Like a broken record player; Back and forth and here and gone

Disclaimer: I do not own Gossip Girl or any of its characters.

He comes home late, and cracks open a bottle of wine that cost more than Vanessa's rent for a month. He watches The Age of Innocence over and over.

His eyes water towards the end, every damn time.

It's heartbreaking. So are you.

At five thirty, he finally shuts his laptop, and never looks back.

. . . . . .

Before this summer, she had never been anywhere worth mentioning, and now she's everywhere.

Her head is spinning. Paris, Vienna, Prague.

She's always kept her feet planted firmly on the ground, but now she'll go where the wind takes her (as long as he's at her side).

. . . . . .

It's raining (her outfit is ruined, her hair a tangled messed) and she's needs to get out of these clothes. She walks into the hotel lobby, looking down at herself in a moment of insecurity she hates herself for.

She should regret it, because before her brief moment of insecurity is over, he's at her ear, whispering, breathe hot against her chilled skin, "You're the most beautiful women in the room."

But she doesn't. Nate's smile is kind, and his words pretty, his eyes brighter than all the lights in Paris. (She would know, she was there just three weeks prior.)

Vanessa sighs, her lips pursed. "When you say things like that, it makes this-" she motions from him to her and back again, "Complicated."

"Why?"

He says it like he genuinely doesn't know, and he doesn't. Because Nate just says what he feels, when he feels it. He doesn't think, never needs to, he just leaps.

It's his best attribute and worst flaw all wrapped up into one.

He can't say things like that, because when he does, she forgets things. Like that he left her and that she doesn't really forgive him, not this time, not like she did before. She forgets that the words running through her mind are dangerous.

I love you, I love you, I love you. It's all she wants to say, and all she never will.

But she is saying it, with every soft kiss pressed on his plump bottom lip, every brush of his fingertips past hers. She doesn't know who kissed who first, and when his hand cups her face, the pad of his fingertip fitting perfectly into the dimple sized depression on her face, she can't bring herself to care.

In the morning she wakes first, packs a bag, and leaves without a word. She'll leave him a message once she's far enough away.

In a restroom at JFK, she looks at herself in a mirror for the first time since putting an entire ocean between her and him.

She can still see his blue eyes burned into her own.

. . . . . .

He comes back to the city, new girl in tow, and she's not waiting for his call.

They're at the same place at the same time for the first time in a month, and neither says a word to the other.

But Vanessa's fine, she has Scott now; someone new, someone who hasn't hurt her countless times.

Nate watches as she passes him by.

. . . . . .

"I can't breathe in there."

He's twenty-two, now living the life he was groomed for. It's supposed to be a party to celebrate Nate's graduation from Columbia, but he's in anything but a partying mood.

He had invited Dan to catch up, talk about life before Nate got busy. He hadn't remembered that where Dan goes, Vanessa soon follows.

They're outside, in the burgeoning heat of summer. He walks back and forth, pulling his tie off as fast as his fumbling hands will allow. "I want this, I worked hard for it."

He sounds more like he's talking to himself, than to her.

Vanessa steps in front of him, her hand on his heart, and slows him down. Her eyes match her mouth and ask, "Why aren't you in there enjoying it? Seems like a good enough party."

"Why aren't you inside?" He cuts back, "The fake noses and even faker smiles?" he asks, bitterness dripping off his tongue. "I can't breathe."

He silently finishes the sentence in his head, because I'm one of them.

. . . . . .

A year later they have a real talk for the first time since Europe. Blair, Chuck, Dan, Serena; about everyone and everything in between.

He tells her about trying to reconnect with Chuck, the best friend he lost somewhere between smoking pot in his St. Jude's uniform and doing file work for Tripp's latest campaign.

"I figure, it's never too late to make something right."

Sapphire eyes meet his knowing smile, and she nods her head, as if agreeing to some profound statement. He nods along with her.

. . . . . .

"You wanna share a cab?" She asks unsure of how far this friendly coffee date extends.

It's an inane question; they live on opposite ends of the city. Vanessa's not ready for this to end just yet.

He flags down a cab, and entwines her small hand in his larger one.

He never looks back.