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Chapter 17
Show me, show me, show me how you do that trick
The one that makes me scream, she said
The one that makes me laugh, she said
And threw her arms around my neck
Show me how you do it
And I promise you, I promise that
I'll run away with you
I'll run away with you
-The Cure
Dan shifted nervously from foot to foot, watching the floor numbers tick upwards as the elevator carried him up to the Van der Bass penthouse. He checked over his gifts one last time- the bouquet of flowers was still securely ensconced in its paper wrapping, the scroll of typewritten pages still neatly tied with a bow.
He cast a critical eye over the brightly-colored blooms. He'd had no idea which type of flowers to buy, since he couldn't remember Serena ever mentioning a favorite, and he could barely tell the different varieties apart anyway. So he'd just gotten some sort of… variety pack. He figured at least one of them had to be the right kind.
And while the last draft of his short story didn't quite satisfy him- one of the unfortunate side effects of being a perfectionist- he was still proud of what he'd accomplished so far. It displayed all the elements of his trademark style: the satiric bite of Flannery O'Connor, the narrative economy of Tobias Wolfe, and the poetic justice of Alice Munro.
But at its heart, it was a love story. The story of his relationship with Serena.
Of course, he'd taken some creative liberties. After several weeks of obsessive self-reflection, he'd basically rewritten the outcome of their relationship to correct all of his boneheaded mistakes, crafting a finely-honed apology through the thoughts and actions of his fictional self.
Dan figured this way, not only would Serena get to hear his apology in person, but she'd be able to reread it as many times as she wanted.
He took a moment to imagine her doing exactly that- her face lighting up with a sweet, tentative smile, her eyes growing dewy with affection and longing- and he felt his heart swell with anticipation.
Finally the elevator doors slid open, and he stepped out into the foyer.
"Hello?" he called out, hoping that Serena would be the one to greet him. Or Eric. Or Lily, at the very worst. He'd take her vague condescension over Bart Bass's bone-chilling stare any day.
He took a moment to mentally rehearse his opening line.
Hey, Serena… I, uh… I wanted to… tell you…
Good lord, he thought with a self-deprecating wince. He didn't even sound smooth in his own head. But it was too late to turn back now. He just had to go for it and hope that she still found his awkwardness endearing.
If she was even here, he realized, frowning at the lack of response.
"Hello?" Dan repeated, a little more loudly than before.
Maybe she was napping, he thought to himself. She'd always had a penchant for dozing off while studying, and she used to love when he woke her up with a kiss. She'd gaze up at him with a sleepy little half-smile, then slide her hand around the back of his neck… and before long, homework was the last thing on either of their minds.
Feeling the goofy smile spreading across his own face, he turned and headed in the direction of Serena's room. He lingered in front of the door for just a moment, wiping his sweaty palms down the front of his trousers- then he took a deep breath, turned the knob, and pressed the door open.
But nothing could've prepared him for the sight that greeted him.
At first, all he could see was a flurry of limbs. Legs. Arms. Hands. And then his brain began to assemble all of the parts into a whole.
Into a naked woman. On top of a naked man.
Her dark hair tumbled over her shoulders and down her bare back as she rocked herself up and down, her buttocks bouncing against the thighs of her partner. His large hands encircled her waist, guiding her rhythm to match his thrusts.
Then the woman threw back her head and emitted a low, drawn-out, throaty moan- the likes of which Dan had never heard before.
Holy shit, he thought. It was Blair Waldorf. And underneath her, was…
"Chuuuck," she breathed.
Dan watched, transfixed, as the pair of masculine hands slid down Blair's hips and grabbed her haunches firmly.
"Fuck, I love watching you ride me," he heard Chuck declare in evident pleasure and awe.
"Is that so?" Blair returned breathlessly, leaning forward to set her hands on his chest.
She thrust her hips down several times in rapid succession, and Chuck groaned and gripped her ass even more tightly.
"But if you keep that up," he murmured in a husky voice, "this isn't going to last much longer."
Leaning up towards her, he pulled her down into a passionate kiss, temporarily slowing her movements. Her fingers snaked through his hair as she appreciatively "mmm"ed into his mouth.
And at that moment, Dan finally realized that he needed to get the hell out of there, like, yesterday. Or at least before Chuck and Blair shifted positions and caught sight of him standing in the doorway like a gaping idiot.
He took several quick, halting steps backwards- but in his haste, one foot tripped over the other, causing him to stumble against the heavy dresser. The bouquet of flowers flew into the corner, and the sheaf of pages slipped from his fingers and rolled out of sight.
Blair's head swiveled towards the sound, her startled gaze colliding with his panicked one.
"Oh my God," she gasped, her eyes widening in horror.
Yanking at the covers to shield herself, she practically dove off of Chuck and onto the mattress beside him.
Dan decided to abandon any pretense of composure, his cheeks flaming red with embarrassment as he scanned the floor for his fallen items.
"What the fuck, Humphrey?" Blair cried, clutching the duvet against her chest.
"I… I'm sorry… I thought this was Serena's room…" Dan stammered. He quickly bent down and picked the flowers, and then looked around helplessly for his missing story.
"Serena's not home," Blair said sharply. "And don't they teach you how to knock in Brooklyn?"
"Yeah, sorry, should've knocked. That was, uh… my bad," Dan rambled awkwardly.
He looked up from his search to see Blair glaring at him with barely-controlled outrage.
Chuck, on the other hand, just leaned back on his elbows and regarded Dan with a mixture of exasperation and amusement. A corner of the duvet had been thrown haphazardly over his lap, but it didn't cover nearly enough as far as Dan was concerned.
"Well, if I'd known we were putting on a show, I would've spiced things up a bit more," Chuck commented in a low drawl.
Mortified, Dan darted his eyes away- partly to avoid Blair's accusatory gaze, and partly to avoid… any part of Chuck.
Finally locating the scroll of papers, which had rolled underneath the dresser, he knelt down quickly to retrieve it. He rose to his feet and then paused awkwardly, realizing that there was no graceful way to conclude this encounter.
"Are you… waiting for us to continue?" Chuck asked with an arched eyebrow.
Blair smacked him on the shoulder.
"Ow," he protested, looking at her reproachfully.
"Uh, no… definitely not. I'll just be… going…" Dan managed to get out.
"You'd better, Humphrey," Chuck remarked, eyeing his bedmate. "Looks like things are starting to get kinky."
Blair shot him an aggravated glare.
Without another word, Dan turned and made a hasty retreat, closing the door securely behind him.
Chuck cast a sidelong look at Blair, who was still staring at the door, clutching the sheet to her chest with white-knuckled fingers.
"Now… where were we?" he murmured, running the back of his index finger across her collarbone and then leaning in to repeat the motion with his tongue.
"Are you serious?" she asked disbelievingly, jerking her body away from him.
Chuck's eyebrows knitted in confusion.
"How could you possibly still be in the mood after… that?" she clarified, gesturing towards the door.
"Because… you're still naked in bed with me?" he replied, a hint of a smirk tilting the corners of his mouth. "I'm sorry, maybe I'm not understanding the question…"
"Dan Humphrey just saw me naked. Having sex," she said in a disgusted voice. "I feel like I need to be disinfected."
"If it helps," Chuck said wryly, "it was probably the single greatest moment of his entire life."
Blair's nose crinkled in distaste.
"I mean, who knows how long he was standing there watching before we noticed him," Chuck added with a grin, his amusement only increasing as Blair cringed in horror.
"Oh my God…" she realized suddenly. "What if he tells someone?"
Chuck snorted.
"Who is he going to tell? It's not like he has any friends…"
"No one, that's who," Blair snapped, grabbing a silk robe off the bedside chaise. "I'm going to make sure of it."
"Blair," he wheedled, as he watched her hurriedly enrobe herself and stalk towards the door. "Come back to bed…"
"In a minute," she replied, unperturbed. "I have a Humphrey to squash."
.
.
Dan berated himself all the way down the hallway. Why had he been so sure that was Serena's room? He'd only been here once before.
And now, as a result of his own bumbling idiocy, he was privy to secrets he had never wanted to know- and certainly never wanted to see. He could only pray that the sight wasn't permanently singed onto his retinas.
He'd almost reached the elevator when he heard the rapid padding of bare feet on the floor behind him.
"Humphrey." The hissed whisper caused him to stop in his tracks.
He turned around with a wince, steeling himself in case Blair began pummeling him with her tiny fists.
But instead, she just stood there glowering, her arms folded indignantly across her chest. Thankfully, she'd put on a silk robe, which was obviously Chuck's - it was so oversized that it nearly came down to her toes. But Dan still found that he couldn't look at Blair without remembering what she looked like… under the robe.
Which was actually rather spectacular, his brain helpfully reminded him.
So yeah, he definitely couldn't look at her body. And he couldn't look her in the eye either, so he just settled on staring at the wall over her shoulder.
"About… what you just saw," Blair began in a haughty tone. "I'm going to need you to forget you ever saw it."
"Believe me, I would like nothing more," he assured her.
"I'm serious, Humphrey," she said, narrowing her eyes at him. "If you dare breathe a word of this to anyone-"
"Who would I tell, Blair?" he cut in, finally meeting her gaze.
"Your lack of available confidants isn't the point," she shot back. "I don't want you so much as whispering it into the ear of your Cabbage Patch doll while you're spooning him at night."
Dan sighed, his discomfort waning in the face of growing annoyance.
"And if you even think of mentioning this to your social-climbing witch of a sister," she went on, her jaw tightening in aggravation, "I swear to God, I will end you."
Her expression was so fierce that he half-expected her to make a slashing motion across her neck with her finger.
But suddenly Blair's dogged persistence, and that hint of fear he could sense behind her bitchy exterior, made total sense.
Because Jenny had already been blackmailing her over a past fling with Chuck- who knew what she would do with proof of a current one? Given his sister's newfound penchant for scheming and manipulation, he wouldn't put much past her at this point.
And while he and Blair Waldorf were hardly BFFs, her questionable taste in sexual partners wasn't anyone's business but her own.
"I promise I won't say a word," he assured her. "To anyone."
He could've sworn he saw a brief flash of approval in Blair's eyes.
But it disappeared a moment later when they once again narrowed suspiciously.
"Because if you do-" she began.
"You'll… end me, right," he repeated.
She nodded decisively.
The two of them stood there for a moment, awkwardly avoiding each other's eyes.
"So, uh… do you know where Serena is?" he asked finally, figuring he should at least try to make some progress towards his original goal.
"I'm sorry, do I look like Serena's social secretary?" she replied disdainfully.
He sighed.
"No, but-"
"Honestly, Humphrey, it's a good thing that you missed her." Blair looked down, regarding his bedraggled bouquet with evident distaste. "I mean- that arrangement has carnations in it."
Judging from the tone of her voice, he may as well have been carrying dogshit on a stick.
Not that he had any clue why. They just looked like regular flowers to him.
"What's wrong with-" he began.
"They're cheap, tacky, filler flowers," she cut him off.
Dan looked down at the carnations, still unable to see anything objectionable about them.
Blair blew out an exasperated sigh. "Serena likes lilies," she continued in a noticeably softer tone. "Stargazer lilies."
"Stargazer lilies," Dan repeated, trying to imprint the unfamiliar term onto his memory.
"And maybe try to find a shirt with less… plaid in it," she added, casting a scornful look over his outfit.
Dan rolled his eyes.
"And by less, I mean none," she clarified.
"Yeah… I got that," he replied in a droll tone.
"Just trying to be helpful," she said, tilting her head to the side with a faux-sweet smile.
There was another uncomfortable silence while they regarded each other, as if trying to assess their new, slightly less antagonistic dynamic.
Dan waited expectantly, figuring she'd at least show some appreciation for him keeping her secret. It'd be a nice change of pace, he thought, Blair actually being nice to him.
He wondered what the next words out of her mouth would be. Maybe, "well, Humphrey, I don't know how else to say this, but… you're actually not all that bad." Or maybe, "you know, I never understood what Serena saw in you… until now."
Or maybe just a simple, heartfelt "thank you."
Looking at her, he raised his eyebrows in anticipation.
"Well, I'm sure you can show yourself out," Blair said dismissively. "Try not to walk in on anyone else having sex on your way to the elevator."
And with that, she turned on her heel and headed back down the hallway without a backwards glance.
Dan stared after her for a moment. Then, with a long-suffering sigh, turned and made his way towards the elevator.
Once he was inside, he let his head fall back against the wall, closed his eyes, and ground his knuckles against his eyelids- but his attempt to delete the image of naked Chuck Bass from his brain proved utterly futile.
Maybe he should just save himself some time and call a therapist right now, he thought to himself.
Because he would almost certainly be having nightmares about this for months.
.
.
Glancing down to see that the empty martini glass in front of her had been unobtrusively replaced with a full one, Serena shot a skeptical look at her companion.
"If I didn't know better, Carter, I'd think you were trying to get me drunk," she commented, eying him over the rim of her glass as she took a small sip.
"That is exactly what I'm trying to do," he responded with a smirk. "Girls are much nicer to me when they're drunk."
"I'm always nice to you," she replied innocently, her lips curling into an answering smile.
Carter's gaze lingered on her with blatant admiration, and she averted her eyes when she felt her cheeks flush in response.
"True," he conceded. "Too nice to turn me down when I ask you out again?"
Serena hesitated, but Carter leaned forward onto his elbows and continued to stare at her until she finally looked back at him.
"You didn't really ask me the first time," she pointed out with a hint of mirth.
"I think I actually made you a very generous deal," he countered. "My silence plus a night out on the town? Sounds like a win-win."
Serena shook her head and tried- unsuccessfully- to fight off a grin. She found Carter's smug self-assurance annoying, frustrating, and… oddly enough, kind of a turn-on. It was flattering, she supposed, that he was so set on winning her over.
Not that she would ever admit that to him, of course. The last thing Carter Baizen needed was another reason to be cocky.
But she couldn't help wondering why he'd chosen to chase after her. Carter hit on pretty much every female in his vicinity- it was practically a reflex for him- but he also had a notoriously short attention span. And she'd done nothing in particular to entice him.
"Why me?" she asked him, deciding to be frank.
He frowned in puzzlement.
"Why do you want to go out with me so badly?" she clarified, studying him curiously.
Carter was quiet for a long moment.
"Guess I just enjoy your company, van der Woodsen," he said at last, giving her a lopsided grin.
She couldn't help a little smile in return- but he'd averted his eyes almost immediately, returning them to the martini he was swirling between his thumb and index finger.
"So," he said, clearing his throat. "Next Friday? Dinner at Per Se?"
"Same conditions?" she shot back.
"No conditions." He shook his head. "Just a delicious meal with an… extraordinarily handsome companion."
The corner of his mouth quirked upwards, his blue eyes sparkling in amusement.
And maybe it was the slight buzz of intoxication, courtesy of three- possibly four?- martinis, or maybe it was the fact that she was actually having a lot of fun with him.
Or maybe it was that intent way he was looking at her while he awaited her answer, belying the confident smirk still fixed in place.
"I could do Friday," she conceded finally, her lashes fluttering downwards as she fought to suppress a smile.
"I'll send a car," he said, a hint of triumph audible in his voice.
He slid his hand over the top of hers and twined their fingers together, and she felt a tingle run across her skin at the intimate gesture.
"Shall we?" He tilted his head towards the dance floor, raising his eyebrows at her as if in challenge.
And without hesitation, she slid off her stool and followed him.
.
.
It was late the next evening when Serena arrived at the Waldorf penthouse. She strode down the hallway at a pace quick enough to leave her slightly breathless, and, when she finally reached Blair's bedroom door, rapped on it with several sharp knocks.
"Come in!" She heard Blair call out through the heavy oak.
"B, is everything okay? I came as soon as I could…" Serena's concerned voice trailed off as she came face-to-face with her best friend.
Blair sat cross-legged in the middle of her bedroom floor, in the eye of what appeared to be a fashion tornado. Dresses, skirts, and blouses were heaped into piles all around her, interspersed with headbands and rolled-up balls of tights. The bed was covered in coats, which appeared to have been arranged in order by color at some point, but were now buried under a mound of handbags. A leaning stack of French Vogues was precariously perched at the foot of the bed, surrounded by several issues flipped open to modeling spreads or advertisements.
And in the midst of all the chaos was Blair, carefully sorting a small mountain of shoes into two piles.
Tilting her head in an unspoken question, Serena eyed her best friend. She looked a little pale and frazzled, but otherwise fine.
"Uh, B… you said this was an emergency," she said skeptically.
"It is," Blair responded in an exasperated tone, waving one peep-toed Louboutin in the air. "I have spent the last two hours trying to find the perfect outfit for tomorrow night, and every single thing in my closet is… completely unacceptable."
She tossed down the shoe in disgust.
"In fact, I was just organizing my shoes into unacceptable and even more unacceptable," she added, glaring at the piles of offending footwear.
Despite her lingering annoyance at having rushed over in response to Blair's "SOS" text, Serena couldn't help a little smile of understanding.
"What's happening tomorrow night?" she asked curiously, taking a seat next to Blair and glancing over some of the magazine spreads she laid out.
"It's our first date," Blair responded, nervously nibbling her lower lip between her teeth.
"You and Chuck are going out in public together?" Serena asked in surprise.
"Oh no." Blair shook her head. "It's more of a… staying in date."
"I feel like you guys have been on lots of… staying-in dates already," Serena pointed out with a barely perceptible shudder.
"Well… yes," Blair allowed, a tiny smile quirking the corner of her lips. "But I mean a real date, not just a… sex date."
"So what exactly do you have planned for this date?"
"Dinner and a movie," Blair replied with a little note of pride. "In his suite, of course."
Serena raised her eyebrows, reluctantly impressed. "So... no sex then?"
"Okay, I didn't say that," Blair scoffed, as if the mere suggestion were absurd, and Serena giggled in spite of herself.
"What are you guys watching?" she asked.
"Oh, I suggested the new Batman movie," Blair said airily.
"That doesn't really seem like… your kind of movie…" Serena commented in a doubtful tone.
"Well, it's not like we're going to watch Tiffany's and paint our toenails together." Blair rolled her eyes. "It's still Chuck we're talking about here, I can't subject him to some… chick flick. This way he gets to watch something that doesn't threaten his masculinity, and I get to look at Christian Bale for two hours. Win-win."
"Fair enough," Serena conceded with a tilt of her head.
"Anyway, now do you understand why choosing an outfit for this is absolutely… impossible?" Blair blew out a frustrated breath, scanning over the garments piled around her. "How do you dress for a staying-in date? If I dress like we're going to Jean-Georges, I'll feel… ridiculous. But this is Chuck, who knows almost as much about fashion as I do, so I can't just wear something… off-the-rack."
Disdain dripped from her words as she gestured towards one particular pile of discarded clothing.
"Well, maybe just… wear something sexy?" Serena suggested.
"If I do that, we won't even make it through dinner," Blair replied, her tone clearly indicating that she knew this from experience. "Which defeats the whole point of the date. So it has to be… tempting, but not too tempting."
"Hrm," Serena pondered. "Maybe something like… a sweater dress?"
She sifted through the pile of clothing by her feet until she found one- a clingy mid-thigh number in ivory cashmere, with long sleeves and a modest neckline.
"I dunno," Blair said, sounding unsure. "It's kind of… simple…"
"That's why you accessorize," Serena went on, spotting a pair of brown suede boots across the room and jumping up excitedly to grab them.
A few minutes later, she'd assembled an entire outfit, complete with patterned tights and layers of chunky necklaces.
Considering the final product with pursed lips, Blair nodded in grudging admiration. It was stylish and sexy, but looked effortless - exactly the reason she'd sought Serena's help.
"It does look more like something you would wear though," she commented. Reaching out, she plucked two of the necklaces away, leaving only one. "There," she said in satisfaction. "Now it looks more like I'm going to an upscale hotel and not an… outer borough consignment shop."
Serena laughed, shaking off the jibe.
"Speaking of which…" Blair wrinkled her nose, just to make her distaste as clear as possible. "You had a visitor last night. Apparently your ex decided to dust off his best flannel shirt and try to woo you back to Brooklyn, with a bouquet of second-rate flowers and something that appeared to have been written on a… typewriter."
"Wait, Dan came here?" Serena asked, confused.
"No," Blair replied in an obvious tone. "He came to your penthouse."
"But why were you at-"
Blair raised her eyebrows meaningfully.
"Oh." Serena winced slightly. "I thought you guys went to Chuck's suite for… that…"
"Well, no one else was home, and it's closer my place." Blair shrugged. "Of course, we hadn't counted on Dan Humphrey barging in…"
Serena's eyes widened in disbelief. "Wait, he walked in on you guys having sex?"
"Yes, apparently knocking isn't a technique you learn when you grow up in a loft apartment with a garage door in the middle of it."
"Oh my God," Serena exclaimed. "Aren't you worried he might tell someone?"
"Oh, no, there's no need for concern," Blair replied in an airy tone, unrolling the tights and examining them for runs. "I explained to him that if he uttered a single word about what he'd seen, he would find himself minus two testicles."
"Assuming that's how many he started with, of course," she added disdainfully.
"Oh my God, poor Dan…" Serena murmured, shaking her head.
"Please." Blair rolled her eyes. "I doubt he suffered any permanent trauma. If anything, he might have learned a thing or two."
Serena slapped her hand over her mouth to stifle a snort of laughter.
"Besides, now he gets a do-over on those flowers, which were downright… tragic," Blair added with a little shudder. "I think he might have picked them in his yard."
"He doesn't have a yard, B," Serena replied absently, wondering why Dan's romantic gesture wasn't inspiring the giddy sort of feeling she would've expected.
The one she'd felt last night, when Carter had pulled her flush against his warm, hard body, wrapping her in her arms as they'd swayed together on the dance floor. When his lips had brushed softly against her own…
With a sudden, sharp shake of her head, Serena attempted to clear her mind of these guilty thoughts.
Blair suddenly frowned, cocking her head to the side as she studied her best friend.
"Where were you last night, by the way? I was there until almost midnight and you still weren't home."
"Oh, I just… I had a group project due for Spanish," Serena replied evasively. "We were working on it until pretty late."
Ugh, she thought, internally frowning at how awkward this explanation sounded. Why hadn't she just said she went out to a club without mentioning Carter? That would've been much more believable.
Blair nodded, not looking entirely convinced- but she was quickly distracted by the task at hand.
"So I think this will work," she said, replacing the sweater dress onto its padded hanger and draping it across the foot of her bed. "Now I just have to pick out the rest of the outfit…"
She rose to her feet and pulled open the top drawer of her dresser. "Hmm?" she hummed with a smile, holding up a corset in ivory satin. A matching lace thong dangled from her index finger.
"Umm …" Serena winced and averted her eyes to the handbag selection. "It really creeps me out choosing other people's sex clothes…"
A loud sneeze snapped her attention back upwards.
"Bless you," Serena said kindly, but her brow furrowed as Blair's slight form was wracked by two more violent sneezes.
"Thanks," Blair returned in a strained voice.
"Are you getting sick, B?" she asked in concern.
"No," Blair replied adamantly, sniffling once under the cover of her hand, before returning to her lingerie perusal as if nothing had happened.
"Are you sure?" Serena asked skeptically, suddenly noticing that her friend's nose was tinged with pink and her eyes looked feverishly bright.
"I don't get sick, Serena," Blair insisted. "It's probably just… allergies."
"To what?" Serena asked, one eyebrow raised.
"I dunno, I took a cab back from Chuck's last night, so maybe… vinyl seats, or the smell of stale falafel, or the noxious fumes emitted by those… tacky air fresheners shaped like little trees." Blair cringed at the memory.
"I'm just feeling a touch… under the weather, that's all," she declared. "I'll be fine by tomorrow night."
.
.
But twelve hours later, Blair was most definitely not fine.
Her sniffles had turned into full-blown chest congestion, which was accompanied by a pounding headache and a hoarse, pitiful cough. And the onset of fever left her shivering under a mountain of blankets… when she wasn't flinging them all off again because she was sweating through her pajamas.
Dorota had taken one look at her and called Headmistress Queller, ignoring Blair's feeble pleas about her previously unblemished attendance record. She'd then brought up a tray of toast and tea with honey, a hefty dose of Sudafed, and strict orders to rest.
The sun was low on the horizon when Blair finally dragged herself out of bed and shuffled to the bathroom to wash her face and brush her teeth.
And she gasped in horror when she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror.
Because as miserable as she felt, she actually looked even worse. Her skin was pale and clammy, her hair hung around her face in a tangled mess, and her nose was red and painfully chapped.
She glared at her own reflection, disgusted by her body's lack of fortitude.
Blair Waldorf did not get sick. She did not succumb to disease. This was completely unacceptable.
She'd been holding out hope of recovering in time for her date with Chuck that evening, but it would be a cold day in hell before she let anyone see her like this.
Sighing in disappointment, she trudged back to her bedroom and retrieved her phone from the nightstand.
Have to postpone tonight, she texted him. Still not feeling well.
Sorry to hear that, the response came a few minutes later. Make it up to me later?
She rolled her eyes at the innuendo.
We'll see, Bass, she responded.
Her evening plans- or lack thereof- solidified, she decided to change into her most comfy pajamas, queue up some movies, and settle down for a relaxing night in.
.
.
Chuck sauntered into the Palace bar later that evening, scanning over the crowd until his gaze landed on a group of familiar faces.
He inclined his head towards the bartender, who answered with a brisk nod, and then made his way over to join them.
"Hey," he greeted his best friend, his eyes flickering over the others with an expression of disinterest.
Nate turned towards him, a look of surprise on his face.
"Oh, hey man," he replied. "I thought you couldn't make it tonight?"
"My other plans got rescheduled." Chuck shrugged, accepting the glass of Scotch the bartender held across the bar and taking a generous swallow.
"Well, I'm glad. I feel like I've barely seen you lately."
"Have you missed me, Nathaniel?" he asked, a smirk playing around the corners of his mouth.
"Well, it's just not as much fun to smoke up alone," Nate replied, with a wistful sort of grin. "So what were your other plans?"
"My what?" Chuck's brow furrowed in confusion.
"The plans you were supposed to have tonight?" Nate clarified, looking at him expectantly.
"Oh, uh…" Caught off guard, Chuck's mind raced to come up with an answer. "Just, you know… the usual."
He accompanied the comment with a suggestive little smirk, doing his best imitation of his typical smarmy, cocksure self.
But Nate looked unconvinced.
"This wouldn't have anything to do with that girl you were talking about at Victrola the other night, would it?" he asked, arching an eyebrow.
Shit, Chuck thought. If his cover story was so thin that Nate could see through it, he must be really off his game. Clearly more vigilance was in order.
"Perhaps…" he allowed, shrugging nonchalantly. "But since that's off the table, I figured I'd… check out the rest of the merchandise."
Adopting an expression of disaffected boredom, he scanned over the bar's female patrons, his eyes narrowing slightly in assessment.
Nothing even remotely appealing, he thought. Strictly bridge and tunnel crowd tonight.
But he fixed his expression into an appreciative leer.
"It's got potential," he said instead, and Nate followed his gaze with an amused nod.
"So Jenny called me yesterday," he commented. "She wants to hang out again."
Chuck raised his eyebrows, taking a long swallow of Scotch and saying nothing.
"I can't tell if she means it as, like… a friend," Nate went on, with a perplexed look. "Because, you know… I have a good time hanging out with her, but I'm not really looking for more than that…"
Usually, Nate's obliviousness would've amused Chuck- but unfortunately, it was in his best interests to make sure Jenny Humphrey stayed happy. And if that meant keeping Nate in the dark as far as her obvious lady-boner for him was concerned… then that's what he would do.
Even though this state of affairs rankled him to no end.
"So hang out with her," Chuck said, shrugging off his irritation. "It doesn't have to be some big deal."
Nate took a moment to contemplate this. A little wrinkle appeared in the middle of his forehead to attest to the force of this mental effort.
"But I don't want to lead her on…" he said, sounding so naïve that Chuck had to suppress an eyeroll.
"You won't, trust me," Chuck replied, draining his glass of Scotch and immediately motioning to the bartender for another. "You just got out of a six-year relationship and you're most likely moving to the other side of the country after you graduate. She's got to know you're not interested in anything serious."
Nate nodded slowly, looking pensive.
"I guess…" he murmured.
Then his face lit up, as if someone had turned on a light bulb behind it.
"Hey, there's Serena ," he pointed out.
Chuck turned to see his step-sister walk into the bar from the lobby, followed by a small group of Blair's minions. With their leader out of commission for the evening, they were apparently in desperate need of someone to follow around and compliment.
Serena didn't even seem to notice their deference- her manner was as sunny and good-natured as always. Her eyes landed on Nate and she gave him with a cheerful little wave.
But her face fell slightly when she spotted Chuck at his side.
She paused at a table with a group of other girls, leaving her coat and handbag with them before making her way over to the bar.
"Hey guys," she greeted them with a smile, which Nate eagerly returned.
"Chuck, I thought you… had other plans tonight?" she asked carefully.
She must not know Blair was sick, he realized. She was assuming he'd bailed on her.
"My other plans canceled on me," he replied calmly.
Serena continued to regard him with the same puzzled frown, and he just stared back at her with a raised eyebrow.
Nate glanced back and forth between the two of them, confused. "Why are you two looking at each other like that?" he asked.
Serena shot a quick look towards the bartender, who was polishing glasses on the other side of the bar.
"Nate, would you mind getting me a drink?" she asked sweetly.
With an amiable grin, he immediately went to do her bidding, and she turned her attention back to Chuck.
"Why aren't you with Blair?" she asked in low voice.
"Because she canceled, like I said," he replied, an edge of annoyance to his voice. "She's sick."
"I know," Serena shot back. "Aren't you going to go check on her?"
"Check on her?" he echoed. "She doesn't need me to look after her. She's got Dorota."
Serena just stared at him for a beat.
"You do realize that you're her boyfriend, right? That you're supposed to care that she's sick?"
"Of course I-" Chuck took a quick glance around them, realizing he was speaking louder than was prudent.
"… care," he finished in a hushed voice. "What's your point?"
"My point is that acting like you care is now part of your job description," Serena returned, looking at Chuck with an expression that was half-amused, half-exasperated. "I mean, even Nate would know that."
Something about the way Serena fired off that comment told Chuck that she knew exactly what effect it would have on him.
"So what, am I supposed to show up with a giant teddy bear and a 'get well' balloon bouquet?" He gave a disparaging snort.
Serena shrugged.
"Just bring her some chicken soup," she suggested. "Say you thought it might make her feel better."
"She has a private chef, Serena," he pointed out with an eyeroll. "She doesn't need me to bring her soup."
"That's not the point, Chuck." She shook her head. "It's a gesture, something to show her you care."
"But she doesn't-"
"Here you go." Nate reappeared at Serena's side, holding out a pink-tinted martini.
"Oh, thanks." She gave him a standard Serena smile- wide and dazzling- and he beamed in satisfaction.
Chuck just sighed and shook his head, swirling the tumbler of Scotch in his hand before taking another sip.
"Hey, is Blair out of town?" Nate asked, with a glance over at the group of girls gathered around the nearby table. "I didn't see her at school today."
"Oh no, she's home sick," Serena replied- and then paused, eyeing Chuck with a calculating expression.
"She's feeling… just awful," she went on, her face assuming a look of sad empathy. "She really wanted to come tonight, but she can barely get out of bed… poor thing."
Chuck took another long swallow of his drink.
"She had a fever of 102 a few hours ago…" she added, with a worried, wide-eyed stare back. "I just hope she's okay…"
Chuck rolled his eyes.
"Wow, that sucks." Nate said, frowning in concern. "Maybe I should stop by and check on her?"
Serena shot Chuck a triumphant look.
He glowered at her, grinding his teeth together in frustration.
"Oh, that's so sweet of you to worry about her, Nate," she said in an appreciative tone. "But that's okay, I'll check in on my way home."
Chuck cast one more mutinous glare in Serena's direction before excusing himself to get a drink.
He was not going to let his stepsister manipulate him into acting like some… pathetic, doting idiot. He was going to stay right here at the bar and drink his Scotch.
It wasn't like Blair was expecting him to come over, anyway. She knew he wasn't the kind of guy to nurse her through a bad case of the sniffles.
She definitely wouldn't be disappointed.
Or wish she had a more caring, considerate boyfriend.
He stared down into his tumbler, feeling an unwelcome tightening in his chest.
Goddammit.
Heaving a deep sigh, he dropped his glass onto the bar with a thunk and turned to walk towards the lobby, ignoring the knowing smile Serena shot him along the way.
.
.
Almost an hour later, Chuck stepped into the Waldorf penthouse.
The cheerful ding of the elevator announced his arrival- and instantly summoned Dorota, who planted herself squarely in front of him, obstructing his path. By the looks of her stern countenance, she still hadn't forgotten his drunken disobedience during his last visit.
Chuck attempted to mollify her with a smile, but she only folded her arms across her chest.
"Miss Blair not feeling well," Dorota declared. She eyed him distrustfully, as if expecting him to make a break at any moment to rush upstairs and ravish her poor sick mistress.
"I know, I'm here to… check on her," he replied, clearing his throat uncomfortably. "I, uh… brought some soup…" He gestured with the takeout bag in his hand.
He was relieved to see the maid's expression soften, even though his ears were already burning in embarrassment at how unbelievably pussy-whipped he sounded.
Granted, this gesture was no more emasculating than his late-night flower delivery- but he'd been really, really drunk then, and determined to get laid.
And now he was… only slightly drunk. And pretty resigned to not getting laid.
Oh, how the mighty had fallen.
"Well…" Dorota hedged, after a long pause. "Maybe just… a quick visit."
"Miss Blair need her rest," she added, obvious warning in her tone.
Chuck nodded, trying to make his expression appear as trustworthy as possible- not that he had any real idea what that looked like - and made his way up the stairs towards Blair's bedroom.
He knocked lightly on the door, and, hearing no response, quietly pushed it open.
To his surprise, he found it unoccupied, though it was obviously the bedroom of a very sick teenage girl. The bed covers were rumpled, scattered with empty boxes of tissues and cold medicine. A remote control sat next to the pile of pillows against the headboard, along with some questionable DVDs and a ragged-looking plush rabbit that Chuck had never seen before.
He eyed it warily, wondering when it had last been washed. It looked like a cross between a normal stuffed animal and a pile of dirty rags.
He heard the muffled sound of a toilet flushing, followed by running water and a series of sneezes.
A moment later the bathroom door opened. Blair shuffled out, her slipper-clad feet padding soundlessly against the carpet. She didn't notice him at first, her vision obstructed by the tissue pressed to her nose- but then she lowered her hands and saw him.
Her eyes widened in horror.
"Chuck, what are you doing here?" she demanded in a hoarse voice. She smoothed down her hair and tucked the tangled curls behind her ears, before muffling another sneeze with both hands.
"Visiting you," he replied in an obvious tone. "Although I did expect it to be more of a… happy surprise."
She blinked at him, looking dumbfounded.
"It… is… I mean, I am happy to see you…" she floundered. "I just… I look so terrible…"
Even with his limited knowledge of relationship dynamics, he knew that he was supposed to disagree with her. He was supposed to tell her that she looked just as gorgeous as always. That he couldn't even tell she was sick. That if anything, the fever just gave her a warm, radiant glow.
But she'd know he was lying. Blair was… not looking her best.
"Well, I wouldn't kick you out of bed," he offered smarmily.
Blair narrowed her eyes at him, and he couldn't help grinning.
"Come on, Waldorf, even on your worst day, you look better than most girls on their best," he pointed out. "Nice pajamas, by the way."
Her cheeks flushed pink, almost matching the color of her nose, as she glanced down at her attire. She was wearing a flannel pajama set, white with little red hearts printed on it, which she'd paired with an uncharacteristically tacky pair of fuzzy pink slippers.
He had to admit, minus the runny nose and sneezing and overall pallor of illness, she still looked pretty cute.
"Oh, I brought you something," he said, suddenly remembering the bag in his hand. She looked down at it, and he felt foolish when he saw a glimmer of excitement in her eyes.
"It's just chicken soup," he added apologetically. "But the chef made it out of the poulet roti, so… it should be pretty good."
She stared at him in surprise for a moment, and he felt himself growing discomfited by her scrutiny.
"I thought it might… make you feel better," he explained, averting his eyes.
"That's so sweet…" she murmured.
"Well, I aim to please," he replied flippantly. He gave an offhand little shrug, just to emphasize how totally at ease he was with this whole situation.
But when she reached out to take the bag out of his hand, their eyes met- and the happy little smile brightening up her pallid face made his stomach flip over.
It was becoming an increasingly familiar sensation, although it bothered him that he seemed to have no control over it. There was just something about the way Blair was looking at him right now- it made him want to… keep doing things things like that. Things that made her happy.
It was clearly some sort of feminine brainwashing technique, he thought. He'd seen it in action before- hell, Serena could get nearly any guy in school to do her bidding just by flashing her megawatt grin. But this was the first time it'd had any effect on him.
It was concerning, to put it mildly.
Fortunately, Blair didn't even notice his odd reaction, because she'd already taken a seat on her bed, opened the bag, and tucked into the plastic bowl of soup. Usually she just picked at her food, taking small bites and pushing it in circles around her plate- but she was slurping down that soup with gusto.
"Good?" he asked, watching in amusement as she paused to wipe a dribble of chicken broth off the outside of her mouth.
"I guess I didn't realize how hungry I was," she admitted with a self-conscious smile, setting the nearly empty container on her nightstand.
He shrugged off his sport coat and draped it across her vanity stool before taking a seat on the bed next to her.
"Oh, I don't want to get you sick," Blair said, scooting over to put some distance between them.
"I don't get sick," he replied, unperturbed.
"Yeah… me neither," she sighed.
But she didn't protest when he slid closer, the two of them lounging side by side against the pillows.
"So are you going to introduce us?" Chuck inquired, raising an eyebrow in the direction of her furry companion.
"Oh, that's just… Flopsy," she explained abashedly. "My dad got him for me one time when I was sick."
"When you were how old?"
"Six."
"Yeah, he's seen better days," Chuck commented disparagingly.
Blair scowled at him, tucking the floppy-eared animal under her arm as if to protect it from his disdain.
"How dare you?" she retorted. "Apologize."
He chuckled, his amusement only increasing as her glare was interrupted by another sneeze.
"Sorry… Flopsy," he said with mock-seriousness.
"He used to bring me chicken soup too," Blair commented, a wistful expression crossing her face. "And hot cocoa. And ice cream, when I had my tonsils out."
Chuck nodded.
Then he noticed that she was still looking at him, as if expecting more of a response.
"That sounds… nice," he offered.
"What about you?" she asked in a curious tone. "What happened when you were sick?"
Chuck shrugged.
"Don't really remember," he said evasively.
He did, of course, and it certainly hadn't involved any ice cream or stuffed bunnies. He was usually put under the care of an indifferent Swedish au pair, who'd been hired more for her physical attributes than her nursing abilities. When he was a little older, he'd realized that his being sick just inconvenienced and annoyed everyone, particularly his father, so he'd learned to take care of himself.
However, this didn't seem like an appropriate contribution to the "let's share happy childhood memories" conversation Blair was apparently looking to have.
"So…" He cleared his throat, then folded his hands behind his head and leaned back against the headboard. "What are we watching?"
Blair's lips parted in surprise when he gestured towards her television, which displayed a slowly-orbiting DVD screensaver icon.
"Oh, you don't have to stay," she said hesitantly. "I'm not really great company at the moment."
"I want to stay," he answered without thinking.
He realized as soon as he said it that it was the truth. He'd rather be here with Blair- in her unsexy pajamas, with her scraggly stuffed bunny tucked under her arm- than the Palace Bar. Or pretty much anywhere else, for that matter.
It was a disconcerting realization.
She smiled shyly at him, and his traitorous stomach did another little somersault.
Clearing his throat uncomfortably, Chuck averted his eyes and reached for the remote.
He regretted his decision the second he pressed "play." The screen displayed a familiar black and white vessel, its smokestacks towering against the computer-generated horizon.
"Titanic? Seriously?" he said in disbelief.
"What?" Blair replied defensively. "It's a good movie."
He said nothing, just raised his eyebrow.
"It's not like I knew you were coming over," she pointed out. "Anyway, I'm already halfway through."
Which was a goddamn lie, he thought. They hadn't even hit the iceberg yet.
But when Blair snuggled up against him, he sighed in resignation and let his head fall back against the pillows.
It was going to be a long night.
.
.
A mere hour and a half later, the ship had finally sunk, and the two protagonists were spouting clichéd romantic dialogue at each other over the top of a makeshift raft. Conveniently enough, it was only strong enough to support one of them, thereby ensuring the film would end tragically.
For approximately the twentieth time that evening, Chuck rolled his eyes at the indignity of this situation.
Fortunately, Blair couldn't see him. She had gradually inched closer until her head was propped against his shoulder, her hand resting lightly on his chest- and in response, he had very nonchalantly slipped one arm around her back.
If this was cuddling, he thought, it really wasn't so bad. He was definitely enjoying the way her leg was draped across his thigh.
In fact, if she just moved it maybe… two inches upwards…
He suddenly realized that the front of his shirt was growing damp, and Blair's sniffles had become louder and more frequent.
"Are you crying?" he asked incredulously.
"No," came the muffled reply, followed by another sniffle.
He glanced at the screen, watching the doomed lovebirds exchange their tortured goodbyes, and then back down at the top of Blair's head- just in time to catch another long sniff.
"At least tell me that tears are the only thing you're leaking on me," he commented wryly.
"Shut up," she grumbled into his chest.
When did he start finding this sort of behavior endearing? It had to be an isolated phenomenon, he decided. A… Blair specific-one.
Because no way in hell would he put up with any other girl weeping all over his brand-new Armani shirt.
Eventually the film's credits scrolled to a close, bringing Celine Dion's assault on his ears to a merciful end. Chuck figured he should probably get up and head home… but he felt so comfortable, with his girlfriend's warm, soft body curled up against him, that he couldn't quite bring himself to pull away.
Trailing his fingers over the curve of her shoulder, he was rewarded when her leg slid another inch up along his thigh; even runny-nosed and flannel-clad, her proximity still had an undeniable effect on him. He shifted beneath her, trying to conceal his growing erection.
But then Blair sighed- a soft, content exhalation, as her hand trailed down his chest to his abdomen- and he felt his body respond despite his best efforts.
Maybe, he thought- eyeing her hand resting against his hipbone- if she wasn't too tired, he could talk her into a quick-
"ACHOO!"
Blair's whole body contorted as she sneezed directly into the front of his shirt.
"Sorry," she mumbled.
"It's fine, I can just… throw this shirt out," he said in a dry tone, and chuckled when she smacked him lightly in retaliation.
Resigning himself to more sexless cuddling, Chuck settled back into the pillows and drew Blair against his shoulder, feeling her rumpled curls brush the underside of his jaw.
He'd just stay until she fell asleep, he decided.
Then he'd go home, have a couple of glasses of Scotch, download some porn, and relieve himself the old-fashioned way.
.
Spinning on that dizzy edge
I kissed her face and kissed her head
And dreamed of all the different ways I had
To make her glow
Why are you so far away? she said
Why won't you ever know that I'm in love with you
That I'm in love with you.
.
A/N: This is about as fluffy as I get, so… hope you enjoyed! I'm curious what people's thoughts are on Serena's storyline, since I haven't actually decided on the outcome yet. And of course, I'm always interested to hear your thoughts on the CB relationship, and how you'd like to see it progress- although there will be drama and smut to come, that much is a given :)
Thanks, as always, to Terrabeth for her incomparable beta work. And her intense dislike of Christian Bale is duly noted, haha.
And thanks to my fabulous reviewers, you guys always keep me inspired: maryl, flipped, Adriana, fiona249, Krazy4Spike, Stella296, Dr. Holland, bfan, ellibells, Ally, Elle, Aria, jojo4ever, CBBW3words8letters, Grace, livelybass, Aliennut, Questacious, dreamgurl, BiteMeBass, Infinitywr, jane, notoutforawalk, anon, Melanie, RabbitArchangel, olimgossip, bonafide11, louboutinlove, LeftWriter224, fswickar, Trosev, annablake, 2xlivegonzo, aliceeeebeth, nostalgiakills, twistedfate13, xoxsexylv57, missbabyv, Arazadia, Eve, and eckomoon.