Author's note: This is a short little fic I that popped into my head. It's a rewriting/filler of a scene you might know very well from season 1.
Blame the canon whore in me. Thanks to Laura for beta-ing!
Escapist
She can't keep still. She's never been able to.
She knows that for an outsider, looking at her standing at the shore like that, face turned towards the open sea, eyes closed, it must seem as if she is deeply rooted on the beach, firmly planted in place.
She is far from it.
"Well this is a first."
When she hears his voice, it's both gentle and teasing at the same time. She turns her head towards him and immediately senses it's one of those days. Where the banter and flirting between them is so light hearted and easy that it makes her heart lurch in this painful way. It is days like these that almost let her forget that there's a gulf between them she can't even fathom to bridge. Almost forget, but not quite.
Yet that can't stop the corners of her mouth from twisting upward into a wide, irrational smile, so it's definitely one of those days.
She wonders if it feels the same for him.
He walks a little closer until the water is rolling up to his muddy boots.
"You standing still, middle of the day, doing nothing. Amazing."
There's something utterly boyish about the way he flails his left arm to accompany his words; something charming about that tiny hint of awkwardness when he hooks the thumb of his right hand into the pocket of his blue jeans. As if he's trying to be casual and suave and not succeeding all that much because he's Jack and it's all never ending tension between them.
He cocks his head and squints because the light is too bright and also because he's mocking her, just a little.
He's mocking her but it is kind and it is endearing. It's Jack.
"I'm doing something." Her words have this boldness about them and she can't keep it out of her voice. Always the defiant, challenging tone. This time, it's a challenge for banter.
"Yeah?"
The word chuckles out of his throat, deep and hearty and earnest and it stretches an echo that vibrates deep inside her, bringing a smile over her face.
"What's that?"
He steps closer, towering a few good inches above her, but it's not intimidating. Not really, anyway. More like a sturdy, solid presence.
She yearns to hear him laugh again.
"I'm sinking." She curls her toes into the wet, clumpy sand, trying to anchor herself in this moment.
He looks down and watches the water run across her feet, taking the sand with it. The rosy, wet skin looks so alive against the bleakness of the sand; she's like a tree digging her roots into the ground.
He shakes his head. The thought is absurd. Kate doesn't do roots and digging in. And yet, it is a comforting one.
Her simple explanation earns her a timid smile so she elaborates.
"Water goes out, takes the sand with it and…you sink."
He nods in his usual way, as if he understands her. It consoles her in a way, even if he's not.
But that's Jack, too. Always trying.
"I used to do it with my mom when I was a kid."
Something unusual swings in her voice, wavering slightly. How about a little honesty, Jack?
He doesn't know how he knows but he knows; she's not lying this time. She looks at him and for a second it's just Kate. Then she blinks and turns away and the moment is gone.
Suddenly, she looks a lot smaller and a lot younger.
And suddenly, Jack really understands.
"Ah, new plan. You're gonna sink your way right off the island."
He's teasing her again, even more gently this time. She knows that it's his way of offering her a hand she'd otherwise decline.
But it's kinda unsettling how right he is without realizing it.
She knows that to him it must look as if she's keeping still. As if there's hope that something can keep Kate Austen from moving, from fading, from running.
But there's not.
Because she's sinking and that means she's not standing still.
She doesn't do standing still.
She can't.
When she was younger she wished she could sink away from her life. Sink right into the ground, bury herself in its steadiness. Away from the pettiness, the dullness and the late night arguments. Sink away from those nights she could feel his breath down her neck. Too close and warm and ripe of alcohol, it made her want to tear her skin off.
Now she is a thousand miles away from that life but she still wishes she could sink away, be somewhere else.
When she looks up to him again, he's staring out at sea. His face is a beautiful one, with straight, graceful features. It's the face of a man with lines and flaws and yet it's so perfect in its way that it hurts to look at him. Her fingertips ache to touch his cheek, to feel the prickle of his not so clean shaven skin against her own. With Jack, she senses, there might not be a too close and too warm.
It's quite pathetic actually, but as she's watching his face, she finds herself wishing things would be different.
She finds herself wishing she could sink right into him instead.