The Path.20

Drabble: 1500 Words
Genre: Canon { A/U now }
Pairing: Ennis and Jack; Ennis' POV
Disclaimer: AP created'em, I just love bein with'em.

Feedback: Much appreciated.

Thank you all so much for reading The Path and letting me know!

The Path.20

This is real embarrassin ta admit. I only got one pair a socks left to ma name. And they is gettin mighty thin. Had 'nuff blisters in my day that I know to warsh them socks ev'ry day or so, to keep'em clean. If I ain't got any soap handy, I just rinse'em out good. It's a real bitch when it's rainin or damp and foggy and they can't dry b'fore I have to put'em back on to get busy with the sheep, or the horses or whatever. This work won't wait for perfect conditions.

Well, that's what's goin on now. My socks are damp, but I have to wear'em, and I can feel a old blister startin ta rub open again. It will be murder on my feet when these socks wear out, and there's nothin between me and the boots. Shit! Don't know any way around it though.

I'd tear up a shirt or underwear to wrap my feet, but ain't got any extra of them neither. I'll think of somethin, I'll have to. . . . maybe I can tear out the linin of my coat. . . but shit, don't want to die up here. I'd freeze for sure without my coat.

Ain't much protection as it is. If it wadn't for the ground cloths and blankets they give us ta use, I'da already froze to death my first night up here. I don't bitch about the cold like Jack does, but I feel it just as much through my threadbare clothes, as he does. Guess I'm just more used to it, and don't figure bitchin will change nothin. That's one thing I learned young. Ain't gonna get ya nowhere to ask for stuff or whine or cry. So I don't.

Oh well, time to stop feelin sorry for m'self. Ain't never been no diff'rent and ain't likely to ever be. Best down the last a this luke warm cup a coffee and head on up to the sheep.

My Jack is here in my arms, settin round this fire. Guess we oughta red'up the breakfast things; if I help him get his camp chores done fast, maybe he'll come up top with me. Don't want to be alone today; it's a miserable, foggy, damp mornin and the mood I'm in, I could sure use some good company.

If I start movin around, I'm likely to feel better too.

"You got time to come up with me today?"

"Yeah, sure. Just got this mess to clean up, the rest can wait till we come down tonight."

"Thanks for the breakfast, Jack. The biscuits was real good."

"Ya ain't gotta thank me, Ennis. It's my job."

"Maybe. Maybe not. I like to think you do an extry good job, 'cause you're feedin me . . . and not just anybody."

I love it when Jack flushes all over. Knew it. He does take special care a me.

Within twenty minutes or so we have the food wrapped up, all the eatin utensils cleaned, dried and put away for next time and the camp fire doused. That can a matches is runnin low, better remind Jack to put that on his list for Friday.

With the horses and us fed, we start on up to the sheep. Seen a bear cub yesterday. Keepin an eye out for it, and it's mama. I remember to mention it to Jack too, and then tell him about the matches. I do not tell him about my socks.

Jack and I head off in different directions, like we've become accustomed to doin, checkin for predators. They've been a much bigger nuisance up in this higher pasture than they were down lower. That's why we stay up here twice as many nights, as we spend down in camp. Bet I've shot eight or ten coyotes this summer, and run off at least twenty. Sometimes I can see'em watchin me when I make my circuit. Know they're waitin for me to go away.

I believe they're smart 'nuff to know what this 30-30 is; the stick that shoots fire. They give me a perty wide berth. Still. They get hungry.

My mind is off yonder, thinkin 'bout hungry coyotes when my eye sees somethin. Cigar Butt'n me is ten yards past it when my mind catches up with what I saw. "whoa boy, whoa C.B." I turn us around and go back. It's the briar patch that I've pulled two or three lambs out of this summer. Just an ordinary briar patch. With briars, or thorns as I call'em.

An idea is comin to me, slow but sure. I think this could be the ticket. On each a those thorns, is a small hunk a wool. Little lamby wool. Soft, cushiony, absorbent wool. I begin to pick off each and every little hunk and pocket them.

At mid-day we meet up where the tent will be later on tonight. We can't leave it set up all day, case the forest service comes snoopin around. Jack unwraps the leftover biscuits and eggs from breakfast, and pulls out two jars a coffee. It's cold but who cares? I give each a our horses a ration a oats, and a bucket a water.

He looks up as I finish with the horses and walk toward our cold lunch spread out on the ground. "You limpin, Ennis?"

"Nah"

"Looked like it ta me."

"Um, well maybe a little bit."

"What's wrong?"

"Never mind, Jack, just let it go."

"I will not. Goddammit Ennis, you know how little things turn into big things if we ignore them. 'Specially out here. So, what is it?"

"Aw, I'm just gittin a blister. We can look at it after we eat. Okay?"

"Well, okay then."

We talked over the weather, the surplus of wild animals, and our lengthening grocery list while we ate the cold lunch. Sure felt good to have someone conscientious like Jack lookin after my every need. Time was, there was no food between breakfast and supper. None was given and none was expected.

Eventually though, Jack would not be put off any longer, and he made me take off my boot.

"Fuck, Ennis. Your foot's bleedin and the whole heel is rubbed red and raw. How long've you had this? Look, there's blood on your sock. Hold still."

"I know Jack, I know. But look. I got me a idea." I begin to take the bits of wool outa my pockets and place them inside my socks, against my skin where the boots rub. Had enough for some cushiony absorbent wool in each sock. From now on, I plan to collect this every day, keep a stash saved. Might be the difference in me getting through this summer up here or not.

Jack starts to pacing and muttering, then full out cussing. "Fuck Aguirre, anyway! 'sleep with the sheep 100%, no fire, don't leave no sign.' We need a fire Ennis. We need to clean and bandage your foot. The few supplies they do give us are down at the main camp, it ain't right!"

By this time, I've stomped my boots back on, and gingerly stepped around to test the benefits if any, of the wool I've placed in there. Feels pretty good. Better, anyway. Don't want to get an infection out here; don't want to have any reason that I'd have to leave early, leave Jack out here all by hisself. Don't know how he made it through the season last year. And then to have that ol' bastard blame him for the lightening strike that killed 46 sheep. It amazes me that Jack even came back this year after that. His daddy must really be hell on wheels if Jack'd rather put up with Aquirre's ways than stay around his daddy's place.

I can't imagine what it'd be like for me if Jack had not come back to Brokeback Mountain for another season with the sheep. . . what if I'd never met him?

This thought sends a jolt through me, liked to knock me to the ground. I look at Jack, still pacing and muttering and cussing. I go to him and pull on his hand, hold it against my face. He stops and looks at me with curiosity that then turns to tenderness. Seems he looks right into my very heart.

"Jack, shhh. You will fix up my foot and take care of me when we go down the mountain. We'll be fine, bud. We will always be fine long as we're together. Don't ever forget that."

I see his shoulders slump as he relaxes against me. I hold him till the trembling stops, and only when the 'what if' thoughts are banished from my mind.

Can't resist kissing his neck right up under his jaw and giving him a good strong squeeze before announcing it is time to go back to work.

Silently we saddle up; go out to scout for predators.

Tbc~