BLISSFUL IGNORANCE

Eyghon

Author's notes: Thanks to Lenafan, my beta reader, for sticking with me and for doing yet again a wonderful job.

Chapter 1: The cucumber dilemma

Sydney was standing in front of her kitchen counter, a sharp knife in hand, mentally preparing herself for what was to come. She was cooking tonight, and was currently making a salad. Her mission, chop up vegetables without cutting her own hand off in the process. The cucumber seemed to be taunting her, daring her to try to cut it to pieces.

Sydney was clumsy with anything sharp or pointy. Proof was she had accidentally cut herself the day before with a scissor. She sighed, shaking her head. 'I'm definitely going insane', she thought.

Francie was at the restaurant and wouldn't be back for dinner. It was just Will and her. The young man was currently taking a shower and had accepted her offer to cook. He had been surprised at first, and she had explained that she never cooked, too busy with work. She smiled a fake smile. She hated it when people compared her to…her…before. It was so awkward, like being spoken as someone she didn't know, or what she was supposed to be, or what they 'expected' her to be.

It had been six weeks since she was back in her house. During her stay in the hospital, she had been introduced to so many people, people that were part of her life, they said. First, there was her father, whom she had a hard time believing was who he said he was. She saw him as a distant, serious looking grey haired man and nothing more. He hadn't smiled once at her during his visits. He only talked about 'business'; he wanted to know if she remembered anything. He had asked that question many times, and each time, she had told him 'no'. She hadn't been outwardly warm either, thus maybe discouraging him from reaching out.

She had then met her boss, a gruff, bald man, and a few colleagues. There was the nice, stuttering genius who seemed to love her a lot. There was the big, always smiling man. He was her favourite, he always cracked jokes and never expected anything of her. A black, serious looking man had come just once. He seemed to hesitate when he saw her, and just said he was glad she was back before he left. Her 'father' had explained to her that they were long time friends but that something had happened between them. She had let it go.

The icing on the cake was that green-eyed handsome Michael Vaughn. He introduced himself as her colleague and friend. Later he told her they were closer when they were eventually left alone in the room. She had been shocked. She had felt nothing special about him when he first came in. Just as she felt nothing toward her friends or even her father.

She was empty and she hated that feeling. She avoided mixing with all those people, except for Will and Francie. They lived with her so she didn't really have a choice. She wanted to be left alone but not to the point of being rude.

Sighing again, she lifted the knife, ready to cut off the smirking cucumber's head and then the rest of its body. "You can mock me all you want, but you're going down, Buddy." The knife still stood in mid air when it should have beheaded the green vegetable. Someone had seized her wrist from behind, the other hand going to her mouth, muffling her surprised scream at being pulled back hard against someone's body.

"Shhh. Easy. Drop the knife," ordered a feminine voice. Sydney didn't hear her, overcome with fear. "Drop the knife," repeated the woman, squeezing Sydney's wrist tighter to emphasize her point. Irina could have easily disarmed Sydney by bringing down the wrist she was holding against the counter but it would have been painful. She did not wish to harm her daughter and scare her even more than she was.

Finally, Irina's patience paid off and the young woman opened her hand to drop the butcher knife. "Good girl," whispered Irina in a tone she wanted to be reassuring. She could actually feel her daughter shake in her grip and felt a pang of guilt for putting her through this. It was not as if she was holding her at gunpoint or at knifepoint either. She didn't need that to coerce her daughter into obeying her. She felt confident she was strong enough to overpower Sydney if need be. No need to spook her by flashing a deadly weapon under her nose.

"Come," she said, not relinquishing her hold on her daughter just yet. Sydney might not remember her training but she was a scared woman and it made her potentially dangerous. Not that she could beat her mother, even though they were in equal physical shape. From her point of view, the worst Sydney could try to do was pull on Irina's hair or throw things at her, but she could try to escape, thus forcing Irina to use physical force on her, and possibly hurt her inadvertently. Sydney could also alert her friend or the agents supposedly protecting her, thus compromising Irina's lead on the CIA.

She dragged her to the bedroom's sliding window, from where she had first come in, and led her to the far end of the garden. Drawing her weapon but careful not to point it at Sydney, she directed her toward the way she had come in.

"Go over the wall." Thankfully, Sydney obeyed without protest and dropped somewhat gracelessly on the other side of the wall. Irina's car was where she had left it, parked a few houses away not to arise suspicions. She gently, but firmly, took hold of Sydney's arm to cut off any ideas of escape she might have and led her to the blue BMW. "Get in," she instructed, opening the passenger side door. Again, Sydney complained wordlessly though slowly.

She struggled with her seatbelt so Irina buckled it for her. She was sure under other conditions Sydney could have done it eyes closed while making a 180°C U turn 50 kilometres above the speed limit in town. She was convinced this whole 'amnesia' condition was not faked on her daughter's part though. She had observed her for a few minutes before acting. Sydney hadn't heard her sneak up behind her, she had seemed to have difficulty handling a knife and had clumsily escalated the wall in her backyard. Above all, she didn't seem to have recognised Irina and such fear couldn't be faked, however of a good actress Sydney was.

Irina took her position in the driver seat, and they were three blocks away from the house within a minute.

More relaxed, the older woman took a real look at her child. Sydney had slid in her seat as far away from Irina as possible. There were tears in her eyes and she was sniffling, probably trying not to burst into tears. Seeing her so frightened because of her tore Irina's heart apart. She felt the need to comfort her, to tell her everything would be okay, as she did when Sydney was little.

Her hesitation at speaking up vanished when her eyes crossed Sydney's and her daughter hit the door in a reflex to get away from Irina. Whatever Irina did, the situation could not possibly get worse.

"There's no need to be afraid of me you know," she reached out to tuck an errant strand of wild hair. Sydney hunched her shoulder in an attempt to get away from the physical contact. "I'm not going to hurt you. I would never hurt you," she whispered, trailing her hand on her daughter's smooth jaw. She tried to seek Sydney's eyes but the young woman kept her glance down. She was clutching her hands and Irina feared she might draw blood.

She decided to let her be for the moment. Any physical contact or attempt at communication would only further frighten her. Maybe with some quiet time Sydney would collect herself and ease up a little.

It was odd to refer to her passenger as 'Sydney'. She felt more like a stranger than anything else. Her Sydney would have fought back. She would have asked what Irina wanted with her and where they were going. The 'new Sydney' was just a thirty-year old woman who had been dumped in a world she didn't understand. God knows what the CIA and her father told her exactly.

Truth was, Irina could help her. She could bring the old Sydney back. She just wished they didn't have to go through that to achieve her goal. If only Jack had let her help…but it was too late for regrets now.

The CIA had sent her on a mission to Panama, supposed to result in Sloane's capture. Instead, she had taken the opportunity to escape with him and had given him the Rambaldi manuscript as per their agreement. She had left the scene with him and Sark as planned, but had split up with them at the airport. As tempting as his offer of furthering their partnership sounded, she had other things to do at the time. Things that went against Sloane's plans, and it started with her daughter. She had to get to Sydney and give her her memory back. She would deal with the consequences of her actions, regarding both Sloane and the CIA, later.

Will Tippin eventually left the bathroom, dressed in his night attire, running shorts and white tee. Sydney and he had settled on a slumber party of sorts: dinner, movies, and junk food while dressed in comfortable clothing. Francie would join them later; she had to be at her restaurant to greet her customers. Sydney was supposed to be next to hit the shower but Will couldn't find her anywhere. The kitchen was in order but the meal didn't seem ready. A bunch of carrots, tomatoes and a funny looking cucumber were lying on the counter, waiting to be chopped.

A few minutes later, he determined that Sydney was nowhere in the house or outside and that none of her other clothes or purse were missing.

He called Jack Bristow.

"We're here," announced Irina as she opened Sydney's door. The car was parked in a private hangar of LAX airport. She was trying her hardest to appear friendly instead of threatening but Sydney seemed to think her the latter. "Come with me," Irina said, placing her hand on Sydney's back, gently pushing her toward her awaiting jet.

Inside, Sydney looked around as if she had never seen such plane. Irina was sad. Each of her daughter's actions reminded her that Sydney had no memories left at all. After her escape, Irina had obtained the CIA files on the botched mission. Sydney had been found wandering the streets of Florence, Italy.

The examinations she underwent at the hospital showed several bruises and needle tracks on her body. She also had a mild concussion from being hit over the head with what must have been the butt of a gun. The doctors' theory was that her amnesia was due to that concussion and her captors had released her because she honestly could give them nothing.

Irina knew better. At least one of the needle marks Sydney bore was due to an injection of a certain green fluid. Used on the Passenger, said fluid caused the subject to see things. Used on someone who was not the Passenger, the fluid was harmless. Used on the Chosen One, the fluid would wipe clean her memory, thus placing her in a state of 'blissful ignorance', as explained in one of Rambaldi's manuscripts.

No amount of regression therapy or electroshocks would give Sydney back her memories. Even small talk with friends and former acquaintances would not spark the tiniest bit of memory. The CIA thought Sydney's condition a classical amnesia but it was not, and Irina could not tell them that. It would mean revealing the existence of the Rambaldi fluid and its use. It would expose the Passenger and it was the last thing Irina wanted.

Only she could help Sydney and do so without jeopardizing the Passenger's safety. She wished there was another way but there wasn't.

"Buckle your seatbelt," ordered Irina as she steered Sydney toward a seat and took the one facing it. The take off was smooth and quick. Irina kept her eyes trained on Sydney, hoping she would look at her, but to no avail. Sydney seemed entirely focused on the lights of the city, slowly getting harder and harder to spot. Irina remembered that technically, it was the first time Sydney took a plane. She sighed inwardly and watched the city move away as well.

"Don't you want to know where we are going, or why I took you?" Asked Irina, one hour into the flight. Sydney ignored her but the older woman saw her twitch at the sudden break in the silence they had settled in. "Sydney?" Insisted Irina as she bent forward to take Sydney's hands into her own and separate them. Her daughter looked at her for a split second and then to their hands clasped and back to her again, never looking at her in the eyes. She was dying to pull away but didn't dare to, Irina could tell. She sighed, hurt by her child's fear of her, though she knew it was not her fault.

Not letting go, but instead gently massaging her hands to ease the tension in them, she spoke, barely above a whisper. "I'm sorry if I scared you, I didn't mean to." It was true, she had kept reminding herself that she was kidnapping a young woman, not a fully trained and deadly CIA agent. She had proceeded as patiently and gently as she could under the circumstances. She had acted without using physical force, but Sydney seemed afraid nonetheless.

"You haven't said a word to me since we left your house," she went on, desperate for some semblance of acknowledgement other than cold palms trembling in her hands. "Do you know who I am?" She suddenly asked, pushed by an intuition of some sort. Intuition confirmed when Sydney slowly nodded her head. "And who am I?" She asked, voice still soft, as if talking to a frightened child.

"Irina…Derevko," replied Sydney, still avoiding eye contact.

"And what else do you know about me?"

Sydney shrugged, making Irina smile. She had never seen Sydney shrug. It was so typical of teenagers to shrug in response to every question. It was oddly comforting to see her thirty-year old daughter shrug at her.

"Does that mean 'nothing' or 'I don't want to tell'?" She probed, not about to let go of the only link she had. Again, she received a shrug in answer. She was not amused anymore, but she went on, as calmly as before. "Who told you my name?"

"My father." The words felt foreign in Sydney's mouth. At first, she called him 'Mr. Bristow' when he visited her in the hospital. Later, when she had been told who he was, she had kept calling him 'Sir'. One day, when she was more aware of her surroundings than before, she had spotted the stab of pain in his eyes. She had started calling him 'Jack' but the pain in his eyes had kept coming back, just less stronger than when she called him 'Sir' or 'Mr. Bristow'. She couldn't call him 'Dad', or even 'Father'. The second was actually worse than anything was.

"Of course, it was Jack," muttered Irina in realisation. He had probably told Sydney how horrible Irina was and it unnerved her. Surely, the truth about Irina was not sweet and fluffy but she would never hurt her own child and Jack knew that. He had to tell Sydney about Irina in case she tried to contact her daughter after escaping. Smart man. By alienating Irina to Sydney, he was making sure she would not let herself be approached by her mother. Jack probably didn't tell her who Irina Derevko really was in relation to her though.

She felt hate for her husband then. It was cruel to scare Sydney about Irina as much as it was cruel to scare a child about the monster under the bed. That was low, even for him. She was sometimes amazed at the lengths her husband would go to for the sole purpose of driving her away from Sydney. First, there was the staged explosion in Madagascar, and now this.

"Please?"

Irina's focus shifted back to Sydney, who had tears running down her cheeks and was desperately trying to free her hands from Irina's hold. The woman realised she had been viciously gripping her daughter's hands at the mention of Jack. She released them immediately, a horrified look on her face. She had done it again. She had hurt her daughter without even realising it. "I'm sorry sweetheart," her mouth moved on its own, forming a sincere apology. Sydney didn't reply. Using a different tack, Irina tried to pick up the conversation where they left off; hoping Sydney would reveal what she knew exactly. "I bet Jack told you I had done bad things, didn't he?"

Sydney nodded, puzzled at the casual attitude the woman had when evoking her crimes. The woman quirked her eyebrows, as if to say 'I'm listening, what did he say?' Sydney didn't see the point in telling her and voice her thoughts. "Why do you insist I tell you what you did?"

Irina smirked, finding a streak of the stubborn daughter she knew. "Because I don't think he told you 'everything'.

"There's more?" Yelped Sydney sincerely horrified at the prospect of learning more about her kidnapper's accomplishments.

"Not in the way you think. I'll tell you everything you want to know, in time, but first, I need you to tell me exactly what he told you about me."

Sydney nodded, suddenly curious. "He told me you recently escaped from jail and that you might come after me."

"Why?"

"Why what?" Asked Sydney with such a sincere bemused look that Irina would have almost laughed.

"Why would I come after you?" She asked instead, practical.

"To hurt me," replied Sydney matter-of-factly, as if the answer was obvious.

"Me, hurting you? Why would I do that?" She asked again, both horrified and furious at Jack's way of depicting her as an evil btch. She tried to show a friendly, wondering smile, but inside, she was boiling, wishing she could kill something, or Jack.

"To get to him, because you hate him."

Irina chuckled, and regretted it immediately as it startled Sydney and turned her back into the quivering woman Irina had met earlier. True, Jack hated her, and the feeling was reciprocated.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to spook you. It's just…Jack is so…full of himself." Sydney was listening to her but didn't reply. Irina had to start everything again. "I told you, I would never hurt you. I can't." She remained evasive, hoping to spark curiosity in Sydney and prompt some words, a question, out of her. No such luck. "We've been together for like, three, four hours? Did I hurt you? Do I seem like the person Jack said I was?"

Sydney shrugged, back to clutching her hands together. "I don't know. Not really, I guess. I mean…I'm not bleeding or anything."

Irina nodded. It was not the answer she had hoped for but it was better than no answer at all. At least Sydney was talking again. "You're safe with me, you don't have to be afraid of me. I won't hurt you," she stressed the last part.

"Then what do you want with me?"

Irina drew in a breath. "It's a long and complicated story. Do you want something to eat or drink before we start? I recall witnessing a confrontation between yourself and your dinner earlier, a cucumber I think?"

The joke made its magic and Sydney smiled. A true, Sydney Bristow-like smile. "Yeah I'm kind of hungry. I can't pick up anything sharp without cutting myself. I guess I'm clumsy." She lifted her hand in front of her face, examining the band-aid on her index finger.

Irina smiled too; the idea of Sydney being clumsy with a knife was just hilarious. In their family, the use of knives was some sort of tradition, like learning how to drive. Her father was a butcher, prompting her older sister's choice of career, Elena, who had become a surgeon. Katya and she favoured knives in their torture session and in their business dealings in general because of their father's profession. Irina didn't know if Sydney had a fetish for knives also, before the amnesia. She would have to ask her once Sydney recovered her memory.

Irina put two bottles of water and a packet of Oreos on the table between herself and Sydney. She watched as Sydney picked up a biscuit and eyed it warily.

"What's wrong, I thought you loved Oreos?"

Sydney took her eyes away from the biscuit to look at the woman facing her, a frown on her face. "What? How do you know what I like and don't like when I myself don't?"

TBC