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The cafe is small and understated, with bluish-gold lighting and particularly trendy china. He's never been there before, which, for some reason, excites Dan. It's Rachel's place. She found it, she picked it, she frequents it and drinks chai tea there after work and grades papers while listening to the likes of Oscar Peterson and Norah Jones.
It's like they're sharing a small secret, even if that information is just about the best hot beverage that Rachel's found in the city so far.
He wonders when he stopped calling her Miss Carr and settled exclusively on Rachel.
At first, she's all business. Legs crossed primly and lips pursed in concentration. She calls him "Daniel" and states the facts of their case as if he doesn't know them. As if they aren't plastered all over Gossip Girl for the world to see, the way his entire life has been for the last two years.
Then, her voice starts to shake, the incredulity of the situation growing on her, her eyes widening in barely suppressed horror, and she exclaims, "I would never do that!"
And there's this feeling in his stomach, this strange snap like a twig breaking inside him, and he can hear himself mumbling out some awkward words, and he wants to leave, to never look at Rachel's face again, but oh fuck, he's always been bad at this, she's about to cry – Dan will never understand where he got his damsel complex from – so he reaches out and wipes her tears away, and envelopes her into a hug.
No one deserves this.
No one deserves the wrath of Waldorf.
Especially not someone so pleasant, who loves Shakespeare almost as much as Dan does.
She's shaking but relaxes into his body for a dizzying couple seconds. He hasn't hugged anyone besides Serena and Jenny in months and this new human contact, this fragile female body in his arms feels wonderful. (He wonders briefly what it would feel like to wrap his arms around Claire, and violently pushes the thought out of his mind. It is impossible to hug Claire. She is not real, Humphrey, he scolds himself.) Clutching Serena to his chest always made him feel a bit anxious, like he was impotent, like there was no way in the world he actually deserved her, or could make her happy. But this tiny woman in his arms – oh, he could protect her. He could comfort her. He could…
His brain halts as Rachel pulls back jerkily, shock reflecting in the pools of her chocolate eyes.
"What are you doing," she chokes out, and everything feels so inappropriate and surreal, like he's in a dream watching himself fuck up, over and over. First Blair Waldorf's thigh, now Rachel Carr's back. Today Dan keeps touching women that are not his girlfriend.
Jaw tense, he tries to apologize or explain or kiss her (what?!) but she's running out of the café before he can stop her.
Before the end of the hour, everything is in utter shambles.
Dan is used to it by now. He used to marvel at how much faster time seemed to elapse on the Upper East Side – tick, another scandal, tock, another life ruined – but now he understands it, rides the rhythm of it all the way to school and faces them all without flinching: Rufus, Blair, Serena, Rachel, even the headmaster.
Sometimes he wishes he'd stayed anonymous. Life would have been less exciting, sure, and time would go by leisurely, just another boring day on the clock, but perhaps he would have been better off. He would have been another normal teenager, a lonely boy, sure, but not the eponymous Lonely Boy.
The headmaster seems tired, wizened beyond her years in a way that can only be explained by the constant tirade of vicious teenagers. His father looks beyond disappointed, lips curled and eyes darkened the way he always gets when he's angry, deeply angry; it's hard to stomach but at least he's easy to read.
Serena looks down on him, as if she stands on Mt. Olympus and he is but a peasant who has offended the highest deity. And as Dan feels her steely gaze, he has to admit, she has a right to be looking at him this way. He's been nothing but disinterested in her for weeks. Everything is going south for them – for god's sake, their parents are probably going to get married in the not-so-distant future. They haven't fucked in weeks and, I mean, he would if someone put a gun to his head or whatever, Serena's kind of inhumanly gorgeous, but he doesn't particularly feel the urge to. At night when sexual thoughts overwhelm him, when lust seeps into his adolescent brain and just sits there, makes a lurid home in his brain, he thinks of little Claire mostly. Sometimes other brunettes from school comes up briefly and on his more whimsical nights, Holly Golightly dances through his mind, naked and singing sadly. Serena simply doesn't have the hair for it.
The woman of the hour comes out of the meeting in quiet desperation and Dan's heart jumps a little. Rachel Carr is a gift to Constance. She is everything a person should be, sweet and good and the perfect epitome of subtlety. A lone tear, a light giggle, a crook of the neck. She stands out in Manhattan because she isn't gaudy or loud or glittering. Like seeing something in black and white at a Gatsby party.
"I lost my job," She says. There is no malice or incredulity in her voice. Mere exhaustion and accepted defeat. She looks about four years old. He has a sudden vision of her in a pastel dress, long cotton socks, and patent black shoes, and she looks half-Lolita, half-the horrifying girls from the Shining. It makes him shiver.
Well, to hell with them all. If they have the nerve to destroy someone as pure as Rachel and not even feel a smidge of guilt, fuck them. And if Rachel doesn't want to fight, he will. He knows how they work now, and he can take them down.
Anger bubbles through his upper body, robust and churning. He spots Blair Waldorf; she looks smug and arrogant, buzzing with excitement over her pending admission into Yale. The very thought of attending college with someone as heartless and vindictive as Blair makes his blood boil – his vision goes cloudy as he stares at her from across the room. He zeroes in on her lips, stained a sort of raspberry tart, lower lip invariably pouting, glistening and taunting him. She's wearing a skirt as always and he sees creamy, shapely legs (does she work out? she must have a personal trainer, she does own half of New York) and he wants to just … do something … bad to them. You know, like, he should stab them, because she's such a bad person, and someone should incapacitate her before she harms any more people. He definitely should not kiss his way up from her slender ankles all the way up to her inner thighs until she's panting and begging for him to spread her open and touch her center. Fuck. He feels vaguely like he is about to throw up. His heart pounds loudly in his ears and – well, this is vulgar, but he can feel his pulse in his dick. It is entirely not sexual. This is obviously just the anger talking, making his blood flow in strange places. Dan knows that this is a mistake, that she'll shut him down without batting an eyelash, but he walks over to her anyway, squaring his shoulders.
He gets close to her and says something accusatory and soap-operatic without even thinking about it, a UES trait he's picked up for his arsenal. She smells the same as she did this afternoon when he confronted her in the girl's bathroom – cold tile, blue skirt, parted lips – and he can't quite extricate her natural scent from the overpowering Chanel No. 5.
But it's a little something like peaches. Or nectarines, maybe apricots. Some fleshy, soft spring fruit embossed in pink and orange. How the air smells when the day seems precious, when it's sunny and heavy and there's something you're looking forward to, a tug in your chest that says yes please.
Blair is talking, which Dan hadn't really registered while he was drinking her in, stilettos and all. The facts have become unmistakable and although Dan himself is definitely not attracted to her, Blair Waldorf is, undeniably, one hell of a looker. The kind of girl that brings men to their knees. The face of a princess with a tantalizing attitude, like a forbidden siren. And then Dan admits it to himself, because he can't keep this charade up anymore – she is absolutely identical in likeness to Claire Carlilse. Was his character Claire just a version of Blair that he'd created in his head, so that he could talk to her and be with her all the time, the way he couldn't with Blair in real life?
Nothing makes sense. But she's saying something, I'm weirdly prophetic aren't I, no matter, I'm always right, you should really get used to it, Humphrey, the same kind of useless, dramatic dialogue she always spouts, but when he looks her hard in the eyes, he swears there's a smirk in there, an esoteric code that Dan can't quite understand. He thinks she's telling him to read between the lines.
Oh, but he's so mad at her he can't stand it. He wants to pull her inside the headmaster's office and give her a talking to. Teach her a lesson and show her that she can't shove him around like this. Unless he consents to it, of course, in which case …
And when Serena comes in to break up their argument and to steal him away so that they can talk, as they inevitably need to, Blair scoffs and rolls her eyes at the couple but does this weird little thing where she bends down to grab her purse so that just he can see up her skirt for a few short but mind-blowing milliseconds. Her underwear is made of a diaphanous lavender material; he'd guess chenille or lace from all the lessons he'd gotten in textiles from Jenny. It's gorgeous and tiny and spiders down from her hips to her luscious ass, and Dan is momentarily frozen in time and space as he imagines what it would be like to hook his thumbs into the gauzy lingerie and slowly, torturously, guide Blair Waldorf's panties down her incredible legs.
Before he knows it, Dan is in the courtyard with his girlfriend. The icy wind blows all thoughts of Blair/Claire/Rachel/sex out of his mind, and for the first time in weeks, he focuses on Serena. He holds her trembling hands and sees the strained apology on her face. They are in the same place. That place is not together.
The truth is fumbling and slow but they both know it. They are over for good.
It's bitingly cold, so Dan and Serena gather in a last huddle, more familial than sensual. He feels a hushed peace simmer between them, thanks and forgiveness floating in the air, attainable at last.
Hey, we're going to be okay.
I know.
That night in bed, as Dan reads The Sun Also Rises, little Claire shows up on top of the book. She looks cozy in an autumn sweater, her expression impassive.
You're back! Dan is ecstatic. I'm sorry. Stay. Please stay.
Little Claire stares at him for about three seconds, and then, "I'm glad you broke up with Serena. You're still not forgiven. But I just wanted to express my support."
Dan nods vigorously.
"I'm not going to stay, Dan," she says, a trace of sadness in her voice. "You still have a whole lot to take care of."
He gives her a long, depressed look and she returns one of her own injected with a bit more sass.
"You should take a few pointers from Hemingway. He was so blunt and to-the-point. You're like the worst rambler in the world."
I know, Claire, but who am I going to ramble to when you're gone? I miss you. He's pleading now. Whatever, who has dignity when talking to an imaginary person anyway.
"I miss you, too, Humphrey." She fades away slowly, reminding Dan of the Cheshire Cat, her smile stationary and floating in thin air for one moment longer than the rest of her, then, gone.
Nelly Yuki cracks like an egg. Especially for Dan. He texts her, asking her to meet him outside before school, and she shows up eagerly. Dressed in soft pink, hopeful and breathless, Nelly is no doubt expecting a romantic encounter between the two of them after reading the news of the vanderHumphrey break up that has been dominating Gossip Girl lately. Dan knows this and he can sense it – he's perceptive, he's a writer, remember? He takes advantage of her pliable, obedient nature and bends her to his will, blackmailing her into betraying her queen. He says she looks nice today to which Nelly responds by blushing the color of her skirt. She's a bundle of nerves, spitting out "Dan, I've always wanted to tell you this –" but he interrupts her quickly. "I know what Blair did to Miss Carr," he breathes out, the words leaving a bitter aftertaste in his mouth as he watches her face crumple.
During math that day, he gets up to go to the bathroom, and is walking innocently down the corridor when he is slammed violently up against his locker. Blair Waldorf stands in front of him, glaring treacherously, holding a fistful of his tie and pinning his hands up with her own surprisingly forceful arms.
"Why are you screwing with me," she says smoothly, lips inches from his own. They are glossy and full as usual. Her hair is done up in elegant ringlets. Her eyelashes look about a mile long, and as he looks steadily but anxiously into her eyes, he swears he can see a tear growing in one of them. He pushes down the strange urge to cup her face and hug her tightly, to kiss her feet and beg forgiveness.
"Because you screwed with Miss Carr, and it's not right," he says, sounding distinctly more confident than he feels.
"So what, now you're a vigilante fighting for justice? Is this some sort of bullshit noble cause for you?"
Dan gulps, feeling Blair's hot breath on him. He fidgets, widening his stance. Blair smirks, stepping easily into the space between his legs. He feels her legs press into his, although he can't tell if it's for seduction or harassment or persuasion, or a weird, dangerous mixture of all three.
"I'm just standing up for someone who doesn't know how to – I mean …"
He is tongue-tied and paralyzed. Blair has him trapped and her gaze feels like one of a microscope, pinning him, a small, lowly specimen to a glass slide.
"Cat got your tongue, Bruce Wayne? Do me a favor and stop being so philanthropic. Keep your nose out of my business or so help me God – I will ruin you."
She raises one leg and wraps it around his own tightly as she speaks, ending her threat with her lips literally on his ear. Dan's nerves jitter with activity and he feels his brain slowing to a halt. He officially cannot produce a single word in response.
Blair looks at him levelly, then gives him one last shove against the locker before walking away from him, heels clicking on the tile floor and giggling softly.
Defeated and turned on, Dan trudges to the library. His feet feel heavy and his brain swims with images of Blair/Claire and her sad-eyed vixen smile. He tries to find comfort amongst the dusty tomes lining the shelves of his school's very expensive library, running his tired fingers over the bindings and appreciating the old book smell he's so used to, the one he's savored since he was a child.
By 9 o'clock every nerve ending in Dan's body feels fried. He cannot concentrate on anything. The Thai food he ate for dinner tasted like ash, although he purposely ordered spicy tom yum to shock his taste buds into feeling something. He has heard the news via Gossip Girl that Blair has been punished by the headmaster, that she is scheduled to do community service to make up for her bad behavior, and that her Yale acceptance sits in purgatory. The last blast of news made something loosen in Dan's heart, something that had lodged itself in his chest since his betrayal of Nelly Yuki. Something akin to guilt and also a fervent desire to be right. He was correct in telling the headmaster what happened to Blair. Perhaps Rachel would get a second chance. Blair would learn that what she did was wrong, without suffering any horrific consequence. It was all for the best. Dan had made the right decision.
Still, he couldn't shake this oppressive feeling that he'd wronged Blair. Who cares! He thinks. She's a bitch. A nasty, bon-mot tossing, hazing Upper East Sider with beautiful milky legs and the best ass in the world and the most gorgeous eyes he's ever seen and she had been kind of crying when she pressed him up against the wall and that made him feel so bad…fuck.
Gathering up the last of his resolve, Dan makes one last pilgrimage to see Rachel Carr. Seeing her will certainly make everything better. She will thank him and assure him that he did the right thing. Perhaps she'll make him tea and they'll talk for hours and Dan will finally be able to calm down.
Dan knocks solidly on her door and sheepishly grins down at Rachel who looks surprised to see him at her home. He starts to say something, to explain why he is there, but he is cut off when Rachel suddenly pulls him down to her and kisses him with fiery vigor.
She tastes like cinnamon.
"Whoa – Rachel, what are you doing?" He exclaims, breaking away from her mouth, unsure how to respond to her zeal.
Rachel looks up at him with wide eyes smoldering with lust. There is no regret there, no second-guessing.
"I don't work at your school anymore, Dan," She says slowly, as if willing him to understand. There is a split second where she looks afraid that he will reject her, and Dan thinks about it too. He could just walk away from this mess and he would never have to see Rachel again, nor think about this awful rumor. He could just masturbate at home like usual, and nothing would change. But then he feels a tingle in his dick, a rush of lust, and the slight, tinkling fear that if he leaves, Rachel will cry in shame. He cannot make any more women cry today, or he will die of guilt.
And so he swoops down, capturing her lips in his own. Kissing someone shorter than him is new to Dan, and he finds he likes it, likes bending down to someone smaller and enveloping her in his body. Rachel moans appreciatively, wrapping her tiny arms around his shoulders, saying softly, "You're so muscular, Dan," and he feels a twinge of pride in his masculinity. Her lips are thin but nice and soft, surprisingly fuller than he'd thought, like a small chocolate that melts in your mouth, coating the tongue. He growls a bit when she tugs his shirt off and runs her fingernails down his back. Rachel smiles wickedly and pushes him onto the bed, standing at the foot of it and pulling her shirt off. She is wearing a lacy push-up bra as if she had been expecting sex, unhooks it with finesse and throws it at him. Dan is kind of appalled at her intensity and forwardness, thinking, wow, you were my teacher like two days ago, but stops thinking mostly when she straddles him in her skirt, arching her chest into his face.
Taking her cue, Dan nibbles at her breasts, reveling in the sharp cries she emits as he teases them. Her nipples are small and brownish and pebble up at his touch. "Oh, Dan," she says loudly when he reaches down under her skirt to her panties. The cotton is soaked through, and she squirms as he slips his fingers underneath the fabric to touch her vagina.
"Oh, Dan, I've wanted this," she lets out with a heavy sigh. He is bewildered by this admission, realizing that he hadn't really felt the same, had thought she bore some resemblance to the brown-eyed brunette trend he'd been lusting after, but he had mostly only had eyes for Blaire/Clair. Rachel's crying and her appraisal of his writing had given him some quiver of want for her, but that had been the brunt of it…
Shaking these thoughts away, Dan says, "Me too," and lies down on the bed, taking her with him. She wriggles on top of him and Dan puts his hands on her ass, feeling her tender skin. Experimenting, Dan spanks her ass lightly – to which Rachel sits upright in bed, staring down at him with hungry eyes.
"Ohmygod," tumbles out of her mouth, and she takes off her skirt and motions for Dan to do the same with his bottoms. He feels slightly embarrassed, not sure if he wants to show Rachel Carr his dick, because if he does that, wow, there will be no coming back, but Rachel blows past him at an allegro and takes his member in her mouth.
"Whoa!" He yells, but Rachel peers up at him with mischievous eyes and swirls her tongue on the head of his penis, the most sensitive part. "I want you inside me," she says seductively, and Dan is a little freaked out but definitely erect and horny and past the point of no return.
Quickly and expertly, Rachel rolls a condom on Dan and guides him inside of her, rocking her hips methodically. She's a bit tighter than Serena but mostly feels the same as she moves, setting a steady rhythm. She lets him fuck her for a bit, slow and sensitive, just like a Humphrey, but then says, "let's change positions," and gets on top of him, bouncing up and down like she's on a rodeo horse. Her small boobs flop around and she tilts her head back, mouth open and panting. She cums quickly, yelling his name in between expletives, and Dan takes in the sight of her. Brown hair plastered to her chest in tendrils, sweating and spasming excessively, grinding her pelvis down onto him, she looks like any college girl. "Mm, Rachel," he says, and focuses on the image of his dick buried deep inside her to come to his own orgasm, which shudders through his legs incredibly but doesn't quite reach his torso. She flops off of him, breathing shallowly and murmuring softly, "That was amazing, oh Dan, you're so good…"
His toes tingle in genial agreement with her sentiment. It was good sex. Not great sex, but how much more could a high school boy ask for. He reaches out to cuddle and Rachel responds happily, burrowing into his neck. She dozes off almost instantly, probably worn out from the ordeal of getting falsely accused of having sex with a student, getting fired accordingly, and then making good on said allegation.
There's something warm and musky in the air, the smell of sex mixed in with scented candles, the tartness of cinnamon, and maybe a tiny bit of fresh regret. Dan waves away the last feeling along with every thought of disapproving Claire that invades his brain – no, go away, tonight I'm just going to enjoy this. He falls asleep to the lackluster flicker of the candle, burning fitfully through the night.