Disclaimer: Come on now, is there actually any point to these things?

Warning: If interrogation kink isn't your thing, I'd skip 014, if not, be my guest ;) Potential spoilers galore, language, uhm, adult situations, nothing too explicit though, mostly just implications. Also, 015 is Doctor Who based, from the Season 2 episode Turn Left. Sorry, but that prompt was so goddamn hard!

011 Disgust
Ianto's disgusted by Jack's flippancy, disgusted at the way he swaggered back into Torchwood expecting open arms and everything to go back to being how it used to be. Disgusted by the doubts creeping into his mind about Jack and the Doctor, disgusted at their shared understanding of time, and eternity, and one another. Disgusted by the constant pain of the past few months, the constant worry and regret and desperation, disgusted by how he couldn't help but think of Jack even as the team sped down a B-road chasing after a man-sized blowfish, of all things. Disgusted by how the words came out of Gwen's mouth before he'd even got the chance to formulate them in his own mind. Disgusted by his own weakness, the inevitable stab of joy as Jack locks eyes with him and explains. 'I came back for you.'

012 Shelter
The raindrops are heavy on the plastic bus shelter, like bullets. Ianto leans back, stretching, slinging his school bag onto the bench beside him, head tilted upwards. He can see the water make patterns on the transparency above him. His foot taps unconsciously, impatiently. He considers how long today's Physics homework is going to take him, thinks about that new girl in the year above him and how much of a chance he'll have with her at the next school disco. His mind drifts, and he wonders whether he'll be greeted by his Mam today as he comes through the door. Or whether she'll be slumped in the bathtub, naked and giggling, eyes glazed. He shrugs off this thought almost immediately, he's learnt not to dwell on it, and his fingers find their way across the opening of the satchel. He pulls out a textbook, flicking absentmindedly through the pages, immaculate notes in the margins.

The bus finally arrives, and Ianto stands, makes his way out of the bus shelter, gripping his bag close to his chest. He stops abruptly, short of the opening doors. Because he sees something through the mist and the barrage of rain, he sees a man in a long coat, arms folded, staring straight at him.

'Bloody loony,' he mutters, and steps onto the bus.

013 Borrow
'something old, something new, something borrowed and something blue'

'I thought you didn't like weddings,' Owen grins at Ianto, leaning back against the bar. Ianto takes another steady sip of the wine and bites back the urge to fire some witty retort back at him, remembering Katie, remembering the memories Owen's learnt to stifle. He purses his lips.

'Always thought them rather clichéd, myself,' Owen cocks his head to one side, eyes flicking with disdain over the dancefloor. 'All these people, turned up to watch two idiots confess their undying love for each other. Nauseating.'

'An alien lifeform temporarily borrowing Gwen's body to grow its offspring isn't exactly clichéd.'

'Can always count on you to bring a healthy dose of realism to the table, can't we?'

Ianto raises his eyebrows, fending off a smile. 'This coming from the man who as of yet hasn't watched an episode of House without scoffing?'

'Hey, everyone knows that medical dramas-'

'Yeah, I know. Vastly over-rated, dramatic license going overboard-'

'Hang on, you're one to talk, Mr Running Commentary-'

'Boys, what are you bickering about now?'

'Gwen!'

Ianto and Jack turn to face her, instantly plastering grins on their faces.

'You look beautiful, Gwen-'

'Absolutely beautiful.'

And she does, Ianto notes, she looks absolutely radiant, face glowing in joy, playing unconsciously with the newest ring on her finger, eyes shining. He wonders if Owen regrets anything, and suddenly feels slightly awkward, out of place in what should have been a very tense conversation.

'Thanks, got to admit I feel a bit better now I'm not pregnant!' Her eyes flit down to her stomach again, and she pats it. 'Well, yet, anyway.' A wink. 'And Ianto, nice stint as DJ earlier!' Gwens turns back, makes her way across the dance floor, towards her husband. And Owen turns sharply to Ianto, who is already bracing himself for the onslaught. He can almost hear the cogs of Owen's brain turning.

'Oh dear lord, Ianto, you DJ'd?!'

014 Chair
'Just us… in this room… for as long as it takes… Terrifying.'
'Really.'
'Absolutely. Shivers down my spine.'
'You don't look scared.'
'Well… it passed.'

Ianto's beginning to wonder why he ever suggested this. He can see nothing. He can hear nothing. He can feel nothing, save the cool metal around his wrists, binding him to the interrogation chair. And the silk, skimming across delicate eyelids, rendering everything black. His eyes are shut anyway, and it feels like an eternity since Jack whispered a codeword into his ear, bit the lobe, so gently, fastening the blindfold around his head. Ianto had heard him stalk out of the room, shoes ringing out on the cold metal floor. He sighs. Ianto is a patient man. But this, this is agony.

And he's on the brink of standing up and finding Jack himself, handcuffs or no handcuffs, when he hears the door open, then slam with so much force that he inadvertently winces, body tensing in anticipation.

'Ianto Jones, Torchwood One, personnel number 176.' He feels Jack's presence behind him, and it's all he can do not to tilt his head back wantonly and-

'You have some information that Torchwood Three needs.'

Hot breath, unbearably hot, on the back of his neck, calloused fingers brushing against his lips, already open. And then Jack's voice, low, threatening, fucking terrifying. 'And I will stop at nothing to get that information.'

015 Alter
Funny how one moment, one decision, can alter everything. Funny how the course of a life can be changed by a word, a phrase, a split-second.

Donna turns right. Ianto's body is sprawled on the floor; Gwen lies a few metres away. One final shot from an armoured Sontaran, and the ship's exterior flickers and fades from Ianto's sight. He has felt this before, what seems like an eternity ago, but that time he had been resurrected. He waits for the kiss of life, seconds pass, and the blackness dances around him. He hears a scream from beside him, hazily recognises it as Gwen's, but it could have been anyone's, it could have been Tosh's, it could have been Lisa's, it could have been his mother's. He waits, still, can almost taste Jack. A vague awareness of a stuttering heartbeat, a dull pain to the chest. He can see Jack, could swear he could see his face through the darkness. One last breath, and then the heart judders, and it ends.

Donna turns left. Ianto pulls a lever on the espresso machine, reaches for a clean mug, feels a presence behind him. One corner of his lip twitches slightly, and he resists the urge to turn around as Jack's arms encircle his waist, presses his body flush against Ianto's back. He concentrates on making his voice neutral, uninterested, pointedly ignoring the quickening of his heartbeat.

'What'll it be today, sir?'