she's your lover now
12,906 words. R.
Serena, Dan, Nate. Some Blair.
Summary:It's a relationship that's always had three people in it, since the day it started.
Relationships usually end the same way for Nate: the person he's with decides to be with someone else, or he does. Either way there's always someone waiting in the wings to scavenge the remnants of Nate's affairs.
(He runs through the list sometimes in his head, absently, during boring meetings or long elevator rides. Just like he recites his old therapist's number occasionally, as though he's ever going to need it.
Blair and Chuck. Serena and Carter and Colin and Ben. Catherine and Marcus. Vanessa and Dan, though she'd never said it. Vanessa and Jenny. Juliet and Serena. Blair and Serena. Dan and Serena.
Nate doesn't hold it against them. After all, he's fucked over just as many people, if not more. A defense mechanism, maybe. His therapist used to say Nate feared getting hurt more than anything, which was stupid because Nate clearly enjoys throwing himself to the wolves, he does it enough.)
He can feel that Dan doesn't trust him. Dan's got all these walls and barriers up – he kisses only occasionally and never for longer than three or four seconds. He never lets Nate sleep over, even if he's drunk, even if he promises to be a gentleman. He refuses to say they're dating or call Nate anything more than an old friend as though he isn't even a current one.
For maybe the first time with Dan, Nate is really trying. He wants Dan to trust him. He hasn't given Dan a reason to in a long time and he's fucked up a lot, he knows, but he misses that open look in Dan's dark eyes and the way Dan would come unlaced when they kissed. Now Dan's locked up so tight.
Conversely, Dan has become freer than ever with his words. Love you is how he ends phone calls or days spent together. I love you, he says to Nate, nearly every day.
Nate doesn't know why they can't have both at once: all the affection and trust before, but they refused to admit to anything. All the words now, but it feels like they're barely together.
"We always move at your pace," Nate complains.
It's a bright, unbusy Saturday. Nate had tagged along grocery shopping and now Dan is fixing lunch while Nate flips channels until he lands on a satisfactory sporting event.
"What do you mean?" Dan asks.
"Us," Nate says. "When we were sleeping together, it was because you started it. Then you ended it. Then you started it again. And now you won't let me in. At all."
"Yeah, well…" Dan uncaps a new jar of mustard, reaches for a butter knife to spread it. "You kept having sex with my ex-girlfriend."
Nate is frowning, his attention divided between Dan and the game. The conversation holds no bitterness; they're too tired to be bitter.
"You're always running the show, though."
Dan sighs. "Being in love with you hurts," he says and he means physically. For a while being around Nate made his chest ache, a dull echoing feeling. He needs to be in control of things.
Nate looks at him and then stands, coming up behind Dan to set tentative hands on his hips. "It's not going to be like before."
"You don't know that," Dan answers. He ignores Nate's closeness and returns to his task, shuffling through packets of cold cuts, acting normal.
"I don't," Nate admits. "But I want it to be different."
Dan and Serena wanted it to be different each time too. "Sometimes that's not enough."
Nate presses his face against Dan's shoulder and makes a little frustrated noise. It makes Dan smile, just a bit. "What is, then?"
Dan reaches up to smooth a hand over Nate's hair. "It just takes time."
He can feel Nate frown into his shirt. "Why? Why can't we just skip all that?"
Dan sighs again and shakes free of Nate's hold. Nate starts to say his name but Dan cuts him off. "Why now?" he asks, then in a rush, "Why are you so all-in now? Why did it take Serena leaving you about eight different times for you to decide that what you wanted was me, right when I thought I'd finally stopped waiting for you?"
Why wasn't he enough before?
"That's not fair," Nate says.
Dan doesn't look at him. "Life's not fair."
"God, you're always saying shit like that," Nate says, truly frustrated now. "Does it really matter? I'm here now, I want to be with you now."
"I'm glad you could spare the time," Dan scoffs, abandoning lunch. He starts packing everything back up again to put it all away.
Nate grasps Dan's arm, turning him so they're facing each other. "I'm sorry for how fucked up everything has been. You know I am."
"I can't shut off how I feel," Dan says. "I can't just be over it, Nate. That's not how it works."
It's not the kind of thing that can be fixed with kisses and I'm sorry's. Not anymore.
One day Serena takes herself down to Pearl Paints and just goes nuts. She buys paints and brushes and canvases and gold leaf and adhesive glue and beads and pencils and markers, special holidays paints in bright green and red, textured paints, everything that catches her eye.
She sets is all down on the floor of her apartment and tilts a canvas against the back of her couch and looks at it.
Serena can't paint. She's actually terrible at it. She makes a huge mess and ruins her sofa, splashing paint around and singing loudly and off-key to the radio.
She likes it.
Dan's resolve isn't as strong as he likes to pretend, so he ends up sleeping with Nate again.
They'd been walking back to Dan's from a farmers' market, bags full of homemade and organic bullshit, when Nate crowded him into the space between two buildings and kissed him. It was daylight, bright and sunny, and they were easy to spot, pressed together just barely out of sight of prying eyes.
They kissed. Nate's hands were warm on Dan's ribs through his t-shirt and Dan tried not to acknowledge just how much he'd missed this. They were close enough to his apartment to get there before the mood was broken and the sex was hurried and half-dressed because they had no patience, they never did.
Nate traces shapes on Dan's shoulder, presses a kiss there. Dan says, "We're not smart, man. We are like the complete opposite of smart, solid, rational thinkers. We're assholes."
Nate's stunningly on-point reply to Dan's self-loathing is, "Mm, whatever."
The problem with being around Nate so much is that it makes it hard to remember why Dan has been pushing him away. It makes it too easy to get caught up in little things, like Nate's wide pleased grin or the way Nate puts a hand on the small of Dan's back to guide him through a crowd. The way Nate kissed him, all his erstwhile focus centered right on Dan. How if they don't say Serena's name, it's like she doesn't exist.
The mistake they made was fucking in the first place. Dan should have kept his mouth shut and stayed out of it, let his friends' relationship run its course without his interference. He should have found himself someone else, some outsider who hasn't known him since he was an awkward fifteen-year-old with a buzz cut.
But who is Dan kidding? He only wants Nate.
Nate's never really had an interest in men outside of Dan, but he knows for Dan it's different.
There've been guys besides Nate. He's sure of it. Once, in an off portion of their on-off whatever-it-is, Nate had found a dark red sweater in Dan's apartment that wasn't his and that he'd never seen Dan wear. He kept an eye out for it after that, just to be sure, and it never made another appearance.
It left a bad taste in his mouth.
Nate knows it isn't cheating since they aren't really together (and anyway, that line has always been blurred when it comes to him and Dan, as all lines tend to blur with him and Dan) but it bothers him regardless. He doesn't like the idea of Dan and other men – their hands on Dan's pale hips and chest and arms, leaving bruising kisses along his collarbone and sinking fingertips into the slope of his shoulders, Dan using his mouth on them. Dan making that low groan of his that always sends a shiver over Nate's skin. Other men knowing all the things about Dan that Nate knows.
Girls are different, for whatever reason.
Nate knows Dan loves (loved him) him, knows he is of particular importance and not one of many, but still - still it makes him shudder (relief, all kinds of relief) when in bed Dan mumbles shakily you you it's only you it's just you please Nate there's nobody else.
He wants Dan to trust him.
Dan loves him, maybe. Dan touches Nate with such tenderness, runs a light touch over the bones of his wrist and joints of his fingers.
Dan loves him, maybe, but he watches Nate with a kind of wariness now, ready to throw up his shield at a moment's notice.
You love her too, Nate wants to say. You're supposed to understand. But they all want to be the only one, don't they?
Lows follow highs. Serena should know by now.
She keeps finding momentary happiness: her week-long painting obsession, a sudden devotion to dance, the tall guy from the gym who was fantastic in bed even if she can't remember his name.
She starts doing yoga constantly. She salutes the sun with dedication and downward dogs with precision. She takes a cooking class and her salad tossing skills improve considerably. She bothers Blair at work until she is unceremoniously kicked out.
She wants to calls Dan but doesn't. He'll only tell her to figure it out, even if that's what she's trying to do. It'll be the kind of conversation that will make her want to do shots.
She wants to call Nate but doesn't – he'll only reassure her that and it'll make her complacent about her life again. She'll settle back into the same cycle she's been stuck in forever.
Serena needs something. She just wishes she knew what it was.
Nate doesn't like it – Nate knew he wouldn't like it – Nate doesn't intend to like it, to be facedown with his hands braced and knees apart, Dan behind him, inside him. It's not Nate's kind of thing, so it's a mystery why he keeps letting Dan do it. Or why he asks Dan to do it.
"Will you –" he murmurs, nudging into the curve of Dan's throat, warm mouth against warm skin. It'll always be after they've already fucked at least once, sometimes when they're half asleep, in the middle of the night exhausted. Nate wraps a loose hand around Dan beneath the sheets and strokes slowly, gets Dan's attention. He'll wait for the bedside drawer fumble and the rearranging of limbs into whatever position, the lazy preparation, and finally Dan, finally.
"We never used to," Dan says once. "I mean, I'm not complaining, but –"
"But what?" Nate prompts quietly, still pressing close to Dan despite the fact that the room is too hot and the sweat hasn't yet dried on their skin. Nate just likes to stay close, after.
"Did you do it with someone else?" Dan asks curiously, no judgment. "Someone who made you like –"
"No," Nate says. It's almost embarrassing, but, "I don't, with – I don't sleep with guys. Besides you."
Dan peers at him. "Never?"
"Dude," Nate says, half faking offense and half actually offended. "What kind of guy do you think I am?"
Dan snorts, runs his knuckles down Nate's spine. After a moment, "Really?"
"Really." Definitely embarrassed now. "I never…" Nate clears his throat, is glad that at least Dan isn't looking at him now and is instead staring thoughtfully at the ceiling. "I never wanted anyone else to."
Dan grins, wriggles down a little so they can be face to face, and kisses Nate. His mouth travels hotly over the line of Nate's jaw and throat; he nips at Nate's earlobe and says, low, "You want me to fuck you, Archibald?"
Nate's mouth goes a little dry and even though they just did, he says, "Yes."
He feels Dan smile as he kisses Nate's neck again. "Well you'll have to wait until the morning." He tilts up to kiss Nate on the mouth and says, playful tone tinged with sweetness, "I love you."
The required response dies in Nate's throat so he just kisses Dan, over and over.
Serena goes out to lunch with her mother and Blair, which is a delicate dance of rolled eyes and stifled laughs.
Lily has a new, two-week-old wedding band on her finger. No one had been invited to the ceremony, which was held on a beach in Hawaii. Serena's met her mother's new husband only a handful of times; he's much, much older and utterly humorless, filthy rich.
Blair's got a ring too, a lumpy shiny engagement diamond, and she keeps fiddling with it, unintentionally showing it off.
"That's some rock," Serena says sweetly, reaching for Blair's hand.
"Yes, it's lovely," Lily agrees. "Certainly can't get away with that kind of thing at my age, though you should have seen how Michael fussed, he wanted to give me such a gaudy stone."
Serena meets Blair's eyes and they share a smile, familiar mother-induced exasperation in their expressions. Blair looks down at her ring and says with such heartbreaking lightness, "Let's hope it sticks."
Serena squeezes her hand. "You'll be blissfully happy," she says. "And if not, I'll break his fingers."
Blair laughs and Lily smiles, indulgent but like she doesn't quite get it.
"I so want to see you happy, too, darling," Lily says. "Aren't you seeing anyone?"
"No," Serena says. She's said it before. "I don't want to be seeing anyone."
"Have you spoken to Nate at all?" There's regret in her mother's voice. "You looked so lovely at your wedding –"
"Nate is sleeping with Dan," Serena says flatly. "That ship's sailed, Mom."
Lily purses her lips. "Yes, well."
After lunch, they see Lily to a cab and then stand on the corner watching it disappear into traffic. "That was rude," Blair says, but she sounds amused. "She didn't even have any pearls on to clutch."
Serena laughs quietly. "She asked for it. If I didn't cut her off, she probably would have pulled the wedding album out of her purse."
"She just wants you to be settled," Blair says.
"Too bad." Serena slips an arm around Blair's waist, directs her down the block. "I don't ever plan on settling."
Blair tsks but doesn't comment on that. "If worse comes to worse," she says, "Tom has some very good-looking friends."
Serena smiles and asks for names, ages, heights but doesn't really care.
Dan is in Nate's lap, one hand in Nate's hair and the other gripping the back of the chair for balance. Nate kisses him, one insistent kiss after another.
Despite Dan's best efforts to the contrary, things between them are moving rapidly along. Sex opens too many doors, especially for Dan, and he's letting Nate in more and more even as brain tells him not to, tells him to stop and think and remember how this went the last time and the time before.
Except it doesn't feel like it did before; it feels stunningly real, which means sooner or later one of them is going to get hurt, and it'll probably be Dan.
"You're too good," Nate says, and Dan has to laugh.
"I've never had that complaint before."
"M'not complaining." Nate's got that look on his face, though, slightly suspicious. It's the look he had when he found the sweater Dan's sort-of-ex left in the loft, or when they ran into Jesse at the supermarket. Dan wonders if Nate is picturing him in someone else's lap. Sure enough, Nate asks roughly, "Since we – Lately, has there been – ?"
Dan enjoys the jealousy even though he probably shouldn't. He doesn't know what Nate's worrying about; infidelity was never Dan's crime. But, regardless, Nate is jealous and it makes Dan flush with pleasure.
Dan nods and doesn't think he imagines Nate's slightly more aggressive upward thrust. Nate's asked about the other people he's been with before, but always like this: just to confirm they exist, not to fish for information. "Sometimes," Dan murmurs into the sweat-salty skin of Nate's throat. "But they're not as good as you."
Nate makes a sound like a laugh. His blunt nails dig into Dan's hips, direct his movements. "You have to say that," he says. "You can't tell the guy fucking you that he's not good."
"Don't pretend you're modest," Dan says. He presses his mouth against Nate's shoulder, shuts his eyes, thinks you're the only one that matters.
"Would you –" Nate starts, stops. Dan drags his teeth up the slope of Nate's throat to his earlobe.
"What?" Dan murmurs.
"Not," Nate says. "With – other people. Could you –"
It's as dangerously close as they've come to promises yet. Dan swallows, rests his forehead against Nate's. "It's just you," he says quietly. "You know that."
Nate goes back to therapy.
Sometime after his dad died, Nate started having panic attacks. He didn't have them often and he could never anticipate them; the constant waiting only put him more on edge. He had them mostly at night, alone, his heart hammering and breathing stilted, feeling his isolation acutely. That's why the therapy started, really.
"Last time we met," the good doctor begins, "we had just begun to discuss your friend Dan."
And that right there is why the therapy ended.
"Right to the point," Nate mutters.
Dr. Murray is an older man with curly gray hair, a serious and open face, and a neatly trimmed gray beard. He doesn't wear a suit, opting for a cotton button-down and a brown corduroy jacket. Nate was referred to him by doctors at his father's rehab center and he chose Dr. Murray because he was nothing like any of the men in Nate's family.
He has an obnoxious habit of getting into Nate's head, which Nate supposes is what he's paying the man for.
"Tell me about Dan," Dr. Murray says.
Nate is reluctant to discuss Dan. He doesn't know why. The words come slowly and with effort, and he keeps his eyes down. "I think he thinks the worst of me."
"Why?"
Nate rubs a hand over his face. "Because he has good reason to." He doesn't understand the hows and whys of Dan loving him when it seems like all Nate is capable of is fucking things up. Or just fucking things, full stop, because the only time anything feels right is in bed.
It's only in bed that Dan gets really affectionate. Sometimes it'll be a kiss pressed to Nate's palm, knuckles brushed sweetly over Nate's cheek; rarest of all, it'll be some spoken endearment. Love, Dan called him once, all entangled, saying all the things you say in situations like that. Nate answered just as softly, with the same sheepish edge, sweetheart.
But the fights never just go away. Dan is always fairly hard to read, everything hidden under his veneer of wry sarcasm and condescension, and his words never carry the weight of how upset he really is. Nate needs things to be straightforward, needs to know exactly what he's dealing with. Dating Dan sometimes feels like dating Blair, all these little secret tests to pass.
"Love is not rational," Dr. Murray says. "It is not certain. We crave that certainty, we fear our lovers falling out of love with us - but there is no way to be sure, one hundred percent sure."
"I thought you were supposed to stop me from being depressed," Nate says. "Not add to it."
A slight smile crosses the older man's face. "I've got to ensure a return visit," he jokes.
"I'm in too deep," Dan says.
"Things people say in porn," Blair deadpans, turning the page of her magazine slowly.
Dan gives her a look. "I'm being serious."
"You're in love," Blair says. "Do you want an award? You're not the first person this has ever happened to. This isn't even the first time this happened to you."
Dan purses his lips. "It's just…"
"Spit it out."
He sighs and drops into the seat next to her. "What do I do now?"
Blair stares at him like he's brain-damaged. "Surely you know what goes where," she says. "From my memory, you have a tenuous grasp on the concept."
Dan glares. "No. I mean, obviously, yes, I know what goes - That's not the point."
"So get to the point." She reminds him, "You're in too deep."
Dan studies the view outside her window. "What do I do when he leaves me now?"
Blair sighs and rolls her eyes a little. "Oh, Humphrey," she murmurs, tucking her fingers into the crook of the elbow. She studies the city with him, offers no words of comfort.
It's a stupid, cliché thing. Dan is leaving Blair's as Serena is about to go up; they're both a little startled to see each other when the doors open, but they make their awkward small talk, act like adults. Dan realizes he's forgotten his jacket and there's another awkward little dance around whether he should wait for the next one or just go up with her. Serena tells him to stop being weird and just get in the elevator. They can survive five minutes in the same space.
Then, of course, the elevator gets stuck.
"No," Dan says. "This is not a thing that happens in real life multiple times to the same people."
There is something about elevators that Serena likes. Something about being caught in limbo, stuck in the in between; things can't get better or worse for the minutes you're floating between floors. She's not so thrilled about this, though.
They sigh and sink to the floor, sitting side by side against the back wall. Impulsively, Serena tucks her hand into the crook of his arm and tilts so her head can rest on his shoulder. And they wait.
Conversation becomes necessary just because of the silence otherwise. She tells Dan that she's gotten back into PR for now – as though her past involvement was enough to warrant referring to it as getting back into PR – and she's dating someone she'll probably break up with before Blair's wedding. Dan smiles and laughs when it's appropriate and does not make gibes, for which she is grateful.
Dan tells her about his book and the upcoming tour and does not, very purposefully, mention Nate.
It makes Serena sigh softly and ask, without really meaning to, "Why couldn't we ever make it work?" Their parents were apart for twenty years and together for ten before they couldn't stand the sight of each other.
Dan gives her an easy answer, "You slept with another guy, and then I did."
Serena's hand tightens around his arm and her mouth tightens and she says, "You stopped loving me a long time before that."
Dan is quiet.
"I loved you," he says finally. "But not…like I should have."
"I know what you think," Serena says. "But everything you think I did to you, you did to me too." Her voice near-trembles but it's been too long for that, she's too old for that. "If you didn't want to be with me, you didn't have to be with me."
"Really?" Dan asks wryly. "What would you have done then? Get drunk in some bar and call me with that sad little voice you use when you're trying to get someone to do what you want? You had to be the one to end it, or it would never have ended."
Dan's always been like that. She used to marvel at it, that someone so nice knew the best ways to be cruel.
"You always do that," she murmurs. "Stop blaming me."
"Stop asking me to," Dan counters.
Serena presses her lips together. They got so mean in the end. Well. Dan did. Serena just crumpled and cried and made herself very small. "Don't blame me because you were too much of a coward to end it yourself," she says after a moment. "I wasn't your keeper."
They had vicious fights the closer they got to falling apart, sniping as they got ready for bed and usually falling asleep next to each other regardless of what had been said. A married kind of dissatisfaction without the ring or pretty dress (Serena had half-planned their wedding in her head, though she wasn't much of a planner. White and gold and Christmas, lots of snow, that's as far as she'd gotten).
And that was it, really: Serena, Dan, a bed, and Nate filling up the silences.
He opens his mouth to speak but it's not the expected defense; instead he asks, "Remember when you came back?"
She doesn't. "Which time?"
"The first time," Dan says. He tilts his head back against the elevator wall. "I saw you at Grand Central, coming back. You had on this striped shirt." His voice turns a little thoughtful. "You were the most beautiful girl I'd ever seen and I couldn't remember ever seeing someone so sad."
Serena sits up a little, looking at him. "You saw me? You never told me that."
He gives her that small half-smile of his, the one that resolved more fights than it should have. Serena was always weak-willed. "I guess it never came up."
She' still looking at him, but transported in her mind to that place, that time. How lost she felt in that crowd. She had no idea he was there that day, that someone had seen her pain and recognized it. Dan was always good at that, though.
"I saw you too," she says softly. "Not then, I mean – you remember when you hid behind that rack of clothes in Bendel's?"
It takes a second for realization to dawn, and then he laughs. "God. Yeah, not my finest moment."
Serena smiles a little. "I scared you."
"Intimidated," Dan corrects, meeting her gaze. "I didn't know you were human yet."
He and Serena used to have fun together. Other people had always gotten in the way of them, but Dan had really loved her once, loved her with everything his sixteen-year-old self had to give. He'd wanted her so much, wanted to exist with her in this bubble of perfection removed from the world they lived in that fucked everything up. Sometimes it felt like they did; Dan wanted to live in those moments. Candlelight and Elliott Smith. Fake snow and real snow and stories.
But then: parents with a history much older than theirs, Dan standing there while Cece put him in his place, Serena looking at him with red eyes and lying, the boy in Boston nobody talks about – it started to snowball, gather speed, and really, they were over long before Dan realized what it was he felt every time Nate looked at him.
But once –
Once there was Serena in his bed in a party dress studying for the SATs. Once it was pancakes made at two a.m. because she wanted them. Once it was her bright smile and the toss of her hair and the giggle she pressed into his shoulder and feeling like nothing could ever be better than that. Once he loved her, more than anything.
Dan thinks it's just a matter of time until he and Nate become a once and the story of their romance doesn't write up as prettily.
Dan takes Jenny to Blair's wedding, which is like asking to get slaughtered. He tells Nate it's because he misses Jenny, and she always likes an excuse to dress up and irritate Blair. But Nate knows that's not all it is. Dan is just putting space between them.
So they end up going altogether – him and Dan and Jenny – in possibly the most awkward cab ride of Nate's life, which is saying something. Jenny is changed from nearly a decade in London; she looks pretty and grown-up with her ice-blonde hair against a cool black dress. Sometimes her words take on a faintly accented lilt and Dan teases her relentlessly until she smacks him with her clutch (studded, at that).
Nate tries very hard not to think about being seventeen and kissing Dan's little sister, though he's fairly certain the good doctor would be pretty interested in that mess.
Once inside the church, Nate separates, trying not to be bothered by the distant nod Dan gives him as he and Jenny look for seats. Nate follows the cues of bridesmaids until he finds Blair, giving herself a faintly inquisitive look in the mirror. He shares a smile with Eleanor, who, with surprising kindness, leaves to give them some privacy.
Eyes still on the mirror, Blair asks, "How do I look?" She powders her nose for probably the millionth time, though Nate doesn't see what difference it makes; she still looks perfect.
"Like a bride," he says easily, tucking his hands in his pockets. The idea of marrying Blair had terrified him so much once – not because of her, but because of the entire life it would entail – that he'd tried not to think of it too often. Such a serious, specific life was well out of his teenage boy imaginings. Not that he could have imagined her looking much better than she already does – bangs framing her face and the rest of her hair up, lace of her gown close at her neck and wrists, pearls around her throat. "Like Audrey," he adds, because she'll like that, because it's true.
Blair smiles. "I still can't believe you got married before me," she says softly, and he knows Blair enough to hear what's been left unsaid. Married her before me.
"Divorced too," Nate reminds her. "I figured I'd rush through all the big stuff, get it out of the way."
Her smile widens a little. "You like Tom, don't you?"
"Yeah," Nate says. "He's a nice guy. You like Tom?"
Blair laughs a little. "I love him," she says simply, and the sweetness in her voice tells Nate it's true. "I'm glad you're here."
Nate meets her eyes in the mirror and thinks of the wedding that wasn't, his and hers, and the one that was, his and Serena's, and realizes, even after everything, he had to be here to see her off. "Me too," he says. "I'm glad too."
Serena holds out until Blair and Tom disappear up into the honeymoon suite – then she downs just about every drink she can get her hands on, whatever she can grab from a passing waiter. She can only play perfect maid-of-honor so long and she's frankly exhausted. Getting drunk and falling asleep feels like her best bet; or getting drunk and falling on a groomsman, if she can find that cute one again.
Instead she finds the two people she's avoiding most in the entire reception hall: Nate looking a little worse for wear by the bar and Dan of course right beside him. She's searching for another tumbler of something and, unsteady in her heels already, she careens into Dan's shoulder a little.
"Hey, whoa," he laughs, "You alright there?"
"Fine," she says, pulling away from his hand. Since the elevator things have been even tenser between them. "Having fun?"
"Mm," Nate says. "Nothing like an ex's wedding."
Dan rolls his eyes. "He's been like this all night."
Nate has those glossy drunk eyes that she remembers best on him, his eyes always a little red-rimmed and shiny whenever he would cross that invisible line and kiss her. Serena bites her lip. Weddings put her so very close to the edge.
"Can you take me to my room?" she says, weaving a little and tucking a hand around Nate's arm for balance.
They can, of course, though Dan goes off first to let Jenny know while Nate leads Serena towards the elevators. They rarely come into contact all three of them all at once anymore and it's mainly on purpose, but Serena's drunk enough to forget all the reasons for that right now.
In her room they drink some more so they can talk less. Dan's shoulders ease and he sinks into his chair; Nate falls into a bleary half-sleep a few times before passing out for real. Serena must be even drunker than she thought because she finds herself saying, "You ever wonder why we never tried it?" Her eyes drag slowly from unconscious Nate to Dan, always alert. "All three of us?"
"I'm too neurotic," Dan says.
"It could work," she says. "At this point we've done everything else."
"Yeah," Dan sighs, "He married you." He still sounds awfully bitter.
"Did you think it would be us?"
Dan just looks at her with his dark eyes and for a moment he doesn't seem drunk at all. Serena meets his gaze flatly, can't tell if he's hurt or angry or both or neither. She used to speak Dan better, once, though she was never fluent.
"Yeah," he says, and his intensity is gone on a sigh. He takes another swig from the champagne bottle they've been handing around. "Yes."
She thought so too. She could see it so clearly, their little house and little children. Dan probably thought about it more pragmatically – rings and mortgages and jobs and lives – but the image of it meant a lot to her, once.
That's not Serena, though. She's not forever for anyone and it's only recently that she's begun to see that as okay, as better. The only person she has to see through to the end is herself.
Still, it's easier in theory than in practice.
"Me too," she says, voice coming out surprisingly soft. "But that's not –"
"What you want," he finishes. He shrugs. "What I wanted turned out to be different too."
She glances at Nate and smiles a little, and Dan laughs softly, sheepishly. She leans forward to tap her glass against his bottle in a little toast to nothing, and laughs too, feels strangely unencumbered.
Nate stirs at the sound of Dan's voice, frowning automatically in his sleep and shaking his head. Five more minutes.
"Nate," Dan teases quietly, singsong. "Nathaniel. You gotta wake up, it's time to go."
Nate feels groggy and still drunk, can't imagine he was asleep for longer than an hour, tops. He mumbles something even he doesn't understand and reaches up blindly until his hand finds Dan's face. He presses a finger to Dan's lips, says somewhat more clearly, "Sleep."
He feels Dan smile, and then Dan kisses his hand. "Serena wants to go to bed and she's uninterested in having two exes crash on the couch of her very nice, very expensive hotel room. We gotta go."
They make their stumbling slow way to the train, Dan's arm around him. Dan informs him that Jenny went home with a bridesmaid, which Nate only dimly processes, as they get onto the train, take their seats. It must be very late because there's really no one around, just a few guys at one end and a group of younger girls who take one look at him and Dan and burst out giggling. It's stuff like that that used to bother Nate – the idea of giving everyone one more thing about him to pay attention to, to scrutinize, pass judgment over.
But he doesn't mind so much right now, even if the girls keep sneaking looks. He's not sure if it's because he's drunk or what, only that he feels pretty okay sitting here with Dan's arm still around his waist. Dan's fingers are just barely hooked in the pocket of Nate's jacket; Nate reaches over to thread their fingers together.
Dan raises an eyebrow and huffs a little laugh. "You're drunk," he says.
"I love you," Nate says.
Dan laughs again, more sheepishly, and looks away.
"I mean it."
"You're drunk," Dan says again. He spares a glance at the gaggle of girls, who quickly immerse themselves in conversation.
"Blair's really happy," Nate says. "With this guy. I thought he was kind of –" He wrinkles his nose.
Dan smiles at him. "Boring?" he supplies.
"Yeah," Nate returns the smile a little. "But I think she's happy."
"Good."
"I was looking at her, though, and I thought –" Nate shrugs, too relaxed to really be uncomfortable but not quite settled all the same. "I thought it's stupid to still be scared."
Dan frowns, brow creasing, and it makes Nate want to kiss him. "Scared of what? Of me?"
"No, no –" Nate shakes his head, but doesn't really know how to explain. "Just…I love you, okay?"
Still seeming fairly perplexed, Dan says, "Okay."
They have to change trains at the next stop. Nate feels steady enough to walk himself to the platform but leans against Dan anyway. Dan moves to lead him along the platform but Nate grabs Dan's wrist, stopping him and pulling him back.
Dan asks, "What?" but his voice is lost in the noise of the train pulling away.
Nate shakes his head minutely, meaning nothing, and tugs Dan close enough to kiss, presses both hands to Dan's cheeks. He can feel Dan's slight smile against his mouth before Dan kisses back. He grips the back of Nate's jacket with one hand, the other latched onto Nate's lapel.
Nate's dizzy with scotch and sleep and the racketing trains, but Dan isn't dizzying; Dan solid and steady and grounding, and Nate loves him. Nate loves him.
It starts raining around five a.m.
Everything outside Dan's window is gray and splattered. The steady staccato sound fills the room, drowning out the faint hum of chatter from the television. There's no thunder or lightning, just regular and continuous rain.
Nate is asleep, his back to Dan, tan skin against tangled blue sheets. Dan sits cross-legged in his uncomfortable desk chair. It doesn't spin or swivel, it's a heavy antique wooden chair he bought just for looks with sturdy carved legs and dark glossy stain. It makes his back hurt when he sits there for too long, but he writes better when he's not too comfortable.
He'd put on his boxers and a sweater but it does little to keep out the chill. The window is open just a crack, to let in the sound of the rain and the cold air, and Dan is too lazy to cross the room to shut it. Nate must be colder, closer to the window; gooseflesh rises on all his exposed skin.
The rain, the line of Nate's back, the smooth curve of shoulder and arm, the dull weather-muted colors of the room: Dan writes it all down.
After the wedding is over and done with, Serena goes home. She sits in front of her envy-inducing windows, staring out at the city below, and feels like she's floating instead of drowning.
She decides to go on a cross-country trip, chasing sun-soaked California coasts. She plans to drive the whole way herself – plans to learn how to drive – but instead picks up a boy to do it for her, some guy with dark blond hair and darker eyes. She picks up a convertible too, bright red against the dusty roads; in Blair's estimation, utterly cliché.
As she and her unimportant escort light out across a million miles she's never seen up close before, Serena stands up on her seat and lifts her arms high, tilts her head back. Silhouetted against the sunset with the wind in her hair and her eyes shut, Serena feels just fine.
Whatever's out there, she's going to let it find her.
12,906 words. R.
Serena, Dan, Nate. Some Blair.
Summary:It's a relationship that's always had three people in it, since the day it started.
Relationships usually end the same way for Nate: the person he's with decides to be with someone else, or he does. Either way there's always someone waiting in the wings to scavenge the remnants of Nate's affairs.
(He runs through the list sometimes in his head, absently, during boring meetings or long elevator rides. Just like he recites his old therapist's number occasionally, as though he's ever going to need it.
Blair and Chuck. Serena and Carter and Colin and Ben. Catherine and Marcus. Vanessa and Dan, though she'd never said it. Vanessa and Jenny. Juliet and Serena. Blair and Serena. Dan and Serena.
Nate doesn't hold it against them. After all, he's fucked over just as many people, if not more. A defense mechanism, maybe. His therapist used to say Nate feared getting hurt more than anything, which was stupid because Nate clearly enjoys throwing himself to the wolves, he does it enough.)
He can feel that Dan doesn't trust him. Dan's got all these walls and barriers up – he kisses only occasionally and never for longer than three or four seconds. He never lets Nate sleep over, even if he's drunk, even if he promises to be a gentleman. He refuses to say they're dating or call Nate anything more than an old friend as though he isn't even a current one.
For maybe the first time with Dan, Nate is really trying. He wants Dan to trust him. He hasn't given Dan a reason to in a long time and he's fucked up a lot, he knows, but he misses that open look in Dan's dark eyes and the way Dan would come unlaced when they kissed. Now Dan's locked up so tight.
Conversely, Dan has become freer than ever with his words. Love you is how he ends phone calls or days spent together. I love you, he says to Nate, nearly every day.
Nate doesn't know why they can't have both at once: all the affection and trust before, but they refused to admit to anything. All the words now, but it feels like they're barely together.
"We always move at your pace," Nate complains.
It's a bright, unbusy Saturday. Nate had tagged along grocery shopping and now Dan is fixing lunch while Nate flips channels until he lands on a satisfactory sporting event.
"What do you mean?" Dan asks.
"Us," Nate says. "When we were sleeping together, it was because you started it. Then you ended it. Then you started it again. And now you won't let me in. At all."
"Yeah, well…" Dan uncaps a new jar of mustard, reaches for a butter knife to spread it. "You kept having sex with my ex-girlfriend."
Nate is frowning, his attention divided between Dan and the game. The conversation holds no bitterness; they're too tired to be bitter.
"You're always running the show, though."
Dan sighs. "Being in love with you hurts," he says and he means physically. For a while being around Nate made his chest ache, a dull echoing feeling. He needs to be in control of things.
Nate looks at him and then stands, coming up behind Dan to set tentative hands on his hips. "It's not going to be like before."
"You don't know that," Dan answers. He ignores Nate's closeness and returns to his task, shuffling through packets of cold cuts, acting normal.
"I don't," Nate admits. "But I want it to be different."
Dan and Serena wanted it to be different each time too. "Sometimes that's not enough."
Nate presses his face against Dan's shoulder and makes a little frustrated noise. It makes Dan smile, just a bit. "What is, then?"
Dan reaches up to smooth a hand over Nate's hair. "It just takes time."
He can feel Nate frown into his shirt. "Why? Why can't we just skip all that?"
Dan sighs again and shakes free of Nate's hold. Nate starts to say his name but Dan cuts him off. "Why now?" he asks, then in a rush, "Why are you so all-in now? Why did it take Serena leaving you about eight different times for you to decide that what you wanted was me, right when I thought I'd finally stopped waiting for you?"
Why wasn't he enough before?
"That's not fair," Nate says.
Dan doesn't look at him. "Life's not fair."
"God, you're always saying shit like that," Nate says, truly frustrated now. "Does it really matter? I'm here now, I want to be with you now."
"I'm glad you could spare the time," Dan scoffs, abandoning lunch. He starts packing everything back up again to put it all away.
Nate grasps Dan's arm, turning him so they're facing each other. "I'm sorry for how fucked up everything has been. You know I am."
"I can't shut off how I feel," Dan says. "I can't just be over it, Nate. That's not how it works."
It's not the kind of thing that can be fixed with kisses and I'm sorry's. Not anymore.
One day Serena takes herself down to Pearl Paints and just goes nuts. She buys paints and brushes and canvases and gold leaf and adhesive glue and beads and pencils and markers, special holidays paints in bright green and red, textured paints, everything that catches her eye.
She sets is all down on the floor of her apartment and tilts a canvas against the back of her couch and looks at it.
Serena can't paint. She's actually terrible at it. She makes a huge mess and ruins her sofa, splashing paint around and singing loudly and off-key to the radio.
She likes it.
Dan's resolve isn't as strong as he likes to pretend, so he ends up sleeping with Nate again.
They'd been walking back to Dan's from a farmers' market, bags full of homemade and organic bullshit, when Nate crowded him into the space between two buildings and kissed him. It was daylight, bright and sunny, and they were easy to spot, pressed together just barely out of sight of prying eyes.
They kissed. Nate's hands were warm on Dan's ribs through his t-shirt and Dan tried not to acknowledge just how much he'd missed this. They were close enough to his apartment to get there before the mood was broken and the sex was hurried and half-dressed because they had no patience, they never did.
Nate traces shapes on Dan's shoulder, presses a kiss there. Dan says, "We're not smart, man. We are like the complete opposite of smart, solid, rational thinkers. We're assholes."
Nate's stunningly on-point reply to Dan's self-loathing is, "Mm, whatever."
The problem with being around Nate so much is that it makes it hard to remember why Dan has been pushing him away. It makes it too easy to get caught up in little things, like Nate's wide pleased grin or the way Nate puts a hand on the small of Dan's back to guide him through a crowd. The way Nate kissed him, all his erstwhile focus centered right on Dan. How if they don't say Serena's name, it's like she doesn't exist.
The mistake they made was fucking in the first place. Dan should have kept his mouth shut and stayed out of it, let his friends' relationship run its course without his interference. He should have found himself someone else, some outsider who hasn't known him since he was an awkward fifteen-year-old with a buzz cut.
But who is Dan kidding? He only wants Nate.
Nate's never really had an interest in men outside of Dan, but he knows for Dan it's different.
There've been guys besides Nate. He's sure of it. Once, in an off portion of their on-off whatever-it-is, Nate had found a dark red sweater in Dan's apartment that wasn't his and that he'd never seen Dan wear. He kept an eye out for it after that, just to be sure, and it never made another appearance.
It left a bad taste in his mouth.
Nate knows it isn't cheating since they aren't really together (and anyway, that line has always been blurred when it comes to him and Dan, as all lines tend to blur with him and Dan) but it bothers him regardless. He doesn't like the idea of Dan and other men – their hands on Dan's pale hips and chest and arms, leaving bruising kisses along his collarbone and sinking fingertips into the slope of his shoulders, Dan using his mouth on them. Dan making that low groan of his that always sends a shiver over Nate's skin. Other men knowing all the things about Dan that Nate knows.
Girls are different, for whatever reason.
Nate knows Dan loves (loved him) him, knows he is of particular importance and not one of many, but still - still it makes him shudder (relief, all kinds of relief) when in bed Dan mumbles shakily you you it's only you it's just you please Nate there's nobody else.
He wants Dan to trust him.
Dan loves him, maybe. Dan touches Nate with such tenderness, runs a light touch over the bones of his wrist and joints of his fingers.
Dan loves him, maybe, but he watches Nate with a kind of wariness now, ready to throw up his shield at a moment's notice.
You love her too, Nate wants to say. You're supposed to understand. But they all want to be the only one, don't they?
Lows follow highs. Serena should know by now.
She keeps finding momentary happiness: her week-long painting obsession, a sudden devotion to dance, the tall guy from the gym who was fantastic in bed even if she can't remember his name.
She starts doing yoga constantly. She salutes the sun with dedication and downward dogs with precision. She takes a cooking class and her salad tossing skills improve considerably. She bothers Blair at work until she is unceremoniously kicked out.
She wants to calls Dan but doesn't. He'll only tell her to figure it out, even if that's what she's trying to do. It'll be the kind of conversation that will make her want to do shots.
She wants to call Nate but doesn't – he'll only reassure her that and it'll make her complacent about her life again. She'll settle back into the same cycle she's been stuck in forever.
Serena needs something. She just wishes she knew what it was.
Nate doesn't like it – Nate knew he wouldn't like it – Nate doesn't intend to like it, to be facedown with his hands braced and knees apart, Dan behind him, inside him. It's not Nate's kind of thing, so it's a mystery why he keeps letting Dan do it. Or why he asks Dan to do it.
"Will you –" he murmurs, nudging into the curve of Dan's throat, warm mouth against warm skin. It'll always be after they've already fucked at least once, sometimes when they're half asleep, in the middle of the night exhausted. Nate wraps a loose hand around Dan beneath the sheets and strokes slowly, gets Dan's attention. He'll wait for the bedside drawer fumble and the rearranging of limbs into whatever position, the lazy preparation, and finally Dan, finally.
"We never used to," Dan says once. "I mean, I'm not complaining, but –"
"But what?" Nate prompts quietly, still pressing close to Dan despite the fact that the room is too hot and the sweat hasn't yet dried on their skin. Nate just likes to stay close, after.
"Did you do it with someone else?" Dan asks curiously, no judgment. "Someone who made you like –"
"No," Nate says. It's almost embarrassing, but, "I don't, with – I don't sleep with guys. Besides you."
Dan peers at him. "Never?"
"Dude," Nate says, half faking offense and half actually offended. "What kind of guy do you think I am?"
Dan snorts, runs his knuckles down Nate's spine. After a moment, "Really?"
"Really." Definitely embarrassed now. "I never…" Nate clears his throat, is glad that at least Dan isn't looking at him now and is instead staring thoughtfully at the ceiling. "I never wanted anyone else to."
Dan grins, wriggles down a little so they can be face to face, and kisses Nate. His mouth travels hotly over the line of Nate's jaw and throat; he nips at Nate's earlobe and says, low, "You want me to fuck you, Archibald?"
Nate's mouth goes a little dry and even though they just did, he says, "Yes."
He feels Dan smile as he kisses Nate's neck again. "Well you'll have to wait until the morning." He tilts up to kiss Nate on the mouth and says, playful tone tinged with sweetness, "I love you."
The required response dies in Nate's throat so he just kisses Dan, over and over.
Serena goes out to lunch with her mother and Blair, which is a delicate dance of rolled eyes and stifled laughs.
Lily has a new, two-week-old wedding band on her finger. No one had been invited to the ceremony, which was held on a beach in Hawaii. Serena's met her mother's new husband only a handful of times; he's much, much older and utterly humorless, filthy rich.
Blair's got a ring too, a lumpy shiny engagement diamond, and she keeps fiddling with it, unintentionally showing it off.
"That's some rock," Serena says sweetly, reaching for Blair's hand.
"Yes, it's lovely," Lily agrees. "Certainly can't get away with that kind of thing at my age, though you should have seen how Michael fussed, he wanted to give me such a gaudy stone."
Serena meets Blair's eyes and they share a smile, familiar mother-induced exasperation in their expressions. Blair looks down at her ring and says with such heartbreaking lightness, "Let's hope it sticks."
Serena squeezes her hand. "You'll be blissfully happy," she says. "And if not, I'll break his fingers."
Blair laughs and Lily smiles, indulgent but like she doesn't quite get it.
"I so want to see you happy, too, darling," Lily says. "Aren't you seeing anyone?"
"No," Serena says. She's said it before. "I don't want to be seeing anyone."
"Have you spoken to Nate at all?" There's regret in her mother's voice. "You looked so lovely at your wedding –"
"Nate is sleeping with Dan," Serena says flatly. "That ship's sailed, Mom."
Lily purses her lips. "Yes, well."
After lunch, they see Lily to a cab and then stand on the corner watching it disappear into traffic. "That was rude," Blair says, but she sounds amused. "She didn't even have any pearls on to clutch."
Serena laughs quietly. "She asked for it. If I didn't cut her off, she probably would have pulled the wedding album out of her purse."
"She just wants you to be settled," Blair says.
"Too bad." Serena slips an arm around Blair's waist, directs her down the block. "I don't ever plan on settling."
Blair tsks but doesn't comment on that. "If worse comes to worse," she says, "Tom has some very good-looking friends."
Serena smiles and asks for names, ages, heights but doesn't really care.
Dan is in Nate's lap, one hand in Nate's hair and the other gripping the back of the chair for balance. Nate kisses him, one insistent kiss after another.
Despite Dan's best efforts to the contrary, things between them are moving rapidly along. Sex opens too many doors, especially for Dan, and he's letting Nate in more and more even as brain tells him not to, tells him to stop and think and remember how this went the last time and the time before.
Except it doesn't feel like it did before; it feels stunningly real, which means sooner or later one of them is going to get hurt, and it'll probably be Dan.
"You're too good," Nate says, and Dan has to laugh.
"I've never had that complaint before."
"M'not complaining." Nate's got that look on his face, though, slightly suspicious. It's the look he had when he found the sweater Dan's sort-of-ex left in the loft, or when they ran into Jesse at the supermarket. Dan wonders if Nate is picturing him in someone else's lap. Sure enough, Nate asks roughly, "Since we – Lately, has there been – ?"
Dan enjoys the jealousy even though he probably shouldn't. He doesn't know what Nate's worrying about; infidelity was never Dan's crime. But, regardless, Nate is jealous and it makes Dan flush with pleasure.
Dan nods and doesn't think he imagines Nate's slightly more aggressive upward thrust. Nate's asked about the other people he's been with before, but always like this: just to confirm they exist, not to fish for information. "Sometimes," Dan murmurs into the sweat-salty skin of Nate's throat. "But they're not as good as you."
Nate makes a sound like a laugh. His blunt nails dig into Dan's hips, direct his movements. "You have to say that," he says. "You can't tell the guy fucking you that he's not good."
"Don't pretend you're modest," Dan says. He presses his mouth against Nate's shoulder, shuts his eyes, thinks you're the only one that matters.
"Would you –" Nate starts, stops. Dan drags his teeth up the slope of Nate's throat to his earlobe.
"What?" Dan murmurs.
"Not," Nate says. "With – other people. Could you –"
It's as dangerously close as they've come to promises yet. Dan swallows, rests his forehead against Nate's. "It's just you," he says quietly. "You know that."
Nate goes back to therapy.
Sometime after his dad died, Nate started having panic attacks. He didn't have them often and he could never anticipate them; the constant waiting only put him more on edge. He had them mostly at night, alone, his heart hammering and breathing stilted, feeling his isolation acutely. That's why the therapy started, really.
"Last time we met," the good doctor begins, "we had just begun to discuss your friend Dan."
And that right there is why the therapy ended.
"Right to the point," Nate mutters.
Dr. Murray is an older man with curly gray hair, a serious and open face, and a neatly trimmed gray beard. He doesn't wear a suit, opting for a cotton button-down and a brown corduroy jacket. Nate was referred to him by doctors at his father's rehab center and he chose Dr. Murray because he was nothing like any of the men in Nate's family.
He has an obnoxious habit of getting into Nate's head, which Nate supposes is what he's paying the man for.
"Tell me about Dan," Dr. Murray says.
Nate is reluctant to discuss Dan. He doesn't know why. The words come slowly and with effort, and he keeps his eyes down. "I think he thinks the worst of me."
"Why?"
Nate rubs a hand over his face. "Because he has good reason to." He doesn't understand the hows and whys of Dan loving him when it seems like all Nate is capable of is fucking things up. Or just fucking things, full stop, because the only time anything feels right is in bed.
It's only in bed that Dan gets really affectionate. Sometimes it'll be a kiss pressed to Nate's palm, knuckles brushed sweetly over Nate's cheek; rarest of all, it'll be some spoken endearment. Love, Dan called him once, all entangled, saying all the things you say in situations like that. Nate answered just as softly, with the same sheepish edge, sweetheart.
But the fights never just go away. Dan is always fairly hard to read, everything hidden under his veneer of wry sarcasm and condescension, and his words never carry the weight of how upset he really is. Nate needs things to be straightforward, needs to know exactly what he's dealing with. Dating Dan sometimes feels like dating Blair, all these little secret tests to pass.
"Love is not rational," Dr. Murray says. "It is not certain. We crave that certainty, we fear our lovers falling out of love with us - but there is no way to be sure, one hundred percent sure."
"I thought you were supposed to stop me from being depressed," Nate says. "Not add to it."
A slight smile crosses the older man's face. "I've got to ensure a return visit," he jokes.
"I'm in too deep," Dan says.
"Things people say in porn," Blair deadpans, turning the page of her magazine slowly.
Dan gives her a look. "I'm being serious."
"You're in love," Blair says. "Do you want an award? You're not the first person this has ever happened to. This isn't even the first time this happened to you."
Dan purses his lips. "It's just…"
"Spit it out."
He sighs and drops into the seat next to her. "What do I do now?"
Blair stares at him like he's brain-damaged. "Surely you know what goes where," she says. "From my memory, you have a tenuous grasp on the concept."
Dan glares. "No. I mean, obviously, yes, I know what goes - That's not the point."
"So get to the point." She reminds him, "You're in too deep."
Dan studies the view outside her window. "What do I do when he leaves me now?"
Blair sighs and rolls her eyes a little. "Oh, Humphrey," she murmurs, tucking her fingers into the crook of the elbow. She studies the city with him, offers no words of comfort.
It's a stupid, cliché thing. Dan is leaving Blair's as Serena is about to go up; they're both a little startled to see each other when the doors open, but they make their awkward small talk, act like adults. Dan realizes he's forgotten his jacket and there's another awkward little dance around whether he should wait for the next one or just go up with her. Serena tells him to stop being weird and just get in the elevator. They can survive five minutes in the same space.
Then, of course, the elevator gets stuck.
"No," Dan says. "This is not a thing that happens in real life multiple times to the same people."
There is something about elevators that Serena likes. Something about being caught in limbo, stuck in the in between; things can't get better or worse for the minutes you're floating between floors. She's not so thrilled about this, though.
They sigh and sink to the floor, sitting side by side against the back wall. Impulsively, Serena tucks her hand into the crook of his arm and tilts so her head can rest on his shoulder. And they wait.
Conversation becomes necessary just because of the silence otherwise. She tells Dan that she's gotten back into PR for now – as though her past involvement was enough to warrant referring to it as getting back into PR – and she's dating someone she'll probably break up with before Blair's wedding. Dan smiles and laughs when it's appropriate and does not make gibes, for which she is grateful.
Dan tells her about his book and the upcoming tour and does not, very purposefully, mention Nate.
It makes Serena sigh softly and ask, without really meaning to, "Why couldn't we ever make it work?" Their parents were apart for twenty years and together for ten before they couldn't stand the sight of each other.
Dan gives her an easy answer, "You slept with another guy, and then I did."
Serena's hand tightens around his arm and her mouth tightens and she says, "You stopped loving me a long time before that."
Dan is quiet.
"I loved you," he says finally. "But not…like I should have."
"I know what you think," Serena says. "But everything you think I did to you, you did to me too." Her voice near-trembles but it's been too long for that, she's too old for that. "If you didn't want to be with me, you didn't have to be with me."
"Really?" Dan asks wryly. "What would you have done then? Get drunk in some bar and call me with that sad little voice you use when you're trying to get someone to do what you want? You had to be the one to end it, or it would never have ended."
Dan's always been like that. She used to marvel at it, that someone so nice knew the best ways to be cruel.
"You always do that," she murmurs. "Stop blaming me."
"Stop asking me to," Dan counters.
Serena presses her lips together. They got so mean in the end. Well. Dan did. Serena just crumpled and cried and made herself very small. "Don't blame me because you were too much of a coward to end it yourself," she says after a moment. "I wasn't your keeper."
They had vicious fights the closer they got to falling apart, sniping as they got ready for bed and usually falling asleep next to each other regardless of what had been said. A married kind of dissatisfaction without the ring or pretty dress (Serena had half-planned their wedding in her head, though she wasn't much of a planner. White and gold and Christmas, lots of snow, that's as far as she'd gotten).
And that was it, really: Serena, Dan, a bed, and Nate filling up the silences.
He opens his mouth to speak but it's not the expected defense; instead he asks, "Remember when you came back?"
She doesn't. "Which time?"
"The first time," Dan says. He tilts his head back against the elevator wall. "I saw you at Grand Central, coming back. You had on this striped shirt." His voice turns a little thoughtful. "You were the most beautiful girl I'd ever seen and I couldn't remember ever seeing someone so sad."
Serena sits up a little, looking at him. "You saw me? You never told me that."
He gives her that small half-smile of his, the one that resolved more fights than it should have. Serena was always weak-willed. "I guess it never came up."
She' still looking at him, but transported in her mind to that place, that time. How lost she felt in that crowd. She had no idea he was there that day, that someone had seen her pain and recognized it. Dan was always good at that, though.
"I saw you too," she says softly. "Not then, I mean – you remember when you hid behind that rack of clothes in Bendel's?"
It takes a second for realization to dawn, and then he laughs. "God. Yeah, not my finest moment."
Serena smiles a little. "I scared you."
"Intimidated," Dan corrects, meeting her gaze. "I didn't know you were human yet."
He and Serena used to have fun together. Other people had always gotten in the way of them, but Dan had really loved her once, loved her with everything his sixteen-year-old self had to give. He'd wanted her so much, wanted to exist with her in this bubble of perfection removed from the world they lived in that fucked everything up. Sometimes it felt like they did; Dan wanted to live in those moments. Candlelight and Elliott Smith. Fake snow and real snow and stories.
But then: parents with a history much older than theirs, Dan standing there while Cece put him in his place, Serena looking at him with red eyes and lying, the boy in Boston nobody talks about – it started to snowball, gather speed, and really, they were over long before Dan realized what it was he felt every time Nate looked at him.
But once –
Once there was Serena in his bed in a party dress studying for the SATs. Once it was pancakes made at two a.m. because she wanted them. Once it was her bright smile and the toss of her hair and the giggle she pressed into his shoulder and feeling like nothing could ever be better than that. Once he loved her, more than anything.
Dan thinks it's just a matter of time until he and Nate become a once and the story of their romance doesn't write up as prettily.
Dan takes Jenny to Blair's wedding, which is like asking to get slaughtered. He tells Nate it's because he misses Jenny, and she always likes an excuse to dress up and irritate Blair. But Nate knows that's not all it is. Dan is just putting space between them.
So they end up going altogether – him and Dan and Jenny – in possibly the most awkward cab ride of Nate's life, which is saying something. Jenny is changed from nearly a decade in London; she looks pretty and grown-up with her ice-blonde hair against a cool black dress. Sometimes her words take on a faintly accented lilt and Dan teases her relentlessly until she smacks him with her clutch (studded, at that).
Nate tries very hard not to think about being seventeen and kissing Dan's little sister, though he's fairly certain the good doctor would be pretty interested in that mess.
Once inside the church, Nate separates, trying not to be bothered by the distant nod Dan gives him as he and Jenny look for seats. Nate follows the cues of bridesmaids until he finds Blair, giving herself a faintly inquisitive look in the mirror. He shares a smile with Eleanor, who, with surprising kindness, leaves to give them some privacy.
Eyes still on the mirror, Blair asks, "How do I look?" She powders her nose for probably the millionth time, though Nate doesn't see what difference it makes; she still looks perfect.
"Like a bride," he says easily, tucking his hands in his pockets. The idea of marrying Blair had terrified him so much once – not because of her, but because of the entire life it would entail – that he'd tried not to think of it too often. Such a serious, specific life was well out of his teenage boy imaginings. Not that he could have imagined her looking much better than she already does – bangs framing her face and the rest of her hair up, lace of her gown close at her neck and wrists, pearls around her throat. "Like Audrey," he adds, because she'll like that, because it's true.
Blair smiles. "I still can't believe you got married before me," she says softly, and he knows Blair enough to hear what's been left unsaid. Married her before me.
"Divorced too," Nate reminds her. "I figured I'd rush through all the big stuff, get it out of the way."
Her smile widens a little. "You like Tom, don't you?"
"Yeah," Nate says. "He's a nice guy. You like Tom?"
Blair laughs a little. "I love him," she says simply, and the sweetness in her voice tells Nate it's true. "I'm glad you're here."
Nate meets her eyes in the mirror and thinks of the wedding that wasn't, his and hers, and the one that was, his and Serena's, and realizes, even after everything, he had to be here to see her off. "Me too," he says. "I'm glad too."
Serena holds out until Blair and Tom disappear up into the honeymoon suite – then she downs just about every drink she can get her hands on, whatever she can grab from a passing waiter. She can only play perfect maid-of-honor so long and she's frankly exhausted. Getting drunk and falling asleep feels like her best bet; or getting drunk and falling on a groomsman, if she can find that cute one again.
Instead she finds the two people she's avoiding most in the entire reception hall: Nate looking a little worse for wear by the bar and Dan of course right beside him. She's searching for another tumbler of something and, unsteady in her heels already, she careens into Dan's shoulder a little.
"Hey, whoa," he laughs, "You alright there?"
"Fine," she says, pulling away from his hand. Since the elevator things have been even tenser between them. "Having fun?"
"Mm," Nate says. "Nothing like an ex's wedding."
Dan rolls his eyes. "He's been like this all night."
Nate has those glossy drunk eyes that she remembers best on him, his eyes always a little red-rimmed and shiny whenever he would cross that invisible line and kiss her. Serena bites her lip. Weddings put her so very close to the edge.
"Can you take me to my room?" she says, weaving a little and tucking a hand around Nate's arm for balance.
They can, of course, though Dan goes off first to let Jenny know while Nate leads Serena towards the elevators. They rarely come into contact all three of them all at once anymore and it's mainly on purpose, but Serena's drunk enough to forget all the reasons for that right now.
In her room they drink some more so they can talk less. Dan's shoulders ease and he sinks into his chair; Nate falls into a bleary half-sleep a few times before passing out for real. Serena must be even drunker than she thought because she finds herself saying, "You ever wonder why we never tried it?" Her eyes drag slowly from unconscious Nate to Dan, always alert. "All three of us?"
"I'm too neurotic," Dan says.
"It could work," she says. "At this point we've done everything else."
"Yeah," Dan sighs, "He married you." He still sounds awfully bitter.
"Did you think it would be us?"
Dan just looks at her with his dark eyes and for a moment he doesn't seem drunk at all. Serena meets his gaze flatly, can't tell if he's hurt or angry or both or neither. She used to speak Dan better, once, though she was never fluent.
"Yeah," he says, and his intensity is gone on a sigh. He takes another swig from the champagne bottle they've been handing around. "Yes."
She thought so too. She could see it so clearly, their little house and little children. Dan probably thought about it more pragmatically – rings and mortgages and jobs and lives – but the image of it meant a lot to her, once.
That's not Serena, though. She's not forever for anyone and it's only recently that she's begun to see that as okay, as better. The only person she has to see through to the end is herself.
Still, it's easier in theory than in practice.
"Me too," she says, voice coming out surprisingly soft. "But that's not –"
"What you want," he finishes. He shrugs. "What I wanted turned out to be different too."
She glances at Nate and smiles a little, and Dan laughs softly, sheepishly. She leans forward to tap her glass against his bottle in a little toast to nothing, and laughs too, feels strangely unencumbered.
Nate stirs at the sound of Dan's voice, frowning automatically in his sleep and shaking his head. Five more minutes.
"Nate," Dan teases quietly, singsong. "Nathaniel. You gotta wake up, it's time to go."
Nate feels groggy and still drunk, can't imagine he was asleep for longer than an hour, tops. He mumbles something even he doesn't understand and reaches up blindly until his hand finds Dan's face. He presses a finger to Dan's lips, says somewhat more clearly, "Sleep."
He feels Dan smile, and then Dan kisses his hand. "Serena wants to go to bed and she's uninterested in having two exes crash on the couch of her very nice, very expensive hotel room. We gotta go."
They make their stumbling slow way to the train, Dan's arm around him. Dan informs him that Jenny went home with a bridesmaid, which Nate only dimly processes, as they get onto the train, take their seats. It must be very late because there's really no one around, just a few guys at one end and a group of younger girls who take one look at him and Dan and burst out giggling. It's stuff like that that used to bother Nate – the idea of giving everyone one more thing about him to pay attention to, to scrutinize, pass judgment over.
But he doesn't mind so much right now, even if the girls keep sneaking looks. He's not sure if it's because he's drunk or what, only that he feels pretty okay sitting here with Dan's arm still around his waist. Dan's fingers are just barely hooked in the pocket of Nate's jacket; Nate reaches over to thread their fingers together.
Dan raises an eyebrow and huffs a little laugh. "You're drunk," he says.
"I love you," Nate says.
Dan laughs again, more sheepishly, and looks away.
"I mean it."
"You're drunk," Dan says again. He spares a glance at the gaggle of girls, who quickly immerse themselves in conversation.
"Blair's really happy," Nate says. "With this guy. I thought he was kind of –" He wrinkles his nose.
Dan smiles at him. "Boring?" he supplies.
"Yeah," Nate returns the smile a little. "But I think she's happy."
"Good."
"I was looking at her, though, and I thought –" Nate shrugs, too relaxed to really be uncomfortable but not quite settled all the same. "I thought it's stupid to still be scared."
Dan frowns, brow creasing, and it makes Nate want to kiss him. "Scared of what? Of me?"
"No, no –" Nate shakes his head, but doesn't really know how to explain. "Just…I love you, okay?"
Still seeming fairly perplexed, Dan says, "Okay."
They have to change trains at the next stop. Nate feels steady enough to walk himself to the platform but leans against Dan anyway. Dan moves to lead him along the platform but Nate grabs Dan's wrist, stopping him and pulling him back.
Dan asks, "What?" but his voice is lost in the noise of the train pulling away.
Nate shakes his head minutely, meaning nothing, and tugs Dan close enough to kiss, presses both hands to Dan's cheeks. He can feel Dan's slight smile against his mouth before Dan kisses back. He grips the back of Nate's jacket with one hand, the other latched onto Nate's lapel.
Nate's dizzy with scotch and sleep and the racketing trains, but Dan isn't dizzying; Dan solid and steady and grounding, and Nate loves him. Nate loves him.
It starts raining around five a.m.
Everything outside Dan's window is gray and splattered. The steady staccato sound fills the room, drowning out the faint hum of chatter from the television. There's no thunder or lightning, just regular and continuous rain.
Nate is asleep, his back to Dan, tan skin against tangled blue sheets. Dan sits cross-legged in his uncomfortable desk chair. It doesn't spin or swivel, it's a heavy antique wooden chair he bought just for looks with sturdy carved legs and dark glossy stain. It makes his back hurt when he sits there for too long, but he writes better when he's not too comfortable.
He'd put on his boxers and a sweater but it does little to keep out the chill. The window is open just a crack, to let in the sound of the rain and the cold air, and Dan is too lazy to cross the room to shut it. Nate must be colder, closer to the window; gooseflesh rises on all his exposed skin.
The rain, the line of Nate's back, the smooth curve of shoulder and arm, the dull weather-muted colors of the room: Dan writes it all down.
After the wedding is over and done with, Serena goes home. She sits in front of her envy-inducing windows, staring out at the city below, and feels like she's floating instead of drowning.
She decides to go on a cross-country trip, chasing sun-soaked California coasts. She plans to drive the whole way herself – plans to learn how to drive – but instead picks up a boy to do it for her, some guy with dark blond hair and darker eyes. She picks up a convertible too, bright red against the dusty roads; in Blair's estimation, utterly cliché.
As she and her unimportant escort light out across a million miles she's never seen up close before, Serena stands up on her seat and lifts her arms high, tilts her head back. Silhouetted against the sunset with the wind in her hair and her eyes shut, Serena feels just fine.
Whatever's out there, she's going to let it find her.