A/N: I'd just like to say I'm going for a record: how long I can keep my Brokeback Mountain soundtrack playing in my stereo.
Obviously, this scene never happened – in either the film or short story. But I like to think that fanfiction has expanded my imagination at least a wee bit.
As a side note (for a 'just in case' scenario): no offense is meant by the language in this story.
"You need to divorce her." Jack said it as though it was as easy as shedding snakeskin. "You can file for divorce, pack up yer bags, and move up to Lightnin Flats where we can start up that cow-and-calf operation we was talkin about. Kick it inta high gear. Can quit yer job, plenty of those everywhere – and yer kids? If you leave now, they won't even know you so they won't miss you."
Ennis cough-laughed and took a drag of his cigarette. "You sound mighty selfish. It ain't that simple."
"Friend," Jack said good-naturedly, "it's as simple as you make it. Just some paperwork and a few hours drive. That's all, and we're home-free."
Ennis looked into his beseeching face, murmured, "I don' know."
Jack frowned. "You don't know?"
"Like I said, ain't that simple."
Jack's frown deepened, creasing the lines on his forehead; Ennis scratched uncomfortably at his stubble.
"Ain't that simple? Ain't that simple?" Jack repeated, as if to extract some hidden meaning. "If I was hell-bent on simple, I woulda high-tailed it outta that tent before you could pull your pants down – fact, I wouldn't a invited you inta the tent in the first place – but you know what, I did, we did, and now we're damn well stuck 'cause I ain't gonna stand by and watch you live yer life like it ain't fixable."
Ennis took another long drag of the cigarette. Swigged his beer. Remained wordless.
"You can't weasel yerself outta this one – I got enough words for the both of us. So what's it goin a be?"
"Shit, Jack, I don' know. I wasn't expectin to decide right now."
"When was you expectin to decide, Ennis?" Jack asked harshly. "I just got this one lifetime. Just this one. And I ain't gonna waste it. You – now, you can sit there, moanin and groanin about yer life but let me tell you, it don't have to be this way. I'm givin you a way out. I've pushed fer this since the beginnin and all I've got from you is half-assed promises that don't mean nothin after all this time. How long has it been, Ennis? I could tell you. I could tell you the goddamn smell of the blankets."
Ennis, who could have told him that and more, just said quietly, laboriously, "This means everythin to me, Jack, and you know that."
Jack turned around. So Ennis studied his back instead.
"You know, this ain't my fault," Ennis said, after an eternity in which Jack refused to speak. He felt all the resentment, all the frustration and pain, boil around inside his stomach like a storm. "If it weren't fer you, I wouldn't be like this."
"Fuck." He crushed his cigarette stub under the toe of his boot. "What the fuck's that supposed to mean?"
"This ain't who I am. I got Alma and the girls. I got my job. I got a normal life and this ain't who I am."
This struck a nerve; Jack rounded on him like an angry steer. "You better fuckin accept who you are!" he spat. "Queer. That's right, you goddamn faggot, you fuck men. We're both goin a hell and there ain't nothin we can do about it. Don't tell me this ain't who you are 'cause I don't remember you stoppin to think this ain't right."
Ennis bowed his head; the sun hurt his eyes and he could not bear to look into his face.
After a minute, quietly and painstakingly, Jack said, "I get it."
The defeat is his voice was staggering. This, more than anything; more than everything said, or left unsaid, broke Ennis's heart. Little Darlin, Little Darlin. His Little Darlin.
"Jack."
He looked upwards, and took a step forward in vain; for Jack had wrenched open the door of his truck and thrust the keys into the ignition.
"Jack."
The engine sputtered, then roared to life.
Little Darlin, His Little Darlin.
"Yer goin a drive away?" Ennis shouted; his vocal cords protested this new abuse. "You don' know one thing about my life! Nothin! I get to thinkin about you, and goddammit, you don' know nothin! It gets so bad I don' want a get up in the mornin!" He felt the tears coming and viciously pawed at his eyes. "Jesus, Jack, what've you done to me?"
The engine stopped and he was engulfed in a pair of strong arms. They were warm and smelled of the outdoors. So different from a woman's embrace, that laid daintily around his neck and across his shoulder blades like a piece of jewelry. A woman's embrace knighted a man. But sometimes Ennis didn't want to worry about protecting them, women, because at times he felt as weak as a newborn colt and there was nothing to do about it.
He wanted to cry. But he didn't. Jack tightened his hold and breathed, "I'm sorry," into his open ears.