Disclaimer: I own nothing, sadly.
A/N: Angst ahoy! It's Ianto! It's Season 2! It's slashy! And it's angsty! What can I say, I do like torturing pretty characters. Inspired by Livejournal's 100situations Table Prompts One, 5 prompts each chapter, 20 chapters, keeping it short and sweet.
Warning: Spoilers for Season 2, I'm warning you now. ANGSTING, major angsting. And a little bit of crack in 005, I couldn't resist..
001 Tired
Ianto is tired. No, not tired. Exhausted. The type of exhaustion which seeps through his skin, his mind, his bones, the type of exhaustion which renders him incapable of moving, incapable of speaking, incapable of doing anything but think, Tosh, Owen, Tosh, Owen, Tosh, Owen, Jack, Jack, Jack, Jack. And he curls up on top of the sheets of the single bed, wonders why he was left alive, to pick up the pieces, to wipe the dead from the records while Jack and Gwen grieved. And asks himself if it was worth it, if any of this was worth it.
002 Back Alley
'Shh, Ianto, be quiet-' A hot whisper into Ianto's neck; and he cannot help but groan as his body is pressed between Jack's warmth and the grime of the bricks, rasping against his shoulderblades through an immaculate suit. Jack's tongue slides over his lips, calloused hands cupping the back of his head, entangling themselves in his hair; and Ianto feels his fingers clutch at Jack's back, the rough material clenched, desperately. And still Jack wedges him closer into the wall, and Ianto feels the heat from their bodies seep, and merge. And then, suddenly, Jack pulls away, leaving Ianto reeling, suddenly acutely aware of the chills rising up his spine, up his neck, in Jack's absence.
A smirk, barely visible in the inky darkness. 'Wouldn't want the Weevils to catch us, would we now?'
003 Sunrise
The sunlight streams in through the windows, dappling in soft amber pools across Ianto's face. He shivers, lingering on the brink of consciousness, drifting between options, still not quite aware of why there is a sudden light flickering across the delicate skin of his eyelid. He stretches slightly, rolls over languidly, moving out an arm to check for a presence beside him.
His eyes shoot open, and then there is a dulling; a realisation. He bites his lip, steels himself, stands, collecting all emotions he may once have had. Reminding himself why he carries on, and the original reason he stifles the thing which could destroy him, which will destroy him, eventually. Ianto is not so naïve to think that they have forever.
And he is alone in the bedroom.
004 Late
'You're a bit late, Jack.' Ianto shoots him a glare, and carries on filing away paperwork. 'You know, rounding up evil alien hordes hellbent on destroying the planet is a whole lot easier with the team leader actually being present.' He takes a sip of coffee, and raises an eyebrow ever so slightly. 'What's your excuse this time?'
'You're late, Jack…' Gwen hisses, pursing her lips. 'I mean, I know you've got stuff on your mind, but Tosh's funeral, for God's sake, what is wrong with you?' He notes the faint mascara stains, just below her eyes, as she moves off to comfort someone, anyone, holding together the fortress. And Ianto is beside him, suddenly, a gentle hand on his arm. 'What took you?'
'You're late, Jack.' And he is back in a graveyard, gazing down at cold grey stone and words which don't mean anything to him. And it's autumn, again, and the leaf piles are cracked and decaying. Jack feels an unfamiliar twisting sensation inside him, because he couldn't get back, couldn't get back to Torchwood and Cardiff and the man lying several feet under his feet, couldn't get back quickly enough. And then he is on his knees in the unforgiving earth, shuddering, because he knew it would end like this, knew right from the beginning.
005 Son
Ianto had always wanted a son, had always wanted the football games and the rugby matches and the first day of school and the stable family in the Cardiff suburb. But it was almost laughable now, now that so much had changed, now that dreams of a Lloyd or a David or a William or a Lewis were gone, irretrievably. He had hoped, once, had planned with Lisa, once; before all of that had been made redundant by an immortal-military-coat-wearing-time-hedonist, of all people. So he exhales, and casts all ideas of fathering a child away. But-
'Jack?'
The figure next to him opens an eye groggily in the darkness, wraps his arms a little tighter around Ianto's body, bedsheets rumpled over them. 'What?'
'How do you feel about adoption?'
