Thus, every day saw Jack treading the fine line between success and defeat. That he’d be letting down those he cared about made the burn that much harsher, the cut that much deeper. The admiration in Boone’s eyes never failed to warm him, and he didn’t want it to fade and die. Disillusionment was inevitable, of course, but Jack had never wanted to be worshipped, not really.

Though Jack had fallen for the younger man almost immediately he’d never acted on it, never given Boone any indication that his regard was reciprocated. Instant attraction never happened to people like Jack, and as such it had been quite disconcerting to find that it could. Even Boone’s foibles were attractive, his need to please even greater than Jack’s own. But Jack doubted his desires would be any less frowned upon here than they were anywhere else. So he’d pushed Boone away. And continued pushing. Hard. But Boone kept coming back, his eyes full of hope, like a kicked puppy with nowhere else to turn. Jack knew that wasn’t true of Boone. After all, he had his sister. Not that Jack could see her being much comfort. But it was more than anyone else, other than Michael and Walt, had. Still, Jack couldn’t stop himself from caring for Boone, from wanting to be close, to touch. Couldn’t stop his heart from skipping a beat, or two, whenever he caught sight of that slender silhouette in the distance.

There was only so much one man could take before he threw caution to the wind and just took what he wanted. So, for Jack, Kate was a godsend. His half-assed flirtation with her distracted the rest of the survivors –- and Jack himself -– from Boone’s ardent hero worship. That it pissed Sawyer off and kept him from riding Boone’s ass overly much were just a bonus. Sawyer was far too self-satisfied to be endured. Although, Sawyer had been looking a lot less smug, and a lot more distracted, lately. Kate had hinted that it had something to do with Sayid, but wouldn’t be drawn on quite what it was.

Jack knew in a perfect world he wouldn’t be forced to suppress who he was, deny what he wanted, be hostage to others wants and needs. But then, in a perfect world he also wouldn’t have ended up on this island, leading a group of strangers who had as little idea as Jack himself did. He wouldn’t have met Boone, his heart would still be closed for business, his sanity unthreatened.

Perfect worlds were overrated.