Oh, so the coat was her doing. How thoughtful. What Ianto wouldn't give to have been there to see them meet. He buries his laughter under a cough, taps the side of his nose in complicity, and signals for a refill of his drink. It's certainly a valid method of protecting the TARDIS: completely denying the possibility of her existence. And Cecil is so painfully-charmingly earnest that no one will take it for sarcasm and dig deeper.

"I'm sure she'd be pleased," he assures Cecil, relieved. "It's certainly an effective denial." Yeah, that was all a test. Yep. Sure.

His refill arrives concurrently with a faintly sizzling plate of chips, doused in malt vinegar. He savors the smell and takes a reverent first bite, smiling a private smile. Once he swallows: "We're good friends, the... unassuming blue box and I. Can never be too careful about keeping her safe."