You May Hate Charade, But You Still Play The Game
Chapter One: Vice-President In Charge Of Cheering You Up
Summary: Post-season 3 finale. This isn't actually how I think it will go, just a possibility I'm attempting to explore. Blair is trying to get over Chuck in Paris, while Chuck is finding it too easy to get over Blair in Prague.
Author's Note: The only spoilers in here are that Chuck shows up in Paris with "a new identity" and that he will have a new girlfriend (presumably named Eva). Also, I'm very out of practice with fanfics, so I apologize in advance for how much this is about to suck.
Disclaimer: I don't own Gossip Girl. If I did, it would probably be even cheesier than it is now.
Blair was having the time of her life in Paris. In just a few short weeks, she and Serena had visited all the requisite locations – la Tour Eiffel, les Champs-Élysées, and le Moulin Rouge were all still dancing in her head – and had gone out with every Pierre, François, and Henri that came their way. Blair prided herself on not thinking about a certain Basstard more than once the whole trip. Or, okay, more than once the whole hour. Baby steps, though, she told herself. She demanded that Serena practice aversion therapy on her, pinching Blair every time she uttered a sentence that could even remotely relate back to Chuck. Blair herself would silently chant her mantra – he who sleeps with Jenny Humphrey must not sleep with me – whenever her mind wandered too far into the Bassian desert. It was working, too, for the most part. Even if she still missed him sometimes (very rarely, mind you), at least she knew she shouldn't.
She saw a patterned bowtie in the window display and wondered if Chuck was having the time if his life in Prague or wherever the hell he was. She wondered how soon she would start seeing pictures of him and his new skanks plastered all over Gossip Girl. Serena took one look at her, shook her head, and then gave her a good smack.
"We're here to have fun, remember?"
He woke up with an excruciating pain in his stomach and opened his eyes to see nothing but white. White walls, white doors, white sheets – he was even wearing a white gown. His first thought was that perhaps he was in heaven, and his second was that heaven was the last place he had any reason to be. He couldn't recall any life-threatening situation that could take him there, unless the vague nightmares of lying in a pool of blood had become reality. He couldn't be dead, could he? You had to live in order to die.
A young, kindly looking nurse shuffled in, carrying a clipboard and smiling like there was something to be happy about. She looked him over for a few moments, as if expecting him to speak, but he refused. He didn't like giving himself over until he had sized up his opponent. At least now he knew he was in a hospital, even if he was unsure why.
After waiting long enough without a greeting, the nurse smiled even wider. "English?" She asked with a click of her tongue and a French accent, infusing all the available sympathy in the world in that one word.
Before he could open his mouth to try out his French and delight her with his knowledge, he realized that he didn't actually know how to answer her question. He understood her, of course, so he obviously spoke English. But was that the language he was most comfortable in? Instead of responding, he nodded abruptly, hoping he could just hear what had happened and get out of there.
"It is good you wake up," she said, her eyes sparkling with amusement. "I worry for a bit."
He nodded once more, getting impatient. "How long have I been out?" He asked, a rapid succession of questions bursting forth. "What happened to me? Am I going to be okay? Where am I? Where is the doctor?"
She chose to answer the last question first and work her way from there. "Doctor is coming soon, he will tell you everything. We are in Motol Hospital, since you are shot."
He stared blankly at her, trying to process what she had said. They were in a motel, one which was also a hospital? What? And why in the world had he gotten shot? "Where exactly is this motel hospital located?" He finally asked, trying his best not to sound too stupid.
She giggled, but in a pleasant way. "It is Motol, in Prague." Before he had time to register how far away that was from … wherever he was supposed to be, she continued, "You have been sleeping for a week, but you looked peaceful, so it is okay. Tell me your name and a person of contact, and we shall have them come see you."
He rolled his eyes, annoyed at the hospital's lack of organization. Shouldn't they already know his name and emergency contact information? He surely had some form of ID in his wallet, and waiting a week was unpardonable. "Exactly why haven't you called someone about me by now? Shouldn't that be one of the first things you people do?"
She eyed him suspiciously, as if wondering what he was hiding. "You get mugged before you shot, so we did not have any information about you," she explained. Upon seeing him deflate slightly, she pulled out a plastic bag with a ring inside it. "We did find this. You have it on your pinky finger, with CB on it. These are… your initials, I think?"
"Yes," he said automatically, nodding his head vigorously. "Yes, they are. They stand for…" He searched his brain quickly for Caleb, Cameron, Carter, Chad, Charles… "Charles," he finally decided. "Charles Baker."
She was still waiting, and he realized he wasn't done quite yet. "I… don't have anyone for you to contact, actually," he (maybe) lied. "I'm an orphan, and I'm not very good at making friends."
Her smile morphed into a near-frown before righting itself once more, and he felt himself boiling over at the pitying look in her eyes. "You have no one to call?"
He shook his head and looked away. He didn't need some strangers in a hospital telling him what was wrong with him or trying to 'fix' him. He'd fix his problems on his own, thank you very much.
She thought for a moment, and then began scribbling something down on her notepad before speaking once more. "You need nurse when you get out of hospital. For recovery. I will be your nurse, yes?"
He narrowed his eyes, "I don't need a nurse. Why would I want you to be my nurse, anyway? I don't even know you."
"Yes, you need nurse. My name is Eva. Now you know me. Now I am your nurse."
Two months later, Serena got off the phone with her mother and looked worriedly over at her best friend. To admit that she was worried herself would be her undoing, so she thought it best to focus all her attention on how Blair would react instead.
"Serena, what's wrong?" Blair asked with a laugh. "Why are you making those faces at me?"
She took a deep breath, trying to calm herself before responding. "It's about Chuck…"
Blair silenced her with a death glare. "I was not thinking about him, thank you very much. I haven't thought about that little Mother Chucker in at least a week, okay? Now you've set me back a few days. I'm going to have to hit you."
"It's not that." Serena waved off any possible attacks and sat down next to Blair with such a serious look that her friend was forced to face whatever reality was coming her way.
"Well, what is it?" She asked anxiously, trying not to let the uncertainty affect her. "What happened to him?"
"We don't know, that's the problem," Serena replied quickly, hoping that she could solve the current dilemma simply by talking about it. "Nate called him a few weeks ago, because he hadn't heard from him since the first week he left, and he got some Czech dude who promptly hung up on him. And, since then, the number's been disconnected."
Blair shook her head firmly. "Okay, so Chuck felt generous and gave his phone to a homeless man, or else he dropped it in one of the brothels he so frequently visits. It doesn't mean anything."
"Come on, B," Serena countered, not wanting to sound accusatory. "Why do you think Chuck left in the first place?"
"Because he was running away from his mistakes," Blair answered, as if by rote.
"Okay, yes," Serena relented. "But also because he was upset about losing you. You and I both know this is what Chuck always does when he's upset about something."
"Which is precisely why I fail to see the big deal in all this."
Serena reminded herself that Blair was being stubborn because of her own feelings, not because she was actually dumb, so she tried to be as patient as possible. She herself had fallen into the trap of assuming Chuck Bass was indestructible before.
"When Bart died, Chuck disappeared for a month, pumped his body full of hallucinogens, and Jack had to drag him back from Thailand," Serena began. After letting Blair process that for a moment (as well as allowing for the requisite shudder at the mention of Jack's name), she continued, "This time he's been gone two and a half months, leaving the hotel with Bass Industries, with no mention of him anywhere… Mom said that she's going to send Rufus to look for him if we don't hear from him in the next week. I'm just really worried."
Blair remained silent, folding her hands together and turning to look out the window. She began counting sheep silently and willed herself not to think of anything else.
"B, don't you have anything to say?"
Without looking back at Serena, Blair reached out and grabbed hold of her friend's hand. "I'm worried, too, S."