Author's Note: When I said this was going to be a 3 part story I underestimated my ability to get carried away. Since the original version of part 3 ended up twice as long as the others I've decided to split it into two. So here's three and four will be following shortly...

Part Three

Twelve weeks after it had departed, the rather battered and almost defeated looking SS Venture arrived safely back in New York, virtually sighing with relief as she eased into the dock. Police were awaiting her arrival. Or to be more precise awaiting Carl Denham's arrival. Three months certainly wasn't long enough to make his investors forget just how much he had stolen from them in order to try to finish his film.

"Well," Carl muttered apprehensively to Jack, warily eyeing the angry looking welcoming committee, bracing himself with a deep steadying breath and a swig from his hip flask, "Here goes nothing. Wish me luck."

Jack let him walk off without doing so, the words sticking in his throat when he attempted them.

Sighing deep and frustrated he leant heavily on the railings, content to watch the action from a distance, not really sure what to do with himself. He had nothing to pack – he'd been all but kidnapped onto this voyage in the first place – and he had neither the energy nor the inclination to get himself involved in Carl's problems right now. The man was still his friend, Jack had known him too long for even the events of this trip to change that, but boy did he make it hard work at times.

He supposed he should go really, get back to his life in the city. The theatre was waiting for him, calling him home. He wondered if they'd still put on his play despite his disappearance or if they'd simply given up and gone with something else. He wondered if anybody had known where he'd gone or if it just seemed to the wider world that he had simply vanished without a trace. What had they been saying about him? Did they think he was dead? He hoped the obituaries had been good.

He should call his parents back in Chicago too, they were probably getting worried by now. He didn't speak to them all that often, but three months was a long time to have no contact whatsoever, even for his family.

He had so much he could and should be doing right now, that much was clear, but still he made no motion to leave. He couldn't. It seemed just too odd to simply walk away after all that had happened.

And then there was Ann.

He still hadn't spoken to her, not properly at least. Each of their few, short conversations had consisted of formal pleasantness and polite niceties, all punctuated with awkward silences. In truth, he had always found talking to her a little difficult, his brain unable to adequately express what he felt or wanted to convey, but now it was proving to be neigh on impossible. He could never find the words, the irony of a writer being in that situation not lost on him.

But somehow he kept managing to persuade himself that he didn't really need to. That surely she knew by now. Wasn't it obvious? Wasn't it more than words?

Why couldn't he just say them then?

"Excuse me."

He jumped near half a mile even though Ann's voice was soft, barely more than a whisper just loud enough to be heard over the sounds of arguing from Carl and his investors and the workings of the dock around them. Jack's gaze flew up from the dark streets in the distance to see her standing there, looking apologetic and uncomfortable. She seemed a different woman with the fancy dresses and make up gone, her petite frame shielded instead under a simple coat and hat, her small fingers clutching at the handle of her suitcase. Winter had made its way to New York since they had last left and her pale skin was edged with blue in response. She no longer looked like the glamorous film star in the making, just another actress trying to make it in a big city.

Not that he found her any less enchanting.

When Carl had first told him that he'd hired a former vaudeville performer to play the female lead in his film, Jack had been horrified. Outraged even. A glorified clown wouldn't do for one of his works. He needed a real actress. Someone who could live the part, not just play it like some kind of walking cliché. But Carl had been right, like he so annoyingly often was when you least expected it, there was something indescribable about Ann Darrow. Something Jack found mystifying. Captivating. She was a writer's dream. Every emotion she showed on film was real, like she'd lived each of them a thousand times over. Like she felt every word as though it was the truth of her own life.

Except when he'd kissed her. There'd been something unexpected in her face then – fear? Mistrust perhaps? Not of him, he was sure, but of the feelings themselves. He could sympathise with that and it only made him want to kiss her more.

Yet he still couldn't put it into words.

He held her gaze for a moment, his brain working over time, trying to come up with something appropriate. When nothing was forthcoming and the moment was becoming increasingly awkward, he stepped back out of her way, a defeated sigh leaving his lips. She looked at him a little longer as though expecting more. When he didn't offer anything she cast her eyes away and walked past him, down the deck.

Jack cursed himself under his breath, kicking the bottom of the railing hard. He would say something to her next time she walked past for sure. Definitely next time. He had to because this was just getting ridiculous, driving him absolutely crazy. They were only words. Words he was good at. Words he could do.

He tried to watch her with subtle sideways glances so he could be prepared, but without wanting to be too obvious. Down at the far end of the deck she was talking to Jimmy, the occasional whipping breeze tugging viciously at the bottom of her coat. He couldn't work out what she was saying but the boy was patting her arm, reassuring her about something. Wasn't that meant to be his own job?

Jack's thoughts were interrupted as the footsteps of a large group of people caught his attention, coming from the opposite direction. He turned to see Carl and his investors heading his way, a couple of police officers ominously bringing up the rear like pack dogs waiting for their master's order to strike.

"If you don't like what I show you, if you don't think we can make a killing with this, then arrest me," he heard Carl say, clearly doing verbal gymnastics to save himself from prison, "But you have to see this. What can you lose, eh? I mean it's not going to make me any less able to pay you back, right?"

Carl laughed at that but his investors clearly didn't see the amusement in it.

Jack backed off, giving them plenty of room as the group approached him and they walked past without a second glance in his direction. Suited him fine.

Before they got much further though Preston came hurrying by, calling out Carl's name. When the other man failed to respond, Preston reached through the gaggle of men and yanked him to a stop by his collar.

Carl turned on him irritably, straightening his collar back into place.

"What is it Preston?" he asked with false pleasantry through gritted teeth, "In case you hadn't noticed I'm a little busy here?"

The other man didn't answer immediately, instead just pulling Carl a few paces back towards Jack, out of the investor's curious earshot but close enough so that even though he lowered his voice Jack could still hear them.

"Herb's family are here," Preston explained in an unsteady, troubled tone, "They wanna see him."

Carl looked unsettled for a moment, his face losing some of its colour, his eyes darting around as though looking for some kind of escape. When he apparently found none, a slightly trembling hand left his pocket and brought his hip flask to his lips. When he eventually closed the cap again, he took a deep breath, his gaze settling firmly back on his assistant.

"Be a good boy, Preston, go talk to them, would you?"

He went to go, to return to his investors, but Preston turned him roughly back by his arm, apparently incensed by Carl's heartless response.

"And what exactly I am supposed to tell them eh, Carl? The truth!"

The other man shrugged, an essence of uncaring nonchalance about his reaction although Jack knew him better than that.

"You'll think of something, you're good at that. It's what I pay you for."

"This was your picture!" Preston reasoned angrily, although still trying to keep his voice low, "He died on your film! The least you can do is tell his wife in person!"

"I'm busy," Carl intoned firmly with a hard look in his eyes, although Jack could see it was fear and not anger that made him so aggressive, "I can't be dealing with the little things, Preston, I've got to look at the bigger picture!"

"Carl-"

"Preston!" he snapped back, truly losing it for the first time, "Just do your damn job!"

Preston looked furious, indignant and incredulous all at the same time. Jack had a feeling that these were emotions that Carl brought up often in his assistant although never all at once or with such force.

"You know what?" he cried, not caring who heard him now, "Screw you, Carl! I quit!"

He turned on his heels, stalking off down the ship.

"You what?" Carl called after him, a mixture of shock and disbelief on his face.

"You heard me!" Preston shouted back, "I quit! Find someone else to do your dirty work for once. Or better yet do it your damn self!"

For probably the first time since he'd met him Jack momentarily saw Carl with absolutely nothing to say.

"Fine!" he spluttered out furiously when the words finally came, any demeanour of the calm, cool showman instantly lost, "Walk off! Have your sulk! You'll be back before the end of the week! Where else is a spineless son of a bitch like you gonna find a job?"

Preston was already gone.

Taking another large swig from his hip flask, a clearly shaken Carl finally realised that the exchanged hadn't gone unwitnessed. He looked at Jack for a long moment. At first there was challenge in his gaze, daring him to make comment on what he had overheard. Then he seemed to deflate, something deeper than hate clawing into his eyes. It was shame. Self loathing. At last Carl Denham had finally gone too far.

Then he took a deep breath, hurriedly mopping the ever growing sheen of perspiration from his brow and turned back to his investors. The showman was back again, the real man deeply buried, but now there was an edge of desperation in his manner that hadn't been evident before. It was a weakness and these guys were like sharks. Jack saw the smug look on one of the investor's faces and this time he had no problem muttering 'good luck' to Carl under his breath. He was going to need it.

As they moved out of sight towards the cargo hold and the encounter he had just witnessed started to drift towards the back of his mind, Jack realised that he had lost sight of Ann. His eyes hurriedly darted around, almost in a panic. He'd probably just missed her when she was in plain sight; it was dark after all. And she was likely the only woman in a good mile of this place, she shouldn't be that hard to see.

And she wasn't. His eyes soon found her at the bottom of a gang plank on the far end of the deck. It hadn't been there before. She'd obviously asked Jimmy if there was another way off the ship so she could avoid the reporters and police and he had provided her with one. Even from this distance Jack could see her slight smile as she turned and thanked the boy, planting a soft kiss on his cheek. Then she turned and began to walk away.

A small part of Jack was hollering at him to run after her, but his legs wouldn't cooperate and he knew that even if he caught her, he still wouldn't know what to say.

He was beginning to doubt the words would ever come. Or if she wanted to hear them.

Ann stared silently at her own, almost unrecognisable reflection in the mirror. Just another one of the prancing ponies now, her job was to blend in, to be one of the faceless dozen. She was just part of the decoration, there to be looked at but never really seen, and it made her feel dead inside as she emotionlessly put on a pair of dazzling earrings. There was no excitement now, no rush of adrenaline as she prepared to perform. She was hollow. The world was hollow. But it was either this or the burlesque and this was definitely the lesser of two evils. At least she would leave here tonight with her dignity intact. Mostly.

She slid a bracelet onto her wrist, having to do it up a little tighter than usual to keep it safely on. She didn't know if her half hearted attempts at meals from the meagre amount in her cupboards had in fact made her smaller or if she just felt it. When you had been under the protection of a twenty-five foot ape is was surprising how small and exposed you suddenly felt when you were alone again.

She looked away from the unbearably hypnotising effect of her new meaningless reflection, trying to clear her thoughts. She had to concentrate. Necessity was important now. She simply couldn't afford to lose this job. Carl had paid her rent for three months before they had departed - even though he had assured her that the undoubted success of his film meant she would never have to go back there again –- but as soon as she'd returned her landlord had informed her in no uncertain terms that if she didn't pay him by the end of the week she was out. The need to have a roof over her head and the insistence of her complaining stomach had driven her here and it would have to do for now. Things would pick up, they always did. She had to keep believing that.

Of course there was one other option, but that was entirely out of the question. Carl had asked her, begged her even, but she had flatly refused to appear in his show. It was bad enough Kong had been captured because of her, she wouldn't profit from his exploitation too, no matter how much she needed the money. Or at least that's what she told herself the reason for her refusal was. Certainly not that she couldn't face him, his eyes looking at her in bewildered incomprehension. How could he possibly understand the need for money and profit in order to survive?

Perhaps it would have been better if she had been there, perhaps he would be more docile and at peace if he could see her and understand that she was safe and there for him. Or maybe he'd just go crazy again. She couldn't let him get that distressed. She certainly couldn't bear to witness it another time.

And then there was always the chance that she may see Jack there. Even at the thought of him her blood ran a little warmer, a blush spreading to her cheeks. She was almost certain that he wouldn't have taken Carl's money either. He'd probably returned to his theatre. She wondered if he'd put on his new play, the one he had written for her…

They'd been so close to being everything…

Ann sighed, inwardly chastising herself. What did it matter what he was doing? He wasn't any concern of hers anymore than she was one of his. She'd been an idiot for believing it could work out between them. Sure, she'd been angry at him for a while, but she'd been angry at everyone. But as she'd begun to warm again he'd turned cold. Formal and awkward around her. Whatever they had once had, she had been right when she thought it was doomed. She'd doomed it, like she always did.

She had to forget him. Forget both of them. She had a performance to do. She needed to survive.