tampered | (no subject)

(no subject)

When; July 1, noon
Rating; PG
Characters; Blair

theoldreliable
Summary; it all feels like reading from a script, the second time.
Log;

Blair hated this part. It might have been easier if there were a fight, and then all she would have to do was stomp away and leave. But that's not really true. She loved Nate, as a friend, she would hate to lose him a second time around. A third time around, more like. It had always been complicated between them.

He told her this was what happened back home, that they got back together then figured out that it was not meant to be anymore, so he must have expected it. But why did he play along anyway? He said he was willing to give it another try. She hoped it would not hurt him.

She claimed the couch of his living room, arranging her skirt and her hair. It was a habit. She fiddled with her fingers nervously. He would understand, she told herself. No, in fact, he would be glad. He would never be the one to confront her, she knew him that much, so he was probably waiting for her to take the move. He was probably waiting for her to bounce back from the latest ordeal, to be strong enough to confront him and break it off. That made it slightly easier. She was not leaving him, she was setting him free.

"Nate," she called, loving the sound of his name on her tongue. She would never get over him, it seems, but she could live with that. "Can we talk?"

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Nate worked in confusing ways. Although he was not someone who wanted to live up to the reputation of "Class Whore," he couldn't help but feel as if he couldn't escape the chivalric notions that sometimes guided him. He wanted to help out, to protect, to do anything necessary—even if it sometimes sacrificed his own integrity. He told Dan and Vanessa he wanted to move past that, but nothing prepared him for arriving in the City to find Blair, Serena, and Chuck all living in a different timeline.

And Blair being in pain. Nate couldn't handle that part.

So he did what he did best: he was there for her. He extended his hand toward her in the way she needed, giving her the comfort and care and love, because he did love her. He had for a long time. Of course, an outsider would see his love as being almost naive, caring from the wrong angle, and certainly not romantic, but Nate had a hard time drawing those lines. He always did.

Even if there was a bit of discomfort in this, Nate didn't mind. He knew where things would go, but he hadn't been the one to break it off. There was a lingering (constantly lingering) feeling in his head that things would be the same; they were over, and they were over for some time, but he also remembered Chuck's words to him. Blair was wise to pick Nate over Chuck, wasn't she? His initial feeling toward hearing that was pleasure, but now he wasn't so sure. But being who he was, he had a hard time grappling with these issues, a hard time dealing with them, so he played it easy. Things could be different this time. Perhaps he and Blair could work out.

Of course, there were also the times that he felt jerked out of things by her disdain toward Chinese food. Maybe they wouldn't—but those few seconds of doubt would always roll off his back.

When she asked if they could talk, there was no feeling of unease or comfort, but he could tell this was something serious. Nate smiled—briefly, ever so briefly—before he sat down beside her, leaning forward and craning his head just enough so all eyes were on her. "Sure. What's up, Blair?"

Blair always liked lines. She drew them neat and straight and distinct. Lines to plot her conquests, her achievements, her allies, her enemies, her possessions. It was all clear in her head, until it all blew up in her face and now she was left with ragged lines with no purpose. But it was alright, because the fact was that she was the one who drew those lines and she was still here. She only had to draw them again, and she had to start somewhere.

But if she did this here, then it would really be over. It would close all chances of them being together. It would really be the end, finally, and that felt strange. She had always thought that Nate would be the one, ever since she could remember. It seemed impossible for them to really forgive and forget. It seemed unthinkable that they would ever be over.

Blair looked away, and sighed. It had been over for a long time anyway. She reached for his hand, holding it tight. "You know--" she said, then stopped to turn to look at him, and smiled fondly. "I can't remember not loving you."

His lips twitched into a frown immediately at the words. The lack of being uncomfortable? Flew out the window immediately. Nate immediately started a mantra inside his head. The feeling could be wrong. This was Blair, they cared about one another, they always had—hey, maybe she wanted to live together. Maybe it was her turn to suggest it. But he wasn't that stupid, that caught up in his own ideals of how things were "meant" to be.

He gripped her hand back and managed to smile again. If he smiled, if he was a warm presence, things wouldn't be the same—this could be different. But the mantra still wasn't working. "Ever since we were little, right? Kind of like ... we're meant to be."

Oh, that smile. What cruelty. Blair had to look away.

There was a time when she thought it was the stupidest thing she had ever done, telling him that she had always loved him, that she always would. But now, more than ever, it rang true. She wondered if he thought the same way, if it had hurt him when that other Blair broke up with him at prom, if he wished they would be together instead. Maybe she shouldn't do this.

"Yeah." Blair loved Nate, so much. "That's what it felt like."

She laughed, then smiled sadly. She did not want to cry in front of him. "Am I saying the exact same words?"

Suddenly, his throat felt dry—not because of tears, like she was fighting off, but because he felt awkward, being in this place for a second time. It hadn't been too long between the break-ups; there was a short enough time that he could let himself hold on to the belief that things could be the same. He fumbled for a moment for how he held her hand before pulling it away, his mouth opening while his head bowed. What would he say to that? The truth? A lie?

It wasn't the same words, though. So he could tell the truth.

"Not ... not exactly," he said, glancing away toward a spot on the wall that seemed barer when the other parts of the apartment he shared with Chuck. "They're not the same words." The last sentence was firmer, but it didn't matter. It didn't matter if it was the same words, because they'd been coming to this point for a while. The milestone was marked by prom back home, but here—it was marked by the independence and control she held in the City. While back home, she was limited, held back by parents and money and image and needing to solidify her position as Queen Bee, she could step out in the real world and mould it into what she needed it to be.

He looked away from that spot and met her gaze. "Blair, I—" But the words didn't come, held still in his throat. Nate hadn't argued before; he couldn't argue now.

He was hurting. Was he hurting? Did she wish he was? Did she wish that it meant enough to him to make it hurt, at least a little? But they do say, you know it was love if it tears your heart apart to see the other hurting. She could feel a tightening in her chest when he pulled his hand away.

Blair let out a small sob, blinking back the tears. He was still right here, but it felt like he was already a thousand miles away, and she could never go where he was. She knew now, the problem with happily ever afters was that it was only a matter of knowing when to stop telling the story. Which simply meant it didn't exist, no matter how nicely you put it.

At the sound of her name, she turned back to him, and smiled. Reaching up to his face, she traced the side of his face, down his cheekbone, lingering on his chin. He was still so far away. "Hold me?" she muttered.

No, how could she ever wish him harm? She wished he would grin and just say "I told you so" instead. Instead of this.

Hold her? Was it that chance, to bumble awkwardly while he tried to prove as if something was different? When he was around her, things seemed right, but he admitted it was because of a routine. Nate never knew what was right; it didn't matter the girl, the time, or what he was doing—he only felt okay if he was there for someone, even if the direct results of each encounter didn't seem to always make sense. He was a little lost that way, ready to answer to every beck and call. Had she cried like this on prom night? No, not exactly—but it was well before her time, and Nate wanted to tell her that.

He would be there until she no longer needed him. He would be.

Somehow, the words caught in his throat, so permanently lodged there with other persuasive cries, because he wasn't good at this. He didn't know the answer, didn't know the right way to go about things. Didn't even know if those words mattered or if he could say them right. He knew how to be sweet, to be kind, to protect, and sometimes he could flirt and laugh it up, but beyond that? Feeling lost was familiar.

So he nodded. No words, no confirmation that he was all right with this. Nate shifted closer to her on the couch and slid one arm around her back, and then he turned, wrapping another arm around her from the other time. He bent his head forward as if he was ready to kiss her head, but waited. That wasn't what she asked for, that may not be what she needed. Did this feel right? He never knew for sure. Maybe that was why it couldn't be.

There were some things that leaves permanent marks on you. Things like parents, best friends, first loves. She had always compared every guy with Nate, her fairytale boyfriend, and one way or another they had always fallen short. They were not beautiful enough, not gentle enough, not sweet enough. She could not love them enough. And she found that sometimes she would blame him for not trying hard enough. If he had kept faithful, if he would just try and love her, they would have worked out. Surely she wasn't so impossible to love?

But playing the blame game would never amount to anything. The fact was that now she was the one ending it, because they were just not meant to be anymore, if they ever were. Still, it all felt like cutting through a mountain, the roots run too deep.

So she just held him tight, grasping at his shirt as if to keep from drowning, because she really was, gasping and choking at her tears and crying ungracefully. And after this she would have to let go.

"I'm sorry."

I'm sorry.

The words echoed in his mind a few times before he realized that he needed to say something. This time, he felt a little assured that he couldn't say the wrong thing, because they were possibly nearing an end. Nate loosened his hold, just a little, so his head could be a little further from her face while he looked down at her. "Blair ... no, I'm sorry." For what? He wasn't sure, but his own apology seemed necessary. She mentioned the time before, and seemed convinced he was only doing this for a reason. For her. Not for him.

But when did Nate ever truly do something for himself?

He leaned a little closer after struggling for a follow-up, simply tightening his arms a bit more.

No, she's sorry.

But she could not say it, because it would be childish and they were grown up now. She could not say it because if she did then it would have to come with an explanation, and she really had none. They were not meant to be anymore, she told herself. That was it, they were not meant to be. But somewhere in the equation was Chuck, and she was still not big enough to admit it.

The boyfriend's best friend. How classic. How tragic. She would not admit it because she had already told him she loved him and he didn't say it back.

It seemed like their relationship, the four of them, was built on a pile of apologies. I'm sorry I stole your boyfriend. I'm sorry I lied. I'm sorry I left. I'm sorry I could not help but rush down the road to self-destruction. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. That's what love means for all of us imperfect people, right?

"You're my best friend."

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