Author's Note: I will get back to any and all reviews by the next update! We're experiencing a little string of family emergencies and the likes, so I'm still trying to catch up (for both this and Time and Time Again).

Regardless, enjoy!

Beryl Mason had had a long day. She was not in the mood for her adopted daughter to make dramatic declarations in the downstairs area. Nor did she care to scare the living daylights out of high-ranking Crawley Industries employees.

Of course, when such a thing did happen, there was only one thing for it:

Take control and get everyone to shut up.

The caterer sent the Executive Assistant and his daughter out of the hallway and back into what was known as the housekeeper's sitting room. Well, actually, before she left them in the sitting room, she had Daisy sit with the girl while she talked to Mr. Carson.

After that, it was a matter of booting him to the sitting room.

Daisy wanted to remain by the girl's side, but Beryl wouldn't have it. The eighteen year old meant well, but she was likely to make things even worse. This way, it was Mr. Carson's fault if things continued to fall apart.

_._

Charles Carson was in shock. He was still reeling from Miss Mason's news, slumped in one of the chairs. He had a daughter? One who wasn't a newborn or a child but twelve years old?

Common sense should have kicked in and demanded to see proof.

But when he looked at her, he knew the truth.

At a glance, she resembled Elsie so much it was unbearable. But her eyes. They were brown, shaped just like his. And the way her hands fidgeted. There was also the fact that she wasn't biting her lip. Rather, she furrowed her eyebrows. Frequently.

There were subtleties here. Ones he could dismiss, but ones he had no desire to. It was strange and a little unnerving, but he almost wanted the girl before him to be his daughter. He wanted the last thirteen years to be a ghastly mistake, to wake up and realise it had all been a bad dream. To find out he hadn't lost Elsie after all.

If only he had time to think this through. It helped that Mrs. Mason pulled him aside in all the hullabaloo. The caterer wasted no time informing him that if he acted a fool, she would throttle him.

But enough of him and his panic. This girl was petrified, hiding a photograph in her grasp and doing her best to stare at the floor. He may be in shock, but Lord only knows what she was going through.

"It's Allison, right?" She nodded, avoiding his stare. Charles continued, willing his voice to contain only encouragement, "Allison, why don't you start from the beginning and tell me everything you know?"

"That's the thing," There was that lip biting he'd been looking for. "My mother hasn't told me a thing. She doesn't even know I'm here."

His face held all the curiosity she needed, the story slipping out from the girl. She had found a photograph years ago. Somehow, it managed to give her both answers and questions. She hadn't intended on investigating––she hadn't a clue how to. Only, a class presentation gave a part of the answer away.

"May I see it?"

Allison frowned. On one hand, she had always craved a chance to share this with someone. On the other hand, could she really trust him? If he left them all those years ago, why wouldn't he do it again?

"I'm sorry?"

The twelve year old realised she'd voiced these concerns aloud. She then recognised the fact that he was looking at her all funny. Allison cleared her throat, fidgeting, "That is what happened, isn't it? Mum may not talk about it, but Aunt Becky mentioned it once."

"And what did your Aunt Becky say?"

The girl was a little astonished by his quiet tone. He didn't sound upset. He still looked funny, but he wasn't angry. She then recalled that specific conversation, paling, "I'm not sure sharing will help."

"Allison," The man remained insistently gentle, "I can't answer any questions you have until I know what you've been told."

She nodded, understanding him in theory if nothing else. Glancing back at her hands, Allison resigned herself to paraphrasing the discussion, "Basically, she told Mum that it never sat well with her, 'the way he called things off.'"

She sniffled, a confession dripping out alongside tears, "It––it never sat well with me, either."

"Allison, are you sure that's what she said?"

Allison gave a start at that, regaining a bit of her fighting spirit as she arched an eyebrow and dryly stated, "Mr. Carson, why would I lie?"

The image was so vibrant, so familiar, Charles nearly fell back into more memories. But he was determined to remain in this moment, "I don't think you're lying, Allison. But given the circumstances,"

"And just what are the circumstances?"

"Well," Did she really need the full context? Probably not. Most likely, it would only confuse the girl. Not to mention the fact that he wasn't in a place to discuss such a matter. "It's complicated."

Allison scowled, "If you think for one moment my mother wanted to leave you, think again. I may not know the 'circumstances,' but I do know that."

Well, then. They had a bit of a problem there. Because Charles remembered November 11th, 2005 unfortunately well. And at no point did he imply he wanted to leave her. Quite the reverse.

Just what was going on here?

_._

They remained at an impasse, father and daughter. Discomfort and confusion continued to overwhelm the pair.

That is, until a little idea came forth: "I don't suppose,"

Charles turned, curious to hear her suggestion. She continued, "I don't suppose you ought to start from the beginning? Tell me what you remember?"

"I don't think I should." Allison's demeanour tried its best to encourage him. Charles remained adamant, "I am not comfortable with telling you something your mother hasn't already shared."

She looked like she wanted to roll her eyes, "Mr. Carson, if my mother had it her way, I would never learn a thing."

The businessman weakly chuckled, but held to his principles. So little Allison tried a different tactic, "Did you leave her, Mr. Carson? Did you really abandon my mother and me?"

"Of course not!" Charles despised the very idea. He truly thought he had been respecting her wishes. If he had known about Allison, there could be no question of it: the last thirteen years would have been a beautifully different story.

"Then what happened?"

The father frowned, "I'm no longer sure I know."

Little Allison gave the smallest of harrumphs. That answer was disappointing to say the least. But she knew better than to push him on the subject. Yet.

What descended next was an awkward and tentative air. Once again, the daughter and father were at a loss for what to do.

Except, there was one question to be had.

"Allison," She looked up, "I know I don't have the right to ask this. But would you be so kind as to share the––"

She watched him trail off, knowing exactly what he spoke of. Glancing at the picture resting in her hands, the girl assessed the situation. Slowly she turned the photograph over, letting the image face up.

Several new sentiments snuck into his gaze, to the point where Allie knew there was much more to this than her Aunt Becky implied. She was shocked to see him on the verge of crying, impulsively suggesting, "Would you like to hold it?"

He nodded, unable to speak.

Allison took a quiet breath, uncertain. But instinct told her she could trust him. He gradually grasped the proffered photograph, handling it with more care and consideration than she expected.

"You still love her, don't you?"

This nod was unconscious, the father still unable to speak. Thirteen years of an unfulfilling career had altered him in ways no one could have anticipated.

But Charles Carson thought this was the life he deserved. Which was why he swiped his grief away, handing back the photograph before it prompted him to do something foolish.

He may not have all the facts, but he knew it was his fault things had gone the way they did.

Which meant it was quite necessary to pull himself together and let this darling little girl get back to her life, "Right. I'm sure you've someone waiting for you. No doubt I've caused quite the stir, keeping you away from your family,"

Allison scoffed and shook her head, stopping him in his tracks, "Mr. Carson, do you know what the difference between presumption and assumption is?"

Charles cleared his throat, but couldn't make the leap she asked of him. The words refused to come forth. She tilted her head. This time, it wasn't from hesitation or curiosity.

Her eyes were filled with a prim knowledge as she remarked, "A presumption means you are almost certain, if not positive, you know the facts. An assumption means you're genuinely unsure of the circumstances."

He was well aware of this, but what did it have to do with anything?

The girl sat up, her hands perfectly still as she met his gaze. "Just now, you tried to presume to know the facts of my life. But if I were to tell you the truth, you would realise that you were only assuming."

Her hand threatened to tremble, her eyes glimpsing the photograph before concentrating once more, "Now, wouldn't you like the chance to presume?"

Author's Note: It always tickles me when I can turn grammar into philosophy.

Given the last week, I think it's best to stick to weekly updates. Regardless, as always, I hope you did enjoy this and that you have a lovely day! 'Till next time.