(no subject)
LOST - Part 15
Title: Lost, Part 15
Rating: You know the drill. It's still PG-13.
Pairing: Jack/Ennis
Teaser: Ennis gets the worst news of his life, but all may not be quite as it seems...
Disclaimer: Jack and Ennis are not mine. Neither are any of the other original characters from the wonderful "Brokeback Mountain." They belong to Annie Proulx, and I am only borrowing them for a little while...
Author's Note: RL is really slamming me into the drywall right now (well, the plaster, actually, it's an old house), but I'm doing my best. Another short update, I'm afraid, but at least it's here...
Ennis swung his old truck through the gates of the Double M at five forty five, driving straight past the ranch offices this time and on up the hill to the stables. Tim and Stu, two of the younger hands, were already out walking the colts he would be taking to Texas with him, letting them work the kinks out of their nerves, settling them down for transport. The horses stamped and fidgeted, tossing their heads against their halter ropes, blowing clouds of steam from their nostrils into the cold early morning air. Parked out front of the stables was a dark green gooseneck trailer with the yellow M Bar V logo painted on the side, and Ennis pulled in beside it and turned off the engine.
As he swung his legs out of the truck, a pickup with a paint job that matched the trailer drove up and came to a stop beside him. Don Wroe hopped out and came around the hood towards him, his long sandy hair and moustache and favorite fringed buckskin jacket making him looking a bit like a picture Ennis had once seen of General Custer. “Mornin’, Ennis.”
“Mornin’.” Ennis wasn’t in any mood for company or conversation yet, still feeling wrung out and hollow inside from his dream of Jack. All he really wanted was a good, strong cup of coffee and a cigarette, and to be left alone…but that didn’t look like it was going to happen for a little while.
“Boss asked me to get you a truck out o’ the motor pool, seein’ as that piece o’ shit of yours couldn’t pull a decent trailer down a long hill, let alone all the way to Texas.” Don grinned at him, pushing up the brim of his hat.
Ennis didn’t have it in him to rise to the bait today, and Don was good people anyway, just giving him shit as usual. He just grunted. “I ain’t disputin’ it.”
“Never take the piss out o’ Ennis Del Mar before he’s had his coffee,” Don chuckled. “You ever hooked up a gooseneck before?”
Ennis shook his head, mouth twitching despite himself. “Figured you might not have,” Don said. “Only ever saw you tow a tagalong. Better check you out on it, then, before you leave.”
Don spent the next few minutes demonstrating how to hook up the gooseneck stem to the ball hitch mounted in the bed of the pickup. Satisfied that Ennis had the hang of it, he handed him the keys. “There you go. Just remember, watch your turns. This ain’t much longer than the trailers you’re used to, but a gooseneck cuts them corners real sharp.”
“Thanks.” Ennis took the keys, shoved them into his pocket.
“I’m real sorry about your friend, Ennis.”
He met Don’s eyes, then, saw the honest sympathy there. He managed to nod, somehow, not trusting himself to speak, the dream too close in his mind for comfort. Then Don was gone, waving as he moved off down the hill toward the ranch offices, and Ennis could make himself think about other things than Jack so he could start to breathe again.
They got the horses loaded by six thirty, but Elaine sent down word that Ennis wasn’t to set foot in that truck without first having breakfast up at the house, so he didn’t get on the road for another hour - and when he did it was with a belly full of eggs and bacon, a knapsack beside him that Ellie insisted on helping him carry to the truck, stuffed with more food for the journey, and two thermoses of coffee. Next to the knapsack on the passenger seat lay the map Russ Malone had given him, the trip route the boss had gotten from AAA outlined in yellow highlighter pen, and a piece of paper with two addresses and phones on it. One was for Roy Taylor’s ranch, the other for an outfit called the Chili Pepper, fifteen minutes east of Pueblo, Colorado. The Chili Pepper, run by an old horsebreeding buddy of Malone’s, made most of its money on its dude ranch operation these days, and Malone had called ahead to make arrangements for Ennis and the colts to spend the night there before continuing on to Childress. He’d made it clear there’d be no fourteen hours of straight driving with his horses along for the ride, and Ennis was secretly grateful to have the excuse to break the trip.
The sky was lowering to the west and threatening rain by the time he pulled out under the arch of the Double M. Ennis could feel the weight of the trailer through the steering column as he turned south-east on to Highway 26, away from the weather, the truck swaying a little like a pregnant mare on a narrow trail. His planned route called for him to take Highway 26 to the junction of Highway 287, which he would then stay on until he hit Interstate 80 at Rawlins, and he felt something crawl cold in his gut as he glanced at the yellow highlighted line, realizing for the first time how far it extended, all the way down that map and clear to the end of forever. What in hell was he thinking of? Apart from that brief airborne hop across the border into Montana with Malone, he’d never been out of Wyoming in his life, and now he was embarking on a journey that would take him across the better part of three states. He wasn’t cut out for this.
He felt his heart start pounding then, his stomach starting its old tricks, cramping and twisting on him, acid crawling all the way up his throat and burning like sour fire. It always did this when he was up against something that felt too big, too difficult, too painful for him to face, but he was aware of that connection now, thanks in no small part to Jack. So much of the self knowledge he had achieved in his life, as pitifully little as it appeared to him when he tried to sum it up, he knew he owed to that man and his uncanny gift for opening him up like a can of Better Most beans.
He shook off that thought, straightening his arms, eyes fixed on the road ahead, the mesmerizing ribbon of black and gray stretching out in front of him like that line on the map. If it hadn’t been for the horses behind him, he might have changed his mind right then, turned around before it was too late. But he’d made a promise to his boss, and he never went back on a promise.
Life had a funny way of making sure of things, sometimes.
Ahead of him the sky was still clear, the day shaping up fine and cold, the chill finally settling in after all those weeks of unseasonable warmth. He had to acknowledge that driving a truck like this, all glossy paint and gleaming chrome, so fresh off the dealer’s lot that the new car smell still wafted up from the upholstery, gave a shot in the arm to a man’s pride. Made him want to sit up straighter behind the wheel, tip his hat to the two pretty young girls in that red convertible, pick a gas pump in front of the station in full view of the road, instead of sliding in around back of the building like he hoped no one would notice he was there. He could even hear the radio over the sound of the engine without having to crank the volume up almost all the way. Jack had given Ennis shit all those years about trading in his old truck for something that didn’t threaten to hammer the disks in his spine into dust, and he’d been right. Although Ennis would sooner have stripped naked in the middle of one of those Brokeback hailstorms than admit it.
There was no way to not think about Jack, not when Ennis knew he’d worn grooves in these same roads for twenty years. Ennis wondered what he’d thought about as he drove, wondered if the landmarks he was looking at now with fresh eyes had been burned permanently into Jack’s brain like those faded brown photographs in old library books. The vast, dry flats of the continental divide basin, where nothingness stretched for so many miles that it played hell with your depth perception and you couldn’t tell the difference between twenty miles away and only two or three. The snow fences that lined the Interstate, braced like slatted wooden soldiers for the onslaught of winter blizzards. The tiny painted dots that were barns and farmhouses, cropping up every lonely once in a while, far back from the road, the sheer distances between them a testimony to the isolation of the great plains. Even now, those places were a long way from each other, and Ennis had had a taste himself when he was a kid of what it could be like when there was no running combustion-engined vehicle to make those miles manageable. It was a bad place to find yourself in a winter storm, that he knew. Could be spring thaw before anybody’d find you, you broke down and got buried in one of those drifts.
Not that he was in any danger of doing any breaking down, snow or no snow, not in this fine vehicle that ran as smooth on the road surface as oil over glass, humming through the miles with never a hitch or startle in the sound. It was just about as different a journey from the physical punishment of his shake and rattle drive to Lightning Flat as two things so otherwise similar could be. Fourteen hours of this he could take, no question. Jack sonofabitch Twist, didn’t have it as hard as you thought, no fuckin’ way. Nice new truck every two, three years, pretty wife with money who never divorced you, never made you live in some shithole excuse for a shack in the middle a nowhere ‘cause there was no money for anythin’ better, no, Jack, not you. You got to live in a nice house, never had a go without to make sure the child support got paid on time so your hard-assed ex wife wouldn’t stop you from seein’ your kids. Jack sonofabitch Twist, always so busy bitchin’ all poetic about some shit or other ‘bout taxes an’ inflation eatin’ up the fuckin’ company profits - Jesus Christ, Jack, we should all a had worries like that! Not like havin’ to buy the store brand o’ everythin’ even if it weren’t worth shit and wonderin’ if squeezin’ in one more pack o’ smokes is goin’ a break the bank, or tryin’ a figure if your boots are goin’ a make it through one more winter without the damn soles fallin’ off. You didn’t have it so hard, Jack, did you, huh, Jack sonofabitch Twist? Huh, Jack? You hear me, Jack?
He didn’t know he was shouting the words out loud, pounding the steering wheel hard enough to break his fist, until the car horn blaring right under the truck’s open window startled him back to awareness. Jesus... Ennis jerked the wheel over, fighting the trailer's weight as he pulled the truck back from its dangerous drift too close to the center line, shrinking from the wide-eyed stares of the three kids in the back of the old Chrysler woody station wagon as it rocketed past. He ducked his head hastily to hide the hot tears on his cheeks behind the brim of his hat, gut churning like a Yellowstone geyser about to erupt, and eased up on the gas pedal, letting the car speed away ahead of him and take those carelessly intruding faces out of range. He kept his head down, guarding against other vehicles that might pass, gripping the wheel so tight his joints ached in protest.
Jack fuckin’ Twist. All he could see was that face in front of him, those eyes that had watched him drive away that short few months, that eternity ago. He stared blindly at the road ahead, struggling for breath, missing Jack so much it was like cancer. Eating him away inside until there wasn’t anything left but a hollow shell, a dry husk good for nothing but blowing away on the wind.
Ennis hadn’t known it was possible for spaces that had already been empty so long to hurt so bad.
tbc
Title: Lost, Part 15
Rating: You know the drill. It's still PG-13.
Pairing: Jack/Ennis
Teaser: Ennis gets the worst news of his life, but all may not be quite as it seems...
Disclaimer: Jack and Ennis are not mine. Neither are any of the other original characters from the wonderful "Brokeback Mountain." They belong to Annie Proulx, and I am only borrowing them for a little while...
Author's Note: RL is really slamming me into the drywall right now (well, the plaster, actually, it's an old house), but I'm doing my best. Another short update, I'm afraid, but at least it's here...
Ennis swung his old truck through the gates of the Double M at five forty five, driving straight past the ranch offices this time and on up the hill to the stables. Tim and Stu, two of the younger hands, were already out walking the colts he would be taking to Texas with him, letting them work the kinks out of their nerves, settling them down for transport. The horses stamped and fidgeted, tossing their heads against their halter ropes, blowing clouds of steam from their nostrils into the cold early morning air. Parked out front of the stables was a dark green gooseneck trailer with the yellow M Bar V logo painted on the side, and Ennis pulled in beside it and turned off the engine.
As he swung his legs out of the truck, a pickup with a paint job that matched the trailer drove up and came to a stop beside him. Don Wroe hopped out and came around the hood towards him, his long sandy hair and moustache and favorite fringed buckskin jacket making him looking a bit like a picture Ennis had once seen of General Custer. “Mornin’, Ennis.”
“Mornin’.” Ennis wasn’t in any mood for company or conversation yet, still feeling wrung out and hollow inside from his dream of Jack. All he really wanted was a good, strong cup of coffee and a cigarette, and to be left alone…but that didn’t look like it was going to happen for a little while.
“Boss asked me to get you a truck out o’ the motor pool, seein’ as that piece o’ shit of yours couldn’t pull a decent trailer down a long hill, let alone all the way to Texas.” Don grinned at him, pushing up the brim of his hat.
Ennis didn’t have it in him to rise to the bait today, and Don was good people anyway, just giving him shit as usual. He just grunted. “I ain’t disputin’ it.”
“Never take the piss out o’ Ennis Del Mar before he’s had his coffee,” Don chuckled. “You ever hooked up a gooseneck before?”
Ennis shook his head, mouth twitching despite himself. “Figured you might not have,” Don said. “Only ever saw you tow a tagalong. Better check you out on it, then, before you leave.”
Don spent the next few minutes demonstrating how to hook up the gooseneck stem to the ball hitch mounted in the bed of the pickup. Satisfied that Ennis had the hang of it, he handed him the keys. “There you go. Just remember, watch your turns. This ain’t much longer than the trailers you’re used to, but a gooseneck cuts them corners real sharp.”
“Thanks.” Ennis took the keys, shoved them into his pocket.
“I’m real sorry about your friend, Ennis.”
He met Don’s eyes, then, saw the honest sympathy there. He managed to nod, somehow, not trusting himself to speak, the dream too close in his mind for comfort. Then Don was gone, waving as he moved off down the hill toward the ranch offices, and Ennis could make himself think about other things than Jack so he could start to breathe again.
They got the horses loaded by six thirty, but Elaine sent down word that Ennis wasn’t to set foot in that truck without first having breakfast up at the house, so he didn’t get on the road for another hour - and when he did it was with a belly full of eggs and bacon, a knapsack beside him that Ellie insisted on helping him carry to the truck, stuffed with more food for the journey, and two thermoses of coffee. Next to the knapsack on the passenger seat lay the map Russ Malone had given him, the trip route the boss had gotten from AAA outlined in yellow highlighter pen, and a piece of paper with two addresses and phones on it. One was for Roy Taylor’s ranch, the other for an outfit called the Chili Pepper, fifteen minutes east of Pueblo, Colorado. The Chili Pepper, run by an old horsebreeding buddy of Malone’s, made most of its money on its dude ranch operation these days, and Malone had called ahead to make arrangements for Ennis and the colts to spend the night there before continuing on to Childress. He’d made it clear there’d be no fourteen hours of straight driving with his horses along for the ride, and Ennis was secretly grateful to have the excuse to break the trip.
The sky was lowering to the west and threatening rain by the time he pulled out under the arch of the Double M. Ennis could feel the weight of the trailer through the steering column as he turned south-east on to Highway 26, away from the weather, the truck swaying a little like a pregnant mare on a narrow trail. His planned route called for him to take Highway 26 to the junction of Highway 287, which he would then stay on until he hit Interstate 80 at Rawlins, and he felt something crawl cold in his gut as he glanced at the yellow highlighted line, realizing for the first time how far it extended, all the way down that map and clear to the end of forever. What in hell was he thinking of? Apart from that brief airborne hop across the border into Montana with Malone, he’d never been out of Wyoming in his life, and now he was embarking on a journey that would take him across the better part of three states. He wasn’t cut out for this.
He felt his heart start pounding then, his stomach starting its old tricks, cramping and twisting on him, acid crawling all the way up his throat and burning like sour fire. It always did this when he was up against something that felt too big, too difficult, too painful for him to face, but he was aware of that connection now, thanks in no small part to Jack. So much of the self knowledge he had achieved in his life, as pitifully little as it appeared to him when he tried to sum it up, he knew he owed to that man and his uncanny gift for opening him up like a can of Better Most beans.
He shook off that thought, straightening his arms, eyes fixed on the road ahead, the mesmerizing ribbon of black and gray stretching out in front of him like that line on the map. If it hadn’t been for the horses behind him, he might have changed his mind right then, turned around before it was too late. But he’d made a promise to his boss, and he never went back on a promise.
Life had a funny way of making sure of things, sometimes.
Ahead of him the sky was still clear, the day shaping up fine and cold, the chill finally settling in after all those weeks of unseasonable warmth. He had to acknowledge that driving a truck like this, all glossy paint and gleaming chrome, so fresh off the dealer’s lot that the new car smell still wafted up from the upholstery, gave a shot in the arm to a man’s pride. Made him want to sit up straighter behind the wheel, tip his hat to the two pretty young girls in that red convertible, pick a gas pump in front of the station in full view of the road, instead of sliding in around back of the building like he hoped no one would notice he was there. He could even hear the radio over the sound of the engine without having to crank the volume up almost all the way. Jack had given Ennis shit all those years about trading in his old truck for something that didn’t threaten to hammer the disks in his spine into dust, and he’d been right. Although Ennis would sooner have stripped naked in the middle of one of those Brokeback hailstorms than admit it.
There was no way to not think about Jack, not when Ennis knew he’d worn grooves in these same roads for twenty years. Ennis wondered what he’d thought about as he drove, wondered if the landmarks he was looking at now with fresh eyes had been burned permanently into Jack’s brain like those faded brown photographs in old library books. The vast, dry flats of the continental divide basin, where nothingness stretched for so many miles that it played hell with your depth perception and you couldn’t tell the difference between twenty miles away and only two or three. The snow fences that lined the Interstate, braced like slatted wooden soldiers for the onslaught of winter blizzards. The tiny painted dots that were barns and farmhouses, cropping up every lonely once in a while, far back from the road, the sheer distances between them a testimony to the isolation of the great plains. Even now, those places were a long way from each other, and Ennis had had a taste himself when he was a kid of what it could be like when there was no running combustion-engined vehicle to make those miles manageable. It was a bad place to find yourself in a winter storm, that he knew. Could be spring thaw before anybody’d find you, you broke down and got buried in one of those drifts.
Not that he was in any danger of doing any breaking down, snow or no snow, not in this fine vehicle that ran as smooth on the road surface as oil over glass, humming through the miles with never a hitch or startle in the sound. It was just about as different a journey from the physical punishment of his shake and rattle drive to Lightning Flat as two things so otherwise similar could be. Fourteen hours of this he could take, no question. Jack sonofabitch Twist, didn’t have it as hard as you thought, no fuckin’ way. Nice new truck every two, three years, pretty wife with money who never divorced you, never made you live in some shithole excuse for a shack in the middle a nowhere ‘cause there was no money for anythin’ better, no, Jack, not you. You got to live in a nice house, never had a go without to make sure the child support got paid on time so your hard-assed ex wife wouldn’t stop you from seein’ your kids. Jack sonofabitch Twist, always so busy bitchin’ all poetic about some shit or other ‘bout taxes an’ inflation eatin’ up the fuckin’ company profits - Jesus Christ, Jack, we should all a had worries like that! Not like havin’ to buy the store brand o’ everythin’ even if it weren’t worth shit and wonderin’ if squeezin’ in one more pack o’ smokes is goin’ a break the bank, or tryin’ a figure if your boots are goin’ a make it through one more winter without the damn soles fallin’ off. You didn’t have it so hard, Jack, did you, huh, Jack sonofabitch Twist? Huh, Jack? You hear me, Jack?
He didn’t know he was shouting the words out loud, pounding the steering wheel hard enough to break his fist, until the car horn blaring right under the truck’s open window startled him back to awareness. Jesus... Ennis jerked the wheel over, fighting the trailer's weight as he pulled the truck back from its dangerous drift too close to the center line, shrinking from the wide-eyed stares of the three kids in the back of the old Chrysler woody station wagon as it rocketed past. He ducked his head hastily to hide the hot tears on his cheeks behind the brim of his hat, gut churning like a Yellowstone geyser about to erupt, and eased up on the gas pedal, letting the car speed away ahead of him and take those carelessly intruding faces out of range. He kept his head down, guarding against other vehicles that might pass, gripping the wheel so tight his joints ached in protest.
Jack fuckin’ Twist. All he could see was that face in front of him, those eyes that had watched him drive away that short few months, that eternity ago. He stared blindly at the road ahead, struggling for breath, missing Jack so much it was like cancer. Eating him away inside until there wasn’t anything left but a hollow shell, a dry husk good for nothing but blowing away on the wind.
Ennis hadn’t known it was possible for spaces that had already been empty so long to hurt so bad.
tbc