought that her immediate colleagues would laugh at her, Gwen and Ianto; and Owen would probably be least interested. She had made her way to a local callbox with a slip of paper from a dusty old organizer and pressed random coins into the slot. An elderly friend from the Security Service, a driving instructor no less, had answered his phone in his little office in Hatton Garden in London and made all the arrangements. Her tiny apartment was no trouble at all. Tosh was no electrical expert, but it seemed that the teenage girl in the knitted cardigan who arrived to 'revive' the three-room residence did little more than flip the fusebox switches back to their operating positions. The car was a different prospect all together. The whole vehicle had been 'degaussed' by the timewash leaving it dead and inoperative. A cheerful young man in a boiler suit had come to take it on Sunday morning.
A quick phonecall beforehand. Knock at the door. Flash of the badge. Car on the back of the loader. Quick phonecall afterwards. Just to check.
She had looked out of her window again minutes later and done a doubletake. Another car was in its place. Identical to hers. Driven in quietly by an unseen person. Maybe the old lady with the dog. But Tosh had no key to this car. She had no access until her own set of wheels returned. Noone said when it would be returned, but that was probably okay. The duplicate car made sense in a way. Since her own car was going to be away. Something had to fill the space.
No.
That didn't really make sense. Why could the space not be left empty? Someone somewhere had worked it out. So it must be right, but she still felt left out. Surely a courtesy car was not out of the question? Courtesy cars were not an alien invention after all. (Were they?)
The rain came on, a light shower, and she tilted her head back down the road. Now she wondered if the bus would be long in coming. There was still noone waiting at the stop with her. She was not sure if that was a good sign or not. Maybe the buses had been cancelled that morning and she had missed it on the news. Maybe there was a strike.
She found herself sitting on the small hopper bus, clutching the magazine in one hand and a small paper ticket in the other. She had forgotten to buy a return ticket which would have worked out cheaper overall. Subconsciously, she had rather hoped that someone would give her a ride home, but having made the effort to conceal the reason for her dalliance with public transport, it now struck her as absurd to then confess the whole plot for the sake of a pound. Tosh sighed and hoped that the day would pass quickly with nothing remarkable to delay her rushing home at the end.