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Chapter 10: Vaporize
What amounts to a dream anymore?
A crude device; a veil on our eyes
A simple plan we'd be different from the rest
And never resign to a typical life
-Broken Bells
Awakened by a throbbing headache, Chuck blinked and rubbed a hand across his eyes, taking a minute to properly orient himself. The bed was surrounded by glass and chrome furnishings, abstract artwork decorated the walls, and the only indication that anyone actually lived here was his school blazer flung over a leather armchair. He still wasn't accustomed to his new room at the penthouse, and he couldn't remember the last time he'd been quite this hungover. And on a school day no less, he thought, squinting at his alarm clock. What the hell had he been thinking?
And in that instant, a flood of hazy memories began to rush back- going to the club with Nate, watching Blair dance, kissing her neck, touching her… fuck. He groaned and shook his head hard, as if to expel the memories from his mind. But they only grew more vivid, until he could practically feel her body against his, smell the alluring hint of jasmine on her skin, feel her tremble as he stroked her thigh… and despite the guilt and remorse he should have been feeling, all his disobedient brain could focus on was how she'd responded to him.
That is, until Serena had interrupted- at which point she'd high-tailed it out of there so fast, she'd practically left a Blair-shaped hole in the wall. Chuck had watched in a daze as Serena chased after her, feeling suddenly unsettled by the scene they'd caused- not to mention, embarrassingly aroused. He'd retreated to the bar to… unwind, and make some sense of what had just happened. But of course, as luck would have it, his best friend chose that moment to track him down and initiate a bonding moment.
"Hey, Chuck," he heard Nate's voice behind him.
He automatically tensed, preparing himself for a blow. When none seemed forthcoming, he turned, seeing only an anxious and preoccupied expression on his friend's face.
"Nathaniel," he responded in what he hoped was a blasé tone, gesturing towards the bartender for another drink.
"What've you been up to? You disappeared for awhile," Nate asked, leaning against the bar next to him.
"Oh, just…" - fingerbanging your girlfriend, that's all- "making the rounds," he finished.
"'Test-driving the merchandise', right?" Nate asked wryly, referring to Chuck's usual approach to flirting.
"Something like that," Chuck responded with a forced smirk. He could feel his stomach twisting into an guilty knot, and it was taking all his effort to behave like nothing was wrong.
"Hey, do you want to get out of here? Maybe head back to the Palace or something?" Nate suggested, glancing distractedly around the club.
"Oh, I… actually I already had some… plans, for later," Chuck tried to put as much lewd insinuation into his voice as possible, although all he really wanted to do was get the hell away from Nate.
His friend sighed, running a hand through his bangs. "Yeah, okay… I just… really need to talk to someone right now. And I can't find Blair anywhere."
Identifying the unfamiliar feeling coursing through his veins as shame, Chuck found himself unable to look Nate in the eye. He cleared his suddenly-constricted throat and tried to school his features into an expression of idle curiosity. "Why, what's up?"
"I just got some bad news from my mom," Nate replied, his usually relaxed countenance tense with worry. "I don't think these investigators are going to back off until my dad turns himself in… we can't just wait them out. And my grandfather won't help because he thinks we know more than we're telling them…." he trailed off, looking uncomfortable.
Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out his phone, frowning at what he saw on the screen. "And Blair's not answering my calls or texts. Have you seen her anywhere?"
Oh, I saw her all right, Chuck thought to himself, feeling the churning sensation in his stomach intensify as he considered how easily they could've been discovered. In fact, it was entirely possible that someone besides Serena had seen them, and it might be only a matter of minutes before the whole thing ended up on Gossip Girl.
"I… don't know where she is," he answered, finally coming up with something that wasn't a lie. "But… if you want some company, I can… cancel my other plans."
Chuck figured at this point, he kind of owed him one.
"That'd be great, man," Nate sounded eager to hang out with him, which only made him feel worse. Why, after seventeen years, had his conscience suddenly decided to make an appearance?
Fucking conscience.
"No problem." He shrugged.
"So what'd you say we go back to your place and get hammered?" Nate suggested with a wry grin.
Well, that was a plan he could actually get on board with- drinking himself stupid did seem like a promising solution to his current predicament. And as an added bonus, if Nate found out what had happened and punched him in the face, it would help cushion the blow.
He downed the remainder of his drink, pushing the empty glass across the bar.
"Sounds good. Let's get out of here."
They'd retired to Chuck's suite at the Palace- he no longer lived there, but kept it as a venue for his less family-friendly activities- and polished off a bottle of Dalmore 40 together. Chuck had mostly stayed silent while Nate vented about his problems, from his grandfather turning his back on their family, to his mother's ongoing refusal to accept the seriousness of their situation, to Blair acting "weird" and possibly losing interest in him. Since that particular topic of conversation made him a bit… edgy, Chuck had started knocking back the scotch in earnest, so his recollections of the rest of the evening were decidedly fuzzy. He remembered insisting on getting home because they had school the next day, dropping off a completely shitfaced Nate on his front door step- oh, Anne must have loved that- and someone, most likely Eric, giving him some helpful directions towards his own bedroom.
So now here he was, lying in bed fully-clothed, with a pounding headache and an acrid taste in his mouth like something had crawled in there and died.
And though he'd managed to temporarily forget about his dilemma, with the assistance of alcohol-induced unconsciousness, it had now returned with a vengeance. Nate might not be particularly astute, but he would eventually notice if Chuck continued to grope his girlfriend in public.
Lying back, he folded his hands beneath his head and stared at the ceiling, deliberating his options.
Plan A was forgetting about Blair, pretending nothing had happened, and moving on with his life. He considered this possibility, before involuntarily recalling the way she'd felt in his arms- her taut body moving rhythmically against his own, her head rolling back against his shoulder in surrender… his fingers finding her wet and ready for him.
Shifting uncomfortably at the sudden tightening in his groin, Chuck concluded that he'd already tried Plan A, and failed miserably at it. Now that relocating to another country was no longer an option, and relying on his self-control obviously wasn't a viable alternative, attempting to stay away from Blair was officially a lost cause.
This left Plan B, going after what he wanted and pursuing her- which would, of course, require separating her from Nate. He understood, probably better than anyone, how much of their relationship was built on convenience and habit. Nate had sabotaged it already on several occasions, and if he ever thought he had a chance in hell with Serena, he'd do it again in a heartbeat. The wild-card in this situation was Blair- but after last night, he was pretty sure she could be convinced. He just had to get her alone, see where her head was at… and possibly employ some persuasive tactics, if necessary.
Dragging his aching body out of bed, he surveyed his rumpled attire and bloodshot eyes in the mirror with a groan. First step, rehydration, he thought to himself, opening his bedroom door to head for the kitchen.
Of course, fate having a sense of humor, as soon as he stepped out into the hallway he immediately came face-to-face with his blonde stepsister, who was leaving her own room. She looked slightly under the weather herself, and none too pleased to see him.
"Chuck," she greeted him frostily, crossing her arms over her chest.
"Serena," he responded mockingly.
"Rough night?" She raised her eyebrows.
"Something like that," he replied.
Pursing her lips, she shook her head in disgust. "That was low, Chuck, even for you. I know you don't give a shit about anybody else, but I always thought you at least cared about Nate."
His nostrils flared as he regarded her with narrowed eyes.
"Don't push it, Serena," he responded coolly, a note of warning in his voice.
As far as he was concerned, the list of people who had a right to be pissed at him began and ended with Nate. It certainly didn't include Serena, who'd spent the night before drunkenly throwing herself at some random frat boy while her sad boyfriend moped on the sidelines.
"You do realize you were in public, right? That anyone could've seen you? What if Nate had been the one to find you instead of me?" she continued, her voice rising in volume with each question.
"You know, hypocrisy isn't a flattering look on you, sis," Chuck replied scornfully. "It's not like I was fucking her on a bar stool."
The fact that he probably would have, given the opportunity, he dismissed as irrelevant.
Her cheeks coloring pink, Serena had just opened her mouth to respond when Bart strode around the corner, taking in the disheveled teenagers with steely blue eyes.
"Charles, a word please." His curt tone clearly indicated that it was an order, not a request.
Casting one last contemptuous glance towards Serena, Chuck turned to follow his father, feeling a growing sense of unease as he made his way up the stairs.
His apprehension only grew stronger as Bart took a seat behind the desk, lacing his fingers together and regarding his son with a mixture of disappointment and aggravation. Chuck stood staring down at the floor and feeling every bit like a chastened little boy- even though he had no idea what he'd done to warrant a lecture. Shoving his hands into the pockets of his wrinkled trousers, he found himself wishing he'd at least changed his clothes and combed his hair.
"Well, it appears you've wasted no time returning to your old… socializing habits," Bart commented tersely, giving him a brief once-over.
"I was just… hanging out with Nate. Nothing too scandalous." He attempted a wry smile, which faded the second it encountered his father's stern gaze.
"Regardless," Bart continued, his tone indicating that he either didn't believe him or didn't care, "if you're going to live in this house, I expect you to behave appropriately. Your reputation already precedes you, and stumbling home drunk in the middle of the night isn't going to endear you to the rest of this family."
The implication being, obviously, that he was the outsider in Bart's happy little family unit- although that was hardly news. But the unfairness of being singled out for a lecture over Serena made him grind his teeth together.
Forcing himself to nod in response, Chuck assumed he was now dismissed and turned to leave.
"Charles," Bart's sharp voice halted him. "I actually have a more serious issue to discuss with you than your… debauchery."
Turning back, he met his father's gaze with uncertainty.
"It's come to my attention that several hundred thousand dollars was withdrawn from your trust fund last week. I assume you were responsible for this?"
Tensing in surprise, Chuck swallowed. "Yes."
"Well, since I haven't noticed a new Ferrari parked outside," Bart paused, spearing him with a cold glare, "care to explain what you spent it on?"
Chuck's breath caught in his throat.
"I… " he searched for an explanation, any explanation, that he could give without betraying the discretion he'd promised. "I'm not at liberty to say, but… I give you my word that it was something… very worthwhile."
"Your word?" Bart echoed mockingly, as if this were the most ridiculous thing he'd ever heard. "You blew over two hundred thousand dollars in one weekend, and I'm supposed to take your word that it went towards something besides gambling debts and prostitutes?"
Chuck stood in silence, feeling the full weight of his father's condemnation and disappointment bearing down on him, until finally he couldn't stand it any longer.
"I thought that money was mine to use as… I see fit," he stated, with more bravado than he actually felt.
Bart stared back at him for a moment, an expression of almost amused disdain on his face.
"Perhaps if you'd demonstrated more sound judgment, that might be the case," he allowed. "But from this point forward, your spending habits are going to be more closely monitored. That money is yours to use at my discretion, and if you continue to be this irresponsible with it, I'll have no qualms about restricting your access entirely. Is that understood?"
Chuck swallowed hard, trying to dispel the sudden tightening in his chest.
"Yes, father," he responded.
"Good. Now go get yourself cleaned up, I can't imagine St. Jude's wants you showing up smelling like the floor of a bar." Bart waved his hand dismissively, already distracted by a pile of contracts on his desk.
Chuck retreated down the stairs, anxious to escape the conversation as quickly as possible. He saw Lily, Serena and Eric look up from the breakfast table, but, overwhelmed by frustration and a humiliating stinging sensation behind his eyes, he walked past without a word and slammed the door to his bedroom behind him.
Blair checked her watch once more- exactly four minutes until the final bell- and quickened her stride, heels clicking sharply against the sidewalk as she approached the school gates. The courtyard was nearly deserted, with only a few remaining students hurrying up the steps towards homeroom. Just as she'd planned, her timing conveniently prevented an awkward run in with either of the two people she was currently avoiding- Chuck, for obvious reasons, and Serena, for being a judgmental bitch.
And to think of all the times she'd held Serena's hair back while she barfed, after doing God knows what with God knows whom. Now, after one little mistake, one tiny lapse in judgment, her best friend was going morality police on her? And it's not like she'd even really done anything, Blair thought indignantly- Chuck was one who'd gotten all handsy.
She felt herself flush as she remembered exactly where his hands had been, and how close they'd come to actually- well, no need to dwell on that. Point being, she was definitely avoiding Chuck today. And tomorrow. And probably for the rest of the year.
She stepped through the wrought iron gates, so immersed in her own thoughts that she didn't even notice the stealthy approach of a sleek black limo until it pulled up right beside her. Cursing her bad luck, she strode purposefully through the courtyard, pretending not to hear the slam of a car door only a few feet away.
"Blair," Chuck called after her in a hushed tone, his low, husky voice causing a shiver to run down her spine. She continued as if she hadn't heard him, starting up the stairs with single-minded purpose.
"Blair," he repeated, this time with a note of exasperation.
"Sorry, running late," she tossed back over her shoulder- just to avoid the suspicion of anyone listening. Truth be told, she wouldn't have stopped even if she'd had all the time in the world.
When she finally reached the heavy oak doors, still feeling his eyes on her, she allowed herself just a brief glance backwards. He remained standing by the gate below, staring after her with a barely-repressed intensity that nearly took her breath away. Feeling her cheeks start to burn and her stomach somersault against her rib cage, she mentally chastised herself for such an excessive reaction. Averting her eyes, she yanked the door open with far more force than necessary and headed towards class.
Several hours later, Blair sat on the Met steps, safely surrounded by her posse of minions. She slowly stirred a spoon through her cup of yogurt- clockwise, then counterclockwise, then across and back- watching it move in a creamy spiral and trying to remember if she'd actually eaten any of it.
All morning, she'd been so distracted by the litany of unwelcome thoughts and feelings- as well as her increasingly disobedient libido- that she was thankful none of her teachers had called on her. Paying attention in class had felt like an insurmountable task.
"And he sent this, like, half an hour after we left the club," Hazel gushed, proudly displaying a text message for the rest of the girls to read.
"Oh wow, he wants to know where we're going tonight?" Iz remarked, passing the phone on to Penelope. "You must've really left an impression."
"I know, right? I think he really likes me," Hazel confided, smiling excitedly."He told me he felt like he could talk to me for hours."
Blair sighed, barely concealing her disdain. Hazel would find out soon enough that 30-year-old investment bankers had only one reason for texting high school girls, and their conversational skills had little to do with it.
"Hey guys." Serena greeted them in a subdued tone, dropping her Louis Vuitton bag onto the steps and taking a seat next to it.
Blair carefully avoided making eye contact, but it was obvious that Serena's typically sunny disposition was missing some of its vivacity. Probably just a hangover, she thought scornfully. Dorota had tended to hers, of course, with an assortment of iced beverages, pain relievers, and a soothing eye mask to prevent puffing.
"Hey Serena!" a chorus of voices chirped back, and she gave them a wan smile before pulling out her phone. Whatever she saw evidently displeased her, since she sighed unhappily in response.
"Hey, have any of you seen Dan?" she asked suddenly, glancing up.
The girls shook their heads and looked towards Jenny, who shrugged indifferently. Truthfully, if any of them had, it was doubtful they would've noticed him anyway.
"He hasn't returned any of my calls or texts," Serena said dejectedly, staring at her phone as if she were willing it to ring.
"We, uh, thought you and Dan broke up," Hazel offered hesitantly. "Since you were all over that guy last night."
"He was really cute," Iz added, smiling encouragingly.
Serena's cheeks flushed in embarrassment, and she sent an apologetic look in Jenny's direction.
"Oh, we were just talking, it was nothing like that. I was just having some fun," Serena defended herself.
Blair couldn't resist shooting Serena a little "I told you so" smirk, and her friend's eyes narrowed in response. "Of course, I didn't have nearly as much fun as Blair did," she added, her sugary tone laced with acid.
Blair's smirk faded immediately, as everyone's curious eyes turned to rest upon her.
"Oh, I was just dancing and… this guy tried to hit on me," she explained, rolling her eyes with an affected sigh.
"Ooh, who was it? One of the guys from Goldman Sachs?" Penelope leaned in, her interest piqued.
"Yeah Blair, who was it?" Serena echoed, with a disingenuous smile.
Blair gritted her teeth. "Nobody important," she replied coolly, sending a warning look in Serena's direction.
Fortunately, her phone buzzed at that very moment, forestalling any further questions. She retrieved it from her bag and read the text message.
We need to talk.
She stared at those four little words for a moment, her breath caught in her throat. Quickly typing out a message, she hit 'send' and snapped the phone shut.
No we don't.
Not ten seconds later, she felt it vibrate in her hand again.
Yes we do. Meet me after school?
Clenching her teeth in annoyance, she typed out a quick reply, almost stabbing at the keys with her fingertips.
No, we really really don't.
With that, she closed the phone and turned it off, tossing it back into her bag and resolving to forget the matter entirely.
Feeling a set of eyes on her, she looked up to see Jenny regarding her with undisguised interest, a calculating expression on her face.
Common fears start to multiply
We realize we're paralyzed
Where'd it go, all that precious time?
Did we even try to stem the tide?
Thankfully the rest of the day proceeded without incident, since Blair managed to avoid everyone who was currently attempting to ruin her life. After returning home from school, she took a long, relaxing bubble bath- almost succeeding in taking her mind off the events of the previous evening- before pulling on a silky lavender slip and sheer dressing gown, leaving her hair loosely pinned on top of her head.
Pursing her lips, she perused the selection of dresses laid out on the bed, trying to decide which of them was just right for her planned dinner date with Nate. She selected a white Moschino with an abstract gray floral pattern- the trumpet-shaped skirt and large bow across the bodice gave it an elegant, romantic air, while the strapless bodice still showed plenty of skin. Setting aside a pair of contrasting pink Louboutins, Blair settled into the cushioned chair in front of her vanity and began applying her makeup.
She'd just finished the first layer when she heard a sharp knock at the door. Frowning in confusion, she glanced at the clock on her bedside table- Nate wasn't supposed to arrive for another fifteen minutes.
"Come in," she called out, carefully coating her lips with a layer of pink gloss.
She stopped abruptly when she saw Chuck's reflection in the vanity mirror. He leaned against the door frame in a deceptively relaxed stance, dressed casually in a pale pink button-down shirt and charcoal trousers, his tousled hair just long enough to curl up behind his ears. And his eyes were following the movement of her hand against her lips, tracing over the outline of her mouth with obvious interest. Blair dropped the applicator wand with a clatter, mentally steeling herself for the confrontation to come.
"I'm sorry, was there some part of 'no, I don't want to talk to you' that you were unclear about?" she asked coolly.
"Well, I'm sure you can understand my confusion. You have been sending rather… mixed signals lately," he responded, levering himself away from the door frame and sauntering into her room, his eyes fixed on her reflection.
Rising quickly to her feet, Blair turned to face him.
"Any 'signals' you're getting besides 'leave me alone' are nothing but the product of your own twisted fantasies, Chuck," she snapped.
His proximity made her acutely aware of how little she was wearing, and she crossed her arms over her chest, glowering at him.
This turned out to be a mistake, since it pulled his gaze downwards, skimming over the exposed curve of her breasts. She resisted the urge to tie her robe more tightly around herself, knowing that the sheer, gauzy fabric did little to conceal her body from his view.
"Look Waldorf," he sighed. "I get that denial is your MO, but let's not waste time pretending that what happened last night was some figment of my imagination."
Chuck took several paces towards her, and she instinctively backed up, attempting to put as much space between them as possible. She certainly didn't trust him to behave- at this point, she wasn't sure she even trusted herself.
"What happened last night was a mistake, and one I don't plan on repeating," she stated firmly, feeling her back press against the bathroom door. He edged even closer, until only a few feet separated them.
"A mistake you can't seem to stop yourself from repeating," he corrected her, a knowing smile crossing his face. He raised his hand to rest on the door frame next to her cheek, propping himself against his arm- and cutting off her escape route.
"I thought you wanted to talk," she prevaricated, her heart pounding erratically against her ribs.
"Well, you don't seem interested in talking, so…" Chuck mused, lifting his free hand to her face and running his fingers over a stray curl, gently tucking it behind her ear. She felt her skin flush as the back of his knuckles brushed against her cheek, trailing down the side of her neck.
"That's because there's nothing to talk about," she declared, staring stubbornly at the wall over his shoulder. She could feel herself responding to the close proximity of his body, his warm breath against her face, the tempting curve of his lip only inches from her own.
"Then I suppose we'll have to find something else to do," Chuck murmured, his darkening eyes staring intently at her mouth. In spite of the alarm bells echoing through her head, she felt frozen in place.
Until Chuck leaned forward and kissed her.
Inhaling sharply in surprise, she jerked her head back and pressed her open palms into his chest, pushing him backwards. But he grasped the nape of her neck and pulled her back into the kiss, slanting his mouth over hers with increased urgency. With a gentle nibble, he parted her lips, his tongue sliding in to stroke sensuously against her own. Her eyes drifted shut, almost of their own volition, as she savored the taste of his mouth and the feel of his firm, velvety lips. She felt enveloped by his body, her senses overwhelmed by warmth of his hands, the raspy sound of his breathing, the heady aroma of his skin.
In unison, they opened their mouths wider, deepening the kiss. He groaned in approval as her tongue eagerly caressed his, reaching up to cup her jaw in his palm. Blair felt her body arch mindlessly into him, her hands fisting into the material of his shirt to pull him even more tightly against her.
Encouraged by her ardent response, he slid his hands down to fondle her breasts through the thin layer of silk, cradling them firmly in his palms. Her nipples tightened into stiff buds beneath his fingers, and the resulting flood of warmth between her thighs caused her to shudder against him. She slid her hands over his shoulders and up the back of his neck, tangling her fingers impatiently into his hair.
Chuck's mouth left hers and she sighed at the loss of contact, feeling his lips move down her jaw to plant lingering, open-mouthed kisses onto her neck. One of his hands slid underneath the hem of her negligee, skimming over the soft skin of her thighs to cup her bare ass.
Blair moaned as he rocked his hips intimately into hers. Letting her head sway back until it lightly touched upon the door, she opened her eyes for just a moment… and caught a glimpse of their reflection in her bedroom mirror.
She saw herself draped against Chuck in little more than her underwear- her cheeks flushed, lips parted wantonly, hands clutching his body tightly against her.
A jolt of dismay ripped through her.
Oh my God, she thought, what am I doing?
Panicking, she shoved him back so hard he stumbled slightly, catching himself on the side of her vanity.
"Blair-" he began, his expression confused… and still slightly glazed over with arousal.
"You need to leave," she ordered in a wavering voice, "now."
He reached for her again and she smacked his hand away, startling them both.
"I mean it Chuck, get out," she snapped.
He stared back at her, still breathing heavily, his shirt half-unbuttoned and hair tousled wildly– from her desperate pulling on it, she realized with a surge of humiliation.
"Come on, Blair," he said persuasively, a hint of frustration in his voice, "You want this just as much as I do."
She had to say something, anything, to get him out of there. Nate was on his way over- he could even have walked in five minutes ago, she realized with a sudden stab of horror. She took a deep breath, stiffening in resolve.
"Look, I'm sorry if I gave you the wrong idea," she sighed, assuming the most world-weary tone she could muster. "But while your persistence is certainly… flattering, it's starting to get a little embarrassing."
His eyes narrowed at her as he considered her words.
"You're lying," he decided, edging closer towards her.
Using all of her willpower to avoid trembling, Blair rolled her eyes. "I don't know what it's going to take to convince you that I'm not interested, Chuck," she replied haughtily.
"Well, you could start by not twitching your ass at me every time I turn around," he retorted. "Don't think you can just use me as part of some desperate ploy to get Nate's attention."
She swallowed, realizing he'd seen right through her plan all along.
"Well, since my 'desperate ploy' worked, and Nate's on his way over right now, I think we're done here," she said dismissively.
His hand tightened around her wrist, making her breath catch in her throat.
"A boyfriend who's only interested when you trick him into it? I figured you had more self-respect than that, Waldorf." Chuck's voice assumed a harder edge.
"So says the guy who's currently throwing himself at me," she countered, only the hint of a tremor betraying the conviction in her voice. "For the last time, Chuck, I'm not interested in getting molested by you again, so just leave me alone."
She shook off his grip and his hand fell away from her, his eyes clouded over with anger.
"I don't remember you complaining when I had my fingers in your-"
"That's enough," she snapped, interrupting his vulgar comeback. "God, you're disgusting."
His mouth twisted in a grim smile. "Don't kid yourself, Blair. You were practically begging for it," he replied crudely. "It's not my fault your boyfriend obviously isn't keeping you satisfied."
"My boyfriend and I were perfectly fine until you came back," she shot back, with the fiercest glare she could muster.
"Oh, so my presence is to blame for your lackluster façade of a relationship?" he snorted, shaking his head mockingly.
"Well gee, Chuck- you've betrayed your best friend without even a second thought, you've repeatedly harassed me, and even the people you live with can't stand you. So yes, I think it's safe to say we were all better off with you on another continent." She glared defiantly at him, bracing herself for another round of insults.
But Chuck remained silent, his jaw clenching as he stared back at her with fathomless eyes.
"Well, not to worry, princess," he finally replied, his voice brimming with disdain. "Consider yourself left alone."
And with that, he turned and strode out of the room, his shoulders taut with anger. Blair stared after him, pulling her robe tightly around herself as a cold shiver ran through her body… accompanied by a hollow sensation that felt oddly like disappointment.
Why should we waste it on
Buying into the same old lies?
The longer we wait around
The faster the years go by
It's not too late
To feel a little more alive
Make an escape
Before we start to vaporize
Blair prodded listlessly at her pan-roasted squab breast, dragging one perfectly-medium rare slice around the plate with her fork. A glistening pile of buttered baby carrots sat untouched by its side, and the accompanying maple-balsamic glaze had been swirled into neat rings with the edge of her spoon.
"How's your food?" Nate inquired, apparently not noticing that she had yet to take a single bite.
"Oh, it's delicious," she smiled brightly. "Yours?"
"Awesome," he responded, tucking into the remainder of his veal chop with enthusiasm.
She nodded, returning her attention to her plate. She really should eat something, she supposed, but the mere thought was making her nauseous. She compromised on a bite of salad, stabbing a single leaf of romaine with her fork and munching on it disinterestedly.
"So where'd you get off to last night?" Nate asked curiously. "You just disappeared all of a sudden."
A guilty knot formed at the back of her throat, which she attempted to wash down with a gulp of wine.
"Oh, I wasn't feeling well, so I decided to head home early," she improvised, wrinkling her nose in feigned distaste at her supposed illness.
"Oh, I'm sorry. I hope you're feeling better." Nate accepted her explanation at face value, just like he always did. She studied his expression, looking for any indication of doubt or suspicion, but he just smiled back at her guilelessly.
"What about you, how was the rest of your night?" she asked, staring into the ruby depths of her pinot noir.
"Oh, Chuck and I went back to the Palace and, uh, got pretty hammered." He grinned sheepishly. "Man, you should've seen my mom's face when I got home, I was in rough shape."
Blair smiled tightly in response, trying not to visibly react to the mention of his best friend.
"Anyway, we just sat and talked about… all sorts of stuff. It was nice to just hang out like we used to, you know?" Nate mused. "I really missed having him around."
"Me too," she agreed without thinking, her heart catching in her throat when she realized how much she meant it. Suddenly she found herself picturing Chuck's face- his stoic expression when she told him they were all happier without him around, the brief flash of hurt in his eyes before he'd taken refuge in anger.
She'd probably succeeded in getting him to leave her alone- lashing out with the most hurtful insults she could think of seemed to be an effective strategy- but instead of feeling relieved, she just felt… sad, and confused, and guilty.
"Blair?" Nate's voice stirred her from her reverie. God, she couldn't even manage to feel guilty about what she was supposed to, she thought to herself. She really needed to pull herself together.
"Sorry, what?" She smiled apologetically.
"Oh, I was just saying how pretty you look in that dress," he repeated, casting an approving glance over the outfit she'd spent so long selecting.
"You're so sweet," she demurred, modestly lowering her eyes.
But instead of the familiar tingle of happiness that usually accompanied a compliment from Nate, his words left her feeling oddly empty. His look was admiring, not amorous, she thought. Appreciative, but not passionate. He didn't look like he was fantasizing about ripping the dress off her, or imagining what she might be wearing underneath. And he wasn't staring at her with a single-minded intensity that took her breath away.
Because Nate was a perfect gentleman, which was exactly what she'd always wanted.
They were the epitome of a fairytale romance, childhood sweethearts who were destined to spend their lives together. The perfect Upper East Side couple.
Glancing up from her still-untouched plate of food, she gazed at the boy sitting across the table from her, examining him as objectively as possible. She studied his chiseled features, bright blue eyes, and broad shoulders. He was handsome and charming, but surprisingly humble, radiating a boyish sweetness that was nearly irresistible. Nearly every girl she knew would die for a chance to date Nate Archibald, and with good reason. He wore his old money pedigree with ease, but remained remarkably unaffected by it. And above all, he was inherently kind-hearted, always seeing the best in everyone, and remarkably loyal to those he loved.
He really was the perfect guy, Blair mused, smiling wistfully. But she was starting to realize, with a mixture of surprise and sadness, that she was no longer sure he was the perfect guy for her.
Doubtless
We've been through this
So if you want to follow me you should know
I was lost then
And I am lost now
And I doubt I'll ever know which way to go
Chuck returned home that evening intoxicated, but not quite drunk enough to incur his father's wrath- or make him actually feel much better, as it turned out. The searing anger and resentment had turned back into more of a dull, bitter ache… which he still hadn't gotten used to, despite having been afflicted with it for the better part of six months. It was a sort of raw emptiness, a persistent hollow sensation that felt remarkably like loss. Although he couldn't imagine why, considering that he'd never had anything to lose to begin with.
At least during his brief affair with Blair the previous year, he hadn't technically done anything wrong- she and Nate weren't together, and though he hadn't been completely… truthful, he hadn't crossed any moral boundaries. His actions over the last twenty-four hours, on the other hand, were pretty much inexcusable by any definition. And despite that, out of all the unpleasant emotions he was currently experiencing, guilt was still not the most prominent.
Maybe Blair was right, he thought, maybe they'd all be better off without him around. He evidently lacked any sort of moral compass, and was just fucking up the lives of everyone around him as a result.
Thankfully, it appeared he had the penthouse to himself, so his brooding would go unnoticed. Swiping a bottle of scotch from the bar, he carried it to his room along with his bag of… entertainment for the evening.
He'd just reached his bedroom door when he heard a voice call out from across the hall.
"Eric?"
The plaintive cry was followed by several audible sniffles.
"No, it's Chuck," he replied dismissively, reaching for his doorknob. Hearing what sounded like more sniffles, he paused.
"Are you alright?" he called back, praying for her to say yes.
"Yes," Serena replied mournfully, finishing with a choked sob and a hiccup.
Cursing under his breath, he rapped on the door and slowly opened it.
Serena was sitting cross-legged in the center of her bed, surrounded by wadded up tissues and what appeared to be the contents of a twelve-year-old girl's memento box: letters and pictures and dried flowers and paper snowflakes. Her red-rimmed eyes and tear-stained cheeks were partially obscured by a curtain of tangled blonde hair, and she still wore a wrinkled school uniform.
Crying girls were really not Chuck's area of expertise, so he stood uncomfortably in the doorway, trying to think of something consoling to say. But before he could come up with anything, Serena launched back into another round of sobbing.
"Dan just… broke up with me," she whimpered, beginning to weep into a fresh tissue.
Considering her little display the night before, Chuck didn't have to ask why- although he was surprised Humphrey actually had the stones to do anything about it. He sat down on the edge of the bed, wracking his brain for something girls liked to hear after getting dumped.
"Well, if it's any consolation… you can do a lot better," he offered.
That, unfortunately, only made her sob harder.
"And God knows he can't, so…" Chuck trailed off, wondering whether he should pat her on the back or something- her crying was interspersed with sharp little gasps, like she kept forgetting to breathe.
Jesus Christ, is this what Blair had to put up with for the entire summer? Apparently breaking up with Dan turned Serena into a weepy, pathetic mess.
"You're really better off without him," he tried again. "Think of it like… having a 150-pound tumor removed."
This effort earned him only a tearful glare, before Serena replanted her face in her soggy tissue.
What the hell, he was trying to help her out here, he thought.
"Well… I have some really good weed," he suggested, out of other ideas.
At this, Serena's crying slowed and then paused, ending in a sad little hiccup as she wiped her nose on the sleeve of her blouse.
"Well…" she sniffed. "Maybe that might help."
Relieved to be doing something at which he was decidedly more expert, Chuck retrieved his bag of pot and set about rolling a joint. Under the guise of needing more space, he convinced her to stow away her sad little collection of sentimental crap- in reality, it was partly so she would stop blubbering all over it, but mostly because he couldn't stomach sitting in a pile of teddy bears and snowflakes and some bedraggled old band t-shirt that smelled like cheap cologne.
Laying out a rolling paper, Chuck pinched apart several small clusters of weed and arranged them in a green line down the center, deftly rolling it into a tight cylinder.
"So what did Bart want to talk to you about this morning?" she asked curiously. "He seemed pretty pissed."
"Just the usual… " Chuck replied dismissively, licking the seam of the paper to secure the joint. Reaching into his pocket for his lighter, he gave the end a twist and then fired it up. "Disappointing and embarrassing him, that sort of thing." He took a long, slow drag before passing it over to Serena.
"I don't get why he's so hard on you all the time," she mused, taking a drag herself- and immediately bursting into a loud cough.
"Years of experience, I suppose," he responded in an indifferent tone, watching her with a hint of amusement.
Her brow furrowed, but she said nothing in response, studying him out of the corner of her eyes.
"So what's Chuck Bass doing home on a Friday night? No big plans?" she asked in a strained voice.
"Decided to spend some time alone with my thoughts," he replied dryly, plucking the joint from her outstretched fingers and taking another drag.
"And by thoughts, I assume you mean porn," Serena raised her eyebrows at the brown paper bag on the bed next to them.
He shrugged, exhaling a slow stream of smoke. To be fair, the vast majority of his thoughts did belong in that category.
"The selection at Marquee was subpar. Nobody really worth the effort," he commented, passing the joint back to her.
"As opposed to last night, you mean?" Serena inhaled more carefully this time, plainly trying to avoid another coughing fit.
Chuck bristled in anticipation of another lecture.
"That actually took remarkably little effort," he countered flippantly.
But when he looked over at her, expecting a scathing retort, Serena's expression was more thoughtful than critical.
"So." She paused, giving him a shrewd look. "How long have you had feelings for Blair?"
Chuck scoffed in response, ignoring the tightening sensation in his chest.
"I don't have feelings for anyone," he responded sardonically, retrieving his joint and taking another puff. "Don't project your Humphrey melodrama all over me."
"Because I was thinking," she continued as if he hadn't spoken. "why would Bart lie to everyone about the reason you left?"
Chuck shrugged.
"Because he's an asshole?" he offered indifferently.
"Or…" Serena took the joint he held out towards her, studying him for a moment. "Because you actually did want to leave after Blair blew you off. You've only been back two weeks, and you've already made a pass at her again."
Summarized aloud, it sounded even more pitiful than it did inside his head.
"Maybe I just wanted a piece of ass," he suggested, schooling his features into an expression of disinterest.
"You know, as degenerate as you may be," she paused to roll her eyes and take another puff, "I know you care about your friendship with Nate, so…" She breathed a ring of smoke through pursed lips, looking pensive for a moment. "I can't imagine you risking that unless… it's not just physical?"
Chuck stiffened, casting a sideways glance towards the safety of his own room.
"This isn't a group therapy session, van der Woodsen," he answered abruptly, plucking the joint away from her and taking another drag. "Stick to your own problems."
"So you admit you have a problem," Serena raised her eyebrows at him, undeterred.
"I admit nothing," he exhaled sharply in frustration. "My only problem is that you're being an enormous pain in my ass right now."
His stepsister smiled wryly, regarding him with a sympathetic gaze- which just frustrated him further, because sympathy was the last thing he wanted. Clearly the weed was making her a bit… sentimental.
Moistening the tips of his fingers in his mouth, Chuck pinched the end of the joint, which expired with a tiny hiss, and perched it in the branches of a little porcelain tree that rested on Serena's bedstand.
"Have you told her?" Serena asked quietly.
Embarrassment and self-consciousness were overtaken by an odd sense of relief, as Chuck realized this was probably the first honest conversation he'd had with anyone in months.
"I… it doesn't matter." he paused and exhaled slowly. "She doesn't want anything to do with me."
Serena nodded in understanding.
"Yeah, she doesn't want anything to do with me either right now," she said, smiling sadly.
Well, that at least explained why he was stuck dealing with this mess, Chuck thought.
"Wow, you get… really good stuff," she commented, leaning back in bed and clasping a pillow to her chest dreamily.
"Yeah, it's Nate's favorite," he responded idly.
Serena contemplated the ceiling for a moment, lost in thought.
"I don't think Blair is really happy with Nate," she admitted softly, as if voicing aloud something she'd been keeping to herself for a long time. "And I wanted her to be, because… I thought it would be my fault if she wasn't…" she trailed off as she turned her gaze down to the duvet, picking at it absentmindedly.
Chuck digested this revelation in silence, realizing that Serena might be more astute than he'd ever given her credit for. Perhaps, like Blair, she thought she could simply wish things away if she ignored them long enough.
The whole situation would be funny if it weren't so sad.
"Of course, I can't really weigh in on their relationship because, well…" she gestured with her hands, indicating that the reason was obvious. Chuck paused in consideration, realizing that neither of them really had a leg to stand on with regards to Blair and Nate.
"It's not like she wants to hear it from me either," he observed dryly.
"Well… hopefully one of them will figure it out eventually," she sighed.
"I can guarantee you it won't be Nate. Figuring things out isn't really his forte," he commented, and Serena snorted in laughter.
The pair sat in companionable silence for awhile, lost in their own thoughts. Feeling pleasantly mellow, Chuck glanced over at Serena, wondering what she was thinking about.
"You know what I could really go for right now?" she said suddenly, putting her hand on his thigh and staring at him intently.
Chuck tensed, staring back at her with confusion. Shit, is she coming on to me? he thought, feeling more alarmed by the prospect than he would've expected.
"Cheetos," Serena declared with a wide smile. "I love how cheesy and orange they are. Cheetos are my favorite."
Letting out a sigh of relief, he chuckled in response. Apparently a year of relatively clean living had really done a number on Serena's tolerance.
"I'll go see what I can find," he responded with amusement.
After a few minutes of rummaging around the kitchen, he returned with a large bag of Cheez Puffs, which were sufficiently orange to placate Serena… who then proceeded to demolish half the bag. In between overstuffed mouthfuls, she rambled on about redecorating her room, how super psyched she was for Fashion Week, and an English assignment she seemed oddly enthusiastic about.
Chuck was only half-listening to most of it, to be honest, but it was kind of… pleasant to just hang out with someone who didn't seem to hate him. And whose presence didn't twist his insides up into a raging ball of hormones, guilt, or both.
Trying to yawn as inconspicuously as possible, he stretched back against the pillows. Despite his efforts to keep a somewhat attentive expression on his face, he soon felt his eyelids begin to droop, and eventually he relaxed and gave in to the irresistible pull of sleep.
It was several hours later when Chuck finally awoke, wincing as he stretched out his cramped limbs. He sat up and rubbed the sleep from his eyes, glancing over at Serena and chuckling when he saw that she'd passed out with her mouth half open, Cheez Puff in hand. Mascara stains still tracked down her cheeks, and her white duvet and school blouse were dusted with bright orange crumbs.
He couldn't resist snapping a quick picture with his phone, commemorating their first sibling bonding moment- and providing potential blackmail material, should it ever prove necessary.
Pulling himself off the bed, he left the room and quietly shut the door behind him, still smirking at the image of his drooling stepsister covered in remnants of her junk food binge. He paused a moment to adjust his rumpled shirt and tuck it back into his pants, too sleepy and distracted to notice a pair of horrified eyes observing him from the end of the hallway.
A/N: Oh dear... it looks like someone may have gotten the wrong impression. (Just to reassure those of you who are understandably nervous about this issue, Chuck and Serena will never hook up in this story.)
Anyway, big thanks to Terrabeth, for whom the word "beta" is simply insufficient. Without her assistance, I fear my characters would be completely inept at sex, drugs, and conjunctions.
As for the rest of you, this chapter was a beast and a half to finish, so please hit the happy review button and tell me what you thought! :)