Title: Larger than life
Author: m_findlow
Rating: PG
Length: 1,685 words
Content notes: none
Author notes: Written for Challenge 404 - Screen
Summary: Ianto’s night at the cinema takes an intriguing turn.


Ianto had been excited at the prospect of going to the cinema. It was nice to think that there were still people out there that cared enough to try and preserve these old places that bore so many memories and had such a long and rich history. He loved all things about the city, but the old things he loved the best. There was something timeless about them, notwithstanding the memories they invoked from his own childhood. He only hoped that some of that magic still remained from a time twenty years ago when life had seemed simpler, and his biggest worries were whether they would be spinning candy floss when he got there and could he convince his dad to buy him some. Those were the memories of his dad that he wanted to preserve. It had all gone wrong somewhere along the way and he wasn't sure when or how it had happened. If he could have taken it all back, he would. He'd have taken his dad along with him tonight to try and rekindle some of that old father son nostalgia he missed now that his dad was no longer with him. Some things he couldn’t change, but he could at least observe the notion in spirit.

As it was, the only people he could bring with him tonight were Gwen and Owen, so for now that would have to be enough. Tangible recollections of his childhood would be his alone to sift through, wishing that he'd invited Jack instead, but having chickened out at the last moment, fearing Jack would find his boyhood delights trite and silly. He didn’t think Jack would intentionally mock him, but there was an embarrassment at leaving himself so emotionally open when he wasn’t entirely sure Jack reciprocated the same strength of feeling that he did.

He wasn't entirely sure why either Gwen or Owen had agreed to come along. Gwen he suspected had done it from a place of kindness, too polite to turn him down, though Owen was the greater mystery. He suspected Gwen had co-opted him into joining her, either as moral support or out of a sense of guilt that he should be nicer to people, especially those he had to work with every single day. Ianto didn't think either of them had any interest in old black and white historical film clips – or history in general, except to the extent it pertained to their work investigations. He knew for certain that Gwen would be bored silly. but perhaps Owen possessed some hidden inner depths and might, albeit hesitantly, admit to it being enlightening. Whatever their motives, they were along for the ride, even if the weather was intent on making them reconsider. Ianto was at the wheel though and he wasn't going to miss tonight for anything, even if it meant going on his own.

The atrium was just as he remembered it. It had that same old smell, not unpleasant, but of polished wood and brass and years of dust that permanently clung to the walls and the paintwork. The carpets had been replaced, no longer tacky from the rubber underlay that had become exposed with age, along with some of the upholstery on the theatre seats themselves, but the rest was just the same. He could even remember his favourite seat, making sure that he and his dad always chose them because they had – according to his childlike mind – the best view. Tonight he shuffled back into his old spot, making sure that Gwen and Owen followed after him so neither would occupy the seat to his left where his dad would have sat next to him. No one was allowed to sit in that seat.

He adored the old footage of Hope Street projected onto the large screen, accompanied by the live and lively piano score. He could pick out the parts that hadn't changed in a hundred years and then compare it to what he knew of the road as it stood today. The Electro Cinema stood proud and tall, girt by the smaller high street shops and people tottering by. He tried to imagine what it would have been like to live in those times, knowing that the rift and, by extension, Torchwood had still operated even in those days. He thought of the challenges doing the job entailed even today, then tried to picture just how much harder that must have been back then when there'd been no motor cars or mobile phones. Some things never changed and yet they'd come such a long way since then that he could scarcely imagine how they ever succeeded with the basic technologies of the day. He'd read hundreds of their reports tucked deep in the numerous archive filing cabinets, but they still felt more akin to something extracted from a novel by H. G. Wells than a work of nonfiction. To be able to go back in time and see them in action – or even just to talk to them – was something he'd long dreamed of, but knowing it could probably never happen. Not without some piece of technology that might leave him there trapped forever.

As ladies in frocks sauntering down Hope Street gave way to performers in a visiting travelling fair, the images on the silver screen flickered and then his heart stopped for three full beats as Jack appeared in the film, larger than life. It was just a second or two – completely missed by Gwen and Owen, who had taken to giggling at the absurdity of the characters on film. Even in a crowd of thousands, Ianto knew he could have picked Jack out of the throng in a millisecond. His mouth would go dry and his heart pound in his chest just at the sudden sight of him. To see him here, in this moment, tugged at a silent string in his heart that was invisibly tethered to the one he’d left tangled around Jack’s own heart, a few miles away back at the hub, oblivious to what he’d just witnessed.

He didn't know why it surprised him so much to see Jack. It was easy to forget that Jack had lived many lifetimes before they'd all met. He'd been chasing down aliens and filling out paperwork for Torchwood even when Ianto was just a baby in his crib, already a man aged well beyond his physical years. How many times had they inadvertently crossed paths throughout Ianto's life before meeting properly? Had he or his family ever seen something they shouldn't and been retconned just as he'd done to countless families himself? These were questions that would probably never have an answer.

Moreover, he wanted not so much to know how Jack had come to be on a reel of century old film, but why. He didn't think it would be some childhood fantasy of running away with the circus that would lead Jack to stand there on the stage to perform. There was so much he didn't know about Jack's past lives, as he liked to think of them, and so much that Jack would never say. And, as always, this revelation came at an inopportune time. Didn't they always? There was always some mystery to be solved, meaning that Ianto's own mysteries, for which he was the only one interested, took a back seat, most often forgotten days and weeks later, and remaining mysteries forever more.

On this one occasion however, Jack surprised him yet again. In a moment of research into the surviving cinemas of Cardiff, and any hope that they might get a lead on these Night Travellers and whether they haunted cinemas other than the Electro, Jack opened up about his time with the travelling show, which had become part of the film stock inadvertently shown the evening before. Ianto couldn't keep the smile off his face as he listened to Jack's story, enthralled and hanging on every word, cataloguing every last detail for recounting later. There was so much to Jack's own history that lay secret, and Ianto hated not knowing things – particularly anything to do with Jack's life. It wasn’t an egotistical desire to know more than everybody else, but a curiosity that drove him to want to understand as much as possible about the world around him and the people that occupied it. He knew his own life would be so short by comparison, and he wanted to know as much about Jack as he possibly could before that time finally ran out. There was contented joy at having Jack share his life like this, especially when the others weren't around to hear it. It felt like a private moment in which the rest of the world temporarily ceased to exist; just he and Jack, reliving Jack's fascinating and extraordinary life.

Of course, the moment was fleeting. Like Ianto's own life was destined to become, it sparkled for a few minutes and then the magic was gone, just like the flickering end of a reel of film as it came detached from its spindle.

In the end, they had managed to defeat the Night Travellers that had come alive from that same film of their deeds, and once back at the hub, Ianto had taken to the task of destroying all the remaining cans of film they'd collected. If they could rise from one piece of film, there was no way to be sure they couldn’t do so again.

The reels of film burned brightly in the metal bin with the acrid smell of melting plastic and a pall of black smoke. Gone too, Ianto realised with a slight heartache, would be those precious few frames of Jack's life with the travelling show – The Man Who Couldn't Die – and he despaired at their loss. Never again would Jack's handsome face and keen bravado grace the cinema screen. Those images now remained only in Ianto's memory to be replayed but never shared, until his life too was snuffed out and the screen faded to black for the final time. The end. Roll credits.