Weaver and Conrad: a Kong Skull Island fic

The seeker and the tracker...

Few weeks after Skull Island, Weaver and Conrad were aboard another aircraft carrier with Brooks and his team, on yet another expedition to an uncharted island.

At dusk they were admiring the sunset on the upper deck, where they had both come up for air after a strategy session with the scientists.

"Here," she said matter-of-factly as she handed him the charred RAF lighter.

Conrad processed it, and kept his emotions in check as he did always. "When did you get time to retrieve this?"

"When you found time to scoop up Chapman's dog tags."

She knew he would, if they did it all over again. In the middle of that insane battle with unheard-of Jurassic-era monsters, Conrad would risk his life to scoop up those tags from the ground. He knew what value they held. Just like his father's lighter. Mason regarded him in the dim light as he turned it over in his hands.

He looked up and into her eyes, wondering why she had risked her life for it. But he knew the answer. "You didn't have to. I'm not that sentimental, Weaver," he said lightly.

"And yet, you held on to it for all these years." She looked into his guarded eyes, searching. For she was the seeker. She who sought out the truth in all things.

And he, the tracker. He who found lost things and lost people. She wondered what it was that they did find on their wild journey through Skull Island. At length she smiled, giving up. Captain Conrad was an even match to Weaver the investigative reporter. He wouldn't give an inch unless he wanted to.

"If you don't want it, give it back," she said lightly, her hand grazing his arm gently as she walked away. "I might need it for another long exposure shot sometime soon." She walked a ways from him, leaned over the railing to take in the setting sun once again. As an afterthought, she lifted her camera, took a shot.

Conrad leaned over the railing himself, lost in thoughts. He turned at the sound of her camera's shutter. The lens had been trained on him this time.

He offered her a puzzled smile, which she promptly caught on film again as she offered a cheeky smile of hers in return. "Helps me analyze," she held up her camera. "Everything makes sense, seen through the lens," she explained mockingly, leaning back against the guard rail this time. The impish smile and the rays of the setting sun lent her an other-worldly silhouette that took Conrad's breath away for a moment.

"Does Monarch make sense to you?" he queried. He really wanted to know. He was always interested in what made Mason Weaver tick.

She shook her head. "I don't know, James. What is normal? Nothing much makes sense these days."

"And 'Mason Weaver: monster hunter', does?"

She laughed. "Mason Weaver, photo journalist," she corrected him, much like she had that first time they met below decks, before Skull Island. "What about Captain Conrad? Is he still searching for something?" She teased. "Which monsters are real... the ones you fought in wars, or the ones Monarch is leading you to on each expedition?"

"Both, and sometimes neither." He slipped the lighter into his pocket. Kong wasn't the only king, and they were out looking for more. "We don't know how many are there, what they are like, but at least we now know what Monarch is looking for," he said lightly even as the whole ordeal flashed by in his mind. He remembered with utmost clarity Kong setting Mason down on the ground, gently. The gentle beast who ripped the spine out of a ferocious monster moments ago. He remembered the terror as he ran towards her still form on the ground, and the wild kick of his own heart as she leaped up into his arms, coughing and sputtering. And then they held on to each other, gratitude the strongest emotion coursing through them. For each other, and for Kong. "Not every one of them will be like Kong, Mason."

"I know, but I have to be there so I can find out for myself."

He nodded in agreement as he joined her spot at the railing, and continued his reverie from earlier, staring at the horizon.

She thought of their World War veteran, hopefully enjoying that hot dog and beer, watching the Cubs play from the security of his own home and family. "You said no man ever comes home from war." She turned to look at him again.

"Yes, I did. It's the life of a gypsy for me, Weaver. Just like you."

"Hmm."

"I am not searching for home," he added softly as he placed a hand atop hers on the iron rail. He knew exactly what he had found on that island.

She turned her hand up so she could hold his. "I know," she smiled, "I haven't stopped searching for the truth, though."

"I know," he returned her smile. "You won't get lost. I'll always find you," he promised. "It's what I do."

And that was all that needed to be said, for the moment. Together they watched the sun dip over and below the horizon, painting the sky red and purple and a deep, deep blue. She held her camera in one hand, and his hand in the other, things that made sense to her. Smiled when he threaded his fingers through hers. Tomorrow they would hunt monsters. Seek the truth, find the lost, do whatever needs be done in this crazy world. In the meantime, they had one another. And after.