A/N: This is a story I wrote after seeing it this weekend on the back of ten napkins at a rest stop near San Francisco. It's a Carl/Preston story and it's in two parts. Enjoy.
Disclaimer: I don't own King Kong, nor do I own its characters. I merely morph them into what I wish.
Preston quit his job as Carl Denham's assistant as soon as their ill-fated adventure ship docked once again in New York City. With seventeen men lost on Skull Island, all on the hands of his former overly-ambitious employer, he wanted to have nothing to do with Carl. When his cheek had been cut by the rope he had chopped in attempt to rescue Jack and Ann, he felt this fury grow inside of him, all directed towards Carl. He had seen the slightly crazed glint in his eyes and it angered Preston and frightened him at the same time. Here was this man who was so enwrapped in creating a film, that he would willingly place the lives of others in danger to complete the picture. The four weeks following their return to the United States, his dreams were haunted by not only the enormous animal, but of the native peoples of the island and how they had so ruthlessly killed his crew members. The barbaric way they had executed the sailor who had gone with their filming crew terrified him, causing him to bolt awake at night, drenched in sweat, shivering. But though he despised Carl Benham, the fear he had experienced when the natives had tried to bash the director's head against their wooden club was stronger than anything he had every felt in his life. He simply didn't want Carl to die. Sure, he hated him, but if anyone were to kill Carl, it would be him, though Preston knew he couldn't bring himself to murder anyone out of hatred.
Whatever happened to the remaining crew of their voyage, he had no idea. Jack had most likely gone off to write grand plays that would soon be acted out on Broadway. Ann would probably become a major movie star, filming in Hollywood, living a life in the lap of luxury. She had the beauty and the talent that had just been hidden under the silly performances she had been doing before hand. He wasn't worried about the two of them, nor was he worried about the ship's crew, for they could make millions from their act. Capturing Kong. It was the ape that he was worried about. An animal that incredibly large did not belong in a city such as New York, not under any circumstance. But money would always rank of common sense and ethnicity. He knew that, and as much as he didn't like it, it would nearly always apply towards the people who wished to get their paws on the green. Preston himself was never one of those people, but Carl was. And Preston was worried about him too. Carl's first showing of the ape to the public was tonight, and it was completely sold out. Around noon, Carl had shown up at his doorstep. Preston had just got home from his new job, having just exited the elevator, and was more than a bit surprised to see him standing in the hallway with the slip of yellow paper in his hand.
"I came to give you this," Carl said.
"Give me what?" Preston asked, not really caring if he sounded rude while he brushed past him to unlock the apartment door.
"A ticket to the show. My new show," Carl answered, holding out the narrow slip.
"Your first show," he pointed out as he entered his apartment and turned around in the doorway to face Carl.
"Yes, and hopefully not the last. It's sold out."
"I know," Preston said and politely took the ticket, placing it on the hall table next to the door.
"You seem to be doing pretty well off," Carl stated, the change of subject not going unnoticed by Preston.
"I've found a new job," he answered, holding the door open with a rigid arm.
"As what? A business suit model?" Carl asked, a natural-looking grin on his face.
"No," Preston nearly smiled. "I work at Empire State. As a banker."
"Do they pay you well?" Carl asked, adding, "Not that it's any of my business, just wondering."
"They pay me better than you ever did. On the occasion that I saw a paycheck," Preston replied, inwardly cringing at the coldness in his usual warm tone of voice.
Carl winced. "Sorry 'bout that. Once this gets rolling, I can pay you back."
"Forget about it. I'm doing fine," he said, shifting his weight from his left leg to his right. "It's over and done with."
"Alright?" he answered hesitantly.
"I've got paperwork to do, Carl," Preston said blankly, moving his hand that held the door open to the inner doorknob. "I worked all last night and this morning."
"I'll take that as my leave, then," he said, taking a few small steps backwards into the dimly lit hallway. "We may not work together anymore, but you did take part in the creation of this show and I think that's reason enough to come see it."
"Maybe," he said honestly.
"I want you to come," Carl said, his voice betraying the strong look in his eyes.
Preston heard the sincerity in his voice, as well as the undercurrent of hidden pleading. "I'll think about it."
"Wonderful!" he said, suddenly much brighter. "I'll see you later."
"Maybe," he added. "Goodbye."
Carl nodded and Preston watched him walk towards the elevator and the end of the hall before closing his apartment door. As soon as he shut the door, he leaned against the cool, smooth wood and slid down to the tiles, his legs stretched out in front of him. Pulling them up to his chest, he gripped his knees and threw the back of his head against the door. A sharp pain ripped through his head, but he tried his best to ignore it and took off his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose. That pain was nothing compared to the pain he felt in his chest when he saw Carl. Just hearing him speak brought up memories of being on that Godforsaken island. Brought up the fact that Carl could have died. Death by execution or death by poor judgment, the latter being the more likely. Seeing him brought up memories of the seventeen men who no longer walk the earth. Seeing him brought up the fact that Jimmy was now heartbroken because of the death of Hayes, a man who needn't take him in, but did anyways out of the kindness of his own heart. And now, Preston felt his heart break all over again at the sight of Carl Benham. He had hardly been able to keep his composure, fighting between the urge to either shake his hand or punch him in the face. It had only been minutes since Carl had left, and suddenly his apartment became very stuffy. Hauling himself off the cold floor, he walked over to the small living room window. Preston tossed his scarf on his sofa and threw the window open halfway. Fresh air rushed in to the room and he felt that he could breathe once again until he looked out the window.
It was a view to the street, four floors below. At noon, during lunchtime, the street was bustling with automobiles and people. Vendors pushed along carts with foods and miscellaneous supplies, most items that many couldn't afford. Children cried as their mothers refused their wish for candy and babies wailed as the winter cold stung their cheeks and the tips of their ears and noses. And right beneath the window stood Carl Benham, and Preston could see he stared blankly ahead of him, his hands shoved in his pockets. He could see his breath from above, the small clouds coming from his mouth and nostrils. He seemed lost, yet not confused. Just lost. He had not moved from his spot for moments on in until Preston saw him look up to his window, spotting him right away. Carl's eyebrows raised in question. Preston did nothing, but on whim, ran to his door and to the elevator, slipping on his glasses at the same time. As it lowered him to the lobby floor, he knew he had to ask. Ask the one question that had burrowed itself into the back of his mind. The doorman at the front called to him as he pushed through the revolving doors and to the stoop steps. With one foot on the second of the three icy steps, Preston's legs slipped underneath him, and a rush of adrenaline flushed through his body as he felt himself slowly fall towards the cobblestone and cement sidewalk. Carl broke his fall, grabbing him by the waist at the last second before he would've fallen directly face first into the ground.
"Goddamn it, what's wrong with you?" Carl asked, sounding slightly entertained.
"Well, I'm happy you're amused," Preston snapped back, pulling himself from the man's grip. Much to his dislike, when he stepped back, he nearly slipped again. "There's something I've got to ask you. Actually two. The first being, why are you still standing in front of my apartment building?"
"And the answer being I don't want to go to work," he replied truthfully.
"Why is that?" Preston asked, crossing his arms against his chest, partly for warmth.
"I don't believe in it enough," Carl said, using his hands in elaboration.
"I don't buy it," he said uncertainly.
"And why is that?" Carl asked, mimicking Preston's words.
"Work…film…theatre. That's what you care about," Preston said, adding. "That's what's important to you."
"You really think that? Do you know that every time I see that--that animal, I see the men who died and the native's eyes and that damn island that I wish to God I had never found? Did you know that? I don't want to go to work because work reminds me."
"But you're making money. You're raking it in like leaves."
"By using an ape as propaganda? His face will be on lunch pails in the hands of first graders around the nation. Hollywood will make a film about the events and every time I hear the name 'King Kong,' I'm going to be reminded of the terror I felt those days on Skull Island and the fear and pain that others felt because of me. Because of me, there will be kids growing up without their fathers. Because of me," Carl said with so much emotion that Preston knew it couldn't have been an act.
"So why don't you quit?" Preston asked, pulling his overcoat closer to his body as people passed around them without notice.
"What? Like you quit for me? Carl paused. "I can't. The production company won't allow it."
"You know why I quit," he said.
"Don't you have paperwork to do?" Carl asked with such venom in his voice that Preston felt himself recoil as Carl walked around him, barely brushing his shoulder.
"Do you still have nightmares?" he called after him.
Carl stopped in his tracks, but didn't turn around. 'What?"
"Do you still have nightmares?" he repeated, letting his hands fall to his sides.
"Do you?" he asked, almost snidely.
"I asked you," Preston shot back.
"Yes," Carl answered quietly and turned back around, his face serious. "Every night."
"So do I," he took a couple of small steps forward.
"Listen," Carl said softly, taking a step forward as well, "I know you're upset at me--"
"My feelings are justified," he interjected.
"I know. You have every right to be angry with me. I'm not asking for forgiveness, but I am asking for friendship or even an acquaintanceship."
"And why not forgiveness?" he questioned.
"Because I don't think you're ready to forgive me," Carl said, running a hand haphazardly through his wavy brown hair.
"You're right," Preston replied, but not rudely, just truthfully.
"So what do you say?" he held out his hand and looked into his eyes.
"Acquaintance," he said carefully and took Carl's hand within his own, surprised at how warm it was compared to his own cold one.
"It's a start," he said, sounding saddened as he shook his hand.
"Ah, what the hell," Preston sighed and brought Carl into an embrace.
"Hey, your cheek looks better," he said, in a much happier tone as he patted him on the back.
Carl's breath tickled his right ear as he mentioned his healing wound, now diminishing into a two inch scar on the right side of his cheek, beneath his eye. He pulled back from the embrace and saw a small grin on Carl's face as he clasped a hand gently around the back of his neck, with the other hand resting on his shoulder. "Your glasses fog up when it's cold."
"Yeah," Preston said almost sheepishly .
"I'm going to get some coffee. Would you like to come?" Carl asked, shoving his hands back in his pockets.
"No, I really do have paperwork to do," he answered.
"Well, then," he said, his eyes a bit disappointed as he continued, "I really hope I'll see you tonight."
"I might just come," he pulled his overcoat even tighter to his lean frame.
"Don't slip on the way up," he chuckled slightly, pointing to the icy stoop steps.
Preston smiled and make his way up cautiously. He turned around to say goodbye, still grinning slightly, but Carl Benham was gone…along with Preston's hatred for him as well.
Reviews are appreciated, the second part will be posted soon.