Just Another Word I Never Learned To Pronounce

Graduation is...awkward, to say the least. He says he's here for Nate and that thought makes up about one five hundredth of his reasoning, but the fact that he's here at all forces her mind back to the last such event they shared: blue caps, green caps, secrets and lies, Chuck Bass: coward and Blair Waldorf: weakling. She even took care to dress differently today - in a drop-waisted thirties dress and pale gold headband concealed beneath her cap and gown - but that strange, soft, arrogant and overall blindingly proud smirk quickly makes her feel eighteen and sweaty palmed once again.

He always did know which buttons to push.

"Bass."

"Waldorf."

"I haven't seen you in a while."

"Have you been looking?"

They realise the irony of the situation is a second or two later, but by then Blair's not the only one feeling too young; feeling her pride smart because the other looks too controlled, too well polished and too well rounded alone.

"You came for Nate, I assume. Where's William?" She hates William.

"Urging on our boy." He knows she does. "You look beautiful, by the way."

"Thank you."

"How's Columbia treated you?"

She wriggles contentedly, and it's all too easy to see the gloss of queenship making her glow like a setting sun, a fiery queen of ice in a gown of slate blue. "Well. I read that piece about you in the New York Times - very impressive, Bass. I am truly honoured to know the 'teenage tycoon of NYC'."

"It's funny."

"What?"

"The reporter who interviewed me used to work in the society section. He asked me if I was still dating the pretty girl who stamped on my foot when he was writing her up for 'A Night Out With...'."

She gives a light laugh, obviously trying to diffuse the tension of the situation - the fact that everyone else saw what they couldn't. "Were we really that obvious?"

"I think I was." His gaze is familiar, intense; burning into hers. "Sixteen year old boys are never very good at hiding their jealousy."

There is a long moment between them, where it feels almost as if two timelines are running parallel: ChuckandBlair and Chuck and Blair, two separate and disparate entities with a world of judgement between them. She knows they've been too long apart when just being near one another causes the clocks to run backwards and her breathing - she expected breathing to get harder, but nothing like this. They need to be together always, always in the same room to remind the other what they hate and loathe and so that the games and the lies and the blackmail can seem more concrete than they do on one sunny morning.

Her phone chirps, and they both look down.

"It's Serena. I should -"

"I should probably -"

"I'll make sure to -"

"Goodbye, Blair." Chuck does what he promised himself he wouldn't and takes her hand, one brief press of skin against his own to accompany a slight smile. "Good luck.

~#~

"Rebecca J. Waddell, bachelor of science, majoring in neurobiology and behaviour."

A slightly plump girl steps onto the stage, her beam wider and whiter than a fjord, red curls making a valiant attempt to escape her cap.

"Christopher M. Wakefield, bachelor of the arts, majoring in drama and theatre arts."

A slightly husky boy, round shouldered, follows Rebecca to collect his diploma.

Chuck wonders (and knows) what he's still doing here now that 'Nathaniel W. Archibald, bachelor of arts, majoring in economics' has come and gone. He knows it's probably detrimental to his health to have waited all this time just to hear her name, just to watch her smile and to know that, even from beyond the grave of their romance, he still helped to make it happen and her happy - although the room is too hot, too crowded and he wishes he could loosen his tie. He can't because, conversely, he wants her to be proud of him: her 'friend' Chuck, sitting in the fourth row back and hoping that her even glancing his way at the paramount of her triumph will mean something.

"Blair C. Waldorf, bachelor of the arts, majoring in art history and this year's winner of the G.K. Wilke award for academic excellence."

Blair swallows back bile - an unfamiliar taste, nowadays - steps out onto the stage, her heart thud-thud-thudding in her mouth. The lights blind her, the applause is deafening: she can hear a whistle which must surely come from Nate, Serena's cry of 'you did it, B!', her mother and her father and Cyrus and Roman all whooping in perfect harmony, her friends catcalling, her minions cheering; and almost subconsciously, she looks out into the auditorium and into the sea of faces. It's not her fault he's suddenly the only person in the room, that smirk of catlike smugness just for her. It's not her fault he's the one who got her here, the one who knew her better than herself and knew that this was what she wanted.

It's her turn to throw caution to the wind, and to hijack a speech to make a statement.

"Every year, another class leaves Columbia," says Blair Waldorf, valedictorian and feared dictator. "And every year, another class will begin their studies within these hallowed halls. We've grown here; we've become the people we were meant to be. Columbia has given us the chance to change and adapt for the better." They make eye contact and she wonders how he did it, because right now her mouth is just so dry. "We've made mistakes. We've made deals we didn't mean to, and we've told lies we shouldn't have. But this matriculation represents not only the end of our time here, but at new start." He knows now; she swallows. "We go out into the world reshaped by our experiences, and my most important experience of Columbia has taught me to never stop fighting for the best in all I do." He smiles, and she tries to breathe. "We may have been tested and tried, and sometimes we may not feel that we can do it; but the inevitability of falling is that we'll learn to fly - eventually."

That gets a laugh, and the applause echoes once again as she climbs down from the stage, diploma clasped tightly in one hand.

It'll be difficult, after that. At all the parties that follow, Blair's remarks will range from a clipped 'This is Chuck Bass' to an altogether drunken 'This is Charles, and I looove him. He likes it when I'm a bitch."

Chuck just takes her hand and smirks.

Fin.