Hey guys, thanks for the reviews, favorites, alerts, etc. I really appreciate all of them. This is my first Dair fanfic, and the first fic I've written at all in YEARS. I used to write Pacey/Joey stories many moons ago, though. Anyone else out there from that fandom? P/J and D/B remind me a lot of each other, though I'm sad to say nothing will ever trump the Creek for me. My babies! The first couple I ever shipped. Well, that won anyway. Sorry, here we go. Onwards…

Enjoy chapter two!

Disenchantment

Two

"She hooked up with a girl in St. Moritz two years ago. But she was one of Ueli Maurer's daughters, so maybe that's a good thing?" Kati looked up from her notes, helpless.

Jessica turned her head sideways, confused. "Who's Ueli Maurer?"

Blair's irritation was evident in her tone, "He's a member of the Swiss Federal Council, which is something you would know if your family was ever actually invited to the White Turf." Blair let out a deep frustrated sigh, "And it's irrelevant, anyway, because some lesbian tryst inspired by low altitudes and too much eggnog is not going to help us accomplish our goal. Even Gossip Girl makes allowances for transgressions committed on The Swiss Alps. What's next?"

"Um, there's a picture of her wearing crocs. But I think it might be Photoshopped."

Kati grabbed the picture in interest, "Let me see."

Blair erupted, "Enough! Obviously you two are completely unsuitable for anything that requires this much brain power. You're both dismissed."

As they left, Blair sat down on her bed dejected. Dorota entered with a tray in hand, "Miss Blair? I make you power lunch. Not good to scheme on empty stomach."

She sat the tray down on Blair's bedside table, and then moved to stand cautiously at the door. Blair saw her hesitancy and snapped, "Well? Did you need something else?"

Dorota looked at her thoughtfully, measuring each word carefully, "Miss Blair, you sure this good plan? Maybe you and Miss Serena talk and work out problems?"

Blair began unrolling her silverware, "I'm sorry, but I didn't think I was paying you to be an arbiter of peace. Your advice is both unsolicited and unwelcome. Serena van der Woodsen is no longer the beneficiary of any loyalty belonging to anyone in this penthouse, occupants or staff. Have I made myself clear or should we reevaluate your employment?"

Dorota knew the threat was as meaningless as all the rest she'd heard over the years. However, Blair was deadly serious when it came to her feelings about Serena. Dorota sighed and reached for the letter in her pocket, knowing this time the two would not reconcile. "No, Miss Blair. But if serious about plan, then letter come today from Miss Penelope."

Blair rolled her eyes, "Can you please keep up? Penelope is no longer a part of this alliance. She sold herself to Serena, which is only further proof of her ineptitude. Nothing inside that letter is of any value to me."

Dorota hesitated once again, "She said she find secret you need. Secret no one knows. She said she meet you at Le Bernardin at eight o'clock to give details."

Blair's interest was piqued, but she did her best to disguise it, "As if she could even get a reservation." She looked at the letter surreptitiously and then resumed her lunch in nonchalance. She addressed Dorota without a glance, her voice holding the same mild irritation as always. "Unless you have more useless information to inundate me with, you can go now."

Dorota left the room, unconvinced by Blair's show of indifference. "I go steam dress for dinner. Just in case."

Blair bristled at her presumptuousness, promptly tearing open the letter once the door was closed. Her eyebrows knitted as she read its contents and she hesitated for a moment, contemplating how much damage the information would cause. She closed her eyes, preparing to place the letter back inside the envelope before a memory struck her. Serena's satisfied smile as leaned against back against bar with Dan between her thighs. Her nails, digging into his bare shoulders, pulling him closer inside her and further from Blair. Blair felt her blood run cold as the image flashed in her mind.

"Dorota!" She bellowed.

Dorota came to the door too quickly for Blair's liking, an obvious sign that she'd been waiting. "Yes, Miss Blair?"

Blair chose to ignore her expectant smile, "Take my floral Dior out of the closet and have it ready for seven. And DON'T steam it; I don't want watermarks all over the silk."

Dorota gave her a look that suggested she was entirely too pleased with herself, "Yes, Miss Blair."

Penelope sat patiently at the table in the hotel, waiting for her companion to arrive. She fiddled nervously, looking over her shoulder. She felt a slight wave of fear overtake her as she saw her enter through the double doors of the Grand Bar.

"Sorry I'm late. I had to meet with a real estate agent. I'm trying to find an apartment so I can get out of this place." She gestured to the expansive hotel distastefully. "Rufus has been paying for me to stay here, but I doubt that will last much longer now that he's not on Lily's payroll."

Penelope looked at Ivy with disinterest, "I did what you asked, but don't mistake us as friends. Everyone knows you're not a van der Woodsen, so there's no reason for me to pretend to like you."

Ivy smiled in faint amusement, "Right. I'm a commoner now, just like you. But don't worry, I'm not looking for friends."

"Then what are you looking for?"

"That's not really important here. I'm more curious about why you did what I asked," Ivy looked over at her in vague suspicion. "Last I heard on Gossip Girl, you were more interested in double crossing Blair than helping her."

Penelope huffed, "Well, she also said that you were a mental patient off her medication, but that wasn't true either, was it? Or was that the only thing you didn't make up?"

Ivy smiled, "Touché. But listen, honestly. I need to know how serious you are about this, because if the information I gave you is leaked back to me it will ruin everything."

Penelope looked down embarrassed, "Serena told me I was as useless as Blair's diary said I was and that I ruined the whole plan by not being interesting enough to distract Blair for even half an hour. She said I was so boring I probably drove Blair out of the penthouse even quicker and if I wasn't so pathetic, she and Dan would've had more time to talk."

Ivy was surprised, "Serena said that?"

Penelope's blush rose to her ears, "I suppose I inspire even generally nice girls like Serena to scale new heights of cruelty."

For a moment, Ivy felt a twinge of sympathy. "Well, if you can make sure what I told you gets to Blair and is never traced back to me, then you'll have proven yourself pretty useful in my eyes."

Penelope's usual elitist disdain surfaced, "And why would that mean anything? Who are you, some girl from Oklahoma?"

Ivy chose a different tactic, "Point taken, but if you can do as I asked, you'll also prove yourself useful to Blair as well."

Penelope's eyes lit up, obviously pleased with that idea. "Well, like I said, it's already done. Blair and I are meeting tonight."

Ivy smiled victoriously, "Good then, let's move on to lunch."

Dan sat alone at his desk, typing up his hourly email to Blair. It had been two days and he was sure he'd managed to break about three hundred or so anti-stalking laws. He had been by the penthouse hourly. He called her cell phone until she turned it off. He'd managed to fill up her voice mail twice in one day. He assumed she deleted the first twenty messages without listening to any of them, so he was left with few options other than to leave twenty more. He'd texted her at least 74 times, the first 28 being one long string of consciousness. They detailed his regret over what he'd done, his elation to know she returned his feelings, and his hope that she would please, please, PLEASE call him back.

His emails were pretty much more of the same, except longer since he wasn't held back by 160 character limits and persistent cramping in his thumbs. He looked over what he wrote.

Dear Blair,

So it's 1:30 pm and I'm still sitting here. I started this email almost immediately after finishing the last one, so not much has changed on my end. It started to rain, though. And I've since gotten hungry for lunch, but I haven't gotten up to do anything about it. I don't remember the last time I had a lunch that wasn't prepared by Dorota. I'm sort of scared of breaking that tradition, so I guess I'll just wait for dinner.

I know you probably aren't reading these or looking at my texts or listening to my voicemails, but… But if you were, in fact if you were standing in front of me right now, I want you to know exactly what I'd say. First off, there would be no excuses. I wouldn't tell you how Serena tricked me into believing you'd chosen Chuck. I wouldn't tell you how drunk I was. I wouldn't try to pin this on anyone or anything besides me. The fact is, Serena and I hurt you separately, and it's not fair for me to pawn it off on her. Which I would like to make very clear is NOT meant as any sort of defense of her actions. I just mean that you weren't just hurt by your best friend doing something horrible to you. I did something horrible too and I take full responsibility.

I hate thinking that I was part of this, that you weren't just betrayed by one person of importance in your life, but both of us. And… I just realized Serena and I were grouped as an 'us' right there, so I'm asking you not to take that the wrong way too. This isn't going well. I guess it's okay that you aren't in front of me now. I obviously have many more emails to go before I fully sort myself out with all of this.

Anyway, what I would want to tell you if you were in front of me right now is that I'm sorry. I'm sorry for what I did. I'm sorry for who I did it with. I'm sorry for doubting you. I'm sorry for not respecting our relationship, which is the reason why I can't pin all the blame on Serena. Even if she did trick me, we weren't broken up. Having the last two days to myself to think about it, I've realized that in either situation what I did was wrong. Even if you had chosen Chuck, I still cheated on you. I should have waited to hear it from you, no matter what I thought, because I was still your boyfriend. So I'm sorry for that. I'm sorry that I probably confirmed every doubt you ever had about Serena and myself. I'm sorry for where everything happened, at a place that already held a painful history for you. I'm sorry that you had to see it all over Gossip Girl. I'm sorry that you were humiliated by a mistake that I made. I'm sorry for everything I did that night, Blair. Sorrier than I've ever been about anything in my life.

And I'm sorry for other things too, that are completely irrelevant. I'm sorry it's raining right now, because I know it makes you depressed. And assuming you're probably already depressed, the rain is only making it worse. I'm sorry I didn't get a chance to tell you how beautiful you looked at the party. I'm sorry you wasted your drink. I'm sorry you wasted money on mine. I'm sorry you spent so much time making that spreadsheet of Italian restaurants, because I'm sure Rome is off your list of summer plans. I'm sorry you could never find a decent manicurist in my neighborhood. I'm sorry you hate my hair. I've actually considered offering to let you do whatever you want with it, but I'm not sure if it's wise to let you near me with scissors right now. Part of me thinks I'd risk it anyway, just to offer up some small penance. My dad's O negative, anyway, so a transfusion would be simple enough. I'm sorry I hate Jane Austen. I'm sorry you hate Bret Easton Ellis. I'm sorry I like Indian food and you hate the smell. I'm sorry my sheets aren't the right thread count. I'm sorry your mother makes you feel small. I'm sorry you never really got to be a Princess. I'm sorry your dad lives so far away. I'm sorry you think November is a pointless month. I'd declare it the longest week of October for you if I could. I'm sorry you can never finish the crossword in the Sunday Times. I'm sorry I teased you the one time I did. I'm sorry I'm from Brooklyn. I'm sorry… I'm sorry I'm Dan Humphrey.

I never thought I'd be sorrier or more ashamed of who I am, and it's got nothing to do with being born outside of the Upper East Side. I'm ashamed of myself for what I did, for how much pain it caused you. I hate what I did to you, Blair.

If you were in front of me right now, I'd tell you all of that. I'd tell you I'm sorry. I'd promise that it would never happen again, though I know that will never make up for the fact that it happened at all. And I'd tell you one more thing, over and over. That I love you. Because I do, so very much. I am hopelessly, stupidly, ass backwards in love with you.

Please call me,

Dan

Dan ran his eyes over the email, scanning it one more time. He hovered over the send button for a moment, wondering whether he should add anything else. Figuring anything he forgot could go in the next one, he pressed send.

A second later he felt his phone buzz and he pulled it out of his pocket in nervous anticipation, trying in vain not to get excited. Eyeing the name on the ID, he felt all those hopes subside.

SERENA

He pressed the ignore button immediately.

Blair stood outside the golden doors of the restaurant. She just watched for a moment, as people pushed themselves through the rotating doors, coming and going. It was strangely unfamiliar, the feeling she was experiencing. The restaurant was certainly a regular haunt, the Waldorfs even had their own table, and Blair could remember entering these same doors as a child holding on to both her parents' hands. Her father would walk up ahead of the line, straight to the maître d'. The people waiting behind him would roll their eyes and huff in frustration, but he paid no mind. The host would embrace him and then her mother, raising his fingers to confirm the number of guests and ask them if they'd like their usual table. Blair remembered asking out loud one time why he always asked that same question, as if they ever sat anywhere else. She thought it was moronically redundant.

She remembered feeling safe back then, and for some years after. The world became scarier as she got older, but she always managed to hang on to a small tender piece of that innocence, of that comfort. She had it as she got older and she realized the cracks in her parents' marriage. She had it as she grew past crushes and onto boyfriends. She had it as she hit high school and the realization hit that she had to either kill or be killed to survive, overthrow or be thrown out. That small tenuous thread to her childhood stayed with her and no matter how much it stretched or pulled or frayed, it never, ever broke.

Blair saw a small dark haired girl exiting the restaurant in front of her, swinging her parent's arms back and forth as she walked between them. She remembered being that girl, nestled comfortably between her parents, lapping up the attention they extolled on her during their quiet walk home. Whether she was five or fifteen, her mother always asked the same question. "Well, which of your friends did you give the most of your attention to today, my darling?"

She loved that question. It was the only time her mother ever made her feel powerful sometimes. Like she was asking her who she'd chosen, who was lucky enough that day to experience her. The answer never really wavered, of course, because even when they were fighting, she was the primary focus of Blair's attention. Especially when they were fighting, in fact.

In a sick way, if her mother asked her that today, the answer would be the same.

"Serena," she would answer.

Blair sighed, feeling that familiar tickle in the back of her throat. She would not cry. Not here, standing in the middle of Le Bernardin, wearing Dior.

Getting a grip on her emotions, Blair checked her cell phone. It was 8:23 pm. Satisfied that Penelope had waited long enough, she finally walked through the double doors.

There was no going back this time. That thread had been broken forever. Walking up to the to table to greet Penelope, Blair realized what that unfamiliar emotion she'd felt outside was.

It was goodbye.

Across the street, at the Café Duke, a girl sat huddled against the window. She had her head buried in a newspaper and she was wearing a trench coat and sunglasses, her attempt at subterfuge drawing more attention than a billboard would have. For someone so brilliant at scheming, she looked impossibly obvious. Maybe that was all part of the act, though.

She watched Blair enter the restaurant and pulled her phone out of her purse, dialing a familiar number. She waited for the answer, drumming her nails against the tabletop.

When she heard the voice on the other line, she grinned wickedly. "Dan? Georgina here. I may have some very interesting information for you…"