without a key (3/5)
Nate, Dan, Blair, Serena. Also Chuck.
PG13. 5891 words.
Summary: He runs because it's all he knows how to do.
Part One
Part Two
Note: I AM THE WORST. I have no good reason for why it took me so ridiculously long to update this, especially as this has been half-written for MONTHS, I was just lazy about finishing. Making a concerted effort to be better about it in the future!
Nate sits in his freshly pressed suit, knot of his tie right up against his throat, and uses his fork to shred his turkey without eating any, wishing he was somewhere else. His mother alternates gulps of wine with tiny bites that hardly count; both of their plates are practically untouched. She'd had his father's chair taken out of the dining room, but that doesn't make the empty space any less conspicuous.
"It's good, Mom," he says quietly, without feeling.
"Thank god Citarella was still open," she says. Another swallow of wine and the glass almost is empty, the maid darting forward to fill it again. "I had to improvise, considering we were disinvited from the Waldorfs'."
Nate sighs. "Mom –"
"Nor did your grandparents even offer," she continues.
Sullenly, he mutters, "I don't know why we couldn't go see Dad."
Anne's mouth tightens. "Nate."
It's Nate when her patience is running thin and Nathaniel Archibald when she's very cross, so he's got a little time before she's annoyed enough to shut the conversation down. There's no arguing after a full namer.
"He's alone," Nate presses. "He's miserable enough there without not getting to see us on Thanksgiving –"
"Nate," she says again, more sharply. "Frankly, I am in no mood to deal with your father on today of all days."
"It's not about your mood," Nate says. Not dealing with this isn't getting them anywhere. "Mom, he's got a problem and ignoring it is what almost killed him. He's not going to get better if we don't do anything to help him."
"Oh no." Anne shakes her head a little, eyes wide and disbelieving. "No. This is not my fault."
"I'm not blaming anybody."
"You can blame whoever you want," she says, "Just not me. All I'm guilty of is trying to make his life easier."
Nate stares at her incredulously, food entirely forgotten. "Easier? You've made his life impossible."
He thinks of all the Thanksgivings before, his mother growing steadily sharper and his father winding up tight, the silent battle between them growing tenser with each year. How every time his dad brought up work, his mom would say something like oh, I'll just talk to Daddy or oh, I'll just write you a check. At first all the fight would go out of his dad's eyes and he'd acquiesce with a holiday-friendly okay dear. Later, though – later it wasn't so easy.
They always thought Nate was too dumb or too blind to notice, but he did. He noticed. He saw.
She's looking at him now, at least. "What are you talking about? He's had everything he ever wanted just handed to him. My father set him up with his own firm. He gave us the house we live in, the Hamptons house, the boat. He's never had to earn a dime and –"
"And how do you think that's working out for him, Mom, huh?" Nate interrupts.
Anne stares at him with that pinched look of hers. "All he had to do," she says slowly, rigid, "was put on a suit, sit behind a desk, and not get arrested – and he couldn't even manage that. And you want me to reward him? He lost everything we had. He ruined us. The only reason we still have our home is because of me. And you want me to give your father more responsibility in this family?"
Nate looks sullenly down at his plate. He wishes he hadn't said anything. With a sigh, he drops his napkin on his full plate and pushes his chair back, gets to his feet.
Anne blinks at him, seemingly baffled. "Where do you think you're going?"
"Anywhere but here," Nate mutters as he makes a beeline right for the door. She doesn't stop him, because of course she doesn't.
He's got his phone out before the door's even shut behind him, but he's not sure who to call. He lingers on Blair's name for way longer than he should. They haven't spoken since her birthday. Things are different. He can't just call Blair anymore.
He scrolls down a little, hits send, and feels an immediate sense of relief when he hears Dan's voice, sounding cheerful.
"Big national holiday," Dan says brightly. "You excited?"
"Not exactly," Nate says. "You sound it, though. Things are going good with your mom?"
"So far." The line is muffled for a minute while Dan talks to someone else and there's the distant sound of family laughter. "What's up with you?"
Nate hesitates, unwilling to ruin Dan's day. "My mom's being kind of…my mom," he says finally. "I left."
"What? You left?"
"Yeah," Nate says. "Look, I'm sorry I called, I just –"
"No, no," Dan says. "You can't be alone on Thanksgiving. What are you even doing, wandering the streets? Get on the train, my mom made enough food for sixteen people and she is only too happy to feed you."
Uncertainly, Nate says, "I don't want to impose –" Which is all instinctual Vanderbilt manners.
"I will see you in an hour," Dan says. "And if I don't, I won't even save you leftovers. Goodbye, Archibald."
The line goes dead. Nate smiles.
The Humphrey loft is full of soft noise and the smell of food cooking, warm and relaxed. Everyone greets Nate all at once, talking over each other, and Dan rolls his eyes, shakes his head and mouths these people.
The woman who is obviously Dan's mother steps away from the kitchen, wiping her hands on an apron patterned with autumn foliage. She shakes his hand with both of hers and smiles in a way that reminds Nate of Jenny, though her eyes are all Dan.
"So this is the Nate I've heard so much about," she says.
"All good things, I bet," Nate says with an easy, mom-ready grin.
Dan snorts. "Someone has a high opinion of himself."
"You bet right," Allison says with a small smile, then adds with genuine concern, "Sweetheart, are you sure your mom's okay with you being here today?"
Nate opens his mouth with a quick white lie but finds he has none. Luckily for him, Dan steps up with some comment about keeping an eye on the pies and hustles his mother back towards the kitchen.
Nate is enlisted to set the table, Dan moving between him and the kitchen to get more plates or utensils. Rufus and Allison and Jenny weave around each other with ease, getting this or that ready, like they've done it all a million times before – which they probably have.
"You don't cook?" Nate asks, a small smile on his face as he sets down spoons and forks with Blair-trained precision.
"I opened the cranberry sauce," Dan informs him. "My work is done."
Nate should feel comfortable here but he doesn't. He can't help thinking of the cold house he left behind and the cold-eyed mother he left behind in it. He wants so badly what Dan has – he wishes his family could put their bullshit aside for one day, just because it's a holiday, because they love each other, because they love Nate. But they can't do it.
It mattered less in the past because he had Blair and Serena to hide with, and this year he feels the void acutely. It's like whenever he forgets how much he lost, even for a second, he's reminded. He misses Serena's tipsy giggles and Blair's wide smiles, misses sneaking off with them later to devour leftover pie, misses delivering sleeping Serena to her mom at the end of the night.
But still, there's Dan. Nate watches him a little from across the table; Dan is more content than Nate's ever seen him, his smiles coming easier and easier. Dan and his family really enjoy each other and Nate finds that so strange. He's so envious.
Talking is obviously a family trait, because the Humphreys don't let up over the entire meal. Nate can only follows the threads sometimes – he loses it at movie talk but surprises them when it comes to politics. He'd remind them of his political pedigree but he likes the impressed look on Dan's face too much. The nonstop chatter is revealing, though, and it teaches Nate a thousand new things about Dan's family – about Dan, specifically. Dan who used to cry at Little League and whose hand had to be held on the walk to school up until second grade.
It makes Dan flush and mutter and grumble, but Nate just grins.
After dinner, Allison prompts, "Since you were absent from the cooking process…" and Dan is protesting before she's even done, pleading cranberry sauce expertise. Rufus laughs and talks over him, says, "Oh, Dan and Nate are used to kitchen duty by now."
The way they go out of their way to include him only seems to make Nate feel more out of place.
Once relatively alone, washing and drying, Dan's good humor fades somewhat, his concern evident. Yeah, Nate thinks – those are definitely his mom's eyes.
"You okay?"
Nate shrugs. He focuses on the careful drying of plates, leaves behind no streaks or spots. It's funny, he'd never washed a dish before Dan. That seems so stupid.
"You know my mom," he answers vaguely, though Dan doesn't. Dan raises his eyebrows and Nate elaborates, "She didn't want to go see my dad today."
"But it's Thanksgiving," Dan says.
Nate only shrugs again. "I know."
Dan nods a little, but he still looks faintly perplexed. "Isn't your dad near here? Why don't you just go?" He glances over. "I'd come with, if you wanted… Or, uh, not. If you don't."
Nate looks at him, hesitant. "I don't want to interrupt your day."
Dan gives Nate a look like he's deeply stupid and half an hour later they're waiting outside the Captain's room.
"Some ambiance," Dan remarks, giving a wave to a tired-looking nurse. Nate doesn't laugh. "He'll be glad to see you."
"I guess," Nate says. He hasn't seen his dad since he came back and he feels weird about that, guilty even. He'd wanted to come a million times but he just couldn't bring himself to. It's not even that it'd gone badly last time, but something about the image of his father gray and exhausted in rehab had stuck with him, deterred him.
He wants to see his dad, but he'd been kind of hoping his mom would be here too.
Dan stays outside when Nate goes in. His dad's sitting in one of those sturdy-and-cheap wooden chairs by the window, looking tired.
"Hey, dad," Nate says quietly, lingering by the door.
His dad nods a little. "Where's your mom?"
Nate drops his gaze. "Couldn't make it."
He sighs. "How is she?"
"She'll be alright, I'm sure." Nate tucks his hands in his pockets. His tie is loose around his neck and he'd left his jacket with Dan. "She's always alright, one way or another."
"She has a lot to deal with," his dad says. Nate's surprised. His parents rarely give each other any credit, preferring veiled barbs. Once, before he left, Nate remembers they had a fight over something stupid and his dad said, All she has to do all day is sit on some committees and get her hair done, what's her problem?
You, Nate had thought. You've always been her problem.
Eventually Nate makes his way across the room to sit with his dad. They're mostly silent but sometimes they make small talk about his dad's progress or Nate's school. Nate swallows everything he really wants to say (We need you, Dad. It might not seem like it, but we do.) and tries to come up with good news to share, though he has none. The Captain says he's glad Nate came, though Nate's not really sure of that.
Dan walks him to the train afterwards. He must look really miserable, because last minute Dan gives him a brisk one-armed hug, yanking Nate close and releasing him just as fast.
"Chin up, kid," Dan says.
Nate passes through his own house like a ghost. The dining room is bare of the spread from earlier and his mother's door is firmly closed. Nate lets himself into his own room and drops onto the bed with a sigh.
His phone buzzes.
Nate frowns as he checks it, confused, but answers almost immediately. "Blair?"
"Are you avoiding me?"
Her voice sounds soft and small, a side of Blair he hasn't heard in over a year.
"No, of course not," he murmurs. "Why would you think that?"
"Because you are," she says. He doesn't deny it again. "Today was awful."
"Yeah," Nate breathes. "Yeah, it was."
Last year had been better. Last year they'd all been together, at least, and they could ignore the bad stuff for a day because of that, because they had each other.
"What happened to you?" she asks.
"My mom happened," Nate says, a little grumbling. "You know how she is."
"Yes," Blair says, with a soft sound of amusement, not quite a laugh. "I bet she didn't blink once the whole day."
Nate smiles a little, involuntarily. "Pretty much. How's yours?"
Any good humor dissipates and Blair says with forced lightness, "Oh, you know Eleanor."
"Yeah, but tell me," Nate says softly. He could really use that right now – something familiar, something he knows.
"She just thinks she decides everything, you know?" Blair says. "Everything in the world is just totally up to her." She goes on to tell Nate that her dad was disinvited and her mom tried to play it off like he just didn't care enough to come; Serena showing up trashed and passing out before the first course; Cameron breaking up with her.
"That's some day," Nate says, voice still soft, and feels even worse for not having called her earlier.
"I don't even have an escort for cotillion now," she huffs.
He hesitates. "You know –" Then falters.
There's a stagnant, expectant pause and then she repeats, "You know?"
"I mean…" Nate clears his throat. "We've talked about going to the ball together since we were like…ten. And I know I've given you every reason to hate me, but…" In a rush, then, "But why don't we go together, for old times' sake?"
There's a beat of silence that feels so long Nate's beginning to regret asking. Finally, she says, "Nate, the only thing we should be doing together is moving on."
"I know, I know," he murmurs. "But – look, you don't have a date and I think you're forgetting what an excellent dancer I am –"
She laughs a little. "Maybe…maybe we could go together – as friends."
He smiles. "Absolutely."
"But only as friends."
"Just friends," he assures her.
"No," Dan says.
"Come on, man," Nate coaxes. "It's one night. You can suck it up for one night."
"No," Dan says again. "It's an antiquated, classist ritual that sells girls to the highest bidder like it's still the eighteenth century and –"
"And Serena needs a date," Nate says. "You liked Serena. Plus you and I will get to hang out the whole night, so it'll be a little more bearable. Please?"
"I find it hard to believe Serena van der Woodsen doesn't have people lined up around the block," Dan says.
"But you're my friend," Nate says. "Just come, it'll be fun. Antiquated, classist fun." Again, for good measure and because Nate is a polite sort of guy, "Please."
Dan sighs. Dan's sighs always sound particularly exhausted, like a whole person's life condensed into one exhalation. "Fine."
Nate grins. "Knew I could count on you, man."
Nate has wrangled both Humphreys into helping him, though Dan is a great deal less enthused then Jenny. She eagerly agrees to assist with cotillion, trailing behind Serena's mother and grandmother with a little clipboard, her gaze straying with an obvious wistfulness to the other kids dancing.
Dan is across the room, waiting patiently and smiling a little as Serena switches her shoes from the day's boots to her dance heels. She's talking the whole time, charming him. Nate can tell.
Blair is in the bathroom, so Nate's waiting on her, just sort of drifting a little at the edges of the room, trying not to make eye contact with anyone. Then he hears –
"– matter, she's just going to puke it up anyway," followed by a rush of nervous-and-nasty laughter.
Nate freezes and doesn't look up, back of his neck prickling. It was one of Blair's friends who said that. But he doesn't know – they could be talking about anyone. He's being paranoid. It could be anyone.
Then another of the girls says, "It's like, so embarrassing, do you know why Cameron dumped her?" He think it's Hazel, the blonde.
One of the others chimes in, "I heard she and Nate were hardcore gazing at her party."
"No, no," Hazel says, sounding gleeful, "It's because when they did it, she was like – oh my god, like awful." They laugh again. "Like awful, like so bad. Nate's gotten weird, anyway, he's totally queer for that weird loner guy."
Nate presses his lips together.
"Oh my god, don't even say that," Penelope exclaims.
Another girl laughs. "They say girls go for a boy like daddy."
Nate doesn't know what to do – go over there so they know he heard them? ignore it? – but he's saved from the decision by Blair stepping up beside him. She smiles brightly. "Ready?"
Nate returns the smile even though he isn't feeling it. "Ready."
He kind of hates how easy it is to remember all of this. A year away but the childhood dance lessons are still lodged in his brain. All the evenings in Blair's room where, giggling like she only did in private, she would arrange his arms to her liking and try to make him into her Fred Astaire. Nate could never stay focused enough to do a good job but she never really seemed to mind. She scolded him but it wasn't real scolding, he knew the difference.
"Penelope is panting," Blair says in a low whisper. Nate blinks as they separate briefly to other partners; when their hands meet again, he gives her a quizzical look. "She's always had a thing for you. I think she was hoping our breakup would end happily for her." Blair's narrowed eyes slide to the side, looking for Penelope, and she smiles meanly. "Too bad."
"What are you talking about?" Nate asks, spinning her.
"She has a thing for you," Blair says. "She wants to be Mrs. Nate Archibald."
He laughs. "That's crazy. No she doesn't."
Blair only smiles, giving him a playful shrug as they separate again. There are a few more turn around the room, weaving through and around each other, a quick succession of partners. Nate gets a good laugh out of Dan almost tripping; less so when Chuck hisses at him, "Getting cozy with Blair again, I see." Then Nate finds himself facing Serena, and he forgets about dancing entirely for a second.
"Hey," she murmurs in that soft way of hers, giving him an uncertain smile as their hands fit together.
"Oh," Nate says, "I see we're talking again."
Her smile widens, becoming more familiar. "Don't be mean," she says as he twirls her. "I'm sorry about that."
Nate returns the smile despite himself. "I guess Blair is allowing you to speak to me now?"
Serena bites her lip. He'd meant it half as a joke, the kind of Blair joke they used to make a lot – oh, Blair's letting us have junk food again? oh, Blair's permitting us to choose a movie? – but the solemn expression that settles over her features means she definitely didn't take it as one.
"Don't do this if you don't mean it," Serena says.
He's confused. "What?"
They switch partners briefly, meet again. "Don't start up with her again if you don't mean it," Serena says, a fiercely protective note in her voice. "You'll just end up hurting her."
"We're not getting back together, we're friends," Nate says, taken aback. Blair doesn't even want to date him anymore. "We're not getting back together."
She looks doubtful, turning away from him to fall back into Dan's arms. "Then what are you doing?"
Nate finds himself similarly returned to Blair, and he works up a smile for her. "Having fun?" he asks.
"Not as much fun as Serena," Blair says, "Story of my life." She points a few feet off. "Those two are hitting it off. Maybe Serena's found herself a new white trash boyfriend."
Nate looks, surprised to see Dan and Serena have botched up the entire dance in the last few minutes. They've mangled the steps and dissolved into uncontrollable laughter, Serena leaning on Dan with her head on his shoulder like they've known each other for two years and not two weeks.
It bothers Nate. It irritates him and he's not sure exactly why, it's not like he and Serena are – and Dan definitely isn't going to date her, that's ridiculous, because –
"Dan's gay," he tells Blair, voice sounding hard even to himself.
"Oh?" Interest piqued, she peers over at Dan and Serena again. "Is he? I wouldn't have guessed, with that wardrobe. Though I suppose if the last seventeen years have proved anything, it's that my gaydar is faulty."
Her delivery is so quippy and casual that it startles a laugh out of Nate; soon enough everyone is dancing again and he forgets that he said anything about Dan.
Afterwards they're all walking down the street together, the four of them with Jenny scampering a few feet behind. Serena is explaining quite earnestly and emphatically about one time last year when Dan saved her life; apparently he gallantly sacrificed a stack of pies to the gods of traffic (Dan's phrasing) so he could scoop her out of the path of an oncoming car.
Blair stares at them, frowning, and Nate unconsciously mirrors the expression. "That's ridiculous," Blair says. "If you were that drunk how do you even remember?"
"You're probably getting mixed up," Nate adds.
But Dan and Serena's good cheer cannot be quashed. Eventually they separate, the girls turning up one corner together and everyone else down another, as Nate figures he'll walk Dan and Jenny to the train. However, they've barely made it down the block when Jenny's phone goes off and, upon reading the text, she stops dead in her tracks.
"Dan…" she says, glancing up at him with her brow furrowed. "Dan, you're on Gossip Girl."
Dan's face contorts in a mix of horror and bewilderment that makes Nate start laughing. But Jenny is far from amused.
"Dan, look at this," she says seriously. "It says – it says you're –"
Dan and Nate both crane over her shoulder to read the small screen. As he scans the lines (looks like N's new bromance is a lot less bro and a lot more 'mo) Nate's stomach begins to sink.
"I don't get it," Dan says, voice even but edged with panic. "How did she know? I've only told –"
And he looks right at Nate.
Dan still isn't speaking to him by the time cotillion rolls around.
Nate doesn't blame Dan (he was aware that the excuse I just told Blair! didn't hold up very well) but he's still selfishly bothered by it. Nate is suddenly once again subjected to lonely walks from class to class, no one to meet on the way to school, no one to have lunch with. He wonders how it is he keeps dropping friends so fast. The only person who still has any time for him is Blair but he finds himself avoiding her and the shiny hopeful look in her eyes.
Nate had been surprised to find out that Dan was still going to cotillion with Serena but it appeared that the blast had brought them closer as it pushed Nate and Dan apart. Nate sees them around school a lot – sees Serena steal Dan's books and refuse to give them back, holding them out of his reach; sees Dan proofreading Serena's papers as she waits, her chin resting on his shoulder; sees Serena snap at a boy who calls Dan a name in a way Serena rarely snaps at anyone. Nate sees them look friendly and happy and tries to stamp down his irritation to no avail. He really shouldn't begrudge either of them friends, not after all the messes he's made.
The worst thing Dan said in the fight hadn't even been directed at Nate. Low and exhausted, to himself, Dan had said, "I get enough shit as it is. I don't need this."
It's funny, because Nate had been entirely unaware that Dan got any shit at all. He thought Dan was quiet and inconspicuous because that was what he liked, but it wasn't until the days following the blast that Nate really got it. He didn't understand that Dan was an outlier because of things like money and family and status, didn't understand until the blast happened and Dan got nasty names written on his locker and whispered behind his back and disguised behind coughs in class.
Nate notices in part because he starts to receive some of it too. One day in the locker room before gym, he hears someone say knew there was a reason he and Blair never fucked.
Nate wouldn't care except he doesn't have Dan to complain to. He doesn't have anyone to complain to.
Nate goes to pick Blair up before cotillion in the tux she approved with her favorite flowers in his arms and feels like he never left at all. He feels like he's wearing the mask of Blair's Boyfriend, with an appropriate smile and implicit promises. He doesn't feel like he's going as her friend, especially when the elevator doors part on her silvery and grinning with the charm bracelet he bought her jingling on her wrist.
"Oh, these are beautiful," she says, taking the flowers and leaning up to kiss his cheek. "Thank you."
"You look beautiful," he tells her, smiling despite himself. It's the kind of thing the Boyfriend is supposed to say, but it's true so he doesn't mind it.
In the car ride over, Blair keeps up a steady stream of conversation, seeming not to notice Nate's lack of enthusiasm. He tunes in and out of it, realizing after a moment that all the plans she's explaining to him are plans they made years ago. Playground plans, Blair's plans with her Boyfriend.
"I asked Serena and Dan if they wanted a ride, though I know he's…angry with you," Blair is saying. He is momentarily touched that she tried to include Dan. "I attempted to explain to him that it wasn't your fault but, well, he's very stubborn, isn't he?"
"Thanks," Nate says, giving her a half-hearted smile. "For making the attempt."
Her returning smile is the most sincerely happy he's seen her look since before he left. Nate almost wants to play boyfriend again, as long as it makes her look that happy. He takes her hand, bracelet clinking. "It'll be great," he tells her softly. "The whole night. It'll be great."
They don't see Dan and Serena until they're lining up on the staircase. Nate is right behind Dan but Dan doesn't even glance at him, instead showing off his gold vest to Serena and complaining, "I look like Liberace."
"You look hot, shut up," Serena says, waving a hand dismissively at him before sliding it into his jacket. "Didn't I put a flask in here –"
Dan laughs, pushing her hand away. "Yeah, and I got rid of it. Tough luck, blondie."
As Serena gives a gasp of good-natured offense, Nate leans forward and starts, soft-voiced, "Hey, Dan ¬–"
But he's interrupted by Jenny traipsing down the stairs towards them, and Dan doesn't even turn.
"Serena?" she says, pushing up a little on the balls of her feet. "They need to know how to pronounce this word in your presentation statement –"
Serena, Blair, and Dan lean around the card together, Blair reading aloud, "Serena hopes to continue living on the Upper East Side, devote her life to volunteering for the Nature Conservancy, and have two wonderful children. She also –"
"I don't understand what is unpronounceable here," Dan says.
"You sound like me," Blair says, amused, as Serena snatches the card out of her hands. "Make it stop."
"I sound like my mom," Serena says, "I didn't even write this."
"Lily probably thought drinking your way through two and half years at Brown wouldn't sound as good," Blair remarks.
"Don't be a brat," Serena says evenly. There's a telltale mischievous glint in her eyes that Nate knows from experience will only lead to disaster – though sometimes it's spectacularly fun disaster. "Dan, do you have a pen?"
Dan, of course, does. The three of them huddle together, laughing, as Serena scrawls in a new statement, Dan and Blair offering suggestions as she goes. Nate feels that now-familiar flash of annoyance that he cannot place or explain.
Dan and Serena make their way up to the podium first, her arm in his. Nate frowns a little.
The chairwoman beams at Serena indulgently. "Serena Celia van der Woodsen," she announces. "Daughter of committee member Lillian van der Woodsen, granddaughter of chair woman emeritus Celia Catherine Rhodes. Escorted by Daniel Humphrey. Ms. van der Woodsen plans to follow in her mother's footsteps and entertain numerous affairs with as many married millionaires as she c–"
The woman breaks off uncertainly as a ripple of amusement passes through the crowd. Dan kisses Serena's knuckles and then she curtsies at her horrified family as they move past.
When it's Blair's turn, she smiles at Nate so hard that all he can do it smile benignly back and then look away, look anywhere else.
After, as they're all making their way to the dance floor, Nate sees Serena off to the side. Face miserable, arms crossed, she is silent as Lily reprimands her. "I don't know why I'm even surprised, Serena, honestly, this is just like you – you have to take every opportunity to embarrass me. And for what? What do you get out of making a mockery of me, of your grandmother?"
"I wasn't thinking about –" Serena starts, voice small.
"No, of course not, you're never thinking about anything," Lily says. "Everything is some wonderful accident that just happens to you. Your lack of culpability is almost worse than the messes you get yourself into, Serena."
"Mom…" Serena murmurs, eyes downcast, "Mom, I have to go dance…"
Lily casts a distracted glance at the assembling dancers. "Fine," she says curtly. "Go dance. Try not to ruin that too. We'll finish this later."
Nate is about to step away from Blair just because he can't ignore Serena standing there looking so sad, but before he can move Dan is at her side, laying a hand on her hip. Dan says something in her ear that makes her laugh a little bit, blinking wet eyes, before he leads her towards the other couples.
Nate feels a little less charitable suddenly.
When the dance begins Nate can't stop watching them, even as Blair says, "You're being weird, what's –"
It just bothers him. Dan is one part of his life and Serena is another and he thought he wanted them to be friends but now he realizes some lines are better left uncrossed. This is Nate's own fault, like everything else. If he hadn't made Dan get involved then Dan wouldn't have been outed and everything would be fine, separate and fine, and Nate wouldn't be so jealous.
He almost skips a step. Why would he be jealous? There's nothing to be jealous of.
"I see what you're doing," Chuck says, as they pass each other. "Getting Humphrey to keep Serena warm while you make your choice – it's a low move, Archibald. I like it."
"Fuck off, Chuck," Nate mutters impatiently.
But Chuck only grins. "You'll wish you hadn't said that."
Nate feels a flash of brief worry, but Blair is in his arms again with that sweet concerned smile she never shows anyone else, so he puts Chuck's empty threats from his mind.
But Nate should've known better than that.
None of them have their phones on them when the blast goes off, but the laughter from the other kids is enough to signal that it's going to be brutal. "Nice one, Archibald!" someone calls out and the bottom drops out of Nate's stomach.
Blair's brow furrows and as soon as the music ends she's grabbing Jenny Humphrey by the upper arm, demanding, "Show me your phone."
"Blair –" Jenny starts hesitantly, gaze flicking back to Nate. "I'm not sure –"
"This is not up for debate, Little J!" Blair snaps. Nate looks over Blair's shoulder, dread mounting.
Well, well, well, it looks like the reason for N's sudden departure last year has finally been revealed. Imagine all this time it was right under B's nose. Or at the very least sitting next to her on the steps.
Blair is completely still as Nate shuffles back a few steps, automatically putting distance between them. He can see how straight her back is, her posture so tight she's almost trembling with it. "I knew it," she says quietly.
But then she turns, eyes red and wild. "I knew it!" she shrieks, throwing Jenny Humphrey's cellphone at him as hard as she can. "I always knew there was something between you!"
"Blair…" Nate doesn't know what to say. And just like that, before an apology even passes his lips, he runs. He bolts, out past Blair and half their class and half their class' parents, past people who have known him his entire life and come to expect no better from him than this.
He runs because it's all he knows how to do.
Nate comes to a stop in one of the hallways off the lobby and he sinks into a chair, breathing hard, head in his hands. When he feels someone touch his wrist, he starts, but it's only Dan. Of course it's Dan.
Dan crouches down in front of Nate, pulling his hands away from his face. Dan's touch is light and soothing on Nate's wrists, his neck. "Nate," Dan breathes, helpless. His hand is on Nate's cheek and then his mouth is on Nate's mouth, surging up into the kiss natural as breathing.
Nate closes his fingers around Dan's lapels and kisses back on a sigh. "What are you doing?" he mutters.
Dan flinches and tries to pull back but Nate holds him firmly in place and lets his mouth open against Dan's, lets the kiss deepen. He feels his heart climb into his throat and beat there furiously.
"Nate," Dan says again, something breathless in his voice. His fingers tug at Nate's hair and his kissing is all kinds of feverish relief as he leans up on his knees and presses close. "I want –"
But Nate just kisses Dan again and again in the quiet of the hallway, a kind of noiselessness in his ears like finding a seashell and holding it up to hear the ocean.
Part Four
Nate, Dan, Blair, Serena. Also Chuck.
PG13. 5891 words.
Summary: He runs because it's all he knows how to do.
Part One
Part Two
Note: I AM THE WORST. I have no good reason for why it took me so ridiculously long to update this, especially as this has been half-written for MONTHS, I was just lazy about finishing. Making a concerted effort to be better about it in the future!
Nate sits in his freshly pressed suit, knot of his tie right up against his throat, and uses his fork to shred his turkey without eating any, wishing he was somewhere else. His mother alternates gulps of wine with tiny bites that hardly count; both of their plates are practically untouched. She'd had his father's chair taken out of the dining room, but that doesn't make the empty space any less conspicuous.
"It's good, Mom," he says quietly, without feeling.
"Thank god Citarella was still open," she says. Another swallow of wine and the glass almost is empty, the maid darting forward to fill it again. "I had to improvise, considering we were disinvited from the Waldorfs'."
Nate sighs. "Mom –"
"Nor did your grandparents even offer," she continues.
Sullenly, he mutters, "I don't know why we couldn't go see Dad."
Anne's mouth tightens. "Nate."
It's Nate when her patience is running thin and Nathaniel Archibald when she's very cross, so he's got a little time before she's annoyed enough to shut the conversation down. There's no arguing after a full namer.
"He's alone," Nate presses. "He's miserable enough there without not getting to see us on Thanksgiving –"
"Nate," she says again, more sharply. "Frankly, I am in no mood to deal with your father on today of all days."
"It's not about your mood," Nate says. Not dealing with this isn't getting them anywhere. "Mom, he's got a problem and ignoring it is what almost killed him. He's not going to get better if we don't do anything to help him."
"Oh no." Anne shakes her head a little, eyes wide and disbelieving. "No. This is not my fault."
"I'm not blaming anybody."
"You can blame whoever you want," she says, "Just not me. All I'm guilty of is trying to make his life easier."
Nate stares at her incredulously, food entirely forgotten. "Easier? You've made his life impossible."
He thinks of all the Thanksgivings before, his mother growing steadily sharper and his father winding up tight, the silent battle between them growing tenser with each year. How every time his dad brought up work, his mom would say something like oh, I'll just talk to Daddy or oh, I'll just write you a check. At first all the fight would go out of his dad's eyes and he'd acquiesce with a holiday-friendly okay dear. Later, though – later it wasn't so easy.
They always thought Nate was too dumb or too blind to notice, but he did. He noticed. He saw.
She's looking at him now, at least. "What are you talking about? He's had everything he ever wanted just handed to him. My father set him up with his own firm. He gave us the house we live in, the Hamptons house, the boat. He's never had to earn a dime and –"
"And how do you think that's working out for him, Mom, huh?" Nate interrupts.
Anne stares at him with that pinched look of hers. "All he had to do," she says slowly, rigid, "was put on a suit, sit behind a desk, and not get arrested – and he couldn't even manage that. And you want me to reward him? He lost everything we had. He ruined us. The only reason we still have our home is because of me. And you want me to give your father more responsibility in this family?"
Nate looks sullenly down at his plate. He wishes he hadn't said anything. With a sigh, he drops his napkin on his full plate and pushes his chair back, gets to his feet.
Anne blinks at him, seemingly baffled. "Where do you think you're going?"
"Anywhere but here," Nate mutters as he makes a beeline right for the door. She doesn't stop him, because of course she doesn't.
He's got his phone out before the door's even shut behind him, but he's not sure who to call. He lingers on Blair's name for way longer than he should. They haven't spoken since her birthday. Things are different. He can't just call Blair anymore.
He scrolls down a little, hits send, and feels an immediate sense of relief when he hears Dan's voice, sounding cheerful.
"Big national holiday," Dan says brightly. "You excited?"
"Not exactly," Nate says. "You sound it, though. Things are going good with your mom?"
"So far." The line is muffled for a minute while Dan talks to someone else and there's the distant sound of family laughter. "What's up with you?"
Nate hesitates, unwilling to ruin Dan's day. "My mom's being kind of…my mom," he says finally. "I left."
"What? You left?"
"Yeah," Nate says. "Look, I'm sorry I called, I just –"
"No, no," Dan says. "You can't be alone on Thanksgiving. What are you even doing, wandering the streets? Get on the train, my mom made enough food for sixteen people and she is only too happy to feed you."
Uncertainly, Nate says, "I don't want to impose –" Which is all instinctual Vanderbilt manners.
"I will see you in an hour," Dan says. "And if I don't, I won't even save you leftovers. Goodbye, Archibald."
The line goes dead. Nate smiles.
The Humphrey loft is full of soft noise and the smell of food cooking, warm and relaxed. Everyone greets Nate all at once, talking over each other, and Dan rolls his eyes, shakes his head and mouths these people.
The woman who is obviously Dan's mother steps away from the kitchen, wiping her hands on an apron patterned with autumn foliage. She shakes his hand with both of hers and smiles in a way that reminds Nate of Jenny, though her eyes are all Dan.
"So this is the Nate I've heard so much about," she says.
"All good things, I bet," Nate says with an easy, mom-ready grin.
Dan snorts. "Someone has a high opinion of himself."
"You bet right," Allison says with a small smile, then adds with genuine concern, "Sweetheart, are you sure your mom's okay with you being here today?"
Nate opens his mouth with a quick white lie but finds he has none. Luckily for him, Dan steps up with some comment about keeping an eye on the pies and hustles his mother back towards the kitchen.
Nate is enlisted to set the table, Dan moving between him and the kitchen to get more plates or utensils. Rufus and Allison and Jenny weave around each other with ease, getting this or that ready, like they've done it all a million times before – which they probably have.
"You don't cook?" Nate asks, a small smile on his face as he sets down spoons and forks with Blair-trained precision.
"I opened the cranberry sauce," Dan informs him. "My work is done."
Nate should feel comfortable here but he doesn't. He can't help thinking of the cold house he left behind and the cold-eyed mother he left behind in it. He wants so badly what Dan has – he wishes his family could put their bullshit aside for one day, just because it's a holiday, because they love each other, because they love Nate. But they can't do it.
It mattered less in the past because he had Blair and Serena to hide with, and this year he feels the void acutely. It's like whenever he forgets how much he lost, even for a second, he's reminded. He misses Serena's tipsy giggles and Blair's wide smiles, misses sneaking off with them later to devour leftover pie, misses delivering sleeping Serena to her mom at the end of the night.
But still, there's Dan. Nate watches him a little from across the table; Dan is more content than Nate's ever seen him, his smiles coming easier and easier. Dan and his family really enjoy each other and Nate finds that so strange. He's so envious.
Talking is obviously a family trait, because the Humphreys don't let up over the entire meal. Nate can only follows the threads sometimes – he loses it at movie talk but surprises them when it comes to politics. He'd remind them of his political pedigree but he likes the impressed look on Dan's face too much. The nonstop chatter is revealing, though, and it teaches Nate a thousand new things about Dan's family – about Dan, specifically. Dan who used to cry at Little League and whose hand had to be held on the walk to school up until second grade.
It makes Dan flush and mutter and grumble, but Nate just grins.
After dinner, Allison prompts, "Since you were absent from the cooking process…" and Dan is protesting before she's even done, pleading cranberry sauce expertise. Rufus laughs and talks over him, says, "Oh, Dan and Nate are used to kitchen duty by now."
The way they go out of their way to include him only seems to make Nate feel more out of place.
Once relatively alone, washing and drying, Dan's good humor fades somewhat, his concern evident. Yeah, Nate thinks – those are definitely his mom's eyes.
"You okay?"
Nate shrugs. He focuses on the careful drying of plates, leaves behind no streaks or spots. It's funny, he'd never washed a dish before Dan. That seems so stupid.
"You know my mom," he answers vaguely, though Dan doesn't. Dan raises his eyebrows and Nate elaborates, "She didn't want to go see my dad today."
"But it's Thanksgiving," Dan says.
Nate only shrugs again. "I know."
Dan nods a little, but he still looks faintly perplexed. "Isn't your dad near here? Why don't you just go?" He glances over. "I'd come with, if you wanted… Or, uh, not. If you don't."
Nate looks at him, hesitant. "I don't want to interrupt your day."
Dan gives Nate a look like he's deeply stupid and half an hour later they're waiting outside the Captain's room.
"Some ambiance," Dan remarks, giving a wave to a tired-looking nurse. Nate doesn't laugh. "He'll be glad to see you."
"I guess," Nate says. He hasn't seen his dad since he came back and he feels weird about that, guilty even. He'd wanted to come a million times but he just couldn't bring himself to. It's not even that it'd gone badly last time, but something about the image of his father gray and exhausted in rehab had stuck with him, deterred him.
He wants to see his dad, but he'd been kind of hoping his mom would be here too.
Dan stays outside when Nate goes in. His dad's sitting in one of those sturdy-and-cheap wooden chairs by the window, looking tired.
"Hey, dad," Nate says quietly, lingering by the door.
His dad nods a little. "Where's your mom?"
Nate drops his gaze. "Couldn't make it."
He sighs. "How is she?"
"She'll be alright, I'm sure." Nate tucks his hands in his pockets. His tie is loose around his neck and he'd left his jacket with Dan. "She's always alright, one way or another."
"She has a lot to deal with," his dad says. Nate's surprised. His parents rarely give each other any credit, preferring veiled barbs. Once, before he left, Nate remembers they had a fight over something stupid and his dad said, All she has to do all day is sit on some committees and get her hair done, what's her problem?
You, Nate had thought. You've always been her problem.
Eventually Nate makes his way across the room to sit with his dad. They're mostly silent but sometimes they make small talk about his dad's progress or Nate's school. Nate swallows everything he really wants to say (We need you, Dad. It might not seem like it, but we do.) and tries to come up with good news to share, though he has none. The Captain says he's glad Nate came, though Nate's not really sure of that.
Dan walks him to the train afterwards. He must look really miserable, because last minute Dan gives him a brisk one-armed hug, yanking Nate close and releasing him just as fast.
"Chin up, kid," Dan says.
Nate passes through his own house like a ghost. The dining room is bare of the spread from earlier and his mother's door is firmly closed. Nate lets himself into his own room and drops onto the bed with a sigh.
His phone buzzes.
Nate frowns as he checks it, confused, but answers almost immediately. "Blair?"
"Are you avoiding me?"
Her voice sounds soft and small, a side of Blair he hasn't heard in over a year.
"No, of course not," he murmurs. "Why would you think that?"
"Because you are," she says. He doesn't deny it again. "Today was awful."
"Yeah," Nate breathes. "Yeah, it was."
Last year had been better. Last year they'd all been together, at least, and they could ignore the bad stuff for a day because of that, because they had each other.
"What happened to you?" she asks.
"My mom happened," Nate says, a little grumbling. "You know how she is."
"Yes," Blair says, with a soft sound of amusement, not quite a laugh. "I bet she didn't blink once the whole day."
Nate smiles a little, involuntarily. "Pretty much. How's yours?"
Any good humor dissipates and Blair says with forced lightness, "Oh, you know Eleanor."
"Yeah, but tell me," Nate says softly. He could really use that right now – something familiar, something he knows.
"She just thinks she decides everything, you know?" Blair says. "Everything in the world is just totally up to her." She goes on to tell Nate that her dad was disinvited and her mom tried to play it off like he just didn't care enough to come; Serena showing up trashed and passing out before the first course; Cameron breaking up with her.
"That's some day," Nate says, voice still soft, and feels even worse for not having called her earlier.
"I don't even have an escort for cotillion now," she huffs.
He hesitates. "You know –" Then falters.
There's a stagnant, expectant pause and then she repeats, "You know?"
"I mean…" Nate clears his throat. "We've talked about going to the ball together since we were like…ten. And I know I've given you every reason to hate me, but…" In a rush, then, "But why don't we go together, for old times' sake?"
There's a beat of silence that feels so long Nate's beginning to regret asking. Finally, she says, "Nate, the only thing we should be doing together is moving on."
"I know, I know," he murmurs. "But – look, you don't have a date and I think you're forgetting what an excellent dancer I am –"
She laughs a little. "Maybe…maybe we could go together – as friends."
He smiles. "Absolutely."
"But only as friends."
"Just friends," he assures her.
"No," Dan says.
"Come on, man," Nate coaxes. "It's one night. You can suck it up for one night."
"No," Dan says again. "It's an antiquated, classist ritual that sells girls to the highest bidder like it's still the eighteenth century and –"
"And Serena needs a date," Nate says. "You liked Serena. Plus you and I will get to hang out the whole night, so it'll be a little more bearable. Please?"
"I find it hard to believe Serena van der Woodsen doesn't have people lined up around the block," Dan says.
"But you're my friend," Nate says. "Just come, it'll be fun. Antiquated, classist fun." Again, for good measure and because Nate is a polite sort of guy, "Please."
Dan sighs. Dan's sighs always sound particularly exhausted, like a whole person's life condensed into one exhalation. "Fine."
Nate grins. "Knew I could count on you, man."
Nate has wrangled both Humphreys into helping him, though Dan is a great deal less enthused then Jenny. She eagerly agrees to assist with cotillion, trailing behind Serena's mother and grandmother with a little clipboard, her gaze straying with an obvious wistfulness to the other kids dancing.
Dan is across the room, waiting patiently and smiling a little as Serena switches her shoes from the day's boots to her dance heels. She's talking the whole time, charming him. Nate can tell.
Blair is in the bathroom, so Nate's waiting on her, just sort of drifting a little at the edges of the room, trying not to make eye contact with anyone. Then he hears –
"– matter, she's just going to puke it up anyway," followed by a rush of nervous-and-nasty laughter.
Nate freezes and doesn't look up, back of his neck prickling. It was one of Blair's friends who said that. But he doesn't know – they could be talking about anyone. He's being paranoid. It could be anyone.
Then another of the girls says, "It's like, so embarrassing, do you know why Cameron dumped her?" He think it's Hazel, the blonde.
One of the others chimes in, "I heard she and Nate were hardcore gazing at her party."
"No, no," Hazel says, sounding gleeful, "It's because when they did it, she was like – oh my god, like awful." They laugh again. "Like awful, like so bad. Nate's gotten weird, anyway, he's totally queer for that weird loner guy."
Nate presses his lips together.
"Oh my god, don't even say that," Penelope exclaims.
Another girl laughs. "They say girls go for a boy like daddy."
Nate doesn't know what to do – go over there so they know he heard them? ignore it? – but he's saved from the decision by Blair stepping up beside him. She smiles brightly. "Ready?"
Nate returns the smile even though he isn't feeling it. "Ready."
He kind of hates how easy it is to remember all of this. A year away but the childhood dance lessons are still lodged in his brain. All the evenings in Blair's room where, giggling like she only did in private, she would arrange his arms to her liking and try to make him into her Fred Astaire. Nate could never stay focused enough to do a good job but she never really seemed to mind. She scolded him but it wasn't real scolding, he knew the difference.
"Penelope is panting," Blair says in a low whisper. Nate blinks as they separate briefly to other partners; when their hands meet again, he gives her a quizzical look. "She's always had a thing for you. I think she was hoping our breakup would end happily for her." Blair's narrowed eyes slide to the side, looking for Penelope, and she smiles meanly. "Too bad."
"What are you talking about?" Nate asks, spinning her.
"She has a thing for you," Blair says. "She wants to be Mrs. Nate Archibald."
He laughs. "That's crazy. No she doesn't."
Blair only smiles, giving him a playful shrug as they separate again. There are a few more turn around the room, weaving through and around each other, a quick succession of partners. Nate gets a good laugh out of Dan almost tripping; less so when Chuck hisses at him, "Getting cozy with Blair again, I see." Then Nate finds himself facing Serena, and he forgets about dancing entirely for a second.
"Hey," she murmurs in that soft way of hers, giving him an uncertain smile as their hands fit together.
"Oh," Nate says, "I see we're talking again."
Her smile widens, becoming more familiar. "Don't be mean," she says as he twirls her. "I'm sorry about that."
Nate returns the smile despite himself. "I guess Blair is allowing you to speak to me now?"
Serena bites her lip. He'd meant it half as a joke, the kind of Blair joke they used to make a lot – oh, Blair's letting us have junk food again? oh, Blair's permitting us to choose a movie? – but the solemn expression that settles over her features means she definitely didn't take it as one.
"Don't do this if you don't mean it," Serena says.
He's confused. "What?"
They switch partners briefly, meet again. "Don't start up with her again if you don't mean it," Serena says, a fiercely protective note in her voice. "You'll just end up hurting her."
"We're not getting back together, we're friends," Nate says, taken aback. Blair doesn't even want to date him anymore. "We're not getting back together."
She looks doubtful, turning away from him to fall back into Dan's arms. "Then what are you doing?"
Nate finds himself similarly returned to Blair, and he works up a smile for her. "Having fun?" he asks.
"Not as much fun as Serena," Blair says, "Story of my life." She points a few feet off. "Those two are hitting it off. Maybe Serena's found herself a new white trash boyfriend."
Nate looks, surprised to see Dan and Serena have botched up the entire dance in the last few minutes. They've mangled the steps and dissolved into uncontrollable laughter, Serena leaning on Dan with her head on his shoulder like they've known each other for two years and not two weeks.
It bothers Nate. It irritates him and he's not sure exactly why, it's not like he and Serena are – and Dan definitely isn't going to date her, that's ridiculous, because –
"Dan's gay," he tells Blair, voice sounding hard even to himself.
"Oh?" Interest piqued, she peers over at Dan and Serena again. "Is he? I wouldn't have guessed, with that wardrobe. Though I suppose if the last seventeen years have proved anything, it's that my gaydar is faulty."
Her delivery is so quippy and casual that it startles a laugh out of Nate; soon enough everyone is dancing again and he forgets that he said anything about Dan.
Afterwards they're all walking down the street together, the four of them with Jenny scampering a few feet behind. Serena is explaining quite earnestly and emphatically about one time last year when Dan saved her life; apparently he gallantly sacrificed a stack of pies to the gods of traffic (Dan's phrasing) so he could scoop her out of the path of an oncoming car.
Blair stares at them, frowning, and Nate unconsciously mirrors the expression. "That's ridiculous," Blair says. "If you were that drunk how do you even remember?"
"You're probably getting mixed up," Nate adds.
But Dan and Serena's good cheer cannot be quashed. Eventually they separate, the girls turning up one corner together and everyone else down another, as Nate figures he'll walk Dan and Jenny to the train. However, they've barely made it down the block when Jenny's phone goes off and, upon reading the text, she stops dead in her tracks.
"Dan…" she says, glancing up at him with her brow furrowed. "Dan, you're on Gossip Girl."
Dan's face contorts in a mix of horror and bewilderment that makes Nate start laughing. But Jenny is far from amused.
"Dan, look at this," she says seriously. "It says – it says you're –"
Dan and Nate both crane over her shoulder to read the small screen. As he scans the lines (looks like N's new bromance is a lot less bro and a lot more 'mo) Nate's stomach begins to sink.
"I don't get it," Dan says, voice even but edged with panic. "How did she know? I've only told –"
And he looks right at Nate.
Dan still isn't speaking to him by the time cotillion rolls around.
Nate doesn't blame Dan (he was aware that the excuse I just told Blair! didn't hold up very well) but he's still selfishly bothered by it. Nate is suddenly once again subjected to lonely walks from class to class, no one to meet on the way to school, no one to have lunch with. He wonders how it is he keeps dropping friends so fast. The only person who still has any time for him is Blair but he finds himself avoiding her and the shiny hopeful look in her eyes.
Nate had been surprised to find out that Dan was still going to cotillion with Serena but it appeared that the blast had brought them closer as it pushed Nate and Dan apart. Nate sees them around school a lot – sees Serena steal Dan's books and refuse to give them back, holding them out of his reach; sees Dan proofreading Serena's papers as she waits, her chin resting on his shoulder; sees Serena snap at a boy who calls Dan a name in a way Serena rarely snaps at anyone. Nate sees them look friendly and happy and tries to stamp down his irritation to no avail. He really shouldn't begrudge either of them friends, not after all the messes he's made.
The worst thing Dan said in the fight hadn't even been directed at Nate. Low and exhausted, to himself, Dan had said, "I get enough shit as it is. I don't need this."
It's funny, because Nate had been entirely unaware that Dan got any shit at all. He thought Dan was quiet and inconspicuous because that was what he liked, but it wasn't until the days following the blast that Nate really got it. He didn't understand that Dan was an outlier because of things like money and family and status, didn't understand until the blast happened and Dan got nasty names written on his locker and whispered behind his back and disguised behind coughs in class.
Nate notices in part because he starts to receive some of it too. One day in the locker room before gym, he hears someone say knew there was a reason he and Blair never fucked.
Nate wouldn't care except he doesn't have Dan to complain to. He doesn't have anyone to complain to.
Nate goes to pick Blair up before cotillion in the tux she approved with her favorite flowers in his arms and feels like he never left at all. He feels like he's wearing the mask of Blair's Boyfriend, with an appropriate smile and implicit promises. He doesn't feel like he's going as her friend, especially when the elevator doors part on her silvery and grinning with the charm bracelet he bought her jingling on her wrist.
"Oh, these are beautiful," she says, taking the flowers and leaning up to kiss his cheek. "Thank you."
"You look beautiful," he tells her, smiling despite himself. It's the kind of thing the Boyfriend is supposed to say, but it's true so he doesn't mind it.
In the car ride over, Blair keeps up a steady stream of conversation, seeming not to notice Nate's lack of enthusiasm. He tunes in and out of it, realizing after a moment that all the plans she's explaining to him are plans they made years ago. Playground plans, Blair's plans with her Boyfriend.
"I asked Serena and Dan if they wanted a ride, though I know he's…angry with you," Blair is saying. He is momentarily touched that she tried to include Dan. "I attempted to explain to him that it wasn't your fault but, well, he's very stubborn, isn't he?"
"Thanks," Nate says, giving her a half-hearted smile. "For making the attempt."
Her returning smile is the most sincerely happy he's seen her look since before he left. Nate almost wants to play boyfriend again, as long as it makes her look that happy. He takes her hand, bracelet clinking. "It'll be great," he tells her softly. "The whole night. It'll be great."
They don't see Dan and Serena until they're lining up on the staircase. Nate is right behind Dan but Dan doesn't even glance at him, instead showing off his gold vest to Serena and complaining, "I look like Liberace."
"You look hot, shut up," Serena says, waving a hand dismissively at him before sliding it into his jacket. "Didn't I put a flask in here –"
Dan laughs, pushing her hand away. "Yeah, and I got rid of it. Tough luck, blondie."
As Serena gives a gasp of good-natured offense, Nate leans forward and starts, soft-voiced, "Hey, Dan ¬–"
But he's interrupted by Jenny traipsing down the stairs towards them, and Dan doesn't even turn.
"Serena?" she says, pushing up a little on the balls of her feet. "They need to know how to pronounce this word in your presentation statement –"
Serena, Blair, and Dan lean around the card together, Blair reading aloud, "Serena hopes to continue living on the Upper East Side, devote her life to volunteering for the Nature Conservancy, and have two wonderful children. She also –"
"I don't understand what is unpronounceable here," Dan says.
"You sound like me," Blair says, amused, as Serena snatches the card out of her hands. "Make it stop."
"I sound like my mom," Serena says, "I didn't even write this."
"Lily probably thought drinking your way through two and half years at Brown wouldn't sound as good," Blair remarks.
"Don't be a brat," Serena says evenly. There's a telltale mischievous glint in her eyes that Nate knows from experience will only lead to disaster – though sometimes it's spectacularly fun disaster. "Dan, do you have a pen?"
Dan, of course, does. The three of them huddle together, laughing, as Serena scrawls in a new statement, Dan and Blair offering suggestions as she goes. Nate feels that now-familiar flash of annoyance that he cannot place or explain.
Dan and Serena make their way up to the podium first, her arm in his. Nate frowns a little.
The chairwoman beams at Serena indulgently. "Serena Celia van der Woodsen," she announces. "Daughter of committee member Lillian van der Woodsen, granddaughter of chair woman emeritus Celia Catherine Rhodes. Escorted by Daniel Humphrey. Ms. van der Woodsen plans to follow in her mother's footsteps and entertain numerous affairs with as many married millionaires as she c–"
The woman breaks off uncertainly as a ripple of amusement passes through the crowd. Dan kisses Serena's knuckles and then she curtsies at her horrified family as they move past.
When it's Blair's turn, she smiles at Nate so hard that all he can do it smile benignly back and then look away, look anywhere else.
After, as they're all making their way to the dance floor, Nate sees Serena off to the side. Face miserable, arms crossed, she is silent as Lily reprimands her. "I don't know why I'm even surprised, Serena, honestly, this is just like you – you have to take every opportunity to embarrass me. And for what? What do you get out of making a mockery of me, of your grandmother?"
"I wasn't thinking about –" Serena starts, voice small.
"No, of course not, you're never thinking about anything," Lily says. "Everything is some wonderful accident that just happens to you. Your lack of culpability is almost worse than the messes you get yourself into, Serena."
"Mom…" Serena murmurs, eyes downcast, "Mom, I have to go dance…"
Lily casts a distracted glance at the assembling dancers. "Fine," she says curtly. "Go dance. Try not to ruin that too. We'll finish this later."
Nate is about to step away from Blair just because he can't ignore Serena standing there looking so sad, but before he can move Dan is at her side, laying a hand on her hip. Dan says something in her ear that makes her laugh a little bit, blinking wet eyes, before he leads her towards the other couples.
Nate feels a little less charitable suddenly.
When the dance begins Nate can't stop watching them, even as Blair says, "You're being weird, what's –"
It just bothers him. Dan is one part of his life and Serena is another and he thought he wanted them to be friends but now he realizes some lines are better left uncrossed. This is Nate's own fault, like everything else. If he hadn't made Dan get involved then Dan wouldn't have been outed and everything would be fine, separate and fine, and Nate wouldn't be so jealous.
He almost skips a step. Why would he be jealous? There's nothing to be jealous of.
"I see what you're doing," Chuck says, as they pass each other. "Getting Humphrey to keep Serena warm while you make your choice – it's a low move, Archibald. I like it."
"Fuck off, Chuck," Nate mutters impatiently.
But Chuck only grins. "You'll wish you hadn't said that."
Nate feels a flash of brief worry, but Blair is in his arms again with that sweet concerned smile she never shows anyone else, so he puts Chuck's empty threats from his mind.
But Nate should've known better than that.
None of them have their phones on them when the blast goes off, but the laughter from the other kids is enough to signal that it's going to be brutal. "Nice one, Archibald!" someone calls out and the bottom drops out of Nate's stomach.
Blair's brow furrows and as soon as the music ends she's grabbing Jenny Humphrey by the upper arm, demanding, "Show me your phone."
"Blair –" Jenny starts hesitantly, gaze flicking back to Nate. "I'm not sure –"
"This is not up for debate, Little J!" Blair snaps. Nate looks over Blair's shoulder, dread mounting.
Well, well, well, it looks like the reason for N's sudden departure last year has finally been revealed. Imagine all this time it was right under B's nose. Or at the very least sitting next to her on the steps.
Blair is completely still as Nate shuffles back a few steps, automatically putting distance between them. He can see how straight her back is, her posture so tight she's almost trembling with it. "I knew it," she says quietly.
But then she turns, eyes red and wild. "I knew it!" she shrieks, throwing Jenny Humphrey's cellphone at him as hard as she can. "I always knew there was something between you!"
"Blair…" Nate doesn't know what to say. And just like that, before an apology even passes his lips, he runs. He bolts, out past Blair and half their class and half their class' parents, past people who have known him his entire life and come to expect no better from him than this.
He runs because it's all he knows how to do.
Nate comes to a stop in one of the hallways off the lobby and he sinks into a chair, breathing hard, head in his hands. When he feels someone touch his wrist, he starts, but it's only Dan. Of course it's Dan.
Dan crouches down in front of Nate, pulling his hands away from his face. Dan's touch is light and soothing on Nate's wrists, his neck. "Nate," Dan breathes, helpless. His hand is on Nate's cheek and then his mouth is on Nate's mouth, surging up into the kiss natural as breathing.
Nate closes his fingers around Dan's lapels and kisses back on a sigh. "What are you doing?" he mutters.
Dan flinches and tries to pull back but Nate holds him firmly in place and lets his mouth open against Dan's, lets the kiss deepen. He feels his heart climb into his throat and beat there furiously.
"Nate," Dan says again, something breathless in his voice. His fingers tug at Nate's hair and his kissing is all kinds of feverish relief as he leans up on his knees and presses close. "I want –"
But Nate just kisses Dan again and again in the quiet of the hallway, a kind of noiselessness in his ears like finding a seashell and holding it up to hear the ocean.
Part Four