So, here we are people. I hope everyone had a good Thanksgiving; I unfortunately did not thanks to the flu. Personal miseries aside, this is the next bit in this story. Chuck is with us once again. And we finally witness the moment we've all kinda been waiting for. Hope you enjoy.
For my family; if we tried to smush our names together, they'd be longer than any Gossip Girl surname compilation.
Saybrook College
November 19, 2011
8:27 a.m.
Blair yawned as she unlocked the heavy door and pushed it open, allowing her companions to enter the dorm. It was the Saturday before Thanksgiving and for Yalies that could only mean one thing: The Game.
The Game was always capitalized because, well, it was simply that important. It was tradition to hold the annual Yale-Harvard football game the weekend prior to Thanksgiving. The Yale Bowl was sure to be brimming with current Elis, alumni and their families all decked out in Bulldog regalia, eager to knock down the Cantabs.
Harold had insisted that the Game be a family affair, something craftily designed to entice the youngest members of the Waldorf-van der Humphrey family into matriculating at the New Haven school. So in addition of Harold, Blair, Jenny, Dan, Pierre and Philippe, Yale Rose and Christopher Humphrey were extended invitations.
Eleanor had simply raised an eyebrow and said, "Another one, Harold? I can already see myself finding Yale University stickers on my favorite pair of pumps."
Blair had pouted and countered with, "I was young and impressionable. Thankfully, I wound up attending said school so you weren't advertising falsely, Mother. Besides, it was all Daddy's idea."
Harold's sheepish grin had done nothing to dissuade Eleanor's annoyance, but at the end of the day Eleanor allowed Yale to attend. The toddler, who was all of sixteen months, currently slept soundly in Blair's arms. Lilly had proven a tougher sale, though sold on the idea she was.
Pierre and Philippe raced to Blair's bed, both boys brimming with energy. It was a sharp contrast to their older counterparts; Jenny, Blair and Dan were exhausted. The show had been a success and they'd celebrated into the wee hours of the morning. Blair had slept in her bed while Dan crashed at the van der Humphrey townhouse. Less than five hours later, Harold (who was annoyingly bright-eyed and bushy-tailed) had everyone in the back of the stretch Town Car and on the way to Connecticut. The twins, who, along with Yale and Chris, were attending their first Game, were bribed into consciousness with Magnolia Bakery coconut cupcakes.
Jenny groaned loudly and joined the two boys on Blair's bed, curling up into fetal position at the foot of the mattress. Harold rolled his eyes as Dan set Chris' car seat on Blair's desk with a grunt.
"Why the long faces?" the Waldorf patriarch demanded cheerfully. "It's the Game! It's the day we don our Yale regalia and cheer the Bulldogs to victory against that school up north."
"We will all sing 'Boola Boola' obnoxiously and cheer loudly against Cambridge Community College when the game starts, Harold. Until then, we need a few minutes of quiet to recoup some energy." Dan said.
Harold sobered up and raised an eyebrow. "And just what were you doing that left you so drained?"
Blair sighed. It was going to be a long day.
Yale Bowl
November 19, 2011
12:52 p.m.
The Yale Bowl was brimming with excitement.
Pierre had been shouting encouragements to the players on the field since the start of the game, and the students around him prized him by painting his face blue and drawing white Y's on his cheeks. Philippe stood beside his brother, a Silliman scarf around his neck, Saybrook College pennant in one hand and a Davenport College banner in the other. Harold kept a close eye on the boys while cheering loudly as the Bulldogs completed a pass.
Blair smiled and reached up to adjust the blanket tucked into the baby carried strapped across her chest. Chris was miraculously sleeping through the racket and she hoped he would continue to do so for another quarter. He was dressed in full-out support of the New Haven university, from his socks to his bodysuit to his sweater to his cap.
"Ow." Dan raised a hand and removed Yale's fingers from his hair. In hindsight, sitting the toddler on his shoulders was possibly not the best of ideas. But Yale looked so much like her big sister, and, though the color of the eyes was different, their expressions were identical so Dan found himself unable to deny Yale nearly anything.
Jenny nudged Blair playfully and dropped a kiss on Chris' head. "Watch those two." She instructed her best friend.
The two Elis observed as Dan brought Yale down from his shoulders and stood her on his lap.
"Okay, Miss Rose, what were we just discussing? Let's keep our hands to ourselves, all right? I get enough hair-yanking from your sister" Dan scolded and Blair's jaw dropped. What the hell was her boyfriend doing, discussing their sex life with her baby sister?
Yale smiled up at Dan and the writer sighed. The little girl was only halfway back up to her perch on his shoulders before her hands found their way into his mane. "Go ahead, Yale. Who needs hair anyway?"
- - -
The Waldorf-van der Humphrey party cheered loudly as the Yale University Bulldogs kicker knocked in the extra point, setting the exclamation point on Yale's resounding 24-7 victory over the Harvard Crimson. Chris was awake and whimpering in his older brother's arms while Yale giggled loudly at Pierre and Philippe's joyful expressions from her spot in Harold's arms. Jenny smiled when she saw Blair and Dan chatting up Nelly Yuki (who had ended up at Princeton) and her Yalie boyfriend.
"Wow." Jenny nearly cringed at the sound of the voice. Erica Dawson came to stand next to the blonde. "She actually looks human. She brought the boyfriend…your last name's Humphrey, right? Is Dan Humphrey your brother?"
Jenny raised an eyebrow. "It took you this long to figure that out? Look, Erica, I get that you think Blair's some spoilt, narcissistic bitch but you're making a mistake. It's a mistake I made years ago when I was a scholarship student from Brooklyn attending the most prestigious girls' school in Manhattan. My brother and I, all of Blair's friends, see her for who she is, not what she's worth. You want her respect? I suggest you drop your prejudice against my best friend."
"I do not want Blair Waldorf's respect. She doesn't have mine, either." Erica protested. "I didn't get into this school because my father came here. I didn't get into this school because my father donated a library or a scholarship or…new bunks for the dorms. And I didn't pay for my test scores or my valedictorian spot."
Jenny was instantly furious. She stepped in front of the redhead, steeled for a fight. "Blair earned her valedictorian spot. She was perfect student, aced all of her classes every year through hard work. She's a perfectionist; no way she would let anybody else touch her work. Harold Waldorf donated a vineyard during B's freshman year, months after she'd begun attending. And knocking her legacy status? Seriously? You're an athlete, right? You're on crew? You came here because Yale would give you a better chance to join the varsity team right out of the gate than Harvard or Princeton." Jenny waited for Erica to nod before plowing on. "Did you know that athletes receive a higher point bump than legacy students? It's not Blair's fault her dad came to Yale. And he didn't buy her admission. You're operating under a false premise and the only person who loses out is you, Erica."
"Jennifer!"
The blonde turned and instantly found herself in Tarah's post-victory enthusiastic embrace. "Where the hell were you guys sitting? I didn't see you and B in the student section."
"We were a couple of rows behind you guys. We sort of had a family field trip. Dan came up for the Game and so did a lot of B's family." Jenny responded.
"No offense to your boss, but I don't exactly picture Eleanor Waldorf-Rose sitting up in some bleachers while drunk guys with painted chests cheer around her." Tarah said.
Jenny shrugged. "I don't either. Harold's here, the boys, Yale and Chris are here, too."
"You're not cramped into your dorms are you?"
"No. We drove up at the ass-crack of dawn, per Harold's plan. Everybody is heading back home today to prepare for Thanksgiving. I seriously cannot wait to sleep in my bed…even if it is at the townhouse."
As Jenny and Tarah continued their conversation, Erica snuck closer towards where Blair and her family were standing. The redhead saw the older man, no doubt her roommate's father, engaging his daughter in conversation. Erica weaved her way through the crowd.
"I'm glad you decided to head back to the city tonight." Mr. Waldorf said. "Roman and I try to bring the boys as often as possible but...we live in Lyon and we miss you every day, Blair."
Blair smiled and hugged Harold tightly. "I miss you, too, Daddy. And I miss Pierre and Philippe…and Roman, too. Who would've guessed after the way I treated him that first Christmas? He knew, by the way. He knew I wanted him gone but he was patient and he won me over."
"It's the French charm." Harold theorized. The two laughed. "Why don't you go find your best friend so we can get going?"
Blair kissed Harold's cheek and moved in the direction where she'd last seen Jenny but instead of finding the blonde designer, Blair found herself face to face with her redheaded roommate. Blair knew instantly that Erica had both see and heard Blair's conversation with her father.
Blair slipped a hand out of the pocket of her Yale sweatshirt and curled it into a fist. "If you say a word about my father-"
"He's gay." Erica stated.
Blair bit the inside of her cheek to stop herself from swinging. "Yes, he is. I don't care what you think of me, what you say about me, how you address me; it's none of my concern. But what is my concern, what I do care about, is making sure that you don't insult my dad in any way. I intend on ensuring that you keep your judgmental comments to yourself lest the sun rise one morning to find you smothered to death in your dorm bed."
Erica raised both hands in surrender. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to sound judgmental, Blair. I assure you that my moms would both have an issue with that."
Blair unclenched her fist and the two women stood silently before each other, a newfound understanding between them. Blair sincerely doubted she and Erica would ever be friends, too much animosity had passed between them, but she the two would be friendly towards each other from now on.
van der Humphrey Townhouse
November 24, 2011
6:11 p.m.
The last place Charles Bartholomew Bass ever saw himself spending Thanksgiving Day was at the van der Humphrey house, surrounded by the Humphreys and the Waldorfs. The invitation had been a complete surprise, as Lonely Boy himself had extended it, and, for a moment, Chuck was sure that the whole thing was a complete set-up. It took a few minutes, and Blair's assurance, before Chuck agreed to get on his father's jet and head back home to New York City.
Everyone had been civil and polite when he appeared in the foyer, and within minutes, Chuck found himself enveloped in the strangely warm and comforting air the van der Walphreys exuded. Chuck had forgone a date out of respect for his hosts, in particular Blair, but found that he didn't miss the company his "friends" provided; the large family and their guests provided enough entertainment. Serena was every bit as effervescent as always, Nate as genial, and Vanessa and Carter welcomed him into their conversation as if they'd always been best of pals.
Blair busied herself in the kitchen with Harold; the two attempted to show the twins how to make Harold's famous pumpkin pie and, much to their chagrin, neither Pierre nor Philippe seemed particularly interested. Dan was holed up in the den, furiously trying to make the deadline for his next chapter. Chuck happened to be laughing at one of Little J's jokes when the former Queen Bee of Constance Billard herself finally joined the party.
Blair looked lovely in a high-waisted pencil skirt and lapis-blue blouse. She was chatting with Eleanor and Lilly, the three gesticulating animatedly as if to cement their points. The two older women's hands sparkled with diamonds and gold, but Chuck noted no such adornment on Blair's hand. He frowned. It wasn't that he was elated at the thought of Blair getting married; it was simply that Chuck believed it was the next step in the natural progression of Blair and Dan's relationship. The hotelier was not a dolt; Blair would be Mrs. Humphrey sooner rather than later.
Dinner had been a joyous event. Rufus and Harold cooked and the children hadn't been banished to another room; they sat at the table with the rest of the guests. It was quite possibly the warmest Thanksgiving meal Chuck had ever enjoyed. He sat next to Serena and across from Dan. Chuck was surprised (as was Dan, though not Blair) that he and the writer liked several of the same books and movies. They two conversed about these topics, falling into an easy rapport. After polishing off plates of turkey, stuffing, salad, cranberry sauce and mashed potatoes, everyone settled in around the living room for coffee and pie.
Chuck watched as Dan headed into the den to take a call. He excused himself and followed. Dan was sitting in one of the leather club chairs, cell phone pressed against his ear.
"John, it's Thanksgiving…please unclench. I sent you the last two chapters and I would appreciate it if you could refrain from riding my ass about edits until tomorrow." Dan said, his brow furrowing as soon as he spotted Chuck in the doorway. "Okay, I'll see you next week. Happy Thanksgiving to you, too." Dan ended his call and slipped the BlackBerry into his pocket. "What can I do for you, Chuck?"
"I wanted to thank you for inviting me to dinner," Chuck said. "It was very big of you."
Dan shook his head. "I didn't do it to appear magnanimous, Chuck. You're trying to be Blair's friend again, and, though she might not admit it aloud, I know Blair's missed being part of the Upper East Side's Fab Four. She's made up with Serena, with Nate, and she wants to make up with you, too."
"And as the good boyfriend, you aim to accommodate her wishes?" Chuck questioned, and though his tone could be seen as mocking, Dan knew it was simply good-natured teasing.
"I don't see why I should object." Dan countered. "I love Blair; I trust her. Besides, I can't fault you for falling in love with her; she's one of a kind. Look, Chuck, B made an effort and befriended Vanessa for my sake. I'm just returning the favor."
Chuck smiled, stepped into the room and offered his hand to Dan. "You're a good man, Humphrey. I hate you for it."
Dan stood and shook Chuck's hand. "Happy Holidays to you, too, Bass."
The two smiled and sat down in the matching club chairs.
"You should marry her."
Dan turned towards the hotelier. "Excuse me?"
Chuck's eyes stood fast on the painting hanging atop the mantle. "I know you don't like or trust me very much, Humphrey. And maybe in another life, another circumstance, I would be doing all of this to watch you fall flat on your face. But the truth is that you make Blair happier than she's ever been, happier than I could have ever made her, and in my book, for this reason alone, you should be scouring Tiffany's for the perfect ring, getting down on one knee and asking her to abscond her standards and marry a mere mortal."
Dan leaned back in his chair and didn't stop the laugh that escaped him. "'Abscond her standards and marry a mere mortal'?" he echoed. "Could you possibly sound any more baroque?"
Chuck shrugged and turned to face the artist. "I'm trying out your kind of language," he defended. "Seriously, Dan, I think Blair is too good for any of us…but you are best poised to gain her as a wife so don't make me eat my words, don't be stupid and just propose. Blair will say yes." He sighed deeply. "Now, I need a drink."
Dan laughed. "When will it stop?" he queried rhetorically. "You, Jen, Lilly, Dad, Vanessa, Nate, Serena and Carter. If it were up to you guys, Blair and I would be married with a kid on the way right now."
Chuck raised en eyebrow. "Other people have told you to marry Blair and you still haven't listened? Take this moment as a, well, as a big, loud, obnoxious neon sign from Jesus Christ himself to get off your ass and make a move before she decides to marry some guy from Massachusetts named William Whitley the Third whose family is in banking."
"Blair actually knows a William Whitley." Dan pointed out. "He's from Boston."
"Seriously?" Chuck was dumbstruck for a moment. He frowned. "I feel like I'm in a chapter of The Great Gatsby. William Whitley? Hmm. That's the name of a sure fop."
The two chuckled at the unlikely image of Blair Waldorf becoming Mrs. Blair Whitley. They were still snickering when Blair entered the den. She'd been surprised to find both her boyfriend and her ex were missing and set about finding them. To say Blair was shocked at finding Dan and Chuck getting along was an understatement.
Blair crossed the room and sat in Dan's lap. "This is surely a sign of the apocalypse."
Champs-Élysées
January 1st, 2012
12:03 a.m.
The New Year had found Dan Humphrey and Blair Waldorf kissing in the middle of the large crowd gathered in the famous Parisian square. The two were bundled up in warm coats, boots, scarves, hats and gloves, as were their companions. Harold, Roman, Pierre and Philippe were too busy kissing and hugging each other to notice that the two young Americans were engrossed in naught but the other.
Philippe pulled away from his papa's embrace, reached up and tugged on his sister's hand; the size of the hand easily alerted Blair to the fact that, though she wished for the contrary, she and Dan were not alone. Blair pulled away, smiling brightly at her boyfriend.
"Happy New Year, Dan." She said.
Dan cupped Blair's face in his hands and leaned forward to rest his forehead against hers. "Happy New Year, Blair."
With one final peck, Blair and Dan turned to the men of the Waldorf clan. Philippe jumped into his sister's arms, while Dan received a pat on the back from Roman. It took a few minutes for Blair to properly greet the rest of the Waldorfs.
Dan was tugging his coat closer to his body when he felt a hand slip into his pocket and drop a small object inside. He turned to his left and found Harold. Blair's father was smiling as he reached out and embraced Dan.
"Love her well, Dan." Harold uttered.
Dan nodded once. "I plan to."
Both men turned towards Blair, who was hugging Pierre and Philippe to her as she chatted with Roman and a couple of other Parisians in the square. Dan thought she looked nothing short of stunning. Her eyes were sparkling with joy, her lips upturned into a bright grin; Blair was glowing with happiness. Dan hoped to ensure she would be radiant every minute of their remaining five days in France.
Hôtel Ritz Paris
December 1, 2012
1:34 p.m.
Dan slipped on his coat. Blair was currently sitting at the edge of the bed, pulling on her knee-high Marc Jacobs boots. She looked stunning; Dan always thought so, even when she'd hardly slept and her hair was wild, or when she was sick and pale. They'd slept through most of the morning and, at Blair's insistence, they were heading out for a late lunch.
"Are you sure you don't want to invite the rest of the Waldorfs?" Dan queried, hoping to quell some of the nervousness he felt.
Blair shook her head and finished buttoning up the periwinkle Eleanor Waldorf Design coat she'd thrown over her Peter Som dress. "We'll have plenty of time to bond with my family, Dan." She stood and reached for her handbag.
Dan gave a shrug and shifted his weight from one foot to the other. Blair raised an eyebrow.
"You've been jumpy ever since we woke up. Did you have a dream you weren't supposed to?" she teased. "Should I stake my claim by insisting that you tattoo 'Property of Blair Waldorf' on your ass?"
Dan laughed, snapping out of his tense mood. "That would sort of defeat the purpose, wouldn't it? No girl would actually see it unless… we were in a very compromising position."
"A valid point," she remarked, expertly knotting her scarf before draping his around his neck. "The forehead does seem most likely to perpetuate the message."
Dan smiled and took her gloved hand in his own. "Come on," he said. "We don't want to be late."
…
As they crossed the hotel lobby, Dan began to think that he was making a mistake. Not the asking, of course, but the execution, the plan. Maybe it would be better if he just postponed the idea until he could think of something better.
The two went through the revolving doors and stepped into the chilly air blanketing the Place Vendôme. The city looked beautiful and there was something about that moment that Dan was sure he would never be able to replicate. His choice was made.
They'd taken several steps when Dan dropped to one knee. It took a few seconds for Blair to stop as well.
When she looked back, she quipped, "You need to better learn to tie your shoes, Humphrey." When he didn't return her smile, Blair sobered. "What is it?"
Dan took a deep, steadying breath. He met her eyes, beautiful and expressive and the color of the richest molten chocolate, and asked the question he'd wanted to ask for the past year.
"We met at the end of freshman year at an Honor Society mixer," he began, voice surprisingly steady. "I know you don't remember because you came and introduced yourself years later at Bart Bass' foundation's annual brunch. To be honest, I didn't like you at all. In fact, I once told my father that you were everything that I hated about the Upper East Side-"
Blair was immediately incensed. Her eyes narrowed and she glowered; what was he trying to do, anyway? "Humphrey, what the fuck are you-"
"Please don't interrupt," Dan implored. "For two years I thought I knew who you were. I was so incredibly wrong. I had absolutely no idea the kind of person you truly were until I spent that hour with you on the Plaza terrace October of last year. That night, Blair…that night I discovered that you are kind and generous, caring, loving, understanding, extremely brilliant and extraordinarily beautiful. I fell in love with you that night, B, and every day that passes I'm in love with you a little more. I want to see your face and hear your voice every single day, to wake up beside you every morning and share your bed at night. I want to dedicate everything I write to you, to see your eyes light up whenever you open a new exhibit. I want to be father to those children you spoke of having, and I want us to raise them to be as wonderful as you are. I love you and I want to spend the rest of my life showing you exactly how much."
Dan sighed softly and plowed on.
"I know I'm déclassé, but I promise you that no one in this world will ever try to make you as happy as I will." Dan reached into his pocket and extracted the Tiffany & Co. ring box Harold had discretely snuck to him just hours before. "So…Blair Cornelia Waldorf, will you do me the honor of being my wife? Marry me, Blair."
The brunette heiress' eyes widened, her jaw dropped, and for a moment, Dan thought he was about to be rejected. But then Blair was crashing into him, wrapping her arms around his shoulders and nearly yelling, "Yes! Of course yes. Of course I will!" as she kissed the top of his head.
Dan rose and Blair kissed him on the lips, her mouth molding to his even as she sported an enthusiastic grin.
"The ring." Dan muttered, pulling away a fraction of an inch. "You haven't seen your ring."
"I'm sure I'll love it." Blair assured, pecking his cheek and nose and lips. "Where did you hide it, anyway? I went through your luggage before we left New York."
Dan shrugged and smiled. "I airmailed it to your dad a week before we flew out so you wouldn't find it when you packed some of your things into my suitcase," he explained.
Dan opened the Tiffany blue box and took hold of Blair's left hand; she helped him out by removing her glove.
The ring was stunning; it was large enough to be noticed but not large enough to be cumbersome or ostentatious, with a two-carat round brilliant solitaire and a square-cut Channel-set band. The clarity of the stones was superb, per the Tiffany & Co. tradition. Dan slipped the ring onto the fourth finger of Blair's left hand. The new weight was a welcomed one, and Blair brightened even further.
Dan pulled Blair into his arms, kissing her deeply. "I can't believe you said yes."
Blair raised an eyebrow. "You doubted that I would accept? Dan, I'm in love with you. Your entire family- and mine, for that matter- have been trying to get us to this point since last year." She smiled as she ran a hand through his hair. "Last year I wouldn't have been ready; today, there is nothing I want more. Besides, you were romantic, like out of a Hepburn movie; how could I say no to my personal Fred?"
Dan laughed. "O'Toole. Isn't it Peter O'Toole who romances Audrey Hepburn in front of the Ritz?"
Blair nodded once. "Yes, he does; How to Steal a Million. Gary Cooper does it in Love in the Afternoon. Speaking of which…I suppose this is love in the afternoon." She paused, smiling brightly. "Although…you're not really Cooper or O'Toole. Bogart, yes; Peck and Peppard, too."
There was silence but neither of them minded; it was the comfortable silences that made their relationship, after all.
It was Dan who broke the spell. "I'm freezing; aren't you?"
Blair laughed and nodded emphatically. "Yes, I am. Let's go back inside. I want to tell Roman and the boys. And I have to call my mom and your parents, Jenny, Serena, Eric…the list is endless." She noted the expression on her fiancé's face. How good it felt to be able to refer to Dan that way, Blair thought. "Did they all know you were going to propose?"
"Your dad knew, obviously, as did Eleanor; I spoke to them and asked for your hand. But everybody else is in the dark." Dan replied. "You're only going to be able to make so many phone calls, Blair. Might I suggest you get some mass-message worked out?"
"If I know Eleanor Waldorf-Rose, she's got an announcement ready and waiting our final approval for submission to the New York Times." Blair said.
Dan reached for Blair's hand, lacing their fingers and running his thumb across the face of her engagement ring; it really did look lovely on her hand. "Do you want to have lunch at the restaurant or order room service? I mean, we can still make our reservation."
Blair smiled mischievously. "Do you really need to ask, Cabbage Patch?"
Dan gave an innocent shrug and the two made their way back into the lobby. "I just don't want you to think I'm marrying you solely for your body."
There we are, ladies and gentlemen. Dan and Blair are getting married. So, what'd you think. Love it or hate it, I'd be happy to know.