The Post-its were the last straw. Every piece of paper on his desk had a little yellow label reading "paper". Every bulldog clip was tagged "bulldog clip" (small, medium, large as applicable). Every bloody biro was labeled "biro," for God's sake!
Ianto stormed into Jack's office (formerly known as the supplies cupboard), yanking the door open so forcefully that it bounced off the wall and knocked a box of bin liners off the shelf. "I've had it, Jack. I'm ready to kill him. When can we get out of here?"
"When the lockdown is lifted," Jack said. "Same as I told you the last time." He shuffled papers on his desk (unlabeled, thank you very much, the bastard) to try and hide his smile as he continued, "So, you giving in?"
"This is not a joke," Ianto said. He stood with arms akimbo, the very picture of administrative outrage. "I simply informed him that we cannot function surrounded by 30-year-old piles of uncatalogued artefacts. It's irresponsible; there could be vital information buried somewhere – stop laughing!"
Jack was leaning back in his chair, red in the face with laughter. "You started it!"
"He threw out two bags of Jamaica Blue Mountain!"
"You rearranged half his headquarters," Jack pointed out.
"You should have seen the mugs. Civilisations of mould were growing in some of them. He should thank me!"
"Ianto," Jack said with growing impatience, "Archie has run Torchwood Two since you were in nappies. He very kindly offered us a place to stay during the fumigation. He's an invaluable colleague."
"He shrank your coat in the wash."
"He what?" Jack jumped to his feet. "Let's kill him."
He stomped towards the door, but Ianto grabbed his arm. "Now that I have your attention..."
Jack frowned. "If that's your idea of a joke..."
"Oh, I assure you it's not," Ianto said. "I simply have a better idea." He pulled a tube from his pocket and handed it to Jack.
"Molecular adhesive," Jack read. He looked at Ianto with awe.
Ianto smiled back with pure evil intent. "I have a very fertile imagination."
Heat flared behind Jack's eyes. "I knew there was a reason I hired you," he purred. He grabbed the back of Ianto's head and pulled him in for a quick, ravenous kiss that promised all sorts of despicable pleasures. Leaving Ianto gasping beside the desk, Jack stopped in the doorway and checked his watch. "I'll distract him," he said in a clipped, official voice. "You have exactly 20 minutes to glue everything in his office to the ceiling, starting... now ."
Ianto smiled as he watched Jack rush intently out the door, and synchronised his stopwatch with a crisp click .
Age and treachery, lad, Archie had threatened him. It beats youth and vigour every time, and don't you forget it.
Archie was right, naturally, but it was he who was forgetting something. Two things, in fact: Jack Harkness and Ianto Jones. Because when it came to age and treachery, no force on Earth could match Torchwood Three.