Author's Note: Jack Bristow, Irina Derevko, and Gerard Cuvee belong to J.J. Abrahms; I'm just taking them out for a spin. :) All songs used within this fic belong to the artists who sang them and the writers who wrote them.
Prologue
Irina was thrown into the dark cell; she was so exhausted that she was unable to catch herself before falling to the ground. Once she caught her breath, she searched the darkness for any other sign of life. As her eyes adjusted to the dim light, she could see a figure slumped over in the furthest corner.
"Jack," she breathed; unsure of the extent of his injuries or even if he was conscious. She crawled over to him, ignoring her own pain; wanting, no needing, to know that he was all right. With what little light there was, Irina tried to assess the damage.
Jack's right eye was swollen shut, he had several cuts marring his face, a split lip, and his left arm appeared to have been bleeding; a haphazard tourniquet had been tied around his upper arm.
Tears blurring her vision, she fixed the tourniquet and adjusted both of them so his head lay in her lap. Breathing deeply, she gently ran her fingers through his hair, feeling for bumps as she went. There were two: one at the base of his skull and one on the right side of his head, just above his ear.
Irina placed a hand on his chest, feeling for the reassuring thump of his heart. The rhythm lulled her into a light, uneasy sleep. It was several hours later when she was startled awake by the sound of Jack's voice.
"Irina? You're alive."
