A/N: Changed the name of the kid, because someone kindly reminded me that there was already one unpleasant Marcus in GG. Kid shall now be known as Bartholomew Hunter Bass.

Warning: Totally mundane. But I kinda need a problem for there to be a story, so stick with it…It's probably going somewhere.

Serena had looked desperately through her penthouse. Chuck had taken Hunter. For a few horrifying seconds she'd believed Chuck had really left her and taken their son. But only a few items were gone from their closets.

She should have married Nate when he asked her. She doubted Blair had ever come home just to check that her husband hadn't stolen her child and run off. A million curses flittered through her mind. She wished Chuck was here just so he could hear them. But if Chuck wanted to torment her, let him. She'd simply accept this as time free from the obligations of marriage and motherhood.

Abandoned by her husband for some fictional business meeting, Serena entered the Buckley's building the only way she knew how—head high, back straight, and eyes blazing. Jenny worked fast: if there was still a housewife in Manhattan who didn't know about her and Nate, there wouldn't be tomorrow.

She couldn't remember what artist the Buckley's were showing off this week, and there were no visible hints. Greeted with a sea of smug faces, she couldn't understand why she'd even bothered to come. Grabbing a glass of champagne from a nearby waiter, she searched for a dark corner.

"Serena!" Gracefully Blair hugged Serena, not letting either girl's drink spill.

Uncertain if the kind reception was for show or to humiliate her further later, Serena filled in the silence awkwardly. "How was your trip?"

"Fine," Blair replied briskly, refusing to tear up when Serena instinctively squeezed her arm in sympathy. "Awful," she admitted quietly. "But we'll talk later." This was a party, and she would smile perfectly and not one of these impoverished bluebloods would know how badly her family had fared.

P.J. and his wife, Charlotte, came over to greet Serena. P.J. looked from Blair to Serena, an unpleasant smirk forming. "I heard about Chuck's New Delhi deal! What a pity he couldn't make it tonight." He barely managed to conceal his sarcasm.

"When can we expect him back, Serena? It's hardly a party without Bass," Charlotte added.

Stunned, Serena searched frantically for any information about Chuck doing business in India. She hadn't even known he was leaving the country. P.J., and probably everyone else in the room, thought Chuck had left her. Maybe he had, but she'd have to think about that later. She wished she'd paid even the slightest attention to Chuck's business talk.

"He'll be back in no time," Blair quickly cut in. "Pre-fab mini mansions practically build themselves, you should know that," she inserted, referring to their Long Beach home. Her grin was almost feral. The Buckley's may still have their millions—ex-super powers still needed oil—but anyone could see Charlotte would be more at home in Daisy Dukes, pumping gas. Trashy southerners without the sense to know their betters did not get to spit darts.

Out on the balcony, Serena could finally breathe. Longingly, she looked out onto the busy streets. She wished she could escape—her thoughts drifted to a nearby bar, but her champagne remained untouched. "B, what everyone's saying—"

Blair laughed lightly. She turned, leaning her hip against the rail. "You'd think by now they'd have something better to talk about than us. Well…Not really. Of course we're the most interesting thing in this town." She continued when Serena's face remained tense, "Anyone who believes that talk is a fool. And Jenny's the biggest fool of all—thinking she could start trouble. By the end of the season, I'll see that Little J can't even get into a salon."

Blair's words fell like slaps and Serena's face remained frozen. It had taken just a few sentences from a step-sister, who had done nothing but try to get her talons into Nate for years, and Chuck had called her whore then fled the country. And Blair could laugh, laugh like the very idea of Nate cheating on her was absurd. A jagged edge of jealousy tore through her body. Blair could trust Nate; Serena had wanted him for years and never gotten more than the occasional wondering look and one sloppy, drunken kiss under the mistletoe.

Distantly she realised she'd let the silence go on for too long and Blair was starting to look worried. "So, how's Eleanor?"

Waldorf Designs had fallen early in the recession, and after working for Givenchy Eleanor had been trying to get her own house running again. Without much success, according to Blair.

Serena knew exactly how badly the Waldorf's needed this business. Never could she find the right words in these situations. No one had taught her what to say; no one had thought she'd ever need to know. Chuck had laughed at her after she admitted her surprise when even high society WASPs started losing their jobs. You can't see what's two feet in front of you unless it has a designer lable.

xoxo

She ended up on the Lower East Side, knocking until a familiar face answered.

He opened the door shirtless, bronze hair sleep tussled. As quickly as she could remove him from her mind, he came roaring back. Her heart beat a little faster, and she pictured what it would be like to wrap her arms around him. Her stupid body had never learnt that he couldn't make her happy—just comfortable. She pushed past him easily.

Slightly tilted cerulean eyes blinked at her sleepily. "S? Do you know what time it is?" he asked, trying to read the kitchen clock, more confused than annoyed. It was after three a.m. as she perched on his lounge to cross her legs casually . "Drink?" He ran an absentminded hand through his hair when Serena just shrugged.

"You called me, Tripp," Serena reminded him.

"Tomorrow would have sufficed," he muttered. He abandoned sleep and that line of thought—Serena had never been one to listen to good reason. He made coffee, if Serena wanted something stronger she could make it herself. Without preamble he sifted a heavy stack of papers from his briefcase and threw them onto the coffee table in front of Serena.

Collapsing on the other side of the lounge, he examined her carefully as she flicked through the top pages. They'd been married for close to two years, but she was still a hard read. A small flicker of her eyes was the only hint of displeasure.

"What's this?" she asked feigning boredom and tossing the papers aside carelessly.

He wasn't buying it. "You should know—your names littered throughout."

"Whatever you're implying, you better just say it. I'm not interested in games." Her eyelashes lowered till she could watch him intently, hoping to make him uncomfortable.

"You playing games? Never," he replied cynically. "And I'm not implying anything. I'm plainly telling you that I know you signed over Bass assets to Nate and I know why."

"And I suppose you just stumbled over these?" she asked.

"They were delivered to me by accident via my solicitor, or should I say the van der Bilt solicitor?"

"Nate used the family lawyer?" she asked in a small voice.

"Sorry, darling." Serena looked dejected enough that he did almost feel sorry. "Next time you try to steal money from your husband to pay for your lover's political campaign, you probably shouldn't let Nate play any part in it." The words were cruel, and he'd never wanted to be like that to her, but he felt cruel. His little cousin would be running against him in the upcoming campaigns. Maybe it was for the lower house, not the upper, but it was for the opposing party, which was almost as bad.

And his ex-wife would be at Nate's side.

Always she'd chosen Nate.

He had been runner-up in his own marriage and soon he'd be runner-up in his career.

"He's not my lover and I didn't steal it. I inherited mom's share of Bass Industries," she defended passionlessly.

"He'll be running for the Dems when I still have years to serve on the Senate. Grandfather is going to—"

"Grandfather abandoned Nate years ago!" Serena snapped, falling into the old argument thoughtlessly. She should know—she'd been a van der Bilt once. She glared at those pages she and Nate had spent hours poring over. Hadn't they caused enough trouble? Serena let her head drop into her palms. "It doesn't make sense….even if Nate did use—" Slowly she lifted her head, tilting it to contemplate Tripp. "Someone's set us up."

Tripp thought it over. Sensitive papers didn't just land in the hands of opposing party members. It was all too convenient. "Probably," he agreed. "What about Chuck?"

"I used mom's lawyer. Chuck's are all slimy and wouldn't wait for the door to shut behind me before running to their master." She curled up on the lounge, burying her head in Tripp's lap.

"Got any enemies?" He asked, trying not to feel even slightly moved by her.

Serena's laugh was muffled through Tripp's cotton pyjama pants. Too many to count. Tripp smelt of green tea and lemongrass—the same soap she had once bought for him. Tripp's hand, without his consent, ran lightly over silky blonde hair and Serena's eyes fluttered shut.

How long had it been since someone's touch had made her feel safe? She, Serena Bass, was touch starved and that was just one more thing she'd never seen coming.

Tripp sighed. She shouldn't be doing this to him. She shouldn't be able to. He should turn those papers over to Chuck and watch as Nate's funding got ripped out from under him. He clutched the pages tightly in his other hand. Maybe there was no hope for his marriage, but he could at least see that Serena didn't lose another husband to her infatuation with his baby cousin.

His attention was caught when she clutched at the fabric of his pants. "I miss you," she said, looking up at him through hooded eyes.

He tensed. "I've missed you too, darling. But whatever's going through that pretty head of yours is a very bad idea." No, he'd never really understand Serena, but he did know her.

"You know what?" she asked, turning to lay on her back.

"What?"

"Whoever's playing with us didn't know one thing." She gave her first real, shining smile in days. "We're friends."

And he folded the pages, sliding them into her grasp. He'd never really had another choice. "Another Democratic year for Manhattan," he mumbled darkly.

Serena shrugged. "I don't vote."

Tripp smiled bitterly. "Not even for Nate?"

She stretched out leisurely, before nuzzling back into Tripp's lap, limbs heavy with sleep. "Nope."