Irina: Truth takes time. (2:01 The Enemy Walks In)

Sydney studied her father over the dining room table. His invitation to dinner had come as a welcome surprise, and one she didn't completely understand. Looking at him now, she realized he looked different.

He looks tired, she thought, and had the sudden urge to hug him. She wasn't sure how the gesture would be taken, and remained in place. Casually, she said, "Mom says hi."

"You spoke to your mother?"

Sydney had anticipated the almost non-reaction – this was Jack Bristow, after all; what she did not expect was the wistful note in his voice that he couldn't quite hide.

"We kind of ran into each other in Prague." Sydney watched, waiting for him to ask what had happened.

Instead, he took a sip of his drink. Then he slowly looked at Sydney. "How is she?"

Sydney blinked; this was the same man who had wanted Irina dead just a few months before. She tilted her head and absently brushed a lock of hair behind her ear, not realizing how much she looked like her mother as she did so, and didn't understand why Jack looked away.

"That was the same thing she asked about you." Lowering her voice, Sydney continued, "Dad, do you really not remember anything about that night?"

He shook his head. "Your mission to Prague, was it a success?"

"Mom destroyed the manuscript. Aren't you going to ask if she said anything? Do you think she shot you?"

Jack smiled, and took another sip of his drink. Sydney hoped it wasn't alcohol; the way he was knocking it back couldn't be good, especially since he was still on antibiotics.

"Dad?"

"I know she didn't shoot me, Sydney." Another sip. "Irina doesn't miss."

Sydney didn't know what to say to that. Seeing that Jack had put the glass down, she reached across, picked it up, and took a sip. She met Jack's amused gaze. "Apple juice?"

"Doctor's orders."

Sydney smiled and returned the glass. "What does the doctor say about when you can come back to work?"

"I'm not so sure I want to."

Sydney dropped her fork in shock, then knocked her head on the corner of the table when she bent down to pick it up. Straightening, she rubbed her head and said, "But I thought – the CIA is your life. Are you really thinking of retiring?"

Jack sighed. "I don't know. Kendall wants me to head up a task force to find your mother."

Sydney nodded; Kendall had approached her and Vaughn to be part of it. Vaughn had agreed immediately; Sydney had not yet given an answer. A part of her resented being asked to hunt down her mother – despite everything, Irina was still her mother.

"He says it's a promotion," Jack continued. "What do you think? Should I take it?"

Sydney looked at her father – really looked at him, tried to hear what he wasn't saying. His question: how is your mother? His certainty that she hadn't shot him. The way he said her name without any of the bitterness he'd displayed when Irina had been in CIA custody.

She thought she understood, and smiled. "I think you have very different reasons for wanting to find Mom."

And she knew what she was going to tell Kendall.

Sydney bent her head and studied her shoes. They were shiny and black, and her favourite. Her mother had taken her shopping just last week, and Sydney had seen the shoes and decided then and there that she absolutely had to have them. When they got home, her father had laughed and told Laura that Sydney was turning out to be just like her. Sydney wasn't quite sure what that meant, but knew it had to be good. And she had the shiny black shoes, so she was happy.

This morning Jack had cried when he helped her put them on. It was strange that he had been the one to help her dress – she had a pretty black dress too, Aunt Emily had brought it the night before, and she'd also been crying – Laura was always the one who helped her.

Everyone was crying these days, and Sydney knew it was because Laura was gone.

She looked up at the coffin – it just looked like a big brown box to Sydney, and she was waiting to hear it cough.

Jack said they were going to put the coffin in the ground. Sydney didn't understand why, but she supposed it was one of those grown-up things that would be explained one day. Like: where do babies come from? And, why is the sky blue?

Why do coffins go in the ground?

Sydney was glad Laura wasn't in the coffin. She didn't think being in the ground was any fun; there were no books, and it was dark, and what would happen if you got lonely?

Jack had said Laura was dead. Said that she drowned in the river. Sydney knew that wasn't true. Laura could swim; Sydney knew that.

She knew that.

Except, everybody was crying and saying how sorry they were and the priest was talking about heaven – and only dead people went to heaven. Laura had told Sydney that, so she knew it was true.

And Jack was holding Sydney's hand and squeezing so tightly that her fingers were numb.

Jack never cried, but last night, after Emily left, he climbed into bed with Sydney and held her close the whole night, and her pillow was wet when she woke up. And then this morning when he dressed her . . .

Sydney blinked, her vision suddenly blurring.

But her mother couldn't be dead. It wasn't allowed; it wasn't fair.

She looked up at her father, feeling suddenly very small and lost, not knowing that he felt just as small and just as lost.

"Daddy?" Her voice cracked, and when he glanced down at her, she knew.

For the first time since Jack had sat down with her and explained what had happened, Sydney cried.