The world morphs from streaks of red and yellow to sharp and crisp in its Technicolor as he slows from an all-out sprint to a jog. The muscles in his legs tighten and howl and scream with every step as his feet pound against the pavement, as he shakes off the thick layer of dirt that would have existed on his running shoes were it not for the meticulous cleanings performed by the Empire's housekeeping staff. The crispness of the autumn air convinces him that he can complete another lap around the reservoir, and he begins to speed up his moments when the leash dangling from his wrist tangles around his legs, when his running shoes come slamming down onto uneven ground as he tries to find his balance.

A yelp of pain causes him to stop immediately, to cast a long look at the dog standing at his side. He squats down – his calves screaming in protest – and gingerly touches the paw his canine running partner has lifted off the ground and tucked against his chest. The dog hesitates; the look on his face more expressive than one would normally expect from an animal.

"Sorry, Monkey," Nate says as he pats the dog's head in apology. Yet it is only when his fingers slide to that spot behind Monkey's left ear, when his nails scratch and Monkey's tail begins to wag his body in sheer delight that the dog appears to have forgiven him.

"Hello, handsome!"

His gaze shifts from the dog to find a blonde woman standing before him, and, admittedly, a part of him expects to see her attention directed at him. It's happened before, although not normally during the middle of a weekday on a jog through Central Park. Yet her attention is directed away from, and she is bent at the waist peering into the red jogging stroller parked in front of him. He stands – calves still screaming in protest – and flicks back the visor of the stroller just in time to see the woman reach out to squeeze the plump cheek of the stroller's occupant.

The lunge of the dog catches Nate off-guard, snapping his wrist in a way that makes him grimace as he tries to reign Monkey back just in time. The dog's low growl causes the blonde to freeze in her movements towards Henry, to shoot Nate a dirty look over Monkey's inhospitality as though he is in the wrong here.

"Sorry," he apologizes as he jerks Monkey back once more, as he motions for the dog to sit. "He's a bit territorial about Henry."

"Henry," the blonde repeats as she reaches out and squeezes Henry's cheek. The little boy turns his head away from her wandering hand in a rejection of her affection, allowing the blue hood of his lightweight jacket to covering his cheeks and protect them from her atention. And yet the woman is undeterred, using the opening afford to her by the introduction to make her own. "What a cute name for a cute little boy. My name's Julie. It's nice to meet you, Hen."

And Nate involuntarily winces at the nickname she has chosen for his godson. Chuck and Blair have drilled it into their friends and family that their son is not to be referred to as poultry. It's Henry Bass and nothing else because, as Blair would say, one species in a name per person is enough.

"Why so sad? Don't you enjoy going for a run, Hen?"

"Yeah," Nate says after admonishing the dog to sit once more. "I think he's just missing his mom."

The woman stands and her eyes immediately dart to his ring finger, dart to confirm the absence of a band of metal around his finger. The slyness of her gesture is lost when she stands just a little bit taller, when she flips back her long blonde hair and juts her chest forward.

"Divorce can be so hard on children," she replies in a voice dripping with false sincerity.

"No, um, I'm not divorced."

"Exs co-parenting can also be a challenge," she states, but the hopefulness of her tone is betrayed by the way her voice drops and trails off. "Unless you're still tog—"

"I'm not with his mom," Nate interjects. "I mean, I was but Blair's—this is my godson."

"Oh," the blonde replies as the smile returns to her face. And months ago he would have introduced himself, would have engaged her in a conversation that would have been simple and light and ended with her number saved in his phone.

Today, however, his attention is directed elsewhere, directed at the little boy sitting in his stroller and staring back up at his uncle. Henry has pressed his body to the far side of his stroller as though he wants to get as far away as possible, and the disappointed look on his face screams that he cannot believe his uncle would engage with a member of the proletariat.

The phone buzzing in his pocket distracts him for a moment; the name of caller making his acceptance of the call an urgent matter. And he fumbles with the device as he makes his apologizes in a way that only he can, in a way that allows him to slip away without hurt feelings. He pushes the stroller down the path along with reservoir with Monkey walking happily beside it, and he answers the call just as soon as he is out of earshot.

"Hey," he greets and then he listens. His brow furrows with each word, with the turn of the stroller and the change in their direction. The blanket tucked around Henry's legs falls to the ground, and he holds the phone to his ear as he stops to pick it, as he shakes off the dirt and leaves. Nate ends the call when he moves to the front of the stroller to return it the little boy, when he sees the disgruntled expression has not left Henry's face.

The picture he takes with his camera phone is blurry, shaky with his laughter at how the little boy seated before him is perfect mix of his parents because only the child of Chuck and Blair would have mastered this look of disappointment and derision and boredom at such a young age. And he promises the little boy that they are headed home now as he tucks the blanket back around Henyr's legs and adjusts the hood of his blue jacket in order to ward off the chill of the early autumn air.

Henry sits up straighter and Nate laughs again at his eagerness, at the way even Monkey seems to perk up and trot at their change in direction. The residential streets he pushes Henry's stroller down are nearly empty save for the nannies accompanying their charges to the park, and he might have been inclined to take a leisurely pace back to the townhouse were it not for the way Henry leans forward eagerly the closer and closer they are to his home.

He pushes open the front door, prepares to call out and announce their arrival when the soft strands of an all too familiar song reach his ears. He immediately lets the leash in his hands go, and Monkey runs up the stairs in a zealous search for his master. Nate shuts the door behind them and pushes the stroller towards the staircase. Arms stretched upward and outward, Henry whimpers for Nate to pick him up, for Nate to lift him out of the stroller and carry him upstairs.

"Hold on, Henry," Nate says with a laugh as he fumbles with the seatbelt around Henry's waist and shoulders. "This seatbelt might be child-proof but it's also kind of Uncle Nate-proof."

He lifts the little boy out of his seat, juts out one hip to offer Henry a place to sit, but Henry squirms and whimpers until his uncle places him on the floor. His new favorite activity is climbing up and down the stairs, and he is not about to be denied this pleasure today.

Nate hoovers closely behind him with arms outstretched to catch him. But Henry extends his arms out on the step in front of him and then stands on shaky legs before sliding his knees up and over the steps. It's a process that he repeats over and over again with a determined look, shoving off Nate's hands when he slides down a step or two. He reaches the top step, grabs onto the gate installed between the landing of the second floor and the stairs, and shrieks in delight when he sees his parents in the living room.

His parents look towards him and the depressing fog of the room is lifted for just a moment at his appearance. His father stands from his seat, making sure to prop a pillow under Blair's head as a substitute for his lap before striding over to them. The baby gate is swung open and Henry is swung up into the air.

"Did you climb up all by yourself?" Chuck says as he tickles Henry's belly, as he sends the little boy into a cascade of giggles. "Look how amazing you are. Good job, Henry."

Henry claps his hands together in applause for himself and beams when his father and uncle join in the celebration of just how amazing he is for climbing up the stairs without assistance. He squirms to be placed back on the floor after a moment, happily crawling over to where his mother lies curled on the couch across the room from him.

And she smiles at him, praises him for how strong he is when he pulls himself up into a standing position with the assistance of the couch cushions. Her left hand drops to push back the hood of his blue jacket, to sweep his hair from his eyes, and he stands and bounces and babbles before her. Her eyes are lighter and happier as she looks at him, as she moves the line to the IV secured in the crook of her arm out his reach.

"How is she?" Nate asks in a soft whisper as his eyes skirt from the scene before him to the scene playing out the laptop lying on the coffee table before him.

"Trying to be perfect. The doctor says she needs to stop putting so much pressure on herself and relax," Chuck replies before informing his friend that they are on their second viewing of Tiffany's because, as they both know, the film is one of the few that can get Blair to sit still long enough to rest. His shoulders sag just a little bit, just enough that Nate reaches out and pats him on the back in silent support, in a reminder that he is there for them both.

"Thank you for taking Henry and Monkey this morning. They needed to get out of the house but I didn't want to leave—"

His voice trails off as he looks at his wife, as he looks at the tired woman curled up on the couch. Henry wobbles on shaky legs as he pets his mother's hair, as he presses open mouth kisses against her lips and nose and cheeks with a shriek.

"You know I'm always happy to spend time with him. Monkey, too," Nate replies. "Besides he is too much like you and Blair already. I kept waiting for him to tell me to stop wasting my time with the masses."

Chuck looks at him as though he is crazy, as though he has lost his mind, and Nate fumbles with his phone in order to pull up the photo he snapped earlier. He passes the phone to his best friend, watches as Chuck's lips pull into a smile and then a laugh as Nate explains the events of their morning.

"That's not me," Chuck protests. "That's definitely an expression he inherited from Blair."

"What did Henry inherit from me?" Blair questions from the couch as she pushes herself into the seated position. Her movements tax her just enough for it be noticeable, for her husband's smile to drop from his face. But she waves away his concern as she picks up Henry and settles him on her lap. He curls into her embrace, reaching out to grab a locket of her hair as though it might serve as a tether to tie them together.

"Here," Chuck replies, striding across the room and passing her the phone. Blair smiles at the image – her first real smile of the day – and laughs at the story – her first real laugh of the morning.

"Well, at least I don't have to worry about Henry going after inappropriate women like his father and uncle," Blair hums as she passes him back the phone and looks down at the little boy curled up in her arms. She taps his nose in tender affection, in a move that makes him smile as he buries his face further into her chest. "Isn't that right, Henry? You know quality when you see it."