Summary: Irina has made a friend in captivity. Will he help her escape at the cost of his own life? Will she find her children?

AN: Irana will be used to refer to the mentality or personality of Irina Navrekey and Irina Derevko will simply be referred to as Irina. By the way, Irana’s eyes are green. So, don’t freak. Also, please don’t be confused by my referring to her as they. Make note if it throws you and I’ll go back and do it again.

~~~~~~~~~

Allies and Adversaries

Irina counts the steps from the door to a distance from the ledge. Her agents won’t allow her any closer than that, but she can guess that there are about four feet between her and the path to the ground. Twelve feet back and four feet forward. She stretches her long legs thoughtfully. In her experience, she’s been able to cover four feet in a single sprint. It will take her four strides from the door to the ledge. Three to four seconds is all she’ll need.

But not yet. First, she has a favor to ask.

~~~

She waits patiently for Edward as she counts the minutes that pass. That’s how she keeps her time. She can’t remember what time it is, but she does know how long it’s been. Two weeks and three days since they found her at the bottom of her pool. Two weeks, three days, and forty-five minutes since her children were ushered out of her home without her. Two weeks, three days, and thirty minutes since she was savagely beaten and abandoned in the pool to die.

Now she’s waiting for a chance to a live, a chance to be free. And there is only one man alive today that can help her. She picks nervously at her ragged cuticles before her bothered hand comes up and slams the other down. She starts at the independent action of her hand, but knows that it’s only Irina stopping her. Instead, she twitches nervously, her eyes shifting sporadically, fearing danger from empty corners. Irina wonders if it’s best that she takes control for a while; just until it‘s over. Irana eagerly agrees and retreats into the shadows to let her sister take the foreground.

The change is instantaneous. Her posture straightens, an eyebrow rises derisively, and she poises herself on her elbows in mock patience. She’s learned that she only first to whatever’s next on anybody’s list. That patience has served her well.

However, she’s begun to nod off by the time the door to the small room opens to admit Special Agent Trinity. He sits down across from her and smacks a folder down on the tabletop to rouse her. She jumps and is unsettled to see him already there. She doesn’t like to be unsettled.

He begins to shuffle the papers in the folder busily and mutters to himself. At first, she believes that he is simply thinking out loud, but then she realizes that he is, in fact, talking to her and using the shuffling to drown out their conversation.

“What do you want from me, Irina?” She tips her head curiously. “You heard me. Why did you call me here? You want something.” She leans on her cuffed hands and looks slyly at the one-way window, knowing they can be seen but barely heard.

“I need help. I have to find the children before they forget me.” Unbeknownst to Irina, Irana reaches out and touches his hand. Irina pulls away abruptly and admonishes her lesser self harshly. She sits stock still with her eyes clinched shut and the cuffs biting into her wrists. She unlocks her jaw and opens her dark green eyes to peer at him from under a lock of hair.

“Help me find them, please,” Irana whispers desperately. “They’re all I have. I’ve lost all I am and everything else. Please, don’t let me lose them, too.” He lets the papers rest in front of him as he leans across the table to her.

“Tell us what we need to hear and I can help.”

“I don’t know anything.” Her hysteria rises as she feels the helplessness of her situation. “Can’t you see that I could lose them forever? Why are you willing to sacrifice my children to get back at me? Why?” Her voice cracks and Irina wraps her arms around her protectively and drops her head.

Her breath is loud in the empty room and she shudders, dropping her arms and lifting her head. The fury in her deep brown eyes screams louder than any sound that could leave her lips. She heaves in anger and knots her fingers on the table.

“Will you help us,” she rasps under their radar. She can barely contain the instinct that tells her that fight or flight are her only options. Irina is prepared to fight, but Irana wants only to flee. The children are waiting, she thinks to her better half. I know, Irina thinks in return. I know.

“What do you need?” He goes back to shuffling his papers intently.

“A distraction.” He pauses and seems to read something on the paper in front of him.

“What else?”

“That’s all.” He takes a pen out of his pocket and starts making notes on this particular sheet. He turns the paper towards her. It’s a map. He starts to tap his pen on the table distractingly as he whispers his instructions.

“When you get out of this building, the fastest route between where you’ll be and where you’ll want to be is the one you’re taking.” He begins to alternate between his knuckles and his pen top. *Tip-tap-tip-tap-tip-tap...* “You don’t have the luxury of the scenic route.”

“Where is will I want to be?” He turns the paper completely around and adds the heel of his palm to the mix.

“You’ll know when you get there.” It takes her little more than a moment to memorize the route.

“How do I get out of here?” He takes back the paper and replaces it in the folder, snapping it shut. Finally, the cacophony stops.

“I don’t need to know that, but good luck however you do it.”

Thank you, they mouth to him as he leaves the room. Both tough and soft, they owe him their lives. As they’re led back to their glass hell, she mentally travels the route inscribed on her memory. She can’t forget a single deviation, detour, or side road. Her lives and the lives of her children depend on her successfully travailing this course. Edward Trinity went out on a limb for her that could very well cost him his career, his freedom, and his life. She has to make it worth the price he may still pay.

~~~~

She’s glad that they don’t restrain her anymore. She sleeps unencumbered and it’s a relief. That means that the hardest of her journey doesn’t begin until later.

At all times, she’s supposed to be in view of the camera. Originally, there were agents watching the camera to assure that she was where she was supposed to be. As they’ve realized her new level of subservience, they’ve become somewhat lax in their observation of her, which will be their mistake and their asses. When she wakes from her short sleep, she sets to her task immediately. She slides from the bed with double her normal catlike grace. Remember, she’s escaping for two now.

She disposes of her robe until she’s clad in only her illegally held drawstring shorts and white cotton undershirt. She knows it’s a cold night. She’s also aware that at an established spot, a black bag holds a set of clothes to tide her over until she reaches her next destination. All she has to do is get there. That’s the easy part. The hard part is not getting killed on the way. Anyone else can walk, but Irina must fly.

Her first obstacle is the door. She looks at it for a moment, not totally ready for something seemingly so innocuous to be an imposition this early in the game. She looks at the security console and considers simply busting the hell of it, but thinks better of that. She types in ‘Laura’ patiently and on comes the green light. Sometimes, she wonders why they let Jack program anything with a password around here, but decides to save such thoughts for later, since his predictability just saved her life. Again. She’s getting sick of this.

She checks the halls before making her exit, knowing she has only so much time to evade them before she must make her way to the roof. She jogs down the hall on her cheaply-clad feet, praying that no one comes. For a while, it seems as though someone up there’s listening. However, as she reaches the end of the violently illuminated hall, she encounters--who else?--Jack and Sydney on their way to interrogate her. She freezes at the sight of old ghosts and beats a hasty retreat in the opposite direction. It’s no use, they know she’s out and there’s not putting this cat back in the bag. She has no choice, but to go now. Both she and Edward are in jeopardy.

Irana quivers nervously and her arms start to wrap around her, but Irina breaks her hold angrily and pushes her exhausted self forth. If they stop, if they dare stop...it will mean certain death. Though leaving brooks no better options. Damned if they do, and especially if they don’t. They turn a corner and meet a face full of guns. She has anticipated this. They have dreaded this.

She stops, trapped between her demons and her faceless enemies. She has only one real weapon and it is the one that frightens both of them. Irina can use it, but wielding it strikes fear within her because only the strongest of emotions and the deepest levels of meditation can trigger it. She doesn’t have a choice and she does not like to be without choices.

Milo Rambaldi said of a woman,

"This woman here depicted will possess unseen marks. Signs that she will be the one to bring forth my works. Bind them with fury. A burning anger, unless prevented. At vulgar cost, this woman will render the greatest power unto utter desolation.

"This woman, without pretense, will have had her effect, never having seen the beauty of my sky behind Mt. Sebacio. Perhaps a single glance would have quelled her fire."

It was during her time with Viktor, in his prison, that she realized that she was this woman. She has never seen Rambaldi’s sky, and her anger does burn in her veins as the flames that would inhabit the sky if she is not satisfied with what comes next.

“You have to let me leave.”

“Put your hands in the air! Do it now.” She lifts them up cooperatively. “Get on the ground! Do it now!” This time, she doesn’t comply. “Get on the floor! Do it now!” They get the order to cock their guns.

“Do it now, Derevko,” she hears Sydney order from behind her. She doesn’t listen because Irana is afraid of ghosts and the last thing they need is for her to go haywire.

The orders come faster now, and their heart rate increases. They’re walking closer to her, to them; she can feel them, though they’re beyond sight. Irana and Irina are one and in sync, every breath is shared.

“Don’t do this. Let me go, now. Let us go.” Irana maintains her calm by the slim thread she’s using to restrain Irina. Irina wants to escape. She feels confined. She will fight like a wounded animal and then she will run. Only Irana can keep the body count down. “We just want to find our children. That’s all. We don’t want to hurt anyone. Don’t force us.”

“Who is we?”

“Don’t force us, Jack,” Irina commands. “We will destroy you. We have that power. Don’t test us.” There’s an unnerved silence.

“Get on the ground, Irina! Do it now! Do not make me shoot you. Get on the ground.” That slim thread snaps and time slows down before all of them.

Irina turns to look at her ghosts once more with one word of advice. “Duck.” She swings back around to face the phalanx of her opposition. “You were warned.” She meets the eyes of the foremost agent ahead of her. He jerks and steps away. Her pupils dilate until they are but dark portals ringed in gold and green. He can read the fury there. It frightens him. It should. She has the potential to crush him without lifting a finger. The eyes have it. He breaks her stare, but doesn’t lose her focus. She walks towards him as he drops to his knees, holding his head and muttering heatedly to himself. His inferiors collapse around him in similar states of dementia. One world is on their lips, Irina.

As they writhe in pain, she charges through the throng towards a nearby staircase. You went easy on them, thought Irana. Yes, I don’t want to be a murderer anymore, Irina said in return. But she will kill if she must. She sees Jack and Sydney beginning to pursue. The look she tosses over her shoulder is enough to end that problem.

They are both thrown back a couple of yards, knocking down the small army they were carrying with them. That gives Irana/Irina a good head start. Not that they need one. They’re nearly invisible as they catch their stride. The stairs are nothing as they’re conquered in three leaps. Sydney, Jack, and Co. try in vain to catch up to her as she continues her jumps up whole flights at a time. Finally, reaching the top, she broke through code-secured door with a vengeance. She could hear the guns outside cocking, but worries little about them as they miss her in her speed. She hops onto the ledge and freezes as she’s confronted with the distance to the ground. She closes her eyes and clinches her fists. She has to do this for her children; she must do this for them. She holds her arms out and prepares to step off.

She’s frightened because she doesn’t know what’s gonna happen next. Will she live or die? Only God will decide. She’s jarred from her wary thoughts by Jack’s voice.

“Don’t do it, Irina? Step backwards off the ledge. Get down now!” She doesn’t acknowledge him and lets one foot dangle amusingly over the open air. Even in her lost state, she can still tease him. “Irina, I’m--” Someone hushes him and she feels a sudden unease.

“Mom.” She doesn’t respond. “Mom, it’s Syd. Mom, step down. You don’t have to do this. What about the kids? Your kids? We all need you. We’ll find them if you just step down. You don’t have to do this alone. Please, mom.” Slowly, Irina looks over her shoulder, seeing her little girl all grown up for the first time in months. She’s perfectly stunning. Just like you, Irana thinks to her sister.

“Sydney.” Her daughter nods and steps forward, dropping her gun to her side and reaching out a hand to her mother.

“Come on, Mom. Take my hand. We can talk about this.” If only they could.

“I’m sorry.” Irana hides her face while Irina faces the situation with open eyes. She blows a tender kiss to Sydney and then, she steps off.

Sydney’s scream follows her down. “Mom!” If she looks up, she can see Sydney leaning haphazardly over the edge of the roof, a hand extended desperately as Jack tries to pull her back. Tears are rolling down her sweet porcelain cheeks. “Mommy,” she sobs in pain. “Mommy, no.”

She’s a little girl all over again and she’s just lost her mother.

“Mommy.”

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