F I C
there was no sacred place :: lestat/lous.
again and again and again :: serena/dan.
damn, I wish I was your lover :: serena/oc, serena/dan.
is this sound okay? :: dan/blair, 90s musician au.

F I V E   T H I N G S   M E M E
beauty edition :: prompts answered for lusimeles, ladymercury_10, portions_forfox
fic editions :: prompts answered for lusimeles and mollivanders
gossip girl edition :: prompts answered for anonymous and lusimeles


Alsoooo if you have not yet perused the summertime fic exchange, do so! There is so much lovely fic there, I am so happy with how it went, I love everyone at this bar.

T H E   A G E   O F   D I S S O N A N C E   (5/9)
dan, serena, blair, others.
5483 words. a re-working of wharton's the age of innocence.

summary: If he thinks of the Countess at all, it is simply as the most plaintive and poignant of a line of ghosts.





note: normal plagiarism disclaimer applies. and idk but for this section specifically I kind of want to say – this is a third person limited pov, limited to dan ofc, and not omniscient, so some things he thinks are definitely not ~the absolute truth~ and ought to be taken with a grain of salt. I think that's something I could say about all my fics but I felt it needed to be said here because dan is huffy and angsty and not thinking particularly flattering things about people.







The day is ideal from the outset: the wide Vermeer sky, blue and soft with clouds, stretching over the gray church and the gentle breeze stirring the flowered hats of slowly-arriving ladies, making all the gentleman hold onto their brims. Inside Grace Church it is cool and shadowed, golden with candles. The sunlight strains through the stained glass, leaving colorful patterns in a path Dan follows straight to the altar. He had been signaled over by Nate, his best man, which must indicate Serena's imminent arrival. Dan finds it difficult to return Nate's encouraging smile; indeed, he's had trouble in the last weeks spending any amount of time in Nate's company at all.

It isn't only Serena's revelations that have cooled Dan towards Nate. In the intervening time, Dan has gone over Nate's behavior in his mind, particularly the days following Blair's reentry into society. Nate had been so noble in his forgiveness of Blair, so reserved on the topic, and all the while it was because he knew he'd been in the wrong. Yet he could not admit it, not to Dan or his family, and he'd let them all go on thinking Blair had been the one at fault. It is an old grudge, and it isn't even really Dan's, but he finds it invading his thoughts regardless.

Dan stands at the altar with his hands clasped, gaze roving over the church, which is so thick with lilies and wildflowers that one might for a second be tricked into thinking they were outside. Sunlight warms the aisle between the pews like stage lights, drawing Dan's eye back and back, all the way to where the bridesmaids lurk in the lobby. It reminds him of the first night at the Opera, in many ways: the stage is set, the curtains drawn, and they all await the leading lady's grand entrance. He sees all the same faces in the audience as well – the Archibalds and Vanderbilts, Penelope in posy pink, dark hair distinct in a sea of blonde relatives. The Basses are there, Chuck looking bored already and his wife sighing a little into her chinchilla stole. And lastly, but not at all least, Dan's own family giving him proud and nervous smiles from the very front of the church. Who would have ever thought that they would be in this position, marrying off their eldest child into one of New York's most prominent families? Thanks to him, Jenny would probably do even better; she might even land herself a Vanderbilt.

There is nothing left for him to think of: the details have all been seen to, the plans arranged, the fees paid. All Dan must do is recite his lines and hits his marks. Everything is equally easy – or equally painful, as one chose to put it – in the path he is committed to tread.

"Do you have the ring?" Nate asks, respectfully hushed.

Dan performs the action all bridegrooms perform, hands patting over his pockets until the shape of the little ring makes itself known. "I have it –" he starts to reply, but is cut off by the sudden opening of the door. His breath seizes, but no – it's only someone having a look before closing it again. It seems the entire congregation has taken an anticipatory breath too, all of them eager to glimpse the bride. They wait, and then the door opens again, for real this time.

Murmurs ripple through the crowd as excited interest rises. First to come are Mrs. van der Woodsen and Eric (her deep mauve gown met with a rumble of general approval), followed by Serena's aunt, and finally the great lady herself, Mrs. Celia Rhodes, aided by two young Rhodes cousins on either side. This produces shocked gasps in the audience; her frailty has left her notoriously housebound, and Mrs. Rhodes has hardly been seen outside of her own home in years. There had been rumors, of course, that she might attend the wedding, but they were generally dismissed out of hand. It was a true and genuine surprise.

Perhaps Dan should feel honored, but he doesn't feel very much of anything at all.

He waits to see if anyone else follows, but Mrs. Rhodes appears to be the end of the familial train. He feels a nudge from Nate, hears a murmured, "She's here," and forces his back to straighten, snaps himself to attention. The music begins.

The bridesmaids come first, a chorus of dancers before the prima ballerina, all in soft blues that echo the bright day outside. Dan's gaze passes over them indifferently until he suddenly looks twice, heart contracting painfully in his chest. He briefly attempts to convince himself that it's merely his thoughts playing tricks, but no – no, it truly is Blair. Through his haze he fancies there is almost something apologetic in her expression, though she keeps her eyes averted.

She is the maid (or is it matron now?) of honor, of course. There could be no excuse good enough to exempt her from the wedding of her dearest friend and closest cousin. Blair had gone away abruptly to Washington some weeks ago, ostensibly to visit with an ill acquaintance ("I don't understand," Serena had complained, "Blair hates any sign of sickness; she wouldn't even call on me when I had the sniffles!") but he'd heard nothing of her returning for the wedding.

Blair comes to stand at the altar in front of the other girls, practically right across from Dan, but he sees her only in his peripheral vision, compelling himself to look only at Serena. As he does, he feels his heart resume its usual task. He slips his hand into his pocket to fiddle with the ring, sliding it halfway up his own finger, where it is stopped because of its small size, designed as it is for Serena's slender fingers. Engraved inside it: Dan to Serena, April 24, 1876.

She is radiant. There's no denying that. His numbness, like ice in his unfeeling veins, seems to melt at the sight of her open, elated expression. When her father hands her off, her touch nearly burns Dan. As one they turn to the Rector, and the ceremony begins.

They are married in a matter of minutes, though to Dan it seems to span the length of a blink. The words come to him through a great fog, made unintelligible by the time they reach his ears, but he must respond appropriately because soon enough they are walking arm-in-arm down the aisle again to the cheers of the onlookers. They are husband and wife.

Once outside, they are helped into the borrowed brougham. Serena is against him in a sudden puff of warm stain, her lace-covered arms about his neck and her mouth against his. He laughs without being able to tell if there is humor in it and feels a little relief without it being even slightly akin to comfort. Then there is her hand on his cheek. "Darling, it's like you've seen a ghost."

He gives her a smile, however weak. "I had too much time to think of every horror that might possibly happen – everything that could potentially go wrong."

Serena smiles. She is so sweet and pretty. "But nothing can now," she says, stroking his cheek as she kisses him again. "Not as long as we two are together."

The wedding breakfast is a hurried and hectic affair, and no sooner is it over than they are rushed to the train station. The Liftons have lent them a charming country house in which to spend their first night or two of marriage, an offer they rapidly accepted as it was thought very fashionable to have a country house lent to one. From there they would go on to their tour of Europe, but for now, at least, they are finally alone in their train compartment after a day of being hustled to and fro, parading and chatting and never resting. Dan feels such exhaustion that he only slumps in his seat and stares out the window, book untouched on the seat beside him.

They have never been alone together in this way. They have taken plenty of stolen moments, or carefully arranged faux seclusion with a chaperone lurking nearby. But with the exception of the afternoon in the orange-grove they have never known the intimacy of true privacy, and they have never been alone together as husband and wife.

It startles him when she speaks.

"I was so happy Blair was able to come after all." She gazes wistfully out the window instead of looking at him, but there seems no hidden motive to it; she only wants to see the countryside go by outside, that's all. "I… I feel now that I might be truly forgiven. I heard her agree to visit with Granny for a little while, and I do hope she's convinced to stay; all I can hope for is to regain the closeness we had as children." She turns a smile brimming with optimism his way. "Aside from my hope for our personal happiness, of course."

"Of course," Dan answers, feeling prompted. "But we are already perfectly happy, so feel free to turn your prayers in other directions."

Serena's smile widens so that her eyes crinkle before she returns to the window, everything in her posture suggesting tranquility. He wonders at that. It is as though he barely inhabits his skin and Serena is hardly an acquaintance, let alone a wife. She is a stranger sitting across from him. It is like he's seeing a beautiful girl at a glamorous party and thinking: what is going on inside her head? What paths do her thoughts take? It seems to him a maze of secrets no man could hope to find his way through. Perhaps once he had understood Serena, or seemed to. Now Dan isn't sure he understands anything.

He believes Serena will probably take each experience as it comes to her, just as she always has, but never anticipate them; he believes she will carry her guilt until the moment it is unloaded and then be free of it forever. But he isn't sure how much stock he puts in belief these days.

When they arrive at their destination, they are met unexpectedly by an emissary of Cyrus Rose. Apparently there had been a minor accident at the Liftons' – just some flooding, nothing of lasting consequence but serious enough to make it uninhabitable for the night. Mr. Rose, upon hearing of this, immediately stepped forever to offer the small cottage on his property, a Platoon house, for their use.

"How kind!" Serena exclaims. "Why, he shows it to so few people – but I know once he had it opened for Blair, and she told me what a darling little place it is: she said it's the only house she's seen in America where she could imagine being perfectly happy."







***







Prior to his wedding, Dan Humphrey's mother had taken him aside to say, "The first six months are always the most difficult, my dear. It may do well to remember that."

Three months into their extended wedding-tour, the newlyweds have found themselves at half past that well-meant warning though Dan couldn't ascribe any particular difficulty to their union. There was compromise, but there was always to be compromise, and he had been prepared for that. In fact, he has found acquiescence easier than he might have thought he would.

It has not been a secret to either of them that their interests diverge in many ways. Serena tries, but she has no great love for strolling through museums or seeing the sights. She has been through Europe many times before and this is only Dan's first excursion, so her knowledge and experience greatly exceeds his, lending her little patience for the usual spectacles. Instead Serena wants to have fun: to swim and ride and sail, to explore anything unknown to her. They have been to Switzerland and Normandy, to Paris to order Serena's clothes for the season and now to London to order his. They did not pass through Italy as he wanted, but it was most likely for the best.

Minor complications aside, it has been an easy trip. Serena is happy, or seems so, and her joy has always been rather infectious. He finds it hard to wallow in melancholy with her at his side: the hint of a frown is always soothed by her kiss, a lonely sigh remedied by her laughter. In the whirlwind he has hardly been allowed to settle, for during the day there are her many activities to occupy their time and at night they lose themselves to passion. A part of him knows it will always be like this between them, and that Serena will be a balm to his troubled mind as much as he will let her. And when they have children, the vacant corners in both their lives will be filled.

They discover ways to share adventure. Though it is not for respectable married people or innocent ladies, Serena shows him a bit of the Europe of her past: the parties, the gambling, the dazzling ladies and charming dandies. They get drunk together on emerald liquor and dance until Serena breaks the heel of her newest brocade boot. They spend money with a carelessness Dan has never before encountered, and which leaves a rotten feeling in his stomach.

During one such indecent outing, at a dance hall no Rhodes should be caught dead in but a Humphrey could probably pass through, they run into a gaggle of Serena's old acquaintances. She greets with customary friendliness until she catches sight of one young man in the crowd and becomes suddenly flustered, which is quite unlike her. Dan is just intoxicated enough to want to converse with her old crowd, but Serena draws them away quite soon after that. And even sooner she entreats him to return to the hotel.

It had been a mad, lovely night, Serena glowing like a beacon in the dimness of the hall. Under the streetlamps her cheeks are flushed pink, but her eyes have lost their spirited gleam. Dan assumes the man must've been one of the many she'd alluded to, and so reviews him again in his mind's eye: somewhat taller than Dan with a sturdier build, and a cockiness to the way he held himself.

"You were startled," Dan says once they're in the carriage, Serena close to his side due to a touch of rainy chill in the London air.

"No, only surprised a little," she says. "I've put that behind me now, but to see them all – well, I suppose it brought it back."

"It wasn't all of them, though, was it?" Dan presses, for what reason he could not say. "It was the man."

Serena pulls her lower lip between her teeth a moment. "I knew him," she allows. "His name is Carter Baizen."

A familiar enough name, though Dan has never met the son: the Baizens are a relatively prominent family, and they had been guests at the wedding. "He's the rogue, isn't he? Left New York years and years ago?"

She shrugs, clearly unwilling to say much more on the matter. However, she does offer, "He isn't as bad as all that. He did me something of a favor once, and for that I'll always be grateful."

It is enigmatic enough to strike an unsettling note in Dan, but he says nothing more. She is entitled to secrets as much as he is, and he shouldn't press for hers without being willing to give up his own in return.







***







The Basses' summer home at Newport presides grandly over a wide apple green lawn that tumbles down into the bottle blue sea. The air is crisp and fragrant, the sun stunningly bright – it is, all in all, a rather perfect sort of day.

The crowd milling around the grounds and taking advantage of the shade of the verandah are all vaguely focused in one direction, towards two large targets set against backdrop of purple geraniums. A collection of girls in white muslin stand opposite the targets with bows in hand. Every so often one will step up to loose an arrow, sighing in either disappointment or contentment depending upon where it hits. The Newport Archery Club always holds its August meeting at the Basses'.

Returning to Newport this summer had not been Dan's choice.

However, he had been unable to overrule the entirety of the Rhodes clan, and Serena especially proved impossible. After a long stuffy winter, she was eager to see the sun and to reacquaint herself with old friends, considering she had missed out on it all last year thanks to their honeymoon. He hadn't found any excuse convincing enough to dissuade her. How could he? If he professed his true feelings, she would only call him silly and kiss him and they would go anyway.

The fact of it is that Dan feels more the outsider than ever before.

He has been so readily accepted by the very same people who had once so readily shut him out and the disingenuousness of it is revolting to him. He had never thought of himself in the terms he often applied to Jenny. She craves society in a way he never thought he did, though he sees now that he had wanted the acceptance and the admiration of those that shunned him. He had wanted it for petty reasons, for selfish ones, but now that he has gained it (and though marriage, no less) it is anathema to him. Now that he is finally in, all he wants is out.

He misses the escape of their time in Europe even more acutely than he did all winter long.

There is a slight hush to the crowd as Serena steps up to try her hand at the target, stirring Dan from his sulking. She looks more Diana-like than ever with the bow in her gloved hands, strands of hair swept across her face. The ivy in her hair has taken off with the other girls, who all try to mimic the effect with none of Serena's panache. She reminds him now of how she looked the night of their engagement.

Dan cannot help the pride he feels to be Serena's husband. It isn't just her beauty but that specific brand of bone-deep loveliness that seems to make her the subject of high regard in every social circle. No one could be jealous of her triumphs when she managed to give the impression that she would have been just as happy without them.

Despite his ever-vacillating feelings on his standing in this world he chose to inhabit, Dan lays no blame at Serena's door. He had married because he had been infatuated with a perfectly charming girl who loved him despite his impoverished past as he loved her despite her imprudent one. To him, she was peace, stability, companionship – and the steadying sense of inescapable duty.

There needed to be an end to his rather aimless sentimental adventures, anyway. Sometimes Dan recalls that he once dreamed briefly of marrying the Countess Grimaldi, an odd stray thought over which he has no control and which has become nearly laughable. If he thinks of the Countess at all, it is simply as the most plaintive and poignant of a line of ghosts.

"You know Serena's going to carry off the first prize."

It's Bass, looking florid and over-dressed for the late summer heat.

"I imagine so," Dan says stiffly.

Rumors have been flying about Chuck Bass as of late, even more so than usual, particularly concerning what appears to be his fast-depleting wealth. They say his investments are going bad, though his response to the whispered accusations is just to spend more, even lavishing a cruise to the West Indies on his mistress and a diamond necklace on his long-suffering wife.

As he always does, Dan ceases to listen almost as soon as Bass begins to speak, so he's caught off guard when he hears, "As I said to the Countess Grimaldi –"

"The Countess?" Dan repeats. His gaze is straight ahead and his expression truly blank. "Have you spoken to her recently?"

"Why, yes, old man," Bass says, giving him an odd but still somehow smug look. "She's in town, you know – didn't Serena say? She's refused all invitations, however, always such a capricious creature… She hasn't even agreed to stay with the great lady herself, instead bunking with the Buckleys of all people. I didn't even think she cared for the Buckleys."

Dan's heart seems to be beating out of time in his chest. It is a sensation he can only attribute to one other time in his life: his wedding, watching a woman not his wife step regretfully towards the altar. He has heard her name since they had last seen each other, but this is different; a door seems to slam between himself and the outside world, conjuring a vision of the fire-lit drawing room and the sound of carriage wheels on the deserted street.

He had walked by the little house just once in the last year and a half, on his way to renewing his acquaintance with the Abrams sisters, but it had looked lifeless, jilted. It had been the house of a ghost.

Perhaps it is her unexpected proximity that has made her real again to him. He heard that she spend the summer of his honeymoon in Newport being as sociable as the old Blair Waldorf, but she was gone again by wintertime. So she had ceased to be flesh and blood in his mind, and he was able to treat news of her with detachment.

Now, however…

He breaks off from Bass, going down off the verandah and closer to the arranged chairs so he can watch Serena take aim. Her brow has furrowed, her lips flattened into a thin line – and there is her arrow hitting the exact center, followed by polite cheers and applause.

She beams at the assorted guests but her gaze seeks Dan out immediately, grin seeming to widen when faced with his congratulatory smile.

Behind him, Dan hears Bass speak again, a faint remark to Captain Archibald. "Isn't there something," Bass says, "about that level of perfection?"

Dan frowns to himself but chooses not to speak, instead striding over to meet Serena.

After her victory has been commended by all present, Serena and Dan go off to visit Mrs. Celia Rhodes and tell her of their afternoon. The great lady, as is her wont, set up many years ago in an unfashionable-if-cheap stretch of land overlooking the bay, putting those saved pennies into the sprawling, magnificent house in which she only uses two rooms, too weak to do more than go from bedroom to sitting room.

Since the wedding, she has only seemed to grow fonder of Dan, seeming to consider them conspirators in the plan to get Serena married off. There is a little twinkle in her eye as she appraises them both before turning to examine the prize Serena gladly shows off: a little diamante arrow pinned to the collar of her dress.

"Quite an heirloom, in fact, my dear," Mrs. Rhodes says with a small, superior smile. "You must leave it to your eldest girl."

Serena laughs. "Granny, don't give the thing away before I've gotten to enjoy it!"

"I must give these little hints if I am to see grandchildren before I'm in the ground," the old lady says baldly. "Now tell me all about the party, please, my dears. I tried to get Blair to go and be my eyes but she was quite insistent upon spending the day with me, and doting on her dear granny, the flatterer." It's said fondly, and she adds with more humor, "Who was I to deny her? I gave up arguing with young people fifty years ago."

Serena had straightened. "Blair? I thought she had already left for Washington?"

"No, not so; it seems the Buckleys were better company than any of us could have supposed." Then, with sudden shrillness, "Blair! Blair!"

Dan sits very still with his cup in his hand, but the only one to answer is an old servant who informs them that Blair had gone down to the shore shortly before their arrival. At that, Mrs. Rhodes waves a hand at Dan and tells him, "Run down and fetch her, like a good grandson; this pretty lady will describe the party to me."

The path to the shore cut through a bank of weeping willows, their drooping branches a picturesque obstruction to the view that exists just beyond them. All he can see through the veil of melancholy green is threads of blue sky, a patch of white that could be clouds or lighthouse, a dazzling spray of sunlight. The sun is only just beginning to descend and when Dan emerges from the trees, he is treated to a melting orange sky shot through with pink and water glittering with the last gasp of the day.

The path continues down to a wooden pier. At the very end there is the figure of a lady, her back to him as she rests her arms upon the rail. Dan stops suddenly, still some distance away, and has the strangest sensation that he is in a dream, or perhaps just waking from one.

She seems to observe the sailboats drifting back and forth in the water, and Dan observes her observing them. He wants very suddenly for her to turn around and look at him, though he knows it's both a ridiculous and childish desire. She could have no knowledge of him standing there, no reason to pull her eyes from the sight that has them captured. Yet still he thinks – if she doesn't turn before that little boat passes the lighthouse, he'll go back.

The boat glides along, dark against the setting sun, and then passes right on by; but still he waits, for what reason he could not say, until the boat is out of view. She does not move.

He turns and walks back up to the house.

As they drive back to the van der Woodsens' home in the growing twilight, Serena remarks, "I'm sorry you didn't find Blair. I should liked to have seen her, though I suppose she must have done it on purpose."

"Done what?" Dan asks, tilting slightly in her direction but keeping his eyes on the reins in her hands.

"Kept herself out of sight," Serena says. "I think she is a little sore with me, though over what I'm not sure; we've only exchanged letters these last months. I haven't set eyes on her since the wedding." She sighs a little. "I think she is much changed."

"Changed?"

"She wanted so badly to be at home again, but now she hardly seems to care – she's indifferent to her friends, she gave up her house in New York… And travelling with the Buckleys of all people, when she's always disliked Bree. I can only think it's something I must have done."

Dan is silent in the wake of that release of worry but eventually he puts his hand on hers. "I'm certain it's nothing you did. Perhaps she is only restless."

"Perhaps," Serena echoes, but she appears unconvinced.

That night he lays awake. He has gotten the notion into his head that reality has somehow flipped – that he has been the ghost all along, passing through a dream-world, and the scene down by the shore is what's real, real as the blood in his veins.







***







The following day, Serena and her family go out for a garden party at the Beatons' but Dan stays behind, ostensibly to go look at a horse for the brand-new brougham Serena's parents had bought for them. Serena teases him that he only refuses to go because he finds the Beatons pompous and son Marcus dull as dishwater, a claim Dan can do little do dispute despite the fact that it did not actually factor much into his plans for the day.

"Perhaps if your errand goes quickly, you might find time to write," Serena offers optimistically before she goes. "I know you had hoped to do so this summer."

He appreciates her encouragement but at the same time only feels a low, burning guilt.

The task with the horse does go quickly enough, Dan finding the animal almost immediately not what he wants, and then he is free to satisfy his silly curiosity. It had come to him at some point during the night as he lay sleepless, a foolish but nevertheless encompassing longing that sends him on his way to the Buckley homestead.

It isn't that he wants to see the Countess. He's certain she took the excuse of the party to go visit again with her grandmother, or call on any number of old acquaintances; it's only that he has the irrational desire to go see the place where she is living. He doesn't know why. It's all a jumble in his head. He has not thought past this outing at all, he only feels that if he could go and look and picture her there, then carry away the vision of the spot of earth she walked on, and the way the sky enclosed it, the rest of the world might seem less empty.

The house is stately, no showy spectacular like the Basses' or even Mrs. Rhodes', and it's quiet in the midday heat. A dog lays sleepily on the verandah, stretching out its paws for Dan's attention as he goes by. There is no one around, no sound coming from inside the house, and after a long contemplative moment Dan goes back down the steps to cross the lawn and enter a small gazebo at the far end of the garden edging the property.

A parasol lay across the bench, a bright, distinct summer sky blue against the wood. It seems to draw him like a magnet; he's sure it's hers. He lifts it up, feeling silk against his palm and then the sun-warmed carved handle, and just stands for a moment holding it like a fool before he hears a rustle of skirts.

He turns to find a young girl, possibly Jenny's age, surveying him with open curiosity. Her hair is mussed though she brings a hand up to smooth it down. After a beat her expression clears and she laughs, "Oh, Mr. Humphrey – I didn't hear you come, I was asleep in the hammock. Everyone else has gone. Did you ring? Oh!" She reaches over to curl a hand around the parasol. "You found it! My very best parasol. I thought I'd left it when we last went to Newport."

Dan looks down with confusion as she takes it off him, finding some excuse to give her as to his presence: "Ah. I came to see about a horse not too far away, so I drove over after on a chance of finding your visitor. But the house seemed empty."

"Indeed it is," the girl agrees with a nod. "Father and Mother and the others all went to the garden party at the Beatons' – didn't you know that was going on? – and Countess was called away, so it's only me. And Bailey." She points back at the dog.

"Called away?"

The girl nods as she inspects her parasol for any signs of potential damage. "Yes, she got a telegram from Boston and said she had to go away for a few days." Her head tilts dreamily. "I do love the way she does her hair, don't you?"

She goes rambling on as Dan's thoughts wheel forcefully away, the entire miserable summer seeming to crash over him all at once: Serena's parents who look down on him and pay for everything, for whom he will never be good enough, just a man who lucked out because their daughter had dangerous secrets; the conspiratorial smirk of Serena's grandmother, who helped him seal his fate; his wife who finds it impossible to care for the things he cares for, and who, with each attempt to do so anyway, only seems to solidify his wretched guilt.

And the Countess who is not here, but once again far away from him.

He hesitates but then plunges forward, "You don't know, I suppose – you see, I will be in Boston tomorrow, and if perhaps you did know –"

The Buckley girl gives him the name of the Countess' hotel, says how lovely it was of him to drop by and how thoughtful of him to visit the Countess, how much she would like that.

"Yes," Dan says, "I do hope she does."



Part Six

I'm thinking of doing a ficathon or something, possibly just Gossip Girl, possibly not, idk. Is this a thing people have an interest in participating in?? Nothing is more tragic 2 me than unfulfilled ficathon prompts.

G O D   H E L P   T H E   G I R L
blair/dan. 5990 words. neighbors au.

summary: At nearly three a.m., the idea of murdering one's neighbor starts to get just a little too appealing.

note: I saw the cutest tag spiral on a lovely DB AU graphic, and I could not help myself, I had to write it. I've been wanting to write romcom-y DB for a while now, and it was basically perfect, so: inspiration credit to otherromanticverbs and blairbending both! Hope you guys don't mind my idea theft.

This is basically my favorite kind of AU, aka one where everyone is normal and cute and they do normal friend things.






At nearly three a.m., the idea of murdering one's neighbor starts to get just a little too appealing.

Blair is running on caffeine and fumes, she has to be up for work in four hours, and she's well versed enough in criminal procedure to get away with it. It's not like anyone could possibly convict her; she's practically a saint for putting up with this nonsense as long as she has. She dares anyone else to suffer through nineties throwback garbage at full volume for half the night without cracking. She dares them.

Normally, Blair would never allow anyone to see her overworked three a.m. face except God and the framed North by Northwest poster on the wall: she's bloodless and bleary-eyed, without even the saving grace of a BB cream to make her look slightly human. But the soon-to-be-dead person living in 3B simply has to be dealt with, so Blair puts on her slippers and goes to deal with them.

One angry elevator ride later, she's hammering on the door with a closed fist.

"Wow, okay," is the greeting she gets as the door opens, "Are you for real?"

"Are you for real?" Blair snaps back, rather shrilly if the wince on the guy's face is anything to go by. "Some of us have jobs and need peace and quiet and also, occasionally, sleep– none of which is possible with your shitty music thumping through the walls."

"Shitty?" he repeats with a note of offense, as if that's the most important thing, then, "I didn't – are you next door?"

Blair crosses her arms, foot tapping. "One floor up."

He glances up, hand rubbing the back of his neck, and does look a little sorry. Took him long enough. "Oh. I guess I didn't realize it was that loud."

"You guess?"

His eyebrows raise, but instead of arguing, he says, "I'm sorry. I'll keep it down."

"You better," Blair snits. She's a little disappointed that it isn't more of an argument, actually; it's anticlimactic. "I'd rather not have to perform public service in the middle of the night again."

He gives her an odd look, like he finds her more funny than bothersome, which is immensely irritating. "You're 4B, then?"

"That is how apartments work, yes."

"Uh-huh." He has a cigarette behind one ear that he pauses to put in the corner of his mouth and light. He gives her a look, informs her, "Your magazines are always fucking up the mail," and then shuts the door right in her face before she can respond.







"But is he cute?" is, of course, Serena's first question.

"If you like boys who are skinnier than you," Blair answers, adding venomously, "Not that it matters; he isn't long for this world."







Blair is getting home late from work (or, getting home from work; late should always be implied) when she finds 3B lounging at her door. He's leaning back with a foot up against the wall, one arm crossed over his chest to prop the other, which holds a folded-over paperback aloft so he can read. He has that stupid cigarette behind his ear again.

"Aren't you sixty years too late for the James Dean thing?" she says, unceremoniously thrusting her bagful of papers at him so she can rummage in her purse for her key.

He ignores the jibe. "I wanted to apologize for being an ass the other day," he says, holding out a cup she like a peace offering. She hadn't noticed it before.

Blair sniffs the air. "Herbal tea?" she asks distastefully.

He gives her a half-smile. "You seem like you need to chill out a little."

"You clearly don't value your life at all, do you, 3B?" Blair finally gets the door open and snatches her belongings back. "You can make it up to me by removing yourself from my presence."

He gives her a mocking salute. "You got it, uptight girl in 4B. And it's Dan, by the way."

"Whatever, Dave," Blair says pointedly, hand on the door ready to slam it. She wavers, but then takes a half step forward and plucks the cigarette away. God, she hasn't had one in months. "This is a disgusting habit, by the way. One of many you seem to have."

"We really got off on the wrong foot," Dan says. "I don't mean to –"

And she gets the satisfaction of closing the door on him this time.







What follows is a handful of unintentional run-ins.

Blair is heading out for work when he's coming back in one morning with his coffee and paper, offering her a tired smile that she answers with an appalled frown. One night as she's prepping for the next day she hears a sudden racket outside and peers out her window, sees him in the middle of a pack of unbrushed hipsters all coming inside. Another time she's going on a Serena-enforced blind date and spots him across the street with his arm around some redhead.

Not that she's looking or anything.

Saturday finds him perched on the stoop with a pencil between his teeth as he scrawls with another pen all over some magazine article. Blair is returning from a farmers' market with a picnic basket full of goodies; the first few years of living in this neighborhood, she'd rebelled against such cutesy nonsense but in all honesty she really can't deny the quality of the produce.

"What are you doing?"

Dan looks up and Blair gets a better look at him: scruffy, hair too long, flannel rumpled, boots scuffed. And, well, kind of hot. Disconcerted, she glares at him a little harder.

"Pointing out inaccuracies," Dan says, turning the article towards her briefly. "And checking out the competition, kind of."

"Competition?"

"I write for the other guy." He closes the magazine and she glances at the title – some music magazine she wouldn't bother with if you paid her. Then he tucks it under his arm like he's settling in for a conversation. She did not sign up for that.

Blair frowns. "Oh, so that explains the hours you keep."

He nods slightly. "All the best writing happens between midnight and four in the morning."

"That remains to be seen." She shifts the basket from hand to hand. "Do you write things besides articles no one reads?"

"Stories no one reads," he says, and smiles, looking at her a little closer. "You know, you keep pretty odd hours too. Since you were awake to yell at me and all."

"Yes, well. I have a real job," she says.

"And I'd love to hear all about it, but –" His gaze shifts past her and he stands. "Date's here."

It's that redhead from the other day. One of those girls who doesn't wear makeup and doesn't style her hair but manages to look casually sexy and windswept anyway. Blair is doing her own version of casual for the weekend: designer jeans, soft sweater, wedges. But for some reason now she feels overdressed.

Blair's nose wrinkles. "Who goes on dates in the middle of a Saturday?"

"People without real jobs, apparently," he says on his way down the steps – but then he turns to look back at her. "What did you say your name was?"

Blair feels a sudden stupid rush of displaced embarrassment that this entire time he hasn't known her name. "Blair," she says. "Waldorf." She straightens a little bit. "Esquire."

He smiles, a real one this time. "Your Vogue's here." He points behind her into the small lobby. "Clogging up the mailboxes again."

Blair looks, and by the time she's turned back, he's halfway down the street.







On Tuesday she bums a cigarette off him. Whatever.







Serena says, "You should invite him this weekend!"

Blair doesn't even look up from her book, except to eyeball the girl doing her pedicure. "Why would I invite my annoying neighbor," she says, very flatly, so Serena is aware that it is not a question but an accusation of ridiculousness.

"You said he wrote for some music thing, right?" Serena says thoughtfully, ignoring Blair. "And what's his name? Dan Something?"

"Dan Humphrey," Blair supplies. Not that she'd looked. It was just there next to his apartment buzzer.

"Dan Humphrey," Serena repeats with a ta-dah implicit in her tone, as though his name means anything. "He eviscerated my client's last album. She cried."

Blair perks up a little. "Really?"

Serena goes on to pull up the review and read it aloud, with all the expected Serena personality and to much laughter from all the salon girls. Blair is glad to have a distraction from Serena's endless matchmaking and also possibly just a teensy tiny bit impressed.







Turns out it didn't really distract from Serena's matchmaking.

It's an industry party, the kind Blair doesn't really care for but continuously gets talked into. She prefers benefits, sit down dinners, black tie – not a bunch of pop stars in leather pants snorting coke off every available bathroom surface. But Serena insists that all of Blair's lawyering needs to be counteracted with aggressive fun, so Blair put on the tight dress and came to the party.

She's at the end of her third martini, violently stabbing for the olives, when there's a light touch to her elbow. "So you do exist outside of the building," Dan says. "I was starting to wonder if you were a really mean ghost."

Blair turns to blink at him then narrows her eyes. "What are you doing here?"

"Your friend invited me," he says. "Which is interesting, considering I have not reviewed her clients kindly in the past."

God, Serena, Blair thinks. Can't you ever be subtle?

"I'm sure she's around here somewhere," Blair says, waving him away. "Look for the leggy blonde surrounded by admirers."

Dan pauses, awkwardly, like he wants to say something. He looks almost respectable, she notices, in a gray shirt and black blazer. "Uh, okay," he says. "I'll see you around, then, I guess?"

"I guess," Blair says tersely.







Serena ends up pouring Blair into a cab somewhere in the vicinity of dawn, after one free drink too many made it hard to stay vertical. She hadn't seen Dan the rest of the night.

She spends the early hours alternately cuddling into her fluffiest robe and puking, and she's nauseous enough that even the smell of the bakery on the corner sends her right back to the bathroom. She's just going to close the window when there's the insidious smell of cigarette smoke and then the sound of laughter following. It takes a minute for her foggy brain to make the connection, but she realizes that Dan is on the fire escape just below hers, entertaining someone. And in that moment Blair is so annoyed and sick and strangely mortified that she fills up a glass pitcher with water then upends it right outside the window. She is happily rewarded with a shriek and some muffled cursing.

She pokes her head out the window but doesn't see the girl, just Dan glaring up at her. "Smoking is a disgusting habit," she informs him.

"You smoke!" he says disbelievingly, wiping water out of his eyes. He's drenched. He must've gotten the worst of it.

She smirks. Good.

"I am trying to quit," she says loftily, and snaps her window shut.







She regrets it as soon as she's both fully sober and no longer feeling ill, but at that point there's nothing to do except cringe quietly to herself and hope she never runs into him ever again in her life.

And then she drops an earring under the fridge.

She stands there in the kitchen in her stockings glaring at that little gap of space between fridge and floor. If she's not out of here in twenty minutes, she's going to be late for work. She has other earrings she could just as easily wear. But Blair has a problem deviating from predetermined plans and she really does like those earrings a lot. Plus it's a very tiny fridge, intended to fit inside her coffin sized Manhattan kitchen, and she's had to resort to shifting it before, in similar situations. She can do this.

As it turns out, she cannot. She can physically move the appliance, but as soon as she does, she cracks some prewar wiring in her charming old-fashioned apartment and there is a sudden outpouring of water everywhere.

Blair stands there, shocked, and then tries to stem the flow somehow, which proves impossible, and – god, it's going to ruin her floors, she is definitely late, and she's going to drown here in the titanic outpouring from the stupid too-small refrigerator. So she piles towels on the ground and does something else she'll later regret: she goes out the window, down the fire escape, and bangs on Dan's window like a psycho stalker. While dripping everywhere.

When Dan appears at the window, he looks tired and unimpressed. "You are the neighbor from hell," he tells her.

"I know, I know," Blair says impatiently, shivering a little. "It's just –"

"From hell," he repeats. "When everyone in New York decided as one not to get to know their neighbors, it was because of people like you."

"I know," Blair snaps, which probably she shouldn't do in this scenario, and then gives up the whole story, adding, "It's just a desperate situation, I don't know who to – can't you just come up for a minute?"

Dan stares at her and sighs and finally says, "This is karma at work, you know."

"Yes, yes, I'm very terrible and I'm getting what I deserve, I know," Blair says. "Please?"

That seems to win him over, thankfully, and in a few minutes he's slipping across her soaked floor to assess the damage. He fiddles around underneath the sink for ten minutes and whatever he does ceases the tide, thankfully.

"You need to call a real plumber," he says as he gets to his feet again. "But at least it's not gushing anymore."

"Thank you," Blair says. "How did you know how to do that?"

"I lived in a lot of shitty apartments before this one." He crosses his arms. "Why did you ask me to help?"

"I don't know anyone else in the building," she says with a shrug. "Um. I did say thank you, yes?"

He rolls his eyes. "Yes. I just meant, you know… You clearly don't like me very much."

"I neither like nor dislike you." Blair shifts her weight a little. "Why do you say that?"

Still staring at her, he releases a little huff of a laugh. "Uh, well, let's see. You glare at me all the time. You're not very polite. I went to your party to flirt with you, and somehow that ended with you pouring a bucket of water on my head."

She finds herself fidgeting again, drip drip dripping onto the floor. "It wasn't my party," she mumbles. "And it was a pitcher."

"What a distinction."

"I'm sorry?" she tries.

He doesn't seem to buy that, not that she blames him, and instead starts to excuse himself. At the door, he half-turns to say, "You're not terrible. I mean, maybe not everyone's type, exactly, but…you're just a little –"

"Insane?" Blair supplies.

Dan looks at her. "Intense," he says. "That's not always a bad thing."

"Too bad I only use my powers for evil." At this point no amount of denial and avoidance in the world could erase the embarrassment of this entire situation, so she'd really just like for him to leave.

"Too bad," he agrees, and gives her a little nod before going.

Blair sighs and looks at the clock. There is no salvaging this day.







The next day Blair has some cupcakes sent to his apartment. That seems the thing to do. When she gets home, there's a post-it stuck to her door with his number on it. She shoves it to the very bottom of her purse and does not call him.







Blair needs something to distract her from recent disasters, and Serena is always good for that. She organizes a girls' night out of sorts – Blair tries to take over the planning but Serena is having absolutely none of it, and Blair is kind of grateful for that at the end of the day. It can be nice to cede the reins once in a very, very long while.

There's a fair amount of club hopping that ends in some very drunk karaoke, Serena painfully off-key on Ace of Base's All That She Wants. Blair does not exactly remember the transition from the last club to here, and thanks to the steady stream of girly cocktails she doesn't really care either.

Serena and Penelope are in charge of queuing up the songs. Blair is just being pushed to the front of the room for that Mandy Moore song that she pretends not to know the lyrics to when she realizes there is a person hesitantly lurking by the door and that person is Dan.

"Nelly Yuki, this one's on you," Blair says, shoving the microphone at her and hurrying off. She half-trips on her heels and has to reach out for Dan and whoever is standing next to him to catch herself.

"Why are you here," she demands. She gives a dirty look to the girl she'd landed on so she'll move away.

Dan glances at the girl too, then looks back at Blair. "Uh, well, I'm sort of realizing that you drunk dialed me."

Blair's eyes widen and she gasps, "I did not!"

"I – It's fine." He's a little sheepish, maybe. "I'll just…I'll go, you have fun with your friends."

But before Blair can say a word, Serena has swooped in on one side of Dan and Iz on the other, both of them explaining why he has to stay as they drag him off towards the other girls. Blair takes a minute to gather herself as best she can before following.

Dan is a good sport about being the new entertainment for seven shitfaced socialites who make him sing boy band songs for the better part of half an hour. Blair has somehow been relegated to the end of the sofa, like she's Nelly Yuki or something, watching all of her blitzed friends fawn over Dan half-assing Show Me the Meaning of Being Lonely.

"I'm going," she decides, but no one hears her. So, louder, and standing for emphasis (though she wavers a little), "I am going."

Which causes Serena to look up at her with that mischievous twinkle that has never meant anything good for anyone ever. "You and Dan should go together. Because you live in the same building. It makes all kinds of sense. And logic."

Blair makes a sour face at her, but seeing as she's genuinely too drunk to make it to the door without assistance, she says snappishly, "Fine. 3B, are you coming?"

The combination of fresh air and walking seems to make Blair three times as drunk, and she has to clutch Dan's jacket all the way into the cab. "I did not call you," she says stubbornly. She doesn't let go of him even though they're sitting now. "I would not have done such a thing."

"You left me a message," he tells her. "You can listen to it if you want."

Blair would honestly rather die. She buries her face in his shoulder and groans loudly.

"It wasn't that bad," Dan says, sounding amused. "Honestly. I thought it was cute."

"Cute?" Blair repeats, pulling back just enough to peer at him, frowning. "Bunnies are cute. Drunken embarrassments are not cute."

He's smiling a little. "You are really cute."

Blair tries not to make any expression. "Shut up, Humphrey."

It's on the way out of the cab that she realizes she left her purse at the bar. Her hand reaches for it automatically and closes around nothing; she has her phone in the pocket of her jacket, but her keys are definitely nowhere nearby.

"I can take you back," Dan offers, but Blair bites her lip, shakes her head.

"If you could lend me your couch…" For some reason a funny thing is happening in her chest as Dan looks at her.

"Okay," he says after a moment, measured. "If you're sure."

She feels more herself as they approach his door, but she still has the sensation that lights are too bright and surfaces too mobile. She keeps blinking like doing so is going to flip a switch to sobriety.

He holds the door for her, hand reaching out to feel along the wall for the light. Blair enters tentatively. She had wondered what his apartment was like.

The layout is not dissimilar to her own: an open living space giving way to cramped kitchen and small bedroom. But whereas hers is meticulously decorated in creams and blues, with everything in its place, his is like a haphazard explosion of well-loved pieces all stuffed in together regardless of the final effect. There are books on every surface and records stacked up in piles (he's that kind of hipster, then), worn-out chairs spilling stuffing in places. There are still several boxes too, though as far as she knows he's been in the building almost six months.

"Oh, uh, I'm still not fully moved in," he says sheepishly, following her line of sight.

She arches an eyebrow. "I can tell."

He insists on giving her his bed, making it up with fresh sheets. While she sits there stiffly, he gets her water and aspirin, a shirt to sleep in, and a spare toothbrush still in its wrapping. It's all so stupid and so stupidly thoughtful that Blair is almost angry.

"What?" Dan says, giving her a curious look. "Is something –"

"Oh, for god's sake –" Blair kneels up so she can yank him down into a kiss.

Dan doesn't quite react except to freeze, which makes it a particularly awkward situation, made worse when Blair pulls back after a moment. Her hands are curled in his shirt but his are held out to each side like he doesn't know what to do with them.

"Here I thought you didn't like me very much."

"I don't," Blair says obstinately, pouting. When he raises an eyebrow, she adds in a huff, "It's just not very easy for me."

"What's that?"

"Being…" Her nose wrinkles. "Having emotions. At other people."

Now he's kind of openly laughing at her, which Blair shouldn't abide but somehow does anyway, though she shoves him back a little for good measure. "Yes, I can see that you have trouble with that."

"Don't make fun." Blair flops back to her seated position, a little genuinely sulky now. He doesn't have to kiss her but he could certainly avoid making her feel worse about it.

With enough earnestness that she almost believes him, Dan promises, "I'm not. I'm just… You're very drunk right now."

He's switched to that gentle tone people often use with drunks, so Blair must be acting highly pathetic. She grimaces. "I don't need pity," she informs him archly. "I clearly misinterpreted, so –"

"You didn't," Dan says.

But Blair has entered the self-pity part of the night. She drops onto his bed, sinking into the duvet a little, and pulls a corner of it up over herself. Dan sits next to her and then lies next to her, very purposefully keeping some blanket between them.

"It's all very difficult," Blair says after a moment, looking up at the ceiling. And she doesn't know why, but, "My last boyfriend wasn't very nice to me."

"I'm sorry," Dan says.

"That's not really…" She purses her lips briefly. "I do things like yell at strangers at three a.m. And dump water on my neighbor's dates. And act very mean to people when I don't intend to, sometimes to push them away but really because I just like to."

And kiss boys who obviously don't want her to kiss them.

The look in Dan's eyes is softer than it should be considering there's a crazy girl he hardly knows in his bed telling him too much about herself.

"You dumped water on my sister," he says.

"The redhead's your –"

He shakes his head. "No, she's – a complicated situation, but that night of the party, that was my sister."

For some reason that is the straw that breaks the ridiculous camel's back and Blair just starts laughing, hands coming up to cover her face. "I was really, really hungover," she says. "I can't be held responsible. You can probably tell by now that I do not make appropriate choices when alcohol has been involved."

"I don't know," Dan says, something of a smile in his voice. "Tonight went pretty okay, by my estimation."

She moves her hands down so she can stare at him. "How much did you drink?"

He laughs quietly, shifting onto his side so he can see her better. "Nothing," he says. "But I ended up with the uptight girl from 4B in my actual bed, so…"

She thwacks him with the shirt he'd handed her before. "You shot me down, remember?"

"No," he corrects, "I gave you an I.O.U."

Blair laughs again. "A sex I.O.U.?"

"Hey, whoa now, who said anything about sex?" Dan says, smiling. "I don't remember offering sex before we've even had our first date, what kind of guy do you think I –"

Blair tilts up to cut him off with a kiss a second time. Only this time it isn't uncomfortable or clumsy, it's just nice.

What she likes even more than the kiss is seeing Dan open his eyes and pull his bottom lip into his mouth for a moment.

"Have you thought about it?" she murmurs, and off his questioning eyebrow turns slightly coy, says, "You're really good in my head."

He takes that same lip between his teeth, like maybe he needs a minute. "You're pretty good in mine too."

Blair smiles a little then, not quite shyly but not not shy, and suddenly doesn't feel so bad anymore.







Of course she wakes up so wretchedly hungover that she'd prefer to crawl underneath the bed rather than interact with another human ever again, let alone a human she's kind of sort of maybe reluctantly interested in.

Not that she's at all justified in using half of those qualifiers considering she near-literally threw herself at him. Blair makes a muffled sound of mortification and buries her face in the pillow.

Dan's pillow.

He'd gone to sleep on the couch at some point, possibly after she'd passed out, so Blair is alone in the bedroom. She's still in her clothes, having never actually gotten into the t-shirt – though someone kindly removed her heels and set them beside the bed.

She does some furious cleaning-up in the bathroom and then makes her rumpled dress look as decent as she can before rummaging in his closet for anything she can fashion-McGuyver into a cute look. She comes away with a white dress shirt (very nearly her size; ugh, hipsters), a slightly tragic but nevertheless necessary hat (her hair is just…no), and a pair of sunglasses someone must have given him as a gift, because they're actually nice.

Then she steals out of his apartment like a thief in the night, pausing only to glance at him asleep on the couch, shoulders seemingly bare beneath the blanket.

She meets Serena for brunch, and also to get her purse back.

"Walk of shame outfit," Serena notes proudly. "That's my girl."

"Ew, nothing happened," Blair says. She doesn't bother taking off her sunglasses inside the restaurant, and refuses to even look at the waitress until there's coffee in front of her. "He was a perfect gentleman."

Serena looks, if anything, prouder. "I'm happy for you, B. He seems really nice."

Blair's lip curls a little. "It doesn't matter. The entire horrible night was a horrible mistake."

At that, Serena's eyebrows raise. "But I thought –"

"I was humiliated!" Blair says. "Never in my entire life have I made this much of idiot of myself, particularly with such consistency, in front of some guy."

"I know," Serena says with a little smile. "You must really like him."

Blair just gapes at her. "That's hardly –"

"You're nervous," Serena continues. "Figuring stuff out. Wanting to make a good impression. It's like your Yale interview, only with sex."

Blair scrunches down into her seat, pulling the hat down lower over her face. "Don't remind me of that," she hisses.

Annoyingly, Serena grins. "Don't be so hard on yourself. It's not like he doesn't like you back. I mean, did you see how much NSYNC he let us make him sing?"







Blair is back in her building afterwards, impatiently jabbing at the elevator button when she hears someone pause in their descent down the stairs. Her spine prickles, she turns, and sure enough – it's Dan.

His gaze travels over her slowly, up and down. "Looks like I was robbed."

Blair bites her lip. "I only borrowed a few things," she says. "You can have them back."

He comes down the rest of the way. He has a book tucked in the crook of his arm; she's tempted to ask if he ever does anything with his time besides hip picturesque nonsense, but she doesn't. When he gets to her, he reaches over to pluck the hat from her head and put it on his own. "I should hope so," he says. "Considering it's my stuff."

Blair has a private, desperate my hair! moment but she brushes past it, pushing the sunglasses up onto her head as a distraction. "Where are you off to?"

"Nowhere important. Why?"

The elevator finally opens with a soft ding behind her, so Blair takes a step back into it. Her fingers are at the buttons of the white shirt. "I thought I could return your things," she says innocently.

Dan's smile sends a little flutter through her chest, but as soon as he gets close enough, she hits the door close button. "Better luck next time," she calls through the rapidly closing gap.

The look of huffy annoyance on his face is absolutely delicious.







On Saturday he comes to the farmers' market with her. He holds her basket and makes her buy artisanal truffles. They share one cigarette on the way back, because Blair is quitting.







Dan appears to take her on a date. Blair is unprepared, her hair in a messy bun with a pen stuck in it, and about two more hours worth of work before she is allowed to relax with a glass of white wine. Therefore she is less than enthused about the timing of said date, or the lack of planning. She is not a spontaneous person.

"C'mon," Dan cajoles. He looks relatively good in just a t-shirt and jeans, which means Blair's standards must be grossly slipping. "Just a movie. Brooklyn Bridge Park. It's going to be so adorable it's gross."

Blair presses her lips together, internally debating. The fact that she's even allowing herself to be swayed is telling. "Fine. But I have to get changed."

By the time Blair is fit for public consumption they're running very late. Dan gives her a long-suffering look but Blair assumes it's just for show, considering he takes her hand as soon as they're outside.

The first problem: he wants to take the train. Blair demands a cab, obviously; she may have deigned to live in Park Slope, but she does not travel underground like a mole person.

So, she wins that one.

The second problem: he wants her to sit on the grass. He lays out a blanket and then gives her puppy dog eyes until Blair very begrudgingly sits down.

One point Dan.

"If I see one bug," she warns him, "Just one–"

"Yeah, yeah," Dan says, like she's absurd but he likes it, and puts his arm around her.

Once the movie starts Blair allows herself to relax a little, then a lot. She lets herself lean back against Dan's chest, lulled by his gentle breathing, the way he smells like coffee and the cologne she saw on his dresser, with just the tiniest hint of cigarette smoke. Her hand comes up to curl against his jaw before her mouth follows, soft kisses against stubble until he turns his mouth to hers. Then they're the horrible people who make out in the middle of public places and don't even care, to the probable disgust of everyone around them.

"See," Blair murmurs, "If you didn't have to drag me out of our building then we wouldn't be half an hour from your bedroom right now."

"Less than fifteen minutes without traffic," Dan corrects.

She arches an eyebrow. "Wanna test that?"







As soon as the elevator doors close on them, Dan sweeps her into his arms so immediately that Blair can't help laughing against his mouth.

They barely make it into his apartment (not Blair's first choice, of course; her emergency sex candles and champagne are up at hers, but his is closer and she's short on patience) from the elevator, and the buttons of her shirt definitely do not survive the trip. She had expected Dan to be shy, maybe, or at the very least kind of gentle and hesitant, but he's far from it. Blair likes the way he touches her with confidence, doesn't pass judgment on her eagerness; she likes how he grabs both sides of her face to kiss her, the sound he makes when she pulls his hair.

She pushes him back on the bed and climbs onto him, her skirt hitching up around her hips.

"I like to be on top," she tells him.

"That works for me," Dan says, pulling her down into another bruising kiss.







In the morning Blair wakes first out of habit, tugging on one of his shirts before going to investigate the kitchen. He has the expected sad bachelor fridge so breakfast is out – which is just as well, really, since all Blair knows how to do is scrambled eggs. She does intend to make coffee (he has French press, which, of course he does) but when she lifts the boiling kettle somehow the top comes off and scalding water cascades over her hand; Blair shrieks a furious stream of curses that does not even start to cease until Dan has stumbled out of the bedroom.

"Ten minutes in the kitchen and you have already hurt yourself." He brings her patiently to the sink so he can run her hand until the cold water. "I should consider myself lucky you didn't break the fridge."

Blair pouts at him. "This is not my sphere of expertise. One hires people for this sort of thing."

"Pouring water?" he teases.

"Ha ha, very cute, 3B."

"I know, I am very cute," Dan says with a deep, put-upon sigh. Blair punches his shoulder with her uninjured hand and he laughs, bringing the scalded one up to kiss. "I'll get you some ice, princess, and I'll make the coffee, because I am just that good."

"Wow, I might actually end up keeping you around," Blair says with a little smile. "However, this all depends on how the coffee turns out."

"Considering I've managed to transfer the hot water from the kettle to the press without injury to anyone, I think I've got one up on you."

"This is going to be one of those things you harp on about, isn't it? If you want a kitchen-savvy girlfriend, you're going to have to look elsewhere."

"It's okay, I'll be kitchen-savvy enough for the both of us."

Blair watches him move around in just his boxers, hair sticking up, and thinks: yes, it was probably a good thing she chose to let him live.

hello!

I am already so excited to receive whatever it is you write for me! I hope it ends up being something you enjoy writing, too. I want to make it totally clear that everything I'm gonna drop in this letter is super optional, and if you don't vibe with anything, feel free to disregard it: I know it can be super hard to write something that goes against your instincts, so if any of this nonsense does, just, you know, do your thang. Hopefully we vibe tho!

General Likes:
I really quite like messy romances. People who are dumb about their feelings and fuck up and have to work to figure stuff out. I love fics that draw on canon  and bring new, interesting things to it; I also love AUs that take characters out of their normal situations. I feel strongly about in-character characterization (tbh who doesn't?) and I prefer character-driven stuff to plotty stuff. I love domesticity and everyday nonsense. Smut's fun too! I like bad sex and figuring-stuff-out sex and all that funny messy bullshit. I like my angst with a sense of levity – as befits the situation, of course. I love love love lady-centric things. Ladies first, alwaaaaaaays. Always. Het, slash, gen, I'm down with it all.

General Dislikes:
Um hm. I don't care for noncon or anything approaching it, or dudes being possessive and creepy, especially if it's framed in a romantic light.



The Loss of a Teardrop Diamond.Jimmy Dobyne, Fisher Willow.
I was super excited to see this as one of the available fandoms, considering I really did enjoy the film (imperfect as it was) and it left me with waaaay more questions than answers. There is so much left to Fisher and Jimmy's relationship! Like, do they get married? Does Jimmy fall in love with her? Does it all go horribly wrong? I'd also be into Fisher's exploits pre-movie, or how she came to know Jimmy and fall for him in the first place.

The Darjeeling Limited. Jack and Rita.
Jack and Rita's relationship was left pretty unexplored by the film, so I'd love something that delved into it a little more – maybe picking up after the film to see where they ended up, if they even found each other again. I also found Rita intensely interesting on her own, so something about her life before/during/after the film would be AMAZING.

On the Road.Sal Paradise, Dean Moriarty, Camille Moriarty.
I'm kind of Kerouac fangirly, and I've always been very interested by the relationship between these three. Camille wasn't a huge part of the film, I know, but considering her real life counterpart was in love with both Dean/Neal and Sal/Jack, I think there's a lot to be mined within their dynamic. So...threesomes, yay, or really any combination of the three of them together at all. Or just a Camille story, since she was so sidelined.



Again, thanks so much! Can't wait to see what you come up with. :)

without a key (4/5)
Nate, Dan, Blair, Serena, Jenny. Also Chuck.
s1 AU; Nate left town instead of Serena.
PG13. 6228 words.

Summary: Dan is calling again, and again Nate hits ignore, turning up his music as though doing so will tune out his brain.









Dan is calling again, and again Nate hits ignore, turning up his music as though doing so will tune out his brain.

They haven't spoken since –

Nate turns the music up and up as he runs, even though the whole thing is an exercise in stupidity. Half the music on his iPod is Dan's, anyway.







Nate goes to visit his dad but he's fidgety and uncomfortable the whole time, unable to follow the thread of conversation because he's thinking about the last time he was here, how Dan brought him and then waited around until he was done.

"Hey, Dad," he interrupts. His dad is surprised enough to actually stop and look at him. "I don't know how much you know, but I, uh… I really messed up with Blair. Badly."

"Get her some flowers," the Captain says. "Candy. Hell, give her one of those family heirlooms your mother's always on about. She'll forgive you."

"No, that's not what I mean." Nate suppresses a little huff of impatience. "I think it was for the best, not – not that I went about it right, but in the end… In the end it had to happen. The thing is –"

"Blair is a good girl," his dad says firmly. "She's been there for you since nursery school. Do what you have to do to make up with her. You won't regret it."

That sigh had still been rumbling somewhere in Nate's chest, and he releases it now, slowly. "Okay, Dad. Thanks."

Once out on the street, Nate hesitates. He could just get on the train home. He could go home and sit in his room not doing his homework, ignoring everything and everyone. He could very easily do that, but instead he starts walking until he's in front of Dan's building. And then he goes up.

His biggest fear is honestly what to expect from the Humphreys as a whole, but they seem unaware that anything out of the ordinary is going on with Nate and Dan. They even look pleased to see Nate.

"We're so glad you boys aren't fighting anymore," Mrs. Humphrey (Allison, Nate corrects mentally) says warmly. And for whatever reason, Nate's ears go pink.

He knocks on Dan's door and takes a deep breath when Dan answers, steeling himself before going inside.

Dan hadn't been expecting him, of course, and he does a little bit of a double take, going from relaxed to tense so fast he might've hurt himself. "Nate," he breathes, just like that – just like he had at cotillion, when they were alone.

"Hey." Nate leans back against the closed door, feeling every inch of the distance between them.

There's an awkward beat before Dan launches into what eventually reveals itself to be a lengthy apology. "I crossed a line and took advantage and it – I should not have done that, I'm really sorry –"

"How long did you –" Nate falters. "Have you…felt like that…for long?"

Dan goes slightly red. "Does that matter?"

Nate bites his lip, toys with it between his teeth until he notices Dan noticing. "Why?"

"Why what?"

Why me? Nate thinks, but doesn't say. He clears his throat. "You don't have to be sorry."

Dan straightens up but doesn't stand, doesn't bridge the gap. He wets his lips. "I don’t?"

Nate starts to move forward, which seems to jolt Dan so that he's getting to his feet, moving too – and then there's Rufus' voice from the other room loudly declaring dinner is ready. Both of them flinch, twin looks of annoyance on their faces, but Dan laughs and, relieved, Nate echoes it.

As they turn to leave the room, Dan puts his hand on Nate's back, right between his shoulder blades – half directing, half friendly. Nate feels it all through the meal like a brand. He hadn't expected Dan touching him to feel different – he hadn't really expected Dan touching him at all.

Dan walks him out after, not an altogether unusual thing but just odd enough that the rest of the family seems aware of it. Nate's heart beats hard in his chest, knowing that even though they know about Dan now, they don't – they wouldn't assume he and Nate were –

In the vestibule Nate turns to say goodbye and he's suddenly shoved up against the wall, Dan's mouth hot on his. Nate doesn't mean to but he groans and he grips Dan's shirt, digs his fingers into Dan's arms. It's like the last time they kissed, and not like that at all.

"See you tomorrow," Dan murmurs, and then nearly smirks, looking so proud of himself that Nate cups his cheeks and kisses him again.

"Tomorrow," Nate repeats. He leaves Dan looking happily dazed. The feeling in his own chest is lighter than it's been all day.

Now there's only school to worry about.







School is…not what Nate expected.

In some ways, it is: Blair is definitely furious, stalking the halls with her entourage like personified thunderclouds. Nate is tripped at least a dozen times by five different girls. Chuck is so smugly triumphant that if Nate hadn't already known the blast was his doing, he'd figure it out real quick. But otherwise, with everyone else at school, it's like Nate is the golden boy again, getting handshakes and high-fives.

"Scoring with Serena," the boys say, all variations on the same theme, "Congratu-fucking-lations, man."

"That's not how it is," Nate tries, to no avail. "She's my friend," but no one wants to hear it.

He doesn't know if Blair and Serena are even speaking, because Serena isn't there on Monday – or on Tuesday. There are plenty of pictures on Gossip Girl of her throwing back shots, puking in club bathrooms, dancing on tables. Nate knows what people are calling her; he hears it everywhere he goes. They treat him like a hero, Serena like anything but.

It's his fault. He knows that – only it seems like no one else does.

On Wednesday he sees Serena being taken to the headmistress' office, unsteady and giggling with her arm in her English teacher's. He wants to say something but doesn't know what to say or how to say it, and he knows everyone would get the wrong idea if they saw.

"God, can you believe her," he hears one sophomore girl say to another. "She doesn't even care."

"And you know Nate and Blair were just getting back together, too," her friend adds disapprovingly.

Nate is fed up enough that he's tempted to interrupt, but really, what could he say?







He tries to talk to Blair even though he knows it's dangerous and stupid. She's never alone at school so it must be done in front of the squadron of girls, but Nate nevertheless screws up his courage and goes to apologize.

"Blair?"

He knows with one look that it's a mistake. Blair looks at him not so much with the coldness she'd had upon his return but a soul-deep anger. Her eyes flash but she doesn't speak, instead pointedly turning away from him. Almost as one, all of the girls narrow their eyes at him and turn away too.

"Okay, I deserve that," Nate sighs, but it's no use – she's not going to speak to him.

As Nate leaves, he sees Dan across the courtyard, perched on a table with the lip of a paper coffee cup caught between his teeth as he rearranges papers and books in his bag. He's alone. He's a mess, half his belongings spread out all around him. He glances up like maybe he'd been watching, checking on Nate even as he went about his business, and the sheepish wave he gives seems confirmation enough of that.

Nate tries not to smile, feeling an odd twinge in his chest, possibly a flutter.








The one place Nate remains distinctly un-heroic is at home. Halfway through dinner he's already plotting his escape from his mother's exasperated prying, that way she has of making him feel both impossibly stupid and utterly insignificant.

Anne never asks where he's going but sometimes he wishes she would. Right now he imagines telling her the truth: I'm going to Brooklyn to kiss a boy, because apparently I do that now. The thought fills him with equal parts terror and exhilaration.

That's what he's going to do. He's going to Brooklyn not just as an escape from home, not just to hang out, but with a specific goal in mind. He's spent the entire week making conversation before class and copying Dan's homework, wondering if Dan is ever going to touch him again and waiting for Dan to do so. Nate has spent a week teetering on the edge of desire and discomfort, because he might die if anyone knew about this but that doesn't stop him wanting it.

The thing that's been confusing him since cotillion is how natural it feels. Kissing Dan had been a relief, a calm spot in a storm. If his parents knew they'd probably lose it; Nate knows how it goes in his family with things like this. It's be all about burying it and moving on, pushing him on Blair or someone similar. He could never tell them about this.

But right now he can't even think that far ahead, because he doesn't even know what this is.

Nate had anticipated disappearing into Dan's room like they usually did, but apparently the entire Humphrey clan is spending Friday night watching black and white movies. Dan's dad has his arm around Dan's mom at one end of the couch, looking cozier than any parents Nate's ever known; Jenny is sort of sprawled in the middle taking up the most space, her head on Dan's shoulder. Nate is stuffed between the arm of the couch and Dan, who is doing a very good job of being completely as ease, as though they aren't pressed together shoulder to knee.

Nate sits through two movies (two movies he's already seen, thanks to Blair) and tries not to be obviously restless, but it's a lot harder than it should be. He feels like he can't move at all because jostling Dan would in turn jostle Jenny, and then Dan's parents, all down the line. It's annoying and the movies are kind of boring and Dan keeps brushing against him in little ways – the back of his wrist against Nate's fingers, his knuckles against Nate's arm.

It takes Nate an embarrassingly long time to realize Dan is doing it on purpose.

Eventually, after what feels like an eternity of impatience, everyone begins to dissipate. Dan's parents have some last-minute things at the gallery to take care of before some big show; Jenny has a party at Hazel's to go to. She shoots Nate a slightly apologetic look, as though he has anything to do with her personal life, but she seems pretty pleased about it altogether.

And then it's just Nate and Dan.

Dan shifts over on the couch a little so they're no longer touching and grabs the remote. "Hungry?" he asks. "My dad made chili."

Nate doesn't have the ability to articulate his anxious over-eagerness, and he's slightly cross that Dan doesn't just take the reins immediately like he had last time. "No, I'm okay."

Dan slides a glance Nate's way. "Thirsty?" he asks, and Nate finally catches onto the teasing in his voice, the smile on his face.

"Dude, not cool," Nate huffs, unable to keep from smiling himself. He reaches over to grip a handful of Dan's shirt but then falters awkwardly. Deciding to bulldoze through it, he takes a breath and leans in, watches Dan's lips part and then –

"Wait," Dan says. "Should we – should we talk about what's going on here?"

The answer to that is probably yes.

Nate nods a little as he leans closer again, satisfied when Dan's eyes begin to fall closed. "Sure. Let me just do this first –"

Fifteen minutes later finds them stretched out together on the couch, legs tangled and clothes all twisted around. Nate had started out on top but then they'd shifted, kept shifting around each other, trying to find a way to walk the line of too much and not enough – a line Nate knew very well thanks to Blair but had never been nervous about crossing before now.

He hasn't kissed anyone like this since Blair. Meaning: clothes too hot on hotter skin, hands skimming bodies with something akin to frustration, feeling bound by both expectation and apprehension. Every boundary seeming impossible to cross until you've crossed it.

Nate is trying to be a gentleman, touching only the safe parts of Dan – his neck, his face, his arms; or no-man's-lands like the length of his side, a covered shoulder. It only makes him more conscious of the parts of Dan he hadn't known he wanted to touch. Dan, for his part, is a lot less controlled; his hands keep pressing up against Nate's chest or digging hard into his thigh. He has less experience with this, Nate thinks.

Finally Nate has to pull back, though it takes several attempts, neither of them quite willing to stop. "Shit."

Dan laughs a little but Nate means it: shit. One kiss, even two – whatever, stuff happens. But the blood rushing around his veins, his heart thumping hard in his chest, the hips he is keeping very much away from Dan's – that means something. A something Nate is not altogether prepared to address.

"Somehow I don't see a conversation happening now," Dan says dryly. He tugs at his collar like he needs a breather. His shirt is rucked up just the tiniest bit from the switching of position. Nate really wants to – "Eyes up here, buddy."

Abashed, Nate meets his eyes. There are a million questions waiting there: what is this, what does it mean, where will it go? Nate knows things like that always get answered eventually, one way or another, and it's not entirely a stalling tactic when he says, "You're the first boy I ever kissed."

How could he not have noticed, until now?

"Back at you." Dan is rubbing soft circles at the edge of Nate's jaw. "I really –" But he laughs again without finishing, shaking his head.

Nate likes that laugh. "What?"

"Not in a million years did I think this would ever – that's you'd ever want to do this. At all, but especially with me."

"You're the one who kissed me," Nate points out.

"Yeah, but I wasn't thinking about…well, anything," Dan says. "I wasn't thinking about what would happen."

"So why did you do it?"

Dan half-shrugs. "I just wanted to. You were so… " His hand falls away and so does his gaze, something embarrassed in the motion. "I had a crush on you for a while."

The last few months hardly constitute a while, but it's still longer than Nate was aware of. "Yeah?"

Dan wets his lips, a nervous, almost furtive gesture. "Well. Do you remember the first time we met?"

"Yeah, right after I came back," Nate says, a little surprised. That immediately? "At that café."

"No…" Dan is definitely embarrassed. "Uh, it was at this party. Like two years ago."

After some halting explanations, Nate remembers the party – Britt Martin's Halloween party freshman year of high school, before Blair had been settled enough at Constance to take over all celebratory duties.

And then vaguely, vaguely, Nate remembers Dan.

That dumb party, Blair telling him to mingle and stop moping. She'd tiptoed up to whisper some naughty promise in his ear that he remembers being too drunk to take advantage of later. Serena brought Carter Baizen and got high as fuck, made out with him on the couch in the living room and then left for somewhere more exciting.

Nate had gone into the crowd with a drink in his hand and seen a boy leaning awkwardly against the wall, watching the party with alert eyes, wild curly hair hanging into his face. Nate had held out a hand and said, "I'm Nate Archibald."

"I know," the boy said, then looked ready to chastise himself. "Uh, I'm Dan."

"Dan," he repeated, tried a smile and failed. "Want a drink?"

A hopeful gleam in those dark eyes. "Uh, sure."

Nate wandered off and never did wander back. Chuck fed him shots and he passed out in the empty porcelain tub.

"Your hair was different," Nate offers. "Longer."

Dan nods, self-deprecating smile on his face. "If a fourteen year old girl ever offers to give you a haircut," he says. "Say no."

Nate feels suddenly very strange. It's worse than realizing he'd probably sat next to Dan in classes without realizing. It's worse to know that they'd actually spoken, that Dan was just…there, out there wanting something that Nate had no conception of. And now they're here. Making out in Dan's living room.

"This whole time?" Nate says.

"You're freaked out." It's not really an answer, but it also might as well be yes.

"No, not…" Not freaked out. A little unsettled, maybe. Dan has had a crush on him for years, had a crush on him the whole time they were getting to know each other, was his friend but really – "I should get going. I mean, even my mom will notice if I'm gone half the night."

She wouldn't, though. Once the sleeping pill kicks in, she doesn't notice a thing until her alarm goes off in the morning.

Dan is upset. "I shouldn't have said anything. I just thought it would be weirder if I didn't… I… It's not like I was laying in wait or something, I just thought you were cute –"

"No, it's cool," Nate says, and presses a quick kiss to Dan's mouth like that will, indeed, make it cool. "I really just gotta go."

And he does, carried out of the loft by the same pressing eagerness that had brought him there in the first place.







Nate gets a text from Dan as soon as he's emerged from the subway. I didn't mean to freak you out.

Nate sighs and puts his phone away, putting off responding for now. He doesn't really want to go home yet but he doesn't know what else to do. So he does what he does: jogs around the park until his brain goes quiet. But it doesn't satisfy him for whatever reason; it doesn't settle him. He hasn't smoked in weeks, doesn't even have any weed left. He doesn't know what else to do with himself. He never had other hobbies.

Dan would read, probably.

Nate is not a reader.

He takes out his phone to finally text Dan back, since he's trying to be one of those people who faces things, but learning new tricks is a slow process so instead he finds himself calling Serena. He doesn't know why.

(He sort of knows why.)

Serena is drunk when she answers, and he knows this because instead of hello, she says, "Woooooo!"

"Serena?" he tries, a little too loudly. He can't hear thumping music so she must not be at a club.

"Nate!" She sounds playfully admonishing. "You're not supposed to talk to me!"

"I know, but –" They haven't talked, really talked, in so long. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, Dad," Serena laughs. She used to do that when she was really far gone – call him dad and Blair mom, mocking and sweet at once. It always bothered Nate, just a little.

"I want to –" He doesn't actually have any idea what he wants to say to Serena, only aware that something must be said. "I'm sorry. I didn't – I didn't tell anyone. It was Chuck, you know – he saw us."

But Serena isn't listening, or at least is pretending not to listen. "Natie, we just got here, I gotta – Poppy, hold on –" There's the muffled sounds of movement, potentially getting out of a car if the sudden street noise is indicative of anything. "Nate, don't be sad, okay? Go do something fun."

"Like you are, right?" he sighs.

"Yup. Just like me," Serena says. "I always have the most fun, don't I?"







Nate ends up just going to Dan's the next afternoon unannounced. He seems to be getting good at the whole impolite dropping-in thing, and Dan has never seemed to mind before.

He isn't sure he's over it yet, his unspecified feelings of weirdness. But he knows that he wants to see Dan more than he doesn't. A lot more.

Mr. Humphrey waves Nate on to Dan's room without a thought. Dan's lying on his bed with one arm up behind his head and the other holding a paperback open. Sedaris. Dan likes him, Nate remembers. Dan doesn't start upon seeing him this time, but there is a clear wariness in the way he watches Nate.

Nate shuts the door casually and stands there a moment before asking, "Can I?" as he gestures to the bed. Dan nods, closing his book as he shoves over a few inches. Nate sits first and then lies beside Dan, letting his head lean into Dan's shoulder. He releases a long-held breath when Dan's fingers start to card through his hair.

"I really am sorry," Dan says. "I promise I wasn't writing Mrs. Dan Archibald in my notebooks or, like, calling your name out in my sleep or anything."

Nate almost smiles. "I know." He doesn't really feel like getting into it too much, but, "I don't want you to be…like, one of those people who has a crush on me. Not even me. That guy that's on Gossip Girl."

Expression thoughtful, Dan scrunches down a little so they're eye to eye. "I'm not," he says, amending, "I'm not now. I like that guy who's trying really hard to make things right with his friends. Who cares about his family more than anything. Who has legitimately embarrassing taste in music, and, if we're being honest here, disgustingly nice arms."

"Ah, man, now you're making me blush." This time Nate does smile.

They do another thing Nate hasn't done for a very long while: press in close and cozy, not for any reason except proximity. The bed is comfortably warm and Dan gently strokes the back of Nate's neck, and soon enough they fall asleep together, just like that.

When they wake up, Nate is tucked into Dan's side, face smushed against his neck. "Your hand," he mumbles, "is on my ass."

He feels the slight, silent movement of Dan's laugh. "In my defense, it is a nice ass."

"Yeah?" Nate's lips trail inattentively over Dan's throat, still sleepy, trying to figure out just how to angle for a kiss.

"Really nice," Dan says, a little breathy as he tilts his head up.

"No, other way…" Nate feels Dan laugh again, but is rewarded by Dan tilting back down, right into the kiss.







For Christmas Dan gives Nate a copy of The Lorax. "Dude," Nate says as he skims through the pages, "This is like the saddest book ever."

"I got it because of The Petting Zoo," Dan says, a touch anxiously. "Remember?"

The book Nate hadn't been able to read without falling asleep – though he'd tried, very valiantly, and made it about fifty pages in before giving up entirely. "Are you sure this isn't a crack about my reading ability?"

"Nah," Dan says, leaning into him, "If I wanted to do that, I'd get you Moby Dick and watch you squirm."

Nate hadn't known what to give Dan for Christmas. He doesn't actually have a wealth of experience buying gifts at all: Blair always put things on hold, and signed his name to gifts she got for other people. His parents did the same when it came to presents for each other. With the exception of Blair's birthday charm bracelet, Nate isn't sure he's ever gone out with the specific intention of giving someone something to make them happy.

He ends up giving Dan this soccer jersey he's had since forever, or so it feels. It's one of the first things he can remember genuinely wanting. He's not even sure why it meant so much to him, and it definitely no longer fits, but the idea of Dan having it is somehow comforting.

Dan looks like he gets it, at least. There's that soft look in his eyes that he has when they kiss. He puts it on his old Cabbage Patch doll, who swims in it, and they both get a laugh out of it that thankfully breaks up the sentimental moment.

Nate has been spending most of the days leading up to Christmas with the Humphreys. Unlike his own home, tastefully decorated by the same hired professional since Nate was three, the Humphrey loft is a mishmash of fairy lights and candy canes, tree hanging with hand-painted ornaments from when Dan and Jenny were toddlers. Allison always seems to be baking cookies. It's the kind of picturesque holiday that Nate's family tries to manufacture every year, though it always rings false.

"You know what, though?" Dan muses. "I wish it would snow. Christmas should be white and snowing. I'd even settle for Manhattan slush."

Nate nudges his nose against Dan's cheek. "I don't think that's a favor I can call in," he jokes.

"No?" Dan teases. "The Vanderbilts can't swing that one?"

"Mm, nope." Nate shakes his head with a slight wrinkle of his nose. "Political plotting, emotional detachment, really well-stocked bars – that they can do. Weather manipulation? Not so much."

They're ostensibly working on a history project, the last big thing they have to do before winter break kicks in, but so far all Nate has managed to do is give Dan a hickie just under his shirt collar. "I don't think this is very productive," Dan tried, at first, but he was easily swayed.

Eventually Nate just closes the textbooks and lets them drop heavily to the floor so he can kiss Dan until they fall back onto the bed. Dan always puts his hands on Nate's face when they kiss, and there is something so grounding about that, so soothing about the sweep of Dan's thumb over his cheek.

Almost immediately, Nate's sliding his leg between Dan's. That's a Blair habit too, though Nate knows he shouldn't be making comparisons; he just remembers how he felt like it was the only thing he could do, because she'd turn down most anything else but she'd press down on his thigh while they kissed. The first time he'd done it with Dan, Dan bit Nate's lip so hard it was sore the rest of the night. So at least Nate knows it's a good move.

They still haven't really talked about this.

Nate kept waiting for it to turn awkward enough that they had to, but it never really did. It's just like it was before, only better, more. That's how it had felt with Serena, too, in a way – continuing on a road they'd already started on, development of what was already there rather than something entirely new. Nate knows what people think of him, but he's not a total idiot: he realizes now that the reason he could never put words to how Dan made him feel was because Dan made him feel like this and Nate was too scared to admit it.

Dan being a guy doesn't feel like the important distinction it should.

"Gotta ask you something," Nate murmurs.

"You know how to pick a moment," Dan tells him, hands slipping under Nate's shirt. "Whatever it is, yes."

Nate chuckles softly, and continues on anyway, "There's this thing coming up soon. It's dumb, you'd probably hate it, but I gotta go for my mom, it's like the only committee she's even still on –"

"Please don't bring up your mom while we're making out. That woman is terrifying."

Nate gives Dan a little chiding nip. "It's for charity, it's called the Snowflake Ball, and I know that's really lame –"

But now Dan pulls back, giving Nate a look both quizzical and disbelieving. "Are you asking me to be your date to something?"

"Sort of," Nate says, even though he knows he can't really offer that much. He touches Dan's mouth lightly. "It would be kind of…stealth, since I can't really…tell my mom. But I want you to come."

He waits nervously for Dan's response, because he knows this could be a lot to ask, and he wouldn't blame Dan for being uninterested or even offended. This is just Nate wanting too much as usual: to not totally disappoint his family for once, but still get something for himself.

"Yeah, I'll come." Dan dips down to kiss Nate briefly. "What, did you really think I'd say no?"

Relief floods Nate. "Just hoped you'd say yes. Wouldn't be any fun without you."

Dan smiles against his mouth. "You've already won, you don't have to keep making your case."

"Just being honest," Nate says. He says it teasingly but it's the truth, and not having to lie or hold back for once makes him sincerely happy.







After that it comes down to figuring out the details and making arrangements. Nate's mom won't let him off the hook without a(n official) date, and here Nate hits a brick wall: he doesn't want to lie to some random girl, but he also can't bring Serena as a friend without inciting a lot of drama. So he thinks the safest decision is to ask Jenny.

"Uh," Dan says. "You do realize that to bring my little sister as your date, you'll have to tell her you're my – uh, my friend but with kissing?"

Nate bites his lip. The thought had occurred to him. "Yeah." He hesitates, but, "I think that'll be okay. She won't tell anyone if we ask her not to, right?"

After a brief quiet moment, Dan's expression curious and thoughtful, he says, "If you're okay with that, then I'm okay with that."

Jenny's reaction is surprisingly understated, and she agrees to come along, mainly because, "Freshmen never get to go to the Snowflake Ball." She pauses. "You know Blair's going to be furious no matter who you bring. And I'm probably not necessarily the least wrath-incurring choice."

Nate is a little surprised, if only because Jenny seems so sweet. He can't imagine her getting in trouble with anyone. "I think it'll be okay."

Jenny half-smiles. "Famous last words," she says. "Also, if you hurt my brother, I'll pretty much destroy you."

She says it with such simple straightforward seriousness that Nate revises his former opinion somewhat: sweet but with terrifying depths.

After that's settled, Nate takes a deep breath and calls Serena.

They haven't spoken since his last attempt at a phone call, when she was dizzy and drunk, unwilling to talk. She sounds different now – sober, or just sad. She sounds tired.

Nate starts with, "I have a favor to ask."

"Oh yeah?" Serena asks wryly. "What, go back in time and not fuck everything up like I always do?"

Nate swallows a little. "No, this wouldn't involve any time travel. Just putting on a dress and hanging out with Dan."

She listens while he outlines his pitch, asking her to be Dan's date one more time since they're friends now, though he gets it if she doesn't want to bother with functions populated by their classmates anymore. Serena doesn't say anything while she thinks about it, and he can just picture her sitting on her bed holding a pillow in her arms, maybe biting her lip.

"Why?" she asks plainly.

"Well, if you wanted to go, I figured it'd be good to know you had a friend," he says. "And, um… I don't want Dan to be too lonely."

"Uh-huh," she says.

Nate clears his throat. "He and I have gotten really close since I've been back, and I know you're good friends with him too, so…" He flounders.

Gently, Serena says, "It's okay, Nate."

He blinks. She couldn't possibly mean –

But then he thinks of how utterly unsurprised Jenny had been. Maybe he's a lot more obvious than he thinks. Maybe –

"I just think it would be nice if you came," he says. "I'm still sorry about…well, everything."

"Okay," Serena says, after another moment. "I'll come."







Anne is brittle and tense before the ball begins, but it seems to have gone off without a hitch.

The large ballroom is decorated to the last inch, cool and blue-lit and shadowy, with big screens scattered around the room showing wintery scenes. There are trees in every corner strung up with glittering white lights and fake snow falls softly and sparingly over the center of the dance floor. There's faux frost everywhere. Jenny makes a delighted little sound when they enter, clutching his arm tightly.

Serena drags Dan off to dance immediately. Nate is obscurely proud of her, the way she twirls right in the middle of the room like she doesn't care at all if anyone is talking about her. The way she can still have fun even though everyone is talking about her.

Nate leaves Jenny to compare dresses with her friends while he goes to get drinks for both of them (deeply considering a spiked one for himself), and the very first person he runs into is Blair. It's obviously on purpose because she's directly in his path, an unnerving smile curling her lips. That should've been the first sign.

"I'm shocked you didn't bring Serena as your date." Blair's gaze shifts past him to where Jenny is showing off her handmade beaded purse. "But then I didn't figure you for a cradle robber either."

"Jenny's nice," Nate tries with a shrug. "She's just a friend."

Blair's tongue curls against her teeth. "You have a lot of friends, don't you," she says.

Not really, Nate thinks. He wonders just how risky it would be to try to apologize to her now. At least she's speaking to him.

"Have a nice night, I suppose," Blair says, nose wrinkling slightly. "Send your mother my regards; she always did know how to throw a party."

Nate releases a slow breath once she's moved on, thinking that might truly be it. He might escape the night with some glaring and muttering, nearly unscathed.

Serena keeps Dan busy on the dance floor but as soon as she gives him a breather, Nate carefully disengages from Jenny (who had been breaking down the current season of America's Next Top Model for him, unasked) to head over. Dan is getting a bottle of water, looking distinctly out of breath, with his collar and tie askew. Nate itches to fix them – or really just wrap his hand in Dan's tie to pull him closer.

He settles for tugging at Dan's jacket to get his attention. Dan turns, an automatic smile on his face when he sees Nate that Nate can't help but return. "You know," Nate says. "I have heard really good things about the coat check at this place."

Dan's smile widens, and his eyebrow arches a little. "Oh, you have, huh?"

They don't actually end up in coat check. They end up in a storage closet, Nate pressed back against the closed door. Tuxedo jackets don't do much for arm mobility, so Nate settles for curling his hand around Dan's tie like he wanted, leaning into Dan's hand where it cups his cheek. It's like the knot of tension in his stomach eases, if only for a moment. Everything might suck and Blair might hate him and Serena might be miserable and it might all be Nate's fault, but for five minutes he gets to kiss someone he likes and feel sort of normal.

Before they go back in, Nate straightens Dan's collar, smoothes his jacket, sets him to rights. The smile Dan gives him in return is one of his softest.

Jenny is waiting at the entrance to the main room, arms crossed and foot tapping. Nate hadn't thought they'd been that long.

Her tight shoulders drop when she sees them, face taking on a resolved expression. "You probably shouldn't go in there," Jenny says. "Like, really."

Dan and Nate exchange a glance, but Nate has that all too familiar sinking feeling. "Check your phone," he tells Dan, and then tries to be the brave guy he always fails at being by walking past Jenny into the room.

Everyone seems to notice him at once, and then the spotlight even swings brightly in his direction. People are snickering a little but Nate does his best to ignore them, searching out Blair in the crowd. He is not stupid, but he really should have known better.

He doesn't see her, not at first, but what he does see are all those huge screens. And what he hears is Dan behind him breathing a heartfelt, "Oh fuck."

All the screens are showing the same thing – him and Dan after cotillion. Nate sits, Dan kneels in front of him, and they're kissing. Over and over in a loop is their kiss, their very first real kiss, blown up to ridiculous proportions for their classmates to get a good laugh out of. Nate finally locks eyes with Blair, finding hers impassive and cold.

Nate thinks Dan pretty much summed it up.

Fuck.




Part Five

Since I'm so bored and tumblr is so ugly, have this:

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T H E   A G E   O F   D I S S O N A N C E   (6/9)
dan, blair, serena, others.
5923 words. a re-working of edith wharton's the age of innocence.

summary: He feels that there is a distance between them that cannot be crossed; they can merely shout words across the breadth of it and never get any closer.


note: Because of both Yuletide and the holiday prompts I do in December (which let me tell you are quite the undertaking), there's going to be a little break in the updating of this fic – probably a month or two. I'd like to get the next part up sometime in January but February seems more likely. These chapters do take a lot of work and I don't want to half-ass it or stress myself out over fanfic, so I'm budgeting in some post-holiday decompression time.








Boston is overheated in the dull way of true summer, with even the air breathlessly uncomfortable as it drags through the lungs, and the streets are empty except for the disgruntled few who couldn't afford to leave the city for the season. It is not the sort of place he can easily imagine Blair, but then again it's been so long since he's had call to imagine her anywhere.

Despite all this, there is an energetic quickness to Dan's step that he cannot deny or dispel.

Today is to be another stolen day. He could hardly begrudge himself a single day; he had been intending to return to New York early anyway, so the detour to Boston will hardly be missed in his schedule. No one need know. It is as though the day does not exist at all, a void in the calendar, a skip in time that Dan has neatly slid through. He can almost convince himself of all this ¬– almost.

The lying came with such ease that it startled Dan, and the rationalizations followed quick on its heels. He is ashamed of that, and yet what offends his sensibilities more is that he is not more ashamed. His desire to be here outweighs his morality and, for better or worse, he has come to understand the mindset of all those terrible husbands who sneak away from their ignorant wives.

The Buckley girl had told Dan that Blair was staying at the Parker House, so Dan goes there directly – only to be informed that Blair is out. He stands there a minute at the front desk before declining to leave a note and departing disheartened. He decides to take a walk through the Common. If nothing else, it will give him some time to gather himself before choosing his next move.

However, the decision is taken quite out of his hands as he spots Blair almost immediately upon entering the park.

It seems too perfectly picturesque a coincidence to be true. After all this time, nearly two years of absence and purposeful forgetting, here she is, sitting on a bench and reading a book. He could laugh at how stupid and simple it is.

He only wants to look at her for a moment. He sees her in profile, her face bent towards the book, shadowed by the gray silk sunshade she holds aloft in one gloved hand. Curls of glossy brown hair fall around her face, the rest of it haphazardly pinned at the base of her neck. Her dress is not quite as pristinely pressed as usual. Her expression is blank if a little joyless, and the image of her altogether is one of distinct lethargy. She is not quite the same.

He is caught. He doesn't know how to approach her, but he can't continue to just stand here. So he makes his throat work, makes his lips shape her name for the first time in such a long time, twist it up into a question: "Blair?"

Perhaps it is the use of her given name that startles her, though Dan likes to imagine the sound of his voice specifically has some effect. She doesn't stand but her back gets very straight, like a ruler. "Dan," she says.

"I'm –" He doesn't know what he is. He thinks he should have called her Countess Grimaldi instead. "I'm – I'm here on business. What a shock to stumble upon you, especially when we missed one another at Newport."

Her expression clears a little then, and she moves so he might sit beside her. "Yes, indeed." Once he's seated, she adds, "I'm here on business too. Only for two days, and without dear Dorota, so you'll have to excuse my appearance."

He sees her slightly mussed hair and well-worn dress in a new light, but decides he likes the look of it on her, finding a certain lushness in her disarray. There is also her voice, which had not remained in his memory even a little, not a note of it – a voice to which cruelty is as familiar as wit, with an almost singsong quality that he now recalls can lend itself to shrillness or cloying. He is so overwhelmed by her voice that there is a stagnant, horrible pause before he realizes he must speak. "Without your maid? How unconventional." Then, even more belatedly and much too softly, "I noticed your hair was different."

Her hand rises to touch it self-consciously. "I've come here to do something even more unconventional: refuse money that belongs to me."

His brow furrows. "Someone came here with an offer? And you refused?"

She nods.

"Because of the conditions?"

Blair's lips part but it is a moment before she says, "I refused."

"What were the conditions?"

She waves a hand, her gaze breaking from his for the first time since he said her name. "They weren't onerous; just to sit at the head of his table now and then."

Dan takes off his hat and fiddles with it in his hands before putting it back on. "He wants you back at any price?"

Blair makes a small, amused sound. "At a considerable price. At least it is considerable for me."

"Is he here now?"

She looks at him again and actually does laugh. "My husband? Oh, no; he's at Cowes this time of year. He merely sent someone."

"With a letter?"

"Just a message. I think he's only bothered to write once since I've returned." The curl of her lips becomes smaller and sadder, perhaps wistful. "He used to be a great writer of love letters, you know. Only after we were married I found out he never wrote them himself. Why write yourself when you've got secretaries to do it for you?"

Dan flushes just a little at his ears and the back of his neck. She had fled with a secretary. "And this – this emissary?"

"Might, for all I care, have left already, though he insisted on waiting until the evening on the chance…" She only gives a little shake of the head.

On the chance she changes her mind, Dan thinks. This unspoken statement ringing in both their ears, they fall silent, staring not at each other but straight ahead at the people passing by. He feels that there is a distance between them that cannot be crossed; they can merely shout words across the breadth of it and never get any closer.

Finally, Blair murmurs, "You're not changed."

Just as quietly, Dan replies, "I was, till I saw you again."

In his peripheral vision, he sees the slight contraction of her hand where it rests on her lap. "Am I changed?"

"Yes," he says. "Every time I see you, I find you greatly changed."

"Humphrey," she breathes. There's a warning in it. He had only answered a question she had asked.

"Let's go out on the bay, shall we?" he says suddenly, spontaneously. "It's so terribly hot. It'll be cooler out on the bay; there'll be a breeze. There's a steamboat that goes to Point Arley. We could –" He breaks off as his babbling catches up to him. But then, because he cannot help himself, "Haven't we done all we could?"

The effect these words have on Blair is instantaneous. "You mustn't say things like that to me."

His lips press together to keep himself from doing just that. Eventually he offers, "I'll say anything you like. Or nothing. I won't speak unless you tell me to. All I want is to listen to you."

To her voice which can be gently cruel and cruelly gentle.

Blair doesn't reply immediately, so Dan presses, "Just give me the day. You can get away from that man waiting for you."

She gives him a look equal parts quizzical and calculating. "You needn't be afraid. If I don't come."

He holds her gaze steadily. "Nor you either, if you do. I only want to talk, as we used to sometimes. It's been a hundred years since we met – it may be another hundred before we meet again."

Blair studies him, weighing his truth. "Why didn't you come down to get me the day you and Serena came to Granny's?"

Abashed, he glances away and back again. "I played a little game with myself. I saw you standing there at the pier and said to myself that I'd only come down if you turned before a sailboat crossed the lighthouse. But you didn't turn."

Blair's eyes are large and liquid. "But I didn't turn on purpose."

"Oh?"

"I went down to the beach to avoid you," she says. "To get as far away from you as I could."

Dan swallows. "I have no business in Boston. I only wanted to see you."

Softly, Blair says, "I know."

"We'll miss our boat if we linger here much longer," he says lightly, watches her waver one final time before giving in.

They go back to the hotel first so Blair can leave a note for the emissary while Dan secures a carriage to take them to the wharf. He had offered to take the note in for her, but Blair declined with a shake of the head, disappearing quickly through the doors and into the lobby. He waits for her restlessly, unable to bear even these few wasted minutes. His gaze is focused on the doors, each person who comes and goes, and he's a little startled when a familiar face appears quite unexpectedly. There's no time to dwell on it – Blair returns moments later and they hurry on to their destination – but the name comes to him unbidden: Carter Baizen had exited the hotel. How queer.

They arrive just in time to board the half-empty boat, and they both laugh a little like it's such a lucky thing. They move towards the bow, where Blair leans forward against the railing, into the cool breeze coming off the water. She has wound a veil around her hat but left her face bare, and Dan is unable to resist examining her a little in the bright summer light. He has never seen her in the summer before, instead attaching her always to lonely New York winters just beginning to encroach on sepia-toned autumns. Summer seems a stifling season for Blair with her pale face and sturdy gown, unlike Serena who blossoms like a flower at the first touch of sun.

He doesn't speak for fear of disturbing the delicate balance of her trust in him. He has no wish to betray that trust but knows all the wrong words are waiting at his lips to be spoken. There have been days and nights when the memory of their kiss has burned through him, or just the thought of her made his blood careen through his veins; still other days when he made himself blank and empty, if only to prevent her memory from filling him. But these are not the sorts of things he's supposed to say.

A strong gust of wind blows her veil back, a long ivory ribbon caught in the air. The only thing preventing it from flying away entirely is the end curled around her neck. Blair fusses with it as she tries to right it, only managing to tangle it further; with an immediacy borne from lack of thought, Dan reaches over to straighten it for her, smoothing the fabric and laying it correctly so it frames her face as it did before. She smiles her thanks but something in her eyes is very sad.

When they get off at Point Arley, they stop by the dining-room of an inn for a quiet talk disguised as an early lunch. Dan requests a private room, which opens prettily onto the verandah, the water a faint lullaby in the background. They sit across from one another, that illimitable distance widening between them once again, and begin a conversation that is more stops than starts. He doesn't offer much of himself, instead listening to Blair describe the last year and a half of her life.

She had grown tired of society; that much Serena had already told him. Blair became exhausted of trying and failing to fit into a New York that had become strange instead of welcoming – where the only steps she made were the wrong ones, if only because it was she who had made them. That was why she'd gone to Washington. It was a change of pace, at least.

"I never knew this side of New York," she admits. "Or, rather, I had known – known and not cared, because I had never experienced any of it. It was ignorant of me. It appears I don't have the patience or the strength to withstand it."

"I'm sure that isn't true," Dan says quietly. "It can be difficult, impossibly difficult, to find yourself on the outside looking in. Maybe worse for you. You had been inside before."

"You understand so well," she says with appreciation.

He smiles slightly, somewhat humorlessly. "It's what you used to dislike most about me," he remarks.

She bristles. "I was different then." Choosing her words with apparent care, she continues, "Once you said I didn't like you – and by that you meant all of you, all of our family. But I think it's you who doesn't like them. Because you aren't one of them, not really, not even now."

"No?" Dan says. "I bought all my clothes in London. I live in a well-appointed townhouse. I work for an important law firm, my children will all be Rhodes… It would stand that I have made myself a part of things."

"No," Blair affirms. "You know as well as I that no matter what you do, you're still Dan Humphrey from Brooklyn."

She doesn't say it cruelly, just very gently, but the effect is much the same.

"If we have no ability to escape our pasts, then why don't you go back to your husband?" he says. He isn't angry. It's only frustration. The frustration of being so near her and so far from her at once, the frustration at how she understands and yet does not – it's unbearable.

Blair levels him with a genuinely unreadable look. "I believe it's because of you."

The confession is made as dispassionately as a passing comment on the weather.

"I want to be perfectly honest with you," she goes on, in a much firmer tone, "and with myself. I want to explain. I'm not sure you understand just how much you've helped me, what you've made of me – I don't know how to explain myself, but it seems I never understood before how even the most exquisite pleasures hid such baseness – how there is so much sensitivity and compassion in someone like you –"

"Someone like me," he muses, interrupting her. "What could someone like me have made of someone like you? And what of what you've done to me? For I'm of your making much more than you ever were of mine."

Her cheek had paled before under his spiteful questioning, but now a flush rises to its surface. "Of my making?"

"Oh yes," Dan says. "I'm the man who married one woman because another one told him to."

Displeasure reveals itself in the downturned curve of her mouth. "I thought you promised not to say such things to me today."

"Then I suppose I made a promise I could not keep."

"Like all men, then," Blair says testily. "Like your promises to Serena, your vows to her."

His chair scrapes across wood as he rises, moving to the railing of the verandah, dry and warm beneath his hands. He murmurs, unable to suppress his bitterness, "We must always think of Serena."

Blair still sits, but her hands are on the arms of the chair as though she wants to push off them to standing. "Mustn't we?"

He turns back to face her. "What's the use? You gave me a glimpse of a real life, and at the same moment asked me to go on with a sham one. It's beyond enduring – that's all."

"Don't say that," Blair reprimands, "When I'm enduring it!"

Her eyes are shining in the slanting afternoon light, and they are anything but dispassionate now. Anger had brightened her countenance, brought life into her face, and now anguish has made her acutely beautiful. Her face has become a book open for his perusal with pages as familiar to him as any he had penned himself. It overwhelms him, douses the fire of his own vexation, and leaves him suddenly stranded.

"You too," he says, a realization he had somehow missed, seeing only his own pain. "All this time, you too?"

Blair blinks tears from her eyes. "I never took you for a stupid man, Humphrey – even when my opinion of you was not so high."

Dan takes his seat again and sees her relax minutely, the tension dissipating from her limbs. One of her slim white hands, ringed as always, rests on that impossible distance between them and he reaches out to cover it with his own. She turns her palm to his, her fingertips just curling round his wrist. He feels much closer to her and simultaneously all the farther.

"You won't go back?"

Blair sighs and takes her hand away. "I won't. Not as long as you hold out." She raises her gaze to his. "I have been where she would be. I know this pain. I choose now not to inflict it."

"And that's all there is to be?" Dan asks. He already knows the answer but cannot help the small, stupid, desperate part of him that wants a different one. "For either of us?"

"Well; it is all, isn't it?" As though to soothe the sting, she touches his hand lightly one more time. "Don't be unhappy."

I cannot promise it, he thinks, though he keeps the words at bay. He knows their time in this little shuttered room is over; the day he asked for has passed. There is nothing more he can do except leave their future in her care, asking only that she keep fast hold of it.

He wants to kiss her but knows it to be impossible. Her decision is clear: she will stay near him as long as he never asks her to come nearer. She will let him be untrue to his wife in his heart as long as he isn't in any other way – because he has won Blair with kindness, and to betray Serena would also be the ultimate betrayal of the man she believes him to be.

Dan does not think himself so kind or good, only selfish.

Yet as they ride the steamboat back to their respective lives and destinies, a kind of tranquility does settle over him. The day had been a failure. The only thing separating now from before are the terms of their detachment; his heartache has found no solace or solution. Nevertheless, he does feel soothed. Blair has found a way to keep them loyal to those they love without their continued lying to themselves or each other, and she has drawn the exact line in the sand that he must honor. There is some comfort in that.

He can be near Blair without having her. Being near her can be enough.







* * *







August gives way to autumn, which in turn ices over for winter. Serena's family goes to St. Augustine but for the first time she remains behind, bundled up in furs at Dan's side. Dan spends his time at work, taking on the bulk of the responsibilities in Mr. van der Woodsen's absence, or otherwise in his study, eternally catching up on his reading. Even now, he doesn't feel entirely at home in the house purchased and decorated for them by Serena's parents. With the exception of the study, of course – Serena had been charmingly adamant that it remain entirely his. For that he was glad, because the rest of the townhouse bore no mark of him at all.

It has been four months since he last saw Blair. He wrote her once asking when he might see her again, and she replied simply, "Not yet."

Dan has begun to build a little fortress of thoughts and desires: the books he reads, the dreams he cultivates privately, the judgments he makes and prejudices he argues – he brings them all to Blair in his thoughts, composing countless letters he never writes or sends. He knows he has begun to pull too far from the reality of his life, if it could still be called that. Serena looks at him with concern. He rather wishes she had gone on to St. Augustine as usual, if not to save him from her tenderness than to give herself a respite from having to be tender.

Still, she has a few venues in New York that can offer her better amusement than he can. It has become the thing to do to go to Mrs. Ivy Dickens' on Sunday evenings, a trend the older society women bemoan as much they do new fads in fashion. Even Jenny has gone along once or twice with Serena, despite her protestations of the scandal when it was only Blair who went. But in the recent few months, Mrs. Dickens' loud clothes and Sunday soirées are pale gossip when compared to the apparent plight of the Basses – a topic anyone who is anyone seems to relish.

No one really likes Bass, so when trouble descended upon him people were inclined to feel schadenfreude before they felt sympathy. But this had gone beyond French mistresses being sent on expensive vacations: his bad investments appeared to be getting ever worse, and the idea of him bringing financial dishonor on his wife's family was nearly too shocking to be enjoyed.

"I do feel rather bad for poor Charlotte," Penelope says to the assembled dinner party, not sounding particularly sorry. "But what could one really expect, marrying a man like that?"

Dan is even less inclined than the general populace to feel any sympathy in regards to Chuck Bass, but he does find it curious (to say the least) how everyone was willing to turn a blind eye to Bass' exploits when his wealth and his wife's popularity reigned supreme; now that he lacks the appropriate financial backing, the story has changed. But isn't that always the case in this city?

"And do you know what else –"

Penelope continues to hand-deliver the good gossip once everyone has rumbled agreement to her statements about "poor Charlotte," leaning in a little to truly revel in the attention of the table.

"I've heard Carter Baizen is back in New York! It's been absolute eons since he's stepped foot in the States – he was seen escorting his sister Caroline, which must mean the Baizens are seeing fit to restore his inheritance –"

Dan seeks out Serena's reaction immediately, but finds her inattentive, absorbed in conversation with Jenny – though a moment later her gaze darts to Dan's, a vague question in the look. In truth, Dan had already known of Carter's return to the city.

He had seen Carter first over a week ago, exiting the townhouse just before Dan returned there from work. He probably would not have caught Carter at all had he not left a little early that day. He could only assume Carter was there to meet with Serena, and had those suspicions confirmed when she didn't mention the visit once. He would have liked to see her express surprise at Penelope's announcement, just to further compound the secret of it – but that's an unkind wish.

Dan had felt a torrent of uneasy and uncategorized emotions upon seeing another man leaving his home. He knew Serena had something of a past with Carter and, without knowing the specifics, it had been enough to bring a visible change on her when they met Carter on their honeymoon. It could be possible that Dan's emotional distance from her had driven her into the arms of an old lover – it was more than possible, in Dan's mind. And he did not know how to feel about such a possibility.

It would be hypocritical for Dan to feel jealousy, but competing emotions can often be experienced at once with no care for the logic of it. So he did feel jealous, at least a little; she is his wife, after all. There was also a sense of relief that she might find comfort with another, if only because it would be an alleviation of his own guilt. Maybe she had loved Carter all the while, but been unable or unwilling to wed him.

Or it could be none of those things – perhaps Carter had seen Dan in Boston and come to reveal the fact to Dan's wife.

After Penelope's announcement at dinner, Carter's appearance in New York no longer has the air of secrecy about it, so Dan feels able to approach him. He arranges the meeting for the club, where they can speak with a veil of insouciance. Carter sees through this immediately, but deigns to humor Dan anyway.

"Are you here to play knight in shining armor?" he asks between a puff of his cigarette and swallow of his whiskey. "You needn't bother; as I'm sure she told you, it was only family business."

Dan bites his tongue, but his expression must give him away, for Carter raises a slow eyebrow and adds, "Unless she hasn't told you, that is. Well. I suppose you aren't really a part of things – are you?"

Dan frowns. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Amused, Carter gives a careless shrug. "Not a thing, Humphrey. Here, I'll soothe your fears: I went to Serena to speak of her cousin, who I'd seen lately on business."

With keen clarity, Dan recalls Carter leaving the Parker House in Boston. "You were Count Grimaldi's messenger?"

Carter's amusement grows into a small smile. "Was I right in thinking I saw you in Boston, then, Humphrey?"

Dan ignores this. "So you delivered your message; what did you have to say of it to Serena?"

Carter grounds out his cigarette. "I've long been an agent of both sides, so to speak. I do a little work now and then for the Count, have done for years – in between disinheritances, one must take up some position, you understand – and so I was able to offer aid once to the Countess on Serena's behalf. Serena's a good girl and she worried, you know, considering what she suspected the Count to be like – so she asked me to help and I did."

Dan is unable to keep from gaping a little. He had had no inkling that Carter Baizen, of all people, had been in any way involved in the entire situation, let alone that he had been the secretary who helped Blair flee in the first place.

"And I knew Madame Grimaldi's family would not take kindly to her refusal of the Count's offer, so I came by to… Well, to keep Serena abreast of the situation, to see to it Blair had some support for her decision. But of course Serena didn't require my prodding." He glances at Dan. "Whatever I was once, I'm only an old friend now – very old, practically ancient – so you needn't worry I'm after your wife." He seems to consider this. "Well, not after her too much."

It occurs to Dan that this is all information that has been purposefully kept from him. By the family, no doubt – Dan's open disagreement on all topics related to Blair and her husband unsurprisingly excluded him from further discussions, but he hadn't anticipated Serena keeping such things from him.

The only thing Dan can think to say is, "Are you still in the Count's employ?"

"Ah, no," Carter says. "My father has decided he wants a son again, so I can be a shiftless gentleman once more."

"If only we were all so lucky to have occupations so suited to our talents," Dan says. "I'm sorry to have disturbed you. Good evening."

Dan knew Blair was further from her family's good graces than before. Even Mrs. Rhodes had failed to defend her in wake of her final refusal to return to her husband and had cut her allowance drastically. Nate's family, apparently holding an eternal grudge, had taken some pleasure in it:

"Who knows what she's living on now," scoffed Nate's mother, "Shame she didn't get that divorce; at least then she might have remarried richly."

Dan is agitated in the wake of his conversation with Carter, beginning several letters to Blair that he ultimately discards. It isn't just concern for her and how she's living that motivates him; his ugly selfishness is rearing its head once again. Perhaps another afternoon with her will once again clear his mind and settle his conscience.

Over a quiet, private dinner with Serena, he broaches the topic. "I thought," he begins, voice startling in the silence. He clears his throat and starts over, much softer. "I have been giving so much time to my work lately, as you know… It leaves me such little time to get any real writing done. I thought I might take something of a short holiday… Just a day or so." He clears his throat again. "Possibly in Washington."

Serena looks at him over the flicker of candle-flames. "The change will do you good," she says finally. "But you must be sure to go and see Blair." Her attention falls back to her plate. "You know I always want you to have time to write."

Quiet settles over them like the dusting of snow on the ground outside. Once they had shared confessions readily, revealing hidden affection and love and worry the way lovers were supposed to. Some time after their wedding this had stopped and now Dan isn't sure how to relearn the language of it. He remembers her brutal honesty in the orange grove, her determination to be open with him; he wonders why now she keeps secrets about old friends, why she doesn't just ask him if she is curious about his behavior of late.

He wonders why he makes no confessions himself, and says nothing.







* * *







Chuck Bass was not an honorable man but he did always seem to manage to slink away from any blame laid at his feet for anything, so it is quite a surprise when his failure promises to be one of the most discreditable in the history of Wall Street. Dan's office is abuzz with news of it on Monday morning.

"It'll hit just about everyone we know," Serena's father guarantees darkly. "He had a hand in everyone's business, and kept assuring the lot that everything was up to snuff, going along as planned. Little did they know!"

The bad news only continues to roll in: around mid-afternoon, Mr. van der Woodsen comes to Dan's desk to collect him, waving about a telegram he'd just received from his wife. With an economy of phrasing, it read, Mother had slight stroke last night. Please come at once.

They leave work immediately, traveling uptown to find Mrs. Rhodes' house busy with doctors and relatives. Serena is pale and worried but, even with whatever is going on between them, her expression becomes instantly relieved as soon as she sees Dan. She puts her arms around him, neglecting a hello to tell him in a rushed, quiet voice what had gone on in this house the night before.

"Apparently Lola – Charlotte – came to see her late last night," Serena murmurs, tugging Dan further into the room. "The butler said they spoke maybe an hour before Lola left, and Granny went to bed as usual, but in the middle of the night the bell rang and they found her in her room…" Serena is wan but hopeful. "She's already regaining control of her facial muscles, the doctor said. And she was able to tell Mother a bit –"

It seems Charlotte Bass had discovered the extent of her husband's misdeeds then came to beg her grandmother not to desert them in their time of need, seeking support for them both. But Celia refused on grounds of Bass' incredible dishonesty, for financial dishonesty is of course not to be borne under any circumstances. Dan doubts they would be so keen for Blair to return to a husband who was not absurdly wealthy and titled.

"She said to Granny – so it seems, anyway – said her name was Charlotte Rhodes, and didn't that mean anything?"

"And what did Granny say to that?"

"You know how she is," Serena sighs. "That her name had been Bass when he covered her with jewels, and must stay Bass now that he's covered her with shame."

Dan lets out a slow breath. "Ah," he says. "Of course."

It becomes evident that Mrs. Rhodes is bound to recover, as she had from so many other illnesses, resilient as ever. Dan is useless except for the vague support he can offer Serena, which seems to mainly involve holding her hand while she listens, tight-lipped, to her mother go on and on about how Charlotte's duty is to her husband. Though he had been the one to do something disgraceful, it was her obligation as a wife to slink away into the shadows with him.

Dan pities Lola. He had never spent any great amount of time with her, but she had always been cordial to him, and seemingly pleasant in general. Not that it matters; her disposition carries little weight when the issue at hand is that she is another woman trapped in a bad marriage and made to suffer the consequences of it.

Dan knows Lola will never be able to divorce Bass. He regrets anew that he did not help Blair divorce the Count.

Serena's Aunt Carol emerges into the room tiredly, fortunately cutting off Lily's pontifications on the responsibilities of marriage. "She wants me to telegraph Blair," Carol informs the room at large. "We'd written to Blair, of course, but it seems that's not enough. Mother wants her to come immediately."

The announcement is received in silence. Mr. van der Woodsen finally says, as though it is a great burden, "I suppose it must be done."

"Of course it must be done," Serena interjects, a touch sharply. "Blair should rightfully be here, if that's what Granny wishes. Shall I write the telegram? If it goes at once, she can catch the morning train. Dan can take it to the telegraph office – can't you, Dan?"

He straightens and nods. "Yes, of course. Whatever you need done."

Serena nods in satisfaction before moving to the writing desk to dash off a quick note, blotting it and handing it to him. Then she pauses on the verge of speech and wets her lips. "What a pity that you and Blair will likely cross each other on the way." At his confusion, she adds, "As you are bound for Washington, and she bound for home."

Dan opens his mouth and closes it, feeling the weight of her eyes on him. "How could I possibly leave at a time like this?" he says. "It was only a silly pleasure trip. I'll stay – of course I'll stay."

Serena looks at him a moment longer but then nods, accepting that.

He leaves hastily for the telegraph office, confused conscience hanging heavy over ever step.

without a key (5/5)
Nate, Dan, Blair, Serena, Jenny. Also Chuck.
s1 AU; Nate left town instead of Serena.
PG13. 5665 words.

Summary: Nate always knew he was a disappointment but it's another thing to have it confirmed.




Note: So, it's finally done! I started this fic in 2012, which is insane, but I am happy I kept with it and completed it. One WIP down!








"So it's true?"

Nate pushes uneaten breakfast around his plate. Squashes a blueberry with his fork. Ignores his mother.

"Nate," Anne says tightly, eyebrow lifting as she frowns. Or tries to; she has no visible lines on her face. Her hand is wrapped around her glass of water the same way she holds glasses of wine. "Is it true?"

He sighs. "The evidence was pretty damning, wasn't it?"

She is understandably not amused. "You've become quite the source of gossip since your return, Nathaniel."

He lifts his gaze to meet hers. "We were a source of gossip before that."

Frustrated, she says, "You certainly don't need to add to it. And especially with this – this ridiculous stunt. I suppose this is how you're choosing to rebel?"

Nate frowns at her. "No."

"You should be glad your father is busy recuperating," Anne says. "Otherwise I'd have to inform him, and we both know how he'd feel about this."

Nate stares at her stonily, his frown deepening. "Maybe that's the problem."

"Excuse me?"

"Maybe you and Dad are the real problem here," Nate says. "Not whoever I'm dating." He swallows hard once the words are out of his mouth, but he doesn't take them back, even though he and Dan haven't spoken in the days since the ball. He pushes his chair back. "His name is Dan, by the way, thanks for asking."

He throws his napkin down and leaves.







"So," Serena says. She sticks a Starbucks cup in Nate's hand – salted caramel mocha, because she knows him well. "Is Anne losing it or what?"

Nate snorts. "What do you think?"

They're sitting on Nate's stoop, because at this point who gives a fuck anymore. Serena is a little hungover, wearing big sunglasses and a floppy hat, but she seems to be in slightly better spirits than the last few weeks. "Thanks for stealing the spotlight, by the way. Dad in rehab, slept with the girlfriend's best friend, and gay – there's no room for anyone to talk about me."

"Don't forget the pending trial and jail time," Nate reminds her. "Also, not gay."

"Dan-curious," Serena amends. Then, "Have you talked to him?" When Nate shakes his head, she gives him a look over her sunglasses. "Nate."

"It feels weird, I don't –" He shrugs helplessly. "I don't know what to say. 'Sorry my drama got you outed not once, but twice; wanna make out?'"

She considers it. "That would probably work."

He tries to summon a twinge of amusement but doesn't manage it. "Everything just really sucks," he says, and though he wants it to come out light, the truth bleeds out in his voice. Everything does suck, and it's been like that way, way too long.

"Yeah," Serena sighs. "Preaching to the choir, buddy." She looks down at her own cup, tracing her name on the side with a deep red nail. "I don't know what to do without Blair. She's never been this mad at me, ever. I think… I think –"

"You'll make up," Nate says firmly. Even with everything that's going on, he refuses to accept a world where that is not a possibility. "It's my fault. Blair should be mad at me."

Serena gives him a sad, sympathetic look. "It's not all your fault, Nate. I was there too."

"I left," he murmurs. Sometimes he thinks he never should have come back; sometimes he thinks he never should've left. "I lied."

"We both lied," Serena says. "And, yeah, if it were up to me, it would've gone to the grave. But it didn't, so we just have to…" She struggles to define what exactly they have to do, and shrugs before finishing simply, "Deal."

When he doesn't respond, staring pensively down at the cracks in the sidewalk, Serena gives him a nudge. "Call your boyfriend," she says.

"He's not my boyfriend," Nate says absently. What had Dan called them? "He's my friend. With kissing." He slides her a sideways look. "You're being really cool about all of this, you know."

Serena shrugs, pushing her sunglasses up the bridge of her nose a little. "I am cool."

And that's what makes him smile. "Not if you say you are. S'gotta be an unspoken thing."

"You don't get how it works," she says airily, "Since you're not as cool as me."

"That's true," Nate allows, and laughs softly. Serena echoes it, her own laugh a little higher and brighter. Everything sucks a little bit less, right then.







If on Friday Nate had left school amid pats on the back, Monday finds them more like shoves.

Metaphorically speaking, of course – none of the kids at St. Jude's are so openly aggressive. They operate in a different way, full of well-mannered rudeness, polite but snide. Sneers replace grins. Nasty names are disguised in coughs. Nate gets tripped moving between desks in class. It's a lot of dumb, petty bullshit and Nate has no interest in any of it.

What's worse is that everyone seems to find it perfectly okay to question him about things that are none of their business. Over the course of the day, Nate is asked if this is why he never slept with Blair; if he even slept with Serena at all; if he liked sleeping with Serena; if he's gay; has he slept with Dan? It goes on and on, and Nate maintains a sullen silence as he waits for the three o'clock bell. It seems about a million years away.

He and Dan don't have a ton of classes in common. Dan's in all the honor and AP ones, they take different languages, plus their gym and lunch periods just happened to not sync up. They have math together (Dan's not great at math) and history (Nate doesn't suck at history), but in math Dan takes the seat closest to the door and is gone as soon as class ends.

Nate spends every not-Dan class itching to see him but at the same time, once they're in the same room together, Nate can feel everyone's eyes on him. As soon as he gets within ten feet of Dan, it's like everyone holds their collective breath and waits – and honestly, Nate doesn't want to give them the satisfaction.

Jenny catches up with him in the five minutes between third and fourth period. "I didn't want to have to destroy you," she says breezily, "but Dan is really upset."

Frustrated, Nate can only offer, "I know, Jenny. I'm working on it, okay?"

"Not really." They stop outside her classroom and Jenny hooks fingers around her bookbag straps, staring up at him. "I just don't see the point of breaking up with him now that everyone knows. I mean, isn't that the hardest part?"

Nate blinks, ignoring the question to say, "We didn't break up." Even as he says it, he notices some of the girls in Jenny's class listening, probably filing that away to send in as a tip later.

"That's not how it seems on my end. But I'll give you the benefit of the doubt." She pokes his chest hard with one finger. Really hard. "This time."

As Nate turns to head back towards the boys' wing, he comes face to face with Blair. Two girls flank her on either side, like a very imposing pastel girl gang, but she sends them off with a flick of the wrist. She has a mean smile on her face. He hates how familiar he's become with it.

"Learning what it's like to be whispered about?" she asks.

Nate raises an eyebrow. "My dad is a drug addict," he reminds her. "I already know."

There is a near-imperceptible faltering in Blair's expression, and he can only tell because he knows her so well.

"Blair," he sighs. "I've really – I've got enough to deal with. More than enough. My family, and you and –" He just wanted one stupid thing that was just his, and apparently he might not even have that anymore. He doesn't want his worry to show in his face. He hopes it doesn't. "So. Are there any other secrets of mine you want to expose to everyone?"

Blair studies him. "I don't know," she says finally. "What else do you have?"

He exhales a huff of breath and moves past her, effectively ending the conversation. "Fresh out."

Nate really needs a fucking vacation.

The class he has next is history. Dan takes the seat by the door again and keeps his eyes downcast the whole forty-five minutes. Once again, he's out the door as soon as the bell rings – but this time Nate had been ready for that. He's able to catch up with Dan halfway down the corridor.

He touches Dan's sleeve lightly, and Dan turns round looking like he's off to the executioner. "I don't want to have this conversation in the hallway," he says, sounding resigned.

Nate frowns. "Me either." And just in case Dan tries to blow him off, he adds, "But I don't want to wait for the end of the day."

"Alright." Dan sighs and glances around, chafing under the weight of everyone looking and waiting. "I'll text you. I have lunch after this period, we can do it then."

Nate doesn't care what class he has. He'll skip it. "Okay. Good."

He sits impatiently through English before finally starting towards Dan's determined meeting place: the third floor boys' bathroom, the one hardly anyone uses that's tucked away in the corner behind the art rooms. Dan is already there, over by the frosted window, looking pale and chilled in the tempered light. Nate shuts the door and then leans back against it.

"So…" Nate says. "Has this day been as shitty for you as it has for me?" He remembers that Dan wasn't exactly high on the social ladder before all this. "Or…shittier?"

Dan shrugs. "A few assholes called me Mrs. Archibald," he says. "Frankly, I've been called worse."

Nate ducks his head, embarrassed that he's managed to put Dan through all this. Dan was drama-free before Nate came into his life. "I'm sorry."

Dan gives him a curious look. "It isn't your fault." He runs a hand through his hair, clearly anxious. "Look. I know I shouldn't have – shouldn't've done this the way I did, kissing you like that where anyone could see, so that's – that's on me, and I'm sorry, I – I just really like you, I like you a lot, and if you don't want to – to do this anymore, that's fine, I know it isn't necessarily what you want, I meant – I doubt you wanted anyone to know, especially your family or whatever, and I don't know if you really… If it's really Serena, or even Blair, for you, so I get it, if this is too much, but I don't… It would be really hard for me to still be friends because I like you too much – maybe in the future, I don't know. The point is, I'm sorry and I didn't want it to get out like it did, so I get that it's probably over between us, and we just have to let it be over so I can go on being miserable in peace." He takes a breath. Nate raises an eyebrow. "Okay?"

Nate doesn't know when the babbling tipped over from crazy to endearing, or if he ever found it anything but endearing in the first place. Nate watches the way Dan's lips purse as he rubs a hand over his temples, the very picture of angst, and decides that if he doesn't kiss Dan right now, he's the idiot everyone always says he is.

"I don't care that everyone saw," Dan says quietly. "Maybe that makes me a bad guy, but I don't."

It's a matter of fact, Dan's achingly casual shrug of the shoulder.

"Would you come over here?" Nate says. "How are we supposed to kiss if you're on the other side of the room?"

Dan frowns, confused. "But –"

"I want to be with you too," Nate says and his joking drains away as his heart rate picks up. It's true, but it's a scary thing to say, scary to feel. "Plus I told my mom. So. It better still be something, because she's gonna be a real pain in the ass about it."

Dan straightens. "You told your mom?"

"She did see the footage," Nate points out, but despite the fact that his hands were tied, it doesn't change how he feels. "But yeah. She knows that we're – that we're dating."

"Dating," Dan repeats, and smiles just a little. The knot of tension slides from Nate's shoulders.

"What're you still doing all the way over there?" Nate asks, fighting his own smile.

It's funny how sometimes the bullshit just ceases to matter. Like right now: Dan coming towards him with warmth in his eyes, insecurity transmuted to confidence. He braces his hand on the door beside Nate's head and kisses him, leaning in and leaning in until they're pressed together. And Nate just doesn't care about anything else.







That doesn't make school any easier, though.

The upside is that things aren't so lonely, now – he has Dan and Serena and even Jenny most of the time, when she isn't playing double agent. So when some jerk makes a stupid comment, at least Nate has someone to roll his eyes at. And that is surprisingly nice.

Serena is exceptionally defensive, though, and this seems to split the girls' junior class in two: half of them on Blair's side and the other half unable to resist the siren call of Serena's trendsetting. It's very whatever to Nate; he appreciates everything Serena's doing, or trying to do, but he's also seriously attempting to not put so much weight in what other people might be saying.

So much so that one Thursday morning he kisses Dan right in the courtyard. Everyone seems too startled to say much about it. Dan's grin afterward makes it worth it either way.

Blair is still angry with him but Nate honestly doesn't know what to feel about that anymore. He's angry with her too, and sick of shuffling around for forgiveness when she makes him pay so hard for it every time.

She keeps pulling stupid little stunts too, like the spoonful of yogurt dropped onto Nate's head on his way into school, amid laughter from the other students. It could've been any girl among Blair's lined-up minions: they all greet his irritated expression with sugar-sweet smiles. Nate huffs a sigh of annoyance even as he notices that Blair is not smirking like usual. She's frowning. And she's not frowning at him, but at the line of girls.

She meets him at the top of the steps. "Hazel got overzealous," she says dismissively. "You know I always have a full line of hair care in my locker; I can get her to help you if you –"

Disbelieving, Nate raises his eyebrows. "That last thing I need is help from you."

Dan ends up washing the yogurt out of Nate's hair in the bathroom sink – third floor corner, their usual rendezvous spot. "What a shame," Dan says, "Those carefully-arranged bangs, that restrained use of product – all for naught."

Nate flicks water droplets at him. "Shut up."







Things are worse at home. It appears Anne is flat-out not speaking to him, though she apparently has complained to his father in vague terms about his behavior, because his dad actually asks them to come to the Center for the very first time since Nate's been back.

Nate only assumes she hasn't told his dad about the whole Dan thing because she's pretending it never happened.

She doesn't speak to him all the way to Brooklyn.

"Tell me how it went with Blair," his dad says with a kind of forceful enthusiasm that none of them feel. "Flowers work?"

"You're assuming Nate made any effort at all with Blair," Anne sniffs. "He did not."

"Because I'm not dating Blair," Nate says sullenly. "I don't want to be dating Blair. She hurt me too, you kn–"

"I know your life feels like a mess right now," the Captain interrupts. "But that's all the more reason to stick to what you know. It'll make you stable."

"That's why we plan," Anne adds.

The plan: Dartmouth, law school, Blair. It might as well be tattooed on the inside of Nate's brain. No matter what he does or what he says, that's all they ever seem to hear. Dartmouth. Law school. Blair.

"Your father and I didn't work this hard so you could just throw it all away," Anne says. Recites, more like. "Our family has an image to uphold, Nate. You have to do your part."

"Why?" Nate mumbles. He shifts in his seat, looks away. "Neither of you do yours."

"Now, Nate –" Anne begins to scold, but the Captain holds up a hand.

"Your mother is right, son," he says. "Just because you don't want to hear it –"

"I do hear it," Nate says sharply. "I know everyone thinks I'm stupid, but I got the message, okay? You've been telling me the same thing since I was five. I get that I'm this big disappointment but that's just – the son you want is not who I am. I'm not going to Dartmouth, I'm not going to Yale, I'm not going to be a lawyer or a senator and I'm not going to marry Blair."

"You're a teenager," his dad says in this put-upon patronizing way. "You don't know what you want."

"And," Nate continues unabated, ignoring that, "I'm seeing someone."

His mother's eyes widen and she shakes her head minutely, but Nate is past caring.

"His name is Dan." Nate ignores his dad's stare too, just keeps on talking. "He's really smart," because that's important, "And funny. And nice. He's a good guy. Really good. He cares about me a lot, he's good for me – good to me –"

"That's enough," Anne says, icy. "Nathaniel, please go wait outside. Your father and I have to talk."

"No," Nate says bluntly. "This is not a mistake I made that you have to spin so you look better. I'm not the problem here."

"Nate," his dad says tensely, not looking at him, "Go."

Nate hadn't been so thick as to think his parents wouldn't care but he's still caught off guard by how much that hurts. "No." Somehow his voice is steady. "If you think I'm disgusting you can tell me to my face."

His father, thankfully, does not tell him this. But he does say, "Our family doesn't need this. Especially not now."

We're like this because of what you did, Nate thinks. "He came here with me once. Dan. When Mom wouldn't, and she didn't want me to either. He waited outside for me. It was Thanksgiving."

He watches his dad place that visit, wondering if maybe he'd seen the dark-haired kid loitering in the hallway.

There is a long, thick silence before the Captain sighs. "I don't know what you want me to say."

That it's okay. That he loves Nate anyway. That he loves Nate sans qualifier. But apparently that's just too much trouble.

"Forget it," Nate mutters, even though that's the last thing he wants. "I'll go." He grabs his coat, waiting for one of them to stop him at the door. Neither of them do. "I probably won't see you at home later."

He makes the short walk to Dan's instead, ends up staying the night on the couch. He doesn't talk about it, though Dan clearly wants to, and ignores his mother's calls.

He always knew he was a disappointment but it's another thing to have it confirmed.







On Saturday Nate takes his customary run through the park and then settles into a walk, preparing to go sit on a bench with his iPod and a slim paperback book – a starter book, Dan had said, with ominous overtones that it would lead to much, much more. But before he can take a seat or turn a page, Chuck falls into step with him.

"Things always have a way of working out for you, don't they, Nathaniel," he says, and brings a joint to his lips.

Nate hasn't bothered confronting Chuck about the blast at cotillion that started the mess he's in now; he saw no reason to. He knew Chuck did it. He knew why Chuck did it. Confrontation would have brought no satisfaction, seeing as Chuck didn't respond well to it, always ready with a quip or an infuriating laugh. It would have been like fighting with a wall. A really smarmy wall.

Chuck has been Nate's friend for more than half his life, but that's over now and Nate is finding it hard to mourn the change. He guesses he's getting used to endings.

Merely being done with Chuck didn't mean Chuck was done with you, though.

"I don't know," Nate says finally. "Making the best of a bad situation isn't the same thing as something working out."

Chuck snorts. "How zen."

Nate shrugs, uninterested. "Why are you here, Chuck?"

"Can't a friend check in with another friend after a drastic change in said friend's personal affairs?"

"We aren't friends," Nate says baldly. "And I think you giving me shit for dating a guy would be kind of hypocritical."

"Aren't you curious," Chuck says, "How Blair knew?"

It's on the tip of Nate's tongue to say she must've seen but he realizes right then, from the look on Chuck's face and that goading note to his voice, that he was the one to take the video of Nate and Dan kissing. It was him. Of course it was him.

Chuck doesn't handle confrontation well, which is why he likes all the secretive backstabbing their set gets into. His problem is that he always wants credit for what he's done. He wants a pat on the back for being so sneaky and clever.

"So, what," Nate says, attempting to keep his voice very even. "You just follow me around waiting for me to do something you can report back to Blair?"

Chuck gives him one of those slow, curling smiles. "No, I just have excellent timing." He continues to press, "You know, she didn't even care what it was. I said I had something that could ruin you and she didn't even ask, just told me to send it in. Isn't it funny how things go sour? If you'd just pity-fucked her a year ago you probably could've avoided all –"

Nate may not be proud of it ten minutes from now, but he punches Chuck right in the jaw.







Despite the Humphreys' insistence that Nate is not in the way, after a week of squeezing five people into the loft, he feels distinctly like he doesn't fit. So he decides to go home.

"I'll miss you sneaking in after everyone's asleep," Dan teases gently, pressing a kiss to Nate's temple.

"I'll miss the waffles," Nate jokes back. Dan shoves him.

Nate thinks the house is empty when he first steps inside. It's cool and quiet, and the tastefully decorated Christmas tree is still standing by the front windows. He doesn't even hear Louisa, the maid, bustling around in the kitchen. He sighs and goes up to his room, but as he passes his mother's, he hears a quiet noise. And then another. It's a soft, miserable sound and he stands there for almost a full minute before he realizes his mother is crying.

Nate has never seen her cry. He could only count on one hand the number of times she's laughed, or smiled. Crying seems out of the realm of possibility.

He knocks gently. "Mom?"

The sound abruptly ceases, and he hears her get up, move around. The door opens and she looks the same as ever – not puffy, not upset, no tears in sight – except for the telltale redness of her eyes. "You're home."

"Yeah." He looks down. His instinct is to apologize, but he reminds himself he has nothing to apologize for.

"Where were you?"

"With Dan," Nate says. "His family's really nice."

Anne frowns. "And highly permissive, apparently."

He doesn't take the bait. "Are you okay?"

She averts her own gaze, and it strikes Nate that she looks kind of frail lately, stretched too thin in a myriad of ways. "Of course." Then it begins. "You know, Nathaniel, I was very worried about you – not even leaving a message, not answering your phone for days. I even went on that horrid website you and your friends use, but there wasn't anything except that video again. It was incredibly rude and thoughtless of you, especially after that scene at your father's –"

"Mom," he interrupts. "You could have stopped at 'I was worried.' You gotta – you gotta trust me a little bit."

"How was I to know you hadn't gone to your grandparents' again without a word?" she demands, breathless, staring at him hard with those reddened eyes.

He can't help faint confusion. "Would you have cared if I had?"

"What do you think it was like for me, waking up to find my son was gone?" Anne says. "Getting a call from my father that he was taking over, as he put it? And then nearly losing my husband months later?"

It seems stupid, but Nate had honestly never thought his mother cared enough to be upset that he was gone. For as long as he could remember, he had been an inconvenience to her: the boy who could never do anything right. But to look at her now, angry and uncharacteristically emotional, he is reminded of the fierce, fierce way Blair cares about people without ever wanting them to know.

"I'm sorry." Nate tries to inject as much genuine remorse into that as he feels. "I know I never said that to you. And I am really sorry. I just didn't know what else to do."

She seems at least a little taken aback. "You could have come to me first."

"Mom, don't take this the wrong way," he says, keeping his voice even, "but most of the time, you really don't want to hear it."

Anne looks away, and then brings a hand up to wipe away a stray tear that had begun to slide down her cheek. "Then I apologize as well."

"Okay," Nate says, and puts his arms around her. After a moment she lets him.







Winter break had been a welcome respite from everything, but come chilly January it's back to business.

Anne Archibald certainly hasn’t done a 360 or anything, but she's trying and Nate can be patient as long as he knows she's trying. He asks if she wants to meet Dan; she does not. But she orders some catalogues from lesser Ivys: Amherst, Trinity, Wesleyan. It's a gesture.

"Do you think it bothers her more that I'm a boy or that I'm middle class?" Dan jokes. Nate could honestly say it's a toss-up.

Blair is at his locker first thing on the first day back to school. "You punched Chuck," she says.

Nate busies himself putting textbooks away, realizes he forgot his math book. "It's not the first time someone hit him," he says. "Probably not the last, either."

She doesn't seem to care about that, shifting on her heels with a kind of impatience. "He said you were defending my honor, or something."

"What does Chuck know about honor?" He turns away. "I gotta get to class."

Nate is uncertain as to the cause of it, but he's noticed a change in Blair towards him: not so much of a softening as a lack of active rage. Which is big, for her. He hasn't done a thing to prompt it – in fact, he's been leaving her entirely alone, treating her like a stranger. He hasn't heard anything from Serena, but Serena isn't talking to Blair much either lately.

Blair is waiting in his living room when he gets home from school, a few minutes late because he insists on seeing Dan to the train every day. Dan doesn't need him to, obviously, but it's a holdover from days when he had to act the gentleman. Dan seems to find it funny.

Anne must've been thrilled to have Blair appear on her doorstep.

Blair stands awkwardly when he enters the room, her tomato red blazer standing out against all the dark wood and ambient lighting of the study. She looks tentative.

"Hope you don't have another yogurt to lob at me," he says.

"That wasn't me," Blair says with a touch of impatience. "And – and the blast, at the Ball, that wasn't me either."

"I know," Nate says. "Chuck said."

"I didn't ask what it was. I was so mad at you, I didn't care." She takes a breath. "I didn't know."

"If you had, would that have stopped you?"

Blair gives a jerky little shrug, but they both know the answer: no. Her gaze drops and he follows it, noticing for the first time the white envelope in her hands.

"What's that?"

"I wrote it to you when you were at your grandparents'," she says, and her fingers trace the edge of it, feeling its shape. "I never sent it."

Nate's throat works with a sudden rush of renewed guilt.

Carefully, Blair plucks the folded sheet of paper from inside the envelope – even with the distance between them, he can see his name and his grandparents' address neatly written on it, a letter that was never stamped – and opens it to read.

"Dear Nate," she says, and takes another breath like she really needs it. "My world is falling apart. My father left my mother for a thirty-one year old model. A male model. He's gone. And you're gone too." It's too easy to picture Blair, who never admits defeat and would rather die than concede hurt, sitting at her desk and writing out every single thing that's killing her. "I can't even talk to Serena, because she's always out or always drunk, and I can't take care of her by – by myself. Why didn't you tell me you were leaving? Why didn't you call? I love you, don't –" Her voice thins out like it could crack at any minute and her lashes are wet. "Don't you love me? I miss you so much. Love, Blair."

"You should have sent it," Nate says immediately, forcefully, his own voice thick. "I would've –"

"You would have what, Nate? You knew. You knew and you didn't even call." It's the tone of voice she used to reserve for telling him he got the wrong flowers, or forgetting she was off dairy that week. Except it's not like that at all, because he can hear how close she is to crying.

"I didn't know how to – what to say," he says, "to you, I –" He swallows. "I didn't want to hurt you, except I already had, and I didn't know how to look you in the eye and lie about it."

"I don't know if I would have told Chuck to do it anyway, if I knew," Blair says quietly. "After my dad, I wouldn't… I don't think I would."

He wonders if that has something to do with her sudden amends. Or maybe she did just miss him (so much), like he missed her; it was easy to forget with Blair that the impenetrable shield of her anger hid something very delicate. He spent so long trying not to look at that vulnerable, breakable part of her because it made him so uncomfortable. He didn't know how to handle it, and at the same time he knew one clumsy bad word from him could shatter it. But he'd done a lot worse than say the wrong thing by accident.

"I deserve it," he says seriously. "If you never forgave me, I'd understand."

Blair nods a little, but says, "Me too, I'd…" She trails off before admitting, "I want you to forgive me."

Nate's forgiveness is easily won. One look at her heartbroken and his defenses were already melted; he's not great at grudges. "Already have."

She looks up at him with sharp eyes still teary, assessing him for potential tricks. Apparently she doesn't find anything suspicious. "Okay," she says. "That's a start."







Blair invites him to breakfast on the steps – him and Dan and Serena.

Nate gets there first, finding Blair without her pastel mafia for once, just sitting alone in thick knit tights and a hat that covers her ears. Her nose is pink from cold and she is already annoyed at the weather, but privately Nate has always liked her best in the winter. She was always nudging close to him for warmth.

Dan and Serena arrive a few minutes later, holding hands as though that is totally normal. Nate must make a face, because Dan laughs and runs a hand over the nape of Nate's neck, which is unfairly placating.

Serena gingerly takes a seat one step below Blair and after a second, Blair shifts down next to her. "I got you tea," Serena says softly, and Blair takes it. Nate breathes a little sigh of relief.

It's awkward and cold for the first few minutes until Dan and Blair somehow start arguing about George Cukor and Serena rolls her eyes at Nate before effectively shifting the conversation to the upcoming Spring Formal, which starts Blair on a fresh round of weather complaints as Dan's hand settles on Nate's lower back under his coat. Nate doesn't offer much, instead letting the three of them talk over each other; Nate just breathes and breathes and feels –

He feels so much, so fully and completely, that if he opened his mouth he'd be embarrassingly sentimental. So he doesn't. He just listens, and feels too much, too good, for speaking.



epilogue

without a key (epilogue)
Nate/Dan. s1 AU; Nate left town instead of Serena.
R. 2354 words.

Summary:"Dad's at some all-night installation thing," Dan tells him, and the meaning behind it is obvious.




Note: Just some bonus fluffporn. Which was mostly written way before any of the other parts of this fic, because I have PRIORITIES.






"Dad's at some all-night installation thing," Dan tells him, and the meaning behind it is obvious.

Sex has not come up a whole hell of a lot, except for how they're both hyper aware that they're not having it. It goes without saying that Dan is a talker, so it must be taking superhuman reserve to keep him from having this conversation with Nate; that, or he's nervous, afraid, especially since Nate's sexuality is a thing still in flux. Nate would tell him not to worry, but that would defeat the purpose of not discussing anything.

All they do is kiss, though they do so at length, pressed so tight in Dan's twin bed that the only place closer would be under Dan's skin. Nate like that about kissing Dan – likes to feel Dan's heartbeat right up against him, like the ballroom dance steps he's tried pretty hard to forget: quick quick slow.

They get wrapped up in each other. They kiss until their skin is flushed red and sticky, kiss until they're breathless, kiss until Nate can't keep his hands from slipping under Dan's shirt to press against his hot back, until Dan's hips are snug against his even though that's dangerous territory.

Nate isn't sure what makes them stop, except nerves, maybe. Sometimes it's Dan's parents or Jenny coming home (because they almost always go to Dan's, unless Anne has gone on a spa weekend or something). Sometimes Nate wonders how they would've been able to pull apart without the interruption.

It always takes a second or two to get their bearings, to breathe, to push away from each other. Nate will sometimes run his thumb over Dan's mouth, lips puffy from kissing, red and wet. Dan smiles under the touch and Nate tries hard not to kiss him again. Later he'll call the image back up in his head, wrap his hand around himself and picture Dan's mouth there.

Once, though –

Once Dan is kissing him, deeply like Dan is so good at, and he just says it, says, "I love you."

Nate can feel exactly how furiously Dan's heart is pounding – quicker than a quickstep – and it's all too much, too soon. It's been four months, maybe, depending on what they consider the beginning of their relationship (another conversation they haven't had). But Nate just finds himself reaching for the hem of Dan's shirt and yanking it up, tipping Dan back against the bed and settling on top of him.

Dan watches him with something curious in his widened dark eyes. Then it's kissing again, only there's all of Dan's skin under his fingertips, and it's hotter than before and Dan's hands are under Nate's shirt, palms pressing against Nate's spine.

They line up just right, Dan hard against Nate, and Dan moans – it's the first time Nate has ever made him do that, this rough little sound escaping from low in his throat like Dan can't keep it in, eyes shut tight and cheeks flushed. He moans because of Nate and Nate says, "Me too," before he can stop it.

He drops kisses over Dan's flushed face, his mouth, says, "I love you too," even though he's never told that to anyone except Blair in his entire life. But he does love Dan, he does. For all the reasons he told his parents: because Dan is smart and funny and kind, because he loves Nate, because he's good to Nate and good for him too. But also because Dan can be mean and judgmental and he overthinks everything all the time, because sometimes his mind is narrow even when he claims to be so open.

Dan's eyes open so he can look at Nate intently as he slowly slides the heel of his hand over the shape of Nate through his jeans. Nate sucks in a breath and kisses Dan again, trails his mouth over Dan's throat. He wants that sound back, that rough moan. He doesn't get it, though Dan laughs warmly before he tugs the button of Nate's jeans open.

That's the closest they come. Nate really thinks that'll be it, the first time, there on Dan's bed in the middle of the afternoon, until the front door opens distantly. A few minutes later Jenny's voice loudly echoes, "Stop making out, I'm home!"

Dan sighs loudly, his arms falling away as his head drops back against the pillows. He mutters, "Sisters."

Nate bites his lip, unwilling to accept that it's over just when it was getting so good. He rubs up against Dan a little.

"Can't," Dan says. It almost comes out like that moan, almost. "We can't."

"I know," Nate says with a sigh of his own, but he's still moving a little and Dan is too, slowly, without meaning to.

"We have to go out there and pretend to be normal and not have erections," Dan says.

"We won't if we –" Nate presses down a little harder.

But it's a no go.

Dan kisses him goodbye out on the street and calls him almost as soon as Nate is home, talks in a steady low mumble, says all the things he wants to do to Nate. Nate just has time to shut his bedroom door behind him, lean against it. He comes with Dan's voice in his ear and his hand on himself.

Before Dan hangs up, sounding a little breathless himself, he says, "Tell me again."

For once in his life Nate knows exactly what's going on and, without missing a beat, tells Dan he loves him again.

"It's good to hear that," Dan murmurs, an odd small talk phrase that sounds warm and genuine in his voice. It's a good thing to hear. It makes him feel good.

Honestly, Nate answers, "It's good to say it."







Which brings everything up to speed to: "Dad's at some all-night installation thing." After a beat, Dan adds, "Jenny is at another Waldorf soirée, and Mom is back up at Hudson this weekend."

Dan does not betray how he feels about that last little bit of information, because the point seems to be that they have the loft all to themselves for at least one night.

"Remember the first time I slept over," Nate teases, though nothing particularly shocking had gone on, unless one stoned kiss counts as shocking. It really wasn't, especially in retrospect.

As though to pay homage to that first night, they smoke a little first.

Dan is not hyper chatty (verbose, Dan informed him once, or loquacious; dating Dan will do wonders for Nate's SAT score) like he usually is high. Instead he is quiet and thoughtful as they pass the joint between them. The energy of the room is murky and mellow, and Dan is malleable and soft. They kiss leisurely with open mouths, in no rush.

Eventually Nate drags his lips along Dan's jaw, clean-shaven but still slightly rough, and sucks gently below his ear. He opens Dan's shirt button by button, concentrating on the task more than he concentrates on most, and pushes it off Dan's shoulders, where it catches at the crook of his arms. Dan laughs a little, falls back onto his elbows on the bed and brings the joint back up to his lips for a long drag.

Nate wets his lips unconsciously before pressing a kiss to the hollow dip of Dan's collarbone. He moves lower, sliding to his knees on the floor and trailing kisses over Dan's stomach as he reaches for Dan's belt.

Dan exhales smoke, and his nerves show in the slight tremor of his hand. His bottom lip is between his teeth as he watches Nate carefully divest him of his jeans, lifting his hips to help, and he unsuccessfully tries to stifle a shaky breath when Nate kisses his dick through his boxers. It hits Nate abruptly that he's never gone down on anyone before. Blair had given him a few blowjobs, very sparingly, always the pinnacle of her reward system, but she never let him return the favor.

Before he can cross that off his list, Dan tangles fingers in Nate's hair and tugs him back up for another kiss. Nate lets his weight settle on Dan, feeling an odd kind of shiver in his chest when they come into contact. Dan grips him so tightly, too tightly, and that makes Nate shiver too, makes him want to keep kissing Dan and never stop.

Nate pulls back just enough to stub the joint out, and then he's pressing close to Dan again.

Dan tugs Nate's t-shirt over his head impatiently and then his hands are all over Nate, everywhere, at once: clenching tight in his hair, dragging blunt nails over his back, squeezing under the waistband of his jeans. Dan moans a little, the rasp of it so soft Nate nearly misses it, and suddenly everything sharpens. It gets frantic where it had been so easy, messy and urgent where before they'd been happy to coast. Nate thinks it might just happen like this – half-dressed, too soon – but he wants it too much to care at the moment.

Until Dan is gasping, saying, "No, wait, no, I want to see –"

Nate stills. "See?"

"Can I?" Dan kisses Nate's throat wetly and wriggles free from underneath him so he can push Nate onto his back. His hands are at the fastening on Nate's jeans, rubbing the bulge there distractedly, feeling the shape of Nate's cock. "Can I?"

"Do whatever the fuck you want," Nate says, which gets a laugh as Dan gets the button open, zipper down. He pulls the remainder of Nate's clothes off unceremoniously, but then he pauses. He stares at Nate spread out beneath him, the rapid rise and fall of Nate's chest, his cock getting harder under the scrutiny. Dan touches him with light exploratory fingers. Nate remembers that Dan has never touched another boy either; whatever first Dan is for him, he is for Dan too.

"You too," Nate prompts. He wants badly to see Dan, touch him, take him in hand.

Dan sits back on his heels to strip himself of his unbuttoned button-down, finally, and then eases his boxers off. Nate grabs Dan's ass before he can stop himself, brings Dan back on top of him.

The first slide of Dan's cock against his nearly undoes them both. They look down as one, watching raptly as they move together. Neither of them can stop looking, apparently, at where they move inexpertly against each other, hard and flushed, too distracted by it even to kiss.

Nate's still got his hands on Dan's ass, directing those slow thrusts, pushing them towards that dizzy edge. Dan wraps a tight grip around them both, letting the rhythm Nate's setting slide them in and out of his fist with little assistance. Nate really can't pull his gaze from Dan's cock, can feel the pulse of it against his own. He thinks Dan's cock is awfully nice to look at, longer than Nate's but not quite as thick, looking bigger against the backdrop of Dan's thinness. He curls a hand around Dan's around them both, wants to feel it, wants –

"Want it in my mouth," Nate mumbles. It's a clumsy want of putting it, unthinking and motivated by desire, and it'll probably be embarrassing later. But right now he wants Dan's cock in his mouth, can imagine the weight of it on his tongue, the fullness between his lips. Dan must be able to imagine it too, because he moans desperately and spills all over Nate's stomach, cock, both their hands. His hips don't still for even a minute, still pushing restlessly against Nate.

And before Nate has much of a chance to enjoy that, to revel in Dan panting and sticky and sated, Dan is saying, "Tell me when," as he shifts down Nate's body to take Nate into his mouth.

Nate has a half-second of mild jealousy before he truly does not care about anything at all, Dan's mouth hot and wet, his cheeks going concave as he sucks. Nate lasts maybe three seconds and does not have time to warn Dan before coming unexpectedly.

"When," he breathes once Dan has pulled off, slumping back against the mattress. He winces. "Sorry."

Dan is making a little bit of a face but shakes his head, half-smiles. "Could be worse. And it's not like mine wasn't already…everywhere, when I –" He breaks off, cheeks pinking as post-coital embarrassment sinks in – yes, they really did all those things, yes, they were that shameless, yes, it was that messy, that good.

It only serves to make Nate want to wrap Dan up in his arms, so that's what he does.

They trade kisses slower than they did at the start of the night, sweat drying on their skin. Nate doesn't feel anything close to satisfaction, the roll-over-and-sleep feeling he's come to associate with jerking off. He just wants to keep kissing. He wants to do it all over again.

He says as much and Dan laughs quietly. "Shit. I mean, shit. We just had sex. Like, actually."

"I know, dude, I was there," Nate says. "I saw the whole thing go down." Dan pinches him and Nate grins, feels that flutter in his chest he sometimes has around Dan. Words tumble out without his meaning to say them. "I'm glad, though. That it was you."

When Nate thought about the first time he'd have sex, he'd never imagined it on a bar in an empty ballroom or with a boy in Brooklyn. He thought it would be fumbling but nice, carefully orchestrated and painstakingly planned. A movie first time. Candles, pink lingerie, chaste kisses, exchanged I love yous.

It's messier than that, though. He had no way of anticipating how out of control of his own body he'd feel, how it would be to give control to someone and something else. To just let it happen, however it was supposed to happen.

"I'm glad it was me, too," Dan jokes.

Nate finds he doesn't regret it, not any of it.

F I C
the age of dissonace, partsfive + six
without a key, partsfour + five + epilogue
god help the girl, dan/blair zany neighbors au

N O T   F I C
five things meme: comics edition ::prompts answered for anonymous, ladymercury_10, snickfic

moment of pride @ myself for busting through my WIPs finally!

EXPECTATION / REALITY
nelly yuki. also: dan, blair, other people, ocs. 1547 words.

SUMMARY: Nelly Yuki was a loser from the second she stepped foot in her first Constance classroom.

NOTE: For lusimeles, I hope you like it!! I have been wanting to write a Nelly Yuki fic for a long time so I was glad of the excuse, honestly. Getting this in soooort of under the gun but it still counts!!






Nelly Yuki was a loser from the second she stepped foot in her first Constance classroom and not because of her clothes or her glasses or her IQ – it was just some ineffable quality that set her apart, and apparently everyone could smell it on her. She was just wrong.

It didn't help that she didn't drink, didn't shop for fun; she wasn't invited to parties where she might try a cocktail, and she didn't need new dresses to sit in her room.





Not even two years out of college and Raf Simons himself sent Nelly a Dior bag with a handwritten thank-you note. She allowed herself the gloat. She deserved it.





Nelly grew up the only child of two parents who actually loved each other. That shouldn't exactly have been a show-stopping factoid, but when placed in context with the rest of her class, well. It kind of was. Her dad and her mom were in love, but more than that, they just really got along. They really liked each other. And Nelly really liked them.

Sometimes she would make up problems just to fit in with her friends' complaining. Hazel's stepmother was having an allergic reaction to her Botox. Iz's dad was having an affair with Kati's mom. Penelope was blackmailing her dad's junior partner. There was so much going on with all of them that Nelly was embarrassed to offer up things like: her dad came home early from his business trip just because he missed her mom, and they had a great time playing family Scrabble while watching old movies.

Who wouldn't think that was lame?





Nelly's first semester at Yale was about as miserable as her entire Constance career, but then something miraculous happened: she made a friend.

They met in a theatre elective Nelly took out of curiosity. Alexia was tall with a round, pretty face dotted with freckles and long, loose limbs that she only seemed to have minimal control over. She was a drama major and a loudmouth; Nelly's opposite in many ways, and also maybe the most normal person Nelly had ever met. Alexia ended up Nelly's partner in a scene project and by the end of the first week she was also the best friend Nelly had had since Susie Chen in first grade.

By year two, Nelly had thrown out all her headbands and colored tights.





Nelly would always be embarrassed to say that it took her years post-breakup to realize that Todd Jansen was a shitty boyfriend. It would take her even longer to realize she didn't like him very much in the first place. She was lonely and insecure and he was cute enough; at fifteen she didn't need much more to motivate her. But Todd sucked, list not limited to: the Flo Rida concert, upsetting her on purpose the night before the SATs, and deciding he just wouldn't go down on her. Ever.

But at least half the time Nelly was going out with Todd, she had a thing for Dan Humphrey.

She met him freshman year during student government, because the first year was co-ed while they taught everyone how it worked. She remembered him as initially quiet but increasingly opinionated over the course of the hour-long meetings, until the upperclassmen helping them just ceased to answer any of Dan's questions. She liked that about Dan. And she liked that he seemed totally unaware of being flat-out gorgeous. It seemed everyone else was unaware of it too, just because he had a bad haircut and a scholarship.

By the time Nelly extricated herself from the Todd scenario, Dan Humphrey had zipped right out of her league.





Alexia was going through an ill-advised blonde phase when she said, "We're going out, Yuki, and you are finding a dude."

Alexia was always finding herself a dude and then doing away with him roughly thirty-six hours after she found him, but the closest Nelly had gotten to a boy since high school was spilling her coffee on the cute guy in her lit class. So she was more than up for it.

Nelly had gotten pretty good at doing herself up to her own liking: neutrals, big chunky necklaces, metallic frames. She felt good when she went out now, like her skin actually fit the person inside it. So she went out to snag a boy and returned to her apartment at three a.m. with one in tow. The sex was good, not great, but better than Todd for sure; after he left she took a long soak and did some light Dan Humphrey Facebook stalking.

It felt pretty great, actually.





The day Nelly got into Yale felt like finally being able to breath after being underwater too long. She had been so terrified that all her hard work, all her miserable days sitting on the steps and running errands for girls she hated, would remain rewarded. She was afraid she'd been killing herself for four years for a big fat nothing, but all those worries evaporated instantly when she got that acceptance.

When she got that acceptance and Blair Waldorf didn't.





Nelly had always been proud of herself for being the kind of girl who set goals and followed them through. She didn't believe in luck or laziness, just hard work. Maybe that made her less fun than some people, but that was a price she was just fine paying. So she did just that: worked hard, graduated early, and landed an internship, then a job at Women's Wear Daily.

"You're so annoying to be friends with," Alexia complained. "You get too much done. I took all afternoon just to paint my nails."

Alexia moved in after her own graduation a year later. Everything was pretty much ideal at that point – there was a lot of drunk Netflix, and laughing over Blair Waldorf's disaster wedding photos, and all sorts of mild pettiness that Nelly liked to reward herself with.

But then one day she was killing time at work (even a workaholic like her had to get bored once in a while) scrolling through Gossip Girl, and there it was: a picture of Dan Humphrey kissing Blair Waldorf. It was a totally stupid thing to get mad about but Nelly felt suddenly transported to her seat on the chilly Met steps, swallowing her words every time Blair spat a new diatribe her way.

Because even though she never deserved it, Blair Waldorf always seemed to have a way of getting what Nelly wanted.

When Nelly tried to explain this, Alexia looked at her like she was crazy. "Um, hello, you are like a totally boss fashion bitch, and this chick is a twenty-two year old divorcée wearing a rhinestone tiara. This is no contest, bro."

But it wasn't about facts, it was about feelings, and Nelly was used to Blair crushing hers.





The most embarrassing moment in Nelly's entire life was when she almost told Dan she was in love with him.

It was after high school graduation and she was trashed on wine coolers, which apparently made confessing seem like a rational decision. She didn't remember much from that night except how urgent it felt – and how warmly amused Dan's eyes were, laughing at her a little in a way that made her feel heated instead of offended. But that was probably also the wine coolers talking.





So she ended up having sex with Dan.

He invited her out for drinks and he was different, had been since they came back into each other's lives. He wasn't as warm, or as kind; there was an edginess to him that Nelly found appealing and off-putting in equal measure. She liked him but he made her nervous, and he'd never really done that before.

She didn't plan on sleeping with him. One drink led to two and he got a little drunk, a lot charming and Nelly just couldn't help herself. They stumbled their way into her apartment – just into her apartment, because Dan crowded up against the wall and slipped his hands under her legs to lift her up. Nelly deeply hoped Alexia wasn't home but she was also just drunk enough not to really care.

They made it to her room eventually, where Dan passed out with his face smushed into her pillow. Whatever anyone would think, Nelly hadn't been holding a candle for him; she just liked to think about him once in a while, wonder about what might have been. She liked to see what he was up to. Often, Nelly liked the feeling of having a crush more than she liked the process of acting on it, so it had been enough for her to just have a crush on Dan. And now she'd gone and fucked him, even though he was different and probably depressed and definitely hung up on a girl who was not Nelly Yuki.

But looking at him asleep in her bed, Nelly found it genuinely hard to care very much.

After a few minutes she got up and went into the bathroom, drew a bath even though it was the middle of the night, and soaked while reading bad reviews of Blair's new clothing line on her phone.

And Nelly felt pretty good about herself.

For ladymercury_10! I hope you enjoy this! I tried to stick to using underappreciated songs like you asked though I am...not actually sure I did that, haha. Just my normal kind of stuff, really. Title song is not even on the mix (whoops?) but it was more appropos than the working title, which was 'chill dreamy romantic stuff.'

This is just a general mix; no fandom association intended, nothing to do with A Place in the Sun though that is where I took the cover picture from. Oh, and nothing to do with the holidays either, lol. I see now that the title of this post is misleading.

Also this is legit the only thing I had done ahead of time out of all my December prompts, so this month should be fun.





01. wild charms. the kills.
to the doting boys by your side,
riding roughshod on your starless nights.

to she who played concertos, foul and black,
upon my heartstrings, and never looked back.

what became of those wild charms?


02. centerfold. mothxr.
make me something you don't need.

LONG AGO AND FAR AWAY
steve/natasha. cameos by clint, tony, and pepper.
1961 words. set between Avengers and Cap2.

summary: He lets Natasha waltz him around the room ("This is not actually a waltz, Steve," she says), leading him but pretending like it's him doing the leading. Afterwards she deems him in need of practice but, in her words, "not a total disaster."

note: for catteo! I really hope you like it. put it on ao3 too.





The night is still and silent, and Steve's apartment has too many windows. Sometimes it feels like he can't breathe for all that the sky is pressing in on him.

He takes to going to the gym in the middle of the night, sucking in the antiseptic air and trying to tire himself out – and trying, and trying. The emptiness of the gym is only marginally better than the emptiness of his apartment because at least this isn't supposed to be his home. It isn't full of things that are supposed to belong to him, things that are supposed to comfort him.

One night he arrives to find Natasha there.

It isn't one of his usual nights, but today's mission had been especially unexciting and he was left with energy to burn. So maybe that accounts for them running into each other when they never have before. Steve's first instinct is to politely leave her to it, but instead he's stuck to the spot. Because Natasha is dancing.

The way she moves has always struck Steve as possessing of a particular grace, so watching her dance isn't so much a surprise as it is a puzzle piece being pressed into place. Her command of her body is absolute; she reminds him of models he used to draw in class, that kind of confidence. He really ought to excuse himself, but on one twirl past him Natasha arches her eyebrow slightly and brings an elegant hand up for a little salute, so Steve figures it might be okay to linger.

There is something almost ghost-like about the way she dances. Her muscles are stark and beautiful, and it's clear there is nothing her body does that she doesn't mean to do. Steve has always admired people with that kind of control; it's something that is still relatively recent for him.

Natasha has never asked him what he was like before and it's a courtesy that Steve appreciates greatly, so in response he has never asked about her before either. It gives him the sense that he's in on a secret right now, seeing her in simple black leggings with her hair in a bun and red pointe shoes on her feet. They're not the fiery red of her hair but a deep, glossy crimson – like the lipstick of the girls back home, like cherries in syrup.

When she's done, her limbs seem to fold back in like butterfly wings. There is the thinnest sheen of sweat on her skin and the hair at the nape of her neck is dark with it. "I feel like I should applaud," Steve says, his voice soft in the quiet.

"You probably should," Natasha says. It can be difficult to tell with her, but she doesn't seem bothered. If anything, she seems relaxed. She goes off to fiddle with the low music. "Want to?"

"Applaud?"

Natasha glances over her shoulder at him. "Dance."

"Don't know how."

She selects a song before turning back to face him, her expression amused. "Just as well. They aren't doing it the way you'd know how anymore." She tilts her head, gesturing him closer. "Come on. I'll show you."

Steve feels an acute pain somewhere in the vicinity of his sternum, or possibly just in the back of his brain, but he dutifully puts his bag down and goes to stand in front of Natasha. She puts one of his hands on her waist, solid and firm beneath his fingers, and holds the other aloft. Her arms fall into place atop his. She looks up at him, head tipping back, and then goes up on her toes to bring them closer in height. He's still a good deal taller, but it makes him smile, which makes her smile. It's small and enigmatic and very Natasha, but it feels special anyhow – maybe because this is something private that she's allowing him to have. And if he's honest, it's something private he's letting her have too.

"I'll keep it simple, old man," she says. "Don't want to break a hip."

He lets Natasha waltz him around the room ("This is not actually a waltz, Steve," she says), leading him but pretending like it's him doing the leading. Afterwards she deems him in need of practice but, in her words, "not a total disaster."

"High praise indeed," Steve jokes, but the thing of it is, it's true.

Natasha gives him a considering up-and-down look before saying, "Same time next week," in a way that's definitely not a question.







They're back in New York for a mission and they end up with some time to kill, so Natasha takes Steve along to Clint's place in Bed Stuy. They arrive to something of a party – up on the roof, the grill going, a mix of Avengers and Clint's neighbors in attendance. Bruce is at one corner explaining something to two small children. Tony is entertaining a small crowd while Pepper sips wine and corrects him. Steve tries to be helpful at first but ends up perched on the ledge sipping a beer.

Natasha finds her way over to him eventually, dancing a little, loose and easy and in tune with the music. She has a beer in one hand but he notices that when she takes a sip the level doesn't change. He wonders just how much effort she puts into appearing at ease.

"Having fun?"

"Sure thing," Steve says, but he gestures behind her. "Not as much as them, though."

Almost everyone else is kind of drunk, and Clint is in fact giving Pepper a spin to the amusement of the other guests.

"I don't see how this is fair," Tony complains. Pepper is laughing brightly as Clint dips her. "Friends don't sweep other friends' lady friends off their feet with unexpected dance abilities."

He doesn't seem too bothered though, taking a seat with Steve and Natasha to watch. "I was not aware Clint was so bendy."

"He has many talents," Natasha says. "Well, sort of."

"Don't have to look out for this with the likes of you, do I, Cap?" Tony says. "You're not gonna Lindy Hop into Pep's heart next, are you?"

"No plans on it," Steve says easily. "Don't know how to Lindy Hop."

"Oh, don't sell yourself short," Natasha says. She taps her beer bottle against his knee in a friendly way. "You've got moves."

"Cap's got moves?" Tony interrupts. "That I will believe when there is video evidence."

Natasha just shrugs. "Steve's got moves," she asserts, and gives Steve a little sideways look.

"I don't even want to know what you crazy kids are getting up to in our nation's capital," Tony remarks before going to save Pepper from Clint, though she doesn't seem particularly interested in the saving.

"Just some good clean fun," Steve says, though Tony is out of earshot by now.

It's been almost a month of midnight dance lessons.

"Oh yeah," Natasha agrees. "We're practically nuns."







Steve is watching Natasha as she does lazy little pirouettes, her gaze firmly on the mirror. He thinks of Natasha as a teammate first but there are moments, often late at night like now, when other things cross his mind, like her ratio of waist to hips. Sometimes he likes to pretend it's artistic interest. Sometimes he doesn't.

"You're not gonna ask, are you?"

He snaps to attention, pulling his eyes from the curve of her waist to meet her gaze in the mirror. "Ask what?"

"Where I picked up all these tricks."

Steve shrugs. "Isn't really my business, is it?"

Natasha is still looking at him in the mirror but her expression shifts, becomes almost intrigued. "No," she agrees. "It's really not." She holds out her hands for him. "Alright, come here."

Steve isn't sure what the point of this exercise is exactly. It may just be a round of get-the-old-guy-out-of-his-shell, which Natasha is apparently a fan of if all those potential dates she pushes on him are any indication. It's possible there's no point at all, no ulterior motives, just two people who can't sleep trying to burn off the excess night.

Natasha says he's getting better.

Steve does like learning a new thing to do with himself, with this body he sometimes thinks he doesn't take enough advantage of. Time was he would have given up anything just to be healthy, and now – well. Now he's got his health.

He doesn't think the choreography is unlike a fight at the end of the day – it's all about being in tandem with another person, advancing and retreating, anticipating another person's move before they make it.

"Also like sex," Natasha says. "How long's it been for you – eighty, ninety years?"

"You're overshooting it by a couple decades," he tells her, and receives a small Natasha smile in return.

"Can't wait forever, Gramps," she says.

Steve doesn't mind the jokes, but every once in a while he wants to remind people that he's not really that old, that he still hasn't had a thirtieth birthday. But at the same time it wouldn't be true. He carries all those years with him anyway. Time presses in on him so heavily that sometimes he almost misses being out of commission. Sometimes he almost misses the cold.

"I don't mind waiting for now," he says.

Natasha gets an almost soft look on her face, the kind of look Steve gets a lot from waitresses and baristas and all kinds of kindly strangers.

"Hey now," Steve says. "Not you too. I get enough of that pity from everyone else."

She makes a point of stepping on his feet after that.







On a night that is not altogether particular or different, Natasha puts herself in his lap.

He's found himself looking at Natasha more than he means to lately, but only here in this brightly lit gym where his guard is down, or hers is, or where they both pretend their guard is down. He's been getting the feeling that Natasha's looking at him too. He's not blind to that kind of thing, whatever she says; he's just patient about it.

Steve puts one hand on her waist, the other on her lower back, waiting; she touches his shoulders and his neck, feels the shape of his arms. It just sort of happens, like that. Natasha does the rearranging and the unzipping, and his hands roam over her body. It isn't altogether different from the fighting or the dancing, except he thinks it's less fraught than both; it's not exactly lusty or romantic, just sort of… Steve's not sure there's a word for something two people want in equal measure, without expecting anything from it either. Friendly, maybe. They don't kiss. It doesn't even occur to him.

He's left with a series of pleasurable impressions: the tilt of Natasha's head and the flicker of green eyes beneath closed lids. Her sharp collarbone and full breasts, the contrast of her skin and black shirt. The way the heel of her hand grinds into his chest as she moves on him. And how when she comes she bites her lip but hardly makes a sound.

The whole room has the sense of the un-talked-about, because they don't, really. What they do in this room isn't a part of the real world, where they wear skintight clothes and toss around quips and save the world. It's not a bad thing, Steve thinks. It's just private.

Afterwards she lingers in his arms for just a minute, her breath in his ear, and he wonders what to say, what he could say.

"Tell me," she murmurs, and he must be figuring her out because he anticipates the joke right before she says it: "Was that the first time since 1945?"

OH THE HUMANITY
dan, blair, serena. superhero au. 1256 words.

summary:"Blair," Serena says firmly, voice ringing. "Don't you think this has gone on long enough?"

note: for ivy32! this ended up more dan-centric than was originally intended, so...oops? that just sometimes happens with me. anyway, i hope you enjoy this fic and i am genuinely sorry it couldn't be longer, but time is unfortunately tight with the december prompts. also superhero ~names are stupidly difficult to come up with without sounding like a cheeseball.







She wears a silver mask over half her face, disguising all discernible features, even her eyes concealed behind the shining, mirror-reflective surface. Her hair spills out around it, lush and brown, and below it is her expression red mouth, which shows displeasure as easily as the alternative. Dan has never seen her without the mask. He doesn't even know her real name. They call her the Masked Witch, which she has never liked. Dan calls her dictator, despot, tyrant – all in good humor.

He wasn't always on her side.





Serena van der Woodsen wears no mask and hides nothing. She can be found easily on duty or off, greeting fans with happy smiles and dashing off autographs. She does interviews and says earnest things like, "I didn't ask for these abilities. But I have them, and I have to do something."

When she's performing her deeds of public service, she wears a tight gold suit that ends at the top of her thighs, one shoulder bared and the other trumpeting a banner-like swath of shiny gold fabric. She has a gold circlet nestled amongst her wild waves of blonde hair, gold bracelets on her wrists that stop bullets. She wields a sword. She looks like a goddess. She and the Masked Witch have monthly showdowns, and that's where the first layer of the story is peeled back:

"Blair," Serena says firmly, voice ringing. "Don't you think this has gone on long enough?"





"Blair?" Dan asks, later. That battle had ended in a lightning storm, a particular viciousness to the spell-casting.

It is impossible to tell if she's looking at him because of the mask. That face, impassive and silver, does not even turn in his direction.

"Keep it to yourself," she says, but he wasn't planning on doing anything else.





Serena finds Dan first in civvies, because even mercenaries get days off. He knows he doesn't look the type, and he isn't really: he had a loving home, he went to good schools. Only he'd always get in trouble for fighting – usually with the rich snots he went to school with. In an effort to "channel his aggression," his parents signed him up for all sorts of classes, boxing and martial arts and even shooting, a few times. One thing led to another. And now here he is.

He's an easy target for the other side because of this. They're forever trying to win him over.

"You seem like a good man," Serena says gently, kindly. "But you've been misled."

But Dan's always known what he was doing. He's just not so free with his origin story.





Blair's gown knots at the shoulder and sweeps to the ground, black fading slowly into a deep, poisonous green. Dan has been thinking about her real name a lot lately, letting it echo around in his head. Blair. Her name is Blair. Serena knows her name is Blair and that must mean something; now Dan knows, and that must mean something too. Dan suspects he is in love with this woman, though he isn't sure you can love someone whose face you've never even seen.

He admires her. It took him a long time, but now he admires people who go after what they want, damn the means and damn the consequences. And Blair – she doesn't do anything except that.

"It's so simple," she says once, almost coos. "All I want is the world."

Dan is cleaning his guns. He's her right-hand man, the only one permitted to remain this close at all times, the only one who knows where she really lives. "To do what?" he prompts. He glances up at her. "Or do you just want it, full stop, like a new pair of shoes?"

Her mouth curves in a half-smile beneath the mask. "I want it to listen," she says, "to me. I want everyone in it to listen to me."

Dan blows out a low breath. "Hate to break it to you, ma'am," he says, "but you may have to settle for a continent."

Her soft laughter rings through him for hours afterwards.





Dan meets Serena in a coffee shop, so daring that he hopes it flies right under the radar. They could almost be two normal people having a friendly warm drink, her in a gray sweater with her hair in a braid and him in a wool coat. He looks how he used to look, before.

"I'm not giving her up or anything," Dan says. "That's not why I'm here."

Serena observes him. "You're very loyal."

He doesn't really know how she means that, if there are underlying implications, but a part of him warms to it just like a compliment. But he ignores that to say, "You knew her before."

Serena inclines her head slightly. "And you want to know what happened to make her…this." She sighs. "Blair is a good person – was, I guess I should say. She just…She wants so much."

Dan nods a little, fiddling with his napkin.

"What about you?" Serena asks. "What made you…?" She trails off and gestures at him, though nothing in his appearance today reveals anything about the path he chose. So polite, he thinks, to not even say the words.

He shrugs. "Selfishness. Loss of faith in humanity. Tired of being the underdog. Take your pick."

Serena tilts her head. "Those sound more like reasons to help to me."

"Then I guess that's what makes people like you different from people like me," Dan tells her.





Blair asks him what he knows about explosives, her fingers gentle on his arm right below the sleeve. She presses the prominent bump of his wrist like a button, drums her fingertips along his knuckles.

"Planning on blowing something up?"

He learned all about anatomy because he's a thorough kind of guy, and in his head he names all the bones she's touching as she touches them. He knows how to break them. He's broken them before, in other people.

"I can't tell you all my plans," she says, voice playful and light. "You're just one step above the minions, after all."

"Sure know how to make a guy feel important."

Blair tilts up and kisses his cheek right above the line of his jaw. Dan freezes. "No one's as loyal as you," she says. "Better?"

There's that word again, he thinks. "Aces."





The same week Blair asks about the explosives, Serena appeals to him for help again.

"Don't you people have lackeys of your own?" Dan asks, huffy, divided.

"You're the one who knows what she's going to do next," Serena implores. "And I know you know it's wrong. That's why you keep letting me talk to you. You don't have to do anything, just – whatever it is, let me stop it."

But she underestimates how much he wants, too, and the next time he reports to Blair, he tells her everything.

The mask watches him. Her mouth is vexed. "She's my enemy, and you took her out for biscotti?"

Your friend once too, he thinks. He doesn't say it. He doesn't have enough evidence that Blair ever had friends. "It wasn't like that."

"I'm not interested in hearing what it was like."

"Blair –"

"I didn't say you could call me that either," she snaps. Her back straightens, arms stiff and regal on the arms of her chair. "What are you going to do to make it up to me?"

He raises his gaze to her hidden one. "Let's blow some shit up," he says.

placeholder for today's fic! it'll be posted just.....potentially in the middle of the night. IT'S ALMOST DONE and i want to pretend like i didn't miss any days so. placeholder. 

the masochism tango
dan/georgina. 1323 words. r.

summary: Georgina finds she likes Dan best like this, all used up and spat out. Corrupting staunch morals is all good and fun, but there is something to having them come pre-corrupted. At the very least it's awfully convenient.

note: for thecruelone! could not resist writing about these fucked up losers some more. set post s6 and all canon pretty much applies except dan is not gossip girl and he didn't marry serena. but that's not super important anyway.






Their relationship so far has been a series of escalating dares.

Georgina finds she likes Dan best like this, all used up and spat out. Corrupting staunch morals is all good and fun, but there is something to having them come pre-corrupted. At the very least it's awfully convenient. And there's something unpredictable to him these days; it's hard to tell how much she'll have to push before he bends. She prods and provokes and waits for him to say uncle. These days, he doesn't say it often.

He was essentially hers as soon as he and Serena imploded, something anyone could have seen coming a mile away. He was too tired to really try with anyone new, and he had no love left to give. His professional life was already in Georgina's hands; it was easy to hand over his personal one.

Their apartment is made up of bright red walls and floor to ceiling windows. It's decorated to reflect the life they have together: hard and modern, take no prisoners. Magazines love to do shoots at their ultra-Manhattan home with the city looming through the glass. They're some kind of power couple – fancy that.

In the afternoons it's less imposing. Dan sprawls on the rug with the kid playing all those children's games she has no interest in, and it's perhaps the only time something of the old Dan sparks to attention in him. He would only consent to having a night nanny, so Georgina allows him his babying during the day but every night she sweeps him away: for writing, for networking, for meet-and-greets. For sex. All of his nights belong to Georgina. That's how she wants it. It's her wifely duty, after all.

Or it would be, if Dan would marry her.

She buys herself a ring with his credit card: princess cut black diamond, halo setting, white gold with a triple band of pavé diamonds. She has excellent taste. Dan takes one look at it and rolls his eyes. He thinks he could get along so easy without her – well, what does he know.

That's why she decides she wants a more permanent commitment.

They're at a bar, very late, the kind of highly private place she likes him to be seen at, a place with a cultivated clientele and no name on the outside. Georgina wears a long black dress with a slit to her thigh; she put Dan in a nice leather jacket, a little scruffy, just like him. They're playing cards. Just the two of them – a private little ritual she likes.

"You have an abysmal poker face," she tells him.

"Maybe I'm throwing you off on purpose," Dan mutters, but he's frowning at his cards and gnawing his lip and just generally giving the entire game way. Abysmal.

"Let's see then." She throws down her cards, waiting. Dan hesitates a beat too long and just like that, she knows she's got him.

They stakes are high in their card games. Money doesn't mean anything to Georgina, really. She wants attention. She wants proof.

(Of course, this goes both ways; she's lost once or twice. One time she had to wear a headband in bed and she was not happy about that. Which probably had more to do with his request than anything else.)

"Alright," he sighs, once he fans out his cards, decimated by hers. "What do you want?"

"I've been thinking, darling…" Her fingers snake out to wrap around his, pulling his hand closer. "You'd look just dashing with a tattoo." She taps his left ring finger. Her nails are a deep, jewel-tone purple. "Right here."

Dan looks down at their hands – hers polished and smooth, having never done an honest day's work, and his a little rougher, dry skin and ink marks – and grasps her meaning instantly. "You cannot be serious."

Georgina smiles and leans over the table to kiss his cheek. "I'm not getting down on one knee."

Georgina prepared in advance, so they leave the lounge to go get his tattoo right then, even though it's nearly three in the morning. Dan huffs and grumbles and says he's "just as fuckin' crazy as you are" – but he never says no.

It's a simple little design (also prearranged), just some thin, spiky black lines woven around her own very distinctive G. Dan scowls the whole time, nose wrinkling as he winces every so often, but honestly the whole thing takes less than twenty minutes. He holds it up to show her after, skin slightly raw and swollen. "Branded for life," he says. Georgina ignites all over at the thought.

Dan makes her wait until they return home, check on the spawn, lock their bedroom door. That's when she pounces, kisses him hard enough to crash sideways into the mirrored armoire. Dan shoves her back and this time they land against the dresser, overturning unlit candles and perfume bottles. He has his hand between her legs before he's even really kissed back; he lets Georgina's mouth mark him up with lipstick but his own remains unresponsive, for now.

Georgina pushes him into the armchair beside the dresser and steps back to unzip her dress, letting the slinky black fabric slip off her and hit the ground. Dan sometimes pretends that he only puts up with her, but it's never so clearly bullshit as when he's looking at her with her clothes off, tits pushed up in satin, lace snug around her hips. She lets him get a good eyeful before getting in his lap. He does kiss her then, grabs her ass, tugs her bra cup down enough to rub her nipple. She opens his shirt but doesn't take it off him. Her nails drag over his chest just this side of painful.

Then she pulls the bandage off his newly tattooed finger. It's settling already. It's so permanent. She kisses it just to watch him wince again. But he doesn't – he just gives her a curious, knowing look. As though he knows anything.

Dan has his hands on her face and he's looking in her eyes, keeping her jaw open, lips parted. His thumb slides over her bottom lip, then his tongue flicks gently against her mouth. He kisses her, mouth soft and wet, and his eyes are still open. "I can't shake you, huh," he says.

"Doesn't seem likely." Georgina opens his jeans, takes him in her hand, and rises up on her knees so she can sink back down, panties pushed aside.

"Mm…" The murmur leaves his throat low and meditative. He fucks up into her slow and hard, forceful and unhurried upwards thrusts. "Not even if I wanted to?"

His left hand is on the base of her throat and she covers it with her own, letting her fingertips trace over the design there. She'd drag her nails over it but she doesn't want to ruin it. "Nope."

He goes a little faster because he knows that's how she likes it but as soon as she moans, as soon as it seems like she might be anywhere close to close, he slows down. He does it again and again, until Georgina's eyes slide open again to meet his. "You're gonna stick around forever," he says, not a question, gaze trained on her. "Keep picking me up. Floating me along. Because you're my girl, right, Georgie? You're my girl?"

She has the sudden desire to slap him or maybe dig her thumb into his windpipe. He should know better than to antagonize her, because Georgina isn't very good at listening to safewords.

"You love me?" he asks, and it's so mocking it could've come out of her mouth.

She kisses him again but then bites his lip so hard she wouldn't be surprised if it drew blood. It didn't, and Dan laughs, and Georgina hates nothing so much as being laughed at.

"Next time," she says, "I'm gagging you."

miss teen cactus flower
1126 words. lauren + assorted.
pre-series and s1-based.

summary: It's Lauren's luck that she ends up the wicked stepsister.

note: for anonymous! I don't know who you are, but I hope you like this. On AO3.






When she's four years old, the only thing Lauren likes is Cinderella. Classic Disney, classic Brandy, classic Barrymore, it doesn't matter – after the whole thing with her mom, it's like she latches onto it and nothing else will comfort her. Something about a little girl with nobody except her dad. Or maybe it's just all the sparkle.

Her dad is faltering in the wake of everything too. He doesn't quite know what to do alone with a four-year-old girl but he tries: watches Cinderella with her endlessly, learns how to match up outfits and brush her hair without hurting her. He buys her Cinderella dolls, little blue and silver gowns sized just for her, commemorative plates, all the branded merchandise, the whole enchilada. He buys her a million different kinds of Cinderella books – and there are millions, Cinderellas of every culture, skeleton Cinderellas, cat Cinderellas, Cinderellas made out of artfully photographed flowers.

It's Lauren's luck that she ends up the wicked stepsister.





Lauren finds out she's intersex when she's five. She remembers her dad kneeling down to look her in the eye, grabbing both of her arms, and telling her with a kind of fierceness, "Now you're the same as you ever were, baby, you hear me? No different."

Back then Lauren hadn't understood exactly what it meant to be what she was, so her dad's insistence made her feel strange and uncomfortable. She didn't feel any different.

A month later he puts her in her first pageant. At first she feels like Cinderella going to the ball, except she has to practice all the time and it's boring and she doesn't like everyone looking at her. And her dad makes sure to instruct her not to tell anyone that new word she learned: intersex.

But she wins that very first pageant too – gets the big plastic crown and a sash that reads Ultimate Grand Supreme. She doesn't really know what those words mean either but they make her dad cheer and grin, so they must be good.

"Now that's my little show pony," he says. He takes her out for banana splits and lets her wear her gigantic, ill-fitting crown the whole time. So Lauren decides to like pageants, because she hasn't seen her dad so happy since before her mom.

Later, much later, rubbing spray tan into her skin and getting her teeth whitened and gluing three pairs of false lashes to her lids, it's harder and harder to hold onto that reason. Sure, her dad is happy. But is she?





Lauren has a lot of friends in Dallas, girls who are just like her: perfectly perfect and perfectly vicious. Lauren fits right in, and if she sometimes chafes against the mold, well. No one has to know. Sometimes she and one of the other girls will exchange a glance like two hostages, and then they'll blink and go back to gossipy normal.

There's Ashley, Amber, Heather, Ashley M., and Bianca. They all wear their hair straight with a side part. They all go shopping and pick out the same thing in their personal chosen color. Lauren's is pink. Her dad says it makes her eyes pop. They all have yogurt at lunch together and rip the other girls in their class to shreds. Lauren loves them. She hates them too.

They all shed crocodile tears when Lauren leaves, stuck moving to Austin so her dad can be with some bimbo weather girl. They all promise to write and never do.

She never tells them anything real about herself. It's better that way.





In Austin, everything is just a copy of something nicer Lauren used to have. A new house with a smaller bedroom. New friends with no style. New boyfriend with no brain. And a brand new ready-made sister.

To be fair, Lauren never had one of those before.

Amy is the opposite of everything Lauren stands for. On principle, they're bound to hate each other. Amy doesn't give a shit about anything: she's happy in sweats, wouldn't know a hair mask if it hit her in the face, rolls out of bed and into school in under twenty minutes. She says Lauren cares about things too much but she doesn't get that Lauren has to care. Her lipstick has to match her purse match her shoes. Her hair can't have a single flyaway. She has to look perfect at all times so that everyone knows she is perfect, so everyone knows she's the same as she ever was and no different.

Lauren's watching beauty tutorials on YouTube and Amy is flipping channels, bitching about some depressing documentary or what-the-fuck-ever. "We get it," Lauren says, rolling her eyes, though they're alone in the house. "You're so deep and interesting and you don't care about how your eyebrows look. Didn't need some crummy docu-proof."

Amy rolls her eyes right back. "At least I'm not watching a random idiot pile half a Sephora onto her face. Vapid much?"

"Who are you calling vapid, you –"

But just then the unmistakable sounds of Bring It On fill the room as the channel Amy landed on ends its commercials. Both of their heads swivel towards the TV like magnets.

Lauren steals Amy's popcorn as obvious lesbian Missy does about fifty backflips, gaze sliding towards her. "I bet Missy's your favorite, isn't she."

Amy huffs the huff of the caught. "Yeah, well, I bet you like those mean ones who are always trying to take over the squad."

Lauren frowns at her.

She can't exactly deny that.





Lauren isn't in the market for a new mother, as much as she wants her dad to be happy. There is no woman worth moving to Austin for, especially dippy Farrah with her clearly exaggerated accent and too much hairspray. Lauren intends to interact with her new housemates as just that: some roommates she isn't particularly fond of that she'll be free of in a few years when she goes to college.

The thing is, Lauren does start to sort of get what her dad sees in Farrah. She's kind of nice, overly hospitable and undeniably cheery. She's always doing these little things for Lauren like buying the sugar free chocolate she likes and folding Lauren's laundry without being asked. She's the only one who ever wants to go shopping, and pink is her favorite color too. She listens when Lauren bitches about Tommy and then offers pick-me-up mani-pedis.

Lauren figures Farrah can't be a new mom, because Lauren doesn't remember very much of her mother anyway. Maybe she can just be a mom. Amy doesn't want her so she's basically up for grabs, and she likes all the same things Lauren likes.

Maybe Austin won't be entirely without its perks.