He's glad when she goes, because an enclosed stairwell with tight walls is basically the worst place to have a firefight. Bad enough it's going to be a tough time keeping himself alive - he couldn't live with himself if she got hurt, too. Once he's sure she's headed up the stairs, he pulls the gun from the back of his trousers and aims it down the stairs. He can't be sure if the footsteps belong to someone who means them ill, but he's got to presume they do.

He gets his answer when he hears gunshots. For a moment, he considers yelling something pithy, then decides he'd be better served getting the hell out. He shoots a few times down the stairs in answer, then bolts as quickly as he can. Something hot blazes past his temple, knocking his glasses askew, and he can't help but cry out. He bursts through the door to the seventh floor, glances around to get his bearings, then bangs on the door to 738 as soon as he finds it.

"Rachel!" Heat on his neck. He touches it, and his fingers come away red. "Let me in!"