It's going to be a long flight. Kate knows that Aaron will sleep most of the way, and that's a very very good thing for her. And no, it's not because she's developed a fear of flying since the crash, or because she's worried about a restless child; it's because she doesn't want her son to see what happens to her when all of her memories come back to her.
It's not only bad ones, either. Sometimes she'll remember playing golf with Jack or going swimming near the waterfall as opposed to watching the pilot getting torn from the cockpit or watching Sawyer jump out of that goddamn helicopter.
And so Kate keeps her window closed and her eyes shut tight, clutching her arm rests so hard that she's white-knuckled as she sits beside a sleeping Aaron. Luckily for him, he doesn't remember anything remotely concerning the island except for the occasional dream he has about his birth mother.
"Excuse me, miss," Kate hears the stewardess say. Her eyes open hesitantly, silently cursing.
"Yes?" She asks, trying to keep her voice steady.
"Are you alright?" She questions, stopping her cart in the aisle.
Kate manages a weak, forced smile. "I'm fine, thank you."
But the stewardess just smiles at her. Her eyes are pitying, and Kate hates that. "Would you like a drink?" She offers gently.
The brunette pauses for a half-beat, knowing it's not the smartest move to take any form of alcohol right then. But she gives a reluctant nod anyway, releasing her grip on the arm rests.
The stewardess pulls a small bottle out of the cart and hands it to Kate along with a small cup of ice and a napkin. "Let me know if you need anything else." She winks at her before moving forward, helping people in the next set of seats.
It's only then, after the woman's gone, that Kate looks down at the tiny bottle she's been given. Instantly, after she reads the label, a sick feeling settles in the pit of her stomach.
Schnapps.
She smiles darkly, bemusedly, wondering if somehow Oceanic has a way of loving to screw her over in every way possible. Apparently, it isn't enough for her to think about James Ford every day, to cry herself to sleep over him, or to spend every minute of her life worrying about him; but now she's been handed one of the things that most reminds her of the con man.
They might as well hand her a picture of him and call it a day.
Her smile grows sadder as her eyebrows pinch together. "Oh God," She breathes, tears springing to her eyes.
And just like they always do, her memories come back to her, flooding each of her senses.
"I never wore pink."
Sawyer takes a swig.
Kate laughs.
"I knew it."
"The 80s."
He pauses.
"I've never been in love."
"You've never been in love."
"I ain't drinkin', am I?"
I bet you would now, Kate thinks.
Deciding not to bother with pouring herself a glass, she twists off the cap to the small bottle in her hand, closing her eyes to prevent her tears from spilling over the edge. The alcohol burns her throat the same way it had when she was sitting at the fire that one night, bringing her the tiniest amount of comfort.
When her eyes open again, she finds her head turning slowly to the side, her fingers inching closer and closer to the window shade. Again, she knows it's not a smart move, but something forces her to keep going. With a small, quiet, tearless sob, she moves it away so she can look out at the deep blue color of the water beneath the plane.
"Where are you?" Kate lays her hand on the glass, a single tear rolling down her cheek.
She's so caught up in her own little world, she doesn't even notice the first rumble of the plane when it hits turbulence.
"Where are you, Sawyer?" She whispers. "Where are you?"