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The only Zen you find at the top of mountains is the Zen you bring up there. ~Robert M. Pirsig
When Jack had first visited him in prison, Henry could admit to being surprised. It wasn't an unusual feeling where Jack was concerned. Kim's reemergence into his life had changed the scope of their friendship but it was her death that nearly damaged it beyond all repair. That wasn't Jack's fault, though. But Jack had persisted in the friendship by offering either a shoulder to cry on or to be a punching bag. Henry, to his shame, opted for the punching bag option more often than not.
("Why do you do it?" He'd cried, frustrated and furious for it, watching Jack wince and step away from him and his scathing remarks. "Why do you come by here day by day when you know I don't want or need your sympathy?"
It wasn't anywhere close to what he meant to say, but that had popped out before he could stop it. For a brief moment, Jack looked for all the world like a kicked puppy before it was covered up by a small smirk.
"Because I value your friendship," he had said simply. Then he'd given a little boy grin and joked weakly. "And because by coming here and having you blow up at me means that hopefully you won't blow up the town. Literally. Part of my job as a sheriff."
That had inexplicably made him even angrier and the things he said after had left the friendship in tatters.)
It had taken a long time and a lot of forgiveness on Jack's part, but eventually their relationship was on the mend. Well, it had been right up until the Beverly-Kevin-Artifact debacle. He had never been more surprised than when he was looking down the barrel of Jack's gun held by the Sheriff who was looking at him with a grim expression.
And never once did Jack ask, "Why did you shut me out? I would have helped, no matter what. You know that." Henry could tell he wanted to. He could tell that this hurt more than anything else Henry had done and Henry couldn't even give him a reason why. Why didn't he ask Jack for help? Did he think that Jack wouldn't be able to handle it? Or did he think that, should he ask for help, that Jack would transform into the Sheriff and suddenly everything that he had told Jack in confidence would be scrutinized by the man of the law? Henry wasn't sure his reasons for his actions, but he was pretty sure that the friendship wasn't salvageable.
But Jack managed to prove him wrong by showing up to his garage when it was time for him to be taken to jail. He had been the same affable guy he always was around Henry. Henry tried to apologize for his actions, but all he got was an odd look and a simple, "Water under a bridge, Henry." That was when Henry began to wonder if he even knew Jack Carter at all.
He was beginning to suspect he didn't for there Jack stood, an easy grin on his face, a portable chess board under his arm and a pack of cards in his hand. They didn't play cards that visit or many of the visits that were to follow, but they did play chess. And play chess was all they did, they didn't talk about anything that visit.
In fact, it would be almost five weeks' worth of visits before anything more meaningful than, "Checkmate," was spoken. Every time Jack came to visit, he'd bring the chess set and cards and always Henry would choose the chess. He didn't know why he was torturing his friend with the game, it was very clear to him that Jack didn't know much about playing chess, but every time he indicated the chessboard, Jack would nod with a secret grin and set it up. Eventually, he had to ask.
"Why do bring chess every week when you're so bad at it?" He asked after his third time beating him in under an hour. Jack looked up from where he was pondering the board, startled, then grinned.
"I'm trying to learn through osmosis. I don't think it's working, though," he replied mournfully. Henry knew that though it was probably a true reason, it wasn't the real reason. He thought about pushing the issue, just a bit, but something about the way Jack kept looking at him made him hold his tongue. He wouldn't get the chance to ask again long after he was released from jail.
"Why did you insist on bringing a chess set when I was locked up?"
"Because you like the game, Henry."
"Then why did you bring the cards?"
"I like Texas Hold'Em."
"...so?"
A sigh. "So, if I ever do something really stupid and get caught, I was hoping that you'd still be the kind of friend that would come visit and play endless rounds of poker with me."
Henry groaned. "I hope you never get caught, then."
"Me to--Hey!"