Every Other Sunday
Disclaimer: Gossip Girl? Mine? That's a funny joke!
xoxo
"Blair."
"Blair."
"BLAIR!"
Fellow patrons turned to stare at the pair of women, but Serena's voice hardly seemed to reach the brunette's ears. Blair suddenly felt as if she were underwater, distant and far away from everything warm and safe.
He's lying. He must be lying.
There was no other alternative.
Wordlessly, Blair pushed herself away from the table and jumped up, purse gripped tightly in one hand, her cell phone in the other.
Serena was left speechless as she watched Blair burst through the glass doors of the restaurant in a controlled panic.
xoxo
Blair pounded mercilessly on the heavy door.
"Where is she, Cyrus?" she demanded furiously as her step-father opened the door. "Where is my mother?"
Perhaps if Blair had stopped to breathe, she would have noticed the utterly grief-stricken expression on Cyrus' face. His eyes were bloodshot, the corners of his lips turned downward in heavy frown, and for once in his life, Cyrus Rose couldn't find the right words to comfort even himself.
Blair paced around the foyer anxiously waiting for Cyrus' response.
The widower suddenly looked twenty years older. "I… I was going to wake her for treatment… She… when I went upstairs…" Cyrus put a liver-spotted hand to his forehead. "She was gone, Blair. She was gone."
Seemingly ignoring the implications of Cyrus' words, Blair responded, "So she's in bed, then?"
Cyrus nodded weakly.
Blair rushed towards the staircase, ignoring the pain in her feet she'd acquired from running in her stilettos. Her mind was clouded, dazed, and Blair didn't even realize how mechanically she was operating until she reached Eleanor's bedroom door and turned the knob with a shaking hand.
"Mom!" Blair shouted urgently as she pushed through the door and hurried to Eleanor's bedside.
She leaned in close to Eleanor. "Mom!" Blair cried out again, brushing short wisps of hair out of the older woman's face. "Tell me he's crazy. Tell me Cyrus is crazy and that this is his idea of a joke!"
Eleanor's lips remained fixed together in a thin line, causing Blair's eyes to widen into large brown discs. She grabbed Eleanor's still-warm shoulders with two firm hands and shook them in violent desperation. "Wake up! This isn't funny anymore!"
"Sudden death isn't uncommon once the cancer reaches stage four." A solemn voice brought Blair back to the real world and she turned her head weakly to see a devastated Cyrus standing in the doorway.
Sad, blue eyes locked on brown as Blair shook her head in disbelief. "No," she whispered.
"Blair…" Cyrus took a wavering step forward.
"No. No, no, no, no!" Blair wailed, collapsing atop Eleanor's lifeless form as deep, heavy sobs wracked her body. She couldn't breathe; the weight of the reality crushed her chest with unyielding force. Blair buried her face in soft gray fabric of her mother's sweater, inhaling as the scent of Yves Saint Laurent's Parisienne permeated through the material. It was all Blair had left.
Cyrus rested two gentle hands upon Blair's shoulders. "Blair, darling, we'll get through this."
"Get away from me!" Blair hissed through her tears as she jerked away from Cyrus attempt at consolation.
Cyrus took a step backwards. "I just want to help you," he mumbled sadly. Stopping once again in the doorway, Cyrus added, "I know you don't want to hear this, Blair. I don't want to even say it because Eleanor is… w-was… my soulmate, but… but she can't stay in this bed forever. We have to make the necessary arrangements for transportation to the… the… well, you know."
Blair suddenly became eerily still, clearly perturbed by Cyrus' words. She didn't look up, but she knew her step-father was still there, and so Blair whispered. "I can't, Cyrus. Not yet."
"I feel the same way," Cyrus replied gloomily, before adding, "You know what? Don't worry about Nicholas today. I'll have Dorota take care of him."
Blair managed a sob in response.
xoxo
Chuck's plane wasn't scheduled to arrive at Heathrow until nine at night, but whilst thirty-five thousand feet in the air, he'd taken advantage of the inflight internet and booked himself an immediate ticket back to the States.
Tapping the toe of his loafer anxiously, Chuck stared at his Rolex, counting the seconds until he'd be on a flight back to Manhattan, back to Blair.
xoxo
It wasn't until seven o'clock in the evening, when Dorota came to convince Blair with gentle words and comforting touch, that Eleanor's body was removed from the penthouse. As the corpse was being placed on a stretcher, Blair found herself sobbing into the crook of Dorota's neck.
"Oh, Miss Blair. You need rest. I bring you upstairs now, yes?" the maid offered, concerned at Blair's lack of composure.
Blair nodded reluctantly and let Dorota guide her out of the Waldorf-Rose penthouse and up the elevator to her own floor. Once safely inside her own dwelling, Blair turned away from Dorota and dismissed her with a wave. "You can leave now, Dorota," she said with a sniffle. "I'm sure Vanya isn't too pleased with having to juggle three children alone tonight."
"Are you sure, Miss Blair? You don't look so good," a worried Dorota observed.
Blair slammed fists down on the kitchen counter. "Just go!" she screeched.
Dorota obliged hesitantly, shutting the door behind her with apprehension, and suddenly, Blair realized she had no idea what to do with her new-found solitude. There was no son to put to bed tonight, no husband to seduce, no mother with whom she could gossip about Manhattanites. A growling in her stomach reminded Blair that she'd only had half of a salad the entire day, and so Blair decided to find something to eat. It was the last thing that she wanted to do, but Blair hoped that maybe it would take her mind off of things.
Opening the fridge, Blair surveyed its contents, dissatisfied. She moved to the freezer and discovered an unopened pint of mint chocolate chip ice cream.
The first bite forced its way down Blair's tight throat, the coolness of the dessert contrasting against the feverish heat of her skin. The calories pained her, but it was nothing compared to the images that were flashing through Blair's mind.
She thought of her mother's motionless body, of the painfully distraught look on Chuck's face when Blair served him with divorce papers, of the sound of Nicholas crying when she yelled at him one morning in a fit of anger.
She thought of Serena's heartbroken expression when Blair reneged on their friendship for the fifth time, of her own disappointed expression upon discovering she gained five pounds, of screaming in Cyrus' face this afternoon.
Blair couldn't stand it. She was a bad daughter, a bad wife, a bad mother, a bad friend, a bad Blair.
Suddenly, she found that the next few bites of the ice cream were a lot easier to take.
It wasn't until the entire contents of the carton were consumed that Blair realized she'd binged. Looking down, Blair grimaced at the cold spoon clenched tightly in her hand. She'd been trying so hard to maintain her figure, and with a single pint of mint chocolate chip ice cream, she ruined it all.
There was only acceptable option, and with her life spiraling out of control, Blair knew what she had to do.
xoxo
Chuck allowed himself to sleep on the flight back to New York. When he woke up, it was almost six in the morning, and the plane was just beginning to descend. He was getting more anxious by the second. Too many hours had passed since Eleanor's death to assume that Blair wasn't doing anything stupid.
After getting off of the plane, Chuck nearly ran to his limo. He checked his watch again. Seven twenty. Chuck decided he didn't care if Blair was sleeping or not; he had to see her. He had to know she was alright.
Sprinting through the lobby of Blair's building, Chuck didn't even acknowledge the confused looks of businessmen and women heading off to work. Once on the eleventh floor, Chuck automatically made a right from the elevator and walked down the hallway until he reached Blair's door.
In Chuck's pocket was a little silver key – the key to la casa de Waldorf. Blair had given it to him a month after the divorce in the event of an emergency. The sinking feeling in his stomach this morning told Chuck that this was definitely emergency, and so, he slid the key into the lock and turned it with unsteady fingers. Upon opening the door, Chuck found the penthouse silent, and he suddenly had the fleeting thought that perhaps he was overreacting, that Blair and Nicholas were both sleeping. That was before he saw the empty ice cream container on the kitchen counter.
"Come on, Blair…" he muttered under his breath as he continued to explore the rest of the penthouse. Pressing open the door to Nicholas' room, Chuck peeked inside and saw the bed empty, and found the same when he looked into Blair's room.
Relax, Bass. It's a school day. Blair is bringing Nick to Bank Street as we speak, he told himself.
Chuck finally made his way the back of the penthouse where the bathroom was. The cream door was ajar, and so Chuck took the opportunity to look through the crack. The angle allowed him to a view of the mirror, and in the reflection of the mirror, Chuck could see Blair's small feet aligned daintily together.
When he entered the bathroom, Chuck's heart broke at the sight before him. Blair was resting, dazed, against the bathroom wall, her knees drawn up to her chest, revealing milky legs dotted with random yellow bruises. Blair's eyes were wide and vacant, her dry lips parted slightly. She looked like a broken porcelain doll, and Chuck decided to take it upon himself right there and then to put her back together.
"Blair," he breathed, kneeling beside her cautiously. Blair didn't acknowledge him, but she didn't flinch either when Chuck brushed his hand against her cheek, which was sticky with dried tears. "Blair, baby, talk to me. Tell me you're okay," Chuck urged her again, and again Blair didn't answer. Chuck tried a different tactic, one that he was certain would draw out a response from her. "Blair, where's Nick? Where's our son?"
Blair's glassy eyes darted to Chuck's own. "He's fine. He's with Dorota."
Chuck breathed a sigh of relief, relief that was immediately replaced by concern. "Are you hurt?"
Blair shrugged. "You could say that." She let Chuck take that answer in before adding in a monotonous voice, "Why are you here, Chuck? This isn't an emergency. This is nothing."
"I heard about Eleanor, Blair," Chuck watched as his ex-wife winced at the mention of her mother's name. "I know you better than anyone else and I know how you cope. I also know that this isn't nothing."
Closing her eyes, Blair let her head fall back against the cool tile. "God, Chuck, go bother somebody else. I'm too exhausted to deal with this right now."
Chuck watched her with scrutinizing eyes. "Have you slept?"
Blair shook her head weakly. Deciding it was time to take matters into his own hands, Chuck slid one arm behind Blair's back and the other one underneath her knees. Lifting her easily, Chuck took three long strides out of the bathroom and started making his way towards Blair's bedroom.
"This isn't Gone With The Wind, Chuck. Put me down," Blair protested, though the exhaustion in her voice lessened the effect of her words.
Chuck ignored her complaints, setting Blair down only when he reached her soft bed. "You need rest," he stated, walking to her armoire and retrieving a silk nightgown. "Here. This will be more comfortable." Chuck's hand lingered against Blair's as he handed her the nightgown, and suddenly his heart started thudding out of control.
"It's morning, Chuck. I have things to do," Blair argued, her dry throat causing her voice to crack as she started to sit up in the bed.
Chuck shrugged. "Then I guess you'll have to postpone your 'things', because today you're taking it easy."
"I can't."
"You can and you will. I'll take care of things."
Blair rolled her eyes and started pulling at the zipper of her dress. Oh, how she wanted to prove to Chuck that she was fine, but after the events of the prior day, Blair didn't have it in her to argue with him. Instead, she settled on interrogation. "How did you know to come?" she inquired, "Did Dorota put you up to this, Chuck Bass?"
Chuck averted his eyes to the floor as Blair slipped out of her dress and then tugged the nightgown over her head. "Call it my sixth sense."
Blair snuggled underneath her plush comforter. Her body hurt and her soul hurt, but she was secretly relieved Chuck had come. "So now you're Spiderman?" she asked with the faintest bit of humor in her voice. In her fatigued mind, part of Blair really wondered if Chuck was her superhero.
"Something like that," Chuck smirked before adding in a more serious tone, "Have you had anything to drink since…"
"No," Blair admitted.
Chuck said nothing; instead, he went to the kitchen and returned with a glass of filtered water. "Here. Drink," he ordered as he took a seat on the edge of the bed. Blair blushed as she accepted the glass from Chuck. She didn't even realize how thirsty she was until she finished the whole glass, and when she handed it back to Chuck, he nodded in acceptance.
A long period of silence fell, and Chuck was about to get up and leave when Blair said groggily, "I didn't mean to."
Chuck turned to look at her with furrowed brows. "Of course you didn't, Blair. I know that."
"Good," Blair managed to say through a yawn.
"Sleep tight, Blair," Chuck whispered, shifting on the bed to give her a tentative kiss on the forehead.
Blair looked him through half-closed eyes. "Don't leave," she uttered in a hazy tone.
Chuck knew that Blair was exhausted, dehydrated, and overwhelmed, but for once he didn't think his presence would hurt her any more than she already was, and so he replied, "I won't, Blair. I won't."
xoxo
AN: How'd you guys like it? This chapter was really sad to write, but I love the CB interaction. I think it's about time Chuck takes care of Blair, anyways (referring to my hopes for the upcoming GG season). Hope ya'll enjoyed it as much as I did. There'll be plenty of issues to explore in the upcoming chapters, so sit tight, and thanks for R&R-ing as always!