Like Something Worth Holding On To

I'm starting to feel

We stayed together out of fear

Of dying alone

The clock ticks away as he takes a sip of scotch and watches her. She daintily picks at her food, reminding him of a delicate bird. He feels he should say something, a familiar uncomfortable feeling, but yet again he could think of nothing to say. So he just sat across from her in their dining room and watched.

It was rather a grand dining room, of course they had to have a grand dining room. She wasn't going to be living in a hotel suite forever. He missed the hotel, he missed when they used to sit across from each other over a small table and touch hands. He missed being able to feel her warmth. There was no warmth in this house, there was no warmth between them, not any longer.

"How was your day?" she finally asks it over the length of the table, her tone is neutral, her smile cordial. He glances at the clock hanging on the opposite wall as she looks up, pretending he was absorbed in checking the time, before glancing back at her

"Business as usual," he drawls the familiar reply. She plasters a strained smile on her face at his sarcastic tone. He sees her eyes darken slightly, as they did every morning, while he refilled his glass to the brim, but she didn't comment. She had stopped bothering. He didn't wake her anymore in the middle of the night, they had separate bedrooms now, so his drinking was of no concern to her. Who would have thought his house would be even a worse replica of his fathers, a lonelier fortress.

~'~

"You could have died and all I kept thinking of was that you thought I hated you. I don't hate you, you have to know that I don't hate you Chuck, I love you." She was in tears, crying, sobbing her heart out, holding him, clutching him, like he was a life raft saving her from drowning in dark waters.

He held onto her, tight, twined his fingers in her brown locks. "All I could think about was you," it rumbles from deep within him, and his voice breaks slightly as he says it. "And what I did, how I...I regret it so much Blair, I-"

"Don't," she chokes out. "Don't. It doesn't matter. None of it matters anymore."

"Fine. But I at least want you to know, what I did was unfogrivable...but I love you. I always will love you, no matter what," he says it, his chest tightening as the feelings weigh down on him, the relief that he has a chance to tell her.

"I know," she says between the tears of relief and fear and love. And she embraces him once more, hides her face against his chest. And he thinks that this is all he ever makes her do, cry on his shoulder. But he didn't want to think of that, he wanted the fairy-tale ending. Here was his princess come to save him from himself, and how he wanted to be saved. So he says it, those words, to bind her there forever with him. He knew the settings weren't romantic, and he knew a gunshot wound didn't fix the ills between them, but right then he didn't care. He was alive and she was with him, and their vision was clouded with youthful love.

"I want to spend the rest of my life with you Blair," he says it quietly, but she hears, and she takes her head off his shoulders and looks into his eyes, trying to comprehend what he was saying. "Marry me," he clarifies, and it's not a request, it's a demand, like everything is between them.

Now, in retrospect, he thinks she might have uttered that breathless yes out of pity, seeing him there so pale and broken. Or maybe it was because of the fear, that even the life of Upper East royalty could be cut so short, that she would live to regret never knowing what it was like, to be married to him. But he knew she was in too deep that night she had gotten in the limo, and he, he had been lost the moment she had smiled at him.

That was the problem with them, since childhood, they were the only constants in each other lives. Nate, Serena, their parents all too fickle or absent to matter. But each other, they'd always been there, through thick and thin, scheming and lying, laughing and fighting, they were two sides of the same coin.

They had been too deep by then to go back. And now, they were together because niether of them knew how to live without the other.

I've been slipping through the years

My old clothes don't fit like they once did

So they hang like ghosts

Of the people I've been

It was some stupid dinner party Lilly was holding for Thanksgiving, and they were going to it, Blair had insisted. She didn't argue about much with him nowadays, but this was his family, and it would enable them to be distracted from the awkward space between them.

He had gone to his wardrobe, flicked through his clothes, they were all demure, black, navy blue, polished shoes. He was a business man now, he didn't have time for patterns and trademarks, not anymore.

He fixed his tie as he went to the table, scrabbling without looking to grab his watch and reattach it to his wrist. He didn't go anywhere without a watch anymore, it was important to keep track of time. He cursed as his watch slipped from his bedside table, falling between the table and the wall. Annoyed he pushed the expensive piece of unnecessary furniture, bending down to grab it.

That's when he found the scarf, it was dusty, and old. He had thought he'd lost it in the process of moving from the Palace to his Empire suite. He had been upset about it for a few weeks, but at the time he and Blair were in the first blushes of love, so he'd soon pushed it out of his mind. Eventually he had forgotten it even existed. Serena had given it back to him for his twenty first birthday, she had found it in the back of his old closet back at the Van der Woodsen home. Chuck had laughed with the others, and then misplaced it again, he guessed he must have thrown it on the table and it fell.

On impulse he hung it over his neck. It hung there, drab and dusty, limp and old. He looked at himself in the mirror, and he looked ridiculous.

But uneasily somewhere within himself he didn't think it was the scarf that made him look that way, it was everything else. He was twenty three, and he looked like he'd lived twenty years more then he had. There were shadows under his eyes, and he wondered when he'd started looking so tired, or so aged. It wasn't that he had wrinkles, or a grey hair, no it was just his whole demeanour, his very shoulders were slumped like a weight was on them. And his clothes, they were so dark, so mature, so old.

As he touched the scarf he remembered the day he had bought it. They had been thirteen, and the four of them had skipped class to have a day in the city. Of course Blair was having a fit, afraid they would get caught, but Serena had managed to calm her with a bit of champagne and promises that they would visit Tiffany's and nothing bad could ever possibly happen there. Of course they had to stop by a clothes store first, typical girls. It was there that he'd seen it, hanging on a dummy, he'd touched it and he just knew it had to be his.

Nate had laughed at him, Serena had questioned his sexuality and Blair had sworn he would never step one foot near the met steps with that ghastly thing on. He smirked and said he'd rather watch the girls from below anyway, it was a better view. That had gotten Blair to call him heinous for the first time. Both Serena and Nate had looked confused at the word, but Chuck had merely thanked her for the compliment, and she had hid a smile. It had been a good day all in all.

Back then life had just seemed so simple, see something you like and take it, then possess it forever. Who knew that philosophy would have taken those four children down a road that would turn them into four twisted adults.

Blair called up to him, her voice annoyed as it usually was nowadays. He took one more look in the mirror and decided with disgust that he looked absolutely ridiculous. He took the scarf off and flung it on the floor. He would blame his nostalgia, the unwanted past rearing its ugly head on the piece of taffeta and cream. He wasn't that hopeful boy anymore, and he never would be again.

"What's taking you so long?" Blair asked impatiently, she was standing at the doorway, her attire immaculate as always.

"Nothing," he said quickly, he tried kicking the scarf under the bed, it just became entangled in his feet.

"Is that...?" she stared down at it, and then up at him.

"I found it behind the table, it must have fallen," he said, avoiding her gaze.

"Oh," she said quietly, looking down at the scarf again. "It's been so long since you last wore it."

"Not since high school," he comments, there's an awkward silence.

"If you're ready shall we go now?" he finally breaks it as it becomes unbearable.

"Of course," she said, quickly coming to herself, she turned and left the room. Chuck disentangled his feet and followed her, pausing at the door only for a second before he closed it with a decisive snap.

The picture of them from high school, they were all locked away in albums in Blair's room. She never looked at them anymore, they made her too sad to think that all the hopes and dreams of their youth turned out so wrong.

It's like my heart can't take

My fall in love every day

And I feel like a fool

He's waiting at the foot of the stairs for her, yet another year, another galla. Something about Bass Industries opening some new building or other... He wasn't really sure about the details, Blair had organised it all. He just wanted to get there as quickly as possible, help Lilly cut the ribbon and leave in an hour, or two. He had to be in Hong Kong by three.

He glanced down at his watch, absently taking a sip of scotch. It had been two hours now and she still wasn't ready, typical. He was sure even Serena would be there now, with Humdrum Humphrey or some other equally detestable squeeze, if she bothered to show up at all. Nate had just gotten off a plane an hour ago and he was already there, texting Chuck, asking him where they were.

He contemplated shouting up to her, asking what was taking her so long, making a quip about how he hoped it was worth it. But they didn't shout anymore, not even when arguing, and certainly not in jest, not for a long while. No now they talked in demure controlled tones, looking at each other with dark dead eyes over two separate newspapers. It was like there was a blanket over the house, preventing them from raising their voices, or their feelings.

He drained the rest of the scotch fitfully. It was his third glass of the night, but he could take it. His feet pointed him towards the small bar once more, he turned to pour himself another drink.

"I'm ready," he hears her voice announce it from the top of the stairs.

"About ti-" it about to leave his lips in a bored drawl as he glances up at her, only to be stilled as he takes her in. He had become used to seeing her put her hair up in an elegant swoop, reminiscent of Audrey, the woman she had always wanted to be.

But tonight she had left it down, allowing for brunette curls to cascade loosely down her back, framing her face. Her eyes are dark, her lips a now unusual dramatic red. Around her neck the Eric Beomen, he didn't think she still had it… And the dress…the red so vibrant like her, like his Blair. It made her seem like she was bathed in blood, dangerous, dark, ravishing…

"What?" she queries, looking at him with a slight furrow of her brows in confusion as she notices he's staring at her, speechless.

For a moment the words are about to spill from his lips, but they seemed to be trapped somewhere in his chest. Before he can dislodge them the phone rings persistently, breaking the small moment between them.

"I'll get it, it's probably Lilly," she says indifferently, not seeming to understand his silence, like she once would have, dismissing it as one too many glasses of scotch. She quickly turns back to their bedroom to grab the extension there.

He stays standing at the foot of the stairs, foolishly looking after her, still speechless, the words still trapped somewhere in his chest. Who knew getting married would make those three words, eight letters, so much harder to voice.

I have to face the truth

That no one could ever look at me like you do

Like I'm something worth holding on to

He's late, again. It's a Sunday and he was supposed to be there to greet some members of a society Blair wished to join. They were supposed to provide a social front, all smiles and good graces. He had to go into the office, just to sign some papers he had assured her, not that she had really bothered to query further. And then he'd been caught up in calls, and talks, and drinks and the usual business politics. He hadn't intended to be late, but then again he never did.

He brushed his hair back in the elevator, checking to ensure it was perfect. He smelt heavily of cologne, he kept a spare bottle in the limo on occasions when he needed it, to drown out the smell of scotch. In his hand, hanging rather limply, were flowers. It was an impulse buy. He hadn't brought home flowers to her in a very long time. Not since she'd made it a habit of dispassionately watching them fall to the floor from his outstretched fingers, making no move to catch them, and left them there for the help to clean up. He'd stopped bothering after the fifth time it had happened. He couldn't bear to see the sorry mess of pink petals lying on the expensive tiles, wilting away until someone disposed of them. So he stopped bringing her gifts to appease her, and she stopped waiting up for him.

But today, on impulse as he walked to the limo he saw them in a flower shop window, and bought them. It had been a long time since he'd personally done such a thing, the florist looked startled as he handed her a hundred dollar note and told her to keep the change. He gave a slight smile at the thought of what Blair would have said, in times past. It quickly disappeared as the elevator slid smoothly to a stop and the doors slid open.

He stepped out and could hear the quiet tones, even from here. He rid himself of his coat smoothly, quietly placing it in the nearby closet. Turning, with the peonies in hand, he walked to the closed dining room door. His fingers paused over the handle as he heard the mention of his name.

"-marry so young, really Blair it came as quite a surprise," it was Anne's voice, Nate's mother. He recognised the tone, it was one she often used when he went over to Nate's house in their younger days. He hadn't heard it since the Captain's arrest. But he supposed, with Nate in his grandfather's good graces, finally resigned to playing the golden boy with a pre-determined destiny, she felt she could afford to regard the rest of the world with disdain again.

"Yes, well…it was love," Blair answered with. He could hear the slight strain in her voice, though she kept it polite. "More cake anyone?"

"Be that as it may, I'm sure you can understand our slight…reservations about your membership," Anne continued in an equally polite tone.

"I'm not sure I understand what you mean?" Blair asked. There would once have been a time when that question would have been dripping with venom, but Blair had learnt to carefully control her emotions over the years, and it held nothing more than polite curiosity.

"Well, we strive to have a certain standing in society, ensure that our members have respectable reputations…" Anne continued carefully. Chuck's fist clenched ever so slightly, he contemplated bursting through the door, but then he stopped himself. These society women were married to some of the wealthiest men in New York, men he did business with. His shoulders slumped slightly as he reminded himself yet again he couldn't afford to pick fights with people over trivialities, he wasn't sixteen anymore, he was the head of a business now, and he had to think and act like one.

"Do you find something objectionable about my reputation?" Blair queries, and there is the clinking of china as she no doubt took a sip of her tea.

"No, of course not, not you," Anne clarifies, and they reach the cusp of the issue.

"Chuck," it's a small breath of air, and Chuck can imagine Blair closing her eyes ever so slightly at the reminder of what she had married. Chuck Bass, a boy who had to fight tooth and nail to get any recognition in the business world. And who still wasn't entirely accepted in society, though they smiled nicely enough at him when he held lavish events. Reaching twenty he had quickly learnt to bitterly regret the effort he had put into building his debauched reputation, and so too apparently should Blair.

"Yes, well as you can imagine, it doesn't exactly portray a good image to young ladies, if one of our number married a young man who well- in the past treated her less than respectfully," Anne notes.

"Are you referring to the Empire incident?" Blair asks now, and her voice is completely neutral as she says it, though Chuck flinches ever so slightly. They never talked of it, hadn't spoken a word of it. When she agreed to marry him they had promised each other they would let the past stay in the past, and look towards the future. Except neither of them quite imagined a future such as this…

"Not only that, but, we all know Chuck's reputation…" Anne trailed off here. She read the papers obviously. His reputation kept alive by a girl here or there coming out with a sexual harassment claim against Chuck, all false of course, but who would believe that? With his history and money he was an easy target after all. The first time it had happened Blair had stood by him staunchly, encouraging him to fight tooth and nail against it. The second time Chuck's lawyer had suggested he settle. She had grown angry, they'd screamed and yelled, and finally made up as she claimed she understood it was just for business... But uneasily, in the back of his mind, he knew she never had quite forgiven him for what he had done to her, by settling. What rumours would spark, what looks would pass, what mocking smiles directed at her. She bore through it all, and by the third claim she hadn't even mentioned it, hadn't glanced at one paper, he doubted she even knew the girls name. Like many of their problems, they just didn't talk about it anymore.

So when Anne mentions it he expects Blair to say she understands. He expects her to distinguish herself from her 'husbands' misdemeanours. After all the Captain was in jail, and yet here Anne was. He doesn't expect Blair to defend him, and she doesn't. Not as she once would have, not rising and demanding they all leave, not snapping out vindictive but true comments to belittle them for daring to talk about him in that way. But she does more than he thinks she would…

"Chuck's reputation?" Blair repeats, her tone as perfectly polite and as demure as before, but with a hint of steel in it. "Are you referring to his reputation as the youngest successful head of a business? As a philanthropist of modern architecture? As being popular among his employees for his hard work and generosity? Is that the reputation you were referring to Ms Archibald? Because I rather think that kind of reputation is exactly what you want associated with your society."

There is silence as no doubt they all stared at her in shock, much as Chuck was staring at the door.

"Yes..well…" another woman murmured, trailing off, unsure of how to respond to Blair's speach.

Chuck came to himself, and his fingers finally curled around the door handle as he turned it, pulling the door open. The women in the room, seated elegantly, all looked up at his unannounced entrance. He quickly plastered a smile on his lips, part of it actually genuine, as Blair recovered and rose.

"Sorry I'm late, darling," he said, pecking her on the cheek and holding the peonies out to her.

She looked at him blankly then down at them, and his grin faded as she saw her frown ever so slightly, her brow drawn.

"Why thank you… darling…You can put them on the side table, I'll get one of the help to put them in water before they die," she said. Her tone was all sweetness and politeness, but he can tell she is perturbed by his interruption. Her body language is ever so slightly stiff, and he realises as he goes to place the flowers where she indicated that she hadn't expected him at all, perhaps hadn't even wanted him to come.

But Blair makes the best of it, as she had learnt to do. She has them bring out more tea, and though he requests a tumbler of scotch from one of the waiters, she didn't comment, her lips didn't even thin. She just looked at him with a bitter sweet smile, and gushed about the hard work he had been doing all month, and the deal he was about to broker, determined not to allow any of these women the opportunity to criticise him. And though he knew it was probably all for the benefit of their critical eyes, he couldn't help feeling it is more then he deserves as she takes his arm while they lead their guests out, and looks adoringly up at him, smiling, as if he was all the things she said, as if he was the most attentive and loving husband in the world.

These times I think of leaving

But it's something I'll never do

His father's death anniversary approached. Every year, it came around, exactly the same time, he knew that, and yet it still seemed to wrench something inside of his chest. He had barely spoken to Blair for a week now as it loomed closer, and she had not pushed him. Staying out of his way as she organised the celebration of the opening of a new Bass wing in the hospital, to commemorate his father.

He stayed long hours in the office, sometimes not coming home at all. He had always wondered how his father could do it, face the death anniversary of his wife every year, face the breakdown of his marriage, and yet still go into the office and work. Now he understood, it was an escape. Once his escape would have been to curl into his bed next to Blair. But now, with the way things were… it was working that helped him escape the whispers, work that kept him from dwelling too much upon the things he wanted to stay buried. So he worked, sometimes falling asleep at his desk. It was better than coming home to a muted house and thinking of what once had been…

She has his secretary remind him in the morning to be at home that night, for the dinner party. He had almost lost track of the days, but now there was no escaping it as he glances down at the small post it note written and stuck on top of a pile of papers. He stares at his computer after his secretary leaves, looking at the distorted reflection in the blank glass. When he was young, he scorned the idea of turning into his father, and then his father had died and Chuck had tried everything to be the man Bart Bass was…

Except what kind of man was he really? Without work what did he have? A large home, which was decorated by someone else, filled with things that meant nothing to him, empty of sound or feeling. An office bursting with people who resented everything he had achieved, who would love to watch him fall from this heady height. A woman he loved who he no longer seemed to know, and who didn't recognise him anymore…

"Mr Bass where are you going?" his secretary immediately jumps up from behind her desk as he charges through his glass office doors, grappling to get his coat on.

"I'll be out for the day," he snaps, not even bothering to glance at her he shoves something into her hands, which she automatically takes.

"But you have a twelve o'clock," she says, and finds she is talking to air as he moves past her without a second glance, his eyes focused on the elevator as his chest tightens.

She looks down to see what he had handed her, and finds his silver watch, the glass face shattered, yet still ticking away the time.

~'~

When he's finally outside of the multi storeyed cage, on the streets of New York, he takes out his phone. His thumb goes to hit number one on his speed dial, then he pauses, remembering it was a new phone and he was yet to code anyone's number into it.

His thumb brushes absently over the keys as he stares at the metal contraption. He realised he didn't even know anyone's number, even if he wanted to call. Last he had heard, Serena had fled to Paris with Humphrey after a disastrous almost engagement with Baizen. Nate had taken up a position at a diplomats house, resigned to follow his family's legacy. And Blair…

Eventually he slipped the phone back into his pocket, realising he had no one to call, no one who would care to listen, even if he felt like divulging. So instead he turned and headed in the direction he thought the nearest bar was in, to his ever reliant scotch, at least some things never changed…

~'~

"What took you so long?" she queries as soon as the elevator doors open. Vanya, their doorman now, no doubt had called her ahead. She is standing in front of the elevator with crossed arms, wearing a demure black dress he thought was too old for her, one of her mother's suggestions probably, or perhaps her own, he found he couldn't tell.

He stumbles out of the elevator, his jacket is askew, his tie his knotted, even he's aware he smells of a brewery. He can tell she notices it all, but where once she would have criticised she said nothing, always nothing between them now…

"Where are all your guests?" he asks, glancing at their living room, which was bare.

"They're in the dining hall," she says. "You have time to go upstairs and get cleaned up befor-" he doesn't' let her finish, catching her off guard as he barges towards the double doors to the dining room, swinging them open before she can even move.

The conversations within died slowly as the people at the large table realised who was standing at the doors. It took a second for Chuck's eyes to adjust, for the room to stop spinning. He saw Lilly, looking at him with concern as she noticed the state of his clothes, and half rise out of her seat. The elder Humphrey was noticeably absent from her side, something that had become an increasing habit.

"Charles, what a pleasant surprise," she stated.

"Always the pleasure Lilly," Chuck said, attempting to nod slightly and almost tipping over. He quickly grabbed at the table to steady himself. The head seat there was empty, the plate bare, waiting for him obviously.

"I'm sure you just came from a busy day at the office," Lilly said, nervously laughing as there was a slight whisper across the table, the influential sharks appraising Chuck with critical eyes. "There's no need to rush on our account, everyone here is happy to wait."

"Yes Chuck," Blair said, she had come to stand at the doorway, trying to keep her face composed as she carefully watched Chuck. "They've just had their entrees and after you-"

"I want to propose a toast," Chuck announced abruptly, cutting off Blair, he hadn't really heard anything she had said.

"But I'm sure it ca-" Lilly began, wanting to reach out a hand to still her adopted son, but not quite knowing how.

"I want to propose a toast now," Chuck repeated, grabbing the wine bottle from one of the cater waiters who was trying to pass by unobtrusively. Both Lilly and Blair watched him in shock, unable to move. "First of all, thank you to everyone for coming tonight to honour my father, the great, charitable, benevolent, filthy rich Bart Bass. I'm sure if he had been a pauper every one of you would still have fond memories of him."

People shifted awkwardly in their seats as he paused here, glancing around the table, unsure of whether to laugh or not.

"You know what I remember most about my father," Chuck began, swaying slightly where he stood. "He loved, money, expensive things and female company…"

"Chuck, come on," Blair said quietly, quickly going to take his arm. He shook her off, not even bothering to glance at her.

"I remember he had a new woman every week. Most were high paid prostitutes of course, or was that all of them…"

"Chuck," Blair hissed now, Chuck shook her hand off again, turning his dark eyes to Lilly now.

"And then there was you," he pronounced, making an effort to enunciate each word. "He asked you, Lilly van der Woodsen, to marry him, and you accepted. I always wondered, why did you? You had enough money of your own, a good traditional family name, a Brooklyn wannabe rock star who would always be waiting in the wings whenever you needed him. So why would you want to marry my father?"

"Charles I don't really think-" Lilly began awkwardly, trying to maintain her composure as all eyes turned to her.

"I know there was one thing you couldn't have possibly married him for... loving you," Chuck continued now, raising his voice to drown at Lilly's demure protest. "My father did lot of things, but loving someone…no, the great Bart Bass never loved anyone but himself."

There is an awkward silence now at that bitter statement. Chuck isn't looking at Lilly or Blair now, instead his eyes are concentrated on the clock hanging on the wall, ticking away each second. And all eyes were now frozen on him, waiting with bated breath for his next disastrous statement.

"So I'd like to propose a toast, to my cold, unloving bastard of a father, Bart Bass," Chuck pronounced, holding the wine bottle up, "And to loveless marriages, until death do they end." With that he tipped the wine bottle, allowing the liquid to slide down his throat.

"Chuck, that's enough," Blair hissed, coming to herself she grabbed the bottle, yanking it from Chuck's fingers. He spluttered, his eyes focusing on her flushed face as he stumbled slightly, trying to stop the room spinning. They were all still staring at him, shock on all their faces. No doubt this would be in the newspaper tomorrow, Blair loved to invite journalists to chronicle their power family life. But for once in a very long time, Chuck didn't give a damn.

"I hope you all enjoy the meal I paid for," he slurred, and without another word he turned and stumbled out of the room.

~'~

Somehow he manages to find his way upstairs and collapse onto a bed. Not his, but hers. He had surrendered to her the master suite, as things began to grow strange between them. It was supposed to be a temporary arrangement, after a fight, to give them both space. He didn't even know how, or when, it had become permanent.

He doesn't know how long he lays there, waiting. Murmurs drift up from downstairs, he can detect the soft demure tones of Blair's cultured voice. There would have been a time when she wouldn't have worried about the guests. When she would have immediately followed him upstairs, and they would have fought viciously and made up passionately, without a thought for anyone else. But now was not that time. Now he waited as she no doubt saw the guests out, and waited some more.

Eventually he heard her heels on the stairs, she paused at the door before finally opening it, allowing the light from the hallway fall upon his prostrate form on the bed. He doesn't bother to turn his head to look at her. He expects her to wearily tell him to go back to his own room, as she had on other occasions. Instead, to his surprise her dress rustles as she walks towards the bed, the mattress shifts as she sits on it. This time he does look at her, sitting up. Her eyes are wide and brown, and sad…

"I'm sorry," he murmurs, his voice hoarse and cracked as he drops her gaze.

"I know," she replies patiently.

"I'll go," he swings his leg over the side of the bed, makes to rise, when he feels her soft fingers on his wrist, making him pause, though he doesn't look at her.

"Your father would be proud of you Chuck," she says it quietly, but her eyes speak volumes as they watch his silhouette.

"Are you proud of me?" the question is barely above a whisper, hardly audible, and he doesn't know if he wants to hear an answer.

"You've achieved so much in such a short span of time. Bought your own hotel, started a chain of night clubs, bou-" her voice is steady and even, encouragement in it like a mother soothing a child's hurt pride. She had never been one to soothe his ego in the past, but everything was different now…

"I'm not asking you what I've achieved, I'm asking you if you're proud of who I've become?" he snaps now, not in anger at her, but at himself. He turns his head to look at her, their dark eyes meeting. There is a moment of silence between them, her lips slightly parted as she tries to answer a question she doesn't know the answer to.

"I don't think I know who you've become…" it slips like a soft sigh out of her, and it's the first true thing that has been spoken between them in a long time.

"How did it come to this Blair? How did we get here?" he's genuinely asking, questions he knows now they've both been thinking, but have been too frightened to voice.

"I don't know Chuck…" she lets her fingers slip from his wrist, going to place them neatly on her lap. He doesn't let her though, quickly gripping them in his own desperate hands.

"We were young, but we married for all the right reasons…" he tries to justify it, looking at her searchingly.

"Did we?" it's not an angry statement, just a curious one, as if she really isn't sure of the answer. He looks at her and feels his heart sink slightly.

"I love you." it's the final plea of a desperate man, he grips her fingers tighter, leans closer to her to try and feel what has been missing for so long. He leans over and gently kisses her. She doesn't move away, but she doesn't respond either. Breaking away, he searches her eyes.

"I know," she replies, quietly, patiently once more as she looks back. Her hair is perfect, and her make-up is perfect and her eyes are closed to him. Nothing seems to shake her anymore, not even their proximity.

"I'll be home more often, I'll stop drinking, we can make this work…" he's begging now, brushing a hand through his dishelved hair in a familiar gesture.

"We will..." it's a simple statement, or is it a question? Regardless, she's not fighting him, but she's not fighting for him either. After all she has heard these words many times before, on their first Christmas, on her twenty first birthday, at Eric's graduation, at the hospital… Times where he chose his business over her or times he had made an alcohol induced mess she'd been left to clean up…It was always the same promise after, time and time again…

"Do you still love me?" he asks her the question that seemed to always press against his chest. He knows he sounds like a small broken child, seeking reassurance. He knows his father would despise him if he saw him like this. But he doesn't care, he needs to know.

"I can't stop…"

It is neither a positive nor a negative statement. He looks at her, her sad brown eyes, and he wants to make her smile, make her happy again, but he realises he doesn't know how anymore.

The next question is obvious, isn't it? It's on the tip of his tongue, to ask her, he almost didn't have the courage, but he swallows hard, opens his mouth…

"Do-"

"Chuck' don't," she says, softly bring up her fingers to brush an errant strand of hair from his forehead. "Just don't…"

"Why not?" he can ask that question at least, it is an easier one.

"It doesn't matter," she says, her lips turning up slightly into a sardonic smile. "Not really…Just…just lie down with me okay?"

She takes his hand and pulls him gently down to lay next to her on the bed. He knows he should persist, but lying there next to her, the smell of her perfume, the feel of her soft body next to his, took away any vestige of courage he had left. So instead he just lay side by side with her, both facing each other, their fingers entwined as they breathed in and out.

Softly she props herself up on her elbow and extricating her hand from his, raises it gently, and starts to stroke her fingers through his hair in a comforting motion. His lids begin to droop as he feels the alcohol take effect, weighing heavy in his veins. She is wide awake, looking down on him, and as his lids begin to close he notices that familiar sadness in her eyes.

"Are you happy?" he murmurs. It's not a question he had thought to ask, not one he had wanted to ask, but he knows it was the most important.

"You know, I always secretly loved when you dialled drunk, Bass," she whispers, a small bitter smile turns up her lips as she looks at him.

"Why?" he's barely holding on now, but he tries to keep awake to hear her reply.

"Because, I could talk to you about anything, and you never did remember it in the morning…" his eyes are already closed, and she stops her fingers and takes a moment to just watch him sleep quietly before sighing softly and gently rising.

~'~

He wakes up sometime in the night. He's in Blair's room and the bed is empty beside him. Frowning and feeling in the place between dreams and reality, he rises unsteadily. The room spins, but he is determined and he somehow manages to make his way downstairs. He pauses at the bottom of the the steps, looks into their lounge room. The light from a French lamp casts a yellow glow over her sleeping figure on the couch. She's still in her dress, her hair is still perfect, except for a small whispy curl that had escaped to rest upon her forehead.

He stepped forward, stopping to look down at her.

In sleep she doesn't look patient, or weary, or sad. In sleep she just looked like Blair, the one he remembered, before everything went to hell...

His fingers hover over her hair, following the shape of her jawline, but he doesn't dare to touch her, doesn't want to ruin her peace. He considers what would happen if she woke up and found him gone. Like a time similar to this, so many years ago. Just a note on her pillow, 'for the best'. She deserved so much better than him.

But he knows he would never have the courage. So he turns to make his way up to his own solitary bedroom and his tumbler of scotch. Leaving her lying there, alone.

'Cause you can do better than me

But I can't do better than you

He watches her across the table, as she daintily picks at her food. Everything is perfect, as it always was. There was no sign of the disastrous dinner party last night. No doubt she had it cleaned before he could wake. The long table was polished, the chairs orderly, and their places were set at each end, a distance away.

She reminds him of a bird. It's not the first time she has. He remembers when they were in Paris, during their engagement. How he watched as she absently wandered over and stood in front of a painting at the gallery, absorbed in every brush stroke, her neck arched in swan like grace as she looked up at it. He hadn't followed her, feeling this was a place he could not share with her. So instead he had watched, and then another man had approached her, said something to her. She had looked at him, and smiled and laughed, a smile and laugh that he hadn't seen in so long now. The man was obviously intrigued by her, they shared words in French, than he had forced a card into her surprised hand and taken her other one to give it a chaste kiss. She had watched him walk away, a slightly stunned look on her face. It had taken Chuck a minute to become unstuck from where he was standing, to walk over to her, to teasingly enquire who the mysterious stranger was, attempting to disguise his jealousy.

Now he wondered what would have happened between that un-nameless stranger and her if she hadn't promised herself to him. Would she be sitting at a Paris cafe now, talking art. Or if not that man then Nate. Everyone always remarked what a lovely couple they had made. Even when they danced at the wedding, Blair in white and Nate dashing in a tuxedo, laughing at each other, the whispers had sounded. They were so young and fresh and pure, if it weren't for...

He often wonders, if she hadn't said yes, hadn't chosen him, would she be somewhere laughing and bright eyed and happy… But he soon turns away from that line of thinking, because he knew exactly where he would be if she hadn't, and he could bear the thought less than watching her here and now.

"Do you want to stop?" it's a sudden question that bridges the gap between them. Her fork clatters on the plate as they slip from her fingers. She looks up at him with wide eyes.

"What?" her gaze is searching and unguarded, as she tries to understand his meaning.

"The clock," he elaborates. "Does the ticking annoy you? Would you like me to stop it?"

"N…no," she fumbles for an answer, trying to regain her composure. She felt foolish for reacting that way to his words. She picks up her fork carefully again, looks back down at the meal she doesn't want to eat. "It doesn't bother me at all."

"I was thinking," he begins again after a short awkward pause, tone carefully indifferent now. "Perhaps I'll work from home today…"

"Really," she tries to keep her tone neutral as she looks up at him. "Why?"

"I thought it might be a nice change," he replies, he doesn't seem to notice as she openly watches his fingers hover over the orange juice, before reaching for the tumbler of scotch and half filling his glass.

"What?" he asks in confusion as he looks up to catch her staring at him as he is about to bring the glass to his lips. The side of his mouth quirks up slightly, self-consciously.

"Nothing," she said, quickly returning her eyes to her meal, her tone a well-practiced indifference. "Just wondering what you will be working on today?"

"Business as usual," he replies with the tired words, bringing the glass to his lips and drinking as he watches her. She has nothing to say to this, and the only sound that hangs between them is the clock, which continues to tick away.

A/N: I started writing this quite a while ago it seems. Just after season 3. It's how I envisaged Chuck and Blair's marriage going, if back then he was found when he'd been shot and if she'd gone to him and inevitably said yes. It was originally called 'Like I'm Something'. Which title do y'all like better? : ).

I don't know if originally I intended this to end happily, or sadly. In the end I went for what I thought would be most realistic. Because we all know they were too young and damaged, but now they have hope for the future ; P. It may not be what I wanted, but it's what I got from my muse. Please if you read, review : ).

Inspiring Pic: I REALLY recommend you Google: 'gg08mp0027'. It's the first pic, just the part with Chuck and Blair. I saw it after I wrote this and I was like shiz ; P lol. It just really embodies Chuck and Blair in this fic.

Inspiring song: Clearly You can do better than me by Deathcab for Cutie, listen to it! ; P Whenever I heard it I always thought of the image of Chuck, as he is now, in front of the mirror putting on his scarf…and then this story came to me.