Chapter 30 - Epilogue

A/N: I'll try and keep this author's note short, but I may ramble, I'm sorry. Fun Fact: I've started this Fic on a Friday and today is...Friday yay. Firstly, a massive thank you to all of you that have ever read my story. I appreciate every single one of you and every single review I have ever gained on this fic. I know I don't reply to reviews, but that's a) because I'm lazy and b) because I'm disorganized. This was my very first Fanfiction and I never thought that it would be this successful. I'm saying goodbye to this fic with two teary eyes, and from the bottom of my unworthy heart, thank you. Enjoy the epilogue, it's been a blast writing this Fanfiction and I'll be forever thankful. I love you guys!

P.S. A Sequel or a Prequel might come your way someday, but I'm not really sure about that yet, like I've said, I want to concentrate on other fics and fic ideas first. Also, watch 'Dear John' if you haven't yet, because that movie inspired me to the last part of this epilogue :)

He dresses smartly for the trial.

Today's the last day, where they decide her fate, and it's Milo's Nanny that helps him with his tie because his hands fumble too much, and it's her that reminds him to tuck his shirt in because he almost forgets, and it's her that points out the fact that he only has one sock on because he gets distracted by the news and the photo of Serena.

He can still see some form of betrayal in his son's eyes. Remembers when he'd arrived home two months ago to find him pacing the loft, throwing himself into his arms crying "Daddy!" and refusing to let go for a whole five minutes. Honestly, it'd been exactly what he needed. He'd just lost Serena; but he still had his son. Milo was enough.

"Dad?"

He's pulled from his thoughts to find Milo sitting across the couch from him as he pulls his shoes on.

"Yeah?"

Milo bites his lips and looks away, playing with his hands. Looking mature beyond his years. His baby is growing up. Everything is changing.

"How do you do it? How do you still love her despite what she's done?"

Usually Milo speaks with anger bubbling over whenever Serena is brought into a topic of discussion. But in this moment, all he can hear is curiosity; Milo has always believed the world to be purely black and white, but what he's actually revealing to him is that's not true- there's shades of grey, where things don't make sense. Serena had helped him colour in those dull colours to magnificent shades of reds and oranges that remind him of the autumn they loved each other in.

"I just do." Dan sighs, scooting closer to his son. "There's no explanation for everything we do, Milo. We're unpredictable and we're selfish and we're foolish. We're human. That's what makes us strong."

Milo sniffs, turning his head into his shoulder. "I just don't wanna see you get hurt, dad." He whispers.

He sighs, curling his arms around his son. His anchor to reality. presses a kiss atop his head.

"Life has a funny way of working itself out, eventually." He tells him softly. "Things will be okay. I promise. Everything always is in the end."

Serena's right. Both, the media and the courts, make her seem evil, sick, twisted. The note in his blazer pocket burns brightly against the accusations. He knows better.

Serena Celia van der Woodsen, former lawyer. Charges: 29 cases of murder, 3 of assault, 3 for illegal carrying of firearms and 2 of fraud.

Serena stands stock still through the whole thing, eyes closed, lips pressed together in a straight line. As though she's trying to hold herself together.

The defendant has been diagnosed with sociopathy and clinical depression by a medical professional.

But she can feel. When she's with him, she can feel. He knows it. He knows this. He's seen the empathy she holds for him- only for him- in her eyes. She just has a hard time separating her need for revenge from morals.

We find the defendant not guilty by reason of insanity.

They begin to lead her away, cuffs clinking together, back ramrod straight, long hair hanging limp in front of her eyes.

Before they lead her down the stairs, she pauses, eyes locking with his.

They sparkle. With retribution. With happiness. With love.

Her mouth opens but no words come out, not that he'd hear them from so far across the court room. They seem to be trapped here, her words, but that's okay. She's never been so open with them, after all. He understands everything that she needs to say. He can only hope that she knows all the words his heart is burning to say.

His hand curls around the crumpled note in his blazer pocket. Nods towards her with a smile.

Her lips quirk and then the officers grow impatient, pushing her down the stairs, away from him. Towards an indefinite future in which he hopes that she will get better. So that she can live the life that she always deserved, before all the bad things got in the way, before him. Even if that means living a life without him, and he without her. And that's okay. That's fine. They had their time- and it was beautiful, even amidst the disaster. But there's no promise that she'll ever get better, and he doesn't want to taint her with her past.

Some people are only given such a limited time in life, but they make what they can of it. And that they did. They went through a lot of things together, she changed him in ways he'd never think that she would, and he changed her for the better. Of course, it doesn't mean that it will be easy to wake up and know that miles upon miles away she's locked up, insane. It doesn't mean that it will be easy to never know how it feels to hold her in his arms again. It doesn't mean that it will be easy to move on and love another. It doesn't mean that it will be easy to walk into a coffee shop and not lose himself in a fantasy in which he finds her there, recovered and healed, nose buried in a Sabrina book, ready for a new beginning.

But it's not impossible.

This is the last glimpse he ever has of her: Lips quirked into a half-smile, eyes sparkling with love, blonde hair falling in front of her face. Beautiful even in her madness.

The crowd begins to spill away at once, murmurs filling the once tense and silent room, and he feels his father's comforting hand on his shoulder. Rufus doesn't say a word. He doesn't judge him. He never has. For that, Dan is eternally grateful.

He pulls the crumpled note out of his pocket, uncurls the ball his fist has tightened it into and runs his thumb along the wrinkles. Reads the words that will forever be burned into his mind. Her words.

Thank you for making me smile when all I wanted to do was die, it says in her looped handwriting, tear-stained.

I still love you. I always will.

To the extraordinary SvdW. We're connected, we always will be.

She delicately strokes the eight year old words with her forefinger, tears in her eyes. This is her favourite dedication. This is her favourite book.

She looks up from where she sits in the corner of the quaint coffee shop, sensing eyes on her. Then again, there are always eyes on her. Despite it being eight years since the trial and the fact that she's practically a whole new person now, people still recognise her. Still judge her. And she doesn't blame them. She judges herself every day.

She finally finds the eyes that have been staring at her.

They are so impossibly brown.

The End.