It takes another three weeks, and then Boone learns that Jack and Kate hooked up after she was absolved (he isn’t surprised, and he tries to kill that small jealous voice in the back of his head), that it didn’t last (he doesn’t know if he’s surprised, either), that he ended up learning that Claire was his half-sister (that is a surprise). And that none of those things had good repercussions.
“Then I started to have nightmares about the goddamn island where Locke told me I had cheated destiny and then I lost it,” Jack mutters, his hand still shaking.
Boone can sort of get it. Also, he’s freaking glad he never had a dream about Locke and that they don’t risk running into each other since Locke is still on the island and Boone figures he’ll stay there until the end of times.
Which is good with him, since he never even received an apology.
“Then I tried to pull myself together but I just needed to get away from there,” Jack mutters, his left hand shaking harder.
Boone doesn’t say anything; he stands up, reaches the bed and twines his fingers around Jack’s.
Jack doesn’t move, actually he tightens the hold, but Boone still doesn’t say anything.
He thinks this is already too much and even more than he ever expected.
--
It’s been two months and they’re somewhere in Virginia. It’s hot, and they went through a backroad which was full of dust, and when they get into the motel room Boone can feel earth sticking to his face.
He thinks that considering that he still has a red, angry scar on his face, he should wash it as soon as possible, and so he calls dibs for the bathroom. He washes his hands trying not to finish the entire bar of soap and then he washes his face, wincing when his fingers touch the scar tissue; he hates touching it, but then again he’d rather have that than being dead, you know.
Then he raises his eyes and Jack is staring at him, leaning on the wall just outside the door.
“I’m sorry about those,” Jack whispers, shrugging. “But I really couldn’t do anything with…”
“Shut up,” Boone answers, turning and leaning on the sink for a second before taking a step forward. “It’s not like I’d rather be dead. Christ, Jack, you saved my life and now you apologize because I won’t ever become a professional model? Don’t worry, I’ll just live with it,” he ends, trying to sound like it really doesn’t matter, even if he doesn’t exactly feel comfortable joking about it.
But it’s the truth. It really just is.
“It’s just,” Jack says, then shakes his head like he doesn’t have the words. “Nothing. Sometimes I really think you’re the only person I didn’t end up disappointing in the last ten years or...”
Boone sort of gets it, but he can’t have that. Not when he has apparently spent his life disappointing people and when he got himself almost killed because he was just wanting to do a good thing for everyone and not giving it a try never was an option.
He reaches out, places his hand behind Jack’s neck, bends him down and kisses him.
For a second he’s sure that this will end very badly, and then Jack lets out a small gasp and kisses him back and Boone thinks that he could die now. He has had his share of daydreams (and regular dreams) about this. About just acting on that stupid feeling that never left his gut since Jack saved him from drowning while he was trying to save someone else, and he never thought he’d do it. Or that he’d have the guts to do it if he had the chance. But now he has and Jack’s tongue is tentatively searching for his, and Jack’s hands are shaking while closing around Boone’s waist. Jack tastes of something he can’t place, the burger they had before and the cigarette he smoked one hour ago, and it’s so good that he can barely compute. He doesn’t want the kiss to end but it does and then he figures he should have the guts to at least look Jack in the eye.
“What…” Jack breathes, and Boone shakes his head.
“I’ve wanted to do that since the island. And before you managed not to make me die for the second time. I just… I shouldn’t have, I know, but you were there and it’s been more than a year and I just -”
It takes another three weeks, and then Boone learns that Jack and Kate hooked up after she was absolved (he isn’t surprised, and he tries to kill that small jealous voice in the back of his head), that it didn’t last (he doesn’t know if he’s surprised, either), that he ended up learning that Claire was his half-sister (that is a surprise). And that none of those things had good repercussions.
“Then I started to have nightmares about the goddamn island where Locke told me I had cheated destiny and then I lost it,” Jack mutters, his hand still shaking.
Boone can sort of get it. Also, he’s freaking glad he never had a dream about Locke and that they don’t risk running into each other since Locke is still on the island and Boone figures he’ll stay there until the end of times.
Which is good with him, since he never even received an apology.
“Then I tried to pull myself together but I just needed to get away from there,” Jack mutters, his left hand shaking harder.
Boone doesn’t say anything; he stands up, reaches the bed and twines his fingers around Jack’s.
Jack doesn’t move, actually he tightens the hold, but Boone still doesn’t say anything.
He thinks this is already too much and even more than he ever expected.
--
It’s been two months and they’re somewhere in Virginia. It’s hot, and they went through a backroad which was full of dust, and when they get into the motel room Boone can feel earth sticking to his face.
He thinks that considering that he still has a red, angry scar on his face, he should wash it as soon as possible, and so he calls dibs for the bathroom. He washes his hands trying not to finish the entire bar of soap and then he washes his face, wincing when his fingers touch the scar tissue; he hates touching it, but then again he’d rather have that than being dead, you know.
Then he raises his eyes and Jack is staring at him, leaning on the wall just outside the door.
“I’m sorry about those,” Jack whispers, shrugging. “But I really couldn’t do anything with…”
“Shut up,” Boone answers, turning and leaning on the sink for a second before taking a step forward. “It’s not like I’d rather be dead. Christ, Jack, you saved my life and now you apologize because I won’t ever become a professional model? Don’t worry, I’ll just live with it,” he ends, trying to sound like it really doesn’t matter, even if he doesn’t exactly feel comfortable joking about it.
But it’s the truth. It really just is.
“It’s just,” Jack says, then shakes his head like he doesn’t have the words. “Nothing. Sometimes I really think you’re the only person I didn’t end up disappointing in the last ten years or...”
Boone sort of gets it, but he can’t have that. Not when he has apparently spent his life disappointing people and when he got himself almost killed because he was just wanting to do a good thing for everyone and not giving it a try never was an option.
He reaches out, places his hand behind Jack’s neck, bends him down and kisses him.
For a second he’s sure that this will end very badly, and then Jack lets out a small gasp and kisses him back and Boone thinks that he could die now. He has had his share of daydreams (and regular dreams) about this. About just acting on that stupid feeling that never left his gut since Jack saved him from drowning while he was trying to save someone else, and he never thought he’d do it. Or that he’d have the guts to do it if he had the chance. But now he has and Jack’s tongue is tentatively searching for his, and Jack’s hands are shaking while closing around Boone’s waist. Jack tastes of something he can’t place, the burger they had before and the cigarette he smoked one hour ago, and it’s so good that he can barely compute. He doesn’t want the kiss to end but it does and then he figures he should have the guts to at least look Jack in the eye.
“What…” Jack breathes, and Boone shakes his head.
“I’ve wanted to do that since the island. And before you managed not to make me die for the second time. I just… I shouldn’t have, I know, but you were there and it’s been more than a year and I just -”
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