All He Left Us Was … Alone.

I disclaim.

Sound no longer existed at this point; nothing ever did in solitary confinement. Death of the courageous, they'd call it as opposed to the weaker way out, being executed or killed - and in many ways it was, it was the slow and painful torture that tore a man from the inside , until there was truly nothing left for him , except for his death of course.

Beyond the many days that past he told himself he wouldn't let the silence kill him as it did many others. And many days he kept to his vow, doing everything in the power that he still had to avoid himself into sinking into the deep unknown which was the start, but days went on slowly as each past and soon the task became to hard.

He was tired of it all, and as the sun hit his tightly shut eyes each day beckoning him to wake to the reality he'd faced he turned away into the darkness of his cell. Not wanting to think, not wanting to breathe.

It was the very same morning beyond mornings past that he'd been interrupted from normal isolation. The guard the bleakly presented himself in the opened cell room door had said that he had a visitor, and the thought of it truly made him wonder as to who it might have been.

It had been days since he's seen her.

Douglas no longer wanted to bring bad news,

His mother as much as she wanted, was much too heartbroken…

Then who? There was no one else.

With sullen saddened eyes Martin watched his son walk in to the converse room of the penitentiary, as he was lead to his corner Miguel sat looking at the man on the other end oddly.

"Who are you?" Miguel questioned as the light of his eyes carefully searched the leather ahead of him trying with no effort to find familiarity. "How do you know who I am?"

The words dug into Martin as a constant reminder of what he's done as he felt more then ever regretful for what he done, and how terribly his family had plummeted through the years as an act of what he truly thought was his doing.

He wanted to change the times, more than ever now. He wanted to break through the barriers that separated him from his son; he wanted to tell him how much he loved him and how much he was sorry. But what would that ever do now? Too much time had passed.

"Miguel," Martin began roughly clinging to the phone as he looked into his son's eyes. "Do you remember a few months back? You hired a personal tracker …"

"Vincent Hughes." Miguel declared with no thought behind. "Why? What about him?" He questioned his eyebrow raised in interrogation. "Most importantly, why would you want to know? Are you a reporter or something?" He asked, annoyed by the flood of news officials that have tried to query him in this same matter.

"No. I'm not a reporter," Martin chuckled wryly. "You sent Vincent, overseas to search for your father. Martin Fitzgerald. And when you found him, you had one of your people send him a letter …"

"I did." He answered carefully eying the man with mistrust. He was middle aged, the distant look of weary passed his glances as he looked as if he hadn't slept in days, and he looked the part of a troubled man with his darkened eyes and expressions. So familiar …

"Well I - I just wanted you to know that we found him. Your father and I wanted you to know that he got the letter," He paused taking out the tattered piece of paper from his pocket. "This letter. Miguel, I'm Martin. I'm your father."

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BOSTON, HASTINGS INDUSTRIES.

The following morning since her departure from Harmony, Charity sat in a busy office. Her legs efficiently crossed as her shoe tapped repetitively against the linoleum floor. The noise of it somehow eluding her of the memorable buzzing of people all about the room of the major photo industry.

For the past hour an a half she'd awaited in the posh lobby for the secretary, which sat closely ahead of her to allow her into the head honcho's office. And this was the same half hour that she awaited while, this secretary: young and inexperienced. Charity could far well inform did everything but notify her boss of her arrival.

With a disdainful sigh she rose tossing her faded sunglasses aside revealing her lightened azure as she walked past the woman at the front desk.

"What do you think your doing? I told you to wait until my employer was ready to talk to you," The equal blonde chided. "Obviously, you have no appointment, so do us both a favour and sit."

Charity laughed slightly at the statement before continuing to move forward in her paces. "Honey, I need no appointments."

Intrigued the secretary questioned. "Oh, really? Why is that pray tell?"

"The magic of genetics, I guess." Her lips curled into a wry sophisticated smile, as she raised a brow to the now confused woman. "I'm Charity Hastings. David Hastings' dearest daughter you do know who that is right?" She asked an air of high sarcasm about her while taking it upon herself to open the door to her father's office.

The sound of her true name fell dry at her tongue as she said it. It had been years since Charity had been called Hastings; it wasn't as if she wanted to be. She resented all the pain the name brought to her, but at this point in time she did need the power of being a Hastings possessed.

She walked in capturing all of David Hastings' attention, who had been working on a few draft photos he had taken in other countries unknown. The walk, that was what captivated him to even give her the time of day as she gave of the aura of a strong woman, beautiful no more no less he couldn't doubt but her power and determination seemed to gleam from each part of her as she made a seat across from him. Suddenly it all clicked in his mind as the face went back to years ago, a clouded memory came to him as he watched his now all too grown daughter blankly.

At the realization he slowly bowed his head, their eyes no longer meeting as he spoke. "I sincerely hope that you haven't come here to ask for bail to get your new fling out of jail." David advised his voice still rich in a British accent. "I'll have nothing off it." He finished in a low warning tone, as he shifted photo to photo.

Charity's smirk continued at the humour of an event that was supposed to be touching and emotional. This would be the first time father and child would meet after twenty years. Luckily for her, this was the kind of reunion she'd expected and not the lather she'd witnessed of TV shows time and time again. "Daddy, I didn't know you cared." She began quietly a touch of sardonic emotion in her voice.

He looked at her once more, with a sufficient raise of his brow as he crossed his arms. As much as she wouldn't have liked to admit she saw herself in her father, perhaps it was from him that she got a certain arrogance and hatred for the world through their like sky blue eyes.

"Don't be fooled." David quipped as she almost thought she heard her brother Jonathon. Nevertheless her strength sustained as she kept her goal in mind. Her mantra, telling her that she needed her father more than she had in her whole life.

"I found out about your little tryst with Consuella Lopez before she died a few years back," Charity said her eyes profiling her father as he stood and slowly walked over to his bar.

"So, your here to chastise me for my infidelity towards your mother?" The man defended as he took a sip of the small amount of brown liquid in a glass.

"It's not like you really cared right. You couldn't have cared less when she died." Charity responded coolly hiding emotion, as she too stood. "I have reason to believe that you and this woman got rather close. Close enough for her to reveal some things about her business,"

"The Lopez family has a secret resort on the cost of some resort island." She declared in a hush tone, while crossing her arms. " I have a feeling you know where that is."

"What are you getting at, Charity?" Her father sighed wearily finally turning to his offspring with no liking to their conversation. "You already know that this boyfriend of yours killed Patrick so there's no need to further your little Nancy Drew quests."

"This isn't about that, Father!" Charity said, her voice trying its best to contain her anger. "It's about doing what I should of done years ago. I've never asked you of anything, David, and for once it would be nice if actually pretended to give a damn about one of your children and do right by them."

"And how do I do that?" David question with sardonic coy as he rested his glass on the table.

"By telling me what I need to know," She stated simple and plain. "Perhaps even is a real Father for one brief second in your life if that's clinically possible," Charity arched a brow in dry humour.

At the finishing of her statement Charity knew that her father had nothing for her and she had brought herself all this way for nothing. Only to have a childhood dream further broken and her want to finish something Patrick started never to be fulfilled.

She turned on her heal as she began a slow pace to leave this hell, that she'd encountered a wonder filling her mind as to what her next moves should be.

"Cuba," He didn't know why he did it, perchance he would spend days of the rest of his life wondering why he'd possibly help her, a child he'd never fathered, but whenever he'd ask himself the very same question at least this time he would know that the answer would have been a noble one. "The island you're looking for is Havana, Cuba."

Though his presence wouldn't let out the fact David was truly proud of the woman Charity Hastings had become, and within seeing her he knew his absence brought more good then he'd ever fathomed.

===================================================================================

His Father, Miguel repeated in utter disbelief as he backed away from the man that sat across from him. It wasn't possible that the one thing in life that he wanted more than anything was also the one thing that repulsed him beyond no end.

Miguel remained silent, at the revelation. His expressions more vindictive then in the first brief moments of their meeting.

"Look, Son. I came as soon as I heard, and I want to help … I know you didn't do this," The man stammered in a motion of pleading for his son's pardon.

"How's the family? I heard you made quite a beautiful one in Australia with Mrs. Crane." Miguel began his eyes full of hurt as he recalled learning of the new life Martin had made without any remembrance of the one he left behind. "Or should I say Miss. Fitzgerald, now?"

"Miguel, please … Katharine and our children have nothing to do with this." martin stated inwardly. "Right now, I'm more concern about you and our family."

"Our Family," Miguel laughed coldly at the reference, a tone common in obliviousness of the unavoidable as Luis' was days before. "Between you and I, I think it's a little to late to be playing father don't you, Martin?" He whispered quietly within a cold smile.

"Now you listen to me -"

"No!" A sudden roar of anger became of a low voice when he thought of the audacity his father had in actually coming here and trying to give himself some justification and redemption for being here. "You listen to me. You can't just make years of abandonment go away with playing hero and saving something that can't be saved, especially not by you."

"If you really cared about our family. You wouldn't have left," Miguel declared sternly.

"I had no other choice, Miguel. Katharine was in danger, I couldn't just walk away and let her just be abused by that son of a bitch Crane!"

"But you could let your children live there lives without their father." Miguel nodded receptively at his father's twisted all for the love gallant twisted logic. "And you can break the supposed love of your life's heart right? Wow!" Miguel exclaimed clapping his hands loudly together, "I'm sorry, Martin that is a good justification. In fact Luis and Theresa live to it as of today,"

Martin couldn't believe what he was hearing. This wasn't the reunion he'd been hoping for though it had been the one he was expecting. However beyond his son's stubbornness, Martin couldn't just let his child go to jail. He wouldn't let the family he once abandoned fall either, not because of him.

"Miguel, I'm your father." Martin said quietly at the end of his rope. Past all of his mistakes that was all he could ever be. A father who wanted to make amends.

"You really must be mistaken," Miguel said a grim expression marring his face. "My father died a long time ago, before I even got to know who he was… I guess I should be blessed; He wasn't the man I thought he was."

And that was all he said, before turning to leave for what seemed would be another eternity for Martin. Yet, never the end.

Arrylle - Girl it's good to see you again, know that you were greatly missed and that I'd be really happy to read your work on And the mind reading thing, just voice mail messages lol! No Esp. in this fic my bad.

Tasha- I hope you liked this early review and I hope you like the chapter thanx for saying I make damn good stories! Boosts me to write more! ; ).

Thank you thank you to Floetic, nah girl she wasn't dead … just in Boston!