Title: Fictions Are Genius Lies
Author: dante de cervantes
Fandom: Gossip Girl
Pairing: lotsa pairings! But there will be surefire Waldsen!
Rating: PG-13 (as for now)
Summary: Blair's life swerves off the right side of the fast lane: bets, boys, backstabbing, blackmail, betrayal and bestfriends… and possible bisexuality. They're all threads to an intricate web of disaster. Eventual Waldsen. WARNING: FEMSLASH

Author's Notes: I know it's been forever since my last update… it's just that I've been really, really busy. Hope you guys will forgive me. Anyway, here's chapter 6… Enjoy!!

Disclaimer: I only own the plot and this story… Lovely characters belong to someone else…

Fictions Are Genius Lies

by dante de cervantes

PART VI: Intervention

You kick the door to your room open. Her arm is swung over your shoulders and you think that you have forgotten what balance is. You don't even remember how you reached the top of the stairs. As you lay her gently on your bed, the familiar scent of vanilla fills your nostrils and it gives you the kick you needed.

Slip-ons are convenient. You slip hers off just as easily as she slipped them on earlier this evening. Oh, and what an evening it turned out to be.

She's half-asleep when you leave her there so she doesn't notice you taking out a video camera. An uneasy feeling grows in the pit of your stomach as you walk over to the bathroom and place the camera on the counter, where it has a good view of your bed and Serena, not the other way around.

"Blair."

It sounds like a child is calling you, her voice so innocent and fragile.

It makes tears spill down your cheeks because you're going to do such a sick and despicable thing to her. It's like you still have to remind yourself that she's your best friend.

You press the record button and the red light goes on.

And you think that this is a multi-level mistake that you can't take back. Then you wipe the tears away and put on a presentable face to show her. A crap mask to fool her, that'll only work when she's drunk as shit.

Which she is right now, the fact made evident by the sight off her trying to kick her shoes off.

"I took your shoes off already, S." you tell her, slightly entertained, an affectionate smile creeping to your lips.

"Why are we in your room?" she muses loudly, sprawled upon your sheets. Your words aren't being processed by her brain anymore.

You sit at the edge of your bed as you see the persistent spark of a red light, glowing in your dark bathroom. Hell, a Waldorf guilt-trip caught on tape? Not even Gossip Girl would believe that.

Your voice is raw and shaking, so fucking sincere, as you say, "Because I'm going to take care of you tonight."

You're not sure if you meant that in a sexual way. Or if you are literally going to take care of her.

You planned on going down on her then and there but when you turn around, you see…

The one person who always manages to make you feel utterly happy and loved, liquored out of her mind, unintentionally playing footsie with herself… looking as breathless as ever.

As always.

So if you were going to do something, you were going to do it right. If you can't make her sleep with you while she's sober, then to hell with the bet.

After that, all you can do is crawl right next to her and sob yourself senseless into her shoulder, into her dumb Arcade Fire shirt that just screams Humphrey.

Fuck.

You feel her stiffen in surprise, but she eventually eases into you. She always does.

Serena bends for you.

And although she smells of smoke and substandard liquor, like the pool-house, you still spot the scent of her distinct perfume. The one she's been using since junior high. Ever since you told her she smelled amazing while the two of you hung out at Central Park's Bethesda Terrace Arcade.

It's out of blue but you couldn't stop yourself from saying it:

"I can't help but notice how amazing you smell today."

An orange Tootsie Pop pops out of her mouth.

"Really?" she asks, licking her sticky lips.

You let out a breath. The act isn't annoyed or superficial or patronizing. You're just a bit let down by her doubt.

"S, did I not make myself clear the first time?"

She nods slowly, like a child who has learned her lesson after being scolded by her parents. The lollipop is back in place, back in her mouth. She sucks on it with less enthusiasm.

You feel immediate regret after you realize that you were being cold. Sometimes, the two of you got into fights because you were being so obsessive and proud, being so much like your mother.

So you need to save the situation. You couldn't have her angry with you.

"Really, you do smell amazing."

Without bothering to take the Tootsie Pop out of her mouth, she smiles at you. It's sweet. Like you could already taste the Tootsie Roll she was counting her licks to.

The last time you checked, it was 128.

Quick licks, fast and tangy.

And just when you think that the butterflies have gone, they come back in a fluttering frenzy.

Fuck puberty.

The mix of scents is unlikely. Serena only reeks of downtown after she's been with Humphrey. But you don't know about tonight. Cheap cigarettes and cheap alcohol, coupled with something as priceless as van der Woodsen presence?

It baffles you how the both of you ended up having fun in a pool-house downtown…

That you ended up kissing her in a pool-house downtown.

And what surprises you is that it comforts you in a very bizarre way, akin to Eleanor tucking you in bed at night.

Maybe it's because you felt stripped down. You were at a place where nobody would care if two teenagers who had sexual tension since they were six suddenly making out beside the pool table.

You kissed her. And you liked it. You wanted to, so badly.

You lost control.

You let go of everything.

If you wanted to survive in the world, to live the life that had always been laid out in front of you, you needed to be an invincible, cold-hard fortress.

It's only in her arms that you allow yourself to be weak, to be human.

To be yourself.

Because you know you can count on her to be strong for the both of you.

She senses that her shirt's getting soaked so she asks, "Why are you crying?" in a tone that's concerned but utterly confused.

You try to hold back more tears as you quietly gasp, "Because I think that I'm going to make you cry some day."

She doesn't answer you, doesn't say anything. You know that she's tired.

But you know she's still conscious because her gentle fingers are running through your hair.

"Stop. You're alright now." She says.

It's feeble and weak. But you know just how much effort she put into stringing those four words together.

She's holding you tighter. That compensates for everything else.

The sound of her heart beating in her rising and falling chest, it's what lulls you to sleep.

And you swear, with the last of your waking thoughts, that hers beats just in time with yours.

She wakes up before you do.

"Hey." She greets softly, tucking loose strands of golden hair behind her ear. Now there's nothing covering her perfect set of smiling teeth and her bright blue eyes, looking right at you.

Her full attention, it's almost too much. You love how she looks right now, the pretty blonde mess in the morning. You also love the way she's looking at you, it's like she didn't sleep at all, she just watched over you as you slept for the whole night.

This look, it makes you feel safe. It's a look you want to wake up to… every morning.

The whole effect, it's too beautiful for words.

"Hey yourself." You manage to say anyway. "How's the hangover?"

"Hanging. I'm still a bit…" she trails off.

"Incoherent?" you tease.

"At least I still have my clothes on" she jokes.

You let out a small, nervous laugh, considering the fact that you were almost responsible for the contrary.

The sight you see, when you rudely open the door, happens to be the two of them, lying on the bed… and it's like you can almost see the rainbow-ish lesbian vibe they're letting out.

They're face to face and God… if a ten year-old were to see that instant just before Blair pulled back like a rubber band, he'd bet his money that those two girls were on the verge of making out.

You note that their current apparel is not what you'd imagine them to be usually wearing. You could have passed them on the street and they would look normal. Normal meaning you wouldn't have noticed them if you so happened to be walking down a street.

But Blair and Serena are two very fatally attractive girls. You doubt their capacity for being bourgeoisie even though they're dressed like that.

The point is... UES babies are unmistakable.

And Blair and Serena? They look, they feel, they are Upper East Side.

"My, my… What do we have here? To be honest, it perplexes me that the both of you still have clothes on."

Then you duck since Blair sends a very dangerous-looking stiletto at you. Lethal, very.

Serena's mouth hangs open in astonishment. Perhaps it's because your reflexes were wickedly fast. Or perhaps it is because she finds it unthinkable that her BlairBear would actually try to kill someone (who so happens to be her soon-to-be-step-brother) right in front of her.

"Bass, you are a chauvinist pig who can't even comprehend the simple concept of knocking."

Yes, only Blair Waldorf can put words like 'Bass', 'pig', 'chauvinist' (what the hell does this mean anyway?) together in a sentence and get away with it.

"You know me, I don't knock."

"This isn't your hotel anymore. You can't go barging in on people like that."

"And it's as if I had anything to walk in on…" you tell her smartly.

You hear her gasp and a second later, you feel this fuckingly-huge pain at your shoulder and you curse yourself for forgetting that there are other reasons why stilettos come in pairs.

And apparently, one of those reasons is so that the offended owner of said stilettos has an extra to hurl at the smug asshole of an offender.

Okay, so you won't cross Blair anymore. At least, not in front of Serena.

"Get out. Now." She seethes.

"Okay, okay… But not without her." You tell Blair, motioning your head to Serena.

"Serena, you're supposed to be at our first brunch as an unofficial family."

She seems to be totally unaware of the plan, "You didn't have to come here and pick me up, you know… You could have left me a text or you could have…" she finally finds her phone in her purse on Blair's bedside table "…called." Serena finishes lamely since this is probably the first time she checked her phone in the last 12 hours.

"You haven't answered all the text messages and you weren't picking up the calls. Old man Bart was worried, he got little ole' me to look for you." You explain to her.

Serena can only answer with a soft 'oh'.

She swings her taper-jeaned legs off the bed and she plants her feet on the carpet. While she puts on her Vans she looks over her shoulder to see Blair discreetly fumbling with the sheets, avoiding everyone's gaze.

Serena whips her head back towards you and she asks, "Can Blair come too?"

The brunette's head shoots up in mild alarm at the invitation. Pretty soon she and Serena were having a silent facial battle, the "I'm not going, S." look against Serena's puppy dog "Aww, c'mon Blair." Face.

You could tell who won just by the way brown eyes rolled in submission.

So… Blair and Brunch?

Yes, that was exactly what Chuck Bass had in mind.

A/N: After months and months of waiting, do you guys still want to send a mob after me? Hehehe.. Kidding! Tell me what you think.. Reviews are very much welcome... )