Author: Lauren.

Rating: Rated M.

Character/Pairing: Blair Waldorf, Nate Archibald, Dan Humphrey, Serena Van der Woodsen, Dan/Blair, Nate/Blair.

Summary: Sometimes Blair feels like she's always in between. Nate/Blair, Dan/Blair.

Disclaimer: GG isn't mine. Especially not it's shitty ass more recent seasons. Although I do wish I owned the books.

Author's Note: So I know it's been a while and I'm sorry for that. But I'm writing another update as we speak so enjoy it while you can.

Is there anything worse than a bachelorette party? Right now, Blair doesn't think so. They're seated at the dining table, surrounded by information about venues and colour swatches and everything else that concerns the wedding and the endless list of things that remain undecided.

"We could go retro," Serena suggested, swiping a finger along the edge of one of the cupcakes they were supposed to be testing and tasting the frosting "Bad eighties music and jello shots. Or back to school, I think I still have my Constance skirt somewhere," she glanced at Blair, who was flipping hurriedly through a copy of the New Yorker. Intrigued, Serena lifted it from between her best friends fingers. "Why do you have-" she glanced at the date "An old copy of the New Yorker? Are you researching something?"

Blair looked up as if she'd only just realised Serena was seated across from her. "Oh nothing, just my Mom told me about this article I should check out and I couldn't find it." That was a blatant lie, but Serena seemed to buy it and pushed the dog eared copy of the paper aside. "Besides, you're the Maid of Honour," Blair squeezed Serena's hand "You make the decisions and I know I'll love it."

She could see a mild frown forming on Serena's brow but it passed as quickly as it had arrived. Blair had been acting extremely unBlairlike of late and her best friend was beginning to notice. Luckily she put it down to wedding jitters when in truth, Blair hadn't felt like herself for a long time. It's as if she's looking in on everything, floating somewhere outside of her body but she can't seem to muster an emotional response to anything anymore. Nate... Nate's enveloped in everything, in the city, in their friends. He's always suggesting dinners and drinks and why isn't she excited? She's never excited.

She's in her bedroom when her phone rings. Blair snaps open her lipstick-red Marni handbag and the caller ID reads that it's her Father. She considers not answering.

"Hey Dad."

"Blair Bear!" his voice is filled with his usual comical level of enthusiasm "How are you ma cherie?"

"Fine," she pauses, before realising how deflated she must sound "Great, I'm great."

"I'm glad," there's a smile in his voice and Blair hears speaking in the background "Well I must dash but I'll be booking our flights over soon, can't wait to catch up on all the wedding details. Love you."

"Lo-" he hangs up before she has a chance to finish. As she gazes around the room, her bedroom, she registers the Tiffany blue walls, the silky luxury of her comforter, the plush carpet she's spent so many nights crying upon, her collection of Audrey DVDs. Giving this up won't be easy.

She and Nate have been visiting apartments for over a week now and nothing's right. Well, there were several that could have worked but Blair always finds something wrong with them. The ceilings aren't high enough and where's all the light?

Nate corners her in a walk in closet when the realtor has left them alone. There's a frown between his eyebrows and he takes her hand in his.

"What's going on?" she hates that he does know her, even though she'd like to pretend he doesn't.

"Nothing, nothing," she murmurs, trying to get him to let go. Just let go. "I'm tired and my Mom's driving me crazy. I'll be better tomorrow, I promise."

"Tell me what's going on," he refuses to budge, lifts a hand to her forehead and sweeps a strand of hair away "What's going on in here?"

She looks up at his perfect face, the way his blue eyes crinkle at her, asking for the truth. But she can't, she just can't. So she leans up and kisses him instead.

"Let's go home," she whispers, squeezing his hand and leading him toward the door.