Title: Tradition
By: bittersweet
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: gen
Warning: character death
Note: Inside can be found much mushiness, lots of platonic love and gooey sentiments, a fair bit of blood and Owen having serious denial problems.
Summary: This is my 'I want Tosh and Owen back' little tantrum. I'm gonna miss them. Not that I hate Gwen, but she isn't up to their standard of awesomeness.
Disclaimer: negotiations are pending, and I will keep you updated as to ownership status.

***

It was quite flexible, as traditions go.

It could occur at any time. It could occur in any place. It could involve anything from silver plated cufflinks to an antique violin to a 500g toblerone and pack of spearmint gum.

The one constant was the shoebox. It didn't matter what type of shoebox, not really, though the ones that came with running shoes were the most conveniently sized.

It was a tradition that was utterly incomprehensible to all but the two individuals who participated in it. As such, it was at first the subject of insatiable curiosity... but when no explanation was forthcoming it was conveniently ignored.

Like all traditions, this one had a beginning. It began with Tosh, Ianto, and a village full of cannibals.

The stench was the worst part. It burnt itself into her memory; haunting her even now it was all over. That, and the look on Ianto's face when he opened the fridge. The wide eyed shock of a child, frozen in place. He had shown his strength then, not trying to hide his fear but at the same time controlling it, not allowing himself to panic.

She had promised Jack she would look out for him. This was his first field mission, and he had had to face these people… these monsters. His first time, and he had been handcuffed on his knees in a room filled with hacked up bodies. She had wanted to save him, but he had ended up saving her.

"Get ready to run"

A throaty whisper from Ianto. Tosh tensed and nodded. He still had hope – that was good. They were going to get out of this. Somehow. They were only human, after all. Only people.

"What are you going to do, put us on meat hooks?"

"Oh no. You see, meat has to be tenderised first."

Tosh flinched away as the baseball bat brushed along her skin. The man smirked, and turned to Ianto.

Ianto didn't turn away. He smiled, and lunged.

It had been a deliberate sacrifice, she realised that now. He couldn't have expected to stay upright, let alone get away after a headbutt like that. And she had run, leaving him on that blood soaked floor. There was no logical reason to feel guilty. She hadn't had any other choice. But it still felt like betrayal, and in the end it had been for nothing. She had been caught, with Gwen and Owen, and dragged back to the hellhole and the stench.

After the dust from Jack's explosive entrance had settled Tosh staggered to her feet to take in the carnage. Their Captain was truly a terrifying force of nature. She moved to help Owen staunch the bleeding. The police arrived, followed by ambulances. Questions were asked and largely true answers given. At Owen's insistence Gwen left with him in one of the ambulances… she had been shot, after all.

That left Jack to drive them back. Ianto sat on the back seat of the SUV, just across from her. He had his head tilted back and his eyes closed as if asleep. He was breathing slowly and raggedly. Clearly the bruises under his shirt were as bad as the ones that decorated his face. At least Gwen had helped him wipe the worst of the blood away.

"Where is Ianto? What have you done with him?"

Tosh was struggling, but as Ianto was pulled into view she froze in horror. Limp, clothes stained with god knows what, a black bag over his head…oh god, not that, not the bag. She'd seen too much of that. Not Ianto…

The bag was pulled away and even Owen gasped out loud. He was barely recognisable, blood covering his face and a gag across his mouth, head lolling.

"I'm going to bleed him, like veal. Takes a long time, but makes it taste so much better…"

The grinning man put the cleaver against Ianto's neck and pressed down.

Jack was brooding. He hadn't said a word since the got in the car. Whatever had gone on between him, Gwen and that monster was bothering him. They were halfway back before he finally spoke.

"Hey kids. You all alright?"

"I'm okay."

"Always knew you were a brave one, sweetheart. What about you? Ianto?"

"I'll live. It was certainly an informative introduction to the joys of fieldwork."

"Haha. Yeah."

They lapsed back into awkward silence. Tosh stifled a frustrated sigh. She was sure Jack had actually forgiven Ianto a long time ago. Now if only he knew how to show it. If only someone could convince Ianto he deserved to be forgiven.

It was only when they got back to the Hub that Tosh realised she was shaking. To her embarassment she wasn't the only one to notice, and she blushed as Jack wrapped his coat around her shoulders and guided her to the couch. Sitting down beside her, he began to rub the small of her back gently and rhythmically. Ianto joined them a little later, to Tosh's disbelief holding a tray with three coffees. Jack didn't take the coffee. Instead he looked Ianto up and down as if seeing him for the first time. Walking over, he grabbed the young man's jaw, turning his face to the side to fully reveal the now livid bruising.

"Shit. They really smashed you up. I'm taking you to hospital."

"No need, Sir. I'm fine."

"You are not. Look, at least let me drive you home."

"Sir, I said I'm fine!"

Ianto made to push Jack away, but his feet seemed to have other ideas and he staggered, falling with a gasp on his hands and knees. Tosh watched in horror as Ianto choked for breath. Realisation struck – the tightness of his breathing earlier, the blood on his lips now…

"Jack, I think he's broken a rib or something…he's got blood in his lungs..."

"No, no, no… call Owen, do it now!"

Tosh ran for the phone, leaving Jack cradling Ianto in his arms, cupping his head in his hands and tilting it back in a desperate attempt to keep the young man's airways clear.

"Hold on. Hold on, Ianto. Please, please stay with me. "

.

The day after the incident Ianto didn't turn up for work, having been thoroughly shouted at by Owen regarding the fact that multiple broken ribs were the type of injury that didn't just go away if ignored.

That afternoon Tosh went out and bought three bags of the most expensive and exotic coffee she could find. Taking them home she wrapped them carefully, sealing each one inside coloured paper. When she had finished she had a little of the red left, and absent-mindedly folded it into a flower. A few moments on her laptop and his address was written on the back of her hand as she raced out the door.

A quarter of an hour later, sitting in her car outside Ianto's apartment, Tosh suddenly lost all resolve. What could she say? Thank you for saving my life, here's some coffee? Christ. This was stupid. And yet… and yet she needed to do something. Ianto had suffered so much recently. He was mourning Lisa, and to make it worse he was being treated as a traitor by both Jack and Owen, with even Gwen acting as if he had disappointed her. He was a child, really. He shouldn't have to go through all that. And then yesterday she had seen him willing to die to protect her.

Scrabbling through the glove box Tosh eventually found a pen and paper. She stared at it for a while, unsure how to put her feelings into words. There was no way of phrasing it that didn't sound like a cliché… then again, where was the harm in that? As long as he knew she meant it.

Dear Ianto,

As childish as this sounds, I wanted to thank you
for being my knight in shining armour up at the Beacons.
You saved my life that day and you almost lost your own.

Tosh

With a small satisfied nod she put the pen down and started to get out of the car, then stopped. It was raining outside, and heavily too. Damn. She couldn't just leave it outside his door in weather like this.

Inspiration struck – wriggling around she pulled a slightly torn shoebox from the back seat. It was a small blue cardboard one, a remnant of the last time she had bought new boots. Footwear surviving longer than a month or two at Torchwood was unheard of. Putting the carefully wrapped gift complete with the paper flower and note inside, she dashed out into the rain and left it on Ianto's doorstep. Then she went home.

When Ianto came back he wore a red folded paper flower tucked in his suit pocket, and gave her the morning coffee with a sweet, genuine smile.

After Mary was killed, Ianto watched Tosh with a resigned helplessness. He didn't have anything else left. Feeling anything but the pain was difficult, but he forced himself to show sympathy, to offer her a shoulder to cry on. He couldn't feel anger at her for looking into his mind. After all, what was her betrayal compared to his?

He didn't speak, because he didn't know what to say. He knew better than anyone that there weren't any words that could stop the emptiness eating you from the inside out. Ianto simply watched as she retreated inside herself, recognising all to well the guilt in her eyes.

He stumbled across the shoebox by accident one night, staggering home and collapsing before he reached his bed. The box, no longer holding the note and gift Tosh had put inside it a few weeks ago, sat where he had placed it on a chair next to the TV. It seemed to glare at him as he lay there, blind drunk and aching, until the inevitable darkness came and he lost consciousness. When self-punishment was your goal, alcohol and dark alleys were your best friend.

A while later and he dragged himself to his feet, heading to the kitchen for some coffee, taking the box and putting in the centre of the dining table. Then he sat and looked at. And looked at it some more. The coffee machine whistled - he ignored the sound. Then he got up, went back into his bedroom and pulled a small black case from his wardrobe before returning to his seat at the kitchen table.

He couldn't imagine Tosh doing what he did every night, lying bruised on the pavement, in the gutter, hiding it so carefully the next morning. She wasn't like him. She still saw the best in people. Hell, she could see the best in Owen. Perhaps he was wrong. Perhaps, for Tosh, there were some words, some gestures that could help.

He opened the black case and slowly rotated the bracelet inside, letting the diamonds spread their fragments of reflected light across the room. It was beautiful. He had known Lisa would love it from the moment he saw it in the shop window. He had been right. She had been so happy she squealed, much to the shock of her workmates and his emabarassment.

Closing the case he put it carefully inside the shoebox, and after a few moments thought he wrote a short note to accompany it. Then he grabbed his coat and went out once more.

.

The next morning Owen was alone in the hub with Ianto. This was not an arrangement he was happy with. The girls and Jack may have been placated by a few tears, but to Owen's mind the teaboy had not been held accountable for his actions. He was pretty sure there was some sort of policy against keeping half-dead cybernetic lovers in the basement. And yet Jack had seemingly done nothing, no Retcon, no enforced resignation, not even a bloody pay cut. So he had shot the young man a venomous glare and holed himself up in the autopsy lab without a word.

He then proceeded to get very bored very quickly. For a while he amused himself with fantasies about what he was going to get up to with Gwen when she got back, but even that felt a bit tainted. Damned alien mind reading pendants. Now she was going and getting all guilty about it, whining about Rhys, and he actually had to think about what they had instead of just enjoying the ride. And it had been one wild ride, no one could deny that…

The sound of the hub door sent Owen rushing to the keyhole. Ah, shit. It was Tosh. Owen really didn't feel like talking to Tosh, almost as much as he wanted to avoid Ianto. The two members of Torchwood's latest club - the 'my boss killed my homicidal alien girlfriend' society - confused him, his anger towards them tinged with uneasiness and conflicting with his concern as a doctor for their wellbeing.

Not that it was sympathy or guilt that motivated him to keep his distance, not at all. Owen Harper didn't do sympathy, no matter what anybody said. All concern was purely professional.

Oddly, Tosh didn't sit down at her desk and avoid eye contact with everyone as usual, but instead walked straight up to Ianto. Owen noticed that Tosh was holding something, and whatever it was it was cupped in her hands almost reverently. Ianto went still as she approached. For a moment neither spoke.

"This was hers, wasn't it? I… You don't have to do this, Ianto. You've been so kind to me already."

"I'm only repaying a fraction of what you did for me. Please take it."

Owen suddenly felt extremely awkward, an intruder in a conversation that was not his to hear. Worse, it looked as if Tosh had started crying. Owen felt he should look away, but human nature held the upper hand and he kept watching.

"It's the same box. You kept it."

"I'm an archivist. It's compulsive, I'm afraid."

Tosh looked up and gave the young Welshman a stunning, brilliant smile. Reaching up she kissed him on the cheek. Ianto seemed slightly surprised, then leaned over and brushed away a tear from the corner of her eye, an intimate yet innocuous gesture.

A few moments later Gwen and Jack arrived and everything slid back into routine. Owen even managed to convince himself the twisting feeling in his stomach was definitely not jealousy.

That particular shoebox only survived a few more days, thanks to some small fluffy purple tourists from Alpha Centauri whose children went on a rampage through the Hub chasing the 'giant flappy flappy'. Poor Myfanwy hid in the rafters for a week. But there were always more shoeboxes replace it, and always reasons to do so.

The day after Tommy went to his death Tosh found a shoebox on her doorstep.

On her birthday, when nobody else remembered, Tosh found a shoebox propped against her chair.

The day after the last of Ianto's Torchwood London colleagues killed herself he found a shoebox on his desk.

The day after Owen knocked back a tentative invitation for drinks one too many times Tosh found a shoebox under her computer.

On the anniversary of Canary Wharf Ianto found a shoebox tucked in the archives, sitting on top of the files on Torchwood One personnel lost to the Cybermen.

In a sense it was one of the oldest traditions of all time - the tradition of the giving of gifts between friends - but the strength of the memories attached made it so much more than that.

A relationship based on two people who noticed things, and a tradition based on a simple message: when nobody else does, someone sees, and someone cares.

***