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"You can do so much better," Ianto says sympathetically. Owen loves to eavesdrop almost as much as he loves to insult people. Lurking around the corner, he can tell his teammates' voices easily.
"It's true," Gwen pitches in softly. "I mean, he's funny-looking, if you think about it."
"Well, of course I know that," Tosh sounds harried, almost defensive; Owen wonders what sad-looking bastard has dibs on breaking Tosh's heart this time. "But I love him anyway, stupid big mouth and beady eyes and, and his ears and his ridiculous hair—!" She sucks in a rough breath and it's all Owen can do not to look as Gwen murmurs something comforting.
"Tosh, you can't do this to yourself... oh, come here." He risks a look and finds Tosh being hugged by Ianto, a pale crescent-moon of her forehead over the shoulder of Ianto's suit; it looks peaceful, trusting, and he has a flash of jealousy— he doesn't touch Tosh like that.
"He's too dense to pick up hints, we'd need a mallet to drive enough sense into him to see that you're the best," Gwen says dryly, "Or someone could just ask. Like you, Tosh."
"No, ohnonono. I am, this is my problem, if he can't tell by now then... but what if he knows and he thinks I'm childish? I am, aren't I?" A fresh bout of sniffles, and some shuffling around; Gwen comforting Tosh on the couch, Ianto hovering uncertainly, and Owen, uncomfortable with his hidden position and the topic of discussion.
"...tea," Ianto's declaration precedes his brisk long-legged stride right around the corner; he hooks a finger into Owen's collar, no-nonsense drags him into the drinks corner and proceeds to make tea, speaking conversationally.
"Owen Harper." Said just before the kettle whistles. Ianto adds the tea ball; Owen waits while Ianto pays more mind to the espresso machine than to him, sets out cups and knows, just knows who likes it how. "Owen."
"Spit it out, all right?"
On the surface placid as a lake, the first flash of anger is in Ianto's eyes, the shove he gives with Owen's tea. "Spit it out? Explain to me how with your froggy looks, you snare enough of the population of Cardiff to keep your complaints on rotate, and you can't figure out that the one girl who loves you is under your nose—"
"I might see where you're going with this," Owen breaks in, almost amused by Ianto's misconception. Clearly Tosh didn't want him, she was sarcastic when she said those things. Sure, they had tension, but that didn't mean— "Tosh, she's gone round the bend for me?"
For a moment Ianto stares, then a terrifying sunny smile creeps over his face. "It's such a powerful moment, when a person realizes what the universe has spent months trying to smack him in the face and make him wake up..." He sounds smug, the bastard, collecting mugs to a tray while Owen stares down into his cup.
"So I should go—" Each man looks up at the same moment, locking eyes; Owen yields to Ianto's scary glare.
"By the way. Do anything to hurt Tosh, because she's been hurt by you and you don't even realize— don't hurt her. God willing we'll all be together to the end..." Ianto shakes his head and lifts the tea tray.
"I'm going to talk to her," Owen says, standing up. Sometimes he gets the pose before the bravery; in this case he holds the door open for Ianto before he slinks away.
"So you lot think I'm ugly?" It's a marvelously subtle entrance, wedging himself between Toshiko and Gwen on the couch, batting his eyes at the both of them. "Go on, I'm thinking plastic surgery, mate of mine's very good with his hands. What do the ladies love?"
"Hm..." Gwen looks serious, sketching out an oval around his face in the air. "From about here..." hairline, "...to here." Chin.
Owen flips her the V and turns to Tosh, edgy, adrenaline-high, grabs her hands and brings them up to frame his face. "No, really, Tosh. If you could change anything about my face..."
"Fix his jawline," Ianto offers, coming back around with an empty tray, "and Jack suggests pinning his ears back."
"No, nooo." Leaning over Tosh's shoulder, Gwen points out as she speaks, "Look at his mouth... it's too wide, and it's too thin! I bet he's a horrid slobbery kisser."
"Not what you said then," Owen spits in undertone. "Oi, all of you fuck off, I'm asking Tosh."
The only one quiet to this point, everyone's eyes go to Toshiko, and Tosh's eyes are firmly on Owen, framing his face with keyboard-callused fingertips. Gently, she turns him this way and that, tracing his jaw, brushing over his cheekbones, following his brows and the line of his nose. She spends a full uncomfortable minute dragging the pad of her thumb over his lips, expression dreamy.
Finally, she shakes her head like a dreamer waking up, and looks around at the team. It's Owen she looks at when she admits, "Can't think of a thing I'd change," and it's Tosh who sees, finally, understanding in Owen's eyes.