Title: I Bid You A Sweet Adieu
Author: BookCaseGirl (Abby)
Date: August 6, 2009 (Beginning) August 9, 2009 (most recent update)
Rating: T
Classification: There really isn't much of one; a mixture of everything.
Summary: Sequel to Bittersweet Welcome! Six months later, Chuck and Blair are finding that some things will stand in their way of being happy and staying together successfully. As with any stab at their relationship, there are many hurdles to leap over.
Author's Note: So, I was a bit discouraged from lack of reviews, but then this monster of a chapter came out, and I was once again encouraged (: I only hope that it encourages more readers to review (;
Disclaimer: I do not own Gossip Girl or any other product names that are mentioned.
Thanks so much to Amber for her beta work again!
Victor sat in one of the four comfortable leather La-Z-Boys that sat in the Polk family's living room. Eli was across from him, joint in between his index finger and thumb, and smoke emitting from his lips. His eyes already had that haze that Vic longed for. Truth be told, he was a bit afraid of taking his first hit. It looked so simple and the highs sure did look great, but long before Nate had died, he'd instilled this fear in Victor: what would happen when he couldn't stop?
Then again, everyone was doing it, right? Every damn guy on the soccer team had smoked pot at some point or another – in fact, most were stoned throughout every game (something about it making their game "so much better, man"). But for Vic it was different.
Nate had done drugs. And apparently it wasn't only when he was in school, but also as an adult. There was one time, about a year and a half before he passed away, that the man who he now had trouble calling his father had found the weed in his room. Vic had only been hiding it for none other than Eli, but Nate wouldn't have it. It caused this whole lecture about what drugs did to your life and the relationships that it destroyed. So Nate had put that fear in him, and as he watched his friends drift away more and more every time they smoked another joint, the fear was built higher and higher, until there was a fucking skyscraper of terror inside of him.
Today was different. For some reason, he felt this aching need to just take that little thing that Eli was offering him and go ahead and do it. No one ever had to know, and he really needed a break right about then. Suddenly, he got up and went over to Eli, taking the stubby joint out of the boy's hand and putting it into his own mouth. When he inhaled, everything went fuzzy and it felt like the edges of his eyes were being burned. But still, it felt damn good. And it wasn't something he was about to give up, because during that entire six second period of inhale-exhale, he hadn't thought about Lilly once.
"Hey, man, you got anymore of this stuff?" his voice was coated with a slur, but it was subtle enough that he was sure no one would notice when he arrived home.
If I arrive home, he thought to himself, smirking and lighting up his own joint before letting out the cloudy smoke.
**********
As Chuck and Blair lay together – her back against his chest – he drew his index finger back and forth across her arm as the rest of his hand just sat there limply, holding her down so she wouldn't get away from him. Her skin was so incredibly soft, like an angel's wings. As he looked out the window at a gold finch flying from its nest, Chuck kissed the patch of freckles that dotted her left shoulder blade – just once was plenty.
He could tell that she was awake, even though her eyes were still closed. Her breath hit his skin in a jagged rhythm that was like extremely fragile porcelain – he was afraid it would break at any moment. Finally, she turned around in his arms, and he saw reflected in her eyes what he had expected because of the nature of her breathing. She looked worried as her bottom lip stayed trapped between her top row of teeth and her eyes darted all over his face.
"What is it?" Chuck's voice was a soft whisper as the hand that had previously been stroking her arm moved to stroke her cheek instead, concern clouding the sharp features on his face. She took in a deep breath, preparing for something that he would not anticipate, and he found himself gulping, despite the fact that he felt the need to be stronger now.
"I lied," her voice was soft, broken, and frightened. It reminded him of his own childish confessions with his father when he'd been young enough to think that it would help.
"About what?" his voice was still calm, and just as soft as before, but his hand moved down to rest on her hip instead of stroking her cheek comfortingly. A tear slipped out from the corner of her eye as she regarded him with careful – fearful? – eyes that seemed dodgy. What the hell was this? And, more importantly, what had he done to deserve a lie from her this time?
Her tongue darted out to lick her lips in a moment of nervousness and her eyes finally looked up from hooded lids to meet his own. Blair's voice was shaky when she finally told him.
"I...I'm not on the pill, Chuck. I...wasn't last night."
He didn't respond to her confession, and she showed no signs of solace as her chest began to heave in anticipation. Chuck was probably killing her by not responding, but he didn't know how to react. The last time he hadn't used a damn condom was...fifteen years ago. He'd learned his lesson then, and set that rule in place. But this was Blair Waldorf. She was always the exception to his rule.
On the other hand, he wanted nothing more than to be happy. He wanted to sweep her off her feet and thank Blair for this particular lie, because it could mean the formal start for their life together. Chuck wanted to take her to the doctor – though he knew that nothing could be said only five hours after the act – and ask for a test, and then have her give him that innocent and scared look. He wanted to wrap her in his arms and tell her that he could not have been happier.
Chuck Bass was a divided man as he lay still entwined with Blair.
"Aren't you going to say anything?" she sobbed, and he noticed – being shaken out of his thoughtfully split reverie – that her tears were free-flowing now and she had a look of sheer terror on her face.
Suddenly, the phone next to Blair's bed – their bed, he was sure to correct himself; it had been increasingly difficult for him to get used to the fact that it basically belonged to them both since he'd moved in – rang. He glanced over at it before turning back to Blair, who had since turned away from him and was facing the window again, obviously upset with him. He sat up, covers pooling around the bottom half of his body – and took the black phone out of its cradle.
"Hello?" he greeted.
"Who is this?" came some WASP-y woman's snooty voice over the line, abrupt and to the point.
"Chuck Bass. May I ask who's calling?"
"Victoria Polk. I'm Eli's mother. Is this the Waldorf residence? Where's Blair?" she left no room for answer and Chuck found that his mouth only remained open before the woman cleared her throat in impatience.
"I'm sorry, she's..." he glanced over at her shaking body and then stood – gathering his boxers from the floor and slipping into them – to take the call in the living room. "She's a bit indisposed at the moment. Perhaps I can help you?"
"Whatever," the woman replied, boredom in her tone. "I came home this afternoon to find a thick cloud of marijuana smoke in my newly furnished living room, and your son passed out on the couch with Eli. They were caught red handed with those..." she sighed dramatically. "Those....little sticks in their hands." Chuck held back a chortle at her obvious lack of drug terminology and tried to focus on the seriousness of this. Victor was his son, after all.
"Right. I apologize for his inappropriate behavior. But...Pardon me ma'am, but what, exactly, do you propose I do at this point?" Chuck had begun pacing a bit in living room as he thought of Blair in the other room. If she had answered the phone instead of him, not only would she have been furious right now, but she would have been thinking of the implications of this situation on the status of herself and her family. Why wasn't he doing that? Being blindsided was no excuse, he should have been profusely apologizing and thinking of ways to make this woman less angry at him.
"Come over and pick him up, of course!" she shouted shrilly – so shrilly that Chuck had to hold the phone away from his sensitive ears – more exasperated now than before.
"Of course. I apologize Mrs. Polk. I'll be right over, and again, please accept my and Blair's sincerest -" but all he heard was a dial-tone. That was a bit bitchy, even for an Upper East Sider, he thought to himself, mouth set in a firm line. Chuck walked back to the room and found that Blair had fallen asleep once again, her back moving calmly and not in the erratic way it did when she wept.
Once he was dressed, he ambled over to her side of the bed and looked at her serene face, without the wrinkles of consciousness. Chuck leaned down and kissed her nose, making it scrunch slightly, and then pulled away. He went to the desk that decorated the plain middle of their foyer and pulled open a drawer. Taking out a thick piece of cream paper that had a rough texture, he grabbed an uncapped pen from the deep red cup in the corner.
Went to run an errand. I'll be back soon
Love,
Chuck
He put the note on the table right next to her side of the bed and strolled out of the room.
**********
Shit. Shit, shit, shit. What the hell had he gotten himself into? Victor knew better than to get fucked up on drugs. Or, he should have known better. And now his mother was coming for him – pissed as hell, he just knew it – and he was in the biggest fucking trouble of his life.
And it was all just to forget about Lilly. How stupid was he? Vic should have known better than that. Even if it helped him more than anything else, it could damage any and every part of him. The grimy hands of that joint had probably touched places that he didn't even know about, and he would pay for that in longing for the drug from here on out.
But sure his own lecture for himself was nothing compared to what would come when his mom got to the Polk house. He could only sit at the table with his hands folded in front of him and his knees bouncing nervously. His short hair was disheveled from when he'd fallen asleep on the couch in the family's living room, and his clothes absolutely reeked.
Without warning, the door to the Polk family's kitchen burst open and there stood Chuck – the man who his mother was currently banging as if her life depended on it. He shot Vic a stern look before turning to speak to Mrs. Polk, who had been leaning against the counter ever since she'd gotten off the phone with her husband about an hour ago.
"Let me just say, once again, that I am dreadfully sorry we had to meet under these circumstances," Chuck stated cordially. He strode up to the woman and offered her his hand, which she took politely.
"I recognize you now!" she said, as if an extreme epiphany had struck her. Vic snorted at her surprised look – the look of a bit too much Botox, if you asked him – but covered it quickly with a disturbing cough. "You're the late Bart Bass's son. You run Bass industries, correct?"
"Yes, I do," he replied flatly. Vic could tell that that wasn't exactly what the man had been expecting, and he smirked to himself as they began to have an in-depth conversation about the plunging stocks of Bass and what Chuck planned to do to reverse that. Apparently, he hadn't really planned to do much of anything, since there were people that did that sort of work for him. However, he veiled the severity of those problems quite well, if Vic said so himself (he'd overheard his mother and Chuck talking a few nights ago).
"I'm sorry, Mrs. -"
"Oh, no, please, call me Victoria!" she bubbled, her hand reaching out to tap his.
"Right. Well...Victoria, I should really get Victor home, before Blair worries about us." He shot the woman a tight smile and Vic felt his stomach sink to depths that he didn't even know he had.
"Oh, sure," her voice sounded deflated and Victor wondered for a fleeting second if that phone conversation earlier had included more moaning on her husband's end than anger at their son's transgression.
"It was lovely meeting you," Chuck drawled, a smile gracing his features. As soon as he turned back to Vic, it was clear that he was anything but happy. He glared and pursed his lips before saying – in an overly sweetened voice - "Victor, tell Mrs. Polk that you're sorry." Vick hated – no, he loathed – being patronized and that was precisely what Chuck was doing to him now.
"Sorry," he grunted, not meeting the woman's eyes. She replied with a distracted 'mmm' and they walked out, Victor far ahead of Chuck because of the anger in his step, causing him to pick up speed.
When they got into the back of Mr. Bass's limo, Vic pressed himself as close to his door as possible and ignored Chuck. Finally, when a question popped into his head, he spoke to the bastard.
"Where's my mom?"
"She couldn't come."
"Why the hell are you here?"
"I'm your father, kid," Chuck answered, with a bit more vigor than was absolutely necessary. He scooted a bit closer to Vic and Vic only turned his head back out the window, muttering 'fuck you' under his breath.
"Excuse me?" came Chuck's condescending and far-too-adult voice.
"You're as much my father as the homeless guy that we passed on the way down to the car," Victor whipped out, his head turning towards Chuck once more.
"DNA begs to differ." Their wit was much the same, to Vic's total chagrin. He didn't want to share a goddamn thing with the imbecile who sat a foot and a half to his right. He would have rather been half ape than have to be this man's son. This man, who had not been there. His real father was dead, dammit. He refused to believe – after the few months of glamour that being Chuck Bass's son brought him – that this asshole was in any way related to him.
"Well pardon me for believing that sticking around is one of the first things required to actually be a father!" Vic shot back angrily, a few locks of his growing-out-and-in-need-of-cutting hair flying around his face.
"Dammit, Victor. I've been living with your mother for nearly six months. And I am your fucking father. You know this because you sent a goddamn PI on my trail!" Vic could tell that Chuck took great lengths to calm himself after his voice rose in frustration. "I'm your dad, and I really hope that you can get used to that."
"So, if you're my dad, I suppose that means I need to be punished, no?" Vic asked arrogantly.
"I'm leaving that up to your mom," Chuck said quietly.
"Aw, come on, old man," he egged Chuck on. "I bet you just can't wait to give her your input while you're rolling around to -"
"That's enough." It wasn't that Chuck's voice was upset or even slightly scandalized by the things that had come out of Victor's mouth, but more the fact that his voice was so eerily calm and quiet that caused Vic to finally shut up.
**********
Blair waited patiently in the kitchen for her son and Chuck to arrive. She wasn't sure which she wanted home faster – probably Vic so that she could scold him and teach him a lesson about arriving home on time, especially on a school night. But then again, she wanted Chuck home a great deal as well, because really, what errand took so damn long to run? Her anger was torn between both of them, and when the door swung open to reveal Vic, she settled on the part of the fury that belonged to him.
But when the same door opened a second later to show a ragged-looking Chuck, she found that she could only sit and stare.
Victor stormed past her and back to his room – though, really, when didn't he do that nowadays? – and Chuck came to her side immediately, though his eyes looked far too tired to be able to hold any sort of spark for fight tonight. She held in her anger and swallowed it so that it traveled to a place deep inside of her, never to be unearthed again, and reached out for Chuck – who was standing about two feet from her. Her hands folded over his and he reluctantly stepped closer to her, falling down onto another chair and sliding it across the tile flooring of her kitchen.
"What happened?" she asked in a concerned tone, squeezing his hand for emphasis.
"Vic was caught at the...Polk's house with drugs." He didn't look up to meet her eyes, and she took her hand away immediately.
"What?" her voice sounded different somehow, with its raw ire and surprise evident. It was throaty and so...foreign. She cleared her throat and looked at him, but when he wouldn't meet her eyes, she felt her heart begin to fall. Blair grabbed his face, making him look at her, and begged him – with her eyes – to go on and explain.
"He and his friend Eli were in the living room, smoking pot."
"That's impossible. He's never done drugs before!" She said, laughing at Chuck in disbelief and trying to fool herself into thinking that this was some sort of cruel joke.
"Well, there's a first for everything, I suppose," Chuck replied with a pathetic shrug, becoming fascinated with his brown shoes once again.
"Wait. So, my son – our son – was caught smoking marijuana!?" Her voice went up at the end to a decibel level that she hadn't known she was capable of until now. Standing up, Blair stomped to the other side of the kitchen, slamming her hand against the wall in powerful irritation.
When Chuck didn't respond to her, but only continued to stare at the floor, she got even more agitated. Blair walked over to him and knelt on the floor, as if she were speaking to a small child who had gotten into the cookie jar again. Not bothering to be gentle this time, she grabbed his hair and yanked her face to his, looking at him seriously.
"Why do you seem so utterly scorned by this fact?" she asked, eyes squinting at him in inquiry.
"Because what I did tonight...I sounded like my father. I acted like my father. I've been myfather for that kid's entire life," he said quietly, voice cracking on the last word as he turned his gaze out the window. She turned his head to hers once more, bringing their lips together. It scared her when his lips were limp between her own, not returning the kiss until the final second, just when she was about to pull away.
"Chuck," Blair began, her voice thick with the watery tears that were beginning in the back of her throat, "you're not your father. Please believe me." She said the words simply, hoping that the tears in her eyes would be enough to convey to him just how much she loved him, and how long that would carry on.
He nodded. "I know. But...I felt like him. I don't want to be Bart." His voice was so strained and she could tell he was fighting back tears now. "Please don't let me get that bad, Blair. Please."
The note of desperation in his voice caused her to tremble and she stood again, rising to her full height. "You won't, Chuck." Blair's voice was final, indicating that this topic was closed for the evening. Chuck obeyed the unspoken rule and sniffled, looking up at her once again.
"Aren't you going to talk to him?" he questioned curiously, brows furrowed in confusion.
Blair smiled at him. "I think it's best if we just let him sleep. He's probably not in the best state of mind right now to deal with a lecture. We'll get him tomorrow morning." She winked at him and he nodded back knowingly, because they both knew just what the effects of smoking your first joint were. Both had been there, him as first-hand, and her as a by-stander with Nate.
They would talk to Vic in the morning.
**********
Adrianna sat on her bed, a Jan Brett book laying open in her lap. She listened to the sniffles in the room next-door – Victor's room – and wondered what was going on. She'd heard the door slam, but assumed that it was the wind catching it as someone entered the house. When Adri had heard her older brother come storming into her room, however, she knew something far more dreadful was going on.
Scared as ever now, she got up and set the book down on her bed, placing the well-worn fabric bookmark that donned her name in the place where she had been. Tiptoeing in her pink flannel nightie and fuzzy magenta slipper, she went to check on her mother and Mr. Bass in the kitchen – where she had heard them briefly speaking before.
When she made it to her secret corner, where she was sure to hear everything but still stay well hidden, she listened intently. Alas, the small girl was tired and found herself drifting and only able to catch bits and pieces. She peeked around the corner and caught sight of Mommy and Mr. Bass kissing and smiled triumphantly. Maybe Vic just had a bad day at school, she thought happily – though she still wasn't exactly thrilled that he was unhappy.
But one more look at the people in the kitchen told her that something was still wrong. The look on her mom's face was so sad, it was so unlike anything she had seen, and she felt a tear fall down her face – half in unrecognizable cheerlessness and half in over-exhaustion. She trudged back to her bedroom, crawling under the silky white covers with a sobbed out yawn.
She hoped they would be okay in the morning, because Mr. Bass was so nice, and Mommy was so happy with him – Adrianna could tell.
End Note: Um, so much for difficulty getting this out. I think this is one of the longest things I've ever written. Anyway, I had fun writing it (:
