Fic: Devil may care (11/30) ... continued III
The Captain wasn't really sure what he was supposed to do now; Ianto hadn't asked him to follow and help them, and Jack was just quietly staring at the strangely glowing skull on the door.
He cleared his throat. "Not exactly something for the picture gallery, huh?"
"I've sure seen nicer shades of green," Jack muttered, more to himself than to the Captain, keeping his narrowed eyes fixed on the eerie picture.
There was another silence.
"I think I kinda like it, though," Jack announced eventually. "Maybe I can persuade Ianto not to paint over it. I'd like to keep it."
"What, and you need Ianto's permission for that?" the Captain quipped, arching an eyebrow.
At that, the other man finally tore his eyes away from the door and looked at the Captain, giving him a thoughtful, almost speculative glance. "You will learn that nothing Ianto doesn't approve of will stay with us for very long."
"O-okay," the Captain replied, fiddling with the cigarette he was still holding in his hand.
The night was turning darker and colder, but Jack didn't look as though he had noticed any of that. He had turned toward the door again and was staring at it intently.
"Do you wanna know why I like it? … Look at this here. What do you think it is?" Jack's finger was pointing at something that looked like a smudge of paint, a little to the right of the skull. (And God, even in the pale light of the street lamps, it was impossible not to notice how tan Jack's hand was, how strong and smooth at the same time.)
"I don't know. But it's definitely not a boa that has swallowed an elephant," the Captain quipped.
Jack smiled warmly, his eyes lighting up at the comment. "No, it's not. That's writing."
"Doesn't look like it."
"That's 'cause you're not used to graffiti writing. This here is a 'tag'."
"Okay … And what does it say?"
"'Et in Arc …’"
"And what does that mean?"
"It means that our culprit isn't just a spotty teenager, who's hell-bent on destroying public property. He's an educated, spotty teenager, hell-bent on destroying public property," Jack clarified with a grin of acknowledgment. "Because, unless I'm very much mistaken, this is the beginning of the Latin phrase, 'Et in Arcadia ego' … Ianto must have interrupted him while he was writing it. No wonder he almost got sprayed in the face."
The Captain stepped closer to the door, hands clasped behind his back, unlit cigarette still dangling between his fingers. "I'm sorry, but I don't know any Latin."
"It's Death speaking, telling us he's awaiting us wherever we might be."
It had gotten quite cool by now, and the Captain could feel himself shiver in his thin civilian suit. "Um … Then this is a … a … What is it called again? A memento mori? … I'm sorry; my education was pretty erratic."
"I think that's exactly what it is. Our young graffiti artist seems to have a bit of a morbid streak, doesn't he?
Because this picture tells us that we never know when Death will knock on our door. But he will definitely come for most of us and-"
"For all of us, you mean."
"Yes, yes, that," Jack corrected himself quickly.
The Captain turned to look at the other man again and was surprised to see a completely waveless Bay behind him, just over his shoulder. Apparently, the wind had abated without the Captain even noticing, and the surface of the water lay almost impossibly still now, smooth as glass and quiet as a grave. The strange lack of sound was disconcerting, the slapping of the waves against the pilings having stopped completely.
"So, someone painted this to remind the viewer that life is short?" he asked quietly.
"Not just that. It reminds us that life is short and … that we don't know when Death will strike," Jack smiled. "The Reaper is the constant unknown that could be lurking anywhere …" There was something wistful in his smile now, something pained and almost paternally affectionate.
"Yeah, I know," the Captain smiled. "It's best to never forget that and to always face him with an open visor, right?"
Jack narrowed his blue eyes at him. "Is that why you joined up? To face him? To call him out into the open? Is that why you volunteered?" he asked. "Or did you just do that out of the goodness of your heart?" he added with a smile. (It was meant as a quip; that much was obvious. And yet there seemed to be an unexpected sincerity to the man's voice, his eyes shining with barely concealed admiration like two unearthly sapphires in the dark of the night. As though he couldn't fully resist taking it more seriously than he was letting on.)
The Captain shrugged uncomfortably in response. "I just … did what I had to do," he replied, fiddling with the cigarette in his hand. "Time to light that thing, huh?" he added with an uncertain smile, starting to pat down his suit pockets again. "Where is that lighter Owen gave me?"
He located the misplaced item and pulled it out of his pocket, noticing how Jack's eyes seemed to widen fractionally at the sight of it, even if just for a split second.
It felt good to take a deep drag of smoke and blow it out again, eyes closed and head tilted backward. This way, he didn't have to see the picture of the skull and crossbones, that still made a sick panic churn in his stomach. This way, he could ignore the fact that there wasn't a single ripple disturbing the dead quiet of the Bay. This way, he could just smoke with abandon, avoiding to look at Jack, who …
"Disgusting habit!" Jack's amused voice interrupted his thoughts.
"What, smoking?" the Captain laughed, eyes snapping open in surprise.
"Yeah."
"You know, I think people who don't drink and smoke are suspicious. There's just something … off about them."
"Well, as long as I don't turn into a mustachioed vegetarian, I think you're safe," Jack shot back with a grin.
Despite his alleged disgust with smoking, the man seemed to be watching the Captain with intense fascination, his eyes never leaving the Captain's lips, pupils dilating every time he saw him suck on his cigarette. As though the way the Captain's cheeks hollowed were the most interesting thing in the world. As though it made Jack think of something, something that seemed to instill in him a deep hunger and need … But what that was was anyone's guess.
"Why did you join up?" Jack asked again quietly, his whisper a little rough around the edges.
The Captain thought of his dead mother, of the way the noise of war had burned the memory of her death out of his heart. But that wasn't all of it, was it? No, there had been other reasons too, powerful reasons.
"There … was this old man," he muttered and hesitated. "Amos. A neighbor of ours who lived across the road … He always used to say, 'If fate throws luck at ya, you've gotta give somethin' back!' … And it did … Fate, I mean. It did throw a lotta luck my way."
"Fate, huh," Jack said, quizzically raising one eyebrow.
"Or whatever you wanna call it. Providence … or … or … the universe … or …"
"God?" Jack prompted, his smile turning a tad sarcastic.
"Well, yes … maybe," the Captain replied defensively, slightly irritated at the condescension and ridicule directed at him.
For a moment, it looked as though Jack were considering replying to that, his smile turning half-pitiful and half-cruel. It seemed as if he were just searching for the right words to express himself, teeth worrying his bottom lip, eyes narrowed into two calculating slits. Then he had apparently made up his mind; he cleared his throat and …
Suddenly, the door to the tourist office swung open again, startling them both and revealing a politely smiling Ianto.
"Jack? Phone call for you."
"Thought I'd told you to deal with that?" Jack snapped, sounding slightly annoyed.
"I did. I've got rid of Paris for you," the young Welshman replied, seemingly not the least bit insulted and courteous as ever. "But there's another phone call for you. It's Bes. I think he wants to talk to you about-"
"I know," Jack sighed tiredly. "I'm coming."
Ianto just nodded and held the door, motioning for the two of them to go inside.
Jack was already through the door, and the Captain was about to follow him when he thought he saw something moving out of the corner of his eye. A human form, right above his head. He took a quick step back and looked up, but there was no one to be seen behind the railing atop the tourist office. Maybe it had been just his imagination …
"Coming?" he heard Jack's voice call out. (Ianto was still patiently holding the door.)
"Yeah."
Before following them inside, though, the Captain took one last drag from his cigarette and threw it into the water, watching the long arc of its lonely flight: a tiny red dot, glowing in the dark of the night, dropping toward the smooth surface of the Bay in a grandiose curve, fair and frightful like a burning plane, before finally plunging into the black stillness of the water.
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12. Chapter: To let go