Author's note: I'm sorry, I'm sorry, the next update actually WILL be soon, I promise! Especially if you review. :)
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"When I'm with you, nothing seems terrible to me, not even leaving you. But away from you, the slightest fear is unbearable. I love you passionately—I'm empty and miserable without you. S.* has been very sweet, and the first evening I was touched by seeing her again—but already she bores and rather irritates me, and her presence at this moment strikes me as absurd…I love you, with a touch of tragedy and quite madly."
—Simone de Beauvoir; an extract from a love letter to Jean Paul Sartre.
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"You seem much happier these days, you know," Dan commented as he dipped the end of his croissant into his coffee.
"Well, I am, for obvious reasons," said Blair, blushing a bit. Then she looked down at his coffee. "Ew, why are you doing that? Croissants aren't meant to be eaten damp."
Dan shrugged. "I don't have proper croissant-eating etiquette, I guess."
"No, certainly not. Madame Girard would be appalled."
"Why do you insist on calling her that? She's Ms. Girard—"
"She's our French teacher, so you're supposed to call her "Madame"!" said Blair indignantly.
"Whatever," Dan replied indifferently. "Anyway, is Chuck being nice to you?"
"Yes, of course," said Blair.
"Good. I'd like to meet him."
Blair rolled her eyes. "You've met him a million times, Humphrey."
"I know," said Dan, who had the grace to be embarrassed, "I mean—properly, as your boyfriend. He's your boyfriend, right?"
"I guess," said Blair uncomfortably. "I mean, I don't know. I don't really like that word."
"Well," Dan pointed out reasonably, "you're practically living at his house, aren't you? And I don't really understand why you're in love with him, but you seem to be."
"I can hardly explain to you why I'm in love with him."
"Why not try?" Dan suggested.
"Why are you in love with Serena?" countered Blair.
Dan blushed uncomfortably.
"Oh, go on," Blair cajoled. "Since you think it's so easy to do."
"Well, I don't really know," Dan stumbled. "I guess no one really knows, do they—it's complex, and a lot of it is beyond even my understanding."
"Summarize," ordered Blair curtly.
"Alright," said Dan, "she's kind and generous in her affections, she's beautiful and sweet, she has an infectious laugh..." he shrugged. "She makes me feel alive, I guess. Wait, that sounds stupid."
"Yes, it does, Humphrey," Blair sniggered.
He looked affronted and slightly hurt.
"Oh, don't get your panties all in a twist," she said dismissively.
"Ooh," Dan mocked her, "such coarse language from an upper east side princess! All those society matrons will be appalled—"
"What can I say," Blair shrugged, "you bring out the low-class Brooklyn in me."
Dan had to take a moment to shake his head in baffled amusement at the way she pronounced the word "Brooklyn", as if it were not merely a place, but an attitude, a socio-economic status, and an entire lifestyle.
"Look," he said eventually, "I think we should all have dinner. I'd like to get to know him properly; I think he and I got off on the wrong foot. And I find him very intriguing."
"That sounds good," Blair agreed, "I can book a place—"
"Why don't you let me cook?" asked Dan. "I'm actually a brilliant cook, my dad taught me. Well, I'm pretty good. Reasonable."
Blair raised an eyebrow.
"Anyway," Dan continued, "If I make an effort, that might endear me to him, and it's the least I can do, really. We can eat at my place."
Dan had not forgotten the time he had betrayed Chuck's trust for the sake of getting into Yale, and he was eager to pay penance.
"Humphrey," said Blair, "I know that we're friends now and everything, but—" her lip curled in disdain, "you can't be serious."
"Hanging out in Brooklyn can be fun," replied Dan. "You can call it a 'white trash night out.' A social experiment; a rare glimpse of how the huddled masses live." Dan tried to keep a straight face.
It worked. Blair burst into laughter. "Fine," she said, "we'll do it."
"Great!" Dan smiled brightly.
"I think it's nice," said Blair thoughtfully, "that you want to make an effort, and are willing to, you know, give him a chance." She glanced down at her own coffee. "It's nice to have at least one friend who feels that way."
"Serena's being difficult?" asked Dan, cutting straight to the point.
"Yes," Blair sighed, "they just can't get along. I know she's just trying to look out for me, but really. She's extremely irritating."
Dan nodded. "She's been on edge lately anyway. She's been spending so much time with the two of you, and when you're constantly with the same people—"
"I know," said Blair regretfully, "I've been splitting my time between Serena and Chuck for ages because I don't like being home."
With Blair's mother, Dan thought to himself, she could hardly be blamed.
"Well," he replied, "if we can have an enjoyable group dinner, that might clear the air."
***
"God, Humphrey, what is this horrible stuff?" Blair winced as she set her wine glass down.
"Extremely cheap white wine," Chuck responded for Dan, examining the bottle. "From California, apparently." Next to him, Blair shuddered.
Dan and Serena exchanged a look of some amusement.
"Sorry," said Dan, "I thought it would go well with the food. You know, I read in Food and Wine Magazine that white wine in particular goes very well with—"
"You know, Humphrey," Chuck interrupted, "it has just occurred to me that your inferiority complex is fully justified."
Blair couldn't help but chuckle a bit.
"Thanks," Dan replied sarcastically, but there was no edge to it; he knew better than to be offended.
"Don't you have anything else?"
"Yeah, my Dad has a special cabinet where he keeps all his alcohol," began Dan nervously, "It's actually in his bedroom. And I'm not really supposed to—"
"Come on," said Blair briskly, getting to her feet and nearly dragging Dan out of his chair. "Show me where this magical cabinet is."
Dan followed her, muttering, through the kitchen.
Serena and Chuck sat uncomfortably, not meeting each other's eyes, as they waited for Blair and Dan to return.
But then Chuck began to think. It was time to bury the hatchet with Serena. He had something that might do the trick.
"Serena," he said rather hesitantly, drawing a small box from his pocket, "I bought a present for Blair this morning—would you mind looking at it and giving me your opinion? I know you know better than anyone what Blair's taste in jewelry is—"
He heard her sharp intake of breath.
"Jewelry?" she hissed.
She reached across the table and took it from his hand and opened it; inside was an expensively cut sapphire ring.
"You got her a ring?" Serena's voice was incredulous.
"It's not an engagement ring," Chuck muttered, feeling ill at ease; he took the ring back and returned it to his pocket, deeply regretting taking it out in the first place.
"It's just—"
"A promise ring?" asked Serena mockingly.
"It's just a present," said Chuck defensively. "It's sort of our anniversary coming up, if you must know."
Serena pursed her lips and did not reply, and a wave of anger swept through Chuck. He glared at Serena across the table, and all of her flaws had never seemed more apparent to him as they did now. Her features, not as delicate and even as Blair's, seemed to him plain and harsh. She was wearing one of her low-cut dresses, which he decided really pushed the boundaries of taste (though he never used to have a problem with them). Her blonde hair, recently cut, was stupidly pulled into a seemingly careless messy bun, which he knew was part of her effort to look bohemian and carefree. Blair was prissy, but at least she didn't attempt to deny who she was—Serena was as much upper east side royalty as Blair. Blair, at least, always looked like a lady.
"What is your problem, Serena?" Chuck hissed.
"I just have a better memory than Blair and Dan apparently do," Serena replied. "Usually Blair is less forgiving than I am, but she completely loses all rationality when it comes to you. And Dan is indulging her for some reason. But," she went on, and leaned over the table to lower her voice to a whisper, "I have not forgotten everything you've done to her."
Chuck flinched involuntarily.
"I'm trying to change," he said, but Serena was not touched by his forlorn tone.
"Buying her a ring doesn't make it all go away, Chuck," she said severely. "You keep secrets from her—you haven't even told her that you love her, have you?"
Chuck did not reply.
"That's what I thought," finished Serena, looking grim. "You're not fooling me or Nate—"
"Leave Nate out of this," snarled Chuck. His eyes had grown cold.
Serena almost started when she heard his tone.
"And you're not the only one who has a long memory, Serena," Chuck went on. "You betrayed her, too. Don't forget that."
Serena paled, but seemed to have nothing further to say.
Chuck sighed inwardly when he heard Blair and Dan traipsing back through the kitchen, and he drank some water and tried to relax his face into a smile.
Blair plopped the new bottle of wine cheerfully on the table.
"My Dad's going to kill me," Dan was saying, "that's our oldest vintage, we save it for special occasions—"
"This is a special occasion," replied Blair, giggling. "My body can't handle substandard wine; my palate is too refined. I might go into shock, and then you'd have to explain to your father why Blair Waldorf is dead in your living room."
Dan rolled his eyes, but chuckled in good humor. Blair sat down once again beside Chuck and grinned at him; he tried to smile back, but she saw the tension in his eyes and jaw.
"What's wrong?" she asked softly.
"Nothing," he replied, and took her hand in his under the table and squeezed it reassuringly.
Her desire, her love for him was so strong, so overwhelming, that it terrified her sometimes. But what frightened her most was that she knew, intuitively, that even though they were finally together, she didn't really have him. The darkest corners and recesses of him were hidden away from her. He kept them secret; she only caught a glimpse, sometimes, in his eyes. There was some shadow cast over his soul, and she ached to understand what it was and to soothe it. But he wouldn't let her. So even as he held her hand under the table and he bantered with Dan and Serena, even as they ate dinner like a normal couple on a double date, she was in agony.
She glanced sideways at his animated face; his brilliant dark eyes, his delicate and chiseled cheekbones, thrown into even more stark relief by the candlelight, his lips curving into a smirk in response to some comment made by Dan. She could see no darkness there, but she knew it lurked under the surface.
She clenched his fingers more tightly in her own. "How can I know," she thought, and in her mind the words were laced with yearning and with despair, "How can I know what is in your mind—if you won't tell me?" Chuck, of course, did not hear her silent plea, and it went unheeded.
"Blair, what do you think of Serena's new haircut?" asked Dan as he took a sip of his best wine.
"What?" asked Blair blankly; she had not been listening, and she apologized to Dan, wide-eyed, her face a little pale even by the illumination of candlelight.
"Never mind," Dan said gently, and with more than a little concern.
But Blair had stopped listening again. She was consumed by fear and doubt, and she felt all her old insecurities concerning Chuck resurfacing. She was used to these feelings when she was alone; away from him, the slightest fear was unbearable. She could convince herself so easily that he did not love her, that she did not really know him, that it was all a charade—and that she was really alone. Normally, Chuck's mere presence was enough to dispel these thoughts. To see him, to touch him, to hear him speak: this was all the happiness and fulfillment she could wish for. But it seemed that as time went on he grew more and more distant, more alienated from her—or rather, she had more and more trouble pretending that everything was well with the two of them. She was by nature very good at pretending and at putting on a show; she was such a convincing liar that she usually wound up persuading herself of things that she knew, deep down, weren't true. But she couldn't bring herself to lie, even to herself. Not when it came to him.
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* The original letter was K, not S.