Nate dragged Serena into the bathroom and started taking off her shoes; they grew up together. They've all known each other forever. Serena, tipsy, complained that Blair was not the boss of her, and Nate laughed ruefully: "Oh, are you new here? 'Cause Blair's the boss of all of us." He choked on the signature scent: "Seriously, Serena, you smell like the floor of a brewery!" She flopped around and protested, then goofily smelled her hair, and realized he was right: "Brewery floor with a hint of secondhand smoke?" And a pint of Old Spice, he chuckled, and turned on the water. "Blair's a bossy genius," they agreed. It's how she stays alive. Serena held up the spigot and spoke into it, interviewing him cutely: "So, what about you?" He continued to undress her, rolling his eyes: "What about me? I don't smell like an ashtray." She turned the water on him, laughing hysterically. "But you look like an ass tray!" He laughed for a second and then squeezed his eyes shut, playing the victim, and she let down her guard, worried she'd taken it too far somehow; he laughed and tackled her. They screamed and played in the water, like kids, and for a second they were. Blair answered the call of her paranoia, and for a second maybe it was going to fall apart, but then they both jumped on her, and she was a kid too. They were a family, covering for each other. Blair doesn't get to be a kid very often. Bad Serena's never quite so charming as when she's twirling, soaked through, shouting: "I got you both! I'm king of the world. I'm king of the world!" She always did, and she always will be. I am thankful that Blair got to play too.