She fought them all, and he loved her for it. He loved her for surviving on that hell of an island when anyone else alone would have been torn to shreds. He loved her for fighting him as he tried to gently manhandle her away from the hellish gates, and the wreckage, and the humped shape of the thing that had tried to kill them.
He loved her for fighting Carl, and what was left of the crew, who stood in a stunned and faintly menacing ring around the pair as she told him exactly what she thought of him and his plan and his whole expedition.
He thought he couldn't love her any more, but when Carl called her an ungrateful broad, and she slapped him, he realized he was wrong.
But it wasn't until he smelled the alcohol on him, and saw the look in Carl's eyes, the look a man gets when he's thinking of hitting a woman, that he realized that he wasn't the only one. Because not twenty feet away lay a beast that had done exactly what he felt he would do now if anyone else laid a hand on her again.
"Carl, he said, "Let it go." He felt hollow and he sounded it.
He found himself pinned under the weight of a pair of disbelieving gazes. He didn't look at Anne. If there was nothing in her expression to give him any hope, then he wasn't sure he wanted to see. It was hard enough to watch Carl's. Shock, to anger, anger to a kind of bland disinterest. He'd done his job. He'd brought back their star and their prize, and now if he wanted to simply turn himself into another piece of baggage, then it didn't seem to bother Carl Denham a bit.
"Never figured you were that soft, Jack. Maybe her, but not you." He smirked, and took a pull from the flask he'd stuffed in his pocket. With one hand he gestured carelessly at the surrounding men. "Get these two back to the ship before they wake our buddy up."
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Two of the remaining crew ferried them across to the Venture. She sat silently the entire trip, staring down into the water as though somewhere in its depths it held the perfect solution to the wretched situation they found themselves in. She refused to meet Jack's eyes. He sat slumped on his rough plank, still too numb to feel the aches and pains. His only thought now was to reach the boat. Please, God, just let us get to the boat. Over and over again in his mind he saw her hand reaching up to grab the rail, her foot lifting to step onto the deck. He replayed the image like a prayer, a ward against any other disaster this place might want to throw at them. Over and over. Please just let us get there.
Then they were there, and her hand was reaching up, and her bare foot was on the deck, and he thought Thank you.
The deck was empty and silent.
The two men—Christ, he couldn't even remember their names—who had helped hoist them up the ladder hurried off to complete the laundry list of orders that Carl had been shouting at them even as they pushed off into the surf. Ann huddled close. He wondered if she even realized it, but he felt the same urge. There was nothing that didn't seem menacing now. Ever shadow held a memory of panic. Was it only two days ago that he'd stood on this deck? Two days of eternity. And now here they were. Forgotten.
He would have to find a new cabin. The thought crowded sluggishly in. He'd overstayed his welcome in the cage. A new cabin, one that belonged to a dead man. Well, there were plenty now weren't there? And Ann's rooms were—
He snapped out of his daze just in time to sling an arm around her waist as she sank down to her knees. He went down beside her and took her arms, turning her to face him.
"Ann?"
Her face was white. She said, "I don't know what to do."
"I know."
She dug her fingers through her riotous blonde curls. "I have to…do something. I can't just let them…"
"I know," he said again. It was all he could think of. And he really did know. Only he had the crew at his back when he'd flew in a panic to find her, when he thought his heart would burst with the need to DO SOMETHING. Now, it was just the two of them. And not a thing they could do.
Did Kong feel it, he wondered, when woke to see him taking her away? Yes. He knew he did. Jack swallowed and tugged her close. She let her forehead thump down onto his shoulder. Thankfully not the one that had been oozing blood for the past few hours. He caught the sounds of someone trying to crush back tears. "I'm sorry."
They stayed like that for several minutes, until their legs started to stiffen and he knew that if he didn't get up soon, he would likely need to be carried inside. They should find rooms, he thought…or he would find her a room…he wasn't sure he would be able to sleep in a cabin vacated by any of the men he'd seen crushed, eaten, or otherwise dispatched in the past two days. Maybe he could find a quiet corner on deck somewhere…drag a mattress out…
Neither of them noticed the footsteps. Jack jumped a good foot in the air when a strange hand descended on his shoulder.
Englehorn stepped back and held up his hands to the wild-looking pair sitting on his deck, staring at him as though he might savage them. Wordlessly, he held out a hand, and Jack reached out to take the key that dangled from his fingers.
"My cabin," he said, shortly. "Get off the deck before you both fall over."
Ann opened her mouth to protest, but the Captain had already spun on his heel and stalked off, growling curses to the men heaving load after load of heavy rope and chain into the boat. Leaving the two of them to stare and wonder.
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The lamp was lit. The Captain's cabin was larger than any other, but empty of anything personal, save the bare essentials. Jack swung open the door, and stood staring for a moment at the sight of his belongings stacked neatly against the wall. Beside them was a small trunk of Ann's things, rescued from the battle zone that her room had become. They found hot water, as well, and rags, and a pile of roughly folded blankets. Jack dragged a hand through his hair and muttered, "Well, I'll be damned."
Ann gazed around in wonder. "When did he...?" She stopped short at Jack's soft chuckle.
"Our good Captain Englehorn is a master at popping up when you least expect him. Trust me."
It was heaven to be able to wash grimy and bloody faces and hands. Jack insisted on standing in the corridor as she changed into a decent dressing gown. Then he took her hand, sat her down, and wordlessly began cleaning up her collection of scrapes, cuts, skinned knees and elbows, and mud-smeared bruises. She let him, not really sure how to turn away such kindness without feeling like as much a bastard as Denham. She wondered if she looked as battered as he did. What she could see of herself without a mirror was turning every color in the book. They would be a rainbow of bruises come morning. She didn't look forward to seeing her own face any time soon.
Very gently, he finished bandaging up the worst of her cuts. It hurt in a way that had nothing to do with torn skin. He was undoing all her anger, and she couldn't loose it. It was all that was shoring up her walls now. Walls higher than Kong's, but full of cracks. It had never been a struggle to keep the tears at bay before. Standing before the boarded doors of the theater that was her home or the gates where she thought her life would end, it didn't make any difference. But this man was taking them down stone by stone.
...Nothing good ever lasts, Mr. Denham...
She pulled her hand from his, firmly. "Thank you, Jack. But I'm fine, really. I won't break."
He looked up at her, and smiled that small, lopsided smile she'd become so familiar with. "Of course not. No doubt about that."
She tried to smile back, but suddenly wondered if the same could be said for him. At least she'd gotten one (freakishly) decent night's sleep since this whole nightmare began. He was trembling, and his face was an unhealthy shade of gray. Something tightened up in her chest. Stone by stone. The bastard.
...if she loves someone, it's doomed...
She patted the lumpy mattress beside her and said, "Come here."
He shook his head. She wondered if it was a no or an attempt to stay awake.
"Jack, don't be stubborn."
"No...I should go...let you get some slee—"
"Mr. Driscoll?"
He blinked at her.
"Please don't say another word."
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Her hands were surprisingly steady as she shuffled him out of the ruin of his shirt and set to cleaning up the mess the island had made of him. Whatever had laid into his shoulder had thankfully spared him from needing stitches, though it had bled more than enough. He was weirdly fascinated by the bruises. He'd never known skin could change color so vividly.
The dozens of thin scratches decorating the rest of his torso seemed to confuse her. He would be curious later to know what his face looked like when she asked, because for whatever reason, she seemed to change her mind and decide it was a topic best left alone. Which he was grateful for. He hadn't eaten anything in days, but he thought he could still manage to be sick all over her if he had to think of it any more than necessary.
He had a feeling it should all hurt worse than it did. But he was getting numb again, and that was good. Every so often his ears would begin to ring, and everything would go bright around the edges. But that was fine too.
She was quiet and intent, and still couldn't seem to meet his eyes. Duty, he thought. He'd come after her, after all. But he didn't blame her if she didn't want to see his face. There was a great injustice being done and he wasn't doing anything about it. He was as bad as they were.
And as trapped as the thing on the beach.
"At least he gave me the chance to jump..."
Ann went still, and glanced up at him. He realized that he'd said the words out loud, though he hadn't even been aware that they wanted to be said.
She was looking at him oddly. He thought she was. Everything was bright again. He was shaking and he couldn't seem to stop. "What, Jack?"
He opened his mouth to explain, and then shut it again. There was no explanation. That was all. He could only shake his head.
"I think you need to sleep." She put a last knot in the bandage wrapped round his shoulder.
"I'm fine. Really. I should—"
She blew out the lamp. In the sudden darkness, the afterimages danced. Then she was pulling him down, and pulling a scratching woolen blanket over them, and he didn't think about things anymore for a while. He didn't even have time enough to be astonished.
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She woke in the dark, and had no idea where she was. The space around her seemed to be full of...things...reaching out for her. She lay frozen in terror for a long panicky moment, and then she felt the familiar shape twisting against hers in the warm blackness and heard him groan her name.
"Jack?"
With a harsh gasp, he lurched up in the bed. She could dimly make out his hands, clawing and fretting at himself, as though he was trying to escape something, or fight something off. She thought she had an idea what it might be. When she sat up to reach for him, he jerked away with a wild look in his eye. "Jack. Stop."
He struggled. "No...I have to..."
"What is it?"
"...find her...I..."
Gulping down the lump in her throat, she caught his wrists. Fear was still zinging through her bloodstream, and it gave her enough strength to hold on until the fight went out of him. His eyes were glazed. His hands were freezing. "It's all right, Jack. I'm here. We're safe. Shhh. You saved us. We're safe." He finally met her eyes, and she could see him struggling to pull himself out of the dream.
The least she could do was give him something to grip at this end. Gently, she folded her arms around him, trying to find some space left among their mutual collection of cuts and bruises to hold him without making anything hurt worse than it already did. Stroking his hair seemed like a safe thing (if she avoided the ugly knot at the base of his skull where the hair was stiff with dried blood) so she did, and whispered quiet things until his breathing was easy again against her neck. He didn't try to move, and she didn't push him away. And if he fell asleep right there, she knew she'd stay that way all night long.
She was almost asleep again, herself, when heavy footsteps crashed outside in the corridor, running by. She heard Englehorn distantly shouting commands. Ann's jaw clenched, and her hands made fists against Jack's back. What was it now? Natives again? Was Kong awake, and feeling murderous? Some new creature bent on devouring them all? She didn't want to know, and she didn't care. She had the sudden urge to slap someone again.
Instead she said, sounding so defeated she made herself sick, "It's not fair."
Jack whispered, "No...it's not."
She nodded wearily. That was all that could really be said for that, wasn't it? Then another thought floated to the surface. "Jack, what did you mean? Who gave you the chance to jump?"
He lifted his head from her shoulder slowly, as though it weighed a ton. "Carl. He was right." His eyes were black, and very sad as he tried to find the words he was looking for. "I could have jumped. But I didn't. An' if he gave me the chance again, I still wouldn't take it..." He took a ragged breath. "But you two...one of you never got the chance, the other didn't even know you needed one... and now it's all the same in the end, really...here the three of us are..."
Ann shuddered. She didn't understand it all, but she understood enough. "Because of me."
"No, Ann." He winced. "Not because of you."
"Yes!" Stone by stone. She could feel it crumbling. "I told Mr. Denham, and I should have told you… My theater. This film. That innocent animal." Tears were hovering on the edge, but she wasn't really crying. No, she wasn't. And she wouldn't. Jack was looking at her as though she was hurting him, after all the trouble she went through not to. "I doom things. It'll be you next, Jack."
"I thought you made people laugh."
"Strangers. And if I were you, I would stay a stranger."
He tried to smile but when he spoke, his voice sounded like it was breaking. Or something was.
"It's too late. I'm already doomed."
When he kissed her, the tears escaped, but in the darkness it didn't seem to matter. She'd rebuild in the morning. For the moment, let it lie in ruins.
-Owari-