Three Steps

The problem with transatlantic flights is the hours, the silence that is only ever broken by high-budget low-plot movies and the same circling of random musical hits. It's the silence that gifts thoughts you wish were lost with your luggage. When my brunette curls blend to blue fabric, and my slender hands grip the rests despite the lack of turbulence, that's when my mind wanders into the history.

I've learned a lot of lessons in the last two years; so few of them good and each gifted at the hands of a man. The sad thing is that I never thought I was undesirable or insignificant until I returned to New York. I was simply me, for better or worse, in mistakes and triumphs. I always thought that was enough. Now I'm not sure what is and I've forgotten what it meant to be simply anything.

Dan Humphrey

You got a degree in philosophy

so you think you cleverer than me

but I'm not just some drama queen

cos it's where you are, not where you been

Dan taught me that love only lasts when your five foot eight, blonde and beautiful. Then again, that didn't last anyway, just long enough to trample through the happily ever after in my mind. The lessons stuck longer.

Dan was supposed to be in love with me, he was supposed to be my perfect counterpart. We were supposed to roll our eyes at the elite, burrow ourselves into an artistic melding and find some innocent perfection. When was I ever that innocent?

Instead he showed me that passion was bred in blonde curls, that flashes of gold undid purple and that I would never ever be enough. And it hurt more than it should have but I washed it over with a smile and cut paper snowflakes for blue-eyed perfection.

We trampled what could have been into comfortable, became a pair of worn loafers that fit together but never inspire anything beyond what we are. Most days I'm more than fine with that. I stare at my best friend and wonder how exactly we could have worked. He's no longer innocent enough to recast childish fables. Some days I question whether he ever was. I might just have constructed a fantasy in small town Vermont.

But I still take his hand and rub his back because I'm three steps shy of being fully outspoken. I wait to roll my eyes until the door closes because without him I'd truly have nothing.

Nathaniel Archibald

When I walk in your shoes

I understand a man confused

they much too big, but I don't care

feel the weight your shoulders bear

now I really empathize

I still don't understand what it was about Nate that bound me so deeply. I never pretended to be Cinderella, never planned to fall for crumbling castles and graying princes. I never intended to kiss him, never wanted to sleep with him until we were waking up with arms and legs entangled. Even after I'd planned to show him the door, to push him through because I'm Vanessa Abrams and I don't do dumb. The problem is that I'm always three steps shy of practical.

I think it was the eyes. Nate has this way of focusing his entire attention on you, of dragging the butterflies you work so hard to keep hidden. He plays a game with those eyes that he doesn't even know the rules to.

And you end up constructing a fantasy where little nothing home-schooled girls are loved by gifted sons and even though it's the opposite of everything you ever wanted, those eyes make you want to rewrite history. You want to live that fairytale and for a while I did. I took flowers, wore costumes and ignored the fact that his eyes flashed as easily at everyone. If he knew the rules then maybe he could control them.

But he can't. He can't control himself and I'm not hard enough to attempt what he lacks. So I get dragged through indecisiveness. I forgave him twice before he left me for Blair. He reminds what Dan taught. That natural hair is never as good as styled, that kindness is never as intriguing as dominance. I have no power. After the second leaving I'm left wondering if I had anything at all.

Chuck Bass

Looking through your bloodshot eyes

and I know you, you so frustrated

but we all become what we once hated

Besides, nobody can be that wise

And you can see it play out behind the eyes, the way he curls a hand around my waist. Chuck Bass thinks he's so clever but I already know he's not nice. He thinks I am though. He thinks I can be manipulated, played, and outwitted. I could have told him the truth but I smile and play along. I'm clever too but clever doesn't mean wise.

Chuck was never about Chuck until the morning after. It was about testing a theory in my mind. Did Nate ever love me? If he'd throw the best friend down over Blair then he ought to do the same for me. He doesn't. He barely quirks a brow and that's when I have the answer that, if I was truthful, I already knew all along. I'd fall into despondence but I've always been three steps short of cynical. So I fall into Chuck instead.

Chuck isn't about Chuck until he wakes up and stares at me. It's not the eyes. I'm not some dumb freshman with two credit cards rather than two braincells to rub together. It's just curiosity. Maybe I needed to test another theory, see whether the glimpses of humanity I spied were true or feigned. So I stare myself into another shocking realization. I just needed someone to want me. I wanted him to desire me, to truly and honestly want me. That's when I know how far I've sunk in my own esteem.

Because I've never wanted Chuck Bass.

Nathaniel Archibald

What do you expect from me?

To hold your head above the sea

and carry you even though you bigger

don't you know? You crush my tiny figure

anyway, we still so young

and this isn't yesterday

There is something so unsettling about his smile. It isn't the smile itself, it's the jumping in my chest that I've yet to fully eliminate. It's how much I want to believe everything he says and does is genuine. It's how he can cover his face with a curve and I'm flying to Europe with him in tow. And I know it's wrong. I read the Feminine Mystique at twelve. I know I've made myself weak and insignificant. I just can't seem to help myself. I'm more than three steps short of proud. So I embrace my Freudian fate and learn to emulate all the stuff my mother hates.

I stay into the circle of those blue eyes until Vienna. In Vienna we cross the boundaries of friendship and I find my realization. It's not carefree or indulgent when we played the game right to his script. Nate is lying asleep beside me and his brow is far too calm. Mine is far too troubled. That's when I know. I not only learned to do dumb but I learned how to be dumb. Nate will always be Nate. He'll awake with those same eyes but they'll be turned to a blonde or a redhead. So I step from the bed and pull the only sheet around myself. It's time for Rapunzel to pull up her hair and I do, pin it back with three clips and toss the rest to my backpack. I trade silk sheets for silk dresses and leave before the sun begins it ascent.

I arrive back in New York before the sun has completed its descent. There's something different in the city, I don't feel the flash of enthusiasm I did two years before. The sky is darker, the roads dingier and the people louder. I've learned lots of lessons but none of them good. And somehow those lessons are a heavier burden than the backpack I lug from glass doors towards taxi. The yellow cars inch forward and I run for the nearest, touch flesh rather than handle and pull back on instinct. I'd push past the other man but I'm always three steps short of overbearing.

“Hello,” The voice is deep and I go to intone a polite reply but as I look over it catches in recognition. It's a foggy memory but there's something familiar in the thick brown hair, the wide chin and dark eyes. He slings his pack to the other shoulder and there's something else too. Something not quite as easy to define.

“Hello,” I manage after a pause that trips to uncomfortable. “I...”

“Know you.” The man offers with a closer look. It's broken by the cab's horn, the realization that neither of us had relinquished our position on the metal. “Want so share?” He suggests and I'm sure I blush. I know I'm too tongue-tied to talk, but I pull a hand back, bangles brushing against his wrist. He opens the door and I slip inside first. He puts a hand to my back, to help I suppose, but it burns in a far from helpful way.

He climbs in next and that's when I remember the final lesson.

I've always been three steps too close to a romantic.

I can't help you if you won't help yourself

you can only get so much from someone else

you can't help me if I don't learn to help myself

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

A/N – Just an attempt to spread some V-love to counter all the V-hate. It looks like they're finally going to develop her character this season rather than using her like a moist towelette (wipe once and dispose). It's enough to make me want to watch S3.

And yes I know I said I was never writing GG again...call it a slip (goes back to Ch2 of my other story).