Guilt.

Surging through his veins, purging his poor, fragile heart as it shatters within his shuddering chest. Too hard; he had been too hard on her. Could he not have been appeased knowing she had given herself to him? No – no, he had to break her shoes and practically her neck by yelling at her. Sighing softly, he sets the letter on his nightstand, shaking his head. "Nathaniel Archibald you are nothing but a failure," he whispers to himself. For a few moments, he sits and wallows in self-pity, burdening himself with the blame for Blair's disappearance. However the moment his phone rings and he notes that it is Serena, he rips the guilt from his back and shoves it down her throat.

"You conniving little bitch," he hisses, "telling her to leave. Is this to teach me a lesson? To punish me?"

Serena sounds astonished and slightly angry at his accusations and instantly, the guilt slaps Nate in the face once more. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Could he not ruin anything just once? Fueling the anger within Serena would not help; he had to channel the guilt and force it to become some sort of resolution. But what?

"I'm sorry," he apologizes to Serena. She ignores this, demanding that he show up at her place at once.

The dead sound of the phone disconnecting reminds Nate of the hollowness within his chest. Where once his heart was beating is now an empty solitude. He slowly rises from his bed, mechanically dressing himself. Wandering downstairs he finds himself incapable of comprehending the notion of eating breakfast, and instead he slowly makes his way to the door, outside. He opts to walk, taking his time getting to The Palace. As he reaches the van der Woodsen suite, he finds himself face-to-face with Lily. She blinks, smiling despite her surprise.

"Nathaniel, good to see you. Are you here for Serena?"

"Yes Mrs. – Lily," he says, unsure what to call her. She chuckles slightly, but he continues. "She asked me to come."

Pointing toward the hall, she motions for him to step inside the door. "Sure, she's back in her bedroom. Go on back. Serena!' she calls before she whisks off into the direction of the kitchen. Nate can hear a man's voice, softly speaking to her, and he stifles a sigh. Rufus.

Such complications were the van der Woodsen women.

As he enters Serena's room – door partially ajar – he meets another round of confusion. Her head is bobbing in Chuck's lap and as Nate processes it, his gaze meets Chuck's. He backs away, about to retreat when he is addressed. Serena bolts upright and relief floods its way through Nate's body. Thank God, he couldn't handle Chuck getting action from everyone who meant something to Nate. (such possessive jealousy he has over those who are not his for whom he should protect) She is obviously crying but with her removal lunges Chuck, and Nate finds his body meeting pain – and Serena's bedroom wall.

No words can express what is on Nate's befuddled and baffled mind as Chuck shakes him. Serena finally intervenes and slowly, begrudgingly, Chuck releases his grip. He follows Serena's orders like a dog (nice to see someone can control the mutt, Nate figures) and sits perched on the bed. Unwilling to get too close, Nate lingers by the doorway until Serena motions to a chair across from the bed. Slowly, timidly he sits upon it, watching as Serena drops her body onto the floor – forming a loose triangle shape.

No longer it is all for one and one for all;
they all stand alone.

"We need to figure out what happened, therefore figuring how to bring her back," Serena determines.

Chuck growls from the bed. "Ask Nate, he saw her last."

Two pairs of eyes fall upon his uneasy frame. Nate clears this throat, coughing. "Well, um, as I guess you two appear to know, Blair came over yesterday," he began. Stomach churns slightly – does he really need to give them a full play-by-play? Intent lingers within Serena's eyes as Chuck glances away – the best friend notion already knowing what happens next in the story. But Serena – either nosy or dense, either one of which she is capable – glares at him.

"God Nate, just get it over with already," she snaps.

"We – did our thing. She told me she was with me, things happened and then afterward…" Trailing off, he sits a moment, trying to remember. How did it happen? "I – I really don't remember what happened. I yelled at her, told her I was sick of her games. I told her that – that she only came to me because Chuck turned her down. That she needed to decide based off what she wants and not what someone tells her. I told her she knows Chuck and I both – care," he states, choosing to not mention the L-word. He cannot handle the idea of Chuck loving his Blair. "I told her she needs to take that into her consideration and pick someone based off her wants. That I don't want to be second-best, and I don't think Chuck does either."

He adds in that last part, trying to level the playing field with his (former? he wonders) best friend. It does nothing, though; nothing but a dark stare greets him.

"She left after that," he whispers. "I have no idea where she went. I tried to call that night, it went right to her voicemail. Then I got the letter…" He pulls it from his pocket, fingers trailing over the creases that her own delicate fingers had made. "She could be anywhere."

"No shit Sherlock, money grows on Waldorf trees where Daddy's from," snaps Chuck. Serena glances up at him – it is only then that Nate realizes she is sitting with her back against the bed, head resting against one of Chuck's legs.

Had she been that close to him before? Am I losing my mind?

He blinks and the duo is no longer touching – though he swears that in his blanked out state, Chuck had been running his hand through Serena's hair.

What kind of fucked up nightmare is this?

Settling back, Nate considers a second. "Well, Blair's done this before, you know. Maybe – maybe she's just…"

"Thinking about it?" Serena offers. "It's true. Knowing Blair, she's probably on some luxurious spa vacation in France with her dad…"

"And daddy's boyfriend," Chuck adds, snickering softly at the notion.

Nate smiles. "Exactly. And she'll be back tomorrow, or next week – once she misses us. Right?"

Right. You can only hope.