By Sinking815
February 18th, 2007
A/N: Just a little one-shot that wanted to bridge that gap between a potential moment in Kate's past with the present situation she finds herself in. Slight season three spoilers. Implied Jack and Kate. As always, reviews greatly appreciated.
When she was eight years old, Kate discovered a hidden world in her father's study. The walls behind his wooden desk stored shelves and shelves full of dusty books, their pages packed with pictures of men in uniforms like the ones she'd seen her father in and military equipment that mesmerized her tom-boy mind. She would stare for hours at the images of tanks and jeeps, aircraft carriers and submarines, but the planes were her favorite. Like any child, Kate wished that she could fly, and at first, that dream was no more significant than a desire to feel the puffiness of the clouds that floated high in the clear blue sky miles above her head. It wasn't until much later that she would settle for running as an escape from the mess her life would become.
She used to lose herself in the black and white photos of DC-10's and B-52's, immersing herself in daydreams to the point where her father would catch her, seated at his desk, flipping pages in admiration, completely oblivious to his presence. Sometimes he'd smile and leave her to her imagination; other times, he'd knock softly and ask if Miss General Austen would be so kind as to spare Sergeant Austen a minute or two of her precious time. She loved studying the images of fighter jet formations, loved imagining the roar of their engines, loved how their incomprehensible speed was captured on a page in binding she could hold in her small hands. Anything that went fast captivated Kate and she tried as hard as an eight-year-old could to quench her thirst for speed.
One time, she'd caught him watching her and asked him to translate a caption-less picture of four jets flying in a staggered V-formation.
"It's called the missing man formation," Sam told her, smiling down at her wide innocent green eyes. She looked back to the open book, her little body bouncing from the motion of her swinging legs and Sam almost laughed at her spirit.
"Why, daddy?"
His eyes crinkled at her curiosity and he pointed to the conspicuous space of sky between the left leg of the disjointed V. Kate's eyes followed his finger obediently.
"Because it shows your squadron is missing a man."
She glanced back and forth between the photo and her dad, her brain working his words furiously, replaying them again and again. After a moment, she wrinkled her nose at him, the freckles across her face scrunching with her skin, and Sam almost laughed at her expected question.
"What's a squa…?" She fumbled over the military term and frowned.
"A squadron?" he reiterated, slowing the syllables so his daughter might have a chance at grasping their foreign sound.
She nodded eagerly, her dark curly ponytail swishing the fabric of her blue t-shirt. Sam sighed and bent to his knees, his right arm finding the back of her chair.
"A squadron is like a team," he explained, circling the four planes with a finger. "And each fighter pilot and his plane are members of that team."
Sam paused to let the information sink in and it was all he could do not to laugh aloud when she beamed her understanding at him. Her enthusiasm was even more contagious at eye-level.
"Now when a squadron loses a teammate," he continued, his hand finding hers and pointing her tiny finger to the empty sky, "they fly this formation to honor their fallen comrade."
Fascinated, Kate stared, absorbing his words as if he had spoken of princesses and knights-in-shining-armor. These stories were her fairy tales.
"Do you do this?" she asked, a bit of wonder framing the innocence of her question. She glanced at him, expectant.
"Not so much in the army," he said. "But the air force flies this kind of stuff all the time."
Kate looked back to the book, her bouncing stilling for a moment as she worked something over in her head. Her dad smiled as her expression turned to that serious look of contemplation he'd seen grace her small features many times before. It shone with a maturity and something almost like sadness, as if she had seen more than an eight-year-old ought to. A twinge of shame flooded Sam suddenly, thoughts of his own responsibility for that situation causing him to look away. But as quickly as she had gone silent, Kate interrupted the pause with a resolute statement that sent him grinning again.
"I like this one best," she nodded determinedly, sounding as if she were selecting her first home instead of her favorite picture. She frowned again, as if reconsidering what that decision meant, and then glanced at her father, all smiles and youthful exuberance. "When I become a fighter pilot, I wanna learn this one first."
Rising slowly and wincing at the resounding cracks from his over-tasked knees, Sam chuckled at her courage, but his tone suggested something other than amusement beneath his words.
"Well, I'm glad you like it, Katie. I just hope you never have to fly it."
She'd imagined this walk back towards camp so many times when she'd been caged, she'd lost count. Then it had been something to lean on when her pessimistic side had whispered thoughts she'd rather not consider. Being stuck in a dress not of her own volition or style had been one thing. Contemplating imminent death… she'd shuddered, pushed her hair from her sweaty face and gone back to redesigning a hike she had to make herself believe was right around the corner. Even though she couldn't remember how every version went, Kate knew one thing each had in common. She hadn't dragged her feet the way she was dragging them now.
Hope—it was such a dangerous thing to lose.
Almost cursing aloud when her foot sank into deep sand, Kate stumbled, her arms bracing for impact though her feet caught up with the momentum of her body. She thought she heard Sawyer snicker behind her and turned to stare him down, but the second she saw his brow scrunched in concern, she frowned and marched dutifully forward. The last time she had reacted to that expression, they'd ended up firing words like they were bullets, a few of them grazing her and leaving a bloodied trail.
Kate pushed his blue eyes from her mind, biting her lip at a swell in her chest that was too quickly becoming her constant companion. It was like her heart had been left standing on that shore and with each stroke of the rough oar, she was struggling to keep her mind from mutinying against what bit of control she had left.
A grunt behind her made her start involuntarily, her body still tingling from the rush of adrenaline surging through her veins. But Sawyer had just shifted the inert Karl in his arms, his eyes thankfully down and focused directly in front of him. Kate whipped forward again, her heart wrenching when she realized Sawyer's steps were trudging rather than walking. She wondered briefly if his extra burden was the weariness's sole cause, or if something more made his steps fall heavier than normal.
Kate winced, squeezing her eyes shut and steeling her jaw as she felt the vicious pull behind her. She heard her teeth grit loudly in her head, images of her and Sawyer as they were now, walking closer and closer to camp, a conspicuous gap of beach and surf somehow holding steady between them.
"It's called the missing man formation."
The words of her past made the blood pounding in her ears run cold and the sweat along her skin freeze. She barely heard Sawyer curse at her abrupt halt and didn't hear his one-liner she knew she'd provoked. Time had trapped her in a whirling vertigo, her past colliding perilously with her present. A man in uniform appeared like a shimmering oasis before her tired eyes and Kate felt a lurch in her stomach when he raised his head to meet her green stare with a pale blue gaze.
As she stared, dumbstruck and trembling, she wondered if this was the island throwing another curveball her way. No, this wasn't the same thing. That black horse didn't flutter as he did now and from the dull sound of Sawyer's voice behind her, this man was visible only to her. She blinked away the spots dancing in front of her face, suddenly understanding the momentary insanity she'd seen grace Jack's rugged features.
No!
She shook her head, willing herself to get control of the name now running rampant in her head. Kate swallowed determinedly, struggling to cage a one-syllable word that would bring her world crashing down around her. When the whistling wind died down, she forced her eyes open, only to find that the man had not moved.
Kate took a hesitant step towards him, stopping when she saw he had moved back the same distance, although his legs had never left their straight-kneed stance. Confused, she threw him a pained look and glanced to Sawyer. The southerner now watched her with the look of skepticism and bafflement she thought must be plastered on her face.
She looked back at her father's ghost and heard the strangled cry when it escaped her lips, but never knew it had done so until it reached her ears.
"What?"
"It's called the missing man formation. I just hope you never have to fly it."
Then he was gone, leaving Kate to digest his words like a bitter spoon of medicine meant to cure a wracking cough. She stared straight ahead, feeling Sawyer's presence draw closer, hearing her nickname asked to the island air. She wheeled, knowing her face wore a spooked crazed expression and not quite caring enough to rein it in.
"Did you see him?" she asked, her tone almost harsh and accusing, her voice balanced precariously on the breaking point. Her arm was outstretched, but Sawyer could only see the slight movement of palm fronds and the flutter of tarps in the distance. He eyed her uncertainly and chanced a guess as to who she was referring to, sighing when it hit him that Freckles had lost it completely.
"He ain't here, Kate," he said softly, avoiding the name he thought she wanted to hear at all costs. "Now. c'mon."
He stopped his motion when he realized she wasn't following.
"Freckles?"
Her lower lip trembled, in fact her whole body shook, and Sawyer fought the curse he wanted to utter when he realized she had snapped. The tears she had worked so hard to keep at bay spilled over her cheeks like a dam had let loose. For all intensive purposes, it had.
"Kate!"
The change in tone got her attention, though he wished she wouldn't stare at him with her eyes so red and wet, the heartbreak and grief softening her delicate features with their intense sincerity. It scared him to think how much of an impact this day would add to her already arduous baggage, especially if these outbursts of unguarded emotion were to become regular.
He motioned with his head, his long hair swishing in his face as he did, not moving until he saw her take a shaky breath and step forward. Satisfied, he continued ahead of her, offering what he hoped was an encouraging, "Ain't that much farther."
Kate slowed her pace a moment, glancing at the spot where her father had stood moments before. The shock of his sudden and relevant appearance still weighed on her slim shoulders, but reality had retaken the fort. Even so, she watched the sand where his feet had been warily as she walked past, willing herself to continue with one step after the other.
She thought she was in the clear when her gaze found Sawyer's back and focused intently on the way his body swayed with his sauntering gait. But familiar words left her with one final eerie thought, as she slowed to allow a little more room between herself and Sawyer.
"It's called the missing man formation. When a squadron loses a teammate, they fly this formation to honor their fallen comrade."
Finis