The Only Thing that's Ever Been Real is Me and You
"And I'd give up forever to touch you"
He used to love watching snowflakes fall when he was young.
Once when he was five, in the dead of night, he'd stood at the window watching them.
His cheek was pressed against the glass, his breath fogging up his view of the white city. Everything was so tiny when he looked down from the heights of his father's Palace suite. Chuck watched intently with dark brown eyes as little lights flickered by down below, while snowflakes drifted gently down, blanketing everything in silent snow.
It was late, he shouldn't have been up. But his Nanny had put him to bed and gone to her own room, and he had quietly snuck out, not wanting to lay his head upon his pillow just yet. So he stood at the window and marvelled at the tiny snowflakes falling from such a grand height. He wondered what it would be like to fall like that, so far and fast.
Suddenly he heard the elevator beep and quickly turned around, his fingers clutching the edge of his purple pajama sleeves nervously. He was frozen in place as with wide eyes he saw a dark figure stumble out of the elevator, a bottle in its hand. His small heart beat in his chest like a hummingbird as he realised it was his father, come back from one of the mysterious places he disappeared to so often. He knew the man would not be pleased if he saw him. He quickly darted quietly to the staircase in the dark, stumbling up the each step two at a time. He paused at the landing, his breath coming in short gasps. He doesn't go on further. It's like his bare feet were stuck to the plush red carpet as if with glue.
He watched from the landing as his father stumble further into the room, reaching blindly for something on the wall. His fingers scrabbled and finally met the light switch, blinding yellow filling the room with artificial light. Chuck blinked rapidly, waiting for his eyes to adjust. His father clutched the kitchen bar with white fingers. Struggling with a bottle in one hand, he managed to get his heavy black woollen coat off and throw it carelessly on the floor. The thinning hair he had left, streaked with grey, was mussed. He turned to perhaps make his way to the stairs and Chuck noticed his eyes were red, as if he had been weeping. His black boots shone as he in a few short strides reached the staircase, one foot rested on the first step. Chuck didn't know why he did it, but involuntarily he made a small noise in the back of his throat, stepping forward to the edge of the staircase. He couldn't tell whether it was out of fear or a desire to be noticed.
Bart looked up at the noise, pausing with one foot on the second stair, one hand clutching the banister, the other clutching a bottle. When he managed to focus on Chuck his face paled as if he had seen a ghost, his icy blue eyes boring into Chuck until he felt like his insides would freeze. They stand like that in suspended silence for what seems like an eternity.
"She would have been forty today, you know," it comes out suddenly, Bart's voice is raw, his words slurred, filled with something which scared Chuck. His cold blue eyes never wavered from his sons. "We would have been married for ten years…Diamonds. A string of them…she loved diamonds…" with that he broke off, his voice cracking. He raised the bottle up to his lips, as if in a mock toast, drinking deep. Tearing it from his mouth he wiped it carelessly with the black of his designer suit, resting heavily back on the railing. "Married for ten years... imagine that." He laughs humuloursly, looking down at his empty fingers, bare except for the Bass ring. Chuck can't tear his wide eyes away.
"Ten years if it wasn't for…" Bart trails off as he turns his gaze back to Chuck, his slumped shoulders and helpless look spoke of a defeated and broken man. An involunatary sob escapes from deep within him, tearing out of his lips, and Chuck watches on hopeless as Bart falls to his knees, head bent, shaking with suppressed sobs on the stairs.
"Father," he finally voiced in a small voice, stepping forward, as the man's shaking subsides. He feels frightened at how still the large man is as he kneels there, his head buried in his hand.
"Get out of here Chuck," his voice comes out muffled and low, broken.
"Father I…" he began, not sure what he was going to say.
"I said get out of here," Bart roared angrily, looking up now at his son, his eyes wild, his voice fierce with anger and loathing.
Chuck turned and ran, his feet sinking into the carpet, his heart thumping in his ears. He reached his room and slammed the door behind him, scrabbling fearfully he locked it. He then dived for his bed, dragging the covers over him he lay there, his face buried in his pillow.
He bit his lip until it bled squeezed his eyes tightly shut and refused to cry, refused to give into the tears which pricked at his eyes.
He was a Bass man, Bass men never cried. Only weak men cried, he was not weak. He was Chuck Bass.
Eventually his breathing slowed and his heart calmed. He listened for any noises in the house, of his father, but there were none. Slowly he pulled the cover from his head, sitting up in his bed. His lamp was on, illuminating the room with a slight glow. He got up and went to the curtains, pulling them open he saw that the city lights were still twinkling and the snowflakes were still falling.
He rested his head against the cool glass, and watched the snowflakes fall until he slumped to the floor, unable to keep his eyes open any longer.
The next time he saw his Father they never spoke of the incident, they acted like it never happened. Bart was colder then ice from then on, more distant then he had even been before.
As Chuck grew older he thought he understood. Bart was trying to maintain the power of invincibility. The power that let a man live forever as a legend. The power that could only be broken by a few simple tears shed for a woman he bitterly loved.
Chuck saw his father's façade slip for just a moment, and he would never forget it. He would never forget the weakness which was able to break man, to tear his legacy into nothing but meaningless ash, to make him forever defeated and hopeless.
And from this Chuck had learnt the secret. The secret which meant you would never be hurt, the secret that meant you'd never be pathetic, the secret that meant you'd truly be invulnerable forever.
The secret was to make your heart as cold as ice. Ice protected you from the weakness of pain and hurt. Ice protected you from love.
Love made you weak, and Bass men were never weak. He was Chuck Bass wasn't he? Chuck Bass with the cool smirk, the dark eyes and the heart of ice.
The problem with ice is that at just one touch it can melt away, gone forever.
Just like a single falling snowflake can melt in the palm of your hand.
Chuck stood on the sidewalk in the freezing cold, watching the snowflakes slowly float down to the dirty sidewalk. On impact they joined the slush. He'd always thought snowflakes were at their prettiest when they fell. Each as individual as a fingerprint, each as delicate as glass.
When he was a child he watched as others played on the slush on the street. He never joined in, he always thought they were incredibly stupid. Why settle for white slush would eventually melt away to nothing, when you could watch the perfect snowflakes drifting through the sky. For that small moment, when they were suspended in between the sky and the ground, while they fell, they were perfection incarnate.
When he was younger he habitually considered trying to catch one, capture just before it reaches the ground, have it rest in the palm of his hand, marvel at its purity. He never dared to though.
He imagined once you caught a snowflake there would be that second of bliss, delight which bubbled up and filled your chest. The thrill tingling through your body, from the top of your head, to the tips of your toes, fiery warm and freezing cold all at once. A moment when everything seemed beautiful in the world, where there was never sadness, only delight.
But he knew that as sure as anything else in this world, eventually the snowflake would melt in the palm of your hand. Melt away to nothing. Then it would be just another imperfect memory, leaving behind a yearning that never could be fulfilled.
So Chuck Bass never did catch a snowflake, because he had never been willing to risk disappointment for just one second of bliss.
"What are you doing out here?" her dark eyes rested on him almost affectionately, curiosity etched across her face. He notices she's decked in white. She didn't expect to see him here, standing on the empty sidewalk in front of Nate's house, his eyes trained on the white sky. He looks almost peaceful, his face smooth of worry, his mouth soft. She'd caught him in a rare moment of vulnerability, a side of him he rarely ever showed.
"Watching snowflakes fall." It leaves his lips, unguarded, unplanned. He feels like a fool for letting his inner most thoughts be voiced, such a silly little fool.
She doesn't scoff however. Instead she smiles slightly, sweetly…almost affectionately. Surprisingly she goes to stand beside him, raising her eyes up to the heavens.
"Have you ever caught one?"
It's so like what he has been thinking he looks at her startled, caught off guard. She was the only one who could ever surprise him.
"Have you ever caught a snowflake?" she reiterates at his look, her dark eyes curious.
"Never," he murmurs, his eyes trained on her now, suddenly painfully aware of her flawless skin to her curled brown eyelashes, the pink on her cheeks. He recalls the story of the Snow Queen, except she doesn't look cruel or evil. She's simply dazzling. He wonders when he started considering annoying Blair dazzling, he thinks uneasily that Nate would not approve.
"It's easy," she states simply, unaware of his musings. She turns her eyes from him innocently. He could swear her cheeks had grown pinker, as if she were blushing, but he brushes the thought away quickly. "Serena does it all the time on her tongue, but that's such a faus pax." She scorns her sillier friend easily, a slight tone of affection in her voice. He feels unexpected pleasure that she doesn't consider him so silly as to want to catch snowflakes on his tongue. "All you need to do is reach out," with this she stretched out a gloved hand, palm open to the heavens. "And voila."
She laughs, showing him the sprinkle of white on her hands, holding it out to him almost as a gift. He looks at it, then up at her smiling face.
"Now you try," she commands, like one expecting to be obeyed. At that moment he feels something new well up in him, a desire to take her and kiss her on her full red lips. He wonders what she would taste like, fire or ice?
He does not reach out to the sky with his ungloved hands as she expects. Instead he buries them into his pockets protectively; preventing them from acting impulsively, prevent his fingers from twining in her hair, from pulling her close to him, from touching her, this untouchable Snow Queen.
"It seems a shame to catch them," he murmurs lamely as an excuse, not meeting her eye. Yet again the words have left his mouth before he can think.
He can tell she wishes to say something further, perhaps belittle his comment. But uncharacteristically she says nothing, just brushes the small white snowflakes from her gloves carelessly.
"Daddy once told me that snowflakes are angels mirth," she finally says quietly, after a prolonged silence, where she kept her eyes firmly planted on the heavens, and he kept his planted down. "That's why they melt away in our hands. We can never hold that much joy."
He snorts slightly. "That's a happy thought."
"Well life's not always happy," she shrugs, slightly defensive at his scorn.
"What would you know about being unhappy princess?" he sneers despite himself, feeling resentful at her tone.
She opens her mouth, as if to say something, but then she closes it again, letting out a little gust of breath in a puff of mist.
"Did you and Bart fight again?" she finally queries carefully neutral, watching him cautiously.
He thinks about denying it, but he doesn't. He wonders if she can smell the scotch on him, and that's how she knows. He fingers the flask in his pocket almost guiltily, he knew she did not approve of him drinking. But then he remembers that he's Chuck Bass and tries to look nonchalant, like he doesn't care what she thinks, because he doesn't.
"Don't you and Nate have a magical date, something involving a pumpkin and a shoe?" he asks contemptuously instead of replying. It's why he was here in the first place, a fourteen year old boy standing on the sidewalk in front of a house that held his best friend and a perfect family, a family he would never have. He had retreated here to lick his wounds, only to remember too late that his friend had others to attend to. He almost resents her for that…almost.
To his surprise she wrinkles her small nose, grimacing. "I wouldn't call it a date, he wants to watch some stupid game." Her tone implies she would rather be doing anything else. She ignores the second half of his question, he notes, like he wasn't being a jerk but actually cared. He feels slightly guilty at her good grace.
"That's why I had the idea to ask Serena to come along, so we could talk about girl things while he watches." He can tell she's trying to control her tone, to keep the slight insecurity out of her voice. Chuck could tell inviting Serena had not been Blair's idea.
"Anyway it's nothing special," she quickly makes her tone falsely bright, a pitch too high.
He wouldn't have voiced the thought aloud, but for the first time Chuck had the nagging feeling that sometimes his best friend could be a real jerk.
"Nate's expecting me so..." To his surprise she's suddenly settling her coat now, moving away from him and towards the Archibald's front steps. He thought at least she would have said goodbye. He watches her make her way up the dainty steps jealously. She turns at the top, a coy smile on her lips at his brooding almost sullen face.
"Well are you coming Bass?" she queries, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. For once he is dumbfounded, looking at her with drawn brows, confused. "You don't expect me to listen to Nate prattle on about game plays and touchdowns until Serena finally gets here." She's admonishing him now, as if he had contemplated such a thing. Her hands are on her hips, her chin stuck out in that stubborn way. A girl used to having her will enforced, even at fourteen. "We all know she's always at least half an hour late for everything, and I am not willing to suffer alone, which means you're going to suffer right along with me."
He hesitates for a second, he never accepts pity. Except she did have a valid point about Nate, once he began on any subject related to sport his usually quiet friend did not subside in explaining every little detail of the game. Perhaps he was the one who should be pitying her.
"So are you coming in, or are you going to stand out here watching the snowflakes fall? I'm waiting Bass." She makes it sound as if she doesn't care either way, but there's a small smile tugging at her lips, as if she already knows the answer.
He doesn't say anything, but he shrugs and follows her up, climbing the snow peppered steps slowly, trying to look put upon.
"Good," Blair says satisfactorily, as he stops one step below her, looking up. It's as if she didn't expect anything less. She turns to ring the doorbell, her long brown hair flowing behind her. He buries his hands deeper into his pockets and resists the urge to reach out and touch the softly trailing curls, for fear that she would melt away like the Snow Queen she claimed to be.
He thinks perhaps next winter he might work up enough courage to catch a snowflake, just to know what it truly felt like.
He's sitting on the last step, leading up to the Palace hotel. He smells of scotch, and people give him a wide berth as they ascend the steps up to those gold doors. He doesn't notice there looks though. His eyes planted on the clear blue sky, watching the fluffy clouds float slowly by. Spring is in the air, and he hates it, despises it. The bright sun, the bright colours and the bright laughter. He has always preferred winter to any other season. He misses the snow.
He hears a small intake of breath and glances up, to be met with brown eyes, a slim figure of white which has been brought to a dead stop in front of him. She's obviously stunned to see him, she did not expect to run into him in front of the Palace, he did not expect to meet her here either. He notes bitterly that she's probably here to see her Prince. He thinks maybe she'll accuse him of something, the awkwardness of their last meeting hanging in the air between them.
"What are you doing here?" she finally voices weakly.
"Waiting for the snowflakes to fall," it drops from his lips thoughtlessly a rough echo of so long ago. He hasn't thought of that day for a while now.
She pauses, her lips slightly parted in stunned silence, her brown eyes wide and searching. He wishes they could pretend for just a moment, pretend they hadn't fought just a mere week ago, pretend that there was no Prince. Pretend all the terrible mistakes, the hurt and lies and betrayal, had never happened. Pretend they were simply fourteen again, friends on the edge of something they didn't understand.
"It's spring Bass," she points out disparagingly, raising one eyebrow. Obviously she is beyond pretending. She's grown up and, like she had been so kind to point out not long ago, he is still a foolish child. A boy playing dress up and forever pretending.
"What's it to you how I waste my time Blair?" he asks wearily, tearing his eyes from her face with effort he plants them up at that blue expanse once more. He's tired of fighting.
She's silent at this, he's waiting to hear the clicking of her heels as she steps around him and into that building, takes the elevator right up to her Prince.
Instead he hears the rustle of her skirts as she comes to gingerly sit down beside him on the steps. He notes she keeps a small gap between them, settling her coat to ensure not one inch of her white dress touched the grey steps. He keeps his eyes planted on the sky, and does not look at her.
He doesn't know what she wants from him anymore. She's made it clear that he can't give her whatever it is she's searching for, and yet he knows that she's the only one who can give him what he needs. It's a conundrum, one he doesn't know how to fix, one he's not even sure can be fixed.
They sit in silence for a while, both watching the fluffy clouds glide by, both waiting for something that would never come.
"Did you ever manage to catch a snowflake?" she finally breaks the silence with that simple question. He glances at her involuntarily; she's still resolutely looking up at the sky. Her neck arched back, her curls framing her face perfectly. When he looked at her he still saw a Snow Queen, perfect in every way, cruel and cold, delighting and dazzling.
He knew that if he touched her it would be like touching fire and ice, burning and freezing him simultaneously until he couldn't stand it anymore, until he couldn't stand to tear away. He clenches his hand into a fist, trying to prevent it from reaching up, from his fingers tracing the line of her jaw.
"Did you ever catch a snowflake Chuck?" she glances at him this time, curious at his silence. Her dark eyes meet his.
"I did," his voice is hoarse. "And it melted away on the palm of my hand. Voila." He gives her a small bitter smirk.
"Oh," she utters it, soft and almost sad. Just oh.
"It wasn't at all how I imagined it would be," the words leave his mouth, dark and brooding now.
Something flickers across her face, but it is gone before he can put a name to it. Abruptly she picks up the bag lying next to her and rises, avoiding his gaze as she settles her dress.
"I have to go now," she says lightly, evasively. She makes her way up the few steps, her eyes firmly planted on the Palace doors. Brushing him off like she did those small snowflakes on her glove, so long ago.
"Blair wait," he utters it impulsively, rising quickly he looks up at her, hand outstretched.
She stops and glances back at him, an ice cool exterior, a true Snow Queen. He wants to breach the distance between them, to take her up in his arms. To hold her tight and not let her go up that tower, to a Prince who could never appreciate the passion and cruelty of her true self. He wants to keep her with him. But he thinks, as he drinks in her gaze, that if he did have the courage reach out and touch her, she would immediately turn to ice.
"What Chuck?" she prompts, raising one perfectly manicured eyebrow.
"Tell me that he's worth it," it's a desperate request. He needs to know, and maybe if she does tell him, tell him that it's love that she has for the Prince, then maybe he'd have courage enough to let her be happy. He wishes he had courage enough to just let her be happy.
"What?" she's looking at him oddly now, uncomprehending, either wilfully or truly he wasn't sure.
"Tell me your Prince is worth it," he's making his way up the steps to her now, one, two, three. And suddenly he's standing there, just two steps below her, so close.
"Tell me that even one second of bliss with him, would be worth a lifetime of misery." He's watching her face carefully now, she's impassive at his hungry gaze. "Tell me that you would rather have known what it's like to be in love with him, however short, then to have never known love at all."
She's silent at this, looking at him with wide brown eyes as he moves up a step, breaching the gap between them. She's now looking down down at him, just one step above. He's looking up at her, just one step below.
"Tell me he's worth it," it's almost a whisper now, a sigh of desire. He's close now, so close he's breathing in her Chanel perfume, he can almost taste her strawberry lips. He can tell her breath is uneven at the irregular rising and falling of her chest, his own heart is beating erratically, his fingers tingling, yearning to just reach up and touch her.
Doubt is etched on her face, her lips part but no sound comes out, she's locked in his dark gaze. It feels like their frozen together, waiting.
"Blair?" a foreign voice calls out to her from the Palace doors. She turns, startled, looking behind her at the French Prince who is examining them with baffled eyes.
"Louis," it's a little startled breath, escapes her lips. A reminder, Chuck knows for that minute, she had forgotten her Prince entirely, in favour of her Dark Knight.
"Blair," Chuck murmurs, but she determinedly refuses to look at him, in fear or doubt he doesn't know. Instead she quickly turns and almost flees towards her Prince, who has disappeared back into the Palace lobby.
Chuck watches as her curling brown hair and white hem disappears through those large doors. They shut quietly behind her and he's left standing on the steps of his Father's hotel, his legacy.
He's sure now that if he had reached out and just touched her, traced his fingertips over her long eyelashes, her full lips, the nape of her neck, she would have melted at his touch. Her cold exterior would have melted away, and so would the little ice remaining around his heart.
And he smiles, not a smirk, but a real smile full of hope.
He thinks perhaps tomorrow he might work up enough courage to try to catch a snowflake. And this time he would make sure not to let it melt between his fingers and drift away.
A/N: I wrote the first section with Bart after I wrote the scenes between Chuck and Blair. I'm not sure if it fits here, but it's an idea I've had for a long while, if you think I should cut it out and put it as a separate stand alone let me know = ). This was inspired by the song Iris, and by my great desire to see snow (I live in Australia in a dullsville city where it never snows = (. I hope it's in character, if you read it please review = ). (The title is from a quote from a promo I saw, gosh I miss epic Chair love so much = (. I know I should update my other stories and I will try to soon. So bogged down with assignments= (. I may continue this as a series of one shots, if people like, using each line from the Iris song. Chair centred because the show is not giving us enough = ( (Although I'm not adverse to Dan and Blair dating for a little while on the show, have Chuck chase Blair already!) Where's the epic scenes and lines where their passion (whether temporary hate or underlying love) for each other is just oozing off the screen. Writers please stop ruining gossip girl grrr!
Btw: Chuck's Mum died giving birth to him. That other woman was just an imposter. In my world that's how it would have gone down. = P