AN: Mucho apologies for the delay in this chapter (especially considering how important it is), but it's up now, and I have to warn you, it's long. Like over 7,000 words long. Regardless, I think that all of them are necessary.
A few items of business before we get down to it:
1. This is the second to the last chapter. There will also be a short epilogue. Then, I am writing a sequel to this story that incorporates a lot of the storylines/characters/themes from S2-S4, but in a very different way. Tentative title is "Kings and Queens."
2. I'm posting a series of drabbles. The first 4 in a series of 10 are up. Title is "Nothing More to Say."
3. Chuck and Blair's Christmas gifts to each other are linked in my profile-I have a photobucket album with pictures of them.
4. As some of you will see, there is some dialogue lifted directly from episode 2x25, "The Goodbye Gossip Girl." Also, I used a line from 3x09, "They Shoot Humphreys, Don't They?" and a bastardized version of a line in 4x04, "A Touch of Eva." None of it belongs to me (but I thought it was a nice touch).
Thanks go to JosieSwan for betaing this so quickly and to comewhatmay who is the S to my B.
Rumors are running rampant that our Queen B is taking a protégée under her fabulous wing—and for those of you following the upward climb of one Jennifer Humphrey, you'll be gratified to know that it looks like she's left Brooklyn behind forever. But what we really want to know is whether or not Blair will select Jenny to be her royal successor. With the military action against V a rousing success, and the battle for Mr. Archibald almost won, is there anything that Little J can't do?
"I remember when I first moved back to New York and Dan told me that he'd gotten involved with Serena van der Woodsen. I thought he was crazy, but I was wrong. It isn't him, it's the Upper East Side. It destroys you."
Blair looked up from the jewelry she was sorting through to see Vanessa standing in the doorway of her bathroom. "I'm sorry," Blair said, holding Vanessa's gaze in the mirror, "was there something you wanted? A shoulder to cry on after Nate dumped your sorry Brooklyn ass?"
But Vanessa didn't waver, and for once, her eyes were as cold as Blair's. "Dan dating Serena dragged me into all this. I would have been happy dating some hipster friend of my sister's or maybe a jam session buddy of Rufus's but instead, I fell for Nate Archibald. And now," Vanessa practically growled, "the worst part of this is that I fucking subscribe to Gossip Girl. I get her blasts, just the same as the rest of you, if only so I can know when I've been targeted by you and your stupid minions."
Blair turned and eyed her up and down with distaste. "Most of the time, you're actually beneath my notice. Not necessarily Jenny's, but she'll rise above you given a little time."
"You saw the blast. I heard Chuck say he charged your phone."
Blair raised her chin. "I did see it."
"Did you send it?" Vanessa asked, the hateful edge of her voice growing sharper.
"Maybe," Blair said, turning back to the tangled necklaces she'd been separating. "Does it even matter? I told you before, you want to keep Nate, then keep him. Jenny didn't force him to do anything."
Vanessa grimaced in frustration. "You know that's not true. You know and you're going to sit there and lie to me. What if it was you? What if someone was trying to steal Chuck from you? Would you let them?"
"First," Blair said, congratulating herself on how calm she was, "if it was me, it would never have gotten this far. Second, you forget. It's already happened, and I took care of the problem. Today."
"I don't understand."
Blair's chin tilted up and her voice took on an even more superior, patronizing tone. "Let me walk you through it. Dan gave me some advice a few months ago, and I took it, and announced to Chuck that I would tell him how I felt. And I was going to, before you intervened, and told Dan about the little bet that Chuck and I had made over you. Did you forget what you did, Vanessa? You told Dan so that he'd stop me. He did, you know. I didn't tell Chuck that night. I never told him. And here we are, months later, and we're both still silent."
Vanessa looked surprised. "I didn't think. . ." she stuttered, surprised that Blair would remember that. That Blair would even care. She'd never thought of Blair as having a heart before this, and had certainly never considered that Blair was in love with Chuck Bass. It was astounding that anyone could even be in love with Chuck Bass.
"You knew," Blair said steadily, her dark eyes cold as ice. "And you told Dan so that he would stop the attempt. So now you know why I helped Jenny. I've always believed in an eye for an eye, so now we're even, and I can forget you even exist."
Vanessa tried to rally, but it was hard under the frigid condemnation of Blair's antagonism. "I didn't mean to. I . . .I'm going to fight for him. The way you fought for Chuck."
"I would hope so," Blair said, turning away again, clearly done with the conversation, "because Jenny needs a challenge. I wouldn't want you to make it too easy on her."
"This isn't over," Vanessa said stubbornly.
"Well, then you'd better go tell Nate that, shouldn't you?" Blair said lightly.
"I will," Vanessa said, turning and storming out.
Blair looked up into the mirror and smiled. Whoever said that revenge wasn't satisfying had clearly never gotten even before.
"You're smirking at your reflection. Should I be worried? Are you planning on giving us all food poisoning?" Chuck said, walking into the bathroom.
"Only Vanessa. And maybe Humphrey. I haven't decided yet," Blair said with a grimace.
"I passed Vanessa in the hall. It didn't look like your heart to heart went very smoothly."
"I just had some unfinished business to take care of, that's all," Blair said, hoping that Chuck wouldn't ask what it was. She didn't want to bring up the whole 'I love you' that hadn't actually happened because revisiting it, even briefly, with Vanessa Abrams of all people, made her remember how she'd felt that night. Helpless and weak, the words she was dying to say to him trapped inside of her.
And tonight, that couldn't happen again. She would be strong. She would say what she felt—no games, no pretension, no hiding.
Most importantly, she would have no fear of what he would say or wouldn't say back. Telling Chuck how she felt wasn't about her wanting to hear it—though she did want to, a lot—it was about her inability to stay silent one more day.
After all, tonight was Christmas, and it was a holiday of giving and joy and love. None of those things had figured very prominently in her relationship with him prior to this, but maybe Christmas could also be about starting anew. And to do that, Blair knew she would have to take the plunge and finally confess that she was in love with him.
"I've confiscated more candles," Chuck said, "though I had to steal them practically from under Erik's nose."
Blair smiled, as she plugged in her curling iron. Thank god for small favors—Chuck had finally relented and was allowing them half an hour of electricity to get ready for their Christmas Eve party.
"Do I want to know why you're hoarding supplies? Are you planning social destruction without me?" she asked speculatively as she brushed out her hair. It felt so intimate to stand in front of the long wide counter with its matching sinks and get ready together. Like they were already a couple; like they were already married. She glanced down at her empty ring finger and couldn't help imagining a flawless (and large) diamond, set in platinum, there. Chuck, unlike Nate, would know exactly the right kind of ring to buy her when the time came. And Blair was certain that the time would, because tonight, when she told him she loved him, it didn't mean that she'd love him for a little while and then eventually stop or get tired of him or want somebody else. She was going to love Chuck Bass every day for the rest of her life—even when she didn't like him very much.
"Never," Chuck said, as he gazed at her in the mirror. "I know better than to ever try to execute a plan without the Queen B on my side." He paused and reached out to stroke her bare arm, a possessive, intent caress. "You look exceptionally beautiful tonight."
"You don't look so bad yourself," Blair said coyly, her gaze taking in his pristine white tuxedo shirt and perfectly cut black trousers as he tied his red paisley bowtie. "And I do believe we're going to match. Again." She smiled indulgently at him as she leaned over and gave a finishing tug to the red silk around his neck.
"Of course we are," Chuck said. "It's Christmas. You're going to wear red."
"I could have worn green."
"Again," Chuck said with a smirk, "it's Christmas, and you're Blair Waldorf. You'll wear red."
He was right—she rarely wore green at Christmas, because most shades of the color washed her out and made her complexion sallow. Red, on the other hand, was one of her favorite colors and one she wore regularly, especially around the holidays.
"Sometimes I wonder how much attention you've been paying to me through the years," Blair said, glancing up at him from her under eyelashes. Her voice was light, teasing, but she was honestly curious. She'd never asked him if the night of Victrola had truly been the beginning for him, or if he'd felt something for her before that—but she'd always wondered.
"More than you realize," Chuck said offhandedly, and this time, Blair decided she wasn't going to let him off so easily. Under the cover of curling a strand of hair, she asked again. "And how much was that, Bass?"
He leaned against the counter, his expression inscrutable and the smirk out in full force. "Darling, you know I've only ever had eyes for you."
"That's a lie," Blair said steadily, wondering why he wasn't just telling her. What could he possibly have to hide?
Correction: what more could he have to hide?
Chuck glanced at his watch. "The electricity's due to turn off in a few minutes. I'll light some candles." He left the bathroom, and returned a minute later, setting a few out on the counter and lighting them with a lighter he'd fished from the pocket of his pants. "That's better."
The lights flashed off a moment later, and Blair wondered idly if he'd had time to go downstairs and tell them to turn the lights off sooner so that he could avoid answering the question that she'd been asking.
Blair sighed and set down the curling iron as it cooled. "Good thing I was done with my hair."
"It looks lovely. You're lovely," Chuck said softly, wrapping his arms around her, brushing aside her hair and pressing kiss after kiss along the column of her neck. It was dim in the room, and Blair felt short of breath as the reflection of the candles flickered in the mirror. This lack of electricity was inconvenient, but she couldn't deny that candlelight was unbearably romantic.
She leaned into him for a minute, enjoying the feel of him so close to her, the heat of his body leaching through the thin silk of the robe she wore, but then she pulled away as she felt his hands descend to the tie on said robe.
"Chuck," Blair exclaimed. "It's Christmas Eve!"
"And?" Chuck said, raising an eyebrow. "I know you'll be tearing my clothes off later."
That wasn't the only thing she hoped to be tearing—Blair also hoped she'd be tearing down a few of his many emotional walls.
Blair shrugged his hands off and gave him a bright smile. "This is now, and that's later. I have to finish getting dressed and go downstairs and supervise the dinner preparations. I'm not entirely certain that without my observation that Vanessa won't try to feed us rat poison."
"Are you going to tell me why it was necessary to enrage her?"
"Enrage?" Blair asked lightly as she brushed powder on her face. "I'm sure I didn't mean to do that."
"Bullshit. You meant to decimate her. I know you too well, darling. I know exactly what you meant to do to her."
"She crossed me," Blair shrugged. "She had to be put in her place, once and for all. Nate is not only her meal ticket, but the only reason she has a place in this world at all, and on top of that, they're ill-suited. Never mind that the entire plan had a rather beautiful symmetry to it." Blair gave her hair one final glance and turned away from the mirror, crossing the bathroom floor until she reached the doorway to the closet.
"What aren't you telling me?" Chuck asked, as Blair unzipped a garment bag, revealing a ruby red dress.
"You of all people have the nerve to ask me that," Blair complained, shutting the door in his face, despite his protests. "I know, I know. You've seen me naked before. But maybe I want to try to preserve some of the mystery."
"Mystery isn't all it's cracked up to be," Chuck argued, his words muffled through the wood of the door.
"Perhaps," Blair said, slipping her dress on and reaching out to open the door to him. She turned, presenting her back to him. "Especially if it means you'll zip me up."
Chuck ran his fingertips up the skin of her back that was exposed by the open zipper of her dress. Pulling her hair up, he rested his lips against the nape of her neck. "Beautiful," he murmured and the fervency of his voice sent shivers up her spine.
"Merry Christmas, Chuck," she said softly, turning and resting her hands on his shoulders.
"Merry Christmas, Blair," he said as he grazed her cheek with his lips. He pulled back and Blair thought she could see something new in his eyes—something that perhaps foretold confessions of love? But before she could open her mouth and say it, he spoke again. "I have to go downstairs and make sure Erik goes out to the garage to turn the electricity back on. So you and your minions can prepare us a feast worthy of Christmas Eve."
"Wait," Blair said, suddenly breathless, catching his arm. "Don't go quite yet."
Before he could even speak, she continued, "I will not be weak anymore." Chuck opened his mouth to speak but she cut him off again. "You can't run; you have to stay here and hear it. Chuck Bass," Blair took a deep breath, praying, hoping, wishing that he wouldn't run again—that he would never run away every again, "I love you. I love you so much it consumes me."
Silence fell between them as Blair's confession detonated in the room. Blair searched his face, desperately looking for a sign that he was happy, that she had done the right thing in finally forcing them to face this thing.
"Blair . . ." Chuck said, and it was not the confession that she'd been wanting. It was the opposite. It was all there in the tightly controlled hesitation. He wasn't going to say it back. After everything, after him bringing her up here to this godforsaken lodge, he was still not going to say it back.
But she wouldn't go down fighting. She was Blair Waldorf and she knew he felt the same way. "I know you love me too," she said in an almost inaudible whisper. "You said you wanted to show me. That it was more important than the words, but the words are important too. They're important to me. I can't do this without them."
He cupped her face in his hands. "And you'll get them. I promise. But not quite yet. Please, Blair, trust me."
She wanted to cry. How could she trust him? She had trusted him so many times before, and each time, it had only blown up in her face.
"How?" she asked, hating that she was nearly begging him, hating that he had brought her near to tears.
"I don't know," he said. "God, Blair, I don't know. Just . . .I can't say them right now. But I promise you that I can."
A flame of anger surged in her chest, and she swallowed hard against the hurt swelling her throat. She wouldn't let him see her cry—not this time. "I've been waiting a long time, Chuck. Too long. Either tell me now or . . ."
"Or what? You'll leave? Sorry, but I don't think that's going to happen." His voice was defensive, and he was no longer pleading with his eyes. He'd grown cold and stony, as heartless as his reputation, and Blair wanted to hate him, or maybe just herself.
She took a deep breath. "I told you because I couldn't keep silent one more second. Because when you love someone, you want to be with them—no lies and no pretension. I just want to know that everything we've done, all the gossip and the lies and the hurt, that it will have been for something. Tell me it was for something."
His eyes grew colder—and his voice even more impossibly so. "You mean your little British lord? Was it for something, Blair? I forget."
"Better than your Brazilian triplets on the beach," she lashed out, her own voice cracking under the strain of trying to keep calm, of trying to keep her tears in check.
She turned to walk away, but he grabbed her arm, preventing her from leaving him. From running.
"No, not like this," Chuck begged, and she looked suspiciously into the face of the man she loved.
"Like what then?"
"Just . . ." Chuck paused, as if he were searching for the words that could make her stay, could make her believe, could make her trust—and he knew there were only three of those. Three words. Eight letters.
"Just please. Let me do this how I'd planned it. I can't . . .it's hard enough for me as it is. You have to give me the time I need."
"You'd planned it?" Blair asked, hating the hopeful tone she couldn't help.
He nodded. "I did. And it was going to be hard enough to do it even without all of this," he gestured between them. "I'm a creature of habit, Blair. You have to let me be that guy. Even if he doesn't deserve you."
Blair blinked away her tears, and caught his face in her hands. "Maybe," she said, resting her forehead on hers, "maybe what I told you might make it a little easier."
He nodded, and Blair could see the relief in his eyes that she hadn't run. "I'll wait," she told him. "Not very long, because it feels like I've always been waiting for you, and I'm tired. But I love you so that means you get a free pass." She kissed him, tasting the salt of her tears mixing on their lips, his arms wrapping around her so tightly she almost couldn't breathe.
"Does that mean you'll say it again?" he asked, and Blair was relieved to see that his smirk was back. Nothing, even her own declaration of love, could keep it away for long.
"When you can finally say it back, you can count on hearing it again," Blair said.
It definitely wasn't the declaration that she'd been expecting, but it wasn't hopeless. They weren't hopeless—at least not quite yet.
Blair was emptying a can of peaches into a casserole dish with the Sandra Lee cookbook out in front of her for reference, when Jenny walked in, wearing a green dress not unlike the one Serena had worn during Eleanor's fashion show.
"You stole it back," Blair said, giving her a tough appraisal from head to toe. "To be honest, it looks better on you. And Nate always did like the long limbed, leggy blonds."
J rolled her eyes, and Blair frowned. Jenny didn't look nearly as happy as she should look. "Let me guess, Vanessa got to him before you could."
"Nope," Jenny said, leaning against the counter, a frown on her face. "Not exactly. We both got to him, I guess. But then he went on this big long rant about how he didn't like either of us, and how he wanted to be treated as more than a piece of meat."
Blair sighed. "Unfortunately, what Nathaniel fails to understand is that you're treated how you act. If he can't elevate his behavior, and if the shoe fits . . ."
"I know," Jenny said, glancing down at the floor. "I just thought if he knew . . .if he kissed me again. . ."
"He would see?" Blair couldn't help but retort a little bitterly. "Let me just stop you right there, Jenny Humphrey, and clear up that little fallacy before you go pinning more hopes on it. Kissing doesn't clarify things, it only complicates them. I should never have come up here with Chuck. The whole world thinks we're together now."
"But you are together," Jenny interrupted. "We all saw it."
"Exactly," Blair said. "The whole world has seen it, but what the whole world and Gossip Girl don't know is that I told Chuck I loved him. And he didn't say it back."
"I can't believe he didn't say it. What happened?" Jenny seemed genuinely upset, but this was the Upper East Side and as much as Blair had maligned Jenny in the past, it would be stupid to give her any ammunition whatsoever.
"I'm not going to tell people that. I wouldn't do that to you. Not after . . ."
"Not after I'm already humiliated because the man I love can't even give me something as small and simple as three words?"
"Blair, you know he loves you."
A bubble of hysterical laughter welled in her chest and trickled out of her throat. "I know. But he says that I have to wait, for the right time, the right plan. God, I don't even know what he means by that. And yet here I am, cooking for him."
"I am too," Jenny shrugged. "For Nate, a guy who doesn't understand that I'm fighting not for a piece of meat, but for him. And Chuck will come around. It's still Christmas for another day and a half. He'll find a way to tell you."
"You're either delusional or optimistic," Blair sighed as she opened random cupboards, looking for a bowl to mix her streusel topping in. "But here I am, trusting Sandra Lee to make sure our Christmas dinner isn't a disaster, so I suppose I can trust you with my love life."
"By the way," Blair added, "I should warn you that Vanessa came to see me while I was dressing for dinner, and she wasn't very pleased with our little plan. I know you two used to be friends . . ."
"She stole Nate from me," Jenny interrupted. "She stole him, so she deserves whatever she gets."
"Good," Blair said with satisfaction. "I hoped you would see things that way. Don't be weak like me. I let Serena back in after she betrayed me with Nate, and it forever undermined my rule."
"But Serena's your best friend."
"That's the thing. You need to be cold to be Queen. I wasn't cold enough."
Serena chose that moment to interrupt, clattering into the kitchen wearing pink (of course) and sequins (of course).
"Serena, dear, Merry Christmas," Blair said, her voice morphing into something sweeter and more saccharine and Jenny realized that Blair had been real with her—there hadn't been any varnished pretense, only reality. "Didn't you realize it was Christmas?" she asked, eyeing Serena's interesting choice of dresses.
Serena tossed her hair, and Jenny wondered if all that blond, shining effortlessness was as unpracticed as it seemed. As hard as she herself tried, she could never get down Serena's air of surprised nonchalance. What? You mean you think I'm beautiful? What? You're in love with me?
"I don't think it's necessary to stick to red and green. They get a bit boring," Serena said with a bit of an edge to her voice, as she glanced from Blair to Jenny. "I just came from Vanessa's room."
Jenny saw Blair's hand still on the cookbook for a brief moment before moving again. "Oh? And how is our resident Grinch? Has she managed to get off her high horse? I need her to get down here and help prepare dinner."
"Blair, I thought I told you that I didn't want you to mess with Nate and Vanessa's relationship. That it wasn't any of your business."
"I didn't realize that you were the Queen," Blair said steadily. "Besides, it wasn't my decision. It's between Jenny and Vanessa."
But Serena didn't budge, her eyes stayed glued on Blair. "She's devastated. Nate broke up with her. I'm sure he's only . . ." Serena paused and only then did her gaze shift towards Jenny. "Well, it's only a matter of time, let me say that much."
"Actually, it's not," Jenny spoke up. Her personal opinion was that Serena was being awfully hypocritical; Blair hadn't had to forgive her for her transgressions against her, but she had. And this was the way she was repaid for sacrificing some of her power and her territory, all for the friendship of a girl that turned on her every chance she got? Jenny didn't think that was very fair at all, and despite that she herself had railed against Blair's nasty vindictiveness more than once, she had a lot of respect for Blair. Maybe, Blair deserved better.
"I don't understand," Serena said.
"You wouldn't," Jenny retorted, "because just the same as it isn't any of Blair's business, it isn't yours either. And Nate dumped Vanessa, but he didn't exactly come running into my arms either. I don't think he's very happy with either of us, actually."
"She was crying."
"We all cry," Blair snapped, and Jenny wondered if she was going to tell Serena about Chuck's failure to say he loved her back—but Blair said nothing and refused to explain what she'd meant, even when pressed.
Finally, Serena had flounced off, all blond hair and pink sequins, to the dining room to set the table, and the kitchen was again quiet.
Blair was topping her fruit concoction when Vanessa entered the kitchen, eyes downcast, but noticeably red and swollen. She stopped abruptly when she saw that both Blair and Jenny were present, but Jenny was surprised, considering what she'd heard about their confrontation earlier in the evening, to see Blair look up and give Vanessa what appeared to be a genuine smile.
"V, I'm glad to see you decided to join us." There wasn't even any of the normal sarcastic bite to Blair's words—they seemed real and actually friendly.
Vanessa edged suspiciously into the kitchen. "You too."
"It's Christmas," Blair sighed. "Let's try to put this behind us, at least for tonight."
"I suppose I could manage that."
"Good," Blair said with a bright smile, "because you're cooking the main dish and without you, I'm not sure what we'd do."
Vanessa gave a snort of laughter, but it didn't seem like she was all that amused—or even surprised. "Of course. I know my place."
"Excellent. According to Chuck's schedule we only have twenty minutes left, so we'll have to hurry. And I'm not really in the mood to go to him to bargain for more electricity."
Something in Blair's voice, or her words, or her expression must have told Vanessa everything she needed to know, because she only nodded wordlessly and got to work.
Jenny thought it was intriguing how even when professing to hate Blair Waldorf, when faced with the heartbreak she'd dealt with where Chuck was concerned, even her most fervent detractors seemed to be able to find a shred of sympathy in their hearts.
Two hours later, Christmas Eve dinner was eaten, the candles were flickering low, their wicks drowning on melted wax, and the entire group was gathered around the Christmas tree.
Chuck had forbidden any more electricity, but the candles provided a beautiful golden glow around the room, and if Jenny mourned the white lights on her tree, she didn't say so.
Nate was actually sitting with Serena and Dan on the couch. Blair and Chuck had appropriated the loveseat, her legs curled up underneath her and his arm extended across the back of the sofa, but nobody had missed the rather dull, almost dead energy between them tonight. Erik was on the floor, Jenny's head on his shoulder, and Vanessa was silently glowering at the rest of the group from a chair in the corner.
"It was actually a wonderful Christmas so far," Serena said drowsily, her fingers intertwining with Dan's. "Surprisingly."
"The food was even edible," Nate added. "I have to give Jenny and Vanessa props for dinner. That was actually one of the better meals I've ever had. I never would have guessed it came from cans." He also never would have guessed at the beginning of the day that tonight, when both girls turned to look at him, neither of them would look very pleased. He'd clearly managed to fuck up that whole issue with his enlightened "I'm a man, not a piece of meat," speech.
"I made the cobbler. Me and Sandra Lee," Blair revised. "Though I have to give her more credit than I did initially. Her ideas aren't terrible. Not that I'll be spending much time in the kitchen after this."
"You could," Serena said. "I can totally see you on the Next Food Network Star."
"I'm going to pretend not to even know what that is," Blair persevered. "Nevermind that it's one of Dorota's favorite shows."
She was quiet for a moment, then continued, in a voice so quiet that barely anyone could hear her. "I missed Dorota. It didn't seem right without her there."
If anyone was surprised that the person Blair Waldorf missed during the holidays was her maid, and not her mother or her father, they didn't say a word, but Chuck merely nodded, his hand dropping to her shoulder and giving it a reassuring squeeze. "We'll be able to see her soon, I promise."
Blair looked up at him, and the whole room, which had begun to erupt in minor chatter, silenced almost instantly. It was as if they could sense the storm brewing under the supposedly calm surface of Chuck and Blair, and they wanted to be witness to the moment it erupted.
"We'll?" Blair asked with a bitter laugh. "I know I'll see her soon. I don't know if you'll be invited."
"Blair," Chuck said, his tone reasonable, "please don't do this. Not here. Not now."
"Then when are we going to do it?" Blair asked.
Chuck glanced around the room, all too aware that the entire gathering was holding its breath for his response. What he was about to say was going to change everything, but then he was Chuck Bass. And Chuck Bass practically invented the concept of a gamechanger.
"Come upstairs in fifteen minutes," he said steadily, "and you'll see."
Blair glanced down at her watch. "In fifteen minutes it'll be midnight."
"Yes," Chuck said, and he could feel the interest of those around them spiking. "Come find me then."
"And you'll have something to say to me," Blair said, hoping dawning again in her eyes.
"I think you'll be happy with what I have for you."
"I like reassurance."
"She'll go," Serena said from across the room, and gave a helpless shrug when Blair turned and glared at her. "B, it's not like you have any other commitments up here."
"I suppose I could arrange that," Blair finally said, giving in as gracefully as she could.
"Fifteen minutes. Don't forget," Chuck said, rising. He faced the rest of the room. "And Merry Christmas. See you in the morning."
When Chuck disappeared, Serena pounced, predictably. "B, what is going on?"
Blair just shrugged, and Jenny wasn't surprised to see her throw a tiny, reprimanding look in her direction. The Queen B didn't want her to give away her secret, and Jenny wouldn't. Not this one, and not right now. Though she didn't want anyone else to know, Jenny knew Blair was too fragile right now.
"Something happened," Nate objected. "I could see it. What happened, Blair? Did he finally tell you?"
Blair stiffened on the couch. "What do you mean, did he finally tell me? What do you know about it, Archibald?"
"I know that he wants to. I know that he's terrified. But he's got a plan."
"A plan?" Blair scoffed. "What where was this amazing plan when I told him before dinner?"
"Oh my god," Serena exclaimed, "you told him, B? For real?"
"For real," Blair said with a depressed voice. "And he couldn't say it back."
Erik and Nate exchanged worried glances. "Maybe you just caught him off guard," Nate volunteered. "He had this plan for tonight, at least that's what I thought he had, and maybe he just got . . .turned around because you told him first."
"You don't get turned around because someone tells you that they love you," Jenny objected. "You either love them or you don't."
"He loves you," Erik spoke up. "He'll say it. I know he will. He wants to be that guy, Blair. It's just not easy for him."
"Of course it isn't. Of course I had to fall for someone for who this doesn't come naturally."
"Honestly," Nate added, "I'm not sure it comes all that naturally to you, either."
"Don't let him get away with it," Erik said. "And I mean that with all possible affection for my brother, but you're Blair Waldorf. If anyone can wring a love confession out of a man, it's you."
Blair glanced down at her watch. "Well, I suppose I'll be finding out now if that's the case," she said, rising to her feet. "Merry Christmas."
Blair had a fairly good idea the kind of scene she'd be presented with when she opened the door to the suite she was sharing with Chuck. He knew what she liked, what he could do to try to smooth over her hurt feelings from earlier, and when walked into the bedroom, she wasn't disappointed.
Candles were scattered over every surface, the flames flickering in the darkness of the room. The covers on the bed were turned down, but there was no Chuck. Blair slipped out of her heels and walked further into the bedroom, expecting Chuck to show himself, but he didn't.
Christmas sex was a great present—especially when it had been so long since she'd been able to have him, and she was still getting used to the idea that she could have him whenever she wanted—but Blair couldn't deny that what appeared to be her present was more than a little disappointing. She'd wanted something permanent, something real. Something lasting.
Instead what she was getting was wonderful—but ultimately fleeting—pleasure. She sighed and tried to reach up and unzip her dress. Might as well pull out the lingerie that she had selected for their Christmas sex.
"Blair, What are you doing?" Blair turned and saw Chuck in the doorway between the bedroom and the living room of the suite.
"Getting undressed," she said, giving up on reaching the zipper and crossing her arms in front of her chest. "I thought that was what you wanted."
"No," Chuck said instantly, crossing across the carpet and pulling her hands into his. "Not at all. I was waiting for you on the balcony. I thought I'd hear you come into the suite. This. . ." he hesitated. "This wasn't for right now. This isn't what I had you come up here for."
"Oh." Blair wasn't sure how to react. "My present is on the balcony?"
"In a manner of speaking," Chuck said.
"I don't understand."
"You will," he reassured her. "Now put your shoes back on." Blair slipped back into her heels and Chuck draped the tuxedo jacket he'd just removed over her shoulders. "It's cold," he said by way of explanation, "but I don't think we'll be out there that long."
Blair let Chuck guide her out of the bedroom, through the darkened living room, and when he opened the door onto the terrace, she couldn't help the little gasp that escaped her lips. He'd swept the terrace of all the piled up snow that had been on it before, and there were more candles, their flickering wicks the only light in the velvet black night that surrounded the house. Chuck led her onto the terrace, and pulled her close as they neared the balcony railing.
"Bass," Blair admitted, "this is actually rather romantic."
"I thought you might like it," he said. "But I thought you might like this more." Chuck removed a small, flat package wrapped in gold paper from his pocket. "Merry Christmas, Blair."
She didn't want to be disappointed that the reason he'd brought her out here was because of her Christmas present, but she couldn't help it. When was he finally going to tell her he loved her? He knew she loved him—was it truly that difficult to say it when he'd already heard her tell him once?
Blair took the present from him and slowly ripped the thick, gold paper open, revealing the traditional baby blue of Tiffany's. She glanced up at him, and was surprised to see that he looked nervous. Very nervous. As if he might have to lean over the balcony and throw up the dinner that she and Jenny and Vanessa had slaved to prepare.
"Are you alright?" she asked.
"I'm fine," he said, his lips clamped tightly together. "Just open it, Blair."
She looked down at the box again, and wondered if it was a ring. But even Chuck Bass wouldn't be dumb enough to propose before he'd ever told her he loved her. Besides, she wasn't even 18 yet, and while early marriages were often common among the Upper East Side, most couples at least waited until they'd graduated from high school. Of course, she wouldn't put it past Chuck Bass to try to tie her to him in every way possible. He was jealous and possessive and, despite his inability to admit it, in love with her. But the box was the wrong size—it was flat and bigger than any ring box that she had ever seen.
Blair lifted the lid, and pushed aside the white tissue paper to reveal a delicate, silver bracelet. A charm bracelet, she corrected, as she lifted it out of the box and examined each charm in the candlelight.
"Wait," Chuck said, his voice unusually gruff. "Let me put it on you."
"It's beautiful, Chuck," Blair said softly, watching as he lifted her wrist and lovingly snapped the bracelet closed. "I want to see the charms," she insisted, trying to squint in the dim light to make them out, but Chuck held her hand fast.
"No," he said, "I want to tell you about them. Why I picked them for you."
"You hand selected the charms?" Blair asked in surprise, though she shouldn't have been. This was Chuck, for whom every action was deliberate.
"First," he said, not answering her question, "there's a butterfly." He pointed to a diamond encrusted butterfly dangling from the bracelet. "Do you know why I picked the butterfly?"
Blair nodded, tears pricking the corner of her eyes. He might not be able to say the words, but he was telling her as well as he could that he loved her, that he cherished her, with this beautiful hand-selected gift that apparently represented their past together.
"When I told you I liked you the for the first time, after you danced for me at Victrola." Chuck's voice was hushed, nearly reverential, as if he was remembering that night as they stood out on the balcony. "You said that I had butterflies in my stomach, and I did, Blair. For the first time with a girl. For you. Only you."
"Next," he said, "an Eiffel Tower, because I know that while New York is your hometown, Paris is your dream. And next summer, we'll go there together. Visit Harold and Roman and their chateau."
Blair could only nod wordlessly as he continued. "A shoe. Because you've always been the most beautiful woman I've ever seen, and every day I'm in awe that you could ever look my way." Blair laughed a little, and he smiled up at her. "I know you think that Serena's the beautiful one, but Blair, you have to know . . ."
He couldn't finish his words because Blair caught his face in her hands, the charms on her bracelet tinkling against each other as she kissed him soundly. "Thank you," she said softly, pulling away. "Thank you for saying that."
"Someday you'll believe it's true," Chuck said wryly. "Now, don't distract me. We're not done. There's still three charms to go. A crown—because you'll always been the Queen B to me. The role was created for you, and from this day forward, we'll rule together, Blair. Like we always should have been."
"Okay," Blair said in a small voice. "I suppose I could accept that."
"A snowflake," Chuck said, caressing her wrist with his thumb, "for our first Christmas together. And for another reason, which leads me to the final charm." He held up her wrist, and the diamonds sparkled in the light, and Blair caught her breath as she saw it for the first time. "A heart. The first time you told Nate you loved him, you pinned a heart on his sleeve, so that he'd always know that he carried your heart with him. And this heart, Blair, this means that you have my heart with you always."
Blair couldn't believe the expression on his face, the way his emotions seemed suddenly naked and bare and exposed—all to her. Only to her. But he still didn't say it. She wanted to hit him, but with the cool satin of the platinum bracelet on her wrist, she couldn't be that mad—but she with Erik's words in her head, she could poke him a little.
"Is that all?" she asked.
He smiled a little then, and Blair was suddenly aware that his hesitation hadn't been real; he'd just wanted her to push him harder. "I love you, too."
Blair could only remember very specific things about the moments that followed.
The exultation flooding her body. The smile that was so wide that it nearly hurt to be that happy. The feel of his arms around her, the low victorious laugh that vibrated against her lips. "Can you say it again?" she asked breathlessly as he whirled her around, both their burdens suddenly so much lighter because they'd be able to face them together. "I love you," he mumbled into her mouth. "I love you, I love you, I love you."
"Wait," Blair said, pulling away from him. "Your present."
"It can wait," Chuck said with a low growl as he tried to wrap his arms around her again. "No," Blair insisted, pushing away from him. "It can't. I need to give it to you now. Trust me."
Blair exited the balcony, her feet flying over the carpet into the bedroom, and then into the closet, where she threw her suitcase lid open. Resting on the top was the red wrapped package that she'd brought from New York.
Breathless, she returned to the balcony, and thrust the package into Chuck's hands. "Here. Merry Christmas."
Chuck raised an eyebrow quizzically as he ripped open the red paper on the small box. "Are you going to tell me why I had to open this now?" he asked.
"You'll see," Blair said, hugging the coat around her body.
He opened the black velvet box to reveal a pair of platinum cufflinks. "Blair, these are wonderful," he said, but Blair just smiled.
She plucked one from the box and brought it close to both of their faces. "Look," she said, pointing to the back of the cufflink, "here on the back. It's a heart. I had them engraved. I wasn't sure if I was ever going to show you, but since you decided it was finally time for us to be together, I thought it was appropriate that you should see. The heart pin," she said with a smirk of her own, "wouldn't have worked for you, Bass. It's not your style. But these? You'll have my heart with you, always."
Chuck looked up at her with astonishment on his face. "You weren't going to tell me?"
Blair shrugged. "My heart was always yours regardless of whether you ever said it to me."
"I love you, Blair," he said softly, as he wrapped her in his arms again. "God, I love you so much. I'm never going to make you regret choosing me."
"I don't know about that," she said coyly, "you are Chuck Bass. But I'm prepared to accept the good Chuck and the old Chuck and the bad Chuck and all the Chucks in between. Because I love you."
"It's cold," Chuck said, a lecherous grin on his face, proving Blair's point—he might have confessed his love to her, but he would never truly change. "Let's go inside. I have another surprise for you."
Blair gave him a hot look. "Then why are you still dressed?"
Spotted: Blair Waldorf not kissing Santa Claus, but a Bass instead. Our King and Queen are in love and in flagrante delicto at the Bass country estate. Felicitations are in order for the newest Upper East Side power couple-but who am I kidding? Could anyone challenge such a powerful reign? Stay tuned Upper East Siders, this will be a New Year worth watching.
