AN: Thank you, as always, to everyone who's reviewed, favorited, alerted, or even just read my story. Your reviews are stunningly inspiring. And a hug to my beta, hand-holder, and twitter-friend, bethaboo, who makes my stories so much better.
To the lovely anon, I'd like to remind you that B did "move on for a while" (six months, to be exact!), and that the show and my story are two different entities-here Chuck is not "a pathetic excuse for a "changed" man". Or, at the very least, I didn't intend him to be!
"You're looking…" Eric searches for a word as he takes in Chuck's appearance, and he, for lack of a better word, finally decides on, "better,"
Chuck's hair was cut, a welcome respite after six months, the circles under his eyes had disappeared, and he was cleanly shaven for the first time in weeks.
"It's amazing what a shower and a fitful night's sleep can do for one's appearance," Chuck replies sardonically, but the miniscule smile that plays at the corner of his lips says otherwise. And he had, slept and showered, that is, the past few days more than the past few weeks. His dinner with the van der Woodsens had gone better than anyone had expected—and in the strangest sense, Chuck had begun regarding them as family.
"Serena's already left with Blair," Eric states, and Chuck's stomach clenches ever so slightly. "So we just have to wait for-"
"I'm coming, I'm coming!" Lily shouts as she hurries down the stairs, affixing a dainty pearl to her ear as Eric and Chuck shared a smirk.
"Purple?" Lily asks Chuck skeptically, his dark grey tux and purple silk bowtie (and matching pocket square) apparently at odds with her delicate sensibilities.
"Purple looks good on me."
Rolling her eyes, Lily motions both snickering boys into the elevator with a shake of her head.
"It's a Christmas dinner," Lily tells him.
"Purple's festive," Chuck argues, and Lily throws him an amused smile.
"I missed Chuck Bass in purple," Eric jumps in, and in an instant the elevator is full of laughter-a delicate chuckle from Lily, a snort from Chuck, and a gleeful laugh from Eric.
Laughter.
…
"Looking for someone?"
Blair jumps ever so slightly as Serena joins her, smoothing down her deep purple silk dress with her sweaty palms.
"Just Louis," Blair replies easily, though she knew exactly where Louis had gone.
"Isn't that him over there?" Serena asks innocently, pointing to the familiar figure in a black tux, talking amicably with an elderly couple. "Who is he talking to?"
"Probably some foreign ambassadors or something," Blair says with a wave of her hand, unable to keep her eyes from sweeping the room once more.
"Chuck's over there," Serena points out, and Blair catches the tail end of her best friend's smirk. Grumbling slightly, she turns in he direction Serena is indicating, immediately drawn to a figure in a dark grey suit and purple bowtie-the same color of her dress.
And as Chuck's eyes catch hers, Blair knows that she's not the only one who had noticed.
"Oh," Serena says brightly. "You guys match! I guess that's the color you were trying to describe to Louis. It's too bad he opted for a black bowtie."
"Black matches perfectly," Blair nearly growls, and brandishes her black clutch at Serena's face. "If he wore the bowtie we'd match too much."
"Well then," Serena tells her with an amused smile, one eye trained on the duo making their way towards them. "I suppose it's a good thing you didn't come here with Chuck then. You guys match perfectly."
"We do," says a deep, silky voice from behind her, and Blair whips around, ferocity in her eyes.
"Bass," she growls, and then turns to Eric with a slightly friendlier smile. "Van der Woodsen."
"Waldorf," he purrs. "You're looking…stunning."
"Thank you," Blair replies stiffly, attempting to shoot Serena a warning glare as the blonde edged away, Eric in tow.
"We match," Chuck tells her with obvious enjoyment.
"I wouldn't put it past you to call Bergdorf's and have them describe the exact color of my dress," Blair shoots back with a sugary sweet smile.
"This is pure coincidence, I assure you. In fact, I'd call this…"
Chuck's words trail off as a warm arm wraps around Blair's waist, and Louis kisses her on the cheek. It is the most adoring gesture Chuck has seen, and it takes all his willpower not to drive his fist into the other man's face.
"I don't think we've been formally introduced," Louis says in his accented English, "Louis Grimaldi," and Chuck winces as he shakes Louis' proffered hand.
"Chuck Bass," he replies with equal smoothness. "I take it you're-"
"Blair's boyfriend, yes." Louis jumps in quickly, though the word royalty lingers in everyone's mind.
"Right," Chuck says tightly, his eyes never leaving Blair's.
"Shall we find my mother?" Blair says to Louis, her voice oddly high-pitched. "I haven't seen her once tonight."
"It was a pleasure meeting you," Louis says to Chuck, not missing the fact that Blair and this man in front of them seemed to be speaking volumes without actually saying anything.
"Likewise," Chuck murmurs, his eyes still trained on Blair's.
Louis could swear he felt the other man's gaze burning into his back as they turned away.
"Who was that?" he asks Blair, a note of apprehension in his voice.
"That was Chuck Bass," Blair says, more to herself than to him, as if those four words explained everything.
…
"Chuck."
"Go away Eric," He grits out, his hand clutching his tumbler with forced purposefulness.
"Don't do this to yourself," Eric warns him, looking pointedly at the half-full glass.
"This is my first glass," Chuck says dismissively. "And it's half empty."
Half-full Eric wants to say, but he cannot voice his opinion when Chuck motions to the bartender once more.
"No," Eric tells him. "Come on Chuck, let's get some air."
"But-"
His arguments go unheard as Eric half-drags him towards the balcony doors, though Chuck's eyes remained on the couple that had caught everyone's attention.
"You don't want to do this," Eric tells him firmly, and Chuck has to wonder at how Eric had gleaned all of his wisdom.
"You've seen Blair before," Eric reasons. "Why are you doing this to yourself now?"
Glancing up at Chuck's face, Eric reads the quiet despair and understands in an instant. Because if there was one thing Eric could do, it was read hidden feelings.
"So I take it you finally met Louis. How you managed to avoid him for the past month never ceased to amaze me."
"Staying holed up in your hotel helps," Chuck responds drily.
"What happened?" Eric inquires, and Chuck can't help but admire the young boy's benevolence.
"Reality," Chuck says quietly. At the (expected) look of confusion, Chuck heaves a sigh. He had already said too much to Eric, so what were a few more soul-baring confessions?
"I don't think I really accepted that she'd moved on until it was right in front of me. She's living out her dream, isn't she?"
The wistful note in Chuck's voice was concerning, in the least, and Eric frowns as he takes in Chuck's words.
"Did the Chuck Bass I know die in that alleyway?" Eric asks derisively. "Because Chuck Bass wouldn't let some Prince get in the way-"
"You don't understand," Chuck grits out. "Blair wants nothing more to do with me."
"What was that night in your penthouse?" Eric counters easily, having learned more from Chuck than he let on.
"A mistake," Chuck growls. "She was probably having a momentary lapse of consciousness and decided to take pity on me. Which was why I never wanted her to know in the first place. I don't need her pity."
"No," Eric agrees. "You just need to fight for her."
"I'm done fighting," Chuck tells him in finality. "I tried to fight for her and look where I ended up. With a gunshot wound and a board of angry shareholders."
"I hate to say it," Eric says with a shake of his head. "But you brought that on yourself, Chuck."
"I ruined everything," Chuck agrees, and Eric is gripped once more with the desire to slap the pathetic excuse for Chuck Bass in front of him.
"You didn't ruin everything. If Blair's reaction to your disappearance meant anything, she still loves you."
"She's with a fucking Prince," Chuck spits out venomously. "Forgive me if I'm a bit confused as to how she was pining away for me-"
"You know Blair," Eric tells him. "And you know what she does. She hides her pain. Layers it in smiles so people can't tell what she really feels. It's a wonder you two can love each other. You're both so narcissistic, yet utterly masochistic."
Only a masochist could love such a narcissist.
"We're the same," Chuck says in agreement.
"Yes," Eric agrees in frustration. "You're also both too self-involved and unwilling to accept that you both love each other."
Chuck lets his eyes wander as Eric mutters incomprehensibly about Lords and Princes, betrayals and hotels. He catches purple silk, the exact shade of his bowtie, and smirks slightly.
Because the slim figure in the purple dress had averted her eyes when he caught hers, and it is clear she had been watching their conversation.
His smirk grows as she turns away quickly, and if he were a betting man, he would bet that the faintest of blushes had crept onto her cheeks.
And if he were a betting man, Chuck would bet that the Prince would be gone within the month.
As the Prince leans in, his ears brushing against the shell of Blair's ear, Chuck clenches his fist and his resolve grows.
No. The Prince would be gone within the week.
…
"Don't."
"What?" he asks innocently, looking up at his blonde stepsister, whose eyes are flashing and hand has taken his tumbler of scotch away.
"Don't, Chuck." Serena repeats, attempting a glare. "Blair told me about the guy following Louis around. That's low, Chuck, even for you."
"It's none of your business," he spits out. "What happens between Blair and I, it's none of your business."
"It is when she's my best friend," Serena counters.
"We're inevitable," Chuck tells Serena firmly. "Blair just needs to realize that."
"I won't deny that you two are…inevitable" Serena wrinkles her nose slightly at the thought. "But this is the wrong way of going about this."
"Your Virgin Mary act really is beginning to get tiring," Chuck says airily. "I know what I'm doing, Serena."
"You're making a mistake," Serena warns again, standing up. "Trailing her boyfriend won't get Blair back."
"And here I thought you were beginning to approve of Blair and I."
"I'm not," Serena retorts, but catches herself. "I…I want Blair to be happy."
"Right," Chuck snorts. "And she's happy with the Prince?"
"She was," Serena acquiesces. "Then you showed up."
"Once again, I'm to blame for causing Blair's unhappiness." The comment is meant to be sardonic, but it comes out bleak, causing Serena to raise an eyebrow.
"No," Serena says thoughtfully. "I think she just realized she couldn't love anyone the way she loved you."
The words hang in the air for a moment, and Chuck has to wonder as to when exactly Serena had turned from the airheaded ditz into someone with incredible perception.
"Call off the PI, Chuck," Serena advises, making her way over to the elevator. "You don't need to blackmail Blair into being with you."
Chuck's not really sure as to why he's taking Serena's advice, but regardless, he finds himself calling his PI.
…
"New York is so different than Paris," Louis comments, and his awe at her city has Blair looking at New York through different eyes.
And as much as memories of the city pained her, Blair couldn't help but regard New York as her home. Its busy sidewalks and never-ending skyscrapers as familiar to her as Tiffany's on fifth and brunch at Daniel.
"It truly is your kingdom," Louis says with a smile, and Blair smiles in return.
"Just as Paris is yours," she says genially, though it is clear her mind is elsewhere.
"Yes," Louis hesitates, and Blair turns to him once more. "I will have to go back to Paris sometime soon. In three days, to be exact. For a week, at the very least."
"Royal obligations?" Blair jokes half-heartedly, and Louis pulls her closer.
"You could come with me."
"I don't know," Blair wavers. "I have classes…"
"By all means," Louis smiles down at her. "I won't be longer than a week. We could have dinner on the Eiffel tower, go shopping along-"
"Louis," Blair injects. "New York is my home. I can't leave."
"It's only for a week," Louis pulls back, clearly surprised.
"I know," Blair sighs. "But I don't want to leave."
"Alright," Louis acquiesces.
"But thank you," she says quickly. "For the invitation."
"You're always welcome." Louis says fondly. "Mother is quite taken with you."
Blair laughs, a forced laugh that drew a surprised look from Louis.
"She says it is because of my affection for you," Louis continues with a laugh. "I do wear my heart on my sleeve," Louis says jokingly, and Blair visibly stiffens.
"Something wrong?" he asks her, pausing slightly, a furrow in his brow.
"Nothing," Blair quips, smiling beatifically.
Inside, she is crumbling.
My heart on your sleeve.
…
Chuck Bass had always believed that he could tell when Blair Waldorf was lying. And when she had claimed to be over him, he had almost believed her.
Almost.
But while he held onto the brief, clinging hope that Blair still loved him, Chuck had despaired, schemed, and plotted over their relationship.
He knew Blair Waldorf would be his again someday, but he hadn't expected it to be anytime soon.
So it was to his surprise when he stumbled into his closet for a change of clothes that he found Blair Waldorf rifling through his bowtie drawer. She was fully clothed, and it was that observation that assured him he wasn't hallucinating.
She jumped away from the drawer at the sound of his entrance, the guilty look of a child with their hand in a cookie jar gracing her features.
"Blair?" he croaks. "What are you doing here?"
"I-" she stumbles over her words in a very un-Blair-like fashion. He can see the fabric of the scarf peeking out in the back, and in an instant, he understands.
"Your pin," he realizes.
It was a strange moment of nostalgia that led him to this. His scarf had not been taken from the confines of the drawer in a long time. There had been memories woven into its material, good and bad ones alike, but ultimately, they were simply reminders of who he had been.
It was folded neatly, the corners straight and matching, a surprise in itself. He supposed a maid-though why they had been in his drawer was beyond him-had tidied the closet.
As he unfolded the silk, caressing the material between his fingertips, a flash of gold caught his eye. As he looked closer, he noticed something foreign in the material. A tiny gold heart, no bigger than his thumbnail, with a tiny diamond and the initials of its owener.
Blair's heart pin, he realized.
She must have pinned it to his scarf in secret, long after Chuck had stopped wearing it-otherwise he would have noticed it. The heart was heavy with the weight of her love, a symbol of her trust and something he had yearned for since seeing it on the sleeve of a Lord.
She had trusted him enough to grant him her heart-though he had not known of its place on his scarf-and he had destroyed it.
He took the pin in his hand carefully, watching as the light glinted off the tiny diamond in the middle. The pin had been on the sleeves of two other men-yet she had chosen to put it on his scarf in secret. Gingerly, he attached the inside of the pin to his wallet.
'I care about three things, Nathaniel. Money, the pleasures money brings me, and you.'
Little did he know, there was one person that ranked above all three.
Blair nods mutely. "I want it back."
"I didn't even know you'd given it to me," he tells her, disregarding her demand.
"You knew," she accused. "You may not have known of its physical location, but for all intents and purposes, you knew that I had given you my heart."
He continued to stare at her, his hands fisting at his sides as he watched tears form in her eyes.
"I trusted you," she says, blame leaking into her voice. "I trusted you with it."
"I still love you," he tries, hoping that the three words, eight letters, can fix them again. It had worked, once upon a time, had healed all wounds and overcame all the hurt.
But it was apparent that the words had little meaning to her now as she shakes her head. "I'm done, Chuck. I want my pin back."
She tiptoed into his closet quietly, ears tuned to the sound of his even breathing. She had her pin in hand, and a plan was half-formed in her mind.
She did know what she was doing, and why. She knew that he had wanted the pin ever since she had flaunted Marcus in his face. She also knew that he had worked hard to earn it from her. And in every sense, her heart was his from the moment in the limo. The pin was only physical proof-unnecessary, really.
But a tiny smile graced her lips as she attached it to his scarf. He had not worn it for a while now, and she knew that it was unlikely he would find her pin there.
Because, she realized, she was still afraid that the old Chuck Bass still lingered beneath the 'I love you-s' and adoring glances. Having her pin attached to his scarf, the representation of his previous years of womanizing and drinking, anchored her to the fact that he had changed.
Yet she did it in secret because she was still afraid he would run from love, from her.
"You can't just-"
"I can," she says fiercely. "It was mine, and when I gave it to you I trusted you with it. You broke that trust long ago."
"You want it back?" he sneers. "Why? So you can give it to you perfect little Prince and the two of you can skip off into your happily fucking ever?"
"No," she says, tears continuing to collect in her eyes. "I want it back because it's no longer yours."
Her words hit him like a ton of bricks, and the way his heart clenches and tugs makes his gunshot wound seem like a mere paper cut.
"Blair," he tries again "Don't give up on us."
"There is no us," She tells him sadly. "There's nothing-"
"Just tell me what I need to do to fix this," he nearly pleads, "Anything."
He hates himself for how utterly broken, how desperate, his voice sounds while he pleads with her, but he can't bring himself to regret it if it brings her back.
"No," she says firmly. "Six months, Chuck. You were gone for six months. I moved on, and you should too."
A voice inside his head is screaming at him to tell her about the ring, but even while searching her eyes desperately for something to orient himself around, his mouth can't form the words.
"If I had come back earlier," he asks quietly. "If I hadn't disappeared for six months, would you have forgiven me?"
"No," she tells him. But he thinks (hopes) that there is that note of hesitation in her voice. "I can't do this anymore Chuck."
"Do what?" he asks innocently, but he already knows the answer.
"Play this game. You hurt me, and I hurt you back. We both run until we can't run anymore and we end up in the same place we started. I'm done."
She reaches for the scarf then, grasping it as she pulls it from the drawer. He is powerless to stop it as the black box tumbles onto the carpet, opening of its own volition, the ring falling from its confines.
It sits there, in between their feet, innocent in its appearance.
She gasps. "Chuck, is that…"
He breathes in. Out. It takes all his strength just to breathe.
"It's the reason I was shot. It's the reason I probably have a back problem from sleeping in those goddamned motels. It's the reason I was gone for the four-and-a-half months after being released from the hospital."
"I didn't-"
"I know. I didn't want you to know."
"You were shot over a ring?" she asks in slight disbelief. It was a ring, easily replaced, unlike a human life.
"Your ring." he reminds her.
"It's not-"
"It is. Even if you don't want to accept it. It's always going to be yours."
She breathes out sharply, a breath she hadn't realized she had been holding. "Chuck, I don't know-I'm still-I" It's the second time today she's stumbled over her words, and Chuck wants to smile for still being able to faze the unflappable Blair Waldorf.
He knows what has to happen next.
"You're not giving this to the Prince," he tells her as he removes his wallet.
"I'll give it to whomever I want," she reminds him as she looks at his wallet with distaste. "Chuck, I'm not one of your whores, you can't just pay-"
But he removes the golden pin with the tiny diamond and the initials BW engraved on the back from the folds of aged leather.
"You're not giving this to the Prince," he tells her firmly. "Because I'm going to get it back. It's only a matter of time."
She scoffs, but she doesn't refute his statement. He smirks as he continues.
"It's always going to be mine," he tells her. "Just like that ring is always going to be yours."
"I haven't forgiven you," she says. But the fact that she hasn't contradicted his statement proves that she will.
It's only a matter of time.
Their fingers brush together as he hands her the pin, the heat from her fingertips setting his skin aflame.
"I'll see you around, Bass." She says quietly, sidestepping him as she makes her way to the elevator.
He doesn't miss the way her eyes linger on the box at his feet.
…
There is no pounding headache, no dry mouth and roiling stomach.
That is Chuck Bass' first clue that things are different this morning
And as the previous night comes rushing back to him, his thoughts wander towards the little black box that now resides on his nightstand.
The tiniest of smiles graces his lips as he gets out of bed, no rush of vertigo or spinning room to greet him.
It was a good morning, Chuck decides as he picks up his Blackberry and dials a familiar number.
"Lily," he greets. "What do you say to brunch this morning?"
tbc