(no subject)

[slybrunette]

Title: Take Off
Fandom: Lost.
Characters: Kate, Jack.
Prompt: #13 - Calm
Word Count: 1,126
Rating: PG
Progress: 18/100
Summary: Kate's sitting in a seat that feels the same as the one that once sat in the medical tent on a beach they left behind a day ago, and her legs are cramped in the small space between her seat and the empty one in front of her. 
Author's Note: I know I've been very Jate oriented lately. To my non-Jater friends I apologize. I've got some other things planned that are completely avoiding the OT3. 

 

 

The scene is familiar. It all is. Kate’s sitting in a seat that feels the same as the one that once sat in the medical tent on a beach they left behind a day ago, and her legs are cramped in the small space between her seat and the empty one in front of her. When she looks out the window she sees blacktop that stretches on farther than her vision does and beyond that the sky beckons them. Even the air’s the same. Stiff and warm; it feels like suffocation. Like it’s running out, though she knows that’s not true. The only thing new is the man who sits next to her. It’s not Edward Mars – he’s still buried under mounds of dirt on that island that’s too far away. She doesn’t even know the man’s name, or anything about him other than he’ll be seated beside her for the next thirteen hours, at which point he will then escort her to the jail cell she’s sure will be waiting for her on the mainland.

 

Now she watches the flight attendant walk over to them and ask her if she was anything to drink, with a shaky nervousness to her voice and downcast eyes. Unlike the last one she knows she’s speaking to a fugitive. There’s a pair of uncovered handcuffs that decorate Kate’s wrists glaring back at the woman, a constant reminder of that fact. Kate politely declines and she watches the woman squat low to whisper something to the Marshal beside her. The entire time his eyes are on her, not the speaker. After a few moments, the woman leaves and Kate stares straight ahead, waiting for the fasten seat belt sign to light up. They’re still not in the air. She doesn’t know why there’s a delay.

 

Five minutes later and they still haven’t moved. The man next to her rises up with out a word and disappears down the narrow pathway between the rows, leaving her alone. He doesn’t go the way of the restrooms and she worries briefly over what’s going on. She tells herself it’s nothing and resumes watching the runway.

 

The fact that she’s on a plane yet again makes her nauseous. She doesn’t quite know what to think about it. Half of her wants to see this one crash too, just to tempt fate and see if she’ll survive again. She had dreaded rescue, knowing that it was the end of her freedom. Then the boat had come and whisked them off to another island, this one civilized and unpronounceable. From there they had been taken to a plane. This plane. Her last thirteen hours of freedom and familiar faces. So she feels sick and she’s beginning to realize it’s not just that she’s on a plane again that’s causing this.

 

“Ladies and gentleman we will be taking off in just a few minutes. We apologize for the delay. Please fasten your seatbelts and secure your belongings.”

 

She leans back into the chair. Her seatbelt is already done up. Her belongings – what’s left of them – are locked up overhead. The sign lights up a bright green. The man is still not back yet.

 

Her eyes are transfixed on her surroundings again when the man slides into the seat next to her again. She doesn’t look over but shrinks into herself. That’s when she feels a hand on her arm. It’s strong and comforting and that’s when she looks over to find it’s not the Marshal but Jack who’s taken the seat.

 

“Jack, what are you doing here?” She relaxes, leaning into his touch. “We’re taking off soon, you should be in your seat.”

 

“I am in my seat.” He grins when she frowns in confusion. “I can be a very persuasive person when I want to be Kate. They didn’t see anything wrong with it as long as I didn’t try anything. The Marshal is sitting a few seats back.”

 

A weak smile appears on her lips before she looks away from him. His presence merely reminds her of what she will be missing while in prison. That devastates her more than anything else that’s been thrown at her in the past 24 hours.

 

She feels the plane begin to move under her feet and she stiffens again, hands curling around the edge of the arm rest in nervous anticipation. She had never liked flying in the first place. Add in her newfound spite for it since the crash and it was easy to understand the fear coursing through her veins.

 

“We’re not going to crash,” he tells her in a voice that’s too steady and even. This doesn’t seem to be affecting him at all. She envies that.

 

“How do you know that?” She asks, if only to keep her mind occupied.

 

“We didn’t survive the first crash just to die on the rescue plane. The odds are in our favor.” He reasons, and she knows he is probably thinking science and statistics. The rarity of being in a plane crash. If it happened to you once it was almost guaranteed not to happen again. Kate couldn’t help but be reminded that most of the things that had happened on the island couldn’t be explained by science.

 

The landing gear retracts as they lift off the ground and she sucks in a breath full of harsh, recycled air as his hand slips down to cover hers. She lets him pry her fingers off the arm rest so he can give it a squeeze, reassure her that they’re fine. The plane climbs thousands of feet, finally leveling out after what feels like forever. When it does, and it doesn’t jerk or shake, she exhales that breath.

 

“See, we’re fine. The worst part is over.” He says as if he’s forgotten that they were six hours into their flight when they crashed. The worst part won’t be over until they’ve landed. Still she doesn’t say anything, just grips him tighter and ignores the pull of her handcuffs when she does. They only force her to think of what’s to come.

 

They sit like that for awhile as the plane makes quick work of leaving this island as well. The shores of it are just disappearing as they continue out over the ocean when she lays her head down on his shoulder. The fabric of his shirt is soft and new and it smells like him, which is both a relief and a comfort. “I’m glad you’re here,” she whispers, calmer with the close contact. Jack the protector, she thinks, not for the first time.

 

He kisses the top of her head, lingering there, his voice muffled by her hair as he speaks. “There’s no place I’d rather be.”