Title: When The Devil Can't Save Himself
Word Count: n/a yet
Rating: PG-13, maybe R at one point
Warnings/Spoilers: All of season 1 and aired season 2
Summary: Bart Bass. Shot. Dead. Murdered. Chuck Bass was broken, and he was pretty sure he couldn't be fixed. That wouldn't stop her from trying.
Official Disclaimer: All Gossip Girl plots and characters belong to Cecily von Ziegesar, Josh Schwartz and the CW. I do not own the company or the people. The characters featured in this story are not mine.
Author's Note: Here's the next chapter. It's a day or two later than I promised, but it was more difficult to write than I thought it would be. The majority of this chapter is fluff and not much dialogue, but the angst will be back full-force next chapter, as will Jack Bass and his motivations. I promise you'll see more of that. One more thing: there's a lack of Chuck's POV in this chapter for a reason. The entire time, he wasn't really thinking anything through and he was only supposed to realize how afraid he was of being comforted by her at the very end of the chapter. Sorry to those of you who think Chuck's character isn't really growing or changing throughout this story, but I think that's sort of the point and it won't always be the case. Character development and a whole lot of drama is coming. :) Enjoy.
Chuck's hands were fisted around Blair and Eric's shoulders as they helped him out of the club and towards their waiting limo. The driver looked remarkably unperturbed as they helped an extremely drunk, babbling Chuck through the doors and onto the buttery black leather seats.
He had reached the silly, slurring stage of his intoxication, and had talking been talking nonsensically for the last ten minutes. Apparently, Chuck thought he was upside down, the limo was a spaceship, and Eric was a long-lost cousin. Luckily, he seemed to have retained his memory of Blair, meaning every time he opened his mouth, the words "Blair Bear!" rolled off of his tongue.
Eric seemed to have trouble restraining his laughter, and Blair had to keep glaring at him angrily, although she couldn't help but feel like this extremely out-of-body experience was beginning to border on nighttime-comedy-show funny. People would probably pay to see Chuck Bass chatter like a drunken idiot, so when the trio had passed by the crowds of Constance Billard and St. Jude's students, Blair had shielded his face as best she could. The last thing an already upset Chuck would need when he awoke tomorrow with what was sure to be an extreme hangover would be a post mocking him and his debauchery.
But with Chuck safely in the limo, Blair was free to let her mind focus on other more heart-wrenchingly important topics. Like the fact that she had completely blown any chance she would ever have to become a Manhattan society woman when she was older, and it had been completely worth it. To think about what might have happened if she hadn't gotten there when she did, if Eric hadn't been perceptive enough to realize what Chuck had been considering…Blair wasn't sure she could have lived with herself if she had been the cause of all that, if she'd just let it happen.
Chuck needed her, and she needed to stand by him. He would break and fall and push her away, but she had to be there next to him. She'd said the words. She'd promised. And here she was, listening to Chuck mutter on and on about movies, school, their classmates, nonsense.
The sleek black limo pulled away from the curb and the loud burlesque music coming pounding and screeching from inside Victrola, the break from the noise much welcome. The partition between the backseat and the driver rolled down as Eric requested that Arthur take them to the Waldorf place. Blair protested at first, but agreed with his decision after weighing the pros and cons; the van der Bass house might be a little awkward, what with Jack staying in the guest room. He'd made his obvious physical attraction to Blair apparent since he'd brought Chuck home, and Blair was more than a little disgusted and disturbed by that fact. Blair didn't want to leave Chuck alone tonight, and her penthouse contained no one but Dorota.
Chuck's ramblings slowly grew quieter and quieter, beginning to fade off to nothing as he rested a soft, pale cheek against the wool of Blair's gray coat-clad shoulder. It was a display of obvious affection that he had never shown before, and even Eric watched in obvious surprise as Chuck unconsciously reached his hands out, grabbing at the collar of her coat and pulling her closer to his shivering body. His dark eyelashes touched porcelain skin as his eyelids fluttered shut, and despite how absolutely perfect and completely content Blair felt, sitting there with his weight leaning on her and their brunette heads so close together, she shook him off.
"Chuck, stay awake," she urged, patting his smooth cheeks. She had learned from many a drunken night with Serena that keeping the person awake was a better idea in the long run.
"Mmm…" Chuck groaned, rubbing at his eyes like a young child whose alarm had just gone off on an early school morning. "No…" He tried to rest his head on her again, but she moved away.
"You need to stay awake, Chuck." Blair looked at him, eye to half-closed eye. "Keep talking."
"About what?" He was slumped in his seat now, pouting at being denied his beauty rest.
"Anything," Blair encouraged. "Whatever you were talking about before. Just talk about that."
So Chuck resumed his one-sided banter and Blair reached for his hand, loving the way their fingers intertwined, fitting perfectly, the missing pieces of a puzzle that had been sitting in dust and now had finally be found, been put on display. Her shining eyes stared out at the lights of the city; from the bright, flashing colors of Times Square to the luxury shops on Fifth Avenue. More than a few stragglers were making their way past Bergdorf's and Bendel's, designer dresses and thick, stylish coats draped over their tanned and exfoliated frames as they stepped into their waiting black town cars.
And as Blair watched the city, watched the buildings whirl past until they were one, she realized something. Out of all the places in the city, out of all the places in the world, there was no where she'd ever rather be than the back of this limo; whether it was with Chuck sliding off her silk slip as she felt him harden against her, or with a more inebriated, broken version of that same boy, their hands latched together and the smell of scotch on his breath.
Whenever she stepped through that door, slid across the smooth seat, glanced out the tinted windows and turned towards him with love in mind, it felt like coming home.
When they pulled up to the doors of Blair's building, Eric was kind enough to help her get Chuck out and standing on the concrete, but that was about it. He ducked back into the car before Blair could convince him to stay, and he was gone before the awkwardness she was now experiencing was over. The contentment she'd felt a few minutes ago had faded, and now all she felt was anxious and kind of sad. Chuck probably wouldn't remember any of this tomorrow.
Blair was almost a little afraid to look at him, but every single fear melted away when she met his eyes. They were a liquidy brown; sweet and surrendering.
"Come on," she said, her voice somewhere between a whisper and a maternal coo. He wrapped his arm around her shoulder, a position they were now becoming accustomed to, and they walked unsteadily to the door.
Somehow, Blair felt that, with Chuck, she had to make every second count, so she relished those few minutes they spent walking through the marble-floored lobby, stepping into the dark wood elevator and zooming up to the top floor. She treasured the feeling of his body close to hers, of cold skin against scratchy wool, of his wrinkled black pants pressed against her intricately patterned black tights and silken pale legs. She walked slowly, carefully, thinking every second through and making a special place for those memories in her heart.
No matter how hard she tried, Blair knew that from the rooftop to the limo to her bedroom, where they were standing now, she would never forget that night. She was sure that that was night she'd saved Chuck Bass, the night when she finally began to make him whole.
"Can I sleep now?" An exhausted, slightly cross-eyed Chuck asked for the millionth time, plopping down on Blair's silk comforter.
Blair wrinkled her nose and grabbed both of his hands, pulling him to his feet. He smelled like vodka and scotch, sweat and heavy cologne. A smell that was one-hundred-percent Chuck, but now it was overpowering the room, settling the scent of hard liquor into her delicate silk fabrics and dark wood floors.
"Not now," she insisted. "You need a shower."
"I don't want a shower…" Chuck's voice trailed off as he fell back onto the bed. "Why won't you just let me sleep?" His usually husky voice trilled up to a high whine, and Blair was reminded of the day almost a year ago when they'd helped Serena out during a hungover morning and she'd had almost the same reaction to the thought of bathing.
"Come on…" Blair reached for his hands again, and with a heavy sigh that was a combination of a noise made by an older man and one made by a young child, he stood and followed her into her marble bathroom.
Blair turned on the shower so it was almost scalding hot; Chuck was still shivering in his ice-cold suit, and his cheeks were red and frozen. Then she pulled him gently to her, her tiny hands first gathering the stiff fabric of his jacket and dragging it from his broad shoulders, then fumbling clumsily with the buttons of his deep red shirt.
Piece by piece, she removed his clothing, softly, gently, slowly, until he was standing in front of her in nothing but a pair of dark navy blue boxers. Blair allowed her eyes to run up his body, from his toned calves to the waistband of his underwear, sitting low on his hips. Her chocolate eyes flicked up to pause on his stomach and chest. He wasn't perfectly cut like Nate was, or even muscular like Marcus. He was soft, welcoming. A contrast to his face, which was all dark appeal and sharp, hard angles.
Shaking herself out of her thoughts, Blair's eyes continued their journey, stopping when she reached his coffee-colored eyes. If he had been slightly more sober, Chuck would have already made some sort of comment about just how very sexy she found him, and he would probably have been right. But for now, she was grateful for the silence, for the quiet, understanding look in his eyes.
Blair pulled off her dress and tights, leaving them in a heap on the floor and leaving her standing in only a slip. She slid off his silk boxers, careful not to let her eyes linger. He didn't seem to mind, just stood there as she undressed him and helped him into the shower.
The hot water pounded on their heads, soaking their hair and temporarily tinting it to a darker hue. Blair reached for a washcloth and some soap, lathering it into the fabric and pressing it to Chuck's collarbone, more than a little surprised when he didn't flinch away. She began to move it slowly down his chest, rubbing the soap into his skin as he leaned against the wall of the shower to keep his balance, his eyes closed and his head tilted up towards the rush of hot water.
He was relaxed. Standing completely naked in front of a gorgeous, soaking wet Blair Waldorf, whose silky slip clung to every last one of her curves, and he just felt…good. Not aroused or wanting, not insecure or hiding. Just…good. Comfortable. He was at home with her touch, in her arms, as she continued to trace soapy lines onto his chest.
He had never let anyone touch him like this, like she did. Gently and carefully, hands making their way across soft, wet, slowly heating skin. For the first time in a long time, he felt relief. He felt warmth. He felt happiness.
He could stay here, in this shower, in this house, in this moment, forever.
When her job was done, Blair left Chuck to finish his shower and stepped out, wrapping a plush white towel around her shivering body and padding down the hallway to what was now her mother and Cyrus's room. Rooting through the many drawers in her father's abandoned walk-in closet, she managed to locate a few items he'd neglected to have shipped to France: a pair of soft-looking drawstring pajama pants and a plain white T-shirt that she was sure would fit Chuck comfortably.
When Blair made it back into her bathroom, she didn't see Chuck's dark-haired shadow in the patterned glass shower. Her heart raced with worry. Did he leave? Should she have stayed with him?
Dropping her towel from shaking hands, Blair shoved open the door of the shower, only to find Chuck slumped on the floor, the hot water still pounding a steady beat onto his head. He was half-asleep; exhausted and alone.
Blair's heart rate began to return to normal and she wrapped her arms around his slippery, wet shoulders, pulling him up. His body pressed against hers, and she felt a rush, an electricity, even through her slip. She had to remind herself that he was upset, tired and drunk, and in a few hours he'd probably be cranky and angry and throwing up everywhere. She really had no self-control when it came to Chuck Bass.
She let him dry himself off and slip into the clothes before she led him to her bed. Chuck didn't make a perverted remark or even smirk in her direction; he just gave her a small, thankful smile and lay down, his head sinking into one of her soft, thick pillows.
Blair quickly dried herself off as well, slipping into a pair of black-and-white silk pajamas and wringing out her still-wet brown locks. Sliding between the silk sheets, she lay facing Chuck's back and soft, dark hair. They rested for a few moments, the silence between them both comfortable and heavy, before Chuck spoke. His voice was nearly a whisper, but it rang of uncertainty and sadness.
"Blair?" The way he said her name right then was the most beautiful thing she had ever heard coming off of his lips. That had to be what love sounded like.
"Yeah?" Blair made sure her voice was as quiet and gentle as it could be, the opposite of the voice she used to order around Dorota or her minions, the opposite of the sass she used when around Serena or Dan. This was a voice for him and him only, for times like these; times like when he was near her, shivering even after a hot shower, when he was shaking from unanswered questions and unparalleled grief, when he was lost and needed her to find him and hold him and save him.
"You're going to stay, right?" He sounded like a kid right then, afraid of the dark, afraid of a night of endless possibilities and endless terror. A sober Chuck never would have uttered such words, but a drunk one was the most honest person Blair had ever met. The rich were usually full of secrets, and that was who Chuck usually was; a map of lies and hidden emotions. But now he was open and vulnerable; his face soft and sweet and his posture tense as he waited for her reply.
Blair felt her heart melting as she replied, "I'm going to stay, Chuck. I'll be here. I promised."
She felt him relax, and she wrapped an arm around his body, flinging it across the white cotton of his T-shirt and holding him tightly. She would never let go, if that was what he wanted. She'd hold him like this forever; feel him relax from her touch, almost cuddle against her, and let out a shaky breath as his eyes closed and he mumbled his final genuine words of the night.
"You're the best, Blair."
A slight whistling of wind howled outside the window, and Chuck was startled awake by the low, whooshing sound. The furniture in the room swam in front of his eyes, and his head throbbed so badly it felt as if someone was pounding it in with a jackhammer.
Where was he? The overly decorated room, the blue silk comforter thrown over his body, the clothes that clung to his skin…it was all unfamiliar. What had happened last night?
Chuck turned to his right, coming face to face with…Blair. Blair Waldorf was sleeping next to him, wrapped in the silk sheets and soft pajamas, her eyes free of makeup, her cheeks flushed and her hair in a tangled mess on the pillow. She had never looked more beautiful.
Studying Blair's sleeping frame with his half-open eyes, memories came rushing back. Resting his head on her shoulder in the backseat of the limo, Blair and him in the shower as she gently rubbed soap across his body, falling asleep on the bed and snuggling into her waiting arms. The rooftop…she'd said, "I love you." His blood ran cold. She'd finally said the words he'd wanted her to say for months, and he didn't respond. He couldn't respond.
Chuck's eyes flicked to Blair's figure again, to her narrow waist and the small smile gracing her lips. His head pounded and his stomach twisted as he considered his options. He could stay here in her arms, warm and comfortable and safe, waking up to the sight of her perfect face. But when the night was over, when the morning was through, what were they to each other? Was he her boyfriend? Her lover? Or just a friend? Where did this night leave them?
He could run now and not look back. He could protect himself from these feelings, whatever they were, whatever they meant to him. He could leave her the way he'd been leaving her forever, and protect her from him. If you love someone, let them go. He was just saving her.
Rolling out of bed, Chuck's headache pounded into the knot in his neck and behind his eyes. He struggled across the dark room, guided only by the city lights streaming through the thick curtains, and dug around in her smooth wood desk until he found a piece of thick cream paper and a pen. His heart was in his throat as he scribbled down the letters, pausing only when the paper was half covered by his messy scrawl.
Not bothering to gather up his things, Chuck set the note carefully on the pillow where his head had been resting, and stared down at Blair once more. From her perfect pink lips to her dark eyelashes to her soft curls, she was beautiful. Perfection and glamour at its finest, even while asleep. She was much better off without him.
Leaning down, Chuck brushed his lips across Blair's smooth forehead. He let them linger for only a second before brushing a stray curl out of her eyes, whispering, "Goodbye, Blair," and disappearing through the bedroom door and into the night.
Author's Note: I hope you liked it and it wasn't too cheesy or repetitive in my choice of words. I literally had a thesaurus sitting by me while I was writing this, and I still had trouble. LOL. Well, anyway, thanks for reading. Thanks to reviewers from last chapter (I'm over a hundred! Thank you guys SO, SO, SO much!): TheCutie, Kimberly Ramone, Princess Persephone, .N, princetongirl, Passenger, bluestriker666, fizliz23 and Suuz112. Love you guys. :)