Chapter Eleven

PARIS, FRANCE

The twittering Bourrett had not helped to alleviate Jack's subdued mood; if it were possible he had only served to annoy the CIA agent further. When Bourrett was nervous he talked, a lot. And being in Jack's formidable presence did not exactly have a calming effect. The Frenchman was, for now, locked in Jack's rental outside the bistro he was currently inside. It was quiet and had a pleasant atmosphere, it enabled him to think and reflect. Only 1 hour had gone by since he had intruded on the scientists slumber; in that time all he was able to do was wait. It was hard for him to feel so useless. For now he could only wait and hope his contact came through and found either Irina or Sark; preferably both, before the deadline the scientist had given. He knew what Irina had done: double crossed Sloane, no surprise there, and hidden the formula his nemesis needed. Though this time she had not been able to execute a quick escape. Sloane had caught her and administered what poison he had left into her in the feeble hope that she would give up its location in return for the antidote.

What he did not know was why. She would not have taken Sloane's creation out of spite; Irina always had a purpose. Right now it seemed that secret would die with her. All he could do was come up with possible answers of his own and wonder which one, if any were right. Had she wanted this poison for her own devious devices? Jack dismissed that one for now. Did she want to destroy it? Had her conscience suddenly risen up? Jack was driving himself crazy. Barnett would have a field day.

His musing were interrupted by the maitre 'd who stood over him, wondering whether or not to interrupt. "Monsieur, there is a lady here to speak to you," the young gentleman pointed in the direction of the door, which was just out of sight.

"Thank you," Jack finished the last dregs of his coffee and stood. Could Irina had found him? He kind of hoped so. Instead he was mildly surprised by the appearance of Sydney. He came to a stop in front of her, "what are you doing here?" he asked curtly.

"I couldn't just go back to LA and do nothing," she answered apologetically.

"So you thought you would stay and follow me instead?" he was a little mad but then again he would have done the same in her position. Jack could not really fault her.

"No," she shook her head for emphasis. "I thought that if I came to see you sooner that you would just --."

"Make you board another plane?" he offered. Jack knew by the way she hung her head and looked bashful that he had hit the jackpot. When she did not look ready to say anything as yet, he spoke again; he sounded more understanding. "I know why you stayed, Sydney. Had our roles been reversed I cannot say I would have done different.

She smiled, relieved, before telling him her news. "As it turns out it's a good job that I stayed; I got a call from Sark. He told me where mom is."

Both agents stood, 1 hour later thanks to rush our traffic, outside the address Sark had given to Sydney. As much as Jack would have liked to believe that his wife was beyond that door he was highly doubtful. Sark's intentions were dubious at best. Or maybe he had just underestimated the young man's loyalties to Irina. Jack was no fool; as he rapped on the front door he held his concealed gun, Sydney was stod alongside the wall and out of sight of whoever would greet them.

She spoke quickly as she waited. "Dad, if mom is in there, the CIA --."

"Will never know," he knew it would ease his daughters mind if she had the knowledge that her mother would not be taken away and locked up. And if Jack was honest to himself he knew it would be pointless to contact them anyway; if Irina truly was dying she would not live long enough to see through the duration of the journey home. He swallowed the lump in his throat and composed himself, even as Sydney averted her eyes to do the same. Whatever happened after they entered this place; things would not be the same.

The door was eased open after they heard the safety chain being moved on the inside, father and daughter readied themselves.

Sark awaited them and opened the door fully to allow Jack to survey the length of the corridor. The older man stepped inside, his gun held out in front of him as Sydney followed after to frisk Sark, who rolled his eyes as their obvious distrust. "I told you this was not a trick, Sydney."

She returned his comment with a 'gimme a break' look. "And you expected me to believe you?"

"Who else is here?" the question came from Jack, who was about to enter the living room.

Sark closed and relocked the front door before walking past Jack to the stairs, where he paused on the bottom step to say, "just the three of us." Before carrying on.

"Three?" Sydney mouthed to her father as she went in the same direction. She received a shrug in return. He led them up the stairs and to the left, to a room at the end of the hallway; the door of which was closed. He opened the door a crack and moved out of their way.

"After you," Jack said to Sark and indicated the room with a sweep of his hand.

Sark sighed; he was annoyed with all the fuss they were making, as if they had every reason to trust him. But he knew better than to argue with two agents with guns, he obliged and went into the room; though he kept his eyes fixed on the open door and not the bed 2 feet to his left. "As you can see it is perfectly safe," he said in clipped tones before exiting again.

The two agents stepped hesitantly into the room. It was fairly sized and they identified it as the master bedroom. Directly across from where they stood was a large window that almost spanned the length of the wall; through the net curtains a black railing could be seen across the bottom half of the window like a mini balcony. The room was illuminated by two apricot coloured lamps on either side of the double bed that was on the right hand side of the room. Across from the bed and set against the left wall was a table upon which was a steel bowl filled with water, a damp cloth was folded neatly next to it and beside that a packet of 24 ibuprofen. The floor was wooden tiled and as the only chair in the room was pushed back by the woman sat on it, the legs screeched. The bed was the focal point of the room and Sydney and Jack were split between the person tucked up on it and the woman that came towards them; grim faced.

"Oh my God," Sydney managed to get out as Emily stepped in front of her, arms reached out to take Sydney's hands in hers. "We wondered where mom had taken you after you recovered…" she stated and allowed Emily to draw her into a hug.

"I know…I asked her not to give away my location…I didn't want to put you both in danger should Arvin find out I was still alive," Emily pulled back and smiled halfheartedly. "I only wish it were under better circumstances." She stepped aside to give Sydney and unobstructed view of the beds occupant, but she had turned to her father.

Jack had already moved past the two women to stand right next to the bed to view the woman there. His breath caught. It had been 12 hours, or thereabouts, since he had last seen her, but her condition appeared to have decline. She looked so frail. Irina was asleep; had not even woken with the voices. She must have been exhausted to sleep so soundly. She looked peaceful, like he remembered her. He took the seat Emily had vacated and looked upon his wife, his equal, his enemy. Irina was many things to him she was the woman that was about to make him a widower. That darn lump was rising in his throat again.

He was vaguely aware of someone calling his name but only took notice when the person laid a hand on his shoulder. He turned to see Sydney, "I'm going to talk to Sark. Find out what he knows," she did not voice that she thought her father could do with some time alone. For that he was grateful.

He nodded mutely and heard Sydney leave the room. Emily remained to tell him, "She was calling for you in her sleep," she said softly. "She's been in and out of it for a couple of hours now. Jack I'm so sorry." Emily left then, to give his some privacy, and closed the door behind her.

Irina groaned in her sleep and her brow furrowed. She turned over onto her left side and winced as she did so, her left arm came up to wrap around her stomach though she remained asleep; it was done without conscious though, a reflex action.

Jack rose and crossed the room to the water bowl, he dipped the cloth inside and wrung out the excess liquid before taking up his previous position. He felt her forehead, she was burning up and he made a note to ask Emily how long Irina had been that way. He tapped the damp cloth lightly across her forehead, wiping away the beads of perspiration, and then down to the side of her pale face in an effort to keep her cooler. The strands of hair that had shifted in front of her eyes he moved to tuck behind her ear. He leant forward onto the bed and rested his chin on his clasped hands. He had never seen her so vulnerable before, even when in the CIA's custody she had possessed a magnetic power.

"I never wanted it to be this way," he eventually said, his voice lower than was usual. He was not even sure she could hear him. He almost hoped that she could not. As Jack and Laura he had always been able to say anything to her; it appeared now was no different with the bedside confessions. "I think I would rather this was one of your lies," his throat burned as he repressed his tears. Jack Bristow did not cry; one of them had to be strong.

"Jack…" the name was whispered and he half thought it was imagined. "Don't leave," her eyes remained closed and he could not even be certain she was aware enough to know he was actually in the room. Emily had said Irina called for him in her sleep before he arrived. She was probably just dreaming; he was curious to know what was happening in that subconscious of hers, though. Did she even know who she was anymore? This was hitting him more than he thought it would, more than he would ever admit.

Whatever frame of mind she was in his answer was the same. "I won't." She stretched out her right arm as if feeling for something and Jack held out his left hand. She took it and intertwined her fingers through his before pulling him close, forcing him to do the same; his hand she held under her chin like a comforter. Even in sleep she still controlled himl this time he found he had no problem with that. He leant forward and with his free right arm rested his elbow on the cream coloured pillow, he ran his finger along the bridge of her nose with a tenderness he had not possessed for a long time. The motion had always soothed her before.

"Thank you," he heard her say. Whether she had said it for him staying or because he was making her feel better he had no clue; he just knew that for the first time in years, he was sure she was sincere.

Emily was in the kitchen fixing them all something to eat, they were all hungry and perhaps sitting down to a meal would dissolve some of the tension. The door was closed and so she could not hear much of what was being said in the next room, just snatches of conversation. She had gathered that it was "work stuff" and so asked no questions.

Sydney and Sark were sat opposite each other in the living room, the former glanced at the clock on the wall; her father had been upstairs for about 20 minutes now, she had not expected him to remain with her mother for this long; there was so much bad blood between them both. She had heard no shouting so she took that as a plus. Sark intruded on her thought process, "I believe this is the first time we've been in a room together without us trying to kill each other."

"Day isn't over yet," she pointed out coolly.

"Don't be like that – we do have to work together, after all..."

"Out of necessity," Sydney cut in, refusing to be congenial to her enemy. Sark opened his mouth to speak but she got there first; anticipating what he was going to ask. "There's been no word. Vaughn said he would call when there was news --."

"Over 12 hours has passed," he sounded concerned.

"I am aware of that; it's a long flight back to LA," Sydney retorted snippily and looked to the clock again. "You didn't look at her…" she caught Sark's questioning expression out of the corner of her eye and elaborated. "Before, when you showed us the room. You avoided looking at her."

Sark peered down at his hands for a second, thoughtfully, before responding without actually answering. "And I noticed you did the same."

"She my mother. I'm not anxious to see her on her deathbed," Sydney's stomach dropped at the realisation that she had just as good as admitted that she had accepted the fact that her mom was dying.

Catching the infliction in her voice Sark glanced at her. "Irina may not be my mother but that does not mean we are not close; I have known her for a very long time and I have no wish to remember her as a dying woman," he paused before adding; as he now had Sydney's attention, "we are not so different."

She was about to protest to that when Jack entered the room; he was subdued, which was no less than she expected. At his daughters searching expression he said, "you mother is…settled."

Sydney took it as a hint not to disturb her yet; silence then resumed.

The sleep of the apartments occupants had gone on uninterrupted; they had each retired to bed, though Jack had slept on the couch and Sark relegated to the floor. They had eaten a meal prepared by Emily though there had been next to no conversation, what chat there had been was strained. Sydney woke around 8 hours later and was surprised to find not only had she slept that long but her father had as well. She did not know Sark's sleeping habits and so had no idea whether he usually slept for this length of time. As she opened the door to her room and stepped into the dimly lit hallway she stared at the door to the bedroom where her mother was; it called to her like a beacon and before she could check herself Sydney was moving towards it. She was afraid of what she might find beyond that door and as she slowly placed one foot in front of the other her dread grew. She breathed in and out deeply, chiding herself for her foolishness. The young agent stopped and reached out to take hold of the handle, then pushed it open and edged inside.

"Mom?" Sydney called out softly, apprehensive sounding. When there was no response she tried again as she stepped closer to the bed, and the prone figure curled up in the centre, "mom?" She rationalized her worry and tried not to panic; her mother was just sleeping. Irina's back was facing the door so Sydney had no choice but to walk around to the other side. The room itself was dark as the light coloured curtains were still closed; though some of the early suns rays filtered in. Sydney crouched down in front of the bed and held out her hand to hover above her mother's mouth, the covers enveloped her body sp Sydney was unable to detect any movement like the steady rise and fall of a persons chest as they breathed. Her hand was centimeters from her mouth when Irina stirred and her hand shot back to cover her own mouth to stifle a surprised but relieved gasp.

She sat down now instead, with her back against the small bedside cabinet; she closed her eyes.

And opened them again when she heard her mothers voice; quiet and barely audible. Sydney shifted positions to face her. "When did you arrive?" Irina's eyes fluttered open and closed as they adjusted again to seeing. Her throat was dry as a bone and she swallowed to alleviate some of the discomfort. Her head was pounding and little white dots danced across her field of vision. That probably had more to do with having no sustenance for gosh knows how many hours. How many days had it been since Sloane had imprisoned her? That was one of the last times she had had food. The hunger pangs coupled with the poisons effects; which were steadily increasing, were enough to make her feel very nauseous, though she was loathe to admit that. Irina was dying but she was still proud, and stubborn as a mule. And the dizziness! The room spun before her blurry eyes and was unable to get a fix on anything. Irina altered her position on the bed and regretted it immediately. She felt as though she were being rolled around and was unable to stop.

But that was more bearable than the pain she felt in her stomach. She wanted to scream, to weep even; though she could not do that. Her strength stopped her from doing that.

"Sark contacted me, told me you were here," Sydney explained. Seeing her mother in this state pained her beyond belief; it was obvious that Irina was trying to mask her pain and the younger woman admired her for that. The CIA would hate that, that she admired her mother; the criminal. Sydney bit her lip, worried suddenly that her mother did not want her there.

Irina put her mind at rest as she responded; it hurt to talk. Heck it hurt to breath, every time she took a breath a stabbing pain in her chest left her reeling. "I'm glad you came," Sydney was hunched forward on the bed and Irina took one of her hands that rested that. Her daughter relaxed and managed a smile, though it was difficult when all she wanted to do was cry. "I want you to do something for me."

"No," Sydney refused and hurriedly explained. "Whatever you want doing; you can do yourself when --."

"When I get better?" Irina finished and shook her head. "We both know that isn't going to happen," she said calmly, before wiping away a tear that ran down her daughter's cheek, "I wish it had not come to this." She spoke regretfully, her voice still low.

Sydney closed her eyes tight shut and set her head down on the mattress, Irina ran her hand through Sydney's hair soothingly; hushing her. "I don't want you to die…" she managed to say through her anguish. She pulled back to stare at her mother, whose eyes seemed unfocussed. Sydney leant towards her; the woman she had tracked, shot at, cursed and cried for, and wrapped her arms around her in a hug. Whispering, "please don't die," before her tears spilled over.

In that moment Irina knew she had her daughter back.

The smell of cooking bacon and sausages wafted up the stairs and throughout the rooms of the house. Sark was the one that was doing the cooking whilst Emily was out of the house to pick up groceries; her food stores were depleted with all the guests. Jack was awake and stood in the doorway of the kitchen, his stomach rumbled but he was watching the new resident chef to make sure nothing was stuck into their food. Sark was growing frustrated with being checked up on every five minutes. There had been little conversation as Sark steadfastly refused to divulge any information, and Jack did not want to use force or threatening means to procure details with Emily being around.

"If you do insist on hovering can you at least pass me the eggs?" Sark asked testily.

Jack waited a beat before going to the refrigerator to pass the box of 6 free-range eggs. It was amusing really; not long ago he was trying to take the Brit into CIA custody and now he was helping him prepare breakfast.

"If you would like to make yourself useful, Agent Bristow, you could begin by making some toast," Sark suggested as he cracked two eggs into a cup before starting to beat them together. So intent was he on coming up with things for Jack to do he did not keep his concentration on the cooking food behind him.

Until Jack drew his attention to it. "Your bacon is burning," he stated.

Sark practically threw the cup back onto the counter as he returned to his partially smoldering bacon with a, "damn!"

Sydney appeared in the doorway, her shoulders slumped and eyes red and puffy. Jack immediately became concerned; both for her and Irina, he looked to the stairs as if pondering whether to go back up. "She's sleeping again." Sydney answered to Jack's unasked questioned. Not dead; his stomach ceased it's churning. "Mom is…I don't think she'll last much longer," she looked into the kitchen to where Sark was but he turned away, though not before she caught his grim expression. Vaughn had to come soon.

"The food is almost ready," Sark announced; purposely completely off subject.

Sydney nodded, accepting the rapid change in conversation, and happy for it. "Smell's good."

"Sark made it," Jack added.

She smirked in response, faintly amused. "You cook?"

Sark replied as he dished the food onto 3 plates, a 4th smaller one was set aside from the rest. "When the occasion calls for it."

Jack headed deeper into the kitchen to stand by the small plate whilst he waited for Sark to put food onto it; that done he picked it up along with a glass of water he had poured earlier. "You're mother may be hungry," he said by way of explanation before leaving the room.

As Jack made his way along the corridor to "the room" he could not help wondering; as he glanced down at the food, if this would be Irina's last meal. The thought brought him more pain than he thought it would have done. He nudged the door open with his foot and gave a start when he saw the bed was empty. He quickly put the plate and glass on the table before exiting the room; his first panicked thought that she had somehow gotten passed them and vacated the apartment. He looked to the right to scan the length of the corridor when he saw her.

She was leaning heavily against the wall outside the bathroom for support; her legs, which were visible due to the beige slip she was wearing, did not appear able to support her and looked like they would buckle at any second. Her eyes were shut as of she was trying to get her equilibrium back. They opened and she lifted her head; despite her imminent death she still came across as dignified. Irina stared at him and for the first time Jack was at a loss with what to do. He did not know how to act around her in this situation; it was different earlier as she had been sleeping. He started to wonder how his various possible responses might affect her.

Jack took a step in her direction but she waved him away. "I don't need help."

He stopped, respecting her wishes; but began to rethink that logic when she stayed put. "Irina..."

She gave a small smile. "Maybe I will just wait here for a short while," and then she sank to the floor; hating that she could not even stand but being too exhausted to maintain the effort the bravado required. A bone jarring pain struck her at the unexpected movement and she cried out. Before she knew it Jack was at her side, crouched close to her. "It's ironic…you've wanted me dead…for such a long time. Yet her you are – helping me." She felt herself being lifted off the cold floor with such care.

And then his voice in her ear. "I never wanted this," Jack carried her back to the bed with ease; he was certain she had lost weight. Irina curled up again, in the position she had taken up earlier; clutching her stomach, it provided a small amount of respite. "I brought you something to eat and drink," he went back to the table to collect the plate and glass before sitting down on the chair.

She reached out for the water, the pain that seized her came across on her face, in her elevated hand that shook. Jack placed the glass directly in her hand, and before she took a sip managed a, "thank you." The cool liquid was such a relief to her dry throat; she was half tempted to throw the rest over her to cool her burning skin. The glass was empty in seconds and he took it from her, put it on the bedside cabinet. "I did not expect you to come," Irina admitted as she settled down again.

"I...didn't want you to die alone."

"Deathbed confessions, Jack? That isn't like you," she answered lightly.

He shook his head, annoyed. "Don't Irina; don't act like this doesn't bother you. Doesn't scare you," Jack chided.

Irina opened her eyes again at his admonishment. "It did...at first."

"And what changed?"

Her eyes closed again and she sighed, almost contentedly. "Someone said they would not leave."

He came off the chair to sit on the edge of the bed, being so careful not to jar it in case if hurt her further, and then watched her; knowing it might be the last time that he would have this chance. He caressed her face and she leaned into his hand as he cupped her chin to kiss her lightly on the forehead. She tilted her head up to capture his mouth in a sweet kiss, wanting to do more but feeling like glass. She changed into a seating position and he pulled her gently towards him so that she was resting against him, her head against his shoulder.

Sydney stepped into the room, appearing anxious and holding another glass of water, knowing she was interrupting but having no choice. "Uh…Vaughn's here," she came around to sit on the corner of the bed. "He heard where we were and came back." She held the glass out and Irina took it, smiling gratefully.

Her breathing was becoming more labored, slower and taking more effort. She put the glass to her lips to take another drink; until half of the water within remained. Irina leant deeper into Jack's embrace and her eyes closed peacefully. The glass slipped from her grasp and shattered on the floor; her arm went limp.

And they knew.