It was a warm night, veering on muggy as he watched a few insects dance fruitlessly around the light by the patio door. He guessed he understood the attraction. Being around something so bright and luminous was at times rewarding in and of itself. The light didn't really need to be an interested party in the whole interaction.

Dan sat by the pool, feet dangling in the water and writer's mindset mentally noting how the translucent layer somewhere between the pool's water and the night's air seemed to add a layer of depth to his heartache. It was his New York Brigadoon - only this time there was no Scottish ingénue for which to fall in love. The role had already been cast.

He heard small steps click behind him, punctuating her entrance with each heel hitting pavement.

He didn't bother turning his head. He knew that purposeful gait anywhere. "You're not gone," he said, his words bouncing across the twilight mist forming over the pool.

She clicked her shoes off and sat beside him two large tiles down. Her safety zone, he silently remarked. Two cinema chairs down. Two sofa cushions away. It's where she always started.

But never where she finished.

"No, I'm not gone," she spoke softly as if not wanting to disturb the still of night.

They sat in silence. It wasn't a pregnant pause. They was no anticipation. No expectation. Just comfortable silence. Oddly comfortable silence given the situation.

She sighed gently. "You know, New York City is never empty," she commented.

"That's why they call it the city that never sleeps," he responded, still not glancing her way.

She sighed less gently. "I'm not here because the city is empty."

Then why are you here? he thought loudly enough that she may of heard.

But she probably didn't because they went back to silence. The occasional soft splash of her toe grazing the water. The insects still dancing for their light's non-attention.

"I'm here because I feel lost right now," she began. He would say almost timidly if she wasn't Blair Waldorf. "And when you're around," she continued searching, "I feel calmer." The 'calmer' was spoken slowly, the word rolling off her tongue liked a well-weathered and polished stone. She had clearly thought about it. "I'm still lost, but calmer."

Dan finally looked in her direction. Her eyes set forward, unmoving. Her jaw in a thin straight line. She didn't seem to like what she had just said, but it seemed true.

He didn't allow his hopes to rise, and instead, he turned back to the water. "What does that mean?" he asked in a dull tone.

"This summer, I lived for Mondays." The admission put a small but begrudging smile on her pink lips. "I missed New York so much."

He waited for an elaboration. Each lap of water with her toe like a giant clock ticking to something he thought might be important.

"Maybe I'm not ready to live in Monaco right now," she finally said.

"You said you lived for Mondays. Why Mondays Blair?" he pressed.

"Because I could talk about movies and not have to worry," she responded wistfully.

"Worry about what?"

"About not being right."

Now, he was confused. "Being right?" he questioned.

"It's just," she began and restarted. "In case you haven't noticed, I'm not a good person, Humphrey."

He shifted his weight over one tile, catching her attention. But she didn't move away. "Blair," he said with a quiet force, "when are you going to realize that there's nothing wrong with you. You deserve a happy ending." And then with less force, "Louis's a prince and he loves you."

Her body seemed to weep when he said 'Louis'. "Louis can't have the fairytale with me," she said, her usually perfect posture slumping slightly. "I'm broken."

She said it with a broken smile on her face.

Tears threatening.

The word packed with meaning.

"Broken?"

"Broken," she stated again, the word no less troublesome. Then added, "Tainted by Chuck Bass."

Dan groaned. Loudly, not really caring if it offended. To be honest, when it came to the topic of Chuck Bass, Dan just stopped caring about propriety. "That's a tad melodramatic," he said. "You're already right. You're more than that. You're beautiful and intelligent and intuitive and," noticing her eyes start to glaze over, he changed gears. "Chuck Bass is not a virus," he stated strongly. "He cannot infect you."

"You don't know how wrong you are."

Her tone was omnious and leading, and he wondered why she let that jerk have so much control over her. Exasperated, he let out, "What's going on Blair? You've left Monaco. You've stopped planning your wedding. You're here in the Hamptons with Dan Humphrey," he said, gesticulating at his own name. "Louis, he makes sense," he said more slowly. "Chuck's just a bad habit you need to break."

She took a deep breath. The words on the tip of her tongue so thick and weighted they were nearly choking her.

And suddenly, he was scared. Blair's words flowed freely in moments of joy and moments of despair. In moments of approval and moments of critique. In moments of genuineness and moments of biting barb. Blair Waldorf didn't stumble over words or fear them as they exited her mouth. They didn't choke her with significance.

He was scared of what she might say next.

"I'm pregnant."

The words plummeted to the ground like a world-destroying meteor, and Dan Humphrey sat dumbfounded.

"Flowy dresses are only going to cover it up for so long," she continued, regaining her free tongue.

He stared at her, unblinking.

"You can pick your jaw off the ground now," she retorted.

He didn't know what to say. What do you say? "You have been wearing a lot of flowy dresses lately." That was a dumb thing to say. "And the baby's Louis's?"

She shook her head noiselessly. Shamefully. Regretfully.

"Chuck's?" he asked, trying his best to suppress all judgment. The fragile force of nature in front of him didn't need the judgment.

"Yes," she confessed. "I think so." Then, "I don't know." She dropped her head into her hands. "God, I feel like I'm in high school again."

Dan marveled at the odd symmetry of it all. In high school, Blair's pregnancy scandal had been the catalyst for admitting his love for Serena. And here today, admitting his feelings for Blair had potentially been the catalyst for dropping this actually-pregnant bomb on his life.

"My life is falling apart Humphrey," she moaned into her hands. Looking up, she said half in jest, "Are you still trying to get over me now?"

A fragile force of nature. He liked that. He'd have to remember to write that down. Sitting beside him, stormy yet calm, was one of the most beautiful and intoxicating and confusing and infuriating and rewarding women he had ever known.

He slide over one more tile.

She didn't move.

Her eyes were glistening, those threatening tears from earlier willfully being dammed.

His fragile force of nature.

He placed his hand gently on her bare shoulder and then her face and whispered, "Ask me again."

Her voice broke, and he drank in the little power he seemed to have over her in that moment. "Are you still trying to get over me?"

"Yes." And for a moment, everything seemed perfect. His mouth descending on hers. Her mouth moving against his. Soft. Slow. His head a mess of Chanel perfume and poetry waiting to be written.

A hazy fog of possibility.

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Author's Note: Wow. I really appreciate all of the feedback! To be honest, I was not expecting that, and it's really kept me writing the story. When I started this story, it was sort of a thought experiment to see just how sad Dan Humphrey could be. I honestly feel like Dan's crush on Blair was becoming debilitating for him as the season ended, and I hoped the writers would explore that in the coming season. Anyway, in the past, I've always had an end in mind when I've written something. This is different. It's just kind of writing itself - which scares me because I don't really know if it'll end properly.

So, basically what I'm saying is that I apologize ahead of time to anyone reading this. I can't promise that my ending (which I don't feel is anywhere near) will be satisfying. I suppose no writer can honestly make that promise though. I do appreciate the feedback. I know that in parts, this story seems rushed. I'm working on that. Maybe not in this chapter so much...but the concern is on my radar.

Again thanks, and I hope you liked this chapter.