Author's Note: This story (belatedly) fulfills the third prompt from the third Chair Week – pre-Gossip Girl.
The pink, paper bags swing by their white handles in his hand as he steps off the elevator and saunters into the Waldorf penthouse. The eerie silence is unsettling; the controlled clam is vexing. He still expects to turn the corner, to glance into the living room and find her curled up on the white, chaise lounge in her nightgown and white robe with Serena's jean-clad legs tucked under her legs and a scowl on her lips directed at him for daring to interrupt her and Serena's Sunday morning traditions. Schemes can wait, after all.
He still expects to see her tilt her head ever so slightly to the side and dispatch her pit bull with lipstick and a white apron to push him back towards the elevator and send him away. But, today, the pit bull is less bite and less bark as she stands in the hallway to the kitchen wringing her hands nervously and watching silently as Chuck heads upstairs. The only sound in the apartment is that of his shoes hitting the stairs; heavy footfalls he silences as he reaches her room because years of practice, years of donning scarf and beret has taught him the art of a surprise attack.
He slowly wraps his hand around the doorknob, slowly twists it so as to not make a sound, and Chuck pushes the door open just wide enough to peek into the room. His gaze moves lazily from the empty chaise lounge in the corner to the neatly made bed at the center of the room, but the movement of a hand in the periphery of his vision in his right eye snaps his attention to the space between her bed and her closet.
And Chuck pushes open the door a little bit wider just in time to see her hands touch above her head before her arms sweep wide back down to her side, before she bends at the waist and sticks her ass out as she moves to touch her toes. She holds the pose, bounces slightly as she strains to reach the blue mat below her bare feet, and Chuck tilts his head as his eyes travel appreciatively up and down the legs encased in black Lycra. Snap upward to stare at her as Blair bends forward a fraction of an inch more and wraps her hands around her ankles, as Blair's ass sticks out several inches more.
"Does Nate know you can do that? Because if he does and he still hasn't tapped that yet, then I'm seriously questioning his sexuality," Chuck informs her as he tilts his head in the other direction and continues to stare. "It makes everything so much tighter, although given your current status—"
"You're heinous," Blair snaps interrupting Chuck as she releases her hold around her ankles and moves to place her hand on her thighs straightening her back until it runs parallel to the ground. Her long brown hair is neatly plaited; the braid falling against her back when she stands up straight and moves her left leg to the back of the mat.
Her body twists at the hips to face towards her bed as he steps into the room, and her eyebrows rise in question as she raises her arms and extends them outward parallel to the mat. Warrior pose, if he remembers correctly.
"What do you want Chuck?" Blair questions.
Her tone is surprisingly clam; the agitation he expected to still be there after his earlier question gone. Chuck drops the two, pink bags on the dresser explaining that he brought croissants and bone-dry cappuccinos as though extracting himself from the twins he left back at the Palace and making the trip to her favorite café this early on a Sunday morning was nothing. There's a long pause as she narrows her eyes and studies him, and he continues to stare at the bags neither moving to empty them nor to look back at her.
"Too fattening," she replies calmly. The air around him shifts as she changes to another position, as her words reach his ears and his mouth grows dry. But he wets his lips, reaches into the bag closest to him, pulls out one of the croissants, and ignores the needle of concern as he breaks off a piece and pops it into his mouth.
"Still no word from Serena, huh?" Chuck asks as he turns on his heels and leans up against the wall. He watches as she bends backwards – one arm inching towards her foot while the other strains towards the ceiling – for a reaction, for the sadness or the anger or even happiness to creep into her eyes. But she merely tilts her head back, looks from the ceiling to him, and offers him a glimpse of a face completely calm and controlled.
"Serena who?"
"Your best friend," Chuck fills in as the information he's holding close to his vest about the best friend and the boyfriend continues to claw at him, continues to sit on the tip of his tongue. But he swallows back the secret – after all, Nate has been his best friend forever – just as he swallowed back his shock over Blair's reply to his previous question, just as he swallows back his surprise when Blair informs him that Serena's fled for boarding school in Connecticut.
"When did you find this out?"
"Oh, I've known all along," Blair replies as she moves her feet together and returns to the position he first found her in. Chuck's dips his gaze, looks directly between her legs to peer at her face and see the lie she tries to hide deep in her eyes. "A queen keeps her information close and out of the hands of those who'd use it against her."
She throws him a pointed look as she moves in to the next position of her little exercise routine, and he smirks back in reply because they both know he can be a bitch when he wants to. Causing upheaval in the kingdom when he grows bored, when he gets his hands on a piece of gossip that she's saving for a rainy day.
"So you and Serena talked about her leaving before the Shepherd wedding?"
"Of course, we did, Chuck," she explains whilst moving her right leg behind her to the edge of the mat. "We agreed that it would be good for her to get a fresh start. You know Serena's always had problems with inappropriate relationships."
"Oh, that I do," Chuck replies. He smirks over her words, over her obvious lie and the double entrende of her statement.
Chuck tilts his head to the side as he pops another piece of croissant into his mouth and watches her movements appreciatively. The lascivious tone of his voice, however, causes her to freeze mid-warrior pose, and she turns quickly on her heels to face him.
And, once again, he expects to see that dismissive look on her face and for her to call for Dorota to escort him out, but all traces of anger and disgust over his behavior are smoothed away behind a cold façade. Every feature, every movement is tranquil and controlled as she moves her feet together and sits back as though she means to sit in an imaginary chair. She raises her hands above her head, holds them perfectly straight as she wills her body to conform to her control.
"This isn't a private show just for your benefit," she informs him serenely with a twitch of her head towards the door in a gesture for him to leave.
"That's fine. I prefer public," Chuck replies with a smirk before pushing himself away from the wall. He saunters towards the door, explains how he should get going anyways because he left a delectable pair of twins back at the Palace. "Although, neither of them is nearly as flexible as you."
"Goodbye, Chuck," Blair scoffs before sinking down further into her imaginary chair.
"Same to you, Waldorf," Chuck replies as he saunters out of the room. He pulls the door shut behind him with a bang, waits a moment before slowly and stealthily twisting the knob and opening the door just wide enough for him to poke his head in and watch Blair's façade crumble as her imaginary chair gives out from underneath her. Watch as Blair tucks her knees to her chest, presses the back of her head against the queen-size bed, and blinks away the glistening tears that have sprung in the corner of her dark brown eyes.
And his eyes dart to the two, pink bags on the dresser; a curse falls from his lips when he realizes he forgot to take the food with him. But her reaction – the sheer calmness on her face – had unnerved him, and he turns towards the staircase debating whether to leave or go back into the warzone to find Dorota silently watching him.
"Mister Chuck?" Dorota questions softly as he saunters towards her, as he shakes his head side to side and quietly informs her about the mistake he made. The maid frowns for a moment before saying that she'll take care of it, before offering him a tight smile. "Miss Serena disappear and Mister Nate not call either. And, Miss Blair, she not tell me anything. All she do is yoga and more yoga. She calm. Too calm."
The maid catches herself, pauses before she can say anything else because they both know what Blair will do to her if she shares any more private information. And Chuck takes her silence as a dismissal, as a sign his job here is done. He pulls out his cell phone as he heads down the stairs with Dorota following closely behind him, and, after jamming the call button for the elevator, Chuck scrolls through his contacts.
"Thank you for coming, Mister Chuck," Dorota says sincerely as the elevator doors open and he steps inside.
He nods his head in reply and fails to make eye contact with the maid as he reaches the 'N's in his contact list. Chuck releases a shaky sigh only after the elevator doors slide shut removing him from the maid's inquisitive gaze, and he pushes aside any inkling that he should stop sitting on this important piece of information when he hears the sound of his best friend's voice in his ear.
"Nathaniel, did you know your girlfriend can bend over and hold her ankles? Remind me again why you haven't tapped that ass yet?"