Chapter Thirty-one: Saving

A house. His house, though not the one he lived in now. His hair was greasy, his face unshaven. He hadn't showered or changed clothes in two days, and he didn't even remember the last time he'd eaten. He always forgot to take care of himself when someone he loved was in trouble.

Irina stepped out of a bedroom, his guest bedroom, wrapped in a satiny black robe. "Michael?"

"Irina," he said. In his current state, he barely even recognized her. "I'm sorry I woke you."

"No, it's fine." She approached him, looking almost crestfallen as she looked him up and down. "You look like hell, Michael."

"I know," he said with a sigh, running his hand back through his hair. "I came home to shower."

"How are Sydney and the baby?"

"The same." The same, meaning, still fighting for their lives. "Look, I just want to shower and get back to the hospital."

"Let me fix you something to eat."

"No, thank you, Irina, I'm fine."

"You're not fine," Irina said, her voice startlingly sharp. "You're a tired, weak mess."

"Look, Irina--"

"You haven't seen your son for two days, and you haven't even asked how he is."

Michael's eyes widened in surprise. Jack? Jack was fine. Jack was in his bedroom, sleeping like an angel. It was Jack's mother, Jack's sister that were in trouble. "He's okay, isn't he?"

"No, Michael, he's not okay," Irina snapped. "He's worried to death about his mommy and sister and he needs his daddy. He'll continue to need his daddy if something happens to his mommy and sister, and I think you'd do well to remember that."

Michael merely stared at her, allowing the weight of her words to sink in. "If something happens." If Syd and their baby girl didn't make it-- oh, God, he didn't even want to think about it. But it wasn't just the two of them he had to think about. "You're right," he said, after a long moment of silence.

"Of course I'm right." Now Irina's voice was soft, almost pitying. She moved toward him with a sad smile, smoothing his hair back from his forehead. "Poor Michael," she whispered. "I can only imagine what this must be like for you."

"It's not just happening to me." Not that he'd remembered that lately. "Sydney's your daughter."

"Yes," Irina allowed. She smiled sadly at him for another moment before taking a step back. "Take a shower, Mike," she advised. "Then try your best to get some sleep. Of course you'll want to go back to the hospital tomorrow, but I think Jack would really like to have breakfast with his father."

Michael offered her a weak smile. "I'd like that, too." He moved toward her and planted a clumsy kiss on her cheek. "Good night, Irina."

"Good night, sweetheart."

Irina had saved him, that time. Sydney had saved him when he'd been asked to leave the CIA, and Irina had saved him then. It was almost funny. He spent so much of his life trying to be so strong for everyone else. Yet so often, he was the one who needed saving.

He sat up in bed, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. A casual glance at the alarm clock told him it was eight a.m. Wow. He had actually gotten a decent night's sleep for once. He looked over at Sydney, smiling to find her still in a deep sleep, her brown hair falling across her face. He brushed it away, planting a tender kiss on her forehead. She stirred, smiling drowsily, but didn't open her eyes. He climbed out of bed, plucking his robe from a hook on the back of the door, and headed down to the kitchen.

To his surprise, he found his father-in-law, already dressed for the day and standing over the stove, monitoring the progress of pans of eggs and bacon.

"Uh--" Michael said, not sure what to do with such a sight. "Morning, Jack."

"Michael," Jack greeted, glancing at him over his shoulder. "This coffee is crap," he announced, lifting the cup that rested next to him on the counter. "Do you serve this swill at your restaurant?"

"I do, as a matter of fact," Michael said, feeling a twinge of irritation. "I've never had any complaints."

"Mmm," Jack responded, taking a sip and making a face. "And you don't keep your cupboards stocked very well, either. I was going to make hash browns, but you don't have any potatoes."

"We eat at the restaurant, mostly," Michael said irritably. What a way to start the morning. Irina in his dreams and Jack in his kitchen. "You didn't have to cook, Jack."

"Sure I did," Jack said with a smirk. "You don't have any cereal."

"Point taken," Michael said with a sigh. "Have you checked on flights?"

"We leave the island at eleven," Jack said unceremoniously. "Which means you should probably get Sydney up soon so the two of you can pack and do whatever else you need to do to get ready. Your son is in the shower, and Keith will be over within the hour."

"Wonderful," Michael muttered, helping himself to a cup of coffee from the pot Jack had brewed.

Jack smirked. "You don't like him?"

"What's to like?" Michael responded, settling down at the kitchen table. "He keeps my daughter out till all hours of the night, sneaks into her bedroom."

"And you never did anything like that when you were his age?"

Michael winced, remembering the clumsy sex he and his high school girlfriend had had on the couch in her parents' basement, removing as few clothes as possible in case they heard someone coming down the stairs. "If Keith is anything like I was when I was a teenager, I should be terrified," he murmured.

"Oh, I don't know," Jack said, amusement glinting in his brown eyes. "You turned out okay, and I'm sure your high school girlfriends did, too."

Michael grimaced. "I don't know if I'd say I turned out okay." His life certainly hadn't gone the way he'd planned, anyway.

"Oh, come on." Jack placed a plate and fork in front of Michael and began dishing up eggs and bacon. "You've spent the last two decades married to a woman you're desperately in love with, you have two great kids, and ten years ago you took down one of the world's largest crime syndicates. Men have accomplished a lot less in one lifetime and called themselves successful."

"Except that the leader of that crime syndicate is still out there," Michael said glumly, pushing his eggs around on his plate. "And she has one of my great kids right now."

Jack joined him at the table, staring at him silently for a moment. "We'll get her, Michael," he said quietly.

"Yeah." Michael stared down at his plate, the eggs and bacon there blurring under his teary gaze. "I know."

Jack crunched on a piece of bacon and made a face. "This tastes strange," he declared.

Michael managed a small smile. "It's made out of soy, or something."

"It's what?" Jack asked, perplexed.

Michael's smile widened. "Emily's going through this phase where she doesn't eat meat. I don't know if it'll last, or what, but we don't want her to starve to death in the meantime."

Jack took another bite, cocking his head to one side in consideration. "It's not so bad."

Michael laughed, surprising himself with the sound.

Jack nodded, looking oddly certain. "Emily's going to be fine," he determined. "I think she's going to be just fine."