A/N: This has quite a few mentions of SEX, nothing explicit or anything like that, but implications are probably there, and the word itself is mentioned quite considerable. So, if you shouldn't be reading this, or it makes you uncomfortable, please skip over it it's in the third Misty/Eleanor interaction, naturally ;)
Also, any comments made are Eleanor's/Misty's or the character's opinions, NOT mine.

Eeee, reviews are dwindling :S

Oh well, I like writing this, it's fun, and it's a follow-on from my two one-shots, and will hopefully lead to a sequel – of sorts. So I'll continue to post, and if anyone wants to review, feel free :)

In honour of the new episode airing later tonight, which I won't get to see till like AGES after : I give you a new chapter – enjoy…


Chapter Six: Declarations of Love – If You Can Really Call Them That: But Then Again, Maybe You're Really A Brooklyn-ite And Therefore Can't Be Blamed For Such … Eccentricities, I Personally Blame The Water

"We just got back from our trip to the UK this afternoon, and at the moment, I'm lounging on the couch. I'm attempting to wave off the feelings of jet lag that are threatening to overcome me, while my husband is popping into the office for a short period to check on some things. I'll give him that; he did just spend a month abroad with us.

Besides, I know that when he comes home later, I'll already be tucked up in bed asleep, and he'll walk into the room, see me this way, and join me in a matter of moments; slipping in beside me and instantly wrapping his arms around me. It's enough for me to glaze over any feelings of resentment I might feel at being virtually abandoned by my husband the moment we step into our home after a month overseas.

He'll have looked in on Chuck, too, and will have dropped a kiss to our son's head, bidding him goodnight before going to bed himself.

It's in the little things that I love my husband. And it's because of these things and because I know that this is his own way of showing me that he loves me, and our son, that I will overlook certain other things. Because my husband loves me, and at the end of the day, my son and I are the ones he will always return home to at night. The ones who will always have that hold over his heart.


Chuck's asleep beside me, and I can't resist stroking his hair as his head rests in my lap. I think it's about time for a haircut, however. After all, he may be able to pull off the rugged look now, but a week longer and he'll look like he belongs in one of those boxes in Brooklyn; or whatever it is they live in in that place.

Blair's hair is longer too now, and a shade lighter from all the sun. It suits her: the lengthened curls and the sun-kissed locks; makes her look more… enchanting. If that's even possible.

I'm almost certain she has my son already infatuated with her; I'm just waiting for him to admit his undying love for her. If that's even possible.

I really ought to give Eleanor a call; though it might be worth just turning up at her apartment tomorrow. She'll probably be sorely tempted to hang up on me, and that would be a rather… unpleasant experience.

Besides, if I just appear in her home, and she kicks me out – which she would not do – she can't keep me out. I know her security code and I'm so far beyond first-name basis with the 'new guy' on the front desk, he should be in the contacts list in my cell-phone; not that I'd ever actually do that, but… my point has been made. No need to elaborate further. I think I'll call first. Nothing like the sound of my best friend's irritated voice to lull me into a deep sleep."

...

"Were you two always like this?" Blair asked, raising an eyebrow at her mother. "Because I don't remember much of models being castrated or design pieces being ruined in my childhood."

"Believe me, that very nearly happened during the Roman-period," Eleanor replied loftily. "But that is a tale for another time."

"And yes, to answer your question, we were always like that," she replied.

"Misty was a know-it-all little harpy and I was an insufferable wench," she told them matter-of-factly, ignoring their odd looks.

"What can I say?" Eleanor rolled her shoulders, and flashed them a smile. "We worked."

"Yes, I'm sure you did. You lasted, after all," her daughter awarded her. "And I don't exactly recall any damaging moments on either of us during your friendship."

She cast a glance at Chuck, as he gave her a half-hearted, 'You cannot be serious about that' look, and she smiled at him; absently stroking the spot on his wrist, still indented from that fall from grace – er, tree – all those years ago.

"Well, almost," she relented, and caught the roll of his eyes by her side.

"Though I have to say, that was one of the best holidays I've ever had," Blair beamed, sharing a look with her husband then, who gave her a smile this time in return and tugged at her waist, pulling her closer.

"Mmm," Eleanor murmured, resisting the urge to roll her eyes and instead opted for turning her head to the side to remove her gaze from the couple before her. "Don't I know it."

...

"Hello?" I answered automatically: sounding inanely monotonous, even for me.

"Why hello there, wonderful best friend of mine. Busy tomorrow?" Misty's smooth, yet vivacious voice slid across the connection.

"I'm not sure whether I should be insulted by what could be construed as your assumption that I have no life, or by your arrogant assumption that I'll just drop any plans I have now that you've decided to call for the first time in a month," I replied.

"I've been busy," she said by way of explanation, and I could hear the amused smile in her words.

"Why? Did you miss me?" she asked then, with that annoying teasing tone in her voice.

I rolled my eyes and snorted in the most ladylike way possible, as I retorted, "I was just starting to think I'd finally gotten rid of you."

"You know I'm more persistent than that," she chastised me playfully. "And you didn't answer my question on whether you're busy or not."

"Yes, I am," I told her simply; ignoring the fact I could practically hear the 'so there!' tone in my voice. God, she was turning me into a child!

"Cancel, I'll be round before lunch. We're going out," she replied to that.

And before I could respond, she'd hung up.

Smug harpy, I thought to myself then; replacing the phone on its cradle and turning back to my work, though I couldn't stop the smile from playing across my lips.

She could read me far too well.

X

"Oh, come on. You can't stay mad at me forever," were my best friend's first words to me as soon as she stepped into my line of vision; holding out her arms and giving me that bee-stung pout and those big, expectant eyes.

"You got fat," I said simply, giving her a look.

"I did not," she countered, hands dropping to her sides.

"You're hair looks hideous," I continued.

"It does not," she rolled her eyes at me.

"Your face is getting ugly," I added, still giving her the same look as when she first entered.

"It is not," she said, raising her eyebrows and tilting her head to the side as if to say: 'Are we really going to carry on this game? It's getting old fast'.

Then her face broke into a smile as she breathed out, "I missed you too."

"Well, apparently my daughter didn't - at all," I commented then, not missing a beat, and I gave her a pointed look.

"Oh, hush you," Misty admonished, rolling her eyes once more at my theatrics. "She did too."

"When?" I questioned. "Would that be while she was sunning herself in the English sun watching the tennis? Or when she was being taught golf in its home country by your son?"

"Or maybe that'd be when she and my best friend went shopping in Bond Street, just the two of them?" I continued.

"Or possibly when she was going to jazz festivals and dancing the night away?" I raised an eyebrow.

Misty rolled her eyes.

"She did miss you, Eleanor, you're just being childish," she told me, in a matter-of-fact tone that made me want to hit her.

Because she was right, of course, and I knew it. That didn't mean I'd admit to that fact though, obviously.

"The girl was having fun, she's ten-years-old, what do you expect? We all get sidetracked when we're on holiday, you know that," she tried to placate me gently.

"She called me four times!" I exclaimed. "Four times in four weeks!"

"That equates to an absolutely miniscule amount of time during your entire trip which she spent thinking about me," I told her.

"Well, think yourself lucky. Chuck didn't call me or his father at all during his trip to see his Aunt last year," she replied, giving me a smile in order to try and pacify me.

"Yes, but your son is an arrogant brat. He's expected to shun his parents at every turn and not care for anyone else's feelings, just like his father. Blair, however, is not," I replied hotly.

Misty sent me a hard glare, snatching up her clutch from the counter, and I knew she wanted to say something worse in return; she had an acid tongue, and this was the first time I'd never seen her use it.

"Let me know when you've decided to apologize, and then maybe I'll tell you how my holiday with your daughter went, shall I?" she settled for saying instead.

And with that she turned and walked out.

I was too busy stewing in her departure to think of the immediate consequences.

Of course, I knew this couldn't end well. Her in that mood was never good.

X

I stepped through the French doors and onto the balcony. Misty's back was to me as she stood by the stone railing, staring out at the city below.

"Hope you're not planning on jumping," I quipped on sight. "It'd be tragic."

"Tragic for whom?" she questioned, turning to face me.

"I never pictured you for the suicidal type. I always thought it showed weakness and I assumed you felt the same," I told her then.

"I'm not suicidal, Eleanor, I'm simply admiring the scenery," she commented and then walked by me through the threshold I'd just crossed moments before.

"I had another row with Harold," I eventually said, having followed her into the living room minutes before and done nothing but sat silently on the sofa across from her.

"Don't care," was my instant reply.

My eyes snapped wide; my expression no doubt surprised; and my eyes hopefully telling her she was being a hard-faced bitch.

Misty inhaled deeply and silently, breathing calm onto her raging sensibilities.

Then she fashioned a rudimentary look of sympathy on her face and said, "I didn't mean that."

"I do care. I care very much," she told me, and offered me a small smile to go with the other expression.

I paused, calmed myself, and met her eyes again. She held my gaze.

I took a seat opposite her, and she slid me a cup of coffee across the table.

A moment of intimacy passed between us – we understood each other. Normally I might've said this had developed from our years of friendship, but I knew better. This had essentially occurred because we'd surpassed anything we'd ever held between us before. I'd done something wrong and she was capable of being a complete bitch about it.

"You just pissed me off," she added, with a small smirk playing at the corners of her lips.

"I'm getting that idea," I commented ruefully, and brought my coffee to my lips, sipping on it.

"Tell me what happened," she said softly, trying to understand where I was coming from.

And so I did. I told her about how my husband had come home not long after she had left for goodness knows what reason; a fact I'd shared with him, and we'd had an argument.

I'd shouted at him for his errant behavior of late: because naturally without his little Blair Bear around, he'd felt free to do as he pleased. And he's called me on my ever-increasing workload, claiming I was the one to be acting out of sorts. He said it was my fault that our time together had been getting increasingly more and more sparse and that if we wanted this to work, it had to be a collective effort. Of course, I'd scoffed at that, because it was obvious that I was the one doing all the work, and naturally we'd ended on a disagreeing note.

When I finished, Misty had simply rolled her eyes at me and said, "Go home, apologize to Harold and make arrangements to have lunch together tomorrow."

"And then have fiery, passionate sex on any available surface you can find," she added, flashing me a grin.

"Excuse me?" I asked incredulously, raising my eyebrows at her; looking at her like she'd just asked me to go to Confession; yeah flamin' right that would ever happen.

"What?" she replied, looking at me with that innocent, yet completely and utterly entertained expression on her face. "You need the practice for when you apologize to me for being an utter boot earlier, and – "

She rolled her shoulders, fitting me with that smirk of hers that she only pulled out for moments like these, as she continued with, " – And that's what Bart and I do, and look how well we're doing."

"Oh my word, you are impossible," I told her then, throwing my head to the side.

"I know," Misty grinned at me.

"But, seriously, there's nothing quite like hot make-up sex to put you back on track like nothing'd ever happened," she told me.

She threw me a sly look then as she added, "Of course, that's until you remember just how good it was, then you'll wonder why you don't do it more often."

"I swear you're deranged," I told her then. "I bet it's all that ridiculously expensive water you have imported. I bet it's really from Brooklyn and it's affecting your brain; mixing your ability to spout advice with your inordinate fantasy sex-life."

"Hey!" Misty protested. "I'll have you know that there is nothing fantasy about my sex-life."

Then she stopped herself, "Well, except for that one time…"

She must have caught the look on my face, because she quickly added, "But it was our anniversary, and it was a surprise and – oh, why am I defending myself?"

"I dressed up in the white suspenders, bridal garter, gloves; you know, the works, but topless, of course," she said to me, almost nonchalantly, rolling her shoulders, as she continued just matter-of-factly, "Best sex we'd had all month."

She smiled triumphantly at me, while I openly gawked at her. I knew I was doing it, and it was unladylike and all else, but she was deplorable; she really was.

Though, it was a good look on her, I had to admit. She had a certain… glow about her –

" – Okay, that's enough," Chuck's voice broke through the air. "We really don't need to carry on about my parents sex-life thank you very much, or lack there-of."

"You'd prefer to think it never existed?" Eleanor asked with an amused look.

"Exactly. They had sex, one time, during which I was conceived," he told her, in such a matter-of-fact tone she had to fight not to laugh.

"And then they never went near each other again," he continued. "In fact, let's say they slept in separate beds for the remainder of their marriage, and they never so much as looked at each other in an intimate way after that single night."

She resisted the urge to raise an eyebrow and ask him amusedly, 'Who said anything about it being at night?' but she refrained; she might give the boy a brain hemorrhage.

"And you really think that'll fit with what your mother has written, hmm?" she probed him instead, that entertaining look still present across her face.

"It doesn't have to fit, it just has to block out any thought of my parents having sex," Chuck told her simply.

"Right, well. I highly doubt it will work, but fine, who am I to argue with a Bass?" Eleanor replied airily.

Chuck merely smirked at her in response, "Who indeed?"

She rolled her eyes at his response; so much like his damn mother.

X

Misty looked at me helplessly.

Then she turned to my daughter and said sternly, "Blair."

She looked up at my best friend with wide eyes, her face a picture of hopefulness.

"The first time you don't take care of him, boom, he's out," the elder said.

Then, eyeing my daughter, she added, "Understood?"

Blair's face lit up and she squealed and threw herself, and it, into Misty's arms: while I simply gaped at them.

Misty hugged back, then caught my expression. She gave me a slight sheepish look, and a roll of the shoulders, and then let go: while I threw my head to the side, and rolled my eyes at her. And my daughter practically skipped into the other room, that thing held tightly within her grasp; if it dirtied her dress at all I was sending her the bill.

"She gave me the eyes," Misty said, as if this was explanation enough; it sort of was. "You know how I can't resist it when she does the eyes."

Eleanor laughed incredulously, "She's not even your daughter!"

"Exactly! And she has me wrapped around her finger," she said.

Then shaking her head she mused, "Bart's just going to be thrilled with this development."

I scoffed at her, "Oh, as if you even thought for one moment I was going to allow that thing to stay in my house."

She folded her arms over her chest and replied haughtily, "I'll have you know that he is a Yorkshire terrier. Authentically bred from the place itself. And his name is Mr. Famous."

"Like Audrey's?" I asked, amid much laughter then.

She nodded, and raised an eyebrow. "Something wrong with that?"

"No," I managed to get out, "None at all."

"But didn't that get run over and killed?" I asked, my brow furrowing slightly, while I struggled to keep my lips from curving upwards at the corners.

She moved to throw her clutch bag at me. "Oh, be quiet you."

"A fat lot of help you were, I might add," she then said.

"I was in another country!" I defended.

And then I laughed at her once more as I remarked, "But even if I wasn't, I probably wouldn't have bothered lending a hand. I'd no doubt be too busy basking in the pride of my creation as she won you over with nothing more than a quick bat of the eyelids."

Misty merely rolled her eyes, voicing simply, "Mmm."

"And then I'd have dropped the thing in the Atlantic on the flight back," I added, giving her a smirk.

She really did throw her clutch at me for that one.

X

"Oh, I remember Mr. Famous," Blair crooned. "He was such a cutie."

"Whatever happened to him again?" Chuck pondered, face falling into a slight frown.

His wife's face darkened, while his mother-in-law's split into a wide smile, and Eleanor fell into an uncontrollable bout of laughter, somehow managing to struggle out, "Run over by a car a week later."


TBC…


A/N: "Oh, come on. You can't stay mad at me forever." "You got fat." "I did not." "You're hair looks hideous." "It does not." "Your face is getting ugly." "It is not… I missed you too." – Grey's Anatomy
"I had another row with Harold." "Don't care…" – Part of the scene adapted from 'Marshmallows For Breakfast'
"You're so hard on yourself…" – Scene Adapted from 'My Best Friend's Girl'

Much apology for the delay, yet again, but I'm finding it difficult to think up material for this – it should get easier in a few chapters as I've sort of already got those mainly written out, but for now, I'm afraid, you'll have to contend with a couple of days between updates.

Also, I've sort of been distracted by wee things I've been planning and writing for the sequel-of sorts ;)

Oh, and for any 'Pietas' readers out there – lol, this really WAS just an easy way to update people, but if I gain a few more readers/reviewers out of it I'm not complaining ;) – the last chapter should be up tomorrow morning, so… in a few hours :)

Thanks for reading and please let me know what you think – means a lot!
Steph
xxx