Work Text:
Conrad was leaning against a tree, sweat-soaked and breathing hard, and Mason considered snapping a quick picture, because 'sweat-soaked and breathing hard' was a pretty good look on Conrad (of course, what wasn't?) but then he looked at her and she decided to just enjoy the view while it lasted.
Professional photo journalist, she reminded herself, not that there'd been much reporting recently. Not to the public, at least, which seemed to beg the question what the point of all of this even was.
"We investigate," Brooks had said. "We inventorize. Where possible, we protect. What we do, what you do - it matters."
Saving the world one picture at a time, that's me, Mason thought, and Conrad smiled at her as if he was reading her mind and that looked good on him, too.
"Are you all right?" he asked.
"Yes," she said, because she did know how to answer that right now, and they were alive, and breathing and together, and that was as 'all right' as anyone could ask for right now, surely. "You?"
"Could be better," Conrad said. "Nothing a bit of time and rest won't fix."
"Oh, good. I'm sure we're about to get lots and lots of that real soon," Mason said. Her left arm throbbed from where the moth thing had brushed up against her, or she against it.
It had looked beautiful and gorgeous and otherworldly - if only, and like a fool, she'd stood there and watched it come closer and closer, until Conrad had yanked her back, one of her hands still stretched out to touch what, on second thought, had been better left untouched, at least by humans.
Skull Island had spoilt her, in a way. Kong had spoilt her.
Most monsters, alas, weren't like Kong. They were more like the skull-crawlers, mean and nasty and hostile, even if some of them photographed spectacularly well.
Conrad chuckled. "A few days, at least. I hope. After this."
"You're assuming we're both going to survive this," Mason said. She didn't feel scared. She'd gone straight past that to some state of mind where she didn't seem to feel pain or fear or hunger or thirst or anything other than the thrill of being alive in the here and now.
"Yes." Conrad brushed a hand through his hair.
"Pretty optimistic," Mason said.
Conrad shrugged. "I believe in planning for the second-worst scenario."
"So what's that long-term?" Mason asked. She knew it should worry her, to have become this ... person who ran around dangerous places all the time, who actively went looking for monsters in order to snap a few pictures - there were less dangerous subjects she could be photographing, and for much better pay, but she also knew that if she walked away now, she'd always regret it.
She'd always wonder what stories she'd missed, what sights she'd missed seeing.
And of course there was also the bit where she almost certainly would never again see Conrad if she quit. Mason wouldn't say Conrad was her main reason for staying, but, well, a woman could do worse when it came to travel companions.
"Staying alive," Conrad said. "Making enough money to comfortably retire one day."
"One day," Mason echoed. One day you're going to stand there all sweat-soaked and hard-breathing, and I'll -
"Let's have a look at that arm of yours," Conrad said.
"It's fine," Mason protested even as she held it out already and Conrad got out the first-aid kit that was at once ridiculously over- and understocked, because at least half of the things they encountered were things modern medicine hadn't even heard of.
"Really. So tell me, does it hurt when I - " Conrad gripped her arm lightly. Mason yelped. "I'll take that as a 'yes', shall I? Now, let's see what we got this time."
"Any mothballs in there?"
Conrad's smile was very thin. Mason realized that he was worried - less about them, more about her. From anyone else, it would have felt sexist. From Conrad, it felt ... caring. Hopeful, in a way, even if Mason knew perfectly well there was a vast difference between 'it matters to me if you get hurt' and 'I would like to spend a couple of days and nights in a bed with you. naked.'
"This might work," he said, not waiting for her to agree or disagree before applying it.
It did work, leaving her arm feeling a little cold but no longer painful, so Mason let it go. This time. "Thanks."
"Any time," Conrad said. "If it hadn't been for you - well, I'd either be dead or gone back to a state of not living, which boils down to the same thing, really. You - you make a difference."
"Is this going to be a love confession?" Mason grinned, grabbing her water bottle and noticing its weight - or lack thereof. "Here? Now?"
"Neither of us is going anywhere any time soon," Conrad said. "From that point of view, it's ideal."
"Could get kind of awkward," Mason said, swallowing. Tomorrow morning, around dawn, their pick-up should arrive.
"That's why it's not a love confession," Conrad said. "It's just what it sounded like. I appreciate your company. I'm happy to have you around."
I'd love for you to screw my brains out, Mason thought. To see what you look like when you really let go, give up control for a while. "Same here," she said. "We make a pretty good team."
"We do," Conrad agreed. "So why would I want to risk screwing that up for the sake of, well, sex? Though I'm sure it would be very good sex," he added.
"Thanks," Mason said. How long has it been - Not when she'd been embedded, of course; way too much chance of drama or resentment and anyway, it was hard enough getting people to view her as one of the guys without that getting in the way. "And you're right. It would be."
Conrad didn't even blush or look a little uncomfortable. Instead, he smiled, like he'd thought about it as often as she had, and rather liked what his imagination had come up with so far.
The real deal would still be better, of course, but.
"You're very welcome," he said. "Now, would you like to eat something?"
"I would, thank you." She didn't feel all that hungry, but in this line of work, you ate when there was a chance to do so, and besides, what else was there to do, other than ogle Conrad some more?
His breathing had returned to normal, but he still looked good.
"So how long until dawn, do you think?" They should probably get some sleep, take turns keeping watch. Once the adrenaline wore off, they'd both feel tired.
"A couple of hours, at the very least. Five, perhaps six or seven. With no stars visible, it's hard to tell."
Mason decided to take Conrad's word for it. "Any ideas what we could do during that time?" She tried to sound suggestive, but not too suggestive. Inviting, but not like she was desperate.
Plenty more guys out there, back in the normal world. Very few of them, if any, were as fantastically attractive as Conrad, or looked as good in dirty trousers and a torn shirt, but then, looks weren't everything.
"I thought we were going to keep things professional," Conrad said. He sounded more curious than put off, like someone who's gotten an offer that's too good to be true.
"We are," Mason said. "Although if you happen to have a great singing voice, I'll accept a serenade."
"I'd say my singing voice is passable."
"Your shirt's got a few holes in it. Might want to take it off."
Conrad gave her a look. There was some definite heat in that look. He wants this. Perhaps as much as I want it. "As you wish," he said, which Mason figured constituted permission to touch, more or less, so she stepped a bit closer, her imagination already playing out what would happen next until Conrad stopped her. "Weaver. Are you sure about this?"
Mason wanted to roll her eyes, even if she supposed it was decent of him to ask. Polite. Those legendary British good manners, no doubt. "Pretty sure, yeah. You?"
He kissed her, and there was heat in that, too. Yup. He definitely wants this. "Very sure."
"Great," Mason said. "Sounds like we're agreed, then. Want to give me a hand with my shirt?"
Conrad smiled. "My pleasure."
Mine, too, Mason thought, but then he was touching her, his hands on her naked skin, and thinking seemed vastly overrated all of a sudden.