A/N: Love love LOVE the reviews I'm gettin' guys! :D They brighten my life. And I know I'm being terrible and writing this long angsty love story. But I promise you, this is a love story. And we will get there. Anyway, this chapter is sort of a half and half mix of POV's. Yes, exactly like chex mix. The first have is 3rd person and the last half or so is 1st person Blair and Dan. Just so side by side, you guys can see which one you like more and which one I need to work on a little bit more. Like I've always said, good reviews are a writers best friend (:

Another A/N: I have NO idea why this chapter gave me so much trouble, I guess because it's a filler chapter. It's just a chapter for the sake of transition to a bigger chapter, don't kill me. I promise you next chapter will not disappoint. And you may have also seen that I am a strong supporter of a different "Dair" - Dorota and Blair. I have no idea why this chapter was so Dorota-involved but I like it. (:

Keep Your Hands On The Wheel

...

I guess what they say is true,

Love hurts.

I thought by now Queen B would've learned that lesson.

No worries B.

Class is in session.

xoxo

...

She stormed into the building waving the door man away and ordering Vanya to bring her luggage upstairs, her heels clicking confidently, despite her clouded disposition. She got into the elevator quickly. And that's when she broke. She had a long way before the penthouse.
She had time to shed a tear or two. Or twenty. She tried to breathe but she couldn't. She couldn't think. She had to remind herself to breathe. She struggled. She finally inhaled deeply and brought herself back to reality. She felt like she was spinning out of control.

Keep your hands on the wheel, Blair.

This isn't Blair Waldorf.
Blair Waldorf doesn't wear last season's Tori Burch flats or tights for pants.
And Blair Waldorf definitely does not break down in elevators over writers from Brooklyn. It just didn't happen.
What the hell am I doing? She thought to herself scoldingly.
Blair Waldorf doesn't let any man make her cry.
No matter how much she loved him.
She thought she had learned her lesson with Chuck. She shook her head, wiped her eyes and said to herself, "Guess not."
By the time she reached her penthouse, she had gathered herself off of the floor, and pulled herself together, somewhat.
She was met at the elevator by a calm Dorota, always prepared for a 'Blair-breakdown'.
"Miss Blair? What's wrong?" She garnered a weak smile, trying to be comforting. Blair moved past her slowly and it was not lost on Dorota how Blair was shaking. She shook like a leaf, a petite, crumbling, Central Park leaf. And it broke Dorota's heart.
She felt like dying as she trudged up the stairs to her room.
Why was this happening to her? Hadn't she been through enough?
She had already dealt with so much in her life, couldn't one thing just be easy?
Being friends with Humphrey was supposed to be easy. And it turned out being the most difficult thing in the world.
She crawled underneath her endless covers and sought solace in their warmth.
She quietly let tears stream onto her pillow in a desperate attempt to maintain control.
"Miss Blair, what happened?" Dorota was at her door, looking extremely worried.
Blair let out a low sigh and Dorota watched as Blair let a few more tears slip down her cheeks,

"Dan Humphrey happened."

She felt the urge to scream into her pillow, as Dorota gently sat on the end of her bed.
"Mr. Humphrey?"
Blair sat up, frustrated.
"Yes, Dorota. Humphrey." She spat his name out, like it was a curse. And for her, in part, it was.
She laid back down on her bed, letting a few frustrated sobs escape her lips.
"Well, whatever he did, Miss Blair, I'm sure he did not mean it. And if he did, you have several tactical takedown maneuvers to choose from."
Dorota gave off a small smile, trying to alleviate the situation.
Blair gave into a small laugh, as Dorota pulled her into a hug.
After several moments of silence, Dorota felt tears seem into her uniform from Blair's eyes.
It was then that she heard the young woman let out an extremely exasperated sigh of pure frustration as she quickly withdrew herself.
"Dorota, I've told you several times, not to let me cry on your good uniform. Especially over Dan Humphrey. Now dab that, don't rub." The older maid saw the young woman's desperate attempt to keep control as she directed her on how to get mascara out of fine linen with a "Damn you, Covergirl."
Dorota approached the subject gingerly, not wanting to cause Blair anymore pain, and not wanting Blair to cause her pain.
"What did Mr. Humphrey do?"
After a long, quiet pause, she watched as Blair stared off into the distance, gathering her thoughts.

"The son of a bitch made me love him."

She said quietly, looking down at her hands.
It was the first time she admitted it to anyone out loud before.
Even herself.
And it was true.
It was so true that it broke her heart.
She felt it deep down inside her, it made her lose control. It made her not care about what anyone else thought. It made her want to throw caution to the wind, this mixed up pot of emotions dwelling for Dan Humphrey. Hatred, annoyance, intimidation, respect, admiration, desire, love.
She felt the control she always had, slipped from her fingers whenever he was around.
She always had to remind herself to keep her hands on the wheel, or she was going to get hurt.
And she was right.
Where she was right now, heartbroken and confused.
This must be the 'nowhere' Dan was talking about.
She sighed as she wiped the tears from her eyes and Dorota eyed her cautiously.

"Miss Blair, you must remember that you are Blair Waldorf, and you can do anything. You are strong, resilient, brave. You come across far more treacherous paths than the likes of Dan Humphrey. You've single handedly saved a crumbling world for someone, one time or another. You are a heroine in a fairytale that has yet to be written. But it will. I promise, it will."
Blair laughed at how well Dorota knew her, and then sighed at what Dorota didn't know.
She went over to her suitcase and pulled out the book, his book, and tossed it on the bed in front of Dorota.

"Haven't you heard? It already has."

Blair could tell that Dorota had already read it based on the look of utter shock on her face.
"This is about you? Miss Blair is Audrey?"
Blair nodded the affirmative and Dorota sprung to her feet.
"Why are you crying? The man that wrote this book loves you, Miss Blair. This author, this man.." Blair cut her off.

"The author is Dan Humphrey. That's why I'm crying. That's why this is so hard.
Because I know he loves me. But he can't say it, and I don't know why.
And I suppose I reciprocate his feelings because I wrote them in an email, while I was lying in my luxurious suite in Monaco waiting for Prince Louie. I mean I must have lost my mind.
But I can't seem to say them here, because that makes them true.
That means Queen B of the Upper East Side is in love with Dan Humphrey the writer from Brooklyn.
And that means it real. And I don't know if I'm ready to admit that this could be real, yet."
She slowly sat down, soaking in all she, herself, had just said.

Blair Waldorf had officially let go of the wheel.

...

Her words ring in his head.
Her voice still sharp in his mind.

"You were too much of a coward to tell a certain someone how you feel."

I really am a coward, he thought to himself as soon as he got back to the loft, safe and sound on the other side of the bridge.
He hadn't meant she was the problem. It came out wrong. And spiraled down from there.
She was all he ever thought about, all he wanted.
That was the problem.
Not her. How could she ever be the problem? She was right. Completely and utterly right.
He was a coward.
He hid his feelings and wrote them down in a book that he never thought would see the light of when she questioned him about it, he avoided it. At all costs. All he needed to do was say four words.
I love you, Blair.
That's it. That's all he needed to say. And sure she might not reciprocate, but at least she would know.
What the hell am I talking about? He shook his head quickly.
I did tell her how I feel. It was in the form of a 205 page book of unrequited love.
And all she wrote was five words.
Five words.
There is a two hundred page difference between those proclamations.
She's the one that needs to say it.
I spent the last two months trying to say it.
It was her turn to decide what she wanted. It was her turn to wait by the phone everyday for a month, hoping that he would call.
It was her turn to feel something.
He grabbed a beer from the fridge and gulped it down thirstily.
Why did everything have to be so difficult? He thought to himself, as he felt like pacing a path through the loft.
He loved her. She said, well wrote, that she loved him back. So, what's the problem?
He should be able to go up to her and kiss her like he wanted to. With the chemistry that only they seemed to have. She couldn't deny that.
All he could see during their first kiss was sparks, he smiled at the memory.
If that kiss didn't mean anything she wouldn't have locked herself up for three days, refusing to see him. He wouldn't have come back every day for a week with coffee until she spoke to him again.
And even then, they were curt brief sentences between scenes of Charade.
And she hated Charade. He had only picked it to aggravate her enough so she would give in and talk to him. It worked, eventually.

"Humphrey, you know how much I detest Charade."

She shot a glare his way, as he struggled suppressing a smile.

"I know, Waldorf. I'm sorry."

They got back on their movie-going schedule and coffee walks.
That's when he realized that he wanted more.
His mind drifted back from the memories of his first feelings for Blair Waldorf.
He sighed to himself, it wouldn't be so easy this time.
He couldn't just stalk her with coffee for a week like he had done after their kiss.
She would be on a flight back to Monaco, back to her prince, in less than 72 hours.
He had to make this fast, and make it mean something.
Intense guilt swept over his face, he knew she would be upset right now. Just as upset as him. He couldn't stand that he made her cry. But here he was thinking about plans to get her back, when he didn't even have her in the first place.

I am ridiculous, he thought, ridiculous and crazy.

And he had to be even more crazy to think that he could woo Blair Waldorf, make her leave her fiance, move back to New York, and make her admit that she loved him, in 72 hours.
But hell, if he made it this far he might as well go all out.
He had no idea why but she was worth it.

...

Blair

I sat in my bed with a small box of tissues and a large carton of ice cream.
"Chocolate, my only friend."
I remembered the days before Humphrey.
Amazing, control-filled, delightful, Queen B days.
He took that all away. He made me doubt myself. He made me lose control.
He made me love him.
I scooped another large spoonful of chocolate ice cream and gulped it down.

Stop thinking about him, Blair.

Stop it, just stop.

I closed my mouth around the spoon until all the ice cream was gone.
What the hell is going on with me?
I partially blame myself for the argument, hindsight. But then again, it was Humphrey.
He turned me into a crazy, hysterical, overly argumentative, belligerent, lonely mess.
I wasn't used to that. I was supposed to be Queen B. The ruthless, conniving, feared leader.
Not the babbling brook of tears that Dan Humphrey turned me into.
Why did I like him so much?
Sure he was smart, and funny, and sweet, and respectful.
But that doesn't mean I had to turn into this.
What gave him the right to say those things to me?
Who does he think he is?
I feel the hot bubbling anger come into my stomach again.
Alright Blair, this isn't anything we can't solve. Or start another fight over.
I feel my eyes prickling with tears.
I grab my purse and storm down the stairs.
I will not let Dan Humphrey make me cry without a second word.

...

Watch out, Lonely boy.

It looks like Queen B is on her way to Brooklyn.

And she's running all the lights.

Let's hope this one doesn't crash and burn.

xoxo

...

Dan

How does she make me so crazy?
Let me count the ways..

One, she is the evil dictator of the Upper East Side, thus knows how to wage war.

Two, I feel like she knows me in a way that no one else does. Needless to say that gives her the upper hand and me a problem.

Three, she smells good. It's not like I mean to notice these things, it just seems like shes always there, always breathing down my neck, with her pouty lips and her expensive cherry shampooed curls. It's absolute madness that I love her, let alone tolerate her.

God, get a hold of yourself, Humphrey!

Did you see that?

I can't even refer to myself as Dan anymore, she's got me warped on my sense of identity as well, that makes Four.

And Five, well, the way she can turn me into this mess of a man with one look.

She is the only woman who has ever made me question my whole knowledge of who I am.
And it drives me absolutely crazy.
I mean, what gives her the right?
I am my own person, I don't need Blair Waldorf storming in making everything topsy turvy just because I'm in love with her.

Please.

Oh my god. I did it again.

I just admitted, again, that I love her, but my Blaired up brain thinks that this is still a fight.
Like I could ever honestly stand a chance against Blair Waldorf.
As if I could ever not be in love with her.
Well it isn't a fight, because she'd win everytime.
I can't deny how I feel about her anymore.
My brain is screaming no, but my heart is giving me the thumbs up.
I have to go for it.
I have to fight for her.
I have to fight for whatever this feeling was bursting through my veins.
It made me crazy, it made me sick, and tired, and exasperated. It made me lose control, it made me reckless, and inspired, and enlightened, and amazingly happy. This feeling took over my body everytime she's around.
Something like that is worth a few cuts and bruises over.
And I'm more than sure Blair Waldorf is in for a fight.
At least that's what I'm counting on. That's what I'm praying for.
She wants this just as much as I do.
I just have to get her to admit it.
I have to get her to feel what I feel.
Like I'm losing control in a car that I'm not even driving because the wheel isn't even there anymore.
That's how crazy this is.
But no matter how I spin it, she is my endgame.

She is the only thing I want to come out of this car wreck.

...