So, this is my first "Gossip Girl" fanfic (disclaimer: nothing is mine, btw), and I'm not really sure how good it is. I've never felt this ambivalent about a one-shot before, but possibly it's because this is a new fandom for me to be writing in. Not a new fandom in general, though. It takes place roughly in 2017, all else is explained in the story.
Between
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"Waldorf!"
She turns and sees Dan, leisurely walking up to join her in front of the Manet she's so often contemplated since the demise of her engagement to Louis. He stands to her right, a sly smile on his face.
"Humphrey," she acknowledges.
"Fancy meeting you here," Dan says.
"Of course I'm here, I love art galleries," retorts Blair. She tries to sound arch, but can't stop grinning. The script they've written for these run-ins never fails to amuse her, although she's repeated them time after time. "At least, I love those with taste, not ones that display so-called art by college students."
He snorts. "You realize you just insulted your own stepbrother, right?"
Blair tosses her hair. "Aaron Rose is hardly related to me."
"Right… well, I guess I know how you feel about that," Dan says, "Since I've dated a stepsibling or two."
"You and Eric? Why am I not surprised," she teases sweetly.
"Ours is a secret love," he intones.
"Well, I always knew there was something between you and Nate, but I see your preference for keeping it in the family is still going strong."
Dan looks down at her with a meaningful expression, but it's gone the second she registers it. "You know it."
"Speaking of Nate," she says, "It's a shame he didn't join us for the Phantom opening last week."
"Yeah, apparently there was a riot on the movie set."
"A riot?"
He shrugs. "You know how actors can get."
"Is Serena alright?" asks Blair, worried. She feels guilty for not calling her best friend herself.
"She and the baby are fine," Dan tells her, and he turns to look at the painting.
It's silly of her to be jealous, but Blair recognizes that look, that reminiscent face he so often wears when the subject goes to Serena van der Woodsen. Or rather, Serena Archibald as she's been for the last year. Blair knows better than to tap that bruise but it's the first time there's been a subject Dan won't speak of with her.
She wants Dan to come back to the world around them, not the world of years past.
"It's a wonderful thing the Lourve did," she remarks, "Shipping over their collection for the proletariat in Manhattan to see. Of course, it's not nearly as impressive when the collection is in New York rather than Paris, but some people simply can't afford a transatlantic ticket."
This does the trick.
"I don't think you can pull the lower class card with me anymore, Blair," he laughs. "I'm a bestselling author now."
"Oh, how terrible of me to forget your claim to fame," teases Blair, "When you still live in your DUMBO loft and wear the same tacky clothing."
"Hey, I haven't worn flannel in three years," Dan protests.
Blair smirks at him. "Who said anything about flannel?"
He shakes his head and grins broadly. "I see someone's in a good mood today."
"And why shouldn't I be?" she says determinedly. "The sun is out – although it's below freezing, I admit – and I'm spending the day with my friend. I've nothing else to worry about." She wills herself to commit to these words; she commands her existence to match the movie in her head.
"No, nothing," agrees Dan, although the doubt in his voice is obvious. "Nothing comes to mind."
They stare at the Manet a little longer, as if expecting it to burst into life.
It doesn't, but that's just fine. The tranquility, the stillness and pure, simple beauty is enough. Manet captured in one painting what all the movies, books, and songs Blair has loved throughout her life have been trying to say (I am here, I am not hidden, I am waiting to be seen). This is why she fell so absurdly in love with Louis, or thought she did – he saw her.
It's been five years since their wildly popular royal engagement went down in flames. Five years since the scandal broke and she wedded Chuck Bass in a night of drunken abandon. She might have fled to France, but in France there was Louis. It took a year for her to visit her mother and fathers (all of them) at their homes.
All that's behind her now. Blair Waldorf is scandal-free and happier than she's ever been.
Well, almost.
"I love this painting," Dan says. "It's… i-it's something special, I mean, the colors and the… the texture… it's… I mean, the history between Manet and Victorine Meurent is so fascinating and… isn't it interesting that Victorine is painted so clearly but the woman in the stream is given an Impressionist's brushstroke? Do you think that was intentional or…"
She rolls her eyes good-naturedly. Over the years he's lessened his need to babble about silly things when he's uncomfortable, but he hasn't shed the habit yet.
"Humphrey," she interrupts.
He doesn't need more indication than that.
"Sorry."
"Mm-hm."
They continue to stand there, although the Rembrandt selection is vast only one room away, and Monet has a wonderful exhibit further along.
"I do love this painting, though," he tells her again. "It's… it reminds me of you."
Blair's never been more touched by anything in her life.
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They have an early dinner, or a late lunch, in a small seafood shack Dan has insisted on dragging her to.
Blair is out of place there in her dress, custom made by Eleanor Waldorf, but Dan has mastered the ability to blend in anywhere he goes. She envies that ability, but does not say so.
"The crab is really good this year," he promises.
"Humphrey, there's no way I'm ruining this outfit," she hisses.
"Have a little faith," says Dan, a twinkle in his eye.
She'll always go a little weak in the knees when he shoots her that look. But he doesn't notice as he pulls out her chair for her to sit, treating her like a lady. By now she expects no less from him – Dan is the perfect gentleman masquerading as a grungy writer.
Although he doesn't like to talk about his writing anymore (how times have changed!), Blair fastidiously reads everything Dan has ever published, and a few pieces that have never seen the light of day. Those pieces are works of erotic fiction and the only way she even managed to get her hands on them were through cunning and stealth.
One of them makes her sweat as she reads it, and another will sometimes play out in her dreams. She'll wake up in the middle of the night, panting and clutching the comforter as release escapes her.
Blair's never told him she's read those, but his other works…
After the disaster that was Inside, the revealing (albeit well-written) "novel" about the Upper East Side, Dan had resolved to only write fiction, pure fiction, nothing inspired from his own life. At least, he'd confided to Blair, nothing so obvious as that book. The next two books he'd released were set in Washington (state) and New Mexico, respectively. The first was a satire of the vampire romance craze of the era, and the second was a deeply moving story of a young man who goes hunting for his long-lost mother and connects with his aloof father instead.
She'd recognized Chuck's life in the pages of The Photograph, and also recognized that Chuck and Dan had somehow fallen into repeat of their brotherly rhythm not long after.
It wasn't fated to last, as it turned out. It never did between them.
"How is the new book coming along?" she asks, her thoughts still dwelling on his success.
"Fine. Great, even. I'm getting through about ten pages a day," he confides cheerfully.
"And you won't tell me what it's about?"
Dan ducks his head shyly, but then the waitress arrives and saves him from dodging her persistent questioning. She'll get it out of him eventually.
"What can I get you two to drink?" the waitress asks. Her nametag says Veronica, but she looks like a Betty.
"Some water would be great," orders Dan, "And if you have any wine we'd love to see the list."
"No wine," says Veronica. "Sorry."
"It's no trouble; could we get the crab platter?" he says breezily. He gives her a sincere smile and Blair watches the waitress. She can tell the exact second when Veronica falls in love with Dan Humphrey. It's a carefully honed skill Blair's picked up over the years.
"S-sure," stutters the waitress, and she rushes off to (presumably) recover from the emotional tailspin one charming smile sent her on.
He grins at her, no thought of the woman he's just bewitched, and Blair smiles back.
"You ready?" he teases. "Think you can handle it?"
"It's crab."
"Is that a yes?"
"It's crab."
He laughs at her.
They're silent for a while, Blair contemplating Dan's face, Dan contemplating Blair. She'd never have imagined, if someone had told her ten years ago when their lives had first intersected, that Dan would become her best friend. Nothing against Serena, but she's never connected to Blair the way he does.
"I know today is hard for you," Dan finally admits. He's practically whispering.
She shakes her head. "Let's not talk about it."
"Waldorf."
It's her signal, and she knows she can't hide behind the simplicity of their outing anymore.
Blair lets out a sigh. "Dan, I can't think too much about it, alright? Chuck is – was – the love of my life and it... hurts."
"You know it had nothing to do with you, right?" he prompts. This is the first time in three years that he's spoken so bluntly to her. "You're perfect the way you are."
"That's sweet of you, Humphrey, but it had everything to do with me," she argues with a tight smile. "I'm the one who cheated." She laughs hollowly. "There must be something wrong with me – I get married to a man every sign pointed to, for years, and I ruin everything."
"Blair," he says, and leans forward to put his hand over hers. "You weren't right for each other in the end, but that doesn't mean there's something wrong with you."
There's a moment when their eyes meet, the same moment they keep having over and over again, where everything else falls away and it's just two people alone in the world. Thankfully, Veronica saves them from themselves and drops a large platter of crab between the two, somewhat harder than necessary. Blair smirks a little but doesn't say anything.
Dan takes his hand away from hers. "Thank you," he says sincerely, and the tone of relief in his voice both stings and mirrors her own sentiment.
Veronica puts down two plates before them. "Enjoy your meal," she imparts, shooting daggers at Blair.
She doesn't mind. Dan is more hers than he will ever be some petty waitress'.
The first thing he does is grab Blair's plate and start cracking crab. The crunch of exoskeleton is satisfying, and she'll allow a small moment of amusement when a splatter hits his shirt. Dan merely wipes at the fabric with his cheap paper napkin and carries on preparing her meal.
"I can do that," she protests.
"I thought you didn't want to ruin your dress," he teases.
"…I don't."
"It's just crab, Waldorf; I'm not going to start folding your clothes for you."
Blair smiles, so very vulnerable. "You better not. Most of my clothes need to be hung up, anyway. I can't abide wrinkles."
He understands her insecurity without disgracing her for it, or worse, trying to shame her into self-acceptance. She's eternally grateful that Dan's always understood her on a level no one else could. Not Nate, not Serena (although Serena always was the closest to matching Humphrey, always would be) …not Chuck.
"I still think about it," she admits without preamble, and then pauses.
Dan is silent, cracking her crab for her and waiting.
Her thoughts jumble around, fighting for dominance, and her emotions are in a violent tango.
"The day I married …Chuck, I thought, 'This is it. The games will end and the movie will fade out, and everything will be happily ever after. No more pain, no more hurt. Nothing will come between us again.' And for a while, even through all the scandal and the… the hazing I endured, it was all worth it because we were finally there. I didn't like hurting Louis, and I know you weren't pleased but… it felt like, if I held on tightly enough, everything I'd ever wanted would finally be mine."
He nods and gently puts her plate in front of her, the crab meat neatly separated and ready for her delicate perusal.
Now he starts on his own, and the cracking sounds are just a little bit louder, his movements a little bit harder.
She takes a deep breath. "But I kept waiting and waiting and… I still loved him, I think I'll always love him somehow, but I was holding my breath and I needed air."
"And air was Carter Baizen," Dan finishes quietly. He isn't judging her. She knows how challenging that is.
"Air was something new, something that I didn't have to work for," admits Blair. "How could I relax, how could I breathe around Chuck when our entire world was constructed around games? Carter was just… he played games, but they never hurt me the way… it wasn't… I don't know how to explain it."
"You don't have to."
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Dan drives her home.
She lives in an apartment now, a real apartment and not the penthouse of a hotel. Once upon a time Blair imagined that she'd never leave the Waldorf home. It would be hers forever.
And she'd shared that dream with Chuck, so he bought her the hotel (a symbol, he said, of different times) and entrusted it to her until death did them part.
Now?
Now she cannot return to enemy territory.
They pull up in front of her building, and after he parks the car Dan gets out and hurries over to open her door. Blair knows he'll walk her to her apartment like he always does because he is Dan and he treats her like a princess or a queen, and he's always cautious of her safety.
"So that wasn't so hard," he says in false cheer.
Blair rolls her eyes. "Honestly, Humphrey, you're not even trying."
"It wasn't, though, was it?" asks Dan in a quieter, gentler voice.
"I'm fine," she promises. "Come in for a drink?"
"I have to drive."
"Then come in and drink water while I indulge myself," says Blair. She tugs him toward the elevator, her arm linked through his.
He follows her head, pulling away as if he doesn't want to join her but laughing, laughing easily as they do their customary, rehearsed dance over and over again.
Blair tugs him inside the elevator and presses the sixth floor button. Her pride has long since escaped the demand of penthouses and floor numbers. She is glad to have a place of her own, a haven of her own. Her apartment is not for parties and social gatherings, it is for her and a few select friends.
"Promise not to spike the water?" he jokes, tugging his arm from her grasp only to wrap her tiny shoulders close to his side.
"I never make a promise I can't keep," Blair laughs.
For a moment, she has a fantasy. It's much like that one piece of erotic fiction Dan has stashed away. The one that makes her sweat. Then she takes herself out of the fantasy and into the world where she and Dan Humphrey truly exist, because those thoughts are dangerous.
The ride to her floor is too short, she justifies silently. He would be too surprised to react that way. She is too much a coward to take that risk. So is he.
"I'm glad we're still so close," Dan admits the second the elevator doors open.
"Who would have believed the pair of us," she agrees, and reaches for her key as they turn to the direct left.
"What I mean was…" he falters as she swipes her key in the door and presses her thumb against the lock. The door beeps and they are inside. "After Carter I … I said some pretty awful things to you, and you would have had every right to shut me out of your life."
She scoffs. "Don't be silly. I wouldn't have dreamt it. I never would."
"I'm just wondering… why?"
Blair turns to face him, and Dan is already looking away.
They don't ask those questions. It's not allowed. Somewhere along the way they made those rules, back when Blair was married and Dan was friends with Chuck, the days when everyone thought Nate and Serena would get married and make the makeshift family real somehow. It happened anyway, but…
They made the rules, and he went where he was not allowed.
"Humphrey," she says crisply, "Would you get the wine out? I'd like to put on something a little more comfortable."
"Yeah, sure, of course," Dan mumbles, and she dashes from the room.
It is Blair's honed skill to pinpoint the exact moment a man or woman falls in love with Dan Humphrey. That's not to say it's a normal, everyday occurrence (he's not Nate Archibald) but Dan is a good looking man and he's charming when he wants to be (and sometimes purely by a happy accident). It does happen time and again.
Her skill is not of forced habit or intuition, it is of her need to understand, to pinpoint in herself the exact moment she fell in love with him.
She comes out wearing men's pajamas, silk and well-cut and flattering although not overtly sexy.
Dan's seen her a thousand times in these pajamas. They are safe.
"Wine for you," he says with a sly grin, "And ten dollars' worth of refined water for me." He sits on her couch with the ease of someone in their own home. She sits beside him, crossing her legs like a small child.
"I refuse to drink from tap."
The moment before is banned from memory as they recite lines. He laughs at her, as he always does, and then her cue:
"You laugh now, Humphrey, but when the next study on common sink water is released you'll be begging me for the name of my supplier."
"You don't need a supplier for water."
"Not today, no."
She sips the Crémant d'Alsace quietly. 2003, a slightly bitter aftertaste. It's Blair's favorite, although she doesn't know why. She used to love Dom.
"What I said," Dan tries again, "About how low you were sinking and… I know I've apologized, but it doesn't feel like enough. I was awful."
"Yes, you were," she agrees, "But we've got our fair share of awful between us. What sort of friends would we be if we let those moments define our friendship?"
"I just…" he drifts off and thinks, and she watches his face and wants to kiss him. She wants to every minute she's with him and every second she's without. She wants him to hold her to his side, holding hands and talking late into the night, every night. She wants… what she wants, she can't have.
Blair leans back onto the arm of the couch. "I forgave you three years ago," she reminds him. "It was just words, Dan. You said things you didn't really mean. You were confused. It's not worth the constant angst."
He shakes his head. "You're worth it," he says solemnly. "I've never had a better… friend than you."
She smiles at his sincerity.
"Remember what I told you, the day after you returned from your honeymoon?" says Dan suddenly.
"You told me a lot of things," she says, pointed.
"What I wish you'd heard was that you're worth more than a principality like Monaco," he tells her. "You're worth more than Paris or Tuscany. And you're certainly worth more than a hotel. Maybe you heard me, maybe you didn't. I just wish your life had turned out… happier."
She smirks and tilts her head coyly. "Oh? You mean, I'm a mother of two adoring children, married to the man of my dreams, planning my children's future years at Yale? A society woman, the Queen of the Upper East Side once and for all? Most importantly, devoted to my social climbing ways so fiercely I don't have room for anything else?"
He scoffs. "Maybe just the first part. The one about the children and Yale."
"And the man of my dreams?"
"You don't need a man to live your dream, Blair," Dan murmurs. "You can do that on your own."
"That doesn't mean I want to be alone forever," she counters.
Dan leans over to the coffee table and grabs the bottle of Perrier to refill her glass. "Then… what's your plan?"
She laughs airily. "I don't know; I want what my mother and Cyrus have. I even want what my father and Roman have," admits Blair. She pastes on a sheepish grin.
"Which is it, a model or an entertainment lawyer?" he teases.
"I want someone to talk to," she confesses. "Someone who listens to me and shares my interests and laughs with me. Someone who makes me feel special and beautiful, but makes me feel it for myself. Someone to settle down with and love quietly. Someone who is smart and kind and knows exactly who I am but doesn't care." You, she adds silently.
He looks serious and shakes his head at her. "No," he says.
Blair is shocked. "No? What's wrong with that? I can't imagine anything better."
"That someone, whoever he is," Dan tells her in a hoarse voice, "That someone who knows exactly who you are? He should love you because of that. Every part of you is worth it."
She knows that Dan is in love with her.
He knows that she loves him too.
They dance around it sometimes, on nights like these when they aren't discussing art or films or books. They tease the idea of admitting it aloud, although it's against the rules.
All Blair wants for Dan is to see him end up with a woman who challenges him and makes him think, someone who brings out the sweetness and the charm without the moral superiority. She wants him loving a woman who understands why he gets so superior sometimes – because he feels so inferior.
She wants to marry him, sometimes.
There's a moment when their eyes meet, the same moment they keep having over and over again, where everything else falls away and it's just two people alone in the world.
Dan gets to his feet. "I'll see you Monday?" he confirms, but it's a solid goodbye.
"When Harry Met Sally," she intones. "I can't wait."
He leans to kiss her cheek, and he lingers just long enough for them to dare to believe that, for a second, their lives will one day be fully together.
Then he turns and walks out of her line of sight.
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I know, there's absolutely no resolution and it's cruel, but I have this thing where I can't put characters together when they're not officially canon. Like, this fic almost became a smut party five times but it's just not the way the story plays in my head. I'm so friggin' lame. Please don't bite ^_^