#captain conrad

You probably spent over half an hour in the shower once you made it back to the hostel. Just standing there, letting the water run down your scalp and skin, until your muscles were too heavy and exhausted to even reach for a bar of soap. Instead, your eyes fluttered closed while your mind replayed the dramatic events over the past two days. 

Eventually you forced yourself to actually wash yourself and dry off. Conrad would surely be back soon, if he wasn’t already, and you wanted to be waiting for him when he finally returned. You wanted to hear about the look of joy on that poor mother’s face when her child was finally returned safely. 

After dressing in what passes for clean clothes these days, you begin to sweat again before even making it back to the room. Cursing God, and Lucifer, and Jesus, and anyone else you could think of, you pushed open the door and flopped unceremoniously onto the stiff bed. 

Christ, even the bedsheets were sticky and miserable. It’s a good thing you were so unbelievably exhausted, otherwise you might never be able to fall asleep tonight. And a sticky bed was way better than sleeping on the ground at least, but still - you’d absolutely murder someone just for the chance at a crisp, heavy snowfall tonight. 

For a chilly, decadent Winter Wonderland, a fuzzy sweater, and a creamy hot chocolate. It’d been ages since you’d last felt a genuine shiver…

Groaning, you slowly push up to sitting and try to blink yourself awake. While rolling your shoulders to pop your neck, you glanced at the clock on the nightstand. It read half an hour till midnight, and your heart rate picked up a little bit. Only an hour had passed since temporarily parting ways with Conrad, and you already couldn’t wait to see him again. 

To keep yourself occupied while waiting, you step gingerly over to the single table in your room and grab your canvas knapsack from the chair. Inside the bag, nestled between your empty canteen and a seemingly endless supply of empty peanut wrappers, is the journal you used to document your adventures with Conrad. 

The journal has definitely seen better days. Its edges are bent and torn, the cover is littered with mud and water stains - but it was your most prized possession. Inside those pages were beautiful, tragic, tales of both wanderlust and wonderful lust. Traveling with Conrad was a once-in-a-lifetime experience, from midnight skinny-dipping to beach camping and stargazing. 

You’d seen more marvels of the world than most people ever get to dream about. And the fact that you got to experience it all with such a stunning man was nothing more than a miracle. 

In-between those special moments, there would occasionally be a less-than savory or even potentially dangerous mission to take on. They were just in order to fund your more pleasant adventures, but even the stress and peril was well worth it to you. Every moment with that tall, devastatingly handsome, perfectly muscular and very protective former soldier was a dream come true - snowy weather or not. 

A warm breeze drifts in through the open window, charitably stirring the stagnant air in the room. It was a temporary reprieve, and just enough to get you to uncap your pen and begin writing. 

Over the next several pages, recollections of the previous days’ events poured out seamlessly. The stop at this small village, just a day’s walk from Saigon, was supposed to be a quick one; just long enough to find a place to bathe and stock up on supplies for the final trek of your journey. 

But as soon as Conrad heard a mother’s anguished screams of terror down the street, he literally dropped everything and took off running. By the time you managed to pay the vendor, gather the purchased wares from the street and take off after him, he had disappeared. 

A few minutes later you finally managed to find him, down on his knees and comforting the distraught mother in broken Vietnamese while her neighbors and other children shouted additional information to him. Eventually, he was able to determine that the woman’s youngest child, a boy no more than 2 or 3 years old, had taken off suddenly - possibly into the jungle, and definitely terribly lost. 

One look from Conrad was all it took to let you know that Saigon could wait; finding this missing child was way more important than any other task he’d ever been given. Only a monster would ever disagree with him about something like that. 

Shortly thereafter, you were journeying back into the jungle with Conrad, alongside the woman’s brother and his two eldest children. All four of you walked from sunrise to sundown, meticulously searching every inch of the earth in widening, concentric circles - slowly venturing further and further into the jungle, looking for clues and desperately calling out the name of the missing child. 

If it were up to Conrad, you knew he’d keep looking throughout the night, and that he was only stopping at sunset to give you and the others a chance to rest. But as soon as he thought you were asleep, he’d slip out of your tent and go off searching by himself all night, returning to camp just before sunrise and looking more weary than ever. 

But eventually, you all did manage to find the child. When Conrad pulled that scared little boy down from the tree, you wept actual tears of joy. He was mostly uninjured, just frightened and starving and sporting a few more scrapes and cuts than before. And after getting a little bit of food and water into his belly, the former soldier dutifully carried him all the way back to the village. 

He’d directed you to go straight to the hostel to get cleaned up while he returned the child to his mother, and that was where the journal entry concluded for now. Your eyes filled with happy tears once more as you skimmed over the words you’d just written; you’d never ever seen Conrad more pleased or relieved than in the moment when he finally located the little boy alive. 

Finding people and reuniting lost loved ones was in his blood, it was woven tightly into his DNA. It was what he lived for most; the one thing he’d never been able to have himself.  

With a relieved sigh, you flip back a few pages to check the date of the previous entry, and your breath suddenly hitches in surprise. Could this be right?! Maybe all the sweat was seeping into your brain and drowning all of your synapses beyond functionality…

But no. You double- and then triple-check. You count on your fingers, you write out each date individually in the margin of the page. The last entry, written the morning you and Conrad were due to arrive in the village, two whole days prior, was dated December 22nd. Making today…December 24th. 

Christmas Eve. 

Your heart flutters in your chest as a wave of excitement and painful nostalgia crashes over the room. Life is so much different now than when you were a kid; of course Christmas wouldn’t be any exception, no matter how much you loved the holiday. And it doesn’t feel right, sweating and feeling like you’re boiling alive on the day before Christmas - yet, here it is all the same. 

Mercifully, the pain is short-lived as you sense the familiar thud of Conrad’s boots finally coming up the stairs. The sound of his voice, spirited yet exhausted, reverberates off your skin as he laughs with another guest of the hostel. You barely have enough time to bite your lip in anticipation before he’s bursting into the room, a lovely grin on his face and his jeans and knapsack covered in dirt and muck. 

Like he’s Santa Clause, and he’s finally come round to you, bearing gifts of good news and his very own presence. 

You hop out of your seat, matching his giddy grin with one of your own. “Kid’s back home now? Safe and sound?” 

Before he can even finish nodding, you’re across the room and jumping into his arms. Luckily, Conrad is already quite adept with this maneuver and he catches you with ease, bracing his arms underneath your thighs as they wrap around his waist. 

“Was that doubt I sensed in your tone just now, darling?” he teases playfully against your lips, his large hands shifting to grip your ass. 

You laugh, wrapping your arms tighter around his neck and shifting closer in his grasp to let your lips brush against his. “Oh, I wouldn’t dream of doubting you…” 

“There’s a good girl…” Conrad purrs before closing the distance between your lips, kissing you passionately and eagerly. 

You moan into it, shifting one hand to cup his jaw as your lips part between his. Rushed and heated, his kisses taste like salt and sun and rain. Like home; a new one, completely the opposite of where you’d originally come from, but still somehow everything you’d ever needed. 

It’s funny how things work out like that. 

Before you can take another breath, he begins walking you both backwards, his hands squeezing your ass before you both go toppling onto the bed. As soon as you land and arch yourself beneath him, his kisses shift down your jaw to your neck, his teeth gently scraping against the delicate skin there. 

“Christ, you smell incredible…” he groans deeply, his hands sliding up over your hips and underneath your tank top. 

You let out a soft hum, grinning as he pushes the tank top up over your breasts, and then gasping as his lips find your nipple. Conrad was always a hungry man, but never more so than after a win like today. 

“It’s called showering, Captain. You should try it sometime…” 

His smirk grows exponentially after you tease him, devilish and intense as he crawls back up to let his lips hover just a heated breath above yours. 

“Perhaps you should’ve waited for me…washed my back, while I washed yours…” he groans, the sound of it breathless and sinfully delirious already. For good measure, he rolls his hips in an enticing manner, slowly increasing the pressure against your throbbing clit. 

As if you needed any additional reasons to want him this badly. 

With each roll of his hips, you shudder in pleasure, the need at the apex of your thighs slowly drenching the fabric between you both. You need no further enticing and pull his face down, crushing his lips against yours in an even more desperate, more hurried kiss than before.

The next few moments are a flurry of breathless moans and needy groans. Two sets of hands work on one another’s clothing, pushing and pulling and stripping until you’re both as bare as the day each of you were born. 

And then suddenly, Conrad’s inside you. That familiar stretch graces you once more, kindly blessing the ever-present ache that’s existed ever since you first laid eyes on him. Your back arches further, the heels of your feet dig into his hips and you both moan in unison as he sinks in, burying himself all the way to the hilt. 

It isn’t the first time he’d had you, nor will it be the last, but it had been almost three whole days. Too long, practically a lifetime considering how good it always is - but even so, his pace is slow and languid, like he’s savoring it. He’s not a man drowning in a river after almost dying of thirst, but a man who’s been waiting patiently for a reward most definitely well-earned. 

You can’t help the gasping laugh that escapes in a sudden rush of endorphins. Your heart lurches in your chest and your pupils dilate until there’s just a sliver of color left around them. This is a reward, yes, but it’s also more than that - it’s a gift. 

Conrad, a dedicated and well-trained soldier until the very end, doesn’t miss a beat even after you laugh again and your arms tighten around his neck. He merely nips at your jaw while a curious smirk tugs at his cheeks, his hips continuing so smooth and fluid in their undulating. 

“Something funny, dear?” 

You gasp again as he punctuates that final word by slipping a large hand underneath your skull, cradling it gently and tilting it upwards. It’s a stunning move, making you feel so safe and small while he makes love to you. Your eyelids flicker, and he follows suit as you let out yet another breathless laugh. 

“It’s Christmas…” you murmur, almost in a daze. You’re not even sure if the words are audible as a rush of light crashes over you. 

“Is it now?” Conrad grins, mistakenly taking your statement as one of pure praise instead of just a reflection of today’s date. He thrusts harder, and lets out a deep groan as your muscles tighten in response. 

You moan again and start to feel like you’re floating. Consistent breaths in and out are a thing of the past, but still, you manage a frenzied response. You want him to know the truth, to celebrate the special day with him.

“No - it’s…oh, God, fuck - the 25th! It’s the 25th…”

Conrad’s moaning along with you, drowning out any response in a sea of incoherence. His hips thrust deeper, the taut muscles of his back flexing and contracting in a quick rhythm underneath your hands. His forehead falls against yours, his gasps and exhales heavily washing over your cheeks and lips and nose. He’s starting to lose his mind, and the last thing you can see clearly are his eyes rolling back into his head. 

It’s so incredibly hot when he loses control, the shameless passion he openly shows to you and only you. It’s the complete opposite of the winter wonderland you were dreaming of earlier. But when your thighs start to shake, he changes the angle of his thrusts - and then all of a sudden, it finally feels like Christmas. 

Usually when you come, he makes you see stars, but not tonight. This time, you see Christmas lights - reds and whites and greens and blues all sparkling and dancing together in unison. The room instantaneously becomes a frigid, barren landscape and Conrad is the only warm thing left in existence, his fire crackling and popping against the deep and endless midnight sky. 

Keeping you safe inside the great big dark unknown. A guiding light towards the brighter days lingering ahead. 

You whimper as you come, from the sheer force of it, and Conrad tips right over the edge with you. His back arches to push himself deeper, his hips move frantically, pushing and pulling his cock over and over between your tight muscles like he just can’t help himself. 

And why shouldn’t he? He performed a Christmas miracle yesterday. 

It all feels like a dream, but eventually, Conrad’s hips slow, and he collapses on top of you. For a moment, neither of you can move, other than gasping for breath and whimpering with each uncontrollable twitch and spasm of every nerve and muscle. Slick skin marks both the mutual satisfaction and the need for another shower - and as long as you don’t pass out beforehand, this time you’d be honored to wash Conrad’s back for him. 

Recovery takes longer than usual. Maybe it’s the culmination of the previous few days, the heat, the date; maybe it’s the reflection of the past year as a whole, or the hopeful promises of what the next one might bring. But when Conrad adjusts, and then tightens, his arms around you, burying his face into the crook of your neck and taking in a deep breath, you know it’s all of the above.

You hug him tighter in return. You press your lips to his ear, his jaw, his hair. Anywhere you can reach, anything that’s him. He’s made your year an incredible one, and you were sure that the next one was going to be even better. 

Conrad lets out a deep, peaceful hum. One that reverberates deep into your heart and makes it skip a beat. He tilts his head and presses a deep, tender kiss to your cheek. 

“Is it really the 25th?” he murmurs softly. 

“Yeah, it is…” you laugh, turning your head and nuzzling your face against his. “Merry Christmas, Conrad…”

He chuckles and returns the sweet gesture, adding in a tender caress of your jaw. His eyes flicker up and then down your face, examining and completely mesmerized by everything he finds. Everything you feel about him, he returns tenfold, and it shows in every flicker of light in his eyes, mesmerizing and breathtaking.

“Merry Christmas, darling…”

You had fought together in Afghanistan, a mere battlefield-relationship between two Captains coordinating their teams soon became a very heated thing. Then, a month later you were transferred to another military operation and Conrad officially quit his service. A harsh goodbye you weren’t prepared for but that was the outrageous price you had to pay for a military career.

Since that day you had never heard from him again. The authorities refused to give neither you nor him information about each other's current location. Hearts bled and bodies cried out like sirens but it was all in vain.

Self-reliance is the name of the game.

So, finally, there he was, winning a game of pool by casually holing the last black ball as if he’d never done anything else. James’ tall figure was as trained as the day you last saw him, a loose, halfway unbuttoned blue shirt adorned his tall, athletic form and a stubble beard accentuated the sharp features.

A pulsating heat rose in your every nerve as you approached him discreetly, the man who could kill you and lift on cloud nine at the same time. 

Suddenly, a Vietnamese boy tried to claim the money your former colleague won and you instantly felt sorry for the angry man. Conrad was quick, almost too quick to witness every single element of his skilled close combat. Swift moves downed three of them, a forth one trowing something at him but the Captain moved elegantly, almost reflexively dodging. His senses were as heightened as in between of combat camps and terrorists. 

Was there anything hotter than fast reflexes?

The boy picked up a second ball but you intervened, quickly pulling his arm back, dislocating his shoulder before a precise kick in the squat brought the whimpering man down. 

“Birdie?“ James exclaimed, oceanic blues widened at the shock of seeing you so unexpectedly after almost three months of no contact.

The ex-soldier had nearly given up on the thought to ever see you again after all his requests were denied. However, there you stood, your body wrapped in a slutty outfit, almost mingling with the prostitutes to keep your identity hidden. But it was a gift in James’ sore eyes that had suffered from an incredible drought ever since you left.

Your call sign escaping his mouth send your emotions on an erratic roller coaster ride, your belly began to sizzle from all the memories you shared with this outrageously handsome man. How he groaned your name with his gravelly morning voice while strong hips drowned your core in addictive desire. The way those hands that directed most deadly weapons could play you like Chopin played a piano.

Exposed, flexing forearms reached out for you as your weaved past the table and clashed against his strong chest in a tight hug. The thin sheen of sweat transferred his unique scent, delivering arousal on a silver plate.

“Captain“ You greeted him subtly with a sly smirk on your crimson lips, looking up at the man who looked kind of deserted yet it made him only hotter, the urge to let him fuck you right here on top if this table became stronger and stronger. Most improper.

“God, I fucking missed you“ the raspy voice murmured before he pulled you in a passionate kiss, your tongue collecting every last drop of burning tequila. Cheeks hollowed, underlining the razor sharp cheekbones that lingered above, James’ jaw muscles flexed as his head nudged you in heated kisses. The stubble of his beard tickled the delicate skin of your chin .

“Quick, Conrad“ you panted, letting him pull you through a black wooden door right into a small shady alley. The devilish grin on his soft lips was alarming to your whole body, a gushing heat descended between your legs. It was a wildfire fully out of control and longing for nothing but the Captain’s demanding touch. It had been too long. The distant beat of Asian techno music pushed your pulse while James Conrad’s alluringly spent look took made your breath hitch.

“Quick? Why so, birdie?“ He growled in your ear before strong arms lifted you up, your back pressed flush against the wall. Hungry teeth buried themselves in the soft skin of your neck, eliciting dark marks in your flawless skin. He was claiming you again. Your nerves danced an aggressive tango as the tall man bucked his hips against your crotch, the hardened length proudly straining the wrecked jeans. 

“I- I’m not ahhh fuckk alone“ your staggered pants were music in Captain Conrad’s ears that were used to bombs detonating and dying men yelling. The angelic sound only goaded his fingers to work their magic on your most sensitive bundle of nerves.

The short leather skirt came in handy, you knew it. And so did the loose buttons of his dusty shirt allowing your trembling fingers to open them and roam across the chiseled pecks and the light trail of blonde chest hair which adorned the defined insertion of his pectoralis major. A man as if from a picture-book.

“Really? Naughty girl trying to get me hooked on a mission, eh?“ the husky pitch of his voice sent poisonous goosebumps to travel the spot were his stubble brushed your cleavage. The dirty blonde hair on his head were longer than usual, the perfect length for your hand to grab a fistful as his head lingered in the crook of his head and rough fingers ignited fireworks in your whole body. You were like a riddle he had long solved and now basked in the success of knowing every sweet spot of your gorgeous body.

“Hmm… yes“ you hummed, head cocked to the side as he replaced his fingers with something you’ve been dreaming about nonstop since he last took you in the back of a military freight plane. 

“Then she shall not be alone, too“ the Captain groaned wantonly before he pushed inside, the gasp that fled your wet lips filled the dusky alley with ease. The moment he bottomed out, you locked eyes with him, instantly knowing your soul was about to drown in those ocean blues again…

It was your first Christmas together – not technically, but it would count as the first. There had been a Christmas while you were still recovering from your injuries. Yet another passed you by during your first year of travel: you were visiting Milan when you realized the fact, laughed about it, and moved on. Neither had been celebrated properly; you bought champagne and toasted, and caught the train to France the next morning, and that was it. 

It was too early to settle down. Both you and Conrad shared a mutual restlessness, a sort of wanderlust after everything you’d been through. Traveling during war wasn’t really travel. Conrad’s contract with MONARCH had paid handsomely, and it only took a look between the two of you to understand what you wanted to do.

We’re going home, you and I, Conrad said. Wherever you want to go, I’ll follow.

It seemed like a lifetime ago. 

There were road trips, flights, train rides. Long walks, corner cafes; bar crawls through the city and sex in motel rooms when you couldn’t keep your hands to yourselves any longer. You could trace the scars on his skin unhurried, run your nails over his taut muscle and tease him to the point of begging beneath you. He had you memorized by now: the way your body arched and quivered, the kind of touch that made you dig into his skin and bring noise complaints down on your heads the next morning. You were fairly certain the hotel where you’d spent your wedding night had the Conrads on their blacklist.

“Home” had turned out to be a person rather than a place, like people so often say. Both of you were perfectly content about that fact; so long as you had each other, what else did you need?

It felt like he never let go of your hand for those two years. Even now, he reached over to stroke your hand resting atop the blankets, reassure himself that you were here.

While you only grew closer over the last two years, the road (finally) wore out. So, little less than a month ago, you found somewhere quiet: close enough to the mountains without leaving the sea behind. You had nothing but the clothes and trinkets in your carry-on bags when you signed the lease and pocketed the copper key. 

This Christmas nearly escaped you again-- nearly. You were lying with your head in his lap in front of the fireplace when the thought occurred and you shot up like a bolt of lightning. Conrad jumped, instincts kicking in with a serious expression and his hands outstretched. “What? What is it?”

“We don’t have a tree!”

Conrad gave you a puzzled look, raising his eyebrow. “We don’t have furniture, either,” he pointed out, realizing that this was less of a life-and-death situation and more a minor inconvenience.

“But it’s Christmas on Saturday!”

The corners of his lips twitched with amusement. “I’m aware.”

You stared at him. He didn’t seem to be picking up on the urgency of your current situation, so you gestured around you. “We have a house,” you said slowly, pointing to the bare corners of your living room, illuminated by the firelight. 

“We have a house,” he agreed softly.

You nodded. “We need a tree.”

Conrad sighed softly and took your hand, pulling you towards him for a kiss. He set his forehead against yours and smiled when you bumped noses. “We need a tree,” he agreed.

In the name of authenticity, you bought a tree-cutting permit (“tree lots aren’t as much fun,” you reasoned) and planned the day. A drive up to the mountains in the morning, returning with your quarry, and spending the rest of the day in full spirit of the season. Conrad made sure you wrote ‘drink hot chocolate’ on the to-do list. You would never have guessed that he had such a sweet tooth.

Now, you were fast asleep in the passenger seat amidst a pile of blankets and quilts. Conrad glanced at you whenever he could spare it, taking in the sight of you; even in sleep, your hand was outstretched to hold his. The rosy pale of dawn glowed pink on your skin, and his heart swelled so much it was almost painful.

He never thought he could love you more than he already did, but every day you proved him wrong.

It took another hour before the road broke the tree line, and you stirred, coming awake with a yawn and a stretch.

“Good morning,” He drawled teasingly. You laughed in surprise and smacked his chest. “I was tired.” 

Conrad smirked, catching your hand mid-hit and pressing a kiss to your fingers. “You should have gone to bed sooner,” he chastised, but his smirk was unmistakable -- and only grew when you gasped in indignation.

“If I remember right, you were keeping me up.”

“Former SAS, darling,” he reminded you. “Four hours of sleep are plenty in my book.”

“Oh, that’s not fair.”

He laughed, taking a turn down an unmarked road and giving you an expression of innocence that was almost convincing. “Are you suggesting I stop doting on my wife?” 

It wasn’t a new title by any means, but whenever he said it, your heart leapt. “No,” you admitted, leaning over and pressing a kiss to his cheek. “Don’t ever stop.”

Conrad followed the road until he found a spot to pull over. You pulled off your blankets as he turned the key and got out, walking around to the other side and opening your door. He took you under the arms without question, lifting you down and setting you on the rocky ground before fetching the handsaw and tree tag from the truck bed. 

“Your responsibility,” he said seriously, handing you the red tag with comedic reverence. You accepted it with the same solemnity, only breaking into a smile when you pocketed the item and looped your arm through his, starting down the road.

~

You pushed the tree into the truck bed and shut the tailgate, wiping your hands on your jeans. “We have a tree!” You grinned, unable to hide your excitement. 

Conrad laughed and got into the truck. You followed, almost skipping, and pulled yourself inside the truck. You were fixing your seatbelt and preparing to bury yourself under a mountain of blankets when he turned the key, and the engine stuttered.

You paused. Conrad’s brow furrowed and he tried again, forcing the key forward. The engine spluttered, coughed, and refused to start. 

“Damn,” he swore, sitting back in his seat for a moment. You unbuckled and slid out of the seat, popping the hood as he came around, leaning against the metal with a pensive expression.

You could feel the frustration vibrating off of him and leaned against his arm. “Hey,” You said gently. “Nothing we can’t fix. Remember the ploat?” 

His gaze flickered down to you and he hummed in agreement. “I remember.” He pushed himself off and set his hands on his hips, nodding. “Alright. I think there’s a tool chest under the back seat.” He glanced at you, raising an eyebrow.

You gave him a mock salute. “Sir, yes, sir.”

~

A few hours later, it was starting to snow.

“Babe, did you know we’re low on oil?” You asked, sliding the stick back into the cylinder and leaning down to peer at Conrad, who was lying on the ground.

“That’s not our current problem,” he grunted, his long legs splayed and muscles flexing as he twisted the wrench against something on the truck’s underside. You hummed, appreciating the view unabashedly-- and smirking when he noticed and scoffed. 

“You could help, you know,” he pointed out, grunting when the piece came off. He handed you the fuel filter and you reached down to take it, twisting off the cap. “Oh, yuck.”

Conrad slid out and leaned up on his elbows. “Clogged fuel filter.”

“Didn’t you check all this before buying the truck?” You asked rhetorically, pulling the oil bucket towards you and tapping out the loose debris, digging out the more stubborn clots with your hand for lack of an actual cleaner. 

Conrad watched the snowflakes as they landed in your hair like a feathery halo, sticking against your skin before melting. They clung to your eyelashes and made your cheeks flush against the cold. Your lips parted with a huff and you looked up to hand it back to him, pausing. “What? Something on my face?”

He laughed through his nose, shaking his head. “No. Just...” he trailed off, and a faraway look crossed this face-- the kind you were all too familiar with. 

You knelt down and cupped his cheek with one hand, stroking your thumb against his skin. “Hey. I’m here,” you reminded him gently. His blue-green eyes flickered and he reached up, pulling you down for a long, sweet kiss. You relished the taste of his lips, inhaled the smell of sandalwood and vanilla cologne. He broke away and closed his eyes closing his eyes. 

“I know,” he murmured. “Sometimes you just make me wonder whether or not I’m dreaming.” 

“Oh my god, James, way too sappy,” you laughed, pushing against his chest and rolling your eyes. “C’mon, screw this thing back in so I can try the engine again.”

He chuckled at the suspicious shade of red tingeing your cheeks but spared you the dignity of commenting on it and took the filter from your hands, ducking under the truck and picking up the wrench. You fished the keys out of your pocket and got in, leaning out with your hand on the wheel until your husband appeared with the tool chest in hand and gave you the all-clear.

You muttered a quick prayer and turned the keys. The engine sputtered for a moment, wheezing and coughing before something caught and it rumbled to life. You whooped victoriously, sticking your hands up and laughing as Conrad came around. “We did it!” 

Conrad wrapped his arms around you in a brief, celebratory hug before you clambered over to your side and pulled your seatbelt on. The snow was coming down thickly now; there was already a sheet of white on the ground, and in the branches of the trees it was beginning to stick. You pulled one of the blankets up and tossed them over Conrad’s shoulders, pressing a kiss against his cheek for good measure before snuggling in and tuning the radio to something familiar: songs from your war days, which seemed so long ago. 

He put the truck into gear and turned out onto the road, reaching out to take your hand as you headed back down, towards home -- with your Christmas tree in tow.

~

By the time you pulled into the driveway, it was dark again. Conrad unloaded the tree while you stacked the grocery bags onto one arm, heading down the snow-covered sidewalk. It was still coming down in droves and inches deep; no doubt you’d be stuck inside tomorrow.

“Where are you going?”

“Getting the mail!” You called. “That’s a thing we have now, remember?” 

Conrad made a comment you didn’t catch as you slid up to the mailbox and opened it, retrieving the assortment of letters there before heading inside. You tapped your shoes on the porch before stepping in, letting out a soft sigh at the welcoming, warm atmosphere. Furniture or no furniture, there was a naked Christmas tree in the corner, and that meant home. 

“Hot chocolate?” James asked, taking the groceries from you with one hand and helping your coat off with the other. 

“Mm. Please.” You sat down on the floor and began unlacing your shoes, glancing at the pile of mail next to you. There was a thick yellow envelope amongst the pile that caught your eye, and you paused in undressing to glance at the return address. “Hey, Mason sent us something!”

“Who?” came Conrad’s voice from the kitchen.

“Weaver! The photographer?”

“Oh,” you heard him laugh. He came back out with two steaming mugs and handed you one, walking over to the fireplace and flipping the switch. “We’re on first-name basis now, I take it.”

“Apparently. That was fast, though,” you mused, walking over and motioning for him to make space for you to sit between his legs. He obliged, wrapping his arms around your waist and setting his chin on your shoulder as you tore it open and pulled out the letter inside.

“Conrad and L/N,” you began, reading it out loud. James hummed and reached for his hot chocolate. “She knows you’re a Conrad now, she was at our wedding.”

You elbowed him gently and straightened the paper, clearing your throat ceremoniously and beginning again. “Amended to, the Conrads,” you said. “Congrats on finally taking a breather for once. Now I can send you the film I’ve held onto for the past two years.”

“Perks of having a mail box, I suppose,” James nodded, inhaling quickly through his teeth when he attempted a sip of his scalding hot chocolate.

“The wedding photos are in a different letter, and will probably get there late. Oh, I forgot she took those,” you murmured, clicking your tongue. “Until then, enjoy these. I always figured something was going on with you two, way back when. P.S.,” you added. “For your eyes alone, as usual. Cheers, Mason Weaver.” You raised an eyebrow and tapped the envelope. “They must be from the LandSat project.”

Conrad hummed in agreement. “May I?” He asked, setting the cup down and reaching around your waist to pull out the pictures. You leaned back against him as he slid them into his palm, filtering through each one slowly.

Technically you, Conrad, and everyone else involved in the mission to Skull Island were under government oath not to talk about what had happened. You had no qualms with that; you wanted to put the whole experience behind you, anyway. But it wasn’t always possible. Rainy days brought aching pain to your left leg, and there wasn’t a month that went by without one of you startling the other awake from a dream that had once been all too real. It was part of the reason for your closeness: you and Conrad were poignantly aware of how close you had come to losing each other.

But according to the photographs, perhaps it wasn’t all that bad.

“Look at that,” he murmured, pointing to a still image of Conrad sitting beside your sleeping figure, aboard the wrecked ship. The lights of the aurora borealis were visible through the window, and evident in the hues of blue and purple that the photo was cast in. 

You laughed, tapping the laminate. “You gave me your jacket. I remember.”

“You almost got us killed that night, that’s what I remember.”

You rolled your eyes dismissively and set the photo aside. “Yeah, yeah, moving on.”

The next photo was a bit harder to make out, taken across the flight deck of the Athena. You didn’t recognize the angle, but Conrad made a noise and laughed through his nose. “What?”

“I saw you and jumped out of our helicopter,” he explained. “Ran across the deck and told her to take my seat.”

You made an “O” and nodded. “And startled me half to death. She really didn’t miss anything,” you mused, gazing at the miniature silhouette of both of you in the helicopter, the chopper blades blurry against the frame, with storm clouds brewing behind you.

Conrad took the photograph and set it aside. There were a few others inside the stack--pictures of your group members, candid photos of you and Conrad in your own separate settings. There was an image of you and Slivko made you smile. But more frequently than not, you and Conrad shared the same pensive and worried expressions. Every moment had been a life-or-death experience.

You and Conrad filtered through the deck until you reached the final one: taken on Marlow’s boat-- or ploat, as Slivko had coined it. You and Conrad sitting side-by-side at the stern, set against the lush green mountains with all your bags and gear at your feet. Your hands inches away from touching, the two of you looking upwards and listening intently to Marlow, whose arms were frozen in some descriptive gesture. Only, Conrad wasn’t looking at him: his eyes were fixed on you, gazing at you while you were oblivious, so full of tenderness that it broke your heart.

“You loved me,” you murmured, like you were realizing it for the first time. “Way back then.”

Conrad’s arms tightened around your waist. He nodded, leaning his head against yours. “I was more than a little lovestruck,” he agreed quietly, in a tone that made your heart flutter inside your chest. You nestled further into the comfortable expanse of his chest, reaching up and teasing his hair with your fingers.

“Still lovestruck?” You asked hopefully, smiling when his laugh vibrated against your back. 

He pressed a kiss to your cheek, looking out through the windows at the falling snow and holding you tight. “For as long as I live and breathe.”

- - -

A/N: Aaah! Thanks for reading. I loved writing it.