Foreground
~ If you never, held me under, if you never hear my thunder
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It's a simple knock, confident and hard and just one knock, but it conveys much more. In that single action, her world crumbles at her feet. Paris becomes New York, nice summer cafés become smog filled lunches on fake terrace, wood tables and expensive wines become stainless steal and Starbucks coffee – dinners with her fathers turn into an empty house where her mother barely steps foot into anymore.
Blair has always been the one for theatrics.
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Dan Humphrey doesn't think about Blair Waldorf. He'll nod his head at Serena when she's a little too drunk and has to be carried out. He'll smile at Nate trying to be comforting when he's on a trip down memory lane because of his leafy friends. He'll see the way Chuck parades around a new brunette every two or three months. He'll laugh at Jenny's off-hand comments even though she is glad to be reign queen – but he won't think about her.
A few e-mails here and there and then it stops. He wonders why, but two years pass and she's probably busy. So he writes, even gets a few of his short stories about the Upper East Side published. He has an agent, he appears in magazines and he's even got book deals. But Serena is just a broken muse and he can't find anything to write about blue-eyed princesses.
He gets into Brown and Columbia. The latter peaks his interest with their writing program and he takes a few classes, crashing at Lily's once in a while. Vanessa calls him uptight while she is having an affair with the producer of the play she is working on (she's quite smitten with his work) . He's married, the wedding band evident on his finger.
But life doesn't really move on from her absence. Serena is careless, Nate is guilty, Chuck cannot forget her (his latest conquest wears headbands), Jenny is trying to live up to her and it somehow falls on him to replace her.
Dan has never been one for the theatrics of the Upper East Siders.
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There are many things that can come from this. He could kick her out, he could flat out refuse to let her in and the voyage would have been for nothing.
"Blair…" His eyes light up with disbelief (but is there amusement she sees pooling in those brown orbs?) This reaction, she doesn't expect. She also doesn't expect him to push the door of his loft wide open and grab two of her three suitcases without even a question (and then she has to remember that this is Dan Humphrey and not the socialites she grew up with).
"Coffee?" She nods absently. The loft has barely changed, except that now it seems emptier, more like lonely boy. He rummages in the kitchen, cups being taken out and the coffee machine brings back souvenirs of her experiences (and it's almost pleasant, the way his back arches as he reaches for the milk and sugar). She sits down on one of the stools, not really knowing what else to do than to watch him (and is that what Serena did all those years ago?)
"Have you eaten yet? It must have been a long flight." She arches an eyebrow as he places the fuming cup in front of her.
"I never pegged you for small talk, Humphrey." There it is, the spark of amusement – yet again.
"Would you rather I ask why you're three days early and in Brooklyn?" It's a rhetorical question. She bites her lip and he hums while taking a sip of his coffee. "That's what I thought. So, breakfast?" It's eight o'clock in the morning and yet it doesn't look like she woke him up. Has he always been an early riser (like her) or is this a new trait of personality? And that lingering amusement, has it always been there or has the Upper East Side finally rubbed on him too much?
"If you give me time to shower, I'll cook." And it's been a long flight, her white blouse clinging to her body. He nods.
"Of course, make yourself at home." She grabs her Armani travel bag and disappears into the bathroom. This is so unlike what she had been expecting.
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She emerges half an hour later with wet hair, high waist jeans and a black long sleeved shirt. Dan doesn't question the fact that her outfit cost more than most of his furniture, but it's the most normal looking he's ever since her. She's thinner, somehow, but not in an unhealthy way. And as she walks past him and starts looking for decent cooking pans (which he doesn't have, not to Blair Waldorf's standards anyways) he knows why it shocks him so much.
She looks relaxed, a relaxed twenty-year-old woman.
His latest book is sitting in front of him, forgotten as he sees her bend to get a better look at what is inside his fridge. She hums a recipe in a low voice as she grabs the eggs, the butter, lemon juice and English muffins. She then goes to the cupboard, frowns and then grabs the cayenne pepper (which has been there since his mom left), salt and vinegar. Finally, she grabs the leftover ham that Nate thought was so funny last time he was piss drunk.
She's cutting and slowly frying the ham; while in another pot she's putting water and vinegar and three egg yolks, the lemon juice and the butter. She adds a bit of salt, to taste and then turns around to see him stare.
"Tell me, Humphrey…" She says, going back to her Hollandaise. "How's Serena?" She cracks one egg into a bowl and slowly places it into the third pot filled warm water. He doesn't know how she can concentrate on all that at once.
"I thought you'd been reading Gossip Girl, Blair." He sighs. "Obviously, she's been lost since you left." He expects her to smirk or at least to see some happiness in her eyes. Nothing. She doesn't even turn around. "And Nate's been keeping himself busy – with the worst kind of people." You'd think after seeing his father go down, he wouldn't fall too.
He doesn't bring up Chuck, thinks it would ruin the moment. The English muffins are ready and toasted and she packs it up with a layer of ham, one of the poached egg and a generous amount of cream. She places the fuming plate in front of him and he realizes, pathetically, that this is his first homemade breakfast in a year.
"It didn't have anything to do with me. Serena was bound to fall. Nate is just lost." It's like she's talking to herself and not to him. She rolls her eyes and sits down next to him at the counter with her plate. He raises half of the finely made egg benedict to his mouth and adds.
"Or, maybe we just missed you." And then he bites and chews thoroughly, enjoying not only the taste (which is amazing, but of course it would be and this is Blair Waldorf) but also the way her eyebrow cocks up.
Somewhere, deep inside, he might not have thought about Blair Waldorf – but he did miss her.
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Somewhere along the day she spends lounging around his loft, she expects a few questions.
But he doesn't ask anything.
He says: "what movie do you want to watch?" but he should be asking how long she plans to stay. He wants to know "how was school?" when he should be shaking her up and asking her what she's doing here. But he holds Breakfast at Tiffany's in his hand and the oddity of the situation is forgotten.
He can ask after Audrey Hepburn.
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In a way, she's glad he doesn't want answers, because she doesn't even know them.
When she comes back three days earlier and the taxi driver wants to know where she's going (and there is a pause – she'll bother her mother, doesn't want the Serena Van Der Woodsen doe eyes or Nate's lack of proper communication skills) the only address that pops up is his. It has been two years since their last encounter and almost a year and a half since she last talked to him.
But a loft in Brooklyn had seemed more welcoming than a chastising mother.
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"Should we order in or do you want to go out?" Here, he expects a comment about how food in Brooklyn is tasteless and probably poisonous from the lack of hygiene of the places. He doesn't get any of that (this might be Blair Waldorf, but this is not the same Blair Waldorf from two years ago).
"Are you asking me out, Humphrey?" She's teasing, her smirk tainted with evilness.
"Are you agreeing to it?" He says, cool smile on. He can play that game too, has had two years to practice.
And then she surprises him (and herself too) and laughs out loud. It's the first time he's ever heard her laugh with mirth and teeth and even after a few seconds she has to put her hand in front of her mouth to stifle the giggles.
"Sure." She smiles, perfectly shaped lips painted red parting and he smiles back. No, this is definitely not the same Blair Waldorf who managed an army of miniatures her once upon high school.
He doesn't know who this is, but he quite enjoys her.
Especially when she sits up like this.
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Had anyone told her she'd be sitting in a restaurant in Brooklyn with Dan Humphrey two years ago, she would have laughed, called the person crazy, flipped her hair over her shoulder and ordered a salad. But here, the pizza is great and she enjoys his company.
The owner, a small woman with an apron around her waist, greets him with kisses on the cheeks and tells her she's pretty (much more than his blonde ex-girlfriend). She already likes it and even dares sharing a pizza with him when he comments on how great it is.
She is perfectly aware that she is going against everything that has ever been taught to her. And she is also aware about how comfortable they are around one another (and the balance they had created so long ago when he was lonely boy and she was queen B is long gone – because she is no longer the Manhattan headband wearing princess and he is no longer the untouched loner). He's munching and talking and commenting and his mouth moves, making small conversation.
But if she is no longer Upper East Side royalty, what exactly does that make her? No more dreams of tiaras or expensive penthouses. Living in a chateau, rhetorically, has made her appreciated the underrated part of cities and what they have to offer.
"Don't you want to know?" She looks up from her plate, the half-eaten vegetable slice looking at her dejectedly. She has no idea what he is talking about. But from that serious look (all raised eyebrows and sheer curiosity) gives her a hint.
"What?"
"Don't you want to see them? I mean, they're bound to come looking for you." She has thought about this and just decided that when they'll find out, they'll find out. It's a wonder how long one can hide in the same city as the ones looking for her.
"Yes and no." He nods, as if he understands that (that she missed them of course, but they missed the old controlling Blair Waldorf who was lost and completely head over heels with the devil himself and that she doubts they'll recognize her and that she's scared, just plain scared of not belonging anymore) it's much more complicated then it seems.
"They have really good chocolate mouse here…" And it's back to mindless chitchat.
The chocolate mousse isn't so great, it's too sugary and she can make better.
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He opens a bottle of wine. It's a red wine, one Serena left over and never opened, its expensive.
He thinks it's fascinating to share a glass with Blair Waldorf, especially in his loft and in Brooklyn –and this odd day has certainly warranted a few sips of alcohol (or a whole bottle). She drinks her wine slow, the red liquid staining her lip in the most luscious way.
"You can sleep in Jenny's room." He expects a protest or at least some kind of huff, but she doesn't even blink and turns to stare at him. Those eyes are clouded with so many things he doesn't know where to start and doesn't even know if he wants to start.
Before they go to bed and the bottle of wine is almost empty, he hears a soft 'thank you'.
It baffles him to no end as he gets into his bed.
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The next day is almost the same, except they order in. They watch Roman Holiday (he doesn't ask if she wants to watch Sabrina and she's a little greatful) and Rosemary's Baby. She makes comments and he replies with the same spark has her.
They understand each other.
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Spotted: Seems like our Queen B is back and slumming it down in Brooklyn with our resident Lonely Boy. Hide and seek is over, B. It's time to come back and play with us. And you know how much I enjoy a good game.
You know you love me, xoxo
Gossip Girl.
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It's seven o'clock in the morning when pounding wakes her up. It also wakes him up because she can hear him groaning and walking towards the door in slow steps. Do people usually come barging this early in Brooklyn?
But walking towards the door, she can hear a voice. He's trying to hush it up, because the woman on the other side of the door is clearly upset. The voice is breaking and starts to crumble with each word.
Even before he opens the door, she can recognize Serena's voice.
She's not the only one in the Upper East Side who has a flair for theatrics.
After all, she learnt from the best.
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A/N : It's been a long while, I know. Now that this chapters over it, I'll get to the good stuff - I just needed to get the new Blair out on the open with a few transitions. How do you enjoy this new relaxed Blair? Thank you all for your lovely reviews, you don't know how much this means to me. Hope you enjoyed.