Alicia's wedding went off without a hitch, at least as far as the food went. Boone may have been an accident-prone doofus in most regards, but when it came to this particular arena, he excelled. He'd been a highly successful event co-ordinator and was a natural in the kitchen, if he hadn't been, he would never have gone into the catering business to begin with. It also helped that Irene was the wedding planner; she'd worked for him when he'd been with Sabrina's company, so he was familiar with her style of doing things.
He spent the early morning at the local farmer's market, Terry trailing behind him, the handle of a garden cart in the teen's grasp, the bed of the wagon filling quickly with Boone's purchases. Boone made a few last minute adjustments to the menu based on the produce he found that met with his exacting standards, positively pouncing on some particularly luscious looking heirloom tomatoes in a variety of shades ranging from deeply startling maroon to sunny yellow, and buying every single one.
He rode his motorcycle to the reception, he liked to clear his head before each assignment and there was nothing like blaring down the highway with the wind in your face to loosen the cobwebs and help restore focus. He scared the crap out of Irene though when he pulled up. She was almost ready to call security to chase away the hoodlum biker, when he pulled off his shades and helmet, fluffing his hair, the grin on his face all too familiar.
"Jesus, as if it wasn't enough that Boone Carlyle became a chef, now he's a Harley rider too?" she commented, giving him a hug and a kiss. "I think somewhere some Hell's Angel is probably rolling over in his grave."
"Yeah, I'm just so militant and rebellious," he laughed and pulled his chef's coat from the saddlebag. The rest of his personal equipment would have come in the van with the food. He finalized a few details with her then went to supervise his troops.
During the planning stages, Frank had offered him the use of the mansion's kitchen, for which he was grateful, but what he really wanted to do was get his hands on the outdoor kitchen set up. He couldn't wait to spark up each one of the stainless steel barbecues. He left the indoor kitchen for his sous chefs and assistants.
They were well into the set up, his box of knives opened and set beside his personal cutting board when he felt the slight buzzing in his head. Turning he saw Frank lounging against a huge flowerpot, the man gave him a jerk of his head, beckoning him over. He'd been watching Boone for a while, waiting for a lull in the action so he could steal a few minutes of his time. Frank had escaped from the female frenzy in the house as quickly as he could, and headed for the back yard, there was a topic of conversation that had been eating at him ever since the Carlyle's had been there for dinner; one he'd meant to resurrect that night, but the proper opportunity had never presented itself.
Once he deemed that everything was under control, Boone grabbed the second in an endless progression of cups of tea he'd consume over the course of the afternoon and evening, and made his way over to his waiting client.
They headed for more comfortable seating under the marquee tent and settled themselves.
"You look like you've got things under control," Frank commented. "You got everything you need? I told my staff to be available for you."
"My own group is really good. If they weren't I'd be out of business by now wouldn't I? But thanks, they've certainly made things easier." Boone sipped at his beverage, still maintaining a wary eye on Terry and Lucy's progress. He'd kept his favourites with him, the pair always knowing that they'd be his right and left hand at any event.
"I wonder if I could ask you something?"
"Think you already did," he used one of Shannon's signature lines to him. He really liked the guy and figured he could joke with him.
"Yeah, I guess so." Frank laughed. "It's a bit…not personal exactly, but I'm not sure if I'm stepping over the line or not."
"Shoot," Boone invited, how could he tell until he knew what it was?
"This island, the place where you crashed, the place that evidently changed you all so much, just where is it?" Frank's hesitation was born in the concern that Boone wouldn't want to be reminded of such a cataclysmic event and struggle for survival.
Boone glanced down at his chest, running a hand over his chef's coat, and chuckling a bit. Under his uniform he was actually wearing a gag t-shirt gift that Charlie had given them all for Christmas several years before. The screen-printed message read: "I survived Craphole Island, and all I got was this lousy t-shirt." Of course they'd all gotten far more than a garment of Jersey knit poly/cotton blend, that was one of the things that made it all the more humorous.
"Craphole Island?" Frank looked puzzled.
"You got that!" Boone was stunned; he hadn't said it out loud, and he knew the guys' ability wasn't that strong. He figured he must have been projecting more than he realized, but then all his thoughts about the island were automatically intensified, his feelings and emotions about the place still so strong, even after all the years.
"For some reason, yes I did." He confirmed.
"That's what we called it. Actually, it's what Shannon christened the island, and as for where it is, other than somewhere in the South Pacific, I have no idea." He went on to tell Frank that the fact that the cruise ship had found them at all was a completely mystery, during the investigation the bridge crew swore that the navigation equipment unwaveringly indicated that they were still on course. It also meant that where they'd been picked up was also lost in befuddled data. Most of the survivors were unsurprised that, when the whole system was dismantled and examined, not a single defect could be found. Boone just figured that the place was done with them, playtime was over, and it was time to put away the toys.
"You can't honestly believe that the island could think?" Frank dismissed.
Boone reminded him of the "Gaia Theory" and that some people believed that the whole planet had a consciousness.
"So, you couldn't find it again?" Frank pressed. "You've got no idea where you spent an entire year of your lives?"
"Sorry, none at all," Boone shrugged. He wasn't really sure why the guy was so interested, or why he'd think that they'd even want to go back. While he still felt, and he knew many of the others also felt, irrational homesickness for the place, he didn't ever really want to set foot in its' freaky jungle of mystery or rape caves ever again. Still, he considered, if there was anyone who could locate the island again, he was the most likely candidate. He still had the connection to Locke, and if he truly focused, he was reasonably certain that he could follow the psychic thread back to the sole living member of flight 815 who had chosen to remain behind.
"Boone?" Terry was standing behind him with a bowl of something, Boone's brief tea break obviously over, he returned to the outdoor kitchen area, and his duties for the balance of the event, apologizing to Frank for cutting their discussion short.
"I hired you to cook, not talk to me, so I can't really complain." Frank excused him with a smile.
Boone took a short bathroom break before the reception got into full swing, heading up to the house to check on his staff in the kitchen as well. Finding everything copasetic, he headed for the only restroom he knew of in the mansion. Once he was done, he faced himself in the huge mirror suspended over the sink as he washed his hands, remembering, with blushing cheeks, the last time he'd been in the room, and looked in that same mirror, picturing Shannon and he having sex as they both watched. It had been a terrible mistreatment of Franks' hospitality he knew, but he'd not been able to prevent it, she positively owned him, heart, mind and soul.
After the meal, Frank approached him asking if it was okay if he introduced Boone to the satiated crowd. There'd been so many guests stopping by their table with compliments, he wanted to be sure that Boone got the recognition he deserved. Of course, Boone didn't want to be singled out, but he acquiesced anyway, he'd been on the receiving end of Shannon's riot act about the importance of self-promotion before.
He was standing in another one of the prep tents, putting his knives away carefully in their foam-lined case, when a voice right beside his ear scared the shit out of him. He'd been so focused on the task at hand that he hadn't heard anyone approach. He turned quickly, his chef's knife still gripped tightly in his hand.
It was the guy who'd been watching him all night. He'd found several reasons to approach Boone and speak to him over the course of the evening, and Boone had even noted that he'd changed his seat so he had an unobstructed view of the barbecue area. He'd tried to catch Boone's eye several times, successfully on a number of occasions, but there was something about him that gave Boone the creeps.
"Whoa, I didn't mean to scare you," he jumped back at being unintentionally threatened with the eight inch blade, "I just wanted to say again how good the dinner was."
"Thanks, again," Boone stressed the last word, hoping the guy got the hint.
"No problem, I wondered what you were doing after the reception?" He asked.
"Uh, going home," the answer obvious, Boone thought. What did they guy expect he'd do at two in the morning…go bowling?
"So nothing then? How about a drink?" He leaned against the table with one arm, getting even more up in Boone's space.
"I don't drink, at least not very often, and certainly not tonight." Boone supplied.
"Coffee then?" He leaned even closer, reaching out and catching the hem of Boone's chefs' coat, working the fabric between his thumb and forefinger.
"No," Boone frowned, clueless as usual, though he kept the knife protectively between them, the guy was at least six foot two and had more than a hundred pounds on Boone. "I'm going home to bed, it's been a long day, and my wife will be expecting me."
"It's late won't she be asleep?" His hand moved from the coat, to Boone's hip.
Boone's eyebrows furrowed as he looked uncomfortably down at the hand. "Probably," once again, two in the morning, did the guy think Shan would be mowing the lawn?
"Then she won't know if you're not back." He pointed out, moving the hand that was on Boone's hip to the table top, trapping Boone between his arms, and moving even closer.
"I'm not gay!" He suddenly cried, finally getting it.
"Pretty boy like you, you're at least bi, aren't you?" He leaned in as if to kiss him, Boone whimpered and jerked his head out of the way; pressing the hilt of the knife into the guys' chest, reminding him that he was armed, though there was no way he was going to stab someone to death again. What a way to ruin a wedding, anyway, though at least it would be memorable!
"NO!" He used all his strength and pushed the guy away from him. "Fuck, buddy! You could be the hottest girl in the world, throwing yourself at me, just the way you are, and there's not a fucking chance that I'd bite, even if I was the straying kind. If my wife ever figured out that I'd been unfaithful, she'd probably stab us both to death with a butter knife!"
"Butter knife?" What a strange choice of weapon.
"It would take longer that way." Boone explained, "She'd want both of us to suffer."
"Boone is everything…? Bill?" Frank pushed the flap of the tent open and entered, he'd picked up on Boone's panic. He stopped short at the scene with which he was greeted. "Bill, please don't tell me you're trying to pick up my chef."
"I'm trying, but I'm not getting very far," the man answered.
"No, I wouldn't think that you would, seeing as he's not gay, and besides which, if you'd ever seen his wife, you'd know you had less than a snowballs' chance in hell." Frank chuckled.
"Pretty?" Bill asked.
"Gorgeous! And more to the point, if you knew her you'd be putting as much distance between yourself and her husband as you could. She'd probably kill you with a glance if she knew you were trying to make time with her man, she's quite…feisty." He tried to put it as diplomatically as he could.
"He said pretty much the same thing," Bill jerked a thumb over his shoulder at Boone. "I sure don't know how to pick 'em."
"No you don't," Frank patted him on the shoulder as Bill passed him on his way out of the tent, finally giving up with one last glance and a regretful shrug in Boone's direction.
"Thanks," Boone put the knife down. "I was getting a little frantic."
"Yeah, I could feel that. Sorry I didn't intervene sooner, but the photographer was taking pictures again, and sorry about Bill too. He's a nice guy, but when he's between boyfriends, well…he can be a little overly pushy." Frank apologized. "If you're done here, would you like to join us for a drink?"
Boone pled fatigue, but thanked him for the offer. Leaving the rest of the clean up to his staff, he was on his motorcycle and heading for home less than ten minutes later.
Boone slipped into bed beside Shannon as gently as he was able, thinking her asleep, but she rolled over and shook out her pale hair as she raised herself up on an elbow, having been awoken by the blare of the motorcycle as he pulled into the driveway. Knowing how loud it was, he'd killed the engine as quickly as he could.
"A gay guy again?" Shannon's teeth flashed in the light from the uncurtained window, as she chuckled, having already picked that particular detail out of his head. That he was still mulling over the incident in his mind, made it easier for her.
"Yeah." Boone whispered, rolling to face her.
'You're far too pretty for your own good, you know.' Shannon observed, silently.
'Perhaps I should have an unfortunate chain saw accident, and change that?' He quipped.
'That would be unfortunate, for both of us.' She reached out and traced her fingertips over his perfect features, leaning in to kiss him. 'Maybe just a little reminder of just how heterosexual you are instead?' She pulled away from him and got out of bed, crossing the room to the door, she beckoned him.
He pushed back the covers and rose, 'What about Andrew?'
Shannon tipped her head, her eyes losing focus for a second, 'Asleep.'
Naked, as she was, he followed her down the back stairs and out to the yard.
She twined her fingers in his hair as they kissed. 'Love me.' She commanded; it wasn't a question of his feelings for her as much as an order.
'Forever,' Boone responded, answering both the demand and the unintended question.
Shannon pulled away, and growled at him, "Hard, I want it rough."
"I can do rough," he fisted her hair and pulled her head back, nipping at her exposed throat. Thrusting her forcefully against the bark of a tree, he bit down hard on her collarbone.
Somehow, their ensuing cries didn't wake Andrew.