DISCLAIMER: DON'T OWN GG NOR THE LYRICS and ENGLISH TRANSLATIONS OF THE SONGS "Mr. Déjà vu" sung by Naja and "Cross My Heart" by sung by Day-break.
Author's notes: Frankly, I'm appalled and insulted at how shallowly the writers have portrayed depression. It's not a pretty journey, it's not an adventure, and it's certainly not a driving force for libido. On the contrary, depression actually inhibits sexual urges. Verbatim: "reduced sex drive". Symptoms of depression also include hallucinations/delusions. That's why I don't buy the shipwrecking OMFG moment of 3.22. And that is why I say 3.22 is POORLY WRITTEN, and those who claim it was a "superb" episode has no concept of quality writing. It's just not right, not right IN ANY ANGLE. XP
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Watchet on Watch
~the attitude of a traveler who leaves everything behind and embarks on a journey
~a volatile situation
~the need to be wary of sudden disasters or hardships
*Taken from the manga "The Tarot Cafe" (Chapter 12) by Park Sang-sun
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Chapter II: Reminiscent Reacquaintance
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namida sae mo denai kanashimi ga kono yo ni aru
fukaku hateshinai yami ni kakomarete-iru you na...
/In this world there's sadness so profound you can't even cry
Like you're being surrounded by a deep, endless darkness.../
-Cross My Heart, sung by Day-break (Ayashi no Ceres ED2)
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Early the next morning, Chuck found himself awake and more tired than before, as if the long hours of sleep on a downy mattress of a king-sized bed had not granted any respite.
There was no rest for the wicked and the grieving, it seemed, as Chuck hauled himself off the bed, grabbed a handful of cash, and trudged down the stairs. He came to the dining room where Blair, Harriet, and the cabby were sitting at the dining table, breakfast served.
"Good morning, Mister Bass." Harriet greeted as she turned to refill the cabby's cup of coffee. The cabby thanked her with a nod, taking a sip before resuming eating his bacon and eggs.
Blair stood up to approach Chuck by the doorway. Their eyes connected, and Blair immediately spoke. "You should eat—"
"I'm not hungry." He cut her off, and sidestepped her to approach the cabby. Chuck slapped the cash next to the cup of coffee.
"You don't tell anyone where we are. You don't remember this place, you don't remember how to get here, you don't remember our faces. Do we have an understanding?"
The cabdriver looked disbelievingly at the bonus fee for his silence. He didn't know the deal between his two passengers; he had actually thought they were eloping, but apparently, their circumstances were less simple. Wordlessly, the cabby took the cash and counted. "Actually, I never made this trip at all," he stated as he pocketed the money. He stood up and retrieved his hat which was also on the table. "Thank you for the lovely meal, but I should get going." The cabby nodded at the people in the room, a gesture of farewell, before Harriet led him to the front door.
"Come sit and have breakfast." Blair pulled out a chair next to her.
Chuck avoided her eyes. "I'm not hungry."
Before, Chuck was always the one urging her to eat, and now it was her turn. "Nonetheless, you should eat something."
"I said I'm not hungry." Chuck snarled.
Blair braved his apparent spite; she could face it because this was familiar. "You need to eat."
"You're telling me to eat when you can't even stomach a full meal?"
That was a low blow, and Blair bit her lip, trying not to let the hurt of that statement burrow deep, though it stung like a slap instead of a stab.
Chuck simply turned away, and almost ran into Harriet who was on the way to returning to the dining room.
"What liquor do we have in the house?"
"There's not a drop of alcohol in this place. Miss Misty's rule and I'm not going to break it." The disapproval in the elderly woman's face was apparent as she held up her nose in the air, daring to challenge Chuck's authority. She stood firm arms akimbo, unmoving in her stance.
Chuck pulled out another wad of cash and began counting the bills. "Get Marion to buy me scotch or vodka or gin. Stock up on whatever strong alcohol is available in town. Just not beer."
"Chuck—" Leaving her seat, Blair touched his elbow but he quickly shrugged her hand away, like it had been a pesky irritation that disgusted him. The dismissive action didn't warrant a bruise, but it really hurt Blair where it mattered, a bull's eye to the bleeding heart.
By now, Harriet had her arms crossed and her eyebrows raised in disapproving disbelief. Unfazed by the older woman's expressed displeasure, Chuck held out the bills in front of her, shaking it a little to urge her to take it.
Blair reached out to lower his hand. "Chuck, don't—"
"It's not your call, Blair. Back off," Chuck retorted as he vehemently pulled away his arm from her. He then turned to the housekeeper, about to extend the wad of cash when his face suddenly riveted to the side.
Blair gasped in shock as Harriet slapped Chuck. Of all the times Blair had been bratty and snobby to the help, Dorota had never ever raised a hand on her. Blair was immobile in shock at what happened, but in seeing scarlet appearing on Chuck's pallid cheek, Blair dared to move closer to Chuck, holding a hand to cover his slapped cheek, her palm a cooling balm to the inflamed skin as she tried to catch his eyes. Chuck remained stationary, and Blair's mouth closed and opened as she alternately looked to Harriet and Chuck, not knowing if she should chastise the aged caretaker or ask about Chuck's wellbeing.
With the bluntness of a Southerner and the stubbornness of a redneck, Harriet held up a finger while her other hand rested on her hip. "Now listen here, son. I've been working here since your momma and aunt were tykes; bless their souls," For a slight moment, Harriet laid a hand on her chest and looked upwards, paying reverence in mentioning the dead, before turning her sights once more on Chuck, intent on delivering a scolding neither Chuck nor Blair ever received before. "I don't know if Miss Misty told you, but she hated alcohol and so did your momma because they saw how it ruined their Daddy's life and to an extent, theirs as well."
Harriet took a deep breath and slowly let it out, and her demeanor visibly softened. "I don't know what your problems are, or what you're escaping from by coming to this place, but I will not allow you to poison yourself with alcohol. God knows I promised your Aunt before she died that I'd look after you when you come to live in this house, and I will. Miss Misty does not condone alcohol, and neither will I."
Blair had been staring at Harriet as she spoke, but when the elderly woman went silent, Blair turned to Chuck, who had yet to turn his head forward.
"Chuck—"
He had been motionless the whole time, and he did not show any indication that he heard what Harriet said, but Chuck gripped Blair's wrist and harshly threw it down to remove her hand. Wordlessly, he walked past Harriet and rushed up the stairs, before the slam of a door echoed loudly.
Blair suppressed the tears that filled the brim of her eyes as she held up her hand that Chuck had unceremoniously flung down. Somehow the pain was more in her chest than in her wrist.
Harriet sighed audibly and turned to regard Blair. "I'm no busybody, and I don't like nosing around other people's business and all, but I'm concerned about that boy and about you."
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After the taxi driver's departure from the estate, a few days passed with no incident, just a sullen countdown to the nearing of Christmas. Surprisingly, Chuck and Blair kept communication to a minimum, and Blair didn't push to prompt any sort of opening up from Chuck. He barely spoke and he rarely left his room. He would only come down for lunch and dinner. He never joined breakfast as he would still be sleeping and Harriet would only rouse him when he would be called for lunch. With Chuck's unwillingness to converse, it had been up to Blair to inform Harriet and Marion that Bart had died from a car accident, and the shocked couple did not have the heart to disrupt Chuck's mourning phase. Marion advised Blair to let Chuck be for a while; the male caretaker had lost his mother to a heart attack, and he knew that when you lost someone, you needed time to grieve alone, and all loved ones were pretty much just spectators with support waiting in the wings.
But today, a change occurred in the sleep-eat routine that Chuck had taken. After lunch, instead of returning to his room, he strode out the back of the house, where there were no fences that bound the borders of the property. A lake, frozen at this time of the year, was located at the back. The lake had a short pier with a gazebo built at the end, where there were benches against the handrails, leaving a considerable space in the middle for picnics. Misty had taken them there once, and told them childhood stories of Evelyn, Misty's younger sister and Chuck's mother. In the gazebo by the lake, Chuck sat on one of the benches, looking out the ice.
Through a window, Blair worriedly stared at Chuck, his back hunched and his stature unmoving that he seemed to be a frozen specimen of winter, akin to the deadened trees whose leaves were replaced by white patches of snow.
"Why don't you go out there to him?" Harriet finally asked as she stood next to Blair, also looking at the immobile figure at the distance. "You've been standing there for more than an hour, just watching over him."
Blair ran a hand over the back of her neck as she bit her lip. "I don't want to disturb him. I mean, I'm just making sure he doesn't go off too far and get lost, or do something... crazy." The uncertainty of how she should proceed made Blair frustrated, but she knew she would drive Chuck further away if she took a step forward when he didn't want to be approached.
Harriet sighed as she turned to the teenager. "Honey, I know we said to give him time and space, but sometimes, you need to step up, and reach out to them when they're drowning too deep in their grief, before you lose them."
Blair glanced at the older woman, her eyebrows scrunched in uncertainty as she bit her lip once more. As Harriet held out a jacket and a scarf, she nodded sideward, a silent and small urging gesture for Blair to go out and approach the lone figure outside. Blair's chest heaved, as if strengthening her chest with bravado, taking the proffered jacket and scarf and putting them on before she opened the French patio doors and stepped out to brave the cold and Chuck Bass.
The snow crunched underneath her boots, making for unstable footing, and her feet dipped about an inch with every step. She felt her knees wobble, which she preferred to attribute to the uncertain ground and the cold climate.
Blair could see the definitive puffs of her breaths as she reached the gazebo's cover. Chuck didn't heed her arrival, so Blair chose to forego any greeting and stood still, not knowing her next step.
Still staring blankly ahead, Chuck finally acknowledged her presence with a query. "Why are you here?"
She didn't know what to do, how to approach him, what to speak to him about, so she chose sincerity, her last resort in confrontation that she had always undermined, deeming it a weakness. "I don't want you to be alone."
"You're not my girlfriend, and you're not my wife."
Blair knew it wasn't a jab of cruelty; he was just curious, and this interrogation was a search for answers to perplexities he had of her choice to leave with him. This wasn't him trying to turn her away or goad her in leaving.
Blair shrugged. "You're one of my best friends."
"I've hurt you so many times."
"But I still love you."
Blair never thought she'd say it again given the aftermath of her confession when he stormed out of the repast, but at this moment, even with the thick bundle of clothing to preserve their body temperature, Blair felt so stripped of whatever covering she had on her person. The first time she said those three words, eight letters, she expected to hear them returned. But now, she didn't expect any similar declaration, and it was enough that he hadn't chosen to cruelly jilt her so she would shun him to leave him be with his misery.
Chuck still did not turn his head to look at her, so in a move Blair considered bold, she sat down next to him.
"I've come this far with you. I'm not going to leave you."
Blair wondered how many times she had to reassure him. He was more flight-risk; a selfish streak in Blair wanted a reassurance as well, that he wouldn't just bolt in the middle of the night to some other country like Thailand. Even without his original passport, Chuck could very well have a fake one made; international borders wouldn't be able to fence him, and she wouldn't be able to run after him or reach him.
A memory came to Blair's mind, how Chuck reached out to take hold of her hand during the repast for her grandmother's funeral. Wordlessly, Blair did the same, and prayed that the gesture would bring the same relief it did her. "I just want to be here for you."
The contact prompted Chuck to turn his head to look at her. Not knowing what to say further, Blair just returned his gaze. Finally, he wrapped an arm around her shoulders and pulled her closer so his lips could touch her temple. "Thank you," he whispered as his forehead now rested where his lips had been for just a moment. His breath was a cold mist on her ear and neck, but Blair was grateful for the proximity, that they'd taken a step closer to lessen this unseen distance. Blair's hand came up to hold on to the side of his neck as his head dropped to settle on the crook of her neck. They stayed still in that position; the only movement coming from Blair's thumb as she stroked the skin exposed from his collar. Soon his breathing evened out, and Blair sensed with certainty that Chuck had relaxed, maybe even lightly sleeping. Tentatively so as not to rouse him, Blair rested her cheek on his black tresses. Her hand went lower, running up and down his forearm, friction warming her cold fingers. She sighed and closed her eyes, just savoring their closeness. When he leaned on her like this, she could rest her fears, could reassure her apprehensive heart that he wasn't going to disappear and leave. Her helplessness clawed at her sensibility and mocked her inability to do something to ease his grief. This small opportunity to comfort him made Blair feel needed, that she could do something, no matter how small, to help him.
Lately, Chuck had been sleeping a lot. He would sleep straight for fifteen hours or more but still looked deprived of rest. Blair noticed the weariness in his gait, how he trudged like he had a ball of chain on his leg, how his eyes drooped in fatigue from misery, how the dark circles under his eyes were like the shadows that haunted him. As soon as she got out of bed, Blair would immediately check up on him in his room; he would be under the covers, slumbering heavily that delivered no respite upon awakening, no matter the long, undisturbed hours. The only positivity Blair garnered from it was that he wasn't drinking nor was he indulging in drugs or mindless sex. But this lethargy in place of alcoholism was still a sign of depression.
Even behind closed eyelids, Blair couldn't stop the building up of tears, and a few dribbled down her cheek and the bridge of her nose. She tried to hold down her crying, but as she drew a lungful of air, her breath hitched, awakening Chuck.
Chuck stirred and lifted his head to look at Blair, who quickly brushed away the traces of wetness on her face. But she couldn't hide the sniffle as she took another breath to calm herself.
"You're crying...?"
Blair shook her head, unable to look at Chuck. She was embarrassed at her show of emotion and frailty; she wasn't the one who lost a parent. Blair wanted to show a strong front, she wanted to be his rock at this point in his life, but here she was, clumsily crumbling in front of him at the worst possible moment.
"Why are you crying?"
Blair wanted to ask him instead, why aren't you?, but when she turned her head to face him, unbidden tears spilled faster from her eyes, and her face scrunched up as she succumbed to answering his query.
"It hurts to see you hurting." Blair rasped, and her hand flew to press on her lips to stifle the oncoming sobs. His eyes studied her, and she removed her hand from her lips to cup his cheek. His eyes closed and he sighed, before he leaned closer to her and touched his forehead to hers.
"I don't know what I can do for you," Blair spoke, her voice lachrymal.
"That's enough," he whispered.
Whether Chuck was telling her to stop crying or that her efforts sufficed, Blair's tears ceased to overwhelm her.
They stayed outside until sunset.
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That night, Blair was just lying on her bed, staring at the wooden paneling of the ceiling, when she heard a faint knock on her door.
Blair quickly sat up. "Come in," she called softly to her night visitor. The door opened just a crack, inviting a sliver of dim yellow light from the hallway into her darkened bedroom. The person's face was silhouetted, with the lighting behind him. But even if his face was half hidden by darkness, Blair could tell that it was Chuck, even if his voice hadn't given him away.
Blair waited for Chuck to speak, but he didn't, so Blair chose to initiate conversation. "Chuck? Do you need anything?"
Silence was the reply. Blair was about to ask him again, but he quickly shook his head, as if derailing a train of thought. "Never mind," Chuck said. He was about to close the door, but Blair, overwhelmed by an irrational fear that if she let Chuck close the door he'd forever be closed off to her, unintentionally blurted out her honest thoughts, if only to keep him from turning away.
"I'm here for you," Blair said as she changed her sitting position on the bed as she tucked her legs underneath her. "It's not shameful if you need me."
Her voice stopped him from closing the door, but he remained unresponsive, as if he could speak up to say what it was he came for.
Blair patiently waited for a reply, and after a brief caesura, Chuck did react.
"I can't sleep."
Blair bit her lip. She knew what Chuck was too proud to ask for, but she wanted to draw him out, wanted him to utter his request. She wanted to hear his voice; he was too morose, too indulged in his grief that Blair could feel this invisible barrier thickening around him that he would not break out of, as if he were cocooning himself in silence and anguish that occluded Blair. She just wanted him to tell her straight on what he needed her for, what she could do to alleviate his sorrow, instead of her blindly guessing what was on his mind.
"Just tell me. I'm not going to turn you away." Blair encouraged, but for a while, Chuck persisted in his silence, but he didn't move away either.
"I just... Can I sleep next to you?" His request was spoken so softly, like a child seeking solace after experiencing a night terror.
Blair pulled back the covers, an invitation. "Come here." She patted the side of the bed as she scooted over to give him ample space on the queen-sized bed.
Chuck walked to her bedside and slid under the thick comforter. He settled on his side, facing away from her, as if hiding his embarrassment.
In a bold move, Blair shifted closer to his back and laid an arm over his shoulder, embracing him from behind as she laid a kiss on his nape. Chuck sighed in relief, and his eyes fluttered close in the beginning stirrings of what he hoped would be serene somnolence.
"Blair?"
"Yes?"
"Thanks, Blair." He whispered softly as he reached over her extended hand and wove their fingers together.
"You're welcome." She whispered equally soft and sleepy as her eyes closed.
"I'm glad you're with me." And in a softer voice, almost as if he didn't want her to hear, "I don't really want to be alone."
Blair didn't think she needed it, but his admittance served also as assurance, that he needed her there with him, that she wasn't just a useless tag-along or a hopeless pursuant. "Go to sleep. I'll still be here tomorrow."
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tsuyogatte ita nowa dareyori yowasa wo shitteta kara
koronda kizu kowareta yoru mo mimamoru youni kimi wa...
/Though you were stronger than all others, I knew your weakness
I watched over you on those nights [when] your scars seemed overpowering.../
-Mr. Déjà vu, sung by Naja (GetBackers OP)
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A/n: Forgive me for the uber-delayed update, so to make up for it, I had a double update, with lengthy chappies. ^~^
Hypersomnia is also one of the symptoms of clinical depression. In case you weren't aware.
5 stages of grief:
1. Denial and Isolation.
At first, we tend to deny the loss has taken place, and may withdraw from our usual social contacts. This stage may last a few moments, or longer.
2. Anger.
The grieving person may then be furious at the person who inflicted the hurt (even if she's dead), or at the world, for letting it happen. He may be angry with himself for letting the event take place, even if, realistically, nothing could have stopped it.
3. Bargaining.
Now the grieving person may make bargains with God, asking, "If I do this, will you take away the loss?"
4. Depression.
The person feels numb, although anger and sadness may remain underneath.
5. Acceptance.
This is when the anger, sadness and mourning have tapered off. The person simply accepts the reality of the loss.
I just wanted to share that tidbit. Just in case you were wondering what the hell is happening with Chuck and Blair in this fic. And apparently, as I read in Wikipedia, not all stages are experienced (at least 2 stages) and not always in order too, and sometimes bunging back and forth.
SOURCE: http(:)(/)(/) .
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