Ianto smirks the smirk of the vindicated -- he'll tell anyone who'll listen that Starbucks burns their beans -- and nods. "One medium Americano, coming up."

He turns to his work while the girl manning the cash register politely declares how much Ivan owes for the drink. In very little time, Ianto is finished and gently sliding the coffee over the counter. "Here we are."

It should be, hands down, the most perfect Americano Ivan has ever tasted.