A/N: Okay. This is a Torchwood MP3 Challenge. The idea is that you put your iPod or mp3 player onto shuffle, and write a drabble or mini-oneshot for ten songs. You're only allowed to write for as long as the song is. Some of these I really like and thing are good, some I really don't think are great, but here they are for you, providing a small insight into my musical catalogue. Thankfully I'm a very quick typist, so some are fairly long. Look out for a Fast Show quote snuck in there, I've been watching a lot as of late. Enjoy, and do review.

Stay Together For The Kids – Blink 182

It's hard to wake up, when the shades have been pulled shut.

This house is haunted, it's so pathetic, it makes no sense at all.

Ianto sighed, scrubbing harder yet at the kitchenette, which was spattered with Owen's poor attempt at coffee. At least he was trying. Trying to ease the ache.

It was difficult for an ache to be eased when he was met with reminders of Jack wherever he went. Like now, staring at his mug, and remembering every time he made coffee not to fill it up.

He hoped Jack would come back, for him. But when you had universes to explore with the right kind of Doctor, why would you return for one Welsh man – one part-time shag?

He paused, thinking of how the team was trying to pull together in their Captain's absence; it was little things, like Owen's attempt at coffee, Gwen trying not to be the same kind of commander as Jack, Tosh giving him small sympathetic smiles and occasionally brushing her hand against his. Yet somehow these little incidents only worked as a reminder that he. was. gone.

He gritted his teeth to keep back the tears that threatened to fall, and grabbed the steel wool, scrubbing with it fiercely despite it biting at his fingertips.

So here's your holiday.

Dani California – Red Hot Chili Peppers

There were days when the Torchwood team just felt like singing. This was one of them.

The song blared over the radio in the Hub, and each team member was putting in a star turn. Jack, showbiz incarnate, singing, accompanied with raunchy dancing. Ianto and Tosh, dancing together, hands clasped together as they tangoed while shouting the worlds. Gwen and Owen head-banging and shrieking like true rock stars.

Hard to believe this was the team that saved the world on a regular basis, as they slipped into the perfect harmonies of the middle section, and then roared into life again as one rockin' machine, simultaneously launching into a guitar solo.

The song lurched to an end, and the team laughed as Myfanwy trilled above them. Ianto straightened his tie, and said, deadpan, "Simultaneous release indeed."

Divine Intervention – Taking Back Sunday

It was the quiet times they treasured the most, generally.

When Ianto was lying in the dark, watching Jack while he slept. He always said he never slept, but Ianto begged to differ.

Returning home to Rhys after a hard day, into his warm arms and listening to him rant about something at Harwoods. It didn't matter what – it was just nice to be with him. Her husband, her rock. Gwen smiled.

Watching Ianto as he worked. Ever the professional, immaculate and inspirational all at once, the sight was calming and hot at the same time. This was a man he could get used to being with. This was someone who could be his.

Something real, make it timeless ---

--- but now, crouched on the floor of the autopsy bay, with Tosh cold in their arms in a sea of her own blood and Owen lost to them in some radioactive chamber, the remaining team would have done anything for the familiar noise of their everyday lives again.

Going Under - Evanescence

He fumed. Really fumed. The basketball in his hands was cold and disgustingly rubbery.

I'm going under, drowning in you.

The team walked out, leaving him there, ever the uninvited one, ever the one left to clean up.

Still, he mused, placing the ball on the closest surface as he walked down to the lower levels of Torchwood Three, more time to spend with her.

He opened the door, and there she was. She was still here, still real, if not quite his girl. His Lisa.

He walked to her side, kissed her immobile lips. She did not move, though her eyelids fluttered for a moment.

"Soon, Lisa. Soon you'll be better. And we'll have the life you wanted."

Going under.

All Black – Good Charlotte

Owen stared ahead, feeling strange.

Take a look at my life – all black.

It was not hunger, nor tiredness, nor a case of horniness – no, he wouldn't feel that again, ever. Absently he tugged at the stitches holding his palm together, feeling no pain or discomfort at the action, and sighed, shrugging his backpack up his shoulder again, when he noticed a piece of paper flutter down from above. He picked it up, opened it; it was a couple, smiling and happy, arms around each other. He looked up to see where it had fallen from.

People say that I sound strange; some say that I'm not right. But I find beauty in this world every single night.

It was the girl from the photo, standing on the ledge of a tall building above him. Swearing faintly under his (lack of) breath, he broke into a run as he entered the building and searched for the stairs. He felt the Pulse thrum in his backpack, as if urging him on.

Like the night that we met, all black. Even if there was only blackness left for him, he could at least share recent events with her. So show that even in blackness, you can find a glimpse of light.

Anyone Else But You – The Moldy Peaches

You're a part-time lover and a full-time friend.

Jack smiled to himself as he watched Ianto, not caring if anyone saw him. Ianto was singing a song under his breath, and the tune struck a chord with him, along with the quiet, reserved Welshman reveling in a moment of (almost) privacy. It was sweet.

The tune turned familiar as he heard Ianto sing, "I kiss you all starry-eyed, my body's swinging from side to side…"

He smiled wider. This was comfortable. Surprisingly so.

Tosh was smiling absent-mindedly, her fingers tapping out a rhythm on the desk when she wasn't tapping out hacks on her keyboard, eyes drifting every so often to the Jack and Ianto. Gwen was pretending to be engrossed in her work, but was really texting Rhys. Owen was simply dozing, lying on the autopsy table, despite the various creatures they had dissected there.

Jack silently stole out of the doorway of his office, passing Ianto and sitting down on the sofa next to him.

I'm in love with how you feel.

He slyly looked at what Ianto was writing. It was many archival notes, about some of the artifacts discovered before his time, correcting previous shoddy and vague work. That was just like him – ever the perfectionist. It was hard to believe this calm, methodical man was the same one that had stowed a Cyberwoman in the basement. For a moment Jack's temper flared – no, let's not think about that. That was before. This is now.

We both have shiny happy fits of rage.

I don't see what anyone can see, in anyone else but you.

He sang the last line quietly in sync with Ianto, before moving on.

But you.

Born To Be A Dancer – Kaiser Chiefs

This was new.

It was Ianto, Tosh, and Owen left in the main part of the Hub – Gwen was on a date with Rhys, Jack was out in London consulting with the Government, and the three of them had very little to do.

Purely out of boredom, they had starting having a bit of a drink; however, there is a point where having a bit of a drink gets you extremely drunk.

You and me, were made (it's impossible to say), to be together always.

"I'm…I feel really -hic- great…" said Owen, grinning like an idiot.

Tosh nodded tiredly – alcohol had always made her tired – and wrinkled her nose, "Do we smell of anything?"

Ianto inhaled deeply, "You smell nice. What is that?"

"Gin!"

The pair collapsed into giggles, and didn't stop when they saw Owen leap onto the autopsy table, miraculously without falling straight off it again. They only stopped when he began to dance to the muted radio. And then started again when he started to take off his clothes.

Do you know my real answer? I was born to be a dancer.

Jack returned to a distinctly alcohol-scented Hub. Concerned, he walked through the to autopsy bay, and smirked. Tosh was crashed out on the floor, curled around empty bottles of beer and a shot glass, Owen was – for some inexplicable reason – draped over the autopsy table, jeans around his ankles and shirtless, and Ianto sat calmly drinking from a Jack Daniels bottle. He was in polite disarray – missing a tie, sleeves rolled up, jacket draped over Tosh's sleeping form, undone waistcoat – and yet was able to swig whiskey. Jack's eyebrows rose.

"I wasn't aware you liked whiskey."

"Oh, I do. You missed it being filled with whiskey though, that's long gone." He offered the bottle to Jack, who sniffed it. It was coffee. He looked around, bemused and a little disappointed.

"So I missed all the fun?"

"You missed Tosh and I table dancing with Owen. He was considerably more enthusiastic, though I like to think I had my star turn." The Welshman hiccupped.

Jack cursed inwardly at missing this, but patted Ianto on the shoulder, "Clearly you've all picked the wrong profession."

"Born to be a dancer, sir."

Alone - Heart

I hear the ticking of the clock, I'm lying here, the room's pitch dark. I wonder where you are tonight…

Tosh sighed, looking at the clock, all cried out. Her pillow was vaguely damp from the numerous tears that had been spilt there. It wasn't fair, she thought, shuddering at the memory of Dr Alan Dale and the gunshot and the blood and the fact there was nothing they could do.

And the night goes by so very slow…I hope it won't end though…

Alone.

He was gone, and he still didn't know how she felt. Dr Owen Harper, who she had loved from the moment she met him, and kept loving despite his affair with Gwen and all the other women he notices – not her, never her – and still loved even now he was a cold body in the morgue and the life that seemed to fill every part of him had fled.

But the secret is still my own, and my love for you is still unknown. Alone.

She sees him every time she closes her eyes, as if movies of their time together were playing back on her eyelids, interspersed with the image of him bloody, cold and still.

Till now, I always got by on my own. I never really cared until I met you.

It was fine being alone when he was alive. At least he was there. It was paralyzingly scary now that even the reassurance of his presence was gone. Owen Harper has left the building. It had never mattered, being alone, until she'd met him. Then she had become conscious of the fact that this was the person she needed to feel whole.

And now it chills me to the bone. How do I get you alone?

It would be easy to get him alone now. Just slide out the cryogenics drawer and look at his dead face one more time, not matter how much it hurt.

No, that wouldn't help. She was alone.

Alone.

2 Hearts – Kylie Minogue

"Everyone, you can have the rest of the day off. The Rift Predictor says we're fine for now, go and have some fun."

The announcement from Jack came as a surprise to all of the team, but they weren't about to complain. Owen hastily packed up and was out of there almost before Jack had time to blink, Gwen followed a few minutes later with a bright smile and a finger wave, and Tosh, her arms full of folders and books, departed gracefully with a shy smile. All of the team chose politely to ignore, and certainly not comment on, the lustful look the Captain was directing towards the youngest of their team.

You make me invisible, like the sky you make my day. And I feel so wonderful…

Ianto pottered about for a good ten minutes, before looking as if he was about to leave. Jack grabbed the waistband of his trousers, pulling the Welshman back into a spin and encircling him in his arms.

Oh oh oh. Don't let go.

"Where do you think you're going?" he purred, licking from Ianto's collarbone to his ear, kissing as he went. Ianto shuddered, and replied faintly, "Um…home…oh, god…"

Jack smirked, placing a palm over Ianto's heartbeat to mirror the placement of Ianto's hand on his own chest.

Two hearts are beating together. I'm in love.

He pulled Ianto by the hand, with little resistance, into his office, and as Ianto was about to protest, silenced him but putting a hand in – well, on – a certain place that made Ianto blush and incapacitated him for a moment. He pulled Jack's mouth to his fiercely, so fiercely that even Jack was a little surprised. It was hot as hell, of course, but even he needed to breathe.

Looks good in sunshine; well hold on, I'm coming up for air.

And I can't even see up here…oh oh oh, don't let go.

"I knew you'd see it my way," Jack smirked, before he was dragged back again, and the office door was kicked impatiently shut.

Sing – The Dresden Dolls

There's this thing that's like touching except you don't touch.

They joined hands anyways.

Back in the day it went without saying at all.

Gleeful grins lined their faces as they swayed together, singing in chorus.

There is a thing that's like talking except you don't talk.

You sing.

It was an interesting song to pick for karaoke, and the crowd noticed, but no one was complaining. It was haunting; the tall American's Sinatra-esque croon mixed with the Welsh woman's choral style, and the Welsh man (who clutched the American's hand as eagerly as the American clutched his)'s husky, rock tones. The shortest of the men sang with defiance, holding the other hand of the Welsh woman, on the line between shouting and singing, and he held the hand of a petite Japanese woman, who sang a soprano strain of the song, weaving the melodies of her colleagues' voices together.

Sing for the bartender, sing for the janitor, sing.

Sing for the cameras, sing for the animals, sing.

There was certainly a camera in the crowd, held by the husband of the grinning Welsh woman. His handsome face held an expression of shock and awe as he silently filmed the song, amazed by how the song was just so…Torchwood.

Sing for the children shooting the children, sing.

Sing for the teachers who told you that you couldn't sing.

Just sing.

They swayed in the breaks between lyrics, not needing to even glance at the screen that scrolled the lyrics. This song was theirs. They knew the words well enough to sing it alone, drowning out the backing track.

Sing 'cause it's obvious, sing for the astronauts, sing.

Sing for the president, sing for the terrorists, sing.

The crowd looked up at the screen they could see scrolling the lyrics, listening as this group of five sang beautifully and cathartically.

Life is no cabaret.

We don't care what you say.

We're inviting you anyway.

As the group finished the last refrain, the pub burst into cheers and toasts, glasses clinking among the cries of amazement. The Torchwood Team smiled, hiding slight smugness – looked like the karaoke trophy was going to be engraved with 'Torchwood' for another year.

…you'll sing someday.