AN: I apologize for the wait. Again. I completely understand if no one's reading this any longer, but this time I'm back for good. Promise.
And if not, you can kidnap me and force me to watch DB scenes till the end of time.
(In all seriousness, I like their friendship. Just not the possibility of a relationship.)
Thank you all for your support, your reviews, and for reading. The lack of review responses are because I thought you'd all rather get the chapter rather than a reply. But I really do love all of you for taking the time to read and review.
"B?"
Serena steps into Blair's room tentatively, not knowing what to expect. The past few days had been trying, to say in the least. She had claimed an unavoidable lunch with Lily the past day, only to find herself standing in front of the Empire, unable to enter. Not because she was afraid per se, although it terrified her to think of the new rock bottom Chuck would hit in this situation. Because she hadn't a clue of what to do in this scenario, and because she knew that the only information she could give to Chuck about Blair (which would be the only information he cared about) would do nothing to lift his spirits.
Instead, she had flagged down another cab, and the first address that had popped into her head was out of her mouth before she could fully comprehend what she was saying.
And yet going to the Humphrey loft had been the best decision she had made in days. It was empty, and she'd had to search for the spare key in a dusty old flowerpot, but it was welcoming. Even without Dan, she had found a sense of peace within the place. It was a place, oddly enough, where she could sleep for the first time in weeks. She had simply fallen into Dan's bed and woken up at Dan's call. For whatever reason, she didn't mention that she was at his place—it felt odd when he was so far away.
Dan had been quiet, not an unusual occurrence since Jenny's situation had become known to them. And Serena, for once in her life, had nothing to say beyond the usual reports. It was somehow comforting for them both to simply be on the phone with each other, even if they were completely silent.
When Serena had left the Humphrey loft that night and made her way back to the Waldorf Penthouse, the optimism she had been faking for the past few days finally felt honest.
"B?" Serena calls again, looking round the room. The bed is made, to Blair's impeccable, hospital-corners, standards. With Dorota not due to arrive for another forty minutes, Serena takes the made bed as a good sign. Blair would never deign to make her own bed, but she could also never bear to leave it unmade. The fact that she had gone through the trouble of making her bed and the fact that she was out of bed at a decent hour meant that Blair Waldorf was back.
Serena just wondered if that was because she had gotten over the entire situation, or if it was because she had begun planning some sort of scheme.
Either way, Serena smiles as she descends the stairs, wondering if she'll find Blair in the kitchen, eating a scone and wondering why she has allowed Dorota to arrive so late in the mornings.
…
Blair sighs as her phone rings for what seems to be the thousandth time. Advice coming from someone who used to call Blair crying and asking to be picked up in a seedy bar across town is not currently at the top of Blair's to-do list. Dealing with what Jenny Humphrey had told her last night is, however, quite close to the top of said list.
Sighing quietly as she rips off another piece of bread, Blair looks forlornly down at the last slice she holds in her hands. She had stopped at Le Pain Quotidien for the loaf, and with a rueful smile, thinks that these ducks must be the best fed in all of Manhattan. The gesture usually calmed her, but lately the act had done nothing but agitate her further.
He might not be Chuck's.
Jenny had sworn her to secrecy after her admittance the previous night, going on to explain that there had been someone else between Chuck and Jenny's realization that she was pregnant. Blair had held her breath all the while, as if the simple act of inhaling and exhaling was akin to allowing herself to hope. But it was too late. As soon as the words had left Jenny's mouth, Blair lost herself to hope that would do nothing but tear her down further.
It isn't entirely Jenny's fault, Blair realizes. After Chuck had visited her that night, the doubts were sown. Jenny's admittance only corroborated his story.
But even if Jenny had slept with someone else—and Blair can't say she is entirely surprised at this—there remains the chance that the baby is Chuck's.
Frustrated, Blair tosses the last bit of bread into the pond with more force than necessary, the ducks looking up at her with what she imagines to be indignation.
It is the uncertainty that troubles her the most. Blair Waldorf has never dealt with uncertainty well. She likes order; carefully structured perfection planned to the last detail. She likes control, and unpredictable things are uncontrollable.
The baby is Chuck's, or it isn't. She has absolutely no control in this situation, except the control over her own feelings.
And even that control is slipping from her fingertips, tumbling from them like the bread had moments earlier.
When her phone rings for the thousandth and one time, Blair declines the call and scrolls down her contacts list instead. She is unsure as to who she is looking for—Nate may have been a contender, but she had a feeling the extent of his help in regards to her is limited; her mother is completely out of the question, as are her fathers. Scrolling through the list with practiced speed, she comes across one name in her desperate search.
Brigette Desmarais is highlighted on her phone's screen, and somehow, Blair knows she is the right person to call.
Blair has known her not even a week, broken up the woman's marriage without ever meeting her, and yet, she feels as though this is someone whose opinion she will value.
Blair Waldorf taking advice from someone is a rare moment. Blair Waldorf asking for advice is even more rare.
"Hello?"
"Brigette, it's Blair, I—"
"Oh, Blair! How are you, darling?"
"Wonderful, thank you," Blair replies automatically, although she is anything but. "And yourself?"
"Lovely. It's absolutely gorgeous here in Berlin during this time of the year."
"And Christian is—"
"Oh my, no. I'm merely enjoying the weather. I think I'll take a trip to the Charlottenburg Palace later tomorrow. I had the most delicious meal at—"
"I thought you were meeting Christian in Berlin," Blair says with a frown. The fairytale reunion she had imagined between Christian and Brigette seems childish now that the woman has not even met him.
"Well—"
"You're afraid," Blair realizes, and she takes Brigette's silence as a confirmation. "You're afraid that he's not the same person—"
"No, trust me, I know for certain that he has not changed—"
"Then it's because you've changed," Blair states, and again, Brigette rebuffs the statement.
"You've both grown up," Blair insists. "That's why you don't want to see him. Because you've both grown up, and now you don't know if things can go back to the way they were. When they were simple. Before everything fell apart. When you had a future."
The last word sticks in her throat and when the first tear falls, Blair realizes that she may not be talking about Brigette and Christian, but about Blair and Chuck.
"Oui," Brigette answers with a regretful sigh. "Tu es très intelligente pour une jeune fille."
"Je sais," Blair agrees, but with none of the usual self-assuredness that she usually possesses.
"I haven't seen him in two years," Brigette tells her. "It was at a museum opening—I remember my surprise, he would never be caught dead in a museum. But I suppose that's what dating a curator will do to you."
"Did you—"
"No," Brigette answers the question swiftly. "I convinced Zacharie to return to the hotel, citing a headache. He was more than accommodating, especially because it gave him a suitable answer as to why he was out late without me."
Another wistful sigh, and Blair wipes away errant tears, resolving herself not to become like Brigette Desmarais—forever wondering what could have been.
"I don't even know if he's married," Brigette admits with a rueful laugh. "I could look in the society papers, I suppose, but to do so…"
"What are you afraid of, really?" Blair suddenly blurts out, surprised at her own audacity. "You have nothing to lose—"
"I lose the hope that he would be mine," Brigette clarifies, her voice tinged with sadness. "I lose the chance that he might be waiting for me—that even after all these years, he knows that I still love him."
"You'd rather not know, then know for sure," Blair ascertains. "But you'll live out the rest of your days adding to the 'what if's, of which you no doubt already have copious amounts of."
"Tu es correct," Brigette muses. "Mais, ce qui s'il est marié?"
"Then you tell him you love him," Blair says plainly. "Because love makes everything simple."
Saying it out loud forces her to realize that she still believes the statement—even after everything that has happened.
It doesn't matter if the baby is Chuck's.
Because in the end, love makes everything simple.
…
"You were right."
Nate whips around at the sound of Chuck's voice, the harsh rasp matching the unkempt state of his best friend.
"I won't be like Bart. This baby—if it really is mine—won't grow up without a father. He won't—won't end up like me. Not if I can do something about it."
"Are—"
"I'll ask for the paternity test tomorrow," Chuck decides. "I can't go on pretending it isn't mine without knowing for sure."
Nate nods, his expression grave. "I'm proud of you, man."
Chuck nods as well, taking a deep breath.
"But you're wrong about one thing."
Nate raises his eyebrows.
"I won't expect Blair to stay with me if she doesn't want to."
Nate nods, knowing that this is the right decision—and the fact that Chuck evidently agrees means that Chuck Bass is growing up.
"But I'm not letting go of her—I won't ever stop loving her."
Nate regards the expression in Chuck's eyes. The fierce determination to hold onto Blair, and the stalwart refusal to believe that they will be apart. And though Chuck Bass is growing up, and not quite as self-centered as his sixteen-year-old self, him not letting go of Blair is not a sign of selfishness.
Because they brought about more pain to themselves when they were apart than when they were together.
In actuality, Chuck not letting go of Blair only meant that he knew they were happier—happiest—together than apart.
…
"You—you want me to have a paternity test," Jenny stutters out, listening carefully for footsteps. This conversation is one she will only allow her son to be privy to. And only because he cannot understand.
She listens patiently to Blair's frustrated affirmation, and before Blair can launch into another soliloquy about how it is better for all of them to know, Jenny interrupts her boldly.
"You promised," she nearly accuses. "You promised not to tell—"
Blair's laugh of derision isn't jovial in the slightest, and it reminds Jenny of when she was a minion, and Blair her Queen.
Times haven't changed, even though she's slept with Chuck and now has a son.
"Little J," Blair says sweetly, "I'm not going to tell anyone."
Jenny knows what Blair will say next before the words are out of her mouth.
"You are."
"And if I refuse?" Jenny nearly shouts back, angry with herself for letting Blair in on her secret.
"You'll have to give in eventually," Blair tells her. "Chuck already suspects that the baby isn't his…"
Blair's voice cracks slightly at this, but Jenny is too dumbfounded by the statement to notice anything else.
"Did you—"
"No," Blair says shortly. "Chuck and I aren't speaking at the moment. But he—he noticed that the baby's eyes are green."
At Blair's hopeful tone, the way she emphasizes green, Jenny knows what Blair is indirectly asking.
"The guy—the guy I slept with, I met him on the train to Hudson," Jenny begins after a pause. "And—"
She knows that Blair is holding her breath. And her heart almost breaks for this girl—malicious as she is—because underneath it all, Blair is just as broken as she is. Just as afraid of others' opinions, craving acceptance. Wanting to be worth something. Wanting a happily ever after.
And Jenny is about to ruin that happily ever after.
"He had blue eyes."
"Maybe it was the lighting," Blair hypothesizes, grasping at straws. "You thought he had blue eyes, but really he had green. Or he was wearing colored contacts—"
"No," Jenny says quietly. "I'm sorry, Blair. He had blue eyes."
"His mother, or his father, even could have had green eyes," Blair continues to postulate, theories growing wilder.
"I—I don't know," Jenny admits. "But the same could be said for Chuck, Blair." She is loath to get the girl's hopes up, especially after all she has put her through already.
"No," Blair says quietly. "Neither Bart nor Evelyn had green eyes."
"It could be his," Jenny says after a moment's hesitation. "It could be—"
"You don't know his name?" Blair asks, a note of scorn in her voice.
"I wasn't—I wasn't thinking clearly," Jenny defends herself. "It was one time."
"That's why you don't want to name your baby," Blair states, rather than asks.
"His last name would be Humphrey either way," Jenny argues, only because she doesn't want to admit that Blair is correct.
Blair sniffs, but says nothing further. And Jenny wonders if it is safe to hang up, if she has dodged this bullet—for now.
"Blair, I've got to—"
"You're telling Chuck," Blair says decidedly, her voice strong, "that you're going to take a paternity test. What you do about the outcome is up to you. But you have to, Jenny. If not for me, or Chuck, for… your son."
Jenny finds that this is the one argument she cannot argue against, and although every nerve in her body is screaming at her to say no, to put this off for just a little longer, she knows that Blair is correct.
Putting off the paternity test won't solve anything. She doesn't even know what she hopes the outcome will be—if it is Chuck, she is forever tied to him in a way she has never wished. Not to mention, she knows that she will—if she hasn't already— ruin Chuck and Blair's relationship. If it is the boy on the train, she has no way of finding him, and her situation will be tainted with even more shame.
"I'll do it," Jenny acquiesces. "I'll make arrangements to come back to New York. And I suppose I'll have to finally tell my dad as well."
"Your father doesn't kn—" Blair stops abruptly, and Jenny is relieved that she will not have to explain why her father doesn't know.
"Thank you," Blair says instead.
The line goes dead, leaving Jenny to wonder if she has really received an apology from Blair Waldorf.
…
"Hey S,"
Serena jumps slightly at the sound of Blair's voice, looking up to find a weary Blair Waldorf at the threshold of her room.
"How are you?" Serena asks tentatively. She hadn't seen Blair all day, giving up after her forty-third call had been ignored. She figured she should give Blair some space.
"I've been better," Blair admits with a self-deprecating laugh, walking past Serena's bedroom and into the bathroom they share. "How was your day?"
"Fine," Serena responds edgily, making her way to the bathroom as well. Blair's behavior confuses her for reasons she can't pin down. The girl brushing out her hair is not the same girl who was crying in her arms some nights before. But she isn't happy, either.
"Talk to Dan?" Blair asks, perhaps a little too innocently.
"Yeah," Serena hedges, "and I'm supposed to call him in a bit, too. But if you want to watch Audrey movies, or something—"
"I think I'm going to go out tonight," Blair says, tilting her head at her reflection and gathering her hair up in her hands.
"Out?" Serena asks, slightly alarmed.
"I'm not going to do body shots off some half-naked guy and throw myself at investment bankers," Blair says pointedly.
"I'll come with you," Serena suggests, not convinced in the slightest.
"Really, S," Blair rolls her eyes. "I just—I need one night of fun after the hell I've been put through the past few days. Not to mention what'll happen in the next few days."
"What's happening in the next few days?" Serena asks warily, eyebrows knit.
Blair chews her lip, hesitating until Serena presses her further.
"I can't say," she finally admits. Why she is keeping a secret from her best friend—especially when it is Little J's secret and about to be told in a matter of days, if not hours, is beyond her.
Serena's expression is one of absolute bewilderment.
"I'm sorry. You—you should ask Dan when they're coming back to New York."
"They?" Serena questions. "They, as in Dan, Jenny, and the baby?"
Blair hesitates again, and Serena watches her best friend's conflicted expression with a worried one of her own.
"Talk to Dan tonight." Is all Blair tells her, before turning to her own room and closing the door.
Leaving Serena to puzzle over their exchange. She knew Dan would be coming back, sooner or later, but she hadn't thought Jenny would return. Would Jenny's return be temporary? To sort out whatever it was between her and Chuck? And why would Blair, of all people, be the first to know about this?
Frowning, Serena contemplated calling Dan immediately, but before she could make her decision, the sound of hangers being picked through reached her ears.
Dan could wait. This whole Jenny situation could wait. Blair was right. They deserved tonight.
Slipping into her newest Saks purchase and applying a fresh coat of gloss, Serena nearly skipped the few feet to Blair's room. Poking her head in, she smiled at the sight of her best friend debating between two different pairs of shoes—black lacy Valentinos on her left foot, blood red Manolos on the other.
"The Valentinos," Serena says with a smirk, flopping onto Blair's bed. She ignores Blair's look of reproach—she knows she probably threw all sixteen of Blair's carefully arranged pillows into disarray. "Then I can borrow the Manolos."
"They're not in your size," Blair points out.
"I'll squeeze," Serena says with a shrug, although she winces at the thought as Blair disappears into her closet once more, presumably to put on the Valentinos. "Where are you thinking of going?"
When no answer comes, Serena looks over at the closet door once more, "Blair?"
"I'm thinking Jimmy," Blair says with a small smile, emerging from her closet, shoebox in hand, feet clad in the Valentinos Serena had suggested.
"What's that?" Serena asks, the distinctive black Manolo Blahnik logo indicative of its contents. Only Blair never kept shoe boxes—Dorota was tasked with organizing Blair's ever-expanding collection in a space that was being outgrown at a rapid pace.
"You didn't think I was going to let you borrow my shoes, did you?" Blair asks faux-haughtily, handing Serena the box with a disinterested air.
Serena grins as she lifts the top, revealing the same red Manolos in her size.
"Oh B," she says with a happy sigh.
"I figured I owed you, since I didn't buy you these for Christmas," Blair says with a smile. "And for everything you've done for me—I—"
She is cut off by Serena, who nearly topples the both of them over with the force of her hug.
"You're my sister," Serena says simply. "I'm always here for you."
Blair smiles as she pulls back, blinking a tear out of her eye and regarding Serena's expression.
"Besides, you would've stretched my shoes out beyond repair, and then I wouldn't have been able to wear them."
Serena laughs as she slips into her new shoes, slinging her arm into Blair's as they make their way down the marble steps, their laughter echoing round the foyer.
…
"Dad?"
"Jenny," her father's voice nearly brings tears to her eyes. After months of self-imposed exile, just hearing her father's voice brings a sense of comfort, of safety.
Though neither will last long, as Jenny sees no positive outcome for their conversation.
"How are you?" Her father's question is slightly accusatory, an unspoken I haven't head from you in a while hanging between them.
"Good," Jenny says shortly. "And you?"
Her dad answers offhandedly, mentioning something about Lily or Eric, something Jenny can grasp onto and ask about.
Something to pass the time, until she absolutely cannot put off her announcement any longer.
They slip into an easy banter, talking for nearly an hour before a cry is heard on Jenny's end, a cry that does not go unnoticed by Rufus.
"Jen?" He asks in bewilderment. "Was that a baby?"
Jenny considers lying, saying that she is babysitting for a neighbor, if only so she can continue this easy conversation with her dad. They haven't spoken like this in ages, and she wants to prolong the moment for as long as she can.
"Jenny?" Her father's voice grows more alarmed at her silence. "Jen, is that—"
"One second, dad," she says quietly, putting the phone down to collect her son. But before she can make it two steps to his room, Dan appears out of seemingly nowhere, holding up a hand.
"Is that dad?" He asks, nodding towards the phone in her hand. The conversation last night between Dan and her had been painful, to say in the least. Even her own brother judged her for what she had done, and although he assured her that it meant nothing to him, she saw the judgment in his eyes. Shamefaced, she had decided it was better to get it over with and tell her mother as well. Alison's reaction had been different than Dan's. She, too, had attempted understanding, telling Jenny that there was nothing to be done, and she loved the baby all the same. But the disappointment in her expression was clear as day, and when Alison exited the house under the pretense of taking Argus out for a walk, Jenny knew that she was wondering what she had done to deserve such a daughter.
Jenny nods in agreement, and Dan smiles encouragingly. "He loves you, Jenny, no matter what. We all do."
Jenny simply nods again, tears pricking at the back of her eyelids.
"I'll get him," Dan says, already blocking her way to her son's room. "The sooner you do it, the better you'll feel," he assures her.
"If you say so," Jenny mutters.
"Hey dad," she says resignedly, and at her dad's sharp exhale, knows that Rufus is nearly tearing his hair out. "I was—"
"You don't have to lie to me, Jen," Rufus assures her quietly. "It all makes sense now. Why I wasn't allowed to visit. Those ignored calls. Why Dan's still up there."
"Dad," Jenny whispers. "I'm so sorry. I—"
"You have nothing to apologize for," Rufus is quick to assure her. "I'm not angry. Just… hurt. If you guys were trying to protect me, I'm alright. I've got Lily now - I can handle this."
"I didn't want anyone to know," Jenny pleads. "Please forgive me, dad. It was just mom, and then Nate found out—then everything fell apart. I was going to give him away—"
"You—you what?" Rufus stumbles over his words.
"I was going to give him up for adoption," Jenny admits. "No one was supposed to know, and I was supposed to continue on with my life."
There is a moment of silence, prompting Jenny to check if her dad is still on the phone.
"I'm here," Rufus replies faintly. "Jenny, what are you talking about?"
"I'm—" Jenny realizes too late that perhaps her and her father weren't talking about the same thing. "Wait, dad, what are you talking about?"
"Alis—your mom's, ah, well, your mom's new baby," Rufus says, clearly uncomfortable.
"Oh," Jenny is overcome with the strange urge to laugh, though she knows that neither her nor her father will be laughing after her admission.
"He's—he's not mom's baby," Jenny corrects him. There is a silence on the other end, and Jenny closes her eyes, wishing that she were doing anything but this.
"He's mine."
There is another extended period of silence, and Jenny begins to fear that her dad has hung up, or worse, fainted.
Rufus was never really the fainting type, though.
"Yours," Rufus repeats in a tone of wonderment. As if he were wondering whether or not he was dreaming.
"Yeah," Jenny says. "Please, dad, you have to understand, I was under a lot of stress—"
"You were pregnant," Rufus states.
Jenny bites her lip, deciding it was best to let her father deal with this in his own way rather than attempting to explain.
"Yes," she answers simply.
"And you were going to give up the child," Rufus states again. Jenny responds in the affirmative, and the conversation continues in the same vein for the next few minutes, until Rufus finally asks the question that Jenny fears. A question that has no answer.
"Who's the father?"
"I—"
"It's Chuck Bass, isn't it?" Rufus questions, and Jenny can see the anger and disappointment in his eyes, even though she is miles away.
"I—I don't know," Jenny concedes quietly.
"What do you mean?" Rufus asks, a note of incredulity creeping into his voice. "If you don't know, that probably means you—"
"Slept with someone else," Jenny finishes the sentence with a wince. "I'm sorry, dad. I was screwed up. I was hurt. I didn't know what I was doing, and I just wanted to forget. I just wanted everything to go away, to—"
"Jenny," her father interrupts her babbling speech, his tone clearly controlled, but calm nonetheless. "Jenny, it's going to be alright."
She has heard those five words before, and recently from Dan and her mom. But coming from her dad, they are… different. They have meaning.
Those five words coming from her dad means that everything will be alright. That even if her baby has Chuck Bass, or a boy with floppy brown hair and blue eyes and no name, for a father, everything will be alright.
Her dad had said so.
And that gave her the courage to do what she had to do next.
Namely, the most difficult feat she has ever had to execute.
Well, second to giving birth. She may love her son, but giving birth to him was a bitch.
tbc
Tu es très intelligente pour une jeune fille.
You are very intelligent for a young girl.
Je sais.
I know.
Tu es correct. Mais, ce qui s'il est marié?
You are right. But what if he is married?