Late Night Loss Chapter 11

[galadriel1010]

“What?” They stared at him in shock. Gwen leant forwards, “What do you mean you’ve found him? Where is he?”

Jack’s grin dropped and he closed his eyes tightly, as though he had a very bad headache, “I’ve found him, I know where he is but please don’t ask me to explain how. Look…” he pushed the copy of Lord of the Rings across the table to the Doctor and Jasmine and rested his hands palm up on the table, a typical Jack way of telling them that he needed something, reassurance in this case. Read that page.

Jazz glanced at the Doctor and pulled the book towards her, settling back into the chair to read. When she found the section Jack had been talking g about, howver, she leant forwards again and ran her finger under the words, frowning gently. They followed her gaze as she read the same section twice, then looked up to meet Jack’s gaze, “I... I don’t believe it, how can this be possible?”

He laughed and gestured around them, “Hello, since when have our lives been plausible, John and I were born in the fifty-first century, which must seem pretty impossible. Hell, three of us are immortal!”

“You’re right, this is practically normal. But, I mean…”

Rhys growled, “Either of you fancy telling us what’s going on?”

Jazz glanced once more at Jack, who gestured for her to carry on, and picked he book up again, “I’ll read it out to you, here we go:

Without word or cry, suddenly, the Riders halted. A thicket of spears were pointed towards the strangers; and some of the horsemen had bows in hand, and their arrows were already fitted to the string. Then one rode forward, a tall man, taller than the rest; from his helm as a crest a white horsetail flowed. He advanced until the point of his spear was within a foot of Aragorn’s breast. Aragorn did not stir.

‘Who is this Ioan?’ said the Rider, using the Common Speech of the West, in manner and tone like to the speech of Boromir, Man of Gondor.

The Riders all looked to a man behind the strangers who sighed heavily, ‘You’re supposed to ask them that, not me Eomer.’ He was dressed as a rider but didn’t carry himself as one, his hair was raven dark and short, and his accent was similar but different to that of the riders. He didn’t have an air of authority, which was unusual considering how much they looked to him.

Aragorn stared at the man in shock, ‘Who are you?’

‘I’m Ianto, and I’m not supposed to be here…’ Too bloody true!” She put the book down and looked around at their shocked faces, “There’s more, but then the story goes off with Aragorn, Legolas and Gimli and Ianto’s gone with Eomer.”

“You mean,” Andy asked the question on everyone’s lips, “Ianto is inside that book. Actual Ianto is in a parallel universe… in that book.”

“Yes.” Jazz massaged her temples and looked to the Doctor for help, “You ever heard of anything like it?”

“No.” He shook his head, “Never, although come to think of it, it does ring a bell.”

“It’s like that drama that was on a while back, where the girl got stuck in Pride and Prejudice.” Gwen pointed a spoon at Martha, “You remember, we sat and watched it off video one day…”

”Oh yeah, with that girl. What’s her name now? She was in a Poirot as well, wasn’t she?”

“Jemima Rooper.” Jack supplied, blushing and smiling sadly when they gaped at him in clear astonishment, “Ianto was still here when it was on, he loved it.”

“Oh God, you mean that one, what was it called, Lost in Austin?” Mickey groaned, “You got it here too, and I thought I’d escaped it. Rose loved it too…”

“Jemima Rooper!” Rhys pointed at Gwen now, getting excited, “She was George in the Famous Five, you remember?”

“Oh of course she was.”

“Erm… subject in hand people?” Jasmine suppressed a grin and settled for rolling her eyes. “So we’ve ascertained that in fiction, people cross over into fiction. But this isn’t fiction, this is real life…”

“This feels like something out of a NaNo dare…” Tom groaned, putting his head in his hands

“Yeah.” Jack agreed, able to get into the swing of the conversation now that he knew where Ianto was and as he knew that conversations like these often produced results at Torchwood, “It’s the writer’s fault.”

“It can’t be the writer’s fault.” Tom pointed out, “Because there isn’t one, this is real.”

“Is it, or is it all a bit like the Matrix?” Rhys asked, “All happening in one of our minds.”

“Whose?”

“Ianto’s maybe?” He suggested, “But I’ve just realised what this reminds me of more than anything else…”

“Oh?” They all looked at him expectantly and he grinned

“I’ll be back in ten minutes and all will be revealed.” He said mysteriously, getting up and leaving without another word of explanation, ignoring their calls.

Gwen ran her fingers through her hair distractedly and scowled, “I blame you for this Jack, you’ve turned my husband into a Cardiff man of mystery.”

“I have that effect.” He accepted, reaching for a can of cola from the middle of the table, “I hope he’s right…” Silence fell as they waited for Rhys to return, broken by the sounds of a can being cracked open occasionally and the electronic beeps of John and Tom playing Pinball projected onto the wall. Jack watched the game in amusement, feeling a strange sort of calm descending on him. Although he still felt like he was being ripped apart with fear and the pain of being separated from the man he loved, they had reached that stage where things were falling into place and all he could do now was wait. He knew that most of his teammates over the years had hated the waiting game, but once you got used to it, it was therapeutic… Just a time when there was nothing more you could do apart from prepare yourself and look after number one. Normally this would have meant time with Ianto, curled together in his bunker or playing cards on the sofa downstairs, something like that, but this time it was a chance for introspection and reflection.

John smiled to see the look on his ex-lover’s face and tugged Jasmine closer to him, catching her by surprise. They exchanged a meaningful glance and settled down again with Jazz curled in his lap and their arms around each other and carried on their separate conversations as if nothing had happened.

Finally the proximity alarm blared again and Rhys bustled in, carrying two bags of what appeared to be books. “I bring gifts.” He cried, dropping them on the table, “Home grown Welsh gifts from the pen, or possibly computer, of one Jasper Fforde.”

“Doesn’t Banana read these?” Gwen asked with a frown

Rhys laughed, “God, Banana can’t read, well not for more than five minutes. No, it’s Tad who reads them. And I’ve read the first one.”

“What are they?” Jack picked one of them up and read the blurb, his eyebrows raising in surprise

“They’re about this character called Thursday Next, who discovers that she can step into books and sort of live inside them. She just gets sucked in almost, at least the first time.”

“And you think that fiction has become reality and sucked reality into fiction?” the Doctor asked, speaking up for the first time since Rhys’s return as he put on his glasses

“Pretty much, yeah.” Rhys nodded

Jack opened the first page of the book and looked up at the Welshman, “Well, the floor’s all yours. You know it better than we do, summarise for us.”

He shifted nervously and checked things off on his fingers, “Main character’s called Thursday Next, she’s a literary detective who investigates crimes to do with literature. She discovers, because she needs to find a way into books to get her Aunt out or something that she can step into books using just her mind.”

“How does she get in?”

“She reads, just reads herself in.”

“So…” Jack picked up one of the books, “If I concentrate, or maybe don’t concentrate or something… I’ll end up inside the book?”

He shrugged, “It worked for Ianto.”

The captain nodded, “Right, I’m going to work my way through these books, if I disappear, you know where I am.”

“Good plan, the rest of you, remember we have a job to do. There’s nothing more we can do to find Ianto so get on with the usual Torchwood business.” Jazz stood up and leaned against the table, “John and Mickey, I want you two on the internet checks, Martha you’ve got a couple of autopsies to do, Rax I want you to follow up those leads. Civilians, sorry but we’ll call you, normal service is resuming and we can’t have you in the Hub, it’s too dangerous.” Rhys, Andy and Tom stood and made their goodbyes before leaving and the team went to their respective tasks.

The Doctor watched his friend settle down with his feet on the table and the first book on his lap and smiled, “Good book?”

“I don’t know.” He smiled a reply, “I’ve only read the first sentence.”

“I’ll leave you to it then, and I’ll stick around, cover for you whilst you’re gone. Bring him home Jack.”

“Thanks Doc.” Jack sighed and settled further into the chair, disappearing into a world of fictional crime and criminal fiction.

Nearly twenty four hours later Jack looked up at the domed ceiling and panelled walls of an enormous library and smiled. There was activity all around him and the sound and smell of books was overpowering. Towering shelves of dark wood housed thousands upon thousands of books, all by authors whose names began with Ff or Fe. He’d done it, halfway through the second book and he was there, actually inside a Jasper Fforde novel. He grinned, flexed his shoulders and set off down the corridor, searching for a familiar figure. The Cat was sitting on a table at one of the many corridor intersections and greeted him with a grin, as if he could greet him any other way, Jack thought excitedly. “Excuse me?” He approached the Cat and returned the smile, “I’m looking for Thursday Next.”

A voice made him spin round, “Well, she’s behind you.”