Instinct puts him in that elevator. An indescribable desire to prevent and protect and, if too late, comfort. He knows her weakness, her understandable need to know her father. The way she got so quickly and deeply involved with William, the way she would implicate herself in anything that mattered to her. Vulnerable, open, guaranteed to be hurt. He doesn't want that to happen.
When Dan sees her on the edge of the armchair, there is a violent urge inside him to destroy...something. The straight alignment of that man's nose or his overwhelming confidence. Make him see what he's done. Forbid him to ever speak to her again. Hurt her.
He doesn't say 'I told you so'. He hates himself for being right. What he would give for things to be different... When her gaze rests on his, he can't just watch anymore. With two strides, he stands in front of her, and grips her wrist, pulling her into his embrace. She is stiff and cold and shaking at the beginning, but once she realises that it's Dan, that he's there for her, her face hides in his neck and her arms slowly wrap around his body.
He runs his fingers through her hair, the way he always did when she needed it but wouldn't ask. Dan feels her hands knotted with his T-Shirt at his lower back, and it worries him how much too natural that feels. How it'd annoy him when Vanessa did it. It was reserved for someone else. Only.
He's glad he's there for her, and as much as he'd want different circumstances, he's glad it's him and not someone else. He's glad it's not Nate. And he doesn't know if he should hate himself for that, or hating himself for feeling...that...way about his best friend's girlfriend. Whatever way that was. Or both.
'I'm sorry I doubted you and Rufus. For all the things I said and thought and shouldn't have...' she interrupts his thoughts, her breath tickling the hairs at the back of his neck.
'You don't deserve this, Serena. You shouldn't have to apologize for it. He was your father – '
'And he didn't want me. He came here for my mother, to get her back. Not me or Eric. No matter what he said, he didn't want me.'
'That is his loss. Who the hell is he not to want you?' She's heard words like those before. An orange dress and the summer heat, from a boy that she might have once...preferred. Not from the right boy. Not from this boy.
'All I ever wanted...' She started again. 'All I ever needed... I...'
As his arms tighten around her, an idea comes to mind. It's crazy and impulsive, but when are things not like that around Serena van der Woodsen? And when has he ever minded it?
The next thing he knows is he's calling for a taxi.
-xoxo-
While he waits in the cab, he realises he's betrayed his family and broke the law at the same time. But he can't regret it.
It becomes worthwhile once she sits next to him again and rests her head on his shoulder. The warmth is familiar, soothing, nostalgic. He finds himself having missed it.
'I don't want to go home just yet. I don't have anywhere else to go...' she mutters, almost as if to herself.
'Yes, you do. You always do,' he vows, before informing the driver that they're going to Brooklyn.
-xoxo-
She's exhausted when they get to the loft and he knows her too well not to notice. He likes to think it's purely physical. But he knows she is close to an emotional collapse. And he couldn't bear that. He never wanted to see her that way.
He removes her coat and places it on a bar stool.
'I'll get you something to drink. You go sit down; the knitted blanket is...'
'I know.' She smiles, not directly at him, but he knows it's for him. And it catches on pretty quickly.
She walks into his bedroom and it's like walking into the best time of her life. The happiest time. Her steps seem to retrace themselves; she's been here so many times before... so long ago. She stops for a second, only to close her eyes. And she sees the same bedroom, same furniture, his shirt on the floor, and his sheet around her. She shakes her head, hoping to clear it. Closes her eyes again, pretending to imagine a suite at a hotel and Nate's blue shirt. And she just...can't.
The blanket is folded nicely in his wardrobe. As she unfolds it, she realises it had been left the way she left it. It hadn't been used since. A piece of paper falls from between the folds.
I wish you knew how much I loved you.
His handwriting. She never got it.
'Here you are.' He startles her, but she is quick enough to stuff the piece of paper in the back of her jeans. She can't quite explain why.
'Our kettle is...broken...and they say alcohol is better. Ok, no one says that, except for maybe alcoholics, but this is pretty much all I have.'
She smiles, encouragingly. 'It's perfect.'
-xoxo-
She sits cross-legged in the middle of his bed, and he is so close to her, it feels like their knees touch even when they're not. He doesn't pressure her into talking; he stares at her long fingers, gripping her glass, the wine intact inside.
He waits, and waits, and she is grateful that he's patient. And there for her. And she wishes she knew what to say. But she doesn't know where the hell to begin.
As always, he knows what do, when to do it. He takes her glass away from her hands, and places it on the nightstand, his own next to it. Then he wraps the blanket around her shoulders, moving her hair out from underneath it, his knuckles softly touching her cheek in the process. It feels like they're vibrating. And he cannot explain why he feels that way. The way he did when he was fifteen.
'Twenty Questions,' he announces, and claps his hands with so-called excitement.
She lets out a weak laugh. 'What?'
'It's either that, or Never Have I Ever...'
'Twenty Questions it is!' she says, and laughs gently with him.
'Okay. What was the most boring moment of your life?'
'Dancing at the masked ball with that guy... what did you call him?' She throws her head back, trying to remember. 'Pompous Ass the fourth,' she declares, and giggles at the memory.
'Favourite day of the year?' she asks, and there is a part of her that hopes to already know the answer. The same answer as hers. And when he replies 'Fourth of July,' she can't suppress the tight pain in her chest.
'Never knew you were that much of a patriot,' she jokes half-heartedly, her attention suddenly focussed on her fingers.
'I'm not.' He waits a moment before continuing. 'Let's get deep. Biggest regret of your life.'
She doesn't reply for a while, and he starts to worry he might have said something wrong. It relieves him to hear her ask 'honesty or cliché?'
'Honesty. It's just me here. You can tell me anything.'
Her gaze is strong on his, and she reads something in him. Judges something, measures something else. She sighs, her eyes close and her eyelids tremble. 'Not telling you about Georgina. And Pete, and Nate, and my history with them.' Her voice shakes just the same. There is a knot in his throat, and as much as he tries, he cannot swallow it. Little does he know that she experiences the same feeling less than a metre away from him.
'If I hadn't been so stupid we could've...'
'Don't,' he warns, and it takes a lot out of her to enquire a simple 'why?'
'Because we can't say things like this to each other anymore. We're...'
'It's the truth,' she whispers, stopping him mid flow. 'And our current situation doesn't matter. It will always be the truth.'
'Serena...'
'Don't worry, I don't expect anything. I stopped expecting something a while ago. I just wanted to be honest with you, tell you how I...see things. After all, this is where we went wrong every time. This is why we failed.' She starts to look away, but his voice brings her gaze back to him. Reflex. Automatic.
'I will never see us, what we were, as a failure. We were my biggest accomplishment. My greatest success. You were, and...still are... the most important person in my life,' he promises, and smiles gently to himself. 'I lied earlier. I don't really care about the fourth of July. My favourite day ever is the 24th of December 2007, and I can't quite imagine what could possibly change that.'
She doesn't notice the proximity until her hands burn to touch his cheek, the tip of his nose, corner of his lips, lobe of his ear. She doesn't think or analyse repercussions as she gives in to impulse, resting a palm on his cheek. It feels just as it did three years ago.
Serena smiles softly once he reciprocates the gesture, the familiar feel of his skin against hers overwhelming her feelings or restraint and remorse. Their lips brush against each other so briefly, they cannot quite decide if it happened or not. So Dan tries again, placing his mouth against hers firmly, gently, perfectly. She breathes it all in; the smell of youth, and love and winter, and she decides she prefers it to the pungent smell of Nate's Jean Paul Gaultier perfume. Her fingers knot in his hair, the defined, longer curls than a lifetime ago threading around her sleek fingers, and her mouth opens just a little, deepening their kiss.
Soon she feels the soft surface of his duvet underneath her back, and her hands move gently over him, gripping the bottom of his T-Shirt. It doesn't take him long to remember the way it used to always come off; one swift motion, one quick interruption. Her wrists create a continuous line over his torso as she forces the top off him, and although their situation screams otherwise, it doesn't feel wrong for a single second.
Except it does, and he removes his hands from underneath her blouse, gently stopping their kiss.
'Serena, I'm sorry. We...can't...' he whispers, his cheek resting against hers. He means what he says, but at the same time he is prepared to compromise everything for the girl he cradles in his arms. And as unhealthy as it sounds, he desperately wants to.
As he looked at her, hair slightly messy and eyes holding remnants of sparks for the first time that night, Dan decides lust has nothing to do with it. He doesn't just want her, he loves her. But he doesn't tell her that, he just proves it to himself.
He picks up his T-Shirt and pulls it over her tank top, then unbuttons her jeans and pulls them off her legs, thoughtlessly kissing the tips of her knees once he uncovered them. He lays down next to her and holds her against his chest, placing kisses against her cheek and temple once she falls asleep in his arms. Before drifting off, he kisses her lips again. For the last time.
-xoxo-
'It was gravity.'
'Okay,' she mutters and turns to leave.
'You going for the hug, I went for the...' he explains, pointing at his cheek. Even at that moment, he is unable to wipe the goofy smile he has plastered on his face.
Once he is alone, he replays every single moment of last night in his head. In one single evening, he managed to betray his family, break the law, cheat on his girlfriend with his best friend's girl, and realise who he truly loved and always would love. And the latter made up for all the others. At least at that moment.
Although it pains him to remember, he goes into his bedroom to attempt to hide the alcoholic evidence. As he carries it to the kitchen, he remembers blaming last night on 'an entire bottle of wine' and, by the weight of it, realises how untrue that was. It wasn't the wine. It wasn't even gravity. It was chemistry. The never fading chemistry between them which Dan knew would someday bring them together once again.
A/N: Here is another little ficlet. For those who have read 'Gossip Girl', I am planning to continue it, don't you worry, but am currently facing the world's worst case of writer's block, from which I hope to emerge soon. (I try so hard to impress you, guys!) Please take a second to review this story! Thank you :)