A/N: Written for a Fic Exchange over on livejournal. It had to somehow relate to Valentine's Day, and this is what I chose to write. Title comes from Collide by Howie Day.
Valentine's Day is Blair Waldorf's absolute favorite holiday until the year that she wakes up to find she's 24, no longer in a serious relationship, and slightly miserable. Tangled in the 500- count Egyptian cotton sheets of her bed in her New York apartment, she feels like her life is an hourglass in the sense that the sand always flows faster as the amount in the top half decreases. She feels like despite her incredible job in Fashion Merchandise, her small yet valuable group of close friends, and her Manhattan apartment with the perfect view of Central Park, she will never truly be happy. And she feels like despite what her newly ex-lover would say, she's not being melodramatic. Because there's nothing worse in the whole entire world than spending Valentine's Day completely and utterly alone.
Turning over in her bed, she catches the faintest scent of something sweet and delectable coming from somewhere else in her apartment and she doesn't even bother throwing on her sheer silk dressing gown before storming off towards the kitchen. There's only one person who would think to show up in her home at a time like this and make himself comfortable: Chuck Bass.
"What are you doing here, Bass? You know you don't belong here anymore," she calls when she's still yards away from the kitchen on the opposite side of her apartment. Images of herself storming out of the Palace, one very awkward limo ride, and a Jimmy Choo pump sailing across her apartment flood her memory as she recalls the night before. He had left minutes before all hell broke lose and she became a sobbing mess in the corner of her closet, the pump's mate still in her hand. And it hadn't been until this morning that she had let herself remember that today was February 14th, and her first morning as a single woman in nearly five years. Cupid does have some sick sense of humor alright.
He turns as he hears the sound of her voice, his signature smirk on his lips, and it makes Blair want to go find that shoe and throw it this time with better aim. He has no right to be in her apartment, especially after the way he completely humiliated her in the middle of their romantic evening out the night before. She had been taking a chance when she agreed to a real date her freshman year at Princeton, by his side after Yale had turned her away, but she had never expected things to end like this. Or for her to end up with the short end of the deal. "There are several possible answers to that question, Waldorf," he says as he saunters away from the stove, i her stove/i and wraps his arm around her waist. She immediately shoves it away, not in the mood for his games or his sarcasm.
"Don't humor me, Chuck," she responds as she makes the distance between them physically feel as lengthy as the one she herself feels emotionally. Let him suffer the way she did the night before as his accusatory tone played in her mind. How dare he accuse her of keeping secrets from him? She never would have dreamed of keeping a secret of that magnitude from him, if such a secret had existed in the first place. But he had jumped to conclusions, and she had quickly become upset. It seems stupid to her now, she muses, now that she's facing the harsh reality of being alone. "Tell me the answer that is the truth."
She leans against the doorframe and crosses her arms over her chest to show that she's serious. She wants him out of there just as quickly as he came, and she doesn't want to discuss the events of the night before. But he sighs out of exasperation, throwing his hands up as he turns to face her, and it's a sure sign that he feels about as bad about the night before as she does, even if he's not letting on. "Blair, there's no deeper meaning to what I'm doing here. It's breakfast. Plain and simple." She bites back a laugh as she moves behind him to see just exactly what he's doing. Chuck Bass never does anything plain or simple. And she proves her point as she immediately recognizes just what is on that plate on her stove.
"Those are chocolate chip pancakes, you know those are my favorite. And they're heart-shaped. Those aren't nothing," She moves away from his side when he turns around and his hand drifts towards her body again. Physical contact means nothing good will come of this situation, she'll become as moldable as Play-Doh in his expert hands and she'll no longer have the upper hand. Home field advantage and the role of the victim can only go so far. "And you, Mr. Bass," she continues as she sinks into one of the chairs at her kitchen table, resting her chin in her hand, "Do not cook. So do you want to tell me the real reason why you let yourself into my apartment this morning?"
She's chastising him like a small child, but he doesn't seem to care at all as he places a plate in front of her and leans back against the counter, his arms folded across his chest. For a minute, she lets herself dwell on the image of the two of them letting go of their differences and fucking right there on her kitchen table, like lovers and not the item they have surely become in the past five years, the item that has indeed hit the cover of tabloids from time to time. But she lets it go as she reminds herself that she's 24, and according to the plan that she mapped out when she was 11, she should be married by now and contemplating starting a family. Of course, she was married to Nate in that fantasy, but she decided to omit that part back during senior year when they separated for the last time.
"If I feed you, will you let me to stay to explain why I came back without feeling like I'm about to be ambushed by your stilettos?" She rolls her eyes as she hears him, her arms still crossed against her own chest in a defensive manner. While those adorable chocolate chip pancakes are starting to cause her mouth to water, she's not about to give in and take his peace offering. She wants to see him grovel, beg, and plead to be back in her arms again before that. No one ever called her a bitch without good reason.
"If I kiss you, will you turn back into a frog and croak?" she asks with anger, not passion burning in her beautiful brown eyes. He certainly has a lot of apologizing to do this time, and cooking her breakfast isn't going to mend the trust that he has so severely betrayed. For just a second, she sees true regret flash across his deep brown irises, and in the next instant it's gone, replaced with irritation. She wishes that he would just leave and hate her somewhere else.
"Blair, I didn't fucking cook for you, okay? They're from that little café on the corner you like so much." He sinks into the chair across from her, looking slightly defeated, and she doesn't feel the strong sense of satisfaction that she thought she would. Instead, she feels like she's drowning. She lost track of which way was up hours ago, the minute the first question had left his lips last night. i Were you ever going to tell you me you're pregnant, Waldorf/i It had sent her world crashing down around her, and she's still trying to pick up all of the pieces now, more than 12 hours later. In the back of her mind, she knows that a piece is still missing to her perfect jigsaw puzzle life, and she fears that she'll never find it again. "Can we dispense with the small talk and get down to business?" It's a simple question on his part, but it makes her sorrow dissipate in mere seconds, her agitation returning before she can even supply him with an answer.
His peace offering is getting cold as she stares down at those sad little heart-shaped pancakes instead of back at him. Until last night, she has been stupid enough to think that maybe, just maybe Valentine's Day could be the overly romantic holiday that she's wanted to experience for so long. A kiss in the rain, a midnight rooftop proposal, sex in a candle lit bedroom, all of the above. She's not too picky. And then, he just had to go and find that damn pregnancy test she had bought as a precaution, unopened, mind you. And he had to jump to conclusions, and she had to storm out and throw her shoes at his head from the threshold of her bedroom as she tells him he never meant anything to her. And she fears that this might be the biggest lie she has ever told to date. No matter what anyone else says, it's never been just sex with Chuck Bass.
She never bothers to pick up her gaze from the surface of the table as she speaks, fearing the power he'll have over her when she finally makes eye contact. He can always find a way to control her, and, while at times it has been a comfort, it really does make her feel weak. But his eyes stay on her, and when she finally lifts her head and reciprocates the action, she finds his expression to be one she has seen very few times. Regret, pain, and a strong sense of desire fill his dark eyes at once and her own face grows warm, the apples of her cheeks turning a shade of scarlet that is completely unnatural. "Don't look at me like that," she manages as she tries to appear to be irritated even as he's slowly winning her over.
"Like what, Waldorf?" Chuck stares back at her in the same manner for another moment before he sighs aloud again and slides into the chair opposite her. "Blair, you're being ridiculous. I don't know what you want me to say. I brought you breakfast, that's it." He leans forward, his elbow resting on the table as his hands fold beneath his chin, and Blair ignores just how adorable he looks there, contemplative and ready to finally talk things out. She wonders if they would be here right now if he had taken the same approach to the situation the night before, but she already knows the answer is no. They both do. And that's why he's here now, seated across for her. "I ask you, what's wrong with this picture?"
"You're still here," she deadpans without a minute's hesitation. His signature smirk appears on his face, but she knows that he's not going to let her know just how amused he is by her response. She learned long before now that Chuck Bass is an enigma. She just figured that he was worth figuring out.
"Okay, what else? You of all people, with your perfect little planned-out life, should know the answer."
"Are you ever satisfied?" she answers immediately, her tone still accusatory even though she really stopped hating him and started blaming herself somewhere between her breakdown in her closet and waking up to find him in her kitchen this morning. She's surprised when his shoulders suddenly relax and she knows that he's admitting defeat. She must say, she was slightly looking forward to a good battle with her newly ex-boyfriend.
He, on the other hand, looks like he could certainly live without this latest disagreement. Running a hand over his eyes, Blair takes note of the dark circles rimming his perfectly brown eyes, a sure sign of a sleepless night. She could feel herself sympathizing with him even before he spoke. This was not a good sign if she wanted to hold out for much longer. "You really want to know why I came here, Blair?" She nods, even though she's not so sure she really does want to know anymore. Her motto has been ignorance is bliss for years for good reason. "Because I wanted to fix this before tonight when you single-handedly ruined your Valentine's Day."
There's no more empathizing, no more sorrow for the guy who was assaulted by designer shoes the night before. She feels just as annoyed as she did when she first discovered him here in her kitchen. He was the one to create this entire mess, and he's going to have to be the one to fix it somehow, but he's not about to blame her for its existence. She scoffs as she leans closer as well, her hands resting on her cheeks as she glares back at him. " I I'm / ruining Valentine's Day? You have got to be kidding me, Chuck. How the hell do you figure that this is all my fault?"
"Because if you don't decide to forgive me as I apologize for a twentieth time, it's not going to matter how many damn jewelry stores I had to visit, or how many fucking karats are in that ring. You're not going to say yes." Blair stares at him for a minute without comprehending what he's saying. He couldn't possibly be hinting at what she thinks he is. Chuck Bass doesn't make commitments like that to anyone but himself. He doesn't fulfill promises to anyone but his father because he has no choice in the matter and occasionally to Blair because he wants something. Or he wants her. But he doesn't do this kind of thing.
"You were going to propose tonight?" Her voice is softer than she meant it to be and no longer holding its harsh, judgmental tone, but he hears. Hesitating for longer than she would've liked, he finally acknowledges her question with a slight nod. "On I Valentine's Day /I ?" Another nod. "But that's so… cliché." The mere idea of him doing something so romantic, something so feature flim-esque makes her want to laugh.
He throws his hands up as he rolls his eyes skyward, obviously not finding the same humor in the situation that she does. "Exactly! That's why you would fall for it in a heartbeat! It's just like all of those old black-and-white films you like so much."
The idea is far from original, but the romantic intention behind it makes her slightly broken heart warm. She is a hopeless romantic, and he took that into account when trying to plan the perfect Valentine's Day for her. And how did she repay him? With her favorite black shoe missing his left ear by mere centimeters. She suddenly feels juvenile, for having been upset with him and then for having tried to send him away again this morning. Who would've known Chuck Bass could be quite the leading man? She leans back in her chair again as she considers the possibility of Chuck fabricating this entire plan to win her back and keep her from withholding sex, her most often used defense against him, but she quickly dismisses the ideas without a second thought. She's the only one who can think that quickly on her feet. Chuck only wishes he could.
He rises to his feet again, beginning to pace the length of her kitchen, and she finds it harder and harder to stay mad at the man standing before her. It's a nervous habit, but she always finds it so endearing, she's afraid she might be caving once again. "It wasn't that I was mad about you not telling me last night, per say," Chuck began, his voice no longer holding the sarcastic tone that always seems to be present, "But I knew that it would ruin my plan too. The last thing I needed was for you to assume I was only asking you because I thought that you were pregnant."
As she listens to his explanation, his simple-minded response, she wonders why she never pieced it together before now. Of course, it would be just like him to assume the worst of her, one of his many numerous unattractive qualities, but one that she can live with. If he was willing to risk his life by coming back to her apartment and facing her large collection of shoes once again, she can definitely let him make assumptions. But she's not ready to accept him back yet. Why not play along for a little while longer? She always has loved being the one in control.
"How do I know that you're not just asking because I may or may not be pregnant?" Blair doesn't mean to sound so cryptic as she speaks, but she realizes that she comes across as already knowing whether or not they are expecting, something she hadn't intended to do, as her voice reverberates in her own ears. But she has the affect on him that she desires. He sighs out of exasperation as he comes to stand before her, arms crossed over his chest.
"Fine, Waldorf. You don't believe me? You want to leave it up to fate or whatever the hell it is you believe in? Let's flip a coin. Heads, we get married. Tails, we break up. How's that?" As he reaches into his pocket to pull out a coin, his temper obviously running short now, more so with himself than her, she quickly stops it with her own. Fate is no longer her friend if it's tails. She doesn't want to lose him, she only wants to torture him. And she realizes that her game now must come to an end for the sake of her relationship. Because she is determined to salvage what's left of it, and she's not about to turn down that ring.
"Chuck Bas, you wouldn't," she retorts as he finally pulls his hand from the depth of his pants pocket before he has the chance to find a coin. She doesn't care what that damn coin will read, she's known her answer to this question for almost five years now. She knows that he wouldn't honestly leave her because the coin says to do so, but the possible outcome will live forever in the back of her mind. It's something she doesn't need to know.
She stands up from the table after another minute, the heart-shaped pancakes now completely forgotten as she links her hands behind his neck. Immediately, his features soften, his breathing evens, and he becomes the one to fall under her spell. "The answer is yes, Bass. You didn't even have to ask." With a small smile gracing her lips, she leans on her tiptoes to kiss him like she's never kissed anyone before.
She doesn't care that he left the ring on the other side of the city. She doesn't care that he's still living in a hotel suite like he was when they were 17 years old. She doesn't care that there's still that damn test waiting for her a few yards away, and, knowing her luck, will probably be positive. All of this is forgotten as her lips collide with his and she barely catches his soft murmur against her skin.
I I love you. /I
Chuck Bass has just given her the best Valentine's Day she has ever had.