A/N: Thanks for the reviews and stuff, guys. And just reading in general. It makes me super happy :)
I mean, Nate Archibald makes me super happy, too. But you know, what with the mid-season hiatus and all...
The second time Blair kissed Chuck, Nate wasn't ever meant to find out. Okay, so he probably wasn't meant to find out any of the times that Blair kissed Chuck, but Nate wouldn't have known this, he figures, were it not for Georgina Sparks.
Nate had learned young: the less sustained contact he had with Georgie, the less likely he was to meet an untimely demise. Some lessons are easily remembered after three hours spent cowering on the closet floor at his ninth birthday party. She'd stabbed him with a hair clip when he refused to hand over his new Gameboy Color.
"You wear too much eyeliner," he told her, in a moment of bravery, midway through third hour biology. Georgina Sparks giggled as she melted the end of her pen in the Bunsen burner between them. She raised her eyes as he stared at the floor, his cheeks burning as he realized the colossal mistake he'd just made.
"Well," she replied, wiping the distorted, melted end of her pen off on his textbook, "Nate Archibald." Georgina rolled the syllables of his name around in her mouth like a particularly unsavory mouthwash. "The thing is, you don't wear any eyeliner at all."
"I don't, though," Nate explained, his eyebrows nearly meeting as he blinked in response. Georgina leaned in and pushed his bangs back with a sharp fingernail grazing across his forehead.
"How's Blair?" she asked, minty breath whipping across his face. Nate knitted his eyebrows even further.
"Uh," he said. "Fine, I think." Georgina grinned, each one of her white teeth flashing at him in the florescent school lighting. She flipped the gas on the Bunsen burner off, and then back on again.
Truth be told, Nate hadn't talked to Blair Waldorf in nearly a week. It was refreshing, to be honest. Blair could be kind of, well, Blair. It was all, 'What are you doing tonight?' and 'Have you finished your English paper yet?' and 'Don't chew on the end of your pen, Nate, disgusting.' It was kind of like dating his mom, sometimes. Nate shrugged. Yeah, so Blair was fine. Probably.
"Fine? Really?" Georgina's smile widened. Nate thought she looked creepy. "And how's Chuck?" Chuck, on the other hand, was not fine at all. He was skittish, and jumpy, and the other day they were playing his Xbox, right, NHL 2007, and Chuck just, get this, let him win. It was so unlike Chuck and vaguely concerning, and really, it takes all the brilliance out of winning when your opponent just gives up. So Nate wished Chuck would snap out of whatever his deal was, and party with him properly again.
He told Georgina none of this. "Chuck's fine," he said, and silently added unless he's seen you lately. Georgina scratched her fishnet-clad thigh and continued to leer at him. Nate glanced back down at the lab table. "Uh," he said, "are these cells still in prophase, or, wait, I think we missed the whole mitosis thing completely."
Georgina blinked. "So," she began. "You weren't at Serena's on Thursday." Nate tapped his collarbone. This, he thought wildly, is probably how an antelope feels right before the lion bites its head off. Georgina hadn't stopped smiling, even a little bit at all.
"I was not," Nate agreed.
"Blair and Chuck both were," she continued. Nate wonders if she'll go away if he plays dead. Probably not. Georgina would probably just eat him and steal his iPod or something. Nate said nothing at all. Georgina suddenly dropped the smile off of her face. "Anyways," she said, quickly, "by STD standards, we have now officially hooked up, since Chuck and I do it on a regular basis." Nate bit his lip.
"What?" Georgie winked at him.
"You know," she said, "in that you've 'hooked up' with everyone that everyone you've actually hooked up with has hooked up with. It's how half the freshman got syphilis, gross." Nate blinked.
"But I haven't hooked up with Chuck," he protested, and Georgina grinned again.
"You have hooked up with Blair, though, I presume," she said, and then "We can take our metaphorical sex to the real level, if you're interested, which I presume you are." Georgina paused dramatically, and sent Nate an ostensible wink. "Which I mean, how could you not be interested? I mean, look at me."
"Wait," Nate said. "I don't get it." Georgina rolled her eyes.
"Of course you don't," she bristled. "Allow me to explain it in terms that even you can handle. Blair and Chuck got a little too touchy-feely in the bathroom last weekend. In conclusion, you might want to get yourself tested."
"Oh." Nate's stomach dropped. "What does that mean, exactly?" he asked, and then, "You know what, nevermind." Georgina fingered her fishnets again.
"I have to use the bathroom," Nate said, and he left, his backpack on the Biology room floor, walking down the empty hallway and right out of the St. Jude's building. It's cold, in February, and the wind leaves him licking his already chapped lips. He bought a hotdog, sat cross-legged on the Manhattan sidewalk, and ate it. It's nothing new. Nate skips Biology all the time.
It's not the apocalypse, not a little bit, not at all. It's barely a blip on the seismograph, and Nate decides never to think about it again. The thing about Nate, though, is he doesn't. He's privy to the sought-after ability to compartmentalize things, put them in their rightful place in his mind, and leave them there. Rarely do they worm their way out and, if they do, he just puts them right back again. It's a useful, peaceful system, and Georgina could be wrong, anyways. Right? She really could. It's not like Georgina has never lied to him before.
So, yeah, it's no big deal. Especially, Nate thinks, because it probably didn't even happen at all. Probably.