I am standing on the rooftop of the Empire, staring down at the city below me and wondering where I'd gone so wrong. Headlights are blurring past far below, and in my pensive state I feel like I'm staring down at my goals and dreams, so far out of reach despite my best efforts to achieve them. I'd thought I'd done right by my father, followed in his footsteps and made him proud to call me his son and heir. I'd thought my father believed in me, that he saw the future of Bass Industries resting comfortably on my shoulders as his successor. So why had Bart Bass just taken everything away from me?
I turn away from the view below me as a series of brisk footsteps alerts me to another presence on my rooftop. I want to tell them to go the fuck away, to let me have my private place to think and to brood, but I already know who it is, and seeing behavior like that won't help my case.
"I thought that went well," my father announces as he approaches. He appears unfazed as I snarl at him, clearly seething. "What did you want to discuss?"
"You said this was a family business. What happened to us being partners?" What happened to your belief in me?
"You said partnership. I said nothing and did what was best for my company."
This hurt, I acknowledged, but before I could get too caught up in it I was biting back.
"The only reason this company still exists is because of me. All I've done is work to protect your legacy." And mine, I added silently. But clearly that was no longer relevant.
"And pine after Blair Waldorf," my father answered smugly, turning away from me. Why couldn't he even look me in the eye?
"Blair has nothing to do with the way I've handled this business!" I hear myself say, the only thing I can say, but a part of me doubts it even as the words leave my mouth. Blair has everything to do with the way I live, because she's the love of my life. Not that she cares to know it.
"You didn't try and trade her for a hotel deed?" My father asks. I feel my blood literally freezing in my veins at his words. "You didn't let everything fall apart when you ran away from her all the way to Europe?" I feel a hot sense of shame creep over me, dousing my icy numbness in prickling guilt. At the time, I couldn't think of anything else but to get away from it all, I think desperately. I'd been shot. It was a decision made in the moment, although admittedly probably not the best. But Lily would never have let the company turn sour. She knew it meant too much to you. And I hadn't planned on returning to see it through..
The onslaught continues. "You didn't just three months ago almost bankrupt yourself trying to get her out of her marriage?" My father was seething too now, and he radiated a sense of disappointment so strong that now I was the one who couldn't look him in the eye. "I had hoped you would outgrow such foolish behavior, but you are still willing to throw everything away for a girl who's done nothing but toy with you."
I looked up at him now. He would dare judge my relationship with Blair? But of course he would, I thought bitterly. It was him who'd nearly sabotaged it in the beginning, when I'd been naïve enough to let his opinion divert me from my plans to take Blair away for the summer, all those years ago. Before our relationship had really even begun.
"And you proved that when you took that engagement ring," he finishes, turning his back to me completely now.
"You gave me it," I snarl, desperation driving me. I don't understand why this is so wrong, how things got so messed up. "You encouraged me to win her back!"
"It was a test," my father states simply, "to see if you were ready to be a Bass. To do the things you need to do to be a great man. And you failed."
"Failed!" The word repeats a thousand times in my head, drowning out everything else. I think briefly of Lily, who clearly loves Humphrey Senior, but is giving that up to be with the man standing before me. She is such a considerate person. A loving person. I think of the many times that she has made herself available to me: to talk, to listen, to be there. What would she think if she saw Bart Bass now? Did she know the real man she was married to? Had I hurt her by bringing this man back into her life?
"I got you out of hiding," I gasp, my blood boiling at the gall of this man. He would dare criticize my love for Blair? "I took down your enemy. I built this empire!" I declare, frustrated that he can't see the amount of work it took, the tears and the emotion and the dedication that went into his company. Our company.
"No, no, no, the most that you have done is used my money to redecorate," my father scoffs, and I glare at him. "Bass Industries needs to be run by a man, not a boy." He levels me with another disappointed stare, and I feel it slice through me, feel the chill in my bones. "You've never grown up. Maybe you can start now." He turns away from me for the final time then and walks back into the building, returning to his celebration. He's at the top of the world again, the CEO of the multi-billion dollar company that he's just stolen out from under me. And I've been left with nothing. No piece of his legacy. And no Blair to show for what I've lost. And the truth hits me then: we've just argued over something that I don't even have. A relationship that is a part of my history. Blair just cost me my future, and she's blissfully unaware, probably basking in the inadequate attentions of Humphrey somewhere in the dregs of Brooklyn. I don't have anything to show for my efforts. I've been duped.
I wallow in this realization for a moment, standing in the cool air at the top of the Hotel that I once owned. How had this happened?
I am angry. I am pissed and venomous and ready to jump off of this building and not think twice about it, but this entire night, the way that I'm feeling, just reminds me of the night that Blair kept me from following through on this exact urge two years ago. I'd been at my absolute low then, disappointed in my failure to live up to my father's image. I'd thought he was dead then. I'd thought I only had my memories of my father's disappointment to haunt me in my worst moments, but I had been wrong. This was so much worse.
And Blair, Blair who had held my gaze so steadily and begged me not to do that to her. Not to leave her. She had promised me that night that she would always be there. And only a year ago we had been on the verge of starting our life together, before the accident. She had gazed at me with her eyes full of promises, full of love, and said that she wanted to be with me. But where was she now? Why wasn't she here now? I just don't understand how things turned out this way.
And as if to answer all of my unspoken emotional questions, Blair appears like a hallucination in my darkness. Only just this morning she was avoiding my attempts to get through to her, telling me there was somewhere she needed to be (there's always somewhere she needs to be, that's the beauty of Queen B). And now here she is standing in front of me. 'What reason could she possibly have to seek me out now?' I think as she approaches. These conversations hurt too much for me to enjoy the fact that she's here with me instead of God knows where else with Humphrey.
She stops too close for comfort, and the scent of Miss Dior lingers in the air between us, teasing my senses. She must have witnessed my father's dismissal because the first words out of her mouth are "I'm sorry," and that can't be because of her indecision over the past year.
"I don't need your pity," I tell her, as I take in her doe eyes and loving expression. While this is a change of pace, I refuse to fall into this trap again. My father is right, it's time that I let go of Blair and all of her uncertainty. I've never been unsure of the love between us. I knew it for what it was and all that it meant from the very first moment I felt it, and if Blair can't respect that and if she doesn't want to be with me then that's a painful truth, but it's one that I have to deal with. Because chasing her has robbed me of all of my energy, leaving my own life in ruins.
"I'm not here because I pity you," Blair murmurs. "I'm here because it's time I was honest with you." And then she's whispering those three words that I never stop waiting to hear from her. But it's all wrong because I've already lost everything that ever mattered to me, including her.
"I love you," she says. "I'm in love with you. I have tried to kill it, to run away from it, but I can't, and I don't want to anymore."
I am too blindsided to reply, and so I reply "So what?" because that's all that I'm thinking. So what if she'll admit it now? I've known it all along. But she never saw me as worthwhile, and now that I've lost Bass Industries, I'm worth nothing at all. I can't help the voice that whispers in my ear that this change of heart won't last. It never does.
"So now we can be together," she replies, and I feel the hope trickling out to consume everything in my chest. But my disappointment in myself is greater, and the two are warring internally now, barely leaving me space to breathe. "Isn't that what you want?" she asks.
"It was," I admit. "Before I lost everything."
"Bass Industries isn't everything," Blair replies, and her doe eyes get larger. The sight of her is painful, clawing at wounds that never healed.
'No Blair you were everything.' I can't help but think. 'I lost you, and everything else fell apart.'
"I'm going to take over my mother's company," Blair's saying now. "And that can be our future."
"The only reason Waldorf Designs has a future is because I gave mine up for it," I hiss at her. I know this is unnecessary, and as I watch those doe brown eyes flinch with pain at my words, I know I should stop. But I'm hurting, and so I continue with what I do best when I'm hurting. I lash out at the woman I care about. Maybe if I hurt her enough, she'll stop raising my hopes from the ashes of our relationship and reminding me of all of the reasons that I wanted us to be together. Because I used to think that together we could get through anything, but I've forgotten what that invincibility feels like, and I don't need her constantly tugging at the loose strings of our past.
"My father was right," I scorn. "I always put you first. And you bet against me every time." I feel the absolute certainty of this statement as I say it, and it hurts me to hear the truth of how things were. I'd always believed in us. It was her who didn't.
She stares back at me, her shoulders hunched from the brunt of my truth. But she's stopped bringing up the past, so I have a chance to clamp down on the blossoming hope and look at things rationally.
"And now I have nothing."
"You have me," she argues, and she is making it difficult to resist the temptation, exposing my bleeding heart to her indecisive nature. Damn it, Blair. Why couldn't you have believed me when I tried to tell you months ago that all we needed was each other? I remind myself that I've never been good enough for her, never measured up to her idea of what she needed. This won't last, I tell myself.
"That's not enough," I shake my head. "I need a future."
"Then let me be part of it," she whispers, but I hear the plea behind her words. A part of me wonders if she really does mean it this time. Has she left Humphrey? Could she really be standing here offering what I think she is?
I'm pissed that she can just waltz in here and leave every cell in my body wanting her. This is supposed to be my sacred place, this rooftop. And now every time I come up here for caprice I see her. And her scent is driving me crazy, but I need to get myself under control before I do something I'll regret, like falling into this vicious cycle again.
"I don't want to be Mr. Blair Waldorf," I tell her, because I know that it will wound her pride. "I'm Chuck Bass." The words sound hollow to me, like they lack the meaning they usually hold. I hope that saying it will buy me the time I need to get back to my room before she can recover enough to come after me, but a part of me fears what I'm walking away from. A part of me wants to stay and hear her out.
I look away before I can see the damage that my words have caused, stepping around her and heading towards the door to get back inside. But even though I can't, I won't, allow myself to stop, all I can think is 'Blair said that she loves me. Blair wants me back.' And I'm disgusted with myself because that's enough to make me happy. No wonder my father is so disappointed in me – I lack the drive that it takes to run a multi-billion dollar company.
When I get to my room, I call Jack. Because he's always good for a distraction, and because I know he'll get me the hell out of here.
"Lets go to the casino, little nephew," he suggests on the phone. I hastily agree with him, and hang up when he claims he's calling a car. Considering my lack of a legacy, I should show a bit more concern for my bank account, but I am still Chuck Bass, after all. A little dent in my wallet won't kill me, or cost me my lifestyle.
The truth of the matter is though, although these are obvious reasons why I wouldn't need to think twice about entering a casino in the distracted state of mind that I know I'll be in tonight, I can't get Blair out of my thoughts long enough to think about anything else. Is she still somewhere down at the party? I wonder again whether she was serious about her offer, and then I immediately chastise myself for wishing that I could go down and talk to her. Things are the way they are because she made them that way, I remind myself. Ever since the accident, she's steadily proven that every word she told me in that town car was a lie.
There was only ever you. I love you, Chuck Bass.
The words are leaded with pain and the agony of a thousand regrets that I've had since that day. My name held a lot more stature then. Even if she was serious tonight, I know that Blair likes a man on top. She'd grow bored of taking care of us, of her name being the one to precede mine. She may be a control freak, but she's always felt a sick sense of pride about being Chuck Bass' lover. Could I bear to open my heart to her again, only to have her leave me because of what my father took away?
I clench my hands, bringing them to my face and stooping low in an attempt to stop all of the thoughts rushing through my head. I look around blindly, seeing nothing in my wild attempt to outrun my emotions, then catching sight of a decanter of gin sitting on the bar. I walk steadily to it in an attempt to model calmness for my internal organs' sake. When the cup of gin has been poured and is in hand, I feel steadier on my feet. I caress the cold, smooth glass with my fingertips, taking strength from its comforting familiarity. There's nothing a good glass of liquor hasn't gotten me through before.
Jack is the promised distraction I need, whisking me out into the New York night and onto a plane to "Vegas, Chuck. There's no women more beautiful to distract you than right here in the loosest city in the good old United States."
I know that Jack is trying to be a good companion, offering cigars and brandy and even hookah on the plane, and I accept it all gladly. Anything to numb the realization that I've walked away from Blair. Because when I relive the night now, everything up until the moment Blair steps foot onto the rooftop of the Empire is a blur. She is my everything, my drunken self allows me to admit now, and I've just walked away from her.
Anytime that I've ever walked away from any chance she's ever given me, I've experienced this self torment. Why am I without her right now? I could have her here, with me, scheming with me, keeping me whole. Instead, I'm sitting across from my uncle, drowning the pain of her loss in cigar smoke and brandy. Nothing could be less deserving of mourning Blair. In fact, nothing could be deserving of mourning Blair. Not only does she require a level of sophistication that nothing could possibly measure up to, but she also is impossible to forget about. Isn't it an essential part of the mourning process that you forget the pain and move on? I could never.
With hours of this flight stretching out before me, I consider, for the first time in a long time, that night in the town car. I haven't allowed myself to dwell on this for a long time, mostly because it's too painful to relive, having been so close to everything I ever wanted only to have fate snatch it away again. I would have had a child. I would have had a family with Blair, would have made her my wife in a heartbeat, on that very night if she would have let me. I close my eyes because they burn, partially from the cigar smoke, but also because of the jarring fires I've thrust myself into with my sojourn into the past. These memories hurt, but not as much as what comes after them.
We could have made it through the loss of our child together. Because it was mine, he or she was mine. After the first ten minutes of holding Blair in my arms, caressing her and her pregnant stomach, she and her child both belonged to me. With me. As soon as my mind was capable of wrapping itself around the very pregnant Blair in my arms, I was considering renovations for a nursery for my future son or daughter. And nannies. Where the hell did people hire those from anyway? And how did you know they weren't lunatics in disguise?
When Blair had looked at me with those empty eyes, told me in that lifeless voice that she'd lost the baby, I'd felt a kick in the pit of my stomach that had left me breathless. Was it symbolic of the kicks she would never again feel in hers? I remember taking her hands in mine, how cold they were. These were the little details that lingered about that conversation. I'd felt her pain, felt my own mirroring hers, but I'd known that we could get through it together. We had a long, difficult path ahead of us, but I knew that we had each other, and that was enough to get us through anything that life might pit us against.
But she'd already decided that there was no 'we' anymore.
I felt the reality of my solitary state threatening to overwhelm me, seeping in to drown out everything else.
All I'd ever wanted for the past year was for Blair to come back to me. And now she had. But I'd just fucked it all up by throwing her apologies away, and now I was literally 3,000 miles away from being able to contact her anytime soon. What was I doing?
I stood up, and Jack stared at me oddly for my sudden movement.
"To the men's room," I mumble, fumbling to give him some excuse for my hasty departure. When I was safely locked into the restroom, I leaned on the counter, taking in my disheveled appearance. My eyes were bloodshot and sunken, probably from all of the stress I'd been under in the past week with my father being back. I stared into them, searching myself for answers. Did I want Blair more than anything else? Was she all that mattered?
Maybe I'm nostalgic from the memories, but it feels like my veins are pumping her name throughout my body. I have remembered all of the reasons that I was happy to have her safely nestled next to me in that town car, speeding away from Louis and all of her obligations. And the pain of missing her is threatening to become overwhelming.
'Does it matter what part of me she wants?' The single thought brings me to contemplate the current state of things. My father has taken my company away from me. Over Blair, my devotion to her, and my sincere and eternal love for her. And for the past year, Blair has been running away from me – via Humphrey, via Louis, via any means possible to rip me out of her life. And now she's decided that she wants to give us a shot again. Why should it matter what she thinks of my lack of fortune or inheritance? She heard my father firsthand, and she was still standing there offering the chance for a future together.
And I know that I'd rather live with Blair than without her. Seeing her in someone else's arms again might kill me, someone less worthy of her than I am. And I'd have no one to blame but myself for letting her go.
And that's when it hits me. This time it's my choice. Where I'd had my choices ripped away from me before, and Blair had held all of the cards because she was vulnerable and I hadn't wanted to push her, this was my chance to make everything right. Blair was offering me a chance to start fresh, start our lives together. And although her behavior of the past several months might not have left me very happy with her, she is here now, and isn't that what mattered?
A heavy bit of turbulence rips me out of my thought process, leaving me grasping the sink for stability.
"We're landing!" I hear Jack call from the front of the plane. Jesus Christ, had it really been two hours already? How long have I been standing in the bathroom?
I return to my seat quickly. As I snap my seat belt, I feel the plane tilt unmistakably towards the ground, and I close my eyes against the rush of the alcohol I'd consumed. Ah, there is the numbness I'd been seeking. Leaning into my seat, I relax and let the alcoholic haze take over.
I am blissed out for hours, watching card dealers and cocktail waitresses and gamblers go about their routines around me. I can't quite grasp the concept of whether we're on a good streak or on a bad one, so I just let Jack take the lead, content to be floating in my self-induced haze. Jack keeps looking at me, though, in his knowing way, cutting through my fog and reminding me of my indecision. So I avoid his gaze, intent to enjoy our stay. From the corner of my eye, I watch as a woman approaches us.
"Is a seat available?" I hear her ask, and I turn to see Blair standing next to me, her voice unmistakable.
"Yeah, you can have mine," Jack offers, and I turn to stare at him. I don't understand what's happening, and I hope that he sees the looks that I am sending him, although he moves quickly so that Blair can seat herself next to me. And then she's all that I can see. She is here, somehow, and it feels like a dream as her eyes scan my face, and she smiles at me.
"You've fought for me all year," she gently acknowledges, and my heart soars at this acknowledgement. I have, I champion myself internally. I've never been the one to give up. Until now.
Blair continues. "I've come to fight for you."
As the dealer asks her if she'll be joining the game, she looks away from me, and I immediately feel the loss of her gaze. But then her eyes are on mine again as she pushes all of what were once Jack's chips into the center of the table.
"You said I always bet against you, but this time I'm all in."
Her words echo in my ears, and I experience a form of tunnel vision as I look at her. She is beautiful, dressed in a little cocktail dress that my fantasies are made of. But I can't help but to think that this is all wrong. What is Blair doing in a casino, without a scheme behind it and some sort of disguise to protect her dignity? We should be back on the rooftop as I tell her this, our rooftop, where so many stages of our lives have fallen into place. We should be alone, separated from the hoards of people around us who have no respect for the level of intimacy there is in the air between us right now. But I don't care enough not to say it, because I'm so wrapped up in the fact that she's sitting next to me that I can hardly keep the words contained.
"Blair, I love you," I blurt out. Her eyes widen, but she doesn't move, fearing the refusal that's bound to come. But I can't manage any more words, so I lean forward and kiss her. A kiss that says a thousand words. Words of apology for our lost baby, and words of kindness and consideration for all that she went through afterword, without me by her side. Words of love and devotion that she didn't get to hear from me in the past year. Words that describe how beautiful she looked on her wedding day, even though it was all wrong and it should have been me standing there waiting at the altar. Words for the tears that came when I realized that it never would be.
I pull away for a breath, looking at her, but she pulls my lips back to hers, and suddenly more words are forming, only they're hers. Words of apology for leaving me waiting, and words of understanding for my hesitation to come back to her. Words of love, strengthening words, and words of mourning for my damaged relationship with my father. We are telling in this kiss the story of the year we spent apart, and so it is a long and heartfelt gesture, one full of longing and gratitude, truths and their consequences.
When we finally part, I am breathless with the emotion of loving her. But with a jolt I realize that the people around us have disappeared, and I am confused by the empty room we are sitting in. I've heard of feeling alone in a crowded room, but this is ridiculous. Where has everyone gone?
As I look around in confusion, Blair seems unperturbed, stroking a single thumb across my cheek. "Now you understand," she says, "how much you mean to me."
And then she is disappearing, too, her perfect form curling into a thick mist that's seeping out towards all corners of the room. I panic then, and grasp her to pull her closer, but there's no substance in my arms, only a rolling fog. I look around in shock and horror to see that the casino lights have grown grotesque in their fluorescent colors, rolling together into one big roiling mass. And then suddenly everything is black, and it's difficult to breathe.
I feel groggy, like my inebriation has returned without Blair to heighten my senses, and a steady beeping noise pervades my nothingness. I realize that my eyes are closed, so I open them slowly, unsure of what I'll see. The light is dim, but I can immediately tell that I'm no longer standing in the casino. I'm looking up at a ceiling, but I'm not looking up, I'm lying down, I realize. As I become aware of the rest of my body, everything is tinged with a slight level of pain. I'm covered in about 3 layers of blankets, which is probably why I'm sweating balls, and as I lift my arm to push them away from me, I notice that there's an IV attached to the back of my hand. I'm in the hospital, I realize, and then I quickly look around to confirm that I am indeed in a hospital room.
But what's even more interesting is that Blair is slumped over in a chair directly to my left. She's covered in as many blankets as I am, it appears, but what I can't stop staring at is the bulge of her abdomen underneath the blankets. It can't be. I reach out in awe, needing to confirm what I am slowly starting to suspect. My hand comes to rest on a firm, hard bulge. What can only be my baby.
A rush of tears floods to my eyes at the sight and feel of Blair, the love of my life, literally bursting on the brink of motherhood once again. Even in the dim light, I can see the rosy hue of her cheeks, a sign of the precious package she's carrying that she's been marked with since conception. She's pregnant. She hasn't lost the baby. Once I am done being overcome by this, I ponder this news as I gently stroke my fingers over her swollen belly. The accident. We must have just come from the accident.
A sense of de ja vu washes over me as I realize that, although it had been so ingrained in my senses, every vivid detail of the last few months must have been a dream. A long, nonsensical dream conjured up by my subconscious to torture me, even on the brink of death. And then an immense feeling of relief follows. Blair never left. She's here, sleeping at my bedside, after what can only be labeled as a horrible nightmare of a year spent without her.
The thought makes my hand twitch on her stomach, and I move to place my fingers over hers, where she's gripping the blanket. Her arm moves, and her eyes flutter open, and as she comes awake, I am in awe at how beautiful she is. Even dreams don't compare to the woman I have in front of me.
She looks down at our linked hands in confusion, and I see her fighting to ward off sleep. Then she raises her gaze to mine. When she sees me looking at her, a look of astonishment, then joy, overtakes her features.
"Chuck," she shouts, and I watch as all traces of sleep vanish from her face. "You're awake," she cries, and she is crawling onto the bed to hold me close, her large abdomen preventing her from squeezing the little air I have from my lungs. "Oh baby, does it hurt?" she coos, and she leans back to look into my eyes, searching my face, hers inches from mine. I take in her doe brown eyes and those long, dark lashes, the single freckle near the bridge of her nose. They're all there, comforting me that this is in fact reality. She has some cuts, I notice, along her hairline. But they are well on their way to being healed, and she seems fine, so my worries are put to rest. She smells of antiseptic, no trace of Miss Dior on her person, but I don't care. All I can think about is how much I want to hold her close. To revel in this moment, this realization that I am back where I should be, at the beginning of starting a family with Blair. A life with Blair.
"I'm fine, " I reassure her, and my voice scratches like it hasn't been used in weeks. Blair hears this and whisks herself out of my arms, only to return with a Styrofoam cup.
"Drink this," she says, and I smile because I've missed the way she orders me to do things. The water makes my throat feel better, and once she's returned the cup to the table, I motion for her to join me on the bed.
I scoot back to make room for her as she sits, and then lays herself in front of me, scooting in so that my chest is pressed to her back. I automatically reach a hand around to cup her much bigger middle, and I am struck by the newness of this familiar position. I am cuddling with Blair and our baby.
"I love you," I whisper in her ear as I lay my head in the crook of her neck. I can feel the pain medication that the IV is supplying beginning to take hold of me again, pulling me under. I am comforted by the feel of her breathing, the steady hum of her breath as it whooshes in and out.
"I love you, too," I hear her whisper as the room fades away.
My last thoughts are of what tomorrow will bring.