huge cloudy symbols of a high romance [R] for dysenchanted2
Title: huge cloudy symbols of a high romance
Author: artemis_sparks
Pairing: Blair/Tripp
Rating: R
Word Count: 4155
Recipient: dysenchanted2
Disclaimer: I do not own Gossip Girl. The title is from Keats. The italicized quotes are from, in order, Sabrina, The Long, Hot Summer, Holiday, Love in the Afternoon, Splendor in the Grass, Room with a View, Brief Encounter, and Indiana Jones.
Author/Artists Note(s): Hope you enjoy! :)
Summary: It's not a crush.
Summer. 2002.
I might as well be reaching for the moon.
Stifling Serena's giggle with a hand over her mouth, Blair leans forward impatiently. The tree is going to (is already) making her nightgown dirty, but Serena insisted this was the best way to see the party and when Serena insists, Blair ends up listening. Clutching branches, cheek to cheek, they hang just over the edge of the dance floor and watch. There is the sweep of expensive, expansive gowns, the soft music, the bright smiles and quiet laughter. Most importantly, there's Tripp; neither of them will admit to having a crush on him, but he's Blair and Serena's favorite thing to watch.
Tripp's graduation party was a month ago. All the same people attended and asked him the same questions they're asking now, voices traveling over distant string quartet sounds and into the tree: Which college did you decide on? Have you figured out your major? When are you moving? When does school start?
With his bright, charming smile, Tripp answers: Harvard, Well I think pre-law like Dad, August, September third. They all coo and make proud noises and Blair remembers Tripp telling her he wanted to be an archeologist, once.
It's not a crush. Blair just has an excellent memory.
Eleanor is the one to catch sight of them. She gestures furiously with her eyebrows until they clamor down, tumbling into the damp grass and just laying there a moment. They can hear Tripp under a tree not far off with that irritating Madison girl, murmuring things that make them blush.
"I bet," Blair says, "that at Mrs. Archibald's end-of-summer formal, Tripp will have to dance with me. It's only polite."
"I'll dance with you now," Serena says, like it's the same thing. She scrambles to her feet and holds out a hand. "You can be the girl."
Blair raises an eyebrow (would she ever be anything else?) and takes the proffered hand, laughing when Serena twirls her.
Summer. 2008.
All right, you proved it. I'm human.
This isn't the kind of girl Blair is. This, sitting here with no makeup and her hair tangled and her cardigan mis-buttoned over the dress she didn't zip back up - this isn't the kind of girl she is. Serena, maybe, but certainly not Blair. Nate's grandfather, a man she's known so long he almost feels like her own, watches her with a similar thought lurking behind his eyes.
Anne, cold-eyed and tight-fisted, grips the back of his chair and glares at Blair. "Nathaniel doesn't - "
Grandfather interrupts smoothly. "Anne, please. That isn't necessary." He leans forward over his steepled fingers. "Blair - " He'd always called her Miss Waldorf, affectionately " - we have to discuss what's going to happen here."
Winter. 2004.
If he wants to dream for a while, he can dream for a while…
It's the first time Blair is introduced as Nathaniel's girlfriend; the first time Maureen is introduced at all. Blair feels like preening, so pleased is she to belong here - and it's clear she does. She and Maureen and all the other girlfriends match from their cardigans to their pearls.
Serena, of course, sticks out like a beacon. She chews on the ends of her hair, eyes traveling over the crowd of them, and drinks vodka from a water glass. "This is totally boring."
Blair purses her lips, hissing under her breath, "Serena."
But Nate's laughing, nodding along. "It's too bad not all of us can trick the waiters into giving us alcohol." Off Blair's stern look, he adds hastily, "Not that we would."
"I'm sure there's something we can do," interjects Bobby's girlfriend Abby. "I mean, it's not like anyone would notice if we all left."
It's then one of Nate's littlest cousins totters up, throwing himself into Serena's lap and crowing, "Seek!"
Serena giggles, scooping up the little boy with an ease Blair's never felt with children. "Hide and seek, Casey?" He nods and she grins, standing with him in her arms. "Hide and seek it is!"
Which is how they all end up scattered around the empty second floor of the big house, Christmas party sounds so faint they're hardly there. Blair hovers uncomfortably behind a bust on a podium, hoping to shrink into the shadows. As soon as the sound of childish giggles fades, she peers around (intending, of course, to find Nate and go back to the party like mature adults) and nearly shrieks.
Tripp is coming around the corner, looking handsome as ever in his white dinner jacket, hair perfectly parted. He blinks when he spots her, jumps a little. "Oh, it's you, Blair."
Her fingers twisting in her skirt, she answers, "Hello, Tripp."
He smiles, distracted, and he's already moving on down the hall. "I thought I heard someone."
Before she can stop herself, she trills, "Isn't my hiding place just terrible? I know I've been coming here all my life but I'm still afraid of getting lost if I wander too far."
Tripp's half-smile turns a shade more genuine and he motions her forward, one finger to his lips. "Alright, I'll show you mine. But it'll have to be a secret."
He holds out his hand. Normally she might be thrilled, but she's someone's girlfriend now and, anyway, she's not a little girl who needs someone to hold her hand. (She realizes, with belated horror, that that is indeed what she looks like: lacy pink dress and white tights, mary janes and a pearly headband, a perfect little girl.) "It's alright, I can walk without assistance."
Her annoyed tone only makes his smile widen. He nods toward her, motioning her on again.
He leads her down the hall and through a little passage in the back of a closet (Nate had told her the place was full of them, little servants' passages), into what must have at one point been a nursery. The wallpaper is peeling and all the toys are broken or oddly old-fashioned; she runs a hand along a rocking horse. When she turns back, Tripp's grin is wide, easy. Their eyes meet and she flushes.
"How's school?" she asks, delicately sitting on a dusty couch.
"It's school." He tilts his head, listening for noise in the hallway. "If I had a nickel for every time someone's asked me that today…"
She blushes brighter. "I'm sorry."
"Oh, no, don't be." Tripp looks back at her, earnest as anything. "It's the natural thing to ask, I suppose."
Blair has so many things she wants to know about Yale, but instead she says, "I heard - I heard you were studying law. I thought - " Her cheeks must be glowing in the dim room. "I thought you wanted to do - nevermind."
Interest piqued and brow creased, he says, "What? Wanted to do something else?" He pushes off the wall he'd been leaning against, moving towards her. He kicks up little particles of dust. "You don't forget anything, do you?"
She shrugs, embarrassed.
"Law's fine." He settles beside her on the small couch, heedless of his white jacket. "It's the better choice, anyway."
Blair doesn't press further. It doesn't even occur to her to; the idea of pursuing a different path than the one presented to them won't occur to her until she's much, much older.
She feels him still looking at her but she doesn't know, for once, what to do or what to say. This is probably the most she's spoken to him since they met.
"You're blushing," he says quietly. "Are you nervous? You shouldn't be."
"I'm not blushing," she says stubbornly, studying her hem. "It's just the light in here."
Then there's the startling touch of his finger on her cheek. "Liar."
It's playful but too soft, especially when they're the only ones in the room and they're sitting this closely. "I'm not," she insists. "You're just crazy."
There's the rush of cousins clattering down the hall. Tripp laughs, standing, unaware of the streaks of gray dust on his jacket. "Maybe."
Autumn. 2006.
In Paris, people make love - well, perhaps not better, but certainly more often. They do it any time, any place. On the left back, on the right bank, and in between! They do it by day and they do it by night…They do it in motion, they do it sitting absolutely still. Poodles do it. Tourists do it. Generals do it. Once in a while even existentialists do it.
Blair watches them play football, Nate in blue and Tripp in red, and feels acutely guilty. She shouldn't; it's not like she did anything and she's not even interested in childish business like Tripp anymore (regardless of how handsome he does or does not look in red). Prepubescent crushes like that are far behind her now.
Half of her wishes Serena had decided to come this Thanksgiving - but only half of her. Maureen, as if sensing Blair's loneliness, gives her a nudge. "I can't wait for football to be over so we can eat. How about you?"
Blair smiles. "I'm not very hungry." She excuses herself to the bathroom and doesn't return to the game after.
An hour or so later, Tripp finds her in the library. There's mud on his cheek and his hair is tousled; he's still breathing hard from roughhousing. Blair concentrates very hard on the bookshelf, ignoring him entirely, and not at all wondering why Nate isn't the one looking for her.
"I'm not interested in what you have to say," she informs Tripp, breaking the quiet before he can.
"Even if it's an apology?" He hesitates before stepping closer to her. "Blair, I was over the line last summer. I'm so sorry."
"I'm not interested," she says. "And yes, you were."
She won't turn around, but she imagines he drops his head, abashed. "I don't want to make staying here uncomfortable for you. If you'd like, I'll - I'll be sure to stay out of your way."
She nearly laughs - it's such a - such a ridiculous offer, so facetiously gallant, not something any of the boys she knows would ever say. Chuck would make it his business to harass her more; Nate probably wouldn't even notice she was bothered. "You don't have to do that."
There's the muffled sound of him taking a step forward; her skin prickles, anticipating, but he doesn't move further.
"I really am sorry, Blair. I'm - " He laughs, self-conscious and purposefully so, like something a man much older than him would do. "I forgot how young you are. It's easy to, you're so - well, you don't act like a teenager."
Blair bites her lip and turns, finally meeting his eyes. She moves forward slightly. "Sometimes I do."
He smiles slightly but his expression returns to one of hopeful anxiousness. "I promise it won't happen again."
"See that it doesn't." Her voice is more composed than she is, but Blair's had practice at that for years. She presses her lips together and pitches forward onto her toes, fidgeting unintentionally. "I didn't tell Nate. In case you were wondering. I didn't think it was important."
"Good." His throat flexes as he swallows. "Good. It's - it's not, now that we've cleared everything up."
"Exactly." She folds her hands together behind her back just so they'll have some occupation. "So. I'll see you at dinner?"
"Yes." He lingers half a breath, then, "I suppose I should get cleaned up. Goodbye, Blair." He offers her a tight smile and turns to leave, all his movements very precise.
Winter. 2007.
Maybe (if you're older), you remember…when suddenly the kissing isn't a kid's game anymore, suddenly it's wide-eyed, scary and dangerous.
Blair knows that once the Vanderbilt house was a refuge. It was a place away from her parents, a gorgeous story-book place where she would picture herself and Nate as adults, opening gifts at Christmas, showing off the ring on her finger (much like Maureen got to do this year, flashing the not-quite-Cornelius-Vanderbilt-ring Tripp had given her). Once this house had been an escape. Now it's just a reminder of everything that's gone wrong.
The only reason she's here at all is because her father is secreted away abroad and her mother has gone to Mexico for a tan and a covert eyelift. Serena can't keep her company because Serena is both away at boarding school and not returning her calls. Blair thinks of Nate and her throat constricts.
Still, Blair does what she is supposed to. She presents herself for dinner without a hair out of place and beams at Nate even as he taps his fingers distractedly against the table. She can barely eat two bites.
"Are you alright?"
It's Tripp, leaning toward her slightly across the table, making sure to keep his tie out of his soup. She puts on a relieved smile, answers, "Yes, of course. Just - lost in thought, I suppose."
He nods as if satisfied but his eyes look worried and he catches her elbow as they're leaving the dining room. He waits until the room has emptied (exchanging a nod with Maureen as she exits) to say, "How are you really?"
"It's none of your business," she says icily, before she can stop herself. She continues, more amicably, "I'd really prefer not to talk about it."
He nods. "Of course. But if you want to talk, I'm here. And so is Maureen."
"Thanks." She nearly rolls her eyes at that; he must catch it because he smiles in a way she doesn't remember seeing since on him since she was a little kid (and much more attune to Tripp's every expression). It's slightly mischievous.
"You can't tell anyone about this," he says slowly, glancing around the empty room. He reaches for the half-full bottle of Christmas champagne chilling on the sideboard. "It'll ruin my chances at office if it gets out that I go around giving alcohol to minors. Grab a glass, come on."
She does so, carefully scooping up two delicate flutes before following him out of the room, up the stairs, and to one of her favorite spots, the impressive balcony off the second floor sitting room.
"This is strictly to make you feel better because it's the holidays," Tripp says with mock sternness. "And no one should be sad on the holidays."
"Thank you." She toasts him, a real smile breaking free on her face.
They sit for a little while, taking slow sips while Tripp makes her giggle over anecdotes about his professors, complaints about law school, and his pitch-perfect Grandfather impression. She's a little giddy off the champagne but still clearheaded when she says, "You kissed me two years ago."
Tripp opens his mouth, shuts it - seemingly unsure if this is an accusation meant in fun or not. "I…did."
"Why?" She looks at him curiously as she swallows what's left in her glass.
He struggles to put together a response that will no doubt be polite and appropriate. "You're…very pretty."
She raises an eyebrow. "So you'll just kiss any girl who's pretty?"
Tripp laughs. "No. You're not just pretty, you're very pretty. That's an important distinction."
"Am I still?" she asks. Off his confused look, she elaborates, "Very pretty."
"Of course." His brow furrows. "Blair - "
She doesn't know what possesses her to lean in, only that she does, and when their lips meet it's just like she remembers. Tripp breaks off just as quickly too, murmuring that she's much too young before kissing her again, hands sliding into her hair.
They're in plain sight. They make no attempts to remedy this by moving somewhere more private, too busy doing this thing they both convinced themselves they never wanted. Tripp pulls her into his lap, hands pushing at the hem of her skirt. He kisses her neck and her face and her mouth and - it isn't supposed to happen like this. This isn't part of her plan. Still, she can't find it within herself to - to not - to not pull at Tripp's buttons, not kiss him, not say yes.
It doesn't hurt as much as she thought it would, arms locked around his shoulders and face in his neck. She feels very sober and not very sorry. She doesn't - well, he does and it's nice anyway, good but hardly overwhelmingly so.
"You're cold!" he exclaims suddenly - hardly the first thing she expects him to say right after. "We should - we should go in, you're cold."
It's cliché, but it's only then she notices she's shivering. It is cold out (brisk, warm for December, and the balcony is inset somewhat, protected from wind) but she's not sure that's the only reason.
Summer. 2005.
At that supreme moment he was conscious of nothing but absurdities.
Summer, for Blair, is always white and green: endless, luxurious lawns and tennis skirts, Nate going out of his way to bring her mint ice cream in one of their good china bowls. They'd spend long days out on the grounds, Serena sunbathing in her white bikini, unlatching the back ostensibly to prevent tan lines but really to tease the gardeners. Blair prefers the shade of the indoor pool, curling up with a book and keeping an eye on Nate while he swims.
Except Nate isn't swimming much this summer. Chuck hasn't gone abroad for the first time ever and he's eating up all of Nate's time; all they do is sequester themselves in Nate's room and smoke. Blair would have Serena to distract her, but she's too busy flirting with anything with a pulse. Blair's feeling rather neglected. As well as bored and overheated and irritable, so she perches her sunhat on her head and decides she might as well go for a walk around the grounds.
She hears Tripp's voice before she sees him; curiously, she rounds the turn and spots him murmuring low, flirtatious things to one of the maids. The girl blushes, laundry basket clasped in her arms between them like a shield, and she's just about to set it down when Tripp looks up and notices Blair. At once he straightens, features going distant and polite. He gives the maid a nod and squeezes her arm with professional affection. She continues on her way.
"Hello, Blair," he says. "I was just having a word with Anita. How are you?"
Blair doesn't know why, but she's furious - Tripp isn't supposed to be the kind of guy that does stuff like that, that flirts with other girls while his girlfriend sits up at the house. He's supposed to be better than that.
When she doesn't answer, he looks concerned. "Is something wrong? Is it Nathaniel?"
"No," she says, too sharply. "I don't think Maureen would like the way you were talking to that girl."
His open expression shutters closed. "I'm sorry, Blair, but that isn't really your business."
She shrugs. "If it's supposed to be a secret, you shouldn't do it out in the open."
He crosses his arms and his tone is almost amused. "Didn't you know? That’s the best place for a secret."
Blair hates the way he looks at her most of the time, like she's a sweet little girl. She finds she hates this look more - it's full of condescension, like she doesn't know anything about the way the world works. She lifts her head a little. "You're just acting defensive because I caught you doing something wrong."
He seems surprised.
"What?"
"Sometimes you seem older than you are," he says finally. Then, "It is none of your business, Blair. You're young, okay? You don't get it." He starts to walk away, stopping about a foot away and turning back to her with obvious annoyance in the set of his mouth. "I don't need my little cousin's girlfriend giving me a morality check. What I do is my business." He laughs suddenly, harshly. "I wasn't even doing anything, I was talking."
He leaves Blair standing there, biting her lip.
She's reading under a tree (in a chair one of the servants brought out for her, like a normal person) two days later when he seeks her out.
"Can we go for a walk?"
Tripp has his hands in his pocket, an apologetic look on his face. She nods, closing her book and rising.
They're not far along the path when he says, "I shouldn’t have snapped at you."
"You shouldn't have," she agrees.
Then, before she realizes what's happening, he's grabbing her upper arm and spinning her back, crushing his mouth to hers. Blair squeaks (squeaks, for crying out loud) in shock but as quick as Tripp grabbed her, he releases her.
"God, I'm sorry," he says, looking honestly stricken. "I - I'll go."
And he does, leaving her standing there amongst the tall grass for the second time, confused as to what to do or even what to feel.
Summer. 2008.
Get out of character, lady. Come on, get way out.
"Are you sorry?" she asks. It's been months since she's seen him. She hasn't received so much as a phone call. He shakes his head. "Good. Don't be."
She's still with Nate, but she's no longer sure why. Serena's back but somehow more unreachable than when she was gone. And Tripp is still someone's fiancée, even if Maureen is abroad for one last family trip to Europe before becoming a married woman.
They don't actually ever discuss it. It's seemingly assumed on both sides, that whatever happened over Christmas will happen again (and again). It's never planned, really. They just keep finding each other.
In the pool house, skin cool from the water, Blair lets Tripp pull at the ties of her bikini. In the gray morning light, when not even the maids are awake, Blair edges into his bedroom. He doesn't ask why, just welcomes her with a kiss and pushes her nightgown off her shoulders.
"Once upon a time," Tripp tells her, hand ghosting along her calf, "a boy loved a girl…" He doesn't say which girl, though - or which boy.
Tripp learns all the things about her body Nate hasn't. Sometimes he'll do things Maureen (or whoever else there is) must like, because he's always faintly surprised when they don't get a reaction out of Blair. He learns everything she likes and so Blair does too; she discovers that she likes when he kisses her stomach, when he touches her for a long time before fucking her, when he's just a little bit rough.
She feels so guilty sitting next to Nate at breakfast that she could be sick over it, but she never has a second thought about going to Tripp at night.
Blair's always thought her life was a movie. It is, she supposes, just not the one she'd thought she was watching.
It's Mrs. Archibald who finds them. They're in the library, up against the first editions. Mouth tight with fury, she clasps a cold hand around Blair's upper arm and drags her away.
Autumn. 2017.
Nothing lasts, really. Neither happiness nor despair.
They meet on a street corner, utterly unexpectedly. Blair smiles, meaning it, and shows him her ring, though he doubtless already knows about it. The Vanderbilt ring is a little flashy for her adult tastes, but she still wears it proudly. He tells her about the new baby, pulling out his wallet to show her a picture. She congratulates him, though she'd already heard and sent a card from her and Nate.
"I'm glad that Ryan has a sibling," he says. "I've always liked big families."
Blair nods. The remark hangs awkwardly for a moment and they look anywhere but each other. Blair breaks the silence with another congratulations. They say their goodbyes and part ways.
It's very nearly painless.
Summer. 1997.
You lost today, kid.
They're all playing tag, Nate winning despite being one of the youngest. Blair stumbles and falls and splits her knee; everyone continues on their way and Blair just sits there, tears streaming down her face but trying to pretend otherwise. Tripp stops though and kneels unthinkingly in the dirt beside her.
"Want me to get your nanny?"
"No." She does, though. She wants Dorota more than anything but she doesn't want to have to leave the other kids.
Tripp looks at her critically. "C'mon, I'd better take you in. You don't want it to get infected or something."
So Tripp takes her inside and sits her on the kitchen counter; he cleans her knee with eleven-year-old inexpertness and puts a band-aid on it. Blair, who has often had talking-tos about being too bossy, finds herself shyer and more nervous than she's ever felt. Tripp smiles, pronouncing her fine, and takes her hand to lead her back out. She has the sense that he's not quite like other boys.
gossipwriter is the account the mods use to post gifts, it has not authored or created any of the gifts.
Author: artemis_sparks
Pairing: Blair/Tripp
Rating: R
Word Count: 4155
Recipient: dysenchanted2
Disclaimer: I do not own Gossip Girl. The title is from Keats. The italicized quotes are from, in order, Sabrina, The Long, Hot Summer, Holiday, Love in the Afternoon, Splendor in the Grass, Room with a View, Brief Encounter, and Indiana Jones.
Author/Artists Note(s): Hope you enjoy! :)
Summary: It's not a crush.
Summer. 2002.
I might as well be reaching for the moon.
Stifling Serena's giggle with a hand over her mouth, Blair leans forward impatiently. The tree is going to (is already) making her nightgown dirty, but Serena insisted this was the best way to see the party and when Serena insists, Blair ends up listening. Clutching branches, cheek to cheek, they hang just over the edge of the dance floor and watch. There is the sweep of expensive, expansive gowns, the soft music, the bright smiles and quiet laughter. Most importantly, there's Tripp; neither of them will admit to having a crush on him, but he's Blair and Serena's favorite thing to watch.
Tripp's graduation party was a month ago. All the same people attended and asked him the same questions they're asking now, voices traveling over distant string quartet sounds and into the tree: Which college did you decide on? Have you figured out your major? When are you moving? When does school start?
With his bright, charming smile, Tripp answers: Harvard, Well I think pre-law like Dad, August, September third. They all coo and make proud noises and Blair remembers Tripp telling her he wanted to be an archeologist, once.
It's not a crush. Blair just has an excellent memory.
Eleanor is the one to catch sight of them. She gestures furiously with her eyebrows until they clamor down, tumbling into the damp grass and just laying there a moment. They can hear Tripp under a tree not far off with that irritating Madison girl, murmuring things that make them blush.
"I bet," Blair says, "that at Mrs. Archibald's end-of-summer formal, Tripp will have to dance with me. It's only polite."
"I'll dance with you now," Serena says, like it's the same thing. She scrambles to her feet and holds out a hand. "You can be the girl."
Blair raises an eyebrow (would she ever be anything else?) and takes the proffered hand, laughing when Serena twirls her.
Summer. 2008.
All right, you proved it. I'm human.
This isn't the kind of girl Blair is. This, sitting here with no makeup and her hair tangled and her cardigan mis-buttoned over the dress she didn't zip back up - this isn't the kind of girl she is. Serena, maybe, but certainly not Blair. Nate's grandfather, a man she's known so long he almost feels like her own, watches her with a similar thought lurking behind his eyes.
Anne, cold-eyed and tight-fisted, grips the back of his chair and glares at Blair. "Nathaniel doesn't - "
Grandfather interrupts smoothly. "Anne, please. That isn't necessary." He leans forward over his steepled fingers. "Blair - " He'd always called her Miss Waldorf, affectionately " - we have to discuss what's going to happen here."
Winter. 2004.
If he wants to dream for a while, he can dream for a while…
It's the first time Blair is introduced as Nathaniel's girlfriend; the first time Maureen is introduced at all. Blair feels like preening, so pleased is she to belong here - and it's clear she does. She and Maureen and all the other girlfriends match from their cardigans to their pearls.
Serena, of course, sticks out like a beacon. She chews on the ends of her hair, eyes traveling over the crowd of them, and drinks vodka from a water glass. "This is totally boring."
Blair purses her lips, hissing under her breath, "Serena."
But Nate's laughing, nodding along. "It's too bad not all of us can trick the waiters into giving us alcohol." Off Blair's stern look, he adds hastily, "Not that we would."
"I'm sure there's something we can do," interjects Bobby's girlfriend Abby. "I mean, it's not like anyone would notice if we all left."
It's then one of Nate's littlest cousins totters up, throwing himself into Serena's lap and crowing, "Seek!"
Serena giggles, scooping up the little boy with an ease Blair's never felt with children. "Hide and seek, Casey?" He nods and she grins, standing with him in her arms. "Hide and seek it is!"
Which is how they all end up scattered around the empty second floor of the big house, Christmas party sounds so faint they're hardly there. Blair hovers uncomfortably behind a bust on a podium, hoping to shrink into the shadows. As soon as the sound of childish giggles fades, she peers around (intending, of course, to find Nate and go back to the party like mature adults) and nearly shrieks.
Tripp is coming around the corner, looking handsome as ever in his white dinner jacket, hair perfectly parted. He blinks when he spots her, jumps a little. "Oh, it's you, Blair."
Her fingers twisting in her skirt, she answers, "Hello, Tripp."
He smiles, distracted, and he's already moving on down the hall. "I thought I heard someone."
Before she can stop herself, she trills, "Isn't my hiding place just terrible? I know I've been coming here all my life but I'm still afraid of getting lost if I wander too far."
Tripp's half-smile turns a shade more genuine and he motions her forward, one finger to his lips. "Alright, I'll show you mine. But it'll have to be a secret."
He holds out his hand. Normally she might be thrilled, but she's someone's girlfriend now and, anyway, she's not a little girl who needs someone to hold her hand. (She realizes, with belated horror, that that is indeed what she looks like: lacy pink dress and white tights, mary janes and a pearly headband, a perfect little girl.) "It's alright, I can walk without assistance."
Her annoyed tone only makes his smile widen. He nods toward her, motioning her on again.
He leads her down the hall and through a little passage in the back of a closet (Nate had told her the place was full of them, little servants' passages), into what must have at one point been a nursery. The wallpaper is peeling and all the toys are broken or oddly old-fashioned; she runs a hand along a rocking horse. When she turns back, Tripp's grin is wide, easy. Their eyes meet and she flushes.
"How's school?" she asks, delicately sitting on a dusty couch.
"It's school." He tilts his head, listening for noise in the hallway. "If I had a nickel for every time someone's asked me that today…"
She blushes brighter. "I'm sorry."
"Oh, no, don't be." Tripp looks back at her, earnest as anything. "It's the natural thing to ask, I suppose."
Blair has so many things she wants to know about Yale, but instead she says, "I heard - I heard you were studying law. I thought - " Her cheeks must be glowing in the dim room. "I thought you wanted to do - nevermind."
Interest piqued and brow creased, he says, "What? Wanted to do something else?" He pushes off the wall he'd been leaning against, moving towards her. He kicks up little particles of dust. "You don't forget anything, do you?"
She shrugs, embarrassed.
"Law's fine." He settles beside her on the small couch, heedless of his white jacket. "It's the better choice, anyway."
Blair doesn't press further. It doesn't even occur to her to; the idea of pursuing a different path than the one presented to them won't occur to her until she's much, much older.
She feels him still looking at her but she doesn't know, for once, what to do or what to say. This is probably the most she's spoken to him since they met.
"You're blushing," he says quietly. "Are you nervous? You shouldn't be."
"I'm not blushing," she says stubbornly, studying her hem. "It's just the light in here."
Then there's the startling touch of his finger on her cheek. "Liar."
It's playful but too soft, especially when they're the only ones in the room and they're sitting this closely. "I'm not," she insists. "You're just crazy."
There's the rush of cousins clattering down the hall. Tripp laughs, standing, unaware of the streaks of gray dust on his jacket. "Maybe."
Autumn. 2006.
In Paris, people make love - well, perhaps not better, but certainly more often. They do it any time, any place. On the left back, on the right bank, and in between! They do it by day and they do it by night…They do it in motion, they do it sitting absolutely still. Poodles do it. Tourists do it. Generals do it. Once in a while even existentialists do it.
Blair watches them play football, Nate in blue and Tripp in red, and feels acutely guilty. She shouldn't; it's not like she did anything and she's not even interested in childish business like Tripp anymore (regardless of how handsome he does or does not look in red). Prepubescent crushes like that are far behind her now.
Half of her wishes Serena had decided to come this Thanksgiving - but only half of her. Maureen, as if sensing Blair's loneliness, gives her a nudge. "I can't wait for football to be over so we can eat. How about you?"
Blair smiles. "I'm not very hungry." She excuses herself to the bathroom and doesn't return to the game after.
An hour or so later, Tripp finds her in the library. There's mud on his cheek and his hair is tousled; he's still breathing hard from roughhousing. Blair concentrates very hard on the bookshelf, ignoring him entirely, and not at all wondering why Nate isn't the one looking for her.
"I'm not interested in what you have to say," she informs Tripp, breaking the quiet before he can.
"Even if it's an apology?" He hesitates before stepping closer to her. "Blair, I was over the line last summer. I'm so sorry."
"I'm not interested," she says. "And yes, you were."
She won't turn around, but she imagines he drops his head, abashed. "I don't want to make staying here uncomfortable for you. If you'd like, I'll - I'll be sure to stay out of your way."
She nearly laughs - it's such a - such a ridiculous offer, so facetiously gallant, not something any of the boys she knows would ever say. Chuck would make it his business to harass her more; Nate probably wouldn't even notice she was bothered. "You don't have to do that."
There's the muffled sound of him taking a step forward; her skin prickles, anticipating, but he doesn't move further.
"I really am sorry, Blair. I'm - " He laughs, self-conscious and purposefully so, like something a man much older than him would do. "I forgot how young you are. It's easy to, you're so - well, you don't act like a teenager."
Blair bites her lip and turns, finally meeting his eyes. She moves forward slightly. "Sometimes I do."
He smiles slightly but his expression returns to one of hopeful anxiousness. "I promise it won't happen again."
"See that it doesn't." Her voice is more composed than she is, but Blair's had practice at that for years. She presses her lips together and pitches forward onto her toes, fidgeting unintentionally. "I didn't tell Nate. In case you were wondering. I didn't think it was important."
"Good." His throat flexes as he swallows. "Good. It's - it's not, now that we've cleared everything up."
"Exactly." She folds her hands together behind her back just so they'll have some occupation. "So. I'll see you at dinner?"
"Yes." He lingers half a breath, then, "I suppose I should get cleaned up. Goodbye, Blair." He offers her a tight smile and turns to leave, all his movements very precise.
Winter. 2007.
Maybe (if you're older), you remember…when suddenly the kissing isn't a kid's game anymore, suddenly it's wide-eyed, scary and dangerous.
Blair knows that once the Vanderbilt house was a refuge. It was a place away from her parents, a gorgeous story-book place where she would picture herself and Nate as adults, opening gifts at Christmas, showing off the ring on her finger (much like Maureen got to do this year, flashing the not-quite-Cornelius-Vanderbilt-ring Tripp had given her). Once this house had been an escape. Now it's just a reminder of everything that's gone wrong.
The only reason she's here at all is because her father is secreted away abroad and her mother has gone to Mexico for a tan and a covert eyelift. Serena can't keep her company because Serena is both away at boarding school and not returning her calls. Blair thinks of Nate and her throat constricts.
Still, Blair does what she is supposed to. She presents herself for dinner without a hair out of place and beams at Nate even as he taps his fingers distractedly against the table. She can barely eat two bites.
"Are you alright?"
It's Tripp, leaning toward her slightly across the table, making sure to keep his tie out of his soup. She puts on a relieved smile, answers, "Yes, of course. Just - lost in thought, I suppose."
He nods as if satisfied but his eyes look worried and he catches her elbow as they're leaving the dining room. He waits until the room has emptied (exchanging a nod with Maureen as she exits) to say, "How are you really?"
"It's none of your business," she says icily, before she can stop herself. She continues, more amicably, "I'd really prefer not to talk about it."
He nods. "Of course. But if you want to talk, I'm here. And so is Maureen."
"Thanks." She nearly rolls her eyes at that; he must catch it because he smiles in a way she doesn't remember seeing since on him since she was a little kid (and much more attune to Tripp's every expression). It's slightly mischievous.
"You can't tell anyone about this," he says slowly, glancing around the empty room. He reaches for the half-full bottle of Christmas champagne chilling on the sideboard. "It'll ruin my chances at office if it gets out that I go around giving alcohol to minors. Grab a glass, come on."
She does so, carefully scooping up two delicate flutes before following him out of the room, up the stairs, and to one of her favorite spots, the impressive balcony off the second floor sitting room.
"This is strictly to make you feel better because it's the holidays," Tripp says with mock sternness. "And no one should be sad on the holidays."
"Thank you." She toasts him, a real smile breaking free on her face.
They sit for a little while, taking slow sips while Tripp makes her giggle over anecdotes about his professors, complaints about law school, and his pitch-perfect Grandfather impression. She's a little giddy off the champagne but still clearheaded when she says, "You kissed me two years ago."
Tripp opens his mouth, shuts it - seemingly unsure if this is an accusation meant in fun or not. "I…did."
"Why?" She looks at him curiously as she swallows what's left in her glass.
He struggles to put together a response that will no doubt be polite and appropriate. "You're…very pretty."
She raises an eyebrow. "So you'll just kiss any girl who's pretty?"
Tripp laughs. "No. You're not just pretty, you're very pretty. That's an important distinction."
"Am I still?" she asks. Off his confused look, she elaborates, "Very pretty."
"Of course." His brow furrows. "Blair - "
She doesn't know what possesses her to lean in, only that she does, and when their lips meet it's just like she remembers. Tripp breaks off just as quickly too, murmuring that she's much too young before kissing her again, hands sliding into her hair.
They're in plain sight. They make no attempts to remedy this by moving somewhere more private, too busy doing this thing they both convinced themselves they never wanted. Tripp pulls her into his lap, hands pushing at the hem of her skirt. He kisses her neck and her face and her mouth and - it isn't supposed to happen like this. This isn't part of her plan. Still, she can't find it within herself to - to not - to not pull at Tripp's buttons, not kiss him, not say yes.
It doesn't hurt as much as she thought it would, arms locked around his shoulders and face in his neck. She feels very sober and not very sorry. She doesn't - well, he does and it's nice anyway, good but hardly overwhelmingly so.
"You're cold!" he exclaims suddenly - hardly the first thing she expects him to say right after. "We should - we should go in, you're cold."
It's cliché, but it's only then she notices she's shivering. It is cold out (brisk, warm for December, and the balcony is inset somewhat, protected from wind) but she's not sure that's the only reason.
Summer. 2005.
At that supreme moment he was conscious of nothing but absurdities.
Summer, for Blair, is always white and green: endless, luxurious lawns and tennis skirts, Nate going out of his way to bring her mint ice cream in one of their good china bowls. They'd spend long days out on the grounds, Serena sunbathing in her white bikini, unlatching the back ostensibly to prevent tan lines but really to tease the gardeners. Blair prefers the shade of the indoor pool, curling up with a book and keeping an eye on Nate while he swims.
Except Nate isn't swimming much this summer. Chuck hasn't gone abroad for the first time ever and he's eating up all of Nate's time; all they do is sequester themselves in Nate's room and smoke. Blair would have Serena to distract her, but she's too busy flirting with anything with a pulse. Blair's feeling rather neglected. As well as bored and overheated and irritable, so she perches her sunhat on her head and decides she might as well go for a walk around the grounds.
She hears Tripp's voice before she sees him; curiously, she rounds the turn and spots him murmuring low, flirtatious things to one of the maids. The girl blushes, laundry basket clasped in her arms between them like a shield, and she's just about to set it down when Tripp looks up and notices Blair. At once he straightens, features going distant and polite. He gives the maid a nod and squeezes her arm with professional affection. She continues on her way.
"Hello, Blair," he says. "I was just having a word with Anita. How are you?"
Blair doesn't know why, but she's furious - Tripp isn't supposed to be the kind of guy that does stuff like that, that flirts with other girls while his girlfriend sits up at the house. He's supposed to be better than that.
When she doesn't answer, he looks concerned. "Is something wrong? Is it Nathaniel?"
"No," she says, too sharply. "I don't think Maureen would like the way you were talking to that girl."
His open expression shutters closed. "I'm sorry, Blair, but that isn't really your business."
She shrugs. "If it's supposed to be a secret, you shouldn't do it out in the open."
He crosses his arms and his tone is almost amused. "Didn't you know? That’s the best place for a secret."
Blair hates the way he looks at her most of the time, like she's a sweet little girl. She finds she hates this look more - it's full of condescension, like she doesn't know anything about the way the world works. She lifts her head a little. "You're just acting defensive because I caught you doing something wrong."
He seems surprised.
"What?"
"Sometimes you seem older than you are," he says finally. Then, "It is none of your business, Blair. You're young, okay? You don't get it." He starts to walk away, stopping about a foot away and turning back to her with obvious annoyance in the set of his mouth. "I don't need my little cousin's girlfriend giving me a morality check. What I do is my business." He laughs suddenly, harshly. "I wasn't even doing anything, I was talking."
He leaves Blair standing there, biting her lip.
She's reading under a tree (in a chair one of the servants brought out for her, like a normal person) two days later when he seeks her out.
"Can we go for a walk?"
Tripp has his hands in his pocket, an apologetic look on his face. She nods, closing her book and rising.
They're not far along the path when he says, "I shouldn’t have snapped at you."
"You shouldn't have," she agrees.
Then, before she realizes what's happening, he's grabbing her upper arm and spinning her back, crushing his mouth to hers. Blair squeaks (squeaks, for crying out loud) in shock but as quick as Tripp grabbed her, he releases her.
"God, I'm sorry," he says, looking honestly stricken. "I - I'll go."
And he does, leaving her standing there amongst the tall grass for the second time, confused as to what to do or even what to feel.
Summer. 2008.
Get out of character, lady. Come on, get way out.
"Are you sorry?" she asks. It's been months since she's seen him. She hasn't received so much as a phone call. He shakes his head. "Good. Don't be."
She's still with Nate, but she's no longer sure why. Serena's back but somehow more unreachable than when she was gone. And Tripp is still someone's fiancée, even if Maureen is abroad for one last family trip to Europe before becoming a married woman.
They don't actually ever discuss it. It's seemingly assumed on both sides, that whatever happened over Christmas will happen again (and again). It's never planned, really. They just keep finding each other.
In the pool house, skin cool from the water, Blair lets Tripp pull at the ties of her bikini. In the gray morning light, when not even the maids are awake, Blair edges into his bedroom. He doesn't ask why, just welcomes her with a kiss and pushes her nightgown off her shoulders.
"Once upon a time," Tripp tells her, hand ghosting along her calf, "a boy loved a girl…" He doesn't say which girl, though - or which boy.
Tripp learns all the things about her body Nate hasn't. Sometimes he'll do things Maureen (or whoever else there is) must like, because he's always faintly surprised when they don't get a reaction out of Blair. He learns everything she likes and so Blair does too; she discovers that she likes when he kisses her stomach, when he touches her for a long time before fucking her, when he's just a little bit rough.
She feels so guilty sitting next to Nate at breakfast that she could be sick over it, but she never has a second thought about going to Tripp at night.
Blair's always thought her life was a movie. It is, she supposes, just not the one she'd thought she was watching.
It's Mrs. Archibald who finds them. They're in the library, up against the first editions. Mouth tight with fury, she clasps a cold hand around Blair's upper arm and drags her away.
Autumn. 2017.
Nothing lasts, really. Neither happiness nor despair.
They meet on a street corner, utterly unexpectedly. Blair smiles, meaning it, and shows him her ring, though he doubtless already knows about it. The Vanderbilt ring is a little flashy for her adult tastes, but she still wears it proudly. He tells her about the new baby, pulling out his wallet to show her a picture. She congratulates him, though she'd already heard and sent a card from her and Nate.
"I'm glad that Ryan has a sibling," he says. "I've always liked big families."
Blair nods. The remark hangs awkwardly for a moment and they look anywhere but each other. Blair breaks the silence with another congratulations. They say their goodbyes and part ways.
It's very nearly painless.
Summer. 1997.
You lost today, kid.
They're all playing tag, Nate winning despite being one of the youngest. Blair stumbles and falls and splits her knee; everyone continues on their way and Blair just sits there, tears streaming down her face but trying to pretend otherwise. Tripp stops though and kneels unthinkingly in the dirt beside her.
"Want me to get your nanny?"
"No." She does, though. She wants Dorota more than anything but she doesn't want to have to leave the other kids.
Tripp looks at her critically. "C'mon, I'd better take you in. You don't want it to get infected or something."
So Tripp takes her inside and sits her on the kitchen counter; he cleans her knee with eleven-year-old inexpertness and puts a band-aid on it. Blair, who has often had talking-tos about being too bossy, finds herself shyer and more nervous than she's ever felt. Tripp smiles, pronouncing her fine, and takes her hand to lead her back out. She has the sense that he's not quite like other boys.
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