Author's Note: First of all, thank you to those who have left kind comments! It means the world to me that you all are enjoying the story! I wish you and yours happy holidays and a wonderful new year!

As for a couple of logistical notes, I twist a tiny bit of canon (eg: when Blair and Jo went to the Chugalug Bar in The New Girl Part 1, it seemed like Blair had never been in a bar before, while in this chapter, she clearly is familiar with them), so we'll suspend our disbelief a little. While I like to include aspects of canon, I don't want to be limited by it, so please keep that in mind when reading any of my work.

Thank you and enjoy!

"Blair!" A resounding cheer filled the room.

Jo stared blankly as her friend was greeted with hugs from a bunch of randos.

"Haven't seen you in forever!"

"Frank!" Blair gave the bartender a warm hug. Well, she was still cold from being out in the December weather, but the sentiment was as toasty as Jo's hands.

Still in shock, the only words Jo could think of were, "You know this guy?"

"I made a lucky guess." Blair dead-panned.

Shaking out of her stupor, Jo scanned the bar - it wasn't a place she'd imagine Blair to spend any of her time at. That's for sure. There were small tears in some of the stools, a bowl of peanuts on every table, and the walls had wood paneling - not the fancy kind of wood paneling you'd find in a rich person's library, but the normal kind of wood paneling you'd find in a normal person's house. It was kind of...cozy. Oddly enough, Jo felt at home, and that's what made it even more weird that they were here! It was a Jo kind of place - Blair wouldn't be caught dead within a mile of this joint, and yet...

"Frank, this is Jo."

"Jo! You're so big!" Frank pulled the brunette into a hearty hug, as if he'd known her for years. "I can't believe it's you!"

"Well...it's me!" Awkwardly, Jo peeled herself from the bartender. "Blair," she whispered through clenched teeth, "Mind explaining?"

Blair looked on with adoration as her friend was given an appropriately warm welcome. "Explaining what?"

"Why this guy is actin' like I'm Jesus comin' outta the tomb!"

Blair didn't bother to learn much about religion of any sort, but through her appreciation of art, she was familiar with the basic stories, so Jo's reference didn't fly entirely over her head.

"Oh, Jo! Don't be so dramatic! Frank is just excited to meet you, that's all!"

"I got that much, Blondie. My question is why?"

"Well...I may have mentioned you once or twice."

"Once or twice?" Frank guffawed to which Blair shot 'a look.'

"Where else can I safely air my grievances?" She covered.

The truth was that everyone at that bar knew everything there was to know about Joanna Marie Polniaczek. They knew about how Jo gave up her Kawasaki to stay with her friends, they knew about the time Jo stayed up all night to help Blair out of a toxic relationship, they knew that Jo could play the piano as smoothly as Cole Porter, and they knew that Blair Warner was hopelessly in love with her.

"So, that's what this place is? Your human resources department?"

"Ha, ha. Very funny. You might not believe it, Jo, but I've been coming here all my life."

"The rich start that early, huh?"

Blair glared before turning back to Frank, "A Michelob for Oliver Twist here, and I'll have a cider."

"Cider? I gotta say, Blair, I'm surprised! What happened to your fancy French wine?"

"Really, Jo. Use your brain. We're at a bar, not Le Petit Cheval! While I love this place, I don't feel ashamed for acknowledging that wine is simply not their forté."

It was hard to argue that. Jo should've known Blair wouldn't accept anything less than the best, and at a bar like this, their best was on tap.

"Here you go, ladies!" Frank set down their drinks before turning his attention to a particularly needy customer at the other end of the bar.

"So, I know it must be killing you..." Blair leaned into Jo, eyes twinkling with expectation.

"Your perfume? Yeah. Think I've got two more hours till I keel over."

Blair tossed her hair, "accidentally" hitting Jo in the face, "First of all, Chanel number five is a classic, and clearly a Barbarian like you will never be able to appreciate it! Secondly, I was talking about me! And this bar! You must be curious - how did Blair Warner, heiress and beauty extraordinaire, stumble upon a place so...different from myself?"

"I mean...yeah." Jo admitted.

Pleased to be met with little resistance, Blair began her tale, "It all started when I was a young babe. Only six years old and the richest little girl in all of Manhattan-"

Jo obnoxiously cleared her throat, "Let's cut the fat, yeah?"

"Fine," Blair sighed. "When I was six, Nanny Clara took me with her to this bar every Tuesday night. Of course, I realize now how wildly inappropriate that was, but I considered our trips here to be an adventure. This was a whole new world for me! The people were grungy, the music was loud...it was hardly the Met, but...I loved it. Maybe I loved it because it was so different. And I met people who didn't care how I looked or what I wore. Granted, I always looked perfect - naturally, BUT if I had a hair out of place or a loose thread on my blouse, no one thought anything of it. There were no lectures, no insults, I could just...be me. So, once I was sent to boarding school after boarding school, I took it upon myself to visit whenever I was back home, and well...this bar became a home of its own. Frank is..." She looked over at the bartender, her eyes shining with admiration, "he's like a father to me."

Listening, Jo was struck by the candid sincerity of Blair's words. The way she spoke now reminded her of that time they pulled an all-nighter for their finals at Eastland, and they both confessed they were nervous about graduating. That was one of the most honest conversations they ever had, and the vulnerability that Blair showed then reappeared now in her voice, her eyes...

"You're right."

Blair's attention turned back to Jo, "I'm sure I am, but what about?"

"You'll figure it out." Without further explanation, Jo tipped her glass. She'd get it soon enough.

"But-" Voice raised in protest, Blair was interrupted by a sudden chord of music.

All eyes zoomed to the corner of the bar, "How did I not notice the piano?" An old, wooden upright, the instrument was unassuming in its appearance.

Chuckling, Blair smoothly quipped, "Maybe you need to get your eyes checked."

"Maybe you need to get your face checked!"

"What are we, sixteen again?" Blair smirked and took a sip from her cider.

Hiding a smirk of her own, Jo got up from the bar, drink in hand, and approached the piano. "She's beautiful."

"Thank you! Was my wife's," Frank piped in.

"Divorced?"

"Dead."

"Ah...I'm sorry."

"Oh, that's all right! If she were here she'd say, what're you sorry for? You didn't clog my arteries!" Everyone at the bar had heard that line a million times by now, but with Frank's conviction, it never ceased to elicit a smile.

"Sounds like my kind of woman," Jo grinned.

"She was somethin' else...a lot like this one here, actually." Frank nodded towards Blair who was closely nursing her cider.

Jo understood, her voice dropping to a soft murmur, "She must've been real special."

Blair looked up from her cider, having missed the rest of the conversation, "Who?"

"Diane." Frank filled her in.

"Oh! Yes! Oh, Jo! You would have loved Diane! Gorgeous, well-read, talented, sharp as a tack!" The woman died when Blair was 12, but she was old enough to have fond memories of her. She was a role model for Blair, teaching her about music and art. Naturally, these were things Blair was already familiar with, but Diane introduced her to artists outside the realm of Mozart and Rembrandt. Through Diane, Blair discovered Frida Kahlo, Nina Simone, Emily Dickinson...she owed a lot to Diane.

"Did she have a favorite?" Cracking her fingers, Jo sat down at the piano.

Frank leaned back, scrolling through an endless catalogue of songs in his mind. After starting and stopping, the perfect one popped out, "Oh, I know! I've Got My Love to Keep Me Warm - you know that one? She loved playing it on days like this!"

"Dean Martin, right?" Jo rested her fingers on the keys, adjusting herself to the quirks of the piano. "The snow is snowing, the wind it's blowing, but I can weather the storm..." she began, her unexpectedly sweet voice causing more than a few patrons to hush, "What do I care how much it may storm? I've got my love to keep me warm!"

As Jo sang, Blair beamed at a pleasantly surprised Frank, "I told you."

A crowd gathered around the pianist, voices clumsily joining in here and there at the lyrics they knew, but the only voice Jo could hear was Blair's - crystal clear - soaring above the rest. Tonight, there was a light quality in her voice that you didn't hear a lot. It wasn't that silly BS she put on for those poor suckers she flirted with - it was more like how Blair sounded the first time Jo ever heard her sing. It was about a month after Jo'd arrived at Eastland. Blair was taking a shower, and from out in the hall, Jo could hear her voice - like a bird - chirping out one of those old Sinatra hits. At first, Jo hated the fact that Blair was a good singer - just one more thing to add to that gigantic ego! But there was no denying her voice was beautiful. Soon, it became a habit. Blair would take a shower, and Jo would linger in the hallway, listening to her sing. Sometimes, Jo felt like a creep, but that's not what she was trying to do. She just...really liked the sound of Blair's voice.

And tonight, her voice was just as carefree as if she was in the shower.

Jo would've played all night if the song had let her.

"I've got my love to keep me waaaaaaaaaarm!" The last line was met with cheers, and Jo joined in, taking a swig of her beer.

"Encore! Encore!" Frank shouted from behind the bar.

Jo blushed, "Aw, nah! I'll let someone else have a turn!"

"Blair, why don't you play a little something?" Someone in the crowd called out.

Jo looked on in amusement. Blair Warner was many things, but she wasn't a pianist!

"Oh, no, I couldn't!" Blair modestly declined.

"C'mon, Blair! Play that one song!" Another voice piped in.

"I only know one song!" She laughed.

"For me?" A warm request from Frank.

"You know I can't resist those eyes!" Lovingly patting his cheek, Blair rose from her stool to a round of cheers from the crowd. Normally, she didn't like to play in front of more than two or three people, but once she had some alcohol in her system, Blair was far more inclined to take chances.

Freeing up the bench for her friend, Jo leaned up against the wall just to the right of the piano.

After taking her seat, Blair stared at the piano for a moment, remembering which hand starts where while re-familiarizing herself with the chord progressions of the song before placing her hands upon the keys. Diane had taught her the basics of playing the piano, but Blair never found the patience to get past a beginner's level. However, there was one song she would always practice with, and that song would later become the only song she knew how to play:

"I've got you under my skin..."