A/N: I don't know about this. I don't feel like I gave this idea justice... anyway. It's pretty short.

Disclaimer: I don't own King Kong.



Jimmy pulls his hat low over his eyes as he stares out to sea, seeing something none of us can, but at the same time, what all of us are seeing. This is the first time I've been out on deck since we got back on the ship, and I can't look behind me or I'll see that great figure tied to the wood, and I cannot cry any more because I have no more tears.

"You don't understand," he says suddenly. "You weren't there."

"Neither were you." I glare at him, glare at the boy who seemed so young at the beginning of this inevitable adventure, and part of me can't believe that I would have danced with the (now) man who would empty a round of bullets into an innocent animal with nothing but a broken heart. "You don't know what he's like."

"No," he turns to me, his voice shaky, but at the same time throbbing with anger. "You don't know what he's like. You didn't even bother to ask what happened to Mr. Hayes... to Lumpy, Choy..."

I can't help but take a step back as it hits me, I didn't. And Jimmy is wearing, now that I look properly, a very familiar black cap.

"Maybe you already knew the answer. Maybe it never even crossed your mind. It doesn't matter." He says. "You don't understand and you never will."

He can't prevent the tears from spilling from his eyes and I reach out a hand, involuntary, having been so wrapped up in hating Jack and pitying myself and that massive figure on the deck... why, why didn't it occur to me that no one was standing beside the captain as he steered, that no one was making our beds, and who was cooking our meals?

He shoves past me with a hard, watery stare. "Mr. Denham is going to sell their story for the price of an admission ticket, because that's what it's worth to you people. And that thing would be better off dead."

"The only thing that matters," he says, "is that it gets what it deserves."