A/N: Hi everyone. Thank you all very much for the feedback - I'm glad you're interested in this story.
This chapter, well, it just became the weirdest thing. So I could really do with some criticism, if you please.
Oh and it's my very first time admitting that Chuck exists. A traumatic experience indeed.
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Outtakes - Chapter Two
2014
Tonight is one of those nights when Dan wishes he hadn't sworn off alcohol. (A resolution allegedly made because drinking gives him headaches, but in truth because it makes certain things surface, things that he has built his life around avoiding.)
Specifically, it's one of those rare nights when Chuck is gracing them with his presence.
At Serena's insistence they all gather once a month at whatever swish new eatery happens to be on everyone's lips. All being those over whom Serena still has sway. Usually Chuck is terribly sorry but unfortunately he can't possibly make it because he has to dash over to Chicago for 24 hours. Nate sometimes attends but has a habit of leaving before dessert to go placate some seething, neglected girlfriend. But Serena will take what she can get because this is her life and these are her friends and they are going to enjoy spending time together if it kills all of them. So all usually means Dan and Blair.
And they put on a good show. There's no bickering, no put-downs, no insulting names. They are always perfectly civil to each other. Serena is delighted to see them getting along, because Serena has failed to grasp that this is the opposite of getting along. If they were getting along, there would be tension and friction and, quite probably, rudeness. Blair would not smile politely at Dan's lame anecdote about speaking to a guy who once spoke to William Faulkner. Dan would not chew his linguine in silence as Blair rants about the ugly ensembles of the Spanish slut who lives on the tenth floor. They would speak freely to each other and it would be real.
But there is nothing real between them now.
There are fleeting moments when it pisses Dan off that Serena doesn't worry about these evenings being awkward. That she thinks so little of what was once between him and her best friend that it's not even on her radar. Just fleeting moments though.
This evening, Dan has said almost nothing, zoning out while his companions hoover up wine and scandal. He wishes he could be as brazenly distant as Chuck, who for the last hour has alternated between sending e-mails, darting from the table whenever a call comes through, and flirting with the hostess as he saunters back. But it doesn't matter anyway, because Serena has failed to notice Dan's silence, due to being occupied with the outrageous news of Penelope-and-the-Aging-Soap-Star. It is all just noise and he concentrates on chewing and on the effort it takes not to think.
He tunes back in again as the waiter is hovering over them and Blair is shaking her head and saying "You must have something else, the Merlot is ghastly." Ha. As if this over-worked, underpaid wannabe actor will give a crap about some rich girl's exacting taste buds.
Once they finally decide on a bottle and go back to their conversation, Dan does something he never does. He looks at Blair. Really looks at her.
And as Serena talks animatedly about a trip to the Caribbean that she thinks they should take, he wants to listen. He really does. But he's looking at Blair and thinking about the fact that she is drunk. And about how she used to avoid getting drunk, other than on one or two pretty memorable occasions. And then she would get all worked up because it made her feel messy, less than perfect. Perfect. Once upon a time he thought she was perfect. Once upon a time he was even allowed to say it out loud. Oh god, booze or no booze, it's about to surface, everything he has got so good at drowning out and he definitely isn't equipped for this and fuck - it has to stay down, to stay dead, or else it will overwhelm him, and then what? So he does the only thing he knows how to do, he puts his arm tight around Serena, so tight that she giggles. And he focuses on the sensation of his arm against her shoulders until there's nothing else, and he has won, and he's not in danger any more.
For a moment he wonders if he is the worst person in the world.
Then Chuck makes him re-assess.
"I have to go," Chuck declares, looking at his phone and rising quickly from his chair as if he is a surgeon about to go save a life, rather than a loaded brat off to swindle money out of some greedy sucker. "My apologies", he says, nodding at Serena.
"No!" pleads Blair, tugging on his sleeve like a neglected child, until Dan has to look away so as not to vomit.
"Blair, for God's sake, you know about this deal."
"But we - "
"I'll see you tomorrow", he mutters, and adjusts his rumpled sleeve before kissing her wine-stained pout and walking away.
Dan glances at her face, and it's as if a light has been switched off inside her. If only he hadn't seen that. He waits a moment, until Serena begins talking again.
"Excuse me", he says quietly, stepping away from the table.
He's almost at the door when he catches up to him.
"Hey. She deserves better," he says firmly, before he can even turn around.
There are so many ways that Chuck could respond. He could say This is none of your business. He could say I know what I'm doing. He could say You know, you're right.
Instead he goes straight for the gut.
"My my, Humphrey. Still?" And he shakes his head. "That torch must be getting heavy. You've been carrying it for an awfully long time now."
Dan tries to ignore him. "Can't you see she's not okay?"
Chuck is laughing now, and Dan has to stop his hand from flexing into a fist. "What is the matter with you?" he says, as an alternative to a punch in the face.
Laughter still lining his face, Chuck looks at him long and hard. "You think you're going to rescue her? You're not the knight, Humphrey. You're not even the pawn." He pauses for effect and then whispers like a cartoon snake. "Because you're not in the game. You're nothing."
And then he's gone.
If this weren't all so horrible, Dan would be laughing too. The fact that Chuck is real, that he does and says these things, is so absurd. Does he buy his cheap dialogue from a Mexican mini-mart or what? He marvels that he didn't disappear in a puff of smoke.
When Dan returns to the table, Blair is shrieking much too cheerfully about how she doesn't mind and she wasn't expecting him to come anyway and she's just so happy that everything's going so well with his deal.
Serena turns and strokes his arm while Blair takes another swig.
"We should take her home", she tells him solemnly, as if she is the best samaritan who has ever lived, and definitely not a drama queen who needs to manoeuvre herself into the center of even the smallest crisis.
Then, hearing his own thoughts, he wonders: When did I become such a nasty bitch?
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He waits in the foyer while Serena puts her to bed. He's back in control of his traitor brain, and doesn't think about any of the things that have ever happened (real or imagined) on this exact spot. Instead he thinks about how weird it is that some people like Russell Crowe and also about how he heard some people have a gene that makes them hate cilantro. Good job, he tells himself.
It's not long before Serena is coming back down the stairs, shaking her head.
"I'm worried about her," she says.
He shrugs. "We'll leave a message with Dorota to check on her."
"I think we should stay."
"Stay? Here?" His voice is rising discernibly.
"We can stay in my old room. Just in case she needs someone."
Another of those fleeting moments, when he wonders how it's possible that Serena doesn't see how uncomfortable he feels in this situation, in this apartment, in this life. Everything is so simple for her.
He looks nervously up the stairs, wishing he didn't know the feel of her doorknob turning in his hand, the whisper of her rug under his toes, the scent of her soft sheets. Fuck. How did he just go there?
"Come on", Serena says, oblivious. She smiles and takes him by the hand.
While he watches the city lights stream past the window, Serena begins to channel-surf, until she suddenly finds something that pleases her; and with a squeal of delight she settles back into the couch.
Dan looks up at the screen and smiles thinly.
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2007
A fight.
A hallway.
An unlikely conversation.
Believe it or not I actually came here myself.
Normally I wouldn't be this close to you without a tetanus shot.
But I wish I had. Because even if it didn't change anything, she'd know how I felt.
And then it's quiet, and she has this look on her face, like she's going somewhere far away. And the brief, brief moment they just shared... is over. He feels sort of sorry, and sort of relieved, because he doesn't know what else to say and just staring at her is making him feel like a giant weirdo.
Finally she looks back at him and breaks the silence. "Why are you here anyway?"
"Well, uh, my legs were getting tired," Dan ventures. "And this looked like a comfy spot for a rest." He's pretty sure she doesn't want him to say what they obviously both know: that she looked like she needed someone to talk to.
She shoots him the patented Medusa Look. "I meant why are you here? At the shoot?"
"Oh." (Why does he feel guilty all of a sudden?) "Well, I mean, for Serena."
Her expression is unchanged. "This is your idea of a date?"
"Maybe. It seems sort of stupid now."
Her eyebrows shoot up at the opportunity. "You dating Serena?"
"No", he replies, as firmly as he can. "This particular date", and he wiggles his fingers like pathetic quotation marks.
She shrugs, as if to say 'Better luck next time'.
Everything is quiet. Feeling like a creep again, he starts to get up.
And then:
"She likes scary movies."
Dan stills himself. "What?"
"Serena. She likes scary movies." She's looking away, as if bored.
"Oh."
"Like Saw." She can't resist turning back a fraction, to see how he reacts to this news.
He grimaces. Then sits down again cautiously.
"Are you trying to warn me off? Because okay, I don't know Serena that well, but I really find it hard to believe that she's going to start detaching my limbs."
"No, you moron." Blair speaks very slowly. "I'm telling you that she likes scary movies."
He's still looking at her quizzically.
"So...?"
A sort of huffing sound. "So that might be a less stupid date."
"Oh. Right."
He reflects for a moment.
"Really? She likes those?"
"Really."
"But they're so - "
"I didn't say I liked them", Blair snaps.
Her eyes are back on him now, like she can see right into his brain, into the 'Serena' folder which he is currently re-shuffling, replacing some of the things he made up about her with this new, unexpected fact. And like she is wondering what this re-shuffle means to him.
"Well, thanks. For the seal of approval."
"When did I say anything about approving?" and she turns away again.
He smiles. "Well, I should probably head up there."
She doesn't respond. He stands and then instinctively leans down, offering his hand to help her up. She looks at him like his fingers are smeared with fish guts, and gets up without his assistance.
It's not the last time she doesn't let him hold her hand.
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2014
It's still dark when Blair wakes up. She scowls in the gloom, trying to recall why her head feels like this. She doesn't even remember getting back. Groggily she switches on her bedside lamp. On the table she spots a glass of water and a handwritten note.
I'm in the guest room if you need me, S xxx.
Oh. Oops.
That's what happened. Dinner happened. Wine happened. Chuck happened. She wishes he was here, that she could just grab hold of him and cling on tightly and persuade herself that nothing else matters. It's always somehow okay when he's around, always much easier to fool herself, veil herself under the sheer weight of his personality. But when he's not there, she's exposed. She's in danger of turning into that scary thing she does so well to avoid: herself.
She shivers then, and registers that she's only wearing underwear - for god's sake, what kind of crappy nurse are you, Serena? - and hops inelegantly to the door where her robe is hanging. Before she's finished tying it, she hears soft footsteps padding down the corridor. Amazed that Serena is already up, she flings open the door.
The figure that freezes guiltily before slowly turning its head is not Serena. It's Dan Humphrey. It's a rumpled Dan Humphrey.
She slams the door shut again.
Her headache just got twenty times worse.
She takes a moment to recover, hand still gripping the doorknob. "Why the hell are you here?", she finally snarls through the door.
"I was getting a glass of water," he whispers back, hesitantly.
"Tired of the malaria in the Brooklyn water?"
It isn't possible to hear a smile. Right?
"No. Sorry. We're here because we brought you home and Serena thought... she thought we should stay. She did leave a note."
She ignores the last part, pleased that she has made him feel awkward. "A little melodramatic, don't you think? I do apologize if you were hoping for an enormous crisis on which you could base a magnificent story. I'm afraid I'm quite alright."
No response.
"Humphrey?" she asks, in a tiny voice. Her hand moves from the doorknob to press against her throbbing temple.
He must have crept away.
Then she hears him clearing his throat. "Well I'm glad to hear you're alright," he whispers.
Her odd relief that he is still there comes out as precisely the opposite sentiment.
"Well you'd better get back to your princess. She might have woken up and be wondering where you are."
"No", he says. "She's dead to the world. You know how soundly she sleeps after she watches a horror movie."
"What?"
"Hostel was on earlier." And this time, she just knows that he's smiling.
It's quiet again and once more she wonders if he's gone. Then she hears a sort of rustling and from the slightly altered sound of his next words, she realizes he has sat down against the door. For some strange reason she holds her breath.
"So you're ok?", he whispers.
She realizes she has to sit down too, to hear him properly. It's peculiar. Blair Waldorf does not sit on the floor. Except for those times when she does.
She finds she has nothing to say. So she simply rests her sore head on her arm, picturing his doubtless baffled expression.
"Because I know it's none of my business", he continues, "but you seemed pretty upset when Chuck - "
"You're right", she snaps. "It is none of your business."
"I'm sorry. But if you need help - "
"Is this an intervention? You know you're supposed to have the person in the same room, right?"
There's a long pause. It's so annoying, the way he runs his hand through his hair. Okay, she can't see it, but it's definitely happening, and it's annoying.
"You mean you want me to come in?" he asks.
"No!" she cries, much too loudly.
"Okay!" he hisses back.
She changes to a desperate whisper. "I mean, no, no, I do not."
She fiddles with the tie of her gown for what seems like an eternity.
Until:
"Blair, if you do need help - "
"If you could take just five minutes out of your busy schedule of being a judgmental ass, you would see that Chuck is helping me."
"Really?"
"Really."
"Okay then." He's clearly drinking some water, uneasily.
She isn't going to explain it to him. That Chuck is there for her. That he has sent her to the best therapists. To a specialist clinic. That he sees perfectly well how defective she is. (She doesn't say that it would be better if she didn't need all of this help. Because she hasn't figured that out yet.)
He can assume whatever he likes.
"I'm sorry Blair. For you, that is. For whatever you need help with. Not for doubting Chuck."
Her voice is getting dangerously loud again. "You think he has zero dimensions, don't you? You think that the rest of us are cartoons. That you're the only one who's complicated."
He's quiet and she knows that she's hit the nail on the head. Right now he's either staring at the ceiling or biting his thumb-nail.
"I'm not that complicated", he whispers eventually. "I try to say what I mean. Even if it doesn't get me anywhere."
She can't stop the blush from rising on her cheeks. Luckily he moves on.
"And obviously Chuck is complicated. Come on, who could deny the intrigue of that much man-pain?"
She rolls her eyes and tries not to smile, just in case he can tell. And that's when she realizes that this is the first real conversation they have had in two years.
There's another pause, and then he whispers that he should probably try to sleep now. "If only we all had it as simple as Serena," he adds.
Blair snorts. "You think Serena has it simple? God, open your eyes, Dan."
She might as well have slapped him. She could swear she felt him flinch. At the mystery of her words. At the use of his name.
"What does that mean?" he asks in a timid voice.
Shit. Not her place, not her place.
"Nothing."
"Blair?"
"Look, all I'm saying is that Serena tries so, so hard to be happy. And, well..."
"Yes?"
"It's making her not so happy."
"Oh."
"So."
"So."
"So you might want to look out for that."
"Thanks for the advice," he says slowly, obviously frowning. "Well, good night Blair."
She hears him pull himself up to stand, and the spell is broken. Flustered, she leaps up and goes to turn off her lamp. But just as her fingers meet the switch -
"Oh and Blair?"
He's closer than ever; his face must be right against the doorframe.
"What?" she whispers, approaching the door again, getting close enough to feel the deep rumble of his subsequent words.
"Are you up to date on your tetanus shots? Since I will be using your bathroom."
She maintains the Medusa look long after she knows he has gone.
TBC
