Thank you to everyone who read and left such generous comments. I really appreciate all the feedback. It really helped me in writing my first multi-part Torchwood fic.

---

Torchwood Three keeps Owen on as a freelance consultant with a lucrative retainer worked into his contract. Nisha Modi justifies it by stating that undoubtedly at this point, Owen has more experience with alien autopsies than any other doctor in any branch at Torchwood. Owen supposes it's a compliment, only it makes him feel like a fossil. But he accepts it as the money's good. One always needs money, even if things like food, drink and general hygiene products are no longer a part of the budget.

Ten years go by and during that time, Owen travels a bit, helps save the world a few more times, trains a bulk of the incoming, still eager doctors Torchwood hires, and enjoys one of the remaining senses he has left at his disposal by reading a few thousand books and watching a few thousand movies. He assesses there’s a lot of rubbish out there.

Tosh continues to email him. Usually cheerful messages, asking him again and again when he might come for a visit in London. If he can bring himself to reply, it's usually with neutral statements, stripped of any personality. But still, just about every week he opens his computer to see a message in there from her.

One day, he receives an email from Tosh telling him that Lewis Gravani's passed away. In his sleep, very peacefully, at the age of 76. Owen reads it over a few times. And then deletes it from his inbox without a reply. After that, he never gets another email from her.

---

Tosh is 88 when Owen sees her again. By then her hair is pure white and while always diminutive, she now looks tiny amongst all the medical equipment surrounding her. Owen never got why it was with all the technological advances humans have made in the medical field, no one ever bothered to streamline the aesthetic look of the equipment. Despite being a doctor, the way Tosh looks encircled by everything still upsets him.

88 is a good old age, Owen tells himself. But for what exactly? To die? To go into the darkness? To go where there was nothing? To become nothing? 88 years wasn't enough.

Her body is failing but Tosh's mind is still razor sharp and she smiles when she sees Owen sitting by her, looking young as ever.

"Your ear," she notices, not sounding surprised.

"Plathorian bit it half off," Owen answers, touching at the mostly mangled lump of flesh on the left side of his head. "Didn't even notice 'til the berk I saved from becoming lunch started screaming and pointing."

When Tosh laughs, she sounds exactly the way Owen remembers. The sound is significantly weaker and thinner, but at its smallest, atomic elements, the laugh is hers. Tosh is still with him and Owen takes her hand, grateful for once that he can barely feel it. Barely feel how fragile it must be in his. He runs a thumb over where he assumed a wedding band should be.

"He asked. But we never did," Tosh says, guessing his question at the gesture. "Never felt like the right time."

Owen knows she and Lewis never had any children either. When Tosh goes, she would be leaving behind a scientific legacy with all the papers she's written. But there will be nothing that's a lingering, physical part of her.

"I'm should have answered you when you told me about him," Owen says, quietly. "I was being an ass."

"You were," Tosh confirms. "But it's good to see you again anyway."

"Half a century and you're still letting me get away with shit," Owen grunts, shifting in his chair. Tosh's patience with him had remained endless after that Boxing Day and to this very moment, he can never understand why she put up with any of it.

"Thought I might have seen you at Gwen's funeral," Tosh muses.

"Yeah, don't really do funerals." He had visited her grave though a few months afterward. It was still being lovingly tended by one of Gwen's many grandchildren.

"You don't do weddings, flowers, apologies and now no funerals either?"

It's meant to lighten up the situation and normally, Owen's only too happy to shove aside any potentially emotional scene with a joke. Only he can't think of one and he can't think of a plausible reason why he should laugh at what Tosh has just said. Minutes stretch by and when Tosh speaks again, her voice is even more strained and nakedly vulnerable.

"Owen, I'm scared," she confesses, repeating back to him what he'd once told her. "I'm trapped in this old thing," she says, her eyes roving downward toward her own, elderly body. "But I don't want to let it go…not yet."

Owen grips her hand, imaging all of this might be a little better if he could actually offer a warm human touch, rather than his cool dead fingers. "It's okay," he assures. "You're still here, aren't you? You're not gonna take off when I've finally made all this effort to drag myself to London," he adds, finally mustering up a grin.

Tosh gives him a small smile, her eyes drifting toward the window by her bed. "It's silly," she murmurs. "I was hoping to see Jack again too before." When Owen scowls at this, she lolls her head a little as if to give a stern shake. "If you see him again, tell him I said hi. And…well…bye, too. Please."

"Yeah, alright," he mutters. "I'll do that."

"Don't shoot him."

“Do I have to promise?”

Tosh sighs, closing her eyes. “Yes.”

“Fine,” he gives in, grudgingly. “I won’t shoot the utter bastard.”

“Thanks, Owen. You're a good friend,” she whispers after a bit.

Somehow the statement kills what little strength Owen's mustered. "Tosh, I'm probably the most crap friend you've ever had," he states with weighted regret. "I've never done a thing for you the entire time I've known you."

"That's not true.”

"No, it really is." Owen refuses to budge on this, feeling guilt that starts at not responding to her email about Lewis and working its way backwards. For not ever visiting her in London, for not being better about her choice to have an actual life, for not letting her go sooner and giving her just a little more time with Lewis from the start, for not being kinder in general. "I'm…" It's physically impossible for him to cry and that's a very good thing at the moment.

He feels Tosh pull at his hand a little, forcing him to look up from his intense stare of his knees. She's smiling again, her eyes closed for a long due nap. "I'll see you in a bit," she tells him.

Owen wonders if she's asking him to leave, but before he could question her about it, she's fallen asleep. So he decides to stay put and wait until she wakes up to resume their conversation.

But she doesn't wake up again and passes away quietly a half day later.

---

Almost 70 years to the day of his resurrection, Owen feels something for the first time. Truly feels a sensation. He's grown so unaccustomed to such things that when it hits him, he's not entirely sure what it is exactly. And then a faint memory catches up to him.

He has a stiff neck.

Having exercised militantly for the past several decades to successfully ward of rigor mortis, he can't imagine why now he would suddenly get a stiff joint. Digging around his crowded apartment, filled with 70 years worth of stuff, he finds the scanner Torchwood had given him years back and waves it over himself. The readings give him his answer. The borrowed energy that's been keeping him going all these years is now barely detectable. He's running out of fuel. It seems that after all this time, his delayed death is now about to finally come in.

Owen knows he should probably get his affairs in order. Make arrangements for what to do with his body and all, but instead he goes for a walk.

Nearly a hundred years and the landscape of Cardiff has altered, even though certain characteristics remain the same as all cities have a tendency to do. He ends up wandering to where he'd once met Maggie, up on the roof of a warehouse. The space was converted at some point into an open garden by some famous architect Owen can't remember the name of. He sits on the ledge as he'd done once before, staring out toward the city he'd often bitched about when he'd been alive and in his death, he'd decided never to leave.

After a few minutes, Owen hears footsteps behind him and rolls his eyes a little at the notion of timely entrances. Twisting around, he sees him. It's impossible to tell how many years it's been for Jack. He looks exactly the same, but for all Owen knows, he could have been gone 10 years or 10 minutes, his time.

"Looking good, Owen," Jack says with expert flippancy, taking a seat next to him.

"Figures you'd come back when I no longer have the authority to shoot you."

"Never stopped you before."

"I promised Tosh I wouldn't. And anyway I haven’t got a gun on me. She says hi, by the way. And bye," he adds. "She wanted to see you before she died." He resentfully stresses the last word, perfectly fine with the fact that 70 years hadn't dented his anger toward the wayward Captain.

"I'm sorry," he hears Jack apologize, quietly.

"Yeah, you're sorry," Owen growls. "You're sorry you weren't there when Tosh died. You're sorry you abandoned us." When Jack doesn't answer, it deflates Owen a little. He'd sigh if he could. "I know we were second class citizens on the team, Harkness, but did you really have to demonstrate it by leaving after Gwen and Ianto were gone?"

Jack stares at him, his eyes surprised. "Owen, you and Tosh weren't-"

"Don't give me that load of bollocks," Owen snaps. "So what'd you do on your trip out with the Doctor? Go back in time and stalk Gwen when she was still single? Go have a last shag with Ianto and then retcon it out of him?" He's shouting now and barely notices.

Jack doesn't look contrite exactly. But he no longer has that all confident sheen Owen remembers him having. "I left because I thought if I stayed…" he trails off for a minute. "I didn't think I was a good enough leader for you and Tosh. Not anymore," he finally responds. "I thought I'd get you two killed."

Owen just stops himself from pointing out he'd already been killed by that time. "You could have bloody ASKED us about it before taking off," he retorts instead, refusing to give in.

A smile ghosts across Jack's face. "The Doctor said the same thing when I saw him again."

"So why didn't you?" demands Owen. Now Jack does look contrite. "Christ, I'm right, aren't I? You really did go back to stalk them."

"I wasn't ready to let go yet," Jack admits. "I couldn't say goodbye. Years I've been saying it but…" He grins a low wattage version of his usual smile. "You lot always got under my skin somehow."

Despite himself, Owen feels a small, wriggling sense of sympathy. In the years, he's said goodbye to Nisha Modi and others in his life. But none of them had been as affecting as when he’d had to say goodbye to Gwen or Tosh or even Ianto. All three had left him differently and yet all three goodbyes had felt so incomplete, unfinished.

"So what'd you do?" Owen inquires. "Where'd you go?"

"Lots of places."

"And the Doctor was cool with chauffering you around?" Owen asks, incredulously.

"Oh, hell, no! I had to help him save the universe half a dozen times before he'd take me anywhere.” Owen snorts a laugh. "But no matter where I went, I always circled back to this place. See you all when you were young and-"

"Alive?" Owen supplies, helpfully.

"I was going to say 'bright-eyed' but sure."

“So were you able to let go?”

A grim expression settles on Jack's face that Owen can barely see out of the corner of his eye. "I had to," he replies. The strained tone launches Owen back to that time he and Tosh had spied on Jack in the morgue. "The thing is, the past was over and there was nothing I could do."

He notices Jack gripping the edges of the ledge, the darkened blue eyes staring out into the lights of the city. "I was horrible to them," he hears Jack confess, guilt weighing down his voice. "I said awful things to Gwen the day she left. I never told Ianto half the things I should have when he was alive. When I went back, I could see them before all of it. But it was still too late, anyway. The future had happened and I couldn't change that. I couldn't tell them sorry."

"No famous last words," Owen mutters quietly, seeing Tosh's aged, sleeping face in front of him before she'd died.

"No famous last words," Jack affirms. "They're rarer than an Arcadian diamond. But," he amends with a light clap of his hands. "They do exist. If you look hard enough."

Owen gives him a wary look. "You didn't actually go back in time for a last shag with Ianto, did you?" He's only half joking.

"No," Jack answers faintly, for once not taking up the sexual angle of a topic. "I couldn't even find a pocket of time where I could talk to him without messing up the time lines." Catching himself before he slid back to darker memories, Jack flashes his teeth and moves back to more familiar ground, "I was aiming for around late 2009, though because I remember it was after 2008 that I'd taught Ianto this-"

Owen lifts an interrupting hand. "Look, no offense Jack, but I could go at any moment. I really don't want the last thing I hear be you bragging about sex."

The wolfish grin morphs into something significantly less fake. "I know. About you and your energy level."

"Oh, no. You're not here to bring me back again, are you?"

Jack shakes his head. "No, I wanted to give you this."

He's extending an arm out to Owen, in his hand is the familiar leather strap. Owen stares at it, noting it looks odd and different when not attached to Jack’s arm. "You're giving me your wrist strap?"

"I had the Doctor fix it. It's supposed to let you travel in time."

"He actually did that for you?" Owen asks in disbelief. "What is he? The Time Traveling Father Christmas? He's letting you run around with this?"

"It's only got one trip left in it," Jack says. "It's kind of old. And he knew it wasn't for me. It's for you. And I gave a very high recommendation on your character."

"So you lied?"

Jack laughs. "I didn't lie, Owen. It's the truth. I've seen the work you did for Torchwood the last several years. You wouldn't be stupid with what I'm giving you."

Owen doesn't take the gift, continuing to stare at Jack's hand like it's holding a bomb. "Why would I want that?" he asks, hoarsely. "You said so yourself you couldn't change the past. Why would I want to see that?"

"You don't have to," Jack answers. "You don't have to use it if you don't want to. But I saw the past and even when I couldn't change it, just seeing it…" A third type of smile, soft, genuine and reminiscing lifted the corners of Jack's mouth. "It helped."

Tentatively, Owen thinks about what he could catch a one last glimpse of before dying. Watch himself at university, brimming with potential for the future. Spy himself out on a night, being alive. Catch him having a friendly drink with Tosh.

Tosh.

Suddenly, the past several years open up to Owen. They race backwards and as Tosh grows younger, snatches of conversation they had filter back to him.

"I've never done a thing for you the entire time I've known you."
"That's not true."
"I'm…"
"I'll see you in a bit."

He's back at his desk on that Boxing Day and Tosh is giving him a hug. Owen blinks against the memory. Finally, he sees what had happened. What will happen. What that hug meant. And everything makes such crystal clear sense that Owen almost laughs.

He takes the wrist strap.

"Thanks, Jack," he says, sincerely.

When he looks at his former boss, he can tell there's a longer conversation he knows Jack wants to have with him. Most likely filled with apologies and inappropriate stories. And had Owen the time, he would give Jack a chance at last words. But he has to weigh his priorities and Tosh won that contest, no question.

"Take care, Owen," Jack tells him, kindly. "Do you know where you want to go?”

Owen nods. "Christmas Day. 2012."

---

Owen remembers Tommy Brockless, the frozen soldier from the 1900’s. Jack told Tommy, the night before they sent him back to his own era to save the world, that his life would be like a thread, stitching time back together. Owen wouldn’t be doing anything quite as monumental. But he would be doing something for Tosh and that felt important enough.

When Tosh opens the door, her hair is still wet from the shower. She looks so young and alive and absolutely perfect that Owen nearly trips walking in without waiting for an invitation.

"Owen? What's happened? I didn't hear the Rift alarm on my phone," she says, hurriedly. Already she's toweling hair to dry it quickly in anticipation that she has to rush back to the Hub. Owen stops her by grasping onto her wrist.

"It's fine, nothing's wrong," he assures.

"Oh. Well…that's good," Tosh says awkward, as if now just realizing she's only in her bathrobe. "So, why're you here then?" Owen can see the mild anxiety on her face deepen as he doesn’t answer, but continue to stare at her. He’s pretty sure he’s wasting valuable time as he could drop dead at any moment, but he hasn’t felt this pleased to see a person in so long, he wants to enjoy the sensation a little longer.

“Owen?”

“Tosh,” he finally answers. “You know I’m a prat, right?”

“I…what?”

“A prat,” he repeats. “A complete and utter one.”

Tosh frowns. “Owen, why’re you…” Her eyes fall to his hand and sees what’s on his wrist. “Is that…? That’s Jack’s!” she exclaims. “Is he here? Did he come back?” Her eyes are bright, excited. Owen shakes his head. “But how did you get his wrist strap? That is his…” Her voice trails off and she suddenly studies him closely. “What happened to your ear?” she demands, seeing the wound that hadn’t been there back in 2012.

“I’ll explain it to you later,” Owen replies, knowing one day he would.

Tosh’s eyes double in size as she puts together the wound with the wrist strap and his odd behavior. “Oh my god.”

Clever Tosh, Owen thinks fondly.

“You can’t be here!” she exclaims. “If you’re from the future your presence could damage reality.”

“Oh, sod reality for two minutes,” Owen waves off.

“Owen!”

“Tosh, stop worrying for a minute, will you, and listen to me,” Owen orders. Taking her by the shoulders he leads her to the sofa to sit down. “I don’t think I have that much time and I want to make sure I do this.”

“What do you mean, not much time?” Tosh cuts in.

“Never mind that. Listen to me,” Owen says, firmly. “The younger me back at the Hub is too much of a wanker to do it, so it’s up to me.” Tosh stares at him in anticipation, her attention focused. “You need to go and accept that drink invitation with Lewis Gravani.”

“What?” laughs Tosh, incredulously. “You came all the way back from the future to tell me to go have a drink with Lewis?”

“No, it’s not just about a drink,” Owen says, irritably. “It’s about you, moving on. Going after what you want and not looking over your shoulder. I knew…now…back then which is now,” he corrects, silently cursing time travel mucking up his sentences. “I knew you were waiting for me to tell you what to do. To tell you it was okay. So I’m telling you, right now, go. It’s okay.”

Tosh is staring at him as if she doesn’t recognize him and Owen supposes she doesn’t because the only Owen she knows of now would never do something like this. It seemed after nearly a hundred years, he’d finally grown up a little. Just in time before he went.

“So, hurry up,” Owen orders. “Dry your hair, put on something gorgeous and make the call.”

“What did you mean, not much time?” Tosh asks instead.

“Christ, did you hear a word I just said?” Owen demands. Being selfless was a lot more difficult than he thought. At least the mechanics of it.

“I heard you,” says Tosh, her voice measured. “I want to know what you mean, not much time.”

Owen’s shoulders sag a little in the semblance of an exasperated sigh, giving in. “The energy I borrowed through the glove. It’s almost run out. I finally get to die.” The more time goes by, the more the stiffness in Owen’s neck spreads. The joints in his body feel rusty, his bones feel heavier. Tosh stares at him a minute and he sees the tears welling up in her dark eyes. “Hey, Tosh, come on,” he says, softly. “Don’t be like that. Look, when you go to the Hub tomorrow, I’ll be there. Raging jealousy over you and Gravani and all, right?”

He realizes now that the embrace Tosh had given him back then was far from a pity hug. She’d been simply happy to see him again, affirming that he was still with her.

“Good night?”
“Yes. Maybe not completely.”

“How can I keep this a secret from you?” asks Tosh, tearfully. “When I see you, how can I…”

“You will,” Owen assures her, firmly. “You do.”

“I never give it away you came to see me tonight?” Tosh asks, skeptically.

“Trust me, I’m too thick right now to figure it out.”

Despite his assurances, tears start to fall down Tosh’s face as she grips Owen’s hand.

“I better go,” Owen starts, but Tosh only pulls him back down. “Tosh, I really don’t think you want me to drop dead in your living room.”

“I don’t care,” Tosh snaps. Taking a deep breath, she wipes at her cheeks and sniffs once before straighten her shoulders to look at him, squarely. “Stay here.”

“What’re you going to do with my body after I go?” Owen reasons.

“What’re you going to do when you go and your body drops down in the middle of the street?” Tosh reasons right back, not missing a beat.

“You need to find Gravani,” Owen insists.

“It’s early,” Tosh points out, looking at her clock. “I’ll find him later.”

“Tosh…”

“Do you want to leave?” she challenges him.

Owen opens his mouth to argue, but he finds he’s still here in Tosh’s apartment in 2012. That must mean the time line hadn’t changed. Somehow Tosh and Lewis do get together tonight, as Owen knew it should be. Even if he still remembered how angry he had been about it back in 2012. God, he really had been a prat.

And no, he really doesn’t want to go.

He thinks about shifting his position on Tosh’s sofa, but his joints feel incredibly stiff now and the effort feels pointless. Instead, he leans back and tilts toward Tosh when she inches closer to him, her head against his shoulder. He forces his arm to lift so that he can wrap it around her.

“Owen…” Tosh whispers next to him. “Thank you.”

He tightens his hold on her a moment and then relaxes.

He can't feel her, but he knows Tosh is there as she’s always been. Her presence is soothing and Owen’s missed it for so long that he leans all the more into her, imagining the warmth of her body against his. Looking down at her upturned face, he takes one last look for the road.

Pressing his head to hers, Owen closes his eyes.

THE END