#roman garrel

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roman garrel from gossip girl is gay (canon)

submitted by anonymous

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Gossip Girl as things my friends have said

(Part 7/5)

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dair + emergency

Dair + Emergency

Every doctor, nurse, and staff person in this ER is dodging Blair’s eye. Typical. It’s not her fault they’re all grossly incompetent. 

It’s just as well, if the previous ten briefings she’s had to shake down these people for are any indication, they won’t have anything useful to tell her anyway. 

She makes herself pace the length of the waiting area again, if only to calm herself down a little before heading back into the room. 

“Blair-bear!”

Her head jerks up at the nickname, and she immediately spots her father and his husband, the latter holding a drink carrier laden with to-go cups. 

“We brought hot chocolate!” Roman says, and Blair swears it’s only twenty percent forcibly cheerful. He’s a talent, Roman is. 

“How’s the patient?” Harold asks, coming in to kiss Blair on the cheek as Roman hands her one of their cups. 

“Fine, I guess,” she sighs down at the plastic coffee lid. “Apparently their radiology department is so very backed up, and because he ‘isn’t critical,’ he’s at the end of the waiting list. So far, all they’ve done is stick him in a room and dose him with painkillers, which any one who reads the New Yorker will tell you is precisely what’s wrong with our medical system.” 

Her father blinks at her, taken aback, and so she forces herself to take a breath, and then a sip of the hot chocolate. Oh, Maison, her steadfast friend. Her father hasn’t seen much of her prickly, ranting, bitchy side—by design—but her patience is looking pretty threadbare at the moment. Roman for his part simply looks bemused. 

“We just feel awful,” Roman offers, voice dripping with sympathy—Blair knows him well enough now to know its genuine—probably why he did so well as a model in his day. Genuity is difficult to fake, and for a Frenchman, impossible. “Wollman Rink does seem cursed for us, no?”

Blair grimaces around the lid of her cup, but when she looks Roman’s eyes are only sparkling with amusement. He’s too good for her. The same could be said about Dan too. At least this fall wasn’t her fault. It was entirely due to that group of twelve-year-olds trying to do their own Moulin Rouge routine, and poor Dan was too inexperienced a skater to get out of their way in time.

“Some twisted rite of passage,” Blair agrees grimly, making Roman laugh, and Harold smile indulgently, patting her on the shoulder. 

She takes another sip of the cocoa, its warmth and richness oddly fortifying. “Thank you,” she says sincerely, gesturing with the cup in her hand. “But you don’t have to stay.”

“Are you sure?” her father checks, concerned. 

“It’s fine,” she reassures him. “You’re only in the city for a few more days, you shouldn’t waste one hanging out in the emergency room.” 

“We’ve been here plenty of times before, you know.” 

Blair smiles, rolling her eyes. “I know. But we’ll be fine, really.” Plus, chances are she’ll have to dress down another George Clooney ER wannabe in the next hour, and she doesn’t really want her dads to see it. It would hardly be in the spirit of the season. 

“Okay,” Harold says reluctantly, leaning in to kiss her on the cheek again. “Give Daniel our best, okay?”

“Yes,” Roman adds, throwing an arm around her shoulders with a side-hug as he hands over the drink tray. “Tell Handsome Dan get well soon from us.”

Blair shakes her head, smiling. “I’ll do that.” 

She watches her dads round the corner, then takes another deep breath, forcing her shoulder down. Then, she takes one more fortifying sip of cocoa before putting her drink back in the carrier, and walking down the hall, slipping into the room where they’d been holding Dan since their second hour here. 

Dan’s face lights up the second he sees her. “Waldorf!” 

She makes straight for him, dropping a kiss on top of his head, trying not to focus too much on the temporary splint they have his leg in. “How are you feeling?”

“Oh me?” he slurs, “I’m great.” He blinks blearily up at her, his eyes, normally so sharp, are distant, unfocused, like there’s a light film over them. “You’re pretty.” 

“Oh, thank you, Humphrey.” She spares a glance at the tray in her hand, and decides hot liquids are probably counterproductive to this situation, so she turns to set them on the counter far out of Dan’s reach. He watches her the whole time, a dazed smile on his face, so far gone. 

“Sorry you’re stuck here,” she sighs, carding a hand through his hair. He bumps his head eagerly into her touch, like a cat, or either of her father’s pets when they’re drunk on attention. “I tried seeing if we could get you an x-ray or even just a consult, but apparently the holidays are rife with way more severe casualties.”

Dan gazes up at her, giving no cue if anything she just said registered. “Marry me,” he says. 

She freezes, gaping at him in confusion. “What?”

“Marry me,” he repeats, dopey grin on his face, yet completely sincere. 

Blair swallows, pressing her lips tightly together. She should not laugh at him, not in this state. “We’re already married, kitten. For over a year now.” 

Dan’s eyes flash with recognition, or happiness, or opiates, but she’s again not sure if he actually heard her. 

“You’re pretty,” he repeats. So…maybe?

“Oh, thank you,” Blair twists one of his curls around her finger. “So are you.” 

He has the audacity to blush, teeth digging into his lower lip as he grins. Then, after a beat, his expression turns so very earnest again, rife with cloudy-eyed sincerity. “Marry me.”

“Sorry,” Blair teases, holding up her left hand to show her ring, unable to help herself. “I’m taken.” 

Dan’s face falls, eyes widening and lips pouting, the textbook definition of pitiful. 

It’s going to be a long day. 

One word prompts

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