Disclaimer: I do not own "Gossip Girl."
Author's Note: Thank you as always for the reviews and PM's. And a special thank you this time for being so understanding about the delay. It's been a tough month for me and the family.
This chapter is once again mostly NS and delves a bit more into Serena's past (and the IF universe). Next chapter will be back to the usual mix of everyone. A big thanks to Jackie (Red Blood Kiss of Death) for her read-through.
I hope you enjoy, thanks for reading!
***
"Let's," she agrees in the calmest voice she can muster as he tugs her to her feet. There's no sound as the Archibald's leave the dining room; the family's eyes following them as they walk towards the kitchen.
Another beat passes and then Sunny speaks, breaking the spell of silence, "Is Daddy— is he mad?" He wonders to the room at large, a waver his voice as he continues, "Mommy was sad and now— and now Da—Dad's mad and—and I don't like it and—"
"He's not mad, Sunny," his Uncle Chuck tells him very firmly.
Sunny shifts in his seat to look down the table at his Uncle. The boy's bottom lip is puckered out and his blue eyes are wide, because if there's anything Sunny likes less than people being sad it was when they were mad. People were so different when they were mad.
"Your Mommy and Dad just have things to talk about, baby," his Auntie B tells him sweetly, "That's all."
But there's a notable absence of conversation from the other kids— they all know better, know more— and Sunny can sense that.
"Another grown-up talk?" He asks her carefully, looking a touch skeptical; his fair brows drawn together.
His aunt stares at him, licks her lips as she readies herself to respond; but it's Liam who speaks.
"Exactly that," the teen assures his baby brother.
Sunny draws in a deep breath, "But he was mad and—"
"He wasn't," Annie corrects Sunny gently, "It just looked that way because he was in concentration— but he wasn't mad. Don't be worry about it…" she pauses a moment and then smiles a little, adds, "Come have some of my of French toast, you finished all yours and I have too much…"
Sunny considers her for a moment and then he nods, slips off his seat to run around and climb into Annie's lap. "Okay, I'll help you!"
Greg nods as the boy settles himself on his sister's legs; grins at him widely, "And you can tell me about these new friends of yours…" he prods, "I hear they're sorta special…"
Sunny's poking at Annie's French toast with her fork, lifting a huge piece to his mouth. But he pauses to look up at Greg. "Oh. Well. They're invisible…" he begins and then stuffs the piece into his mouth.
"You should follow, Serena, go on."
Blair's voice makes the young blonde start, her gaze darting from where she'd been staring at the kitchen doorway to her friend's face.
Blair shifts her look to Nate— he's watching Serena not the doorway, but she knows the case is the same so she says, "You too, Nate," firmly and with a small hand motion.
Serena glances to the table at Blair's words, her eyes going to Sunny— who is explaining how his invisible friends look like his Mommy and his Auntie B and his Dad...
She swallows hard, shakes her head a little as she answer Blair, "We should—"
"Chuck and I will stay," Blair cuts in, reaches out and touches her friends arm gently.
Chuck arcs an eyebrow. "We will?"
Nate frowns a bit. "But that's splitting up."
Both boys speak simultaneously, but Blair doesn't spare either of them a glance. Her eyes are fixed on Serena's as she says carefully, "You need to..." she trails off for a moment before finishing steadily, "To see…"
Serena blinks, shifts her gaze from Sunny and meets the eyes of her best friend. Blair is staring at her intently, warm brown eyes fixed on her with precision, encouraging and strong. And Serena draws from that strength, nods, doesn't argue with her, because it's true; this is something she needs to see, to know about herself.
She looks to Nate then, says, "Come with me?" Her anxious blue eyes fixed on his face.
Nate blinks at her, says, "Of course," without even considering that a moment ago he'd argued for staying together.
"Go," Blair prods again, "We'll watch Sunny to remind him to ask about the necklace…"
And then Serena nods again, turns, and pulls Nate along with her as they leave the dining room.
Behind them, Blair leans into Chuck. "They need this. So yes we will," she answers quietly. He sighs, says, "Know-it-all," teasingly as he wraps his arms around her to pull her closer-- without the worry of being teased for it later.
Serena leads Nate quickly into kitchen, through it, and towards the back door. They walk outside into the yard, blinking a little against the onslaught of sunlight.
And then Nate tugs her arm a little, slows them down as he sends her a sidelong look.
"Hey," he says gently, "Whatever happens with them— it's not real, it's not us, okay," he reminds her, voice low and reassuring; this dream or hallucination or whatever it is, it's already upset her so much… and he really doesn't want to see her in tears again.
She smiles a little as they walk along, the edges of it sad; her gaze fixed forward, on the figures they can see up ahead. "It could be real, Nate," she says to him softly, "I could wan—" she cuts herself off, is hesitant to voice the wish out loud, that anything in this crazy, messed up life could appeal to her; so she shakes her head and repeats instead, "It could be real, could be us..."
And she could want it-- if this, them, could be fixed; if it turned out she hadn't ruined Nate's life… then maybe she could—maybe this could…
She lets the thought trail off, sighs softly instead.
Nate sends her a quick look, but she's looking forward, not at him; and he doesn't know what to say, so he doesn't say anything— it's a bitterly familiar circumstance.
They don't speak again as they catch up to their older selves— the married couple is drawing closer to the pool now, walking almost to the spot where the older Serena alone had sat earlier in the morning.
"They're still holding hands," Nate says to her, finding something to say, "That's a good sign…"
Serena nods silently, looks down at their own joined hands; smiles again, amused this time, because for something they didn't do very often, it felt oddly familiar, to walk around linked like this…
And then, just as if their older forms had heard them, the two simultaneously release each other.
"Spoke too soon," she whispers softly to him; and Nate squeezes her hand in response—a silent, we're still okay.
They're standing facing the couple who are standing facing each other. They've walked to the pool as if somehow drawn by the water and now they're just standing on the tile, beside the edge, watching each other—silent and still.
And Nate is thinking he's going to pull Serena back into that house in the next minute because he can feel her getting more anxious by the moment and she doesn't have to put herself through this—
And that is when the older Serena speaks, breaking the silence with soft, wry words.
"That was some run…" she says, the words hesitant, "That you went on."
The stillness remains between them, stifling and oppressive, despite the words. The air around them is stagnant, the yard completely devoid of noise, and for a moment, they both wonder if he even heard her, if he's going to respond at all or if he's going to— and just then he does.
"Helps me think." He says the words dully, barely an invitation at conversation.
But his wife takes them up anyway, responds, voice low, as if that could hide the tremor of fear in it, "And what did you think of?"
Her question is met with silence. And it stretches for a long a moment, spins around them as a breeze rustles the leaves of tall trees and sunshine glimmers off of the turquoise pool water.
"You don't want a divorce," he states, finally; and said like that, flat and lacking inflection, the words sound a mockery.
She winces, his wife, but the moment passes and then she draws in a deep breath and says steadily, "No, I don't."
There's no pause this time, "Then explain it to me," he says, "Make me understand." The demand is quiet, ending almost tersely; leaving the air expectant with the words left unsaid.
And she stares at him, eyes wide, silent.
He shakes his head a little, heat slipping into his words, the blankness leaving them as the tension in his face gives way. "Explain to me what it was you thought you were doing? How you thought lying to me, tricking me, to run off and be Carter's wife again could end in anything but that?"
"Nate—"
"If you want to be his wife, Serena, I'm not going to stop you," he presses, voice still low; his eyes affixed to her face as he adds darkly, "Though that does beg the question of why you got divorced in the first place doesn't it? Should we just chalk it up to the Serena-Way?"
There's acid in the tone, the words meant to burn, and they do. Hurt flashes across her face, "I don't," she tells him, "He and I aren't like that anymore— that's not what—"
"Then explain it to me," he repeats, cutting her off.
Her mouth snaps shut, eyes dropping from his face for a moment.
The space between them is silent for a beat and then he continues; tone shifting again, leaving the anger behind as he says, "Make me understand why you would do this. Why you'd…" he trails off, voice rippling with a touch of bewilderment.
She lifts her eyes to his face, her hands come up too, in a gesture of helplessness, "I— he— he needed my—"
"I know what Carter needed," Nate interrupts, holding out one hand in a stalling motion as he watches her, "I know about the will, the stability clause, the sham you two put on."
She blinks; startling a little. "You… know? But how did—? When did—?"
"Does it matter?" Nate snaps, angry suddenly, "Does it change anything that happened between us? You deceived me."
Serena shrinks back a little at the fury in his voice, the hurt in his gaze, "God Nate, don't say—"
"Why not? You did."
"But I—"
He shakes his head. "Explain it to me," he says again.
And again she falls silent.
"Make me understand…" for a moment he trails off; and he's watching her so intently, so steadily, it's a wonder she can bear the weight of those darkened, blue eyes, "Because for us to… to stay… I need to understand why… why you did it… why you ran like that— from me," a pause, and then, "Make me understand, Serena."
There's no disguising the plea in the tone, its laden with it, with the longing for her to do it; to make sense of this for him, because he wants nothing more than her, than them, always. It's a naked request, and there's as much yearning in his voice for it as there is in her eyes for it. For him to understand, for this to slip into the past so they can move forward together.
They're both silent.
He looks away from her, gaze going beyond her to the surface of the pool. He's finished, nothing more to say, nothing to add; the ball is in her court.
It always is.
Serena nods once at him then, like she'd done as she'd taken his hand in the dining room, and then she kicks off her sandals and sits down on the tile; legs crossed under herself, still facing her husband.
He starts a little at her movement, eyes widening a bit at her actions— and then he moves to lower himself down onto the tile as well, sits cross-legged too, facing her.
The poses echo exactly those of the younger pair earlier that morning and the two exchange a quick look of surprise before returning their attention to their counterparts.
"I don't know what to say to you, Nate," she tells him finally, voice quiet, sad, "I don't know that I can make you understand, that I understand it myself…" she says the words slowly, barely to be heard and the stillness between them returns.
Her gaze is fastened on the hands she's twisting in front of herself; his is fastened on her face, dark blue eyes roving over her features.
"Was it— did I…" he begins after a moment, almost hesitantly, "Do something…to make you think— feel, that you couldn't… trust me, couldn't come to me with anything that—"
Her head lifts sharply, eyes widening as she shakes her head, "Wha-- no! That's not— no…" she says quickly.
And then just as quickly and abruptly her eyes cloud with tears, "It's me…" she says, voice pained, "It's me. Everything I— I touch… it just… it… crumbles…"
A tear slips from one of her eyes then and she wipes at her cheek quickly.
Nate watches her for a moment, swallows hard and then says softly, "Don't— don't say that," as he averts his gaze from those tears.
"It's true," she says emphatically; another tear slipping free, another quick wipe to dash it away. "I mean, look at this… at what I've done to— to us…"
He sighs, says, "Serena—" but still can't quite look at her.
"Come on Nate," she continues hardly pausing, "I mean you and me… I ruined you and me— and we're—" she shakes her head, a hand coming up in a helpless motion as a soft, breathy, completely humorless laugh escapes her, "Who wouldn't have put money on us? Huh? I mean, we're— us."
There's heartbreak in the words. And like the older Nate, the younger pair can't quite look at the older Serena. There's too much grief there; guilt and blame warring with regret to mar the woman's beautiful features.
"Serena…?" Nate says his wife's name again, a question uncompleted as he trails off, shifting his gaze back to her.
They watch each other for a moment, the air between them tremulous with emotion. Nate shakes his head a little, "I need you to tell me—" he cuts himself off, starts over, "I don't… I don't want to be what you run from, okay...? That's not—"
Serena's reaction is vehement. "You're not! God Nate, you're…" she shakes her head, "You're not," she adds emphatically. "I just… I know how you feel about Carter and I— I didn't want to— to hurt you…" she finishes; and the irony is too great for her to meet his gaze.
Nate makes a quiet, angry sound as he shifts in his place; as if bristling, "Right—of course— protect my feelings, because I can't take the truth, is that it?"
"Nate—"
"You always do that— Blair too, even Chuck— you act like somehow I need protection from things, need things sugarcoated or rationalized for me," he was scowling at her now, back rigid with tension, "I don't need to be protected Serena, I don't need guidance; what I need is for the people around me, my friends, my wife, to be honest with me, to—"
"It's not like that! We—I don't think that," she contradicts, shaking her head, "I just… I do things and—"
"Right," he cuts in, voice still hard, still furious, "Things like Dan."
Serena's mouth snaps shut and a bit of a glare appears on her own face, "That was different."
"Seems alarmingly similar to me," he snaps.
"It was different," she insists, jaw clenching a little, "You know that."
"I know you lasted six years with Henry and only four with me."
Serena blows out a breath, brows drawing together, "Don't! Don't do that! Not you! You know better! That's not— Henry, he— he and I… we…" she trails off for a moment before adding, "We never had what you and I have."
Nate's ire turns disbelieving and it's a hard sight to witness. "And what do we have, Serena?"
The younger Nate tugs his Serena's hand, "Let's just go back inside…" he whispers to her. But she doesn't so much as look over at him, doesn't move; her gaze is glued to their older visages and she has no plans to move. He sighs very softly and turns his gaze from her to their older selves.
The older Serena blinks at her husband, his question reverberating in the quiet air.
"Everything," she answers quietly, "We have everything."
He stares at her for a long beat; and she stares back.
"How can you say that," he says, "And still do what you—"
"Because it's the truth…" she says emphatically, "There's no comparison. What happened—"
"You forget who you're talking to, Serena." Nate interrupts, voice level, eyes steady, "I was there. I remember the reason you gave for spending a weekend in a hotel room with Dan Humphrey," and the words turn low then, oddly dark, as he continues, "It was too perfect, you said, it was suffocating you." He pauses there and there's a touch of sadness in his voice as he continues, "As far as I can tell, we're pretty perfect too."
She shakes her head, "No, Nate. Not like that— we're different… Henry and I… when we met, I was— I wasn't…" she trails off for a moment and then starts over, "You remember after we graduated high school…?"
He blinks at the question even as the younger Nate and Serena start a little. "What does that—"
"Remember I spent that summer with Carter, he was helping me look for my Dad…"
Nate sighs. "Bringing up Carter is not—"
"And I didn't find him; he didn't let himself be found—"
"Yes Serena, I remember, what does that—"
"Stop it!" She snaps suddenly, eyes narrowed on his face, "You want me to explain, then let me." There's a breath of a pause before she continues, "Let me tell you… why this isn't, why it can't be like it was with Henry…" she says heatedly, "That summer, after graduation, I was completely out of control. I was all over the tabloids, did nothing but party and get myself seen. Remember?"
He presses his lips together for a moment in annoyance; before saying, "Yes Serena, I recall, but what does—"
"Because—" she cut herself off, started over, "Remember graduation, when—"
"Our high school graduation?" He interrupts again, voice incredulous.
"Yes," she answers determinately, "Remember Gossip Girl—"
Nate's expression is a picture of disbelief, "Are you kidding me?" He says exasperatedly, "You want to talk about—"
"She said I was irrelevant—"
He huffs a little. "Serena that was high school, it—"
"And when my own father made himself impossible for me to find that's exactly how I felt. So when I got back to the city I spent my time trying to prove that I wasn't— being everywhere that mattered, being talked about and followed—I needed to matter then, to prove it."
He's staring at her, blinking confusedly, "Okay…" he says, drawing the word out, "Fine. But what does—"
"It didn't make any difference, Nate," she tells him fervently, "It didn't change anything— being talked about or photographed— I was still so scared of passing favor, of what came next—I was Serena Van der Woodsen and the world was watching me so they'd see me fade and I—I'd rather disappear completely, suddenly, then fade away in public," she explained, "So that's what I did. I went to Brown and I blended in— I wasn't trying to make myself better and I wasn't throwing caution to the wind… I just went to class and smiled and drank coffee and did my homework and then I—I met Henry and he… he made it so easy to be… to be just… normal— regular. He didn't know about old Serena's or new; about my mixed up family or my old friends… he just knew that me—sweet and simple and easy…" she trails off then, eyes glazing over a little, looking beyond him.
Nate sighs. "I don't see how this is supposed to—"
"And that's how it was for a long a time," she picks up again, her voice sliding over his, "Sweet and simple and easy—and Liam came and everything was so, so perfect…" her voice was tainted with sadness now, her gaze still fixed beyond Nate.
He looks about to speak again when her voice slips into the quiet space between them, "But I'm not sweet and simple and easy—" she tells him, as if he didn't know, "Not all the time…" her gaze sharpens suddenly onto his face, on his eyes as she adds, "Sometimes… I'm a mess."
They stare at each other then; because there are some things you never forget.
They're silent for a beat and then Serena resumes. "When Dan was in the city that day..."
"You went to see him," Nate points out before she can finish. Because it's important, she went to Dan, the way she'd gone to Carter.
She blinks, then sighs a little, "Yeah, I did…" she admits softly, shrugging a little as she continues, "There were a lot of reasons why I did that and I know they don't all… hold up well, but at the time I just—I told myself I wanted to see an old friend, that I should go see him, that he'd been through a lot… and those were good enough reasons even if inside I really— I just…"
"Missed the mess," he says for her when she trails off.
She nods a little, doesn't quite meet his gaze as she presses on, "He was… so different, Jenny's death changed him so much and I—"
"She was his sister Serena, what did you expect?"
"Oh god."
It's the first sound the younger Serena has made and Nate's quick to squeeze her hand, to blink past the shock rippling over him at the older woman's soft and casual words.
"Nate," his Serena whispers to him, looking away from their older counterparts for the first time since they'd begun speaking, "Oh god, Nate…" she murmurs, eyes wide on his face.
And he doesn't know what to say; because this isn't real doesn't seem comforting enough right then— and because maybe there'd always been a little bit of falseness to the words… because maybe there's a part of him that's wants this to be real— problems and fighting and angry, but together nonetheless…
"I know…" the older Serena says quickly; and they both look away from each other, focus back on the adults, unable to discuss this part of their future just yet.
"I know that," the woman continues, "That's why I… at first, I went with him because I wanted to—to… help him, the way he had me, but—"
Nate sighs roughly, frustration slipping over his features. "Yeah, okay fine. I don't need an analysis of your interlude with Dan. I—"
"—but I stayed because I shouldn't have," Serena talks over him, "Because it'd been so long since I'd done something I shouldn't have." Her eyes were fixed on him steadily as she admitted it, "I'd been sweet and simple and easy for so long—and Dan reminded me of when I'd tried harder, of a time when I'd always been teetering on the edge of mess. And I wanted it."
He's staring at her in silence again.
And Serena continues, "That feeling. So I took it." She makes a little wavy-hand motion, "I don't have to tell you that I paid for it—you remember 2021, save for Gracie, not my best year." She stops there, looks away from him completely, turning her head to look towards the pool house. "Henry didn't deserve that," she adds quietly. "The way the media— I should have been more careful about…" she trails off without finishing the sentence; they're old regrets, no longer needing to be voiced.
Nate glowers a little, but its old heat and not directed at Serena. "Dan should have drunk less." He snaps.
She shifts her gaze back towards him; the bright blue of her eyes calm as she remembers past transgressions, "He was grieving—angry. He didn't mean to… he just forgot the pulse of the city, the way we're always watched, forgot to be—"
"—to keep his fuckin' mouth shut."
Serena shrugs again, a little tightly this time. It's an old conversation, the looks and expressions they're giving each other worn. "You know how upset he was when it came out, when he realized he'd been the one to do leak it… it turned into another point to add to his Why-I-hate-New-York-City list."
Nate scoffed a little, "It wasn't the city that killed Jenny, it was her insistence on living like a—"
"He needed something to blame."
"You should have let me punch him in the face."
A flicker of a smile crosses her features, "Like it would have ended with a punch in the face."
"Worst possible time for him to take a job."
Serena shrugs again. "He needed out of New York, you know that; only came back for the funeral… he stayed because of me, but he couldn't miss that opportunity…" Nate doesn't look convinced, will never be convinced, but Serena still adds as she always does that, "It was a good thing he didn't miss it; he won the—"
"Your divorce, that he played a huge factor in, had been final for less than two months and his daughter was an infant. I don't give fuck what award he won for that piece—there're things you don't do."
Nate's voice is implacable.
And Serena flinches as if struck. "Like leave your five month old daughter with your brother and best friend to roam around Europe, you mean?"
Nate starts, surprised. "No, I didn't—"
Her sad laugh cuts into his words. "I know I wasn't good to her those first few years—neither was Dan. He had his work and I… I was—"
"With Carter." Nate says and the surprise is gone from his features. The tight expression is slipping back over his face, the line of his jaw clenching, "Provided you with a nice alternative to sweet and simple, didn't he?"
Her chin lifts then; she's not going to deny it. "Yes. Carter's always made me free to be flighty and wild… it was refreshing, rejuvenating… but it didn't last, couldn't last." She said firmly, "Can't ever because I always settle and he never does."
Nate just stares at her.
"He helped me. I don't—I don't think you realized because I know—we weren't too close— and you were married and things were getting rocky for you and Vanessa then, but… I was really… bad. And he helped me… he really does care about me you know, we're—"
"Yes, Serena. Let's talk about how much Carter loves you and how close you two are—that's exactly what I want to hear right now." He hisses, fire flashing in those dark blue eyes… along with a thread of jealousy.
Serena's eyes flash too. "I'm trying to explain something to you!"
"I don't want to hear about you and Carter!"
"Of course not! Why would you!? You already know everything, don't you!? What'd you do Nate? Borrow Chuck's PI's?"
He glares at her, stands in one swift motion. "If I'd hadChuck's PI's I wouldn't have been blindsided by my wife's adultery!" He growls, "Did he refresh and rejuvenate you again this time, Serena?!" The words are hurled at her, eyes hard as stone before he turns away from her, starts moving back to the house.
"Oh no," the younger Serena says softly, a hand coming up to her mouth.
Nate sighs and looks over at her. "Let's just go inside—"
"I don't need that with you."
His wife's words stop the older Nate's progress; but he doesn't turn back around.
"Being with you is never that sort of exhausting, Nate," she continues, voice low. She's standing now too, hands clenched in front of her the way they'd been while she'd sat. "It's actually the only rest I've ever known."
The words are so low; the younger pair have to take a step towards the older woman to hear her.
Her husband doesn't move.
"You see all of me, sweet and uncomplicated, striving and steady, fun and wild… so when I'm with you, I can just… be."
The confession is a wisp of air on the summer breeze; and he turns around then, to look at her. There's more space between them now, she's closer to the pool, still on the tile; he standing the grass. The hot air and lack of exertion had begun to dry his hair, returning it to its tarnished gold color.
"And still, you acted alone, didn't come to me with the truth. You lied to me, fled the country, accused me of leaking those pictures…"
"I have no idea how the media got them, Nate," She says, taking a step towards him, "I was careful, my false documentations are flawless. I know I wasn't tracked—"
He scoffs. "Right. So I did it. For all you know, Carter could have done it; could be the one being tracked…"
She huffs. "He wouldn't! And who would be tracking him!?"
"I don't know and I don't care," Nate snarls.
They're silent after that; tension undulating between them.
"And then, on top of that," Nate picks up his listing again, "I send you divorce papers and you wait two weeks to come address that?"
The touch of incredulity in his voice does little to hide the hurt in it.
She licks her lips. "I tell you I'm sorry and you send me divorce papers," she counters sadly.
He sighs. "I can't—this isn't…" he shakes his head a little, "You didn't trust me, Serena." And the tension seeps away then, leaves behind weariness and sorrow. "You tell me this isn't like with Henry, fine. But you still lied to me to get away from me… so how can I… trust you?"
A slow build up of tears begins to fill her eyes then, the silence weighing heavily around them. The tears glimmer in her eyes as she draws in a deep, shuddering breath. "You know," she says carefully, "He… before… Carter helped me," she says again; bypassing Nate's question.
He sighs; looks exhausted and about to speak again before she presses on.
"But you healed me," she tells him seriously, "You were so good to me when I decided to patch my life back together. When I decided I needed that divorce from him, that he and I weren't working; another to add to my tally—but you said it didn't matter, you said I was doing well at Bass, that I could teach Gracie to love me, that I could regain Liam's trust—you just knew I could do it, just like that, because I wanted to."
He's not sure what that little speech means; how he's supposed to respond to it. It conjures memories of years ago, when his own first marriage had already dissipated and taking care of Serena had been a familiar glove to slip into.
"You helped me move into that condo, remember?" She says, "And we assembled that princess bed from hell."
He nods slowly, frowning at her a little; not sure where all this was going now.
"And you told me that Liam loved me and he'd forgive me, he'd trust me again, if I just showed him that I was there, that I loved and trusted him back."
She stares at him then; and he's not certain if he can truly draw the parallel she's making… he's not a child the way Liam was then and even despite that, she's just betrayed the boy's trust again hasn't she….
She takes a step towards him, and then another, and then another until she is standing right in front of him.
"We're not just pretty perfect, Nate," she presses on, even in the face of his silence, "We are perfect. We forget appointments and laugh too much and give the staff too many days off so our house's is a mess; we let our kids go to bed late and watch horror movies with us and we tuck them in tight and we sleep in late and we—we're perfectly us," she says fervently, "And I was so scared of ruining that… I had to help him, I wanted to help him, but I was so terrified of—of exactly what did happen…" she finishes.
He's silent a moment and then he takes a step forward too; comes closer, close enough to see the crystalline tears still swimming in her eyes.
"It's not enough," he says, voice pitched precisely as low as hers, "To just see all those parts of you, Serena. I need to know that they're all mine, the way everything I am is yours. I can't think that some part of you is just for Cart—"
"But you do. God Nate, you do have everything— you— everything is… you," she rushes in to say, takes another step towards him. They're close enough to touch then, even thought they don't; less than an arms length between as she says, "I love you."
He swallows hard, released a puff of a breath as he muses, "Do you have any idea how long I've loved you?"
He goes on before she can speak, voice sadly wondering, "But you've forever just— slipped through my fingers, just a half-step too fast to catch up to, a moment's too quick…"
"I'm right here, Nate," she says emphatically as she edges a bit closer to him, still not touching, "I'm not running, I won't slip away. I'm right here with you."
His expression softens a little, he sighs, "Serena—"
But she's looking into his face earnestly then; and speaks over him, wonders, "How long?"
His mouth snaps shut.
And they can see Serena forcing herself to be brave. "How long have you loved me?"
He's completely still for a long moment, his eyes drifting slowly over her face; the younger pair's breaths are held, they're joined hands unconsciously clenched—waiting for these mirrors to show them the truth; to see if it could want this to be real…
And then the older Nate licks his lips, a ghost of a smile hovering over them as he sighs, "Feels like my whole life sometimes…" he says the words gently, an odd caress.
Her tears spill at the words; slip down her cheeks silently. "Then don't stop now…" her hands come up to his chest then, clench desperately around the fabric of his t-shirt, "Please, Nate… please…" she whispers, voice tight, sobs restrained, "Don't stop now…"
And he watches her for another moment; the pleading eyes and the slow tears, the way the sun makes her hair shimmer, the way her jaw is clenched to keep her lip from trembling.
And he loves her.
He always has.
"Okay Serena," he says, voice still gentle as a hand comes up to her face; wipes at her tears, "Okay…"
***