Isabella goes to get her liver probe ready or something, and Jack says he's curious as to which of Irina's sisters Isabella actually is. "Elena or Ekaterina?" he says. "I haven't been Ekaterina since I was a child," she says. "My sisters call me Katya. Which means that Irina wasn't the one who told you about me." Man. The Derevko sisters are a dangerous bunch. One's an international terrorist, the other strikes homicidal bargains and stabs people with skewers -- what's the third one, a Russian serial killer whose chief weapon is a samovar? Lord almighty. What I wouldn't give to have been invited over to the Derevko house for a Sunday dinner while those little hellions were growing up. Anyway, Jack's all, yeah, well, when you discover your wife's a Russian spy, you kinda wanna know all about her true identity. We then get a gratuitous shot (complete with the gratuitously ooky sound effect) of Isabella, or Katya, or whatever, poking around in Jack's side in search of an intact liver. Jack just kind of grimaces. Um, she has her FINGER in his ABDOMEN. Like, why isn't he gushing blood? I just...oh, man. I'm so over this.
Isabella declares the liver intact and then slaps a bandage on the wound. No, I'm not kidding. She's just shoved some barbeque tongs, a salad fork, a Razor scooter, a ficus tree, and a small dachshund into the hole in Jack's side, and yet all it takes to seal it up is a piece of self-adhesive gauze? I think we need a judge's ruling on this. Isabella says something about how, even though Jack's whip-smart and all that, he was married to Irina for five years without ever knowing who she really was. Yeah, I know, they were married for ten years. I think, though, that Jack figured it out early and stayed married to her in order to A) do a little double-agenting of his own or B) continue getting some of that sweet, sweet lovin' that only Irina could deliver. Country be damned! I think that's the five years that Isabella's referring to. Or maybe the fact that I haven't had any butter or mayonnaise in nearly three weeks is causing me to make shit up in order to excuse glaring writing mistakes in a show that, right now, is making me wish I were BLEEDING OUT MY EYES.
Isabella surmises as much, saying that the love she gave Jack must have been damn fine if he couldn't figure out what an evil spying bitch she was for all those years. Isabella goes on to say that now that Syd's going to get home safely, Jack has a little job to do. Jack's all, yeah, right, kill Sloane. I remember. Only, what could you possibly gain from his death? Isabella's all, well, that's for me to know and you to find out. Just do it. You choose not to do it? I call off your daughter's rescuer.