Title: Janto Drabbles
By: Aearlor
Pairing: Jack/Ianto
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: Not mine. All the characters belong to the BBC and RTD.
Note: I come baring drabbles. Short, fluffy, teensy bit angsty, humorous. Exactly 100 words. Harder than it looks. Enjoy.
Summary: Exactly what it says on the tin. Five, Hundred-word, Janto drabbles. Humour, fluff, little bit of angst.

***

"You're in a good mood today Ianto

"You're in a good mood today Ianto." Commented Gwen as the Welshman handed her a mug filled with milky tea.

"I spent the night at his flat and made him pancakes, he should be happy." Said Jack swooping in on them and nicking a HobNob, looking extremely pleased with himself.

"Is that a euphemism for some inventive sex involving a whisk and some batter?" joked Owen, also helping himself to a biccie, with a sadistic grin at Ianto's blush.

Both he and Gwen chocked on their biscuits when instead of a denial all they got was smug grin off Jack.

Ypres, Belgium. A city Destroyed by a war. The Great War.

Tyne cot. It's a cemetery. It's the largest cemetery for Commonwealth forces in the world. For any war. 11,856 burials, of which 8,365 are unnamed.

The Tyne cot memorial to the missing. The memorial contains the names of 34,959 soldiers.

Name after name. Life after life. Death after death.

Real people honoured and remembered as nothing more than names and numbers.

Apart from by Jack, who remembers smiles, scars and accents, real, living people.

Dead now.

It's Ianto's hand holding his that steadies him as he lays his wreath.

Jack often leaves things on Ianto's desk, half-finished reports, Newspapers, ties Ianto has thrown off and Jack has only just found, notes saying that they need milk, Cups of half-decent tea, apology notes for the stupid little things Jack can't seem to help doing, Packets of Seabrook Prawn Cocktail crisps, stupid desk toys, Stationary designed for ten year old girls (He'll never admit it, but Ianto quite likes the purple, glitter Zac Efron pen).

What Ianto was never expecting was the bright yellow post-it note saying in Jack's print capitals,

'Ianto,

Do you like me? Tick 'Yes' or 'Yes.'

Jack.'

John Hart was one thing. His old partner, together from the second Jack was recruited at the age of sixteen. Jane Haughton was another. Jack's old mentor, together from the second she recruited him. More than 200 years since they last spoke and she hadn't changed a bit.

"I don't care what else you have eye candy, I want gin in my tea. Isn't that what Jack pays you for? Actually, cheekbones like yours, he's probably paying you to bend over, but I'm sure playing the dutiful little tea boy is part of the description as well."

Not one bit.

This was the first night off Ianto had taken off in weeks. Months even. It was just him, Jack, an Indian and some Saturday night television. Short of alien invasion Ianto was not leaving this sofa unless Jack was coming with him and it was Ianto's bed they were going to.

They watched 'The Kids Are Alright' on BBC 1 and then they watched 'I'd do anything' it's not until half-way through Jodie's second performance that Ianto notices what's been really off-putting about the two programmes, "Y'know Jack you look justlike John Barrowman."

Jack didn't look impressed. At all.

***