Characters: Ianto, Jack.
Summary: There are times when Jack stretches Ianto’s patience to it limits.
Word Count: 500
Written For: Prompt # 450 - Past Challenges Revisited 127 – 160 at slashthedrabble, using Prompt # 143: In/Out.
Disclaimer: I don’t own Torchwood, or the characters. They belong to the BBC.
There were days when Jack just drove Ianto nuts. He might be immortal and, counting the time he spent buried beneath Cardiff, well over two thousand years old, but most days he’d give a hyperactive toddler a run for their money. The trouble was, Jack got bored easily, especially when paperwork was piling up on his desk. He hated doing it, and even when he was trying to be good and knuckle down to please his lover, his mind soon started wandering. That was a recipe for trouble.
Like this morning, when Ianto took Jack a cup of coffee to help him stay awake as he ploughed through the contents of his inbox, and found Jack had stapled himself to the desk. Thankfully the staples had only gone through his clothes, which hadn’t done his shirt any good, but it had taken Ianto the best part of ten minutes to prise all of them free while Jack slurped his coffee through a straw. The desktop looked a bit the worse for wear afterwards too.
Then at lunchtime, with only a few files having made it from Jack’s inbox to his outbox, instead of signing off on the team’s expense reports, Jack had turned them into paper aeroplanes. Ianto supposed he should have been thankful his lover hadn’t done that to the monthly report for the Home Office, because that had taken him a lot of time to compile, but even so, the expense reports had been ruined. Fortunately, he’d only needed to print out fresh copies.
“Jack, don’t poke the alien plant!”
“But it likes it! Anyway, I’m not poking it, I’m tickling it; there’s a difference.”
That was after said plant had come through the Rift early that afternoon. It was supposed to be in the hothouse with the other plants, but was instead on Jack’s cluttered desk. If Ianto was perfectly honest, the lumpy little thing with fronds sticking out of it did seem to be enjoying the attention Jack was giving it.
“Fine, have it your way, but Owen hasn’t checked it to see whether or not it’s toxic, so if your fingers turn black and fall off, don’t come crying to me.” Even Ianto’s patience wasn’t inexhaustible.
Now the workday was over, and everyone was leaving at a reasonable time for once, but although Jack’s inbox was still more than half full, he was reaching for his coat.
“I thought we’d have dinner at that Italian restaurant,” he said cheerfully.
Ianto frowned. “I distinctly remember telling you this morning that barring Rift alerts you were to stay at your desk until your inbox was empty.”
“Ah. Hold on a minute.” Returning to his desk, Jack scooped everything from his inbox and stuffed it in his bottom drawer. “There. Empty. Can we go now?”
Making a mental note to put the files back in Jack’s inbox first thing in the morning, Ianto sighed. “Fine, let’s go to dinner.”
Jack was impossible, but Ianto loved him anyway.