Title: Even at the Turning of the Tide

Author: katharienne

Summary: Post-season three AU. Blair never saw Chuck in Paris and didn't bring him back to New York. For over a year Henry Prince led a peaceful, simple life until one day he met someone from his long-forgotten past. Starts as Chuck/Eva, will be eventually Chuck/Blair. Dan/Serena may appear as a side-pairing.

Warnings: None, only a few foul words here and there.

A/N: First of all, I would like to thank SaturineSunshine for being a wonderful beta who not only helped me with editing this chapter, but also discussed with me some of the most tricky parts. Thank you so much, brain-storming with you is a pleasure! All possible mistakes are mine and mine only.

I consider this story to be a post-season three AU. Although I do use some things we learned about Henry Prince, Eva and their life in Paris at the beginning of season four, I took some liberty with them. But most importantly, I took more than a little liberty with Henry Prince's characterization. This is not the Henry Prince from Gossip Girl's season four. This is how I imagine Chuck's re-inventing himself should go to make any sense. This is why this Henry may do or say things you wouldn't expect the canon!Henry to. Please, keep that in mind and enjoy!

PART I: HENRY

His name was Henry Prince and that name was all he had.

There was not much to know about Henry Prince, really. He was twenty years old, American and spoke French well enough, although with a rather visible foreign accent. His girlfriend, Eva, teased him about it constantly.

"Your r's are too harsh," she always laughed. "It sounds funny. Scratchy."

"Hilarious," he mumbled good naturedly, smiling in spite of himself. He could never stay angry with her for long. He didn't think anyone could.

There was not much to know about Henry Prince but Eva didn't mind and that was enough for both of them.

Henry Prince was no one. He had no family and no money and he actually couldn't do anything useful. Sure, if you asked him about international stock market or real estate or hotel management he'd answer in detail but at the same time he failed at such simple tasks as sweeping the floor or cooking an edible meal or sewing a ripped sleeve. He didn't know how to use a cash register or operate a fork-lift truck or sell people things and it appeared that those were the skills that actually mattered. In the real world, at least.

"Have you ever washed anything before?" Eva always asked jokingly, watching him struggle with the simplest chores. He just shot her annoyed looks, not finding the situation funny at all and concentrating on getting the coffee stain out of the carpet or cleaning a smudged window or not breaking any dishes. Which wasn't that easy since wet plates were really slippery. Who knew washing the dishes could be so tricky, right? And how did even Eva coerce him into sharing any household duties? Okay, he knew how but then again, girls should know not to treat seriously anything a guy says during sex. Henry was pretty sure that in the United States it was a law or something.

But then Eva was laughing at him openly and he was splashing tap water on her so he thought that maybe it was alright. Because even though Henry Prince was no one and knew nothing and couldn't do anything, Eva didn't mind and that was enough for both of them.

He worked at Sur la Rose Sauvage,a little restaurant down the Rue Esquirol, as a waiter. He wouldn't have gotten this job – or any, for that matter – if it weren't for Eva. Fortunately her uncle, a tall, sever looking man with a funny moustache and a bald, shining head, owned the place and after a little bit of pouting and child-like pleading on Eva's part he agreed to give her most recent beau a chance.

"What was your name, again?" he asked Henry, after a smiling Eva left them alone to discuss the details. He spoke in rapid French, blending the words together and for the first time in his life Henry wished he had actually paid attention in his French classes in high school.

"Henry. Henry Prince," he answered, gulping nervously. He didn't know why but the man made him more than a little self-conscious. There was something in his cold blue eyes and in the way his thin mouth quirked in annoyance every now and then that reminded Henry of something that should be long forgotten. (Dead and buried, literally.)

"Henri Prince, yes?" Eva's uncle repeated, pronouncing the name in French. Henry frowned at that. In French it sounded a little too girly for his taste. But then again, what didn't sound girly in French?

"No, not Henri. Henry," he corrected the man testily.

"Right, that's what I said. Henri." The man looked at Henry with a challenging smile. Henry fought the urge to roll his eyes at French and their irrational dislike for all things foreign.

"So, Henri," the other man continued, "what can you do?"

"I beg your pardon?" Henry blinked stupidly. Why was he even asked such a ridiculous question? He was going to work at some second-rate restaurant, for God's sake, not NASA and serving meals was no rocket science, as far as he knew.

"Do you cook?" Eva's uncle supplied, looking at him warily.

"That would be a no." Henry thought back to his poor attempts at making grilled chicken for dinner that one time. Never again, Eva stated firmly after they managed to get most of the smoke out of the apartment.

"Pity. But you do know how to wait tables, yes?"

"Ah, sure," Henry hesitated just for a second, hoping it wouldn't give his incompetence away.

The French only nodded courtly in response, still eyeing Henry suspiciously and obviously waiting for something. But Henry just stared back at him with growing annoyance, not knowing what else was there to say. At that moment he wished Eva were here to tell him what to do – what was expected of him in this harsh world of getting up early, doing your own laundry and asking your girlfriend's relatives for some shitty job.

And then the realization dawned on him.

"Thank you, sir," he said quietly. "For… For giving me a chance and… All that," he stumbled over the words.

"Have ever thanked anyone before?" The man mocked him but his words lacked any real malice. He looked genuinely amused by Henry's awkward behavior.

Henry didn't dignify that with an answer.

Without any doubt Henry Prince was the worst waiter Paris ever had. He was rude, clumsy and American. He mixed up every second order, made people wait ridiculously long for their meals and was even spotted picking up food that he had dropped to the floor and placing it firmly back on the tray.

As if that wasn't enough, he didn't get along with his colleagues. Gigi and Sophie, the waitresses, complained about his crass humor and mean jokes. Laurent, also a waiter, didn't like the way the new guy patronized and belittled him. The cooks, Pascal and Manuel, were getting tired of taking the fall each time Henry served an already cold meal. And the owner, Jacques – well, Jacques simply didn't like him.

"I just don't like you, Henri Prince," Jacques told him one day. Henry looked at him, startled, clutching the broom's handle like a vice but keeping his face blank. "You're rude, clumsy and American and if it weren't for Eva, I'd fire your lazy, hamburger-loving ass weeks ago," he continued calmly, as if they were discussing the weather.

"If you don't like me so much," said Henry through gritted teeth, too angry and hurt to correct the man about the hamburger-loving part (as if he ever stooped that low), "and if you think so little of me, maybe you should fire me."

"Maybe." Jacques shrugged non-comittaly, not even looking up from the bar he was busy polishing. "But for some reason Eva really likes you and she would be crushed if she knew I didn't approve of you."

Henry felt something cold twisting his insides. Because here he was, with a new girl in a new city living a whole fucking new life – and he still managed to be a disappointment.

Every time I think we're making progress you show your true colors.

"So you let me stay here only because of Eva?" he asked in a strained voice, unconsciously holding his chin a little higher.

"More or less." Jacques shrugged absent-mindedly. He picked up from the counter one of the wine glasses and raised it so that the last rays of sunshine went through it and uncovered any smudges he could have missed. Suddenly he gave Henry a sharp, piercing look. "Does it bother you?"

Henry just stared at him incredulously. "Yes," he hissed. "It does bother me. In fact, it bothers me so much," his voice shook with suppressed anger, "that if you won't fire me, I'll quit myself."

"Even if it means letting Eva down?"

Letting people down is your forte.

He didn't – he couldn't answer that. Not being able to hold Jacques' steely gaze any longer, he averted his own eyes and all of a sudden he felt like this fucked up, pathetic teenage boy he wanted so desperately not to be. But no matter how hard he tried, here he was – furious that he didn't meet the expectations of yet another cold, demanding man and striving for acceptance he thought he didn't need.

He was so caught up in his own world that he didn't notice the strange way Jacques was looking at him, as if he were searching for something. Whatever it was, he must have found it because his mouth quirked upwards in a little, knowing smile.

"That's what I thought," his voice pulled Henry out of his musings. "Bah, what do we do now? I don't want to upset Eva with kicking you out and you don't want to disappoint her with leaving. Hm, let's make a deal, Henri Prince, shall we?" he leaned against the counter, a piece of white cloth still in his hand. "I won't fire you, which will make Eva happy. You will get a grip and start treating this job seriously, which will make me happy. And when I don't have to dislike you so much and think so little of you, it will make you happy." Jacques accented this with slapping the cloth over his right shoulder. "Impeccable plan, yes?"

Actually, no, it wasn't impeccable. Back in the day Henry had seen his share of good plans and had come up with quite a few himself. Of course, not all of them were fool-proof. Some were more likely to explode in his face or come back to bite him in the ass but still, he considered himself rather well-versed into the realm of scheming and plotting. And he could tell right away that Jacques wouldn't be able to take a candy bar from a five-year-old.

But then again, it was also quite obvious that it wasn't actually a plan to begin with. It was more of a –

"Are you giving me an ultimatum?" he asked, straight to the point.

"Ultimatum, he says," Jacques shook his head and then raised his eyes to the ceiling. "I am not giving you any ultimatum, Henri. I'm giving you a second chance. Which you do not deserve, by the way," he added as an afterthought.

"So why give it to me in the first place? Aren't you worried you'll just waste your time?" Henry scoffed, his mouth twisted into an unpleasant, sardonic smile.

Jacques however wasn't fazed by that. "No, I don't. You see, Henri, I'm giving you a choice here and I believe you'll make the right one. You can quit, go home and feel sorry for yourself for as long as you like. Or you can stop whining and actually make an effort. Probably for the first time in your life," he snickered under his breath.

"And if I don't?" Henry asked before thinking.

"Oh, but you will," Jacques stated simply. Then he squinted his eyes as if scrutinizing Henry and continued in a mockingly conspirational tone, "You don't strike me as the giving up kind."

It was surreal, if you thought about that. Well, more than usually, that is. Still slightly dazed, Henry just looked at Jacques incredulously and nodded.

"Bon, now that everything is clear, allons, vite!" the older man gestured to the broom Henry was still holding. "I don't have all evening to watch you contemplate the floor and its lovely shade! More sweeping, less standing around! What does my poor niece see in you?"

Jacques's irritated tone sobered Henry up instantly. Feeling a little more like himself, he rolled his eyes just for show and went back to work. But as of then there was a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth and his movements seemed more certain and somehow less awkward.

Okay, so maybe Henry Prince wasn't the best waiter in the world. He was American, after all. But he was also a fast learner and really, waiting tables was no rocket science.

He had a sleazy sense of humor, true, but could make his jokes quite flattering, when he put his mind to it. He was also an incurable snob which was more funny than annoying, since what he earned barely covered his share of the rent for his and Eva's apartment.

He didn't lag at work anymore, unless he hadn't slept the night before. He served food picked up from the floor only to those guests he really disliked. If they were particularly unpleasant, he would sometimes spit into their wine or put a dirty finger in their purees but if it wasn't for Gigi and Laurent, he'd never come up with something so deviously disgusting.

So Henry Prince wasn't very good at what he was doing but he was trying and what mattered was that for Eva – for Eva it was always enough.

There were nights Henry Prince woke up with a start, sweating and shaking violently. On the other side of the bed Eva was already sitting up and putting a warm, comforting hand on his back.

"Bad dream?" she whispered, leaning in to kiss his damp temple.

Henry only nodded, still trying to catch his breath.

"Do want to tell me about it?" Eva asked, just like she had asked each time it had happened before.

Henry just dug the heels of his palms into his eyelids, wishing it was enough to banish the images still floating around his head, this never-ending parade of faces. (Sad, angry, hurt, disappointed – but above all, hateful.)

Somebody telling him he's worthless. Somebody punching him in the face. Somebody shooting him. So many people and all of them talking, shouting, screaming, hating – hating him.

Tonight – tonight however had been worse. Tonight Henry had dreamed of a girl so beautiful she had outshone everything else. The chattering, persistent voices he could never get out of his head had faded to the background and there had been only her – her secret smile, eyes full of mischief and delicate, nervous hands. She had been looking at him with so much love and trust in her eyes Henry had found it hard to breathe.

But in a blink of an eye her whole demeanor had changed; her pretty features had contorted in an expression of utter disgust and disappointment, her eyes had squinted with hate. And then she had been ripped out of his dream (out of his world) and the universe had been imploding, the weight of the sky and stars crashing down on his head –

"No," Henry forced out, swallowing with difficulty. "It was nothing, really."

Eva looked at him warily but quickly hid her face in the crook of his neck so he wouldn't see the hurt in her eyes. She decided to let Henry think he had fooled her, that she had believed him when he had claimed he no family or friends. She didn't understand why he was doing this but she trusted him. It was fine if he needed time. For him she would wait.

Henry Prince was a man without a past; he never talked about his life before Paris and didn't think about the future. But he was bright and charming and funny. Whenever she started to worry about him, about them, he held her and kissed her and made it all better simply by being with her and Eva thought that it had to be enough.

And for some time it was.

Things were going quite well for Henry Prince, thank you very much. He had a girlfriend who cared about him deeply and knew a few persons actually willing to talk to him. His job wasn't as bad as it seemed. It could be rather tiring and required a lot of strength, yes, but after a somewhat rough start Henry learned to appreciate the pleasant routine of working at Sur la Rose Sauvage. Of course it didn't hurt that he also made really good money, mostly thanks to the tips from the place's female patrons.

"You're such a gigolo!" Sophie, a plump blonde from Calais, who worked only part time to pay for her Medieval French Literature classes at Sorbone, laughed after hearing yet another middle-aged woman specifically requesting cher Henri as her waiter. "How does Eva put up with it?"

"I do know how to make it worth a girl's while." Henry wiggled his eyebrows suggestively, which made both Sophie and Gigi let out disgusted sounds. They were all perched up on the restaurant's steps, smoking Laurent's cheap cigarettes and waiting for the first guests to arrive.

"God, that tastes foul." Gigi scrunched her pretty nose and eyed the half-burnt ciggie with contempt. "Could you be any cheaper, Laurent?"

"It can't be fouler than anything you had in your mouth last night," Laurent retorted without missing a bit.

"And yes, he could be as cheap as you are," Henry supplied with a smirk

Gigi gasped indignantly and accidentally swallowed some of the smoke. Coughing and with tears streaking down her cheeks, she sputtered curses that would make a sailor blush. The others just laughed, clapping her on the back half-heartedly. Gigi led a truly wild night life and wasn't ashamed of it but she still hated Laurent's and Henry's crass and sarcastic comments.

"You're such pigs," she finally exclaimed, steadying her breath. "It's a wonder any normal woman is willing to date either of you. Well, Henri at least… How are things with that tour guide you tried so hard to charm, Laurent?" she asked smartly.

"Fuck off," Laurent spit out, his mood darkening.

"Aww, didn't she call you the next day?" Gigi mocked. "I can't imagine why. You're such a catch!"

At that last comment Sophie blushed slightly. Seeing it, Gigi and Henry exchanged meaningful glances. They all knew about Sophie's little crush on Laurent which they found rather hilarious, since she and Laurent clashed just horribly. He was freakishly tall and lanky while she was petite and round-faced. He had a typical Southern, dark complexion – she was a pale, blue-eyed blonde from North. They even talked differently – Laurent slowly, with a lazy drawl and Sophie so rapidly she always seemed nervous about one thing or another.

Sophie and Laurent getting together was such a ridiculous image that of course everyone rooted for them.

"But seriously, doesn't Eva mind all those smelly old ladies making moon-eyes at you?" Gigi mercifully switched her attention back to Henry. "Because frankly, I find that rather disgusting."

"That's because with you even a hello is a prelude to foreplay," Henry told her smugly. "And no, she doesn't mind because there's nothing to mind. It's not like I'm flirting with anyone, I'm just nice. It's not my fault they like me. It's probably the accent," he looked down with false humility. "They find it endearing."

The other three looked at him in utter shock.

"English with a French accent is endearing," Sophie said slowly, as if she were explaining a rather difficult concept to a small and not very bright child. "French with an English accent is an abomination."

"That and most people get annoyed when somebody tries to serve them poison instead of fish," Laurent added. "I mean, seriously, man, how hard is it to remember the difference between poison and poisson?"

"Harder than remembering the sounds your mother made last night," Henry smirked and ducked quickly, Laurent's fist missing his arm just an inch. "And not that it's any of your business but Eva is the prettiest, smartest, loveliest, kindest and in general the most amazing girl I've ever – "

"He knows I'm standing behind him, doesn't he?" Eva asked in an amused voice.

"Oui."

"Totally."

"Yep."

"I had no idea that you'd come to see me so early," Henry turned to face his girlfriend with a perfectly innocent expression on his face. "Who would have guessed?"

"You," Eva said sweetly and put her arms around his neck, "when you made me breakfast," she kissed him lightly on the mouth, "and coffee, "another kiss, "and put on the tray this little daisy in a shot glass… Where did you get it?"

"I stole it from a balcony next to ours," Henry confessed, circling her waist.

"How very Arsin Lupin of you!" Eva exclaimed in mock delight. "But then you left without waking me up," she sighed, "and I never got a chance to thank you properly."

"And that's how I knew you'd come?"

"Oui."

"Because I did something you had to thank me for and didn't actually give you a chance to do it?"

"Uh-huh."

"Devious," Henry whispered and caught her lips in a searing kiss, not letting the sounds of his friends dry heaving discourage him.

What did discourage him, however, was Gigi coughing into her fist almost inaudibly: Jacques.

Eva and Henry fell quickly apart, looking at the newcomer innocently. They smiled at Jacques angelically but he only rolled his eyes at this unconvincing display of hand-holding and platonic love.

"Oh, for God's sake," he exclaimed in an irritated tone of voice. "Don't treat me like I'm an idiot! You," he pointed his finger at Eva, "go to your own work before you're late and job-less. And you," he addressed his employees collectively, looking at the kids with a strange mixture of contempt, annoyance and affection, "stop dawdling and start being useful! I am not paying you for sitting around and smoking, I am paying you for working!"

The girls started to rise slowly from the steps, chattering idly, while Henry leaned in to kiss Eva goodbye and Laurent checked his cell. Jacques looked at them incredulously.

"Less dawdling, more working!" he shouted in a booming voice that made them all jump and scatter quickly inside.

Jacques shook his head and bid his niece farewell before heading in himself.

They lasted about six months and later, when Henry reflected on their relationship, he couldn't help himself but think it was actually longer anybody would have anticipated. Although Eva never gave him any reasons to make him doubt her, there was always this little voice at the back of his head, telling him he could never make it work with a girl like her.

And let's be honest – in the end, he didn't.

"Sometimes I feel like I don't know you at all," Eva confessed in a quiet, strained voice. Like it pained her to say this. Like she cared about him.

But she didn't. If she did, she would never tear him apart like that, Henry thought selfishly, his hands shaking slightly.

"What?" he rasped, giving her a malicious look. "No heartfelt: It's not you, it's me?"

"Henry, please. Don't make this any harder than it already is."

"And here I thought we'll make it without the typical clichés."

"Why are you like this?" Eva pleaded, her eyes watery. "This isn't you!"

Henry's mouth stretched in a wide, false smile.

"Maybe that's where you're wrong," he hissed. "Maybe this – this is the real me."

"No," Eva shook her head vehemently, "that's not true. Because you… You're a good man, Henry Prince. Everybody can see that. You may have an awful temper," she laughed through tears, "and be really mean to people you don't like but it doesn't make you who you are. Not really. I've seen how loving and caring you can be. You have such a kind heart, Henry. And I loved you for it.

"But sometimes you get this look in your eyes, you know? Like you're hundreds and thousands miles away. And I've been trying to reach you, Henry, I've been trying so hard. But you just won't let me. Why won't you let me have all of you?" she asked, wiping her cheeks with shaky hands.

Henry felt something inside him breaking and suddenly he couldn't even bring himself to be angry with her. He never could.

"You don't know what you're talking about," he tried to explain. "If you knew… The things I've done… You would never… You could never…"

"You don't know that," Eva said in a small voice. "And now you never will. Because you never gave me the chance."

Henry remained silent, frantically searching for the right words, the words that would make her stay. He felt panic rising in his chest because deep down he knew – this was it. This is where they ended. And there was nothing he could do to stop it because she had already said that she had loved him and what was more final than using the past tense?

"Don't leave," he whispered desperately, not quite able to stop himself. "Everybody leaves."

Eva looked at him so tenderly he felt his heart break all over again. She took a few steps towards him and touched his face lightly.

"I won't," she vowed with a smile. "I'm not going anywhere. I will always be here for you, Henry Prince. Never forget it."

She leaned in and kissed him softly on the lips and then she turned around and walked out of the apartment, out of his life.

He sat on the bed and hid his face in both hands as Henry Prince's whole life crumbled around him, falling into pieces too small to ever put them back together the way they were.

His name was Henry Prince and he was a good, kind man. But in the end it wasn't enough.

He was never enough.

A/N: I would love to hear your thoughts. Whether it's harsh critique or words of encouragement, it means the world to me! Due to my absence in August Part II: Eva will be posted in September.