Gossip Girl fic: Under Waning Moon (Serena/Blair, PG)
I've been sitting on this fic for weeks, for no apparent reason, so I finally got round to doing a final edit and actually posting it. (I was thinking of waiting until the International Day of Femslash, but that's nine whole days away, and if I leave it that long I'll probably start to hate it again.)
Title: Under Waning Moon
Pairing: Serena/Blair
Rating: PG
Words: 2642
Disclaimer: Alas, all characters belong to people that aren't me.
Spoilers: Through 1x18, Much 'I Do' About Nothing.
Summary: Post-finale. Serena visits Blair in the South of France.
Notes: Thanks to haz_l for her sterling work as Official Fic Consultant. Title from 'Cocoon' by The Decemberists.
Serena's packing her suitcase for her summer in the Hamptons, wondering how light summer clothes can take up so much space, when her phone rings. She glances at the caller ID and is surprised to see Blair's picture. It's only two days since Blair left for Tuscany with Chuck, and Serena expected them to be so wrapped up in each other--she tries to ignore the visual--that Blair would forget all about her, at least temporarily.
Answering the call, Serena says, "How's Tuscany?"
The voice on the other end sounds distinctly unamused. "Nonexistent!"
"Tuscany has ceased to exist? Was there some sort of nuclear holocaust I missed?"
"No. God," Blair huffs, so angry she's struggling to get the words out. "Chuck stood me up! At first I thought he was just running late and would get the next flight but two days later and there's no word from him. And now--look what's on Gossip Girl! He's apparently out slutting it up with some--some--I don't know, some skank who's not me. That asshole stood me up."
"Chuck the manwhore strikes again."
"This isn't funny, S. No one stands me up and lives to tell the tale."
Serena bites her lip, stopping herself from reminding Blair of the incident with Jenny Humphrey. Instead she says, "So you wanted to borrow the van der Woodsen hired hitman?" but Blair's clearly too distraught for humor to cheer her up. Serena feels stuck; she's always been good at comforting Blair, she's always been the person Blair counted on, but now Blair's half a world away and Serena can't hold her close. That was Serena's forte; she would wrap her arms around Blair, holding her tight, letting her know that she would never let go, and that was better than any words could ever be. Words wouldn't suffice at a time like this; she would have to--
"Come to France," Blair whispers on the other end of the phone, "I'm there with my Dad now," and Serena doesn't hesitate to say yes. She's already packing, after all.
---
The ground slips away as the plane gathers momentum and becomes airborne, starting to leave the land behind as it strikes seaward. In first class, Serena watches New York shrink until she can see the whole city sprawled beneath her out of the tiny airplane window. It's hardly the first time she's seen the city like this, so small even the skyscrapers look insignificant, but still it feels strange to see it from above, objectively, like it isn't part of the fabric of her daily life.
She can see Brooklyn. Somewhere down there is Dan, and maybe he's thinking of her, or maybe he's thinking that he had a lucky escape. It's only been a week since she told him they were forever, and it's only been a week since they broke up. It seems longer; already that part of her life is starting to slip away like the land beneath her, and the further she gets from Dan, the less it hurts, and the less she thinks of him.
---
Seven hours later, the plane lands. Serena emerges, tired and a little rumpled, and yawns her way through customs and baggage reclaim. She's expecting a driver to meet her in arrivals; instead, she gets Blair.
Exhaustion melts away as Serena sees Blair first. For a moment she pauses, watching Blair crane her neck and search the crowd, but then Serena waves and calls Blair's name, contentment pooling inside her when Blair spots her and breaks into a grin.
Dragging her heavy suitcase behind her, Serena weaves through the crowd of travelers until she reaches Blair and envelopes her in a hug. She holds on tight, stroking a thumb across Blair's back and breathing in the familiar smell of perfume and shampoo and Blair.
"How are you?" Serena asks when Blair eventually extricates herself from Serena's grip.
"Better now," Blair says. "But I don't know what took you so long to get here."
"I came as soon as I could!" But Serena isn't too put out; Blair's just being Blair, and that means she hasn't been hurt too badly.
"If you really cared, you'd have taken Concorde," Blair says with a sniff. "Half the flight time."
"I don't think Concorde's flying anymore, B."
"Whatever." Blair gives an epic eyeroll. "You're a van der Woodsen; you could have pulled some strings."
Serena laughs; as long as Blair's like this, she thinks everything will be okay.
---
A week among the vineyards passes like a dream; when Serena looks back, it's hazy and unreal, and she wonders if she really has been in the South of France with Blair or if this has all been nighttime imaginings and she'll wake in the Hamptons, alone.
It's evening, and Harold and Roman are away, dining with important people whose names Serena should probably remember. They were invited, she and Blair, but Blair wanted to forsake the fashionable dinner in favor of a quiet night at home on the terrace, and who is Serena to argue? She's noticed a change in Blair this past week, subtle but definitely there, and it leaves her uneasy, because Blair's been slightly withdrawn in a way that Serena is unused to. She knows Blair's moods, she's familiar with her sulks and rants and dramatics, but this is new, and it concerns her. Blair's barriers and defenses have always been carefully constructed, but they usually at least let Serena in; now they're impenetrable, and Serena doesn't know how to deal.
The two of them sit outside after dinner, sharing a bottle of wine on the terrace and watching as the sky turns the candy colors of sunset and the long shadows creep in. Serena feels pleasantly warm in the still, close night, and for the moment, she is content. Memories of the past year linger in the periphery of her mind, never quite disappearing, but if she tries hard to think of other things, those memories, and those faces, stay in the fringes where they belong.
Stealing a glance at Blair sitting beside her on the stone bench, she feels a flicker of worry. For the past week Blair has been hiding behind a false smile and keeping Serena at a certain distance, and Serena thinks she might be hurting more than she's letting on. Or perhaps it's just the sting of wounded pride, and she'll bounce back as strong as ever. Serena can't tell, and she wishes she knew.
Just then as she's looking at Blair, trying and failing to unravel her enigma, Blair turns her head and their eyes lock.
"This is much better than being in Tuscany with... some boy," Blair says, and her smile is genuine for maybe the first time since Serena arrived at the airport.
Serena can't help but match her grin. "It's much better than being in Brooklyn with some boy."
"Anything beats being in Brooklyn with a Humphrey," Blair says. "I still don't know what you saw in him in the first place."
The wine must be working as an anesthetic because the remark doesn't cut like it should. It must be the wine, because she feels lighter and freer, and she actually laughs. "Says the girl whose last relationship was with Chuck Bass."
Blair makes a face. "We have terrible taste in men."
Serena goes to take another sip of wine only to find that her glass is empty, so she pours another. "The worst," she says, and thinks of Nate too, bemused that he ever came between them.
Silence falls between them, settling around them like a comforter. The sky is pinker now, the sun hanging low and heavy above the horizon. It's different to sunset in New York somehow: it's more vivid, the bright wash of colors painting the landscape and the terrace in rich, calming tones. Blair shifts where she's sitting and leans her head against Serena, who smiles at the warm weight on her shoulder and snakes an arm around Blair, pulling her closer.
"The moon is out," Blair murmurs, and Serena follows her gaze skyward, finding the shining crescent amongst the darkening blue. The moon is brighter than back home, unobscured by the skyscrapers and light pollution of the city that never sleeps.
"Did you love him?" Serena asks. She knows it's a non sequitur, and maybe it's too soon to ask, but the drink is making things easier and Serena wants to give Blair the option to talk about it.
"I don't know," Blair says. Her voice vibrates through Serena, tingling pleasantly in a way that Serena doesn't really want to analyze too closely. "I think--no. I don't know. I don't want to talk about him."
And just like that, the slipping defenses are restored. Blair shifts again, wriggling free of Serena's grasp and sitting up straight. Serena silently mourns the loss of contact.
"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have asked. But you know you can talk to me, B. About anything."
"He's not worth the energy. I'm rising above it."
Serena raises a skeptical eyebrow. "What's happened to the Blair Waldorf I know and love?"
"She's sorting out her priorities." Blair shrugs. "Besides, the easiest way to get to Chuck is to refuse to engage. He'll come crawling back eventually, and I'll take great pleasure in spurning him. Poetic justice."
"You should find a handsome new suitor to make him jealous, too."
A devious smile lights up Blair's face. "Maybe I will, if I find someone worthy of me." She picks up the bottle to refill their glasses but pouts when she finds it empty. "Damn, we need more wine."
She calls the housemaid and murmurs a request for a particular bottle; five minutes later, it's sitting in front of them.
Serena takes the bottle and pours a generous measure into first Blair's glass, then her own, placing the bottle back on the table when she's finished. The label catches her eye and she picks the bottle up again, peering at it in the gathering gloom. It's a 1976 Chateau Latour; there's something familiar about it, but Serena's drunk so many different things over the last few years that she can't place it. Truthfully, she doesn't usually pay much attention to what she's drinking anyway, as long as it gets her drunk and somebody else picks up the tab.
But no, this particular wine seems to stir something in her memory from before then, before the blurred years of drink, drugs and Georgina, back when life was a little more pure.
And then it hits her. Whipping her head round, she stares at Blair, eyes wide open, and Blair's looking back with an inscrutable expression on her face. There's a challenge in her eyes, and something like triumph.
Serena ventures a smile. "You remember too."
"2004. The first annual Blair Waldorf sleepover."
"You dared me to raid your mom's liquor cabinet and this is what I came back with."
The memory hits her in a rush, and she remembers it with perfect clarity now. The game of truth or dare had started off mildly enough, but with each passing round it had escalated until Serena had found herself sneaking through the house, dodging Dorota until she found herself faced with an array of bottles and no clue which to take. In the end she'd picked the one with the prettiest label--an approach to alcohol she hadn't bothered to refine since then--and she had returned, triumphant.
It was the first time they'd got drunk. The sleepover had been much more interesting after that.
"That was some night," Blair says, her voice slicing through the still night and into someplace deep inside Serena.
"Yes," Serena whispers, and for some reason her heart is beating louder than before. Her head is starting to feel a little fuzzy from the wine but still she can remember the night clearly. "Iz dared me to..."
Blair is closer to her than she was a moment ago. "Iz dared you to kiss me."
The memory of that sleepover swallows Serena up and she sees it in her mind's eye: a thirteen year-old Blair looking skeptical but a little excited, face flushed from the new taste of wine; Serena had rolled her eyes and giggled but pulled Blair toward herself anyway, ignoring the shrieks and laughter of her friends, and she kissed Blair soundly. Serena can still feel it now; she can still recall the press of Blair's lips and the way she held on perhaps a moment too long. When she eventually pulled away there were gasps of shock and admiration and Serena had rolled her eyes again, pretending it was nothing, while Blair blushed and challenged Kati with some scandalous truth to direct the attention away from them.
It was a long time ago.
The years between then and now melt away; years of Nate and Dan and Chuck, of swim captains and investment bankers, swept away until all there is is then and now, with nothing in between. Blair is so close that Serena can feel her breath warming her face. Serena closes the distance, pressing her lips against Blair's, twining a hand in Blair's hair and pulling her close, closer, until nothing can come between them. The kiss is deepened, greedy tongues newly exploring familiar territory, and all the time Serena's mind is being quietly blown.
Eventually the kiss is broken--by whom, Serena doesn't know--and the stillness settles in around them once more. Giddy with endorphins and hazy with alcohol, Serena laughs, breaking the silence. "Did you just get me drunk to seduce me, Miss Waldorf?" Serena asks, all mock-indignant.
"Isn't that what Georgina used to do?"
The mention of Georgina makes Serena freeze, speechless. She wasn't aware that Blair knew about her history with Georgie, and it's not like she had been deliberately trying to hide that part of herself--that part that just maybe liked kissing girls sometimes--but that's what seemed to happen nonetheless. She thinks of Eric, three years younger than her and infinitely more brave.
"You knew about Georgie?"
Blair shrugs. "It's not a big deal. We all make mistakes."
A sobering thought hits Serena. "Speaking of mistakes--this isn't just a ploy to get back at--?"
"No," Blair says forcefully, commanding Serena's attention. "No," she says again, softer. "This isn't about him, or anyone else. It's about us."
Relief washes over Serena; it's not like Blair's never lied to her before, but she feels the instinctive knowledge of truth that's borne of a years-long friendship. "Okay," Serena says, and maybe it's the wine talking, because she laughs again. "This is crazy. Just last week you were... and I was..."
She doesn't say in love with a boy, because that's sounding less and less like the truth.
Blair smiles. "I know. But before then..."
"Yeah. It's always been us."
They sit quietly, Blair leaning her head on Serena's shoulder once more. "I was thinking," she begins softly, "that maybe we could go traveling. I mean, not that I want to abandon Dad and Roman completely, but we have all summer and all of Europe on our doorstep and it seems a shame to waste it. We could go to London maybe, or Monaco, or Venice..."
"Venice sounds nice," Serena says. "I've never been." Truth is, she doesn't much care where she goes, as long as Blair is there, but it's obviously important to Blair; she starts rambling about the beauty of sailing up the Grand Canal at nighttime, and the stunning cathedrals, and the pleasures of getting lost in the labyrinthine streets.
Serena quiets her with a kiss, and it's less urgent this time, more like coming home.
The sun slips below the horizon and above them, the stars take hold of the night.
Title: Under Waning Moon
Pairing: Serena/Blair
Rating: PG
Words: 2642
Disclaimer: Alas, all characters belong to people that aren't me.
Spoilers: Through 1x18, Much 'I Do' About Nothing.
Summary: Post-finale. Serena visits Blair in the South of France.
Notes: Thanks to haz_l for her sterling work as Official Fic Consultant. Title from 'Cocoon' by The Decemberists.
Serena's packing her suitcase for her summer in the Hamptons, wondering how light summer clothes can take up so much space, when her phone rings. She glances at the caller ID and is surprised to see Blair's picture. It's only two days since Blair left for Tuscany with Chuck, and Serena expected them to be so wrapped up in each other--she tries to ignore the visual--that Blair would forget all about her, at least temporarily.
Answering the call, Serena says, "How's Tuscany?"
The voice on the other end sounds distinctly unamused. "Nonexistent!"
"Tuscany has ceased to exist? Was there some sort of nuclear holocaust I missed?"
"No. God," Blair huffs, so angry she's struggling to get the words out. "Chuck stood me up! At first I thought he was just running late and would get the next flight but two days later and there's no word from him. And now--look what's on Gossip Girl! He's apparently out slutting it up with some--some--I don't know, some skank who's not me. That asshole stood me up."
"Chuck the manwhore strikes again."
"This isn't funny, S. No one stands me up and lives to tell the tale."
Serena bites her lip, stopping herself from reminding Blair of the incident with Jenny Humphrey. Instead she says, "So you wanted to borrow the van der Woodsen hired hitman?" but Blair's clearly too distraught for humor to cheer her up. Serena feels stuck; she's always been good at comforting Blair, she's always been the person Blair counted on, but now Blair's half a world away and Serena can't hold her close. That was Serena's forte; she would wrap her arms around Blair, holding her tight, letting her know that she would never let go, and that was better than any words could ever be. Words wouldn't suffice at a time like this; she would have to--
"Come to France," Blair whispers on the other end of the phone, "I'm there with my Dad now," and Serena doesn't hesitate to say yes. She's already packing, after all.
---
The ground slips away as the plane gathers momentum and becomes airborne, starting to leave the land behind as it strikes seaward. In first class, Serena watches New York shrink until she can see the whole city sprawled beneath her out of the tiny airplane window. It's hardly the first time she's seen the city like this, so small even the skyscrapers look insignificant, but still it feels strange to see it from above, objectively, like it isn't part of the fabric of her daily life.
She can see Brooklyn. Somewhere down there is Dan, and maybe he's thinking of her, or maybe he's thinking that he had a lucky escape. It's only been a week since she told him they were forever, and it's only been a week since they broke up. It seems longer; already that part of her life is starting to slip away like the land beneath her, and the further she gets from Dan, the less it hurts, and the less she thinks of him.
---
Seven hours later, the plane lands. Serena emerges, tired and a little rumpled, and yawns her way through customs and baggage reclaim. She's expecting a driver to meet her in arrivals; instead, she gets Blair.
Exhaustion melts away as Serena sees Blair first. For a moment she pauses, watching Blair crane her neck and search the crowd, but then Serena waves and calls Blair's name, contentment pooling inside her when Blair spots her and breaks into a grin.
Dragging her heavy suitcase behind her, Serena weaves through the crowd of travelers until she reaches Blair and envelopes her in a hug. She holds on tight, stroking a thumb across Blair's back and breathing in the familiar smell of perfume and shampoo and Blair.
"How are you?" Serena asks when Blair eventually extricates herself from Serena's grip.
"Better now," Blair says. "But I don't know what took you so long to get here."
"I came as soon as I could!" But Serena isn't too put out; Blair's just being Blair, and that means she hasn't been hurt too badly.
"If you really cared, you'd have taken Concorde," Blair says with a sniff. "Half the flight time."
"I don't think Concorde's flying anymore, B."
"Whatever." Blair gives an epic eyeroll. "You're a van der Woodsen; you could have pulled some strings."
Serena laughs; as long as Blair's like this, she thinks everything will be okay.
---
A week among the vineyards passes like a dream; when Serena looks back, it's hazy and unreal, and she wonders if she really has been in the South of France with Blair or if this has all been nighttime imaginings and she'll wake in the Hamptons, alone.
It's evening, and Harold and Roman are away, dining with important people whose names Serena should probably remember. They were invited, she and Blair, but Blair wanted to forsake the fashionable dinner in favor of a quiet night at home on the terrace, and who is Serena to argue? She's noticed a change in Blair this past week, subtle but definitely there, and it leaves her uneasy, because Blair's been slightly withdrawn in a way that Serena is unused to. She knows Blair's moods, she's familiar with her sulks and rants and dramatics, but this is new, and it concerns her. Blair's barriers and defenses have always been carefully constructed, but they usually at least let Serena in; now they're impenetrable, and Serena doesn't know how to deal.
The two of them sit outside after dinner, sharing a bottle of wine on the terrace and watching as the sky turns the candy colors of sunset and the long shadows creep in. Serena feels pleasantly warm in the still, close night, and for the moment, she is content. Memories of the past year linger in the periphery of her mind, never quite disappearing, but if she tries hard to think of other things, those memories, and those faces, stay in the fringes where they belong.
Stealing a glance at Blair sitting beside her on the stone bench, she feels a flicker of worry. For the past week Blair has been hiding behind a false smile and keeping Serena at a certain distance, and Serena thinks she might be hurting more than she's letting on. Or perhaps it's just the sting of wounded pride, and she'll bounce back as strong as ever. Serena can't tell, and she wishes she knew.
Just then as she's looking at Blair, trying and failing to unravel her enigma, Blair turns her head and their eyes lock.
"This is much better than being in Tuscany with... some boy," Blair says, and her smile is genuine for maybe the first time since Serena arrived at the airport.
Serena can't help but match her grin. "It's much better than being in Brooklyn with some boy."
"Anything beats being in Brooklyn with a Humphrey," Blair says. "I still don't know what you saw in him in the first place."
The wine must be working as an anesthetic because the remark doesn't cut like it should. It must be the wine, because she feels lighter and freer, and she actually laughs. "Says the girl whose last relationship was with Chuck Bass."
Blair makes a face. "We have terrible taste in men."
Serena goes to take another sip of wine only to find that her glass is empty, so she pours another. "The worst," she says, and thinks of Nate too, bemused that he ever came between them.
Silence falls between them, settling around them like a comforter. The sky is pinker now, the sun hanging low and heavy above the horizon. It's different to sunset in New York somehow: it's more vivid, the bright wash of colors painting the landscape and the terrace in rich, calming tones. Blair shifts where she's sitting and leans her head against Serena, who smiles at the warm weight on her shoulder and snakes an arm around Blair, pulling her closer.
"The moon is out," Blair murmurs, and Serena follows her gaze skyward, finding the shining crescent amongst the darkening blue. The moon is brighter than back home, unobscured by the skyscrapers and light pollution of the city that never sleeps.
"Did you love him?" Serena asks. She knows it's a non sequitur, and maybe it's too soon to ask, but the drink is making things easier and Serena wants to give Blair the option to talk about it.
"I don't know," Blair says. Her voice vibrates through Serena, tingling pleasantly in a way that Serena doesn't really want to analyze too closely. "I think--no. I don't know. I don't want to talk about him."
And just like that, the slipping defenses are restored. Blair shifts again, wriggling free of Serena's grasp and sitting up straight. Serena silently mourns the loss of contact.
"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have asked. But you know you can talk to me, B. About anything."
"He's not worth the energy. I'm rising above it."
Serena raises a skeptical eyebrow. "What's happened to the Blair Waldorf I know and love?"
"She's sorting out her priorities." Blair shrugs. "Besides, the easiest way to get to Chuck is to refuse to engage. He'll come crawling back eventually, and I'll take great pleasure in spurning him. Poetic justice."
"You should find a handsome new suitor to make him jealous, too."
A devious smile lights up Blair's face. "Maybe I will, if I find someone worthy of me." She picks up the bottle to refill their glasses but pouts when she finds it empty. "Damn, we need more wine."
She calls the housemaid and murmurs a request for a particular bottle; five minutes later, it's sitting in front of them.
Serena takes the bottle and pours a generous measure into first Blair's glass, then her own, placing the bottle back on the table when she's finished. The label catches her eye and she picks the bottle up again, peering at it in the gathering gloom. It's a 1976 Chateau Latour; there's something familiar about it, but Serena's drunk so many different things over the last few years that she can't place it. Truthfully, she doesn't usually pay much attention to what she's drinking anyway, as long as it gets her drunk and somebody else picks up the tab.
But no, this particular wine seems to stir something in her memory from before then, before the blurred years of drink, drugs and Georgina, back when life was a little more pure.
And then it hits her. Whipping her head round, she stares at Blair, eyes wide open, and Blair's looking back with an inscrutable expression on her face. There's a challenge in her eyes, and something like triumph.
Serena ventures a smile. "You remember too."
"2004. The first annual Blair Waldorf sleepover."
"You dared me to raid your mom's liquor cabinet and this is what I came back with."
The memory hits her in a rush, and she remembers it with perfect clarity now. The game of truth or dare had started off mildly enough, but with each passing round it had escalated until Serena had found herself sneaking through the house, dodging Dorota until she found herself faced with an array of bottles and no clue which to take. In the end she'd picked the one with the prettiest label--an approach to alcohol she hadn't bothered to refine since then--and she had returned, triumphant.
It was the first time they'd got drunk. The sleepover had been much more interesting after that.
"That was some night," Blair says, her voice slicing through the still night and into someplace deep inside Serena.
"Yes," Serena whispers, and for some reason her heart is beating louder than before. Her head is starting to feel a little fuzzy from the wine but still she can remember the night clearly. "Iz dared me to..."
Blair is closer to her than she was a moment ago. "Iz dared you to kiss me."
The memory of that sleepover swallows Serena up and she sees it in her mind's eye: a thirteen year-old Blair looking skeptical but a little excited, face flushed from the new taste of wine; Serena had rolled her eyes and giggled but pulled Blair toward herself anyway, ignoring the shrieks and laughter of her friends, and she kissed Blair soundly. Serena can still feel it now; she can still recall the press of Blair's lips and the way she held on perhaps a moment too long. When she eventually pulled away there were gasps of shock and admiration and Serena had rolled her eyes again, pretending it was nothing, while Blair blushed and challenged Kati with some scandalous truth to direct the attention away from them.
It was a long time ago.
The years between then and now melt away; years of Nate and Dan and Chuck, of swim captains and investment bankers, swept away until all there is is then and now, with nothing in between. Blair is so close that Serena can feel her breath warming her face. Serena closes the distance, pressing her lips against Blair's, twining a hand in Blair's hair and pulling her close, closer, until nothing can come between them. The kiss is deepened, greedy tongues newly exploring familiar territory, and all the time Serena's mind is being quietly blown.
Eventually the kiss is broken--by whom, Serena doesn't know--and the stillness settles in around them once more. Giddy with endorphins and hazy with alcohol, Serena laughs, breaking the silence. "Did you just get me drunk to seduce me, Miss Waldorf?" Serena asks, all mock-indignant.
"Isn't that what Georgina used to do?"
The mention of Georgina makes Serena freeze, speechless. She wasn't aware that Blair knew about her history with Georgie, and it's not like she had been deliberately trying to hide that part of herself--that part that just maybe liked kissing girls sometimes--but that's what seemed to happen nonetheless. She thinks of Eric, three years younger than her and infinitely more brave.
"You knew about Georgie?"
Blair shrugs. "It's not a big deal. We all make mistakes."
A sobering thought hits Serena. "Speaking of mistakes--this isn't just a ploy to get back at--?"
"No," Blair says forcefully, commanding Serena's attention. "No," she says again, softer. "This isn't about him, or anyone else. It's about us."
Relief washes over Serena; it's not like Blair's never lied to her before, but she feels the instinctive knowledge of truth that's borne of a years-long friendship. "Okay," Serena says, and maybe it's the wine talking, because she laughs again. "This is crazy. Just last week you were... and I was..."
She doesn't say in love with a boy, because that's sounding less and less like the truth.
Blair smiles. "I know. But before then..."
"Yeah. It's always been us."
They sit quietly, Blair leaning her head on Serena's shoulder once more. "I was thinking," she begins softly, "that maybe we could go traveling. I mean, not that I want to abandon Dad and Roman completely, but we have all summer and all of Europe on our doorstep and it seems a shame to waste it. We could go to London maybe, or Monaco, or Venice..."
"Venice sounds nice," Serena says. "I've never been." Truth is, she doesn't much care where she goes, as long as Blair is there, but it's obviously important to Blair; she starts rambling about the beauty of sailing up the Grand Canal at nighttime, and the stunning cathedrals, and the pleasures of getting lost in the labyrinthine streets.
Serena quiets her with a kiss, and it's less urgent this time, more like coming home.
The sun slips below the horizon and above them, the stars take hold of the night.