Author Note: This is my first fanfic, though I do write on occasion. Reviews and any feedback (both postive and negative) are very welcome. I have a vague idea about where I'd like this story to go, but not definitive 'end' as yet, so I am planning on multiple chapters. Rated 'T' for now, to be on the safe side.
I do ship Dair, but I've also shipped Chair in the past. I'm just finding the Dan and Blair dynamic much more interesting at present, while I think Chair is getting a little (ok, a lot) stale story-wise, so coupling in this story will probably be mostly Dair related, though I'll just see where it takes me I suppose.
...
It had been almost two months since he'd last seen her. Two months of hanging out in the Hamptons, drinking and partying with Eric, attempting to chase away whatever melancholy he seemed to be experiencing, or at least had been feeling for the past several months. He had been speaking to her, of course; he found that he couldn't think of one good reason to refuse her. They would watch the same movies, then share long emails dissecting and critiquing each scene. Though not at first, as the weeks progressed he had found himself emailing her about other things; maybe some funny anecdote from his day that he thought she might enjoy, or simply to enquire how she actually was. She would always respond, and in time he found himself developing a fairly accurate picture of her new life; a life where she was a princess in waiting, constantly being whisked off to parties, dinners and other such important events, on the arm of her dashing prince. She would always present these commentaries in a glowing light, how her new life was so close to perfection, and how she found herself thinking about Manhattan less and less each day; but still she would take time out from this exciting and manic new life to consort with him, Dan Humphrey of all people. While he hated himself for it, he knew deep down that he was clinging to this fact in a way, probably reading far too much into it, while attempting to brush it off at the same time.
He knew Eric was somewhat aware that he might still harbor feelings for this certain princess to be, but in his characteristically stoic way Eric would never address the situation without provocation, and Dan was not exactly sure what he would even say if he were too broach the topic. It was an impossible thought, as it always had been since the start of their bizarre little 'friendship', the thought that he might feel something for her that wasn't completely plutonic. It was something he had run from, vehemently, until he had to admit that he simply couldn't anymore.
The kiss they had shared initially was something he couldn't help but remember with perfect clarity. Her smell, the softness of her lips, the way she had tasted, the way her body had felt against his; all of it. It hadn't lasted long, it certainly wasn't a full blown 'make-out' session or anything like that, it was just a kiss; but it seemed to have blown itself up in his troubled mind. At the time the whole thing had been confusing to say the least, he certainly hadn't realised in some romantic moment of clarity while he was kissing her that he wanted her, it had been a slow burn to say the least. Perhaps when he had first really felt something was when he had heard her denial that the kiss had meant anything to her, in fact that it had merely cemented her realisation that she should be with Chuck. Then he had felt it, a pang, it had hurt, Blair Waldorf felt nothing for him and it stung. Still he had clung to the hope that he was simply lonely and confused, he could never fall for someone like her. The problem was that as much as he tried to forget the whole thing, he simply couldn't, and in her own way Blair had refused him any respite. Perhaps he could have dealt with it if she hadn't insisted on that ruse, their second and last kiss, and of course he couldn't say no. He had rationalised at the time that saying no would mean his feelings for her were real, after all if he felt nothing for her but friendship then why would he oppose such an act? So he had done it, again, realising only too late that it was probably the worst choice he could have possibly made. Even though it was for the benefit of Louis' butler, and part of one of Blair's elaborate schemes, he had felt that pang again, and once again he remembered the whole thing with almost technical clarity.
He had attempted to distract himself with Charlie, not even consciously but now he knew that was exactly what he had been doing. He was a man after all, Charlie was sweet, attractive and she had wanted him. It was almost impossible to say no to that, especially when he had been trying to get someone else off his mind, someone who would never want him, and someone he could realistically never pursue. He realised too late the mistake he had made in getting involved with Charlie, and he felt intensely guilty for essentially using her in such a way, especially when she was so clearly unstable. He should have noticed the signs earlier, but his mind had unfortunately been otherwise engaged. Not that it mattered now, while the damage was done he had avoided the worst of it, he hadn't slept with her which would have been the ultimate act of usage and he was grateful her predication for instability had reared its head in time for him to put a stop to the whole thing before it really went too far.
But now he was alone with his thoughts, and she occupied them with an intensity that was only fitting given the object. He thought perhaps escaping the familiarity of Manhattan might spare him the worst of it, help him get over this impossible obsession, but in fact it had seemingly done the opposite. There were few distractions here from his own thoughts, and while parties and alcohol numbed the pain momentarily, she still ruled his thoughts and his time. He checked his email constantly, and in the last few weeks had caught himself in the act of calling her more than once when he had found his inbox empty. Of course Eric noticed this behaviour, Eric noticed everything, but he would wait for Dan to make the first move towards talking the situation out, and Dan simply wasn't there yet.
It was two weeks before they were due to return to the city when the literary bomb officially hit. He was lazing around by the pool, ironically attempting to write part of a short story he'd been working on for the past few weeks about unrealised love and moving on, drabble but as always he tended to write what he knew. Eric returned from the local shopping precinct with a phone in one hand and a familiar magazine in the other.
"Um, Dan... have you checked your phone this morning by any chance?"
"No, sorry were you trying to reach me while you were out?"
Eric walked over to him and placed the magazine and the phone on the table before him.
"I think maybe you should take a look at this, then maybe you should check your phone. I'll be inside"
Eric clapped him reassuringly on the shoulder and disappeared inside. Dan grabbed the phone, which was opened to a recent Gossip Girl blast posted earlier that morning.
Gossip Girl here, and do I have some interesting literature to review this morning. It seems quite a few of our frequent readers are literature buffs, and upon reading their copies of the latest issue of The New Yorker, procured this morning, they noticed something which might be of interest to all of you, I must say it was certainly a delectable read for me... and it seems there's a whole lot more to come. I wonder who David Huckleby might be, and who he might be writing about... I've got my theories, but as always I'd love to hear from all of you. xoxo
What followed was an online copy of the mentioned article about an upcoming satire of the upper east side, toted as a 'reasonably true' account by the author who had seen first hand what really went on behind the velvet curtain, and survived to write about it. Included was an excerpt from the book which was set for publication next month. The author was mentioned as wanting to remain anonymous at this time, though publishers were sure this would change once the book was released nationally. They were sure it was going to be a bestseller, and the excerpt was presented as a delectable 'taste' of what was to come.
Dan felt his mouth go dry as he read the short but brutal 'teaser' before him. He was in complete shock as he read the words he had written over a year ago, now seemingly published for all the world to see. He had no idea how this was possible, he simply sat there stunned for several minutes. It had to be some sort of joke, though of course it wasn't, but he simply couldn't fathom how this had happened. He racked his brain but it just wasn't functioning, all he could think about was his words in the article, who would read it, whether they would instantly know it was him who had written it. He knew at least one person would, and it made him sick to even consider the possibility, which of course was really more of a certainty. It took him a few minutes to mentally calm himself down enough to really consider the situation, and the obviousness of the answer made him curse out loud: Vanessa.
Vanessa had found his manuscript, he knew this much, and she had taken it to a publisher behind his back, after he had told her explicitly that he didn't want the story to ever see the light of day. He couldn't believe it, even after everything she'd done in the past year, the idea that she would, could, do this to him was just too awful. He punched her number into the phone, fuming, but was met with a mechanical voice telling him that the number had been disconnected. He cursed again, grabbing his laptop and opening his email intending to send her a message, saying what exactly aside from the obvious he had no idea, but he needed to contact her, scream at her in some way even if it was via text. He went to open a new email when he noticed a message in his inbox.
Humphrey, we need to talk, call me when you get this?
Fuck. He read the short sentence again, imagining her typing it. Clearly she would want to rip him a new one, but she'd rather do it over the phone, just as he would have preferred with Vanessa. She had probably been fuming as she typed that message, but controlling herself, waiting until she actually had him on the other end of the phone before she let fly with the inevitable tirade.
He closed his email, and once again the screen contained only a desperately awful word document, his short story, the one he just couldn't quite write with any real conviction. He closed the screen and leant his elbows on the computer, burying his face in his hands and desperately willing this whole thing to be one big bad dream, all of it. He wanted Vanessa, the manuscript, Gossip Girl, the article and Blair, to just go away. He wanted to just escape somewhere simple and easy, but from the moment he'd entered the upper east side he'd given up simple and easy, and he knew it. Now he'd have to pay the price for his own ambition.
...
The following is an excerpt from The Inside. While the author might be anonymous for now, the manuscript is an undeniably meaty expose of Manhattan's young and elite, who they are, how they think, what they do and how they feel.
Written from the point of view of main protagonist 'David Huckleby' who infiltrated and lived the Upper East Side lifestyle while writing his manuscript; weaknesses, pettiness, scheming, constant in-fighting and social hierarchy provide the setting for a brilliant satire of the privileged, precocious, petty and perverse. But as the following preview will show; there is heart here underneath the seemly and stately setting for what will undoubtedly be a best selling peek into what really goes on behind the tinted windows of town cars, the expensive penthouse drapes and the perfectly groomed facade that is the Upper East Side.
The idea of Claire even attending such a lowly establishment as New York University was laced with a delightful irony from which a lesser man would have derived great pleasure. Watching her squirm like a well manicured fish out of water was satisfying to say the least, having reigned over her little universe with an iron fist for so many years, Claire was now being exposed to the governance of a more mainstream society. She was failing almost pathetically to grasp the idea that in the real world, money and prestige do not automatically guarantee you a spot at the top of the social tier, especially among strictly middle-class college students. Her ridiculous and consistent failure to cement her place in this new social hierarchy was undoubtedly amusing, and I was not above deriving a degree of humor from her current situation, however I found myself bizarrely sad for her at the same time. I couldn't explain why I felt sympathy for Claire, she had been nothing if not supremely curt if not cruel in her previous dealings with me throughout the years, however watching her persistence and stubbornness in her current grasp for supremacy invoked a vague sense of respect for the girl that I simply could not explain.
Claire was many things, and I was loathe to admit that perhaps her desperate search for social status and relevance was not so different from my own desperate need to maintain my identity as Joe Average. Over the last few years I had begrudgingly noticed many similarities between myself and the girl I had always considered as the pure embodiment of everything I resented about this world and the people in it. We weren't really so different, underneath all the traded insults and the undeniably different masks we were forced to wear, perhaps it was her I really had the most in common with of all the crazy characters in this messed up little world.
She tried so hard, fought tooth and nail for her status primarily because she had to. While born to privilege and all the undeniable benefits that came with it, she had never had the social ease that came so naturally to Sabrina, and unlike the latter she had fought hard for what she wanted out of life rather than having it simply presented to her on a silver plate. It was a tough realisation, but just as I had previously resented Blake for the ease with which he obtained privileges I had to fight desperately for, I suppose I saw in Claire that same desperation. I realised how difficult it must be to be constantly outshone by her best friend, yet she still stuck by Sabrina which I supposed showed that if nothing else she was a loyal friend. She was remarkable unto herself, a completely different girl to Sabrina in almost every way, good and bad. Even given my history with Sabrina I had to admit that Claire was certainly her equal in looks, undoubtedly her superior in brains, but she lacked that ease and charm that ensured Sabrina any opportunity she could ever want, and perhaps to compensate for this Claire had learnt long ago that the next best thing to being liked was to lead.
Claire was a leader, it was as though she needed this status as insulation for everything that she simply couldn't achieve. Now she was stuck at a college she deemed beneath her, but she could not rectify the situation like Sabrina could if she found herself in the same position. Instead she needed some semblance of control, something that once again made her feel important and relevant; she needed to be a leader, a ruler if you will. My own new-found social relevance was something that was somewhat surreal to me, but I found myself despite my better judgment wanting to help her. I could not and would not make her the Queen of NYU, but I could attempt to show her that perhaps ruling wasn't everything, and that if she could open herself to the possibility she might in fact realise that gaining friends over minions was far more gratifying in the long term.
So while I cannot completely rationalise my behavior, or explain this odd sense of empathy for this girl when I should have relished watching her crash and burn, I invited her to Katrina's party that night with pure intentions. I wanted to help her out, for some inexplicable reason, and as I looked back at her following me up the stairwell I still maintain I saw something real in that scared and nervous demeanour. As I turned to her, I noted that she was still wearing one of her many headbands, still clinging to her 'crown' as it were. I slipped it off and let it drop down the stairs, and as she fixed me with those remarkable doe eyes of hers and I felt oddly like giving her a hug, but of course I didn't; because Hucklebys don't hug Walbergs, not in our world.