Summary: Dan and Serena cling on to whatever it is they have left. Set after 3.05 (I'm ignoring everything after that).
(It's up to you how far into the future this takes place).
A/N: Um, I'm not really sure what to make of this... I haven't been able to write a sustained DS fic in what seems like forever. But here it is nonetheless. Reviews are love.
Title and lyrics from Love Is a Laserquest by the lovely Arctic Monkeys. I suggest you listen to it. Like now. Right now. Don't deny yourself that perfection.
Do you still think love is a laserquest? Or do you take it all more seriously?
I've tried to ask you this, in some daydreams that I've had
But you're always busy, being make believe
"Is this all we get?" he murmurs almost inaudibly, afraid to let his insecurities escape; out of his head, his lips, his bed, his room. He knew the answer however, they both did. It hangs in the air with the what-ifs and the could-have-beens and he wishes he could take it back. He feels a tear fall onto his bare chest and he knows she's thinking the same thing. She tilts her head upwards and presses her lips to his, softly, sweetly, sadly. Her cheeks damp, her lips salty. Their fingers entwined, he plays with her engagement ring subconsciously. The candlelight flickers and dances along the walls of his room, the music he had put on earlier had long stopped. She shivers and he pulls her closer, her head resting on his shoulder. Her eyelashes tickle his neck as she blinks.
She had climbed through his window earlier and they laughed as she tripped, causing them both to tumble onto his bed. Her breath was hot against his neck as she whispered his name, sitting in his lap and undoing his buttons.
"I missed you," he whispered against her skin as he left a trail of kisses down her neck causing her to groan.
"I missed you more." She whispered back, straddling him as she wiped lipstick off his cheek.
"Not possible."
Dan waits for her breathing to steady before carefully extracting himself from his bed. He pulls on his discarded boxers and goes to pore himself a drink. He gazes back at Serena; naked in his bed, her golden hair cascading over the pillows and an innocence softening her features that he hadn't seen in years; the image leaving a ghost of a smile on his lips.
He sits down at his desk. He had bought another notebook (especially for her), tired of searching through countless others for lines, paragraphs, memories, dreams. Setting down his scotch, he opens it.
It's all here, beginning with 10-8-05.
Their first date. Their first time. Their first break-up. And all the (now) significant non-events that were littered in between.
He flicks through the pages, glancing at dates and titles and summaries scribbled at the top of each. He rarely looks at these ones (preferring to write them down and try to forget).
Skinny dipping in Barcelona because she's begging him with mischievous eyes and looking almost surreal in the dim moonlight that he's pinching himself, wondering how on earth he got to be so lucky
Double dates with Blair and Chuck and she's whispering dirty things in his ear because she said she'd thank him later but she's bored
Proposing to her on Christmas Eve in Paris, catching her as she jumps into his arms and whispers yesyesabilliontimesyes between happy tears and soft kisses
Moving in together and making her breakfast while she's sitting on the counter in one of his shirts wearing nothing underneath
Getting married on a beach in Thailand (just the two of them) because Serena, her lacy white dress falling just above her knees and frangipanis adorning her hair, tells him she wouldn't have it any other way
His eyes are stinging with the prospect of tears but he refuses them, downing the rest of his scotch and shutting the notebook. His side of the bed is cold by the time he climbs back in. He pulls her closer and she curves into him. She's half asleep and whispering an iloveyou.
She smells like jasmine and summer and beingsixteen and Dan feels overwhelmed, intoxicated even, by nostalgia. He lets himself fall asleep even though he knows it'll bring the morning faster.
When he wakes up, the sheets are empty and he panics, his chest constricts, his stomach turns. (Even though it's not the first time, and definitely not the last). But she's not gone. She's at his desk, wrapped in a sheet, her hair tussled and messy, shielding her face. She's reading the notebook, he notices as he sits up. She looks up and manages half a smile but her eyes are filled with tears. Later, over waffles and coffee, he asks her how much she read and she replies "enough."
It's already late afternoon when she announces quietly that she has to go. There was cake that needed tasting, final fittings that needed taking and flower arrangements that needed finalising. She's been here almost twenty four hours but it's not enough. It's never enough. He kisses her, softly, sweetly, sadly, before she leaves and it feels as if it's the last time (but then again, it always does). He holds onto her hand for a moment too long and she wipes a tear from his cheek and then hers before pulling away.
The loft is cold and far too big without her and he wishes he was used to this feeling by now. The notebook's sitting open on his desk still. Cautiously, he picks it up.
He's gone, you can let go now.
I know, but I don't want to.
He stashes it away haphazardly and strips and remakes his bed but it's no use, he realises now. It's not his anymore. It's theirs. He settles on the couch and tries not to wait until next time.
He half expects her not to invite him to the wedding but it would raise alarm if she invited one of her step brothers and not the other. He tells himself he doesn't want to go but he wants to see her. He has to see her.
The day comes all too quickly and he spends almost four hours searching for it. He can't have lost it.
The Palace is flooding with impeccably dressed guests, and even though Lily had bought him a dark blue Armani three piece for the occasion, he still couldn't shake the ancient distance between himself and her world.
When Blair sees him he catches something like empathy in her expression as she points him toward the parlour she's getting ready in and he steps inside.
For the first time in a long time, words fail him.
She's absolutely stunning. (But what's new?)
He hovers by the door unable to move. She laughs nervously and looks down at herself, fidgeting with her dress.
Still completely unaware of her effect on him, he thinks.
He notices he's been holding his breath and exhales.
How cliché, she manages to take his breath away. (But what's new?)
"I used to daydream about marrying you." She whispers, her voice quivering. "Still do." He holds her and lets her cry because he's still searching for a word, a sentence, anything.
"I brought you something." He murmurs before pulling back so that their foreheads are touching. "Um, I'm not sure how much you read before but I want you to have it. I need for you to have it." He presses the light blue notebook (her notebook) into her hands. She gasps as she recognises the tiny book and remembers that morning when she found it sitting on his desk.
"No, I can't-"
"Yes you can. It's yours anyway. It always has been."
There's a faint knock at the door followed by an equally faint voice. "S, it's almost time."
He gets up to leave but she takes his hand and it feels as if they've done this a thousand times before. All they ever do is say goodbye. He pulls her to him once more and presses his lips to her temple. "You look beautiful."
"Dan I-"
"I know. Me too." He kisses her hand lightly and this time she lets him go.
He's sitting in the front row next to Lily and Rufus. He wants to move on but he can't help but blame them for being so selfish. For screwing things up. He knows it's not as simple as that but he needs a subject for his anger, his regret. Rufus glances at him nervously every so often. There couldn't be less than 400 people here, he observes and he wonders how many of them she actually knows.
Before he knows it, Nate and Chuck are walking her down the aisle and she's smiling at her fiancé like she's supposed to but even from afar he notices that the smile doesn't reach her eyes. Nate and Chuck plant kisses on her cheeks simultaneously eliciting a laugh - that laugh - from Serena and an audible 'aww' from those 400 people.
There's a feeling welling in Dan's stomach and he feels nauseous - greater than heartbreak and much closer to something like utter despair.
He bails after the 'dearly beloved' but before the 'I do's.' He stands and is vaguely aware of both Rufus and Nate attempting to pull him back down but he shrugs them off. Heads turns in his direction but he doesn't care. He knows he's making a scene but he doesn't care.
He doesn't care, he reaffirms as he reads Gossip Girl's blast about his dramatic exit but the lie is stale and feigned indifference only managed to appease him for a fleeting moment anyway.
He's sitting on his fire escape downing another scotch. His eyes sting with the prospect of tears but this time he's too drunk to refuse them. They fall, leaving dark spots on his jeans, the alcohol only adding to his melancholia, and his mind drifts involuntarily back to her. Always her. He wonders if she's read it yet. He feels as if he's well and truly fallen into the artist archetype - always brooding, wishing, wondering; and she's but a memory torturing his waking hours and haunting his dreams.
When I'm not being honest I pretend that you were just some lover
In the cab on the way to the Palace, he had scribbled a final . . . something.
"Run away with me." he asks her, eyes pleading.
"Okay."
When I'm pipe and slippers and rocking chair
Singing dreadful songs about summer
Will I have found a better method of pretending you were just some lover?
Will I have found a better method of pretending you were just some lover?
Fin.