m_findlow

Title: Read all about it
Fandom: Torchwood
Characters: Jack, Ianto
Author: m_findlow
Rating: PG
Length: 1,235 words
Content notes: none
Author notes: Written for jujitsuelf's prompt "Any, any, is it possible to have too many books?" at fic_promptly
Summary: There always somewhere to go to spend some quiet time.

Jack didn't have to wonder where Ianto was. After nearly three thousand years together, they were like a pair of old slippers, each knowing the other as well as they knew themselves, if not more so.

Crossing across the vastness of space between where they'd been and where they were needed next, allowed for downtime. It would take weeks to reach the closest waystation where they could take on fresh supplies and fuel, so in the meantime all they had was each other.

They enjoyed their time together just as much as they respected the need to have time to themselves. Ianto had always worried that Jack would tire and grow bored of him after a hundred years, but it was Jack who worried that he'd drive Ianto away with him sometimes complete madness. They'd had many a row, often over trivial matters, and given one another the silent treatment for as much as several weeks unbroken. In the end though, no matter how the years stretched on, they always found their way back to each other, found something new to talk about, someplace new to explore, and never tired of each other's company. Perhaps it had something to do with their shared immortality, or perhaps they'd simply found in each other their soul mate, but whatever it was, there didn't seem to be any time soon when they would agree to part ways.

Jack stepped along the corridor, knowing the way even with his eyes closed. The ship was almost as old as they were, having traveled the universe half a hundred times over, and kept in good condition by its occupants, who knew every pipe, panel and power cell within its large hull.

He ran a hand over the small side panel activating the door which slipped open with a gentle hiss. Unlike the plain grey corridor, this room better resembled something from the Victorian age. Their library was an impressive room, with its thirty foot ceilings, each with rich mahogany shelves rising from floor to roof, and crammed with books.

It hadn't started off like this. When they'd first bought their ship, the room had nothing more than a small bookshelf from Ikea, and a collection of novels they'd taken with them from Earth - just in case they got bored, Ianto said. It was a modest little reading room and nothing more.

Now it took up several of the enormous rooms aboard their ship, and most definitely qualified as a proper library. Since then they'd managed to accumulate books from all over the universe on their travels. There were historical tomes - some first edition - biographies, books on the science of the universe, on botany, geography and zoology. There were guides on culture and language, music and cuisine, and shelf after shelf of fictional works, some written in the native language of their authors, others translated into common Galactic Standard. Some had never been more than idly flipped through, with the promise that they'd be read cover to cover one day when they had time. Others were so well worn that they'd been replaced several times over. It would never match the great Library of Artophos, but for its variety of books from across the many galaxies, it was very likely unrivaled.

Across the main floor of the room ran rich carpets in claret and deep green. Desks stood in one corner of the room, books piled high on their tops, along with old hand drawn maps of the stars, lamps and paper for making notes of their own. A hearth sat in the middle of the room, filling it with a glowing heat and a warm light, and around it were a pair of deep armchairs and a longer lounge. Whole days could be spent sitting there and enjoying the tranquility, either on one's own, or together, with the lounge reserved for when they wanted to sit together and share a book.

Ianto was nestled into one of the very comfy chairs, legs tucked under him, engrossed in one of the thousands of titles their library had to offer. Jack could tell even from this distance the familiar cover of the tales of Gideon Ravenswood. He'd read them a hundred times himself, and knew it was one of Ianto's favourites. It didn't seem to matter that Gideon's tales paled in comparison to their own adventures, they still took delight in reading them. Ianto's own diaries should have featured amongst the books in their library, adding more colour and adventurous tales, all of which were true. Sometimes Jack had wondered if Gideon had made up half of what he'd written, but they'd experienced some of those things for themselves and knew them for truth.

Jack perused the shelves, knowing Ianto's Dewey Decimal system by heart, and selecting a well thumbed copy of the War of the Worlds, before settling into the chair opposite, receiving a brief smile from his lover before returning to the drama unfolding between the pages. He'd always enjoyed a good book, but had never really had much time to dedicate to reading in his first two hundred years, the Time Agency and Torchwood. Now he had nothing but time. Ianto was a natural bookworm, and between them, they now devoured books.

A chapter into the old novel, he paused to watch his lover. His blue eyes flew across the page, left to right at dizzying speed. Judging by the approximate place in the book and the look of utmost concentration etched on his face, he was at the part where Gideon had become stranded in the Octavia Cluster, with a ship full of refugees form Ephus Nine battling a mysterious virus. Sometimes Ianto loved to just lie there on the lounge, head in Jack's lap, eyes closed, letting Jack read Gideon's adventures to him, imaging them as Jack's adventures. It wasn't hard. Jack read with such gusto that it was hard to believe they'd ever been anyone else's adventures in the first place.

'Do you think it's ever possible we'll have too many books, Ianto?'

He raised his eyes and gave Jack another warm smile. 'I doubt it. We've got forever. I'm sure we'll tire of some of them eventually.'

'Yeah, but it's not like people will ever stop writing books.'

'True. But can you ever really have enough books?'

Jack glanced around at the walls and towering shelves that stretched back and back, brimming with every book they'd ever collected. If he was asked to part with even a one of them, he couldn't say which it should be. Each was attached to some precious memory, gifts from queens and presidents, magisters and commandants, friends, family and common folk, picked up from grand chambers, busy bookstores or cheap markets, salvaged from abandoned worlds, or encouraged to be printed by people they'd met along the way. And forever was a long time. They'd need something to fill in the hours when they weren't creating chaos across the galaxies. They couldn't spend all their spare time in the bedroom. Even they weren't energetic enough for that. It was nice to have something else they could do together for hours at a time. Nope, it definitely wasn't possible to have too many books.

He snuggled further down into the plush armchair and opened up the book again at the second chapter.

"Then came the night of the first falling star..."