Disclaimer: I don't own Gossip Girl.

Thank you for the lovely reviews I've received on this series – I have one of the most grown up of grown up day jobs possible, and your feedback really makes my mornings before a long day! Also, to mystripedskirt: I hope you do continue to write Carter/Blair! I would love to read some, and while I''m sure a bit might be on the horizon after next Monday, I'm a little apprehensive as to what it will be like…

Thank you for reading. --Sarah

Not Not A Thing.

Nate invites Blair for coffee on a Friday after school and she only stops to consider that it's kind of a random event of late after she immediately accepts and tosses off a quick text to Carter letting him know he'll need to push their dinner reservation at Nero back and she's sitting across from her ex and delicately sipping an Americano.

He's all bright eyes, easy smiles and lacking conversation skills as usual.

He is impeccably polite with their waiter, though, she notes with a hidden smile. Nate always has known better how to interact with adults and society than with those allegedly nearest and dearest to his heart.

He asks after Carter before wondering how she herself is doing, and she narrows her eyes and offers a clipped, "he's fine" before demanding the same of Vanessa.

"She's great," he smiles. "I think I've almost convinced her to apply for January admission at the NYU film school."

"How charming," Blair replies dryly, and he laughs.

"Well I think it would be good for us, both in school together, in the city…" he trails off pointedly, and she takes the bait, raising an eyebrow.

Something insane like an implosion happens in her chest when he hands her a letter – "Dear Mr. Archibald, we it is with great pleasure that we welcome you …"

"I know it's not USC like I always thought I wanted, but it's not Dartmouth either, right?" Nate's rambling. "And, Blair … I miss you. I miss us – I mean, not us, us … but, knowing you … and with me at Columbia and you in New Haven …" he pauses as he takes in her downcast eyes and trembling hands. "Blair? Are you alright?"

She looks up and like the gentlemen he's always been he's out of his seat and at her side in an instant as she blinks furiously and laughs against the tears blurring her vision.

"Of course I'm alright," she swats at him. "I'm just … proud of you, Archibald." It's a half-truth anyway. Or perhaps a half of a half.

He regards her dubiously and asks if she's sure, and she simultaneously laughs and glares up at the heavens when her tear ducts betray her again and she tilts her head all the way back until she's sure the moisture has seeped back in to where it belongs.

"I'm sure," she tells him, but she doesn't put up a fight when he nods slowly but with a completely unconvinced expression, like, since when did Nate become all about perception, and then carefully puts an arm around her. She rests against his chest like she's never left, and he drops his chin on top of her head.

XOXO

She cuts Carter off mid-hello outside the restaurant when she attacks his lips with hers, and before he can come all the way up for air she's yanking him into a cab and murmuring something against his jawline about having had a big lunch.

She manages to get his shirt untucked and is struggling with his belt when he gently grabs both of her hands with one of his and laughs against her cheek.

"Blair," he inclines his head discreetly. "We have an audience."

The cab driver quickly averts his eyes and then immediately grins back into the rearview when Blair shifts to straddle Carter's lap. "I love an audience."

"Oh yeah?" he smirks, leaning back as she wraps her arms around his neck and resumes kissing him with vigor, but to her chagrin he carefully grasps her shoulders and holds her at bay when she attempts to remove any articles of his clothing. "Seriously, Blair, what's gotten into you?"

"Come on Carter, I need this," she pleads in exasperation, and for some reason the way he raises his eyebrows infuriates her. "Oh, what? What, Carter? Why the sudden chivalry? I'm sure you've ever needed so much as an invitation before."

He stares at her incredulously as she flings herself off of him and glares out the window, arms crossed against her chest. He reaches for her, but the car stops and she's out the door. "I want to go home, now," she informs him, stalking down the sidewalk in search of a new cab before he's even paid the driver of the one they'd just been in.

"Blair!" he hurries after her, and halts abruptly when she suddenly whirls around to face him, her porcelain face a mess of tears. "Blair …"

She collapses against him, shuddering, and he holds her with a mixture of bewilderment and terror as she shakes in his arms, and he whispers meaningless, comforting words into her curls, and finally she's done, turning away with a wry, watery smile.

"Sorry," she offers a little hoarsely, and he reaches for her again, a little surprised at the feeling of emptiness that takes over when she leaves his arms.

"It's okay," he assures her. "Do you want to tell me what's wrong?"

"I didn't get into Yale," she mumbles against his chest, and he feels a wave of relief wash over him.

"Oh," he breathes. "Is that all?"

Oops.

She recoils, taking three steps back and her glare is frightening as he sputters uselessly.

"Is that all?" she demands, voice starting low and growing higher by the word. "What do you mean, is that all? It's my whole entire future! Isn't that enough?"

"Blair, I didn't mean – I just thought it was something really bad …" he attempts. "Blair!"

She's already hailed the cab and her tears have completely dried up with rage. "It is, Carter. But I couldn't expect you to understand. Have fun on your little sailing trip."

XOXO

She's watching Funny Face, on the heels of Sabrina, early Sunday morning after a sleepless Saturday night when Carter appears in her bedroom doorway.

She leaps to her feet like a cat, muttering something about hiring help that doesn't demand the Day of Rest off, and furiously tugging at her matted bedhead.

"You look beautiful," he tells her quietly, and she stares at the floor.

He crosses the room to stand before her and they listen to each other breathing for a few moments, before both erupting in apologies simultaneously and then laughing.

She reaches up to touch his cheek, slight sun, or perhaps wind-burnt. "You're back early," she notes, and he shrugs.

"I really only wanted to go so I could see Blair Waldorf with ocean hair in a drysuit," he admits, and she giggles.

"A whatsuit?"

He smiles, and tucks her hair behind her ear. "I didn't mean Yale wasn't a big deal," he tells her quietly. "I know how important it was to you. I was just … worried it could be something more serious – I've never seen you fall apart like that."

She nods, blushing slightly. "I guess I did go a little overboard."

He shakes his head. "No. It was honest." She stares up at him with huge eyes, and he adds, "We can figure out what to do now … together. If you want."

"I had coffee with Nate," she blurts. "It's …he's…it's what got me going, on the whole thing. I've know about Yale for a while."

She thinks it's best for everyone if she doesn't mention their first time together was actually something of a direct product of the whole tragedy.

"Something just snapped, though. When I was … with Nate."

Carter winces slightly and his jaw works in a way that looks a little painful, but he smiles down at her and shrugs. "Hey, it's none of my business though, right?"

She furrows her eyebrows, which he thinks to himself are the most perfect of eyebrows, and he rambles on. "I mean, you're friends. I would never tell you … well, I mean, if we were … which we're not … but I just mean, I get it, that Nate's kind of a big deal to you." He sighs. "And probably Chuck, too."

She laughs at this, and he meets her eyes with a sheepish kind of smile but something deeper in his clear eyes, and she feels something tugging inside of her as he touches her cheek and very seriously apologizes again.

She can't help but consider how, despite all the times he'd wronged her, Nate had never apologized for anything. Or how every time Chuck had, it had only been to immediately be followed by more, greater disappointment.

She can't help but notice, either, that Carter touches her face so carefully and so much, like he's trying to memorize it, and it's like nothing she's ever felt before when he runs his thumb across her cheekbone. And so maybe there are parts of him that are only him, and that are better than anything she's know.

"Do you want …" she begins, haltingly, taking a step forward. He looks at her curiously. "I mean, what would you think about us not being not … a thing. What if…" she stops again, considering her words, and looks up to see he's grinning.

"Yeah, I think that'd be good," he tells her. "If we were …not not a thing."

She smiles, sweetly, relieved, but a wicked glint appears in her eyes and she grabs him by his shirt and drags him toward her bed.

"Oh, what's this?" he demands, laughing, between kisses, as his gaze falls on the television screen. "Funny Face? Are you back to watching quality chick tv at least?"

"I've got the latest City saved On Demand," she replies, and he groans and falls back against the pillows. "So," she adds, climbing into his lap to lie against him. "Think your dad'll be up for sailing again soon? I'm sorry I missed it."

He smiles softly and wraps an arm around her back, fingers playing lightly on her shoulder. "Sure," he says. "We can wait until it's warmer if you want."

She pulls back, her eyes offering a challenge. "Oh, no. I want frostbiting, Baizen. Blair Waldorf can rock a … whateversuit."