Umm. I wanted to have a go at fluff & I went in way deep & I nearly drowned but here it is. If you survive, please let me know what you think!
One-shot in a universe where 5x24 did not happen (commence eternal sigh).
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That's when
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When they're still at 30,000 feet, and the pilot's just turned on the seatbelt sign; when she's trying to ease her swollen feet back into her silver pumps, and she turns to run her hand softly through his hair and plant a tiny kiss next to his left eye; when he stirs with a smile which intensifies when he opens his eyes and she's gazing back at him; when she tries and fails to spoil the moment by telling him his snoring reminds her of a hobo; that's when he calls her sweetheart. Her eyebrows lift in pleasant surprise, and he blushes a little because he hasn't said that out loud before, but now she knows it's something that swims around his head, all tangled up with his feelings for her, and he knows she knows.
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When they're in the taxi, and she can feel him buzzing with excitement as he drinks in the strange streets and cars and signs; when she's making sure to look just as excited and overwhelmed, and not like she's seen it all before; when the taxi driver snorts a little because, like so many others before him, he can't get their attention while they're wrapped up in each other's arms and mouths; that's when she calls him Romeo. He shakes his head and squeezes her hand and says that isn't going to work - that not only would that make her thirteen years old, not only would their relationship be doomed, not only would they be the biggest cliches in the whole world, but also he can't be calling her Juliet because their association with that name is just too weird. And she replies that as a matter of fact, she has some fond memories from that time, and what about when they drove around in his ridiculous toy car, and as she remembers it was pretty cosy, and hey maybe he should rent a car and take her on a little road trip to the ocean, and his eyes widen as he plays with the idea that she entertained the possibility of him, of them, even back then. So even though he'd prefer she didn't call him Romeo again, he's not sorry that she did.
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Whenever she gets cranky in Rome, which is often (because it's too hot, or their room is too bright, or they've ventured to a wine bar with the rest of the group to pretend to be sociable and he sometimes talks to people who aren't her for a full thirty seconds, before he misses her and has to come and stand by her again, maybe slip his fingers through hers, or lean his knee against the back of her thigh, anything so long as they're touching again), that's when he calls her bella. She usually hits him and insists he cannot use that name for her, that it only conjures thoughts of a vampire-obsessed doormat who's set back the cause of feminism by fifty years; and she gets so worked up and rants in such detail that he almost asks her why she's clearly read all of the books, but then he concludes that's not important right now and instead shuts her up by lightly touching his fingers to her shoulder, which since the beginning (and even before) has always been an unspoken code between the two of them for "I need you now". And if they're not alone they make flimsy excuses that anyone they're with can see straight through, and they stride rapidly through the swarming streets, and she barely looks at him because she wants him so much, and they miraculously make it into the building and up the stairs and through the door with their clothes still on, and then their mouths are moving together furiously, and he's somehow pressing her against the wall and peeling off her camisole in one move, and she really doesn't care that it's too hot and too bright because this is heaven, and she squeals as their bodies rock together like waves. Then, and only then, she lets him call her bella.
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When they're lying in bed and he's reading Primo Levi and she's critiquing her own photographs from earlier that day (she's discovering that she really loves photography, here where it has no link with prying cell phones and ugly scandals); when a white mouse motors across the tiles by the door to the balcony; when to his great surprise (although she is disgusted by the hygiene implications, and later rails magnificently at the manager about just how many lawyers she's related to and how hard they can sue him), on actually being confronted with the mouse, she simply wrinkles her nose and glares back at it, unafraid; when she shrugs and lectures him that no New York City girl would lose her mind over a mere mouse; that's when he calls her topolina. She doesn't know what it means and nor does she want to, as she plucks the book from his hands and drops it onto the bedside table, rolling swiftly onto his lap and kissing his neck and jaw and cheekbone, until he's officially powerless to call her anything whatsoever.
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When the 'plane touches down at JFK and she refuses to look at him as they disembark; when she storms through to baggage reclaim by herself and won't even allow him to help her lift her suitcases; when he waits quietly next to her, not touching her at all because he knows it will only infuriate her more; when he tells her he's sorry and that maybe she's right but they're going to be okay; that's when she calls him Humphrey, and what's more a dreamer. He sighs because it's not untrue, but this is such a pointless fight, and even though he understands why she's afraid that everything's going to change now they're home, far away from the little paradise they've built over the summer, and how everyone in their lives is going to invade and intrude and make everything complicated - even though he gets it - he's not afraid and he doesn't think she needs to be. That's when he calls her stubborn, and suggests that the very tenacity that has kept this fight going for the last hour is going to come in useful when they're navigating all those people and continuing to do what works for them. When she finally turns to him, pouting; when he puts his hand in hers like a question; when she exhales dramatically and leads him to the exit; when he can't hold back any longer and out pops that goofy smile that makes her think of a five-year-old; that's when she calls him impossible, even though she means 'I'm sorry'. And by the time they're on the freeway, yet another taxi driver is trying and failing to get any sense out of them.
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When the days are getting shorter and an umbrella is becoming a necessary precaution; when she's very nearly given up asking and it would therefore mean the most; when he meets her one day with his hair cut - not short really, but neat and classic, like it was back when they were first testing the waters of friendship, and she'd find herself bewildered by an absurd urge to stare at him long and hard; that's when she calls him a fox. He looks a little too pleased with himself, so she indignantly tells him it's far from perfect, but that she'll live with it for now. (In fact if it weren't for the rain, she would make them skip the gallery, and they would walk around the city all day, positively willing the prying cell phones to follow them so she could show him off, show them off. Silly, because she knows the gossips couldn't capture what they actually have.)
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When Christmas comes and they have to spend several nights apart because they each have their own holiday duties with family; when Jenny joins them at a stuffy Upper East Side cocktail party, and both sister and girlfriend play nice-as-can-be; but when every time she sees them even brush against each other, Jenny stares like she's witnessed something supernatural; when she pretends she doesn't notice and keeps nodding in (feigned?) fascination at each new bit of British slang that Jenny spews at her; when he sneaks her onto the balcony and kisses her softly while the city lights and snowflakes cavort all around them; that's when he calls her my hero, even though he means 'thank you'. When he squeezes her tightly against the cold; when it feels so perfect she's afraid she might scream; when she warns him he'd better let go because he's crushing her new dress; when the last thing she wants is for him to let go; that's when she calls him animal, even though she means 'you're welcome'.
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When the blossoms are threatening to burst out all over the city; when they've both been working harder than they ever have before, and only see each other as they're plunging into sleep; when he walks into the opening of the exhibition, his face radiating pride; when he gives her space to mingle while he admires, for the hundredth time, her striking photographs (which he's convinced would be the highlight of this show even if he weren't ludicrously crazy about her); when he meets her eyes from across the room and they say that he'd better get over here right this minute or else; when he salutes her to signal his obedience, and strolls over to be introduced to curators and critics and freeloaders; that's when she calls him my boyfriend. (He waits till they're home to call her a star because in public she can't say 'I am, aren't I?' and he really wants her to say that.)
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When they sit at the front of the beautiful, laidback wedding in Southampton; when the bride and groom stand before everyone and look at each other, grinning like idiots, almost embarrassed that they hadn't knows always, always that this would happen; when Serena and Nate say their vows and she calls him husband and he calls her wife; when the newlyweds float past them to the reception; when everything feels exactly as it should be and they laugh and dance and kiss the night away; that's when he strokes her hair and calls her you, and she shakes her head slowly and says you right back at him, and anyone spotting them feels nauseous and envious all at once. (And then there's shoulder-touching so it's time to make a run for it.)
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When things have been going so well for her that jealous people start to bite back; when she's upset about a magazine profile which implies her success is due to her background rather than real talent; when he pulls her into his lap and wipes away a tear of frustration; that's when he calls her perfect. She groans and tells him that she is not perfect and he says okay, she's not, she's not, and he won't make that mistake again, as her mouth twists into a tentative smile. And when his book is published later in the year, everyone else is bemused by the dedication at the front - For B, who isn't perfect, but is just right - but she can't think of anything better.
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When it's their anniversary and they agree not to go over-the-top about it; when she reasons that's she's so busy anyway, and they can do something special next week; when he wonders if he should feel snubbed but then thinks better of it; when he asks if he can meet her for just one coffee, and she says that could work; when he nervously orders two cups and brings them to the studio, heart beating outrageously; when he hands one to her, fingers shaking, leading her to scoff that he's already overdone the caffeine for today; when she starts swigging the coffee and he cringes because it isn't supposed to happen like this; when she registers his squirming and follows his eyes to the scrawled words on her cup; that's when she sees that he got the barista to write the name Blair Humphrey, followed by a question mark. As she tries to maintain her composure, he raises his eyebrows as if to say 'how about it?' and she leaps up so that she can better fume at him for doing this with no warning, and could he be any more tacky?, and can she drink this anyway because she really needs it right now?; but there are tears in her eyes and he doesn't think they're the bad kind, so he asks her properly and that's when she calls him a fool and puts the cup aside and then she says yes so many times, between the sweetest, heaviest kisses, that the word starts to lose all meaning and he says she can stop. But he's wrong, because she can't.
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Whenever it's past midnight and the only sounds are the low rumbles of the trucks dawdling back into the city, and the occasional lost hipster crooning a drunken song while seeking the subway station; when the only light is the glow from his computer (he never turns it off anymore because every five minutes with her inspires some new line that he must preserve); when he's absolutely positively certain that she's sleeping, because her breathing has slowed and she's frowning ever so slightly and starting to curl up into a little ball; that's when he calls her angel. He waits till he's sure she won't hear it, because he's afraid she'd roll her eyes at him and tell him how unoriginal he is. Which is the truth. (He's not proud of it.)
Whenever she hears him call her angel, (because she's getting really good at pretending to be asleep, just so she can luxuriate in his not-so-secret affection), she has to clench her teeth hard to stop herself from beaming. Later, when he inevitably settles beside her, his right arm warm around her, gripping firmly but gently, and she's turned away so he can't see her face, she finds herself mouthing mine. (He knows because he's watched her, dimly reflected in the mirror that tops her dressing table. But he'll never tell.)
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Whenever it's morning and the rain is drumming heavily against the window; when she wakes up to the scent of coffee and of him as he pads back to the bed and slips back in, nipping her collarbone playfully; when she shrieks in annoyance that isn't believable even for a second; that's when he calls her Blair (he thinks the word soulmate is over-used) and that's when she calls him Dan (she thinks the term the one is so common that it's trashy), and then they lie back and start making plans for the rest of the day.
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Yeah. I just want D/B fans to be happy, you probably got that...?