Disclaimer: No character is mine...yet.
A/N: Just wanted to try my hand at something different. All I ever write is depressing Serena-centric fics, so I guess you can judge if I'm a one trick pony or not.
Warning: TWT. Chapters will be non-consecutive and unrelated one-shots.
xoxo
Two thirty-three ticked past. She had less than half an hour to gather her courage, re-do her hair, and choose an outfit.
She didn't know what people wore to prisons, so she kneeled to prune another row.
Somewhere, in the last four years, she'd convinced herself that this was the real world. This world, filled with nothing but happy colours and perfection, was the only world she'd ever understood. Not the one where she had to walk through a metal detector just to see her husband.
Her home was by the Connecticut shore, in an oversized cottage her parents rarely used. She lingered here, in her self-imposed exile, her only company the bright and silent Lady Banks' roses she cultivated.
She gently fingered the band through her gardening glove. Now it only fit on her smallest finger. It's platinum, Anna. She was eight when her father curled her palm around it, eight and completely uninterested in the cold, grey thing. But always he bought her platinum. Gold is soft—weak and useless in the long run.
If spoken by anyone else, the words would have been forgotten. But William van der Bilt held a special place in her life, a god among men who had lowered himself by deigning to father her.
How she had wanted to be the daughter he deserved. Perfect on the outside, van der Bilt platinum on the inside. Instead she'd failed him by falling in love with a wayward Archibald, a third son who'd burnt his familiar bridges long ago.
Was Howard waiting for her, right now? Did they really have to wear jumpsuits in prison?
She pictured him in his crisp white shirt and naval insignia.
Her heart ached, till she could think about it no more.
Hurriedly she moved on to the next bush.
Once Nathaniel could sit by her side for hours while she gardened. She's adored her softly spoken son who loved beauty as much as she did. She'd always picked the largest rose of the summer for him. When he was eight, she'd hinted that the well-dressed brunette with perfect posture might appreciate it. Anne was always observant, and the blonde her son stared at was careless, would destroy her prized rose without thought.
But Nate never listened to her and in the end she'd just smiled ruefully when she spotted her rose in the buttonhole of Chuck Bass's suit jacket.
Now, Nathaniel had little to say to the mother who had never been enough for him. It didn't matter the jobs she'd found, the connections she's forged, the funds she'd lowered herself to beg for—for him, always for him. And when her husband failed them, her family turned their backs, and her friends had smiled gleefully, she'd only held her head higher.
Selfish, he'd called her, for wanting him to have the best life, even when he refused to want it for himself.
All he could see was the woman who refused to step foot in a prison, the woman who could never even pronounce the word suicide.
All he saw was white gold raised above its station.
Nathaniel chose his own path, amused himself with one beautiful thing after another, always coming back to the same one.
They'd sat opposite from her, smiled nervously and politely eaten her tea cake. She ignored the long looks and small touches.
Ignored it until the bubbly blonde had grinned hopefully, holding out her hand.
Their engagement diamond glinted at her smugly.
The surprise had been real, her smile fake.
She looked between them uncertainly. Was it enough for Nathaniel that Serena was her exact opposite?
She tried to find something, anything in Serena to admire. Enough beauty to make any boy stupid, certainly, but if her brilliant smile hid anything but flighty capriciousness, she couldn't find it.
Oh Nathaniel, I should have grown the Arctics.
Thornless roses have no lessons to teach.
Still, she'd hugged them both, deciding she could accept one more recovering cocaine addict into the family.
"Anne?"
She stood, peeling off her gloves as she slowly turned. She glanced at her knees, making sure no dirt lingered. She raised a hand to her hair, knowing a few stands had slipped from her bun.
Nothing she could do about that now.
"Howard," she breathed, her smile cool but sweet. "I-I was going to come pick you up. I wanted to, I just…" Here she trailed off, faced her garden again. Fear was one thing, admitting it another.
There was a tiny bag by his side. It could carry less than her handbag. How could he have been away so long, with nothing that was his?
He walked closer. This was her real fear, right here. It wasn't the prison, the whispers, or her father's scorn.
She just didn't want to see what four years of incarceration had done to her husband. She didn't want to see him ravaged by hardship and pain. That she couldn't stand.
"It's alright. I'd rather see you here, like this." He closed in on her till she was shielded by his shadow.
She straightened her spine. (Not gold, never that.)
She looked him over from head to toe. He bore her stare patiently, not daring to guess at her thoughts.
He was thin, but not underweight. He was pale, and his suit was wrinkled and too tight around his arms. His unruly curls were gone. She thought she'd miss them, but his buzz cut made him look younger, made him look like "The Captain" once again.
Just one step and her arms were wrapped around his neck. His eyes were still bright and blue, and more perfect than anything she could grow.
"I missed you so much," she whispered into his chest, her voice thick with tears that didn't fall.
She was an Archibald now; tears were acceptable.
He held her tight, his eyes shutting automatically. His mind was too overwhelmed to process anything but the feel of home and freedom and Anne.
Howard touched her greedily, trying to reacquaint himself with the delicate face, and soft brown hair.
She detangled herself. Her tears had already gone, replaced with a prim smile like they'd never existed.
"Let's get you out of that suit." She had something properly pressed in waiting, but she'd let him take her words however he wanted. She took his hand, leading him inside.
Today she'd fix their family, and tomorrow she'd think about conquering New York.
xoxo
Platinum till the end.
xoxo
E/N: Yes, yes, it's sappy, I know.