Author's note: Written for challenge 1 (Happily Ever After, or fairytales) at gossipink on livejournal. My chosen assignment was Hans Christian Andersen's lesser-known tale In the Nursery. Coincidentally, my parents just went on a cruise trip and one of the stops was Copenhagen :) though the plans weren't finalised when I chose that tale.
A LIFE LESSON
"It's so unfair!" Blair Waldorf's sharp cry of distress rent the air, echoing in the vastness of the marble entrance as she clutched her father's slacks tightly in her small fists. Big doe eyes filled with tears, she looked after the party of well-dressed parents – minus her father – and Nate and Serena that had begun filing into the elevator that had just dinged its arrival.
She pouted, jealousy rearing its big ugly green head especially when Serena turned back, all sunshine and beautiful and healthy, waving a cheerful goodbye at her. Blair tugged on the pant leg at hand. "I wanna go too, daddy."
Harold peered down at his daughter, a sympathetic half-smile stretching one side of his lips. Cradling her round cheek, he offered tentatively, "But you see The Nutcracker every year, Blair."
As the last of the happy group filled the elevator and its door closed on them, Blair's face fell. "I don't care. It's tradition. Every year before Christmas, the van der Woodsens, the Archibalds, us… we always go together."
Harold smiled indulgently, winking down at her. "Would you rather you transferred your chicken pox on other children, honey?" His hand squeezed hers minutely before another voice spoke.
"The whole thing's boring anyway," the dark boy muttered from his slouch upon the cast iron bench by the staircase.
Blair glared – how dare he speak of ballet that way? – and stuck out her tongue at the ill-dressed, ill-mannered and… generally unpleasant boy from behind her father's leg. Why she had to endure the annoying brat this night was sick, demented, not amusing. What were her parents thinking sticking her with him? But, alas, his father and hers were doing some grown-up business together and somehow they'd ended up becoming more than mere business partners and they expected them to become friends as well. They were crazy. Totally. "I wouldn't expect someone like you to understand the art and beauty of–"
Harold shook his head, kneeling to pull one of her curls with an admonishing frown. "Be nice, Blair Bear. Chuck is our guest tonight since he's sick as well."
The brat had the nerve to snicker. "Not as much as her." He laughed outright when Blair launched herself at him, knocking him down his seat and to the floor where she sat on his chest and attempted to shake him silly.
"Take that back, you scum!" she cried.
He grinned even as he saw one huge motion blur. "Have you even seen your face in the mirror?" He smirked below her when she stopped, and poked the tip of her button nose. "Ew… imagine if that stays. You'll be scarred for life!"
She positively turned flame red. "Look who's talking!" She jerked a sleeve off his thin arm, pointing out the small, angry scabs that dotted his arm where he'd scratched and bled and scratched some more. They were now covered with dried pink Calamine that had at least lessened the itching. "Ha!"
"Kids…" Harold gently separated them with a disapproving shake of his head. "How about we use all that pent-up energy for something a little more productive?"
Chuck crossed his arms over his chest, dragging the sleeve of his pajama top back over his blotched arm moodily. "She started it," he muttered with a scowl her way.
But Blair wasn't listening and brightened up at her father's vague suggestion. "A play!" she gushed, clapping her small hands together. "I've always wanted to play a lady, a real lady."
Chuck positively shriveled at her idea. "We don't have a stage or… or actors."
Blair popped to her feet excitedly, unheeding of the boy's sour lack of enthusiasm. "I have dresses, and – oh –" her Polish maid appeared with a cup of freshly brewed coffee for her father "Dorota, have you seen my old doll Tiffany? She could be my lady-in-waiting."
"Yes, Miss Blair, at cleaner's. Your mother said too long since last wash," the maid answered slowly, enunciating each word carefully in her foreign accent. Handing her employer his mug, she then scurried back to the kitchen, knowing to avoid her tiny mistress's big tantrums.
"But – but I was careful with her!" Blair cried after her impassionately. However, coming to a quick decision she then shrugged and pumped her little feet up the stairs to her bedroom to collect everything she'd need for her to play her part.
Yes… the chocolate coloured dress her father had brought her for Christmas with a bouffant skirt and cinched waist, and a large cream bow across the hip where the skirt flowed out. A perfect fit. A perfect dress.
Then… her matching Jimmy Choo ballerina flats, shined to perfection.
And… her pearl necklace, twisted twice to form three rows.
Blair looked at herself in the mirror. Ignored her pox. Dabbed a little eyeshadow on her lids. Slid her favourite cream headband on, decorated with a large silk bow over her right ear.
She looked like a little lady, if she must say so herself.
She ran back downstairs to find her father sitting contentedly next to the glaring nouveau riche trash. Did he not know any other facial expression? Blair snorted to herself. No, probably not. Couldn't even enjoy ballet or a play. "Daddy, look!"
Harold Waldorf surged to his feet at her appearance and beamed brightly, welcoming his giggling daughter into his arms. "Is that my–"
Blair squealed as he twirled her in mid-air. "Yes, daddy!"
Chuck kicked a foot lamely into the air with a cynical grin. "Your pox still stands out, you know," he taunted, snickering when the girl squawked and demanded her father let her down "right this second" and screeched about "you're the ugly one, you stupid monster!"
"Blair Cornelia Waldorf," Harold scolded at once, his patience evidently wearing thin as he realised just how matched in fire and spark his evening charges were proving to be. The evening would be a long one! "You two are quite the handful," he added under his breath, sucking in air deeply before setting his daughter back to her feet. "Now," he began, rubbing his hands in renewed enthusiasm, "how about that play?"
The Chuck boy inched closer to his daughter, nudging her when she painstakingly ignored him for the benefit of her father. "Cornelia?" he whispered. "How ancient are you?"
Harold cleared his throat loudly, as if to remind the boy there was one witness in the room. "Charles Bartholomew Bass," he said pointedly in the following deceptively angelic silence, "I'll not have that."
Blair sniggered in her hands. "Charles Bartholomew?" she countered.
Her father interrupted the boy before he even began the red-faced invectives that were sure coming, by the looks of him. "Should it be a tragedy or a domestic drama?"
"Ooh!" Blair cried brightly. "A domestic drama!"
"A murder mystery," Chuck suggested, directing his own murderous glare to the girl next to him.
"Shut up, daddy's going to direct us." She looked up at her father's face. "Do you know a good play?"
"Direct us?" the boy sputtered quite comically. "I didn't say I'd–"
Slowly Blair turned to her forced companion, leveling her best death glare that shut him up but good, gleaned from watching her mother's withering ones directed at her apprentices during fashion shows. "You can always leave, you know." Haughtily she added more, because she knew it would chafe. "And then Nate will hate you and you'll have no friends and no one will even talk to you."
The boy sulked. She'd make sure of that, wouldn't she?
"Right-o." Harold cleared his throat in a boisterous way so as to break the tension stretching thin between the two children. Inside he sweated, truly. Handful did not even begin to describe the pair. And he'd thought his daughter was something. Oh, why couldn't it have been Nate that sported the contagious pox instead? "I know a hundred plays," he cried dramatically for effect, "but few befitting little children such as you dear ones."
"Oh, make one up, daddy!" Blair squealed excitedly, adding as an aside for the dark boy's benefit, "He's the best storyteller in all of New York."
Chuck grunted. "Whatever."
"Indeed we shall make one up as we go," Harold nodded purposefully, "for spontaneity makes the most enjoyable tale. Now I shake the pen!" He mimicked writing grandly into thin air in great bold lines. Nearby, the two looked on in absorbed anticipation – even Chuck who supposedly didn't care for plays or ballet. He had them. "So now here's the play, brand spanking new and written just for you. Now the cast of characters."
Harold thought fleetingly that he should have perhaps gone into theatre instead of law as two dark pairs of eyes awaited their assignation in focused excitement. Knowing his daughter's preference for love stories, Harold swept his arm toward her
"The Lady and her Beaux,
A Family Drama in One Act
CHARACTERS
Mr. Hart, a father
Miss Hart, a daughter
Mr. Lowell, a lover
Mr. LeRoy, a suitor"
Quietly, Chuck nudged and hissed at Blair, "You know what lovers do, don't you?"
Harold took in his daughter's flaming cheeks and reacted, though the comment had initially left him gaping as well. Did he want to know? No, no, he didn't, and he knew Bart's reputation anyhow. So he reacted, and cried, "And now we're going to begin. The curtain rises, ta-dam! All the characters are in position – I'm the father, of course, and Blair will play Miss Hart, my daughter."
"Who am I," the dark boy muttered – he did a lot of that, didn't he – with a bit of trepidation and perhaps some uneasiness in his voice. Stage fright, perhaps?
Harold thought quickly. "You'll be Mr. Lowell, a humble man." Perhaps it would teach the boy a lesson.
Chuck groaned. "But that's just no fun."
"And I'll be LeRoy, the rich suitor," Harold plowed on.
Blair's eyes went wide as saucers just as Chuck smiled like he'd just gotten a second Christmas run of gifts. "Daddy!" she cried, shock written all over her face.
"Now that's an interesting development," said a voice at Blair's left.
"Daddy!" Blair's face took on a prune colour. "Daddy, Chuck's saying dirty things."
Chuck's smile only widened, white imperfect teeth gleaming. That one would be trouble in a few years, Harold would bet. "I'm Chuck Bass," he said gravely, as if that explained everything.
It probably did.
"Chuck Bass, that's enough," Harold reprimanded sternly, only to reacquire his dramatic flourish. "Now I speak as Papa Hart. I'm angry today. I'm the master of this house! My word rules all within! Mr. LeRoy is a person of worth; he has money aplenty–"
"That should be me," Chuck mourned on a lamenting grunt.
"– and he has lands into the bargain."
"Me again. And don't forget cunning. Cunning gets me far."
Harold didn't doubt that one second. Chagrined, he added boisterously, "He shall have my daughter!"
Only to have Blair scrunch up her nose at him. "Ew, daddy, you're way too old!"
Chuck had a jolly good laugh on the floor as Blair stomped her foot imperiously, dangerously close to one of her infamous fits thanks to a certain Bass incessantly humiliating her. Oh, the joys of volunteer babysitting…
Well, it was tough, but he found himself… enjoying himself? "Ahem, Blair," he stage-whispered, "this is a play. I'm not your father."
"This is so reverse Darth Vader," Chuck commented, clearly enjoying himself. "Luke, I'm actually… not your father… I was fuc – playing with you," he said in Skywalker Senior's famous vacuum-sucked hiss, only to imitate Skywalker Junior's more normal voice. "Oh thank God, you're creepy. And a machine." And he kept on laughing to himself.
Harold did have to crack a tiny smile at the kid's wit. Blair's mouth twitched. The father continued, "Now listen to what Mr. LeRoy has to say for himself," Harold said, kneeling at his daughter's feet as LeRoy. "You are the flower that brings purpose and beauty to my life of extravagance. Fairness of heart and manner ought to be acknowledged in this pairing. I shall e'er be your knight."
Blair regarded him with brilliant, captivated eyes. She swallowed hard, her pink tongue moistening her lips only briefly.
Chuck tracked the subtle movement and straightened his back, ramrod straight, his pride – Lowell's – at terrible stake. Lose to a fossil like Harold Waldorf? Never. "But – I would give you anything because…" he started clumsily, blushing as he struggled for his words. Then he seemed to hook onto something. "Because you're worth more than any diamond in the rough and..." his voice lowered as he shuffled his foot on the floor, "I didn't feel before you. You made a man out of me." Mature words out of a child's mouth.
There was silence then in the Waldorfs' entrance hall, thick, palpable, impressed silence. Finally Chuck cleared his throat loudly. "My father said that… when he and my… There's a tape and he said… he said that." Gathering courage, he looked up.
No one was laughing, least of all the little pox-faced girl. "That's so romantic," she breathed out after another moment of shocked silence.
The young boy ducked his head and rolled his shoulders as though shrugging off attention he did not want. "Yeah, well, look where that went," he whispered ruefully to his thick winter socks.
A large hand landed softly on his shoulder and was gone just as quickly. "Now comes the most important part, Blair. Both admirers are at your feet." Tapping the sullen boy on the shoulder, Harold urged Chuck to his knees and did likewise, the differences in height all but a very unfortunate detail. They were LeRoy and Lowell, undisputedly. "Oh great beauty, whom wilt thou choose, for thou must if sight of the outdoors needs should please thee again. Aye, we will hold you captive. As for me, LeRoy, a union should please me, for I would…" Harold juggled his wedding band off his ring finger with some difficulty, "bless you with gifts in proof of my love for you e'ermore."
His daughter gazed up, sitting so very still as she accepted the large ring on her thumb, the only finger that had even the remotest chance of fitting the ring though it wobbled quite a lot. She cradled it with her other palm. "I – I couldn't," she breathed even as she admired the winking, simple platinum band on her finger that was far too masculine for her delicate finger.
But he knew his Blair, the fairytale romantic, saw a delicate wedding ring on the correct finger in her mind's eye, a sparkling diamond on a thin band. Simple or elaborate, both would pass the test of time.
Smiling fondly at the awe-struck expression on his daughter's face, Harold stroked her soft cheek and met her eyes, waiting for Chuck's retort. The boy seemed to be searching for something on himself, something of value, something that would rival his opponent's expensive gift, not to mention wedding promise.
"I don't – I can't find–" the chagrined boy said at length, closing in on himself in defeat.
"Of course you can," Harold said gently in his normal voice, taking the boy by his small shoulders. A spark of hope flared through the shame. "You won't find it out here," he coaxed again.
"But…" Blair frowned in confusion. "I choose you, daddy – I mean Mr. LeRoy."
"Mr. Lowell hasn't spoken yet. Let's listen to what he has to say, Miss Hart."
As one they turned to a floundering, quickly blushing Chuck. "I… I…" Chuck struggled, eyes pleading desperately with Harold's.
"What was the first thing you said before?" Harold prompted patiently, willing the boy to say the words he so longed to find.
You're worth more than a diamond in the rough. The things that mattered most in life were priceless. Quite simply.
Chuck's eyes suddenly flashed, and then snapped to hold Blair's, so much like his own. In slow motion, he swallowed, and extended his hand to clasp hers within his. Staring at their entwined hands, Chuck frowned as though he were facing a particularly difficult math problem. "It's not about a ring, it's about…" he began quietly, then screeched to a halt. Untwined his fingers and slowly let her pale hand fall on the silk of her dress.
It was all he said, because Chuck fell silent and still before her. His frown deepened, along with a faint rosy blush high on his cheeks. He then… dismissed the whole thing. "Whatever." Rolled his eyes.
Just as quickly as he'd sneered the word, the spell on Blair was instantly broken. "You're heinous!" And she positively shook in righteous anger.
The boy held his chin high, silently defying her until he actually spoke again. "Make your choice, princess."
"Who do you think?" Harold's miniature tempest shrieked before hauling herself into her father's arms. Harold stroked her back soothingly and made appropriate noises but gazed up, saw Chuck's dejected stance, his hanging head, and knew.
The young Bass looked up, met his eyes, and Harold nodded, silently congratulating him on a lesson well learned… but only half played.
Author's note: So, little things. I gave a tiny hint during the challenge: I used to dance ballet, and The Nutcracker plays every holiday period in Montreal.
The fictional names for C/B/H were totally intentional :)
Harold pulling his ring off is symbolic of the dissolution of his marriage.
I struggled so much with Chuck/Harold's pleas, but Chuck's especially. Harold/LeRoy's is supposed to refer to Nate/Blair (with the ring he gave her), as well as the poetic pompous but often empty of feeling boasts from times past where women married for money and were endowed with jewels merely to show the man's wealth (seriously, read up on Renaissance bridal jewelry, it's fairly chilling). Chuck's father was supposedly in love with his wife which got me thinking that Chuck would be envious of what could have been and therefore go prowling in search of mementos of his mother only to come up with a video of his parents' wedding. And he'd half want something like that (which is why he memorised his father's vows) and half dread ever marrying (because the story would repeat). Which is why he lets go of Blair at the end.
Many people deduced that Chuck was in love with Blair from that point forward. That... actually hadn't crossed my mind (shocking I know) because I'd just planned on something that would display Chuck's fears and the lesson he learned: that love is priceless. Yet years in the future he makes the same mistake LeRoy makes, and that's to believe money, jewels and flowers are enough (to show love, to say sorry, etc.) To be very honest, I love that Chuck bought Blair all those things in the season 2 finale because they're all things she loves, but then again I keep thinking it's the same old, you know? Argh, I don't know.