If you wish hard enough, even stars fall

by Dolly Shoes

Disclaimor: Obviously I didn't wish hard enough because neither Gossip Girl or its character are mine. Oh and there's a few bits of original dialogue from the show that's not mine either.

A/N: This is kinda weird, maybe doesn't make sense but whatever, I thought I'd post anyway cause I didn't particularly like Chuck's storyline in Carrnal Knowlege v. much. Actually, I didn't like the episode very much. I hate Carr with a passion, but maybe not as much as I hate Dan right now.


His glass is half-empty when he sees her. She passes by the bar, skin glowing dove white in the spinning, flashing lights of Victorla.

For a moment, the world freezes. He can no longer hear the music, or feel the warmth of the girl beside him. The Earth stops spinning on its axis so he can marvel her, but only for a second. A second that feels a lifetime to short.

"She was the most beautiful woman I have ever seen."

Endlessly and hopelessly beautiful.

She disappears between the throng of people, and reality crashes like a calamity back into him. He sinks further down in the booth, knees touching the low table littered with illicit substances.


He stumbles outside the club and she is framed by the street light, gold edging her ebony hair as she turns to him.

"It was like she was waiting for me."

Her face is compiled of strong arches and bold lines, but there is an enigmatic charm to her features and a softness in her expression.

'Long night?' It's a strange question for a stranger to ask, but she doesn't feel like a stranger. She feels so familiar, yet he can't quite place her.

He simply nods, because he can't remember anything about the night, or what time it is, or his own name.

'Let's go somewhere.'

I'd follow you anywhere.


He gets a room at a hotel, pulls out his card and gets a strange look from the man at the desk when he asks the woman what her name is.

'Sir, are you feeling okay?'

I can't feel my legs.

'Wonderful? Why?'

The man bites his lip, eyes scanning his sweaty, pale skin and unfocused eyes.

'Here's your room key.'


He closes the door to the room and watches her glide gracefully to the centre. He wants to touch her, but in the most non-sexual way. He just wants to be close to her, hear her voice and smell her skin.

"Tell me something about her."

"...She smelled like jasmine."

'You're so familiar.'

'Of course I am. You don't remember me?'

She turns in the firelight. Who turned on the fire? Him? Her? He doesn't remember how he even got here.

Her backless black dress is classic, reaching the floor, framing her thin body perfectly. The red glow of the flames caresses the ivory canvas of her perfect skin.

"And she was beautiful. She was the most beautiful woman I have ever seen."

The knot in his stomach tightens; hope, excitement, nervousness, disbelief...



'Dad?' He pushes the heavy oak door just enough so that his head can peak through, but his body is shielded by the wood.

Bart looks up from the papers spread across his desk. 'What are you doing up?'

'I had a dream.' He bites his lip timidly, eyes lowering to the floor.

Bart is either bored with his work, or he is actually taking pity on his son. 'Come in,' he orders as he stands and rounds the desk to meet his young son at the couch. 'Tell me about it.'

'It was about mom.' Bart immediately tenses, every muscle in his body stiffening.

He wants to stop, but he can't. 'But I couldn't see her, or hear her. But I just knew she was there. It was weird... I don't know anything about her. I don't even know what she looks like.'

Bart forces out a short chuckle. 'Why don't you just look in the mirror?' He stands and goes to pour himself a stiff drink.

'Tell me something about her.' He whispers.

Bart takes a long sip, staring at the opposite wall. '...She smelled like jasmine.'

His eyes widen and his stomach jumps.

'And she was beautiful. The most beautiful woman I have ever seen.'

Bart walks to his desk and begins to shuffle about in one of the locked draws. He pulls out a framed picture and hands it to his son. The boy grasps it in his tiny hands desperately, staring like he's never seen anything so marvellous.

He watches his son and know that neither has he.

'You can keep it. Look after it.'


He tells his nanny that the smell of Jasmine helps him sleep at night, and she dabs it on his pillows.


'I've dreamt about you every night.'

'I know.' Misty smiles, lips curving very much like his own. Her eyes are his too. The supernatural glow of her skin is impossible. This is impossible.

'This isn't real.' He realizes. 'I've finally gone insane.'

This creature before him is the same creature he imagined as a child. Superhumanly perfect, flawless, beautiful... The most beautiful woman in the world.

She laughs a little, and he can't believe he's imagining that. 'Not insane, just broken.' Misty explains simply, the rational side of his subconscious, he supposes.

'Why now? Why after years of wishing you into existence, suddenly you appear?'

'Maybe it's because you're tripping out, because of the combination of lethal drugs you took tonight, because you've derailed,' she clicks her tongue, circling him, '...or maybe it's because you need it most, now. Maybe it's because you want to ask me something?'

He swallows, shameful. 'I want to ask your forgiveness.'


'Lie down.'

He feels her hand splayed between his shoulder blades, urging his exhausted body to comply with her wishes. Following where she led him, he slowly laid his head in her lap and brought his legs up onto the bed, one folding beneath the other.

His eyes immediately droop when he feels her long, thin fingers playing with his hair, tugging gently at the soft, silky strands and nails scratching lightly at his scalp.

'I don't want to go to sleep,' he mumbles clumsily against her thigh.

'But you're exhausted.' Amusement tinges her voice and he remembers how she'd laughed, how he wanted to make her laugh again; that glorious tinkling sound, the flush in her cheeks, the gleam in her eyes...

'I don't want this to end, not yet... I just want a little longer,' his voice is strained as he struggled with consciousness.

'We are always going to want a little longer,' she replies rationally. Why was she so sensible, so reasonable? That wasn't him at all.

He realizes, as the darkness closes in around him, that it was ending. And he wants to cry, beg... plead with a God he didn't believe in. Just a little longer.

'I need to tell you something.' He stops struggling against the weight of his eye lids and allows them to fall closed. Focussing on the feel of her fingers (how could he imagine something so intimate, so real, so there...?), he finds himself drifting. 'Sometimes when I was a kid, and Dad would miss the school play, or jet to Europe on business on my birthday, I wished that he could have died instead of you.'

'I reasoned that if I really was only able to have one parent unlike my friends, I'd rather have you. I missed you, even though I never had you... I hated him so much.' The backs of his eyes began to burn.

'You loved him,' she responds evenly, completely sure of her words. The first tear breaks from beneath his lashes and scorches a track down his cheek.

'I feel so guilty.'

'Shush,' she murmurs, just like in his dreams.

He could feel himself sinking. It was calm beneath the water, and against his will he was soothed by the lullaby of her breathing and the soft caress of her fingers stroking his hair; he didn't know when he lost her, he was too far gone, dragged away by the current...

"I think last night might have been the greatest night of my life."