The Artist and the Painting a/n: Based off season six material. Warning: The writing was a complete shot in the dark. Sorry
Nate doesn't know how long he's been sitting at this bar but if he were to guess-"A long time" would be the answer. Instead of drowning himself with a bottle of Hennessy, he decides drinking some water would be better. He's fed up with hiding away his lies and suffering behind a half empty liquor bottle. His thin lips linger on the rim of the glass, feeling the sheer coldness of the water brushing against his mouth. Although he feels exhausted, he hasn't got a full night of sleep in a week. His appetite is bipolar, his migraines are constant and it feels like he's getting weaker by the day. Somehow a voice coming from the television set pulled his attention away from his thoughts and towards the screen. Those glossy blue eyes stared blankly at the tall brunette standing near the a courthouse. "In other news more information has been received on the case against Nathaniel Fitzwilliam Archibald, heir to the Van der Bilts' fortune. Just a couple of days ago, the police charged the editor and chief of The Spectator for five counts of fraud after police investigated the finances of the newspaper. Thanks to the growing suspension of the late Jack Bass who Nathaniel accepted a loan from-." "You mean forced to accept." Nate muttered. "-authorities were able to retrieve the information before it could be erased. It seems that Mr. Archibald's business was barely staying afloat as records stated it was running out of funds at an alarming rate which maybe the reason why he did this in the first place. After spending four hours in holding, Mr. Archibald plead guilty to all charges and was kept until his hearing the following day. Through negotiations within the lawyers they were able to persuade the judge to sentence Archibald with a three-year probation with mandatory 100 hour completion of community service. Back to Matthew in the studio-" This was it. The moment he dreaded ever since the FBI carried his father away to prison that night many years ago. He can still hear his mother's soft cries for her husband's return and see the expression on his father's face. The face of someone who just lost everything and didn't know it. To think he prayed every night for that to never happen again and the bitch known as karma proved his prays were ignored.
Reality was sinking in, the Earth's gravitational pull was bringing him deeper and deeper into the abyss of the unknown and there was nothing he could do about it. Two men sitting at a table not that far from Nate chatted among themselves with drinks in hand when the news came on. They grew silent when the reporter started talking and when the channel switch off to commercials their conversation was resurrected, however they changed the topic. "Can you believe that shit? That bitch's family has millions of dollars, why not ask them for some cash instead of trying to cheat the system? " "I'm not surprise, people like him have too much time on their hands and few morals. I guess when you have a lot of money you can't help but want more of it. Just look at his father." "While the rest of us have to work our butts off every day just to put food on the table, a dumbass like him fuck things up and gets a slap on the wrist." "What can I say, money talks bullshit walks."
Nate attempted to ignore the men and finish his drink. He took another sip until drops of water seem abided. He push the cup aside, laid his forehead on his arm and let his mind get lost in the sea of noises surrounding him. Despite how pissed those old pricks made him, they did have a point. Throughout his whole life he had everything handed to him, even stuff he didn't want. The usher position for the Dartmouth representative, the internship for that closeted mayor of New York and don't forget getting into Yale with just one phone call from his grandfather. Instead of saying no or respectfully declining those offers, he just went along the currents thrashing against him. Along with his obedience, all he had to do was one thing-act like a painting. Be an object admired from afar and up close, be perfect at every angle, and make those who see you poison themselves with envy. People will question you; ask whose the artist, what was their inspiration, what instruments help create this fine art, etc. You'll never say a word. You'll stay there and look pretty. His phone started to vibrate, a reminder that he missed another call. Nate didn't need to know who it was, obviously it was Sage. Winter break just started so of course the young teenager was tracking him down so she could spend some time with him. Or use him as an excuse to avoid her father. He groaned at the thought of hearing an useless conversation of hers, there were enough problems to deal with on his term and hearing how sexy his mugshot looked wasn't going to make things better. The doors open at once in a silent motion, then a man came inside heading directly to the bar. He sat one seat away from Nate and waved at the bartender, "One scotch on the rocks please." It was Dan. The bartender nodded and disappear to get his drink. The writer lean toward the counter, resting on his elbows as he waited. He already knew Nate was mere inches away from him and he attempt to be calm as possible. In his mind he was contemplating if he should say something or not say something. He should. Okay, if he was going to do this he has to do this right. No rambling, stuttering, or ambiguous slurred words. After spending two minutes arguing with himself he decided to go for it, "You're not going to punch me again are you?" A sad attempt, it ended up sounding more impudent than comical. Nate looked at Dan in the corner of his eye, in his hazy mind he was trying to figure out who was talking to him. The strange abundance of curly black hair was a give away. He reverted his eyes back to the counter and continue to lay his head down. The bartender came back and gave Dan his drink. He took a glimpse at Nate, "Do you need anything?"
"Can I have another glass of water please." Dan couldn't help but smirk, "What about our be like Don Draper pact?" "If you want to drink yourself to death be my guess. I won't stop you." Nate paused, "Actually I think you would be doing the world a favor if you did that." "For a second there I thought you were trying to insult me." "I'm not in the mood for your bullshit Humphrey, unless you're asking for a fight I suggest you leave me alone." "Calm down Ike Turner, I only came to see if the rumors were true. Not cause any trouble." "Too late for that." The smirk hasn't vanish, "So one of the members of the NJBC gets away with a crime. Did you tell the officers that the orange jumpsuit would clash with your eyes?" "If there was something to be told I'm not stupid enough to tell you." "Don't worry I'm not interested in petty crimes committed by the over-privileged. I'm a starving artist, not a desperate one." "Could have fooled me." "Right, I'm desperate. Wise words coming from someone whose dating a minor." "What the fuck is your problem?!" "I think I should be asking you that question. Haven't you heard of using your inside voice." "Through all this shit you started, it takes balls to be on your high horse judging everyone when you know damn well you're fucked up as everyone else here." "Don't pretend this was never going to happen if I decided to stay as the 'good guy'. You and your friends brought this on yourself. Through all the lies, deceit, and schemes toward others and to each other." "Stop bullshiting me Dan, this isn't about revenge or getting back at my friends this is about Blair not wanting your sorry ass. Dude get over yourself! Everyone knew, you knew she was going to pick Chuck-she always does. Then you decide to go against every single person that cared about you. What kind of sick twisted fantasy do you live in?" "The same one that has Chuck Bass getting the girl at the end and me looking like a fool. I tried to be the loyal, genuine and kind but that doesn't lead me nowhere but back where I started." "That's not-" "Whenever I needed someone to be there for me, those people you said cared about me were never there. Not Blair, Serena, my parents, nor you. So yes I'm a conniving bastard for writing those exposé but don't you dare look me in the eye and say those articles didn't tell the truth about how much of a hypocrite you people really are." Dan looked right into the Nate's eye and prepare himself for another punch. However, when he continue to stare deep inside the endless foundation of blue, he didn't see rage or pain. Only confusion and sadness. Similar to six years ago, no matter how many years had past Nate was still that lost soul longing for a purpose. Nate reach into his pocket and placed a 20 dollar bill near his glass and stormed out of the bar.
Weeks passed, things fell back into their routine and it felt like nothing had change. While Dan rest comfortably in his new apartment, he takes another sip from his beer and watches the rain drops skims across the bedroom window. Despite being surrounded by tranquility, his hands are trembling and the bitter taste of alcohol burns the back of his tongue. Exposing people's dirty laundry was his job ever since he came back from Rome and now that someone he used to like was able to bring out the inner turmoil he tried to mask with his anger leaves scars unseen to the naked eye. The writer's block keeps coming back, he's running out of booze and he can't stop crying. He does miss his friends, his old boring life, dad's homemade waffles, the sound of Jenny's sewing machine but he won't ever admit it aloud nor to himself. It's too much to bear, he believes ignoring it will make things better. It always does...
Three weeks later Nate sends him an email. Two words: I'm sorry. He couldn't help but smile at the thought. Finally, someone was noticing the truth than seeing what they wanted to see. Dan replies. Two words as well: Me too. This week's episode of Mad Men Draper grabs his type writer, sits at a table near a window and begins to place his frustration, confusion and worries on a piece of paper. Even though this won't solve all his problems, it's a start. Dan's begins to write and Nate is able to go back to sleep again.
a/n: Based off season six material. Warning: The writing was a complete shot in the dark. Sorry
Nate doesn't know how long he's been sitting at this bar but if he were to guess-"A long time" would be the answer. Instead of drowning himself with a bottle of Hennessy, he decides drinking some water would be better. He's fed up with hiding away his lies and suffering behind a half empty liquor bottle.
His thin lips linger on the rim of the glass, feeling the sheer coldness of the water brushing against his mouth.
Although he feels exhausted, he hasn't got a full night of sleep in a week. His appetite is bipolar, his migraines are constant and it feels like he's getting weaker by the day.
Somehow a voice coming from the television set pulled his attention away from his thoughts and towards the screen. Those glossy blue eyes stared blankly at the tall brunette standing near the a courthouse.
"In other news more information has been received on the case against Nathaniel Fitzwilliam Archibald, heir to the Van der Bilts' fortune. Just a couple of days ago, the police charged the editor and chief of The Spectator for five counts of fraud after police investigated the finances of the newspaper. Thanks to the growing suspension of the late Jack Bass who Nathaniel accepted a loan from-."
"You mean forced to accept." Nate muttered.
"-authorities were able to retrieve the information before it could be erased. It seems that Mr. Archibald's business was barely staying afloat as records stated it was running out of funds at an alarming rate which maybe the reason why he did this in the first place. After spending four hours in holding, Mr. Archibald plead guilty to all charges and was kept until his hearing the following day. Through negotiations within the lawyers they were able to persuade the judge to sentence Archibald with a three-year probation with mandatory 100 hour completion of community service. Back to Matthew in the studio-"
This was it. The moment he dreaded ever since the FBI carried his father away to prison that night many years ago. He can still hear his mother's soft cries for her husband's return and see the expression on his father's face. The face of someone who just lost everything and didn't know it. To think he prayed every night for that to never happen again and the bitch known as karma proved his prays were ignored.
Reality was sinking in, the Earth's gravitational pull was bringing him deeper and deeper into the abyss of the unknown and there was nothing he could do about it.
Two men sitting at a table not that far from Nate chatted among themselves with drinks in hand when the news came on. They grew silent when the reporter started talking and when the channel switch off to commercials their conversation was resurrected, however they changed the topic.
"Can you believe that shit? That bitch's family has millions of dollars, why not ask them for some cash instead of trying to cheat the system? "
"I'm not surprise, people like him have too much time on their hands and few morals. I guess when you have a lot of money you can't help but want more of it. Just look at his father."
"While the rest of us have to work our butts off every day just to put food on the table, a dumbass like him fuck things up and gets a slap on the wrist."
"What can I say, money talks bullshit walks."
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Along with his obedience, all he had to do was one thing-act like a painting. Be an object admired from afar and up close, be perfect at every angle, and make those who see you poison themselves with envy. People will question you; ask whose the artist, what was their inspiration, what instruments help create this fine art, etc. You'll never say a word. You'll stay there and look pretty.
His phone started to vibrate, a reminder that he missed another call. Nate didn't need to know who it was, obviously it was Sage. Winter break just started so of course the young teenager was tracking him down so she could spend some time with him. Or use him as an excuse to avoid her father.
He groaned at the thought of hearing an useless conversation of hers, there were enough problems to deal with on his term and hearing how sexy his mugshot looked wasn't going to make things better.
The doors open at once in a silent motion, then a man came inside heading directly to the bar. He sat one seat away from Nate and waved at the bartender, "One scotch on the rocks please."
It was Dan. The bartender nodded and disappear to get his drink.
The writer lean toward the counter, resting on his elbows as he waited. He already knew Nate was mere inches away from him and he attempt to be calm as possible. In his mind he was contemplating if he should say something or not say something. He should. Okay, if he was going to do this he has to do this right. No rambling, stuttering, or ambiguous slurred words.
After spending two minutes arguing with himself he decided to go for it, "You're not going to punch me again are you?"
A sad attempt, it ended up sounding more impudent than comical. Nate looked at Dan in the corner of his eye, in his hazy mind he was trying to figure out who was talking to him. The strange abundance of curly black hair was a give away. He reverted his eyes back to the counter and continue to lay his head down.
The bartender came back and gave Dan his drink. He took a glimpse at Nate, "Do you need anything?"
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Dan couldn't help but smirk, "What about our be like Don Draper pact?"
"If you want to drink yourself to death be my guess. I won't stop you." Nate paused, "Actually I think you would be doing the world a favor if you did that."
"For a second there I thought you were trying to insult me."
"I'm not in the mood for your bullshit Humphrey, unless you're asking for a fight I suggest you leave me alone."
"Calm down Ike Turner, I only came to see if the rumors were true. Not cause any trouble."
"Too late for that."
The smirk hasn't vanish, "So one of the members of the NJBC gets away with a crime. Did you tell the officers that the orange jumpsuit would clash with your eyes?"
"If there was something to be told I'm not stupid enough to tell you."
"Don't worry I'm not interested in petty crimes committed by the over-privileged. I'm a starving artist, not a desperate one."
"Could have fooled me."
"Right, I'm desperate. Wise words coming from someone whose dating a minor."
"What the fuck is your problem?!"
"I think I should be asking you that question. Haven't you heard of using your inside voice."
"Through all this shit you started, it takes balls to be on your high horse judging everyone when you know damn well you're fucked up as everyone else here."
"Don't pretend this was never going to happen if I decided to stay as the 'good guy'. You and your friends brought this on yourself. Through all the lies, deceit, and schemes toward others and to each other."
"Stop bullshiting me Dan, this isn't about revenge or getting back at my friends this is about Blair not wanting your sorry ass. Dude get over yourself! Everyone knew, you knew she was going to pick Chuck-she always does. Then you decide to go against every single person that cared about you. What kind of sick twisted fantasy do you live in?"
"The same one that has Chuck Bass getting the girl at the end and me looking like a fool. I tried to be the loyal, genuine and kind but that doesn't lead me nowhere but back where I started."
"That's not-"
"Whenever I needed someone to be there for me, those people you said cared about me were never there. Not Blair, Serena, my parents, nor you. So yes I'm a conniving bastard for writing those exposé but don't you dare look me in the eye and say those articles didn't tell the truth about how much of a hypocrite you people really are."
Dan looked right into the Nate's eye and prepare himself for another punch. However, when he continue to stare deep inside the endless foundation of blue, he didn't see rage or pain. Only confusion and sadness. Similar to six years ago, no matter how many years had past Nate was still that lost soul longing for a purpose.
Nate reach into his pocket and placed a 20 dollar bill near his glass and stormed out of the bar.
Weeks passed, things fell back into their routine and it felt like nothing had change.
While Dan rest comfortably in his new apartment, he takes another sip from his beer and watches the rain drops skims across the bedroom window. Despite being surrounded by tranquility, his hands are trembling and the bitter taste of alcohol burns the back of his tongue.
Exposing people's dirty laundry was his job ever since he came back from Rome and now that someone he used to like was able to bring out the inner turmoil he tried to mask with his anger leaves scars unseen to the naked eye. The writer's block keeps coming back, he's running out of booze and he can't stop crying.
He does miss his friends, his old boring life, dad's homemade waffles, the sound of Jenny's sewing machine but he won't ever admit it aloud nor to himself. It's too much to bear, he believes ignoring it will make things better. It always does...
Three weeks later Nate sends him an email. Two words: I'm sorry.
He couldn't help but smile at the thought. Finally, someone was noticing the truth than seeing what they wanted to see. Dan replies. Two words as well: Me too.
This week's episode of Mad Men Draper grabs his type writer, sits at a table near a window and begins to place his frustration, confusion and worries on a piece of paper. Even though this won't solve all his problems, it's a start.
Dan's begins to write and Nate is able to go back to sleep again.
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