You Say Second Chances, I Hear Happy Endings: Part One & Two
Rating: R
Characters: Nate/Jenny
Summary: Nate Archibald left New York and everyone in it behind years ago. He doesn't miss it. So why does he still dream about it?
Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, plots and themes are property of the creators of the TV show Gossip Girl. They do not belong to me. No copyright infringement is intended, and no profit is being made from the writing and posting of this story.
[one]
It was remarkably easy to leave it all behind. Nathaniel Archibald is surprised sometimes, how it easy it was. He grew up in New York, with New York friends, in New York society. For the most part, he's left all that behind and he doesn't really miss it.
(Things he does miss... well, he's learnt by now that they were never really his to begin with.)
From inside the taxi, in standstill traffic, Nate can pretend it is just any other day. He can pretend that he is still in London, where he's been for years, staring out the window at the busy streets and the busy people and the busy rain that blurs his vision. He can make it all the way to the hotel pretending this (if he blurs his hearing too). He might even make into his room, but he knows he will not make it through the night.
At night, Nate will dream in technicolor. Always has. And so he resigns himself to the wondering of which moment in his past, seemingly so insignificant at the time (perhaps the time he almost tripped over somebody's forgotten sketchbook as he jogged through the park?) will haunt him tonight.
-- -- --- -- --
He finds Chuck in his old hotel room, chosen maybe for sentimental reasons, although Chuck will never admit it. He stands there in a navy tuxedo, bow tie undone, fiddling with his cufflinks.
"Nathaniel," Chuck drawls when he spies him. "I was beginning to think that you weren't going to show up for the wedding."
"Like I was going to miss this."
"You did the bachelor party."
"Your whole life until this day has been a bachelor party," Nate retorts. "Seriously, though, how are you feeling? Nervous?"
Chuck scoffs. "Showing signs of weakness? Of course not. I'm not giving Blair an excuse to back out of this."
This is absurd, of course, because when Nate sees two of his best friends dance together that night, they both look ridiculously happy. They try to hide it, because they seem happiest when nobody else knows, but he can tell.
"Scary, isn't it? It's like that scene in the movies where the two villains join forces," Serena whispers to him jokingly, before being whisked off by her second husband -- or maybe third, Nate isn't sure -- to the dance floor.
Nate sips his wine and lets his eyes drift across the room. There's a flash of a woman there for a second -- blonde curls, lithe frame in a silk waterfall, red lips curling into a tiny smile -- before it's gone. She's gone. It could be a trick of the light. The way the couples move across the floor, so that he can barely glimpse what is on the other side, it might have been nothing at all.
Later, he tries to laugh it off, "You know, for a second I thought you'd invited Jenny Humphrey to your wedding."
"She was here. She managed to climb back up the social ranks after all," Blair said archly. "I almost admire her determination."
"What do you mean?"
"Not so Little J figured out the only way you really get to the top: marry someone who is already there, and high society will consider you born again… in her case, as Jennifer Mayfair."
-- -- --- -- --
That night, Nate dreams of a scene from a Brooklyn loft. He's just inside the doorway, trying gets his arms into his jacket so that he can lock the door. He can hear Jenny calling him to hurry up, and he makes it just in time to see the elevator doors close with her on the other side. He runs down the stairs instead, trying to catch up, and when he gets to the bottom she asks him, "what took you so long?"
-- -- --- -- --
He spends the next week sub-consciously taking second looks at every willowy blonde he passes, wondering if it is her. While he's staring at one across the street, he doesn't notice the one standing by his side.
"Nate Archibald," she says. "Ten years and I don't even get a hello?"
She has one perfectly groomed eyebrow raised, that tiny smile on her lips again, and an unreadable expression in those blue, blue eyes. He gets lost in those eyes. Every time he blinks, his vision is blurred, and he sees a blonde girl with a hopeful smile.
"Jenny!" he says. He is blonde. He is smiling. "I was hoping I'd run into you."
"Did you, now." Her voice is even, giving no clues to what she thinks (of him).
"I thought about giving you a call, but…." he shrugs, letting the words trail off. Truth is, he finds her steady gaze and innocuous smile disconcerting. It's been a long time since he could read her (since he bothered to try) and he supposes he thought he would still be able to. Jenny was one of the people who knew him best, and despite any words misspoken and intentional distance between them, he always thought he knew her too. "I wasn't sure if you'd hang up on me," he finishes.
"And why would I do that?" She says, and this time he can see the humor in her eyes. Some things are to be ignored, left in the past, and he follows her lead -- this is one of them. "Come on, walk with me. You can help me pick out a card for Dan's birthday."
"Is that coming up?"
"Tomorrow. I'm throwing him a party. You should come, he'd love to see you."
Nate laughs lightly. "Well, I don't know if he'd love to see me."
"Oh, come on. It's not like he's going to punch you for making moves on his baby sister."
He is dubious. "I suppose."
"Besides," Jenny gives him a sideways look. "I'm not a baby anymore."
He stares at her for a moment. For a second there, he thought he saw something in her eyes, glimmering under lowered lashes. A challenge, maybe, or a question. An invitation. Words from a letter she never read. It's something he has no business imagining to be there, when it clearly cannot.
"No, Jennifer," he says slowly, testing the words. She doesn't correct him. "I guess you're not."
-- -- --- -- --
Nate is not standing near the entrance of St. Jude's, but he did twelve years ago, and a part of his subconscious is there again.
It's the last day of school, and he never wants to return to this place, but he stands there anyway. He can see Jenny across the street, but he doesn't go to her. He's waiting for another girl who is going to break his strangely unbreakable heart, leave him behind for something or someone else (his friend, her friend, the promise of filming the people of another continent).
When Vanessa shows up, he spots her purple jeans from a block away, and when she starts to explain her reasons he already knows all the right expressions to give and things to say. He puts up a good fight. He's upset, but they've both already made up their minds. She leaves angrily, her bag swinging against her, and her parting words are, "This is my dream, Nate. When are you going to figure out yours?"
After Vanessa goes, Nate looks at Jenny again. She's not looking at him.
It was easy to leave her behind too. He is surprised, how easy it was. But then Jenny Humphrey and New York are more similar than he first thought. He left them behind. The other half of the story: they didn't ask him back.
[two]
Dan is amused to see him at the party, but friendly, and Nate is glad there are no grudges leftover. Nate chooses to arrive late, towards the end of the party, and while the number of guests must have dwindled, there are still a fair number of people there.
"You're probably one of the ten people I know here, tonight," Dan says in greeting. "It's true," he continues earnestly when Nate looks about the room. "They just all left already. And, man, am I kind of glad to see you. Unexpectedly. No offense."
"None taken." Nate has his hands upturned, palms facing up. He read somewhere that people are more likely to trust you. "I thought this was your party?"
"I think Jenny is taking the opportunity to audition to be host of The Love Game - Dan Humphrey edition."
"Is it working?"
"No," Dan leans forward conspiratorially, "but it's fun to see Jen come up with who she thinks my ideal woman is. So far I've been introduced to the one dancing there, the one who just winked at us," at that, Dan lifts his glass in return, "and, also, as what must be a last ditch effort, the twins near the stairs."
Nate laughs, pretending not to notice that all the women so far are tall, with wavy blonde hair. "I really feel for your pain. And what exactly is wrong with everyone so far?"
Dan shrugs. "I don't know. Not my type, I guess?"
Nate is unconvinced. "Right."
"Okay, you pulled it out of me: I'm already seeing someone, but don't tell Jenny that. I don't think she'll approve."
"Not the right type of girl?"
"It's, well," Dan says, eyeing Nate warily, "it's Vanessa."
"Oh," Nate says. "That's… great. Uh, how is she, these days?"
"How is who these days?" Jenny says suddenly from beside him. Nate looks up and realizes the other guests have left while he and Dan were talking.
"Don't be nosy," Dan admonishes. "Haven't you humiliated me enough?"
"I thought you'd like Elizabeth and Jessica. They seemed to like you," Jenny smiles impishly.
"Yeah, the fact that you found the Sweet Valley High girls is a bit scary," Dan retorts.
"And the fact that you know about the Sweet Valley High girls, Dan? Beyond scary."
Nate is about to add something to the conversation, for a second caught up in their sibling bickering, when Jenny turns to him. And he curses himself for not being fast enough, for breaking the spell that for a second brought one of things about New York he missed back. Because when she turns to him, that damn cool, even, tiny smile is back.
"Sorry about this," she says. "Dan brings out the worst in me. We -- or at least I -- am normally much more civilized."
Dan snorts. "Sadly, that is true."
Nate watches at Jenny shoots Dan a look, suggesting that this is a topic the two often disagree on.
"Dan," Jenny says suddenly, "Adam asked me to tell you that he's sorry he couldn't make it tonight. There was some sort of emergency at the firm in Boston, or maybe in Chicago," she shrugs, a dismissive wave of the hand to signal that she just doesn't care.
Nate has known Dan long enough to recognize the signs of a need to speak. Dan looks desperate to say something, maybe a crack such as "I'm beginning to think my sister is married to Superman, except he doesn't save people", but he holds back. There are topics that the Humphreys (he shouldn't still think of her as Humphrey, but he does) disagree on, and there are topics that are off-limits. When Dan says goodbye a few minutes later, leaving behind an awkward silence, Nate realizes that Jenny's high society marriage is one of them.
-- -- --- -- --
If this were twelve years ago, and if they were standing in the loft after a party, Nate would offer to help her clean up. It's not, though, and Jenny doesn't need his help, but he can't stop himself from trying.
He trails behind her as she steps into what looks like her husband's study. Every step he takes is two steps behinds, unsure if she wants him to follow. She doesn't give a little glance over the shoulder, eyelashes lowered. He's not given the opportunity to hold the gaze. She doesn't suddenly declare something to him, the truth maybe, or at least a truth, a secret she could never tell anybody else.
(This doesn't go anything like the twelve-year-old girl inside him seems to think it should go.)
There's not much finesse in his approach, little to none at all. He should have planned it better, but he's no Chuck Bass or Blair Waldorf. He is not a master puppeteer. Things come to him and he takes them as they are, even when he's been dealt a shitty hand in life. Nate has always played a half-hearted game with mediocre cards, but it's here, in another man's study, that he decides that he needs to bluff and gamble big to win.
Still, he should have planned it better.
"Are you happy?" The words tumble out of his mouth, stumbling over themselves on the way out.
The question doesn't seem to faze her.
"Of course I'm happy," she says, pouring herself a drink, making a wide gesture across the room, at the heavy drapes that frame the floor-length windows, at the chandelier sending brittle light fragments onto their skin, at the collection of books and whiskey that lines the wall. "I got everything I ever wanted, didn't I?"
"You don't look very happy."
"I guess you're the expert, Nate Archibald?" she says, arching on eyebrow, but he doesn't fall for the bait.
He quirks a smile. "You could say that." And then, gentler, "you can talk to me, Jenny. I know I never tried to hear what you were saying before, but I've… spent a lot of time alone. It's quiet. I learnt how to be a good listener."
She stares at him for a moment. A long moment. He has no idea what she's trying to find in him, but it makes him feel like he's being stripped bare. Her gaze on him feels hot as it rakes across his body, and then abruptly she turns away.
Jenny takes her glass with her to the window. Her back is to him, and he traces the curve of her neck with his eyes, takes in her bare feet as she shifts her weight back and forth. When she starts to speak, her voice is low.
"I'm a trophy wife. My husband is fucking 5 other women that I know of. Two I have lunch with regularly, two who works for me, and one I speak to every time I call for him at the office. I have the connections and the resources to produce my own clothing line now, but… I can't design any clothes. I haven't gone to see my dad in over three months, because every time I go to Brooklyn…. I don't like it there. Everything starts to feel wrong, and I'm reminded of how things used to be."
She stops here. He can see her making patterns, letters on the window with her finger.
B E C
"How did things used to be?" He prompts.
"Different," she whispers. "They were... different."
A U S
A bolt of lightning darts across the sky, and Jenny snatches her hand back from the window. A flash of light ricochets off her diamond ring and into his eyes. When he recovers, her back is ramrod straight, chin lifted proudly.
"I bet you're thinking, didn't she learn her lesson back in high school?" She says, her tone mocking. "You can say it. I know you want to say it."
Nate shakes his head, slowly. His steps towards her are padded by the soft carpet. "That not what I'm thinking at all."
Jenny whirls around, surprised by his sudden closeness. She wets her lips, not bothering to hide her startled expression. "What are you thinking?" She says, voice barely more than a breath.
"I'm thinking that I… really missed you. I didn't realize how much until now."
This close, Nate can smell the whiskey on her breath, and when the flow of air ebbs across his lips, he swears he can taste it too.
He stays still, waiting for her reaction. It's like a thousand emotions flitter in those blue, blue eyes of hers, from surprise to disappointment to wonder to hope. He waits for her to settle on one when she closes her eyes, lips pressed together tightly. Jenny leans into him, but they're not touching, and he waits until they do.
His fingers itch with the thought of her hair, gleaming in the dim light, knowing it will feel impossibly soft when it twines around his hands. Finally, she drops her head against his shoulder, her forehead resting on the smooth wool of his jacket, and she smells like one of those flowers he can't pronounce. But just before he can reach up and touch her, wrap his arms around and hold her, she steps away, taking countless backwards steps before she's halfway to the door.
"It's late, Nate," she whispers. "You should go."
Nate is left with the image of her leaving, and the scent of whiskey and unpronounceable flowers. Together, they smell like regret.
-- -- --- -- --
This is just a dream:
They're in the park, lying by the pool, on the kitchen bench in his hotel room, in her bed. She's sitting astride him, pressing up from beneath him, torturing him with her hands, her mouth, her tongue.
He knows this is a dream because his subconscious won't let him forget it. Between kisses, she whimpers and moans and say, "we could've had this." When he reaches for her, she giggles girlishly and dances out of reach.
Her hair trails down his body as she kisses his throat, swirls her tongue around his nipple, dips into his navel. Before she goes any lower, he grasps her by the shoulders, pulls her up.
"Wait," he says, breathing heavily, the tree leaves in the park shaking above them, the sheer curtains in her room billowing behind her. "Jenny," he says, "I think I'm in love with you."
She reaches up and traces the line of his cheek to his chin, gives him a soft smile. There are patterns on his cheek, left by the strokes her finger, but unlike the writings on the window, he can't see what they read.
"I love you," he says again.
When she replies, all he hears is static.
-- -- --- -- --
What happens next is still a dream, until Nate wakes up. Days after, he's sure he must have kept on sleeping.
There's a tentative knock on the door, but Nate doesn't hear it. He's too busy kissing Jenny Humphrey (he shouldn't call her that, still), losing himself in her smell and her touch and her taste.
He's trying to pinpoint everything about her, know her unconditionally and with certainty. She tastes like cinnamon, maybe, or peaches. A fruit with nectar or a tangy sweetness For some reason it keeps changing.
"You should get that," she breathes, stilling the movement of his hands with her own. "It's important."
He hears the urgency in her voice, so he reluctantly pulls away. "All right. Stay here, okay?"
Jenny laughs as if he's just told her a joke (knock, knock), one hand resting on his arm for balance. "It's easy," she says. "All you have to do is not let me go."
Nate's eyes snap open to find himself alone in his darkened hotel room, quiet except for the faint shuffles he can hear outside the door.
"Give me a second," he calls and sits up on the bed, resisting the urge to put his head in his hands give a long sigh. (The move is far too cliche, even if no one else can see him.)
It's the second night in a row that he dreamed about Jenny (with a focus on Jenny, not-so-little Jenny, and not her Brooklyn loft with the hasty elevator, or her sitting across the street, or the sketchbook she must have left behind). It's the second night that he dreamed about things that never happened, never knowing what will happen next. He's unused to this, the not knowing, but feels strangely alive. It's been a while since he's felt that, in life, in sleep, in dreams.
The person at the door knocks again, impatiently, at 12:51am in the morning, as the digital clock on the bedside table blinks at him sleepily. He flips the switch on the bedside lamp, using the dim glow to find his way to the door.
There's a woman on the other side. She wears the non-descript outfit of a white T-shirt and jeans, no make up except for half-bitten off lip gloss, and he instinctively knows that while standing there, she had been fiddling with the ends of her chin-length dark hair.
"Why are you still here?" She says in lieu of a greeting, pushing past him inside the room and taking a seat on the couch. "I thought you were only going to be here for the wedding."
Nate blinks in surprise, first because he barely recognized her, and then at her words. "Well, hello to you too," he says sarcastically, closing the door behind him. "I'm fine. A little sleep-deprived, but otherwise doing great. How about you?"
"Fine," she replies shortly. "Now answer my question. Please." The pleasantry is tacked on, an afterthought.
"Honestly? I should have been back in London last week, but I felt like I needed to stay."
She stares at him. "Is it… because of me?"
Her hair shifts with her movements, and he glimpses a piece of lighter hair gleaming underneath the dark brown. Nate imagines that she entered a busy bar somewhere, a respectable and upscale one, entered as a blonde and exited a brunette.
He reaches across the couch, across the space between them, and pulls the wig off. Her long curls tumble down, disheveled and slightly sweaty from being pressed against her head, transforming her back into an amalgam of the girl he used to know and the woman he's trying to understand.
"Is that what you came to ask me, Jenny?"
Because for all her bravado, he's not sure if she wants his answer. Not yet.
"Why did you leave?" she says instead. "The truth, Nate. You left so suddenly. I mean, it wasn't that I expected a goodbye, but all of a sudden you were gone…" she says, flushing with embarrassment. He hates that he put that there, the way he left things. Even if they weren't together, he should have made amends.
"After college…" he drifts off for a second, then shrugs. "At the time, I didn't think there was a reason for me to stay. My dad was in jail. My mom moved to Paris. My only real friends were Chuck, Blair and Serena, and they all had their own lives. I couldn't stay just for them."
"I was your friend too," she says softly. "I wanted to be."
"I know. I just didn't know it then." And he does. When he let her, Jenny was possibly the best friend he ever had.
"I guess I thought it was easier," he continues. "My whole life, I've always taken the easy way out. It was, well," he gives a slight smile, "easier. It's funny, you know, I always fought my dad when he had all these plans for me, an expected path that was all set up for me to follow. At one stage, I must have wanted something else for myself, but after he went away there was no one to rebel against and… I guess I just forgot that I wanted something too. These past few weeks have made me remember that. I'm just figuring out what that something else is."
"What have you decided?"
"Well, for starters, I'm quitting my job." Nate makes a a face. "I hate finance. I'm going to travel for a bit. Do what I want. Pick up sailing again."
"Maybe grow your hair out," she suggests.
"Yeah, and not shave until it gets itchy," he grins.
"I think that would be good for you. You need to relax a bit."
He can't help but laugh at this. "Oh, I need to relax."
Jenny narrows her eyes. "Are you calling me uptight?"
Nate raises his hands in defeat. "Me? No, never."
She rolls her eyes and smiles good-naturedly. "Yeah, I know I kind of get caught up in the Stepford Wives thing."
"Kind of? I was starting to wonder if you had a bad plastic surgeon because there was no expression in your face."
Jenny gasps in outrage and shoves at his shoulder. "That's a horrible thing to say, Nate Archibald!"
"Yes," he counters with an easy smile, "but it's okay, because we're friends now. With me, you can be whomever you want." He has one hand outstretched, palms facing up, and it feels almost like a lie because he's offering so much more than platonic friendship.
"Friends," she agrees, taking his hand.
And now because they're friends, he wants her to know.
"I'm here because of you," he says. "You're the reason I'm staying." Her fingers tightens almost imperceptibly around his, and then slackens in his grip but he doesn't let go.
(She did tell him it was that easy.)
They stay like that for a moment, hand in hand on the couch, before his hands are finally in her hair (feathery soft, silky), cradling her head, mouths moving desperately against each other in a rhythm of unspoken words. He pulls her flush against him, their legs in a tangle, until he's leaning comfortably against the armrest and she's leaning on him.
There are many words he should have said.
(They could be outside, in the park, under the cool shade of leafy trees, the grass beneath them a lush green and damp with dew. They could be next to the pool, the ridges of the copper and blue tiles stiff against their backs, the ground growing wetter as the water laps at their feet. They could be anywhere; he doesn't notice. He's too busy kissing Jenny Humphrey.)
The last thought of the night: his dreams were wrong. She tastes like honey, whiskey and second chances.
Against her lips, he smiles.
TBC
Characters: Nate/Jenny
Summary: Nate Archibald left New York and everyone in it behind years ago. He doesn't miss it. So why does he still dream about it?
Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, plots and themes are property of the creators of the TV show Gossip Girl. They do not belong to me. No copyright infringement is intended, and no profit is being made from the writing and posting of this story.
[one]
It was remarkably easy to leave it all behind. Nathaniel Archibald is surprised sometimes, how it easy it was. He grew up in New York, with New York friends, in New York society. For the most part, he's left all that behind and he doesn't really miss it.
(Things he does miss... well, he's learnt by now that they were never really his to begin with.)
From inside the taxi, in standstill traffic, Nate can pretend it is just any other day. He can pretend that he is still in London, where he's been for years, staring out the window at the busy streets and the busy people and the busy rain that blurs his vision. He can make it all the way to the hotel pretending this (if he blurs his hearing too). He might even make into his room, but he knows he will not make it through the night.
At night, Nate will dream in technicolor. Always has. And so he resigns himself to the wondering of which moment in his past, seemingly so insignificant at the time (perhaps the time he almost tripped over somebody's forgotten sketchbook as he jogged through the park?) will haunt him tonight.
-- -- --- -- --
He finds Chuck in his old hotel room, chosen maybe for sentimental reasons, although Chuck will never admit it. He stands there in a navy tuxedo, bow tie undone, fiddling with his cufflinks.
"Nathaniel," Chuck drawls when he spies him. "I was beginning to think that you weren't going to show up for the wedding."
"Like I was going to miss this."
"You did the bachelor party."
"Your whole life until this day has been a bachelor party," Nate retorts. "Seriously, though, how are you feeling? Nervous?"
Chuck scoffs. "Showing signs of weakness? Of course not. I'm not giving Blair an excuse to back out of this."
This is absurd, of course, because when Nate sees two of his best friends dance together that night, they both look ridiculously happy. They try to hide it, because they seem happiest when nobody else knows, but he can tell.
"Scary, isn't it? It's like that scene in the movies where the two villains join forces," Serena whispers to him jokingly, before being whisked off by her second husband -- or maybe third, Nate isn't sure -- to the dance floor.
Nate sips his wine and lets his eyes drift across the room. There's a flash of a woman there for a second -- blonde curls, lithe frame in a silk waterfall, red lips curling into a tiny smile -- before it's gone. She's gone. It could be a trick of the light. The way the couples move across the floor, so that he can barely glimpse what is on the other side, it might have been nothing at all.
Later, he tries to laugh it off, "You know, for a second I thought you'd invited Jenny Humphrey to your wedding."
"She was here. She managed to climb back up the social ranks after all," Blair said archly. "I almost admire her determination."
"What do you mean?"
"Not so Little J figured out the only way you really get to the top: marry someone who is already there, and high society will consider you born again… in her case, as Jennifer Mayfair."
-- -- --- -- --
That night, Nate dreams of a scene from a Brooklyn loft. He's just inside the doorway, trying gets his arms into his jacket so that he can lock the door. He can hear Jenny calling him to hurry up, and he makes it just in time to see the elevator doors close with her on the other side. He runs down the stairs instead, trying to catch up, and when he gets to the bottom she asks him, "what took you so long?"
-- -- --- -- --
He spends the next week sub-consciously taking second looks at every willowy blonde he passes, wondering if it is her. While he's staring at one across the street, he doesn't notice the one standing by his side.
"Nate Archibald," she says. "Ten years and I don't even get a hello?"
She has one perfectly groomed eyebrow raised, that tiny smile on her lips again, and an unreadable expression in those blue, blue eyes. He gets lost in those eyes. Every time he blinks, his vision is blurred, and he sees a blonde girl with a hopeful smile.
"Jenny!" he says. He is blonde. He is smiling. "I was hoping I'd run into you."
"Did you, now." Her voice is even, giving no clues to what she thinks (of him).
"I thought about giving you a call, but…." he shrugs, letting the words trail off. Truth is, he finds her steady gaze and innocuous smile disconcerting. It's been a long time since he could read her (since he bothered to try) and he supposes he thought he would still be able to. Jenny was one of the people who knew him best, and despite any words misspoken and intentional distance between them, he always thought he knew her too. "I wasn't sure if you'd hang up on me," he finishes.
"And why would I do that?" She says, and this time he can see the humor in her eyes. Some things are to be ignored, left in the past, and he follows her lead -- this is one of them. "Come on, walk with me. You can help me pick out a card for Dan's birthday."
"Is that coming up?"
"Tomorrow. I'm throwing him a party. You should come, he'd love to see you."
Nate laughs lightly. "Well, I don't know if he'd love to see me."
"Oh, come on. It's not like he's going to punch you for making moves on his baby sister."
He is dubious. "I suppose."
"Besides," Jenny gives him a sideways look. "I'm not a baby anymore."
He stares at her for a moment. For a second there, he thought he saw something in her eyes, glimmering under lowered lashes. A challenge, maybe, or a question. An invitation. Words from a letter she never read. It's something he has no business imagining to be there, when it clearly cannot.
"No, Jennifer," he says slowly, testing the words. She doesn't correct him. "I guess you're not."
-- -- --- -- --
Nate is not standing near the entrance of St. Jude's, but he did twelve years ago, and a part of his subconscious is there again.
It's the last day of school, and he never wants to return to this place, but he stands there anyway. He can see Jenny across the street, but he doesn't go to her. He's waiting for another girl who is going to break his strangely unbreakable heart, leave him behind for something or someone else (his friend, her friend, the promise of filming the people of another continent).
When Vanessa shows up, he spots her purple jeans from a block away, and when she starts to explain her reasons he already knows all the right expressions to give and things to say. He puts up a good fight. He's upset, but they've both already made up their minds. She leaves angrily, her bag swinging against her, and her parting words are, "This is my dream, Nate. When are you going to figure out yours?"
After Vanessa goes, Nate looks at Jenny again. She's not looking at him.
It was easy to leave her behind too. He is surprised, how easy it was. But then Jenny Humphrey and New York are more similar than he first thought. He left them behind. The other half of the story: they didn't ask him back.
[two]
Dan is amused to see him at the party, but friendly, and Nate is glad there are no grudges leftover. Nate chooses to arrive late, towards the end of the party, and while the number of guests must have dwindled, there are still a fair number of people there.
"You're probably one of the ten people I know here, tonight," Dan says in greeting. "It's true," he continues earnestly when Nate looks about the room. "They just all left already. And, man, am I kind of glad to see you. Unexpectedly. No offense."
"None taken." Nate has his hands upturned, palms facing up. He read somewhere that people are more likely to trust you. "I thought this was your party?"
"I think Jenny is taking the opportunity to audition to be host of The Love Game - Dan Humphrey edition."
"Is it working?"
"No," Dan leans forward conspiratorially, "but it's fun to see Jen come up with who she thinks my ideal woman is. So far I've been introduced to the one dancing there, the one who just winked at us," at that, Dan lifts his glass in return, "and, also, as what must be a last ditch effort, the twins near the stairs."
Nate laughs, pretending not to notice that all the women so far are tall, with wavy blonde hair. "I really feel for your pain. And what exactly is wrong with everyone so far?"
Dan shrugs. "I don't know. Not my type, I guess?"
Nate is unconvinced. "Right."
"Okay, you pulled it out of me: I'm already seeing someone, but don't tell Jenny that. I don't think she'll approve."
"Not the right type of girl?"
"It's, well," Dan says, eyeing Nate warily, "it's Vanessa."
"Oh," Nate says. "That's… great. Uh, how is she, these days?"
"How is who these days?" Jenny says suddenly from beside him. Nate looks up and realizes the other guests have left while he and Dan were talking.
"Don't be nosy," Dan admonishes. "Haven't you humiliated me enough?"
"I thought you'd like Elizabeth and Jessica. They seemed to like you," Jenny smiles impishly.
"Yeah, the fact that you found the Sweet Valley High girls is a bit scary," Dan retorts.
"And the fact that you know about the Sweet Valley High girls, Dan? Beyond scary."
Nate is about to add something to the conversation, for a second caught up in their sibling bickering, when Jenny turns to him. And he curses himself for not being fast enough, for breaking the spell that for a second brought one of things about New York he missed back. Because when she turns to him, that damn cool, even, tiny smile is back.
"Sorry about this," she says. "Dan brings out the worst in me. We -- or at least I -- am normally much more civilized."
Dan snorts. "Sadly, that is true."
Nate watches at Jenny shoots Dan a look, suggesting that this is a topic the two often disagree on.
"Dan," Jenny says suddenly, "Adam asked me to tell you that he's sorry he couldn't make it tonight. There was some sort of emergency at the firm in Boston, or maybe in Chicago," she shrugs, a dismissive wave of the hand to signal that she just doesn't care.
Nate has known Dan long enough to recognize the signs of a need to speak. Dan looks desperate to say something, maybe a crack such as "I'm beginning to think my sister is married to Superman, except he doesn't save people", but he holds back. There are topics that the Humphreys (he shouldn't still think of her as Humphrey, but he does) disagree on, and there are topics that are off-limits. When Dan says goodbye a few minutes later, leaving behind an awkward silence, Nate realizes that Jenny's high society marriage is one of them.
-- -- --- -- --
If this were twelve years ago, and if they were standing in the loft after a party, Nate would offer to help her clean up. It's not, though, and Jenny doesn't need his help, but he can't stop himself from trying.
He trails behind her as she steps into what looks like her husband's study. Every step he takes is two steps behinds, unsure if she wants him to follow. She doesn't give a little glance over the shoulder, eyelashes lowered. He's not given the opportunity to hold the gaze. She doesn't suddenly declare something to him, the truth maybe, or at least a truth, a secret she could never tell anybody else.
(This doesn't go anything like the twelve-year-old girl inside him seems to think it should go.)
There's not much finesse in his approach, little to none at all. He should have planned it better, but he's no Chuck Bass or Blair Waldorf. He is not a master puppeteer. Things come to him and he takes them as they are, even when he's been dealt a shitty hand in life. Nate has always played a half-hearted game with mediocre cards, but it's here, in another man's study, that he decides that he needs to bluff and gamble big to win.
Still, he should have planned it better.
"Are you happy?" The words tumble out of his mouth, stumbling over themselves on the way out.
The question doesn't seem to faze her.
"Of course I'm happy," she says, pouring herself a drink, making a wide gesture across the room, at the heavy drapes that frame the floor-length windows, at the chandelier sending brittle light fragments onto their skin, at the collection of books and whiskey that lines the wall. "I got everything I ever wanted, didn't I?"
"You don't look very happy."
"I guess you're the expert, Nate Archibald?" she says, arching on eyebrow, but he doesn't fall for the bait.
He quirks a smile. "You could say that." And then, gentler, "you can talk to me, Jenny. I know I never tried to hear what you were saying before, but I've… spent a lot of time alone. It's quiet. I learnt how to be a good listener."
She stares at him for a moment. A long moment. He has no idea what she's trying to find in him, but it makes him feel like he's being stripped bare. Her gaze on him feels hot as it rakes across his body, and then abruptly she turns away.
Jenny takes her glass with her to the window. Her back is to him, and he traces the curve of her neck with his eyes, takes in her bare feet as she shifts her weight back and forth. When she starts to speak, her voice is low.
"I'm a trophy wife. My husband is fucking 5 other women that I know of. Two I have lunch with regularly, two who works for me, and one I speak to every time I call for him at the office. I have the connections and the resources to produce my own clothing line now, but… I can't design any clothes. I haven't gone to see my dad in over three months, because every time I go to Brooklyn…. I don't like it there. Everything starts to feel wrong, and I'm reminded of how things used to be."
She stops here. He can see her making patterns, letters on the window with her finger.
B E C
"How did things used to be?" He prompts.
"Different," she whispers. "They were... different."
A U S
A bolt of lightning darts across the sky, and Jenny snatches her hand back from the window. A flash of light ricochets off her diamond ring and into his eyes. When he recovers, her back is ramrod straight, chin lifted proudly.
"I bet you're thinking, didn't she learn her lesson back in high school?" She says, her tone mocking. "You can say it. I know you want to say it."
Nate shakes his head, slowly. His steps towards her are padded by the soft carpet. "That not what I'm thinking at all."
Jenny whirls around, surprised by his sudden closeness. She wets her lips, not bothering to hide her startled expression. "What are you thinking?" She says, voice barely more than a breath.
"I'm thinking that I… really missed you. I didn't realize how much until now."
This close, Nate can smell the whiskey on her breath, and when the flow of air ebbs across his lips, he swears he can taste it too.
He stays still, waiting for her reaction. It's like a thousand emotions flitter in those blue, blue eyes of hers, from surprise to disappointment to wonder to hope. He waits for her to settle on one when she closes her eyes, lips pressed together tightly. Jenny leans into him, but they're not touching, and he waits until they do.
His fingers itch with the thought of her hair, gleaming in the dim light, knowing it will feel impossibly soft when it twines around his hands. Finally, she drops her head against his shoulder, her forehead resting on the smooth wool of his jacket, and she smells like one of those flowers he can't pronounce. But just before he can reach up and touch her, wrap his arms around and hold her, she steps away, taking countless backwards steps before she's halfway to the door.
"It's late, Nate," she whispers. "You should go."
Nate is left with the image of her leaving, and the scent of whiskey and unpronounceable flowers. Together, they smell like regret.
-- -- --- -- --
This is just a dream:
They're in the park, lying by the pool, on the kitchen bench in his hotel room, in her bed. She's sitting astride him, pressing up from beneath him, torturing him with her hands, her mouth, her tongue.
He knows this is a dream because his subconscious won't let him forget it. Between kisses, she whimpers and moans and say, "we could've had this." When he reaches for her, she giggles girlishly and dances out of reach.
Her hair trails down his body as she kisses his throat, swirls her tongue around his nipple, dips into his navel. Before she goes any lower, he grasps her by the shoulders, pulls her up.
"Wait," he says, breathing heavily, the tree leaves in the park shaking above them, the sheer curtains in her room billowing behind her. "Jenny," he says, "I think I'm in love with you."
She reaches up and traces the line of his cheek to his chin, gives him a soft smile. There are patterns on his cheek, left by the strokes her finger, but unlike the writings on the window, he can't see what they read.
"I love you," he says again.
When she replies, all he hears is static.
-- -- --- -- --
What happens next is still a dream, until Nate wakes up. Days after, he's sure he must have kept on sleeping.
There's a tentative knock on the door, but Nate doesn't hear it. He's too busy kissing Jenny Humphrey (he shouldn't call her that, still), losing himself in her smell and her touch and her taste.
He's trying to pinpoint everything about her, know her unconditionally and with certainty. She tastes like cinnamon, maybe, or peaches. A fruit with nectar or a tangy sweetness For some reason it keeps changing.
"You should get that," she breathes, stilling the movement of his hands with her own. "It's important."
He hears the urgency in her voice, so he reluctantly pulls away. "All right. Stay here, okay?"
Jenny laughs as if he's just told her a joke (knock, knock), one hand resting on his arm for balance. "It's easy," she says. "All you have to do is not let me go."
Nate's eyes snap open to find himself alone in his darkened hotel room, quiet except for the faint shuffles he can hear outside the door.
"Give me a second," he calls and sits up on the bed, resisting the urge to put his head in his hands give a long sigh. (The move is far too cliche, even if no one else can see him.)
It's the second night in a row that he dreamed about Jenny (with a focus on Jenny, not-so-little Jenny, and not her Brooklyn loft with the hasty elevator, or her sitting across the street, or the sketchbook she must have left behind). It's the second night that he dreamed about things that never happened, never knowing what will happen next. He's unused to this, the not knowing, but feels strangely alive. It's been a while since he's felt that, in life, in sleep, in dreams.
The person at the door knocks again, impatiently, at 12:51am in the morning, as the digital clock on the bedside table blinks at him sleepily. He flips the switch on the bedside lamp, using the dim glow to find his way to the door.
There's a woman on the other side. She wears the non-descript outfit of a white T-shirt and jeans, no make up except for half-bitten off lip gloss, and he instinctively knows that while standing there, she had been fiddling with the ends of her chin-length dark hair.
"Why are you still here?" She says in lieu of a greeting, pushing past him inside the room and taking a seat on the couch. "I thought you were only going to be here for the wedding."
Nate blinks in surprise, first because he barely recognized her, and then at her words. "Well, hello to you too," he says sarcastically, closing the door behind him. "I'm fine. A little sleep-deprived, but otherwise doing great. How about you?"
"Fine," she replies shortly. "Now answer my question. Please." The pleasantry is tacked on, an afterthought.
"Honestly? I should have been back in London last week, but I felt like I needed to stay."
She stares at him. "Is it… because of me?"
Her hair shifts with her movements, and he glimpses a piece of lighter hair gleaming underneath the dark brown. Nate imagines that she entered a busy bar somewhere, a respectable and upscale one, entered as a blonde and exited a brunette.
He reaches across the couch, across the space between them, and pulls the wig off. Her long curls tumble down, disheveled and slightly sweaty from being pressed against her head, transforming her back into an amalgam of the girl he used to know and the woman he's trying to understand.
"Is that what you came to ask me, Jenny?"
Because for all her bravado, he's not sure if she wants his answer. Not yet.
"Why did you leave?" she says instead. "The truth, Nate. You left so suddenly. I mean, it wasn't that I expected a goodbye, but all of a sudden you were gone…" she says, flushing with embarrassment. He hates that he put that there, the way he left things. Even if they weren't together, he should have made amends.
"After college…" he drifts off for a second, then shrugs. "At the time, I didn't think there was a reason for me to stay. My dad was in jail. My mom moved to Paris. My only real friends were Chuck, Blair and Serena, and they all had their own lives. I couldn't stay just for them."
"I was your friend too," she says softly. "I wanted to be."
"I know. I just didn't know it then." And he does. When he let her, Jenny was possibly the best friend he ever had.
"I guess I thought it was easier," he continues. "My whole life, I've always taken the easy way out. It was, well," he gives a slight smile, "easier. It's funny, you know, I always fought my dad when he had all these plans for me, an expected path that was all set up for me to follow. At one stage, I must have wanted something else for myself, but after he went away there was no one to rebel against and… I guess I just forgot that I wanted something too. These past few weeks have made me remember that. I'm just figuring out what that something else is."
"What have you decided?"
"Well, for starters, I'm quitting my job." Nate makes a a face. "I hate finance. I'm going to travel for a bit. Do what I want. Pick up sailing again."
"Maybe grow your hair out," she suggests.
"Yeah, and not shave until it gets itchy," he grins.
"I think that would be good for you. You need to relax a bit."
He can't help but laugh at this. "Oh, I need to relax."
Jenny narrows her eyes. "Are you calling me uptight?"
Nate raises his hands in defeat. "Me? No, never."
She rolls her eyes and smiles good-naturedly. "Yeah, I know I kind of get caught up in the Stepford Wives thing."
"Kind of? I was starting to wonder if you had a bad plastic surgeon because there was no expression in your face."
Jenny gasps in outrage and shoves at his shoulder. "That's a horrible thing to say, Nate Archibald!"
"Yes," he counters with an easy smile, "but it's okay, because we're friends now. With me, you can be whomever you want." He has one hand outstretched, palms facing up, and it feels almost like a lie because he's offering so much more than platonic friendship.
"Friends," she agrees, taking his hand.
And now because they're friends, he wants her to know.
"I'm here because of you," he says. "You're the reason I'm staying." Her fingers tightens almost imperceptibly around his, and then slackens in his grip but he doesn't let go.
(She did tell him it was that easy.)
They stay like that for a moment, hand in hand on the couch, before his hands are finally in her hair (feathery soft, silky), cradling her head, mouths moving desperately against each other in a rhythm of unspoken words. He pulls her flush against him, their legs in a tangle, until he's leaning comfortably against the armrest and she's leaning on him.
There are many words he should have said.
(They could be outside, in the park, under the cool shade of leafy trees, the grass beneath them a lush green and damp with dew. They could be next to the pool, the ridges of the copper and blue tiles stiff against their backs, the ground growing wetter as the water laps at their feet. They could be anywhere; he doesn't notice. He's too busy kissing Jenny Humphrey.)
The last thought of the night: his dreams were wrong. She tastes like honey, whiskey and second chances.
Against her lips, he smiles.
TBC