A/N: I did it! I'm so, so, so, so, sooooo sorry. This took forever, and I know that. I just did not feel inspired to write for a really long time, and once I did, it got super long and then I had to edit it and then I didn't like a whole bunch so I started over... *sigh* Plus, I was really, really sick a couple weeks ago and I just got over that, so here it is! I worked really, really hard on this chapter, and it's long to make up for how long it took to write. :) I hope you guys really like it. Enjoy. :D
NOTE: The song I quoted is "Fix You" by Coldplay, and I really reccomend reading it during the (spoiler) Chuck/Blair hug scene, since I listened to that while I was writing it and it's basically what the scene was based on. :) I'm sorry if you think the lyrics break up the flow or whatever, but I couldn't not put them in.
"When you try your best, but you don't succeed; when you get what you want, but not what you need; when you're so tired but you can't sleep. Stuck in reverse."
Voices. All he could hear were voices. They sounded faint and far-off, the only distinctions being between man and woman. There were bright fluorescent lights, too, beating down on his closed eyelids and forcing them to flutter open. There was white everyone, covering every surface, so much white, and his entire body ached inexplicably.
Things slowly came into focus, making Chuck strangely dizzy. His stomach was roiling and his throat felt rough, like it had been rubbed with sandpaper and he was denied water. It was becoming a familiar feeling, but this was taking it to the extreme. The sheets pulled over his body were starched and firm, and when he turned to the side and looked down, there was a hard, cold linoleum floor staring back at him.
"Chuck?" He heard Lily's voice echo from the corner of the room, and he set his blurry eyes on the image of her standing up in her very un-mom-like skinny pants and just-off-the-runway zippered ankle boots, flipping her cell phone closed and tucking it into her oversized leather purse. "Doctor, I think he's awake."
Chuck opened his eyes even wider, taking in the scene. He was lying in a hospital bed in a private room. Lily, Serena and Eric were seated on the smooth vinyl couches and chairs that were collected at the edge of the room, near a large, sunny window not yet shaded by the thick, shiny tarp-like curtains that surrounded it. Noticeably present was Jack, but Chuck didn't want him there anyway. And Blair…where was Blair? His head was pounding so heavily that he was almost cross-eyed, and his stomach felt completely empty, yet he was still nauseous. How was that possible?
Memories of the last night came flooding back to him. He remembered the tinted glass bottles and the tiny white pills and the burn in his throat as he swallowed them all. He remembered the path of the silent tears trickling down his cheeks. They had been just water…no emotion. He had felt everything for one painful, searing moment…and then nothing. Nothing then, nothing now…except for the obvious side effects of his little accidental adventure into prescription drugs, which really hadn't been so much of an accident as a necessity. Maybe it was a bad escape. There were a thousand other ways to do what he'd been trying to; he just hadn't thought of them at the time.
The doctor made his way over to Chuck's bed, holding a clipboard. "Mr. Bass?" he said, holding out a hand. Chuck was too weak to grab it, and instead moved his heavy head up and down in a pitiful nod. "Do you remember what happened to you last night?"
Chuck managed to move his head again. The exact details were fuzzy, but he remembered the how and why of the situation clearly. Blair, Jack, Bass Industries…the reason why he'd taken the pills in the first place was to forget. Why did he still remember? He didn't want to remember.
But the biggest surprise of all was that he felt numb. And it wasn't his body, because his aching head, churning stomach and limbs that felt like they had been filled with lead accounted for much of his discomfort, but his entire being. His heart was heavy and his eyes tired, but he just didn't care. It felt like he'd woken up without purpose. Nothing mattered to him anymore.
The doctor was talking, writing on a clipboard as Chuck answered his simple questions with mechanical answers. How was he feeling, what hurt, what had he taken, did he want to take part in the therapy class offered to overdose patients? (Definitely not).When the doctor left, Chuck stared over to the other side of the room. Lily had left with the doctor, but the other two of his visitors were watching intently, still in last night's clothing: suits and cocktail dresses from whatever Upper East Side soiree they'd had to leave to come here. He wished they weren't here, but he was glad that they were. No, that didn't make any sense. He wasn't sure what he wanted anymore. Sleep, maybe. Water. As Chuck's mind forced itself to focus on material items, things that could be easily obtained, it kept coming back to Blair.
As if reading his mind, Serena spoke softly, pushing a few strands of her tangled buttery blond waves out of her makeup-smeared eyes. It was obvious that she'd spent the night here, and Chuck felt the tiniest bit grateful for a second, low in the pit of his stomach. "Blair's outside in the waiting room. We didn't know if you'd want her here, so…" Before Serena could finish her sentence, she noticed Chuck's muscles tightening into fists and his jaw clenching, the obvious signs that he was upset. "Do you want me to go get her?" Serena asked, already halfway off her seat on an uncomfortable light wood chair, tottering on her sky-high black Manolos as she waited for Chuck's answer.
His brain tried to form around her words. Blair was here. She'd come for him, come to see him. The thought of her being next to him, holding his hand, slowing stroking his hair like she'd done at his father's funeral so many months ago, made him feel weak and childish, but he still wanted it more than he'd ever wanted anything in his life. So he shook his head and rasped, "Tell her…tell her that I don't want to see her. Now or ever."
Serena's face hardened, and he saw tears glimmering in her darkly-lined eyes. Eric looked on in shocked silence, his young face twisted in confusion. "Chuck, she doesn't deserve that."
Chuck didn't answer. He turned his face into his pillow to stop of the onset of tears and continued to lie like that. It muffled their voices, their concern for both him and Blair. Chuck didn't care to hear it.
Chuck felt a hand on his back: Eric's. He flinched away and almost shouted hoarsely, "Don't touch me!" but he couldn't seem to find the energy to do it. Instead he lay there, closing his tired dark brown eyes and pretending to sleep. Maybe if he were still, they'd go away. Maybe everything would go away.
Chuck carefully dug his hands into his soft, worn cotton sheets and pushed himself upright, shoving off the comforting gray-and-purple duvet in favor of the slightly cold air of his bedroom against his flannel-pajamas-clad legs. He swung his legs around and was about to place his feet on the dark purple-carpeted floor to go in search of another cold bottle of water. His stomach was acting up, and water seemed to be the only thing that would settle it. But just then, the glossy wooden door to his bedroom opened and Serena stepped in.
She had obviously cleaned up since their encounter this morning, and now she wore a short, form-fitting cream-colored cashmere dress paired with tights and some sort of wrinkled baby blue jacket. Her hair fell in its usual waves down her slim back, gold bangles jingled on her wrists, and her face was clouded with worry.
"Don't move, I'll get that for you," she said quickly, grabbing the empty bottle out of Chuck's hand and turning towards the door again, her beige stiletto heels barely making a sound on the thin carpet, but her bracelets clanking together on her thin wrists. "The doctor said you could only go home if you would rest."
Chuck wanted to protest that he was resting, but he couldn't seem to find the energy. He was grateful though, because his legs felt weak and shaky and he was so nauseous that he wasn't sure that he could have made it all the way to the fridge in the kitchen anyway.
Serena returned with a cold bottle of mineral water. Chuck took it gratefully, unscrewing the cap and letting the freezing liquid coat his sore throat and calm his stomach. He lay back against the striped cushioned headboard of his bed, trying to breath deeply. The doctor had forbidden him from taking any sort of medication for the next few days, because he was afraid that it might create some strange kind of reaction with the drugs that Chuck still had in his system, so Chuck's pounding migraine, upset stomach and dry throat were left to heal the natural way.
Serena perched on the side of his bed. "So…" she began, running her hands nervously through her thick blond waves. Chuck didn't look at her, just kept fiddling with the bottle of water in his jittery hands. "How are you doing?"
Chuck didn't answer, just took a sip of water and turned his head, staring at the framed photograph of his mother that sat on the table to that side. The sight of her wide brown eyes and soft, dark hair made him feel even sicker and more alone. He had to look away.
Serena sighed when Chuck didn't respond, setting a French-manicured hand on one of his broad, white-T-shirt-covered shoulders. "Look, I know I haven't exactly been the greatest stepsister in the world, but I'm really," her voice cracked, "really happy that you're okay."
Chuck shrugged her hand off, the gesture both strangely comforting and strangely uncomfortable. "I don't feel so good," he said, feigning that he was about to be sick and turning to the other side to get out of bed and away from Serena's attempts to have him talk about his feelings with her. He didn't do that with anyone. And if he ever did, he was sure that it would be Blair, the girl that he'd loved for as long as he could remember, rather than his sweet but somewhat pushy stepsister.
Watching Chuck turn away, Serena suddenly felt an enormous amount of pity for him. Here was a boy, not yet a man, who'd just lost his father and was now technically orphaned; not counting the hospitality of Lily Bass and the fact that Serena and Eric treated him as if he was a sibling. Here was a boy that had lived his whole life with a wall up, and now, when he desperately needed to knock that wall down to be able to move on, he wasn't able to let go of the way things used to be. Here was a boy that needed comfort, needed to find something to hold on to, and it seemed that no matter how far he reached, there was nothing left.
Serena reached out and grabbed his arm, stopping him from stepping into the connecting bathroom, where he would probably stay until she would grow annoyed, bored, or otherwise preoccupied and leave. "Chuck, just wait a minute," she said, her mouth dry with a combination of fear and sadness as he turned his head.
When he looked at her, she felt sick inside. Every bit of pain that she was sure was throbbing inside of him was displayed on his face for one quick second: eyes narrowed and flashing, eyebrows furrowed, chest heaving in and out as he struggled to take deep enough breaths to accommodate the anguish inside of him. Then the torment faded and what replaced it was a look of pure grief. His hands shook, his shoulders shook, his eyes filled with unshed tears and his lips quivered as he struggled to hold himself together.
Serena reached for him again, this time pulling him to her and wrapping her arms around his shaking frame. He didn't move to hug her back, but she paid no mind. "I'm so sorry," she said softly, her voice trembling. "I'm sorry about everything."
Chuck nodded, a tiny nod, the expression on his face hard to read when Serena let go of him and looked him over. He rubbed at his eyes with curled fists, making them even more bloodshot and red-rimmed than before. The pity that she had felt before represented itself at a whole other level, and she embraced him again, letting her long arms rest around his frame in a way that felt more like family than anything that she'd ever experienced.
Chuck attempted breathing steadily for a moment, then let himself press his face into Serena's soft, jacket-clad shoulder. She continued to hold him, as he was unmoving and not protesting, and said quietly, "If you need to cry…" Serena paused, taking a deep breath. "I won't tell anyone, I swear." She got no response, and just sat there with him wrapped in her arms. But after a few minutes, there was a small sniffle. Serena turned her head to look at him, her perfectly made-up eyes wide with shock. Was Chuck Bass, the Chuck Bass, really crying? She hadn't expected him to actually heed her advice.
A few seconds later, there was a small gasp, almost like the beginning of a sob, and Chuck's shoulders shook violently. Serena pulled him closer, but Chuck shoved his hands into her cashmere-clad shoulders, pushing her away and causing her to fall back on the bed. His eyes were wild, darting all over the room, and still filled with tears, but none had tracked their way down his pale cheeks. He let out something that sounded like a strangled yell and stumbled for the bathroom, turning to look at the surprised Serena that was now lying propped up by her elbows on his bed, her eyes slightly afraid and her heart pounding in her chest.
"I'm sorry," he half-whispered, half-sobbed, banging his fist on the bathroom door before kicking it open and slamming it behind him.
"And the tears come streaming down your face, when you lose something you can't replace; when you love someone but it goes to waste. Could it be worse?"
Serena sat in a deathly still silence, shocked by what she had just seen and heard. Chuck was, apparently, just as vulnerable as the rest of the world, just not as good at showing it. The looks in his eyes had broken her heart over and over again, and it made her want to be that person that he trusted enough to open up to. But since she hadn't been the greatest stepsister over the time they'd been living under the same roof, Serena wasn't surprised that Chuck didn't have that kind of faith in her. In fact, she was sure that she knew who he did trust that way, but he'd never admit to it.
Blair. Blair was the only one that could get him to open up. She always had been. Back when they were younger, on days when Chuck and Blair had fought and she wasn't there to listen to him talk about how his father had come home late from work again after promising to have dinner with him or how Nate had been ditching him for the members of the lacrosse and soccer teams, he became moody, closed-off, or just plain sad. Even when the worries were trivial, Blair listened diligently and it paid off. After talking to Blair, Chuck was lighter and happier, a little more carefree. For so many years, she was the one that held him together.
He needed Blair right now. She was the only one that he would let his guard down with. But that wasn't her decision to make, as much as she wanted to. It was Chuck's, and she knew that when everything got to be too much, he'd end up going to her. He always ended up going to her.
Standing up, Serena began to make her way to the door, but something that she saw on top of Chuck's cluttered desk surprised her. It was a wide, cream-colored envelope, stamped with the Bass Industries logo and addressed in looping, old-fashioned calligraphy to "Charles Bartholomew Bass."
"Chuck, what is this?" she asked the empty air. Chuck made no response from inside the bathroom, and she doubted that he had even heard her. But just because of the look in his eyes when he'd slammed that door shut, she carefully slid it through the crack underneath and turned to leave.
"Lights will guide you home and ignite your bones and I will try to fix you."
Contrary to what Serena thought, Chuck had heard her. And as he sat on the glossy, modern, cream-tiled floor, back against the bathroom door and legs pulled to his chest, he saw the envelope slide through the small line of afternoon sunlight underneath the door.
Chuck's fingers shook as he picked it up. The truth was, he had almost forgotten about that envelope. Right after he'd gotten it, he'd seen Blair outside of the Bass Industries office, and his after-work fantasies as well as her huge brown eyes and gorgeous ruby red lips had made it hard to think about anything other than what was right in front of him and how much he wished that it was his. He'd simply set the letter down in his room when he got home to the van der Bass penthouse, not thinking about it again.
Until now. Carefully turning over the envelope in his hands, Chuck unstuck the flap and pulled out a folded piece of paper. It was thick, but Chuck could still make out the words "Dear Charles" at the top through the layers of paper. His heart began to pound just as hard as his head already was, and his stomach lurched. There was no way that he could do this alone.
Stretching his legs out in front of him and standing up slowly, Chuck opened the bathroom door. Serena had disappeared from the room, leaving the door partially open behind her. Through the wide crack, Chuck could see the van der Woodsen living room and kitchen: a wide, contemporary space full of elegant white furniture and modern art. He leaned across the bedspread and grabbed his cell phone off of the bedside table that also housed a low, wide cream-colored lamp and his trademark silk patchwork scarf.
There was only one person that he wanted to read this letter with. She'd promised that she'd always be there for him, and no matter how stupid he'd acted, he needed her here right now. She was just about the only person in the world that made him feel safe.
Hitting a few icons on his touch-screen phone, Chuck called the number that had been on his mind for the past few days and forever. It rang once, twice, and then the clear, beautiful voice of his wildest, most caring and most romantic dreams answered quietly. "Hello?"
Blair was sitting on a long wood-and-concrete bench in Central Park when he called, staring out at the cold, frozen grounds and feeling sorry for herself. Trees without leaves stretched their dark shadows deep into the cloudy sky, and the cold, brittle grass was dry and brown. The streetlights lining the long, wide path were shining bright, but their illumination only cast a glow on the dreariness around her. It was one of those ugly winter days, and that was good, because Blair was feeling ugly as well.
Why hadn't Chuck wanted her in that hospital room with him? Why had he sent her away? She'd thought that it would always be the way it had been since they were kids: she being the only one that Chuck trusted enough to let in. But now, clearly, he didn't need her anymore. Well, fine. She didn't need him either.
That thinking had lasted all of two seconds, before Blair thought of the promise that she had made him: "I want you to know that I'm going to be here…anywhere…whenever you need me." She couldn't just let him down. This thought filled her brown eyes with tears that wet her eyelashes. Maybe he didn't want her near him anymore, but God, she wanted him so much.
When Serena had called in the middle of the night, telling her that Chuck had overdosed on scotch and sleeping pills and was currently being rushed to the hospital, she wouldn't have been surprised if her heart had stopped. The second she'd gotten to the brand-new Upper East Side hospital's entirely white leather-and-chrome waiting room, she'd started bawling and hadn't stopped until Lily had come out to tell her that Chuck was awake. It was so unlike her to cry in public…she and Chuck were similar in that way. Always a façade, never fully letting themselves go. Everything had broken last night, and now she just felt cold and empty. She couldn't go on without him, but he didn't want her to be with him. There was nothing she could do but just…forget, let him go and let him suffer and learn to not care.
Yes, she decided, standing up slowly and brushing any dirt from the bench off of her black wool pea coat. The thin coating of wet snow on the ground stained the red soles of her Louboutin heels and her hands were numb because she'd run out of the house without her cashmere-lined leather gloves, but Blair still sauntered her way down the path towards the park exit. I don't care, I don't care, I don't care, she told herself over and over, stomping her feet with a little more force than necessary. Then her phone rang.
Sighing with annoyance, Blair reached into her pocket and pulled out her cell phone. She continued walking, exiting the park, and pressed TALK. "Hello?"
The voice on the other end made her stop dead in her tracks, perfect eyebrows furrowed and dark, glossy, headband-less curls flying as she whipped her head around, somehow not finding it appropriate to look towards the bustling Upper East Side streets ahead of her. It was Chuck Bass, her Chuck, sounding hoarse and sick but very much alive and saying her name. "Blair?"
Hearing his voice made her want to run all the way to the van der Bass penthouse on the top floor of the Palace and throw her arms around him. He sounded so small and weak, but at the same time very old, weary and sad. She couldn't contain her relief at hearing from him, and so she blurted, betraying her promised indifference, "Chuck! Is everything okay? Are you okay? How are you feeling? What happened?"
Chuck let out a long sigh and didn't respond for so long that Blair was about to pull the phone away from her ear and check the signal. But then he spoke quietly. "Can you come over here?"
Blair's mascaraed eyes widened in surprise, and she tugged the wool of her coat closer to her shivering body, contemplating her decision. If she went, she would be betraying the promise that she'd made to herself just a few moments ago. If she didn't go, she would be betraying Chuck. The choice wasn't hard.
"I'll be there in five minutes," Blair said, picking up a pace almost like a speed-walk (as fast as she could move in her three-inch heels), exiting the park and waving her cold, bare hands for a cab. "But, Chuck…why?"
Chuck swallowed and she could hear him breathing softly on the other end of the line. "I'll explain when you get here," he said, his normally rough voice sounding a little bit less harsh today.
"Okay…" Confused, Blair listened to Chuck hang up as a cab screeched to the curb. She grabbed the slush-stained yellow door handle and yanked it open, sliding into the ripped vinyl backseat and practically shouting to the driver to go to the Palace Hotel.
As the cab pulled away from the sidewalk and turned the corner into a heavy stream of New York City rush-hour traffic, Blair tapped her stiletto-clad foot on the floor and her dark red-manicured fingers against the window. She wanted him in her arms, and she couldn't get there fast enough.
"And high up above or down below, when you're too in love to let it go. But if you never try, you'll never know just what you're worth."
When Blair stepped out of the elevator, the penthouse seemed strangely quiet and still. There were absolutely no signs of life: none of the Palace Hotel's maids bustling around the room and dusting everything, no leftover food from breakfast or lunch sitting on the kitchen counters, no soft thuds of high heels on the carpet as Serena or Lily rushed to meetings, appointments, or early dinner dates.
"Chuck?" Blair called out cautiously, unbuttoning her coat with cold fingers and slipping it from her shoulders, revealing the typically preppy outfit of a simple white-and-black striped dress and black tights that she was wearing underneath. When there was no response, she tossed the coat onto the bench against the wall across from the elevator and crossed the wide living room, ignoring the valuable paintings on the walls and the gorgeous view of late-afternoon Manhattan through the large windows in favor of a purposeful stride toward Chuck's room.
When she pushed open the door, she was surprised to find him extremely dressed down in a pair of plaid pajamas. She'd never seen him wear pajamas. He was always in a suit and bowtie or, at the very least, dark jeans and a nice cashmere sweater. But his clothing wasn't the only thing unusual. He was sitting on the edge of his unmade bed with a piece of paper in his hands, his face completely drained of color and a strange tint to his dusky brown eyes. It almost was a look of…surrender.
"Chuck?" Blair asked again, moving to his side on light feet, despite the weight of her Christian Louboutin peep-toes. She placed a small, gentle hand on one of his broad shoulders, and was surprised when he didn't shrug it off. The temperature that radiated from his body was both hot and cold, and she felt his body trembling under her cautious fingertips. "Why did you ask me here?"
Chuck said something so softly that she couldn't hear him, and she sat down next to him on the soft cotton bedspread to get closer, not removing her hand from its position on his shoulder. "What?" she asked carefully, trying not to push him but curious to know the answer nonetheless.
"My father," Chuck rasped, and Blair could feel him breath slowly in and out. "He left me…" he swallowed roughly, "…this letter. He, uh…" Chuck seemed to be struggling to get the words out, which was unusual for him. He usually had a smarmy, witty remark on the tip of his tongue, and was never without an opinion. "It was with his lawyers. It was supposed to be given to me if I was handed the company after he died, but that…" He stopped speaking and moved a hand over his eyes, which seemed to be quickly filling with tears. "That's not happening anymore."
Blair rubbed his shoulder tenderly and gazed at him with inquisitive eyes. "What do you mean? I thought…I mean, isn't the company yours? Serena told me…"
"Serena heard wrong," Chuck snapped harshly, interrupting her. Blair quickly removed her hand from his shoulder, as if she was afraid that he might bite her. Chuck had a ferocious glint in his irises for a moment, and then it faded and he just looked broken again. "I'm sorry," he said a second later, reaching up a hand to rub his tired, red-rimmed eyes.
Blair shook her head, returning her hand cautiously to his shoulder and feeling his body relax slightly as she rubbed her thumb in small circles. "Don't be. I just…" her voice softened slightly as she looked into his helpless eyes. "I just want to know what's going on. I want to be there for you, just like I…" she felt Chuck's whole body shudder at those words and she moved her arm around both shoulders, pulling him closer to her. "Just like I promised," she whispered, her soft red lips inches from his ear.
Chuck nodded slowly, opening and closing his mouth a few times before he found the words to say what he wanted to. "Jack took the company." He took a long, deep breath, but his shoulders began to shake before he finished. He was trembling all over, and the letter he was holding between his fingers fell on the purple-carpeted floor.
"What?" Blair was shocked. She had no doubt that Jack was a powerful man, everyone with the Bass name was, but it was Bart's own company. Jack Bass didn't strike her as smart enough, crafty enough or mean enough to devise a scheme that included stealing a father's most prized possession from his recently orphaned son. "How…"
"A morality clause." Chuck tilted his head up to the brown-painted ceiling as if trying to force the water back into his eyes. "He caught me doing…things I never should have done. I regret it…" he swallowed again, blinking furiously. "…so much." He began to shake again, and his body felt cold even through the soft, worn flannel of his pajamas.
"Shhh…" Blair pulled him closer to her and he moved voluntarily, letting himself into her warm half-embrace. "You feel freezing. Are you okay?"
Chuck shook his head, but made no move to reach for one of the cashmere blankets that were folded on the end of his bed. Instead, he picked up the letter from the floor, holding it between his fingers like he couldn't bear to touch it any more. "That's why I asked you here," he said in a near-whisper. "I can't…" he sighed, and Blair saw the last bit of the old Chuck disappearing for tonight as he prepared to show every bit of vulnerability that was running through him. "I can't do this alone," he finished softly.
"Lights will guide you home and ignite your bones and I will try to fix you."
Blair nodded, feeling so much pity weighing down her heart that she couldn't help what she did next. Moving closer to him, she leaned towards him and, in a bold gesture, carefully planted her lips on one of his pale cheeks in a soft kiss. "I'm here," she whispered.
Instead of being angry, he looked at her with obviously pained eyes but the smallest touch of a grateful half-smile on his lips. "Thank you," he said, a hoarse undertone to his words. He handed her the paper. "Please?"
Blair could tell he was trying to speak in as few words as possible, because every time he opened his mouth, his voice cracked and she could see tears come to his golden brown eyes. She knew Chuck's reserves about crying. To him, it was the ultimate sign of weakness, the end of the road, the most desperate measure to be taken only when there was nothing and no one to comfort him. She hadn't seen him shed a single tear since they were children. Nothing was bad enough, nothing painful enough to invoke the drops of water. Nothing but this.
Blair took the letter from between his fingers and unfolded it with one hand, resting it on her black-tights-clad knee in order to be able to keep her other arm around Chuck's slumped shoulders. "'Dear Charles,'" she read, and another tremor seemed to go through Chuck's body. He clenched his jaw in the way he always did when he was upset or nervous and then leaned forward even further, resting his elbows on his knees, folding his hands together tightly and pressing them against his pale, icy forehead, hiding his face from Blair's caring eyes.
"Are you sure you want to do this?" she asked him, resting her free hand on top of his as he brought them down to rest on his plaid-flannel-clad knees. "I can leave you alone, and just come back later…after…" Blair stood up, teetering on her stilettos and began to move towards the door, but she didn't even get in two steps before Chuck's dark head shot up and his hand reached out in a sudden, vulnerable gesture to grasp hers.
"No! Blair, please." His grip on her hand was strong and the look in his eyes was so…young and desperate and completely unlike the Chuck Bass that she knew that she didn't want to move another step. Keeping his fingers entwined with hers, she sank back onto the bed and picked up the letter, folding it open with nervous fingers as she began to read. "'I know I've always been hard on you, but my goal was to prepare you for this day.'"
Chuck gave up his position of staring at a blank spot on the carpeted floor and digging his fingernails into Blair's palm as his clammy hand clung to hers. Instead, he turned his head and buried his face in Blair's shoulder. She could feel his slow, shaky breaths on her neck and she held him close and she continued to read, a sad tremor in her voice as well.
I know that in the earlier years of your life, we didn't have the greatest relationship. I'm aware that you felt as if you could not come to me with your concerns, and this contributing to building a relationship that was unstable and not what I had ever pictured sharing with my son. But you have to understand that it was hard for me. Your mother's death left me uncertain about how to raise you well, and I was left both mourning her and trying to provide you with everything a child could possibly want. But I forgot what you really needed, and that was a father. It hurt me to see you grow up the way you did, and I'm sure it hurt you even more. You just have to understand that I'm sorry. I'm sorry for every moment we didn't spend together and every moment that we did when I was too wrapped up in myself to think of you.
But over this past year or so, I've seen you grow into someone better. Better than me, better than you should have been after the way I raised you. You came into our new family with grace (it was obvious that this letter had been written more recently at suggestion from both his family lawyer and other legal assistants, along with several of Bart's other documents, probably after Dan Humphrey's story had been published and he was put more into the spotlight and, therefore, more at risk), you handled the Victrola project very well and you've helped out your new stepsiblings and good friends on various occasions. You're growing into a great young man, Charles, and I hope my passing, whenever it may be, will not steer you off that path.
There is nothing like the death of a father to aid in an important rite of passage for his son, and that is why I've given you the majority share of Bass Industries. You may not know it now, but you have all the makings of a very good businessman and I hope that is the path you'll choose to take, because I have much faith that you will be very successful at running Bass Industries. I know I haven't always acted like it, but I believe in you and I hope you believe in yourself as well.
Love, Dad
Blair looked up from the piece of paper, barely stopping the tears that threatened to drip from her eyes. She had to be strong for him.
That him was now clinging urgently to Blair's silk dress, the curves of his fingers causing wrinkles in the exquisite fabric. She felt nothing wet on her shoulder, no tears, and he made no sound, but his shoulders were shaking even more violently than before and he refused to lift his head.
"Chuck." Blair's soft voice hovered somewhere between a question and a command, questioning his wellbeing and commanding to look up at her, look into her pained dark brown eyes and let her tell him that everything was going to be okay. But she wished she hadn't spoken, because the second he looked in her eyes, her heart tore into two.
The tears she'd seen him fighting back before now glimmered fully in his eyes and his perfect lips turned down at the corners, working his face into the most painful expression she'd ever seen. It was as if it conveyed every bad feeling in the world: grief, sickness, terror, anger…complete and total vulnerability. His lips trembled as he fought the tears, and she couldn't look his miserable face for another second without hugging him, so she wrapped her arms fully around him and pulled him close to her. He burrowed his face in her neck and breathed in long, loud, shaky breaths, until, all of a sudden, he stopped.
"Chuck?" Blair's heart sped up as she no longer felt his chest rising and falling against hers. She quickly pulled out of the hug, grasping his limp shoulders and staring straight into his eyes. He was fine…except for the one tear making its way slowly down his face, staining his soft cheek with a thin line of water. And then came another and another and another, until those lines streaked from his eyes in a steady stream, washing away every preconceived notion she ever had about Chuck Bass and his inability to show emotion.
"Tears stream down your face, when you lose something you cannot replace. Tears stream down your face, and I..."
Watching Chuck cry was both terrifying and beautiful at the same time. He shut his eyes as each tear came down and slid from beneath each closed eyelid, and his breaths were short, like he was afraid of not being able to get enough. His lamentation meant that nothing in the world was the same. The general order of things had changed. There were a few truths in the world: It never snowed in July, you never saw porcupines in balloons and Chuck Bass never cried.
But because he was and because his tears were making her tremble with her own pent-up grief…not for Bart, but for him and the life he had lost, spending his time drinking and sleeping around rather than having a normal childhood with a mother and a father and a nice townhouse and a family meal every night. It wasn't his fault, of course. He'd simply lost his innocence too soon. In other situations, it may have been mildly annoying, maybe even funny. But not in this one. No, here it was tragic, and she was holding a tragically broken boy that had had a tragically broken life. All of her problems seemed tiny in comparison.
They were quiet tears, no noise emitting from Chuck's tightly closed mouth, but his chest was heaving against her body and tremors shook his body as the tears flowed faster and harder, staining Blair's soft dress with a coating of saltwater.
Suddenly, Chuck unfolded himself from her embrace and moved out of her arms to stare her in the eyes. Blair's unshed tears began to roll their way down her porcelain cheeks as he stared at her with those wild dark golden brown eyes, ones that were now clouded over with mystery and sadness and grief and terror. He looked like his heart was being torn apart piece by piece, and he could do nothing to stop it.
Their eyes locked, Chuck and Blair exchanged a look. It wasn't a look of repressed sexual tension, as many of their looks had been, and it wasn't one of challenge or victory or understanding. It was a look of total, complete, pure trust, and with that look, Blair knew that everything had changed. They were no longer the same people as before, and they never would be again.
Letting out a small whimper, Chuck's wet eyes squeezed together tightly and he trained his gaze on the floor. He sniffled, and then let out another whimper. Then, looking up, his gaze asked an unspoken question. She moved her head up and down in a nod, her tears coming faster now, lending his unspoken question an unspoken answer. And with that, Chuck buried his face in her shoulder and began to sob.
"Tears stream down your face, when you lose something you cannot replace. Tears stream down your face, and I..."
They weren't quiet, inhibited sobs, either. They were loud and angry and heartbreaking. They were for everything he'd lost, and everything he'd never had to begin with. They tore at her soul, and there was nothing she could do but pull him as close as she could and whisper, "I'm here."
***
Finally, after hours of tears, Chuck's crying began to cease, and he lifted his head from her shoulder. His eyes were bloodshot, red-rimmed and dry, and they were drooping with exhaustion. He looked like he hadn't slept properly in days, and his arms and legs were so weak from sobbing that he could barely move. Blair slowly helped him to lie back down on his bed, where he leaned his head down on his pillow and stared at her with a grateful look in his eyes.
"Do you want some water?" she asked softly, reaching up a hand to push his messy, sweaty bangs off of his forehead. With anyone else, she would have felt like she was playing servant, but with them, for her and him and both of them, it wasn't like that at all. Everything was a romantic gesture, something important and beautiful and unforgettable.
Chuck nodded, a small nod that a person without an eye for detail might have missed. He pressed his face into his pillow as Blair set a warm, gentle hand on his shoulder, and then stood up and made her way towards the door.
"Blair," a voice behind her rasped out. She turned to look, and Chuck's eyes were looking straight into hers, as if they were seeing all the way through her. "Thank you."
The way he said those simple two words made them far more amazing than any elaborate speech he ever could have given her. They meant the entire world to both of them, after everything they'd been through, today and every day before that.
"You're welcome," she said, giving him a careful smile. It seemed unnecessary to say anything more. The level of intimacy they found themselves at now was beyond all words and gestures. It was as if their eyes and their hearts were speaking for them now, and their mouths no longer needed to.
After getting a cold glass of water from the van der Bass's darkened kitchen, Blair walked down the hall toward Chuck's room. She had long abandoned her Louboutins at the foot of his bed, and now her stocking feet felt soft against the carpet.
Slowly pushing open the door, she moved toward Chuck's side to hand him the glass. But before she could offer it, she noticed that his eyes were closed and he had drifted into a quiet, peaceful sleep.
Her eyes searched his face, taking in every bit of it, from the wild locks of hair that curled around his temples to the long, soft eyelashes of his closed dark eyes. His pale cheeks had a bit of color in them for the first time in days and his perfect lips were curled into a small smile, as if wordlessly telling her how much he appreciated her staying with him.
Her heart full of compassion, Blair set the glass down on his bedside table and turned off the lights. As quietly as she could, so as not to wake him, she climbed into bed and pulled the covers over both of them, wrapping her arms around him yet again as he unconsciously moved into her embrace. And there they lay, her eyes carefully watching over him until the sun rose in the sky. For many people, daylight meant reality, the end of whatever had happened the night before. But for Blair and Chuck, daylight signified something new that was just beginning.
When the devil couldn't save himself, she had saved him. And for both of them, the experience had changed everything for the better.
"Lights will guide you home and ignite your bones and I will try to fix you."
A/N: And...the end! Thank you SO MUCH, everyone, for reading. Please, please, please REVIEW! I'd love to know what you think. Thank you so much for supporting me through this story. It's been amazing to write and your reviews definitely kept me going. This story will have an epilogue, hopefully (if I can) it will be formatted somewhat like the prologue and it will show you a little bit more about where Chuck and Blair's lives went after this. Thanks to everyone who reviewed last time: bookworm455, fizliz23, MrsCullen-Bass, princetongirl, Morbidmuch, samhaincat, bluestriker666, MrsChairNaley, 3WoRdS8LeTTeRsxoxo, leabass and xDollfacex. I love you all. Thank you again and please review! :D