Sharon was still leaning up against the desk in the Chief's office when it happened. She saw the commotion in the murder room, watched everyone rushing to gather around the phone on Flynn's desk. She saw the anger washing over his face, watched his whole body tense up, and she knew.

She saw Andy look up, caught his eye, and her knees threatened to give way.

The Chief motioned towards the office, and Andy set off at once.

Sharon still couldn't move.

Andy opened the door, his face drawn and pale.

"It's him, isn't it?" Sharon asked, and Andy nodded.

"He said he won't speak to anyone but you. Sharon, I'm so sorry," he said quietly, and finally her feet found purchase on the tile floor. She moved slowly, carefully, with one last lingering look at her boys. She would give everything to take this back, to make it so that this had never happened, so that her children would never know the fear that had become a constant part of her life. She knew it was too late, but she still wished for it anyway.

They all watched her as she walked towards Flynn's desk, a condemned prisoner heading for the gallows. She knew what was waiting for her when she answered the phone. This monster had her daughter, and he knew her every weakness. Sharon was beginning to suspect there was no way they could beat him. She tried to imagine a scenario in which this all ended well, with Alexander dead and Emma back in her arms, but with each passing moment such a vision seemed more and more impossible.

She saw the pity in their eyes, the fear. She knew those feelings well.

She took a deep breath, and pressed the speakerphone button, broadcasting their conversation to everyone in the room.

"Marcus," she said mildly, and watched the surprise wash over every face. They had expected her to be frazzled, angry, aggressive, certainly; they had expected her to scream, to demand that Alexander return her child unharmed, to threaten him with bodily harm. They had not expected this aloofness, and Sharon knew her response frightened them as much as the prospect of Alexander did.

They didn't know a goddamn thing about her.

"Sharon, my dear, it's wonderful to hear your voice again," he said, his disembodied voice pulling her back at once to that night in her kitchen, to the feel of hot lead tearing through her gut, to Andy catching her as she fell, choosing her, every time. She trembled, ever so slightly, and no one noticed.

No one but Andy, who reached out without thinking and took her hand in his own.

"I believe you have something that belongs to me, Marcus, and I'd like it back. Unharmed," she said, throwing his own words back at him, and the man laughed.

"Oh, I have no intention of harming her, Sharon!" he said jovially. "I really don't care about that. What I care about is you. Don't you see? I want to talk to you, face to face."

"You tell me where, and I'll be there. So long as you don't touch her. I swear to God, Marcus, if you so much as-"

"Save me your righteous indignation, Sharon," he spat. "I know your people are tracing this call as we speak. I have made no attempts to hide myself from you."

"That was foolish," she told him.

"I'd watch your mouth if I was you, Captain," he said, and Andy's fingers tightened protectively around hers. Everyone was staring at the phone, as though it were Alexander himself. Everyone but the Chief, whose eyes were trained on Sharon's hand entwined with Andy's.

"Here's what I want: you, Sharon. You come here, alone, and unarmed. You walk up to the door. No cars. And don't try to be sneaky. I've rigged this building to blow if any of the doors or windows are opened. If I see any cars parked outside, I will blow your baby all to hell. You hear me? If I see any cars drive by more than once, I will blow this building up. If anyone is with you-"

"I get the picture, Marcus. I'll come alone."

"You could bring Andy, if you like. Been awhile since I've seen your boyfriend. How's his drinking?"

It was Sharon's turn to squeeze Andy's hand. She felt his tension, strung taught as a bowstring next to her.

"You won't be seeing anyone until I speak to Emma," she told him, desperate to hear her child's voice, hoping she didn't sound as helpless as she felt.

Marcus was silent for several long moments before a rustling sound echoed over the phone and Emma's terrified voice filled the murder room.

"Mom?" she asked, and Sharon's hand reached out for the phone before she realized what she was doing. She snatched her hand back, stuffing it in her pocket as she spoke.

"Emma, oh thank God. Are you alright?" she asked, terrified and relieved and angry and a thousand different things all at once.

"I just want to come home!" Emma had begun to cry, and the sound of it wrenched at Sharon's heart. She was grateful for Andy's quiet strength beside her. "I'm so sorry, mom, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to-"

"That's quite enough, now," Marcus said curtly, and the sound of Emma's tears faded away. "You have half an hour, Sharon."

The line went dead.

Eleven Years Before

Andy held Sharon's hands in his own, watching the steady rise and fall of her chest, listening to the quiet hum of the monitors hooked up to her body. He wasn't sure how long he had been there by her side, or how much longer it would be before she finally woke up, he just knew he wasn't going anywhere. He couldn't leave her, not now. Not after he'd let Alexander walk away. He would be there when she woke up, because he could not allow himself to fail her again.