No Less Than Perfect

By DarkHorse

Chapter 1

Author's Note/Acknowledgements: This story is based on the Season 9 episode "Less Than Perfect." After watching this episode for the first time in many years, I was struck by the richness of the Jo/Blair subtext it contains, and the idea of turning it into fan fiction took root and wouldn't let go.

My story assumes that everything leading up to this episode has happened exactly as it did on the show. It's February 1988; Jo has shed her former tomboy look and is dating Rick; Blair is dating Casey; and the four girls, along with Beverly Ann, Andy, and Pippa, are living under the same roof.

It's taken a long time for this story to see the light of day. Special thanks go to my spouse, for her unconditional love and support, for patiently tolerating my interest in this beloved 80's show, and for being my "Jo" all these years; my beta reader (you know who you are :) ) for her tireless encouragement and exceptional editor's eye; and my circle of fellow fan fic writers, who have kept me motivated and inspired. I hope you'll enjoy it.

A special note about Chapter 1: This chapter reads like a novelization of the actual episode (though I've taken artistic license with some aspects – for example, Blair is more severely injured in my version). This was intentional on my part, for a couple reasons. First and foremost, I wanted to reveal the characters' thoughts and motivations as they experience the events depicted in the episode. Second, some readers may be unfamiliar with this episode, or haven't seen it in years, and because the events of this episode are the launching point for everything that happens thereafter, I felt the need to adhere closely to it. The spoken dialogue belongs to Howard Leeds, Ben Starr, Jerry Mayer, Dick Clair, Jenna McMahon, and Martha Williamson, all of whom were credited as writers on the episode; the characters' internal dialogue/thoughts are mine. Subsequent chapters will be primarily original material.

The slender, spiky-haired, middle-aged woman peered through the darkness as she padded her way downstairs in her nightgown and robe, with her reading glasses on and a book in her hand.

"Pippa, it's after midnight. You know what happens when you stay up this late. I get cranky!"

At the sound of Beverly Ann's gentle scolding, Pippa stirred from the far end of the sofa where she'd fallen asleep, still dressed in her Eastland school uniform. The young exchange student had been assigned to write a biography about a great American industrialist. She'd planned to interview her housemate, Blair Warner, about Blair's great-grandfather, the founder of Warner Textiles. Blair had graciously agreed, despite having a Contract Law exam the following morning, for which she'd already been studying all evening. However, before helping Pippa with her assignment, Blair had briefly left the house to give her boyfriend, Casey, a ride home. She'd promised Pippa she'd be back in a little while...

"I'm waiting for Blair," Pippa explained drowsily, as Beverly Ann settled next to her. "She's…" They both were startled by the sound of the front door suddenly being opened. They both turned as Pippa asked, "Blair?"

"No, it's me," came her housemate, Tootie's, cheery voice from the darkness. The young woman entered the living room and turned on the light as she asked, "What are you guys doing up so late?"

"Blair's going to help me with my homework as soon as she gets back from taking Casey home," Pippa responded.

"But that was over two hours ago," Beverly Ann remarked with concern. "That isn't like Blair at all."

Just then, the phone rang. Tootie strolled over to answer it. "I'll bet that's her now. She probably just ran out of gas or something." She picked up the receiver. "Yes? Yeah, this is her address."

Beverly Ann and Pippa gathered around Tootie, listening intently, as the young woman's tone and expression grew more serious. "She drives a red Porsche." A pause. "Oh God, no." Instinctively, Tootie's other hand went to the desk in front of her to steady herself. "Uh…yeah…uh…right away." She raised her hand, ran it through her hair and then braced herself against the desk again, taking a deep, shaky breath as she hung up the phone. Slowly, she turned to Beverly Ann and Pippa. "There's been an accident."

Jo Polniaczek paced agitatedly up and down the corridor, lost in thought, while her roommates remained in the waiting area. Natalie sat leafing listlessly through a magazine with one arm around Beverly Ann, who was seated beside her, while Tootie stood nearby, looking on helplessly. Pippa, along with Beverly Ann's adopted son, Andy, had gone off to the hospital cafeteria for snacks and coffee. There was nothing any of them could do except wait…and worry.

What they knew so far was that Blair had been brought in via ambulance, bloodied and unconscious, after being pried from her Porsche. The luxury car, having slammed into a tree at a relatively high speed, was totaled. Blair had been wearing a seatbelt, but it wasn't enough to protect her from the impact of the head-on collision. The emergency response team had been working on her for some time. "Too long," Jo thought grimly. The unspoken fear that hung heavily over Jo, and the others, surfaced and brought the sting of tears to Jo's eyes. "Damn it, Blair!" she whispered vehemently to herself.

Jo replayed that night's events again in her mind. The evening hadn't gotten off to a great start, now that she thought about it. Her boyfriend, Rick, a musician, had secured a gig for a local event that night, which left Jo without any particular plans. Seizing the opportunity, Natalie had talked her into seeing an absurd art house film that, in Jo's opinion, represented a couple hours of her life she'd never get back. Then, she and Natalie had returned home to find, in Jo's own words, an equally ridiculous situation: Blair and Casey close together on the sofa – Casey watching TV with the sound turned down and his arm around Blair, while Blair pored over her law books.

Jo hadn't been able to resist gleefully throwing a barb their way. Casey was her manager at the Hudson Valley Community Center and, over time, they'd developed mutual respect and a good working relationship. She and Blair had been roommates - and, she grudgingly admitted, friends – ever since their teenage years at Eastland. Still, Casey and Blair together, as a romantic couple? Jo shook her head. How the hell did that even happen? They don't fit together. He's all wrong for her. What a joke!

Since the lovebirds were both at the house anyway, Jo had decided it was a good opportunity to have both of them look over the childcare budget for the center. The Warner Foundation had recently paid off the center's mortgage and was generously providing ongoing support for day-to-day operations, so, in addition to Casey's consent, Jo needed Blair's approval on any proposed expenditures. Blair had protested that she was too tired, but Jo had spent plenty of late nights putting those figures together, and it was hard enough to find a spare moment with either Blair or Casey these days, let alone both of them together.

After insisting it would only take a few minutes, Jo had headed upstairs to grab the folder from her desk. She returned to find Casey on his way out the door, offering her a weak apology. Frustrated, Jo could only stand by and watch as Casey and Blair put on a sappy goodbye display, with Casey planting kisses on Blair's forehead, the tip of her perky nose, and finally, her lips, while Blair blushed and bashfully grinned like a schoolgirl in the midst of her first crush. "Can't he figure out where your mouth is?" Jo had asked in disgust after Casey left.

And then, just as abruptly, he was back. Casey's car, which had long since seen better days, had once again failed to start. Blair, who looked as if little pink hearts might shoot out of her eyes, had rushed to his side as he reached for the phone, and offered to give him a lift home. He initially refused, noting that she needed her rest. Jo, still feeling a bit of revulsion from the scene she'd just witnessed, had hesitated only a moment before stepping in with what she felt was an obvious solution. "Why don't I just take a look at it?"

But Blair had brushed Jo's offer aside – twice – with a bubbly insistence that she could simply drive Casey home herself. And then Natalie, smirking, had chimed in with, "Jo, what size building has to fall on you?" Jo responded by shooting Natalie a long, dark glare. Blair had walked out the door, Casey in tow, while promising Pippa she'd be back soon to be interviewed.

"So much for that," Jo thought sorrowfully.

Casey's arrival snapped Jo out of her reverie. He was breathless, and anxious for news about Blair. Tootie quickly brought him up to speed on the situation. Jo noted that the otherwise healthy young man was still having difficulty catching his breath. She reached out and touched his arm. "You okay?"

"Yeah," Casey replied, looking down at his feet. "I just had to run all the way over, cuz my car…" he explained, trailing off as a realization dawned on him. "My car. I should have had that damned car fixed weeks ago! Why did I let her drive me home? I knew she was tired!" He turned away, seething with guilt, anger, and helplessness.

A vicious retort flashed through Jo's mind, but she wisely thought better of it. Now wasn't the time for either finger-pointing or self-recrimination, even though she'd been inwardly engaged in plenty of both on this night – not that she'd admit it to anyone. Her reasonable side winning out, Jo turned to the young man with as much sympathy as she could muster. "Casey, she wanted to. Nobody was gonna stop her."

Casey appeared not to have heard her. Agitated, he exclaimed loudly, "Where are those doctors? Why don't we know anything yet?"

"She's in emergency! They're working on her!" Jo replied sharply, her hands gesturing in exasperation. They all sounded like broken records. Blair was in there, in what condition God only knew, and there was nothing – not a damn thing – that Jo or any one of them could do to help her. Not for the first time that night, Jo wanted to put her fist though a wall – or, at this particular moment, Casey's face.

But then, Casey seemed to shift gears, stuffing his hands back into his jeans pockets and turning to Jo with a pensive expression. "You know, I sat in front of a TV set for two hours and watched without sound, just to be around her for a while."

Jo could relate to that. Blair's presence in a room was magnetic. Jo softened at that thought, and smiled sadly at Casey. "That's not so bad."

"It was a symphony," Casey laughed gently. Jo kept her head down, those damned tears threatening to fall again, as she desperately tried to hold it together. "What is it about her?" he continued. "She's vain, selfish, shallow…she's a snob…she expects everything to go her way."

Jo shook her head lightly, her face breaking into a knowing grin. "And it usually does."

"So why do we care so much?"

Jo paused and looked up to meet his eyes. "Because she's Blair," she stated simply. "And there's nobody else like her."

Blair. Casey was right about her, of course. She could be an annoying, condescending, self-centered, privileged thorn in Jo's side, and Jo had greatly relished the opportunity to knock her down a few pegs, when needed. There had been an untold number of such opportunities over the years. Blair just made it all too easy at times.

Then again, maybe Blair had intentionally given her those openings. And frankly, she'd more than held up her own end of their verbal sparring matches. The gorgeous blonde may have projected an air of shallowness to the world – all beauty and no substance – but Jo knew that Blair was intelligent, witty, and far more complex than she usually let on. She'd surprised Jo time after time with her generosity, compassion, and loyalty. Whenever the chips were truly down, Blair had been there in Jo's corner.

They were both young adults now, their time together waning, as the inevitable tides of life would soon sweep them away to the careers, marriages, and families of their own that no doubt awaited them in the not-so-distant future. Jo realized that she'd miss day-to-day life with this young woman who had, in the unlikeliest manner, become her friend…her best friend. And if Blair was leaving her, and all of them, behind permanently? Jo felt her stomach painfully knot up. The truth was, she couldn't imagine a day without Blair.

Once again, Jo was jolted from her thoughts as Pippa and Andy returned to the waiting room, bearing Styrofoam cups filled to the brim. "Here you go, everybody . . . coffee," Pippa announced, as she and Andy began handing out the piping hot beverages to their exhausted housemates.

At that moment, a dark-haired, bespectacled physician called out, "Warner!" reading the name off his medical charts as he rounded the corner. He jerked his head up, startled, as seven figures immediately converged on him from all sides, impatiently awaiting his report. "I'm Dr. Nichols," he introduced himself, looking around curiously at the motley crew gathered before him. "Blair is a very lucky young woman. She's going to be okay." His rapt audience breathed a collective sigh of relief.

"She has several broken ribs, and she's severely bruised," Dr. Nichols continued. "She also sustained some trauma to the head. There are indications of a concussion, so we'll want to keep her under observation for a few days."

"When can we see her?" Jo asked.

"Well, she's sleeping now, so it'll be a while before she wakes up, and then she probably won't be in a very good mood," the doctor warned.

"It's okay. We're used to that," Natalie replied with a smile.

"Thank you, doctor. That's good news," exclaimed Beverly Ann. Dr. Nichols nodded, and walked away to attend to his other patients. Beverly Ann began collecting her coat and purse. "Well, I suggest we all go home and get some sleep, too."

"Lord, what a night," Tootie remarked, as everyone gathered their belongings. She lingered a moment to wait for Jo, who had driven separately from the rest of the group.

Jo recalled that Casey had no way home. "Need a lift?" she asked him.

"No thanks…no lifts," he laughed. "I'll walk." He turned and made his way down the corridor toward the front entrance of the hospital.

Jo threw an arm around Tootie, and the two friends walked side by side in silence as they followed their housemates out to the parking lot. Despite the immense relief she felt upon the doctor's assurance that Blair would recover, Jo couldn't shake the nagging urge to see for herself that Blair was alive. Born and raised in the Bronx, and a member of the Young Diablos street gang in her pre-Eastland days, Jo Polniaczek wasn't easily rattled. However, tonight's experience with Blair had scared the hell out of her.

As they exited the building into the cool night air, Jo hesitated. "Uh, Tootie…I forgot something. You go ahead. I'll meet you guys back at the house."

"Okay. See you in a few," the young woman replied.

After watching Tootie catch up to the rest of the group, Jo headed back inside the hospital. She stopped at the nurses' station to ask about Blair's room number, and then surreptitiously made her way down the hall, mindful it was well past visiting hours. Jo paused outside Blair's room, and when she was certain no one was watching, cracked the door just enough to poke her head in.

Blair was alone and asleep in the dark room. Jo gingerly stepped inside, closing the door softly behind her. A lump rose in her throat as she took in the scene before her, which was illuminated by the moonlight streaming through the windows. Blair's beautiful face was badly bruised and swollen, and there was a large bandage covering her forehead. Her luxurious, golden blonde hair had been combed straight back, away from her face. She was dressed in a powder blue hospital gown, with the bedcovers pulled up to just below her neck, and she was receiving IV fluids through a needle. Jo braced herself and swallowed hard before solemnly moving to the side of the bed, her fingers reaching out to gently stroke the blonde's arm through the thin blanket and sheet. "God, Blair, please be okay," Jo silently pleaded.

Jo stood for endless moments beside Blair, who looked shockingly broken and helpless. Finally, Jo took a deep breath to steady herself, and slowly backed away from the bed, intending to leave as quietly as she'd entered.

A small, shaky voice called out to her through the darkness. "Jo?"

Jo instantly turned back toward Blair, who had stirred and seemed to be trying hard to focus on her. A big, happy grin spread across Jo's face. "You know, there's a maple tree on Park Street that doesn't like you very much," she quipped, taking a seat on the edge of the bed.

"Yeah? Well, it had quite a nerve waking me up like that," Blair responded, her voice hoarse and weak. Slowly and painfully, she lifted herself up slightly, into a more comfortable position. "You know the worst part about falling asleep at the wheel? I didn't get to see my whole life pass before my eyes."

"Well, that would've killed you for sure."

Blair chuckled at that, then winced, involuntarily drawing one hand up to her mouth.

"Oh…sorry," Jo said gently. "Probably shouldn't talk."

"No, no, no…I want to," Blair assured her. "Um…can you turn on a light?"

"Yeah." Jo reached up and turned on the reading lamp over Blair's bed, then sat back down.

Blair laced her fingers together, resting her hands on her chest. She looked Jo squarely in the eye. "I want you to tell me what I look like. No jokes."

Jo sucked in a breath, collecting her thoughts. "Well, uh, you're pretty bruised up. You have a bandage on your forehead. Fat lip." She shrugged lightheartedly. "I like it!"

"You have a mirror?" Blair asked. Then, in a droll tone, she added, "Look who I'm asking."

Jo smiled at her, pleased that her friend's sense of humor seemed intact. "You're gonna be fine – trust me, there's nothin' to see."

Hesitating briefly, Blair changed the subject. "Would you mind filling my water pitcher for me?"

"No…sure," Jo agreed. She stood, collecting the pitcher from the stainless steel tray on Blair's bedside table, and headed toward the bathroom.

The moment Jo was out of sight, Blair reached for the tray, pulling it onto her lap and using it to view her reflection. Her eyes widened as she surveyed the damage. Slowly, she pulled the bandage from the tender, inflamed skin, screwing her eyes shut in a grimace of pain as she did so. She opened her eyes to see a very deep, ugly, swollen gash running across her forehead. It was sewn together with large, visible stitches, and it extended from her right temple to a spot above the inner corner of her right eyebrow.

When Jo returned, she found Blair staring at her reflection in horror. Jo moved closer, set the pitcher down on Blair's table, and, for the first time, saw the severe laceration on her friend's forehead. Blair looked up at Jo with a devastated, agonized expression, and unshed tears glistening in her eyes. In all the years she had known Blair, Jo had never witnessed a look like that on the blonde's face. It tore at Jo's heart. A single tear rolled down Blair's cheek as she gamely asked, "Guess I'd better cancel my facial today, you think?"

Jo managed a small smile. "Maybe," she said cautiously, sitting back down on the edge of the bed, never taking her eyes off Blair.

Blair sniffled, unconsciously raising her arms protectively over her chest. "I suppose I ought to cry…or scream…or something. I don't feel like it." She hugged herself. "Funny, huh?"

The dissonance between Blair's words and body language was alarming. Jo carefully considered her response. "Look…Blair…ya know, I'm sure it's not as…as bad as it looks…right now."

Blair appeared lost in her own thoughts. "When I was six years old," she began, "my mama bought me this little white dress, and it had this little white hat, and these little white gloves, and little white shoes. I looked…perfectly…perfect." Tears were streaming down the blonde's face now. "She told me…she told me…be very careful, and not get dirty, because one spot could ruin the whole outfit." The metaphor wasn't lost on Jo, who looked on, not liking where this was headed.

"I was so careful," Blair continued, her voice cracking.

"Blair," Jo interrupted, shaking her head slightly.

But the wealthy young woman was growing more agitated by the second. "All it takes is one slip, one second, and your whole life changes…forever!" she spat out bitterly.

A flash of anger erupted within the brunette at Blair's utter lack of regard for the fact that she was still breathing, much less still capable of coherent thought and speech. Gathering herself, Jo spoke in as measured a tone as she could muster. "You know, it coulda changed a lot more." She paused to let that sink in. "The doctor said you were very lucky."

"He didn't tell anyone about this?"

"No."

"Where's Casey?" Blair demanded suddenly, her eyes darting around the room.

"Should've known you'd bring him up," Jo petulantly thought. "Look, everybody left a little while ago. I'm not even supposed to be here," she explained, irritated. "You know, you should really put that bandage back on your head."

Blair ignored her, desperately pleading, "Jo, you've got to promise me you won't let anyone know about this."

"What?!" came the incredulous response.

"I…I want to tell people on my own . . . in my own time."

The brunette stood up from her perch on the edge of the bed. In a gentler voice, she replied, "Come on, Blair, this is not the end of the world. You're gonna heal. And besides, there's always the plastic surgeon. Don't you Warners keep one of them on retainer?"

Blair avoided her friend's attempt to lighten the mood. "Jo," she stated gravely, "you've got to promise me you won't tell anyone."

The tip of Jo's tongue darted out to lick her lower lip, an unconscious gesture that was a sure sign she was serious about her next words. "I promise." She looked down at her feet, uncomfortable with the emotions swirling once again in her gut. "Alright, look, I'm gonna go. Get some rest, okay?"

Blair nodded and waved absently, as Jo exited and shut the door behind her. Alone once again, the blonde sorrowfully studied her reflection in the stainless steel tray. Then she abruptly flung the tray from her lap as hard as she could, given her condition. As it hit the floor on the opposite side of the room with a loud metallic clatter, Blair Warner held one hand to her head and broke down, sobbing uncontrollably.

The following morning, Blair's hospital room bustled with activity. Beverly Ann and Natalie were rushing about, toting and arranging a seemingly endless stream of flowers and get-well cards arriving from all the young heiress' society peers, friends, and admirers. The blonde was chatting animatedly on the phone, sitting up in bed as Tootie gently fluffed the pillows behind her. "No, mother, no…stay in San Moritz," Blair begged. "I'm alright." Unable to dissuade her mother from visiting, Blair resignedly handed the phone to Beverly Ann, who confirmed that she would pick Monica Warner up from the airport as soon as her flight arrived.

"Blair, you know what might make you feel better? How about if I brush your hair," Tootie suggested, eyeing her friend's uncharacteristically disheveled locks.

"Don't bother," Blair replied, waving her off. "It matches the rest of me."

There was a light knock on the door, and Natalie opened it, greeting Casey warmly as he strode in with a get-well card in his hand. Understanding that Casey wanted some time alone with Blair, the other three women left the room, leaving Blair shifting awkwardly in her bed, scrunching down and trying unsuccessfully to hide the bandage that Casey was certain to notice.

Later that evening, Jo returned home from a very full day at the community center, tired and hungry. Casey had never shown up to relieve her, and she'd had to work late, until closing. Apparently, she'd missed an "amazing" dinner – Natalie's words – cooked by Tootie, who had managed to put together a surprisingly edible meal. She also discovered, from Beverly Ann, that Casey had shown up at the hospital that morning to visit Blair.

The doorbell rang, and Jo answered it. "Speak of the devil," she thought, as Casey walked in. He asked to speak with Jo privately. She assumed that he had spoken with Blair about the forehead laceration, and that Blair had made him promise to keep it a secret, too. As it turned out, that wasn't the case.

Blair had broken up with Casey and, when pressed for a reason, she had come up with one unlikely excuse after another, finally implying that she didn't want to continue a relationship with someone so far below her own social class. Casey, blindsided and hurt by Blair's sudden change of attitude, had stormed out of the hospital and spent most of the day wandering aimlessly around the city, trying to make sense of what had happened. He finally settled on the theory that the heiress blamed him for the car accident. "She probably should," he sadly told Jo.

Jo felt a pang of guilt at that last statement. She knew better than to believe that Blair blamed Casey for the accident, but the truth was, Jo blamed him - not only for his flagrant lapse in judgement, but for the maddening and inexplicable fact that Blair couldn't seem to spend a minute away from him. Jo didn't spare herself, either, believing that she should have pressed harder to have a look at Casey's piece-of-crap car, or else gone over to Casey's place and dragged Blair out of there before the blonde lingered too long and then took it upon herself to drive home in her sleep-deprived state.

Now, however, none of that mattered. Jo faced the uncomfortable choice of either telling Casey the truth – potentially allowing him and Blair to salvage their relationship – or keeping her promise to her best friend. She excused herself under the pretense of getting a glass of water, and made her way to the kitchen, where Tootie and Natalie were still cleaning up after dinner.

"Hey, guys."

"Hi," Tootie replied. She and Natalie both noticed Jo's troubled demeanor.

"Look, I need some advice," Jo admitted.

Tootie and Natalie looked at one another. "From who?" Tootie asked.

"From you," Jo emphasized, making a face at the silly question. "Both of you."

The two younger women were thrilled. "Okay!" "Sure!" Grinning eagerly, they threw down their dish towels and rushed to join Jo at the kitchen table.

"Have you ever known me to break a promise?" Jo asked them.

"Never!" Tootie replied.

"One of the all-time great promise keepers," Natalie added.

"You know why I never break a promise?" Jo asked. Then she answered herself. "Because it's the wrong thing to do."

Tootie considered this. "When do we get to the advice part?"

"Now." Jo let out a breath. "Hypothetically speaking, if you make a promise to help a friend, but it ends up hurting that friend, then isn't it better to break that promise, because then you're really helping, which is why you made the promise in the first place?"

Natalie shot Tootie a sideways glance. "Tootie, are you throwing your voice?"

Tootie rolled her eyes at Natalie, then looked at Jo with an understanding expression. "Do we know this friend?"

"I can't answer that," Jo replied.

Natalie smiled at Jo. "Well, it just seems to me that you should do whatever you can to help Blair out. Hypothetically speaking, of course."

"Even if it means she might not forgive me?" The question was left unanswered. There was really nothing Natalie and Tootie could tell her to provide reassurance, but Jo's mind was made up. She tapped the table in front of her two friends as a way of saying thanks, and headed back to the living room where Casey was waiting.