Torchwood-fest - A Torchwood Carol (Part One)

[m_findlow]

Title: A Torchwood Carol (Part One)
Fandom: Torchwood
Characters: Owen, Torchwood team, Andy, OCs
Author: m_findlow
Rating: M
Length: 12,203 words
Content notes: none
Author notes: Written for Prompt - Owen Scrooge at torchwood_fest
Summary: Owen isn´t looking forward to Christmas and doesn´t want to celebrate at all as three ghosts appear which show him his sad childhood, Torchwood and the future.

'See you, losers!' Owen called out as he shrugged on his jacket.

'Have a nice Christmas, Owen!' Gwen called back.

'Yeah,' Owen scoffed. 'In your dreams.'

As he exited out through the tourist office door, Owen sucked in a huge lungful of salty bay air and sighed. Finally. Three whole days with no obnoxious Jack, obsessive compulsive Ianto, know it all Tosh and insufferably friendly Gwen. Hooray for Christmas. If that didn't make it the best time of the year, he didn't know what did. As much as he didn't mind them, there was only so much of putting up with them fourteen hours a day, seven days a week, that he could take.

He checked his watch as he threw open his car door, parked up on Bute Street. Seven o'clock. Perfect kick off time for a few drinks, then a lazy night in front of the TV, followed up by three days of blissful nothing. If the rift wanted to play up, Jack could handle it. Why else give him a bottle of scotch for Christmas unless he meant for Owen to spend the next couple of days enjoying it without interruption?

 

Owen was on his second beer before the talent started to fill the bar with its late night Christmas revelers, or those that chose to dispense with visiting their families, intent rather on getting slaughtered with their mates, toasting bosses who were arseholes, or otherwise living up the fact that tomorrow was a Tuesday and that for one Tuesday of the whole year, they didn't have to roll up at work.

Owen sized up his options, deciding on a fiery looking brunette and waiting for her to approach the bar where he'd been sitting nursing his drink.

'Two mules and a Stella,' she said, putting in her order.

'Can I pay for those?' Owen asked. 'My Christmas gift to you.'

Her expression fell as he she turned to face him. 'No thanks. If I want gifts I'll ask Santa.'

He gave her a cheesy little grin as he leaned back against the bar. 'Santa isn't real, sweetheart. At least I am.'

She gave him a disparaging look. 'And there's only one thing you're interested in unwrapping tonight,' she replied, picking up her drinks and walking away.

Owen took a long pull on his beer, watching from the corner of his eye as she returned to the booth with her drinks. There was a moment of uproarious laughter and he just knew she was regaling them with his pick up lines.

Why had he even come out here tonight? Should've stayed home and gotten drunk there. Where were the single birds that came out looking for a bit of fun like him? 'Stupid bloody Christmas,' he muttered, staring at the ring stains on the bar top.

'I'll come sit on your knee and tell you what I'd like for Christmas,' came a sultry voice.

Owen looked up and a petite woman with short blonde hair streaked with purple had sidled up onto bar stool next to him. She was instantly familiar to him and the bottom dropped out of his stomach. 'You're dead,' he said, mouth going dry as he replied to the alien otherwise known to them only as Mary. 'Jack sent you and that stapler ship thing of yours into the centre of the sun. You couldn't have survived that.'

She quirked an eyebrow at him. 'Couldn't I?' she said, swirling the contents of her glass around before taking a sip. 'That must make me a ghost then,' she replied just as nonchalantly, eyes glittering as she smiled.

'No such thing,' Owen said.

'Oh, really?' She slapped the bar hard. 'Hey! Can I get another vodka soda?' she yelled at the barman who was only a few feet away. He ignored her completely. 'I said I want another drink!' She pulled the short straw from her drink and threw it at the barman's head, but it sailed straight through him as if it were made of nothing. She turned to Owen and smirked. 'Still think I'm real?'

'What d'you want?' Owen asked, feeling on edge, his instincts kicking in, telling him to be wary.

Mary crossed one slim leg over the other, letting her short skirt ride up a little further. 'I don't want anything,' she replied.

'Yeah right.'

She fixed him with her dark eyes. If he didn't know she was a murderous alien, he'd have classed her as a nice bit of arse, those slender legs covered in the thinnest of dark blue tights, disappearing up into a very short leather skirt. Even her black and white striped top was cut generously low, showing off milky skinned cleavage. He could hardly blame Tosh for wanting a piece of that. 'Have you forgotten that I can read minds, Owen?'

His cheeks grew red at the idea she'd just read those thoughts about her relative attractivenes, and then he grew angry at having his thoughts violated at all. 'Then read mine and sod off,' he told her.

Mary remained unperturbed by Owen's stand-offish behaviour. 'Oh, I got that much. But there's something else, isn't there? You can't stand Christmas.'

'Can't stand a lot of things,' he replied. 'Doesn't make it special.'

Mary threw back the last remnants of her drink and set the empty glass back down on the bar, before sliding off the tall stool. Her heavy black Doc Martens made a thud as she landed. 'Come with me.'

Owen narrowed his eyes suspiciously at her. 'Why?'

'I want to show you something. And I really need a fag.'

'And why should I do that? Crazy alien bitch trying to stitch me up? Like you don't want to kill everyone at Torchwood for what we did.'

She swiped her hand through another patron as they walked by. 'Can't touch anything, Owen. What have you got to be worried about? I came all this way just for you.' She pouted at him. 'Unless of course you're scared.'

Owen was far from scared, but now she'd snagged him by his curious nose. He should call the others, but how to explain that he was seeing the ghost of a woman who been dead for two years. For now he'd play along with her little game and see where it lead. He slapped a five pound note on the bar and abandoned his half drunk beer, following Mary's swaying hips as she made for the door.

She paused right at the door as she pressed her hand against it and gave him a coy look. 'Are you sure you're ready?'

'Ready for what?' he said, growing impatient and shoving the door open, keeping both eyes on her as he stepped out into the night.

Only it wasn't night. The damp Cardiff street, bathed in its sodium lights was gone. 'What the hell?' Owen muttered, finding himself standing inside the hallway of a slightly grubby terrace house in broad daylight. He spun around and Mary was standing right behind him, electric blue legs even more conspicuous against the white walls.

'Nice digs,' she said, leaning against the wall with her arms folded.

'It's not my-' Owen paused as he took in his surroundings. The yellow coke bottle style glass in the upper doorframe felt familiar. On the coat hook by the door was a green bomber jacket which he immediately recognised. He'd worn that thing to death, even though what he'd really wanted was a Wimbledon FC jacket. He'd pretended it was the real thing, even though it was missing the all important club crest. Next to him was the sideboard with the old cream coloured rotary phone, and next to it, the worn out patch where a thousand dropped car keys had scratched away the varnish.

'This is my house,' he said, hardly believing it. 'Where I grew up.'

He rounded the bannister and flew up the stairs, feet pounding the dog-eared carpet, and stopping by the doorway. There was his old bedroom, with all his stuff crammed inside it. 'Is this real?' he breathed. 'It can't be real.'

'What is reality but the perception of a single moment in time,' Mary replied, coming to lean in the doorway. A young girl zipped past behind her, heading into the second room along the hall. Mary turned her head at the movement. 'Who's that?'

Owen frowned at the girl in the bright red parka. 'My big sister, Mary-Ann.' Only she wasn't big. She was about twelve, her long brown hair tied full of Christmas curling string in red and green and silver as she bolted back out of the room and down the stairs.

'Don't touch my scooter, Owen!' she yelled out.

A boy of about ten poked his head out of the living room and into the hallway. 'How come Santa didn't get me a scooter?'

'You can have one when you're older,' she replied.

Owen smiled at the shiny soccer ball clutched in the arms of his younger self. 'I wrote three letters to Santa that year asking for a new football.'

'How sweet,' Mary replied, her tone laced with cynicism. 'Is that what Toshiko saw in you? That sweet little boy? My how things change.'

'Do not play with that ball in the house, Owen,' came a sterner sounding voice. The face had aged considerably since, but the voice hadn't changed one bit. There was his mum, twenty years younger, but even then with the first wisps of grey in her hair.

The lock rattled on the front door and Owen's gaze was drawn down the length of the hallway. A man stepped through, dark and wiry like Owen, but several inches taller, wearing a yellow high vision jacket that had the words "Gatwick Airport Staff" printed on the back.

'Hello, sweetheart,' his mum greeted. 'I've got a plate of roast ham and veg for you. Won't take a few minutes to heat it back up.'

'I'm going to bed,' became the gruff reply, dropping his keys on that same old worn piece of sideboard.

'You really should eat something after a long shift,' she insisted. 'All that heavy luggage to haul around.'

'I'm not hungry.'

'That's okay. But at least stay for a little bit. It's Christmas and the kids would love to show off their now toys. I saved a couple of presents for you to give them.'

The backhanded slap made Owen jump at its suddenness. 'I told you I'm tired, woman!'

She raised a hand to the stinging cheek and she mounted the stairs behind him. 'Reg, please.'

He followed up the first strike with a second open handed one in the opposite direction, which sent her tumbling back down the two steps she'd climbed in her attempt to follow him. Her body made an almighty thud as it hit floor and bannister simultaneously.

'Ouch,' Mary said dispassionately.

Owen's mum hugged the bannister as her sobs began to escape. Tears welled in her eyes, as much from the stinging slaps as from being upset. Owen cringed as his ten year old self chanced a look out into the hall, his sister right behind him, curious at the commotion.

'Why is Mummy crying?' Owen asked.

Owen's mum bit back her pained expression. 'Annie, take your brother and go play outside for a bit, yeah?' She attempted a smile at his sister to let her know everything would be okay.

Mary-Ann took her little brother by the shoulder and escorted him down the hallway. 'Come on, Ow, I'll let you ride my new scooter.'

'Cool!'

Owen hated himself for being so blind to what was going on and so easily distracted. How many times had his sister done that, coralling him away from imminent danger? Owen watched as his mother continued to huddle there at the bottom of the stairs, tears staining her face which was already turning a bright shade of red and would soon quicken to purple, then black. Make-up would only hide so much, though she became practised at hiding the marks all the same.

Heavy footsteps began thumping back down the narrow stairs. 'Stop that bloody crying, woman!' He reached down and belted her again.

'You cunt!' Owen swore. He lunged forward and swung a heavy right fist at his father, but it sailed uselessly through him. He tried to grab for his father's shirt collar to pull him back, but it was no use.

'You're not really here, Owen,' Mary reminded him, remaining cold and calm as ever.

'Then make it real so I can give this prick what he really deserves!'

His father quickly lost interest, stomping back up the stairs and leaving his mother there cowed and bruised. Eventually she wiped the tears from her face and ran her damp hand down her apron before pulling herself up and shuffling gingerly back into the kitchen. There was a sound of the fridge door opening and closing, then the rustle of plastic. Owen followed her into the kitchen and watched as she slumped down in the chair that just a few hours ago she'd been sat in, happy and smiling as they gorged themselves on turkey and potatoes.

'Always had frozen peas in the freezer,' Owen muttered, 'but I don't ever remember eating them.'

'Kept for medicinal purposes only, obviously,' Mary observed, watching as Owen's mum pressed them against her cheek, leaning an elbow on the table. 'I'm guessing this wasn't a special occasion?'

Owen cringed at the sight. 'He used her as a punching bag for years.'

Mary quirked a carefully sculpted eyebrow at him as she stepped into the kitchen, pausing in front of the sink. 'And then?'

'Then the sick bastard went and wrapped his car around a tree four blocks from here. Best thing he ever did. Went to work one day and never made it back home. I don't even remember being upset about it.'

'You humans are such a lovely bunch, and yet you look down on me for killing a few of you.' Mary tilted her head as she studied the battered woman. 'As a rule I don't like getting slapped around either. I'd have torn his heart from his chest and let him watch me eat it. No objections from you, I assume.'

Owen stepped closer, seeing his mum hunched over the kitchen table along with the spread of leftovers from their Christmas feast, not yet packed up in anticipation of their father coming home from shift. He knelt down next to her, resting his hand gently just over hers wishing he could touch it properly. They'd never really talked about it in all the years since. It was just one of those things that nobody mentioned, like their father had never existed in the first place. 'Just hang in there, Mum. It'll all be over soon.' He'd be dead before Owen's eleventh birthday. He turned his gaze back to Mary, eyes burning with anger at her. 'Take me back now!' he growled.

Mary rolled her eyes at him and nodded in the direction of the door. 'You could've left anytime. All you had to do is step back out through that door.'

Owen glowered at her with unrepentant hatred, standing up and brushing past her, stalking down that old familiar hallway. He was sorely tempted to grab the car keys and run them down the side of the old grey Vauxhall parked outside, scratching the paintwork as revenge. His old man had always loved that car more than his mum. Instead he kept going, past the sideboard and the phone, past his beloved green bomber jacket, and forced open the front door, bracing for the chilly London air to assault him. Instead, he stepped straight back out into the night, the recognisable landmarks of St Mary's Street running north and south. He was back where he'd begun.

'Why did you show me that?'

Mary stepped out into the street, deftly lighting a cigarette and puffing a plume of white smoke out into the air. 'Because I wanted to know why you despise Christmas so much. The problem with reading minds the way I do is that it's really just a jumble of emotions. In order to give it proper context, you really have to experience the memories first hand.'

'You're a heartless bitch, you know that?'

Mary shrugged off the insult, continuing to savor her cigarette. 'I've been called worse. Besides, I didn't create that. That was all you. You could have picked a happy memory, any other Christmas, but you went there. Is that what you think about every year? How your mum got smacked around but you were too young to understand it or do anything to stop it?'

'He'd have started on my sister if she'd gotten any older. Luckily he died first. Any older and I'd have fucked him up.'

Mary smirked at him. 'But you don't have his temper, right?'

Owen's fists balled up at his sides. He'd like very much to slap her but he didn't do that. He wasn't his dad. He wasn't anything like his dad. He was better than that.

Mary stubbed out her cigarette on the side of a bin and then let it drop to the ground. 'Hey, I'm not judging. Go back in there,' she said, nodding towards the pub, 'pick up some dumb girl and go back to hers and fuck all night. It's what I'd do if I wanted to forget about things like that.' She stepped up to him and leaned in close, kissing him on the cheek. She reeked of her cigarette and some other heady perfume she was wearing. 'I'd have you if any of this were real. Pity it's not. We'd make quite the pair of fuck buddies.' She gave him a little mock salute. 'Maybe I'll see you around,' she said, walking away into the night.

'I'd avoid girls like her,' a Welsh voice said. 'Nothing but trouble from the looks of her.'

Owen turned around to find PC Andy loitering outside the pub, kitted out in his patrol uniform, bright blue and yellow vest over his navy jumper and white shirt, complete with his police cap tucked under his arm, two-way radio clipped at his breast, and night stick clipped at his belt. His marked car was parked in the no standing zone just outside the front of the pub.

Owen groaned. 'If you've come to hassle me about Torchwood stuff, I'm off the clock. Go annoy Jack with that shit. Or Gwen. She gets more bloody nights off than the rest of us put together. Must be her turn by now.'

Andy just grinned stupidly at him, resting his thumbs in his belt. 'No spooky dos tonight. Well, not that sort, anyway,' he added, nodding in the direction of the disappearing Mary.

Owen did a double take. 'Wait, you mean you can see her?'

Andy rolled his eyes at Owen. 'Well, duh. Not much of a copper if I go round with my eyes shut, is it? I know you Torchwood lot think the police are a bunch of complete idiots.'

'Mostly because they are.'

'I'll ignore that. Like making a generalisation that most people who work for Torchwood are prats. Of course, Jack is most definitely, definitely a prat. Captain Prat, but anyway...'

Owen diverted his gaze up and down the street, between the policeman and the alien girl. 'But if she's not real, and you can see her, then...'

'...And the penny drops,' Andy said. 'Keep up that kind of deduction work and you might yet make a police officer. Not that you'd probably want to be. The pay's lousy, the hours are rubbish, and  d'you know how many times I've had chips thrown at me on a Saturday night so far this year?'

Owen frowned at him. 'But you're not dead. How can you be here?'

Andy bounced up on the balls of his feet. 'Because the real me is in bed right now, lucky sod,' he replied. 'Whereas I've got third shift babysitting you. Call me your ghost of Christmas present, if you like. Not quite as impressive as being part of Torchwood, I'll admit, but hey, beggars can't be choosers, as they say. Double time and a half, though, so that'll cover a down-payment on that trip to Spain. Real me will have to pull an extra three shifts for that. Poor bugger. And maybe if I do a good job, you'll put in a word with Jack for me?'

'Don't count your chickens, mate.'

'Right. So, shall we begin?'

'Begin what?'

'Seeing your world through the eyes of someone who understands it, or, well, sort of understands it. I mean, only the bits that Gwen will actually tell me about, which is mental by the way. We're the police. We're supposed to know what's going on, but oh, no, it's all Torchwood this and special ops that and- '

'Have you got a point you're trying to make or are you just going to keep banging on?'

'Erm, yes,' Andy said, awkwardly gripping the lapels of his jacket. 'Alright then. Shall we go?' he asked, starting to wander down the street.

'We're not taking the car?' Not that he was sure he felt safe stepping inside anything now. At least if they stayed on the streets, what could possibly happen? He was back in Cardiff. Normal Cardiff - not some made up dreamland - or at least he assumed that was the case.

'Not that far to go,' Andy promised him. 'Just a few blocks up and around the corner.'

Owen hesitated, looking up the street and trying to remember what was a few blocks up and around the corner.

'Well, come on then,' Andy said. 'Haven't got all night.'

'Why? Not like you've got real police work to do,' Owen jibed.

'Har bloody har. Get on with you,' he said, waving an ushering hand at Owen.

The pair of them walked in companionable silence for several blocks. Owen was starting to wonder if he'd drunk too much at the bar and that this was all some horrible drunken hallucination. He was sure he hadn't drunk that much.

'Here we are,' Andy declared, taking a few shorts steps down from street level to a sub-basement level underneath the main building.

'Where's this?'

'Food bank and women's shelter,' Andy replied. 'Not precisely public knowledge. People are still a bit funny about that sort of thing. And obviously we don't want every Tom, Dick and Jones knowing it's here. Meant to feel like a safe place to go, if you know what I mean.'

'Uh huh.'

He followed Andy inside, feeling a little cautious. Two men just wandering in was likely to cause a kerfuffle, even if one was a police officer. No doubt they'd think Owen was one of those blokes that loitered outside these kinds of places, looking for the woman who'd left him and ready to give her what for.

'They can't see us,' Andy assured him, sensing Owen's trepidation.

'Right. Course not.' That was obvious, wasn't it?

Owen expected the place to be overbrimming with people, given it was Christmas Eve, but it was remarkably subdued. There were perhaps only two dozen women clustered around formica tables, or sat on low camp beds wrapped in blankets. The only noise came from the small children that accompanied them, and even they were quieter than expected.

'I think you were meant to be here tonight?' Andy said, giving Owen disappointed look.

Owen groaned at the inference. 'I told Teaboy to knick off when he asked me if I'd join him and Jack. Like I want to spend my night in a room full of women who look just like my mum.'

Andy gave a little noncommittal shrug. 'At least they got out. No one here's going to judge them harshly for protecting themselves.'  

'Yeah, for a few days. And then they all go crawling back to their loving boyfriends and husbands so that they can get beat up all over again.'

'Stockholm syndrome?'

Owen sighed. 'Something like that.'

Andy leaned forward a little conspiratorially. 'You know it wouldn't kill you to do something nice once in a while.'

Owen pulled away from him, glaring at the police constable. 'I save the planet from being overrun by aliens that want to eat out your brains seven days a week. What more do you want me to do? Everyone's entitled to some time off occasionally. Not my fault that some of them can't help themselves. I don't think those two know how to switch off, unless of course it's to stop and shag.'

'Thanks. Needed that mental image,' Andy replied.

Owen watched as Ianto patiently ladeled soup into bowls and added bread rolls to small plates, handing them out one by to the women huddled at long tables, each looking as forlorn and lost as the next. When Ianto added a serviette and laid a spoon on top of it, he managed to get a small smile out of a few of them. Apparently even the smallest act of kindness was more than most of them got.

Owen began to wish there'd been places like this around when he'd been growing up, not that his mum probably would have dared to leave. If she had, she'd never have been able to go back, and then where would they be? Homeless, Owen supposed. It wasn't much of an option. His mum had put up with being smacked around just to keep a roof over their heads. It was strange that he was only just realising that now.

'Ho, ho, ho!' came a familiar booming voice. Owen turned to see Jack dressed up as Santa, complete with the overstuffed costumed that added a hundred and fifty pounds to his frame.

'Oh, bloody hell,' Andy muttered.

Owen smirked despite himself. 'Didn't see that one coming? Just wait til he starts asking ladies to come sit in his lap and tell him what they want for Christmas.'

Andy looked unseasonably shocked. 'He wouldn't, would he?'

'It's Jack. Nothing is outside the realm of possibility. Half of them will probably throw themselves at him. There's just no accounting for taste.'

Jack was instead very well behaved, focusing all his attention on the half dozen children in the room, all of whom were clamoring to get close and to take the presents being offered from a large sack at Jack's side.

'Aw, isn't that lovely?' Andy said, gripping the edges of his high vis jacket and beaming. 'See, Santa knows where to find kids no matter where they are.'

'Yeah, okay. Make me feel guilty for not volunteering. Are we done now?'

'I suppose. But we're not done entirely.'

'We're not?'

'Don't you want to see your other teammates?'

Owen rolled his eyes at the prospect. 'Not really, but I'm getting the feeling you aren't going to give me a choice.'

'Always good to do what a police officer says,' Andy said, unable to wipe the grin from his face. 'If you'd like to please step inside the vehicle, sir,' Andy said, pulling open the passenger side door for Owen, parked conveniently right there on the street as they exited the shelter. 'Watch you head.'

Owen grabbed the edge of the door. 'First time in a cop car and not getting arrested,' he observed.

Andy's look was strangely unimpressed. 'Not exactly something you write home about, but okay,' he said, slipping into the driver's side. 'Lights and sirens?'

'Do we have to?'

Andy grinned like a kid. 'Nah, but it's Christmas. Almost never get to use these. Seat belts on!' He flipped a switch and they started up as he pulled away from the curb.

After a few minutes of left and right turns Owen frowned out through the windscreen. 'Where are we going?'

'Eh?' Andy said, raising his voice over the sirens.

'I said, where are we go-' he stopped yelling as the car fell silent.

'Bloody loud those things,' Andy mused, switching off the lights and sirens. 'Don't usually notice it when we're pursuing someone. You were saying?'

Owen pinched the bridge of his nose. 'You know what? I've had enough of this. Can you just drop me off home?'

'Sorry. Not in the contract. My orders are to show you your Christmas present, so that's what we're doing.'

A few minutes later, Andy had pulled up outside a block of fancy looking apartments. They were the kind with the neatly clipped ivy that cover the front, little French balconies and a body corporate bill to make you throw up. Owen immediately knew where they were, having dropped Tosh off at her place any number of times. 'Pretty sure I know where this is going,' Owen said, not even bothering to unclip his seat belt. 'Trying to make me feel guilty again?'

Andy gripped the steering wheel, turning to face Owen. 'Guilty? What about?'

Owen sighed. 'Tosh asked me over for a drink. Thought she was going to try on some of that mistletoe bollocks again. Don't know why she thought it would work again. I was completely drunk last time. I'd have kissed Jack if he'd had mistletoe.' Owen sighed as he gazed up at the second floor balcony he knew was Tosh's. 'Just wanted not to be alone on Christmas, I guess. Desperate if you ask me.'

'Well, aren't you just a keeper,' Andy mused. 'Can we say twat of the year?'

'I don't see you pulling a girl on Christmas Eve, PC Plod.'

Andy threw his hands up in surrender. 'Touchy tonight, aren't we? Anyway, I think you'll find that things aren't as bad as you make them out to be.'

'Can't see how.'

'So, why don't you get off your sorry backside and come take a look.'

Owen trudged up the steps behind him, coming to the second floor apartment. Andy grabbed a key off a wad of them clipped to his belt and let himself in. Owen didn't bother to ask how it was he had a key to Tosh's place. He just hoped that this wasn't some conspiracy between Tosh and Andy to get him over here.

'Come on,' Andy nagged.

'This another one of these things where no one can see us? Where I'm just imagining it all?'

'Oh, no. It's all happening. I mean the bit about not being able to be seen is about right, but this the present after all. Like being on a reality TV set.'

Owen pulled a face. 'I hate reality TV.'

Andy looked gobsmacked. 'Are you kidding? I love Strictly, me. That girl who won last year? Brilliant. Pair of legs all the way up to here,' he said, gesturing halfway up his torso. 'Right up your alley, I'd imagine.'

'What are we doing here?' Owen asked, trying to cut to the chase.

'Just thought you might like to see how the other half live.'

'I know how Tosh lives. Alone.'

'So, why is she spending all Christmas Eve skyping with friends and family, then hmm?' Andy looked suitably smug as he said it.

Owen snorted. 'Friends? Tosh doesn't have any friends. Apart from us, I mean.'

Andy shrugged. 'See for yourself.'

They stepped into the living room and there was Tosh, sat cross-legged on her sofa with a glass of wine in her hand. On the coffee table in front of her was her trusty laptop, and on the screen was an image of a man.

'Merry Christmas from Russia, Toshiko!'

Tosh beamed back at the image. 'Merry Christmas Maxim! How are you? How is your wife doing?'

'Anastasia is very well. So is our baby daughter.'

Tosh's hands flew to her mouth as she tried to suppress a squeal of delight. 'You had a baby? Congratulations! That's so exciting!'

'Here, I have picture of her, see?' He held up a photograph from his wallet.

'Oh, she's beautiful.'

'You must come and meet her. When can we expect you back in Russia?'

Russia? Owen thought. When the hell had Tosh been to Russia? And who was this decent looking bloke, anyway?  

'Hopefully soon,' Tosh promised. 'Jack keeps going on about how we should be working more closely together, all the Torchwood offices. Shouldn't be too hard to twist his arm.'

'I have Christmas present here for you when you come,' Maxim replied. 'Fancy piece of technology we steal from KVI. I thought you might like it.'

'What does it do?' she asked, her eyes all aglow.

'No idea. This is why we need you to come back and visit. There is saying in Russia, that Russian scientists invent tin can to keep food fresh throughout Russian winters and Russian Tsar gave them highest medal of honor. Then he says to them, now you must invent gadget so that we can open tin can and get food back out or else we starve just the same.'

Tosh laughed at that and Owen bristled. Who cared if this guy had a family? He was clearly flirting with Tosh and she was letting him.

'Okay, Maxim, well, I won't keep you up any longer. I'm sure you're getting little enough sleep as it is with a newborn in the house.'

'Do not be stranger, Toshiko. Call any time. Merry Christmas to you.'

'We'll speak again soon. Start booking those plane tickets for me.'

She signed off her Skype account as the screen went blank but there was no mistaking the happy smile on her face as she buried it between the knees she hugged to her chest.

'Sounded pretty friendly to me,' Andy said

'Tosser,' Owen replied, not caring if he sounded a little jealous.

There was a beep from Tosh's laptop and another video window opened up. This time it had at least ten people all trying to clamor into the shot. Tosh immediately began speaking rapid fire Japanese at them and they her, and Owen was very quickly lost in translation.

'Family back home I'm guessing?' Andy asked.

'Yeah,' Owen said, begrudgingly admitting that maybe Tosh wasn't quite as much of a loner as he'd always thought. If nothing else, her relatives seemed ecstatic to see her and asked all about what she was doing, if the tone of the conversation was anything to go by. It made him  realise that maybe he was the one with the lonely lifestyle, preferring not to get too close to anyone. He hadn't spoken to his sister in over a year, and his phone calls to check in on his mum were becoming less and less frequent as well. No one was rushing to call him on Christmas Eve. Maybe it was Tosh who was feeling sorry for him, inviting him over for a drink, and not the other way around.

'Are we done now?' Owen asked. He didn't think he could take any more of watching Tosh so happy and so surrounded by people.

'One more stop before I release you without charge,' Andy promised.

'Lucky me.'

'A attitude like that and you wonder why the police don't like Torchwood,' Andy said, holding open Tosh's apartment door.

Comments

[bk_forever]

So glad Tosh isn't alone at Christmas, and it's good to see Jack and Ianto bringing some Christmas cheer to people who need it. Love your choices of Christmas Ghosts too. Strange to see Owen has living family too.