Title: The Words Do Not Come, Part IV
Author: Sheera
Date written: May 11, 2006

Pairing: Jack/Ennis
Rating: R (soft)
Plot summary: An AU piece about what would bring Ennis to Jack. Occurs sometime between the divorce and their last meeting.

Word count: 1,552
Disclaimer: I don't own these characters—that honor goes to Ms. Proulx.
Author's Note: Writing this was like pulling teeth. If you're at all interested in seeing me continue this series, I could use some encouragement.

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Jack stows the last of the gear in the back of his truck, securing the final straps and buckles. Ennis is sitting in the truck already, staring blankly ahead into space. All the lights are on, but as far as he can tell, no one is home. Jack has spent the morning debating back and forth about whether to go or stay. He still isn't sure what's best, but he does know that Ennis isn't too likely to share all his deepest secrets with all of Jack's family hovering around him. Not that Ennis is too likely to do it either way, but getting some privacy won't hurt Jack's chances.

"Y'all set, honey?" Lureen's question jars him from his wandering thoughts.

"Yep. Drive'll take us about four'n half hours, so it's best we get on our way."

"You make sure'n call me if it's goin' a be longer than a week, right?"

"Don't worry. I doubt it'll be longer, anyway."

Lureen nods, bites her lip and steals a quick glance at Ennis. "You be… careful, Jack. You promise me?" Although she phrased it like a question, the look on her face clearly brooked no disagreement.

"I can handle it, Lureen." She raises an eyebrow pointedly at him. "All right, all right… I will, I promise. Y'all just don't go'n have too much fun without me now." He gives her a light hug and kiss on the cheek before getting into the car.

Lureen watches them drive until they are out of sight, worrying at her lip. Sighing with resignation, she walks back to the house, posture heavy. She wishes she knew exactly what Jack should be careful of—what was he getting himself into? One last look over her shoulder, and she closes the door. Time to get back to work.

In the car, Jack gets himself comfortable, adjusting his left foot and elbow in a few different contortions before he finds the one he likes best. He learned long ago that comfort is a necessity on a fourteen-hour drive and now it is just habit. Turning up the radio, he looks at Ennis sideways, "Y'mind? I like to listen a music when'm drivin'."

He turns it a little higher and settles in. The land stretches out before him, yellow against blue, dried out brush rippling like shivering flesh. Jack lets his mind wander to work, going through mental checklists and reviewing his calendar. He ponders some plausible explanations he can give L.D. when he returns from his business trip, but can't muster enough concern to worry on it, even though he knows Lureen is going to need help dealing with him. He occupies himself thinking about anything other than Ennis, and before he knows it, they've arrived. Winding his way through the curved mountain road, he talks to replace the sound of the radio which just lost reception.

"Right, well this place's called Memorias de la Muerte. Can't rightly say I know what that means. Think someone tol' me that it's named that 'cause them Mexicans was pissed we kicked 'em off. Been here a couple a times, it's pretty good fishin." Not that we ever fish… not that I ever wanted to.

He takes the appropriate turn-off, his truck protesting a bit as it goes along the deep ruts and potholes. The campsite is a small valley, bordered to the north by hills and keyholed in the large lake, Lágrimas de la Muerte. Jack thinks maybe he should have tried harder to find a place with friendlier-sounding names. He begins unpacking the truck and to his surprise, Ennis joins him. He seems to be on some kind of auto-pilot, falling into the familiar routine not out of any desire, only habit. They make quick work of the camp, setting up the tent and firepit, and Ennis takes care of the horses. The silence, usually a testament to their easy camaraderie, itches at Jack's mouth.

Jack cooks them an early dinner of corn, beans, and pork chops. He's picked up a few things over the years from Lureen, so it's a passably good meal. The drinks stay in the cooler, the mood too somber for beer. He can't say he isn't tempted to pull out the whiskey, but the still-smarting yellowish-purple bruise on his jaw reminds him he needs to stay on his toes. He hopes they can share the bottle later this week.

The stars prick through the black sky, points of brilliance against the velvety dark. Ennis stares straight into the fire, flames reflected in his eyes, his lips pulled tight. Jack has noticed that Ennis has studiously avoided any eye contact, but he doesn't push it. He's afraid of that wild look that was on Ennis's face when he first showed up at their doorstep. There was something unhinged inside him, and even Jack has learned from all the psycho-babble that Lureen watches on TV that repression is bad, he still feels relieved to see that Ennis has done just that.

He is too young to die, especially when he doesn't know what he's done to deserve it.

When the moon nocks at half past one, Ennis goes into the tent, barely making a sound. Jack is enjoying the heat of the dying fire, and the farther away he is when Ennis is changing (if he bothers to), the better. Losing count somewhere around the sixty-fifth star, Jack dozes in his chair, mouth hanging askew, open to the night air.

He is pulled from his sleep by the sound of the tent shaking. Confused, eyes adjusting to the dark, he sees the tent thrashing around as if there's a storm inside it. Stumbling up as quickly as he can, he runs over, managing to trip three times in less than twenty feet. He catches the moving tent flap and ducks in.

"Ennis!"

He's flailing in his sleep, punching the walls of the tent and the floor, legs scissoring. One of his kicks catches Jack in the shins, and he goes down, landing hard. "Ennis, wake up!" He finally wrangles Ennis, struggling to hold his arms down and pinning him with his body. "I said, wake the fuck up,you sonofabitch!"

Ennis's eyes abruptly snap open and he stops struggling. His face quickly distorts when he sees Jack, twisting into a mask of pain that squeezes the breath in Jack's chest.

"Are you okay? It was just a dream, Ennis."

Ennis's face clears, and for the first time, he looks at Jack. His expression is hopeful and heartbreaking all at once.

Jack slowly loosens his hold on Ennis's arms, leaning back. "What was you dreamin' about?" Ennis's answer is to come at Jack, grabbing his face and frantically kissing all the breath out of him. Jack's body responds long before his mind realizes what's going on; his pants are already around his ankles and he's stripped off Ennis's shirt when he understands what Ennis is up to. By now, he could care less if it's a good idea or not. He's fed up with good ideas, and damned if he's going to try and think when Ennis is all primed and ready. They kiss deeply, bodies clinched tightly, chest to chest and thigh to thigh. Without preamble, Ennis flips Jack onto his knees, hardly bothering to wait a second before entering him roughly, not even a buffer of saliva this time. Jack groans, bucking against the familiar feeling, driven near the edge just to feel Ennis again.

Ennis increases his tempo, but he becomes quiet, his harsh, forced breathing the only counterpoint to Jack's moans. His nails scrape along Jack's skin hard enough to draw blood, and Jack stills, crossing over the fine border between pleasure and pain. He lets Ennis pound into him, not a sound, even as he collapses on top of Jack, spent. Jack eases out from under him, hearing that his breathing is already returning to normal, and hurriedly slips his clothes on. He doesn't look back, can't.

He wanders aimlessly for awhile, walking gingerly, until he comes upon a tree that seems like a good place to stop. Leaning against it, he lights a cigarette. He tries to ignore the aches, physical and otherwise, but the thought still haunts him, What do we got if that ain't right between us? It had been worse than their first time, and he didn't think Ennis would be coming to him with his tail tucked between his legs this time.

He fights the tears, howling his frustration, holding on the tree for support while the scream rips from his lungs, and kicks it so hard his boot nearly cracks. He damns all the times he wished Ennis would come to Texas, show up one night on his doorstep. Of course, he hadn't counted on being socked in the face first thing. Whyt did he come if he cain't even stand to look at me? Did he get kicked out a his trailer or somethin' and he don't want to admit or somethin'? Doesn't make any goddamn sense, what did I do to him to deserve a punch in the face instead of a 'hello, Jack, long time no see'?

Limping back to camp, he wipes the moisture from his face. One of them has to be strong.