A/N: Ben/Serena. I really wanted a Serena/Damien story, but this happened instead.
Warning: Well…it's Serena doing Serena stuff. Spoilers for "The Townie".
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
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The drive home is the longest he's ever taken.
Serena stares stonily out the window and answers his questions with incoherent murmurs that trail off.
He wants to ask something like what did you expect, but he knows perfectly well what she expected. Outside the hotel, they'd paused under the awning before braving the elements. He grabbed her shoulders and turned her. You're so innocent and beautiful, don't hand yourself away so cheaply.
She'd looked up at him with hooded eyes, and he couldn't describe the look as anything other than jaded.
That look scared him enough that he threw his coat over her head and pushed her past the driving rain and into his car.
Every now and then they pass under a street lamp and he can't help but turn his head, hoping to catch a glimpse of the sweet and careless girl he knows. For all her silence and prickly defence, she doesn't seem young. She seems old. Older than him, maybe. As if life has already thrown too many disappointments on her shoulders.
He's heard the rumours, of course. The hateful words whispered through Nightly's halls make his steps quicken. The gleeful murmurs in the teacher's lounge make him sick to his stomach. He never believed them, not for a second. Not even now when he's seen her at her worst (or best).
They pull into the Nightly dorms a little after ten. Gently he touches Serena's shoulder. Huge navy eyes blink open. "Where—" Quickly she pulls herself together.
She reaches into the back seat to find her tote. Before she can get out he wraps a hand around her wrist. She snatches her hand back. The cold expression on her face makes him want to flinch, but her eyes are so full of hurt and betrayal he can't just let this go.
"You know this is the way it has to be," he says softly.
Serena shakes her head. "Why?" she asks stubbornly. Her throat feels tight, but she hasn't cried since the night she left New York and she won't, can't start now. Her first night here had been the worst of her life, well, second worst. Crying herself to sleep without Blair to make things better is just stupid.
There are so many reasons, but she's not stupid, so he doesn't tell her the obvious ones. "Serena, we're so different…" He hesitates here, because he shouldn't be explaining. He should just be saying no, never. But even though she's his student, she's his friend too and she deserves more than a quote from the Nightly handbook. "If I lost this job, my family—I don't know what they'd do."
Warm fingers touch his cheek, and he has to close his eyes so he doesn't do anything stupid.
"I'd never tell. Never," she promises.
He opens his eyes and she's so temptingly close. She's resting on her knees, face hovering beside his. Her golden hair is in tangled ringlets from the rain. And he can't stare too long in her eyes, because no one's ever look at him like that before. The part of him that's just a guy in the grips of a beautiful girl wants to call it love, but the part of him that Serena still hasn't captured says it must be adoration.
"I know," he whispers brokenly.
He's always believed in her. Always.
Before the words are completely out of his mouth she's kissing him. Her lips are so soft he almost feels like she's melting against him. He can feel the warmth of her hands through the shirt over his chest. Her hands trace up his shirt, cupping his neck. The feeling of her thumbs stroking the line of his jaw makes him sigh into her mouth.
It could be like this, couldn't it?
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He would take her back to his apartment, and it wouldn't be wrong. He'd let her make all the first moves. He'd just make encouraging sounds as her hands moved over his body. She'd struggle with his jeans and he'd have to help. When he was naked, she'd turn back into the sixteen-year-old who was only slightly out of her depth.
He'd kiss her. He'd be so gentle as he traced patterns over her body. His lips would ghost all over her body. He'd learn every inch of her skin. Only when she asked, when she wanted it so badly it would be cruel to deny her, would he do anything more. And when he was inside her it would be too perfect, so perfect neither of them could have regrets. Her legs would be around his waist, his mouth would be by her neck, and he'd make a million promises. Never lie, not once.
There'd be only truth between them. Good things. All the things that she deserved. He'd be the one to love her right. She'd lose those jaded eyes and never be so filled up with broken promises again.
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But he hesitates too long, thinks too hard, lives in his head when she needed him. It's what he always does.
He can still feel her lips when she slams the car door.
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When he sees her signature, that childish scrawl that signs away the last of his innocence, he loses the best parts of himself.
That's his only excuse for what he does.
Because he wasn't a man that could hate. He wasn't a man of violence or anger.
But, in all the ways that count, he'd promised away the greatness in his life. He'd left every shred of romance and idealism in hands too young and careless.
So is it his fault that all he has left to give is vengeance and spite?
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In that dank room of the prison, he almost doesn't believe it. She's a hundred times more beautiful than he remembers.
He thought he'd changed. He thought the naïve boy with the ink still wet on his English degree was gone forever. Years of incarceration had killed that boy.
But Serena's here with promises on her lips and adoration in her eyes.
He should know better. He should. (I'll never tell.)
But he doesn't.
I'll set you free.
He's always believed in her. Always.
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