I've heard a few people say they're disappointed by the lack of post-Incident Jate fics so I decided to start this now, while people are still are still excited about the finale, and just enjoy writing my other fics rather than race to the end. I wanted to do something original so I've incorporated some of the plans I had for an AU set in Sydney, along with the idea of "course correction" from the show: basically, if the Swan hatch was never finished and therefore unable to cause the crash, "fate" would have to find a different way to stop the survivors from ending up back in L.A. before the island could reach them (Plus I had to find a way to deal with the annoying fugitive issue)... ;)

Chapter 1.

September 22, 2004.

KATE

"Attention all passengers. Due to inclement weather, all flights out of Sydney have been delayed. I repeat, all flights out of Sydney have been delayed."

"You've gotta be kidding me," Edward Mars muttered under his breath.

Kate forced herself to sit up a little straighter. "What's going on?" she asked, glancing from him to the airport official in charge of babysitting them.

The marshal fixed her with a harsh glare as if to say, 'Don't get too excited – I'm sure it's nothing'. "Looks like you just got a reprieve." He got up from his seat on the other side of the table. "I'm gonna see what the hold up is. Do not let her out of your sight," he warned the official.

She caught a brief glimpse of the world outside as the other man unlocked the door for him and then he was gone.

Now that they were alone, she shifted her attention back to the official, sizing him up without letting on that that was what she was doing. He was an older man – in his late fifties or early sixties, she guessed – with short grey hair and a serious, but not unkind, face. He reminded her a little of her father: her real one, not the sick bastard she'd blown back to hell where he belonged.

"What did she mean, 'inclement weather'?" she asked him, wondering how much longer they were going to leave her sitting there in that hard metal chair. She was bored and restless and her legs were beginning to cramp.

His stern expression softened. "There's no need to worry, love," he assured her. "It's probably just a thunderstorm. I'm sure you'll be on your way in no time."

She averted her gaze to her hands, rubbing the raw skin of her wrist to relieve some of the chaffing from the cuffs; he cleared his throat when he realised how little comfort this was likely to bring her. "Is there anything we can get you?" She could see that he was uncomfortable: too much a part of the old world to approve of chaining up a woman who had been nothing but co-operative… except for that one incident. "You must be hungry," he prompted her with a sympathetic smile.

In truth, she was starving. All the marshal had brought her by way of food was a sandwich from the vending machine that tasted like it was at least a week old. She was sure that he'd done it on purpose, just to see if she would eat it. "I'm okay," she lied. He would be back any minute and then this small window of opportunity would be gone; it was now or never. "But there is something you can do for me."

The official nodded to show that he was listening.

"It's been hours since anyone let me use the restroom," she explained, staring back down at her hands, doing her best to appear bashful.

"Of course," he agreed. He put his palm on her shoulder to steady her as she struggled to her feet without the use of her hands.

"Come on." He unclipped a key ring from his belt when they reached the door, keeping a firm grip on her bicep as he ushered her out into the crowded terminal.

Ahead of them, she could see the marshal arguing with a woman at the check in desk. "This way," he told her, steering her into a narrow corridor.

She hung her head, pretending to be absorbed in inspecting her sandals when a woman pushing a stroller from the other direction eyed her with a look of mild disgust. It made her feel sick to her stomach to think that, in her eyes, she was some kind of dangerous criminal – or terrorist – that she needed to protect her child from.

The official dropped her arm outside the door to the women's bathroom. "Here we are." He cast a furtive glance around them to make sure no one was watching, hesitating for a moment before removing her cuffs, slipping them into his pocket. "Five minutes," he warned her, "but if you're not out by then, I'm coming in after you."

The last thing she wanted was to make him regret his act of kindness, but she didn't see that she had much choice. "Thank you," she told him. It wasn't ideal, but it was better than anything she could have hoped for.

"Just be quick," he insisted, licking his lips as his eyes went in search of the marshal.

To her relief, the stalls were empty: the last thing she needed was some kind of Good Samaritan trying to impede her escape. She took mental inventory of each of the possible exists, her eyes falling on a small, rectangular window over the dryer. It was six feet off the ground with thick, frosted glass and no latch; if she could only figure out a way to break it…

"Everything okay in there?" the official called.

"Almost done," she managed to call back, scanning the room for something heavy to swing at the glass. By her count, she only had about three minutes left and it was going to take more than that to do any significant damage…

Her sense of panic increased when she heard the loud crackle of his walkie; afraid that their absence had been discovered, she pressed her ear to the door, listening. She could only make out a few words through the static: "…incident… bag… Iraqi… shops…"

"I'll be right there," the official assured the person on the other end. To her, he announced, "Five minutes are up."

Her heart leapt to her throat. She couldn't go back to that dingy little room… and an even dingier prison cell.

"On the count of three," he warned her when she didn't answer, positioning herself behind the door instead. "One… two… three…" He cracked it open. "Miss?"

As he poked his head inside to investigate, she pushed back with all of her might, slamming it into his temple. He slid to the ground, unconscious, the walkie falling from his hand; before anyone could see him, she dragged him the rest of the way inside, depositing him into one of the stalls.

"Sorry," she whispered as she lifted the gun from the holster on his belt, tucking it into the back of her pants, underneath her jacket.

Once she left the bathroom, she tried to blend in with the crowd, but the marshal – who has always had a sixth sense when it came to her – turned before she could get clear of his line of vision.

"Hey!" he cried when she broke into a run, ducking and weaving through the crowd; not fast enough to avoid colliding with a tall man in a suit who didn't seem to see her until it was too late.

"Whoa!" He caught her by the arms, hauling her back to her feet before she could hit the ground. "Are you okay?" he asked, looking her up and down.

Her was older than her, by about ten years, and very attractive; she couldn't think of a time when she'd seen him before, but there was something about the way his deep brown eyes searched hers that seemed so familiar.

He was American, she noted from his accent. Maybe they had met before and she just didn't remember it. "Yeah," she agreed. "You?"

"Yeah." He held onto her for a few seconds longer than necessary before seeming to realise how inappropriate this was.

Whatever she was experiencing, it seemed to be affecting him too.

"There!" she heard the marshal shout, breaking the spell; a few hundred feet down the terminal, she spotted him pointing her out to a police officer.

"I'm sorry," she told the man, backing away with a sense of regret. A memory danced at the edge of her consciousness… Trees…? A jungle…? But it evaporated before she could make sense of it. "I… I have to go."

So Kate has no memory of Jack... or does she?

Next chapter (which is already written if people want me to continue): Jack's POV... ;)