Title: We are who we are
Disclaimer: I don't own anything.
Ship: Nate/Blair
Rating: T – M
Words: 2,872
Summary: Because this isn't the honeymoon she pictured, but it's the kind she hoped for.
Spoilers: None.
Author's Mini-Rant:
I wrote this oneshot to let go. It's not because I'm going to stop writing NB or anything and this is not a part of something I'm doing— it's a part of something I am. And most shippers, no matter who they ship, come across a time like the one we've been going through this entire season and even now, where we're trapped in between letting go of the hurt and holding on to the pain.
I've learned something pretty important about myself as I wrote this oneshot and it's that it I'm no masochist. And I don't know if it's because I'm too weak to handle all this pain, or if it's because I'm strong enough to say I can't face it. I already decided long ago that I would be done with this show after the finale and writing this one shot is not an amendment to that, but a sign of commitment.
The actual oneshot itself revolves around something I don't usually write: post-wedding cute!NB. Normally there would be lots of angst, and only a subtle ending where it is evident that NB will live happily ever after with cute babies and all their old, married couple glory. And the thing is, because this oneshot holds such significance to me, I could have written something ridiculously angsty and lengthy, but I haven't, because it's what I chose to do. And I guess I'm realizing now that the simplicity this story is itself holds more importance than anything I've written in a long while.
And before this rant gets longer than the oneshot, I present to you NB, and the details they are and the potential they'll always have and the amazing couple they'll always be.
—
If someone were to ask Blair Waldorf where she pictures her honeymoon, she'll tell you about monuments only she's heard of, she'll mention large crowds and long lines for museums and fountains, and places full of rich history. She will toss in Rome, Madrid, Athens, Lyon, Naples, and every single significant city in Europe you can conjure up.
However, what she will not mention are white, sandy beaches or jacuzzis or private pools aligned on coasts, overlooking any ocean or other grand body of water.
Thousands on newlyweds spent millions in total on such destinations only to relish in the five hundred thread count sheets with their respective partners.
And it's a waste of time. It's two weeks Blair will never get back.
No. She will not mention Jamaica, or the Bahamas, or Antigua because everyone does that; everyone chooses to go to these warm, supple, islands.
And unbeknownst, Blair discovers why.
—
She walks down the aisle towards Nate Archibald as if she's been marching towards him her entire life. And in a way, she has.
This road—this journey—hasn't been the easiest one. There have been complications and there have been doubts. But when Blair pictures herself married and with children, only Nate is the congruent husband and father. He always has been.
From the moment she first saw him, of course, it is only Nate, she decides she'll marry.
And they are perfect in their own imperfect form. Their polarized differences balance each other out like nothing or no one else can.
Nate worships her considerably, knowing what she needs and wants and he's taught her not to be afraid and to not be insecure.
And she isn't anymore.
He loves her, and she loves him and finally they realize that is all that really matters.
—
They accidentally go to St. Lucia for their honeymoon.
The entire flight down Blair wants to hit Nate because it's not really an accident. That is just absurd. It's not like they suddenly lost all their money and stumbled upon the tickets and accommodations.
Nate has insisted on booking the honeymoon destination himself and she specifically recalls telling him: No Caribbean honeymoon.
And suddenly Blair wonders why she has trusted him with such an important decision. This is something that can potentially ruin their marriage and haunt them for the rest of their lives. For crying out loud, they haven't even had sex as a married couple. Nate has refused to let his new wife spend their wedding night in New York—the city she's been in since her birth.
Jesus, Nate.
Her fingers are anxiously tapping the plane's leather seat upholstery. Blair turns to look at him and fights the urge to roll her eyes as she remembers how childishly he called dibs on the window seat.
Suddenly, she remembers something else.
"Hey," she says, reaching into her purse while grabbing his attention, "you forgot your reading glasses."
Blair holds out a thin, black rimmed pair in her hand before sliding it into his shirt pocket.
She loves taking care of him.
"Thank you," he replies, a grin begins spreading over his face like it does on a child when they are handed candy.
"I thought you said you had everything you needed," pokes Blair, scanning him deliberately.
"Yeah, I do." Nate answers, looking over at her warmly as his fingers weave through hers.
And he loves it when she does, too, because he won't have it any other way.
—
They land at the airport a few hours later, and the thirty other young couples Blair sees while collecting her luggage are already catering her with disbelief.
She wants to say something to Nate, but he's already done finding his bags and now he's hauling hers off the luggage conveyor belt.
They take care of each other, she learns.
—
They reach the glass-covered hotel lobby tired and sweating.
"Wow, sometimes I forget how much sky there really is above us," comments Nate, looking at the splash of blue and white outside of the glass. "All the buildings in Manhattan kind of conquer it all, don't you think?"
"Yeah," agrees Blair.
—
"Nate," she calls out to him once they enter their suite.
Their things are dragged into the corner and Blair is certain she'll have to organize everything the minute they are a little more settled.
"Yeah?" Nate responds from the balcony, his eyes lingering on the ebb and flow of the crystal clear water for a few more seconds before he heads inside, closing the doors behind him.
"Nate, I told you I don't want a Caribbean honeymoon."
"Well technically this isn't the Caribbean. St. Lucia's nestled on the border of the Caribbean Sea and the Atlantic," he states, smiling at her innocently.
"That doesn't matter, Nate." Blair replies frustrated, walking over to the balcony doors she points outside. "There's still beach out there and I bet there are a hundred newlyweds staying at this very hotel and it just doesn't feel right."
"Blair, why are you making such a big deal about this?" asks Nate, walking over towards her.
"Because our honeymoon is supposed to be fun and special and different and it won't be because everyone comes here. Everyone has done or will do the things we do."
"Blair, you of all people should know that it's not about where you are, it's about who you're with," he says, rubbing the back of his neck as he pierces her with his blue eyes, "do you trust me?"
She nods. With her life.
"Then trust me when I say that this will be fun and special and different," continues Nate, now standing directly in front of her.
"Promise?"
"I promise."
It takes Blair a moment in her content to notice Nate's hair is rumpled from the plane, and she can't help but think he looks kind of delicious standing there.
Subconsciously, she licks her lips just thinking of all the things she'll do to him.
"Wanna to do it now?"
"God, yes," he grunts, tackling her onto the bed.
—
They do it four times—five maybe. Now that they really think about it, neither of them can remember.
So really, they've lost count.
She's still panting while he's trying to catch his breath, his bicep brushing against her shoulder.
"Mmmhmm. That was... incredible," mumbles Blair, inching closer to him. When they get home, she's buying bedsheets just like these. "This bed is fucking amazing."
Nate glares at her, struggling to twist onto his side.
"I totally outdid myself there and you think the bed is fucking amazing?"
She rolls her eyes. "In my defense I did say the sex was incredible."
"Blair, you have to give me more credit than that," he smirks.
"Oh Nate, that was the best I've ever had," she deadpans, quickly laughing afterwards, her nose scrunching up the cute way it always does.
"Damn right it was," replies Nate, kissing her forehead, and her nose, and her cheeks and her lips.
—
A few nights later, they are wasted and are walking along the beach.
Blair collapses onto the white sand, which doesn't quite hold any color now since it's pitch black outside, and the only way she can see Nate and know it's him is through the moonlight.
He sways on his feet and crashes down beside her.
She pulls out a bottle of vodka she has stashed into her purse earlier when the bartender was distracted.
"I don't think I can drink anymore," he laughs, lightheaded, his hands swinging left to right vigorously, denying the alcohol.
Blair laughs hysterically because she's trashed, and spending this much time with him after all the wedding preparations and plans just feels so good.
She takes a swig from the bottle, watching a surprised expression form on Nate's face from the corner of her eye and ignoring it.
"I married a crazy woman," he smiles, taking the bottle away from her, giggling.
"But you loooooove this crazy woman, don't you?"
"Very much."
"This is the best honeymoon in the whole, wide world," she sighs leaning onto him, taking the bottle from Nate's hands and emptying the vodka into the sand.
He can't recall the last time he's seen her this drunk.
She wraps her arms around his shoulders. "I love you, Nate Archibald."
He stares at her, and there's no sound but the wash of the surf and he feels the sand in his shorts and his heart beating in her hands, while hers is on his sleeve.
"I love you too, Blair. So, so, so much."
And then Nate starts pressing sloppy, drunk kisses everywhere on her face, saying it over and over again, and all Blair can do is giggle loudly and kiss him back by trying to capture his lips in the middle.
—
Their honeymoon is almost over, so they spend their time near the ocean where the sand meets the water and the warm sun prickles their skin.
Blair squeezes sunblock into the palm of her left hand, setting down the bottle and mingling it with her right, before rubbing it over her body; shoulders; arms; neck; face.
She can't believe that after this, her and Nate will have to fly back to New York where nothing is like it is here in St. Lucia.
She sighs to herself, strategically placing her Christian Dior sunglasses over her eyes, leaning into her beach chair.
"Are you going to lie on that thing all afternoon?" Nate asks, standing over Blair, shirtless.
"I'm working on my tan," she replies hotly.
"Don't you want to come into the water with me?" he requests, pouting slightly because he notices it will not change her mind.
"Maybe later, sweetheart."
"Suit yourself," says Nate, running over to the shore, deeper and deeper into the cool water before diving head first into it's blue depth.
When he comes up for air, he swims back closer to the abandoned shore, spotting only Blair still tanning. He figures it's secluded because their suite is the only room of the hotel that overlooks this part of the beach.
Nate stops when he is about twenty yards from the surf line.
Running a hand through his wet hair, his eyes fix on his brunette wife, who happens to be wearing a white bikini. It's too revealing and instantly he can feel every single drop of saltwater that is sliding down his frame.
It's like Blair can feel his gaze tearing into her.
She slides her shades down the bridge of her nose, watching him watch her, and before she knows it she's tossing the sunglasses behind her, pushing herself off the beach chair, and running towards him into the water.
When she reaches Nate, he scoops her up and twirls her around because she's his, finally, really his and her scotching skin warms his quickly.
She's a little embarrassed, to say the least, to think she could really resist him.
He settles her down and there's a sudden spray of saltwater and Nate looks up to see Blair smirking triumphantly, hands on her hips.
Nate splashes her back a little, his hand slapping the opencut water precisely so, causing it to hit her as she retreats further and further away from him, laughing.
They continue to splash and fool around until Blair finally gives up and raises her white flag, calling a truce. She's too wet, and she doesn't mind if Nate wins this battle.
"I love you, Mrs. Archibald," he whispers, his fingers tracing her hip, finding the knotted string of her bikini.
"I love you, Mr. Archibald," she replies as he holds her close to him.
And then he kisses Blair like it's the first time.
And it's slow, and it's soft, and then Nate opens his mouth and their tongues are sliding past one another and they're kissing like their teenagers again.
She folds her arms into her chest, drawing herself even tighter against him.
"I'm actually going to miss this place," she confesses, sliding her chin up against his slippery skin to meet his gaze.
"Honeymoon's not over yet."
Nate points this out, and Blair almost can't hear him over the sound of the crashing waves, but it doesn't matter, because the gleam in his eye is telling her that yes, they've had fun and it's been special, and now he knows what will make it different.
And she knows too.
"No," Blair concurs, hands sliding over his back muscles, "it's not over yet."
A few minutes later she's pressed into the wet beach sand. And it doesn't matter that they won't make it to their suite, because it's not where they are headed anyway.
Nate bites gently into the base of her neck and Blair wraps her arms tighter around him as he pushes himself inside her, moving slowly. The moments where she isn't closing her eyes are set to watching people walking along the sand far off in the distance over Nate's shoulder.
A loud whimper escapes her dry lips, as she leans forward and kisses him just so she is assured. It will take hours to get all the sand out of her long hair, but god, the feeling is too extraordinary to pass. They find beach sex is a little strange since they can't quite establish the right friction, but it causes them to shiver indulgently against the breeze and feel every single grain of sand that is glued to their drenched bodies.
As they reach their peak, her fingernails are digging grooves into his back and they are desperately clutching at anything they can with their hands.
Blair lets out a guttural scream and she's certain someone has heard them.
He's still inside her when he laughs into her skin, proclaiming that she's such an exhibitionist.
She tells him to shut up and then you're the only one to blame, smirking into his shoulder and demanding for him to make love to her again—right now, right here.
And the exciting part is, is that Blair hopes someone does come and notices.
—
And as quickly as the honeymoon starts, it ends, and they pack and go home, only taking back souvenirs, pictures, and memories. Although, they leave behind so much more.
Perhaps they'll tell their grandchildren of the clear, blue saltwater, and the white sand, and the warm sun, someday, but they will definitely leave out the beach.
That part will not be told to anyone.
Instead, it will recess in the silent moments when they're eating at the dinner table, or watching Tiffany's and Holiday, or the ill-favoured times they are separated.
Blair and Nate want a family, they know they are each other's family, and for the moment, it's all they need.
Because it is just one occurrent at a St. Lucia beach—twice, in reality—but once, in truth. But it's their occurent.
And it's never really ended.
It never will.