Chapter 20 of In Love & War
The greatest thing you'll ever learn is just to love and be loved in return.
Author: Isabelle
Summary: Post 1.13. Chuck Bass left New York after he lost Blair and Nate in one day. Years later, a deep economic crisis has left the world broke, and the only family in the UES with money left is the Bass family and its sole heir: Chuck Bass. Eleanor convinces Blair to marry Chuck for his money, but all the feelings Blair left buried a long time ago start to surface when she realizes he's not the man she thought he was. CB. NV.
Disclaimer: I own nothing, not Gossip Girl, not any quotes/lyrics used.
Rating: PG-15
A/N – A special thanks to the ever lovely Tatiana for her BETA.
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"Love is a temporary madness. It erupts like an earthquake and then subsides. And when it subsides you have to make a decision. You have to work out whether your roots have become so entwined together that it is inconceivable that you should ever part. Because this is what love is. Love is not breathlessness, it is not excitement, it is not the promulgation of promises of eternal passion. That is just being "in love" which any of us can convince ourselves we are. Love itself is what is left over when being in love has burned away, and this is both an art and a fortunate accident. Your mother and I had it, we had roots that grew towards each other underground, and when all the pretty blossom had fallen from our branches we found that we were one tree and not two."
Captain Corelli's Mandolin
His back hurt from all the jostling as they made their way down the cobbled and cold streets of Dundee. He was tired and hungry, and the visual of Blair screaming for him was invading his senses over and over again. She had looked so lost and small as Jonas held her at bay. Her eyes had followed him until she was no longer visible to him, and even then he knew she had watched still.
He'd left her – this time not of his own volition, not under his own terms, but under forced ones. There were other young men in the carriage with him, many from his village and from other villages, that looked starved and bedraggled. How many days had they spent huddled up and away from their loved ones? He didn't know. How long would it take to fix this? To fix this mess? Would Jacob carry out his orders? The orders he'd consulted with him before Blair had barged into his office and thrown herself at him? They hadn't worked out all the kinks of the plan, but he was assured that the man was competent enough to be able to work the hazy strategy. He'd never planned against a government – this was downright adventurous.
He leaned his head back and closed his eyes. The cries of Nathaniel's child were still fresh in his mind and he was even more determined to find him regardless of how many nights he spent away from his Blair. He'd told her she was a lioness, and he believed that with all of his might. She would survive. She would make sure they all survived.
They were finally fed late that night, all clumped together in a long picnic table. Snow was falling, and it made the porridge cold and disgusting. But he was so hungry that he ate it with glaring eyes as the Captain enjoyed a warm stew of something he'd stolen from his own food stock. He'd recognize that beef scent anywhere.
They had to wash it all down with water, water that made him gag because he was pretty sure they had stuffed it full of vitamin supplements to keep them semi-healthy. The night was spent clustered in groups of five: five men, three blankets. The cold brought the reality crashing down around him as he shivered in his coat. Blair's scent still surrounded him as he stared straight ahead; focused on what he had to do. He couldn't go home until his task was done.
That's how he spent the next few nights, which turned into weeks, which turned into a month. And the weather began to get warmer and that's when he realized, in the midst of the endless days of boat rides and supposed training, that they were heading south.
His mornings were spent waking at 5am and doing routine exercise, which left him hungry and even more tired than before. They would feed them porridge, sometimes hard toast and eggs. Loads of eggs. He was pretty sure something was wrong with the eggs, but he was so very hungry he didn't question it. Then, if they were not on a boat, they would march. March for hours to an unnamed destination. During those marches, he began to see the real world. The real world outside his private jets, his Scottish fairytale land, and his endless supply of cash. Outside was the real thing, and it was awful. So awful that he often entranced himself in memories of his childhood and of Blair in order to maintain his sanity.
There were starving people everywhere; there were injured people and utter devastation anywhere and everywhere they went.
When people of a town or a city saw the soldiers, they would clamor to them, begging for goods, protection, or news of a loved one that had been sent off to war and had not been heard from.
Chuck, now in a generic uniform like the rest, was often grabbed by thin and frail women begging for news of their husbands or children or brothers… It was all too much, and there was only so much time he could spend hiding inside his mind. He talked to some of the men, some of the time. For the most part he focused on what he had to find; on who he had to find.
If Nathaniel was somewhere in this mess, he had to find him, had to bring him home. He had to save him.
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When she woke, she was in their bed; the curtains were drawn, and she heard nothing. Absolute silence or absolute mourning? She didn't know – all she knew was that her heart was missing. Someone had cut it out, like some old Indian tale of missing organs that were removed when in mourning to free a spirit. Yet her spirit still felt stifled and lost. Not free, but abandoned. Not happy and carefree, but destroyed.
She rolled over in her bed, inhaling his scent still embedded in the pillows, and slept.
She didn't really see the purpose of eating. Eating kept her alive, and she was nothing without him. So she went back to sleep.
On the eve of the fourth day, Dorota barged into the room with a protesting Jacob behind her and pulled her covers off her body, making up sit up and eat a chicken broth. Blair let half of it drip down her chin as she looked at her with wide, watery eyes.
"Be alive when he come back," Dorota reminded her, and Blair decided she might as well slurp a little bit more. Once she was done, Dorota dragged her to the shower as scrubbed her while Blair sniffled and sobbed, her pale body shivering in the water as she pressed herself against the cold tile.
When Dorota pulled her out and wrapped her in a robe, she saw that the sheets of the bed had been changed. That sent her into hysterics. She cursed all the help and demanded that they leave her alone. So she slept and didn't wake unless she had to pee. On the fifth day, a rare and distinct sound penetrated her thoughts. Her mindless thoughts, foggy and full of depressed sleep.
It was a cry.
She sat up slowly and looked to the side of the bed. There, by her bed, was the small crib and, inside, was Melanie sobbing uncontrollably. Next to the baby was a diaper and a warm bottle of milk.
Blair limped out of the bed, pulling the sheet around her body, and peered in on the child.
It was bigger than she remembered.
The baby stopped crying when she came into her line of vision, and Blair snuggled her into back into her sheet. She knew she was a mess, hair uncombed, teeth not brushed, smelly and gross.
The baby opened her eyes and stared back at Blair, flailing her small arms towards Blair and whimpered.
She was dressed in a little nappy and pink socks. Nothing else. The nappy looked thick and… yellow.
"Dorota!" She croaked. She stumbled to the door, and the child began to cry anew. "Dorota!"
Nothing. The house seemed quiet and empty. She stumbled out into the hallway and looked around.
The child shrieked, making Blair's head spin. She walked back to it, dropping her quilt and looking down at it.
"Can you please be quiet, I have a headache," Blair begged.
The baby kicked her little pale legs and whimpered, her small arms waiving in the air. Her lower lip stuck out and pulled on Blair's heartstrings.
The poor little thing was left motherless.
"Take care of my baby… Please… Please…."
She heard Vanessa's dying words and crumbled. She reached out and touched the baby, who stared at her with glassy, wide blue eyes.
"You're going to be ok, ok?" She whispered and, with trembling hands, reached out and unhooked the nappy, scrunching her face at the distinct smell of urine. The baby seemed to sigh in relief as she removed the wet item.
"Yeah, that's gross," she remarked and threw the dirty thing in the sink. She walked back to the baby, who was looking around her and crying still. She reached out and grabbed the dry diaper and attempted to slip it on the child. After a few failed attempts, she got it loosely on her waist. The baby was still unhappy, and Blair decided to reach in and pick her up, and this was apparently a step towards the right direction because the baby instantly snuggled against her.
Blair looked around and picked up a blankie inside of the small crib, placing it around the small pink form and warming her.
She then reached in and grabbed the bottle left for her. It was nice and warm and, while turning the baby, she placed the bottle against the baby's open mouth. The little girl eagerly grasped the bottle with her mouth and the crying and fidgeting instantly stopped. Her eyes dropped closed and she nestled into Blair's arms, making contented noises as she suckled on the milk. Blair instinctively rocked her back and forth, soothing the child.
Slowly but surely, the child fell asleep when only a third was left of her milk, and Blair gently pulled the bottle out of her mouth. Baby Melanie made soft sounds and her little hand reached out and grasped Blair's robe. Blair gulped and held her closer.
She had promised Vanessa she would care for this child like it was her own. Melanie was now her responsibility until Nate came and, even then, who knew how messed up he would be? What if he was so distraught because of the things he'd seen and done that he wouldn't be able to care for this child? What if he never made it back?
Her stomach felt hollow and empty, and she realized she had less food in her stomach than baby Melanie had a minute ago. She was starving herself. Chuck had left her in charge, he'd asked to care for the baby, to care of the village, to be a lioness… And here she was, wallowing in her room and starving herself. She grunted as she shook off the last remains of her grief. He was going to come back to her. Maybe not today, perhaps not tomorrow, most definitely not next week, but he would. He would come to her… To them.
She looked down at the baby, who was now cooing in her sleep.
"I'm sorry…" she whispered. "I'll take care of you – just like I promised."
She bent down and kissed the soft, fuzzy head, and the baby murmured in her sleep. Blair held her closer.
That evening, while the baby slept by her bed, she showered and combed her hair, which was dirty and gross. She managed to grab a maid and explain she was going down to dinner. Dorota came soon after – most likely the information that Lady Bass was ready for the public had reached her – and helped her dress in simple khakis and a sweater. The army had taken a lot of their firewood, so the home felt colder and would stay as such until they could re-supply their stock.
That was when Blair began calculating to keep herself busy and distracted from the fact that her husband was out at a war that was impossible to win
During dinner that night (she forced Jacob, Dorota, her mother and Ruby to have dinner with her), she laid out a plan. She wanted to see the hidden food storage that Chuck had mentioned in the basement, and Jacob assured her they had enough food there for three months. For the entire village, but no more. But three months was enough for them to make more.
After setting up a game plan, Dorota reminded her that they needed to hold a small service for Vanessa, and Blair, with a heavy heart, nodded. The baby had been placed in a small basin, and she slept next to Blair while they all ate. She was afraid of leaving the small child alone.
So the next morning (and after a restless night due to Melanie waking every two hours to be fed and rocked), Blair, dressed in black and with the baby wrapped in a dark sheet, made it to the small hill by the home where Jonas and Mr. Grant lowered a coffin with Vanessa's body into a hole in the ground. A few of the housemaids came to pay their condolences, including Susana, whom Blair thanked once more. She had no words to say really – it wasn't like they had been friends. Yet, this non-friend had entrusted the care of her most precious thing to Blair. Jacob said some generic words, and the dirt was thrown over the wooden coffin. Dorota turned to her and handed her a napkin, which Blair took, balancing Melanie in her arms. The napkin revealed the once coveted Archibald ring. Blair sighed and closed her eyes, looking down at the wide-awake Melanie, whose blue eyes were inquisitive and aware.
"It'll be hers one day…" Blair whispered. "Put it somewhere safe," she told Jacob, handing him the ring, and the faithful manservant nodded reverently.
She watched that day as her old room was aired and cleaned; a religious maid prayed over it and requested that any evil spirit leave it. Blair let her do what she had to do in order to feel at ease. Once it was 'cleansed' in every way possible, Blair informed them that she wanted it transformed into a nursery for Melanie and the doors to the connected hallway to be removed.
That night, she settled the baby in her little pink pajamas, and Melanie cooed at her, eyes wide and questioning. She felt bad leaving her in the small crib by herself, so she took the small bundle and placed her on the bed. She curled her body around the newborn and watched as she slowly went to sleep, placing all of her trust in Blair, someone who had never in her life cared for children.
That was her routine that month. She would care for Melanie regardless of whether she knew what she was doing or not. Dorota didn't mind the fifty questions. She noticed Ruby stayed away from her, so Blair called her over, and the little girl peered in on the baby.
"Is she yours now?" She asked Blair.
Blair smiled, pulling the little hat they had brought for Melanie down over her small ears.
"I suppose she is," Blair told Ruby, who wanted to see how she fed the baby. Blair showed her, and Ruby was quite taken with the baby. It was all she would talk about.
"Can we change her clothes now?" Ruby would ask.
"No, I just changed her," Blair told her, softly burping Melanie.
"But when is she going to try all the clothes?" Ruby asked, irked.
"Soon enough," Blair smiled at her. Ruby became her little helper. Her favorite time was bath time because Blair would let her sponge the baby with the warm water, and Melanie loved kicking the water.
"Her hair is growing," Ruby commented, touching the baby's brown locks softly.
Blair nodded, slipping the little socks onto her feet despite Melanie kicking and following Ruby's every move.
"When Lord Bass comes back, do you think he'll be her daddy?" Ruby asked.
Blair stopped what she was doing and picked up the baby.
"I told you, Lord Bass is looking for the baby's daddy," Blair explained.
"But what if he doesn't find him? What if he's lost – like my daddy?" Ruby asked, her innocent eyes studying Blair's reaction.
Blair gulped. "We'll see what happens then."
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When Chuck woke up on the forty-third night of being away from home instantly knowing something was wrong. He felt it in the air. He quickly stood, attempting to ignore the cramping in his legs, and wobbled outside of their makeshift tent. It was dawning and they were somewhere in Greece – at least that was where he thought they were. He'd lost count of the countries. They could be in Turkey. Closer and closer to his target.
There was fog all over the bushes that surrounded their make shift camp and, in the early dawn hours, the cold cut through his ratty coat. He walked around; some soldiers were awake but the majority was asleep. He saw the imposing Captain staring off into the foggy morning.
"Didn't peg you for an early riser, Bass," he quipped and inhaled from his cigar. Chuck stared at the man's cigar. He hadn't had one in months. He silently cursed his fate – there was a time in this world when men like him would never associate with men like the Captain. He was above this, but he had to swallow the pride he'd been born with and consider the man his equal – even his superior.
"Something woke me," Chuck ground out, pulling his coat around his figure.
"Something?" The Captain asked. "Something like what?"
Chuck shrugged. "I don't know…"
But the moment he said it, a loud, hard explosion landed around them, throwing Chuck ten feet from where he was standing and slamming him against a large tree. He coughed and groaned, attempting to stand up. His head hurt, and he was pretty sure something was broken because his arm was killing him. But his attempt to stand was thwarted by an entire tent falling on top of him. He remembered hearing screams and gunshots and yelling.
For a moment he wondered if he had died, because he swore he heard Blair next to him, telling him pointless things. About a baby and a diaper rash.
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She sat up startled in bed, her heart crying that something was wrong. Something was wrong. Her eyes zoomed in on the crib, and she found Melanie sleeping peacefully next to her, her little chest rising and falling as she made diminutive happy sounds in her sleep.
Blair stood and walked to her, making sure she was alright, but the feeling wouldn't leave. Melanie seemed to sense her distress and woke, whimpering a bit. Blair quickly picked her up and pressed the small, warm body against her chest, rocking her back and forth.
The baby's presence soothed her, and Blair attempted to distract herself with the child, changing her diaper and feeding her until the baby was ready to go back to sleep. Blair watched her for a while, studying her little hands and toes until her own eyes became heavy and sleep ridden. She finally crawled back to her bed, but her thoughts still raced.
"Chuck…" she spoke to the pillow next to her, the one that subbed in for her husband's absence. "Come back to me."
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Come back to me.
The words were spoken in his dreams, he was sure, but they were so desperate and real that they startled him awake. All he saw was green. He blinked and realized he was buried under yards and yards of green tent. He pushed at them with his hand until some of it came off, and then other hands were pulling them off him.
"Bass, son of a bitch – he's alive!" A man cried. And then he saw faces and light.
"Are you hurt?" They asked him, and Chuck shook his head. His head hurt, and that was all he could manage.
"You look better than half the men here." Another offered him a hand and pulled him up. Chuck noticed that his arm was badly bruised but not broken, and he had a nasty scrape on his elbow. His head was pounding, and he knew it was bleeding.
"You may need a few stitches," one of them said, motioning to his eyebrow, and Chuck tore a piece of his jacket and pressed it to his face. Around him was utter devastation: men were scattered and dead, some he even recognized from his own village. He closed his eyes against the death and followed the other men towards the front of the camp.
"The captain's dead," one mentioned and, sure enough, the same man with whom Chuck had shared a few words was now lying open-eyed on the floor.
"They're sending a copter to get us out, in a minute – you're lucky we found you when we did, or you would've been left behind!" They told him and, sure enough, a helicopter arrived not ten minutes later and the fourteen men left alive from the team were airlifted.
The cold wind hit Chuck's face, and he sighed. He always had enjoyed flying, even as a child. The air that surrounded him, the whole image of seeing the world like no one was seeing it, always got to him. Plus, in the air, the smell of blood wasn't so very potent. A man in the corner of the craft was yelling and crying… His leg was missing. It wasn't anything he hadn't seen before. He'd been in Japan and seen the same scene, but with children. His jaw tightened, and he looked away.
They landed on a military base, and the injured, which was all of them, were taken to infirmary. As he waited for his brow to be stitched up, a lovely-looking nurse found him pen and paper. Apparently the Bass charm still worked its magic.
He stared at the piece of paper before him. The likelihood of Blair receiving this letter was slim to none, but wanted to do it regardless.
It had been over a month since she'd heard anything from him. He could imagine she was worried. She would be putting on a brave face, but he'd known her long enough to know that she would crumble when alone. So he took a breath and wrote.
Dear Blair,
He stared at her name. He'd written her a letter once. He had been six years old, and he confessed how pretty she was and how he would like to hug her. Now, nearly two decades letter, he attempted to explain what he felt on a blank and plain piece of paper. Chuck Bass was no poet. He didn't get inspired unless it was in the moment. He didn't throw meaningful words around unless they were aimed at destroying or conquering. But he wanted, in a few words, to assure her that he was fine, that he missed her and would give nearly anything to be with her instead of some camp in Turkey.
I don't know if you'll even read this letter, or when we will even speak again, but I wanted to tell you I am fine and alive. I miss you everyday, and I want this to be all over so that I can find my way back to you. If you keep a candle lit for me, baby, I'll always find my way back to you.
Love always, your husband,
Charles Bass
He re-read the letter a hundred times before deciding to seal it and trying to get it to her. But there was no post office and nowhere to send it to, so he carefully folded it and placed it in the inside of his pocket.
After he was stitched up and sent over to report to the commander, he took a look around. He was a million miles from nowhere, a million miles away from her, and it was sickening what it was doing to his stomach. The commander's tent was ahead, and he swiftly entered it, holding his head high, despite being all bandaged up and so tired that he could sleep a week (in her arms).
Inside the tent there was a large strategy table and two men, wearing hats bent over it and talking.
"Private, you lost?" The elder man asked, raising his head.
Chuck's jaw twitched.
"I could be," he replied, and the man's face darkened. The other man raised his head, and Chuck froze. It was none other than Kevin fucking Gilbert.
Kevin instantly recognized him, and a smile broke over his overly handsome face.
"Bass!" He cried, walking around the table and quickly offering his hand in greeting. Chuck stopped for a beat and shook it back, staring back at the man.
"Gilbert," Chuck nodded.
Kevin looked him over with wide eyes. "What the hell are you doing here?"
"What are we all?" Chuck drawled.
"Son," the elder man demanded from behind Kevin and the young man paused, glancing at his father.
"Father, this is Charles Bass, of Bass Enterprises," Kevin motioned to Chuck, and Chuck saw the man's expression quickly change.
"Oh, of course – come on in, Bass," he nodded.
"Bass, this is my father, Major Oslo Gilbert – we've been in Turkey for a few days now," Kevin explained, and Chuck nodded to the Major.
"I've just arrived, we were over Greece when we were attacked. My Captain was killed," Chuck told him, gratefully taking a seat across from Kevin.
"You were in Reynolds' sector, were you? I didn't expect to see you here. I'd figured you'd hide," Kevin grimly, his brows furrowed as he removed his cap and ran his fingers over his hair.
"I did," Chuck replied grimly. "Unfortunately, there were technicalities."
Kevin nodded. "And your wife?"
Chuck's jaw snapped. "She's safe."
Kevin nodded. "Anything I can do for you?"
"Move me. I need to be in the 105th infantry division. Any chance of that happening?" Chuck asked him, his eyes boring into him.
Kevin's eyes widened slightly, and the Major frowned.
"Why the hell would you want to do that? Don't you want to go home to your wife?" The major asked.
Chuck's eyes were still hard. "More than anything… But I have a friend there. I need to get to the 105th."
Kevin studied him and glanced at his father, who offered Chuck a cigar, which Chuck gratefully took.
"How about I make you a deal, Bass?" The Major spoke up.
Chuck cocked a brow.
"You invest just 10 percent of that money of yours in my sector, and I'll make it worth your while." The Major's eyes were as stony as his father's used to be. Chuck knew this game very well.
"How about I make it 7.5 percent and you have yourself a deal," Chuck replied and the man's eyes crinkled slightly.
"You drive a hard bargain, young Bass – but I admire that," he nodded. "Get him a blue pass," the Major snapped to his son, and Chuck attempted the hide his overly excited heart from showing all of his emotions.
A blue pass. They were rumored to be true, but he'd never really met anyone who had one. Blue Passes were held for dignitaries, presidents, religious leaders. A blue pass got you through any zone, in any part of the world at any time. Immunity from the war.
"It'll be a few days," Kevin reminded his father, and the Major nodded.
"Young Bass has time then to get me the 7.5 percent, eh? He can also shower and perhaps change into something more suitable." The Major nodded at Chuck's clothes.
"Get me a line, and I'll have my people deliver," Chuck stood, and the Major lit up his cigar.
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Jacob stirred as the door to his room was opened and bolted up with wide eyes.
The form next to him stirred.
"Jacob?" She asked, but Jacob's eyes were trained on the figure by the door.
"Jefferson?" Jacob asked, confused.
The elderly man nodded. "Sir, a line for you."
"Bass?" Jacob asked, quickly slipping on a shirt and walking to Jefferson.
"I believe so, sir," he whispered. "I didn't want to wake the Lady so I thought –"
"You thought right," Jacob assured him and slipped on his glasses, glancing back to Dorota, who was looking at him with wide, questioning blue eyes, her long blonde hair pooled around her. He took a breath and followed Jefferson out.
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Chuck hung up the line phone and stared at Kevin. He nodded.
"It's been done," He announced, and Kevin smiled.
"Money can save you, apparently," Kevin joked.
Chuck smirked. "Money can always save you." He repeated the words that his father had often imbedded in his soul. He reached into his coat and fingered the letter he held there.
"I need a favor from you, Gilbert."
Kevin stared at him, confused.
"I'm not going home with this blue pass… Not yet," Chuck said grimly and quietly. "I have something I need to do… But I need you to deliver something to Blair."
"In Scotland?" Kevin asked.
Chuck nodded. "My man is under strict instructions not to let her know he spoke to me… I don't want to give her false hope. We both know I'm going to a place people have not been seen or heard from again."
"I ask you to reconsider," Kevin insisted.
Chuck slowly shook his head and handed Kevin the letter. His thin letter.
"Just make sure she's alright…" Chuck said and looked away. "And you were wrong, by the way."
Kevin slowly nodded, taking the letter. "I'm glad, Bass. For your sake, I'm glad."
Chuck stood and, at that moment, the explosions started again and people started running around as the Major shouted orders and mobilized the people around him.
Kevin pulled Chuck towards a waiting helicopter and shoved him inside.
"I beg you to reconsider!" He shouted above the noise around them.
Chuck's hair flew wildly in the wind, and he shook his head, his thick black coat billowing around him.
"There are things a man must do before returning home!" Chuck explained as the copter's blades swung to full force.
Kevin met his eyes and slowly nodded, holding the letter in his hand. "I will find her –"
Chuck nodded and gestured to the pilot of the helicopter with his hand. The copter took off the ground as Chuck stared down at the war going on around Kevin's figure, and the man stared back at him with the letter in his hand.
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To be continued
