Title: "Don't Look Back in Anger (Or Four Times Nate Comes in Second and One Time He Comes in First)"
Author: Lila
Rating: PG-13
Character/Pairing: Nate, various others
Spoiler: "Southern Gentlemen Prefer Blondes"
Length: one-shot
Summary: Second place doesn't come easy for Nate
Disclaimer: Not mine, just borrowing them for a few paragraphs.
Author's Note: I've wanted to write this fic practically forever, since I the new Interpol album came out and then after "Victor/Victola" and finally found the inspiration after this week's episode. Much inspiration from the song "No I in Threesome," although the title and cut are courtesy of Oasis. Also, this is the first time in years that I've written this much dialogue so please be gentle. Enjoy.
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I. Vanessa
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Two months before graduation, Vanessa confesses a sin you never saw coming.
You aren't together, are still so intertwined with Blair you can't remember what's old and what's new, but you're working on a friendship. You dated her (twice) and you liked how weightless you felt with her, how straight you could stand without Blair's tears and Serena's nonchalance and Jenny's lies holding you down. She has a scholarship to Tisch and Morningside Heights might as well be another state (it's already another zip code), but she's willing to ride the subway and won't stop apologizing and you think you're ready to let her back in.
It's a spring afternoon, early May and warm but not hot. There's a new ad up on Houston and construction along the length of the thrift store she used to drag you to and you smile over the ice cream sundae you're splitting at the Noho Star. In three months you'll be in college; in three months you'll leave this world behind. You want to tie up your loose ends before you go.
"Thank you for coming," you say and she smiles tentatively, spoon pausing in midair. "I know we didn't part on the best of terms. I'm hoping to fix that." You duck your head as you dig into the sundae, hair falling over your brow, and when you look up to meet her eyes her smile has broadened into a full-fledged grin.
"I'm sorry," she says and puts down the spoon. "I don't live on the Upper East Side but I'm not blind. I know how much it meant to give you my support."
"I wasn't honest with you," you confess and the words stick in your throat. It was a big step to bring up that past by arranging this meeting; it's more than you bargained for to put your mistake into words. But Blair has insisted on the truth and you've called her bluff enough times to count and it's time someone called you on your own. "I didn't end things because of Blair but she was still there."
Vanessa's hands move into her lap and her smile falls, lips trembling a bit under the strain of keeping them pressed into a straight line. "You've loved her since before you can remember. It's not like it was a shock." She pauses and her lips part into the ghost of a grin. "Besides, I have a confession of my own."
You've been lied to and cheated on, manipulated and played for a gigolo. There's not much she can do to surprise you. "What?" you joke. "You were never planning on going to Eastern Europe in the first place?"
"I slept with Chuck," she confesses and meets your eye head on, pride straightening the curve of her shoulders. "Twice."
You're not sure how you're supposed to react, and judging from the curiosity overtaking the gloating in her eyes, she's as surprised as you are. You guess you could throw something (like Serena), or call her a whore or a slut (like Chuck), or make a scene (to rival the worst of Blair's tantrums). You could cut her off or cut her out, let the Non-Judging Breakfast Club teach her a lesson and make her wish she'd never been born. You could storm out in a huff or stare her down with anger to outdo the hatred you felt for your father, your grandfather, every adult in your life who's betrayed you.
You laugh instead, a full-throttled chuckle that bubbles from your throat and descends into a belly laugh that springs right from your gut. You laugh and you laugh until tears spring to the corners of your eyes and Vanessa looks vaguely distraught while the other diners try to pretend they aren't watching the show.
"What's so funny?" she eventually cuts in and looks annoyed that she didn't inspire the reaction she wanted.
"I date the only girl I thought Chuck would never touch and he still manages to get there first."
Vanessa looks disgusted and then like she might throw something before grabbing her purse and leaving you with the check.
You watch her storm down Lafayette and wonder what you ever saw in a girl from Brooklyn who hates the people you love and likes things you've never heard of and brims with ideas and opinions you don't understand. Chuck whispers in your ear that slumming doesn't equal substance and Blair appears before you, not a hair out of place and impeccably dressed while your life tumbles around you in a perfectly planned disarray.
You throw down a few bills and sigh as you disappear onto the street. You know exactly why you liked Vanessa. It had nothing to do with who she was and everything to do with you didn't want her to be.
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II. Jenny
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Six weeks before graduation, Jenny throws another curveball.
It's early evening and you're waiting for Blair when Jenny spills into the foyer with a garment bag in one hand and her cell in the other. She's talking a mile a minute about raw silk when she spots you and ends the call. From her familiarity with the apartment you assume she's working for Eleanor again and your guess is confirmed when Dorota hustles in to take the bags and won't quite look you in the eye.
"So you're back," you say to open the floor, to eliminate some of the tension in the room. You've talked to Jenny since the Snowflake Ball but it's always been strained. You miss the Jenny you remember from Blair's birthday party, the Jenny you kissed at a masked ball and the Jenny who was brave enough to tell you the truth at full cost to herself. You miss that Jenny; you want her back.
"Yeah," she says and settles in the chair across from yours. "It sounds weird but it's a bit like coming home. I didn't realize how much I missed it here until I came back."
You know the feeling, the slow, steady rhythm that settled in your chest the first time you held Blair in your arms again. You hadn't realized how much you'd missed her until she was yours again and your world was turned back on its axis.
"Looks like everything is working out for you."
She smiles and nods, fiddles with the cell phone in her lap. "You too. You and Blair seem really happy."
It's on the tip of your tongue to correct her, because you don't seem happy – you *are* happy – but it's past seven on a school night and you're sitting in the foyer and Blair isn't here. Chuck flashes before you, a smirk curving his lips while mirth dances in his eyes, but you push the thoughts away. You trust your girlfriend; you need to start meaning the words you say. "Things are good," you confirm. "It's almost like it never ended."
She smiles and turns back to her phone, the conversation again strained between you. "I'm sorry," you interject, partly to fill the space but more because it's true. You hate lies, hate lies more than the way your father makes your mother cry or your life always feels like it's slipping out of your reach, but you hate lies the most. Jenny lied to you and it was Vanessa who came clean, but she doesn't look like the same girl. Maybe it's time to let her back in too. "I know why you did what you did. I could have been more understanding."
She laughs, one of those laughs that it isn't funny but still borders on a giggle. "Wow. Twice in one month."
"What do you mean?"
She sighs, looks like she wishes she'd never opened this can of worms. "Chuck said the same thing a couple weeks ago. We have…" She pauses, searches for the right word. "We have history together."
Your world freezes and the anger you didn't feel with Vanessa lodges solidly between your ribs. Vanessa is practically an adult, but Jenny is just a girl and you know your best friend. "What happened, Jenny?"
"I kissed him once," she says casually. "At the Kiss on the Lips Party." She shrugs her shoulders, but her mouth trembles and you know she's keeping something from you. "It was so long ago it's like it never happened at all."
"Jenny…" you start but she shakes her head to tell you she won't share more.
"I'm over it," she says but her eyes widen a bit between rims of kohl. "It's just not how I pictured my first kiss, you know?"
You think about that night, the fading sunlight catching the gold in Serena's hair and the softness of her thighs as they clamped around yours. Not everyone's first time goes as planned. "Yeah," you say softly. "I know what you mean."
Blair bursts into the room a moment later in a flurry of shopping bags and apologies, but there's something about the way her eyes don't match her mouth that makes you wonder where she was while you've been waiting. You pull her close, and she's curvier than the early years but you're more angular, and you expect her to fit.
You don't let go even when she doesn't.
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III. Blair
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A month before graduation, you cut Blair loose.
The sun is just rising over the horizon and you're sitting on a bench at the Lake's edge, watching colors creeping across the sky, blotting out the dark in shades of gold, red, and orange.
Blair is beside you, your jacket wrapped around her shoulders and her hair spilling from the tiara caught between curls. Your own crown is safely stowed in the limo, a memory you knew would always be yours but means nothing in the long run. You have an entire wall of trophies at the townhouse; one more doesn't make a difference.
She's quiet, her head resting on your shoulder and her eyes closed as the sun glints on the water. "Tonight was beautiful," she says softly and keeps her eyes closed so you can't tell if they match the movement of her mouth. You know it doesn't matter. She hasn't told you a full truth in almost a year. "I always dreamed it would be like this."
Your shoulder is cramping as her bones press sharply against your muscle and skin. You want to shrug, push her away, but you keep your arm wrapped tight around her and smile through the pain. She perfected pretending for five years; you can endure it for five minutes. "I'm glad you had a good time."
She pulls away and turns so you're face to face, her eyes hidden by a dark curtain of hair. "You didn't have a good time?"
You smile, brush her hair off her face to assure her that everything is okay. "Of course I did. We've been waiting for this night our entire lives."
"I know," she says and settles back against you. "It was perfect."
You don't want to press your luck because this is exactly how it's supposed to be, watching the sun rise with your girl the morning after the best night of your lives. You should let the moment pass, ignore the way her chin is cutting into your shoulder and her hair keeps tickling your jaw. You should ignore the obvious, the way she did the entire time you were together (the first time, the last time, this time), the way you have your entire life.
You're leaving for school in three months and your life will never be the same again. You don't want to leave anything unsettled.
"Where were you last night?" you ask and play with her hair, twist a dark strand around one finger.
She pulls away again and turns to look at you, confusion knotting between her brows. "What are you talking about?"
"When they called your name. Were you with Serena?" Something flashes in her eyes, something that looks too much like guilt, and something harder, sharper lodges in your chest. You hate lies but you hate lies Blair tells more. "Blair," you say softly, so softly you can barely hear your own voice over the whisper of the wind. "Where were you?"
Her mouth trembles this time and tears pool in the corners of her eyes. "I was with Chuck."
You suck in a deep breath, let it out and take in another. You knew the answer before you asked the question but it doesn't make it hurt any less. "Did you sleep with him?"
"No."
"Did you kiss him?"
"No."
"Then why were you with him?"
Her voice is very small when she responds. "He asked me to dance. I couldn't say no but I didn't want you to see. It was a dance, Nate. Just a dance."
She looks at you hopefully, like you'll take her back in your arms and kiss her forehead and tell her that she's forgiven, that you won't hold it against her, that everything will be okay.
You don't do any of those things, but you do grasp her shoulders in your palms and turn her to face you. "Let me ask you something."
She doesn't look happy but still answers. "Okay…"
"Do you love him?"
You're surprised at how steady your voice sounds, how matter-of-fact your question is to your own ears. She must feel the same way because the tears return to her eyes but she puts on her bravest face and is more honest with you than she's been in ten years.
"Yes."
"More than you love me?"
"Nate…" she whispers and the tears are spilling down her cheeks. You've seen her like this too many times to count over too many years but you're always amazed that she can be so beautiful when she cries. You resist the urge to wipe the tears away.
"We said we'd be honest this time, Blair. You promised to always tell the truth. Do you love him more than you love me?"
She closes her eyes but can't dam the flow of tears. "Yes."
"You should be with him."
Her eyes fly open and there's fire there, passion and determination you haven't seen since the night you made Poppy Lifton pay for hurting one of your own. "I want you. I chose you."
It's your turn to close your eyes rather than face the truth head-on. "Love shouldn't have to be a choice."
You open your eyes to see her, really see her, because you know you won't be seeing her the same way ever again. "I love you," you whisper. "But I don't think I'm in love with you. I don't think you're in love with me either."
You lean forward and press a gentle kiss to her lips, feel the heated skin under your mouth and the salty wetness on your cheek.
You're still a gentleman and you dab at her eyes with a handkerchief and pull her to her feet with the other. "Come on," you say as she forces a smile and takes your arm. "I'll buy you breakfast."
The sunlight is hard and glaring as you head out of the park. It's bright, so bright it hurts your eyes, but you don't look away.
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IV. Chuck
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Two weeks before graduation, you make peace with Chuck.
You ask him to meet you at Chrystie Street, at the playground where you spent half your childhood playing ball and the other half smoking joints on the steps. He shows up in pink pants and plaid bowtie and you begin to wonder how you ever stayed friends with a guy who favors argyle, ascots, and accents.
He isn't wearing a scarf and he isn't smiling and there's nothing mocking staring back in the dark depths of his eyes. He has a ball in one hand and he bounces it towards you, watches your reflexes as you catch it with lightning speed. You learned early to always be quick around him.
"Nathaniel," he drawls lazily and struggles a bit when you throw the ball back. "Why the summons?"
He hates the LES, you know this much, but he loves you and always comes when you beckon. You can only hope he'll give you what you want this one last time.
You set up the free throw and it slips through the hoop with perfect form. "We're leaving soon. I figured one last game for old time's sake."
He watches you curiously as you line up another shot. "College isn't for three months. We haven't even graduated yet. Why are you jumping the gun?"
You grab the ball and it stills between your hands. He's always seen right through you. You don't know why now would be any different. "Blair and I broke up."
His face is impassive but he can't quite hide the accomplishment that flashes in his eyes. "I didn't know," he says and he's the king of liars, birthday parties and Carter Baizen and Cotillion, but he's always been dead honest when it comes to his feelings for the girl you both love. "How are you doing?"
"Fine," you say and it's the truth. You didn't realize the how much weight Blair added to your load until it was lifted. "We probably should have never gotten back together in the first place."
"What's done is done, Nathaniel. You had no way of knowing."
He flashes a smile, all teeth and daring, and it's the Chuck you remember but something is wrong. You realize that for all the amusement on his face there's something empty in his eyes. You think you know how change them.
"Let me ask you something?"
"Okay…"
"Do you love her?"
He pauses and stares at the ground. "You already know the answer."
"Do you love her?" you repeat, more insistent this time, and you sound so little like yourself that he plays into your hands.
"Yes."
"More than you love me?"
He looks at you and his eyes are no longer empty but filled with something bright and burning. "Yes."
It stings but not as much as it you thought it would; it was the answer you expected all along. "You should be with her."
He laughs, the way Jenny laughed, and there's still nothing funny about it. "She chose you, Nathaniel. I won't play that game again."
"I chose myself."
He looks confused so you clarify. "I don't want to be with someone who doesn't want to be with me. I'll always love her, Chuck, but she's not in love with me, not the way she's in love with you."
"Nathaniel…"
"I want her to be happy even if it's not with me. I had her for ten years. I think it's your turn."
"We tried this once. Things won't be the same between us."
"It's a risk I'm willing to take." You shift the ball from left to right, feel its easy weight between your hands. "One last game?"
You let him win. It's a memory you want to hold onto because you know you'll ever have this moment again.
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V. Serena
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The night before graduation, you set yourself free.
The Van der Woodsen/Humphreys/Basses host the senior soiree and you're amazed that your entire world can fit into one room.
In three months, there will be new people stepping into your shoes and living your life and you can't believe eighteen years went by so fast.
Your mother is there but not your father (you learned too late that some things you love get left behind) but the lesson still sticks in your mind. You can smile as Blair and Chuck dance, laugh with Jenny without guilt, make small talk with Vanessa without disgust curling in your throat.
You learned the lesson late but you aren't bitter because it's fresh in your mind.
You find Serena on the balcony, the muggy air closing around you like a hot fist. The harsh light catches in her blonde hair and it's bright, so bright it hurts your eyes, but you can't look away.
"Hey," you start and she turns and smiles in that way that makes you feel lighter than you've felt in three years. She smiles in that way that lights up her whole face and digs deep into her soul and tells you that she's smiling just for you.
"Hey yourself," she says and gestures to the spot beside her at the railing. "I had to get out of there. Too many people I never want to see again."
"I know the feeling," you agree but don't say more and fall into an easy silence that feels comfortable where it should be awkward, comforting where it should be annoying.
"I heard about Chuck and Blair," she says but keeps her eyes focused on the skyline. "How are you doing?"
It's a bit like déjà vu, but you change your answer. "It should have happened a long time ago."
"You're two of my oldest friends but somehow you just don't fit." She turns to face you and her hair blows back from her face, the skirt of her filmy peach dress catching in the breeze. "I'm sorry you were hurt, Nate."
You haven't been able to read her in more than two years but you don't think she's talking about Blair. "Serena," you start but she cuts you off.
"Let me ask you something?" she whispers.
"Okay."
"Do you ever think about that night?"
You've spent twenty, thirty, hundreds of nights with her over the years but there's only been one that ever mattered. "All the time," you whisper back and you're not lying. "That night…everything changed, didn't it?"
She takes a step closer, so close that blonde hair scrapes across the collar of your shirt. "I don't regret leaving New York, but I didn't want to leave you."
"Why?" you ask because you finally can, because Dan is gone and Blair has let the right one in and you have nothing left to lose. She's Serena; in three months you might never see her again.
"It's easy with you," she confesses. "You don't lie and you don't judge and you let me be me."
You know the feeling.
You reach for her, tangle your fingers in that long, golden hair, and drag her lips to yours. "Come away with me," you propose. Three months or three days, this place isn't home anymore.
"Where?"
You pull her closer and she fits perfectly into the contours of your chest. You lean back to look in her eyes and she looks scared for the first time in her life. You have an overwhelming urge to take care of her, fight her battles and keep her safe. "Does it matter?"
She holds out for a moment, lip trembling and uncertainty flashing in her eyes, and just when you can't take it any longer her hand slides into yours like it's where it's always belonged.
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