a/n: And I'm back with another chapter, woot woot. I'm a bit behind schedule due to a lovely migraine so you might have to wait on the next chapter a bit longer but at least this one's a bit longer than the others to slightly make up for that - and it's time for the first Dair encounter, as promised.
Also, I'm really glad that Vanessa has been pointed out because I'm awful and would have indeed forgotten about her, oops. But that review has actually supplied me with inspiration that might already pop up in the next chapter - since Dan obviously isn't exactly close with Serena anymore, I feel like he deserves another female friend from the past.
Now, I hope this still makes sense since I had to finish it once said migraine let me. There are already a few honourable mentions of Blair's life the past five years in here but there will definitely be more of that in the future (plus guaranteed UES flashbacks to explain how she even ended up here)
Hope you'll enjoy it, and as always, thanks for reading, favouring, following and reviewing c:
Special Guest Appearance by everyone's darling Dorota xoxo

Yesterday evening, the light blue colonial style home at the end of Orchard Street had been filled with stories of Blair's UES past for the first time ever – but only the ones that could barely even be rated PG, naturally.
In hindsight, promoting Cynthia's birth certificate as a reliable source of proof for her father's identity might not have been the safest bet.
How she had managed to supress the memory of those ugly, thick letters spelling out the word allegedly in brackets behind her daughter's biological father's name was a mystery to her but she had managed to do so quite successfully.
God, how she had fought the hospital stuff to even list his name in spite of the lack of a signed Acknowledgement of Paternity – kind of hard to get your hands on one of those if you didn't inform your baby daddy about being a baby daddy in the first place.
All the painkillers she had been on that night were to blame for her memory being fuzzy but she earnestly couldn't remember how she had succeeded. In the end, her parents had probably bribed the staff.
Actually, she wasn't certain if she couldn't get into legal trouble because of this highly questionable form of listing him. Perhaps that meant she'd have to tell him sooner or later. Maybe once the time came where Cynthia would require plenty of legal documents. Oh, happy days. She couldn't even bring herself to think about this now.
With every passing birthday her daughter had gotten to celebrate, the possibility of telling him seemed to have been driven further away from her, slowly but surely turning into an impossibility. Who knew, perhaps she'd never have to tell him. Bribing someone was still the most effective way of getting what you want the last time she checked. A girl could dream.

Thankfully, the allegedly hadn't bothered Cynthia in the least. Simply getting a name had been consoling enough for the girl and when her mother kept last night's promise of trying to find photographs to show her and promptly presented them to her the next morning, her heart skipped a beat.
Looking over her daughter's shoulder, Blair sighed quietly, fixing C's hair up into a loose bun while the girl was still preoccupied with the photos.
"I almost forgot that you look just like him." She mumbled once her work was finished, kissing the top of her head.
"Not just." Cynthia was quick to protest. "I've got your nose." She corrected her, pointing at a picture showing Blair taken six years ago.
"Yeah, but that's just about it." Her mother laughed, shaking her head. "That and my love for hairbands, that's enough anyway."
Stepping away to shoulder her purse, she flashed a kind smile at Dorota who was now entering the kitchen. Surprisingly, the faithful soul had arrived last night shortly after Cynthia's bed time, a week early, and promised to stay this week as well as the following – she really was an angel disguised as a maid. Although she wasn't actually Blair's maid anymore. No uniform was involved whatsoever because Blair didn't want to stand out in a town lacking maids entirely but the sight of Dorota in casual clothing still weirded her out.
Needless to say Dorota was wallowing in pride over B finally having fessed up to her daughter. The relief of no longer being the only one aware of C's father's identity other than her mother – no other member of the Waldorf family knew in spite of having to fight for the name on the birth certificate – was immense.
"Miss Blair, I am so happy you told Miss Cynthia about Mister-"
"Yes, thank you Dorota, we don't need to mention his name 24/7 now." Blair cut her off, softly however. "But you were right all along. It was the right thing to do."

C's eyes remained fixed on the photographic proof of her heritage throughout the adults' conversation but eventually, her brows knit.
"Mom, why do you two look like you're mad at each other most of the time?" She asked in confusion.
Chewing on her bottom lip, Blair attempted to come up with a good, sugar-coated explanation but eventually settled for the truth.
"Because we were, I guess. At least he annoyed me a lot. But that's just the way relationships are, sweetie. Guys will annoy you and eventually they'll leave you or you'll leave them and you'll realize that men are useless creatures nobody really needs in their lives."
"But Miss Blair!" Dorota gasped, vehemently shaking her head as she sat down across from the youngest member of the Waldorf household. "Don't tell Miss Cynthia such things that are not truth."
"Only that they are in fact the truth, Dorota. She'll find out for herself soon enough." Blair replied firmly, finally succeeding at finding her car keys in search of which she had been rummaging through her purse all the while. "Now, I really have to get going. You two have a wonderful time until I come back for lunch." Kissing her daughter's cheek, Blair lingered at the table for another moment before she made her way to the door, addressing Dorota once more in passing: "Don't tell her any crazy stories, she's heard enough last night."

This trip ought to be worth it. After a nine-hour-drive, Dan Humphrey had finally reached his destination: Cabot Cove, Maine. He could have flown, of course, but that would have included disclosing the location where he believed Miss Waldorf to be to his boss already and some unexplainable force kept him from doing just that. Instead, he had asked for gas money and off he went.
Arriving late last night had kept him from doing any exploring that same day but thankfully, he had gotten a room at a charming little inn near the sea that once again reminded him of how absurd he thought it was that Blair was supposed to live here of all places. Did she even like charming little inns? The harsh breeze greeting you with the salty scent of the sea whenever you stepped outside? The lack of designer boutiques? He simply couldn't see it. Instead, the unsettling suspicion that he might have taken this road trip unavailingly grew with every passing minute in which he didn't receive a sign from her, making sleep seem out of reach.
He should be well rested, though. Sleep early, sleep tight, rise early and resume his mission. The receptionist, a lovely elderly lady that he wished could be his grandma, had already been able to inform him where he could find Blair's – or well, B. Waldorf's – boutique, The B Hive. Come on, The B Hive? A boutique with that name and a Holly Golightly memorial logo could not be run by any other B. Waldorf than Blair Cornelia Waldorf, the former ruler of Constance and Audrey Hepburn devotee he was looking for.

At nine o'clock sharp, that exact Blair Cornelia Waldorf unlocked the front entrance to her little boutique The B Hive. It was located a little too closely to the docks for her liking but by now, after three and a half years of successful small business ownership, she had gotten used to the sound and soft swaying of the waves as well as the salty scent of the sea.
It wasn't as pleasant as she found it to be at the Rivera but she had begun to find comfort in it.
Cabot Cove now felt like home to her, the memory of her former Upper East Side life only leaving a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach.

Nonetheless, her mind wandered back to her socialite past once she had prepared the shop for the day, now left to patiently wait on possible customers.
All these years, she had been busy trying to suppress most of her memories in order to open herself for new ones and although she had liked to believe she was succeeding, you could probably say she failed miserably at best.
Granted, she had made new memories but mostly thanks to the fact that she had a daughter to raise on her own. She had made new friends but she hadn't been able to date again.
Sure, she had agreed to a few when she had been asked out and her friends had forced her onto some questionable blind dates she'd much rather pretend never happened but none of them led to anything and she was very well aware that she was fully responsible for that.
Blair Waldorf, Queen Bee turned Bitter Spinster.

But one had to cut her some slack.
Running from your old life and leaving so many matters unresolved, living with so many secrets she was desperately trying to shield from her past's view didn't making it easy for you to just forget about it.
Not that she made it easy for herself either.
She was subscripted to The New York Times for God's sake. Not exactly a leap forward in her process of forgetting New York.
In fact, she might be a little too informed about her former clique's life. She knew exactly which gala Serena and Nate had recently attended, either together or separately. She knew exactly how many of Chuck's mistresses had been caught by the paparazzi last year.
Good for him, at least Chuck Bass was still doing what he did best - Being Chuck Bass.
Serena as well.
She was also aware of the fact that Dan worked for it. Depending on her mood, she'd either skip his articles completely or soak up every single word he'd written even though most of the topics he had to cover were far below his potential. Not to mention she was nearly certain they made him write all those gossip articles on Serena and the others as well.
By Davina Horowitz? Oh, please.
Obviously, that was nothing but a pseudonym and not a very good one either. Those hadn't even been his forte in his tell-all novel.

As she claimed her spot behind the register - her employee Lola should finish arranging those damned shirts that just wouldn't stay wrinkle-free - her mind wandered back to a question that wouldn't leave her be anymore since last night: Why exactly had she wanted the father's name to be on the birth certificate so badly?
Everything would be far easier otherwise.
Actually, she might never have to tell him in that case as was the plan.
So why, for fuck's sake?
She mentally scolded herself for her sentimental stupidity.

Perhaps she had wanted it because it was all she had left of him in her new small town life. There, sentimental stupidity. Disgusting.
Or her conscience had wanted her to have a reason to contact him and tell him. As if that was a great idea once you'd had the baby. Every decent pregnant woman told the father before she was even showing so why couldn't she have just done that? Well, she had sort of considered it. Sort of. Sighing quietly, she lazily began to scroll through her unanswered emails. She would just continue to pretend she wanted a name there because she didn't want to look like a slut who didn't even know who the father of her own child was.
If only a customer would come in and distract her but they never seemed to come before ten – why exactly was she even opening at nine then? Perhaps she should reconsider her opening hours. Noted.
God, her mother was going to be the death of her. No, of course she wasn't going to come to her stupid UES dinner party with a few investors and a ton of socialites –including Serena and Chuck - she knew all too well, let alone bring Cynthia. The last thing she wanted for her child was to be in the same room with Chuck Bass. That would be even worse than just her being in the same room with Chuck Bass. Or else she wouldn't have ran off the moment she found out she was having a baby, right, Eleanor? Would that woman ever learn?

Just about to type a passive aggressive reply, she found herself being released by the sound of the old-fashioned bell, signalling that someone had entered the store.
Yes, a customer. Score.
However, as she tore her eyes from her phone's screen, she could already tell she wouldn't be selling anything. Just some guy with horrible fashion sense who was probably a lost tourist. Yawn.
"We neither sell men's clothing nor lingerie so if you're looking for a present your girlfriend won't loathe, I recommend a cashmere scarf." She informed him languidly, her eyes again glued to the screen. Once they found out there was no degrading lingerie they could bless their poor girlfriends with, they usually left. Looked like she'd have to deal with her mother now after all.
"Actually, that's not at all what I'm looking for." Or not. She would recognize that voice anywhere, possibly even in her sleep. Not to mention the unnerving Brooklyn accent. This had to be some sort of nightmare. Hadn't she dealt with her past enough to last her a lifetime last night? She certainly didn't need an actual person from it to just burst into her new small town life now.
Ever since she had moved here, she had mentally established a ranking of whom of her past acquaintances she least wanted to see here:
Serena was on the last spot. She wouldn't be that bad but sometimes she had trouble keeping her big mouth shut.
Same for Nate, only that he could be trusted even less with a major secret which gained him the spot right above S.
Chuck and Dan got to share pole position. Both would be a nightmare come true and now one of those nightmares actually was coming true. Couldn't she just ignore him and pretend he didn't exist? Maybe he'd take the hint and vanish into thin air without another word. But when had he ever taken a hint?

"Humphrey." Her voice was void of emotion as she finally looked up once and for all, eyeing him as if she had a hard time recognizing him – and quite frankly, she did. Had he ever looked this awful before? Not that she could remember. Whoever told him it was a good idea to join the club of the bearded gentlemen.
"Did you come all the way to Maine to show me that you've nearly mastered the art of turning yourself into a grizzly bear?"
He rolled his eyes before he replied, as he did. "Really, Waldorf? This is how you're going to greet me after five years? I expected you to at least have the decency to pretend that you missed me."
"Then you must have completely forgotten what I'm like at some point during those five years." Blair tilted her head to the side, beyond grateful that she had regained her cool so quickly. Her resting bitch face had gotten a little too much rest over the past few years perhaps but thankfully she still had it mastered. "But I see that congratulations are in order – I'm really happy for you. You've successfully turned yourself into a stereotypical Williamsburg hipster. The only thing you're still lacking is the beanie. Now everyone can spot your Brooklyn heritage the moment they lay eyes on you."
"Okay, you really have to stop hating on the beard. There's nothing wrong with the beard. It's a great beard. It's not even a hipster beard." Dan scoffed sarcastically. "Besides, I've ran into at least three guys sporting the exact same look on the way here and I don't recall this being Williamsburg."
"That's because they're fishermen, Dan. They're allowed to be a part of the bearded crowd." Blair's palm was pressed to her forehead. Leave it to Humphrey to supply her with a migraine in a matter of seconds. "At least you're not wearing one of your awful flannels or people on the streets would mistake you for one. Or is that why you're here? Are you looking to wave The New York Times goodbye and settle down as a fisherman? Don't do it. The look doesn't suit you."
Seriously, though. Why on earth was he here, bothering her on what could have been such a fine day?
"I'm not and I'm not here to receive style recommendations from your side either. Actually, I'm just wondering what the hell Blair Waldorf is doing in a town like this, flooded with fishermen whose looks she despises?" He asked coolly, nearly slyly.
And she didn't have an answer prepared for this. Oh shit. At least there was no excuse she could think of he'd actually believe. If only this was Nate she was dealing with.
Thus, the brunette simply shrugged.
"I needed a change and am just going where life takes me for once. Now, if you'd excuse me, I have work to do."
Sure she did, with no one else even in the shop other than them. Aced it.
Dan eyed her in complete silence for a moment, making her feel as if he was attempting to read her mind – horribly uncomfortable. Okay, seriously, couldn't he just leave it at that and leave? Please?

The bell rang again and Blair could hardly believe her luck as she watched Lola stomp in, ten minutes early. For that alone, she deserved a raise. Triumphantly motioning to the girl to stress her point, she struggled not to grin at him. "If you don't mind."
Now Humphrey just looked annoyed but definitely willing to give in. Thank God. Lola was definitely getting that raise.
"I see. Maybe you'd be willing to tell me over lunch? Or we could at least catch up, like estranged friends who haven't heard from each other in five years are supposed to." This was certainly the last straw he was clinging onto; she could hear it in his voice. And her answer was going to be oh hell no.
Or well, it would have been, if only her mouth had obeyed her brain's orders.
"Come back at noon and only if you're up for seafood because unless you're willing to shave in the meantime, I do not want to be seen with you at any decent restaurant. "
This time, it was Dan who was struggling not to grin. "Whatever you say, Waldorf. 12 pm sharp?"
"12 pm sharp. Now leave, Humphrey. I wasn't joking when I said I had work to do."
"Of course you weren't." Shaking his head, Dan finally turned to leave. "Don't stand me up, Waldorf."
"Oh, Humphrey, I would never." She chirped sweetly, visibly relaxing once the bell chimed again, serving as audible proof that he had left. Finally, the nightmare was over. Only to resume at noon. How could she have been stupid enough to agree to lunch? This was going to be the end of her.
Even worse, she'd have to tell Dorota about this. Wonderful. Someone please put her out of her misery.