/10/

Clenching his fists at his sides, Eric struggled to keep his fury at bay. He stood just outside the holding cell, separated from Alexander Sharova by a single wall, and at the moment, all Eric wanted was to have more between them. One wall simply was not enough – he wanted the entire world between himself and his biological father. How he could have ever wanted to meet this man…it was beyond his realm of understanding now. From the hit Sharova had put on him, to the undercover work their relationship had led to, and now to this – Sharova had brought Eric nothing but pain from the moment Eric had discovered his existence.

If he'd never pursued that, there was no telling where he would be today. Maybe at home, cuddling on the couch with a sleepy Calleigh in his arms while the evening lights faded around them, leaving them blanketed in a world that belonged only to them. Or perhaps treating her to dinner – something quick taken home to share casually and cozily out on the deck, or something more elaborate at a romantic, seaside restaurant, Calleigh in a little black dress, their fingers brushing and mingling atop the table. Or even merely sitting in traffic with her, the predicament left so much less dreadful by the soft laughter that fell from her lips and filled his heart with delight.

They were memories of what had been, memories of what could've been. And now, because of the man on the other side of the glass, memories were all they might remain.

And that was simply too much to bear. Eric's heart clenched tightly, stealing his breath and leaving him swaying slightly on his feet. What Calleigh meant to him was more than Eric had ever thought possible; to lose her would utterly kill him. Lifting a hand, he squeezed at the bridge of his nose, praying for some of the tension to subside, though knowing it would not. Not until Calleigh was safe and in his arms, and from there Eric would be hard-pressed to ever let her go again.

With that thought pushing him forward, Eric took a deep, steadying breath and finally pushed the button that would open the door to him. It opened with a loud click that echoed through the eerie quiet; at the sound, Sharova looked up, and for a moment, Eric could tell that he nearly dared to stand. Clearly he thought better of it, though, and instead clasped his hands in his lap, clearing his throat before speaking in the rough voice that had slowly begun to haunt Eric over the past several weeks. "They were not telling me anything," he said slowly, carefully. "I am relieved that you are okay, мой сын."

In that moment, little annoyed Eric as deeply as that single endearment – after ignoring it for all of Eric's life, Sharova did not get to claim the right now. When he spoke, his voice was little more than a quiet growl; he feared letting himself speak any louder. "I am not your son." He paused, choosing to remain on his feet rather than place himself on the same bench as Sharova. "You lost the right to call me that when you abandoned my mother."

"And yet," Sharova began, a bit of a chuckle present in his words, "you were the one who wanted so desperately to find me."

"Everyone makes mistakes," Eric countered, crossing his arms. "Clearly, that was mine." With an icy glare to Sharova, Eric leaned against the door, as much distance between the two of them as was possible. "Detective Salas said you wanted to speak to me," he said plainly, anxious to get to the point. The faster that happened, the faster he could be back in the search for Calleigh – as far as he was concerned, this was mostly just wasting time. "So stop wasting my time, and talk."

Sharova's shoulders slumped as he turned his eyes back to the dusty floor. For a moment, there was only silence – frustrating silence – as he seemingly contemplated his words, words he'd been so eager to share until Eric had actually arrived. As insistent as he'd been with Detective Salas about speaking to his son, it was incredibly difficult to summon up the words now. "It was…never supposed to go this far," he began cryptically.

Eric barely held back the urge to roll his eyes – something that, much like everything else, left him thinking of Calleigh. "What do you mean, it was never supposed to go this far?" he growled, feeling his heart already pumping angrily against his ribcage.

The other man gave what appeared to Eric to be a nonchalant shrug. "There was a plan. This was not the plan – the plan was a little less…messy than this." He shook his head in disgust. "There are so many holes in this right now, so many problems that could have been avoided…" Though Eric didn't speak, Sharova could sense the question lingering in the air, just waiting to either be voiced by Eric or answered by him – and as the silence dragged on, the former became less and less probable. "By that, I mean that Calleigh…she never had to be kidnapped. She never had to go through the horror I know she's going through."

For a brief second, Eric thought he might've heard genuine contrition in his father's voice, though as Sharova met his eyes once more, he was certain it was nothing more than an illusion. There was no repentance in his eyes – they were hard, icy, and Eric couldn't help but shiver just looking into them. "Then why is she going through – through this?" he bit out, unable to even imagine the horrors that Sharova had alluded to.

"Things got complicated," he answered cryptically. "They – the Russians, they were absolutely furious with you - first, for uncovering their secrets, and secondly, for the little undercover investigation. And because of that, they were also furious with me. And sometimes, anger clouds things - judgments, decisions."

Eric scoffed. "Why were they furious with you? You were working with them, not against them."

Sharova's answer served as answer to both the question and the accusation - apparently, there was no longer any need to hide his true loyalties. "I brought you in," he said simply, eyes locked to the far wall. "Regardless of my allegiance, none of this would have happened if I hadn't gotten you out of the detention center that day. That was the day that ruined everything, because as soon as that happened, everything changed. Despite the fact that in over thirty years I have never done anything for you, you felt indebted to me over this one little thing. You felt the need to, ah, repay me by getting me out of the mob, which meant more time spent around me. And then, that private investigator saw the link that connected us. Because of all that, she asked you to play double agent, to use the information you'd already gathered on the Russians to try and gather more. And you agreed."

Eric gritted his teeth. He'd been so naïve to think he could trust this man – though he knew now that it had all been an act, Sharova had seemed sincere in wanting to escape from the mob. And because of that, because of a couple afternoons of father-son "bonding," Eric had convinced himself that Sharova wasn't like the rest of them. His plan to deliver information to Yelina had somehow melded into a plan to break his father out of the mob, and Eric had shared that much with Sharova. Looking back, it had been the most foolish mistake he'd made, despite seeming brilliant at the time. And it might've been brilliant, had the Russians not known from the very beginning. "And this whole time, you were playing me too," he growled quietly, rubbing frustratedly at his eyes.

"True what they say, eh?" Sharova smirked. "Like father, like son."

Eric shook his head. "Don't you dare." He crossed his arms about his chest, fixing Sharova with a hard stare as he brought the conversation back to the only discussion he wanted to have right now. "So they're mad at you. They're mad at me. Why not kill us, then? Why take – why take Calleigh?"

Nodding, Sharova smiled grimly. "In the end, I am too valuable to them," he said flatly.

He didn't continue willfully, and Eric stamped his foot, his impatience mounting. "And?"

Sharova sighed. "And you…well." He hesitated for a moment; when he spoke again, his voice was quieter, almost as though fearful of anyone else hearing. "I have been with them long enough to know that they prefer torment to death. Where is the torment in killing you? Certainly they could torture you, but then when you die, it's over."

Though he'd desperately hoped against it, Eric had been right all along - this only proved all of his worst fears. "They took her to get to me." Swallowing hard, he struggled to keep his voice even and strong, though with his next words, he was certain he'd failed on both counts. "But how – how did they even know about her?"

At this, Sharova had the audacity to snicker; hearing that, Eric felt his blood boil. "My boy, you were far from discreet with her." Meeting his eyes, Sharova could see the confusion clouding his gaze, and rather than wait for Eric to ask, he took the initiative. "There might have been…a photograph. A photograph that fell into the wrong hands."

That was all too familiar to Eric – he remembered all too well the little spy who had been taking pictures of everyone in the lab. Marking their whereabouts, tracking their every activity, even private, candid moments that no one else was supposed to see – all of that had been captured on film, and Eric still felt the tug of jealousy that had surged through him as his eyes had fallen on the photograph of Calleigh and the horse trainer. But even more than that was the anger, the desire to protect her. He'd had the ugly truth shoved in his face – Calleigh was a public figure; she was well-known in Miami, to both good guys and bad, and she didn't try to hide away. The photographs of her showed just how easily she could be found, and this…this showed how easily she could be taken.

It left him shuddering, drawing his tongue over parched lips in an effort to moisten them. "A picture of what, exactly?" he asked quietly.

Sharova at least had the good grace to duck his head, averting his eyes as he spoke. "You and Calleigh. Together. That day outside the detention center." He paused, and though there was absolutely no need to, he clarified further. "She kissed you."

She had. And with a heavy heart, Eric found himself reliving the moment, watching it unfold all over again in vivid technicolor, right before his eyes. He could still feel the elation he'd felt at realizing she was waiting for him; he could still feel the warmth, the softness of her body in his arms, the tight grip with which she wrapped her own arms around him. Her sweet perfume invaded his senses, causing his heart to flutter and his breath to catch. And even more than that, it was the softness of her lips against his that left his body electrified with delight; such a soft, innocent kiss had never left him so affected before. And then had come the second one, even better than the first.

But preceding the second one, Eric couldn't help but hear again the words he'd uttered, the vocal wish she had quieted with the touch of her lips.

"I don't want anything to happen to you."

It had been his deepest fear, and it had come dreadfully true. Again he shuddered, searching desperately for his voice – during his reverie, he'd seemingly lost it. When he finally found the ability to speak again, Eric's words were little more than a whisper – it was all he could muster. "Who took the picture?"

He'd been fairly certain that he already knew the truth. Sharova didn't answer; his silence, however, was answer enough, and suddenly Eric felt his composure shatter, what little bit of it had remained. "You son of a bitch…" he growled.

Sharova's head snapped up, his eyes finding Eric's furious ones. "What I had to do was already set in stone. I had no choice, Eric –"

"Oh, there is always a choice," Eric snapped. "Simple choice between right and wrong. All you had to do was walk away."

"And then you and I would both be dead." Eric opened his mouth to retort, but hesitated as Sharova suddenly stood, his eyes never leaving Eric's. "There are more, as well," he admitted quietly, "though I had no part in these." With that, he reached into a pocket, retrieving a small set of crumpled, folded sheets of photography paper, and suddenly Eric was fearful of what he would find on the other side of them. Sharova hesitated for a moment before slowly crossing the room to Eric, who couldn't help but tense in anxiety. Somehow, though, he managed to extend a hand for the pictures.

Sharova took a few steps back, though he didn't reclaim his seat on the bench. But Eric didn't notice – his attention had been solely claimed by the folded pictures Sharova had placed in his hands. One by one, he began to unfold them. The very first one was the one that Sharova had alluded to, and Eric couldn't help but feel his heart clench in agony as his eyes took it in. He remembered that day well, outside the detention center. Inside, he hadn't lingered, anxious to get back to his freedom, to Calleigh. His fingers trembled slightly as he held the photograph, such a private moment caught forever on film. The longer he gazed at it, it was as though he could still feel her lips against his, a soft, sweet, perfectly innocent kiss. Her hands lingered at his chest while his circled her waist, keeping her close despite the fact that she had no intentions of going very far.

He swallowed hard, forcing his trembling fingers to quickly shuffle through the rest. There they were, enjoying a quiet evening stroll on the beach, bare feet and entwined fingers. There they were, just a couple of hours before night would fully set in, enjoying a candlelit dinner on her deck – just the thought of any of these men being near her home left Eric's stomach lurching. And there were simple photos, taken of the two of them at crime scenes when he'd stolen a too long glance at her or vice versa.

"I had nothing to do with those," Sharova repeated quietly, witnessing the pain flickering through Eric's eyes.

"It doesn't matter. You started the cascade," Eric replied, his fingers trembling as he held the photos, his eyes continuing to take them in. By now, his heart was bruised so badly that he wasn't sure there would ever be a way to heal it – and definitely not unless Calleigh was back with him, safe and sound. And though he'd gotten the answer already, he couldn't help but despairingly ask again. "Why did they want her? What did she ever do to any of you?"

Sharova shook his head, affected by neither the agony nor the venom in Eric's voice. "I told you. It was never about what she did. Calleigh…she is merely a pawn. An unimportant piece in the grand scheme of things. Expendable. The quicker you realize that, the better off you'll be in the long run." He exhaled deeply. "Taking Calleigh was, hands down, the best way to get to you. Killing you accomplishes nothing – but taking Calleigh…that ensures your torment for the rest of your life." He nodded toward the photographs in Eric's hands. "It was clear just how much she meant to you – that's why they took her. Now, what's done is done, and you have to get over her before losing her does ruin your life. That is the only way to beat them."

"How could you ever think that losing her would ever not ruin my life?" Eric snapped, incredulous at Sharova's assumption – that he could just "get over" Calleigh. Just like that. It wasn't like that at all; nothing could be farther from the truth. "Oh yeah, I forgot – it's easy for you to walk away unaffected," he bit out, a fresh burst of anger infusing into his veins. "Well, you know what? I can't just forget about Calleigh the way you forgot about my mother."

Eric was surprised to see it, but Sharova actually flinched. "Don't speak of what you don't know," he hissed. "You don't know the circumstances. And if Calleigh is anything like your mother, you'd be smart to turn your back on her. These women…they're all the same. Manipulative bitches. And if it weren't for me, you'd still be stuck here, waiting around for her to turn on you, just like your mother did to me."

His insulting words left Eric livid – it was one thing to attack Calleigh alone, but Calleigh and his mother? There was no way Eric could stand for that. "Why you –"

"She was going to die anyway, Eric," Sharova blurted, cutting Eric completely off. "It was just a matter of how. By whose hands. And if you had not interfered that day at the warehouse…"

Angry, dark eyes met crystal ice blue without wavering at all. "Interfered?"

Sharova shook his head. "You weren't supposed to be there. Because you were, the entire plan had to be immediately reworked."

Eric growled in utter frustration. "You keep talking about some stupid plan. What the hell do you mean?"

"The police were supposed to be lured to the warehouse that day," Sharova began, still effortlessly holding Eric's eyes. "Only the…expendable Russians were there – that's why we kept running into the others in the Everglades. They were waiting for us, for you. The expendable ones could die – we knew that there would be a firefight. Only…I was supposed to take part in it." He paused, mildly frightened by the fury that filled Eric's eyes, his entire face. "You weren't supposed to be at the warehouse that day," he repeated. "And I…" He nodded. "Calleigh was never supposed to be kidnapped. I was supposed to kill her that day – that was my assignment." He paused. "And when I failed, when I ended up here and completely unable to do it, the job fell to Vadim Nabokov."

It echoed in his ears, over and over again, and Eric couldn't help but pale at Sharova's confession. His eyes immediately hardened – how he had ever trusted this man, Eric didn't know. As far as he was concerned, it was one thing to toy with him – Eric could take whatever the Russians dealt out; had been doing it for months. But it was an entirely different thing to bring an innocent bystander, to bring the woman he cared about more than anything else in his life into it – at this point, he'd accepted the fact that he couldn't expect anything from this man. But this was his father, his flesh and blood, the man who had contributed to his life…and he'd been assigned virtually to strip his life – Calleigh – right away from him. It was a whole new level of betrayal, and Eric couldn't help but feel the icy realization drop into his stomach. "Go to hell," he breathed, fury and pure adrenaline coursing through his veins."Go to hell."

"You would be nothing but better off without her," Sharova growled ominously. "Let the Russians keep her – it's the only way –"

Eric snarled, not even giving the other man the chance to finish. "It's your fault that they've got her, and she didn't do a damn thing to any of you! It's your fault that she's missing!"

Sharova drew himself to his full height, an angry fire in his eyes, though it came nowhere close to matching the fury in Eric's eyes. "I did nothing. I told you – I never got the chance -"

"Don't you dare try to play innocent with me now," Eric retorted, his voice raised loud enough to echo off the walls. "You started all of this when you put the hit out on me –"

"You started it when you couldn't leave well enough alone!" Sharova interrupted, his voice just as loud as Eric's. "You had everything your mother wanted for you – you had your nice American life. And yet, it wasn't enough for you, was it?"

"Do not turn this around on me," Eric growled. "All I wanted was the truth. Which I deserved after all these years. You owed me that."

"I told you before – I owe you nothing."

"You son of a bitch." At this point, Eric's shoulders were heaving as he struggled to breathe. Exhausted and frustrated, this fight was taking more out of him than he actually had to give, but still he refused to back down. Not with Calleigh's life on the line. "Calleigh was right about you all along." His heart ached as he felt the regret over not listening to her surge through him.

At that, Sharova merely smirked. "So that's how it is, huh? You're going to take her word over mine? If it weren't for me, you wouldn't be able to make that choice – you wouldn't be here." He took a step closer to Eric, shaking his head as Eric tensed visibly. "Trust me. You're better off. If they have her, they won't want you, and that is what's important."

"And that's supposed to make it okay?" Eric retorted angrily.

"Eric. You have to let her go." He paused, forcing his eyes to convey desperation instead of anger. "For the sake of your own life."

Eric was unperturbed by the implications. "I can't do that. I won't do that."

"Don't you see?" Sharova hissed, stepping closer. "You're playing right into their game."

"You mean, your game?"

Sharova shook his head. "You don't get it at all, do you? It's you they want dead in the end, but they would be even happier to know you'll suffer for the rest of your life. They took her because it was the easiest way to ruin your life, to make you pay. They knew you were playing them all along –"

"Because you told them –"

Sharova ignored the interruption. "You either have to pay with your life or your happiness. You cannot sacrifice your own life – I won't let you. I won't let my son do that."

"I told you before - I am not your son!" Eric growled, fists clenched angrily at his sides. "And this conversation is over." He was barely keeping his cool at all anymore; he could feel the sweat beading upon his forehead; could feel his body taxed by labored breaths and heartbeats, and he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that if he didn't get out of there then, things weren't going to end well. "We're done." With that, he whipped quickly around, his every intention to get as far away from this man as possible.

But before his hand even reached the door, Sharova's fingers were clutching tightly at his wrist…and Eric finally snapped. Faster than before, he spun around, and before Sharova could even process the action, Eric's fist was connecting to his jaw with a loud crack. Sharova stumbled back, both from the strength behind Eric's hit, and from his own shock at the action. Somehow he managed to stay on his feet, lifting a hand to his throbbing jaw as his eyes glared angrily at Eric. "You don't get it," he accused furiously, his voice slightly muffled. "Calleigh is nothing but a worthless pawn in this game. You cannot be reckless for her."

He knew his hand would be bruised later, but right now, Eric couldn't even feel the pain in his still clenched fist – the adrenaline pumping furiously through his body was numbing all but the all-consuming anger he felt, and Eric was certain there was nothing that could numb that right now. "Don't you dare tell me what I can or can't do," he growled, his eyes shooting the sharpest of daggers at Sharova, and he could only hope that his fury was even partially conveyed by his gaze. "I will do whatever it takes to get her back," he continued, struggling to catch his breath. "If that means being reckless, if it means putting my own life on the line, then so be it."

"Eric, you do not know what you're saying –"

"Don't I?" Eric cut him off, taking a step toward the other man. He couldn't help but feel slightly smug as Sharova cowered, clearly fearful of another fist to the jaw. It was all Eric could do not to shove the other man, his father, against the far wall, his hands clutched in the collar of the shirt he wore. Somehow he managed to hold himself in check though, keeping a fair distance between the two of them – a safe distance for both of them. "I know exactly what I'm saying," Eric continued, his voice low, deadly, almost foreign to his own ears. "She was right about you all along," he repeated. "The biggest mistake of my life was choosing you instead of her. I chose to lie to her, and I'll pay for that for a long time coming." He paused, concentrating for but a moment on simply breathing. "And I will do anything to bring her home; do you hear me? Anything."

Again he stopped, and when he spoke again, Eric's voice was barely audible in the small room, despite echoing loudly in the ears of its two occupants. "I love her. I love her." He gave a derisive scoff, glaring in disgust at the man who claimed to be his father. "But that…that's nothing you could ever understand."

With that, Eric stormed swiftly out of the cell, not even affording a single look back. Blood might be blood, but that no longer mattered to Eric. He was done.

He would not make that mistake again.