Title: When The Devil Can't Save Himself
Word Count: n/a yet
Rating: PG-13, maybe R at one point
Warnings/Spoilers: All of season 1, aired season 2 and spoilers for episodes 2.12 through 2.15.
Summary: Bart Bass. Shot. Dead. Murdered. Chuck Bass was broken, and he was pretty sure he couldn't be fixed. That wouldn't stop her from trying.
Official Disclaimer: All Gossip Girl plots and characters belong to Cecily von Ziegeser, Josh Schwartz and the CW. I do not own the company or the people. The characters featured in this story are not mine.
Author's Note: Chapter four! I actually finished this yesterday, well, today, but really early in the morning, but I was too lazy to put to up. Anyway, I know this chapter seems rather repetitive with Chuck's actions compared to chapter two, but it is going to be a lot like that, I'll warn you. It's going to escalate every time, though. Plenty more angst is coming, as you can see, with Chuck being very conflicted over his feelings for Blair and his reluctance to let her in. Eventually you'll find out Jack Bass's real intentions about wanting to "help" Chuck, as well. Enjoy! :)
Lily sat alone at the kitchen table, eyes still covered in her dark glasses. An untouched plate of food was set in front of her, but she still stared into space, barely taking in the bright, bustling surroundings. She was slightly aware of the sound of footsteps, though, as they entered the dining room and paused next to her seat.
Lily looked up to see a pair of perfectly pressed pants, a dress shirt, a black jacket and a pair of bright blue eyes staring straight into hers. She almost gasped as she was met with a face that completely matched Bart's. Her Bart's. He had the same lined forehead and the same slightly turned down lips, but this man was smirking, his mouth twisted in a way that looked more like Chuck than his father.
Lily glanced the man up and down once again. "You must be Jack Bass." She reached out a hand for him to shake, but instead he cradled it in his, brushing his lips across her knuckles.
"Yes, I am. And you're Lily, I'm sure." Jack took in her smooth hair and the way her silk robe fell across her bare thighs in a way that was much too appreciative for a man that was the brother of her deceased husband and could easily be fifteen years younger than her. He nodded, giving way to another Chuck-like smirk. "Pleasure."
Jack glanced over his shoulder at the sprawling modern apartment, taking in the glass tabletops, boxy cream-colored couches and art covering the walls. "Chuck's in bed. I figured I'd let him sleep it off," he concluded, as if he held all the authority for Chuck's well-being.
Despite Jack's blatant cockiness, Lily was relieved to hear that Chuck was back, and safe. "Jack, again, thank you so much. Blair and I were so worried."
Jack nodded, seeming distracted, as if he couldn't care less. He took another look at the expensively decorated apartment and then reached down, pulling off Lily's sunglasses. She immediately moved to shield her eyes from the bright lights. They were still tender and sore, outlined with redness from days of constantly tearing up and letting the salt stain her skin. "It bright in here?" he asked rudely.
Lily pulled her glasses out of his fingertips and laid them on the table next to her. She began to rub her temples, smooth fingers against smooth skin. "I have a migraine."
"Uh-huh…" Jack said skeptically. He ran a hand through his dark hair and pulled out a chair next to Lily's. "Lily, we need to talk." Apparently the conversation wasn't so important that it overwrote a need for food, Lily noticed, as Jack picked up a warm croissant and poured himself a cup of coffee.
He took a deep breath, setting down the croissant and letting its buttery crumbs spread on the plate. Leaning forward on his elbows until he was looking straight into Lily's eyes, Jack began what sounded like a rehearsed speech. "Look, I get that Bart dying has been difficult, but the way things have been handled the last couple weeks; you shut away like Gloria Swanson, my nephew MIA in a Thai bordello…" He slowly shook his head, like the van der Basses were the saddest family he'd ever seen. "My brother may not have won Parent of the Year, but I doubt he'd be too happy."
What was he getting at? Lily couldn't tell, so she decided to ignore what sounded like a lead-in to Jack attempting to uncover some kind of family secret or something equally ridiculous. "Well, you needn't worry yourself anymore. Chuck is my stepson. I'll take care of him."
Jack sighed, sounding annoyed. "Was your stepson. And as Chuck's last living relative…" Lily felt a twinge of deep sadness for the boy, who was forever losing everything he cared about. "…I have to say, I don't feel comfortable leaving him in this situation."
Lily felt like she had been hit with a bucket of cold water that was now trickling down her entire body. Who was this man to tell her how to parent her children? Whether Jack thought so or not, Chuck was still legally bound to her, and she really did care about him. Lily could tell that Jack Bass did not have good intentions, but she couldn't pinpoint exactly what they were just yet.
Jack, seemingly oblivious to her shocked expression, continued on blissfully. He stood and made his way over to Lily, tapping the edge of her plate with one fingernail. "You should eat. People grieving tend to neglect their health."
Damn you, Jack Bass.
Blair sat on the edge of Chuck's bed, perched on the soft beige fabric. He was sprawled out next to her, smelling like alcohol and secondhand smoke. Or firsthand. She wasn't sure.
His forehead was covered in beads of a cold sweat, and he lay perfectly still, the only indication of life being the rise and fall of his chest underneath the soft blue covering of his sweatshirt and plain white T-shirt. Blair leaned over him, taking his cold, clammy hand in hers and carefully stroking his hair back from his forehead.
Blair couldn't deny her feelings. She was scared as hell; beginning to wonder how long he'd been unconscious, how long he'd lay with his eyes shut, barely breathing. It was like a scene of from an old movie, a doting wife sitting by her deathly ill husband's beside, promising to stay with him forever. But for once Blair was not at all appreciative of her cinematic surroundings. She would trade everything, all of it, for Chuck to open his eyes and be okay.
Blair continued her calm, steady rhythm of pushing his hair up off his forehead, feeling the soft, messy curls. She took the moment to look at him. Even hungover and stoned, he looked like he should be in a painting, framed to hold his beauty forever. His mess of dark hair, not perfectly styled like it always was, gave him an air of recklessness; his pale face brought out his striking bone structure; his thick eyelashes fluttered against his cheeks, making him look less intimidating and more like a young child at peace. Even his body was beautiful, not quite as built as Nate's, but strong and solid all the same. She could have admired him for days, but admiring him was much more fun when she was on top of him and he would…
No. Blair wouldn't allow herself to think of him like that. He was broken. He needed her, but he had also just pushed her away. She remembered the cold whip of the wind across her face and the pained look that tore apart his features as he told her to stay away. To get out of his life.
She wondered if he'd even want her here when he woke up. Maybe she should just go. She wouldn't want to make him even more angry at her than he already wa-
Just as Blair had picked up her purse and was tiptoeing to the door, Chuck's eyes flitted open. "Blair?" His voice was scratchy and hoarse; weak and exhausted. His finally-opened eyes were rimmed with thick red circles and were glassy but somehow harsh at the same time. There he was, her Chuck.
"Chuck!" Blair was by his side in a second, looking at his bedraggled clothes and tired coffee-colored eyes. "I…you…you're awake."
"What are you doing here?" He glared at her as best at her with foggy pupils, his words rough, like they'd been worn down between his chapped lips before leaving his mouth.
"What are you doing here?"
The words came out much colder than Chuck had intended. He secretly loved that fact that Blair had been sitting her, next to him, for God knows how long, just waiting for him to open his eyes. But he openly hated it, because he didn't want her here. He'd rather fight off his incredible pounding headache and churning stomach on his own. He didn't need an audience to witness every moment of his self-demolishing breakdown.
"I wanted to see if you were okay." Blair's old confidence wasn't there anymore. It was replaced by a concerned air that made her sparkling dark eyes dull out and her curls hang flat. Chuck hated concern, and he hated Blair for being concerned about him. "Chuck, no one saw or heard from you in two weeks! For all we knew, you could have been dead!"
Chuck moaned, rolling over so he faced away from Blair. "I might as well be dead." His head felt like it was knocking against his skull, and the bile was rising so quickly in his already sore throat that he was sure he was going to be sick within seconds. He jumped off of the bed onto leaden legs and banged open the door to his bathroom, throwing himself down on his knees in front of the toilet.
He didn't see Blair come in behind him at first, but he noticed when she knelt beside him and began to gently rub his back. Chuck hated the way it made him feel, the way it felt to rely on her for comfort, for purpose. Even her touching him was a reminder of how things used to be, and it would probably be best if he could get those reminders out of his head for good. If he was around her, they would never go away, those memories of better times; of a happier boy, a smirking villainous teenager with a good heart. He needed them to go away.
So when his stomach was empty, he had collapsed on the tiled floor; the coolness feeling good against his feverish cheeks; and Blair had sat next to him, leaning a head on his shoulder and taking one of his now-warm hands in hers, he shoved her away.
"Get the fuck out." Chuck's voice wavered from behind a clenched jaw and fiery eyes as he attempted to stand up, head pounding in overdrive.
"What…?" Blair squinted up at him, looking slightly afraid and more than a little hurt. "Chuck, I'm sorry. I know you might not want me here, but I want to try to help you."
"Do I look like I need help?" Chuck's entire body was shaking with a mixture of cold, sickness and rage.
"Yes!" Blair observed his trembling hands and the way his bloodshot eyes darted around the room. Her heart felt like it was being jerked around with every angry syllable he spoke in her direction, as she watched him falling apart in front of her eyes. "Chuck, you need someone right now. I know you don't think you do, but…"
"You don't know anything about me!" Chuck swayed back and forth, cross-eyed, looking like he was about to pass out or throw up again. "I want you to leave, Blair." He sucked in a deep breath, trying to get himself back under control. "I want you to leave, and I don't want you to come back."
Blair stared at him, her eyes filling with tears. She nodded once and turned back into the bedroom, picking up her bag and jacket and walking out without another word.
The sound of the door shutting echoed in his aching head as he stumbled back to the warmth of his bed. Chuck was still trying to fight off the feeling that he wanted Blair to be here next to him, how good it would feel to be wrapped in her arms, to feel her quick, fluttering heartbeat instead of just his own listless, dull one. But she couldn't be near him. He would never admit it to anyone, but he was scared to death of caring again. When he didn't care, everything was easier. He could go when he pleased, do what he wanted. Caring was much harder. Love was even worse.
Ss he drifted back into a restless sleep, the only thing he could think about was that he knew why he'd practically pushed Blair out that door. The fact that both of the people he'd loved even more than he loved her both left him, so suddenly, so soon…Chuck felt like, by caring for Blair, he would be wishing the same thing upon her. And if he lost her, the tiny thread that was still hanging on to everything he used to know would snap and he'd be nothing. Nothing, no one, never. Chuck needed her, but he would never let that phrase pass his lips. So instead of letting out the waterfall of tears that threatened to pour from the corners of his milky brown eyes, he turned over onto his stomach, pulled a pillow over his head and repeated the phrase that'd he'd always relied on to get him through moments like these.
Chuck Bass doesn't need anyone.
Author's Note: I hope that ending part with Chuck made sense :o I also hoped you liked the rest of the chapter. I'm trying to put a lot of time into these, but I can't tell if they're getting worse or better. :P Anyway, thanks to everyone that reviewed last time: brookeb566, LittleDancer-123x, suspensegirl, Edwardslover09, JaneA0202, fizliz23, bluestriker666, Princess Persephone, xcrazyangelx1800, maggymoo21, IHeartOTH05, NaturalDisaster521, TheCutie and princeton girl. Thank you guys so much. Reviews always make my day, so please, please, please keep reading and reviewing!!! :)