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tosh

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They made a go at having a proper date ages ago.

Before the vampire, before new Torchwood, before Jack had come and gone. Before that New Year's Eve.

He'd like to think that it's the nature of both of their lives that means he hasn't had time for this before now, but he knows it's a lie. Owen promised Tosh a proper date well over a year ago, and it's time he finally got on with it.

He sends off a text to Tosh a bit late in the day, well after he's sure she's already gone down to the subway station they're calling Torchwood to do some work.

had dinner yet? come over.

Maybe a bit more notice wouldn't have gone amiss, but ultimately, Owen thinks it'll be better this way.

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His message makes her smile, and Tosh knows that even had she ordered the Pad Thai she'd been thinking of, that she would have simply paid for it and gone on to do whatever it was he might suggest.

be there in twenty

It's not a lot of time. Enough to try a ponytail before deciding to leave it down, and to unearth a lip gloss from her bag. She tries not to rush to his place, but still finds herself pausing to catch her breath before she knocks on his door.

It's ridiculous, he knows. But Owen's had this in mind for ages now, ever since that awful date at the burlesque club that the two of them had tried their best to salvage. Tosh had made an effort at it, and they'd stayed— even though Owen would still argue that it'd turned out better than dinner theater would have— but even now, Owen doesn't think of it as a proper date, at least, not completely. But it's as close as they've gotten in a year and a half.

This, however, will be different. At least, if Owen can help it.

When there's a knock on his door, Owen's already dressed. Slacks, a nice shirt, dress shoes. Tosh might give him a bit of grief about it, in the end, but he's willing to put up with it, he thinks.

He opens the door, unsurprised that Tosh hasn't dressed up— he didn't exactly give her any idea that she should have— and already ready to head out.

"Right, hello," he says, after he's opened the door, "Follow me."

He doesn't pause for more than a second before he's shutting the door to his flat, leading them back to the stairwell.

It's a surprise that he's dressed so well when she hasn't; more of one when he turns them around and leads them away from his flat. Tosh starts racking her brain for a forgotten plan they might have had and comes up blank. "We were supposed to go out? Did I forget?"

"Not exactly, no," Owen says, and he wonders if perhaps he should have bought Tosh something. Between funneling some of his money from the hospital into Torchwood, he doesn't have as much to work with as he'd like, but he could have made it stretch if he needed to. Telling her to put on something nice would have aroused suspicion though, so he's glad that he decided not to.

"Come on, keep up," he adds, and he's headed up the stairs, to the roof.

"Alright," she says slowly, her curiosity winning out over her unease. Whatever he is planning, it can't be bad. Tosh trusts him, but that doesn't mean she has any idea what to expect.

With the amount of effort Owen's put into this, he hopes nothing about it is bad. But considering they're usually having reheated pizza or Chinese when they have dinner, it's more than a bit of a step up.

Once they've made their way up the stairs, he opens the door, holding it open for Tosh to step through.

Owen knows the landlord doesn't like residents on the roof, but he's picked the lock and set everything up there anyway. The table from his own kitchen, two place settings, two chairs, and enough twinkle lights to set a mood. The night is clear, so at least it wouldn't be completely dark without them.

"I thought we could do with something a bit better than takeaway," Owen says.

This is definitely not what Tosh expected.

She stands perfectly still, just staring for at least a minute, unable to come up with anything to say. It's wonderful? Lovely? Perfect? That he's sweet or thoughtful or had to have been planning this for days? It's all jumbled up and she can't quite believe that he's gone to this much trouble for her.

For them.

"I don't know. We always did do well with leftover pizza," she says, and then regrets it. Quickly, she turns to him, her smile wide with amazement. "I love it. Thank you."

"Why don't we give this a go anyway?" Owen replies, and he walks over to the table and pulls out one of the chairs, waiting for Tosh to come sit. There's a bottle of still corked wine on the table, food already on their plates but covered for now. He thinks he's got the timing worked out right, that he managed to get it all upstairs not so soon that it will have gone cold by now.

"Alright, but there is a pizza in the fridge of my flat. Only a week or two old," she says as she sits, trying to keep her voice light and joking. Really she wants to tell him again how much she likes all of this, but she thinks it would be too much to keep on about it. "How long have you been planning this?"

"If you're not joking, then please don't tell me," Owen replies as he pushes her chair in, and moves to uncork the wine.

The truth is, he's had it on his mind to do something like this for a while now. Months, really. He's found that with them, life has tended to get in the way more often than not.

"Long enough," he says, and he fills both their glasses, "You know, I think it's probably been about a year and a half since I've actually used the kitchen in my flat."

Her fridge is actually rather horrifying, a jungle of expired take away and food that she swore that she’d cook. She needs the woman who comes and cleans every fortnight to empty it, but that requires a bargaining session as well as looks of admonishment she’s not willing to bear, yet.

“I don’t know that I have either,” she admits to him with a shy smile. When their glasses are full she raises hers, holding it out to him. “Should we drink to something?”

"To dinner without burlesque dancers," Owen says as he takes his seat across from Tosh, not able to help himself from bringing up the last time the two of them properly had dinner and how it had turned out.

In the end, it hadn't turned out so horrible-- and he'd gotten a good laugh out of it-- but that doesn't mean he's prepared to let her live it down.

Her cheeks flush, and she shakes her head in embarrassment. “I had no idea that women could do that sort of thing on hoops whilst wearing corsets,” she manages, holding her glass up to his.

He clinks his glass against hers, and starts to take a sip of wine, only to let out a small, incredulous laugh at the last moment instead.

"After everything we've seen, it's women in corsets that's unbelievable," he asks, though it's more a statement than a question.

His laugh relaxes her, and she finds herself nodding as if that shouldn't be surprising. "Fish-headed aliens, cannibal villagers, that's all old hat, I suppose. The things that surprise us change."

And the things that change surprise them, Owen thinks, but doesn't say. Even a year ago, he wouldn't have imagined the two of them here like this. It's still a bit weird, and he wonders if maybe he shouldn't have gone through with it. It's always just been takeaway with the two of them, something casual, really. Maybe he shouldn't have gone to the trouble.

"Well," Owen says, trying to push the thought aside, "Here's hoping for none of the above, at least until tomorrow."

He takes a sip of wine, glances down at the still covered plate sitting in front of Tosh.

"It's chicken," he says, "Chicken. Asparagus. It's rubbish."

"Or maybe even a week? It'd be nice to have a few restful days. The backlog-" She starts to go into how much work that she has, but stops herself, pursing her lips and looking down at the covered plate. It's not a night to talk about police reports and scans and other things that wait for her at the Station.

Tosh uncovers the plate, shaking her head as she looks back up at him. "I'm sure it's wonderful. You made all of this? It's so- Thank you."

"Yeah, well..." Owen starts and he uncovers his own plate, hoping that it hasn't gone cold in the time it took him to get Tosh up to the roof. There are a lot of ways he probably should have gone about this, but it's too late to dwell on them now.

"Just don't expect this all the time, alright?"

"I don't know," she says, his comment a relief to her. It feels with those words that things have somehow slipped back to normal or at least what passes for normal between them. When she looks at him, it's hard to imagine how far apart they were when they both arrived, and how difficult the path has been. "I could get used to things like this."

"Yeah, well right now just hope we both don't catch salmonella off of this," he replies, and honestly can't remember the last time he's done something like this at all. Years. Before Torchwood, certainly.

He takes a sip of his wine, momentarily nervous, though he's unsure why.

"I'm sure it's fine," she insists, taking a bite to show that she doesn't believe it will happen. It's good, and Tosh smiles and nods to show she appreciates it.

"I didn't know you could cook."

"There's a lot you don't know about me, Tosh," Owen says, with a slight raise of both eyebrows, and after she takes a bite and nods her approval, he does the same. All that talking about whether or not they'd be safe eating it wasn't entirely a joke.

"But don't throw out all your leftover takeaway just yet."

"Like what?" She asks, curious what he might tell her. Her own life before Torchwood wasn't very exciting, but they never really talk about their pasts. It's like their worlds exist in two states, Before Jack and After Jack. "What big secrets are you keeping from me?"

"I'm really a weevil wearing a human suit," he replies, expression serious, as though he's just told her the most important thing in the world. After a moment, he offers her the slightest hint of a grin.

"I suppose I could use that to get famous," she says to him, her smile light and warm. Tosh is relaxing now, the ambiance and wine both helping with that. "The woman who is in love with a man who's really an alien monster."

He almost doesn't notice it. Tosh slips it in there so seamlessly that it'd be easy to miss, but as it is, Owen manages to simply raise his eyebrows curiously before taking a drink from his glass.

"And I thought we were trying to stay under the radar," Owen comments.

"Well, it isn't such an interesting story without that, is it?" Tosh smiles, sipping at her wine. She's pleased that he doesn't seem to have reacted badly to what she's said.

"Or maybe it's better off not being a story at all?" he argues, and eyes his glass, realizing he's in need of a refill, and fills it to the rim. He holds out the bottle, eyebrows raised, asking if she needs one as well.

"Probably," she agrees in the end, raising her glass toward him at his offer. "I've likely circumvented enough stories getting to press that I could stop that one. If you were a weevil, which you're not, obviously."

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