Fumbling Towards Happily Ever After

Chapter Twenty-One – Part One

May 16, 2009

My life is tangled up in ironies. It's the word I'd assigned to Nate once upon a time. Why? Because it was gentler than cheater and softer than liar but somewhere in the middle the meaning was the same. The definition of irony is to use words to express something different from and often opposite to their literal meaning. Nate used to swear that he loved me. That was ironic!

Chuck has his own ironies. The way his eyes rarely match his words, or how even when he plays at being happy, if you stare hard enough, you can see the hundred other emotions at work. His is a fundamental incompatibility that plays out in both the tiniest and all-encompassing of ways. Chuck used to tease that I was the only girl he didn't want but the gold of his eyes undid him every time.

I'd always assumed my life's ironies would set themselves to right. Nate would recognize his lies for what they were; Chuck would learn to reconcile the truth. It never happened. Perhaps that's the irony that tangles the most.

Somewhere in between Nate's words began to match his eyes. And Chuck? His eyes went clear only to cloud again, to turn as irreconcilable as always. That's how I realized. My life might just have followed the other definition all along, the one that states irony is incongruity between what might be expected and what actually occurs.

Blair Waldorf

Chuck typed the information his uncle had forwarded into his blackberry, dated the appointment with time and place. He copied the names of the investors he needed to impress and the directions for using his father's teleconference materials. Perhaps it was a bit of overkill. It was only two days away, he was unlikely to forget either the date or directions. He pushed save anyway. The last thing he needed was another screw up. The phone rang when he was finished. The screaming Pete Doherty indicated it was Eric. The younger boy had cut it just to piss the older off. The fact that Chuck had yet to delete it, that proved something else entirely. "Does his family love you yet?" Chuck teased as greeting.

"How could they not?" Eric teased right back. "You taught me well."

"Damien?"

"I'm working on it." Eric promised while Chuck opened his closet. He pulled a pink polo and gray and black pinstriped pants to replace his pajamas. He kicked his slippers to one side of the bed and sat his exhausted body to the end.

"How is his family?"

"They're lovely."

"Lovely?" Chuck snorted.

"What?"

"Are they pleasant too?" Chuck teased. "Even endearing."

"Shut up Chuck."

"Seriously," the older brother changed tone. "Do you like it there?"

"I do."

"That's good," Chuck was reassured.

"How are you doing?" Eric countered. Chuck didn't need to answer. The hesitation through the line was enough. "What's happened?"

"It's just business," Chuck promised.

"That's all?" Eric reflected. Chuck could hear the disbelief crackle with the static. "Have you talked to Blair yet?" Eric cut through the game. He might have been a continent away but Chuck was pretty sure Gossip Girl carried that far.

"Goodbye Eric," Chuck said abruptly, closed the phone before he had to discuss anything that had happened. Eric didn't call back. The younger boy had got his answer. He'd try again tomorrow. He always did. Chuck tossed the phone on the bed and stripped. It was almost endearing, Eric's unique blend of innocence and strength that slowly turned everyone else's meanders straight. The boy was too sympathetically innocent to ignore and too subtly strong to deny. It was a dangerous combination.

Chuck pulled the polo over his head, buttoned his pants and passed a belt through each loop. A quick brush through his still damp hair and Chuck was down the stairs and into the kitchen. He went for the pot of coffee first. There was a steady hum at the edge of his consciousness, the consequence of yet another interrupted sleep sprinkled atop his already upset thoughts. It was becoming its own dangerous combination. He poured a second glass before Aidan tottered into the kitchen in accompaniment of his mother.

"That stuff will stunt your growth," Lewis said automatically.

Chuck arched one brow and poured a third. Was she kidding him? Honestly! Sometimes it felt like Lewis fell out of an episode of the Brady Bunch. She just needed to add in some golly gees! "Where is my dad?"

"Talking with his lawyer."

Chuck was impressed. It was the third Saturday in a row that Lewis' immigration lawyer had made an appearance at the Bass townhouse. Chuck grabbed his sunglasses from the counter. He'd make his own appearance before he headed out. He was curious how the man was progressing. "Excuse me," Chuck picked up his third cup and offered it to Lewis, taunting smirk daring her to take it. She did but only to toss the rest into the sink.

Chuck didn't need to either listen at the door of his father's study or knock for entry. The door was open, Bart was finished with the lawyer when Chuck reached the main hall. It wasn't the lawyer Chuck had expected. It wasn't a tall, skinny man with dark hair but a wider one with a receding hairline. It wasn't Lewis' lawyer but the family one. He already knew why the man was there, the words were just the confirmation.

"I'll have Lily sign today and the final copy notarized on Monday."

Chuck was vaguely aware that it shouldn't bother him. Serena had mentioned the divorce would be finalized within a week. He ought to be excited to see the whole mess put to rest. After all, now his father could pursue avenues Chuck considered significantly more favorable to everyone. It could have been anticipation he felt except it was too dark. It was a bit closer to disappointment, a mourning he didn't expect. Maybe it wasn't Lily. Maybe it was everything she had brought with her. It was all done forever now.

Still he turned the passing frown to an incomplete smile by the time he leaned on his father's door. "Congratulations," He offered up rather than commiseration.

His father was as contemplative as Chuck had been. His hand were splayed across his desk and if Chuck could see the feet beneath it, Chuck knew they'd be parted too. "I never thought I'd end up a divorcee," Bart admitted.

"You're still three shy of Lily," Chuck reminded his father. The implication passed Chuck's incomplete smile to the older Bass.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Nate was about two steps from his front door when his father caught him. He'd been avoiding the Captain for days, every since the older man suggested they discuss the upcoming father-son dinner at St. Judes. Nate had a pretty good idea how that discussion would begin and end In fact, it was a foregone conclusion considering his father had prefaced the suggestion with based on what happened at the Dartmouth evening. "We need to talk about the dinner," Howard caught him at the last step.

"I need to head out," Nate tried. "Blair is expecting me."

"I'm sure she can spare you a few minutes."

Nate almost put his hand to the knob anyway but figured one fight now entailed two less later. So he turned around and followed his father back in.

"We need to discuss what we're going to say when you talk about your plans for next year."

Nate stretched just a bit. This was going to be another of those.

"Do you have any idea how embarrassing it was to have my son explain that he was undecided between UCLA and Dartmouth."

"Can we talk about this later?"

"I don't want to talk about it ever again."

"What is wrong with UCLA?"

"I'm sure it's a nice little school," The Captain insisted. "I'm sure there's a lot of blue collar workers who dream of sending their children there but the Archibalds of the world. They don't go to schools like that."

"Well maybe they should."

"That's enough. I don't want to hear you talk about it again."

Nate put his tongue to a cheek, bit down to keep the retort caged. It wouldn't do any good. His father could not understand how anyone could prefer athletics to anything else. "Fine," He agreed as flippantly as he always did. It was the magic word to end all those pep talks. Nate slipped on his loafers and hit the door.

"Nate," His father called before he was out. "Ivy Leagues are the only acceptable schools," Howard repeated again. "I see your friend Charles finally figured that out."

That made Nate slam the door behind him.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

The Manhattan Fencing Club was tucked away on the second floor of a building close to Times Square. Blair and Nate had dropped the name Bass at the front desk, were paged immediately upstairs. "What are we doing here again?" Nate asked as they ventured further into the white space. It was wide and clean, with drawn lines having significance beyond the understanding of either of the new arrivals. The best they could decipher was that it was laid out in quadrants, men in casual dress and covered heads dueling for points and practice.

"I have something to give to Chuck," Blair reminded the blonde. She'd intended to give it yesterday but he'd run off before she could. "He said I could meet him here."

"Since when has Chuck fenced?" Nate spoke over the clang of metal.

"He tried it at Clayton House."

How easily the answer came made Nate flop rather than sit on the bordering chairs. How come everyone else knew everything about Chuck? "How are we going to know which one he is?"

Blair pointed to a tall boy in the corner, clad in purple track pants and a light gray long sleeved shirt. Even with a mask it was easy to tell Chuck Bass. He was parrying with a taller man. Nate directed her to interrupt but she just sat instead, took in the scene for a couple minutes. Chuck had improved since that first impromptu lesson at Yale. He'd begun to study the sport, had improved his form and style. He was still very much the beginner but so was the man he was facing. There was a clumsiness to both their movements, every few minutes they'd run right off into a bout of laughter, would have to begin again. Blair started to form an opinion of who exactly the other man was after the second round of chuckles, confirmed it when Chuck's taller opponent was the first catch his visitors and point them out.

Nate wasn't as observant. He was the only one surprised when Bart pulled his mask and revealed his identity. Blair laughed beside him but Nate got a crawling disgusted feeling. It wasn't right. Bart Bass wasn't supposed to be the father who spent Saturday afternoons playing with his son. When Blair stopped Nate from following her across the room, explained that she needed to speak to Chuck privately it made that disgusted feeling dig deeper. He kicked his feet against the specialty floor and stared.

"I'll see you later," Bart put a hand out to his son, shook while he touched Chuck's elbow with the other. "Blair," Bart nodded his head at the brunette and threw a "Nathaniel" across the room. The blonde didn't bother with a reply.

"Blair," Chuck repeated with none of the easiness his father had used. "Did you bring a bodyguard?" He asked with a look at Nate.

"What?" Blair stared back at the blonde. "No, he wanted to see you too but I had to talk to you first."

Chuck hit the blunted tip of his blade to a sneaker. "About?"

"I have something for you," Blair slipped a paper out of her bag. "I was going to say no on your behalf but since you changed your mind about Prom," She chose to stare at the tiny slip over that face. "I thought you might have changed your mind about Commencement too."

"My father asked me to attend the graduation ceremonies," Chuck admitted as he took the paper from her. He flipped it open with a thumb, entire face turning blank with shock when he saw what it was. "Is this a joke?"

"No," Blair promised. "It's the rules of Constance and St. Judes; the top three students by grade point average are automatically nominated for Valedictorian."

"I'm still in the top three?" Chuck's surprise deepened. He didn't think he'd done that much extra credit work.

"Just barely," She promised, almost wanted to match his smile as it swelled in pride. She couldn't. She needed to get this over as quickly as possible. "Would you like me to remove your name from the ballot before the speeches?" Each nominee was expected to make a speech to the student body next Thursday, the senior class voting for their selection the next day. It was significantly different from the usual practice, in regular schools, of the staff selecting a favorite. It grew out of the democratic ideals that had founded the sister and brother school.

"I don't think it matters." Chuck said dismissively as he stuffed the paper into his pocket. "I'm not exactly well liked at present," Chuck pointed out. It was true. The heckling had stopped but most of the student body, like some of his close friends, still didn't know how to relate to this new Chuck Bass.

"Okay," Blair shook her head. "I just wanted to ask you first." She didn't linger after the task was done, turned immediately away and back towards Nate.

"Blair," Chuck interrupted. He could see her fight to keep walking anyway. Her resolve cracked after three more steps. She turned back expectantly. "Are you standing too?"

Blair nodded that she was and it made him smile again. She tried not to let it affect her but it always did. It made her smile too. Nate didn't let it last. He was at her arm within a moment, Chuck waving once before fleeing into a bordering room. "What did you give him?" Nate asked immediately.

"A copy of the Valedictorial ballot."

"Why?"

"Because he's been nominated."

"Chuck Bass?" Nate couldn't help the snarl from breaking in. "How is that possible."

"His grades have improved." Blair reminded the blonde. "He'd been nearly the top of his class the entire year."

Nate only shook his head in agitated agitation. It wasn't possible. Chuck Bass was not the sort of boy to lead his class into anything but debauchery. He was not the leader of genuine achievement, or anything worthwhile. "How could Chuck Bass be the valedictorian of St. Judes school?"

"He's only been nominated."

"Chuck is..." Nate shook his head violently. "It's not possible."

"I guess you're not voting for your best friend," Blair arched one brow at his display, started for the door before Nate could process her chastisement.

"Of course I am," Nate bit his lip and followed. "It's just a bit much."

He watched her shake her head as she reached the stairs, pushed the metal door to them open with more force than was needed, kept her pace down them. He recognized his misstep. "Where are you going?" He asked as he caught her.

"Home."

"I thought you wanted to go to the park." Nate reminded her. "Feed the ducks."

Blair spun at the landing, brown curls moving with her, landing softly around her thin shoulders. She stared long at the blonde, had to reconcile some things. One was that the relationship between those boys was not her concern, that she ought not to feel the offenses on either side. The other was the promise she had made to Nate after their second dance the night before. If she was going to offer him a chance to prove himself then she needed to judge his success or failure on his treatment of her, rather than his treatment of anyone else. "I need to go home now," Blair snapped despite her thoughts. "But I promised you dinner later so you should come by around 5 o'clock."

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Damien's casual indifference was a harder front to play as the weekdays stretched into the weekend, when the extended family began to replace the immediate, rows of cousins who always went first to Damien, offered him condolences in waves. It was harder to hide between the obvious truths. When the body arrived Damien locked himself in Eric's guest bedroom for over an hour, gentle admonishments to exit ignored entirely. He'd eventually reemerged with freshly washed hair and a speech for the funeral. He didn't let Eric read it. The younger boy only asked once. As the hours ticked downward the visit couldn't be about Eric meeting his family, or returning to his beloved homeland. It had to be about exactly what it was about. Eric saw the changes that brought to his boyfriend, everything drifted so close to the surface, left Eric waiting patiently for it all to break through. At times there were cracks, in other moments Damien was as unaffected as that first morning.

"My mother actually said the word maninizer?" Damien shook his head in bemusement, muted smile struggling against his straight lips.

"I get the feeling she was really trying to sell you to me."

"Of course she was," Damien arched a brow. "My entire family thinks you're entirely out of my league."

"Well I am," Eric admitted. It earned him a slap.

"I think they expected some tattooed misfit," Damien explained with a pull at the comforter.

Eric met the Brit's tense hands with his own, cupped one and held on tight. "You have better taste that than."

"But you don't."

"You're not a misfit," Eric assured him.

"I know that," Damien admitted. "I just feel like it around my family."

Eric crossed the Brit's pale hand with a thumb. "Why?"

Damien shook his head again, smile not nearly as bemused the second time through. "Did my mother tell you about Eton?"

"Briefly."

"Let me guess. She told you I was the stupidest person in my class."

"She did tell me you graduated at the bottom."

"She likes to point that out. Did she tell you about the programming changes too?"

Eric denied it.

"She must really like you. She usually brings that up within a meeting." Damien broke his hand from Eric's to cross his arms, sat further back.

"She loves you a lot," Eric tried to meander through. "Your whole family does."

"I love them too." Damien promised genuinely. "It's just that most of the time I feel like the stupid younger brother. And I know I'm the youngest but I'm an adult now. I guess I always thought I'd have outgrown that feeling by this point."

"You're not stupid. You're an incredible artist."

"I know that," Damien answered honestly, kicked his feet further down the bed. "It's just that there's a hierarchy of achievement in my family and artistic skill, it's borders the bottom of what's important to my parents."

Eric shook his head, finally understanding how his boyfriend could have shown for three months without a single family member in attendance.

"It's okay," Damien promised. "They learned to cover their disapproval better the second time around. Or they just knew I'd never do better than draw. Do you know I failed my entrance examinations for Eton? Straight across the board in every single subject."

"They let you in anyway."

"My grandfather sits on the board of admissions." Damien explained. "He convinced them to admit me on the basis of artistic merit! I'd collected enough local and international prizes by twelve to fill a portfolio." Damien took a deep breath and continued. "And my family was desperate to get me into boarding school."

"You mom told me why."

"They were so worried that I was becoming another Tom," Damien admitted. "And I guess, looking back, they had every reason to expect that I would be the same. I'd run away to London to live with my brother. I was halfway to being the same when Bradley dropped me on the doorstep of the boy's hall the first day of classes. It wasn't the first time he'd have to do it. The school almost voted unanimously to expel me within the first term but my art teacher convinced them not to. He was so convinced that I was the next great British artist."

"Now you've got the accolades to prove him right."

"I think I told him to fuck off," Damien admitted with a smile cracking through. "I really didn't want to go to boarding school, but they got smart you see. They got me this jerk of a senior for a tutor, modified my academic schedule, threatened to arrest Tom if he showed on campus again and Mr. Montgomery, he found me a mentor in Charles Thomson; a mixed media genius with a bend towards figurative painting. By the time the summer hit, when I moved back to Baker street. Everything had already changed for me."

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Nate brushed a hand to his tan dress slacks. They were perfectly pressed again, stripped dress shirt cut with a navy sweater vest despite the heat. He could feel the tiny droplets of sweat form on the back of his neck but it necessary for this moment. He had roses again, had collected enough flowers the last couple weeks to progress to a first name basis with the florist. It was worth it for this moment. Blair glided down her steps, hair straightened to reach the center of her back. Her brown eyes were enormous beneath the white bowed hair band, slim figure drifting pleasantly beneath her matching dress. It floated to the knee, wide white bow bunched at one side of her waist. If she was still angry with him she'd mastered hiding it in the preceding four hours.

There was a beauty in Nate's genuine smile that made Blair match it. It was something in the way he stood at the bottom of the stairs, roses in hand, nothing concealed, no chess game made life. There was beauty in having a boy waiting for her with unhidden devotion and gifts in hand. It was right. Blair knew she had deserved it all along. So she put her hand out and let him take it. She let him kiss her cheek even though Nate Archibald didn't do those sort of things. It felt right. Blair knew there was danger in falling for the devotion itself rather than the boy offering it but, in that moment, she'd take either over none.

Nate filled their night with enough entertainment for five. He'd reserved dinner at the most popular restaurant of the moment; ordered for them both, even insisted on feeding her three forkfuls of his pasta. He'd winked as her lips met his fork. It was enough to make her blush. He followed that with a walk around the Inner Harbor as the light crested to dark. Without asking, he'd put his hands to as the goosebumps formed. She'd started to pull away on instinct but he'd threatened to cover her white dress with his navy vest if she refused. She didn't. Nate had pulled her to dancing at a new club once that sun had disappeared, sat the two of them at the front, insisted she dance until her feet pinched in their five inch heels. He'd finished with dessert at New York's premiere confectionery shop, joked over chocolate mousse that he was making up for all the time they'd wasted. Blair had taken a spoon more than she'd wanted to keep her reply caged. It would only destroy what Nate had tried so hard to attain: a very nearly perfect evening.

Blair wasn't naïve. She knew why Nate had staged their reconciliation the way he had. They were surrounded by peers at every stage, phone pinging first at the restaurant and then continuously throughout the evening. He was laying claim to her in the most public way he could. It could have disgusted her except it was the same boy who had chosen not to claim her when it had mattered most. It was a way of reversing their history. Despite his speech about the necessity of their divided experiences, Nate was desperate to wipe the slate clean. Blair wasn't as keen on erasing hers.

She'd waited until he stood at her doorstep to offer him what he'd wanted all along. She waited to kiss him until she knew there were no prying eyes, or ulterior motives. It was a short kiss, just a graze of his lips with hers, a test to see if her stomach would roll and pitch. It did both but not with the strength she had feared. She was convinced everything might be alright until Nate spoke. "This time everything is going to be so much better," He promised. "I know we were meant to be."

The thought alone made her wave him home.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Everything that made Damien Allenby was washed out in a simple black suit. He hadn't cut it with a checkered tie, there were no rips, metal or even a band of leather. He was clothed from head to toe in complete black and white, hair combed respectfully flat to match the pallbearer code of dress. The lines clawed deeper into the Brit's face as he stared into the mirror. "What did your grandfather want?" Eric asked. His boyfriend had spent another hour encamped with the elderly man that morning.

"He heard about what happened with the Sparks Foundation." How Damien had lost his entire trust in the fallout of Georgina Sparks. Damien gave a turn of his tie. He fumbled once and let it drop, faced his boyfriend through the reflecting glass. "He convinced my parents to transfer the remainder of Tom's trust to my name." He finished with a wince and another shake of his fingers.

Eric pulled him around, slipped the black silk into itself, offered a smile his boyfriend wouldn't return. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine," Damien promised with a final look at the mirror.

"You know you don't have to pretend with me. I've seen you cry before," Eric reminded his boyfriend.

There was a flicker of an unimpressed smile and then the Brit went mute again. He ran his fingers down the black tie to meet his boyfriend's at the bottom, intertwined them without speaking. Damien shook his head but didn't say anything, his eyes focused on the slender digits instead. Eric took his other hand, used it to cup a downturned chin and force it upward again. "Thank you," Damien said without a supplied context. There were too many examples to select from. He leaned down instead, lips just brushing when the door opened. The two boys turned in time to see the next youngest Allenby turn four shades of red.

"I'm so knocking next time," Bradley promised as he turned respectfully around, waited for the other two boys to finish. The implied permission made both lovers smile, mirth building together to one small laugh before Bradley spoke again. "Mom is ready for us," The brother explained to the door.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Somewhere between the second and third cup of coffee Chuck knew it wasn't going to be enough to survive the day. He hadn't slept the night before, in part because of yet another investor call, same as the two nights before. That was only a small part. Mostly it was for everything that preceded it. After the fourth set of photographs Chuck had pulled the battery from his phone, considered hiding it or simply tossing it out of the second story window. He'd done neither. He'd simply laid both on the desk in his room and returned to his bed. The problem was that he didn't need the phone. He didn't even need the photographs. His mind could craft worse. So he'd paced, cracked, put the battery back in to continue what his mind had never stopped. By the time the morning sun broke the pattern, Chuck had tripped beyond exhaustion into debilitating fatigue. He was half sprawled out on the kitchen table when Nate found him, coffee cup turning cold beside the older boy's pale fingers. Chuck's forehead was pressed to the slate counter, eyes shut firm against the morning light. He had heard Nate's greeting. It didn't exactly inspire him to pull his head up.

"Are you alright?" Nate asked because even he couldn't ignore that kind of a sight. Chuck righted himself slowly, eyes bloodshot and bleary. It made his best friend swallow hard in surprise. Was it possible that Chuck had finally fallen from the wagon?

"If I get any more investor calls at 3am then I'm going to fly to Seoul myself," Chuck complained through the early air. "My uncle says they do it on purpose, to keep your unsteady. I think they just do it because they're a bunch of assholes," Chuck decided as he laid his head again, this time against a hand with the elbow pressed to the table. He lifted the coffee cup with his other hand, drank five more mouthfuls and then refilled.

"You're still having problems?"

"Problems doesn't begin to summarize it," Chuck admitted with a momentary close of his eyes. "The whole project is about two wrong moves from tanking outright."

"Would it be a big loss?"

It wasn't the biggest loss. "Ask me again when I've had more sleep," Chuck said with a final look at his cup, he pushed it across the table. "Caffeine doesn't do anything." He decided as he rubbed his eyes again, covered them a moment while he contemplated. "I need alcohol," He admitted at last. Nate felt his heart hammer at the word. Chuck hadn't mentioned it in months. It jumped harder when his best friend clarified the suggestion. "Some really good scotch," Chuck decided as he pulled his hand away from his eyes, let the blurry pupils met his friend's. "Right now."

The scary thing was Nate could almost hear himself agree, could feel the words form. He didn't. He pulled back at the last moment and fished through his pocket. "How about this?" He suggested instead, held the joint between two fingers.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

The funeral stretched nearly an hour before it was Damien's turn to speak. The Brit didn't listen much, he'd folded his speech into a tiny slip of paper and taken to flipping it between the fingers of his right hand. Eric watched him pass it over each knuckle, pull it from pinky to thumb to start again.

The tribute usually started a ceremony but Mrs. Allenby had asked to have it end instead. It was very nearly a mistake. Somewhere between the sermon and the prayers Damien had inched away, stuffed the speech to his pocket and started for the isle. He'd gone three steps down it before turning around and sitting beside his boyfriend again, tiny folds of white restarting its circuit. Eric almost expected Damien to run when they called his name but his boyfriend took the pew with grace instead.

"My parents asked me to be the family spokesman which is ironic because I'm the only family member who gets paid for not talking. So I said no," Damien promised. "My mom said yes and I'm pretty sure you can figure out who won. I prepared diligently, wrote down enough memories to fill pages but," Damien waved the creased sheet "As you can see I only have one. I figured everyone here had already heard them anyway, and those that didn't." Eric felt Damien's eyes hold his before continuing. "I'll tell them soon enough. Tom and I, our relationship was complicated but perhaps the best way I can explain it is this. He introduced me to everything I love." He explained with a smile that made Eric's heart jump. "And most of the things I hate," He finished as his eyes moved on. "I chased him into hell more times than I will ever care to count but it didn't matter how badly I got burned. I always followed him down again. I could have done it a hundred times more," Damien admitted. "If I'd the slimmest hope the would have returned with me. He was worth that," Damien promised as the tears formed. "He was worth so much more!"

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

The afternoon heat didn't reach into the Bass townhouse. Each room had individual climate control sensors, setting them to a delightfully perfect temperature. Except the main living room. Lewis was sure it was set too cool. Then again, maybe it wasn't the thermostat. Maybe it was the deterioration of something that had been so simple. Lewis had no particular preference for easy things, no particular enjoyment of the complex. What she had was a general inexperience with life. She didn't like a lot of things and foremost to that list was commitment. She'd committed over ten years of her life to research by committing to few things beyond it. Person or place? It was easier to run. She'd been able to manage the first by near avoidance, the second by immersing herself in an atmosphere that changed with the school year. It might have seemed strange considering she preached openness and honesty at every breath. It some ways it was. That was before you truly thought about it. If you knew her history then you couldn't be surprised.

Lewis stared at Bart over the edge of her novel, just one quick glance and her eyes were back to the page. There was something so undecipherable about him. It almost made her wish she'd screwed her way through at least a year of undergrad. She'd had enough offers. Who needed to graduate with a 99.9% average if you ended a failure at everything else? Lewis was sure that she'd have encountered one Bart in the boys that trailed her around each of the three campuses. If she'd just lived a bit then she would know what to do now. Then again, she could always start now, take the initiative and the risk. She tossed the novel to the side table, it fell with enough force for Bart to turn her way. "Do you want to go out to dinner? Tonight?" Lewis threw it out with an awkwardness that matched her feeling on being the initiator.

"I have the Father-Son dinner tonight," He reminded the blonde, went back to his novel with as much casualness as he'd used for the reminder. Lewis counted the seconds in her mind, the moments before Bart realized her intent and offered her an alternative. His eyes were back up within ten, smile hopefully proving he'd understood. "Why don't you come along?" Bart asked.

He obviously didn't understand anything. "Am I the father or the son?"

"There'll be wives and mothers there too," Bart explained. Both implications made Lewis grab her novel again, hide behind a different type of cover. "Lily was planning to go with Eric before everything happened and I know Chuck would love to have you there."

Lewis glared at the printed page, total confusion playing across her well formed features. Was there something genuinely wrong with her? Or maybe him? Could she have been more obvious? "I think I'm good," Lewis decided when she couldn't take it anymore. She stood and started walking away.

"You sure?" Bart tried again.

Lewis paused less than a second, turned only the slightest look back. "Yeah, I am!" She promised.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

The sun was so stifling hot that Serena wished it was a bottle of water dangling from one hand rather than a prayer book. Her throat was parched, tight even but it wasn't just the heat, it was probably more the sight before her. Damien was paired with his four remaining brothers and one uncle, each cornering one side of the black coffin, carrying it the short distance from the chapel to the churchyard. It had been a traditional ceremony from the prayers over the body to holy communion to the red and white pall that blew in the morning breeze. Damien wore a pair of thick sunglasses, wide band of black concealing more than his eyes. Serena walked beside her brother, hand joined with his, show of solidarity that came, as it always did, naturally between the two. Once they reached the graveside, Eric was the first to squeeze her hand. She understood why. She had admitted her thoughts as the morning light cascaded through the outer gardens, same breeze turning the cup of coffee she had held in one hand cold.

Despite a general atheism between the Van der Woodsen's they'd spend the previous evening at a prayer over the body. It had done what Rufus supposed it might. Not at first, at first Serena had thought of Chuck because he had been the one so close to laying like that. That alone might have been enough but her brother had leaned over and whispered. "Now do you understand." He never said more. It could have had the taint of 'I told you so' but Eric never did. To see the row of genuine mourners at the front, to hear the whispers of 'waste' from behind. It was a frightening glimpse of a could-have-been past. It was enough to have Serena offer up a genuine prayer; this time for herself. It might have inappropriate, could have been a mark of a lingering self-centredness, but Serena had never caught a glimpse of the staggeringly high Tom Allenby. So she chose to see it as a mark of growth instead, or the promise that she'd rounded the final corner and was left with a future that stretched straight.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

St. Judes had rented one of the largest halls on the Upper East Side for their annual Father-Son dinner. It was expansive enough to accommodate every male student and at least one parent. The space were a neutral white, hanging blue fabric adding colour from the roof to the top edge of each wall. One side of the venue was lined with floor to ceiling doors, they'd all been swung open to reveal a heavily manicured exterior garden, unnatural heat muted by the early evening breeze. Nate chose to stare at the bolts of blue, or the rows of shrubbery that started from the edge of each white paneled door. He chose to focus on anything but his father's never ending praise for the only Bass son. "I must say that I always knew Chuck had the potential," The Captain assured their small party. It was the third such rendition with barely changing vocabulary. Chuck had the decency to blush. Nate tried to cover his growing anger with another sip of tonic. "But to be selected as Valedictorian!"

"He's been nominated," Nate corrected with a swallow.

"Just to be nominated is quite the achievement."

Nate took another sip and rolled his eyes. Wasn't the speech a bit inappropriate, or at least unoriginal. It was Valedictorian, not the Academy Awards.

"And to be personally invited to attend Yale."

Nate stabbed at his steamed asparagus. Of course, Chuck had to let that little nugget slip out over appetizers. Though, Nate had to concede that his best friend looked more embarrassed than impressed at this point. "Is must have bothered you," Nate tried to deflect to Bart. "That Chuck didn't chose West Point like you wanted."

Bart shook his head to deny. "It didn't matter to me what school Chuck chose," Bart promised. "After all, I went to NYU and managed to turn out well enough."

Nate squeezed his fork until his knuckles turned white. That was too much. Bart Bass, the epitome of unrealistic expectations and demands could trivialize the difference between Yale and NYU. Nate must have stepped into an alternative universe. The kind of parallel existence where he would actually envy Chuck Bass for having Bart Bass as his father. Nate sliced the floral tops from each stalk of asparagus, divided those into even smaller pieces. He'd lost his appetite fifteen minutes ago.

"Still," Howard drew back to the original point. "It still must make you proud to see Chuck chose such a distinguished institution."

"His father did the paperwork for him," Nate finally snapped through the happy family moment. It was enough to curl his stomach. The rest were stunned to silence, stared at the blonde enough to make Nate uncomfortable.

"No I didn't," Bart countered.

Chuck took one deep breath at the lie, shook his head as he eyed the older Bass. "I didn't write a letter."

"I did the letter," Bart admitted. "As your father. It's why I enclosed the business plan, so that they'd have a sample of your writing as well. Jack gave me the proposal he made you write before he agreed to work with you."

Chuck was stunned. "It was my business plan?"

"Of course," Bart shook his head. "Don't you think they'd notice the difference between a talented youthful entrepreneur and a seasoned professional?"

That was the final straw! Nate couldn't take it anymore. He shoved his chair abruptly back and stalked away from the table and the perfectly affectionate Bass family. The other three watched him push through the crowd, Chuck the only one rising to follow his best friend.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

The ease with which the doorman waved her forward made Lewis count the number of times she'd visited the building. It surely couldn't have been more than twice, well expect that time after brunch and once to return Lily's sunglasses. Okay so maybe she'd been to the building four times and maybe she'd begun to consider Lily a friend but that wasn't her fault. Lewis hadn't intended on a friendship with Bart's ex-wife. In fact, she was sure having one bordered on inappropriate. It's just that Lewis was no better in breaking friendships than forming them. She never instigated any kind of relationship, friendly or otherwise. It's how she'd managed to spend most of her life generally alone. She was always the chased and she'd perfected her marathoner pace years ago.

After their discussion on the balcony, Lily had been the one to track Lewis down at Clay, to suggest coffee and then brunch and then dinner with Eric. Lewis had just kind of fallen into it. Standing in the plain white entrance hall Lewis understood why she shouldn't have. It made it too easy to do exactly what she was about to, particularly after Lily greeted her with such enthusiasm, waved her through to the other room without question and asked her what was on her mind when Lewis didn't return a single bit of the energy. "I know this might be awkward," Lewis bit her lip, briefly considered retracing her footsteps right out the front door. "But I was wondering if I could ask you a couple questions about Bart."

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Chuck found his best friend at the edge of the patio, brooding into a pot of petunias. Nate didn't turn as the older boy entered the space, just kept glaring at the broad purple flowers. Nate never acknowledged him, not even after Chuck called his name. He just crossed his arms over his formidable chest. "Are you alright?" Chuck asked at last.

"Why wouldn't I be alright?" Nate asked. Why? Because he'd traded places with his best friend, become the screwed up loser who fought with his father while Chuck had become the golden boy who succeeded at everything he tried.

"I'm sorry about that," Chuck said. "I know things haven't been going well with your dad."

"Maybe he has a point," Nate decided abruptly. "Maybe boys like us are supposed to go to Ivy League schools."

"I thought you wanted to go to UCLA."

"I don't want Dartmouth," Nate detoured. "But I think I could go to Yale."

"To Yale?" Chuck reflected, that gnawing distress spreading from the blonde to him.

"I mean why not? Blair is going to be there. You're going to be there. Why would I want to go anywhere else?" Chuck couldn't say a single thing through the knot that was forming within his throat. He swallowed hard as his eyes rounded, tried to breath as Nate considered his impulse. "I'm sure I could get my grandfather to pull some strings. After all," Nate faced his friend at last. "Not all of us can get in on our intellect."

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

The gathering wasn't particularly large, in fact aside from Serena and Eric the wake was limited to family. It's just that Damien had a large extended family. They seemed to fill every inch of the largest entertainment room, two tables of comforting finger foods largely untouched between. Serena took another sip of her wine and circled the room looking for her brother. Damien's sisters-in-law were charming but they were still nearly ten years older than her. So she arched her back straight, and stared through the throng of people for a blonde head. She caught him walking through the crowd straight for her.

"Have you seen Damien?" Eric asked immediately.

"Not since the internment." Serena arched her back again and joined her brother in surveying the room. It was hard to make out Damien in a room of similar hair and eyes. "When did you..."

"At the internment." Eric responded with a knowing look. That was over an hour ago now.

"Why don't you..." Her brother had the phone out before she could finish the idea. He pushed down one and listened for the indie music. Despite the relative quiet of the room he couldn't hear a thing. When the voicemail picked up it reinforced what Eric had already guessed. It made him reconsider the wish he'd made at JFK. Then he'd wished Damien would save his meltdown for England. Now Eric was reconsidering. He was, after all, in a foreign country with a potentially missing boyfriend.

"I'll check for his car," Serena offered.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Bart had disappeared into the study on their return home. He had another overnight trip to Toronto in a few days. He'd been travelling a lot the last couple weeks. Chuck knew why that was. The older man had barely flown out for work when Chuck was at rehab, had taken only essential trips those first couple weeks back. Now all those meetings Bart had rescheduled had joined together to keep the eldest Bass preoccupied. Realizing it nearly kept Chuck on the outside, as it was he knocked and waited for his father to offer him entrance. Bart was hiding behind a stack of files, there were at least twenty, employee files with sticky notes attached to every inch. Bart's small black print filled each of the neon scraps of paper. Bart took a last look at one before tearing each of the slips of paper out and tossing it to the rejected pile.

"Still haven't decided yet?" Chuck asked.

That was the other problem. The current Vice President of Bass industries was set to retire after eight years of faithful service. Bart was supposed to shortlist his replacement and put it before the board within the next week. "It's all the same people I considered in 2002," Bart admitted with another flip. He rolled his eyes after two paragraphs and tossed it atop the growing stack of rejections. "How can I help you?"

"Would you happen to have a copy of the letter you sent to Yale?" Chuck asked. "I'd like to read it." Bart fished through his drawer to find it, pulled the file that bore his sons name, pushed through the line or report cards until he found a single slip of white paper.

Chuck took it without speaking, put eyes to print with a mix of hesitation and anticipation. The second was rewarded and the first washed out within the first paragraph,

November 17, 2008

Dear Dean Baraby,

Please accept this as letter on behalf of my son Charles Bartholomew Bass. You might question why I am writing on his behalf. Do not take it as evidence that he does not want to attend Yale. There are many reasons Charles would chose it above all others. So why doesn't he write himself? Charles does not recognize himself for what he is; a brilliant young man with immeasurable potential.

Chuck leaned against the desk as his eyes reached the second paragraph. There were four more sections, each winding from the beginning to the present, from the preschooler who could add solely in his mind and read words at random to the teenager who could manage his own club. The paragraphs stretched outward from the concrete, exclaimed all the virtues Chuck had once again forgotten he had and did so in the most affected way.

Chuck could have dismissed the entire lot. It was, after all, an admissions paper. They were always layered with praise of self, an attempt to sell oneself to the highest bidding. A year ago Chuck would have rolled his eyes and tossed it away. He didn't need to anymore. He'd heard the words enough in life. He knew that each sentence was layered in a hope that was neither blind nor false but based in genuine belief of potential. There was enough in the following paragraphs to balance the layers of disappointment his father had always expressed. It didn't erase everything that had happened between them, nothing ever would. It just recast their years of opposition in a new light. Chuck understood. His father had never assumed Chuck would end a failure. Bart had believed Chuck would eventually right himself. He was sickened in watching his son lengthen that finish line with every rebellion. And those failures? There was no additional page to justify each and every notation in Chuck's permanent record. There were no long explanations or excuses. Bart had summarized his son's entire history in a single sentence.

Charles has made a lot of mistakes but I think that all men destined for greatness must.

Chuck folded the two pages when he finished them, held them over the desk but didn't put them down right away. He shook his head instead, a happy contentedness working its way through each of his senses. It wasn't only the letter. Part of it was the way his father had watched him read it. He hadn't gone back to his mountain of paperwork but pushed back in his chair and stared instead. His father was invested too. "I forgive you," Chuck decided as he laid the white sheets to a corner. "Everything, for every mistake you have ever made as a father, to me," Chuck promised. "To mom, for mom. For every single thing." Chuck almost didn't register the words until they came. He'd never expected to offer such blanket pardon but the words fell naturally. Then he understood. His father was another great man: he had that same right to make mistakes, to screw up, and fail.

Bart leaned back in his chair as the words washed over. He was overcome, shocked to attain what he'd wanted all along. "I feel like I need a cigar," Bart suggested into the awkward pause.

"I'm not opposed."

There was just something in the way his father smiled as he pulled out the box, the way Chuck felt himself smiling back. For a moment the cascading swirl of his present life calmed and every part of it felt right.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

A/N – Okay, you know why that took so long to post? I have a mental block to writing NB :) I was reduced to youtubing NB to get enough motivation to suffer through that scene and now I'm traumatized. They didn't used to bother me that much before the end of S2. I've actually been cutting all the NB from my outline so far but they had to get at least one scene in before it's all over :P

BrittyKay – I don't like NB either.

Bradshaw-esque – It's a genuine concern (Aidan will have to work with Chuck when he's older). Remember how angry Bart was in TH because he did that much work with Andrew Wiltshire. L does want to make it work with B though I promise :P Though going to Lily for advice, wtf is she thinking? I really should get my work beta'd but it's a bit late with only three more chapters to go after three books.

Odyjha – B can never be truly done with C. But she's smarter now. If you notice when she starts to feel unbalanced she's pulling back now instead of continuing through until she falls off the tracks too. (remember with the alcohol at school before Chuck punched D).

Annablake – Of course you get your happy ending. I'll spoil you. Chuck realizes he's gay and ends up running off with Damien, Eric turns straight and marries Jenny, Serena and Blair decide to share Nate and Vanessa throws herself at Dan in depression but he decides to do the older woman thing and hook up with Lewis *giggling like mad* Honestly, the first happy ending is next post and I think everyone will approve of who it is. As for NB, Blair's not in love with N, there are no lingering feelings there. She's just wants someone to genuinely want her right now. If C could show her then I think she'd drop N without a second thought.

Flipped – I like CV as a secondary ship to CB, meaning it has to involve feelings that don't compete with the feelings CB have for each other. I hope I accomplished that.

Blair – I can't promise that Lewis will move out but I can promise that she and Bart are not done yet.

Tomboy-girl12 – I really liked NV too because it seemed like V really brought out something that was authentic in N (probably the only connection he's had yet to do that). But what they did to them this season, especially at the end completely destroyed my love of that ship. V was used and abused by N this season and she took it every time. It disgusted me! I didn't even realize how invested I was in NV until after the finale.

Thebarstool – Thank you for the amazing praise :) I have to say though that I actually like Dan. I haven't liked where they've gone with his character in S2 in some ways. But I generally enjoy the character of Dan because he can be hypocritically judgmental but at the same time, he's endearing because he truly doesn't set out to hurt others. He cares about people and he has (had) morals. As for Serena, I like how supportive she can be of Blair but I have huge issues with infidelity. That's why I'm not a huge fan of either Serena or Nate I think (or Lily)...I used my memory erase for Amelia but at least C suffered for it. S, N and L never had to suffer the consequences of theirs. I'm not surprised I made mistakes with Yale. I'm from Canada so I based it more on UBC here.

Princess Persephone – Yep, Nate is the douchiest douche of all time. I'm going to need to create new rude adjectives to apply to him after the next post.

Up Next: Go buy another 100 pins for your Nate voodoo doll. Someone gets everything they wanted and truthfully deserved. Is it the first of our Happy Endings? You betcha :) Unfortunately it's not the only thing ending next post.