Final Gift For Crinklefries, Part One
TITLE: Something True
RATING: PG
Disclaimer: I do not own “Gossip Girl.”
PAIRING: Nate/Serena; Chuck/Blair.
WORD COUNT: 7,588
NOTES: My sincerest apologies for being so late with this, crinklefries ! And it’s only part 1 & 2. :\ I will have part 3 up at the end of the week. And I think I will owe you something lighter and shorter in the future! This one sort of took on a mind of its own. :P
I hope you enjoy it though, it focuses on the N-JBC and their relationships post 3.12. Hope you had a wonderful holiday season. :)
***
She’s asleep when he walks in, asleep and alone. He frowns a little at that, there should be someone here- she shouldn’t be alone. But he’s learned (really learned) that things hardly ever go as they should.
He stands over her silently, wants to touch her, but he doesn’t (doesn’t think she would want him to). He stands beside her bed instead and he watches her breathe, the way her chest rises and falls softly. The blankets and clothing she’s swaddled in are blue, but they’re not her blue- too dull for that. He lets his eyes rove slowly over her face, the curve of her jaw and how pale her cheeks are, the way her bottom lip puckers out in sleep and the faint freckles over her nose, the arch of her eyebrows and- and the scrape on her forehead; his gaze stutters over it… swollen and raw-looking. He stares at it, the way it mars the smoothness of her skin...
And he thinks, she could have died, sees the car in his minds-eye, the blood on the windshield, the ambulance, the lights, the paramedics, the stretcher; hears her voice (too soft), remembers her gaze (too unfocused)- and there’s something hot and tight that throbs in his chest suddenly, painful and expanding, until his breath hitches and he makes himself, forces himself, to think of something else…
Thinks of two years ago- their summer of pretend, spent on a beach with laughter and iced coffee; thinks of seven years ago and ball-room dancing classes, missed steps and unaffected twirls, thinks of seven years ago, marshmallow wars and spin-the-bottle, he thinks of tag during recess and Oreo’s with milk as they watched cartoons, of hiding from nanny’s during Easter Egg hunts and stealing cookies from the kitchen during Christmas parties, he thinks of the little girl she used to be and how he’d always trailed behind her, always wanted to be wherever she was; he thinks that they grew up too fast and that she’s always moved too fast…
And it’s not helping dissipate the sensation in his chest, it’s still expanding, moving up to his throat, a lump- tight and uncomfortable- and he closes his eyes, doesn’t think of anything for a long moment.
She’s still sleeping when he opens his eyes again, still alone. He doesn’t know where everyone’s gone, thinks they shouldn’t have left, she shouldn’t be alone-
She shifts in her sleep, turns her face, an arm slipping out from under the blue blanket, a lock of hair falling across her face- and he wants to touch her, but he doesn’t. He touches the blanket instead, pulls the edge of it back over her; covers her up. His hand hovers over that strand of hair, fingers almost- but he doesn’t.
She didn’t stay (she never does).
He should really leave, except that he can’t- she shouldn’t be alone.
She could have died.
He drops his arm to his side, watches her again- she shifts into the pillow, winces a little, sighs, falls still.
And he can’t watch her anymore (can’t touch her, can’t leave), he sighs into the quiet room, watches the monitor instead, the numbers and lines until they start to blur in front of him, and then he moves around the bed to the armchair. He sits down, feels tired, exhausted, suddenly; numb, weary- sapped of all the reserves he’d had- she could have died, still lurking, slithering through his thoughts. He leans back and closes his eyes, rubs a hand over his face, tries not to wince as he bends the knuckles of his hand; tries not to think of his cousin, of how his family keeps surprising him in new and terrible ways. It makes his skin prickle and the lump in his throat, in his chest, pulsate when he thinks of what Maureen was willing to do, what Tripp was willing to let her do…
He takes a deeps breath, knows if he were to open his eyes, he wouldn’t be able to see Serena’s face from where he’s sitting, knows once upon a time he would have dragged the armchair closer to the bed, would have taken her hand, would even have woken her up just to hear her voice (she could have died); once upon a time he would have been here with Blair, holding her hand, while Chuck bitched about missing a party, but ordered a nurse to bring them coffee; once upon a time they would have been here, no arguing, all night, playing cards and drinking hot chocolate; once upon a time things had made sense…
Overwhelming, nearly unbearable, stifling, sense- but sense nonetheless. There’d been steadiness once; once there’d been a path paved for him and he’d hated it, but he’d known it, where to find it, how to walk it. He doesn’t know anything anymore- can’t find anything that’s steady, everything shifts, moves, leaves…
He clenches his eyes tighter and blows out a long breath, forces himself to relax, to not think, to not remember, smoothes his fingers slowly over the wooden arms of the chair, thinks the room is a little chilly, that the entire space around him is too quiet, he can hear distant sounds of talking, muffled footsteps, a distant phone ringing- and if he listens closely, blocks everything else out, he can hear Serena’s breaths, the rhythm of her sleep… and he focuses on that, on the deep well of relief that’s pooled inside him, let’s himself fall into, submerges himself completely, and lets it carry him off into sleep.
***
Serena wakes up once during the night, headachy and dry-mouthed, a little cold and feeling lonely; she shifts, turns, looks around, finds Nate in a armchair, sprawled and asleep and there, and she falls back asleep with a tiny smile on her face.
***
Serena comes awake as Nate is walking towards the door. He’d told himself there was no reason to sneak out, so he hadn’t- but now that she’s waking up, shifting her legs and lifting her head to look at him, batting hair from her eyes and pushing blankets back, sitting up slowly and offering him a tentative smile- he sort of wishes he had. He stops at the foot of the bed and shuffles his feet a little as she runs her gaze over him, “Hey…” she murmurs hoarsely, winces at the scratchiness of her throat.
Nate’s moving to pour her water in a glass before she can finish rubbing at the base of throat. “Hey yourself,” he says softly, extending the glass to her.
She shifts again, pushes herself into a sitting position and promptly goes a shade paler; she closes her eyes as the room does a slow spin around her, brings shaky fingers to her temple and lowers her head.
“Serena…” Nate calls, a spike of worry making his voice stern, he lowers the glass, “You okay?”
She blinks slowly and looks up, reaches for the glass of water without answering.
“Serena…” he says her name again, softer this time, as she takes a careful sip. “I’ll get someone to-”
“No, no…” she tells him quietly, “It’s okay, I’m okay…” she blows out a slow breath, rests the glass of water atop the mattress, “Just a little dizzy… for a second…”
He pauses a beat, “You’re sure?”
She draws in another slow breath and looks up at him, his button-down shirt is rumpled and his hair is scattered around his head messily… and he looks tired, she thinks suddenly, his blue eyes muted and strangely somber. “I’m sure,” she answers, meeting his gaze, remembers him asleep in her room, “I saw- you spent the night and- thanks for…” she trails off, acutely aware of how unnecessary (of how completely insufficient) the words are. The water glass feels cold in her hand suddenly and she gives him a wan smile, “It doesn’t hurt too badly…” she touches gently at her bruise with her other hand, adds, “Bet it looks great though,” with forced casualness she knows he can hear as clearly as she can- hopes he’ll take it as willingly as she’s offering it.
But he doesn’t.
Nate doesn’t have the energy pull it all in (feelings, thoughts, words) and let out only the slivers he’s allowed under their friends heading- he reigns everything in instead, keeps it close, tight, as he stares at her, hard, his blue gaze intent on her face, “Could be worse,” he states after a long moment; could have died, slithers through his thoughts again, and he stamps it down. He’s not sure what to do, where to look, so he pulls his gaze away from her, takes a step back. He moves back to the foot of the bed, closer to the door, “You look… better than yesterday,” he continues, she’d been too pale yesterday…
He clears his throat, “I uh, have to- to go,” he tells her, “Class.” It’s maybe a lie, he can’t really remember when his next class is, doesn’t even know what the time is- he just knows he needs to get away from her, from those big blue eyes that read every single thing he is, wants, but pretend they don’t. “So I’ll see you- I’ll check in on you later, okay…?” He starts to turn away, doesn’t make it…
Serena calls, “Nate-” before he moves.
“I’m glad you’re feeling better,” he interrupts before she can say anything other than his name (that’s bad enough; with the way her lips pucker downwards, the way her eyes radiate regret).
She blinks at him, “I- you didn’t have to… stay.” She finishes lamely, awkwardly, because he’d slept in her room, in a chair, by her bed- he’d stayed with her.
And she isn’t surprised, but she should be- she should feel surprise that he would still do that for her, that he still cared for her like that- that he’d answered her call and her questions, that he’d soothed her fears and been on his way to pick her up, but she wasn’t surprised…
Isn’t.
Because he’s Nate. And he… he’s-
“I fell asleep,” he deflects carefully, gives her a rueful shrug.
He’s good.
“You’re too good to me,” she whispers (means it), there’s a lump in her throat and what feels like tears behind her eyes- they feel hot and heavy and are making her head throb with pain, but she keeps her eyes on his face, he deserves that much from her.
He tries to smile at her, but it feels brittle on his face, like it’s going to crack him in half…
The word echoes in his head, good, feels like its bouncing around the room, striking at him, mocking him.
Good.
He’s always the good one, the perfect one, epic escort, golden boy, prince-fucking-charming-
“I’m not.” He snaps at her, doesn’t mean to and when she flinches a little, he looks away.
The fierce quality in his voice surprises her, but it’s the glimpse of something, a sheen of hurt in his gaze before he looks away, that makes her ignore the headache, sit up straighter, “Nate, you-”
He shakes his head, won’t let her finish, “I have to go… you- I’m sure someone will be by in a little while,” he’ll call Chuck, he thinks, make sure someone is, “Try to get some rest.”
“Nate,” she calls him again, “Wait, please, look- we… just, please sta-” she’s less than a breath away from saying it and she knows exactly what it’ll do, exactly what she’d be asking of him, and she almost does it, almost asks him to stay with her.
But its actual pain that flashes across his face, like she’s punched him in the stomach or stomped on his foot (or stabbed him in the heart) and her mouth snaps shut, she chokes on that last breath, swallows it down-
“Serena…” And it’s in his voice, in the eyes he’s fastened on her face, the way he’s holding himself; it’s just a moment, just a few seconds, but she knows, he’s asking her, begging her, not to ask, please don’t ask.
He’ll stay, if she asks him too. He’ll reign it all in and sit at the end of her bed, joke with her and tickle her feet and jokingly tuck her in when she gets sleepy- and every second of it would shred him to pieces inside.
“Yeah, no- you’re right! Go, class is… important,” she says instead, pushes the words out and when they emerge tiny and tight, she knows it doesn’t matter. They’ll both pretend its okay, normal (they’re both good at that), “And I’ll get some rest,” she finishes.
Nate nods, still tense, can’t uncoil with her watching him. “Right…” he says,” Good- I’ll see ya…”
He walks towards the door then, has a foot past the doorway, in the hallway, when he hears her; voice soft and shaky, but warm, “Thank you,” she has to tell him, he deserves to hear it.
The words give Nate pause and he’s grateful he’s already turned away from her so she can’t she see his wince; the words strike at him with the same force good had- thank you.
He wants to laugh, but there’s no room for it, everything coiled too tightly, everything inside too dry. She said thank you and he was good and this is what they are- good friends who help each other, nothing wrong with that.
“Anytime,” he responds just as softly, but he doesn’t turn around (can’t), he walks away.
***
Serena is still crying when Blair arrives.
She’s lying on her side, legs curled, knees pressing into her stomach with silent tears slipping down her cheeks. And she can’t stop- she’s tried, for the last half hour at least. Her head is throbbing and she’s trying so hard to stop, to not think of Tripp, of how wrong she’d been, of how many times she’d made this same mistake already (of Nate and how he’d stayed with her). So she draws in a hitching breath, forces herself to think, I’m okay, I’m okay, over and over again and eventually, she’s certain, she’ll stop crying. She will.
Blair winces as she walks towards the blonde, sets her bag down at the end of the bed and sits carefully beside Serena; her hands going to the blonde immediately, on her arm, in her hair, as she whispers gently, “Oh honey,” and smoothes soft blonde hair away from the other girl’s face. She doesn’t ask her what’s wrong, knows sometimes there just aren’t words, instead she settles on the bed and strokes Serena’s hair gently, let’s her cry.
Serena blinks open wet eyelashes to look at Blair, lifts a hand to wipe at her face. “B…” she murmurs softly, closes her eyes again and leans into the brunette’s touch, “I’m okay,” she whispers, as if saying the words brought with it a dusting of magic, could make it true, “I- just… everything is so…” She trails off, doesn’t have anything more to say, any excuse to offer- Blair had warned her, Blair forgave her. Chuck would too. Nate already did. Her mother had as well. Everyone had warned her, everyone forgave her… and when she’d gotten into that car on Thanksgiving Day, she’d known the mistake she was making- she’d done it anyway. She always did things anyway (and she’s leaving a trail of heartbreak behind her).
“Shhh,” Blair murmurs a long moment later when tears keep slipping from beneath Serena’s closed eyes. “I know you are…” she comforts, “You’re okay…” she agrees. Because it’s so blatantly obvious Serena isn’t okay that there’s really no need to discuss it.
And Serena feels warmth spread all over her at Blair’s firm acquiesce to her statement, opens her eyes again and looks at Blair, more tears pooling and a breath hitching, because Blair had said it for her, you’re okay, and Blair can create truth with her words, can spin entire realities into existence.
She sniffles and Blair smiles a little, leans down towards her for a hug. Serena closes her eyes, stretches into Blair’s embrace, presses her face into soft brown curls, and if she shudders and continues to cry, sobbing a little into her best friend’s shoulder- well, neither girl will allow that this detracts from being okay.
***
Blair doesn’t ask about the tears. She doesn’t guess at them either, not even to herself. The events of the past day have sort of put the past week into a strange perspective. As far as she’s concerned, those events, of the past week, were laid to rest the night before (you were so right about this one), all she wants this morning is to see Serena finish her orange juice, smile a little, and go home (home, where Chuck’s being as oddly comatose as his sister). But there’s no sipping of orange or smiling and they sit in the Bass limo in silence. Serena is completely still, mute, hands clenched loosely in her lap, eyes fastened to the floor. Blair had brought clothes to the hospital for her to change into, had pulled blonde’s hair back, fastened it with a clasp so it didn’t hang in her face. And Serena had let her, had slipped her feet into the ballet flats Blair had brought her, had listened to the nurse’s advice, had followed Blair’s quiet instructions- all without a word.
It’s eerie and Blair has had enough of it. “What are you thinking, sweetie?” She wonders finally, reaches out and takes one of Serena’s hands, holds it in both of hers.
Serena doesn’t respond. She’s not thinking anything… she’s… numb. And she loves it, loves this feeling of not feeling, wants to hold onto it as long as she can manage it.
But Blair presses, says, “Serena…” her voice insistent, not to be ignored. She squeezes Serena’s hand and the blonde turns her head to look over at her.
Serena doesn’t mean to say anything, doesn’t feel anything, but the words slip past her lips anyhow, “Nate stayed with me,” she says rather abruptly, “Last night.”
Blair takes it- any comment is better than none. She smoothes one of her hand over one of Serena’s, nods slowly, “That was… nice of him,” she says carefully, there’s a dullness to Serena’s voice she’s uncertain about. She sighs a little a beat later, shifts on the seat so her body is facing Serena, “I’m sorry I didn’t come back yesterday,” she confesses quietly and she really is; had wished she could split herself in half last night, sit with Serena and comfort Chuck.
Serena’ starts a little at Blair’s voice, as if she hadn’t expected Blair to speak; she licks her lips and focuses her gaze on her best friends face, but remains silent.
“I… couldn’t… leave him, you know…?” Blair presses on, “So I’m glad Nate was there to-”
“Leave who?”
And it’s Blair who starts a little now, “Chuck, Serena.” She says patiently, “He was really shaken up yesterday; and it only got worse as-”
“What do you mean? What’s wrong with Chuck?” The numbness is dissipating then, slipping away to make room for razor-edged concern.
Blair smiles softly; her brown eyes kind as they meet Serena’s blue, “Yesterday was the one year anniversary of Bart’s death, S,” she whispers. And maybe another day, she would have followed that up with a how could you forget? or with a disapproving frown, maybe a shake of her head, but not today; today she reaches out to gently tuck strand of Serena’s hair that’s gotten loose from the ponytail behind her ear.
The blonde’s eyes widen in surprise, “Oh no…” she breathes, shifting on the seat too so she’s facing Blair completely. She winces, feels sore and achy, but she forgot so it doesn’t matter, “Oh B… I…” she shakes her head, keeps her incredulous gaze on the brunette, “And a car acci- I’m so sorry… I…”
“Hey, it’s okay; it’s not your fault. Tripp is the one-”
“It is my fault,” Serena interrupts, thoughts colliding into each other suddenly, mistakes and doing things anyway and a trail of heartbreak behind her that’s getting too long, too hard to move away from. “And I made everything worse for Chuck last night and that’s exactly what I’ve been doing for-”
“Stop it,” Blair cuts in firmly, squeezes Serena’s hand, “Calm down. What happened with Tripp was a mistake and we all make those.”
Serena blinks back tears that are stinging her eyes suddenly, “Yeah, and mine are the ones that usually mess-”
“Stop,” Blair says it fiercely this time, her grip on Serena’s hand almost painful, “Don’t talk like that, you-”
“You warned me,” Serena interposes, just as fiercely, “You did. And I didn’t listen… I never listen and now-”
“That’s right,” Blair says quickly, forces lightheartedness into her voice as she loosens her hold, “Like when I told you not to buy those flats you’re wearing- and there they were in your closet. And they look good on you; they look like you- a good match. You try things, S, and sometimes they match you and sometimes they don’t.”
Serena breathes out a huffy breath, half-way between a stifled sob and a surprised laugh, “Did you…” she leans back a little, blinks, “Did you just compare my relationship with someone to my buying shoes?”
Blair tilts her head, smiles a little, encouraging and sweet, “There’s longevity in buying shoes,” she points out, “I mean you still have those.”
There’s a quirk to Serena’s lips then, faint, but there. “What’s wrong with these?” She wonders, lifting her foot and looking down at them.
“They’re yellow with blue and green polka-dots.”
Serena looks back to Blair, “So?”
“With a giant gold flower.”
“… it’s not giant.”
Blair smiles a little wider, tugs Serena by the hand, closer, and Serena obliges, the quirk spreading into a tiny smile as she slides across the leather seat.
When she’s shoulder to shoulder with Blair she sighs a little and lets her head fall to rest against Blair’s. They sit like that, in silence, for a long while. When the limo stops they don’t move, Serena closes her eyes and Blair gives her hand a squeeze.
A beat passes and then she whispers, “It’s okay, S.”
And Serena wants to take it, the absolution, she really does; she wants to keep her eyes closed and let Blair’s magic wash over her, let it brush things away until they are okay.
But she can’t (the heartbreak in her wake is piling up and today, pieces of it shimmered dully in Nate’s gaze).
And for this moment, away from anyone’s eyes, but Blair’s (even her own), she can finally admit, “It’s not, B,” she keeps her eyes tightly shut as she continues still in a whisper, “It’s really not.”
***
Chuck’s sitting in the living room when she walks in, not doing anything, just dressed and sitting on the couch- staring vacantly at the floor. She doesn’t sigh. Blair sets her bag down on one of the armchairs and sheds her jacket in silence; then she walks to him and sits down quietly beside him.
He blinks, looks over at her.
“I got Serena settled in at her suite,” she tells him.
He leans back a little, “Right,” he seems to flounder for a moment and then adds with a nod, “That’s good…”
She nods back, “You’re take a break…” the pitch of her voice is encouraging, not quite a question.
“I’m waiting for a call.”
And now she sighs, shifts a little closer to him so she can touch his hand, “Chuck…”
“I know what I’m doing, Blair.”
“I didn’t say you didn’t.”
“You’re about to say something to that effect.”
“No, I’m about to say that it’s two days till Christmas and you should go see Serena and maybe let this rest until after the holiday’s.” She wants to add, please, but she doesn’t really think it’ll help any. There’s a woman and a locket and she wishes she had gone to the cemetery with him. “Chuck…” she prods when he remains silent.
“I’m expecting a phone call.” He says very evenly.
And her temper snaps, she stands, faces him with a scowl on her face, “It’s Christmas.”
He looks up at her mildly; he’s not even trying to appease her, “Not for two days.”
“You said we’d go skating,” she points out.
“You really believe going ice skating takes precedence over this?”
“Of course not,” she replies readily, waves a hand in the air and looks at him, her brown eyes imploring, “But I think you’ve done everything that can be done for now. It’s weird, confusing, you need to know what it means, it’s a link to something you didn’t expect to ever have- I get it, how important this is, but you’ve done nothing else for almost two days.” I’m worried about you, remains unsaid, glimmering in her gaze.
“She looked like my mother, Blair.”
And she slips back to sit beside him, her hand going to his again, “I know,” she tells him and he turns his face towards her, meets her gaze, “I know,” she repeats, twining her fingers with his, “And you are going to have her found, Chuck. It’s going to happen. You have two of the best investi-”
“Four.”
She nods, takes the curt interruption in stride, “You’re going to find her. You’re going to find out why she had that locket, what it means, why she was there, everything- it’s going to happen. As soon as we have anything to go on, we’ll track her down, figure it all out…” she squeezes his hand, “We’re going to know,” she tells him fiercely, “But you’ve done everything you can for now and this- this is- I want to spend Christmas with you. It’s the first one we’ve spent together in-” she breathes out, “Like three years, I think… and it’s our first one as a couple… it’s special.”
He doesn’t respond, but he doesn’t pull his hand away either, so she takes it as a good sign and continues. “I know it’s hard and I’m not asking you to go caroling or anything-”
“You’re asking me to go ice skating,” he interposes, with a lift of an eyebrow.
And she smiles a little, feels a tiny breath of relief that he’s speaking and it has nothing to do with real-estate, death, or possibly-blood-related mystery women, “We don’t have to go ice skating,” she amends, pulls his hand up to her cheek so its framing her face, “Just don’t resist my holiday charm.”
He’s still for a moment, hand motionless against her face, and then he ducks his head, blows out a slow breath. Blair holds still and when he lifts his gaze to hers, she gives him a half-smile, softly teasing.
And he smirks at her, smoothes his thumb over her cheek, “Have I ever been any good at resisting your charms?”
She smiles wider, moves closer, tilting her face towards his, “Hmm, there was the time you called me a horse…” she murmurs as his lips brush against hers (the incident never fails to make him amorous).
His hand slips from her face into her hair, the other reaching out to wrap around her waist, pulling into him, “I don’t recall you…” he breathes between a kiss, “… being particularly…” he yanks her hard, closer, and she gasps a little, hops onto his lap, “… charming, at the time…”
She turns into him, wraps her arms his neck, her skirt shimmying up her legs as he starts to pull clips from her hair. She presses herself closer, purrs, “Is this charming enough…?”
And he smiles against her mouth, tilts her down so they’re stretched out on the couch, “It’s getting there…” He whispers, lifts his head a little to look at her.
There’s a wicked gleam in his eyes as he watches her and she leans up towards him, laughs lightly and wraps a leg around his middle, murmurs, “Full speed ahead then…” and grabs his bottom lip with her teeth.
***
Chuck blows out a breath, nuzzles his face into Blair’s still damp hair, “If you’d told me the sex had conditions-”
Blair squeezes his hand hard, cuts him off, “-would you have refrained…?” She queries with a sidelong glance.
He purses his lips and tugs her into him as they wait for Serena to open the door, “I’d just have set my own terms…” he murmurs, lips moving against her temple.
Blair laughs, a hand tugging at his bowtie, “Our shower seemed like a term to me…”
“Mutually beneficial,” he offers, turning her more fully towards him, “You were dirty…”
She smiles, presses her lips against his, “I’m not the one who-”
“Oh come on,” Serena’s aggravated voiced cuts Blair off, “Who wants to open the door to this?”
Blair turns around in Chuck’s arms and sends her best friend a bright smile. “Oh, you’re quite welcome for the privileged view,” she says cheerfully and slips inside, pulling Chuck behind her.
Serena’s wearing long, baby blue pajama bottoms and a matching, bagging t-shirt with It’s Sleepy in Here printed in big letters on the front. She sighs as she watches Chuck and Blair settle onto her couch, all over the blanket she’d carefully laid out intent on cuddling in it as she stared at the television. She had slept for a few hours after Blair had left, taken a warm shower- managed to wash away what was left of the numbness, to shift things into a more optimistic perspective (to blur the memory of Nate’s gaze just before he left her hospital room).
“What’re you guys doing here?” She wonders as she shuts the door carefully and turns around. Her head isn’t hurting, but she’s still achy and whenever she moves too fast the room does a slow, irritating lurch.
“I came to see how you were, dear sister,” Chuck drawls, his arm around Blair’s waist. He smirks at her for a moment, adds, “Of course,” with a mocking tilt to his head.
Serena feels her lips quirk a little, “Wow, thanks, Chuck.”
“He means it,” Blair points out with a smile.
“Yeah,” Serena agrees, “The insincerity is a total tip off.”
“I do,” Chuck adds more softly, eyes on her face, studying the marks on her skin with a sudden and strangely haunted look; but it flickers away before Serena can speak up about it; vanishes behind a smirk as he adds, “Henceforth you are only to travel with Bass sanctioned drivers,” with the pomp of a reigning King.
It surprises a huffy laugh from her, brings a genuine smile to her lips and she waves a hand in the air, “Will do, Sire-anything else you’d like to command of me while you’re at it…?”
Chuck beams a little, “Well, now that you mention it-”
Serena’s laugh is louder this time and Blair rolls her eyes, cuts Chuck off, “We don’t have time for that list,” she corrects him and then pats the spot beside herself, eyes on Serena, “Come here...”
Serena smiles as she approaches them, “You have a list of things you’d like to rearrange in my life, don’t you?”
Blair waves a hand, “Of course, but that’s not why we’re here…”
“Ah,” the blonde murmurs, “Good to know… why’re you here then?”
Chuck shifts so he can see both their faces when Serena sits down on Blair’s other side. He eyes them with amused interest, says lazily, “Blair’s going to proposition you.”
And Serena blinks at him, stares for a moment; his hair is wet and combed to one side and he’s wearing a shirt and vest of varying shades of green and beige with a patterned green bowtie. It’s been a long time since she’s Chuck in a bowtie.
She shifts her look to Blair, waves a hand as she leans back and settles in the corner of the couch, lifting her legs to tuck underneath her, “Go on then,” she prods, puckers her lips in amusement, “Proposition me…”
Blair nods, almost too seriously, her brown eyes fastened on Serena’s face. “You remember in eighth grade, you made us play that ridiculous made-up game involving gift wrapping and dollar limits- with the stealing…?”
There’s a pause where Blair looks expectantly at the blonde and Serena blinks again, realizing belatedly that Blair wants a response. “You mean Yankee Swap?” Serena wonders, frowning a little, “I didn’t make that up, lots of people play it. And I just wanted us to wrap them ourselves because-”
It’s Blair now who waves a hand in the air, cutting the blonde off since she’s gotten the acknowledgement she sought, “Sure,” she says off-handedly before continuing, “And then you forced us to make our own hot chocolates and then we watched Home Alone and then-”
“Yeah, B,” Serena cuts in, because she remembers a laughing Nate suddenly- letting her have his candy cane after he’d finished stirring his hot chocolate with it. “I remember,” she offers and knows that her voice sounds a little tight, that she doesn’t look as relaxed as she had a beat ago.
A look of determination slips over Blair’s face. “I want you to do that again.”
Serena gapes at the brunette for a long moment, “You…” she licks her lips, “You want to play Yankee Swap?”
Chuck snorts a quiet laugh, “How bad is that head injury, sis?”
Blair looks affronted, “Don’t be absurd, Serena, I abhor that game.”
Serena nods a little, careful to not overdo the motion, “I do remember you mentioning that once or twice when we played-” he lips quirk upwards again, “In fact, I think that’s why eighth grade was only time we ever played…”
Blair nods too, “Once was quite enough, thank you very much.”
Serena’s smirk widens into a half-smile, “So what do you-”
“Fashion us a celebration,” Blair answers even before Serena can finish, “Discounting our protestations, of course.”
And this time Serena herself wonders how bad her head injury was, “What?”
“For Christmas,” Blair adds, nodding once and looking over at Chuck meaningfully.
Serena shakes her head and this time there’s a spike of pain behind her eyes and she winces. “I don’t understand…”
“Blair has decided we are taking a…” Chuck pauses for a moment, a ghost of a smile on his face, “Time out,” he says with emphasis, before continuing, “For the holiday’s. She wants us to celebrate, put… unfortunate matters aside… until after the holiday’s.”
She looks at Chuck then, unfortunate matters, sits up a little straighter, “Chuck…” she begins, blue eyes fastened on his face solemnly (because she forgot and he’s her brother now), “About… yesterday… I-I’m so-”
“Behind us, Serena,” he interrupts again, shakes his head.
“No, I mean yeah, okay… behind us,” she agrees a little hesitantly, “But still, I just want you to- I’m sorry I wasn’t around…” she sighs a little, “Okay…” waves a hand.
Chuck nods, “She’s decided you are to plan our holiday celebration.”
“And we’ll go along with it,” Blair adds, her hand tucked inside Chuck’s now, “I mean, we’ll complain, I’m sure-because it’s certain to be a bit boorish, but we’ll go along with it anyhow.” She promises.
Serena stares at her best friend, at her brother, “You want me to force you into a Christmas celebration?” She concludes.
Blair shrugs, “There may be a fair bit of coercion involved, if you feel it’s needed.”
Chuck leers a little, leans towards Blair, mouth near her ear, “… thought coercion was your specialty…”
Blair turns her face towards him with a smile and Serena reaches out and kicks the brunette in the leg with her bare foot, “Focus- explain,” Serena requests, not quite pleasantly. She loves it when Blair and Chuck are happy, she does, but she doesn’t need evidence of it at every moment.
Blair eyes her for a moment, “Shouldn’t you be wearing socks?”
Serena stares back, “Shouldn’t you be explaining…?”
“We haven’t spent the holiday together, all of us, in like three year. And it’s been a stressful time and you’re good at making us do ridiculous and imbecilic activities that don’t result in completely unbearable memories.”
“Oh wow, well, we you put it that way…” Serena smirks.
“I mean it,” Blair continues, more sincerely, “You know we need this.”
And Serena does know; and she knows that Blair’s we includes Nate. She can’t help feeling fidgety when she thinks of him, anxious, had been avoiding thoughts of him since getting to her suite- but he kept sneaking up on her, quick flashes of his solemn eyes, echoes of his quiet words, and a pit in her stomach telling her they were headed for a spill messier than the one she’d just endured.
Her smirk fades away. “B,” she starts gently, tucks her leg back underneath her instead of letting it hang from the couch, “I agree, I do… but maybe… a quiet time-out would be okay this year,” she offers softly, eyes drifting between the dark-haired couple, “I’m not really… up to it.” She admits carefully.
Blair shakes her head and Serena feels weariness start to creep inside her; Blair wasn’t going to back down from this, “We’re offering to let you badger us into doing your bidding. You will take advantage of this, Serena.”
It’s a command and Serena has to smile a little, there’s no doubt Chuck and Blair would be suited to ruling a small empire. “Blair,” she says carefully, aware that her arguments are flimsy-that she’s never not wanted to host a celebration for them, “I just left the hospital this morning, I’m really not up to-”
“I’m not asking you to do manual labor,” Blair cuts in, “I’m asking for one of those absurd hanging-out plans you come up with on a regular basis.”
Chuck inclines his head, “The ones we periodically demean and back out of.”
“Yes, I know. And believe me, I get the humor in you wanting me to force you into one of them,” she points out, still smiling a little, “But-”
“But nothing,” Blair’s gaze is hot and boring into Serena, “Admit it, we need-”
“I did admit it,” the blonde says; her words sliding over Blair’s as her smile slips away, “I’m just saying that something quiet and-”
“Great,” Blair says decisively, ignoring the rest of Serena’s sentence, “Think it up, I’ll make a list, and we’ll set it in motion,” she pauses for less than a heartbeat, but it’s still somehow blatantly obvious, “Chuck’s going get Nate on board when Nate gets back to their suite-he’s been out all day,” she finishes.
And Serena swallows hard, looks away.
Blair takes note of the action, there’s something in the way the blonde blinks quickly, the way she turns away, that reminds Blair of this morning’s tears, of Serena’s Nate stayed with me in the limo, the way it had sounded oddly like a confession. “Is there something you want to tell us, S?” She prods.
The living room is silent; the curtains are drawn across the windows, lamps on. Serena holds still in her corner of the sofa, doesn’t turn her gaze to either Blair or Chuck, keeps it steady on the floor and keeps her thoughts steadily away from Nate. On Christmas day she’s going to call him, wish him a Happy Christmas and meet him for hot chocolate at their favorite bakery; she’s going to give him the polo shirts she bought him, the music CD she made him, and the soccer bobble-head doll that made her think of him-she’s going to hug him and they are going to be okay (because they always are, they have to be).
But that is on Christmas day- a day from now, a day she’s going to use to get a good grip on steadiness.
“Well,” Chuck breaks the silence, tone too even and Serena’s head turns to him quickly in sudden alarm, “She doesn’t have to tell me.”
Blair looks over at him, then back to Serena, “What’s going on?”
But Serena’s locked her gaze with Chuck’s and she doesn’t answer her friend.
“Nate’s in love with her.” He says it like he’s talking about the weather, tone almost nonchalant, but his eyes are dark and they’re holding Serena’s with intensity. He’s trying to read her, what she feels and wants and thinks, and she clams up tight at that probing gaze; straightens again and brushes hair away from her face.
“What?”
“Chuck.”
Blair and Serena speak simultaneously, but Chuck doesn’t take his eyes off his sister for a long moment. When he does, it’s so he can nod once, positively, “He’s in love with her.”
Serena shakes her head, ignores the pang that causes behind her eyes, “That’s not what-”
Blair huffs, speaks over Serena, turning her head to look at Chuck, “Is that supposed to be new information?”
“Blair!” Serena snaps, abruptly irritated.
Chuck meets his girlfriend’s gaze, “He told her.”
Serena drops her feet to the floor and glares at Chuck, “He did not!”
Blair arcs an eyebrow, “Oh.”
“Oh, nothing,” Serena continues, “Nate and I- we…” she trails, frustration welling up inside and she stands, paces in front of them, “I don’t want to celebrate and I’m not in a planning mood and I want to sleep. I’ll see you both tomorrow.” She states tightly.
Chuck and Blair stare at Serena for a long moment and then Blair looks over at Chuck. “Oh wow.”
He nods seriously, “Yeah.”
“When was-”
“Thanksgiving.”
“Oh- ah,” Blair says with emphasis, everything clicking into place; Chuck going with Nate, Serena going with Tripp, Nate stayed with me last night, in a less than breaths time. And then she smacks Chuck on the arm, “You tell me these things!”
“Hey! Ow!” He rubs at his arm, “I’ve been busy and then-”
“And there’s nothing to tell,” Serena cuts in, “We… had a conversation,” she hedges. You can’t call it that though, can you? She thinks sadly, the image of him asking her to stay flashing through her mind.
“You’ve been spending a lot of time together.” Blair informs her; as if this could have escaped her attention.
“We’re friends.” Serena pushes the words, infuses them with every shred of belief she can muster, friends, and winces a little when the words sound weak even to her own ears. “And I’m tired, guys, really. Just drop it.”
“You want us to leave?” Chuck wonders, studying her again; there’s a challenging lilt to his voice, dark eyes glimmering. Are you really going to run from this? How far? How long?
And Serena hesitates. She’s not supposed to want that, she’s supposed to agree with them and giggle and nod and tell them she’ll come with them to convince Nate, she’s supposed to plan something for tomorrow, Christmas Eve, that’s totally silly and she and Nate would love it and Chuck and Blair would deem it beneath them and they’ll get drunk on scotch and sherry and pass the mistletoe around, so kisses for all- and it would be exactly what Blair said it would be, not completely unbearable memories, otherwise known as, happy.
But she couldn’t do it; couldn’t want it (couldn’t get that flash of pain across Nate’s face out of her mind).
“I do,” she tells Chuck; meets his gaze, answers, yes, however far it takes, however long, to make this okay, to make this not hurt (him).
“Serena,” Blair starts.
And Serena flinches before the other girl can say anything more than her name, there’s a spike of panic inside her, her face twists in a grimace- she can’t talk about this (him), “Please.” She bites out, a headache starting to throb in her temples, “Just drop it,” she pleads, clenches her hands together.
The couple is silent for another moment and then Blair nods, standing up, pulling Chuck with her.
“Okay,” she says simply, walks forward towards Serena, “We’ll come check on you tomorrow,” she presses a quick kiss to Serena’s cheek, “Take a relaxant, get some sleep,” she advises.
Chuck nods, says, “See ya,” touches her arm lightly before adding, “Sis,” and the word is soft, sincere. Serena blinks at him, at them both; turns around to watch them leave. They don’t say anything else, don’t turn around, just quietly open the door and walk out, closing it carefully behind them.
And she stares at it for a beat and then she walks to her couch and pulls her now squashed blanket up to her shoulders, cuddles into the cushions, and closes her eyes intent on doing just that-getting some sleep.
(And she does not think of a boy asleep in chair beside her bed)
.TBC.
RATING: PG
Disclaimer: I do not own “Gossip Girl.”
PAIRING: Nate/Serena; Chuck/Blair.
WORD COUNT: 7,588
NOTES: My sincerest apologies for being so late with this, crinklefries ! And it’s only part 1 & 2. :\ I will have part 3 up at the end of the week. And I think I will owe you something lighter and shorter in the future! This one sort of took on a mind of its own. :P
I hope you enjoy it though, it focuses on the N-JBC and their relationships post 3.12. Hope you had a wonderful holiday season. :)
***
She’s asleep when he walks in, asleep and alone. He frowns a little at that, there should be someone here- she shouldn’t be alone. But he’s learned (really learned) that things hardly ever go as they should.
He stands over her silently, wants to touch her, but he doesn’t (doesn’t think she would want him to). He stands beside her bed instead and he watches her breathe, the way her chest rises and falls softly. The blankets and clothing she’s swaddled in are blue, but they’re not her blue- too dull for that. He lets his eyes rove slowly over her face, the curve of her jaw and how pale her cheeks are, the way her bottom lip puckers out in sleep and the faint freckles over her nose, the arch of her eyebrows and- and the scrape on her forehead; his gaze stutters over it… swollen and raw-looking. He stares at it, the way it mars the smoothness of her skin...
And he thinks, she could have died, sees the car in his minds-eye, the blood on the windshield, the ambulance, the lights, the paramedics, the stretcher; hears her voice (too soft), remembers her gaze (too unfocused)- and there’s something hot and tight that throbs in his chest suddenly, painful and expanding, until his breath hitches and he makes himself, forces himself, to think of something else…
Thinks of two years ago- their summer of pretend, spent on a beach with laughter and iced coffee; thinks of seven years ago and ball-room dancing classes, missed steps and unaffected twirls, thinks of seven years ago, marshmallow wars and spin-the-bottle, he thinks of tag during recess and Oreo’s with milk as they watched cartoons, of hiding from nanny’s during Easter Egg hunts and stealing cookies from the kitchen during Christmas parties, he thinks of the little girl she used to be and how he’d always trailed behind her, always wanted to be wherever she was; he thinks that they grew up too fast and that she’s always moved too fast…
And it’s not helping dissipate the sensation in his chest, it’s still expanding, moving up to his throat, a lump- tight and uncomfortable- and he closes his eyes, doesn’t think of anything for a long moment.
She’s still sleeping when he opens his eyes again, still alone. He doesn’t know where everyone’s gone, thinks they shouldn’t have left, she shouldn’t be alone-
She shifts in her sleep, turns her face, an arm slipping out from under the blue blanket, a lock of hair falling across her face- and he wants to touch her, but he doesn’t. He touches the blanket instead, pulls the edge of it back over her; covers her up. His hand hovers over that strand of hair, fingers almost- but he doesn’t.
She didn’t stay (she never does).
He should really leave, except that he can’t- she shouldn’t be alone.
She could have died.
He drops his arm to his side, watches her again- she shifts into the pillow, winces a little, sighs, falls still.
And he can’t watch her anymore (can’t touch her, can’t leave), he sighs into the quiet room, watches the monitor instead, the numbers and lines until they start to blur in front of him, and then he moves around the bed to the armchair. He sits down, feels tired, exhausted, suddenly; numb, weary- sapped of all the reserves he’d had- she could have died, still lurking, slithering through his thoughts. He leans back and closes his eyes, rubs a hand over his face, tries not to wince as he bends the knuckles of his hand; tries not to think of his cousin, of how his family keeps surprising him in new and terrible ways. It makes his skin prickle and the lump in his throat, in his chest, pulsate when he thinks of what Maureen was willing to do, what Tripp was willing to let her do…
He takes a deeps breath, knows if he were to open his eyes, he wouldn’t be able to see Serena’s face from where he’s sitting, knows once upon a time he would have dragged the armchair closer to the bed, would have taken her hand, would even have woken her up just to hear her voice (she could have died); once upon a time he would have been here with Blair, holding her hand, while Chuck bitched about missing a party, but ordered a nurse to bring them coffee; once upon a time they would have been here, no arguing, all night, playing cards and drinking hot chocolate; once upon a time things had made sense…
Overwhelming, nearly unbearable, stifling, sense- but sense nonetheless. There’d been steadiness once; once there’d been a path paved for him and he’d hated it, but he’d known it, where to find it, how to walk it. He doesn’t know anything anymore- can’t find anything that’s steady, everything shifts, moves, leaves…
He clenches his eyes tighter and blows out a long breath, forces himself to relax, to not think, to not remember, smoothes his fingers slowly over the wooden arms of the chair, thinks the room is a little chilly, that the entire space around him is too quiet, he can hear distant sounds of talking, muffled footsteps, a distant phone ringing- and if he listens closely, blocks everything else out, he can hear Serena’s breaths, the rhythm of her sleep… and he focuses on that, on the deep well of relief that’s pooled inside him, let’s himself fall into, submerges himself completely, and lets it carry him off into sleep.
***
Serena wakes up once during the night, headachy and dry-mouthed, a little cold and feeling lonely; she shifts, turns, looks around, finds Nate in a armchair, sprawled and asleep and there, and she falls back asleep with a tiny smile on her face.
***
Serena comes awake as Nate is walking towards the door. He’d told himself there was no reason to sneak out, so he hadn’t- but now that she’s waking up, shifting her legs and lifting her head to look at him, batting hair from her eyes and pushing blankets back, sitting up slowly and offering him a tentative smile- he sort of wishes he had. He stops at the foot of the bed and shuffles his feet a little as she runs her gaze over him, “Hey…” she murmurs hoarsely, winces at the scratchiness of her throat.
Nate’s moving to pour her water in a glass before she can finish rubbing at the base of throat. “Hey yourself,” he says softly, extending the glass to her.
She shifts again, pushes herself into a sitting position and promptly goes a shade paler; she closes her eyes as the room does a slow spin around her, brings shaky fingers to her temple and lowers her head.
“Serena…” Nate calls, a spike of worry making his voice stern, he lowers the glass, “You okay?”
She blinks slowly and looks up, reaches for the glass of water without answering.
“Serena…” he says her name again, softer this time, as she takes a careful sip. “I’ll get someone to-”
“No, no…” she tells him quietly, “It’s okay, I’m okay…” she blows out a slow breath, rests the glass of water atop the mattress, “Just a little dizzy… for a second…”
He pauses a beat, “You’re sure?”
She draws in another slow breath and looks up at him, his button-down shirt is rumpled and his hair is scattered around his head messily… and he looks tired, she thinks suddenly, his blue eyes muted and strangely somber. “I’m sure,” she answers, meeting his gaze, remembers him asleep in her room, “I saw- you spent the night and- thanks for…” she trails off, acutely aware of how unnecessary (of how completely insufficient) the words are. The water glass feels cold in her hand suddenly and she gives him a wan smile, “It doesn’t hurt too badly…” she touches gently at her bruise with her other hand, adds, “Bet it looks great though,” with forced casualness she knows he can hear as clearly as she can- hopes he’ll take it as willingly as she’s offering it.
But he doesn’t.
Nate doesn’t have the energy pull it all in (feelings, thoughts, words) and let out only the slivers he’s allowed under their friends heading- he reigns everything in instead, keeps it close, tight, as he stares at her, hard, his blue gaze intent on her face, “Could be worse,” he states after a long moment; could have died, slithers through his thoughts again, and he stamps it down. He’s not sure what to do, where to look, so he pulls his gaze away from her, takes a step back. He moves back to the foot of the bed, closer to the door, “You look… better than yesterday,” he continues, she’d been too pale yesterday…
He clears his throat, “I uh, have to- to go,” he tells her, “Class.” It’s maybe a lie, he can’t really remember when his next class is, doesn’t even know what the time is- he just knows he needs to get away from her, from those big blue eyes that read every single thing he is, wants, but pretend they don’t. “So I’ll see you- I’ll check in on you later, okay…?” He starts to turn away, doesn’t make it…
Serena calls, “Nate-” before he moves.
“I’m glad you’re feeling better,” he interrupts before she can say anything other than his name (that’s bad enough; with the way her lips pucker downwards, the way her eyes radiate regret).
She blinks at him, “I- you didn’t have to… stay.” She finishes lamely, awkwardly, because he’d slept in her room, in a chair, by her bed- he’d stayed with her.
And she isn’t surprised, but she should be- she should feel surprise that he would still do that for her, that he still cared for her like that- that he’d answered her call and her questions, that he’d soothed her fears and been on his way to pick her up, but she wasn’t surprised…
Isn’t.
Because he’s Nate. And he… he’s-
“I fell asleep,” he deflects carefully, gives her a rueful shrug.
He’s good.
“You’re too good to me,” she whispers (means it), there’s a lump in her throat and what feels like tears behind her eyes- they feel hot and heavy and are making her head throb with pain, but she keeps her eyes on his face, he deserves that much from her.
He tries to smile at her, but it feels brittle on his face, like it’s going to crack him in half…
The word echoes in his head, good, feels like its bouncing around the room, striking at him, mocking him.
Good.
He’s always the good one, the perfect one, epic escort, golden boy, prince-fucking-charming-
“I’m not.” He snaps at her, doesn’t mean to and when she flinches a little, he looks away.
The fierce quality in his voice surprises her, but it’s the glimpse of something, a sheen of hurt in his gaze before he looks away, that makes her ignore the headache, sit up straighter, “Nate, you-”
He shakes his head, won’t let her finish, “I have to go… you- I’m sure someone will be by in a little while,” he’ll call Chuck, he thinks, make sure someone is, “Try to get some rest.”
“Nate,” she calls him again, “Wait, please, look- we… just, please sta-” she’s less than a breath away from saying it and she knows exactly what it’ll do, exactly what she’d be asking of him, and she almost does it, almost asks him to stay with her.
But its actual pain that flashes across his face, like she’s punched him in the stomach or stomped on his foot (or stabbed him in the heart) and her mouth snaps shut, she chokes on that last breath, swallows it down-
“Serena…” And it’s in his voice, in the eyes he’s fastened on her face, the way he’s holding himself; it’s just a moment, just a few seconds, but she knows, he’s asking her, begging her, not to ask, please don’t ask.
He’ll stay, if she asks him too. He’ll reign it all in and sit at the end of her bed, joke with her and tickle her feet and jokingly tuck her in when she gets sleepy- and every second of it would shred him to pieces inside.
“Yeah, no- you’re right! Go, class is… important,” she says instead, pushes the words out and when they emerge tiny and tight, she knows it doesn’t matter. They’ll both pretend its okay, normal (they’re both good at that), “And I’ll get some rest,” she finishes.
Nate nods, still tense, can’t uncoil with her watching him. “Right…” he says,” Good- I’ll see ya…”
He walks towards the door then, has a foot past the doorway, in the hallway, when he hears her; voice soft and shaky, but warm, “Thank you,” she has to tell him, he deserves to hear it.
The words give Nate pause and he’s grateful he’s already turned away from her so she can’t she see his wince; the words strike at him with the same force good had- thank you.
He wants to laugh, but there’s no room for it, everything coiled too tightly, everything inside too dry. She said thank you and he was good and this is what they are- good friends who help each other, nothing wrong with that.
“Anytime,” he responds just as softly, but he doesn’t turn around (can’t), he walks away.
***
Serena is still crying when Blair arrives.
She’s lying on her side, legs curled, knees pressing into her stomach with silent tears slipping down her cheeks. And she can’t stop- she’s tried, for the last half hour at least. Her head is throbbing and she’s trying so hard to stop, to not think of Tripp, of how wrong she’d been, of how many times she’d made this same mistake already (of Nate and how he’d stayed with her). So she draws in a hitching breath, forces herself to think, I’m okay, I’m okay, over and over again and eventually, she’s certain, she’ll stop crying. She will.
Blair winces as she walks towards the blonde, sets her bag down at the end of the bed and sits carefully beside Serena; her hands going to the blonde immediately, on her arm, in her hair, as she whispers gently, “Oh honey,” and smoothes soft blonde hair away from the other girl’s face. She doesn’t ask her what’s wrong, knows sometimes there just aren’t words, instead she settles on the bed and strokes Serena’s hair gently, let’s her cry.
Serena blinks open wet eyelashes to look at Blair, lifts a hand to wipe at her face. “B…” she murmurs softly, closes her eyes again and leans into the brunette’s touch, “I’m okay,” she whispers, as if saying the words brought with it a dusting of magic, could make it true, “I- just… everything is so…” She trails off, doesn’t have anything more to say, any excuse to offer- Blair had warned her, Blair forgave her. Chuck would too. Nate already did. Her mother had as well. Everyone had warned her, everyone forgave her… and when she’d gotten into that car on Thanksgiving Day, she’d known the mistake she was making- she’d done it anyway. She always did things anyway (and she’s leaving a trail of heartbreak behind her).
“Shhh,” Blair murmurs a long moment later when tears keep slipping from beneath Serena’s closed eyes. “I know you are…” she comforts, “You’re okay…” she agrees. Because it’s so blatantly obvious Serena isn’t okay that there’s really no need to discuss it.
And Serena feels warmth spread all over her at Blair’s firm acquiesce to her statement, opens her eyes again and looks at Blair, more tears pooling and a breath hitching, because Blair had said it for her, you’re okay, and Blair can create truth with her words, can spin entire realities into existence.
She sniffles and Blair smiles a little, leans down towards her for a hug. Serena closes her eyes, stretches into Blair’s embrace, presses her face into soft brown curls, and if she shudders and continues to cry, sobbing a little into her best friend’s shoulder- well, neither girl will allow that this detracts from being okay.
***
Blair doesn’t ask about the tears. She doesn’t guess at them either, not even to herself. The events of the past day have sort of put the past week into a strange perspective. As far as she’s concerned, those events, of the past week, were laid to rest the night before (you were so right about this one), all she wants this morning is to see Serena finish her orange juice, smile a little, and go home (home, where Chuck’s being as oddly comatose as his sister). But there’s no sipping of orange or smiling and they sit in the Bass limo in silence. Serena is completely still, mute, hands clenched loosely in her lap, eyes fastened to the floor. Blair had brought clothes to the hospital for her to change into, had pulled blonde’s hair back, fastened it with a clasp so it didn’t hang in her face. And Serena had let her, had slipped her feet into the ballet flats Blair had brought her, had listened to the nurse’s advice, had followed Blair’s quiet instructions- all without a word.
It’s eerie and Blair has had enough of it. “What are you thinking, sweetie?” She wonders finally, reaches out and takes one of Serena’s hands, holds it in both of hers.
Serena doesn’t respond. She’s not thinking anything… she’s… numb. And she loves it, loves this feeling of not feeling, wants to hold onto it as long as she can manage it.
But Blair presses, says, “Serena…” her voice insistent, not to be ignored. She squeezes Serena’s hand and the blonde turns her head to look over at her.
Serena doesn’t mean to say anything, doesn’t feel anything, but the words slip past her lips anyhow, “Nate stayed with me,” she says rather abruptly, “Last night.”
Blair takes it- any comment is better than none. She smoothes one of her hand over one of Serena’s, nods slowly, “That was… nice of him,” she says carefully, there’s a dullness to Serena’s voice she’s uncertain about. She sighs a little a beat later, shifts on the seat so her body is facing Serena, “I’m sorry I didn’t come back yesterday,” she confesses quietly and she really is; had wished she could split herself in half last night, sit with Serena and comfort Chuck.
Serena’ starts a little at Blair’s voice, as if she hadn’t expected Blair to speak; she licks her lips and focuses her gaze on her best friends face, but remains silent.
“I… couldn’t… leave him, you know…?” Blair presses on, “So I’m glad Nate was there to-”
“Leave who?”
And it’s Blair who starts a little now, “Chuck, Serena.” She says patiently, “He was really shaken up yesterday; and it only got worse as-”
“What do you mean? What’s wrong with Chuck?” The numbness is dissipating then, slipping away to make room for razor-edged concern.
Blair smiles softly; her brown eyes kind as they meet Serena’s blue, “Yesterday was the one year anniversary of Bart’s death, S,” she whispers. And maybe another day, she would have followed that up with a how could you forget? or with a disapproving frown, maybe a shake of her head, but not today; today she reaches out to gently tuck strand of Serena’s hair that’s gotten loose from the ponytail behind her ear.
The blonde’s eyes widen in surprise, “Oh no…” she breathes, shifting on the seat too so she’s facing Blair completely. She winces, feels sore and achy, but she forgot so it doesn’t matter, “Oh B… I…” she shakes her head, keeps her incredulous gaze on the brunette, “And a car acci- I’m so sorry… I…”
“Hey, it’s okay; it’s not your fault. Tripp is the one-”
“It is my fault,” Serena interrupts, thoughts colliding into each other suddenly, mistakes and doing things anyway and a trail of heartbreak behind her that’s getting too long, too hard to move away from. “And I made everything worse for Chuck last night and that’s exactly what I’ve been doing for-”
“Stop it,” Blair cuts in firmly, squeezes Serena’s hand, “Calm down. What happened with Tripp was a mistake and we all make those.”
Serena blinks back tears that are stinging her eyes suddenly, “Yeah, and mine are the ones that usually mess-”
“Stop,” Blair says it fiercely this time, her grip on Serena’s hand almost painful, “Don’t talk like that, you-”
“You warned me,” Serena interposes, just as fiercely, “You did. And I didn’t listen… I never listen and now-”
“That’s right,” Blair says quickly, forces lightheartedness into her voice as she loosens her hold, “Like when I told you not to buy those flats you’re wearing- and there they were in your closet. And they look good on you; they look like you- a good match. You try things, S, and sometimes they match you and sometimes they don’t.”
Serena breathes out a huffy breath, half-way between a stifled sob and a surprised laugh, “Did you…” she leans back a little, blinks, “Did you just compare my relationship with someone to my buying shoes?”
Blair tilts her head, smiles a little, encouraging and sweet, “There’s longevity in buying shoes,” she points out, “I mean you still have those.”
There’s a quirk to Serena’s lips then, faint, but there. “What’s wrong with these?” She wonders, lifting her foot and looking down at them.
“They’re yellow with blue and green polka-dots.”
Serena looks back to Blair, “So?”
“With a giant gold flower.”
“… it’s not giant.”
Blair smiles a little wider, tugs Serena by the hand, closer, and Serena obliges, the quirk spreading into a tiny smile as she slides across the leather seat.
When she’s shoulder to shoulder with Blair she sighs a little and lets her head fall to rest against Blair’s. They sit like that, in silence, for a long while. When the limo stops they don’t move, Serena closes her eyes and Blair gives her hand a squeeze.
A beat passes and then she whispers, “It’s okay, S.”
And Serena wants to take it, the absolution, she really does; she wants to keep her eyes closed and let Blair’s magic wash over her, let it brush things away until they are okay.
But she can’t (the heartbreak in her wake is piling up and today, pieces of it shimmered dully in Nate’s gaze).
And for this moment, away from anyone’s eyes, but Blair’s (even her own), she can finally admit, “It’s not, B,” she keeps her eyes tightly shut as she continues still in a whisper, “It’s really not.”
***
Chuck’s sitting in the living room when she walks in, not doing anything, just dressed and sitting on the couch- staring vacantly at the floor. She doesn’t sigh. Blair sets her bag down on one of the armchairs and sheds her jacket in silence; then she walks to him and sits down quietly beside him.
He blinks, looks over at her.
“I got Serena settled in at her suite,” she tells him.
He leans back a little, “Right,” he seems to flounder for a moment and then adds with a nod, “That’s good…”
She nods back, “You’re take a break…” the pitch of her voice is encouraging, not quite a question.
“I’m waiting for a call.”
And now she sighs, shifts a little closer to him so she can touch his hand, “Chuck…”
“I know what I’m doing, Blair.”
“I didn’t say you didn’t.”
“You’re about to say something to that effect.”
“No, I’m about to say that it’s two days till Christmas and you should go see Serena and maybe let this rest until after the holiday’s.” She wants to add, please, but she doesn’t really think it’ll help any. There’s a woman and a locket and she wishes she had gone to the cemetery with him. “Chuck…” she prods when he remains silent.
“I’m expecting a phone call.” He says very evenly.
And her temper snaps, she stands, faces him with a scowl on her face, “It’s Christmas.”
He looks up at her mildly; he’s not even trying to appease her, “Not for two days.”
“You said we’d go skating,” she points out.
“You really believe going ice skating takes precedence over this?”
“Of course not,” she replies readily, waves a hand in the air and looks at him, her brown eyes imploring, “But I think you’ve done everything that can be done for now. It’s weird, confusing, you need to know what it means, it’s a link to something you didn’t expect to ever have- I get it, how important this is, but you’ve done nothing else for almost two days.” I’m worried about you, remains unsaid, glimmering in her gaze.
“She looked like my mother, Blair.”
And she slips back to sit beside him, her hand going to his again, “I know,” she tells him and he turns his face towards her, meets her gaze, “I know,” she repeats, twining her fingers with his, “And you are going to have her found, Chuck. It’s going to happen. You have two of the best investi-”
“Four.”
She nods, takes the curt interruption in stride, “You’re going to find her. You’re going to find out why she had that locket, what it means, why she was there, everything- it’s going to happen. As soon as we have anything to go on, we’ll track her down, figure it all out…” she squeezes his hand, “We’re going to know,” she tells him fiercely, “But you’ve done everything you can for now and this- this is- I want to spend Christmas with you. It’s the first one we’ve spent together in-” she breathes out, “Like three years, I think… and it’s our first one as a couple… it’s special.”
He doesn’t respond, but he doesn’t pull his hand away either, so she takes it as a good sign and continues. “I know it’s hard and I’m not asking you to go caroling or anything-”
“You’re asking me to go ice skating,” he interposes, with a lift of an eyebrow.
And she smiles a little, feels a tiny breath of relief that he’s speaking and it has nothing to do with real-estate, death, or possibly-blood-related mystery women, “We don’t have to go ice skating,” she amends, pulls his hand up to her cheek so its framing her face, “Just don’t resist my holiday charm.”
He’s still for a moment, hand motionless against her face, and then he ducks his head, blows out a slow breath. Blair holds still and when he lifts his gaze to hers, she gives him a half-smile, softly teasing.
And he smirks at her, smoothes his thumb over her cheek, “Have I ever been any good at resisting your charms?”
She smiles wider, moves closer, tilting her face towards his, “Hmm, there was the time you called me a horse…” she murmurs as his lips brush against hers (the incident never fails to make him amorous).
His hand slips from her face into her hair, the other reaching out to wrap around her waist, pulling into him, “I don’t recall you…” he breathes between a kiss, “… being particularly…” he yanks her hard, closer, and she gasps a little, hops onto his lap, “… charming, at the time…”
She turns into him, wraps her arms his neck, her skirt shimmying up her legs as he starts to pull clips from her hair. She presses herself closer, purrs, “Is this charming enough…?”
And he smiles against her mouth, tilts her down so they’re stretched out on the couch, “It’s getting there…” He whispers, lifts his head a little to look at her.
There’s a wicked gleam in his eyes as he watches her and she leans up towards him, laughs lightly and wraps a leg around his middle, murmurs, “Full speed ahead then…” and grabs his bottom lip with her teeth.
***
Chuck blows out a breath, nuzzles his face into Blair’s still damp hair, “If you’d told me the sex had conditions-”
Blair squeezes his hand hard, cuts him off, “-would you have refrained…?” She queries with a sidelong glance.
He purses his lips and tugs her into him as they wait for Serena to open the door, “I’d just have set my own terms…” he murmurs, lips moving against her temple.
Blair laughs, a hand tugging at his bowtie, “Our shower seemed like a term to me…”
“Mutually beneficial,” he offers, turning her more fully towards him, “You were dirty…”
She smiles, presses her lips against his, “I’m not the one who-”
“Oh come on,” Serena’s aggravated voiced cuts Blair off, “Who wants to open the door to this?”
Blair turns around in Chuck’s arms and sends her best friend a bright smile. “Oh, you’re quite welcome for the privileged view,” she says cheerfully and slips inside, pulling Chuck behind her.
Serena’s wearing long, baby blue pajama bottoms and a matching, bagging t-shirt with It’s Sleepy in Here printed in big letters on the front. She sighs as she watches Chuck and Blair settle onto her couch, all over the blanket she’d carefully laid out intent on cuddling in it as she stared at the television. She had slept for a few hours after Blair had left, taken a warm shower- managed to wash away what was left of the numbness, to shift things into a more optimistic perspective (to blur the memory of Nate’s gaze just before he left her hospital room).
“What’re you guys doing here?” She wonders as she shuts the door carefully and turns around. Her head isn’t hurting, but she’s still achy and whenever she moves too fast the room does a slow, irritating lurch.
“I came to see how you were, dear sister,” Chuck drawls, his arm around Blair’s waist. He smirks at her for a moment, adds, “Of course,” with a mocking tilt to his head.
Serena feels her lips quirk a little, “Wow, thanks, Chuck.”
“He means it,” Blair points out with a smile.
“Yeah,” Serena agrees, “The insincerity is a total tip off.”
“I do,” Chuck adds more softly, eyes on her face, studying the marks on her skin with a sudden and strangely haunted look; but it flickers away before Serena can speak up about it; vanishes behind a smirk as he adds, “Henceforth you are only to travel with Bass sanctioned drivers,” with the pomp of a reigning King.
It surprises a huffy laugh from her, brings a genuine smile to her lips and she waves a hand in the air, “Will do, Sire-anything else you’d like to command of me while you’re at it…?”
Chuck beams a little, “Well, now that you mention it-”
Serena’s laugh is louder this time and Blair rolls her eyes, cuts Chuck off, “We don’t have time for that list,” she corrects him and then pats the spot beside herself, eyes on Serena, “Come here...”
Serena smiles as she approaches them, “You have a list of things you’d like to rearrange in my life, don’t you?”
Blair waves a hand, “Of course, but that’s not why we’re here…”
“Ah,” the blonde murmurs, “Good to know… why’re you here then?”
Chuck shifts so he can see both their faces when Serena sits down on Blair’s other side. He eyes them with amused interest, says lazily, “Blair’s going to proposition you.”
And Serena blinks at him, stares for a moment; his hair is wet and combed to one side and he’s wearing a shirt and vest of varying shades of green and beige with a patterned green bowtie. It’s been a long time since she’s Chuck in a bowtie.
She shifts her look to Blair, waves a hand as she leans back and settles in the corner of the couch, lifting her legs to tuck underneath her, “Go on then,” she prods, puckers her lips in amusement, “Proposition me…”
Blair nods, almost too seriously, her brown eyes fastened on Serena’s face. “You remember in eighth grade, you made us play that ridiculous made-up game involving gift wrapping and dollar limits- with the stealing…?”
There’s a pause where Blair looks expectantly at the blonde and Serena blinks again, realizing belatedly that Blair wants a response. “You mean Yankee Swap?” Serena wonders, frowning a little, “I didn’t make that up, lots of people play it. And I just wanted us to wrap them ourselves because-”
It’s Blair now who waves a hand in the air, cutting the blonde off since she’s gotten the acknowledgement she sought, “Sure,” she says off-handedly before continuing, “And then you forced us to make our own hot chocolates and then we watched Home Alone and then-”
“Yeah, B,” Serena cuts in, because she remembers a laughing Nate suddenly- letting her have his candy cane after he’d finished stirring his hot chocolate with it. “I remember,” she offers and knows that her voice sounds a little tight, that she doesn’t look as relaxed as she had a beat ago.
A look of determination slips over Blair’s face. “I want you to do that again.”
Serena gapes at the brunette for a long moment, “You…” she licks her lips, “You want to play Yankee Swap?”
Chuck snorts a quiet laugh, “How bad is that head injury, sis?”
Blair looks affronted, “Don’t be absurd, Serena, I abhor that game.”
Serena nods a little, careful to not overdo the motion, “I do remember you mentioning that once or twice when we played-” he lips quirk upwards again, “In fact, I think that’s why eighth grade was only time we ever played…”
Blair nods too, “Once was quite enough, thank you very much.”
Serena’s smirk widens into a half-smile, “So what do you-”
“Fashion us a celebration,” Blair answers even before Serena can finish, “Discounting our protestations, of course.”
And this time Serena herself wonders how bad her head injury was, “What?”
“For Christmas,” Blair adds, nodding once and looking over at Chuck meaningfully.
Serena shakes her head and this time there’s a spike of pain behind her eyes and she winces. “I don’t understand…”
“Blair has decided we are taking a…” Chuck pauses for a moment, a ghost of a smile on his face, “Time out,” he says with emphasis, before continuing, “For the holiday’s. She wants us to celebrate, put… unfortunate matters aside… until after the holiday’s.”
She looks at Chuck then, unfortunate matters, sits up a little straighter, “Chuck…” she begins, blue eyes fastened on his face solemnly (because she forgot and he’s her brother now), “About… yesterday… I-I’m so-”
“Behind us, Serena,” he interrupts again, shakes his head.
“No, I mean yeah, okay… behind us,” she agrees a little hesitantly, “But still, I just want you to- I’m sorry I wasn’t around…” she sighs a little, “Okay…” waves a hand.
Chuck nods, “She’s decided you are to plan our holiday celebration.”
“And we’ll go along with it,” Blair adds, her hand tucked inside Chuck’s now, “I mean, we’ll complain, I’m sure-because it’s certain to be a bit boorish, but we’ll go along with it anyhow.” She promises.
Serena stares at her best friend, at her brother, “You want me to force you into a Christmas celebration?” She concludes.
Blair shrugs, “There may be a fair bit of coercion involved, if you feel it’s needed.”
Chuck leers a little, leans towards Blair, mouth near her ear, “… thought coercion was your specialty…”
Blair turns her face towards him with a smile and Serena reaches out and kicks the brunette in the leg with her bare foot, “Focus- explain,” Serena requests, not quite pleasantly. She loves it when Blair and Chuck are happy, she does, but she doesn’t need evidence of it at every moment.
Blair eyes her for a moment, “Shouldn’t you be wearing socks?”
Serena stares back, “Shouldn’t you be explaining…?”
“We haven’t spent the holiday together, all of us, in like three year. And it’s been a stressful time and you’re good at making us do ridiculous and imbecilic activities that don’t result in completely unbearable memories.”
“Oh wow, well, we you put it that way…” Serena smirks.
“I mean it,” Blair continues, more sincerely, “You know we need this.”
And Serena does know; and she knows that Blair’s we includes Nate. She can’t help feeling fidgety when she thinks of him, anxious, had been avoiding thoughts of him since getting to her suite- but he kept sneaking up on her, quick flashes of his solemn eyes, echoes of his quiet words, and a pit in her stomach telling her they were headed for a spill messier than the one she’d just endured.
Her smirk fades away. “B,” she starts gently, tucks her leg back underneath her instead of letting it hang from the couch, “I agree, I do… but maybe… a quiet time-out would be okay this year,” she offers softly, eyes drifting between the dark-haired couple, “I’m not really… up to it.” She admits carefully.
Blair shakes her head and Serena feels weariness start to creep inside her; Blair wasn’t going to back down from this, “We’re offering to let you badger us into doing your bidding. You will take advantage of this, Serena.”
It’s a command and Serena has to smile a little, there’s no doubt Chuck and Blair would be suited to ruling a small empire. “Blair,” she says carefully, aware that her arguments are flimsy-that she’s never not wanted to host a celebration for them, “I just left the hospital this morning, I’m really not up to-”
“I’m not asking you to do manual labor,” Blair cuts in, “I’m asking for one of those absurd hanging-out plans you come up with on a regular basis.”
Chuck inclines his head, “The ones we periodically demean and back out of.”
“Yes, I know. And believe me, I get the humor in you wanting me to force you into one of them,” she points out, still smiling a little, “But-”
“But nothing,” Blair’s gaze is hot and boring into Serena, “Admit it, we need-”
“I did admit it,” the blonde says; her words sliding over Blair’s as her smile slips away, “I’m just saying that something quiet and-”
“Great,” Blair says decisively, ignoring the rest of Serena’s sentence, “Think it up, I’ll make a list, and we’ll set it in motion,” she pauses for less than a heartbeat, but it’s still somehow blatantly obvious, “Chuck’s going get Nate on board when Nate gets back to their suite-he’s been out all day,” she finishes.
And Serena swallows hard, looks away.
Blair takes note of the action, there’s something in the way the blonde blinks quickly, the way she turns away, that reminds Blair of this morning’s tears, of Serena’s Nate stayed with me in the limo, the way it had sounded oddly like a confession. “Is there something you want to tell us, S?” She prods.
The living room is silent; the curtains are drawn across the windows, lamps on. Serena holds still in her corner of the sofa, doesn’t turn her gaze to either Blair or Chuck, keeps it steady on the floor and keeps her thoughts steadily away from Nate. On Christmas day she’s going to call him, wish him a Happy Christmas and meet him for hot chocolate at their favorite bakery; she’s going to give him the polo shirts she bought him, the music CD she made him, and the soccer bobble-head doll that made her think of him-she’s going to hug him and they are going to be okay (because they always are, they have to be).
But that is on Christmas day- a day from now, a day she’s going to use to get a good grip on steadiness.
“Well,” Chuck breaks the silence, tone too even and Serena’s head turns to him quickly in sudden alarm, “She doesn’t have to tell me.”
Blair looks over at him, then back to Serena, “What’s going on?”
But Serena’s locked her gaze with Chuck’s and she doesn’t answer her friend.
“Nate’s in love with her.” He says it like he’s talking about the weather, tone almost nonchalant, but his eyes are dark and they’re holding Serena’s with intensity. He’s trying to read her, what she feels and wants and thinks, and she clams up tight at that probing gaze; straightens again and brushes hair away from her face.
“What?”
“Chuck.”
Blair and Serena speak simultaneously, but Chuck doesn’t take his eyes off his sister for a long moment. When he does, it’s so he can nod once, positively, “He’s in love with her.”
Serena shakes her head, ignores the pang that causes behind her eyes, “That’s not what-”
Blair huffs, speaks over Serena, turning her head to look at Chuck, “Is that supposed to be new information?”
“Blair!” Serena snaps, abruptly irritated.
Chuck meets his girlfriend’s gaze, “He told her.”
Serena drops her feet to the floor and glares at Chuck, “He did not!”
Blair arcs an eyebrow, “Oh.”
“Oh, nothing,” Serena continues, “Nate and I- we…” she trails, frustration welling up inside and she stands, paces in front of them, “I don’t want to celebrate and I’m not in a planning mood and I want to sleep. I’ll see you both tomorrow.” She states tightly.
Chuck and Blair stare at Serena for a long moment and then Blair looks over at Chuck. “Oh wow.”
He nods seriously, “Yeah.”
“When was-”
“Thanksgiving.”
“Oh- ah,” Blair says with emphasis, everything clicking into place; Chuck going with Nate, Serena going with Tripp, Nate stayed with me last night, in a less than breaths time. And then she smacks Chuck on the arm, “You tell me these things!”
“Hey! Ow!” He rubs at his arm, “I’ve been busy and then-”
“And there’s nothing to tell,” Serena cuts in, “We… had a conversation,” she hedges. You can’t call it that though, can you? She thinks sadly, the image of him asking her to stay flashing through her mind.
“You’ve been spending a lot of time together.” Blair informs her; as if this could have escaped her attention.
“We’re friends.” Serena pushes the words, infuses them with every shred of belief she can muster, friends, and winces a little when the words sound weak even to her own ears. “And I’m tired, guys, really. Just drop it.”
“You want us to leave?” Chuck wonders, studying her again; there’s a challenging lilt to his voice, dark eyes glimmering. Are you really going to run from this? How far? How long?
And Serena hesitates. She’s not supposed to want that, she’s supposed to agree with them and giggle and nod and tell them she’ll come with them to convince Nate, she’s supposed to plan something for tomorrow, Christmas Eve, that’s totally silly and she and Nate would love it and Chuck and Blair would deem it beneath them and they’ll get drunk on scotch and sherry and pass the mistletoe around, so kisses for all- and it would be exactly what Blair said it would be, not completely unbearable memories, otherwise known as, happy.
But she couldn’t do it; couldn’t want it (couldn’t get that flash of pain across Nate’s face out of her mind).
“I do,” she tells Chuck; meets his gaze, answers, yes, however far it takes, however long, to make this okay, to make this not hurt (him).
“Serena,” Blair starts.
And Serena flinches before the other girl can say anything more than her name, there’s a spike of panic inside her, her face twists in a grimace- she can’t talk about this (him), “Please.” She bites out, a headache starting to throb in her temples, “Just drop it,” she pleads, clenches her hands together.
The couple is silent for another moment and then Blair nods, standing up, pulling Chuck with her.
“Okay,” she says simply, walks forward towards Serena, “We’ll come check on you tomorrow,” she presses a quick kiss to Serena’s cheek, “Take a relaxant, get some sleep,” she advises.
Chuck nods, says, “See ya,” touches her arm lightly before adding, “Sis,” and the word is soft, sincere. Serena blinks at him, at them both; turns around to watch them leave. They don’t say anything else, don’t turn around, just quietly open the door and walk out, closing it carefully behind them.
And she stares at it for a beat and then she walks to her couch and pulls her now squashed blanket up to her shoulders, cuddles into the cushions, and closes her eyes intent on doing just that-getting some sleep.
(And she does not think of a boy asleep in chair beside her bed)
.TBC.