Disclaimer: I don't own Gossip Girl.
I've been trying to reply individually to all who have left me such nice and constructive reviews. I fear these little notes might be a bit clunky and annoying, but I wanted to recognize those who don't log in as well. So, to Desi: I'm sorry I momentarily devastated you but I'm also thrilled that you may or may not read my fic while drunk; to KitKat: I am so glad you are happy with my depiction of the city, as it is after all my favorite place in the world when it comes down to it; to Leona: Thank god I haven't made Carter schmoopy, haha. Also the line you highlighted was my favorite too. It was sort of my attempt at defining what Carter does for Blair in as few words as possible, because clearly I can be too wordy at times; to Lily: Chanel Paparazzi is just a nail polish shade. It's lovely. And no, I don't live in Brooke's neighborhood; to Elise and Miky, thank you as well for your kind reviews, I am so glad you like the story!
So, onward. And thank you for reading. – Sarah
Apocalypse.
12:43 a.m.
"Carter," Blair coos softly, almost inaudibly because she's not sure if she really wants to wake him or not, and gazes down at where her newly-reinstated not-boyfriend is fast asleep beside her in her sea of blue blankets.
His breathing is even, his eyelashes casting spiky shadows over the tops of his cheekbones, and her heart constricts in her chest in a way that's a million worlds away from the wild hammering she'd nearly grown accustomed to of late.
She feels suddenly, completely at ease, she realizes, looking down at him, despite the fact that the carnage from the trainwreck that's become her life is still bleeding all over the place.
She can't remember if she's ever felt completely at ease before, and the realization makes her take pause.
"I'm done, now," she'd told him. "I'm done trying to plan, I'm done trying to fix. The only thing I want to fix is this."
She'd known the words were true because she'd had no control over them or the way they'd flown from her with all the ease of simply exhaling, and he'd accepted them on the spot.
He was the one thing she'd ruined that she'd really cared to get back, she realizes, and as everything else was still smoldering around her and spiting her for her faults, her mistakes backing her into corner after corner without an escape route, he'd taken her hand and walked her home.
And he'd stayed. And he was going to stay.
She thinks, anyway.
And she knows she's not supposed to be planning. She's supposed to be embracing what is, not controlling what could be. But still.
"Carter!" she jerks upright, and he does the same at her cry, blinking and somewhat disoriented, but instantly wrapping her in his arms and demanding to know if she's alright.
"Well, yes," she replies, mollified. "I'm fine. I just … are you leaving?"
He pulls back slightly, bewildered. "Leaving? I was sleeping."
"I know! But what about when you wake up? Or … Tuesday. You had a plane ticket! Possibly for Cambodia!"
He's laughing now and he pulls her back to him. "I'm right here, Blair."
"But -"
"I'm not leaving!"
She relaxes against his chest and lets him guide them back down against her pillows. She tells him she's not tired yet and he tells her he won't sleep yet then, either.
XOXO
1:54 a.m.
"No, I promise you I would survive the Apocalypse better than you would," Carter tells her firmly, and her jaw drops. "I would! I'm just better equipped!"
"What's that supposed to mean?" she demands warningly, and he rolls his eyes. She's pretty sure they might be overtired as the idle pillow talk has escalated to the absurd, but there's no going back, particularly considering she obviously has to win now.
"I mean because of my lifestyle, my experiences," he explains. "I know how to handle myself in threatening situations, foreign places. I'm resourceful. I can fight."
"Um, oookay," she rolls her eyes. "So you double as a ninja? Anyway, that has nothing to do with it! You need to have people skills!"
"People skills?" he scoffs. "It's the Apocalypse! There probably aren't any people, and if there are, they want to eat you!"
"Exactly! So you need to be able to … commandeer them! And lead the team to safety, or whatever … what?" Blair demands.
"No way," Carter declares flatly. "If it's nuclear winter, first of all, the only goal is to get to Mexico or wherever alive. So that means no commandeering, just crazy. And fast. I could run to Mexico way faster than you."
"Whatttttt? First of all, if it's crazy that's important, I think I've got it covered-" she pauses to hit him with a pillow when Carter nods his assent to that statement, and he takes the opportunity to pull her into his lap. "And running to Mexico faster? No. Seriously. It would be most important to find safety in numbers. It's warmer to be huddled in numbers. And plus, then you can share supplies."
"I like the huddled in numbers part," Carter murmurs against her neck. "But the supply thing is where they get you. One minute you're making s'mores with the group, the next someone's bashing your head in to get to your marshmallows."
Blair tilts her head up to look at him, eyebrows raised, before he drops his lips to her own.
"And that," she informs him as they pause for breath. "Is why a good leader is so important. To keep everyone in line. No dissenters! I would be captain of Team S'mores, and you'd be running to Mexico all cold and alone, no marshmallows-hey!"
"But you see," Carter explains, as he pins her beneath him and begins tickling her sides as she squeals. "It's clear I could overthrow the captain of Team S'mores and make off with all the marshmallows." He stops tickling her and buries his hands in her hair. "And the captain herself."
She laughs into his kiss a few minutes later and he draws back, curious.
"You still lose," she informs him. "Ninja or not, you at least need … the captain of Team S'mores … to survive the Apocalypse. Admit it."
He shakes his head and grins at her, conceding.
XOXO
2:31 a.m.
Team S'mores excavates the Waldorf kitchen in search of sustenance, and the captain triumphantly unearths exactly five dark chocolate covered Godiva marshmallows and a box of biscuits left over from the tea Eleanor had held the weekend prior for some new potential buyers.
Carter attempts to look skeptical but he fears that all that's coming across is a love-or-like-or-whatever-sick grin as his eyes trail over her, all tiny and proud and glowing eyes, her hair in tangles and her lip gloss absent.
He realizes now that's probably all over his face too, and his grin widens and he shakes his head at her.
She drives him absolutely insane, knowingly or unknowingly he's not sure, as she struts around in her tiny lavender Guia La Bruna nightgown and busily forms little sandwiches from her ingredients and then looks at him expectantly. He raises an eyebrow.
"Well, resourceful one?" she demands. "Make me a campfire or something, I don't know what to do with these!"
He laughs out loud and reaches her in three steps and they christen (at least, Blair hopes) the countertop nearest the refrigerator instead, the fear of being caught by Dorota in her bunny slippers making it all the more delicious, and then they eat the marshmallows and leave the biscuits.
XOXO
3:47 a.m.
She tries not to panic when the familiar and unpleasant sensation washes over her, but within minutes her skin is practically crawling and she can feel the marshmallows churning inside of her, her body demanding to be evacuated.
Anger manages to take precedence for a few minutes, and she yells silently at herself as she lies rigid that she's been fine, that she is fine, that this cannot and should not be happening again. She hasn't needed it through everything that's happened, and she certainly doesn't need it now, with Carter asleep beside her where he promised he'd be. Not gone, because he said he wouldn't be.
She fixed it, she did. The one thing that mattered. And so this shouldn't be happening.
The panic seeps back in as she realizes it is, though, and she feels like she's choking as the hair rises on her arms and the back of her neck, and so she moves to get up.
"Don't," Carter says, softly like maybe he's dreaming, but his voice freezes her and she turns in the dark to see he's shifted to face her. "Where are you going?"
"Bathroom," she replies, fairly gasping the single word out and hoping he doesn't pick up on the exertion.
"No," he replies, resting a hand against her cheek, his thumb tracing one of her eyebrows. "Stay here."
She laughs at this, closing her eyes under his touch and breathing deeply as the frenzy inside of her subsides just a notch.
"I have to pee, Carter," she informs him as he's kissing the corner of her mouth, and she can feel him smiling.
"So hold it," he insists, and she laughs more loudly, the panic subsiding further.
"You're disgusting," she says, placing a kiss at his crown as his head lolls sleepily against her shoulder, and she freezes again briefly as he pulls away from her face, sinking back down against the bed and curling himself against her, arm around her waist.
"And you're beautiful," he tells her, eyes closed, cheek resting against her stomach.
She runs her hand through his hair and doesn't miss the significance of the instant relief that floods her at his words, with the knowledge that he doesn't even know the weight they carry but says them because they're true; and in his arms, with the knowledge that he doesn't even know the way they're holding her together in this moment but offers them because he wants to.
He gives himself to her so freely, and she decides it's time she does the same, and that it will be the Blair that he deserves, and that she deserves too.
"Okay, I'll hold it."