We're our own dragons as well as our own heroes, and we have to rescue ourselves from ourselves.

-Tom Robbins, Still Life with Woodpecker

There wasn't a soul in Brooklyn who appreciated coffee quite like Dan Humphrey. He adored the smell of espresso being ground into small powdery bits. There was nothing else like it, rich and invigorating with hints of familiarity. It was robust and flavorful, alluring and cozy. Walking into The Noir Bar was like wrapping himself in a blanket of fresh perked rejuvenation. It felt like home.

Perhaps this was one of the reasons he couldn't bear to see the place close down. It was a Brooklyn staple and had been for years, but poor management and apathetic owners had nearly run the joint into the ground. After having been assured by several sources that it was a good investment, he secured a loan and purchased the struggling coffee shop from the Moretti family, who were looking to unload the business after its founder and patriarch, Benito, passed away. It was dingy, small, and needed a lot of work but Dan had a sneaking suspicion that it would be worth it. His suspicion proved to be accurate.

Dan's profession had prevented him time and again from participating in traditional Dad duties and it took its toll on his relationship with his children. Holden, his 16-year-old son, was an avid baseball player whose proficiency on the field had already garnered him notice from several colleges and universities. Dan could recall more instances than he cared to admit in which he had missed games and tournaments in favor of finishing his latest article or column. His daughter Josephine, already a capable writer in her own right, had spent countless hours in her Dad's office serving as a writer's assistant, camped out on the floor ready to refill the printer paper or warm up his coffee. She had been willing to do anything to make him more comfortable, partly because she enjoyed contributing to her Dad's work but also because she knew that her little favors would speed him along in the hope that he might have time to watch a movie with her at the end of the day. Josephine treasured the time she and her Dad spent together in his office. In years past, she secretly thought that she might soak up some of his brilliance by osmosis so she spent day after day sprawled out on his antique rug journaling and writing "articles" for The Perfectionist's Pen, her monthly newsletter dedicated to all things Humphrey. It had twenty-three subscribers, nine of whom were family members, the rest of whom were teachers, friends and their parents, and neighbors.

Dan had discovered the hard way that the life of a writer more often than not was a turbulent one. One day he was New York's hottest young writer and the next day he was whoring himself out to any publication that would take him. He had been regularly published in his twenties, periodically in his thirties, and rarely now that he had crossed over into the realm of the middle aged. It's difficult to write good pieces when one has no inspiration and it's difficult to find inspiration when one has no muse. Dan had had multiple muses over the course of his life, most of whom he had been entangled with in some sort of romantic affair. Some of his best work had been influenced by the women in his life, though most of his publications paled in comparison to Inside, his first novel, and its subsequent sequels. Critics praised the harsh, biting truth of his words, the beautifully arced narrative, and practically orgasmed over his descriptors used in painting the world of Manhattan's upper elite. They had sold relatively well, particularly in New York City, but as with any rise to fame, there is the inevitable fall. "In one day and out the next," his agent had told him the day he was cut loose from his publisher.

That had been a particularly hard year for Dan and the kids. It was the year he lost his job. it was the year his wife left him and his children. And it was the year he received a devastating letter from a former acquaintance, the same letter that had ripped his heart out, and the same letter that destroyed his already threadbare relationship with his son. After six months of self loathing and depression, Rufus finally intervened and helped Dan get back on his feet. Now although Rufus was a sensitive man, Dan referred to this portion of his life as his "Humble Period" as Rufus was a firm believer in tough love. He had no kind words for Dan, only consistent goading and motivation. Dan was concerned that he might actually grow to hate his father but after several weeks of Rufus therapy, Dan came to realize that not only had his dad helped him get his life back on track, but he essentially had rescued Dan from what would have his ultimate undoing. Selfishness was hardly ever a quality attributed to Dan Humphrey but the negligence he displayed toward his children during that period was inexcusable even given the circumstances. He had fallen into despair and consequently had become a self involved hermit.

Rufus was the one who discovered The Noir Bar and pointed Dan in its direction. Dan would never have given it a second glance had Rufus not opened his eyes to the possibility of reinventing himself. It was a difficult concept to digest at first for Dan considered himself an artist and had no desire to be anything else. He felt it was a betrayal to his true self to even consider going into the food service industry. If he were being perfectly honest, the largest blow was to his pride. He was a writer. A writer who had tried, had been moderately successful, but ultimately who had failed. It was at this point that Rufus reminded him of Holden and Josephine who were wholly dependent upon him. Dan was going to have to make some sacrifices in order to take care of his family and to keep them safe.

Life had not treated Dan kindly.

This sentiment played through his mind on a daily basis. He tried as best he could to push it away for the sake of his children, but it was always there, a constant reminder of his losses and the great toll they had taken on him. His business was doing well, he was able to spend more time with his children, and he actually started to accept, even enjoy his job, but he was a changed man. Grief and disappointment had hardened his heart and transformed him into a bitter cynic. He lost his romanticism along with every last drop of his optimism during that year and despite his success with The Noir Bar and his renewed, albeit unstable relationships with his kids, he wasn't able to retrieve those parts of him. His wife took them with her and refused to relinquish them back to him. In his mind, she was to blame for his unhappiness. He knew he had been happy once for he felt the loss of it in his current state. He had been happy once. At least he could cling to that thought.

His kids were happy. They were loved. They would spend their afternoons serving lattes and baking scones with him and it was the stuff of great memories. Gone were the days of keyboards clicking and pencils scratching paper. Their days were now filled with espresso beans, muffin recipes, convection ovens and dust mops. Holden worked only a couple of days a week as he had baseball practice most days, but Josephine was there every day and she loved it. The luminous twelve year old would bounce around the barstools asking the college students if they wanted a free sample (they always did) and bringing napkins to the young mothers who came in weekly for their book club meetings. She brought creamers and coffee stirrers to the business men who frequented after work and she chatted up the younger kids from her school who occasionally stopped by. It was a pleasant existence, one void of turbulence and torment, and it was getting easier by the day. If only Dan could reclaim what was taken from him. Then he would be happy. Then he wouldn't feel the need to hide his nature from his children and his father, for there would be nothing to hide. He could take off his mask. Oh, how he itched to reveal his true countenance to someone, anyone.

This wish was granted to him on a chilly January afternoon.

It was New Year's Day, a day when many businesses were closed, but Dan didn't want to pass up the opportunity to earn a little extra money so he decided to open for half a day. It had been a smart move. The place was packed all morning, hot milk steaming and the cash register dinging. It being a holiday, he had let the kids sleep in and most of his wait staff was out of town so aside from a fifteen year old barista with a nose ring and a propensity for angst, he was on his own. He closed around 2:00 pm, sent the nose ring home and set to work clearing up the mess left by his patrons. He was in the process of cleaning the espresso machine when he heard the ding of the bell that was situated at the top of the entrance door, signaling the arrival of another customer. He must've forgotten to lock the door after the last person left. Silently cursing himself, he shouted over the noise of the steaming wand at the unwanted intruder.

"Sorry, we're closed! You'll have to come back tomorrow!"

"Surely you can spare a moment to make a cup for an old friend."

Dan's heart nearly stopped.

That voice, the one he hadn't heard in almost twenty years, was unmistakable. He shut off the steamer and slowly turned to face its owner.

"Blair."

She looked...good. Better than good. He was momentarily dumbstruck as he took her in, all thoughts and emotions stunted. Her porcelain face, though discreetly lined, was just as beautiful as he remembered and was accented with her trademark ruby lips. She was impeccably dressed, as per usual, though not in a showy manner. She was the epitome of class and sophistication. She wore her mask well.

"Hello Dan." Her tongue seemed to trip over his name as if it were unused to saying it, out of practice.

"What are you doing here?" Dan was still in a state of complete surprise.

"I had a book signing at Barnes and Noble down the street and I wanted a coffee so I thought I'd pop in."

"There's a Starbucks in the bookstore."

Indignation flickered across her features but was quickly replaced with nonchalance.

"Well, I was in the mood for a local brew. Something with a little more flavor and little less flair. I didn't realize you were closing early."

It was at this point that the numbness started to wear off and Dan's emotions began to simmer to the surface. This was Blair Waldorf, after all, not some stranger.

"Well, I've already cleaned the espresso machine, but I could make you a plain old cup of coffee. It's the least I could do for an old friend, right?"

It was simple statement but it contained a critical subtext and it seemed to break the ice. She cocked her hip to one side and relaxed her posture. There was a puzzling expression on her face as well and it took Dan a moment to decipher. As her fingers grazed the empty glass pastry case, she released a lingering breath and smiled. Relief. That's what her expression said. She was relieved.

"I'll take it with cream only, no sugar, and I like the creamer to be added before the coffee. That way-"

"You don't have to stir it, the coffee does it for you." Dan interrupted. "There are some things about a person that never change. Coffee preferences are one of those things."

"I suppose that's true, but I'll have you know I waffle back and forth between that way and just taking it black." She remarked.

He nodded and chuckled. She was still just as charmingly obstinate as he remembered.

She busied herself looking for a place to sit as he prepared the coffee choosing a booth close to the window and quietly waiting. When he approached her with the two steaming mugs she reached for hers and he noticed a significant lack of jewelry adorning her left hand. She caught him eyeing her finger but said nothing.

"So, you had a book signing today? That's a pretty big deal. The latest book is doing well, I take it?" He knew it was doing well. The question was merely for the sake of conversation. He had been keeping up with her publications since the very first one. In a cruel twist of fate, the fashionista had turned novelist, and the novelist had turned columnist turned small business owner.

"It is, quite well. In fact, I'm a little shocked if I'm being honest."

"It really isn't surprising, Blair. You're a wonderful writer." Dan admitted.

"Oh, you've read one of my books?" She seemed genuinely surprised.

"I've read one or two of them." He confessed. "I always knew you had it in you."

"Thank you, Dan. That means a lot coming from you."

They sat awkwardly sipping their coffees, gazing out the frosted window until Dan couldn't stand it any longer.

"So why are you really here, Blair?"

"I just...I wanted to check on you. I heard about Amelia awhile back."

He felt a stab to his chest at the mention of her name. His face must've shown it because Blair jumped in quickly.

"I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to upset you. I just wanted you to know that I'm thinking about you and your kids. I'm sure this is very hard on all of you." She hesitantly reached her hand across the table and rested it beside his.

He couldn't look her in the eye. Couldn't talk about it and didn't want to either. The strings holding up his mask were starting to loosen and if he wasn't careful it would fall off. Blair had always been so easy to talk to and she was making it difficult to keep up appearances.

"Yeah, well, we get by. We're fine." His response was clipped and he knew how trite he sounded given the subject.

"Okay. That's good." She furrowed her brow. "Just know that if you need anything I'd be happy to help."

"We don't need anything. I make due just fine on my own." He was sure that his reaction was inappropriate and rude but it couldn't be helped. Talking about Amelia did this to him. "I didn't mean to snap at you. I'm just...I can't talk about it. I get so angry."

"But Dan," she hesitated, not sure if she should continue.

"But what? Why am I so angry?"

"Well, yeah. Why are you angry? I mean...wasn't she...um...it isn't as if she had any choice in the matter, right?" Her tone was soft but it felt like a reprimand nonetheless.

Dan hadn't anticipated discussing Amelia today. He knew he would think about her, dwell on her, obsess over her like every other day, but not talk about her. He usually had to mentally prepare for a conversation like this. He didn't like having to explain away his emotions anymore. People tended to get uncomfortable around him because of the way his grief manifested.

"Yes, she was sick, and no, she didn't ask for it, but none of that negates the fact that she's gone. She left me alone with two kids to take care of and I'm angry about it. I'm furious. There's nothing you can say that will change my mind or make me feel any better so you might as well shut down any of the typical platitudes you were about to unleash on me. That's just how it is. Amelia is dead and I'm pissed as hell at her about it."

Dan waited while Blair soaked in all of his speech. He'd only confessed this to a handful of people and almost all of them had reacted in horror. He could feel their judgement from the moment the words left his mouth, though they never said anything to him. He supposed they pitied him too much. He fully expected to feel the same judgement coming from Blair. But it didn't come.

"Okay." She sipped her coffee, ready to move on to the next topic.

"Okay? That's all you have to say?"

"Yes. Okay. What did you expect? Did you think I would call you a monster?"

"No, but I expected you to think it."

"Maybe I do think it." She had a twinkle in her eye that said otherwise.

"Nah. Now that I come to think of it, you're far too twisted to pass judgement on my darkness."

She smiled. "You're joking, but there's a lot more truth to that than you know."

He raised his eyebrows feigning shock. This woman would forever remain an enigma to him. As much as he wanted to believe she was kidding, he suspected that wasn't the case. Her random visit suddenly seemed not so random and he wondered what had truly brought her out of the woodwork. Amelia had been gone for two years now. Surely if she was as concerned as she suggested, she would have come to see him before today.

"Yes, well, that tends to happen when one surrounds oneself with Basses." He snarked.

Almost imperceptibly her eyes narrowed. He had crossed some invisible line and he knew it. She had come to him offering an olive branch, albeit twenty years too late, and he had taken the twig and snapped it in two. Her transformation was instantaneous. She was all care and concern, then at once, all ice and indifference.

"Look, I understand you're grieving. But I came to you as a gesture of good will and you've been bucking me from the moment I walked in the door."

"Oh please. Don't pretend this is all about me, Blair. You've had ample time since Amelia's death to offer condolences and you've had years to make peace with me. Just spit it out. Tell me why you're really here."

"But, I wrote you, right after she was...didn't you get my letter?" He could tell his words stung her but he was already on a roll, in too deep.

"Yeah I got it. Not the point. Why are you here?"

He could sense her struggling under his challenge. Her nervousness was on display as she fidgeted with indecision. He waited it out and finally she gave in with a defeated sigh.

"Alright. I was hoping to sort of ease into this but your lack of social graces prohibits that. I can see some things never change with you either." She paused, possibly hoping for a sign that he would ease up on her, but he wasn't budging. "Fine. I'll just say it. I want to use your story in my next novel. I spoke with Rufus about it and he-"

"You talked to my dad about it?!"

"Yes, I did. We ran into each other awhile ago and he actually liked the idea. He seemed to think it would be good for you, therapeutic even. He's under the impression that you're still not dealing well with this because you're not talking about it and your children are suffering for it. There. That's it. Should I have sugar coated it?"

Dan was reeling. His father, his own father, had been discussing his emotional state with Blair Waldorf, a woman whom they both were supposed to despise. They had discussed his children. His parenting. It was overwhelming. He could feel the heat rising up his neck and onto his face. With his fists balled tightly underneath the table he managed to pinch out a few clipped words.

"There is no way in hell I am letting you exploit my kids and our tragedy so that you can sell another book. I can't even believe you would ask. Now, thank you for stopping by to check on me and kindly leave. I have work to do."

He stood abruptly, tossing his coffee cup into the trash bin halfway across the room, refusing to look back at her. He started wiping down tables and ignored her completely. He knew how egregious his behavior was but he didn't care. How dare she come to him asking for this. It was unthinkable, even for her. After a few minutes, he heard her get up and click, click to the door. It jingled when she opened it but it didn't stop like it usually did once the door closed. It continued to ding as the icy wind whipped the little bell again and again. She just stood there, staring.

"Happy New Year, Dan."

Whoosh. The jingling stopped and Dan released the breath he had been holding. As soon as Blair was out of sight, he collapsed against the counter and allowed himself to release the tears that had been threatening to spill, the same tears that pestered him nearly every time he heard Amelia's name.

TBC

A/N: I'd like to take a minute to give a huge amount of thanks to those of you who gave me feedback on tumblr regarding this story. It was in a state of limbo and you all sort of revived it for me. You brought it back to life and I'm so appreciative. I hope you enjoyed the first chapter and let me know what you think.

-N