As a rule, Blair doesn't regret things. She's made mistakes, though arguably less than almost everyone on the Hill, but she's not interested in dwelling on them, or talking about them. Which doesn't really explain why she doesn't distract Jenny with a shiny new scoop the minute she asks, "You knew my step-sister, right?"
Blair dislikes playing dumb, too, even though she's really good at it; sometimes it seems like the only thing her mother taught her. "Yes," she says.
The wind is brisk and cold and they're walking without looking at each other, the cold sun slanting over Jenny's cheek and making her look sickly, even younger than she is. "What happened?"
When Blair does look at her she's narrowing her eyes to see Blair, backlit by the winter light. She looks greedy, the perpetual greediness not only of the journalist but of the twenty-five year old girl. Careful, thinks Blair, who makes a point of heeding her own warnings, most of the time; that's dangerous.
"It doesn't look good for a politician to be seen with someone like Serena," she says. "Too much money, too much privilege. Too unpredictable."
Jenny gives a thin smile. No love lost there, apparently. But Serena isn't for all tastes. "That's not all of it, though."
Blair can't resist trailing a finger over Jenny's eyebrow, the swell of her cheek, her chapped bottom lip. The park is empty.
"You're a journalist; I'm sure you know how to fill in the blanks." Jenny takes a step back, refusing to be condescended to, but Blair doesn't care. "Be sure to make up something that's worth having my name on it."
-
It's debatable whether you can even use the expression 'best friends' to describe what Blair and Serena used to be: looking back, Blair sees it more as a particularly perverse form of endangered servitude. She still has the memories in her head like polaroid pictures, deceptively pastel: the two of them on Blair's bed, Blair painting Serena's nails aquamarine; shopping for dresses to wear at parties people forgot to invite Blair to; eating in restaurants surrounded by paparazzi. Sitting on the bathroom with a drunk Serena and being suffocated by a kiss.
Blair ended up leaving Serena the only way she knows how, insidious and almost ineffectual, answering less and less phone calls until they weren't talking at all; forgetting birthdays, shared anniversaries, reunions. They don't go to the same parties now. Blair doesn't go to parties at all, if she can avoid it.
Actually, Jenny is a little like Serena, in some ways. It's strange Blair never noticed it before.
-
Jenny doesn't make trouble. She keeps meeting Blair, even though now she's getting antsy, searching for bigger fish to catch in the hook of her pantyhose. Blair doesn't tell her she's bigger fish. She dislikes entitlement. To calm the girl down she brings her back to Nate and they have a good time, the three of them. Jenny tries to look jaded even though she isn't. Nate doesn't kiss her on the lips, out of some sort of outdated reverse chivalry he insists on.
Afterwards they share a cigarette on the windowsill and Nate says, "She's not much. But I can see why you like her."
There are two answers to this: I don't like her and tell me, because I can't. Blair keeps smoking.
-
This is the way bombs work: first you build them, for protection or because you want to feel strong; then you stash them in a drawer; and eventually you have to destroy them, for fear they'll explode in your face.
"You'll be good with launch codes," Chuck tells her when she makes the call, with the unflinching faith he has in her. She can hear him cleaning his gun in the background.
"What makes you think that?"
Chuck smiles into the receiver, twisted. "You're not afraid to blow things up."
Blair has to laugh at that. But that night she thinks about it, puttering alone around the house, attacked with insomnia in lieu of guilt. He's right; she's not afraid of letting things die when their time has come. Dust to dust and all that.
-
When she meets Jenny at the hotel the next Tuesday she lingers into the kiss, waiting to feel the tickle of a countdown thrumming under the girl's skin, but there's nothing.
Jenny pulls back, smiling with too many incisors. "So," she says brightly, "what's new?"
THIS IS GLORIOUS. I ENJOYED IT A LOT, Blair especially and her relationships with Nate and Jenny, it all seems to true to cannon and so well portrayed here in this different universe.
And your fic serves the amazing purpose of reminding me I need to get to watching this show.
AND SERIOUSLY. GREAT FIC. words fail me, because it's 1 am and i should be studying, and i've got an awful headache. but GREAT FIC, AND THANK YOU ♥
This is all kinds of amazing. I love how easily these characters slipped into this universe you created and how I can see it so perfectly. Its just so wonderfully done.
Blair dislikes playing dumb, too, even though she's really good at it; sometimes it seems like the only thing her mother taught her. "Yes," she says.
The wind is brisk and cold and they're walking without looking at each other, the cold sun slanting over Jenny's cheek and making her look sickly, even younger than she is. "What happened?"
When Blair does look at her she's narrowing her eyes to see Blair, backlit by the winter light. She looks greedy, the perpetual greediness not only of the journalist but of the twenty-five year old girl. Careful, thinks Blair, who makes a point of heeding her own warnings, most of the time; that's dangerous.
"It doesn't look good for a politician to be seen with someone like Serena," she says. "Too much money, too much privilege. Too unpredictable."
Jenny gives a thin smile. No love lost there, apparently. But Serena isn't for all tastes. "That's not all of it, though."
Blair can't resist trailing a finger over Jenny's eyebrow, the swell of her cheek, her chapped bottom lip. The park is empty.
"You're a journalist; I'm sure you know how to fill in the blanks." Jenny takes a step back, refusing to be condescended to, but Blair doesn't care. "Be sure to make up something that's worth having my name on it."
-
It's debatable whether you can even use the expression 'best friends' to describe what Blair and Serena used to be: looking back, Blair sees it more as a particularly perverse form of endangered servitude. She still has the memories in her head like polaroid pictures, deceptively pastel: the two of them on Blair's bed, Blair painting Serena's nails aquamarine; shopping for dresses to wear at parties people forgot to invite Blair to; eating in restaurants surrounded by paparazzi. Sitting on the bathroom with a drunk Serena and being suffocated by a kiss.
Blair ended up leaving Serena the only way she knows how, insidious and almost ineffectual, answering less and less phone calls until they weren't talking at all; forgetting birthdays, shared anniversaries, reunions. They don't go to the same parties now. Blair doesn't go to parties at all, if she can avoid it.
Actually, Jenny is a little like Serena, in some ways. It's strange Blair never noticed it before.
-
Jenny doesn't make trouble. She keeps meeting Blair, even though now she's getting antsy, searching for bigger fish to catch in the hook of her pantyhose. Blair doesn't tell her she's bigger fish. She dislikes entitlement. To calm the girl down she brings her back to Nate and they have a good time, the three of them. Jenny tries to look jaded even though she isn't. Nate doesn't kiss her on the lips, out of some sort of outdated reverse chivalry he insists on.
Afterwards they share a cigarette on the windowsill and Nate says, "She's not much. But I can see why you like her."
There are two answers to this: I don't like her and tell me, because I can't. Blair keeps smoking.
-
This is the way bombs work: first you build them, for protection or because you want to feel strong; then you stash them in a drawer; and eventually you have to destroy them, for fear they'll explode in your face.
"You'll be good with launch codes," Chuck tells her when she makes the call, with the unflinching faith he has in her. She can hear him cleaning his gun in the background.
"What makes you think that?"
Chuck smiles into the receiver, twisted. "You're not afraid to blow things up."
Blair has to laugh at that. But that night she thinks about it, puttering alone around the house, attacked with insomnia in lieu of guilt. He's right; she's not afraid of letting things die when their time has come. Dust to dust and all that.
-
When she meets Jenny at the hotel the next Tuesday she lingers into the kiss, waiting to feel the tickle of a countdown thrumming under the girl's skin, but there's nothing.
Jenny pulls back, smiling with too many incisors. "So," she says brightly, "what's new?"
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And your fic serves the amazing purpose of reminding me I need to get to watching this show.
AND SERIOUSLY. GREAT FIC. words fail me, because it's 1 am and i should be studying, and i've got an awful headache. but GREAT FIC, AND THANK YOU ♥
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Amazing job!
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