Requested by sarahetc, kimberweeme, and silver_fic
It came out too long to fit in a comment reply.
Since we have canon for Owen and Tosh's first kiss, I went with what we knew and elaborated. Not very fluffy.
Christmas Eve. In front of the Millenium Centre. Waiting for a cab. I had mistletoe.
She’d managed to make it sound so innocent and meaningless, when it was really neither, at least as far as she was concerned.
First there was the fact that Owen was both pissed-off and royally pissed, angry and as drunk as she imagined a man could get and still be on two feet, even if they were shaky ones.
He’d gotten into some war of words with Suzie, allegedly about their latest technological acquisition, but obviously, to Tosh at least, about something else, something she still didn’t want to admit to herself, even if it was over. Jack had gotten involved only after phrases frigid cow, miniscule, and self-centered prick had been hurled across the Hub and then his only directive, was “break it up, you two.”
One of these days, she’d like to have some serious words with Jack about his hiring strategies, as well as his capacity to let emotional situations build up under his nose until outbursts occurred and then acting like he was shocked to find anything but peace and love in his domain.
Tosh knew she didn’t understand a fraction of what made Owen the way he was, but she knew that taking a reprimand with good grace wasn’t his nature, especially when it was Christmas Eve and they’d all been working furiously to produce coherent reports on the madness of the past few weeks, when it seemed like someone had sent out an invitation for an alien ball to be held in Cardiff for the holidays.
Owen had followed Jack into his office, from which Tosh could hear raised voices, accusations, counter accusations, and threats followed by a rather hearty round of exchanged obscenities including a few from Jack that Tosh would have sworn were not of human origin.
She saw him leave the office, clearly heading for the exit, his resentment palpable as he passed her workstation, oblivious to her very existence as if that were anything new.
“Go, follow him.”
Jack was standing at her workstation, looking, if she wasn’t mistaken, slightly guilty.
His expression told her it was a question unworthy of her intelligence since the other options were Jack, Suzie and Ianto.
“Just make sure he doesn’t hurt himself or anyone else.”
Jack’s had softened from the intensity of the shouting match. Tosh knew he did care about Owen, about all of them, but since it was Torchwood all emotions ended up topsy-turvy and love always esulted in pain.
“All right,” she said pulling on her coat and grabbing her hand bag.
“Thanks. Happy Christmas Toshiko.”
She’d run to make sure she caught up with Owen, so she had no idea if Jack was having a serious word with Suzie or not. She had her assignment and she’d do it for Jack, although a few hours later, she was thinking Jack owed her more than that kiss on the cheek and whatever bonus money he was going to finagle out of the budget for them.
Owen Harper was not a pleasant drunk. First he got slightly giddy, then he got very hostile and it was a good thing Tosh had the Torchwood credit card on her to cover the damage and head off potential law-suits. Sometime after midnight, they’d exhausted the bars within walking distance of the hub and the deep-seated rage and pain that lay within Owen were starting to pour out. Tosh listened, only making the most necessary noises to keep him talking. This was Owen’s soul, bared for her. It was a dark place with a monster of a mother, a sister he couldn’t save and self-doubts that made her self-esteem issues feel extremely insignificant by comparison.
Tosh realised it was alcohol talking and she just happened to be convenient, but she couldn’t get over a thrill that she was the one privy to these confessions. Not bloody Suzie or even Jack. Her! She felt oddly happy and triumphant, especially when Owen told her what a disappointment his “fling” with Suzie had been and how lucky he was to have someone like her to talk to, even if in all honesty, he’d never fancy her.
Fuck your honesty, Owen, she thought to herself. They’d ended up outside the Millennium Centre waiting for a cab that might never come. Owen seemed to have finally talked himself out and was leaning against her, a smile on his face that appeared nearly child-like in the glow of the street-lights.
She’d seen the darkness in his soul and she loved him as much as she had the first day she’d walked into the Hub and immediately been intrigued by his unconventional looks and black sense of humor. Only one aspect of his inebriated babblings truly disturbed her as put her hands into her pockets trying to fend off the damp chill that was setting in.
“Jack operates this place like his own personal bordello.”
Maybe he meant the “Welcome to Torchwood” speech, which included the fact that since they could never share the details of their work with an out-sider, it might be better to seek emotional or sexual companionship inside the organization. Made sense, except of course when things ended up like tonight with employees at each other’s throats. Not so bad when she had Owen to herself in the middle of the night and a sprig of mistletoe that she didn’t remember tucking into her pocket, but there it was.
“Hey, Owen,” she said softly, not wanting to trigger any further outbursts.
He looked sweet and sleepy and Tosh knew she was taking advantage. She didn’t care. She waived her sad little bit of greenery at him.
“Mistletoe. You know what that means.”
“Awwwww, Tosh, you’re not going to.”
“Yes, I am.”
She had the leverage and and balance and he had none as she pulled him toward her by the front piece of his leather jacket and wrapped an arm around his neck to hold him and kissed his lips the way she’d always wanted to and found that he had nothing amusing to say about it. His mouth opened to her, the booze still heavy on his breath. She closed her eyes and let herself imagine all the things that could happen afterwards, as he let her tongue tease against his, bit gently at his lower lip and wondered which one of them was produced that gentle moan which was rudely interrupted by the honk of a taxi cab that had pulled up unnoticed.
She pulled herself away and helped steer Owen into the cab, giving the driver his address and extra money to make sure Owen got into his apartment safely.
“Ain’t you coming?” Owen asked, looking confused.
“No,” she said softly, wishing she knew how to be more like Jack, who she suspected would have gone to Owen’s place and shagged him three ways from sundown before Father Christmas had finished his journey. Instead she headed back to the hub to tell Jack she’d done her job for him, the way she always did.
Owen would probably forget the kiss by daylight, but she never would.