e_delmar | (no subject)

(no subject)

Ain't nothin' but a normal room. Pretty one, too, if'n you don't think too hard on what's goin' on in there. Ennis' sleeping more now, at least -- the drugs help with that -- but he's still awake a lot (and damn grumpy about it, too. But he ain't no less grumpy about the sleep, neither).

But he's there, and at least that's something.

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"Real good."

The words are forced out, but not because he don't mean 'em. Time would've been he'd've told a joke or said something else, but sometimes words are hard to come by, and not just 'cause he can't think of them.

"Sure 'nough."

His rough hand twitches, like it wants to move down Ennis' arm, but it stays right where it is in the end, warm and steady on his shoulder.

The hand may not move, but Ennis does, closer and into the touch, lookin' up at Jack with somethin' in his eyes he ain't never been able to put into words.

He takes a breath.

And another one.

It's quiet here, and there's only a soft rustle of cloth as he moves to lie down, carefully, along the edge of the bed, and presses himself through the bedclothes up along the lanky--skinny now--length of Ennis' body.

Ennis curls into him, feeling almost pathetic and not caring, not one bit. Jack-

Jack's there, and he's solid and he's warm and Ennis reaches out, trying to wrap his arms around him, cursing his body every bit of the way.

Jack reaches up to take off his hat, set it on the floor, and he talks kinda low and continual; 'bout the girl he'd met at the bar, 'bout Trina and how she was asking about Ennis.

Easy stuff, nothing so important.

And could be Ennis says to say hi to her, if he remembers to, and listens and listens and just-

listens like he ain't never really took the time to listen to Jack before.

It ain't the same, being in the bar without Ennis, but Jack's had to go back a couple of times now, so he can talk about the horses, and how seems like some of the workers've just clean run off, but they're still doing just fine.

He says Tequila's been moping, missing Mal and missing Ennis. Says Sallie beat him at cards the other night.

Jack never was good at card games.

And Ennis starts to say somethin' about Jack and the horses, make a joke, but he loses track and just breathes in Jack and Jack and more Jack. It's hard, sometimes, to concentrate on this or that, or remember the way somethin' feels or smells, but never this.

Somewhere Jack's voice falters, but his arms don't, and maybe he keeps talking and maybe e don't, but somewhere in there the word "darlin'" slips in, just as natural as could be, and Jack doesn't stop to contradict himself, just holds on, tight and gentle as he can.

Maybe it don't matter so much if Jack's voice falters, so long's he's there, so long's he's still talking. But could be when it does Ennis' hand comes up and touches his face, just lightly, sayin' it'll be alright in a way he can't say.

"Lissen t'me, talking all this bullshit," lightly, and he grins so that Ennis' hand touches a smile.

"Ain't never talked anything but."

But his heart ain't in it and he moves a little closer, eyes closed, trying for something he can't have anyway.

"The hell I ain't," self-righteously, just like he would if they were sitting around a campfire instead of lying here in this bed.

Still, his hand's slow and gentle over Ennis' arm and back.

Ennis laughs, or tries to, all that comes out is a dry hack, and he opens his eyes, lookin' up at Jack with large, pleading eyes.

Some muscle in Jack's jaw twitches, and he blinks sort of rapidly for a few seconds, and his voice is hoarse when he says "Guess I oughta learn when to shut up."

"No-"

and the word almost don't come out, but he grabs for Jack's arm, his hand holdin' tight, tight's he can anyways.

"Okay."

It ain't, but they've been pretending it is for so long, seems a shame to drop it now.

Ennis nods, just a little, and he looks up at Jack like the word'd been a question, instead of something else.

The look makes Jack hopelessly angry, suddenly, though he doesn't show it and he just smiles a little, like he would if it were a question and he'd asked it even knowing the answer.

But--yeah. Pissed as hell. Twenty years for him, thirty-something for Ennis, dealing with something they thought they couldn't control and had no power over.

Well, shit, he thinks, bitterly. They hadn't seen nothing yet.

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