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Title: "One Cup"
Disclaimer: I'm not RTD, I don't work for the BBC, and as much as I might like to, I don't own Jack or Ianto or any part of Torchwood. I do, however, order pizza under that name on principle.
Pairings: Jack/Ianto, wildly understated
Rating: PG
Notes/Summary: In which all Ianto Jones wants is one cup of coffee. Just one. Written for the January 11 prompt at![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
redismycolour (and posted a day late since I took last night off).
"As soon as you sit down to a cup of hot coffee,
your boss will ask you to do something which
will last until the coffee is cold."
- Anonymous
What the others don’t realize is that Ianto doesn’t arrive early to work out of some bizarre OCD tic that requires him to put everything in order before they disorder it. Jack flatters himself that Ianto does it so the two of them have a few moments of privacy before the day begins, but that’s only half true.
All he wants is a single cup of hot coffee, uninterrupted.
He’s considered the matter at length. Even taking into account things like the Rift, Jack’s inability to file things in the right order even under duress, and the fact that they frequently hold the very well-being of the planet in their hands, one cup of coffee is not too much to ask. For as much time as he spends risking his life, just fifteen minutes to himself is the least the universe could do.
“Ianto!”
Six minutes twenty three seconds. Almost a new record.
“Ianto!”
He rises, careful to make sure that his footfalls echo staccato on the concrete floor of the Hub on his way to Jack’s office. Beyond this, though, he doesn’t hint at his frustration or displeasure. He is at work, even if he isn’t properly working yet. As galling as it all is, if he really wants to drink coffee alone he can do it in a café.
Jack is still wearing the clothes he was in last night, and it’s plain he’s worked through the night by the way his shirt has entirely lost its crispness. His eyes go straight to Ianto’s mug. “Is that coffee?”
“It is. Would you like some?”
“No. No way. Bad idea,” Jack says, and Ianto balks. “I’m coming down. Crashing, I think. You know the adrenochrome scene in Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas?”
Ianto nods. He vaguely remembers something about Johnny Depp as Hunter Thompson, and possibly a lizard. And a radio. Or maybe it’s a toaster.
Jack holds up a violet egg-shaped object. His hand is shaking. “Don’t lick this. Help me downstairs. I need…I think I need to lie down”
“Of course,” he says, and puts his cup down on a nearby shelf.
Disclaimer: I'm not RTD, I don't work for the BBC, and as much as I might like to, I don't own Jack or Ianto or any part of Torchwood. I do, however, order pizza under that name on principle.
Pairings: Jack/Ianto, wildly understated
Rating: PG
Notes/Summary: In which all Ianto Jones wants is one cup of coffee. Just one. Written for the January 11 prompt at
redismycolour (and posted a day late since I took last night off).your boss will ask you to do something which
will last until the coffee is cold."
- Anonymous
What the others don’t realize is that Ianto doesn’t arrive early to work out of some bizarre OCD tic that requires him to put everything in order before they disorder it. Jack flatters himself that Ianto does it so the two of them have a few moments of privacy before the day begins, but that’s only half true.
All he wants is a single cup of hot coffee, uninterrupted.
He’s considered the matter at length. Even taking into account things like the Rift, Jack’s inability to file things in the right order even under duress, and the fact that they frequently hold the very well-being of the planet in their hands, one cup of coffee is not too much to ask. For as much time as he spends risking his life, just fifteen minutes to himself is the least the universe could do.
“Ianto!”
Six minutes twenty three seconds. Almost a new record.
“Ianto!”
He rises, careful to make sure that his footfalls echo staccato on the concrete floor of the Hub on his way to Jack’s office. Beyond this, though, he doesn’t hint at his frustration or displeasure. He is at work, even if he isn’t properly working yet. As galling as it all is, if he really wants to drink coffee alone he can do it in a café.
Jack is still wearing the clothes he was in last night, and it’s plain he’s worked through the night by the way his shirt has entirely lost its crispness. His eyes go straight to Ianto’s mug. “Is that coffee?”
“It is. Would you like some?”
“No. No way. Bad idea,” Jack says, and Ianto balks. “I’m coming down. Crashing, I think. You know the adrenochrome scene in Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas?”
Ianto nods. He vaguely remembers something about Johnny Depp as Hunter Thompson, and possibly a lizard. And a radio. Or maybe it’s a toaster.
Jack holds up a violet egg-shaped object. His hand is shaking. “Don’t lick this. Help me downstairs. I need…I think I need to lie down”
“Of course,” he says, and puts his cup down on a nearby shelf.
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