So here's my first (only?) try at something in the "missing scene" genre. Based on a slight wondering what went through Chuck's head in episode 213 when he ran away from Blair in the middle of the night, so that is what this fic is about. Can you say melodrama?
I wrote this all in one sitting, and I can't remember the actual scenes from the episode in complete detail so I hope it works with what's shown on screen and isn't too over the top. I haven't dared to read through it myself so I don't know ;) Large chunks of text, so be warned. I don't know if I necessarily think Chuck would wallow in self pity this way, but if he did it would have been in that episode. And hey, it's just fun to take a few moments on-screen and fanwank about it ;)
When he woke up it took him a few seconds to realize where he was. His head was killing him, both from the alcohol he had consumed and from having been crying. He couldn't even remember the last time he had cried before tonight.
There were a lot of things to grasp in those first moments of being awake. The headache was the least of his worries. His father was dead. His stepmother was a whore with a secret bastard child. His so-called sister had yelled at him for not being there for her, siding with her lowlife former lover over him. He was without parents. He was alone. And Blair had told him she loved him.
Blair. He could feel her arm resting on his side, gently touching his own arm. Her steady breaths were in his ear, her chin resting on the same pillow as him. Her body was so close.
He knew where he was, but whether it was remembering or realizing he did not know. The wall he was facing was familiar, so were the few items scattered across the room and the light scent of melon which she had a predilection for. And her bed. He had been on this bed before, under the sheets twice even, but as much as he had wanted to he had only ever gotten to actually sleep in it once before. Or rather, on it. She had made well sure that he never went to sleep in her bed last year when they had their secret trysts. Now he woke up on it, fully clothed, even his shoes were still on. And she was right there next to him.
He had just spent his most intimate night with her yet, even though every last item of clothing was still on them. But this didn't feel right.
As gently as he could he got up from the bed, relieved to see that she didn't wake up when he moved her arm. He stood up and looked down at her. She was sleeping peacefully, looking more beautiful than she had in a long time. She had said she loved him. Had anyone ever said those words to him before? Not as far as he could remember.
He gulped at the memory, and the sight of her. He couldn't do this. And she couldn't either. He wasn't sure she meant the words she had said. She might have said it only because she thought it was what he wanted to hear. Might have folded, allowed him to win their ongoing game in an effort to make him feel better. Or maybe to feel like she could hold some power over him even at a time like this. He wasn't sure. And since he couldn't know for sure if she truly did mean those words, there was no way he could say them back.
He knew better than anyone how much power was in those words, and how much power saying them gave to the person on the receiving end. He was not prepared to give that much power to anyone, least of all now, least of all to someone who may not honestly feel it back. If he gave her that power now, and she ended up using it as a weapon against him when the first few weeks of intense grief had passed, then he would go under. He didn't want to think she could do that to him, but he couldn't be sure. This was Blair, and they were Blair and Chuck, and they were always locked in a battle for power. He couldn't risk giving any to her.
And what if she had meant it? The thought was almost too strange to consider. He had demanded her to say it, but never actually believed she would mean the words if she said them. Why would she be the first to love him? She, who could have any man she set her sights on. This perfect, beautiful creature who was so captivating, so intense, who was everything a man could want, and with the students at their school in the palm of her hand to boot. She was a queen and he was what? The one who couldn't be trusted. The one with no class. The one other people were scared of. The one who drank and did drugs and used women left and right, not caring at all who he hurt because he had been hurt most of his life so why should it matter if someone else felt it for a while too? She had often called him disgusting, creepy, even evil at times. For years she had openly shown her contempt for him. Why would she now love him? He had tried to win her love, hoping she would be the one to see him for who he really was, or perhaps rather who he thought and hoped he was, but it had seemed so futile. When she had finally decided to give him a fair chance his reaction had been to prove to her that everything she had thought previously was true. He had been a jerk to her, and what did that say about him?
But if she still, through some strange turn of fate, truly did feel the same way about him that he felt about her… At this moment he felt like that was the last thing he wanted. Because if she did then that gave him power over her, power which he did not want. Not when all he could do with it was hurt her, bring her down with him. Had he ever done anything for her and not for himself? He had shown up in her room a few hours ago, without a thought to what she might be doing or that she had a life of her own. He hadn't cared that when she had said those three words to him he had thrown them back in her face and left. All he had cared about was that she had said those words and he needed someone, and she was the only one who had ever seemed to really care. He probably should have gone to Nate, but their friendship now was rocky at best and he couldn't handle trying to lean on Nate when Nate might not genuinely care enough to want to be there. So he burdened her instead.
He hadn't been welcome. Her reaction to seeing him there made that clear enough. And why should he be? He had pulled her from her mother's wedding without regard to the significance of the moment. She had wanted to be celebrating with her mother, feeling happy. But he had begged her with his eyes and she had relented. Was that what they called emotional blackmail? Blair would never turn away from one of her friends if they were truly in pain, and he knew that. Had he just taken advantage of that with no regards to her emotions?
She had stayed with him, holding him, taking care of him. He had kept her prisoner with those begging eyes, even though he knew what was going on downstairs. Dorota had told him, and they could hear Eleanor, Cyrus, Aaron and Serena downstairs. They were laughing, celebrating, having a good time. She had to wish she could be there; having to listen to it from the confinement of her bedroom must have been painful. Yet he had kept her there, refused to say anything that would leave her free to go join her mother. He could have gotten up and left, told her he was feeling much better, allowing her to feel she had done her required bit and leaving her to enjoy the celebration downstairs. But of course he hadn't.
It had barely been thirty hours since she told him she loved him and already he had abused that power. She must regret saying those words deeply. And this was just the tip of the iceberg. He hadn't even begun to grieve his father or deal with all the baggage that came with Bart's passing. All the guilt he had carried around over the death of his mother, which hadn't been lifted until recently, none of that had really been dealt with. The brief weeks when his relationship with his father had improved and for the first time felt good, only to be ruined again so close to his father's death. Their relationship had once again been strained, and the last conversations he had had with his father had not been of the better sort. He had replayed them in his head a few times, and he knew he would replay them again, over and over and over. Then there was the fact that he was now an orphan, with no parents left at all, no family whatsoever save for an uncle who lived on the other side of the world and who because of that hadn't exactly been around much over the years.
There was this, and a thousand other heavy issues he hadn't even begun dealing with yet. As much as he loved his father he had also sworn at times that he hated him, and then he had hated his father even more for putting him through the difficulty of feeling that way about your only parent. He had often felt that he was too young to have to feel that way about someone he should only be feeling love for. His whole life he had gone back and forth between seeking Bart's approval and feeling like there was no point to it since he never would get it. Back and forth between feeling proud of his father and feeling ashamed of how his father was never around. Back and forth between wanting his father to see him and being frightened that he would see and disapprove of what he saw. Ambivalence was a word he had learned at a young age. If his father had lived they could have dealt with some of this, maybe not for another decade or more, but at least the possibility existed. Now their relationship would forever be what they had left it as. A father and a son who didn't understand each other and who never could seem to connect.
What had happened this night was only the beginning. It would get ten times worse, and he wasn't sure he had the strength to deal with any of it. He had to try and run, even though it would catch up with him at some point. It was too much to handle all at once. And he couldn't put her in the middle of all of it. She was bound to him now, bound by a promise she didn't even know she was making. She had said that she wanted to be there for him but she didn't know what she was talking about. Now she couldn't go back on that promise, the one that had come with the three words, whether she meant them or not. If she did mean them then those feelings would make her cling on and help him until it ruined her. If she didn't mean them she would still feel obligated to stand by him and he didn't want any help she didn't truly want to give him.
If she stood by him through this she would break. There was no doubt in his mind. She was strong, but nobody was that strong. Even at his best he was a selfish jerk, she had pointed that out more than enough times. This was him at his worst. She would be crushed because he would keep unloading onto her, keep leaning on her, keep taking everything she offered until he had taken it all. This was not her burden to bear, or her battle to fight, or her pain to feel. Yet he would make it so. He couldn't do that to her. Not when he felt something for her he was far too scared to put into words, even to himself. How could he live with himself if he did that to her? For once in his life he would not be selfish. He would distance himself from her, even if she was his lifeline and letting her go meant that he would sink. Better him than her.
He knew what he had to do. Blair would not accept him just trying to keep some distance from her. She would come to him, time and time again, as long as she thought he needed her because that was what she did. She had watched her do it with Serena before. Thanks to his actions tonight she would probably think he needed her for quite some time. She would be right, but she shouldn't have to be.
As silently as possible he walked over to her writing desk. The whole house had gone quiet, he wasn't sure what time it was but everybody had obviously gone to bed or gone out somewhere. He found a notepad and took a deep breath. She had sacrificed for him. It was time he returned the favor. He closed his eyes for a second but opened them again when all he could see with his eyes closed was the way she had looked at him earlier in the night.
-
"What do you think you're doing here?" she asked sharply.
He slowly turned and looked at her. He couldn't bring himself to speak. There was nothing he could say that could answer her question. He shouldn't be there. She didn't want him there. Until their eyes met, and he could see her reaction. He was barely aware of anything at this point, but he was always aware of her. The moment he saw her face change he regretted coming there. But he didn't regret it enough to get up and leave. He needed her, no matter what it did to her. He couldn't bear to look at her face anymore so he turned away and felt torn between hoping she would come to him and wishing she would treat him the way he deserved and have him thrown out. Or just left to his misery while she returned downstairs.
She sat down next to him, firmly grabbing his sinking head, putting an arm around him. He fought with himself for a few seconds before the pain won and made him slowly let go of any concern he had for her in this situation. She invited him to lean on her and selfishly he did. Her arm stroked him, almost clumsily, and the feel of her body coupled with the scent of her perfume broke his last defenses. He gave in completely, grasping for her arm to keep her there, leaned back heavily, somewhere in the back of his mind realizing her back must be killing her having to support so much of his weight from that angle. He didn't really care. If she offered him her consolation then why shouldn't he take it?
His hand grasped for hers, the one that was wrapped around his neck, and he could feel her other hand clasp it, keeping his hand between both of hers. He was glad she held him from this angle where she couldn't see the tears falling down his face. She had already seen them, but they fell more easily if her eyes weren't on them. He was so thankful she had stayed. Blair would know exactly what it meant that he let her see this, that nobody had ever seen him cry since he was little. She would know the intimacy of this and right now he hoped that could be enough in return for the three words she had said to him the day before. He couldn't say them back, but he could share something else with her.
He had no idea how long they sat like this, in complete silence. She sometimes rocked him back and forth, sometimes let her hand stroke his arm or his hair. All the while supporting the weight of his upper body as he leaned on her completely. She never said a word about the physical discomfort she must be feeling, never for a second made any hint that perhaps it was time he pulled it together, or at the very least chose a different position.
"Blair…"
When he said her name after what could have been hours or mere minutes it came out as a hoarse whisper.
"I'm glad you're here" she whispered.
New tears fell down his cheeks. He should probably say something but he didn't trust his own voice enough.
"If you want to talk I will listen for as long as you'd like" she whispered. "If you don't want to talk I will hold you for as long as you need."
He grasped her hand tightly in response. While the moment was incredibly painful, as he finally felt able to let go and stop hiding behind the bottle, and for the first time actually felt the overwhelming reality of his father's death, there was also something about it that felt good. The knowledge that she was there and he could be himself with her, all his worst thoughts and all his worst actions, a feeling he had never experienced before. Why did that have to come now, when he was in too much pain to fully enjoy it?
"Food?" she asked after another long period of silence.
He shook his head. He couldn't remember the last time he had eaten, and truthfully he was starving, but he was afraid that saying yes to food would make her let go of him and go to bring him something to eat. The alternative was for her to call for Dorota, and he didn't want anyone else to be in this moment with them.
"Water? You'll get dehydrated."
He shook his head again.
"Just you."
She was quiet for a minute, taking it in.
"I won't go anywhere" she then said.
He nodded slowly. He let her continue to hold him, prepared to let her do so until her back would finally snap, unwilling to lift his head from her shoulder or have hers lifted from his. They stayed that way until his tears were no longer falling and he barely knew if he was awake or asleep. His stomach growled, loudly, and he could feel her chin lifting from his shoulder.
"I have something up here" she said.
He didn't understand what she was talking about, but she released her embrace and a groan escaped his lips before he could stop it. He turned to look at her, to make sure she wasn't going anywhere, and saw her get off the bed and stretch her obviously aching back. Her hand reached to the small of her back and rubbed it for a second, then she was walking over to a bookshelf on the other end of the room. His eyelids fell and his head sank, more tired than he had been in a long time. He could hear her still in the room, and then he felt her sit down next to him and pull him close.
"Take this" she said.
He opened his eyes with some effort and saw that she was holding a pear. He looked up at her with questioning eyes and she looked back with care in hers.
"I usually keep something up here" she said. "In case I want a snack. Dorota doesn't like it, so I try to hide them. Eat this."
He mechanically took the fruit and took a bite. He had no idea what it tasted but he obediently ate it, closing his eyes while he chewed. Her arms were back around him but she was sitting in a different angle this time, sparing her back. He kept his eyes closed until he was finished with the pear, then he opened them and stared at the fruit, almost as if he wondered what it was and how it had ended up in his hand.
She took what was left of it and her arms left him once more. When she got up to throw it away he felt his eyelids fall again.
"Lie down" he heard her say softly. "You're exhausted."
He obeyed her gentle command, barely aware that he was lifting his feet up on her bed, shoes and all. He wanted to go to sleep, to crawl under the covers and spend a night sleeping properly in her bed, not just on the covers. But he wasn't sure if she had invited him to do so, or just suggested he take a position which wouldn't put as much physical strain on her.
"I'm sorry about all this" he mumbled.
She didn't reply, only switched the lights off and walked up to him. She sat down on the other side of the bed and watched him for a moment. He looked right back at her and wondered what they were supposed to say.
"It's late…" he offered weakly.
"It's been a long day" she replied. "If you want to sleep… I think you need to sleep."
He nodded slowly and closed his eyes. He didn't want to sleep, he wanted to find the right words to say to her, but he couldn't form a coherent thought.
He felt her lie down beside him and he opened his eyes to look at her. Why didn't she seem tired? Was it not as late as he thought it was? Her eyes looked at him in a way he wished they could forever, and her hand gently moved the hair away from his forehead. He was supposed to hate having someone look at him this way when he was vulnerable, but right now it didn't feel like she was pitying him. He closed his eyes, so tired of feeling this grief, so tired of his world never having anything truly good in it. Any good there was had to be tainted, like this moment in her presence tainted by the fact that he had buried his father a few hours earlier.
He rolled over on his side, never having been one to sleep on his back or on his stomach, instinctively arranging her pillows to make himself comfortable. He could feel her body close to his in the last moments before sleep, and he could hear the voices from downstairs. It made him wonder if she would stay even after she knew he was sleeping.
-
She had stayed. She would have been better off if she hadn't. He wished he could tell her this to her face but she deserved to continue sleeping and he was too much of a coward to look at her and turn away from her after she had been there for him.
He took the note he had written and placed it on the pillow he had been sleeping on. Perhaps it was a cruel way of telling her but on the other hand maybe she needed to hear it in a way like that. She had forgotten who this man was that she had claimed to love after the funeral. She needed to remember that. He was never going to be like Nate, or any of her fairytale princes, just because she loved him.
"I'm sorry…" he whispered.
He didn't want to leave but he had to. It was the only way to absolve her from her promise. If he ran away from her now then he would have to deal with all of it on his own and she wouldn't be dragged down with him. Hopefully she wouldn't want to help him anymore. She was not his girlfriend. He didn't wish a fate like that on her. He wanted someone better for her, someone who wouldn't make her life so full of misery.
Before he left he grabbed the coverlet folded up at the foot of the bed and pulled it up over her. She looked cold. He didn't want her to freeze. He let his hand run through her hair for a brief moment and then he turned away from her and walked out the door.
Good? Bad? Overly dramatic? Please let me know! Reviews are always welcome, and I definitely don't mind constructive criticism.