Title: Silk Lines
Chapter: Six
Disclaimer: I don't own anything.
Rating: T
Ship(s): nate/blair, chuck/blair
Summary: It's them together, as it should be – as it should have been years ago.
–
New York, New York; 2010
Later, as they ride to the hospital in the back of a cab, Blair can't shake off the jittery feeling of last night and the actions that had taken place in the morning.
It haunts her like the vestiges of a dream, not really a nightmare, but something that completely resembles a close memory. It replays in her subconscious in vivid detail, unbidden, at times whenever her leg accidentally brushes Nate's, or when her fingertips lightly dawdle over her lips.
When her cell rings, she is momentarily relieved. She searches through her purse to find it.
Serena's name flashes on the screen, and Blair's insides harden at the thought of what could happen if her best friend were to find out who she is with and how she has spent her last twelve hours. Blair refuses to even entertain imagining what Chuck will think, because that will only amount to that sickening, white hot burning in her chest, something she will most likely classify as shame.
Then why did she kiss Nate in the first place?
Blair doesn't give herself the chance the retaliate against her conscience. Instead she answers her phone. "Hey, S."
"Carter broke up with me." Serena says out of nowhere, her voice slightly distant and groggy.
Blair isn't surprised. Carter unquestionably has the nerve to leave Serena when her step-brother is dying. The only thing that is appalling is that Carter hadn't done it sooner.
"He said that he understood I was upset about what's happening to Chuck, but he couldn't have a relationship with someone who spent all their time at a hospital."
"I'm sorry, Serena," replies Blair, even though she's not certain if she means it or not. She catches Nate's concerned look at the sound of her best friend's name, and quickly turns away to look out the taxi window.
"It's not big deal, I guess," her friend replies, "I can't remember the last time I talked to him about anything that mattered."
Blair nods her head, realizes that Serena can't see her, so she stops. She ignores the fact that the same thing could be said about her and Chuck.
–
New York, New York; 2011
The first time Blair had seen Nate and noticed him as more than just another boy in the school yard, she thought he was beautiful. He had been all golden brown hair and slow smiles and shy eyes.
And she had wanted Nate to see her too; see her for more than just nice frocks and delicate brown curls. Blair had wanted him to see her dimples and her giggle, and the moment his blue eyes had landed on her, she wanted him to see her heart.
Blair decides she wants him to have it when he kisses her for the first time, because that kiss meant something big and utterly surreal.
A kiss is always supposed to mean something. That one means something too. That one, impulsive, sloppy kiss Blair had given Nate in his bedroom last year, it meant something.
Maybe it had been a thank you, or it somehow resembled the finality, the closure, they had never achieved. Or perhaps the silence had just gotten too suffocating. Whatever it had meant at that time, it couldn't have been anything more.
But sometimes, late at night, when she is lying against the soft white linen sheets, Blair can still taste him – sweet liquor mingling with mint toothpaste. Sometimes she wishes that kiss had meant something else.
But only sometimes.
–
New York, New York, 2010
Moments before they step into Chuck's hospital room, something stirs in the pit of Nate's stomach, a foreign mantra drilling itself into his guts, followed by disinterest, and denial and then coldness. The guilt has yet to come, and Nate doubts it ever will because he has no shame for kissing Blair.
And yes, that makes him a shitty person.
However, all of his inner thoughts instantly disappear, and he stops dead in his tracks as he opens the hospital room door, and Jack Bass comes into view.
Suddenly he feels nauseous.
Next to him, Blair sucks in a breath, and Nate can see her try to remain levelheaded through the glare induced by too much annoyance and not enough common sense.
Nate knows that she's startled and perhaps even a little afraid, because Blair has been here before, between the crossfire of two different men. Three, if Blair can remember to count him as well.
The morning is no longer questionable. Blair, nor Chuck, look as if they are perspicuous and no longer have that one common goal of getting through the day. Instead, she looks lost, and Nate is sure if someone doesn't say anything soon, then, well, God help them all.
"Blair, how nice to see you." Jack drawls, eyes shinning from the sunlight coming in through the large windows.
Chuck beckons her over to his side and she quickly obliges. Nate looks down at his hand that had also been outstretched in Blair's direction. He hadn't even felt it move, but chooses not to dwell into that issue and focuses rather on the situation before him. He promptly pulls it behind his back, hoping no one had noticed it.
Of course, Jack had seen it. The man studies him, almost as if he's contemplating how to make Nate even more uncomfortable than he already is. A second later, a wink creeps onto his face.
Nate doesn't know what it is about Jack Bass, but he's seriously starting to piss him off.
"The doctors postponed my treatment till the end of the week. They said there were a couple of more tests they wanted to do," informs Chuck.
Jack replies by saying something witty about the health care system, and then talks about a business meeting he must attend, so he won't be in New York after tomorrow. Then he leaves.
A collective sigh of relief sweeps the room.
Blair and Chuck begin speaking in small voices as she hesitantly settles into the chair next to the bed. Her hand reaches out to caress his arm and Chuck's eyes keep lingering to where Nate is. He stares at him, trying to figure him out, and Nate has the sinking realization that he's overstepped some unknown boundary.
He looks down at his wrist, checks the time, recalls that he has a class starting in a couple of hours, and slips out of the room.
–
"I... I'm not sick anymore."
Something opens up inside Nate, something vast and shapeless and empty. He decides to call it happiness.
"What?" Nate asks, flabbergasted.
"The trail medication, it, they," Chuck adds with unneeded emphasis, "worked. The last few tests the doctors wanted to do when I was supposed to start chemo ... they found out that I may have actually beaten this thing."
What the hell?
Blair is across the hospital room from Nate, suddenly latched onto Chuck, but Nate can still see every detail of her face. Every line and curve of her features combine to create that heady, exciting swirling that she's been missing for the past couple of months.
Something that couldn't be connected to him.
Blair's eyes flick towards him, her smile spreads a little wider, and Nate doesn't know why. And for a second, it infuriates him that she can look at him, look him in the eye, and not know of all these conflicting thoughts are running through him.
She's supposed to be the smart one.
Nate doesn't know what to do, doesn't know how to deal with whatever is going on around him. Focusing these thoughts on Chuck, and trying to conjure up something coherent and appropriate to say, well, it isn't helping to make things any clearer.
It's not Chuck's fault. Nate just wants to blame him because it's Chuck, and because he can, and because there had been a number of things Nate had the chance to blame on the man, but never did. Fuck, Chuck is healthy again. So why is it taking Nate so long to congratulate him?
When Chuck tugs at Blair's necklace, enough for him to pull her head towards his, Nate knows why.
He stops trying to determine what to say. Heat floods his head, and a new batch of uncertain thoughts scatter his brain.
This wasn't supposed to happen – the truth leaves a bitter taste in his mouth.
He can't deal with this, he doesn't really want to have to deal with this. Words cannot describe how much he has wished he never had to be in this situation again.
At least he can comfort himself that since no one else knows, he can put it off.
For now, denial works just fine for Nate.
–
Bridgeport, Connecticut; 2014
"Aren't you going to ask why I'm here?"
Nate can think of many wavering serious responses that really will not help, and it's only the burn in his chest that forces him to breathe again.
It all begins to snowball when Chuck reaches into his pocket and takes out a cigarette and lighter, a pained expression on his face. And like a punch to the stomach, it hits Nate that he's the only one who has made the connection. He is the only one who knows, as of the moment.
As Chuck takes a long drag, the knowledge feels like it's pulling something from inside Nate, drawing an ache from the pit of his soul that is suddenly crashing down on top of him. Unlike last time, the focus is all on him. Not on him trying to protect someone else.
"That'll kill you," says Nate, gesturing to the cigarette.
Chuck's breathing turns into a surge of staggered inhales and exhales.
Nate wonders what he is thinking about right now. That alone should terrify him because Chuck has always held back on expressing feelings, so Nate shouldn't really care.
"Not before the cancer does," he shrugs forcefully, drops the lit cigarette to the porch ground and jams it with his shoe, "now you know that it is going to get to me first."
When Chuck walks back inside and heads to bed for the night, it is only then does Nate feel the whole weight of the situation. Because ultimately, life is crushing Chuck underneath the heel of it's foot like a half-smoked cigarette.
It hadn't made a difference a couple years ago, but Nate doesn't dare to say it out loud in fear that it will make it real this time.
–
