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Before either of them could muster a response, the sharp report of a weapon firing cut through the air. Even as Jack hit the floor, taking cover behind the table that Sloane had strapped him down to, he heard the distinctive sound of a bullet hitting a person and an accompanying gasp of shock and pain. His first instinct was to look for Sydney. He saw her a moment later, her body pressed up against the wall, standing well away from the room's only doorway with her gun in her hand, using it to carefully covering the ceiling where she and Irina had come from, in case the shooter out and the hall had a partner.

Quickly he turned back around and found Irina slumped to the floor. He could see the blood pouring out of the wound in his chest. From his vantage point he could also see the shooter aiming his weapon at Irina's crumpled form. There wasn't enough time for Jack to warn her, and even if he could he wasn't certain that she could have moved fast enough. He didn't even hesitate long enough to stop and think about why he was trying so hard to save Irina.

He knew that there was no he could even make it to her side soon enough to pull her out of the man's line of fire. His desperation increased as he saw the shooter begin to take his shot. A flicker of motion caught his eye. It was Arvin, moving out of the line of fire. Jack acted without thinking. He dove out from behind the overturned table that he had been using for cover and slammed into Sloane. The older man stumbled forwards into the path of the bullets and then Jack was surging passed Sloane, ruthlessly kicking the gun out of the man's hand and quickly knocking him unconscious.

He scooped up the shooter's gun and looked out into the rest of the hallway. It was empty for the moment. He turned around and headed back into the room where Sloane had held him prisoner. He didn't even spare his supposed former friend a glance.

As he had suspected, Sydney was already at her mother's side. She had one hand pressed to the wound on Irina's chest, trying to slow the bleeding. She glanced up at him and said quietly, "It's pretty bad, Dad."

He nodded, trusting her assessment. Sydney had seen enough gun shot wounds to know what she was talking about. He could also see the hint of uncertainty in her eyes.

Would he help Irina?

He stared down at Irina, at his wife and then made a simple choice. For the first time in years, where his wife was concerned at least, Jack Bristow made a decision with his heart rather than his head. He bent down beside her and brushed his thumb gently over her cheek.

"Don't go to sleep, Sweetheart," he informed her sharply, but with none of his customary loathing. "You need to stay awake for now."

Irina's eyes, which had been slowly drifting shut, snapped open with surprise at the touch of his hand and what he had said. "Jack," she asked with more weakness in her voice than she liked. She was seriously considering the possibility that her injuries were worse than she thought and that she was delirious. That was the only explanation that she could think of.

His only response was a nod. Irina felt someone squeeze her hand and she looked over at Sydney.

Sydney tried to smile at her, but it only came off as a worried twist of her lips. "Keep talking, Mom," she said tightly.

Irina stared at her daughter; she knew what Sydney was doing. She, like Jack, was tyring to keep her awake, but even under normal circumstances a conversation between the members of this family was tense. Idle chit chat didn't work well for them. She watched Jack with Sydney.

"Let me see it," he stated sharply and Sydney obediently lifted her bloody hand away. Jack looked at it for a moment and then picked up Irina's hand and placed it firmly over the wound, "Can you hold that?"

"Of course, Jack," she said trying to summon some of her usual tough imperviousness. It was hard to do with a gaping chest wound. She watched, detached as Jack handed Sydney the gun he had taken off of the shooter.

"Do you bring a getaway vehicle," he asked Irina a moment later.

"Out on the street. Around the corner." It was all she could do to get out those short almost sentences.

He and Sydney exchanged a Look and Sydney squeezed Irina's hand and bent over to kiss her cheek. She started to say something, but stopped after she opened her mouth. Without a word she turned away and moved towards the door with her gun in hand.

Irina bit back a wrenching groan of pain, barely managing to turn it into a choked half-sob, as Jack picked her up in his arms and followed Sydney. When she finally managed to regulate her breathing enough that she was calm and no longer gasping for breath, she studied his face for a long moment. It had been quite some time since she had, had the opportunity to simply stare at him. So much about him had changed; he looked so much older, so much harsher and grimmer. In his face she could read the lines of pain that had appeared over the last twenty years. Most of them she knew were of her own doing. But so much about had remained the same too, buried below the mask he used to hide whatever he was really feeling, Irina could see the man she had married and fallen in love with. She could see the incredibly romantic young man that loved her with his whole heart. She felt the beginnings of a tear start to well up in her and she forced herself to push it back.

She might be both emotionally and physically vulnerable at the moment, but she was Irina Derevko and she had no intention of crying over a gunshot wound and a bad day.

"Is Sydney okay," she asked him a moment later. She knew her injury was serious and her daughter's reaction earlier hadn't escaped her.

Jack looked down at her, oblivious to the whirlwind of thoughts that had been flowing through her mind, and nodded. "She's worried about you. She'll be find once she knows that you're okay."

Irina nodded, accepting that. "Jack," she said carefully a moment later, as she felt the sun on her face. With half of her attention she noted that they were now outside on the street. She saw Sydney fall back until she was only half a step in front of her parents and quickly tucked her pistol into the back of her pants. "Jack," she tried again, but somehow she couldn't quite get her tongue around the words she wanted to say.

He seemed to notice her struggle as he glanced down at her. "It's okay, Irina," he said easily, "We're almost there."

She wanted to scream at him that it was most definitely not okay, but her mind and body were rebelling against what she wanted and she could do nothing to stop her fall into unconsciousness.

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