Prompt #20: It's a damn cold night, trying to figure out this life, won't you take me by the hand, take me somewhere new (Avril Lavigne – I'm With You)
She's in Sao Paolo when she hears of Sydney's death, and for a moment it's too awful to comprehend so she just stands there, staring numbly at the person who told her. Her first reaction is denial – it can't be true, it's not possible, Sydney's the Chosen One, she can't be dead.
She orders her men out of the room and picks up her cell phone. She dials half the number, then changes her mind. She needs to see Jack face to face; she needs to see his eyes to know if he's lying to her.
A few hours later, she's on a plane. Desperate as she is to know the truth, she isn't foolish enough to rush straight back into the US. For all she knows, this could be an elaborate ruse to draw her out. Of course, for that to work, they'd have to believe she actually cares for her daughter, and though it's true, she doesn't think they believe it.
Two days, and she's in Los Angeles, watching from a distance as Jack lets himself into his house, dressed in a black suit. Funeral black, Irina thinks, but still she refuses to believe.
She waits until she's sure it's safe, then breaks into the house. Jack is in Sydney's old bedroom, sitting on her bed, holding a photograph. Irina steps into the room, her gun raised, and says, "Tell me what's going on."
Jack looks up. "I was wondering when you'd show up." He sounds tired.
"Whose idea was this?"
He shakes his head and his gaze returns to the photo.
Irina's confidence wavers, but her voice is firm when she says, "I know Sydney's not dead."
Jack looks at her again, and there's pain in his eyes. She's never seen him this broken and she knows, she knows. Her strength leaves her and she leans against the door.
"Who?"
"I don't know. Sloane maybe—"
"Sloane wouldn't. He believes she's the Chosen One."
"Do not defend Arvin Sloane to me!"
Irina looks around the room, sees the child she left behind and feels the sharp sting of regret. She had told Sydney there would be time to explain later, and she'd been wrong.
"I'll find out who's responsible." She's not sure who she's promising: herself, Jack, Sydney, perhaps all three of them.
Jack stands up, the photograph still in his hands, and Irina sees it's one of Sydney. "And then we'll kill them."
We, she thinks, and holds out her hand. Jack reaches out to take it and they stand like that for a moment, as if twenty years haven't passed and Sydney is going to come running in at any moment.
"How can I contact you?" he asks, and suddenly they're back in the present.
She gives him her cell phone number, then squeezes his hand and slips out of the room. Her heart is still heavy as she returns to her car, but there's a sense of purpose. They will find Sydney's killers and make them pay.
And after that, perhaps, there will be time to grieve.