You.
Can.
Only.
Type.
One.
Word.

No.
Explanations.

As the credits appeared, I said 'fuck!'

It's at testiment to the episode that my mother (whose harshest swearword is 'suffering icecakes') niether looked shocked or told me off. 

Title: Eighteen Years

Rating: PG-13

Disclaimer: Torchwood belongs to the BBC and was created by Russell T Davies. Fox Mulder belongs to 1013 Productions and Fox.

Ships: Owen/Tosh.

Spoilers: Mentions of To the Last Man.

Summary: Owen and Tosh receive messages from older versions of themselves who were accidentally sent back to 1990. The problem is that one of them wants their younger counterpart to prevent the accident that sent them back, and the other wants them to create it.

A/N: You thought I’d given up, didn’t you? Admit it! Normally you’d be justified – I’m terrible for getting paranoid that I can’t write and giving up. Up until yesterday I was um-ing and ah-ing, but I decided that the ending I had planned was to good to forget. The good news is that although the emotional ending of series two perhaps dents some of the mystery, this story won’t actually be too AU. Just imagine in being set early season two (and pretend that Fragments didn’t happen as it Jossed some of the early TW stuff from last chapter).

Previous Chapters: Chapter One, Chapter Two, Chapter Three, Chapter Four

1. Dear John Simm, why are you doing voiceovers for everything? You're the voice of the co-operative bank for crying out loud (an advert that preaches the banks good morals and plays Liza Minnelli's Money Makes the World Go Round). Considering that you've last been seen kicking arse in Life on Mars and playing The Master  in Doctor Who, you don't leap out as either a moral spokesman or a Cabaret fan. Yes your soft northern tones probably appeal to some key demographic, but still. 

2. Dear David Tennent - what advert have you been doing voiceovers for? I distinctly heard your voice, but was in the kitchen and ever since I haven't seen the ad. 

Advert voiceovers interest me, obviously.

3. Dear Dole Pineapple, why is it impossible to open any tin, packet, or tub without being drenched in pineapple juice? And why didn't you bother to label the SIX tins I brought that were in syrup instead of juice? Who the hell needs syrup with pineapple?