Fumbling Towards Happily Ever After
Chapter Twenty-Two – Part One
May 19, 2009
I got the call from my mother yesterday. It was the one I'd been dreading. The one that told me the Van der Basses had formally ceased to be. My mother's divorces never hurt before, in fact, there was one in the middle that brought more joy than sadness. But the end of that, it twisted me up for a whole hour. Until I realized something. In law or just in heart I would always have a brother. Whether I live a continent away, or a street away nothing will ever break the bond we'd formed.
So let Lily and Bart break apart what I'd grown to love. I'll pick up the pieces I treasure most.
Eric Van der Woodsen
The moment Chuck caught sight of his father in the dining room, lingering over his cup of coffee and playing absently with his eggs, Chuck knew he'd been right all along. His hope had dropped a bit over Lily's suggestion, nearly been crushed with Lewis' confirmation but it took only one idly scrapped fork to prove that of them all, despite the prolonged hiatus into what the fuckery, Chuck once again knew his father best. He felt the swagger come back as his father failed to acknowledge him with more than a nod of his head. Bart was reading the financial pages, well, kind of more like staring at them. "Missing your usual breakfast companion?" Chuck couldn't have held back the taunt even if he'd wanted to.
"Hmm," Bart said noncommittally, flipped a page for good measure.
"Don't be an idiot," Chuck advised as took the napkin from the table, unfolded it with a single flip and laid it across his uniform pants. "A woman like that only comes along twice in a lifetime."
"It's not like that at all," Bart promised.
"How early do you think I get up for breakfast?" Chuck said in a perfectly casual tone, as if he were relating a comment on the weather rather than pointing out the obvious.
Bart chanced a glace up and then at his watch, panic taking over the moment he realized it was nearing 8:00 am already. Where had the last two hours gone? He had a meeting in less than fifteen minutes. He jumped so fast from his seat that the thing nearly fell over. It wobbled as he grabbed his briefcase and rushed for the door. Chuck couldn't help the self-satisfied smile from taking over as he took his cup of coffee. He lingered in his own way, lifted each sip with a perfectly curled pinkie.
The smug calm was nearly enough for him to refuse the joint Nate offered him as they met on the way to school. He'd wonder later why he didn't say no. He could have blamed it all on Nate but Chuck didn't have any illusions with the blonde. He knew Nate had always been one of his biggest enablers. Chuck collected them in spades, matched them to his self-proclaimed savers in competing pairs, meandered back and forth between them based on mood, on circumstance or dominate feeling. Truth was there were lots of excuses but only one real reason. Chuck watched the glowing red and knew one evil was less than the other. If he had to pick a side to ride through the storm then the artificial glow of pot was better than the darker edge of alcohol.
But the promise of a plot, of a perfectly dealt manipulation, that was better than both. That's why when he spotted a flash of mustard yellow that could only be the return of Nelly's trademark jacket, Chuck handed the still lit joint back to Nate and hurried away. The cold might have returned from the weekend prior but that did it have to mean the return of thick wool and black buttons? Chuck had only needed a sweater jacket over his regular uniform but, then again, Nelly had always been a bit different, from her obviously too wide glasses to the huge collection of the exact same pair of white tights. "Nelly Yuki," Chuck smiled his most charming grin as he reached the round-faced Asian, put an arm casually over her shoulder and sat beside her as if he had every right to be there.
"What are you doing?" She actually glared. This was going to be easier than he thought.
"We need to have a conversation." Chuck started. "About Valedictorian."
"I'm not giving it up if you're about to suggest that I do."
"You should. I saw your speech at the Christmas concert," He shook his head in disgust. "I...I...I...I thought it could use some work."
"I deserve to be Valedictorian," Nelly wasn't moved. "So I suggest," She pushed him arm off. "You scurry back to whatever hole you came out of."
"Do you want to be Valedictorian above all else?"
"What is that supposed to mean?"
"I heard you're going to Stanford," Chuck smiled smugly.
"I am."
"That Ms. Smith wrote your letter of recommendation."
"So?"
"Did you know that Lewis is dating my father?"
"So," Nelly threw back again.
"She's fully in the Bass sphere of influence," Chuck lied with a manoeuvring smirk, rubbed his hands in anticipation.
"Are you trying to threaten me?"
"What do you think would happen to your acceptance if she withdrew that letter?"
"She wouldn't do that."
"I think she would, with the right motivation."
"Like?"
Chuck put a hand to his lips, played at fishing for an answer he'd planned all along. "Did we ever find out who sent all that stuff about she and I to Gossip Girl last year? The photos that got her arrested."
"It wasn't me."
"Are you sure," Chuck said with an arching brow, the smug assurance that he could make anything truth. "Or better yet. What if you were Gossip Girl? How do you think a 4.0 would hold up against those sorts of extracurricular activities?"
"How can you live with yourself?" Nelly snapped as she grabbed her bag, pushed her wide glasses back and stood up from the cement table.
"Just think about it," Chuck called out as she scurried off.
XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX
Eric could feel the sun warm his back, gentle breeze trickling in through the open bedroom window. He put a hand out to find the other side of the bed empty. It motivated him to open his eyes, run a hand through his hair and turn over. Damien hadn't gone far; he'd taken residence at the end of the bed. His long legs were sprawled across the white sheets, body anchored in an overstuffed sitting chair. "Good morning," Damien mumbled into the morning air, eyes darting between the bed and the sketch pad he's balanced on a leg.
"What are you doing?" Eric asked in response.
"Drawing."
Eric suddenly felt more alert. "Subject?"
"You."
That made Eric reach out and grab the book. "I thought we talked about that."
"I thought your opinions might have changed," Damien returned with a smirk. Eric judged the thick sheet of parchment. It was an excellent rendering, even at only one third completed. "Have they?" Damien put his hand out in anticipation. Eric didn't hand the pad back. He pulled the sheet out instead, dragged it between the spiral rings. "What are..." Damien didn't get to finish the question before Eric had ripped the page in two. "Your opinion hadn't changed?"
"Perhaps it has," Eric admitted with another rip. "But I'd prefer we start with clothed drawings."
"Really?" Damien tried again. "Because you truly are hot you know."
The compliment didn't keep Eric from ripping the paper a third time.
"Though if you're going to let me render you," Damien jumped up in excitement. "Then I'm going to need real canvas, and paint, lots of it."
XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX
Bart's secretary was reading his to-do list aloud. It's how he started every morning, except it was two hours later than the norm. By then it had turned from a to-do list to a should-have-done-already reminder. Bart had run into his first meeting fifteen minutes late, it started the morning off completely wrong, his files as disorganized as his thoughts. "The board wants the short list of Vice President candidates by Friday."
That wasn't even possible. "Tell them it's going to take a bit longer," Bart tried.
"Because?" The secretary flipped her notebook. Bart figured there had to be a reason, he'd pushed the deadline twice already.
"I'm courting someone from outside the company," Bart grasped. "It's going to take some time." He was sure there was an irony in the CEO lying about his homework. He did it anyway. Mostly he just wanted the pencil-skirted brunette out of his office, another cup of coffee in his hand and...well...something. When she left he poured two, managed his way through the first pile of folders. Those were the ones he should have done yesterday. The other pile, those were the ones he should have reviewed last week. Bart felt like a twenty-five year old again but it was for all the wrong reasons. That was the last time he'd let his personal life get the better of him, at least to this degree. Then he'd tried to juggle building a company with trying to figure out what was wrong with Misty. Then he'd had Jack to pull him forward when he fell behind. He needed another Jack. Bart eyed the stack of personnel files with a grimace. There wasn't another Jack in those, he'd read through them three times. He'd accepted it eight years ago. He'd realized that he'd never find another coworker or friend to replace his co-founder.
Just like he'd never find another wife like Misty. Bart had always lived his life in absolutes, always and never tying together into forever. The problem was life didn't seem so straightforward anymore. It wasn't that the memory of Misty had begun to fade. It wasn't that he didn't feel the same for her as he had last week, last year, or twenty years before. He still loved her. The issue was that it wasn't just about her anymore and that turned all those absolutes on their side. Bart always thought you fell in love once and maybe he wasn't in love quite yet, but those little fluttering butterflies, well they kept swearing that he was halfway there already. They flew and he didn't know whether to feel guilty for their existence or give into the weightlessness they offered. It almost felt like infidelity except it wasn't because Misty was dead and in life she had been the one to violate their vows. Maybe it was just remembering how much it had hurt him to know what she had done. Maybe it was the gold ring on his finger, the same one he'd worn since eighteen. Maybe it was the envelop in his desk, the slip of paper that proved she loved him always. He took it out, left the words and found the ring, the tiny slip of gold and ruby that he'd once been embarrassed of. She never had been.
They could have worked it out. That's the single fact that Bart is sure of. He just wished that Misty could have had the patience, the fortitude to wait out the storm. He would never have left her, not like he had threatened and if he couldn't leave her at the height of his anger then how was he supposed to now? Bart laid his first wife's ring on the table, removed his own to lay atop it. They made an awkward pair, her tiny circle of gold nearly disappearing beneath his wider one. It was every part of them, he couldn't let any of it go.
So where did that leave him? It'd be easy to send the blonde away, box up his feelings rather than complicate them. He might have done it if it threatened his first attachment. But the strange thing was that it didn't. They didn't compete, they barely crossed in his mind. They were two entirely different woman, two entirely different feelings that blended but never blurred. It wasn't entirely clear and Bart wasn't entirely sure but he also wasn't preparing his box. He picked the band of gold up, replaced it to the grove of his second finger. Perhaps it didn't have to be perfectly clear. Perhaps they could figure things out together. After all, Lewis Smith was nothing if not patient.
Bart put Misty's ring back into the thick envelop, laid it flat against the desk and traced the lines of his name and the loops of his sons. Perhaps it was fitting. What belonged to the mother would pass to the son, another brunette would wear what his wife had loved best. Maybe that's what had to happen, life had to continue to grow, to cycle forward. "I'm sorry Misty," he whispered. "But I'm not dead."
XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX
Blair couldn't help but stare at him, no matter how inappropriate or against all her plans it was. He was just so close, maybe thirty steps away at the most, with his thick brown hair hidden behind the hood of his sweater, feet jumping against the cement as he flipped through a novel. It must have been assigned reading. There was no cigarette to judge him by but she still knew something was wrong. That voice inside her head wouldn't shut up. She could feel her heels inch closer to the side of her picnic table. She wrenched them back, forced her eyes back to the table and her sole companion. There was an edge to Dan's eyes that she didn't like; as if he'd followed her eyes and knew exactly who she was staring at and what she was thinking. "What?" she snapped on instinct.
"If you're that worried then go talk to him."
"I can't." Blair said simply.
"Why not?"
"It's complicated."
Dan shook his head and Blair figured he didn't understand complicated. "I thought you were Chuck's oldest friend."
"Nate is."
"He's not much of a friend is he."
Blair just kind of stared at that. Dan arched one of his brows and she hated him a bit more for it. How had they ever emerged with a friendship in tact? The boy was infuriating. "Maybe you could talk to him?" Blair tried a smile instead.
"Because the last time I tried I left with my nose intact?"
There shouldn't have been satisfaction at the memory because after all, Chuck wasn't her boyfriend and Dan once had been. The smile turned smug anyway. It didn't last long though. "I am worried about him," Blair admitted in a whisper, after a look around. "He doesn't seem like himself."
Dan had to laugh because when was a moody and perpetually angry Chuck anything but par for the course. Then again, he had to concede a few points of improvement. "It could be because he's smoking up with Nate every morning."
"No he's not." Blair threw immediately back. Dan arched that damn brow again, it made her purse her lips tight. "His life is going well," Blair promised. "He wouldn't be smoking up and even if he wanted to, Nate wouldn't offer it to him." Dan's brow crawled so high it nearly met his hairline. "You're wrong."
"I sit beside Chuck in first period calculus."
Blair still waited until the first recess to approach Chuck. She played the tug of war first, what would she say, wondered what he would do. Fear always made evasion the simpler choice. She tried to convince herself that he truly was fine and when that didn't succeed she told herself she'd convince Nate to talk to him but, then again, how well did that go last time? She piled the excuses high until she realized something that had slipped from her notice. It wasn't in the cigarettes, it was in the clothing. The black on grey suit he'd worn to the Regatta dinner, the grey shirt he was wearing the next day, the black and brown the following. And today? Chuck always cut his uniform through by adding some wildly contrasting collar beneath, or baring that found some piece of colour somewhere to lighten the navy. Today he hadn't only kept his clothing standard, but he'd drowned out the yellow polo, the only natural issue of colour. He'd layered it with a grey and black checkered sweater, zipped that to the chin and let his head disappear somewhere within it's voluminous hood.
Sometimes the truth was in the details and recognizing them made you realize everything else. The details made Blair cross the courtyard, had her stand right beside her target and wait for him to turn. "Shopping in Eric's closet again?" Blair opened with a deliberate look downward.
Chuck didn't look down at his clothes, couldn't to be truthful. He was glued as he always seemed to end up, in a pair of brown eyes.
"Changing up the colour palate?" She tried further.
That made Chuck glance briefly down, not seeing what was so evidently clear to her now that she'd noticed it. "What?" He mumbled and Blair would have spoke further but they were interrupted. Chuck's phone rang. For a moment he could have ignored it but that was before he caught his uncle on the call display. He put a hand to dismiss himself from Blair instead, walked a few steps away and intoned his greeting. He waited for the yelling in return but it never came. All that came was a request that he fly to Seattle immediately.
Blair watched him, listened to his conversation with growing fears. It wasn't the business, it wasn't even the clothing anymore, it was the fact that Blair had stood close enough to prove Dan's statement. "Blair," the voice called her attention. It was Nate. It made her face screw up in fury. "Blair," He tried again and her thoughts went black. "Blair," Nate held her arm the third time. She could feel the possessiveness in his fingertips and for the first time it was as far from endearing as it ought to have been. He pulled her around but her look was so murderous that he let her go, let her flee right into Constance.
XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX
In the broad picture London was a cosmopolitan city not all that different from New York. Beyond the accent there were more similarities than differences: the thrones of people from every ethnicity, the open markets, shops and crowded streets. Damien and Eric marched between them all, trip for paint turning to an afternoon's entertainment. They needed a change of clothing, wanted new shoes, split cups of coffee and tea, finished with a wandering through the Brit's favorite gallery. The sun was crossing Big Ben when they eventually ended in the art supply store. The shop keeper greeted Damien by name. It didn't make Eric's boyfriend smile as wide as when Eric tried to match the blue of his new shirt to paint, no less than seventy-five shades to chose from.
"Are you sure we should leave your sister at the mercy of my family?" Damien asked as Eric's phone chimed for the twentieth time that day.
"Did I ever tell you about the time she left me standing in a open market in Mexico City?" Eric said as he slipped the phone back into his pocket. "For four hours?"
"It's a two bedroom flat," Damien reminded.
"So maybe we call her tomorrow," Eric said as he finally found the exact shade.
XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX
Chuck dangled one duffel bag over his shoulder, carried it down the flight of stairs to the front door. It was only half full but Jack had promised things wouldn't take more than two days. He was hoping it would take less than that because it was Tuesday night already and he had one other important plot to hatch before Friday. It involved his father and a certain blonde who had, as promised, reappeared that afternoon. Chuck dropped the bag beside the front door, tossed his sunglasses and wallet on top. He turned to leave when the doorbell rang, debated leaving anyway and letting a servant see to it. Once he opened the door he wish he had. The moment he turned the knob, Chuck knew he'd have an irrational distaste for all things French from then on. Particularly too good looking, forty year old men, named Henri.
"Josephine please," the man gave out in his thick accent.
Chuck crossed his arms, put up the guard. "You call her Josephine?"
"Is better than Jane? No?"
"Her name is Lewis."
"Josephine is her middle name."
"But Lewis is her first name."
"Yes, but Lewis is such a masculine name. It does not suit her."
"Really?"
"Josephine," Henri pushed past the boy to kiss the blonde's cheek twice. Chuck watched each intimacy with a building level of fury. It kept his eyes a glare, Lewis' face going blank the moment she saw him. "Shall we go?" The accent played again, pulled her with him to the door. She moved past Chuck, the apology she offered genuine.
Genuine or not, the apology didn't ease the ache in his chest. An ache that only magnified when Bart arrived half an hour later, gift in hand. It seemed his father didn't need the help after all. "I think she went out for dinner."
"For her birthday?" Bart asked.
That made Chuck look up. He hadn't even realized. "Yes," Chuck put his eyes down again, kept colouring a picture of Elmo with Aidan adding scribbles to one corner. The toddler was already sleepy, nanny lingering to one side. She moved to pick up Aidan after the third rub of his eyes.
"She's having a birthday dinner at Le Maison. Maybe you could join her," Helga suggested as she brushed Aidan's curls from his eyes.
Chuck arched one eyebrow at the nanny but kept his mouth firmly shut. He didn't question the worker until his father had left. "Do you know who she's having dinner with?" He questioned first.
"A little jealousy will be good," Helga promised. "You'll see."
Chuck arched one brow and pushed Elmo away. It was almost brilliant enough to be one of his ideas.
XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX
Nate knew the reception he'd receive before he entered the lift. Blair had disappeared before the final bell, had ignored every single one of his calls. His afternoon had been one steady progression of silence that Nate knew could only be broken by a call at the Waldorf penthouse. So he braved the mirrored lift, didn't bother with flowers this time. He didn't want them thrown at his head.
"I have nothing to say to you," Blair snapped the moment the elevator doors opened. "So I suggest you take yourself home."
"You're not even going to tell me why?" Nate asked and Blair rolled her eyes.
"I think you know."
"I really don't."
"I know that you've been smoking up with Chuck."
Nate crossed his arms. He was getting sick of hearing that name on his girlfriend's lips. "You never had a problem with me doing it before."
"How can you do drugs with your best friend when he's barely a month out of rehab." Blair tried to keep her voice from rising. She tried to stay calm but she couldn't. Her heart would never stay still when it involved Chuck Bass.
"Oh," Nate tightened his arms. "I see. You're not worried about me doing it."
"Chuck needs to stay clean and sober." Blair could feel her cheeks flush with the force of her anger.
"And I don't?"
"This isn't about you! This is about your best friend who has a chemical dependency problem."
"It isn't pot he has a problem with."
"That doesn't mean you offer him drugs!"
"Why are you making such a big deal about this?" Nate threw back. "Chuck told me himself that he even smoked up at Clayton House."
"That's not possible." Blair threw back twice as hard.
"What's the matter Blair?" Nate snapped. "Afraid that Chuck isn't as good and perfect and you would like to think he's become?"
"What the hell is wrong with you?"
"What's wrong with me? How about the fact that you are so worried about Chuck smoking up a bit. When have you ever cared about me doing it?"
That deflated Blair's anger the slightest, replaced it with some ill-timed guilt. "I did care about you doing it," Blair's words came weaker than the screaming diatribes that had preceded it.
"I don't think a few rolled eyes compares to the silent treatment followed by a screaming fit!"
Blair had to stay quiet. Nate was right. It couldn't. He was also right that there was some hypocrisy in this entire situation.
"Some girlfriend you are!" Nate spat with blazing eyes. It was half in truth and half in necessity. He waited for her to contradict the claim of girlfriend, to yell back but she stayed silent. That's why the satisfied smile passed briefly over the rage after he had turned, as he punched the down button. He needed something to balance the scales that had fallen too far to Blair's side.
XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX
The restaurant was a charming bistro set three blocks from the waterfront. It was the type of establishment that played violin music and had appetizers with names longer than the offerings. It was exactly the kind of restaurant that a thirty-four year old woman ought to celebrate her birthday in. Bart brushed past the head server, weaved between the patrons in search of one blonde head or two. Lewis had to be having dinner with Lily. Who else did she favour in New York? Bart was pretty sure he could manoeuvre Lily's disappearance. She had to owe him one or more like one million.
Except the only blonde head was a familiar bob. He caught it first in the sea of people, sitting three tables from the kitchen, glow of candlelight illuminating her dining companion. Bart's lips turned to a scowl when he recognized the face, all attractive angles of it. Henri was staring full into his date's face, eyes intent and unflinching. He was fully mesmerized and it made Bart remember what he'd forgotten. It wasn't just him. Lewis was perfectly capable of captivating everyone in a fifty mile radius. It gave him a choice: fight and make a scene or walk away. He wanted so much to do the first but then he remembered how old he was. It made him chose the second but only as a tactical retreat.
It's too bad Bart didn't have the fortitude to take the scene from the other side. If he had, then he'd see the only thing Lewis was staring longingly at was the bottom of her glass of wine, which had become inexplicably empty for the third time that evening. That couldn't have been right. She rarely finished one glass of wine in a day, often avoided it outright. But there it was, as empty as the former two. That's when she knew something had to be wrong with her. She had in front of her one perfectly kind, gentle, intelligent, handsome man and she found him about as exciting as the nutritional information on the side of her breakfast cereal. There was definitely something wrong with her. Just consider the men she'd actually slept with, all pitiful four of them. She winced. What self-respecting, never-been-married thirty-four year old had had sex with four men? She still had a finger left on the right hand! And who were those men: one tattooed young offender, one charming girlfriend beater, Mr. filtration processes and the emotionally neutered.
She could blame William on being an immature thirteen year old, on being pursued by the unspoken head of the group home they'd dropped her into. She had been so naive, so willing to be pushed into things she ought to have thought the better of. The saddest part is she hadn't thought the better of it until his t-shirt had run red with someone else's blood. The memory turned her stomach, made the ring of red at the base of her crystal glass sinister. She pushed it away.
She supposed she'd traded enough of her own blood to make a penance of sorts. Ah Andrew. What sane woman would chose that kind of man to end her fifteen year exile from entanglements? It wasn't that she preferred him to the rest of men who were dismissed by the end of date number two (everyone knows you discuss your background on date number three and what was Lewis supposed to talk about? The circular tour of Quebec that was her childhood, or perhaps she could give pointers on how to stay upbeat while incarcerated ). Lewis knew that life stayed easier if you stopped at date two but Andrew was the most relentless admirer she had ever experienced and when it came right down to it she had always been too damn malleable.
Henri? Lewis made a grab for the empty glass again, ran a finger along the rim aimlessly. She chanced a look up, listened just long enough to realize he was still rambling about methods of wine preservation. It, along with his two grown children, were the only things he ever talked about. Lewis ran her finger hard enough to make the mild ringing sound. Henri was boring but safe. She could fashion her imaginary family fantasies with him.
And Bart? He was the proof that despite all her trials she had learned absolutely nothing. She was still as naive as she had been with William. Still bent as easily as Andrew had proved. And, like with Henri, she was still searching for some illusive family to fit into.
Oh God! She might just need professional help.
Or she had an unhealthy fascination with power. It was reasonable. She'd spent most of her life powerless, pushed around by bureaucracy and competing claims of custody. Or maybe it's just that she'd spent most of her life wishing for the death of her last living relation. That sort of evilness had to ruin a person for life. It wasn't her fault. If her grandmother had just given up custody she could have been adopted by any of the seven families she spent the years shuffled between her but, instead, by the time her grandmother actually did die, she was a screwed up thirteen year old that no one wanted anymore. There was so much there: lack of paternal or maternal influences, incomplete attachment, patterns of instability. Too many precursors that proved she was screwed for life. Or maybe her biggest problem was that she did her degree in Psychology. It made it too easy to self-analyze.
"Would you like another glass of wine?" Henri asked.
"How about a bottle?" Lewis mumbled instead, stared at the red ring one last time as the waitress was called over. "White," She said as she passed it to the petite brunette.
XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX
Blair hesitated only momentarily outside the Brooklyn loft. She hadn't been there in months. They might have played the part of friends, might actually be friends still but it was the sort of friendship that didn't involve popcorn and gossip on a Tuesday night. It was more the type of friendship that added a smile a the end of each snarky comment. Blair was relieved when Dan was the one to open the door. She didn't need to be passed along the Brooklyn three, coming to Dan was enough of a humiliation for one evening. "You were right," She offered as she brushed past, entering the loft without permission. When did she ever ask?
"I told you," Dan offered and Blair wondered who actually put their 'I told you so' to words.
"I just don't understand why," Blair insisted as she spun.
"Shouldn't you be asking Serena?"
"It's 3:00 am there," Blair answered and Dan shut the door in defeat. He walked with Blair to the living room, brushed some music sheets off the main couch to make room for the brunette. She dropped herself unceremoniously, no comment on the newer coffee stains. That's when Dan knew things were serious. "Why would Nate do that?"
Perhaps she should have asked someone else. Dan wasn't the most sympathetic when it came to that blonde. "Because he can."
"And Chuck. It makes no sense. His life is going so well. He's been nominated for Valedictorian, he's going to Yale, he's worked things out with his dad. It makes no sense that he would start getting high now."
Dan stared her right in the eye because he knew she wasn't that naive. "Do you honestly not know?" Dan asked. When she played at it he pushed the questions further. "What's changed in the last week?"
"Nothing," Blair lied.
That's when Dan knew that Blair needed the reassurances too. "You started dating Nate," He connected the dots for her.
"Chuck doesn't want me," Blair defended herself. "He's dating Vanessa. He chose her."
"And I bet if you asked him again, he'd have chosen you."
"I'm seeing Nate."
"Is that what you want?"
Blair couldn't answer. That was answer enough.
"Listen Blair, you can either stick with the comfortable things that you wish you could want or you could take the risk and fight for what you really do want."
"I have fought," Blair promised. "So many times."
Dan nodded his head. He had to concede that. "So what's once more?" When Blair hesitated he pushed further. "Just talk to him! Make him talk back. If anyone could force Chuck Bass to talk then it'd be Blair Waldorf."
"I can't," Blair promised again, emotions beginning to crack through in earnest. It could have been humiliating to cry in front of Dan Humphrey, but what was a little more embarrassment piled onto the evening?
"Blair...if you're scared."
"I am," She admitted. "But not for the reasons you think." That made Dan go quiet, advice dying on his lips. "I'm not afraid that he doesn't love me," Blair had to admit. "I know that he does. I'm just afraid that it won't make a difference. I'm not afraid he won't chose me." And that was it. She wasn't afraid of being rejected. That's wasn't why she kept hesitating, pushing to the edge of breaking down Chuck's defences, of getting the declaration she already knew, only to pull back at the last minute. She was as scared of getting it as not. She was scared it wouldn't change a thing. "I'm afraid that choosing me won't make a difference. I'm worried that it will just give me a side seat to the roller coaster that is his life. Like before." Blair turned her eyes away as she admitted the last. "I don't want to spend the rest of my life trying to read between the lines, to figure out what he's truly saying or feeling. Or waiting for the next big disaster."
It took a long time before Dan could give an answer to that, a long time to collect his thoughts under such honesty. The truth was he agreed with Blair. If the situations were reversed, if he was put in such a position, Dan would run away too. So he just gave his exes hand a squeeze and said the only thing he could. "Blair. I'm not going to tell you what to do. I don't think I could. Maybe you just need the right moment to happen. That moment when everything clears and you know what you need to do. Just wait for it. But in the mean time, don't be a coward," Dan shook his head. "It doesn't become you."
Blair let his words wash over her for a time and then she smiled, the first genuine grin of that entire day. "Thanks Dan," She offered. "You really can be smart."
"Not all the time," Dan admitted and Blair guessed what he was talking about. She knew her best friend hadn't talked to him since flying out.
"You should get her yellow roses," Blair suggested. "Serena loves yellow roses."
"Thanks for the advice."
It begged another question. Blair had begun to reflect on it as she entered the lift, how her friends and former boyfriends and everything in between seemed to crisscross and blend together. "Do you think it's weird," Blair had to ask. "How we're all a little too incestuous."
"I've decided to take the position that, until I'm the one making out with Chuck Bass, everything is still right in the world."
XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX
Chuck watched his father storm through the house without comment. The decoratively wrapped gift was thrown to a kitchen counter, suit jacket tossed beside it. The way his father left both, turned one way and then the other, marched up the flight of stairs, it made Chuck feel nauseous. The nausea turned to outright sickness when he opened the gift, saw the bottle of lavender perfume tucked carefully inside.
Somehow the Plains of Abraham had transformed into the Battle of Hastings.
Bart had his phone open before he reached the landing. He called his personal assistant because he could. She was at his constant beck and call. "I was thinking," Bart started as he kicked off his designer shoes. "Bass ought to expand into wine." The fact that there was no rebuff of this most absurd suggestion, it was evidence of his power. "I know of a beautiful little plot in Lyon..."
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A/N – Sorry for the late update. I might not be able to update for a couple weeks too. Sorry but end of the school year is super busy for me. The fluff is coming though. I had to divide this into two post though because it was getting long and I figured you didn't want to wait a month for an update.
I have a favor to ask. It's kind of a personal request. Since I have over 100 people with this on alert I figure I have one youtube video maker in the bunch. Since this is my last story I was wondering if someone would consider making me a video loosely based on the series to a song I pick. I've always wanted to see a CB video set to this song but no one's made one. If anyone is interested then PM me.
thehip_hopprincess – Thanks :) I hope you enjoy the rest of my little tale.
Cb4e – I'm glad you didn't mind the CV here. I admit that I didn't mind the original CV on the show but I hated the WTF hook up. Talk about making V totally OOC.
BrittyKay – NB is ending shortly :) Start the cheering now!
Bradshaw-esque – Damien and Eric have a couple tricks up their sleeves yet. Yeah, I hate Nate too :) I almost feel bad because one upon a time I said I'd never break apart their friendship.
MidnightSky – Is there anything left of your Nate voodoo doll to desecrate? I kind of figured you'd like the Edam ending ;)
kanani81 – Thanks :) We're hitting the end of our angst shortly.
Supernovelty – Hmm, why would reading Misty's suicide letter give Chuck a meltdown. It's not like he did anything to his dad because he thought his dad was the one who cheated...whoops...guess he did ;) Ah, that envelop that Bart was playing with, that's Misty's suicide letter. And he has it out because it's the thing that Lewis agreed to help him with.
Haven – thank you very much. There will be no fourth book though but I will give you a quick overview in the epilogue of where their lives head after FTHEA.
Oc_journey – BaLe was addressed here and will be next post too. It won't be a quick, easy wrapping with a bow but it won't be too complicated. Chuck's getting the suicide letter next post. Bart thinks Chuck skipped the meeting because the project was tanking and he got scared.
Annablake – Chuck might get his family yet. We'll have to see whether Bart messes things up. I love Eric – Damien too.
Every1luvsme24 – You have to remember that Nate was the first one to be fine with Kathy getting Chuck drunk all the time and that was without him being jealous over Blair. He's just a sucky friend!
Blair S. - Nate knows what he's doing and he's going to have to face up to it sooner or later.
Sky Samuelle – I think you'll enjoy Eric's thoughts when he realizes how much everyone has screwed up things in his absence :)
flipped – Blair needs to do her confessing sober and so does Chuck. Lewis though, hmmm.....
CBEBIW trory12 – Don't worry about NB, they're dying a slow death and have been since they rekindled themselves. Someone needs to yell at N to just give it up already.
Up Next – An important letter. A trip to 1812. Dan proves that everything is not right with the world.
