Deathwing8 – Thanks for reviewing! Glad the update was appreciated :)

LordLanceahlot – Wow, thank you! I'm glad you think it's well written, it's very fluffy, so the writing's about the only substantial thing in the whole fic ;) Thanks for reviewing!

PA – Thanks for reviewing! It's really nice to know that the ramblings of my deranged mind are well-received :)

Ermine aka Tree – Awful, isn't it? I can't stand the review system…but thank you for the link. There's another flashback in this chapter, and the clips really helped. Thank you! (hands out e-chocolate and King Kong cookies). Thanks for reviewing!

LadyOfThieves – Manny is the dude Ann is talking to at the beginning of the film, one of the vaudeville guys, remember? I don't blame you if you don't – it feels like we went to see it a very long time ago! I have absolutely no idea how you spell forgetful-whatever, that's what spellcheck's for! Speak to you soon – look up V for Vendetta!

Thank you for all your wonderful reviews, they really made getting through this week bearable. Sorry about the wait. I meant to update this earlier in the week, but I never found time to finish off the chapter. But hey, three updates for three fics can't be bad, right?

Warning, even more fluff in this chapter. But yeah, is that a problem? Really?


Chapter IV: Writing It For You

Though Jack's apartment was not on a high floor compared to many others, the noise of New York waking up did not disturb them. Both Jack and Ann slept peacefully, unaware of the chaos of the city below. The sun rose high, and yet they both slept peacefully, contented in knowing, even in sleep, that the other lay close by.

When Ann woke up, she knew it was late in the morning because of the fragile winter sunlight that somehow managed to slip around the curtains and illuminate the room. However, she didn't feel the slightest inclination to move. It was warm under the blankets, and she could feel Jack's body next to hers, at the exact same temperature of her blood. It felt like they were one person, joined together permanently.

For once, she had slept without dreams. It was odd, for her. Even as a kid, she'd always been an incredibly lucid dreamer, to the point that she'd been scared to go to sleep when she was very young. Every nightmare she ever had was ten times more real than she ever thought was possible, every emotion seeming more intense in the darkness of her room when she woke up. And ever since they had brought Kong back from Skull Island, she hadn't been sleeping well – in fact, it could hardly be called sleeping. After his death, she half expected her subconscious to wake up at night and decide to torture her. But last night, she hadn't had any dreams at all. It was almost gratifying, and she never thought that the simple act of not dreaming would let her feel so refreshed.

Lazing about in bed wasn't a natural activity for her, and though she felt perfectly content where she was, she felt like she had to get up and do something. Sliding out of the bed, trying not to wake Jack up, she got to her feet and wandered through the apartment. She half-felt as though there was something she should be doing, but she didn't want to. A wonderful ethereal feeling was still making her head float, and doing something mundane and practical would kill that sensation for sure.

She wandered over to the typewriter. Everything around it was in a stage of perpetual chaos, with coffee rings staining bits of newspaper, and plates with old food abandoned on them were strewn about the place, as though he had lived at his typewriter for the last month or so. It wouldn't surprise her. Ann couldn't stop smiling as she looked at the disorder around her.

Clearing a space for her cup of coffee, she sat down, legs curled up so that she could rest her chin on her knees. Something in the seemingly never-ending pile of papers and plays caught her eye, and she gently shifted it out, doing her best not to dislodge the numerous other paperback novels and loose sheets of paper resting on top. It was a simple typed script, sheets of white pages covered with simple black type. It was all very familiar, and as Ann glanced at the yellow cover sheet, she knew for sure that she had seen this before. The title of the play gave it away; Cry Havoc. So he had finished it…

He'd never finish it.

She was sorry to have to think like that, but it was true. She'd studied the guy's work for years, she wasn't the only one who considered him a genius. But what Jack Driscoll did were character studies. Dramatic plays. Psychological, even. A comedy seemed like an unusual change of pace. She couldn't blame him though. The Depression was hitting the country all over, and gritty character pieces wouldn't sell. The few people left that had the time and money to go to a play weren't going to want to see something that was going to capture the voice of the working class, they were going to want something to take their minds off the terrible poverty surrounding them. This sort of comedy would definitely draw in the small percentage of people who still could afford an evening at the theatre. Still, it wasn't exactly his usual style. On the other hand, the bit she'd skimmed was good. Actually pretty funny stuff. Not vaudeville by any means, but pretty funny.

"You're writing a comedy?" she said as a means of talking without having to give a comment.

"I'm writing it for you."

Ann froze slightly. That wasn't the response she had been expecting. "Why would you do that?" she asked, her voice sounding soft and breathy even to her.

"Why would I write a play for you?" Jack repeated the question.

"...Yes."

"Isn't it obvious?" Jack said quietly, almost so quietly that she couldn't hear it.

"Not to me..." Ann said, smiling to hide the fact that her heart had suddenly sped up for no apparent reason.

"Well...it's in the subtext..."

"I guess I must've missed it..." she replied, turning away slightly.

There was a pause in which nothing was said, then Jack broke in, almost awkwardly, as though he wasn't sure how to put this into words. "It's not about words..."

Ann suddenly turned back to look at him, and she met his gaze. She could feel herself starting to flush, but she couldn't break his gaze.

He kissed her then. And she made no effort to push him away.

A faint smile crossed Ann's face, remembering that kiss. Who'd have known it would end up being so life-changing. It felt like a lifetime ago, when she was still naïve enough to believe that everything in the world would come right with faith.

But then again, she was on the cusp of getting everything she had ever wanted. Wasn't that an example of the whole world coming right?

She heard movement in the next room, which knocked her out of her reverie. Turning towards the door, she saw Jack, hair rumpled from sleep and shirtless. It brought back memories of being on the Venture, and even though there were bits of that time that she'd rather forget, she would be quite happy to remember this view for the rest of her life – and she probably would.

"I was wondering whether you'd gone," he admitted, a roughness that gave away the fact that he had just woken up.

"Where would I go?" she asked, honestly surprised he might have even thought that.

"I know…it was stupid," he confessed. Ann could sense the slight embarrassment in his voice, and for some reason, that surprised her. She hadn't expected him to get embarrassed…well, ever, really.

"I was reading," she said, indicating the play. "You finished it."

"I had you as inspiration," he replied, bringing a small blush to her cheeks. She was used to plaudits – she'd worked in theatre – but hearing it from Jack was different.

"What are you working on now?" she asked.

"What makes you think I'm working on something?" he asked, humour in his voice.

Ann smiled too. "You're always working on something," she said, almost shyly. "You never seem to stop."

"Well," he began. "I was thinking of writing a love story. With such inspiration, I don't think I can fail."

"I thought you said you'd painted the stage with love," she teased, bringing to mind a conversation on the SS Venture,

"Not this sort of love."

There was a silence between them, but it was comfortable. Simple.

"I know what you mean," she said quietly. "Not like this."

For a moment, everything was still. And then, almost as though the thought entered their heads as one, they ended up back together, arms tight around one another, merging like one being. Ann could feel the warmth generated from Jack's body, and the rhythmic thumping of his heart, and she suddenly felt strangely alive.

"I like having you here," he said finally, breaking the comfortable, natural silence between them. "I like waking up with you."

"Is that a subtle ploy to get me back to bed?" Ann asked with a hint of humour in her voice.

"And if it is?"

"Then," she said grandly. "I'd be very happy to oblige." With a smile on her face, she tilted her head upwards eagerly to kiss her love, her heart on her lips.


Please review!