I don't need a slap in the face

I'm already at the bottom of the sea.

Should have known this armor was heavy

When the battle was declared by me

—The Battle, Missy Higgins.

The day Jenny Humphrey arrives back in the city after a six month sabbatical in Hudson, a hush falls on the Upper East Side.

Her family is apprehensive; her father desperately hoping that his daughter has turned her life around and is willing to work with him toward a better future, her step-mother praying that the second coming of the Serena van der Woodson wildchild has been stalled before it could ever really begin. Her brothers, one biological and one made through marriage, are both happy to see her return—though both are worried about the repercussions it may have on their own lives, which have just about returned to normal in her absence.

Her step-sister, who refuses to be recognized as that, is furious—her bitterness at the young girl's interference in her relationships, coupled with the trauma inflicted on her best-friend, serving only to forge yet another chasm in the great van der Woodson/Humphrey divide. Nate, newly reunited with the blonde whom he's always loved, is also wary of the blonde whom he had once thought of only as a sweet little kid. Knowing only a third of what Blair is capable of despite having grown up together in such close confines, it's only fair that he's a little suspicious of her apprentice. Especially when she'd set her sights so firmly on him in the past.

Chuck Bass, in all of his glory, barely reacts to the news, though Eric—the one chosen as messenger—manages to catch the brief, almost imperceptible flash of pain in his eyes. Knowing better than to say anything, he watches in silence as his brother pours another scotch—finishing the decanter—and calls one of his favored escort companies.

The Constance mean girls are perhaps the most concerned, however, as the new hierarchy in place at the school is one they can finally get on board with. With Sawyer on top, the Girls of the Steps are a considerably less dangerous and less powerful breed of Blair Waldorf's minions, but they serve their purpose in keeping the boundaries in place. With Jenny as Queen, those boundaries are threatened; her plots and schemes are no more caustic than Blair's, but they are executed with a considerable lack of finesse and subtlety that mocks the once stable regime.

All who know her are worried, and everyone is talking. Nobody is without an opinion, no matter how small that opinion may be.

Nobody, bar Blair Waldorf herself, that is.

–

Serena is chosen to tell the Queen of her former protege's imminent return; Nate lacks the necessary tact, and Dorota can't risk leaving her baby without a mother if 'Miss Blair's' reaction is as they are all expecting it to be. As her best-friend, the burden ultimately falls to the nervous Serena, who fulfills her task reluctantly—though with great sympathy for the brunette whose life has been too sorrowful this past year.

To everyone's great surprise (Chuck does a double take when it is later recounted to him by one of his many P.I.s, his face filled with unadulterated shock) Blair takes the news in her stride, with an air of nonchalance that is far too natural to possibly be forced. Her eyes and mouth, usually her most prominent tell, are perfectly in line with each other, the sentiments in them the same. Her even tone and her casual remark "That must make things difficult between you and Nate" does nothing to give her away, and it's with dismay that Serena realizes that her best-friend, whom she's known since she was three, has finally achieved the impossible;

She's now able to mask her emotions and reactions so completely and effortlessly that even the people that know her best can't distinguish what she's feeling beneath the veneer.

It's been a long time coming, that much is sure, but the dumbfounded blonde can't help but gape as the brunette pops a grape into her mouth contentedly.

–

Unlike her departure, there is no small gathering present when she steps off the train and onto the platform. Cameras clicking and cell-phones beeping are the only sound she hears for awhile as she pushes her way through the crowd at Grand Central, and she pulls her soft beanie cap tighter around her bleached-blonde hair in a futile effort to remain inconspicuous. For the first time in months, she's on show for the world. Though it's a familiar feeling, ringing deep in the pit of her stomach, she's not quite sure yet if it's a welcome one.

Really, she's not quite sure of anything. It even takes a few seconds for her—a born and bred New Yorker—to remember that the only way to survive in a crowd this size is to push and press your way forward, and she is swept along with the throng for awhile until she gets a grip on her senses.

She manages to hail a cab and maneuver her bags inside, instructing the driver somewhat reluctantly where to take her. It's her home now, she knows, but it's never truly felt as such. It's funny; two years ago, all she ever wanted was to live in a fancy penthouse on the Upper East Side, and now she'd much rather be on her way to Brooklyn.

Six months is a long time, and she's spent plenty of it reflecting. Is she truly remorseful and repentant for what she's done? Not really. At least, she doesn't think so. She knows that everyone's expecting her to be like Serena—the born again party girl who came back a changed woman—but Serena van der Woodson is the one person she knows whom she's never aspired to be.

Her mom? Yes. Vanessa? On occasion. Lily? Totally. Blair? Too many times to count...

But not Serena. Never her—the voluptuous, beautiful, captivating blonde. Her eyes and hair may be similar (the older girl's prize-winning features blow hers out of the water, obviously), but that's where the similarities end. She hates the girl too much to ever want to be her.

Oddly, it's not even jealousy that fuels this hate. She can accept that some people are just naturally more beautiful than others—her looks are the things Jenny resents least, surprising as that may be.

It's the girl's charm, her vivacity, her effortlessness that irks her.

Serena's screwed up so many times... and yet there's always been a hand extended to her at the end. No matter what she does, no matter the consequence, there's always someone there for her. Her point of view is always understood; always accepted as a legitimate stance.

Her motives were pure, they always say, what she did was wrong, but her heart was in the right place.

Jenny's never been understood. Not really. How can she be? She's not open like Dan and Vanessa, not nearly as easy to read. She's not unflappable like Eric, not nearly as nice. She's not a dreamer like her father, not nearly as naïve.

Dan is all of their father, with a touch of their mother splashed in for good measure. But she doesn't resemble either of her parents—nor her aunts, uncles or grandparents.

There's no precedent to her. One of a kind—but not in a good way.

Honestly, she can't blame everyone for being frustrated with her. There's been so many versions of Jenny Humphrey, she herself doesn't even know for sure herself which is the real one. All she knows is that she's lost—she's fallen down the rabbit hole, and the person that warned her not to step too close to the edge ended up being the one that pushed her over it.

Does she regret sleeping with him? It's a question she's asked herself a lot. Certainly, she'd rather her first time have been with someone she felt something for and who felt it back, but it's kind of a relief to have gotten it over with. She just wished it hadn't become public knowledge. Her one consolation was that all involved had promised to keep the knowledge from her Dad and Lily—for Chuck's sake, as much as her own.

She knows that he hates her, now. Absolutely despises her. If she had not happened across him that day, he and Blair would most likely be engaged by now. And though what happened between them was as much his fault as hers, and despite the fact he's viewed by everyone as the guilty party and she the victim—somehow she feels like everything is her fault.

Because he was heartbroken, and she was merely dramatic.

Does she feel any sympathy for him, knowing how much he's lost because of their stupid mistake?

No.

In the end, he's still the guy that forced himself on her at a party. And though she's not angry at him anymore, neither is she particularly caring. As far as she's concerned, he's just Chuck Bass.

And she's Jenny Humphrey.

Whatever that means.

–

She's home two weeks, having successfully avoided both Blair and Chuck and survived Serena's snide remarks in that, when the inevitable happens—Blair Waldorf comes to visit.

It's one of the rare occasions where the house is empty, and Jenny's just preparing to relax with the latest edition of Vogue when the elevator chimes. Revenge steps into her room in four inch Manolo's and a guarded expression, and she's never felt more scared in all of her life.

The last words Blair spoke to her ring in her ears—Go, and never come back. Because if you do, I will know. And I will destroy you.

Rash words, but if anyone can make the threat come to fruition it's the girl in front of her.

"Blair," she breathes, and it's almost a plea. Slowly, she gets to her feet but moves no closer to the brunette.

As any two duelers do before a fight, they each take the time to study their opponent. Seconds that last hours pass in silence, and still neither of them move. Blair's face remains blank, passive and unreadable, while Jenny's vulnerability shows in every pore. Finally, the older girl clears her throat and speaks.

"Why?"

It's a command, not a question. One Jenny feels obliged to answer to, but she's not sure how.

"I don't know." She replies eventually, because she really doesn't.

Blair's eyes harden, "Not acceptable. Try again."

"Blair, please." Her eyes fill with tears, though she tries to force them back. "I am so, so, sorr-"

"I don't want your apologies." There's a hint of condescension in her voice, and if she dared meet her eyes she knows she'd find it there too. "I just want an answer to my question. Why?"

Closing her eyes, letting the tears fall freely down her face, Jenny can only shake her head.

"I don't think my request is unreasonable," Blair says, voice calm. Her eyes never leave the younger girl's body. "After all, you did sleep with my boyfriend. Is it wrong of me to want to know why you did so?"

Met with silence, she continues. "I could understand if you had done it for revenge—but I don't believe that I did anything particularly revenge-worthy. My pointing out some home-truths certainly did not warrant such a response. Did it?"

Mutely, Jenny shakes her head again. Her eyes open, vision blurred with tears. The brunette stares back evenly, one eyebrow raised. This is a Blair she doesn't know. Tears, fury, yelling and screaming—she can handle all of it. But this—this cold, frigid girl is a stranger to her. She's not sure what to say, what she can do to make it better.

Usually, she doesn't have to say much. Blair usually intercepts any explanation she tries to offer—understanding without words what she's trying to tell her. Not this time. This time, she's on her own. But she still can't come up with an answer.

So she says nothing.

And Blair continues talking; musing out loud, almost. "You're one of the few people who understand my motives for doing things. Serena doesn't, Nate doesn't. Even Dorota can't figure me out. But you can—to a point. Not because you know me particularly well, but because you learned everything from me. I taught you everything you know, often interspersed with advice on how to use that knowledge. I set you up so that nobody could take you down unless you let them."

A small, grimace-like smile appears on her face. "I knew it was risky taking on a protege. I watched Carter Baizen take him in hand when we were freshmen, teach him everything he knew until finally the apprentice became the master. Even now, years on, it's a battle between them. For power, dominance. He'll always win, of course, but Carter won't ever be far behind." There's no question as to who she's speaking of, though she refuses to speak his name.

"But I was confident, nonetheless. I knew that I could groom you, round off your edges. Mold you and sculpt you until you rivaled even me in power. My masterpiece." Almost as if she's speaking to herself, Blair's tone falls a little in timbre. "You were always a flight risk, though. I had three people to keep me in line, to remind me of the lines one cannot cross—you had no one but me, and our relationship has always been caustic at best. Enemies, yet allies, too. And yet, you always looked up to me. Always accepted my word as law—even if you chose to break it at times."

Blair looks up, meets her fearful eyes head on. "You respect me."

It's a statement, not a question. Yet still she feels compelled to answer, if only because she can. "Yes."

"You want me to respect you."

"More than anything," she replies, hoarsely, because if ever there's a time to be honest it's now.

"You knew what you were doing?" This is posed as a question, Blair's face still bland, but it's clear her meaning. She knows the answer; it's confirmation that she seeks.

"I knew." For the first time she lifts her chin high, meets her maker head-on.

A small, absolutely empty smile appears on the older girl's face, and she inquires quietly, "Then why?"

"I... I guess..." she struggles for a few seconds, words escaping her, before finally she blurts it out with a fresh set of tears. "I needed to do something awful. Really terrible. Something that was unforgivable."

"Why?"

More tears come, overlapping each other as they run rivers down her cheeks. "To prove that I could." She croaks the truth out in the small, little girl voice she always uses when she is truly pitiful and needs Daddy to comfort her. "Always, I... I get close to the edge, go so far, but I falter before I step over. Always. I needed to know that I was brave enough-" she pauses, reconsiders her words; there was no bravery involved. It was cowardice through and through. She's not going to insult either of their intelligence by pretending otherwise. "I needed to know that I could."

Her life is like a badly written television show;

Season 1: her introduction into the UES. She lied and stole and became a glorified beard... but she repented in the end. Went to Blair with white flag waving, and both girls pretended that Jenny was rising above instead of running scared.

Season 2: fashion is her calling, she decided, and did everything she could to forward her career. She lied and she bitched and she transformed into a wannabe rocker... and yet, when it came down to it, she was still far too dependent on dear old Dad to ever go through with emancipation. Setting her friend up at the Snowflake Ball... she changed her mind at the last minute, when it was already too late. She got information on the Queen... but couldn't bring herself to use it, even if it meant securing her own place as her successor. She talked a good talk, walked a good walk, but couldn't follow through.

Season 3: she tried to abolish the hierarchy at Constance... but ultimately caved and became what she swore she wouldn't. She waged war on her best-friend... and apologized to him not twenty-four hours later. Experimented with drugs and danger... never let herself get in too deep, refusing even to sample the merchandise nine times out of ten. Plotted against the intricate scheme developed by her allies... confessed without being coerced. Slept with Chuck Bass... went crying to her brother about it, ran away in fear of Blair Waldorf's wrath.

There's not much character development throughout, though the character changes persona several times throughout the course of the series. There's nothing special about the girl portrayed, no redeeming quality that can be used to salvage her. She has no excuse for being the way she is.

She's not Chuck Bass, whose mother didn't care enough to stick around and whose father hated him his whole life—without even having an excuse for doing so.

She's not Serena van der Woodson, whose mother was never around and whose father disappeared one day without a trace and reappeared only to cause havoc.

She's not Nate Archibald, whose mother wasn't so much overbearing as she was smothering and whose father is serving twenty-to-life for embezzling and fraud.

And she's certainly not Blair Waldorf, whose mother only notices her when she has something to criticize and whose father abandoned her in favor of finding happiness for himself.

She's just Jenny Humphrey. Whose mother left, but is never too far away if needed, and whose father would go to the ends of the earth for her.

"I could destroy you so easily." Blair tells her, eyes glassy for the first time though she refuses to let even a single tear fall. "So, so easily. You don't want to know how many hours I spent designing elaborate, brilliant schemes that would completely obliterate any chance of you having a future. I surprised even myself."

Jenny nods, still choked up, believing this moment that she'll gladly accept any punishment awarded if it means having the heavy burden lifted from her chest.

"But as time went on, I wanted to use them less and less," the brunette continues, "not because I hated you any less, but because I knew you weren't worth the effort. I told myself that if you stayed away, then I would let you be. But you didn't stay away, and it wasn't until Serena was telling me that you were coming back that I realized it."

Blair's eyes narrow in on hers, she takes a few steps closer until they are perfectly met. "I'm not going to send you away, Jenny Humphrey. In fact, I'm going to see to it that you stay on the Upper East Side for the rest of your shallow, inconsequential little life." Her voice deathly quiet, her big eyes flash.

"I want you to have a first class seat as you watch the rest of my life play out before your eyes. I want you to be there on my wedding day, years from now, when I marry a man that I don't love because you ruined any chance of me marrying the one I do. I want you to bump into me in the park, when I'm playing with children whose hair are just a few shades too light and whose eyes aren't exotic enough, and I want you to recognize the empty, vapid look in my eyes as that of every other Stepford wife you have the displeasure of knowing. I want you to be present the night that society learns of my husband's infidelities, and when the first of my divorces is finalized."

"I want you to watch all of that, and I want you to know that you are responsible. When everybody else forgets how happy I once was, when even I struggle to remember when last I laughed, I want you to remember and feel guilty. Because you are guilty, Jenny. You saw the ring—you know what I almost had. And when everybody else moves on and forgets, you'll remember what I lose and the part you played in it."

A slow, malicious smirk spreads across Blair's face, and she brushes a strand of hair behind Jenny's ear in a motherly gesture full of saccharine. "The biggest mistake you made today was letting me know that you care. You want me to like you, to respect you—I know now that you always will. And I want you to pay," she shrugs, "simple as that."

"I'm sorry, Blair." Jenny whispers, as the older girl steps back and slings her bag further up her shoulder. "If I could take it back-"

"There's a gala on tomorrow night," Blair interrupts her. "He'll be there, and he'll stand by the bar all night, watching me. I'll steal a glance when I think he's not looking, and he'll catch me. Our eyes will meet for a split-second, but it will be enough to reconfirm what already we both know; I'll never stop loving him, but I'll never be able to forgive him. And our hearts will break all over again." The glassy sheen is back, but still no tears fall. "Lily's booked a table. You'll be there, and you'll see it all." She pauses, says the next words with no small amount of spite, "Ask Eric what it means when I excuse myself to go to the bathroom."

Turning on her heel, Blair walks briskly away, pausing once she reaches the doorway. She turns her head, calls over her shoulder quietly. "Goodbye, Little J."

And she walks away without looking back.

–

Later, when Eric finds her red eyed and motionless, mascara streaking her pillow, she recounts the entire story to him. And he can't help but feel a little satisfied, because Blair was his pseudo-sister long before Jenny entered the show, and it's his brother who's drinking himself into an early grave with each new night that passes.

But it's Jenny he has to live with, so he makes the appropriate soothing noises and promises all will be okay, even as he knows deep inside that Blair's going to make good on her promise and make sure that Jenny's guilt-wracked body doesn't go too long without another dose.

It's what she deserves, after all.

Disclaimer: I don't own Gossip Girl or any of the characters used in this piece.

A/N: I've always found Jenny the most intriguing character and I love the mentor/protege relationship she and Blair have. And because I want Blair's revenge to be subtle, when eventually it comes time for her to act.

Please leave a review and tell me what you think.