A/N: not going to lie, this is VERY personal thing to me, and I just thought, given how cancer was portrayed on the show (which, I found, be to honest, insulting) we needed a little injection of reality - though this fic, in fairness, is more me beating your over the head with a large wooden stick than an injection but, sure, who gives a mighty duck? Just warning you now, life doesn't happen like on Grey's Anatomy. Sorry
A/N II: is intended as one-shot but if people really like, might continue, seeing as it is a topic very close to my heart.
...
Just in case.
...
Serena's all soft when she finds him, only a ghost squeeze on his shoulder, just in case – but he knocks her off, all the same. Fixes his eyes on the skyline. The skyline doesn't change.
"You didn't have to come tonight. The Christening's not until tomorrow."
"I didn't have to. Or you didn't want me to."
"Of course we want you. You're the godfather."
The skyline is still there. It's always been there, and it will be there still, after.
"Can I ... do anything? Get you some water?"
"You could look at me."
They make do with each other's reflections in the dark glass. She's near tears and the person she's looking at, she doesn't recognise.
The poison is starting to infect everything. It seeps into all the empty spaces, oozes out his pores, twists his mouth into a sneer, makes his eyes glitter and seethe, he breathes it out with every word, every heartbeat, a noxious gas that eats up all the oxygen.
"Don't pretend you are doing this because."
Because is the end of his sentence.
"Because what, Chuck? Because we love you and want you to be a part of our child's life? Because we think you'll be a great godfather? Because– "
"Are you trying to make me happy, S?"
"Is this your way of saying thank you?"
"Is this your way of saying goodbye?"
"Hello," Serena says, very purposely. "Bonjour," she sobs. "Hola. Guten Tag. Aloha. Shalom. Jambo," and she doesn't say ciáo, because that means goodbye, too, just in case.
.
...
.
Nate comes to yell at him for making Serena cry because Dan's busy with the baby. Only he doesn't – yell, that is. Nobody yells, not anymore. Just in case.
.
...
.
The apartment door opens, lots of warm yellow light and noise, people on a chilly November evening.
"I don't believe it! You're here B! You're really here!"
Lots of touching, just to prove it, and then some squealing and jumping and hugging and clouds of golden hair swirling, brown bobs bouncing and heels going click click click, some frantic Morse code.
SOS
SOS
SOS
"You can let go of me now."
"But you might run off back to Paris!"
"S? Have you been crying?"
"OMG, is that– "
"What happened? Serena?"
Serena shuts the door behind her, shutting out that warm yellow light. Leans back against the wall, covers her face in her hands, cries for five minutes, and then they touch up their mascara and go back inside, and they hold hands, just in case.
.
...
.
The guest of honour is sleeping but her inclusion in the ranks of the religiously viable is a mere excuse for people to come home and drink too much champagne and talk about the good old days and pretend they were happy.
Dan is happy, he has never been so happy.
When the world gives, it takes away, otherwise we'd all be happy and everything would fall apart so Dan plants a feather kiss on Delilah's peachy fuzz and whispers, even though she's asleep, whispers, I LOVE YOU. Just in case.
.
...
.
She looks around the room. Rufus crooning to the baby. Jenny showing off her rock. Dan whispering with Lily, Lily looking tired and bothered and maternal, and Dan, uneasy – and pity? Nate looks on, arms folded, surly, chewing his lip.
There are two people missing.
"Where's Eric? I haven't seen him, in, like, years!"
Serena absently scans the room. "With Chuck, I guess."
"You invited Chuck!"
"He's my brother."
"He wasn't at your wedding."
"He was ... busy."
Blair raised an eyebrow. Serena changed the subject. "Be nice."
"Be nice? To Chuck Bass. You have got to be joking S."
"Well, I'm not. Things are ... different. So be nice, B, please."
Not wanting to sound morbid, she left out the compulsory just in case.
.
...
.
"Are you going to sit here all night?"
Eric knows not to expect an answer but that doesn't make it any easier.
"Oh well. If you can't beat them, the join then."
He folds himself, gracefully, to the floor, stretching out his long legs.
After a while, he says, "I got in."
It's like talking to yourself.
"The letter came this morning. Mom will make a big show and dance of it dinner, of course, but I wanted to tell you myself and ... and there is it."
How do you tell someone you applied to medical school because you need something long and longer to fill up your life? Because you feel guilty? Because you want to be able to help, actually help, not just fetching water and standing outside the bathroom – locked, hard – listening to the sound of vomit slapping the basin.
"Aren't you going to say something?"
Chuck tilts his head and the light catches him. His skin is translucent.
"What do you want me to say?"
Eric's temper sours.
"You could say congratulations."
"Congratulations."
"You could mean it."
He gets up, gets out, but lingers, long fingers tapering around the doorframe, for a second, waiting for a call that's never going to come. Hope does that to you, and he waits, just in case.
.
...
.
Lily goes in search of him before dinner. He's fallen asleep, curled up small on the couch, and she sits down beside him.
"Charles."
Her hand hovers a moment, unsure where to go, there's no hair to twist about her fingers, before rubbing his shoulder but it's going to take more than a mother's touch, more than a bandaid and an Oreo, more than a cool cloth to the forehead and lemon Jell-O and two Tylenol, it's going to take so much more to fix this mess. Sometimes being a mother isn't enough.
"Charles."
He doesn't wake, nor does she attempt to rouse him. How could she?
"Lil? Dinner is ready, everybody's waiti– Oh." Rufus kisses her head, looks down on the sleeping boy, and it's easy to see what he's thinking. She thinks it, all the time.
Thank God this isn't happening to my child.
"Dinner can wait."
Like that, plans change. Sometimes they're dinner plans. Sometimes they're bigger. Now Lily doesn't make plans, just in case.
.
...
.
From behind, she assumes he's wearing a hat (a truly unforgivable beanie thing) because he cut his hair and – because she can't say hello, it's been too long for that – can't say long time no see, Basshole, did you miss me? because she would die if he said no – can't say I didn't miss you, that's a lie – can't say sometimes, when they fuck me, I say your name, by accident – can't say I miss you – can't say I was wrong – so she says, with cheer and bright breeziness and force, "You cut your hair."
Maybe it's an accusation because she liked his hair.
But it seems inoffensive. An icebreaker.
Well, the room goes very cold and no one wants to breathe. He stiffens, visibly
"I wasn't aware I needed your permission."
And turns, slowly.
"I didn't know," she swears. "I didn't know."
She leaves, running, heels going click click click – SOSSOSSOSSOSSOSSOSSOS – and she leaves the bathroom door, unlocked, just in case.
.
...
.
Dinner is subdued, stiff conversation about tomorrow but it seems wrong to celebrate, in the circumstances. No one looks but everyone is looking. Lily announces Eric's acceptance to Harvard Med and a slow warmth spreads down the table, diffusing through the saturated air. It's a comforting thought, a doctor in the family.
"And when you're done," Rufus says, going from face to face, "we'll have a lawyer in the family." Nate. "And a doctor." Eric. "And a writer." Dan. "All we need is now is a priest."
No one wants to break this silence now. It pulses. It has life. If Rufus apologises, he will acknowledge that he's given up.
Chuck lets them stew.
Jenny is brave. "And what does that make Chuck?"
He says, "A monkey's uncle."
Gives her an almost smile and pushes back from the table. Nate rises, to follow, but Lily tugs him back. "Let him go."
"How can you say that?"
The baby starts crying. In the chaos, Blair slips away, bringing the bottle (a nice Chianti) with her, just in case.
.
...
.
He lost another fingernail this morning. It fell out, on to the kitchen counter, an empty clatter. A perfect yellow oval beside the protein shake. Dropped off. Gave up. Proof he's falling apart, dying, piece by rotting piece, but that's old news. He kept it, stashed it away in a shot glass. Maybe he'll buy superglue. It's laughable, but he has kept them all, just in case.
.
...
.
"You had cancer– "
"Have."
"Excuse me?"
"I have cancer."
"And you didn't tell me?"
"Sorry. I guess I must have missed the part where you're a part of my life."
"Don't be like that."
"Don't be like what? Blair? You left me here. Alone. Don't be like what?"
"Chuck. I know we ... had our differences and I'm sorry we ended like we did, but I still care about you. I really do. I always will. You've got to believe that." It's true but there are different kinds of truth. "I love you."
"That's too bad."
Only he means it, this time.
"Why didn't you tell me?" she asks. They're not shouting now. "I would have... "
He looks up from the floor. "You would have what?"
She gets down on her knees in front of him, cups his face in her hands, thumbs tracing the sunken eyes, the bruises, hollows. The skin is waxy. She takes his hands instead, spindly spiders. Holds too tight and he winces, knuckles crack. Looks down, ashamed.
But she won't let him.
Catching his chin, tilts his face up to the light.
"I would have been here."
"Get out."
His words lash past her defences and draw red blood.
"Chuck. Please."
"Get. Out."
"Chuck, no– "
"Take your bleeding heart and your pity and get the fuck out of my life. Now. I don't need it. I don't need it and I don't need you."
She's still holds his hands, still crouched before him, her hands still on him. Can feel his pulse, shuddering through his throat.
"You don't mean that." She shakes her head. "You don't."
Tenderly, he peels her from him, folds up her hands so they're not empty. He brings them, little fists, up to his mouth and kisses the air around them. Then he gives them back.
"I need you to leave. I need you to leave, and go back, to Paris. You can't be here. I can't ... I can't take this. You. My heart can't ... take you."
She's crying. They always cry. He can't take it, he wasn't lying, and he pulls himself to his feet, up off the radiator and the wall and his spine cracks, a volley of machinegun fire, crackcrackcrackcrackcrack, all the vertebrae.
Calls after him. Her voice snaps.
"I'll wait."
He holds tight to the doorframe. Doesn't look back. Sinking.
"For what?"
The air is damp. It's hard to breath. A great stone has settled on her chest. Her throat burns.
"You have to fight."
Again, "For what?"
"For me."
"Guys?" It's Nate, peacekeeping, he should join the UN. "We're just about to run through tomorrow." Chuck follows his friend, and Nate reaches for his elbow and Chuck snarls, "I can walk."
Blair can hardly stand. Nate comes back for her, instead, and she clings to him like driftwood.
"Congratulations," she gabbles. "I saw Jenny's ring. It's lovely."
The Vanderbilt diamond.
"Thanks. She loved the flowers you sent."
"Have you set a date yet?"
"We're thinking soon. Really soon."
"A Christmas wedding. Nate, that sounds– "
"Corny. I know, but ..." he sighs and shrugs and sets her down on the couch. Looks at his shoes. They're nothing fancy, just Pumas. "Like I said. Soon."
Blair smoothens her skirt out over her knees. She smiles up at her old friend.
"I was going to say magical."
Nate tries to smile.
"Thanks, B. And you'll be there? I'm not taking no for an answer, you know. Paris will have to do without you. We've missed you around here. It's been ... safe. And normal. No drama."
Blair giggles and then Serena arrives with the baby and people can forget. But Lily has her eye on him, just in case.
.
...
.
It starts as a trickle. As nothing, but that's how all big things start. Or perhaps that is what they become. Mount Everest will one day be but a grain of sand, as inconceivable as it seems. Oh how the mighty have fallen. Look, oh lord, at what we have become. Dan points this out, because he's become more. He's standing on his own mountain watching Everest dissolve.
"Hey, man, you got– "
Brushes his nose. Dan's fingers come away clean. His come away red, an awful watery thing, like paint, not fully mixed. Diluted. It doesn't smell like salt. It smells like bleach.
Politely, he excuses himself, cupping a hand under his nose. Nothing has become an April shower, heavy droplets hitting his hand. Slams the door in Lily's face and there's a red handprint, glowing, on the white paint.
"Charles?"
"It's nothing. I'll be out in a minute."
She calls, through the bleached oak, she's paging Dr. Power, just in case.
.
...
.
She knows where they keep the key. Lily says something about space and privacy but Blair couldn't give a flying fuck. He's crumpled, kneeling by the toilet, knuckles white beneath the red – lots of red in the white bathroom – from holding on. She has never vomited the way he does now. She doesn't care about blood on her skirt. Throws a towel over his heaving shoulders, kneels, but there's no need to stick her fingers down his throat and there's no hair to hold back. Blair rubs his back in slow circles.
"I'm not going anywhere." The fiercest whisper. "I'm here. With you. You can't make me leave."
He raises his head and there is dark blood streaming from his eye sockets.
Blair screams. For a doctor.