Title: "I Am Trying to Break Your Heart"
Author: Lila
Rating: PG-13
Character/Pairing: Blair, Blair/Jack, Blair/Chuck
Spoiler: slight spoilers for "Gone with the Will"
Length: one-shot
Summary: Blair starts 2009 with a Bass in her bed but he isn't the right one.
Disclaimer: Not mine, just borrowing them for a few paragraphs
Author' Note: Per usual, I should be doing other things (like my job!) but can't stop writing fic. BSG is starting up again and I'm supposed to be working on my unfinished opus, but somehow GG keeps taking precedence. In my head, the lame "Jack is a coked out rapist!" story never happened so as far as this fic is concerned, Jack's the same sleazy uncle from "In the Realm of the Basses" and nothing more. Title and breaks courtesy of Wilco. Enjoy.
I. What was I thinking when I let you go?
It starts with a phone call, in the darkest recesses of the night, and she springs from between five hundred thread-count sheets to press the phone to her ear.
The plastic is cold against her skin and she can hear her heavy breathing over the crackling static of the distance between them; her heart skips a beat when she can't hear the same from him.
"Hello?" she gasps into the receiver, and if it were anyone else or any other time she'd cringe at the desperation in her voice. She's Blair Waldorf; she doesn't even know what weakness is.
There's laughter over the line, and then a voice deeper than the one she hoped for. "Chuckles?" he says, sarcasm lacing his tone. "I hope that isn't you."
She falls back, head settling into the depression she's carved into his pillow. "You aren't Chuck."
"But this is his suite. Where is that nephew of mine?"
She pauses for a moment, takes a deep breath and regroups. She won't cry, not again, not anymore, and she won't let him hear the tears in her voice. She might have lost her heart when Chuck Bass lost his connection to reality, but she's still Blair Waldorf. In a world that feels increasingly empty, it's something. She has to believe it is. "You must be Jack," she manages and her voice is clear and strong and everything she needs it to be. "In case you didn't know, your brother died and your nephew has dropped off the face of the earth. Thanks for helping out."
He laughs again. "You must be Blair. I've heard about you too. Thanks for trying; too bad you couldn't hold onto him."
He isn't Chuck, but he's still a Bass and his words cut right to the bone. She isn't enough to keep him; she never was. "Yes, well, he's always been his own person, hasn't he?" This time it's a fight to keep the pain out of her voice and it must be noticeable through the thousands of miles separating them because Jack sighs over the line.
"I'm sorry. That was uncalled for. I really do appreciate all you've done for him, Blair. I couldn't be there before, but I'm ready to help now. I land in New York at noon tomorrow. I have a couple things to take care of at the office and then my flight leaves for Moscow. Someone used his credit card at our hotel there." There's another pause and she can't breathe as she hangs onto his words: he's safe, he's whole, he's alive. "Would you like to come?"
"Chase after him?" she bites out. She can still remember Chuck's fingers clinging to hers like a lifeline and his body crumbling into the cradle of her arms, but she also remembers the way she dropped to her knees when she found his note waiting on her pillow and the ache in her chest that hasn't quite lifted. She doesn't think she can take him running from her again. "Why would I want to do something like that?"
He doesn't laugh but she can still hear the amusement in his voice. "You're sleeping in his bed, aren't you? He's been missing two weeks and you can't let go."
She closes her eyes, rests the receiver over her furiously beating heart and prays it doesn't burst through her chest; Chuck has hurt her to much to die for him. "I can't help you," she says and she's too far gone to care if he hears the tears in her voice. "He's not my problem anymore."
They both know it's a lie. She's been holed up in Chuck's suite since the day he left her (again), charging room service to his account and hugging his pillow to her chest every time she closes her eyes.
"I've heard a lot of things about you, Blair Waldorf," he says. "Saying uncle isn't one of them. The car will pick you up at three," he adds and hangs up before she can respond.
She slips the phone back into its cradle and sinks into sheets that are changed every day and still manage to smell like him. She clutches his pillow to her chest, hands knotted over the rapid beat of her heart.
She's never met Jack but he's a Bass and manages to see right through her. She's a Waldorf; she doesn't give up without a fight.
---
II. What was I thinking when I said it wouldn't hurt?
The flight is long and she doesn't sleep for any of it.
It's a private plane, no in-flight movie, and she spends the majority of the trip lost in her own thoughts. She closes her eyes but all she sees is the agony etched in Chuck's face when she told him that she loved him and it makes the regret cinch tighter around her heart.
She keeps her eyes open but they stare straight at his uncle and they don't look very much alike but she can't mistake the familiar arrogance in the set of his jaw and curve of his cheek and she has to look away.
It's night and outside her window the clouds are wisps of ugly grey and the sky is an inky black, but nothing is darker than the fear that lodges in the throat and catches in her chest every time she breathes out: what if he isn't there? what if he isn't safe? what if he isn't whole? what am I without him? Somewhere out there, she hopes he's still breathing too.
"You need to prepare yourself," Jacks cuts in. "He might not be there when we land. We may never find him."
The honesty in his voice breaks through the fog of her thoughts and she blinks once, twice, before raising her eyes to meet his. She ignores the amusement in his eyes and the fear in her heart and sets her shoulders in a determined line. She's halfway to broken and scared half to death, but she's a Waldorf; it isn't over yet.
"We'll find him."
The smirk on Jack's face quirks on one side. "You really don't give up, do you?" She shrugs her shoulders and the smirk spreads into a full-blown grin. "What if he's not there?"
She ignores the question rather than face the truth. "You're the only family he has left. It's time you start acting like it."
He leans back in his seat and stretches his legs languidly but his eyes never leave hers. "You're the girl he left. It's time you remember that."
Her shoulders shake but she keeps her head held high and smiles. "I'm a Waldorf, remember. Where else am I supposed to be?"
Jack leans in across the space between them to lay a hand on her knee. It's a casual touch, a friendly reminder that they share the same mission, but she can't help the shiver that creeps along the line of her thigh. "The Bass men, they're never lucky in love. If Bart hadn't chosen a woman chasing after another man, we might not be here." He pauses and for a moment his eyes go soft and his hand slides back to his own lap. "He doesn't deserve you."
"I'm used to people leaving me," she says softly, so softly she can hardly hear her words over the hum of the engines and the pounding inside her own head. "It doesn't mean I leave them."
This time, when he reaches out to lay a hand on her knee, his fingers linger; she doesn't push them away.
---
III. What was I thinking when you said goodnight?
Chuck isn't in Russia. He isn't in Berlin or Prague either, or any of the hotels Jack tries when they arrive exhausted and rumpled in Moscow.
He argues with the concierge for a while she leans wearily against their luggage and she doesn't speak Russian but it doesn't take a genius to figure out that the staff has no idea where Chuck's disappeared to.
There's a crease across Jack's forehead when he stalks towards her and she crumples against her rolling suitcase. Fifteen hours and her heart lodged in her throat and she still doesn't know if he's even alive. She might be a Waldorf but she's also a girl and there's only so much she can take. She's just eighteen; she isn't ready for this.
Jack's arm wraps around her waist and she sags against his shoulder as he leads her to the elevator. He's taller than Chuck and leaner, and her head fits perfectly into the crook of his neck. He smells like money and greed; he smells like a Bass. She closes her eyes and lets go.
The amusement is back in Jack's eyes when he grinds to a halt outside a hotel room. The bellhop wordlessly opens the door and deposits their luggage, and she remains silent while surveying the room. It's beautiful and elegant, but irrelevant. All the finer things in the world don't matter when Chuck is still out there.
"Why are we here?" she asks once the bellhop is paid and gone and it's just the two of them. "Why aren't we looking for him?"
He looks up from the luggage and she expects the usual cocky grin and mocking eyes but he mostly looks exhausted. "We just flew fifteen hours, Blair," he says and lingers on her name in a way that makes the room feel very small. "You're welcome to leave but I'm not getting on another plane before morning. I'd advise you do the same."
She takes a step back, towards the door, but forces herself to wear an amused grin. "You expect me to stay here, with you? Right."
He keeps digging through his suitcase but nods towards an open door along one of the walls. "Connecting rooms, Blair. You have all the space you need."
She wheels her suitcase inside and lets out a breath she didn't know she was holding. The room is the same – a bathroom, two beds – but it feels bigger and emptier. She shivers and knows it has nothing to do with the cold. She can feel his eyes on her and she turns to find him leaning against the doorframe watching her.
"You should get dressed," he says and his eyes never leave her face but her dress suddenly feels very tight and the room feels very warm.
"What?"
He smiles and for the first time in two days there's nothing mocking in his expression. "It's New Year's Eve. I thought we could spend it together."
"You can't be serious?" she exclaims and there's nothing mocking in the shocked expression on her face either. "Chuck could be dead in a gutter somewhere and you want to celebrate."
He doesn't look guilty but the smile does disappear from his lips. "We can't do anything for Chuck tonight. It will do you good to stop thinking about him for a few hours." The smile creeps back and she notes how much it lights up his face. "You never know. You might even enjoy yourself."
He's right, even if she doesn't want to admit it. She's kept watch for a week already; it will be nice to think about anything but Chuck returning to her in a body bag.
She smiles and for the first time since meeting him she actually means it.
~ * ~
She's a Waldorf and always comes prepared, and wears a green silk dress that brings out the red tones in her hair and the softness of her skin. There are matching heels and a gold lanyard that slinks between the curves of her breasts. He's an adult but he's still a Bass and she can see how hard he works to keep his eyes from following the slim chain into the neckline of her dress. Like nephew, like uncle, like the memories she holds close to her heart.
She watches him over her wine and lets her eyes linger over his face. He looks nothing like his nephew but everything about him screams Bass, from the expensive cut of his suit to the purple tie wound round his neck and the arrogant tilt of his head. She blinks but doesn't take her eyes from his face; she likes the familiarity there.
"Why are you staring at me?"
She smiles and his expression softens and she takes control of a situation that's made her feel helpless for too long. "You remind me of someone."
"Chuck takes after his mother, Blair. I look like my brother."
"You're a Bass," she says. "That's that part that matters."
His face hardens but he won't look away. "What are you trying to say?"
She takes a sip of wine, and then another, because if she's learned anything from four years of high school it's the power of liquid courage. "No matter the relationship between Chuck and his father, he'll never stop mourning him. He'll never stop loving him. I don't know your relationship with Bart, but I'm assuming it wasn't easy. Nothing about him was. Yet, here you are, searching the world for his son. Family is everything to a Bass, isn't it?" She thinks about her own mother celebrating her new marriage in Paris and her father sunbathing in St. Bart's with Roman; she knows her family loves her but she's never come first.
"Touché," Jack responds and his tone is light but his fingers are wrapped too tightly around his scotch. "We know why I'm here. What's your excuse?"
Her own fingers tighten around the stem of her glass. "You already know the answer."
"Suckers," he says over the rim of his tumbler and locks his eyes with hers. "Has a nice ring to it."
Her cheeks feel warm and she doesn't know if it's the wine or the way his eyes are traveling back to the chain between her breasts. "I prefer fools for love."
His eyes move back to her face and focus on her eyes, her cheeks, before settling on her mouth. "Chuck has no idea what he left behind."
She thinks of her father and Nate and the lives they live without her. "No one's noticed before."
"I do," he says and his eyes scrape up her face to lock with hers again. She wants to look away, because he shouldn't be looking at her this way, but she's scared and she's alone and she likes the way his eyes darken and his breathing turns ragged. It's been months since anyone's looked at her and wanted to keep seeing her; she doesn't want the feeling to disappear.
When he reaches across the table to cup her face in his hands and leans forward to press his mouth to hers, she kisses him back and gives in.
---
IV. What was I thinking when we said hello?
It ends without a goodbye.
She rises before he does and the curtains are closed but there's still light peeking from between the heavy drapes to coat his skin in an early morning glow. It highlights the dark gold of his hair and the haughty tilt of his chin and the length of his limbs wrapped in expensive sheets. In the pale darkness his features soften, flatten, and she sees more than Bass arrogance in the curve of his cheek.
She shivers and it has nothing to do with the cold air blowing across her bare skin.
~ * ~
He catches her before she can make a clean break.
She takes a shower and dries her hair and arranges for a commercial flight back to New York. She goes barefaced to the airport; she won't risk what she could see staring back at her in the mirror.
He's waiting in the lobby, freshly showered and neatly dressed, like he hadn't spent the previous night fucking his nephew's pseudo-girlfriend. "Going somewhere?"
She stops in her tracks, pauses before turning to face him to ensure her mask is in place. "My plane leaves in an hour," she explains. "I don't want to miss my flight."
He smiles and it's all the arrogance and bravado of before and none of the weakness she's come to know. "I didn't think running was the Waldorf style."
She purses her lips. "I chased him halfway around the world. I can do more in New York than I can here."
"You're lying," he says and his eyes lock with hers. "Don't pretend with me, Blair. It won't work. Admit the truth – you're giving up."
His eyes won't leave hers and they're too bright and too blue and see too much. He won't believe anything she tells him except the truth. "I can't do this anymore," she confesses, knuckles turning white against the hand pull of her suitcase. "I won't give up but I can't be the one who finds him. I want him back but I have to think about myself too. You're his family, Jack. You should bring him home."
His expression turns blank but he smiles. "That's the first time you've said my name since we started this adventure."
She wants to smile back, because this could be awkward and more painful than necessary, but he's being sweet and hopeful and kind. She needs to end it before it begins; there's no happy ending for them. "I love him," she whispers. "I think he loves me too."
"Last night a distant memory, Blair?" He doesn't sound bitter but the light goes out in his eyes and his mouth tightens with every word and she knows her plan is working.
"I think you care about me," she says and keeps her eyes open to avoid the feeling of his mouth trailing across her belly and her thighs wrapped tight around his hips. "If you love him at all bring him home. Bring him home to me."
It takes him a moment to answer, expression blank but for the sadness in his eyes, but when he opens his mouth the familiar smirk is curving his lips. "I have a lead in Asia. I'll call you when we're on our way back." He turns to the concierge for check out and she's left staring at the broad, straight curve of his back.
There's nothing left to say, no more agreements to make, but it feels unfinished. She lets go of the suitcase and takes a step towards him, and then another, and only stops when she's close enough to breathe him in. "Jack," she says and taps him on the shoulder, notes the strained tightness in his muscles, the tension radiating from him in waves.
She's on him before he has a chance to speak, her mouth pressed against his and her hands threading through his hair, and he's too muscled and too tall and too broad but he tastes just right. "Thank you."
She's leaves before he has a chance to respond and does her makeup in the cab to the airport. It's just liner and lipstick but she feels more like herself.
---
V. What was I thinking when I let you back in?
Jack brings Chuck back three weeks after New Years and he's in worst shape than before he left. He drinks and sulks and almost jumps off a building and she's the only one who can save him.
She wraps him in her arms and holds on tight, too tight, because he's there and he's safe and he's whole and he's everything she needs.
Jack watches silently, face drawn and eyes blank in the darkness. She shivers and it has nothing to do with the cold.
~ * ~
They get back together. It isn't easy and it's almost always hard and sometimes she wonders why it hurts so much to be with the person she loves most. He drinks and does drugs and breaks her heart and she lets him because she's too afraid to break his.
Chuck buys her a ring, a sapphire not a diamond, and tells her the words she's waited a lifetime to hear. He tells her he's sorry and he tells her he'll make it up to her and he tells her he hopes she'll forgive him.
"I slept with Jack over New Years," she says in response and he's too shocked to even blink.
He pulls his hand away from hers and the ring catches in the light, blinding them both. "You can't be serious. He stole my company, tried to steal my life – "
"You were gone and he was there. It just happened." She takes a deep breath, says the words she should have said years ago. "I've forgiven you for long enough. Now it's time you forgive me."
She keeps her eyes on him all through it, the slope of his cheek and the arrogant set of his jaw, the rigid line of his shoulders and the tension radiating from his muscles in waves. "Blair," he whispers. "I..."
"I can wait," she says and is surprised at how strong and assured her voice sounds. She didn't think it would be this easy; it never was before. "I just can't do *this* anymore, Chuck. I need to think about myself too."
He doesn't speak for a long moment, so long she thinks this is it, it's over and done with and she's sacrificed two years of her life for something that was never meant to be in the first place. He's a Bass; she recognizes the haughty tilt of his head and the entitlement glinting in his eyes. He'll never forgive her. Yet, Basses are nothing if not unpredictable and this one doesn't disappoint. "It's over, right?" he asks.
"It never even started. I'm sick of chasing you. Aren't you tired of running?"
He keeps watching her with dark eyes that are nothing like any that belong to another Bass. "I just want you," he says softly and slides his hand across the table to rest over hers.
Neither of them let go.
~ * ~
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