"In Shining Armour", Torchwood/Narnia, Caspian/Tosh
Title: In Shining Armour
Fandoms: Chronicles Of Narnia/Torchwood
Pairing: Caspian/Tosh
Challenge/Prompt: crossovers100, 017. Brown
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 4200
Genre: Het (and somewhat cracky, what with the crossover and all)
Timeline: Between Something Borrowed and From Out Of The Rain, & post-movie.
Summary: “Well, whatever it is, it looks good wet,” Ianto observes.
Author’s Notes: I don’t know what possessed me, honestly. I liked the idea of Owen and Ianto shamelessly encouraging Tosh to let loose a little, because yay. This is a fic that is crack, and knows that it’s crack. So it’s not particularly literary, but it should hopefully be fun. Although it was super weird writing an Owen and Ianto dynamic with no UST in it at all. *shudders*
It’s a rainy Saturday afternoon when the Rift cracks open and helpfully spits someone out onto the slick pavement outside a McDonald’s. The someone is carrying a sword. There’s lots of screaming.
Owen and Ianto are playing poker on the coffee table, expressions bored, while Tosh searches fruitlessly for something to do, fingers clicking routinely over the keyboards. Gwen’s on her honeymoon - somewhere sunny, it’s all right for some - and Jack is in London helping out UNIT with something. It’s just the three of them and the first few hours they were anxious that suddenly the world was going to end on their watch and Jack would never trust them again; but now nothing’s happening and it’s just plain dull.
“This looks promising,” she calls, and the two men throw down the cards and hurry over to the monitors.
“What is it?” Owen asks. “Is it evil flesh-eating maiming aliens?”
“Yes, Mr I-Can’t-Die,” Ianto rolls his eyes, “because that’s exactly what would improve this afternoon.”
“That’s Dr I-Can’t-Die,” Owen corrects him mildly, fingers skimming over Tosh’s shoulder. “What’ve we got?”
“I don’t know,” Tosh replies, bringing up grainy CCTV footage. “It doesn’t seem to be trying to kill anyone…”
“That makes a nice change,” Owen says, heading to pick up his leather jacket from the back of his chair, pushing his earpiece in. “You coming, Ianto?”
Ianto leans further over Tosh’s shoulder, squinting at the screen. “Well, whatever it is, it looks good wet,” he observes, before turning away to follow Owen.
Tosh watches them out of the door before quickly starting on finding up-to-date coordinates for the men to follow. She glances back at the screen. Their visitor looks like an ordinary man, long dark hair clinging to his cheeks as he gazes around him in bewilderment, a long sword clutched in his hand.
Ianto kind of has a point. She blushes, turning her attention back to the matter at hand.
*
Owen and Ianto return a little over an hour later, both of them soaking from the rain, and leading their prisoner. He doesn’t seem overtly hostile; more confused, staring wide-eyed around the Hub.
“We’re going to examine you,” Owen is explaining loudly, “and then we’re going to try and get you home, ok?”
“Yes.” The word catches a little in the man’s mouth; an accent of some kind pulling at the vowels.
“I think that might actually have been the easiest capture ever,” Ianto remarks, depositing the sword Tosh saw on the video footage on her workstation alongside two intricately carved knives. “He let us disarm him and everything.”
“Do not damage those,” the man warns, waving his cuffed hands at the weapons. “They are important.”
His eyes travel up from the weapons to Tosh herself, and the anger seems to flow straight off his face. The edges of his mouth turn up into a little smile which makes his dark eyes crinkle. He has a lock of hair stuck to his cheek from the rain outside. It looks good wet. Yes, thank you, Ianto.
“I am King Caspian the Tenth,” he says, voice catching on the consonants, accompanying the words with a bow. Tosh hasn’t been bowed at in a long time, and for a horrible moment she wants to burst out into giggles. Ianto’s eyebrows have practically disappeared into his hairline and Owen’s got that I am going to take the piss out of you all afternoon expression.
“Right,” Tosh says, finding her voice again and turning her attention to more practical matters, “well, we’re Torchwood.”
“…Torchwood.” The way Caspian draws the word out is slightly indecent and Tosh glances at Ianto, who is staring determinedly at the ceiling.
“He should re-record all our answering machine messages,” he manages.
“We don’t have answering machines,” Tosh says carefully.
“We should get some,” Ianto murmurs.
“When the two of you have finished drooling over him, I have a medical examination to do,” Owen says, putting a hand on Caspian’s shoulder. “Come on, mate.”
“Couldn’t the maiden do it?” Caspian asks, expression entirely innocent, though his dark eyes are glowing.
“Oh Jesus,” Ianto whispers, turning away, shoulders shaking.
“No, I couldn’t,” Tosh says, wondering if this is all some kind of hallucination and she’ll wake up in a minute to find the guys shooting each other over cheating at poker or whatever. “Go with Owen.”
Ianto’s giving her a be nice sort of expression over Caspian’s shoulder. Tosh ignores him.
“Don’t you have a name?” Caspian continues in a coaxing sort of voice, fixing her with a beseeching look.
“Toshiko Sato.” Tosh manages to remember her own name and to deliver it without stammering, which she feels is reasonably impressive.
Before Owen or Ianto can stop him, Caspian drops to his knees, taking one of Tosh’s hands between his and pressing it to his lips.
“My lady Toshiko,” he says, and the way he pronounces her name is… interesting, “I am at your service.”
“Ok,” she mumbles, praying to God that she isn’t blushing. The others will never let her live this down.
“The sooner we examine you, the sooner we can get you home,” Owen interrupts loudly, pulling Caspian onto his feet again and leading him towards the autopsy room.
“Once you’ve done that, you should take him down to the cells,” Tosh calls, belatedly remembering protocol.
“Who died and put you in charge?” Owen demands.
“I think that might’ve been you, actually,” Tosh replies.
Ianto waits until they’ve gone before giving Tosh a disapproving look.
“What?”
“The man says he’s at your service and you say ‘ok’?” Ianto asks incredulously.
“Well, what was I supposed to say?” Tosh is feeling flustered and she really hates feeling out of control.
“‘Thank you’?” Ianto suggests. “Or ‘it’s an honour’?”
“This isn’t a low-budget Medieval film,” Tosh reminds him. “Can’t you go and offer him a coffee? Everyone likes your coffee.”
Ianto rolls his eyes in a nobody appreciates me kind of way, but does so.
*
“I told him that everyone you get romantically close to dies, and he doesn’t care,” Owen announces forty-five minutes later, coming to join her and Ianto again.
“Why would you do that?” Tosh asks a little desperately.
“Caspian likes you, Tosh,” Owen replies, with a shit-eating grin. “He says he hasn’t seen a maiden as beautiful as you in a long time.”
Tosh knew she shouldn’t have worn a v-neck today, especially not a red one. It was just asking for trouble.
“You should go for it,” Ianto informs her gravely, taking a sip of coffee.
“You’re suggesting I sleep with our prisoner?” Tosh’s voice has got a little hysterical: she’ll have to do something about that.
“Well, he’s not really our prisoner,” Ianto rationalises, smiling, “he’s more our… guest. While we work out how to put him back where he came from.”
“Owen,” Tosh says a little desperately, turning to their doctor, “tell him he’s insane.”
“Well…” Owen shrugs. “Caspian does have nice hair. And a really big-”
“-Sword,” Ianto interjects.
Tosh covers her face with her hands.
“I don’t care about the size of his sword!” she exclaims.
“You should,” Owen informs her brightly. “I did his medical examination. It’s a really big… sword.”
Tosh just about manages to suppress a whimper.
“Really?” Ianto asks.
Owen turns towards him and measures out a distance with his hands that Tosh can’t see because of the angle. She does, however, see the expression on Ianto’s face.
“Wow.”
“Yep.”
“I hate you both,” Tosh tells them loudly.
*
Caspian falls asleep in his cell early evening, which is impressive given how many cups of Ianto’s coffee he’s consumed (“We do not have anything like this where I come from. It is… delicious”). Unprofessional to the last, Ianto uncorks a bottle of red wine and Tosh is feeling just insane enough to agree to at least one glass.
“Jack would support you in this,” Owen points out, toying with an empty wineglass so as not to feel left out.
“Jack’s not here,” Tosh reminds him. “I thought we were trying to look responsible.”
“Jack’s probably following Gwen and Rhys around on their honeymoon,” Owen shrugs, “whatever we do is going to look responsible next to him.”
“Jack’s gone to London to help Martha,” Tosh says.
“Maybe he’s shagging Martha,” Ianto offers on his next mouthful of wine.
“No he’s not, she’s marrying Doctor Gorgeous,” Owen tells him. At the looks on their faces, he smirks. “Haven’t you seen the pictures?”
Ianto considers this. “Maybe he’s shagging Doctor Gorgeous.”
They all burst out laughing.
“If Tosh won’t, you should fling yourself at Caspian,” Owen tells Ianto.
“He’s handsome to an unreasonable and faintly unsettling degree,” Ianto accedes, “but Owen, I’m really not gay.”
“You’re shagging Jack,” Owen says, as though that settles it.
“That doesn’t make me gay, that just makes me human,” Ianto replies.
“Actually, he’s not even that discriminate,” Tosh interrupts.
“Caspian doesn’t seem to be an alien,” Owen offers, “though it would probably be cooler if he was. I mean, sex with aliens is always so…” He glares at his empty wineglass. “I bloody miss sex,” he sighs.
“So you’re saying I should sleep with Caspian so you can live vicariously through me?” Tosh demands.
“No, I’m saying you should sleep with Caspian because he’s got nice hair, good teeth, and is remarkably well-endowed,” Owen replies matter-of-factly.
“I’m not drunk enough for weaponry analogies,” Tosh warns him. “I don’t think I’ll ever be drunk enough.”
Owen and Ianto simultaneously hold their hands up, several inches apart, both of them measuring the same distance.
“Oh,” Tosh says slowly. “Right.”
There’s a long, confused silence. And then Tosh manages to regain a trace of sanity.
“No,” she says firmly, “I mean, what is he? Eighteen? If that?”
“I don’t think they have age consent laws in ‘Narnia’,” Ianto shrugs, pouring more wine - complete sobriety is no longer an option.
“Besides,” Owen adds cheerfully, “from what he’s told us, he doesn’t even have parents to come and attack you with shovels for violating their son.”
Tosh downs half her glass of wine in one go. “I am going to kill you both,” she informs them firmly.
“Flaw in that plan, Tosh,” Owen tells her.
“You’d miss me,” Ianto chips in. “Well, you’d miss my coffee, anyway.”
“I’m willing to risk it,” Tosh murmurs grimly, reaching for the wine bottle.
*
The next morning, it’s still drizzling, and Ianto and Owen are both still in the Hub. Tosh is slightly hungover and not at all in the mood for the grins that the men are flashing at her.
“Did you go home at all?” she asks.
“I don’t have a life,” Owen shrugs easily, “didn’t see the point. And Ianto doesn’t ever go home, even when Jack’s not around for a quickie.”
Ianto glares briefly at Owen, and then turns his attention back to Tosh. “We’ve figured out how send Caspian home.”
“Oh.” Tosh isn’t entirely sure how she feels about this fact, and isn’t going to decide how she feels until Ianto provides her with some kind of caffeine. He seems to realise this, gives a put-upon sigh, and goes to get her a drink.
“Our scanners picked up on some sort of energy coming from Caspian’s weapons,” Owen explains, tapping his keyboard to show Tosh the readings. “And the energy matched this big wooden box we’ve had in the archives practically since Torchwood Three was set up, so we went and got it. Although it looks like it has a bottom, it doesn’t.”
“So far we’ve sent through three mugs, six pens, and some pornography,” Ianto adds, handing Tosh a mug.
“Pornography?” Tosh doesn’t want to ask, but does anyway.
“From Owen’s stash in the bottom drawer of his workstation,” Ianto clarifies.
“I don’t need it any more, and of course Ianto thinks he’s better than porn…” Owen smirks.
“I didn’t say that, I just said I had better taste in porn,” Ianto corrects him wearily, and Tosh suspects that it’s been a long night.
“And how do we know that this gateway between worlds actually works?” Tosh asks, clinging to the last vestiges of professionalism. That way, when Jack gets back, at least she can say she tried. “I mean, maybe it kills anyone or anything that passes through it.”
“One of the mugs came back,” Ianto replies. “I think someone threw it back at us, and it’s not broken or anything. It’s safe to assume we can get Caspian home.”
“Then we should do it,” Tosh tells them.
Owen and Ianto are both giving her expectant looks and she doesn’t like it.
“What?”
“Well, you aren’t just going to send him back like some kind of package that’s been sent to the wrong address are you?” Owen demands.
“What do you suggest I do with him?” Tosh asks.
Ianto raises an eyebrow at her in a way that’s nothing short of filthy.
“Oh, Tosh,” Owen sighs. “It’s a little late to play the ‘naïve’ card now.”
“Just because I apparently have more integrity than both of you-”
“Mary,” Owen barely hides behind a cough.
“You’re biologically incapable of coughing,” Tosh tells him, “and that was different.”
“Tommy.” Ianto doesn’t even bother coughing.
Tosh suspects that she’s going to start screaming in a minute.
“Look, it’s just one of the perks of the job,” Owen grins. “And we’ve got a few hours, why don’t you take him out for breakfast?”
“I never thought I’d say this,” Tosh murmurs, putting her coffee down on her workstation in a decided fashion, “but I really miss Jack’s way of looking at these things.”
“He does have that way of making everything look ok, doesn’t he?” Owen muses. “And you don’t even realise until afterwards that maybe you should rationalise your actions a little.”
Tosh laughs slightly. “Are you saying I should be sitting here saying: What Would Jack Do?”
“We all know what Jack would do,” Ianto replies, matter-of-fact.
He and Owen are looking expectant again.
Tosh sighs. “Fine. But only for breakfast, ok?”
Ianto grins. “Good. I’d hate to think all the time I spent finding Caspian some decent clothes was wasted.”
*
Ianto’s definition of ‘decent clothes’ apparently involves inappropriately tight jeans and a loose shirt that falls casually open at the neck. Tosh feels that maybe someone should’ve explained to Ianto that Caspian is not some kind of Barbie doll to dress up for his own amusement, although that would make it sound as though she didn’t appreciate his… efforts. Which she does; she just rather wishes that she didn’t. Everyone around them also seems to appreciate Ianto’s work too; their waitress has walked past their table at least sixteen times more than is really necessary.
“People here are so friendly,” Caspian observes, already on his fourth cup of coffee. Ianto’s created yet another convert; he will be pleased.
Tosh wants to inform him that people here aren’t friendly at all, they’re all just lusting after him, which is something different entirely, but she can’t bring herself to say it.
“Yes,” she mumbles instead, and reaches for another slice of toast.
Caspian is watching her intently through dark eyelashes, and he’s doing what Jack does when he’s trying to seduce people (Tosh has watched him do it a number of times, with varying degrees of amusement and exasperation; she and Owen or Suzie usually ended up placing bets on how long it would take their Captain’s latest victim to crack). With Caspian, however, Tosh can’t help thinking that he’s doing it entirely unconsciously; it doesn’t help.
“You’ve all been so kind to me,” Caspian adds.
“It’s part of the job,” Tosh replies quickly, ignoring the fact that Torchwood’s motto is practically yay creative forms of violence.
Caspian looks thoughtful, lips twisting just a little. Tosh very carefully does not look at them, and misses Jack more than ever. At least if Jack were here he would be being distracting and effortlessly sexy and then Caspian would be lusting after Jack instead, and then this would be Jack’s inappropriate attraction problem, not hers, and since Jack doesn’t even know the meaning of ‘inappropriate’ it would probably all work out fine. Tosh realises that her brain is babbling and when she looks down she finds Caspian’s fingers are brushing hers on the table.
“Just part of your job?” Caspian asks softly, and Tosh doesn’t want to look him in the eye because she knows what she’ll see there and it will make all the voices in her head listing the reasons why this is ridiculous go damnably silent. And really, it is a ridiculous idea, put into her head by Owen, who can’t have sex anymore and therefore wants everyone else to, and Ianto, who is sleeping with Jack and therefore absorbing his world view. She should not listen to them. She should not.
“Well...” she begins, and her fingers are curling to lace through his almost unconsciously. He’s a better person than Mary ever was and there’s something in his innocence combined with weariness that reminds her of Tommy. There’s a soft smile spreading across Caspian’s mouth and Tosh’s breath is catching in her chest.
“Your bill,” the waitress says, slamming the paper down hard enough to make the salt and pepper shakers rattle. There’s a hilariously jealous expression on her face but it’s enough to jerk Tosh back into reality. She pulls her fingers from Caspian’s, and doesn’t look at him as she hands her Torchwood credit card over.
*
“You’re letting the side down, Tosh,” Ianto murmurs.
“Shut up,” Tosh mutters.
“This really isn’t as complicated as you think it is.”
“Shut up.”
“Anyone else would’ve already-”
“Shut up.”
They’re watching Owen do one last medical exam on Caspian before sending him home to Narnia. He’s perched on the edge of the autopsy table wearing his own trousers, elaborately embroidered shirt crumpled beside him. Ianto’s eyes are just a little too wide, and Tosh wants to say ‘I’m not gay’ my arse but decides this isn’t the time to call him up on it. Owen keeps shooting Ianto amused looks, so presumably he’s going to be taking the piss all day anyway.
Owen puts his good hand to a scar on Caspian’s shoulder. Caspian shivers. “Your hands are cold.”
“Side-effect of being dead, mate,” Owen says cheerfully, and Tosh marvels at how unaffected Caspian seems to be at this answer. They’re all still freaked out about it, though they’re trying not to be.
Caspian shivers again, and Owen shoots Ianto and Tosh a pointed glance. It suddenly occurs to Tosh that they’re both leant against the railing perving over Caspian with his shirt off, and that Torchwood really has irrevocably broken them.
“You’re running out of time, Tosh,” Ianto mutters.
“Shut up.”
“I’m just saying...”
“Well, don’t.”
Owen rolls his eyes at the two of them, then motions at Caspian. “You can put your shirt back on.”
Tosh does a very good job of not being at all disappointed.
*
“You could be his ‘consort’,” Owen offers, a trace of amused glee in his voice, as Ianto explains the whole travelling-through-a-box thing to Caspian.
“You’re enjoying this far too much,” Tosh tells him.
“Yes I am,” Owen agrees, unabashed. “No one has tried to kill any of us, Ianto isn’t pretending to be a robot, and your embarrassment is, quite frankly, hilarious.”
“I can bruise you,” Tosh reminds him.
“Jack’s going to be disappointed if he gets back to find out we didn’t shag any aliens in his absence,” Owen points out, as though this is a perfectly logical argument. “And since I’m out of the running and Ianto is pretending he has eyes for no one but our Captain, you have to pick up the slack.”
Tosh honestly can’t think of anything to say to that; she eventually fumbles up: “Caspian isn’t an alien.”
Owen sighs.
A moment later, Ianto is shaking Caspian’s hand (and looking very much like he’d like to go in for a hug instead), and Caspian is thanking him for all the coffee. Tosh suspects that he is going to go into horrendous caffeine withdrawal when he gets back to Narnia, and thinks they should probably stop force-feeding all their visitors beverages that they cannot get in their own homelands. Well, either that, or they should start opening chains of Starbucks across the universe and its various dimensions.
Owen shakes Caspian’s hand too, and claps his gloved hand against Caspian’s shoulder. “Take care, mate.”
Tosh can see the frustration on Owen and Ianto’s faces as she holds out her hand to Caspian, but someone has to remain professional here. Caspian raises it to his mouth, and presses a kiss to her knuckles. “It has been a pleasure, my lady.”
“It has,” Tosh manages, and tells herself that she’s only lightheaded because she drank too much last night.
Caspian walks towards the chest that will get him home, and then seems to decide something because he turns back, striding back to Tosh and pulling her into a kiss. She freezes for a second, and then melts into it, into his long fingers tangling in her hair and his soft mouth pressed against hers. There’s a dulled sound, which she suspects is Owen applauding with his glove on, and she swears Ianto is laughing. Later, she is going to spill something like Ribena or soy sauce, and make him clean it up. Right now, though, all she cares about is Caspian’s teeth catching her lower lip, his breath rushing out against her cheek.
“I have wanted to do that since I first saw you,” Caspian murmurs, and it should be clichéd and embarrassing, but coming from him it doesn’t sound that way at all.
Tosh is actually speechless, which is awkward, but Caspian doesn’t seem to mind; he just gives her that charming, boyish smile and then walks away. They’ve propped the giant wooden chest upright so that it’s almost like a doorway; Caspian glances back over his shoulder and then walks through it.
There’s a moment of complete, pure silence, and then Owen says: “Hey, look, you didn’t kill this one, Tosh.”
Tosh throws the stapler from her workstation at him.
*
Jack calls up to check on them that evening, once Owen and Ianto have finished heaving the big chest back into the archives.
“I tried to get through earlier, but you seemed to be busy,” he says. “I like the new answering machine message though.”
Owen and Tosh both turn to look at Ianto. “We don’t have answering machines,” Tosh hisses.
Ianto shrugs, and looks unashamed. “We do now.”
“Oh my God,” Tosh murmurs, head in hands.
“I wondered what you were doing with that recording device,” Owen remarks to Ianto. “I kind of thought it’d turn out to be something kinkier.”
“I’m not you, Owen,” Ianto mutters, which makes no sense at all since he’s sleeping with Jack and the phrase avant-garde has been thrown about.
“Play nice, kids,” Jack sighs, but he sounds far too amused.
Jack rings off after checking they’re not dead and Cardiff hasn’t been eaten by the Rift, and also after being incredibly evasive about what he’s actually doing with his time.
“Tenner says he’s following Gwen and Rhys about,” Owen offers.
“Twenty says he’s trying to seduce Martha,” Ianto replies, and they shake on it.
Later, Tosh is trying to write her report without saying anything incriminating or too personal. Ianto brings her a cup of tea, and leans down to murmur in her ear:
“You know, the way to Narnia hasn’t closed. It probably never will. And it works both ways.”
Tosh considers this for a long moment. “That would be unprofessional,” she says at last, “and in direct violation of at least eighteen Torchwood rules.”
“Twenty-six, actually,” Ianto corrects her, “but not a bad guess.”
Owen is watching them, a thoughtful expression on his face.
“None of this goes in the reports,” Tosh tells them both quickly.
“My report will say that we found Caspian, Ianto force-fed him coffee until he fell into a caffeine coma, we fed him toast, and then we sent him home,” Owen says gravely.
Tosh looks at Ianto, whose eyes are twinkling. “It would be irresponsible,” she tells him firmly, voice wavering.
“It would be fun,” Owen corrects her.
“I can’t,” Tosh says firmly, and does not think about Caspian’s kiss at all.
“Of course you can’t,” Ianto agrees. Owen glares at him, and Ianto continues blithely: “The box is in archive room 15-H, in any case.”
A filthy smirk slips across Owen’s mouth as Ianto wanders over to start tidying up their sofa area.
“Stop looking at me like that,” Tosh warns him, hearing laughter in her voice.
“I just wanted you to know I can cover for you with Jack,” Owen tells her.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Of course not.” Owen turns back to his report or Tetris or whatever it is he’s doing on his computer, though his eyes keep flicking back to her.
Tosh thinks 15-H and smiles. She won’t rule out the possibility.
Fandoms: Chronicles Of Narnia/Torchwood
Pairing: Caspian/Tosh
Challenge/Prompt: crossovers100, 017. Brown
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 4200
Genre: Het (and somewhat cracky, what with the crossover and all)
Timeline: Between Something Borrowed and From Out Of The Rain, & post-movie.
Summary: “Well, whatever it is, it looks good wet,” Ianto observes.
Author’s Notes: I don’t know what possessed me, honestly. I liked the idea of Owen and Ianto shamelessly encouraging Tosh to let loose a little, because yay. This is a fic that is crack, and knows that it’s crack. So it’s not particularly literary, but it should hopefully be fun. Although it was super weird writing an Owen and Ianto dynamic with no UST in it at all. *shudders*
It’s a rainy Saturday afternoon when the Rift cracks open and helpfully spits someone out onto the slick pavement outside a McDonald’s. The someone is carrying a sword. There’s lots of screaming.
Owen and Ianto are playing poker on the coffee table, expressions bored, while Tosh searches fruitlessly for something to do, fingers clicking routinely over the keyboards. Gwen’s on her honeymoon - somewhere sunny, it’s all right for some - and Jack is in London helping out UNIT with something. It’s just the three of them and the first few hours they were anxious that suddenly the world was going to end on their watch and Jack would never trust them again; but now nothing’s happening and it’s just plain dull.
“This looks promising,” she calls, and the two men throw down the cards and hurry over to the monitors.
“What is it?” Owen asks. “Is it evil flesh-eating maiming aliens?”
“Yes, Mr I-Can’t-Die,” Ianto rolls his eyes, “because that’s exactly what would improve this afternoon.”
“That’s Dr I-Can’t-Die,” Owen corrects him mildly, fingers skimming over Tosh’s shoulder. “What’ve we got?”
“I don’t know,” Tosh replies, bringing up grainy CCTV footage. “It doesn’t seem to be trying to kill anyone…”
“That makes a nice change,” Owen says, heading to pick up his leather jacket from the back of his chair, pushing his earpiece in. “You coming, Ianto?”
Ianto leans further over Tosh’s shoulder, squinting at the screen. “Well, whatever it is, it looks good wet,” he observes, before turning away to follow Owen.
Tosh watches them out of the door before quickly starting on finding up-to-date coordinates for the men to follow. She glances back at the screen. Their visitor looks like an ordinary man, long dark hair clinging to his cheeks as he gazes around him in bewilderment, a long sword clutched in his hand.
Ianto kind of has a point. She blushes, turning her attention back to the matter at hand.
*
Owen and Ianto return a little over an hour later, both of them soaking from the rain, and leading their prisoner. He doesn’t seem overtly hostile; more confused, staring wide-eyed around the Hub.
“We’re going to examine you,” Owen is explaining loudly, “and then we’re going to try and get you home, ok?”
“Yes.” The word catches a little in the man’s mouth; an accent of some kind pulling at the vowels.
“I think that might actually have been the easiest capture ever,” Ianto remarks, depositing the sword Tosh saw on the video footage on her workstation alongside two intricately carved knives. “He let us disarm him and everything.”
“Do not damage those,” the man warns, waving his cuffed hands at the weapons. “They are important.”
His eyes travel up from the weapons to Tosh herself, and the anger seems to flow straight off his face. The edges of his mouth turn up into a little smile which makes his dark eyes crinkle. He has a lock of hair stuck to his cheek from the rain outside. It looks good wet. Yes, thank you, Ianto.
“I am King Caspian the Tenth,” he says, voice catching on the consonants, accompanying the words with a bow. Tosh hasn’t been bowed at in a long time, and for a horrible moment she wants to burst out into giggles. Ianto’s eyebrows have practically disappeared into his hairline and Owen’s got that I am going to take the piss out of you all afternoon expression.
“Right,” Tosh says, finding her voice again and turning her attention to more practical matters, “well, we’re Torchwood.”
“…Torchwood.” The way Caspian draws the word out is slightly indecent and Tosh glances at Ianto, who is staring determinedly at the ceiling.
“He should re-record all our answering machine messages,” he manages.
“We don’t have answering machines,” Tosh says carefully.
“We should get some,” Ianto murmurs.
“When the two of you have finished drooling over him, I have a medical examination to do,” Owen says, putting a hand on Caspian’s shoulder. “Come on, mate.”
“Couldn’t the maiden do it?” Caspian asks, expression entirely innocent, though his dark eyes are glowing.
“Oh Jesus,” Ianto whispers, turning away, shoulders shaking.
“No, I couldn’t,” Tosh says, wondering if this is all some kind of hallucination and she’ll wake up in a minute to find the guys shooting each other over cheating at poker or whatever. “Go with Owen.”
Ianto’s giving her a be nice sort of expression over Caspian’s shoulder. Tosh ignores him.
“Don’t you have a name?” Caspian continues in a coaxing sort of voice, fixing her with a beseeching look.
“Toshiko Sato.” Tosh manages to remember her own name and to deliver it without stammering, which she feels is reasonably impressive.
Before Owen or Ianto can stop him, Caspian drops to his knees, taking one of Tosh’s hands between his and pressing it to his lips.
“My lady Toshiko,” he says, and the way he pronounces her name is… interesting, “I am at your service.”
“Ok,” she mumbles, praying to God that she isn’t blushing. The others will never let her live this down.
“The sooner we examine you, the sooner we can get you home,” Owen interrupts loudly, pulling Caspian onto his feet again and leading him towards the autopsy room.
“Once you’ve done that, you should take him down to the cells,” Tosh calls, belatedly remembering protocol.
“Who died and put you in charge?” Owen demands.
“I think that might’ve been you, actually,” Tosh replies.
Ianto waits until they’ve gone before giving Tosh a disapproving look.
“What?”
“The man says he’s at your service and you say ‘ok’?” Ianto asks incredulously.
“Well, what was I supposed to say?” Tosh is feeling flustered and she really hates feeling out of control.
“‘Thank you’?” Ianto suggests. “Or ‘it’s an honour’?”
“This isn’t a low-budget Medieval film,” Tosh reminds him. “Can’t you go and offer him a coffee? Everyone likes your coffee.”
Ianto rolls his eyes in a nobody appreciates me kind of way, but does so.
*
“I told him that everyone you get romantically close to dies, and he doesn’t care,” Owen announces forty-five minutes later, coming to join her and Ianto again.
“Why would you do that?” Tosh asks a little desperately.
“Caspian likes you, Tosh,” Owen replies, with a shit-eating grin. “He says he hasn’t seen a maiden as beautiful as you in a long time.”
Tosh knew she shouldn’t have worn a v-neck today, especially not a red one. It was just asking for trouble.
“You should go for it,” Ianto informs her gravely, taking a sip of coffee.
“You’re suggesting I sleep with our prisoner?” Tosh’s voice has got a little hysterical: she’ll have to do something about that.
“Well, he’s not really our prisoner,” Ianto rationalises, smiling, “he’s more our… guest. While we work out how to put him back where he came from.”
“Owen,” Tosh says a little desperately, turning to their doctor, “tell him he’s insane.”
“Well…” Owen shrugs. “Caspian does have nice hair. And a really big-”
“-Sword,” Ianto interjects.
Tosh covers her face with her hands.
“I don’t care about the size of his sword!” she exclaims.
“You should,” Owen informs her brightly. “I did his medical examination. It’s a really big… sword.”
Tosh just about manages to suppress a whimper.
“Really?” Ianto asks.
Owen turns towards him and measures out a distance with his hands that Tosh can’t see because of the angle. She does, however, see the expression on Ianto’s face.
“Wow.”
“Yep.”
“I hate you both,” Tosh tells them loudly.
*
Caspian falls asleep in his cell early evening, which is impressive given how many cups of Ianto’s coffee he’s consumed (“We do not have anything like this where I come from. It is… delicious”). Unprofessional to the last, Ianto uncorks a bottle of red wine and Tosh is feeling just insane enough to agree to at least one glass.
“Jack would support you in this,” Owen points out, toying with an empty wineglass so as not to feel left out.
“Jack’s not here,” Tosh reminds him. “I thought we were trying to look responsible.”
“Jack’s probably following Gwen and Rhys around on their honeymoon,” Owen shrugs, “whatever we do is going to look responsible next to him.”
“Jack’s gone to London to help Martha,” Tosh says.
“Maybe he’s shagging Martha,” Ianto offers on his next mouthful of wine.
“No he’s not, she’s marrying Doctor Gorgeous,” Owen tells him. At the looks on their faces, he smirks. “Haven’t you seen the pictures?”
Ianto considers this. “Maybe he’s shagging Doctor Gorgeous.”
They all burst out laughing.
“If Tosh won’t, you should fling yourself at Caspian,” Owen tells Ianto.
“He’s handsome to an unreasonable and faintly unsettling degree,” Ianto accedes, “but Owen, I’m really not gay.”
“You’re shagging Jack,” Owen says, as though that settles it.
“That doesn’t make me gay, that just makes me human,” Ianto replies.
“Actually, he’s not even that discriminate,” Tosh interrupts.
“Caspian doesn’t seem to be an alien,” Owen offers, “though it would probably be cooler if he was. I mean, sex with aliens is always so…” He glares at his empty wineglass. “I bloody miss sex,” he sighs.
“So you’re saying I should sleep with Caspian so you can live vicariously through me?” Tosh demands.
“No, I’m saying you should sleep with Caspian because he’s got nice hair, good teeth, and is remarkably well-endowed,” Owen replies matter-of-factly.
“I’m not drunk enough for weaponry analogies,” Tosh warns him. “I don’t think I’ll ever be drunk enough.”
Owen and Ianto simultaneously hold their hands up, several inches apart, both of them measuring the same distance.
“Oh,” Tosh says slowly. “Right.”
There’s a long, confused silence. And then Tosh manages to regain a trace of sanity.
“No,” she says firmly, “I mean, what is he? Eighteen? If that?”
“I don’t think they have age consent laws in ‘Narnia’,” Ianto shrugs, pouring more wine - complete sobriety is no longer an option.
“Besides,” Owen adds cheerfully, “from what he’s told us, he doesn’t even have parents to come and attack you with shovels for violating their son.”
Tosh downs half her glass of wine in one go. “I am going to kill you both,” she informs them firmly.
“Flaw in that plan, Tosh,” Owen tells her.
“You’d miss me,” Ianto chips in. “Well, you’d miss my coffee, anyway.”
“I’m willing to risk it,” Tosh murmurs grimly, reaching for the wine bottle.
*
The next morning, it’s still drizzling, and Ianto and Owen are both still in the Hub. Tosh is slightly hungover and not at all in the mood for the grins that the men are flashing at her.
“Did you go home at all?” she asks.
“I don’t have a life,” Owen shrugs easily, “didn’t see the point. And Ianto doesn’t ever go home, even when Jack’s not around for a quickie.”
Ianto glares briefly at Owen, and then turns his attention back to Tosh. “We’ve figured out how send Caspian home.”
“Oh.” Tosh isn’t entirely sure how she feels about this fact, and isn’t going to decide how she feels until Ianto provides her with some kind of caffeine. He seems to realise this, gives a put-upon sigh, and goes to get her a drink.
“Our scanners picked up on some sort of energy coming from Caspian’s weapons,” Owen explains, tapping his keyboard to show Tosh the readings. “And the energy matched this big wooden box we’ve had in the archives practically since Torchwood Three was set up, so we went and got it. Although it looks like it has a bottom, it doesn’t.”
“So far we’ve sent through three mugs, six pens, and some pornography,” Ianto adds, handing Tosh a mug.
“Pornography?” Tosh doesn’t want to ask, but does anyway.
“From Owen’s stash in the bottom drawer of his workstation,” Ianto clarifies.
“I don’t need it any more, and of course Ianto thinks he’s better than porn…” Owen smirks.
“I didn’t say that, I just said I had better taste in porn,” Ianto corrects him wearily, and Tosh suspects that it’s been a long night.
“And how do we know that this gateway between worlds actually works?” Tosh asks, clinging to the last vestiges of professionalism. That way, when Jack gets back, at least she can say she tried. “I mean, maybe it kills anyone or anything that passes through it.”
“One of the mugs came back,” Ianto replies. “I think someone threw it back at us, and it’s not broken or anything. It’s safe to assume we can get Caspian home.”
“Then we should do it,” Tosh tells them.
Owen and Ianto are both giving her expectant looks and she doesn’t like it.
“What?”
“Well, you aren’t just going to send him back like some kind of package that’s been sent to the wrong address are you?” Owen demands.
“What do you suggest I do with him?” Tosh asks.
Ianto raises an eyebrow at her in a way that’s nothing short of filthy.
“Oh, Tosh,” Owen sighs. “It’s a little late to play the ‘naïve’ card now.”
“Just because I apparently have more integrity than both of you-”
“Mary,” Owen barely hides behind a cough.
“You’re biologically incapable of coughing,” Tosh tells him, “and that was different.”
“Tommy.” Ianto doesn’t even bother coughing.
Tosh suspects that she’s going to start screaming in a minute.
“Look, it’s just one of the perks of the job,” Owen grins. “And we’ve got a few hours, why don’t you take him out for breakfast?”
“I never thought I’d say this,” Tosh murmurs, putting her coffee down on her workstation in a decided fashion, “but I really miss Jack’s way of looking at these things.”
“He does have that way of making everything look ok, doesn’t he?” Owen muses. “And you don’t even realise until afterwards that maybe you should rationalise your actions a little.”
Tosh laughs slightly. “Are you saying I should be sitting here saying: What Would Jack Do?”
“We all know what Jack would do,” Ianto replies, matter-of-fact.
He and Owen are looking expectant again.
Tosh sighs. “Fine. But only for breakfast, ok?”
Ianto grins. “Good. I’d hate to think all the time I spent finding Caspian some decent clothes was wasted.”
*
Ianto’s definition of ‘decent clothes’ apparently involves inappropriately tight jeans and a loose shirt that falls casually open at the neck. Tosh feels that maybe someone should’ve explained to Ianto that Caspian is not some kind of Barbie doll to dress up for his own amusement, although that would make it sound as though she didn’t appreciate his… efforts. Which she does; she just rather wishes that she didn’t. Everyone around them also seems to appreciate Ianto’s work too; their waitress has walked past their table at least sixteen times more than is really necessary.
“People here are so friendly,” Caspian observes, already on his fourth cup of coffee. Ianto’s created yet another convert; he will be pleased.
Tosh wants to inform him that people here aren’t friendly at all, they’re all just lusting after him, which is something different entirely, but she can’t bring herself to say it.
“Yes,” she mumbles instead, and reaches for another slice of toast.
Caspian is watching her intently through dark eyelashes, and he’s doing what Jack does when he’s trying to seduce people (Tosh has watched him do it a number of times, with varying degrees of amusement and exasperation; she and Owen or Suzie usually ended up placing bets on how long it would take their Captain’s latest victim to crack). With Caspian, however, Tosh can’t help thinking that he’s doing it entirely unconsciously; it doesn’t help.
“You’ve all been so kind to me,” Caspian adds.
“It’s part of the job,” Tosh replies quickly, ignoring the fact that Torchwood’s motto is practically yay creative forms of violence.
Caspian looks thoughtful, lips twisting just a little. Tosh very carefully does not look at them, and misses Jack more than ever. At least if Jack were here he would be being distracting and effortlessly sexy and then Caspian would be lusting after Jack instead, and then this would be Jack’s inappropriate attraction problem, not hers, and since Jack doesn’t even know the meaning of ‘inappropriate’ it would probably all work out fine. Tosh realises that her brain is babbling and when she looks down she finds Caspian’s fingers are brushing hers on the table.
“Just part of your job?” Caspian asks softly, and Tosh doesn’t want to look him in the eye because she knows what she’ll see there and it will make all the voices in her head listing the reasons why this is ridiculous go damnably silent. And really, it is a ridiculous idea, put into her head by Owen, who can’t have sex anymore and therefore wants everyone else to, and Ianto, who is sleeping with Jack and therefore absorbing his world view. She should not listen to them. She should not.
“Well...” she begins, and her fingers are curling to lace through his almost unconsciously. He’s a better person than Mary ever was and there’s something in his innocence combined with weariness that reminds her of Tommy. There’s a soft smile spreading across Caspian’s mouth and Tosh’s breath is catching in her chest.
“Your bill,” the waitress says, slamming the paper down hard enough to make the salt and pepper shakers rattle. There’s a hilariously jealous expression on her face but it’s enough to jerk Tosh back into reality. She pulls her fingers from Caspian’s, and doesn’t look at him as she hands her Torchwood credit card over.
*
“You’re letting the side down, Tosh,” Ianto murmurs.
“Shut up,” Tosh mutters.
“This really isn’t as complicated as you think it is.”
“Shut up.”
“Anyone else would’ve already-”
“Shut up.”
They’re watching Owen do one last medical exam on Caspian before sending him home to Narnia. He’s perched on the edge of the autopsy table wearing his own trousers, elaborately embroidered shirt crumpled beside him. Ianto’s eyes are just a little too wide, and Tosh wants to say ‘I’m not gay’ my arse but decides this isn’t the time to call him up on it. Owen keeps shooting Ianto amused looks, so presumably he’s going to be taking the piss all day anyway.
Owen puts his good hand to a scar on Caspian’s shoulder. Caspian shivers. “Your hands are cold.”
“Side-effect of being dead, mate,” Owen says cheerfully, and Tosh marvels at how unaffected Caspian seems to be at this answer. They’re all still freaked out about it, though they’re trying not to be.
Caspian shivers again, and Owen shoots Ianto and Tosh a pointed glance. It suddenly occurs to Tosh that they’re both leant against the railing perving over Caspian with his shirt off, and that Torchwood really has irrevocably broken them.
“You’re running out of time, Tosh,” Ianto mutters.
“Shut up.”
“I’m just saying...”
“Well, don’t.”
Owen rolls his eyes at the two of them, then motions at Caspian. “You can put your shirt back on.”
Tosh does a very good job of not being at all disappointed.
*
“You could be his ‘consort’,” Owen offers, a trace of amused glee in his voice, as Ianto explains the whole travelling-through-a-box thing to Caspian.
“You’re enjoying this far too much,” Tosh tells him.
“Yes I am,” Owen agrees, unabashed. “No one has tried to kill any of us, Ianto isn’t pretending to be a robot, and your embarrassment is, quite frankly, hilarious.”
“I can bruise you,” Tosh reminds him.
“Jack’s going to be disappointed if he gets back to find out we didn’t shag any aliens in his absence,” Owen points out, as though this is a perfectly logical argument. “And since I’m out of the running and Ianto is pretending he has eyes for no one but our Captain, you have to pick up the slack.”
Tosh honestly can’t think of anything to say to that; she eventually fumbles up: “Caspian isn’t an alien.”
Owen sighs.
A moment later, Ianto is shaking Caspian’s hand (and looking very much like he’d like to go in for a hug instead), and Caspian is thanking him for all the coffee. Tosh suspects that he is going to go into horrendous caffeine withdrawal when he gets back to Narnia, and thinks they should probably stop force-feeding all their visitors beverages that they cannot get in their own homelands. Well, either that, or they should start opening chains of Starbucks across the universe and its various dimensions.
Owen shakes Caspian’s hand too, and claps his gloved hand against Caspian’s shoulder. “Take care, mate.”
Tosh can see the frustration on Owen and Ianto’s faces as she holds out her hand to Caspian, but someone has to remain professional here. Caspian raises it to his mouth, and presses a kiss to her knuckles. “It has been a pleasure, my lady.”
“It has,” Tosh manages, and tells herself that she’s only lightheaded because she drank too much last night.
Caspian walks towards the chest that will get him home, and then seems to decide something because he turns back, striding back to Tosh and pulling her into a kiss. She freezes for a second, and then melts into it, into his long fingers tangling in her hair and his soft mouth pressed against hers. There’s a dulled sound, which she suspects is Owen applauding with his glove on, and she swears Ianto is laughing. Later, she is going to spill something like Ribena or soy sauce, and make him clean it up. Right now, though, all she cares about is Caspian’s teeth catching her lower lip, his breath rushing out against her cheek.
“I have wanted to do that since I first saw you,” Caspian murmurs, and it should be clichéd and embarrassing, but coming from him it doesn’t sound that way at all.
Tosh is actually speechless, which is awkward, but Caspian doesn’t seem to mind; he just gives her that charming, boyish smile and then walks away. They’ve propped the giant wooden chest upright so that it’s almost like a doorway; Caspian glances back over his shoulder and then walks through it.
There’s a moment of complete, pure silence, and then Owen says: “Hey, look, you didn’t kill this one, Tosh.”
Tosh throws the stapler from her workstation at him.
*
Jack calls up to check on them that evening, once Owen and Ianto have finished heaving the big chest back into the archives.
“I tried to get through earlier, but you seemed to be busy,” he says. “I like the new answering machine message though.”
Owen and Tosh both turn to look at Ianto. “We don’t have answering machines,” Tosh hisses.
Ianto shrugs, and looks unashamed. “We do now.”
“Oh my God,” Tosh murmurs, head in hands.
“I wondered what you were doing with that recording device,” Owen remarks to Ianto. “I kind of thought it’d turn out to be something kinkier.”
“I’m not you, Owen,” Ianto mutters, which makes no sense at all since he’s sleeping with Jack and the phrase avant-garde has been thrown about.
“Play nice, kids,” Jack sighs, but he sounds far too amused.
Jack rings off after checking they’re not dead and Cardiff hasn’t been eaten by the Rift, and also after being incredibly evasive about what he’s actually doing with his time.
“Tenner says he’s following Gwen and Rhys about,” Owen offers.
“Twenty says he’s trying to seduce Martha,” Ianto replies, and they shake on it.
Later, Tosh is trying to write her report without saying anything incriminating or too personal. Ianto brings her a cup of tea, and leans down to murmur in her ear:
“You know, the way to Narnia hasn’t closed. It probably never will. And it works both ways.”
Tosh considers this for a long moment. “That would be unprofessional,” she says at last, “and in direct violation of at least eighteen Torchwood rules.”
“Twenty-six, actually,” Ianto corrects her, “but not a bad guess.”
Owen is watching them, a thoughtful expression on his face.
“None of this goes in the reports,” Tosh tells them both quickly.
“My report will say that we found Caspian, Ianto force-fed him coffee until he fell into a caffeine coma, we fed him toast, and then we sent him home,” Owen says gravely.
Tosh looks at Ianto, whose eyes are twinkling. “It would be irresponsible,” she tells him firmly, voice wavering.
“It would be fun,” Owen corrects her.
“I can’t,” Tosh says firmly, and does not think about Caspian’s kiss at all.
“Of course you can’t,” Ianto agrees. Owen glares at him, and Ianto continues blithely: “The box is in archive room 15-H, in any case.”
A filthy smirk slips across Owen’s mouth as Ianto wanders over to start tidying up their sofa area.
“Stop looking at me like that,” Tosh warns him, hearing laughter in her voice.
“I just wanted you to know I can cover for you with Jack,” Owen tells her.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Of course not.” Owen turns back to his report or Tetris or whatever it is he’s doing on his computer, though his eyes keep flicking back to her.
Tosh thinks 15-H and smiles. She won’t rule out the possibility.