None But The Brave, continued II
Charlie is taking a small nap on the chair in the back of their cover-up van when Sergeant Hume (or Des, as he has come to call him after a month closed in there together) shakes him awake.
“Charlie? Brother, wake up. We’ve got a problem.”
“What... what’s that?”
“They found him out. Linus crashed the pin.”
“Oh, fuck. Oh, fuck. Did you tell Sergeant Jarrah?”
“Sayid? Aye, sure. He said we need to go to the base now.”
Charlie smiles for a second when Desmond isn’t exactly formal when he mentions Sergeant Jarrah, but well, since he’s not the formal kind of bloke himself he just won’t say a thing. And then the smile disappears because this is seriously dangerous and dammit, Officer Cortez could have waited two days.
--
When they arrive to the station, they rush to their base of operations; everyone is already there, from Gault, who paces around the room seemingly having an headache, to Sergeant Jarrah who runs to greet them, to the rookies and Detective Locke, to Sergeant Rousseau with Karl, to Officer Cortez, who stands in front of Lieutenant Shephard looking mostly at the ground. As they come in, Lieutenant Shephard has just thrown a punch against the table, and a pretty loud one.
“What the fuck did you think you were doing?”
“I just... thought it was a good occasion and...”
“Yes, right, when we said we were going to do all at once. Oh, shit.”
“Jack, calm down,” Locke says coming between them, wheelchair and all. “You aren’t of use to anyone if you...”
“Well, of course! After all he isn’t your responsibility, he is mine! Damnit, I shouldn’t have...”
“Jack. No one is dead. Not yet, at least.”
When Sergeant Jarrah speaks Lieutenant Shephard seems to calm down a bit, but still, his hands shake and Charlie can bet that he isn’t so upset because of responsibility. After all half of the unit knew that he has some soft spot for Boone and probably not only because his accountancy skills. Well, that’s what Charlie thinks, he surely never bothered to share such a supposition with anyone.
“I don’t think the state of things will last for long. Gault, how much evidence do we have?”
“Enough, but not for Linus and not as much as we’d have tomorrow night. Jack, you aren’t thinking of...”
“Yeah. Yeah, I’m thinking of doing it right now.”
“Jack, be reasonable, he knew there were risks involved,” Locke says. “You can’t do this and then hope half of them won’t be out in six months.”
“John, just... just shut up. God, if she only...”
Gault’s cellphone rings and suddenly silence falls in the room. He picks it up, mouths Widmore to Jack and answers. “Commander, hello... yes. Yes, you heard right. No... no, we haven’t decided anything yet. Yeah, if we did it now there would be considerable less evidence and... no, Sir, I know it’s something you can’t afford and... yes. Sure. Good-”
The conversation is seemingly shut off and Gault closes the phone with a sigh.
“Widmore says this is the most important operation of the last two years and we can’t afford to jeopardize it and his re-election because of one single person.”
Jack looks ready to snap for good but then someone knocks on the door. Loudly. Then when they all hear a distinct are you motherfuckers in there Jack runs to open it, letting in his informer, what was his surname, Ford or something, who looks infuriated.
“Damn, you sure took your time. Well, who the fuck not only ruined the cover but also made me risk my fucking neck?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean that they got the idea that there was a mole after someone here arrested Pickett. Didn’t take much to do the maths since your guy was the only one who arrived recently and had access to important stuff. And since I brought him there, I had to endure a fucking third grade to ensure them that the fucker had fooled me too and that I didn’t know he was police. And now I just hope no one was watchin’ me as I came here even if that’d be fuckin’ unlikely. Wonderful, now I’m really screwed, too.”
Lieutenant Shephard shrugs and turns into Officer Cortez’s direction. Ford looks at her for a second, shaking his head.
“Compliments. Helluva job.”
“Listen, what do you know?”
“Well, usually when they find a mole they want to get information. They keep ‘em in a couple of days, maybe three, until they spit. You find them in a back alley usually as soon as they tell. Dead, of course. If after three days they don’t say anything, back alley anyway.”
“Has he...”
“Nope. When I managed to convince Alpert that I didn’t know shit he told me he kept his mouth closed. He might be tougher than he looks like.”
“You mean that if we break in tomorrow...”
“You’ll most likely find him alive. Well, probably a couple broken bones and he’ll gain himself a couple scars, but that’d be it.”
Lieutenant Shephard doesn’t say anything, breathes in and out; then mutters fine, not a second later than we said.
For the first time, Charlie is sincerely scared of the tone in his voice.
Ford stands up in order to go, but Lieutenant Shephard stops him and says that he can sleep on the couch in his office and then he’ll go with them the next day. If there’s any objection, no one speaks.
--
They split in two groups; one goes with Gault to Alpert’s building, the other goes with Lieutenant Shephard to Linus’. Sawyer sits next to Charlie on the van; he’s the only unarmed one. Charlie’s bulletproof jacket feels uncomfortable, but well, first time he wears one in action. There are a three or four officers he doesn’t know next to him, another couple on the other side of the van.
Sergeant Jarrah drives, Desmond sits in front of them next to Lieutenant Shephard, who is talking to Locke as he adjusts his auricular. After their conversation is through, he stands up for a second, then sits down again; he reaches for a cellphone in his pocket a couple of seconds later.
“Captain Gault? You started already? Oh. Good. Excellent. We’ll get started in a few minutes then. Thanks.”
He takes a breath and stands up again.
“Gault and Rousseau are almost done. They have Alpert, the accountant and most of the small fishes. They got into the room just as they were discussing the delivery. The unit we sent where it was supposed to take place has already arrested everyone on there. They think they still don’t know anything here so we need to be quick. Get inside, open each single door and do your job. Fine?”
They get out maybe a minute later or so along with some other agents which arrived in another van and a couple of cars behind them; Sawyer stays behind. Unconsciously, Charlie sticks with Desmond and Jarrah and lets the others follow Lieutenant Shephard.
No one they meet puts up much of a resistance, of the few people they find; the building seems almost empty. Charlie figures that it has to be because most would have been at the delivery’s; as he, Desmond and Sayid bring out the ten people they found in the section of the ground floor they were assigned, they see Lieutenant Shephard pushing Tom into the van. Well, looks like someone important was there after all. After he’s done, Lieutenant Shephard comes in their direction.
“You didn’t find neither, right?”
Sayid shakes his head and Jack nods at him, then takes the cellphone out of his pocket again and dials a number. “Captain? Yeah, we found Tom. They tell me the first floor and the ground one are cleared, now we’ll be going back inside. Yeah, I’ll inform you.”
He turns towards the entrance again when the door of a police car where Sawyer had stayed since the whole operation began slams and he gets out, coming closer.
“The bastard’s office is on the third floor if you were wondering that.”
“Can you bring us there?”
“Well, as long as you cover me.”
They get into the building again, meeting the agents who are coming back from clearing the second floor. Sawyer looks definitely out of place, walking in the middle of a cross formed by Lieutenant Shephard on the front, Sayid on the rear, Desmond on the left and Charlie himself on the right, and telling them where they’re supposed to go.
--
When they do arrive there, Lieutenant Shephard doesn’t even bother to wait a second; when the door doesn’t open trying the handle (well, that’d have been too easy, right?), he pushes against it with his shoulder and gets inside, gun drawn. The door opens with a loud crash and his free hand goes automatically to the light switch, since it’s pitch black inside; from his point of view Charlie can see a wide room, definitely neat, a desk where everything, from files to pens to erasers to post-its is placed in a perfect, almost maniacal order. The curtains and blinds are drawn, hence causing that darkness; the walls on the left side are covered in mirrors. And since both Lieutenant Shephard, Sawyer and Desmond are in front of him he hears Boone’s voice before actually seeing him.
“About… about time. And don’t try to... lower your guard, he was here until five minutes ago. Then he... he turned the light off, but I didn’t hear him getting out.”
He sees Lieutenant Shephard keeping the gun up and then he calls him for help; Desmond makes space, Charlie gets into the room and fuck, if they weren’t just on time. Well, maybe it looks just worse than it is, but seeing Boone tied to a chair, the skin around his right eye covering all the shades between black and light purple and blood smeared all over his left cheek makes him feel sick for a second. Jack nods and him and Charlie puts the gun out, kneels behind the chair and cuts the ropes.
“Fuck, mate, they didn’t go easy on you.”
“No shit. Fuck, careful with those ropes.”
Charlie figures they must hurt; the skin on Boone’s wrists is raw, a dark red mess that he hopes won’t get infected. From how Boone flinches when he touches his right one, he has an idea that it’s at least splint.
“At least you look fine.” He tries to keep his tone as light as it can get. He doubts it had any effect.
“Do you have an idea of what I did wrong?”
“What do you mean?”
“Fuck, Charlie, I must have done something wrong if they found me out.”
His voice is low and rough. He coughs weakly just after the sentence is over; Charlie wonders when it was the last time he drank.
“You didn’t do anything wrong,” Lieutenant Shephard says as he comes back near the chair. “Anyway, I checked the room. He isn’t anywhere around this place.”
He goes towards the desk, then motions for Sayid and Desmond to come and take away all the files.
“It was Officer Cortez who decided to do something before time was due. She arrested Pickett and they figured someone was passing information. I’m sorry we couldn’t get here before, but...”
Boone smiles weakly as he stands up, his legs slightly trembling and his right hand going to his chest, while it looks like he has some trouble moving the fingers on his left.
“Don’t worry, I knew that. I mean, that there were risks.”
“Are you hurt there?”
“Fuck if I know. Listen, is there a car that could drop me at some hospital? Maybe I should get a check up.”
“Sure. When they finish they’re going to bring you there. I’ll try to find Linus meanwhile, he can’t be that far and I can’t afford to let him go.”
Charlie can’t avoid thinking that the relief in Shephard’s voice is evident. Then he nods at the lieutenant and lets out a breath of relief; little does he know.
The scene that plays out in the next five seconds is so fast that he can’t even place it, at the beginning. He hears Boone gasping and follows his eyes; he’s looking at the wall made of mirrors in front of them and Charlie has the time to see that there is a door presumably linking this room with the next one, that the door is open and that Benjamin Linus was hidden behind it and now he’s pointing a gun aiming straight at Lieutenant Shephard’s head. But he’s too late to do anything to prevent it; a second after the imagine registers in Charlie’s brain, he hears a shot.
Except that Boone had seen it all those two seconds before Charlie did and the next thing he knows is that Boone isn’t near him anymore, but throwing himself over Lieutenant Shephard bare moments before the bullet hits the target.
Except that Linus was probably aiming high, but Boone had anticipated him probably surprising him in the process and as the bullet fires, the aim is lower.
And the next thing Charlie notices is Sawyer’s horrified face as he stands on the door, Jarrah dropping the files on the ground as he and Desmond run to the door, get rid of the gun and put a couple of handcuffs over Linus’ hands, and Lieutenant Shephard, pale as a sheet, his bottom lip trembling as he murmurs no, no, no, his hands smeared in dark red, taking his jacket off and pressing it over the place on Boone’s back where the bullet hit. Blood falls from the corner of Boone’s mouth as he coughs and Lieutenant Shephard shouts for an ambulance, his voice desperate, almost verging on hysterical. Charlie realizes that he’s the only person in the room who can call for one and the next thing he knows is his hand desperately dialing on his transceiver and shouting for an ambulance, too.
--
James Sawyer Ford isn’t someone who is easily shocked; he figures it takes a lot to shock him two times in twelve hours.
He isn’t shocked because Linus decided to dig his own grave; maybe he just wanted some personal revenge since it was obvious that he wasn’t going to see the sky as a free man for a long time. He’s shocked because that righteous, idiotic kid who has kind of signed the contract granting him his freedom didn’t even try to do something that didn’t include risking his life. He could have screamed, he could have said something, he could have done a lot of other things like going for the bug eyed freak that maybe wouldn’t have granted everyone getting unharmed out of that room but that surely wouldn’t have made him almost die. Right now someone is operating on him and it isn’t sure at all that he’ll get out of the room alive. He just can’t understand it, especially for someone who just works with him.
The other reason, though, is Jack himself.
Sawyer can freely admit that Jack is the only cop who he has ever respected his whole life (well, fine, now also the righteous pretty kid has to join him), mostly because he stood up to what he said, never promised anything he couldn’t maintain, didn’t talk shit and wasn’t only interested in his career. After all he would have never risked his life to help someone who wasn’t going to get him his reward after. So, apart from that, he never saw him lose patience or calm or not behaving rationally; well, now he can’t recognize the man at all.
He’s pretty certain he gave his own blood when some paramedic said the righteous pretty kid needed a transfusion before reaching the hospital, they couldn’t find his group anywhere and he volunteered because he’s a universal donor; when he, Jarrah, the Scottish detective and that other Brit who seemed friends with the righteous pretty kid arrived they had found him sitting somewhere outside the operating room, pale as a sheet, barely able to stand, refusing to eat anything or even to get himself some coffee, half crying and half swearing mostly at himself. He hasn’t even tried to take a walk and it took Jarrah going to get him some coffee and bringing it there in order to force him to drink some, except that the more he took the more Sawyer thought he was going to have a nervous breakdown. At one point, they forced him to take a walk and eat something because he was seriously starting to sound hysterical.
He doesn’t think he’ll ever forget the sight of Jack crying silently in some corner after some nurse told him they were through and the kid was going to live.
He breathes deeply, then asks Jarrah if he can lend him his phone. Jarrah hands it to him without a word as he watches Jack, too, the Scottish detective near him; he dials Cassidy’s number and she answers after a couple of rings.
“Who is this?”
“It’s me.”
“What happened?”
“They arrested all of them.”
He listens the silence only interrupted by her breathing the other end of the line, trying to imagine her face and remembering what had happened those five years ago, when she ended up where she is because he had conned her in order to pay that debt in the first place. And then he had met her again there and it had happened and it was the only time he ever told anyone he was sorry his whole life. Little did he know of what would have happened later.
“So… it’s done?”
“Yeah. Yeah, it’s done.” His voice is relieved, sounding strangely soft; he realizes it has trembled, for one second. He hasn’t realized anything properly until now. “Listen, I just… I’d understand it if you just… didn’t want to…”
“So you think I’d stick with this sorry life for five years so that you could walk away from it just as it’s done? Don’t be an idiot. I could count the times she has seen you on two hands probably. And I’m not giving you a third chance.”
He can picture her smiling as she closes the phone before he can answer; he hands it back to Jarrah. He’s terrified, but terrified has never felt so right all his life.
--
When Boone opens his eyes, he feels weak and sees white. There’s a blinding white light coming from above and for a second thinks that it might be heaven.
Except that he never really believed in heaven and even if he did, he doesn’t think that heaven would smell of disinfectant.
He blinks a couple of times, trying to adjust his eyes to the light; when he turns his head on his left, he notices that there’s a I.V. attached to his arm, that two fingers of his hand are bounded in a splint and can feel that the wrist on his right is bandaged. He looks straight in front of him and well, he’s definitely in some hospital bed. Then turns on his right and almost screams because he wasn’t exactly expecting Sawyer to be in the visitors’ chair.
“Sleeping beauty just woke up, huh?”
“What the hell... and I mean, what are you...”
“One question at a time. If you mean what the hell I’m doin’ near your bed, it’s because your boss was going to go nuts from bein’ sleep deprived if he kept on stayin’ awake here. They sent him to sleep an hour in some room and since I was passin’ by I figured I could make him a favor.”
“Wait, he’s been here this whole time? And how much time passed anyway?”
“You’ve been out three days. And yeah, he’s been here. Okay, maybe I should tell it from the beginning. So, my former boss’ bullet went right into your shoulder and missed some vital point by mere inches. And it’s not like you had that much luck anyway ‘cause you were bleeding all over the place and they needed to give you a transfusion before you reached the hospital. Thing was, no one could find your sanitary card anywhere, but I guess no one would’ve been so stupid to bring that undercover. So our friend Jack says he’s a universal donor, gets with you on the ambulance and from what I know he gave you the transfusion.”
“What?!”
“Yeah, he did. And I think he kinda saved your ass there. Anyway, you were in the operating room for two hours or somethin’ and damn if he didn’t find any peace. His Sayid friend brought him at least four cups of coffee and every time he drank one he seemed on the verge of crying, he kept on repeating that he had been careless and it was his fault and at one point he had to go out because he was vergin’ on hysterical. Then when he was back some doctor of yours came out and said you were fine and they’d keep you under observation for a while ‘cause you can’t push luck.”
“And he... stayed here this whole time?”
“Yeah, I guess they made him get a few pauses here ‘n there, but mostly. You know what, he kept on sayin’ it was his responsibility, but I bet that if it was that only he wouldn’t be so mad. Oh, I was forgettin’ the last thing. Jack will be mad at me for telling you before he did but he only deserves that. Y’know, now the bug eyed freak has got some charge over him that even a good lawyer would have some trouble gettin’ him out. Apart from shootin’ you like that... well, was he partially responsible for makin’ your face less pretty or not?”
“Well, it was mostly the Tom guy. But he gave the orders and asked the questions.”
“Looks like if you testify it he ain’t got much of a chance. Which I think translates in havin’ a desk job and someone guardin’ your house until the process, if I got that right.”
Boone nods, taking all the information in; Sawyer stands up and starts for the door.
“Okay, guess I’m gonna tell some doctor you woke up. Anyway, Cass says thanks.”
Sawyer throws him something that lands on the bed and then the door closes softly behind his shoulders. Boone’s eyes go automatically to the band-aid placed over the vein in the hollow of his elbow. He doesn’t register that Sawyer has thrown him his badge until a couple of minutes later. He picks it up, sees that it’s new and that he just got promoted.
--
He’s finally dismissed a couple of weeks later, with a certificate saying that he has to stay at home for at least another three before getting back to work. He wanted to protest at the beginning, but well, since he was admitted also with an cracked rib, two broken fingers and a splint wrist, not to mention the life threatening wound, he figures he can use some time off work.
The only thing he regrets is that in the two weeks he was hospitalized he was either sleeping or on some kind of drugs more often than not and couldn’t fully appreciate the fact that Jack was there for at least a couple of hours everyday.
--
His bilocal has never seemed more welcoming and cosy when he finally arrives there after the month in Alpert’s room; he’d have laughed if a year ago someone told him he could have missed it one day, but well, never say never.
His bed has never felt so comfortable, the rooms never so familiar even if Shannon isn’t here. He figures this newly acquired fondness is going to disappear as soon as he gets back into the routine, but for now he likes it. He really does.
Charlie visits three or four times each week; once he comes along with Hurley and that nice Libby psychologist (and looks like there’s something going on; good for them) and another time, when he’s alone, he starts praising any possible wonder of Lieutenant Shephard’s younger sister Claire, who came into the station that morning with her two-year old son in order to discuss something with Jack.
“Oh, you can’t even imagine. She’s gorgeous. She’s also so nice, and she’s got such a smile! Also, her kid is adorable. Oh, you don’t know what you’re missing while you spend the morning sleeping, mate.”
“And doesn’t the kid have a father by chance?”
“No, she said something about single mothers. Oh, she’s so different from the Lieutenant. Such blond hair, and how blue those eyes are! Definitely beat yours, mate. Quite so.”
Boone rolls his eyes, not paying attention to his wrist that has started hurting again.
“But well, guess you aren’t really interested.”
“What?”
“Mate, it was kind of obvious that you don’t care for women. Well, less concurrence, right?”
“... right,” he answers unable to repress the smile. Guess he didn’t do a very convincing job of pretending he did like women. At this point, he might as well ask.
“How’s J... the Lieutenant doing, I mean?”
“Of course that was going to be the question. My friend, you’re so bloody predictable. Anyway, back to usual. Looks kind of... more gloomy, though. He says that he misses when there was someone qualified around to give him a hand with accountancy.”
Boone doesn’t even try to force himself to stop blushing.
“He also wants me to ask you whether it’s alright if he drops by one day. He’s kind of been busy these days though, you know, so I don’t know when he would.”
“Oh, wow. I mean, sure.”
Charlie shakes his head and pats him on the shoulder as he stands up.
“Mate, you’re helpless.”
--
Jack does drop by indeed; two days before Boone is supposed to be back and coincidentally also the day before the one Jack has off. As he lets him in, Jack takes a look around, nodding in appreciation.
“Nice place. Much tidier than mine.”
Boone just smiles and asks him whether he’d like some coffee. He won’t say just now that he spent the day cleaning.
Jack answers of course and Boone is grateful to have his minute alone in the kitchen to try to get himself back together. Damn, he has always had a thing for Jack when he was in a uniform, but now, with a pair of clean, new jeans and this red shirt that looks too good on him to be even real, he just took him completely unprepared. Thankfully the minute is enough and when he goes back to the living room where Jack is standing, checking out the contents of his bookshelves, he feels fine and in control of his reactions. Damn, he really has it bad.
“So, you’re ready to get back into the pit?”
Boone smiles as he sips his coffee slowly. “I kind of missed it. And it looks like accountancy will be my destiny, from what I gathered.”
Jack looks straight down into the cup and Boone thinks that his cheeks have just acquired a bit of color, but he’s probably imagining it.
“Not actually. It’d be... well, if I gave it all to you it’d be illegal. You’ll get regular paperwork, the denouncements, complaints and stuff, sorry to disappoint you. But if you’re so set on accountancy maybe we could do that... well, like before I guess. Not that I got any better at it while you were gone.”
“I think I’d like the solution,” he answers before realizing that it really wasn’t the best way to phrase it. Thankfully Jack doesn’t look at him. Maybe he just didn’t hear it as Boone heard it.
“Glad to know it. It’s just that... oh, forget it.”
Jack finishes the cup and places it on the windowsill, then takes a couple of steps in his direction and Boone feels suddenly forced to finish his, too.
“Listen, are you doing... alright?”
“Me? Oh. Guess so. I mean, yeah, I’m doing fine. Sometimes the wrist hurts and that’s it.”
“Really?”
The problem is that Jack looks so concerned that Boone is more put off by his expression than by his questions. Anyway, it’s not like he’s going to tell Jack about his occasional nightmares. Since they are occasional and the worst that happens when he has one is that he spends the rest of the night watching a movie or reading since he can’t get back to sleep. Nothing too problematic when you have three weeks off and the whole following day to sleep anyway.
“I mean, you never trained to go undercover, you had to stay a month there, then... well, you know, and then when that son of a bitch had that great idea to take that gun out... fuck, I didn’t even thank you for saving my life.”
“It wasn’t... I mean, don’t thank me. I couldn’t have done otherwise.”
He wonders if he should add it was my duty, but he’d lie. He didn’t do it because it was his duty, even if it would be part of the truth. He did it because it was Jack. If it had been anyone else he’d have screamed or ran for Linus probably.
“You just... you shouldn’t have... God, if you had died then...”
“Hey, I just... I knew what I was getting into. I did. And anyway, I think I should thank you for the transfusion, so I guess we’re even?”
Then he has the terrible idea to brush Jack’s hand which is now lingering on his table with his, just a brush, but then Jack takes it in his own and blood rushes to his head, his heart’s rate speeds up a lot and he just hopes his breath didn’t become too frantic.
“I know you did, and you did great, and the transfusion was the least I could do, but it’s just that... I just couldn’t...”
And then Boone’s heart stops probably for good because Jack’s lips are suddenly over his, just barely brushing them, not even a proper kiss; when he feels it beating again, it’s so loud that he actually gasps and Jack retreats as if suddenly he was burned by fire.
“I’m sorry. Oh, fuck, I’m really sorry, I’ll just go and we’ll forget it and...”
“Stop.”
Jack looks at him, eyebrow raised, looking so confused that Boone can’t fucking resist anymore and well, like hell he’s going to lose his chance. Even if this shouldn’t be happening, not under any mean, but he doesn’t care. He doesn’t really care.
He comes closer, takes Jack’s face between his hands and kisses him firmly even if (he hopes) gently enough; and then Jack’s lips open under his, he tastes coffee and something that reminds him of the only edible chocolate cake in Hurley’s lunchroom. It’s slow and Jack’s hands tremble over the small of his back and he’s kissing Jack and it’s perfect, so perfect that it can’t last for more than a handful of seconds, until they part gently and Jack’s forehead is against his and Boone feels like if things don’t slow down, he might just burst with happiness. He doesn’t think he wants to talk, it feels like he’d ruin the moment. He’s glad when Jack talks first.
“Guess I got the wrong impression.”
“Fuck, I had been waiting for this since the day I fell on you.”
Jack’s laughter is low and deep and just against his ear and oh, Boone would just kiss him again but he doesn’t dare.
“Oh, damn. Widmore was burning up with rage.”
“Yeah, thanks for saving my ass there.”
“My pleasure. Listen, I just... I think I’ve... I might have been wanting to just do this since... well, since some point during the accountancy business, but I realized it just when... well, when you were in there. I never... it’s just that...” Jack is not looking at him anymore, struggles to find the words, just opens and closes his mouth a few times. But it doesn’t matter. Boone already knows what he’s trying to say.
“First time you ever like a man or something like that?”
“Yeah, and not much luck with women until now.”
“Maybe it meant just that you should have turned to men earlier?”
He adds a small wink soon after and next thing he knows, Jack has unceremoniously slammed him against the nearest wall, his hand on Boone’s neck, his lips caught up in a kiss which is way more urgent and fast and messed up that the one before, one that has some fire in it, in which Boone can’t help moaning helplessly as he pushes his hips forward and then Jack’s hands are both on the small of his back, pressing them against each other. Looks like Jack is at least as hard as Boone is.
When it’s over Boone’s lower lip is bleeding and Jack is still keeping him still against the wall; it’s not actually like Boone wants to move. Not-at-all.
“I’m... I’m sorry. You just... God, you don’t have an idea of the fucking effect you have on people sometimes?”
“I... well, I can’t be that disappointed if I have it on you.”
“What... what do we do now?”
Boone is seriously tempted to answer that for all he’s concerned, Jack can do anything he feels like doing and he won’t complain, but it’s too serious of a question to give such an answer.
“I... I don’t know. We just do as always at… at work I guess. We could try to keep it hidden. Shouldn’t be too hard as long as no one takes the effort to see what happens after work.”
“And what will you say to the agent supposed to be watching over you over there? Don’t worry, tonight I told them I was going to drop by and there wasn’t any reason to stay.”
“I can always tell him that I don’t need him anymore. However it goes, don’t try to prove Arzt right.”
“Regarding what he says about favoritism? I think you wouldn’t need it anyway.”
Maybe it’s the way he says it, maybe it’s how Jack is managing to make him feel like the luckiest person on the planet, maybe it’s just the fact that he has been waiting for this for almost a year to care about work ethics, but he needs to take things further or as further as Jack will allow. There’s stumbling out of the living room and into his own where the bed is made for barely one person, there’s this awkward moment when he tries to undo Jack’s buttons and Jack tries to take his shirt off at the same time and they sort of half-clash against each other but then, oh, then, then he lets Jack go before him and when his own t-shirt lies on the ground, he undoes Jack’s buttons one by one, his fingers strangely steady enough. He doesn’t take the shirt off though, Jack looks too good in it to even think about taking that off, and sets on getting rid of the jeans instead.
There’s this other moment where he just stands there still, hands on Jack’s hips, Jack’s breath on his neck’s skin, the air suddenly too heavy and the silence unbearable; he doesn’t know what should he do, if he’s supposed to go on, if he’s supposed to wait for Jack to do something, if, if, if and then his teeth lightly grasp the skin on Jack’s shoulder and the small, contented moan he gets is enough to send a jolt of electricity through his spine. He gasps just a bit as his lips kiss the reddened skin in the same point where he bit before and then he doesn’t even know why he decided to keep on kissing his way down, but Jack not only doesn’t stop him but encourages him even. Might be his name, might be the small noises of pleasure that escape his lips after each kiss, might be the situation, might be that Jack actually does want this and it’s Boone that can’t still wrap his mind fully around it; Jack slowly eases back down as Boone proceeds, until his tongue barely skims Jack’s navel and then he takes a breath as Jack shudders beneath him. He looks up at Jack and Jack nods, his pupils dark and wide and hazy and then Boone figures he has all the permission he needs and his head drops below.
A hand reaches his hair not long after Boone takes Jack’s cock in his mouth, as his head raises and lowers slowly up and down and the grip becomes tighter as he takes it deeper and deeper and oh God if Jack keeps on thrusting his hips up and sounding so pleased and if his other hand keeps on holding his own on the sheets Boone is seriously not going to last as long as he should. The position is terrible, with Jack’s back against the wall where the pillow was supposed to be and Boone trying not to fall because the bed is too small and he’s gripping the sides of the mattress in order to keep himself steady, but the reaction encourages him and he swallows a bit more and then another bit more and meets Jack’s rhythm as he sucks and then all it takes a small flick of his tongue and Jack comes hard, a blissful moan of pleasure and something else resembling his name escaping his mouth.
It’s music to his ears, so much that he can feel his own erection aching with need for release, but he doesn’t move until he has swallowed it all. He gets up on his knees between Jack’s legs, trying not to lose his precarious equilibrium, until a hand reaches his arm and brings him forward and he’s kissing Jack again and it’s even messier than before since the only light getting in comes from the street lamp in the road and he ends up kissing Jack’s cheek before his mouth. He allows himself to get lost in the kiss ignoring his own needs, Jack’s tongue slowly tracing every inch of his mouth, so agonizingly slow but oh, oh, oh it feels amazing, nothing short than amazing. And then suddenly Jack’s hand has unzipped his jeans and yanked them down. There isn’t a single remark about his lack of underwear and Boone is kind of thankful for it (though well, remarks would kind of kill the mood here maybe); then Jack turns him over and is on his knees, too, his hand stroking him with quick and firm gestures, his lips kissing his shoulder where it meets his neck and then he bites it and Boone moans helplessly, everything happening maybe too fast but oh he wouldn’t have it any other way. A few strokes and the bare thought of that hand, its long, slender fingers which Boone still thinks of as they belonged to a pianist’s coupled with the actual sight of it is making his blood rush faster, his breath become more shallow with every passing second; he comes not much after, unable to keep himself together longer. Some sound that resembles Jack’s name leaves his lips as he does, his forehead damp with sweat, a year of repressed feelings and some vague sheer sensation of happiness filling him completely, making the rest of the world spin around at some undefined velocity as a wave of pleasure rushes through his body once and then twice and then it’s over and he falls against Jack’s chest, completely spent.
It’s a couple of minutes before he reaches for his shirt on the floor and uses it to clean the both of them up; thankfully the light is enough to see Jack’s expression and he looks as dazed and sated and glad as he feels.
“Wow. That was quite... quite...” Jack starts, shaking his head.
“Fuck, best I ever had.”
“Are you crazy? Can’t be.”
“Well, it definitely fucking was. Experience isn’t everything, you know,” he adds. It’s not like he hasn’t learned how true of a statement it is on his skin. Jack nods and then bites his lip, looking the other way.
“Do you realize this is just crazy and it should never work? Oh, hell, I’m your boss. And I should be way more careful than this.”
Boone’s hand goes slowly towards his cheek, forcing Jack to look at him.
“It looks like I’ll have to make a big time sooner then. Or maybe I could just change department and go working with Gault.”
“I don’t think you’ll get the privilege of being let out of my sight any longer, I’m afraid. And you’re done with undercover.”
“Why, wasn’t I good at it?”
“That doesn’t count.”
Boone laughs, feeling just so flattered and lucky and just fine and wow, he can’t even say. And if he had thought that Jack’s formal smile was breathtaking, his real one is more than breathtaking. It lits his face up even if he tries to hide his head on automatic ducking it on his right side. He slowly reaches forward to kiss him again, just unable not to do it. When they part with a soft noise, he speaks with his mouth a mere inch from Jack’s or something close.
“You don’t see the positive side.”
“And it would be?”
“You said before that women leave because you’re always working, right?”
“And so?”
“If you’re my boss, I doubt I’d have a problem with that.”
He can sense Jack’s smile again as he kisses him again soon after and maybe he was too pessimist a year ago after the ceremony. This doesn’t exactly look like a nightmare. All the contrary, and he’s just glad to be proved wrong.
--
He gets back to work two days after and Jack is remarkably cool and acts like there’s nothing going on even if they spent most of the previous day in Boone’s narrow bed; fine, as soon as he gets in his office because Jack needs to catch up with accountancy, the door is locked, the blinds closed and they kiss for at least five minutes, and that’s it.
Everyone is more or less the same. Charlie looks at him knowingly but doesn’t say anything when they have a five minute talk each morning before he goes on patrol service with Karl. Boone finds out that after working six months with Rousseau he started dating her daughter and she forced him to ask for a transfer when she knew. Regarding that, Boone feels a bit guilty in the work ethics department since it’s what he should do, too, but well, there isn’t favoritism, he knows there won’t be, that’s pretty much the core of the matter and maybe sometimes you can ignore what you should do. Spending time doing paperwork makes him notice a slight change in Sergeant Jarrah and Sergeant Hume’s attitude towards each other; they spend more time than usual talking to each other when Hume drops by (seemingly without any reason since for all he knows, Hume was always dropping by because of the Linus investigation going on), they’re all half smiles and accidental touches and let’s go have a coffee when the shift is over?. The day he catches them kissing in the unit’s locker room he swears he’s going to keep his mouth shut, they both breathe in relief, Jarrah looks at him knowingly (but well, if he’s Jack’s friend of course Jack has told him, not that Boone minds at all) and it ends there.
Sawyer left the city under some witness protection program a while ago, but he keeps more or less in contact with Jack and Boone is always glad to hear he’s doing pretty much alright, and Cassidy, too.
Sometimes he ends up eating something with Jack at the lunchroom, but not too often so that it looks casual enough. Sometimes the accountancy talking takes more than usual. Sometimes he stays at his desk finishing paperwork even if his shift should be over waiting for the light in Jack’s office to be turned off.
The process is a couple of months later and it ends as everyone could have predicted; Boone only goes to court once to testify and then reads the outcome on the newspapers. When he does, he figures that they won’t hear of Linus or the Others for a very long time.
He’s sure that someone must have noticed the shift in his and Jack’s relationship apart from Charlie or Sergeant Jarrah, but no one says a thing and he stays where he is, work ethics be damned. He doesn’t miss paperwork when he goes back on patrol service with Charlie.
The only real downside in his life since-he-almost-died is that sometimes he wakes up in the middle of the night feeling blood in his mouth and a sick sensation in his stomach, like someone threw him a couple heavy blows. The occasional nightmare, right. But then, when he wakes up there’s usually one of those arms thrown over his chest or his hip and it’s really a price he can afford to pay in exchange.
End.