And Carried Me Away

Chapter 2:

Burnt umber eyes glowered at the wall, a plain thing painted stark white. It was the same with the other walls, except for the one with the door. That one wasn't quite a wall but rather a prison bar door, electronically locked in place. The owner of the eyes scowled.

'Jemma.' Muttered James, as he tried to imagine what the three year old looked like. His mouth twitched, his mind going over his choice again and whether he should give in. Eight, or was it nine, weeks ago his father had attempted to visit, to talk. James however had snarled at him and refused the request.

A few days later David Rossi had tried again to see James, and refused to leave until he got a chance to talk. It'd been very brief, since the younger man was stubborn, but Rossi had managed to tell James that Jemma had been found. Alive.

James, having been convinced it was impossible, had ignored everything else his father had tried to say. He hadn't believed the older man. Nor had he considered Rossi's offer to bring a photograph of the toddler. He'd even shouted at his father that he'd just sell the photo to some inmate if Rossi sent one.

The older man hadn't bothered coming back since.

James grimaced, flexing his fingers. He stretched his arms out and then his legs, mulling at the wall. His hand closed into a fist, his lips twitching as he squeezed it tighter.

"Damn it..." He mumbled and relaxed his fist slowly, stretching out his fingers. His eyes narrowed, lips pressed into a thin line as he sat up, glowering at his hands.

"Hey." The sound of someone tapping on his cell door drew James' attention, and he scowled. It deepened when he noticed the wheeled cart of books that the inmates who worked in the prison library pushed around once a week. "I got a book here for you."

"Go away."

"Don't be like that. You'll love this book. I guarantee it." The inmate paused, making a face as though mulling over the other man's silence. "No? Well, I guess Somerfield's Treatise on Experimental Psychiatry is a bit banal for most..."

James tensed at the name, his eyes darting from the inmate to the book. Without more than a blink of thought, he rushed forward and grabbed the book from the inmate. It nearly fell from his hands as he grabbed it, and he cursed.

"...guess you're not like 'most'." The inmate smirked, watching James closely as the thirty-six year old glowered at the book. Without another word, the inmate studied James as the latter opened it, reading the title page. Then the dedication.

"What..." James stared at the dedication page, confused. He barely noted as the inmate who'd brought the book left, nor had the knowing smirk on the inmate's face registered to him. James merely reread the dedication page, sliding his finger over the name which was, aside from the initials, handwritten.

0

"Yes. I understand." William Reid spoke into the phone, standing just left of the door leading to Alsie's hospital room.

He was close enough to glance inside, which he did briefly to see his daughter packing up her stuff. Her clothes and books, and all the little things that had made it to her over the past nine weeks. All which had been brought to her to make her stay a bit more comfortable once it was prolonged.

"No, I haven't decided. It isn't as simple...it's not just my decision." He sighed, his eyes widening the next moment at the disparaging tone of his caller. His expression grew stony, exuding an undercurrent of anger at the comment. "Look, I'll call you back when I've come to a decision. I...what...? Fine, whatever, do what you want."

He growled and clicked his cell phone shut, shaking his head in frustration. Taking a second to compose himself, he knocked on Alsie's door before swinging it open. He smiled at his daughter as she glanced at him demurely before returning to her things.

"Are you all set? Did you need any help?" He offered, his smile faltering a little when Alsie quietly shook her head. The petite woman lingered over a few drawings laid on the bed, each vibrant in color. William recognized them immediately as those Jemma had drawn for her mother over the past couple of weeks.

Alsie shook as she reached for the drawings, uncertainty in her eyes. Not that her father could see it, her hair curtained her face blocking her eyes from his view. And that was on top of the height difference that made it difficult for the taller man to see her face without bending down. She took in a slow breath, her fingers shifting the drawings to reveal the photos beneath.

William recognized the top photographs immediately - those were of Jemma, taken and brought to Alsie over the last eight weeks by the BAU. The other photos took a moment longer to place, for one they were older and partly obscured by the others lain on top of them. It was evident that one of them was clearly a sonogram. He hesitated. "Elsie...?"

"...this..." Alsie picked up the sonogram after noting her father's eyes being drawn to it. She held it out towards him. "This was the sonogram I had just a few weeks before Jemma was taken...and the first one James missed."

William took the proffered sonogram silently, unable to speak as he gazed down at one of the earliest images of his granddaughter. It still felt surreal, finding out that his daughter was alive and that he had a grandchild. He took in a breath, staring at the sonogram and feeling nostalgic as it brought forth a memory from years ago. The day when Diana had had her third sonogram done, and the day they first found out she was carrying twins. In both the sonograms prior, due to fluke or the inopportune placement of the twins, only one had shown up. It had been such a surprise to him and Diana that they'd be the parents of twins.

"...afraid."

Alsie's voice interrupted William's reminiscence, his ears catching the distraught tone despite missing the words. His eyes locked on Alsie's face. "What is it? I'm sorry, I didn't hea..."

"...I'm afraid." Alsie repeated, her eyes glassy with tears she refused to let fall. She picked up one of Jemma's drawings, before turning to William. Her voice was so small. Unsure. "...what if...what if I get...frustrated and...hurt..." Her voice choked up, unable to finish the thought let alone the sentence.

"Don't even think...that's..." William replied, immediately realizing what his daughter meant. "You'll be a great mother. There's no way you'll hurt Jemma."

Alsie's lips twitched, showing a brief sad smile, before replying in a scoffing, self-deprecating tone. "...my blackouts...the...my dissociative..."

William shook his head, surprised a moment at his daughter bringing up her DID. Due likely to Spencer's insistence and reassurance, Alsie had started to come to terms with her diagnosis. "You'll be a great mother. You love Jemma. And you have so many people around you willing to help in any way. Spencer, Rossi, the BAU...and myself."

"...you're transferring to D.C?" Alsie asked, piqued by her father's inclusion of himself. During one of his previous visits, when she brought up him possibly taking custody of Jemma and staying in D.C, William had hesitated.

"I...I'm working on it." He replied, before turning his attention back to the photographs. His reluctance to discuss it obvious, not least because of Alsie's request a few weeks ago that he take custody of Jemma if anything happened to her. It had been while Spencer had left to visit Diana, and the BAU was off on a case, one that Rossi couldn't sit out on.

William had immediately offered to watch Jemma, until the BAU returned. His offer had been accepted by Rossi, who was determined for Jemma to know both her grandfathers, despite Spencer's animosity for William Reid. Rossi had even argued against Spencer when the latter found out about William babysitting Jemma and called the senior agent to insist he find someone else to watch Jemma. William learned this because Spencer had called him afterwards, demanding that he find someone else to watch Jemma. It had quickly turned into a berating session, where Spencer brought up all the things William did wrong through the years. From every argument William had with Spencer's mother, to him walking out on his family when Spencer was ten. Even the fact that William had never bothered telling Spencer about him having a twin. Everything that could be blamed on his father, Spencer brought up and insisted it meant William had no right to be in Jemma's life.

The phone call had quickly escalated into an argument when William's temper got the better of him. The two men had hung up on each other, still no closer to resolving the matter.

It was Alsie who settled finally settled it, calling up Spencer the moment she found out about the issue. William still didn't know exactly what Alsie had said to Spencer, as the petite woman had called her brother when no one was around, but he'd received a text from his son that night. In it was an apology and acceptance of William as a babysitter for Jemma. Of course, how Spencer worded it, it was clear his son accepted him as a babysitter only as a last resort.

It was further clear that Spencer expected William to go back home to Vegas at some point and officially no longer be a fixture in Jemma's life. Not wanted nor hoped, but expected in an almost fatalistic way, that the elder Reid would abandon his family again. William was unable to come up with any response, and had simply sent back his own apology for losing his temper.

The very next day, when William was visiting Alsie after dropping Jemma off at daycare - the hospital wing Alsie was in didn't allow children younger than six to visit patients - his daughter had asked the question. Would William be willing to become Jemma's legal guardian should anything happen to her? With the only condition being that he move to D.C.

"...you don't have to move, if you don't want." Alsie mumbled, shifting her gaze back towards the photos. Her eyes locked on a group of photos held together by a rubber-banded. She quietly picked it up, her vision blurring with tears though she tried to blink them back.

"I...it's not that. I want to be near you and Jemma, to watch my grandchild grow up." William Reid replied, his eyes widened by how his daughter interpreted his answer. "I just need to find a place to live and a job in the area. I've already sent out my resume to various law firms."

"Oh." Alsie glanced up at her father, her eyes round at his answer. It was clear she had been uncertain of his determination to stick around. "That's...you don't have to worry about money. Granny...Mary Schmidt set a trust for me, and left me her properties...you can stay and..."

William stopped himself from saying his first answer: an unapologetic no. He had no desire to have anyone, especially his daughter, support him while he was still able to do so himself. But he also understood, not just from Alsie's hopeful tone but also by how disappointed she was when she thought he wouldn't move, that his daughter wanted him around. The offer was a plead, and he didn't know if or how he could turn it down.

He wasn't sure if he wanted to either. A fact that made him feel guilty, as it reminded him of the day he left Diana and Spencer. His son had pleaded with him using statistics to not leave, but William hadn't listened. He had even snapped at the then ten year old, that they weren't statistics, despite knowing that that was the only way his son was confident in communicating. Especially when upset.

If he gave into his daughter's plea now, after ignoring his son's twenty-three years ago, what would that do to Spencer? It wasn't as simple as clear-cut favoritism, since he believed his daughter had been dead for thirty-three years, and he was sure Spencer would see that that made a difference. But...emotions had little to do with logic, and William wondered at what harm it would do to Spencer and Alsie's budding sibling relationship if he treated his adult daughter better than he treated his ten year old son. He didn't want to sabotage the chance for his children to develop a sibling bond, nor for Jemma to know her uncle.

He sighed then paused, an excuse dawning on him concurrently with his recollection.

"Mary Schmidt...she had you pretend to be her granddaughter Allison, correct?" William asked, enunciating each word slowly, to not accidentally appear eager for an excuse. "She would've left the trust and inheritance to 'Allison Schmidt'...hm..."

Alsie opened her mouth as though to speak, but closed it again thinking. Her hand unconsciously gripped the rubber-banded wad of photos tightly, squeezing them.

"I should take a look at the legal documents. Depending on how she worded it...they could be contested, since legally, you're not Allison Schmidt." William paused, eyes widening as a question occurred to him. "Unless...you didn't make an attempt to legally change your identity, did you? I mean from the name that family gave you - Adrienne Crawford to Allison Schmidt?"

Alsie shook her head.

"All right." William continued, his brain immediately locking on the possible legal issues of the inheritance Mary Schmidt left Alsie. He had no intention of depriving his daughter of the inheritance if Mary Schmidt truly desired her to have it, but his curiosity as a lawyer and a father piqued his interest the more he thought about it.

Depending how large the inheritance was and if Mary Schmidt had any blood relatives, how the will and testament was worded could nullify it or open it up to be contested. If Mrs. Schmidt had worded it to include not just 'Allison Schmidt' but also 'Adrienne Crawford' by name, that would potentially allow the inheritance to stand legally.

"What law firm handled Mary Schmidt's estate and drafted her will? I'd like to talk to them and go through the wording of it."

"Her private attorney handled it. Cyrus Jorgensen Cutler. He lives in and has a practice in Bethesda, Virginia." Alsie replied, her gaze back on the photographs she held. She barely noted his father repeating the name, a peculiar expression on his face. It was as though he was trying to figure out where he'd heard the name before. Nor did Alsie notice the dawning realization in William's eyes as he placed the name.

All of her attention was on the rubber-banded photographs in her hand. Her eyes lingered over the top one, a Polaroid with the initials PLLC 1998 written on the white strip.