Disclaimer: None of these characters are mine, and I make no money from them.

AN: I want to thank my betas for this chapter, Max and Melissa.

Chapter 3: La Orilla

Jack woke in a hazy dream, but with one reality bustin' through: it was cold-- cold as a coal miner's ass. The fire'd died down, and there did'n exist a man as could hug Jack Twist tight 'nough ta stave off that cold. After all, Ennis's warm arms were tryin', an' if that tryin' fell short--

He stumbled, gripped, and stood, felt dreamlike grumbling and glances of pale skin before they resumed a fitting slumber in the old way, draped in bits of Coleman flannel and each other.

Morning was simple. Jack woke to find Ennis still in bed, but wide awake, gentle rain fallin' hard, but steady in a familiar cadence.

Ennis turned to pull Jack closer. Jack took in Ennis's scent, heavy on his thinning hair. "Like the way you smell."

"Yeah, need a bath more like."

"Can get ta that later."

Ennis laughed, but his smile quickly pulled down under a heavier burden. "Meant what you said last night?"

"Hell yes. You ain't niver had them fancy lettuces."

Another chuckle told Jack that Ennis was still in a givin' mood this mornin'. Silence let the laughter fade a moment before Ennis groaned. The topic clearly pained him, an' Jack felt awful to be bringing any burdens of pain down on a man already heavy-laden. Still, he'd said a lot a things last night that was true, so he simply said it. "Didn't do no lyin' as I recall."

"Did you-- did the doc really say that 'bout..."

Jack turned to look at Ennis, seein' right off the heavy circles under his eyes. "You sleep alright las' night?"

"Now, don' you go changin' the subject, Jack."

"I told you already, I'm gonna be fine."

"But yer doc don't think so?"

"He didn't say he doesn't. They jus' don't know."

Ennis nodded at that, lips tight, all the concerns in the world balled up into a single thought they shared in silence.

"What 'bout your friend?"

Your friend. Jack let the words sink in. "Yeah, he is my friend. An' I ain't gonna lie ta say you're askin' a lot of a sick man. 'Sides, I thought you was drunk. You 'member that conversation?"

Ennis groaned again, rubbing his eyes. "Shit, Jack, some things alcohol don't erase." Jack knew that was true but didn't say so. Ennis continued, his voice taking on a shade of anger and force. "Jus', don't think it's decent."

Jack's laugh came out bitter, but he didn't say anything. He got up, pulled on some clothes, and went out to piss. By the time he was done, a dressed Ennis was standing in the drizzle cursing at the wet wood they'd left out in the rain, but tryin' ta make a fire all the same.

"Think I left some wood under the fly, back a the tent." Jack, always lendin' unasked-for aid, always givin' without bein' asked. Thought it was pretty ironic that now Ennis was askin' for somethin' a Jack, Jack wasn't feeling too givin'. Lureen only liked a do things she thought of herself, or least that she thought she'd thought of herself, and Jack was beginnin' a wonder if he and Lureen was so different in that.

Jack brought the dry wood back and made the fire himself while Ennis rooted in the food bag, lowered from a makeshift bear hoist. He brought out some dry foods-- a bag of pretzels, a pack of cookies. Jack got a fire started, and they made coffee on it, but they ate the dry foods for breakfast, neither feelin' much like cookin' or talkin'.

"You bring these?" Jack knew it was a stupid question. Wasn't no one else around here ta bring it, but he held up a cookie covered in yellow, purple, and white sprinkles.

"Was on sale at the grocery?"

"Yeah, I can tell." They tasted like sugary cardboard, and maybe a little stale. Still, stale or not, probably the only time Ennis would buy a sugary cookie complete with sprinkles was on sale, and Jack smiled to himself. He could just see Ennis at the store. They prob'ly had multiple colors, and that man'd stood there for ten minutes maybe, tryin' a figure out which Jack'd like best. Didn't know if it was true, but it was a mighty fine story, and Jack held it close, unwilling to ask. Maybe there'd only been one color, and it was right next ta the cash register, an' Ennis hadn't spent a minute on it. Didn't like that version so much.

"Ennis, listen, friend, I don't wanna make you no promises I don't know I can keep." Jack pointed at him with a yellow cookie, sprinkles flyin' onta the ground. "You ain't gonna be in Texas. I'm gonna be lonely as shit, an' sick. Can't say what I might do. I ain't the kind a swear 'cause I ain't no good at keepin' 'em." Jack retreated back into the cookie, eyes steady on the fire. Quickly as he had started with the frankness, he was done. It was hard truths he was shootin' now, and he wasn't quite ready ta see those land. Didn't wanna be hurtin' Ennis. Didn' want to so damn bad, but no fucking choice. But Jack didn' know how to ignore Ennis, seemed like. Couldn't just hurt him and turn away like he hadn't. Jack watched careful out the corner of his eye ta see what would happen, wishin' he could care less but knowin' it wadn't in him ta do so. Ennis pressed his lips in a tight white line. The drizzle had died away, even though the air still felt heavy and cold with water. Jack pulled his coat tighter and finished the cookie.

Ennis broke the silence with a muttered "come 'ere," below his breath. Before Jack could react, Ennis reached out and wrapped Jack up in his left arm, pullin' him close on the log. Jack didn' hardly breath for fear a breakin' that spell. Ennis didn't say anything for a mite, but when he did, it seemed like the world had split in two, Jack already died and gone ta heaven surely. All Ennis said was, "Yup. Ain't gonna ask again. Just tell you I sure would like it, an' I'm up fer that favor. Long as it ain't indecent."

Jack wanted a make a joke at that. Seemed like a perfect openin', but, as with so much where Ennis was concerned, this wasn't the time and it wouldn't be 'preciated. Couldn't hide the smile that sprang ta his lips unintentional, though. Didn' hide smiles 'round Ennis, anyways. They sat in silence for bit longer before Jack, restless, extracted himself from Ennis's grip. The air was clearing and growing a bit warmer. "How 'bout a hike?"

"You don't wanna ride?"

Jack shrugged. "Mix it up. Come on, let's jus' walk."

And walk they did, nearly hip and hip. Jack was feeling brave after all that had happened this morning, Ennis bein' so giving, and creepin' inta the weekdays where Ennis was relaxed and open. Uncharted waters had been smooth sailin' the night before, so he decided a try some new ones.

"Somethin' else I wanna tell you 'bout Mexico."

"Jack." More warning in Ennis's voice.

Jack smiled 'bout as big as he knew how. "Juarez... wooee! It's a different sort a place. They got this water truck. That's how people get their water. Plays that Mexican song, La Cucaracha, over n' over 'gain, but only the first half a the chorus. An' you thought my harmonica was bad, Ennis. Heard that thing jus' once, and I thought you'd never like ta be in a place where the water trunk's driving around playin' half a chorus of a crappy song."

Ennis didn't say anything, but Jack was hopin' he'd heard that Jack was thinkin' on him down there. He had a good share of Mexico stories that didn't involve no sex, and he figured Ennis might like ta hear 'em.

"They got dogs. Everyone down there got dogs, I guess 'cause a the crime, but at night the packs a feral dogs roam the streets havin' these pack wars. Kinda sad when you think 'bout it, an' their dog population trouble."

Ennis nodded, muttering something that sounded like, "mighty sad."

"They got this big marketplace near the center a the city. I bought myself one a them colorful Mexican blankets down there. They make these donut sticks, called 'em Churros? Cinnamon flavored. Ever'one haggles over prices. All the drug dealers, they got palaces while all the poor people livin' literally out a houses made a cardboard n' flashin'. Makes you 'preciate America."

Ennis was still just noddin' absently.

"All the little kids down there eat limes all the time. Limes there're a damn sight better'n the limes here, tell you whut."

"Don't eat too many limes."

"Well, Ennis, you was in Mexico, you would. But you wouldn't be able to stand that damn water truck ten minutes, with its La Cucaracha."

"Don't know that song, don't think?"

"Hell you don't."

"Nope."

Jack couldn't resist that. He knew all the words, and in Spanish too, and what they meant, so he graced Ennis with his version as well as the translation, all about Los Villistas and the cockroach who didn't have any pot, though he didn't know any Mexican history to explain what the story meant. By the time he was done, Ennis was downright chucklin'.

"And that water truck-- all it does is the first half a the chorus all fuckin' day long." Jack was smilin' wide, eyed glued full-on to Ennis ta see that man was smilin' too, in his eyes. The needles underfoot crunched in step as they meandered through the white pines on the dry side of the mountain.

"Think I'd beat the crap out a that driver." It was barely loud 'nough to hear, but Ennis was grinnin' tight.

"You prob'ly would. I thought so, anyways."

Silence dragged on for a minute, Jack listenin' ta all the variety of insect sound as they were fast approaching the krummholz. Ennis interrupted, soundin' lonely and lost, "You thinkin' on me down there?"

Jack sighed, a small "aww" escaping with it. He braced a hand tight on Ennis's nearest shoulder, giving a little squeeze. Releasing it, he said simply, "Christ, Ennis, I think 'bout you fuckin' everywhere. I had ta stop goin' a church on that account."

Ennis smiled. "Yup. Me too. Didn't feel right with all them churchgoers."

"Fuck them. I jus' would rather been home alone thinkin' on you than in a church." Jack winked. Ennis gave some sort a conspiratorial glance at nothin' off in the distance, his mouth quirkin', but his eyes lighting with lusty amusement. Finally a sort of small chuckle escaped Ennis's lips. Thinkin' on how many times he'd heard that sound in the past twenty four hours, Jack thought maybe dyin' was worth this day.

They lunched back at camp, swam in the warm, and eventually sunny, afternoon, hands floatin' an' slippery in the icy-cold water. Jack had ta take an afternoon nap, not somethin' he'd done before he got sick.

Dinner was beef pot pies Ennis had brought, came in tin foil packages 'specially for the camp fire. Jack tol' stories 'bout antics in Texas, neighbors who were stealin' mail from other neighbors, the raccoons that'd tore down the garden fence, and Bobby's performance in the football game last week. Leanin' back and dozin' on whiskey, everythin' seemed alright once 'gain. Right as they ever was. Ennis wasn't gonna push him on the Randall front; Ennis was tryin' a be more givin'; Ennis was willin' a fix this. Ennis was singin' so many new tunes this week, most of them soundin' like the lark, Jack had a mind ta give Ennis the benefit of the doubt.

Tuesday mornin' was warmer and sunnier. They rode all day, bringin' cheese sandwiches for lunch. Ennis knelt, dry tufted hairgrass n' fresh dirt stainin' his pant knees, givin' another gift to Jack. Felt good as the autumn sun screamin' down. Better, even. Panting and sucked dry, Jack settled gently down amidst the hairgrass. Christ, he was already dreadin' like a heavy weight the end a this week. He couldn't even begin ta bear the idea of returning ta Texas, loneliness, surgery, sickness, alone. Fuckin' alone. The thought made him grip Ennis, an' he wasn't totally sure some little girlish sound didn't come out a his throat, though he wasn't even in the mood ta blame hisself none 'bout that. If Ennis heard it, he didn't say, but Ennis's left hand rubbed gentle circles on Jack's stomach, under his shirt and his jacket, and around his still-open fly. Tuesday night they didn' even open the whiskey, but they were so drunk on each other neither noticed.

Wednesday mornin' the sky looked threatening, and a couple almos' too light to feel sprinkles came spritzing down. Ennis made more stone biscuits for breakfast, an' they road another trail for the day, puttin' off lunch. They had an early dinner of cans a soup. Jack's was baked potato with bacon and filled him up real nice. After dinner Jack pulled out his radio and shared a joint with Ennis. He also shared some foolish things 'bout LD, a crap book Lureen'd bought for him, an' his latest views on the Soviets. Didn' think Ennis much cared about none a them, but there was that harmonica again, the soft droll of Jack's voice to add music to the night. No wonder Ennis didn't never bring a radio.

Thursday was gorgeous again. They started the day with sex this time, movin' on to hash browns, a freezin' cold bath-swim, and Ennis talkin' on 'bout Junior and her new job as a nurse's aid down at the hospital. "Wonder if she knows anythin' could help you." Jack bit his tongue, not wanting to tell Ennis that a nurse's aid wasn't likely ta know more 'bout cancer than an oncologist, but it was the sort a thing all parents did, like he was always tootin' Bobby's horn, so instead he nodded. "Couldn't hurt for you ta ask her." Knew full well that wasn't a conversation Ennis was ever gonna have with his oldest daughter.

By dinner time, Jack was startin' a feel the weight bearin' down on him. Couldn' muster a good conversation like usual. Ennis either noticed, or was feelin' it himself, 'cause he was pretty damned lost in thought as well. Warm mashed potatoes and corned beef hash well-settled inta their stomachs, they sat back like usual ta watch the water and share whiskey. They wasn't lips-to-lips, so they were doing the next best thing with a whiskey bottle, takin' shares. Jack didn' know why things was this way, but he never bothered to question 'em too far. Ennis was Ennis and he did things his own way. Might not make sense most a the time, but Jack reckoned he didn' make much more sense ta Ennis. Usually somethin' in him was alright with these quiet, alone times that were so like Ennis ta have, jus' 'cause, well, dammit, they was so like Ennis ta have. Jack's man had his sacred routines.

The whiskey was startin' ta seep into Jack's bones ta settle in right next to the Thursday-night weight. Somewhere in the distance a bird was calling, but Jack was too far gone ta tell what sort. Eventually he was too far gone altogether. He licked his lips and didn' have a clue what would come out next, but his lips were feelin' want of use, and Ennis wasn't seemin' to notice nor care. His mind started reeling in that direction, and before he could stop it, his lips were moving to the tune of his brain.

"You're the best goddamn fuck, Ennis. Could really stand a be doin' that 'stead of this stare-at-the-water bullshit."

Ennis, apparently, was in a mood, though, 'cause he didn't give Jack a silver laugh, nor any other color, but seemed ta squirm almos' uncomfortable. Even through a whiskey fog, Jack was gettin' that message, loud n' clear. Handy dandy ol' 'I ain't no queer' Ennis was seepin' in round the scenes. His fuckin' Ennis, the one that only existed in the mountains, was packing up a full day early an' then some.

Jack's slow brain pushed words to his mouth again, though it could easily a been a full ten minutes later. Couldn't tell and didn't give a crap. "Fuck this shit." He wasn't sure if he was mad and wanting to push Ennis away, but fuckin' anything Jack could think of ta do in life carried the risk of pushin' Ennis away. Everythin' 'cept exactly what Ennis wanted, and what Ennis wanted right now was for Jack ta pretend not to exist.

Jack was too close to knowin' firsthand what it was ta not exist ta be willing ta pretend that right now.

"Ennis, you got some fuckin' tragic problems, friend. Whatever it is yer thinkin', sure wouldn't mind a piece."

The comment earned him a glare, but like training a opinionated dog, he met Ennis's dark eyes stroke for stroke in the firelight. Ennis turned away first. And BINGO was 'is name-o.

"Dontcha ever shut up, huh?"

"Don't think I spoke more'n five word this evening." Under his breath, Jack added, "'less yer hearin' somethin' up there in that head a yours."

"Huh? I jus... think 'bout now wish I had a phone."

"What for?"

"In case."

Ennis didn't finish, and that silence beat on Jack harder'n any words ever could have. He was too drunk to make heads or tails of what sort of conversation they was havin' now, but Jack wanted a punch Ennis just for sayin' those two words. In case. In case a whut? Wasn't goin' there. Couldn't take that on top of Saturday.

"How come you gotta go back Saturday this time?" Jack's fuzzy mind, distracted, jumped topic and ship together.

"Huh?"

"You usually go on Sunday."

"Not always."

"Yeah. Not always."

"Francine's birthday's on Sunday."

"No shit. You get her somethin'?"

Ennis made a face like he was tasting somethin' bitter, but he didn' answer. Jack could guess though. You don't spend twenty years thinkin' 'bout someone almost every fuckin' minute of the day without bein' able ta guess their thoughts. Ennis givin' his daughter a day, day that coulda been the last day he ever got a have with that one person he needed, just ta remember ta put air in his lungs in the mornin'.

As if on cue, Ennis said, "I didn't know, I mean, when I tol' her I'd take her out to brunch, Jack."

"So yer gettin' her brunch?"

"Can't... Fuckit, if I stand 'er up she'll never forgive me."

"'S alright, Ennis. I wasn't tryin' a mean nothin', jus' curious."

"It ain't alright!" Ennis's bark echoed off the lake water and stirred somethin' like fear inside Jack, fear for Ennis and what might be goin' on behind them dark eyes that Jack was not aware of.

"Hey," Jack's voice sounded over-soft by comparison, a hushing wind. But soothing as wind was, it'd spooked a horse or two in its day. "Hey, Ennis, have a good brunch with yer baby girl. You an' me, friend, we had shit fer daddys. Hell, I am a shit dad, jus' of a diff'rent kind. You, you're like you deserve a fuckin' 'Father a the Year' mug." Jack didn't mean it to come out sounding sarcastic at all, but the whiskey had other ideas.

Ennis didn' take the bait, already long gone in his own thoughts. Jack felt like shit, feelin' jealous for a little girl barely grown. Ennis's own little girl. Girl that he should a loved like his own.

Ennis shuffled his feet, standin'. He stopped by the fire, hands in his jacket pockets and shoulders slouched with that weight he'd carried since before Jack'd known him. When Jack was feelin' specially bad 'bout ruinin' Ennis's life, or whatever sorts a bullshit propaganda Ennis spouted sometimes that tried to attack Jack durin' dark lonely nights, he recalled ta mind the downward slope of those shoulders, the weight that had been firmly in place before Jack had met Ennis, and Jack hadn't made it no worse. Maybe better. He could dream. Probably nothing. Usually nothing, with Ennis. I'm stuck with what I got here.

"I'm, uh, goin' a bed. You comin'?" Ennis sounded shy, and Jack heard the real question behind those words. Wish I had the time ta teach him a say 'wanna fuck?' instead a 'golly gee Jack, sure am tired.'

Jack smiled a toothy smile under his dark mustache. "Friend, I thought you'd never ask."

A tired, slow, dark fuck later, with Jack on top for no particular reason, 'cept Jack thought maybe Ennis was tired of havin' ta be strong this week, or maybe Ennis needin' a reminder that Jack was strong, strong 'nough in case, or whatever. The cool night and warm sleeping bags drew Jack inta his own dreams, no less troubled for all its colors, 'cause he couldn't really share that dream with Ennis.

Friday morning started cloudy and cooler than usual, the air feeling damp. Ennis was up out a bed again. Long ago, Jack and Ennis had bought matching Coleman's, totally on accident. Ennis's was blue, Jack's brown. Jack hadn't meant anything by buying the color, just liked the dark khaki shade an' the red n' green flannel linin', and he didn't think Ennis had picked out blue for any special reason, but it made a better story ta say otherwise, so that's what he told himself. They'd found, with matching bags, they could zip 'em together ta make one big one. Seemed fate had a little eye out for them from time ta time. Bigger one woulda been 'preciated.

The day cleared up quick while they were eating instant grits by the fire. Jack couldn' muster a sentence a words, vacillatin' 'tween thoughts that made him sick n' tryin' not ta think 'em. Tomorrow Ennis will be gone and I'll hit the road. Don' think 'bout that, just' think 'bout today. Present's what matters anymore. Lucky jus' ta have a tomorrow, don' got no right ta complain 'bout what it holds.

"Shit, Ennis, it's shapin' out ta be one fucking beautiful day. Looked like it might be rain this mornin'." The weather. An old, safe topic Jack generally reserved for casual acquaintances. Rememberin' they was more right now was painful.

"Yup."

"Lookit those clouds, all soft. Ain't they the most beautiful thing you ever seen?"

"Nope." Jack let it slide, took it for what it was. Nothin' new, but any attention brought down upon that rock-solid word woulda turned it ta sand.

"We oughta have a damn fine ride today."

"Yup."

"Tell you whut, think Bobby wore out the clutch in my truck tryin' a learn stick. Need a replace it."

"Yup."

"Still didn't learn, though. Ha had a take my truck. 'S an automatic."

"Huhn."

Jack sighed hard. "You think you can manage ta string more than one word together for me, friend? I'm tryin' here."

That got him. Ennis's tight mouth sprung a little smile, cracks and leaks around the person he wanted ta be seen as, real Ennis tricklin' out the seams.

"That's more like it." Jack's voice carried subtle tannins of emotion, flavor and bitter together, makin' a good blend, like the wines Lureen liked when Jack was fillin' up with cheap whiskey.

The lark was singin' again, from a nearby lodgepole, an Jack wished it'd just shut up. He wanted quiet, but that lark and Ennis's shy smile made a deadly combination, something he wanted every day, and his mind's eye wandered to the old stories, like books read so often the pages started ta get yellow. First one he'd written for himself right on Brokeback. What if Ennis woul' just drive off with me right at the bottom of this mountain? We could find a little ranch work somewhere, figure somethin' out. I'm sure we could. Then there'd been others. He'd imagined a variety of reunions in that four-year drought, each one startin' in on its own story. The actual reunion had gone better'n he ever dreamt, but just started a fount a new stories, new hope runnin' in rivers, rivers runnin' into the dry land of West Texas, rivers dryin' up in Mexico after that divorce (I fuckin' shoulda known wasn't no Alma makin' the difference, but I guess I ain't never been too smart), though they didn' never dry up completely. Maybe the source was found again on this mountain in Ennis's changin' attitude, but Jack didn't really believe in that kinda water any more. Mostly learned ta drink whiskey instead.

Jack's reverie was interrupted by Ennis, finishin' his breakfast and movin' to wash the dishes. Jack gathered up the rest and joined him in silence by the widening river's edge, the camp site bein' near where it pooled into the clear mountain lake. As soon as he knelt down by that river, though, a hymn of his mama's came into his head, and made him cringe and back away. Seemed water wasn't doin' him no good today. Didn't wanna be gatherin' by no rivers just yet.

Dishes done, he an' Ennis each saddled up and mounted their respective horses. The day was almost soothing, all the truths out. Jack was glad as anything that he'd finished all that early in the week. Made these last days bearable. Even Rufus wasn't doin' that damned annoying trottin' crap he'd been gettin' up to all week, though Jack had a feelin' it wasn't content that stilled the horse much as fatigue. He was feelin' it too, a kind of animalistic version that seemed a run all the way down. Jack was feelin' tired now, for damn sure. So tired of feelin' sick, and sick of feelin' tired, tired of worryin' 'bout Ennis, and more tired of tryin' not to worry. For a minute, just a lazy, sparkling minute under the impossibly deep blue skies of a perfect fall day in the mountains, Jack thought maybe he would a liked ta lay down between the dried balsamroot and sleep alone and long.

But he didn't want that for forever, so he wouldn't take it now. Not at all. Not for a fuckin' minute. Had a stop that kind a thinkin' before push came to shove, and he knew it. Don't no one fight cancer and win as goes in soul-tired.

The ride was quiet and ended too soon, knee brushin' knee like always, horse's strides in sync, two troubled souls wanderin' in chaos. Wanderin' together was better n' wanderin' alone.

Friday night a different kind a sickness set in. It was one he was used to, but it set in hard and wasn't letting go. Jack sat further away from Ennis than usual, something clenching inside. Didn't eat nona a the dinner Ennis made of canned mini wieners an' fruit. Just sat and watched the quiet mountain waters and the darkness hiding under them. Didn' wanna know about darkness, but the waning moon had some other ideas 'bout that. Tonight it was only a tiny sliver, setting just before full dark, rising again so late in the night it was probably just morning. Not quite dark yet, and somethin' powerful dangerous rose up in Jack ta remind him, might be the last time he ever got ta see the moon so tiny you coul' barely tell it was there. He locked his eyes on it 'til the mountains swallowed it whole.

Ennis didn' even see the tiny moon. Might be my last, an' it weren't good enough for him.

Part of him wanted a yell real bad, to scream at the top of his lungs. I hope this is the last fuckin' time I see you jus' ta make you feel like shit, or some such. Who knew, maybe tomorrow at the trail head them words would come flyin' out, but Jack had dealt enough hard blows for one week and he knew it. Still, the sick didn' wanna be tapped down. So he did the only think he knowed to do and tried to hold it down with a whole... liter a whiskey. When the hell'd they switched these things from fifths ta liters? The weighty feel a the bottle felt sort a precious to Jack, like crystal that held some sort of fire. The taste was sweet and bitter and vaguely olivine, like the autumn grasses of the mountain, but not like them fuckin' martinis rich people in Texas sometimes drank while Jack was hittin' the cheap whiskey, an' knowin' why he was hittin' it too. Twist, Jack Twist. Jack laughed at his own joke, sinking into the comfortable oblivion of alcohol and crisp air. When did my fuckin' liter become so damn near empty?

Ennis broke the silence just long enough to say, "She's turnin' seventeen. One year, Jack."

Just then some whiskey made a wrong turn in Jack's throat, and he found himself wishin' he even had the air ta gasp for air. Ennis was still turned towards the lake, not paying any mind, while the lack of air was sobering Jack up and making him see red. Eventually he calmed himself enough to gasp and choke, coughing hard, and Ennis ignoring him all the same. Fuck that man. Fuck the whiskey. It burned like hell in his lungs an' made him tear up. Good 'nough cover and Jack was almos' grateful for that. The soberin' up didn' last long, though, as the pain tried ta fade away (never quite succeeding), and the alcohol in his lungs settled inta his blood stream. Jus' like Ennis, alcohol worked its way inta his blood stream from wherever he put it. Stomach was jus' the least painful place.

"Motherfuckin' whore. Dammit, I hate this Ennis. Yer leavin' tomorrow."

"Ain't 'til tomorrow. Don't aim to dwell on it."

That sounded like the funniest fuckin' thing Jack Twist had ever heard to his far-from-sober ears. "What kinda shit is that?" He barked a bitter laugh that quickly turned to wheezing in his burning chest.

"You're drunk." Ennis's voice sounded tight.

"The hell I am."

"Well, y'ar. Lookit-- how much whiskey was in this bottle when you started, Jack?"

"Huh? Oh, uh, this is the new bottle. Whatcha gettin' at?"

"New? Fuck, Jack. Lookit." Ennis took the bottle and swirled it a little before Jack's blurring eyes. Seemed like Ennis had some point ta make, though Jack was sure he was missin' it.

"Ah Ain't drunk," Jack drawled, Texas accent seepin' out uninvited.

"Come on." Ennis was pullin' Jack up to his feet. Jack was suddenly aware that the Earth was shiftin' and he didn' have much idea where 'up' was, though he trusted Ennis ta tell him.

Somehow he found himself wrapped in Ennis an' Coleman again, boots off, belt comin' undone. "We gonna fuck?"

"You're too drunk."

"Ain't too drunk."

"Yeah, y'are, y'wouldn't enjoy it."

"Would too." Jack's voice was fadin' fast.

"Come on, bud, jus' sleep it off."

Just' on the edge of a alcoholic sleep so's he never again was sure if it was a dream or not, he felt Ennis smooth a rough palm over his hair, heard a shushing noise in that man's throat, an' those words, "Love you too goddamn much, Jack, so don' you go dyin' on me, huh?" Jack's last clear thought was that if he had to put money on it, it was probably a dream, but he chose the other version and held it close like gold.

When Jack woke again, the tent was pitching back n' forth, spinning too, and he thought it musta been the worst storm he ever heard of, gonna pitch 'em both right off the mountain even from their tent, but as sleep cleared from his mind, he could see and hear stillness all 'round. The storm weren't outside the tent at all, but inside Jack. Not five seconds passed before he was kneeling, right hand braced on the Earth for a reference point, outside the tent door, puking up everything he had. "Shit," he sputtered.

When the clenching spasms of muscle had subsided, he stood hesitantly and unsteady, movin' towards the water. He leaned over it gulped a few hefty mouthfuls from as far from the shore as he could manage, Ennis words 'bout beaver fever makin' him feel foolish for not findin' the canteen, even in the dark. Jack chased the cold water with cold air, gulpin' in the smell of the mountain ta fight off the sickness within'. He made a unsteady path down the lake shore, glad for the firm soil under his boot soles (though too near the lake it turned ta mud and made a suckin' noise, but that was alright 'cause it was better than silence).

He jus' stood by the lake shore for a moment, another hymn comin' ta mind, but not one from his mama. He was swayin' with the invisible music to the rhythm of his whiskey-filled brain. He'd learnt it from a woman he met in Mexico. She'd found him after that first night, sleepin' in the street with mud and tears and semen caked on his clothes. She'd brung him back to a cardboard box of a shack, made Lightnin' Flat look like damned Beverly Hills. The house was really madeo f crates and flashing, an' she shared it with a husband and seven children, only the youngest a girl. The woman'd given him homemade coconut candy, sang a hymn while hangin' her laundry, handed him a lime and some rainwater he didn' dare ta drink, an' sent him on his way. He hadn't known enough Spanish to ask her name, an' didn' have nothin' ta give her (though he had left his hat behind, since the girl had taken to it, and the little Latina reminded him of Ennis's girls-- girls he had faces now ta put names to). But he would remember that hymn, knowin' what the words meant now, 'til the day he died. Which, as it turned out, might not have ta be that long.

Shit, Twist, gotta stop thinkin' like that. Maybe she was a angel. Maybe she was jus' a Mexican woman. Maybe she was the sister of the man you paid to fuck you the night before. Don' matter anymore. "Don' nothin' matter anymore," he whispered to the still-as-stone water.

"Yeah, an' fuck you too." The soft voice sneakin' up behind him made him jump.

"Fuckit, Ennis! Scared th'livin' shit outta me."

"What you singin'? Don't believe I know it."

"Jus' some ol' hymn." Jack was still facing the water, though Ennis's voice was comin' close. The night was too dark to make facin' Ennis worthwhile.

Almost too quick for Jack to react, a hand clutched onto his shoulder, pullin' him close and warm. He hummed into the warmth.

"You see somethin' out there, bud?" The words were warm and breezy against his ear.

"No, Ennis, don't see nothin' in any direction."

"Huh. Me neither. Too dark."

"Reckon' so."

The moment held. Jack was holdin' on as hard as he knew. His breaths were comin' quick an' tight, an' he wished Ennis hadn't woke up. He needed this time, but he couldn' do it in front of Ennis. Not now. Ennis musta sensed it though 'cause he clutched tighter. Ennis's last minute clutching sent Jack over an' edge, and silent liquid poured from him. He breathed sharp. The hand on his shoulder just moved a little bit, rubbin'. Ennis's head fell forward to find his own, an' the rest was jus' a story for the silent lake an' dark mountain, cryin' and gulpin' turning to fatigue. It vaguely occurred to Jack that it was the first time he'd cried in front a Ennis, an' he was glad he done it, but also glad he done it in the dark.

When the noises subsided, Ennis was still clutching, clutching at Jack, and at Jack's pants like some kinda kid that couldn't figger out a cookie jar. Ennis's arms were still wrapped from behind. Jack mustered a "hey, now," even soundin' like somethin' Ennis would say, and helped Ennis's clumsy hands with his own shakin' ones before yankin' down his trousers altogether. Jack dropped into the mud on hands n' knees without hesitation.

Never had sex in the mud before, but Ennis was still bearin' down on him, n' it were a weight he was pleased to hold. They'd done the firm ground n' the dark water, but the mud was new, suckin' sounds surroundin' on all sides, breath seeming ta come from both, or maybe none, the air around them breathin' for them in a groan that fit. Jack didn't even pay a mind to the wind, kickin' up dust that stuck in his tear tracks, or to the mud that was gettin' places. Because Ennis was gettin' places too. Jack felt the firm and strong of him go soft eventually, and it was right ta know Ennis could be soft as the wind settlin' down to a timid breeze. An' there they was, mud an' wind an' spunk between dusty earth and dark waters. Both cold and dirty in more ways than one, Jack still feeling the clenching muscles, clenching muscles that tried with everything they knew to hold Ennis close, but in the end, was Ennis himself had ta decide ta lie in that mud with Jack.

Somehow mornin' found them back in the tent, and Jack reckoned by the mud caked jus' 'bout everywhere he hadn't dreamt the night before, but maybe slept through the walk back. Saturday passed quiet. Quiet breakfast was capped with one last ride for the horses' sakes before they were trailered and drug away. Ennis was busy, foldin' in on himself, findin' each part of real Ennis, foldin' up neat like a piece a laundry, findin' a closet ta put those pieces of himself in. Maybe they weren't pieces of himself after all, but pieces of Jack-and-Ennis, or even just Jack left behind in Ennis, that man foldin' him up neat and putting him up in the closet 'til maybe Jack came by again. 'Til maybe. It's always been 'til next time', but now it's 'til maybe'. Jack wasn't even feelin' sick over that, just numb with winter cold, the silence of the mountains, the silence of Ennis (maybe they was the same thing), poundin' through his ears. God, he missed the annoying screams of a thousand sheep. Jack had a wonder if Brokeback would a been as silent as this mountain was, or if it would a had some opinion ta expresses on these matters.

Jack kept his spirits up. Didn't nothin' much matter after this week 'cept'n stuff he had no control over, and he learned long 'go to let dead dogs stay buried.

Ennis was quiet, firm, all folded and neat, presentable ta strangers. Jack's truck was all packed too soon, and Ennis had the horses set, an' his stuff set too. Everything set for the partin', Ennis leaned 'gainst his truck. Jack was standin' a few yards off, not wantin' a push anything. He wasn't sure what he needed from Ennis, but he gave up tryin' a control that man. Had to pick his battles now, and Jack was feeling exhausted for sure.

"Well, uh, take care, then." Ennis spared him a questioning, squinty glance. "You, uh..." Ennis walked towards him, put out an arm like he was 'bout ta tap Jack on the shoulder, but instead pulled on Jack's jacket a little bit, pullin' Jack close. Ennis's warm arms closed hard around Jack. Ennis's hand patted Jack on the back, way you did a baby needing to get something out a its stomach. Jack was blinkin' back tears, so happy for this last gift of a closeness he didn' have words.

Finally Ennis tore away in one swift movement. "See ya in a couple months, bud." An' he was checkin' the lock on the trailer, walking around the passenger side.

Jack din't miss it when Ennis's footsteps seemed to slow and scuff the ground, markin' there, diggin' up a little dirt. Jack couldn't see the man himself through the truck n' trailer, but he could hear the feet scrapin'. And he sure as hell could hear the gasping that could only be one thing.

Comin' slow and quiet 'round the front end of the truck, Jack let his sight rest on Ennis-- Ennis with his face screwed up, hard-lined, red 'round the eyes and mouth, tears spillin' down everywhere ta mix with snot. Ennis, swipin' at those tears as fast as he could, but not fast enough. In the space of that half a minute, the space between him and Ennis thick with fears and hopes, Jack came to see realized what he had always hoped for. Only now it weren't just a hope, but a fear too.

He an' Ennis-- they was in this together. Hadn't been tied together like this in their twenty years of lovin'. The fact were both sobering and uplifting. Together. They lived in each other. Died in each other. Ennis took the news like he hisself was the dyin' man. Maybe he would be, if Jack couldn't pull out a this. Jack weren't just fightin' fer himself and his own life.

Jack hardly finished the thought, and didn't remember crossin' the space, but he was holdin' Ennis tight against his chest, Ennis cryin' in broad daylight again like the last time they parted, only this time felt a lot different. Jack shushed and stroked like he usually did. Seen Ennis spend more tears this week than a whole twenty years combined, and the fact weren't lost on Jack. He took as many of those tears and as much of the snot, with it, onta his own blue western shirt. Ennis, holdin' tight, was startin' ta slip inside the layers of Jack's open parka, and Jack felt mighty nice ta have him there, right over Jack's heart. Had ta bite back tears himself, though, as he held Ennis.

Eventually Ennis musta realize he'd been cryin' like a girl, 'cause he pulled away, pushed Jack off, paced fast around his truck, and put one foot in the cab. Hesitating on the last foot, he peered at Jack across the truck and through the window. "Gonna get a phone." It was all he said before he started the ignition and drove off without lookin' back.

Jack watched him drive away with a feeling like maybe it weren't so bad. Not so lonely after all, Ennis always with him. Ennis trustin' him with his life. Leastways they was both miserable, n' maybe for the same reason this time. Might not a happened since... well maybe since them Chilean sheep when everythin' got mixed.