A/N- Loads of thanks to everyone who reviewed, they make my day :)
And here's chapter 3 :)
The Saddest Song
Chapter Three: The Palace Bar
She's not even sure why she's here, but it's better than the huge emptiness back at home. Serena's gone for a few days, spending the weekend with Dan and his father on some stupid poor people's camping trip somewhere in Connecticut so Blair can't even hide her feelings in her best friend's self-absorbedness. She's not sure if she's ever heard of something as stupid as an Upper East Sider slumming it in a tent in the woods.
The hundreds of liquor bottles make something of a pretty pattern, she's concluded, on the shelves backed with mirrors. It's the lines she likes, symmetric and perfect, the angles fitting together wonderfully.
It's been two months now since the study party. Two months since that day Chuck caught her in the school bathroom, two months since she submitted her history assignment that she's almost definitely got an F in, and three months since she hid that test away in her bottom drawer.
It's gotten a lot warmer outside during the nights now, warm enough at least for Serena to sleep in a tent, but still probably not quite warm enough for her to wear the dress she has on without a cardigan or jacket. So she sits, delicately, cross-legged in a floral creation, her bare arms cold with goose bumps, but she ignores it, or at least tries to.
Her arms are too thin. Her stomach is always empty, not only from the vomiting, but because she doesn't allow much food in there. She's passed the three month mark now, and most people would start to show.
Blair's lighter than she was before.
And even now, especially now, she makes every effort with her appearance. It's the only thing she's got left.
"Blair?"
She knows the voice. Even before she turns around, she can picture the confused expression across his face, because they both know that this is his place, not just because he lives there, but because it's his seat and it's his favourite drink she's got standing in front of her. The only time they've been here together was after their affair was exposed. And he shot her while she was already down.
Now? She expects nothing but the same. And she still doesn't know why she's here.
He tells her that she's in his seat, and when she snorts, he takes a seat beside her anyway, clearly not caring if she wants him there or not.
He tries to make small talk, and when that fails (because they were never really into small
talk anyway) he moves on to insults, banter, self-love, because that's how they communicate, and if it's the only way she'll talk to him, he'll take it.
He can't even find the words to tell her how much he regrets sleeping with Amelia. But he figures they won't help much anyway, because he knows there's more to all of this than she's letting on.
Blair remembers the days before any of this, before complications and feelings of love, of lust, when the two of them would simply sit together, because Nate would be with the Captain, or God knows, maybe with Serena (doing absolutely nothing, yet it would mean absolutely everything), and they'd talk, never about their absent best friends, but about their fancies, their favourites, and their feelings.
Sometimes, Chuck would bring a book of poetry, and recite to her the words that meant something that week. When they got a little older, he'd bring a bottle of scotch, they'd find a secluded spot beneath a tree in Central Park, and he'd tease her into taking one swig, and then another, and another until she was giggling, falling against his shoulder as she passed the bottle back to him so that he could take a swig of his own.
When she'd vomited once, in a bush wearing pretty shoes and a Chanel dress, he'd vowed never to do that again, smirking as she smacked him in the chest for making her behave in such an undignified and unladylike fashion.
Occasionally they'd have ice cream, and even though she always said that it would have to be low-fat, she always opted for fudge brownie or butter pecan, licking her lips as she finished up the cone, and he'd still be working his way through the first scoop.
And of course, they'd never told anyone about that time spent together, because it was precious, it was private, and even though they'd never acknowledge it, it meant everything.
X
"So how did you do in the history assignment?" Chuck asks carefully. He normally wouldn't have bothered saying anything at all, but the silence is making him feel uneasy, so the sound of his own voice is the only thing he has left.
"Do you have to talk?" Blair bites.
"Apparently so."
"Well I like the silence you why don't you try thinking about someone else for once instead of yourself."
"That's rich coming from you."
"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"
"I don't know Blair!" His voice is a little louder now to compensate for her raised tone, and all she wants to do is run away. But she can't because she's supposed to be thinking right now, and all she can think about is him anyway. "You say you don't want to talk to me so why come here? Why this bar and sit in my seat?"
"If you're so bothered about the damn seat then have it!" She spits, standing up as she stares at him.
They're lucky there aren't people in there who know them. Surely this would be making breaking news on Gossip Girl.
"I don't want the seat Blair, I want you to tell me what you're doing here."
"Passing time." She shrugs, still standing.
Chuck eyes her suspiciously, watching the way her hands cradle her cold arms, her pale face and the way that her stomach is so flat underneath that pretty dress. He can't help but wonder what she does in her bathroom.
He doesn't question her anymore. Just nods and tells her that she should take the seat (holding back that she looks a little faint) because he doesn't mind the one beside her.
She's not sure why she sits back down.
X
It's been hours now, it has to have been, and the tension is killing her. It doesn't help that he sighs into his own drink every so often, a sort of mixture of content and tiredness, just like he used to do when they'd sit in Central Park together, tipsy or full of ice cream, and he'd trace his fingers lazily across her arm, just because it comforted them both.
Blair closes her eyes because she needs to block those times out now. That's not how they are, it's not how they'll ever be, and she can't seem to get over it.
He can't take the sight of her goose bump any more, and takes off his sweater, silently handing it to her without even looking in her direction.
Blair eyes him out of the corner of her eye, thinks about passing comment on why he's wearing a sweater and a shirt, but then she realizes she's the one who's cold, and it's not really about him.
And she probably shouldn't have taken it, it breaks the rules of their fight, but she's Blair Waldorf and she's never been one for following rules anyway. She feels warm and safe with it on, material sinking around her that smells of him (not any other girl thank God) as she fingers the cuffs, her hands disappearing inside.
She curls her nose up when she catches him smirk a little out of the corner of her eye, and if she was any warmer, she'd have taken the sweater straight off and thrown it at him, walked away maybe. But her feet seem unable to move, and every time she tries to tell herself that she's leaving, she only stays, rooted to the stool like she'd die if she left as her ex…boyfriend?... swirls the scotch around in his glass.
Blair hasn't touched hers.
"Is it new?" She asks. Her voice sounds hoarse and way too loud, but she's sick of the silence
now, and he wasn't going to break it any time soon.
Chuck looks at her, a little confused and without turning to him, she elaborates.
"The sweater, is it new?"
"You bought it for me." He says simply. "That October when you went with Eleanor to Paris."
"Oh."
"Are you still cold?"
"I wasn't cold before." She lies. She's not sure why everything has to be made into a fight, maybe she's just desperate to win something.
"Right."
It's quiet again, and he brings Serena up, just to keep her there next to him.
"So S is shacked up in a tent with Brooklyn and his dad? A little Brady Bunch wouldn't you say?"
"Maybe you're just jealous because you never went on a camping holiday with your father."
Blair shudders when the words leave her mouth, because as much as they both know Chuck's family life has never even neared what could be described as happy, they'd never brought it up before.
"And you have?" He returns sharply.
"I prefer the Four Seasons."
"And I prefer The Palace."
X
"Do you want to take a walk?" He asks, fingering the glass in front of her as he realizes that there's definitely a full measure of scotch in there, and none of it has passed her lips.
She doesn't shake her head, doesn't nod her head in reply, just stands up, his sweater falling loosely around her, dark brunette curls tumbling around her shoulders.
Chuck's not sure he's ever seen her look so beautiful.
When they leave the Palace Bar, they acquire a few stares, most likely concerning her pretty dress covered by his oversized sweater.
Her fingers twitch, and she's glad he's not walking close enough by her side to feel them. He sees though, smiles inwardly, a little awkwardly (and still guiltily) and moves a little closer, not so they're touching, but close enough so there isn't much air between them.
"Are you running for Prom Queen?" Chucks asks, just to break the silence. He doesn't expect her to say yes, only because she'd always been the first one to shy away from those events, saying that they were for people who needed the publicity, and that she was definitely not one of them.
Chuck thinks that it's because she always knew Serena would beat her in the running, at that if that happened, Blair would never be able to let it go.
She used to have a lot of thoughts, a lot of opinions, and it didn't seem to matter when she didn't voice them. Now, when she keeps things to herself, or when she simply can't find an opinion on anything, she feels lacking in substance, shallow, empty.
Blair Waldorf is the exact opposite of empty.
Even after Jenny wore a pink hair band three shades darker than her blouse, Blair couldn't think of anything to say. Now she just wishes she could get that back.
"What are you thinking?" Chuck asks her as he notices they've slowed from a normal speed to something of a shuffle, and people are passing all around them on the sidewalk.
"About Jenny's hair band."
"What about it?"
"It was three shades darker than her cardigan, and I couldn't think of anything to say."
Chuck lowers his voice to a near whisper "Seems you've lost your touch."
He notes her expression, and apologizes. "Sorry. I didn't mean…Blair I'm sorry…for everything."
She can tell from the look written across his face that he thinks he probably shouldn't have said that. But retracting his statement would only bring more attention to it, and so she watches out of the corner of her eye as he rubs his hands against his pants again and again until she can't stand it anymore.
"I'm pregnant." She blurts. Saying it seems to act as some sort of release and she feels the same salty tears burn in her eyes that fell the previous week in the boys' bathroom. She stays composed though, for now, the water blurring in front of her, yet she doesn't move, doesn't twitch and he stares at her, his mouth opening and closing as he tries to figure out what to say.
"You're…no…"
"Yeah, pregnant, bun in the oven, knocked up, whatever you want to call it."
When he doesn't respond, Blair finds herself gabbling, gasping for air as she tries to choke out her words through threatening tears.
"I haven't told anyone, I…it's not…it's…I don't know if it's too late, I just…what am I going to do?"
He takes her then, in the middle of the busy sidewalk, his baggy sweater falling over her frame as he pulls her closer, an arm tightly around her incase her legs give way, his mouth in her hair is she clings to his shirt with weak hands.
And then as quickly as she fell against him, she pulls away again, wipes furiously at her face, and shakes her hair behind her shoulders, whips off his sweater and hands it to him, no eye contact, no smile, no more tears.
"I shouldn't have told you that." She says blankly, turning her body in the other direction.
Chuck calls for her but with her back turned, she daren't face him again in case she gives in just like a few moments ago. It's taken her long enough to build up strength against him and she's not willing to risk that for something the size of a dot inside of her. It's nothing to do with Chuck and she's angry for even telling him.
"Blair where are you going?" He shouts, but she keeps walking as he clings to the sweater, masked with her perfume as she disappears into the crowd and he's left with nothing but guilt, disappointment and fear.
Because this could never end well.
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