Disclaimer: I don't own Gossip Girl just the specific story I choose to bring the characters into.
A/N: Once again, thanks thanks thanks everyone + wonderful kate2008. Sorry about those alerts, and now for the new chapter. Happy reading !
We deny that we're in denial. We only see what we want to see and believe what we want to believe, and it works. We lie to ourselves so much that after a while the lies start to seem like the truth. We deny so much that we can't recognize the truth right in front of our faces.
-- Greys Anatomy
Chapter Three:
"Mr. Bass, there is a Mr. Hutlen – Mark Hutlen, here for you."
"Send him in…" Chuck answered, standing as the door opened and Hutlen walked through the threshold.
"Hello Mr. Bass."
"Good morning Mr. Hutlen please, take a seat" he breathed, resuming position behind his large oak desk.
"Now I'd like to speak to you about an exclusive offer," Mark nodded, shifting nervously, "As you know, Bass Industries is a diverse company. I have been looking for quite some time at charities and nongovernmental organizations that I would feel proud sponsoring." Chuck paused for dramatic effect, watching Mark's face as he absorbed each letter of the words, digesting them with thought. "And I do believe that I may be very interested in investing my company's name in yours."
Mark's eyebrows knitted in apprehension, probably unsure, as any man in his position would be, about what terms and conditions lay behind such a brilliant offer.
"What will I have to compromise?" he questioned after a stretched minute of silence, his voice gruff, "I mean, what part of my work does your company favor? Cut off all the fat right, change practices . . . update facilities and downgrade quality?" His eyes were hard suddenly, a flicker of certitude in the words falling from his mouth passed through them as they turned from blue to a dull grey.
"I can assure you that Bass Industries does not work like that, I value organizational individuality above all else Mr. Hutlen."
He was a man of passion, Chuck reasoned; behind his defensive strategy laid a believer in something other than succumbing to cash handouts. A sensible head on his shoulders, unwilling to bow to companies whom he suspected wished only to change all but the ground his feet stood upon.
The instant tension subsided gradually as a Mark's pale pink lips curved into an animated grin.
"That's good to hear Mr. Bass, please don't misunderstand, I would be grateful for such an opportunity but it's just, as the head of this project, of this cause, I feel an obligation to get things done the proper way with people who feel the same."
"I understand completely" Chuck said, twisting a pen between his thumb and index finger as he leaned into the back of his leather chair.
"Are you married Mark?" the question filled with as much feigned eager curiosity as could be managed although the answer was already known.
"Yes actually, I am" Mark answered warmly, his voice drifting off into a thicket of intimacies that came with the mention of his wife; Chuck suspected, places that he would not want to follow even if he could.
Chuck blinked twice before responding, taking some time to ease the haughtiness out of his words as he spoke them.
"I would be obliged to have you and your wife at my home for dinner tonight," Chuck fixed his eyes on Mark's wedding band "It's a tradition my wife and I uphold, for whenever a business deal is successfully closed." He cocked an eyebrow before standing, stretching a wiry arm across the desk separating the two men."If a deal is, in fact, what we do have" his voice melted sweetly on the floor around them.
"Well Mr. Ba-"
"Chuck."
"Chuck," Mark repeated, sliding out of his chair and meeting Mr. Bass's hazelnut eyes, "You certainly draw right to the point."
His calloused hand clasped Chuck's smooth palm in a solid handshake before returning to his empty suit pocket. It was the unspoken symbol of agreement used for centuries by men across the globe, offered, rejected, and shared among many others by the same famous man Mark stood in front of. It was the beginning of a new possibility for Mr. Hutlen's organization, a chance to make his cause known globally, to cause a stir in the media outlets, something he had little success with otherwise.
For Chuck Bass it was the basis on which a new bridge was to be built, connecting the past to the present. A chance for him to really know if she was happy after all these years without him. There seemed to be a Blair Waldorf without a Chuck Bass, just as there seemed to exist a Chuck Bass without a Blair Waldorf.
Sometimes though, appearances weren't everything.
A pale leg extended from the shadowed darkness of a sleek limo as a four inch stiletto clicked to the pavement with forcible contact as Blair exited the car, grabbing a matching black leather purse from the seat beside her and pulling the straps onto her shoulders as she stepped onto the curb. Her driver, Nicholas, shut the door silently and rounded the front of the limo, returning to the driver's seat in wait of his employers return.
Plucking a and pair of red sunglasses from her bag she pushed them up the bridge of her nose, applying sheen to her dry lips before heading up the stone steps into the building. The wide hallways were empty of children although a few nannies could be spotted in the corners waiting anxiously for their "children" to appear from any which direction, skillfully hiding from their loathed babysitters with excitement.
Blair smiled weakly at them as she passed, her eyes landing with a heavy sigh on Tula and Henry as she entered their art class. Both sat on a metal bench at the front of the classroom as far away from each other as they could possibly get. Henry's face was blotched with tears and a trickle of snot was attached to his lip as it quivered in frustration and upset. Tula threw an icy glare at her brother, tightening her crossed arms around her chest, eyebrows flat against her eyelids, a scowl marking irritation.
Glancing around the brightly lit room Blair took no notice of a teacher, administrator, or even the head master as she strode up to her children, calling forth a sea of disappointment as she looked upon them.
"Mommy," Henry exclaimed, his voice wary and low as he grabbed a hold of her waist in an apologetic embrace. Blair snaked her arms around him before bending on her tiptoes to talk to the two of them at eye level. Tula twisted her head in direction of the door, huffing as she did, not wanting to take part in the lecture her mother was about to unleash.
Blair placed her hand on Tula's elbow, waiting for her daughter's eyes to meet her own.
"Can somebody tell me what happened?"
"Tula stole my lunchbox" Henry blurted, Tula snarled, narrowing her eyes at her brother "and then her friends started calling me a baby and Tula said I was so, but I'm really not."
"And then?" Blair questioned an air of patience in her pressing words, giving time for both sides of the story to unfold. It was a skill learned only by mothers of twins, one second they were best friends the next you could find yourself in the middle of the kitchen while both parties hurled metal spoons at each other. Each fight or disagreement held a two dimensional truth, or depending on the hour, a rubrics cube of tangled interconnecting reasons and part fibs caught on the lips of children hoping to escape punishment.
"I did not call him a BABY," Tula retorted "I simply didn't object when Sam and Max started saying it."
"Did so!" Henry cried, "you pushed me!"
"You pinched me!"
"You pushed me first!"
"Did not!" Tula argued.
"Did so!"
"Did NOT!"
"Did so!"
Blair closed her eyes as the declarations of innocent escalated dramatically in volume, counting to ten before silencing them.
"A lady never argues," she stated, placing her right hand on Tula's knee," And a gentleman never yells." Left hand on Henry's knee as it swung over the side of the bench. "And nobody, girl or boy, uses physical violence to get a point across," she looked briefly at each child, "am I understood?"
"Yes" They answered in unison, chins tucked into the folds of their uniforms in remorse, battle armor hidden beneath dress shirts for another hour. Blair pulled an embroidered handkerchief from her purse, gently rubbing it against Henry's nose as he blew into it.
"Tula I want you to apologize to your brother,"
"But mo-" She protested avidly.
"Apologize," Blair's tone sharpened, "Now please."
Tula turned obediently towards Henry with uncrossed arms, "I am sorry," she articulated perfectly with a smile, knowing better than to disobey her mother in any form once it was made clear that the line had been pushed far enough.
"I am sorry too," Henry offered with the same smile plastered across his cherub face.
They forced upon themselves an obligatory hug, clasping each other's shoulders lightly while maintaining a comfortable distance. Blair exhaled, it was the best she would be able to elicit from the two of them on that particular day and so she settled for it.
She stood, brushing lint off of her dress before allowing her arms to fall naturally at her sides, Tula and Henry jumped from their seats, choosing a side to stand on before placing hands in Blair's secure palms. She questioned them about their schoolwork and friends as the trio made their way out of the school, the dispute long forgotten once Nicholas rounded the back of the limo to open the door.
A woman who once fought so fiercely had transformed into a mother who chose her battles wisely.
October 8th, 2011:
"Blair?" Chuck called, unbuttoning his jacket and dropping it to the floor alongside his luggage as the emptiness of the hotel suite echoed off the walls. He held a dejected glance at the vacant mattress as he turned towards the bathroom, kicking off his leather shoes and leaving a trail of business attire in his wake.
He smelt of airplanes and foreign countries, long arguments and dull conversations, elements of his travels, of his business, of himself that led to a desperate need for cleanliness from his shower, his own apartment, his life as it was and not how it had to be.
There was no brunette waiting in the foreground to gather him into her arms, to lock her legs around his hips in a singular leap from across the suite, a combination of elation and satisfaction in her fingertips as they trailed his cheekbone with overwhelming affection.
He turned the faucet on, concentrating on the last time he had seen her, the moments blurred together, her voice a faint murmur in the background of the chaos. He was raw from separation, bitter from loneliness, these things he knew as he raised his chin towards the stream of hot water.
A month had turned into an eternity, he had promised her the world and then prepared a hasty goodbye from the tarmac not even a week later. Her kisses upturned on his face in trusting breaths, leather gloves clutching the Erickson Beaman necklace he had given her years prior.
"We'll talk every night, right?" She had whispered in his ear, a nod against her forehead in response "every night," he had repeated emphatically.
He hadn't heard her voice in two and a half weeks; relying on other forms of communication for some sign of her. Nothing. He had since resigned himself to leaving long grumbled voicemails on her cell phone every few days in the stupor of desperation, weak words of declaration against several thousand miles and an ocean between them.
He turned off the shower, stepping onto the cold marble of the bathroom floor he reached for a fleecy towel, securing it around his abdomen. Padding into the bedroom, he entered the closet, a hand gliding across pressed suits before resting on a drawer beneath his collection of bowties. He paused upon hearing an unfamiliar sound emerge from the hallway. Several paces of complete silence passed before he relaxed his shoulders and shrugged into a pair of satin pajamas, all too ready for bed despite the rain that pelted the windows in thunderous masses.
"What's wrong?" her voice was flat, "you're not supposed to be home for another four days."
Chuck moved swiftly, as he identified her silhouette against the doorframe. They were so close, he could reach out and touch her, take her in his arms, and instead a clenched fist formed at his waist, an aloofness to her presence existed in the moment that startled him.
"Nothing's wrong, I caught an early flight back."
"Oh, are you sure?" her voice rose and Chuck smirked, able to detect the woman he knew, a paradox of certainty and curious suspicion underneath all the layers formed by separation.
"You've been ignoring my calls," he twirled, facing away from her as he walked the length of the closet,"and my texts, and my emails."
"I've been busy,"
"For two and a half weeks?" He cocked an eyebrow, she pursed her ruby clad lips, he took a step towards her, she took two steps back.
"My life doesn't revolve around you, just like I don't expect yours to revolve around me."
"Well then, I'm sorry to disappoint but one of us is clearly invested in this relationship more so than the other."
Her cheeks flustered as he continued his slow approach, "and I think it's me," he whispered into the thick air.
"I'm tired of being alone in this stupid hotel, and you pr-" she shifted her weight, not willing to appease him without hostile confrontation.
"I promised to withhold all my business trips until January."
"And you didn't. Just another promise the great" her eyes widened as she threw her hands into the air, "GREAT, Chuck Bass has broken."
He ached to touch her cheek, to stroke her eyelids with the pad of his thumb. Carefully he traced his pinkie along her jaw as she exhaled heavily.
"I really really need you to forgive me because I truly am sorry Blair." His fingers fell under her chin, pulling it up gently to meet the earnest in his eyes. "I'm here now."
"But for how long," she turned her cheek into his hand, he opened his mouth to answer, she continued, her voice shaking, "I feel so juvenile. I can't think when you're not around."
Blair crushed herself against his chest, burying her nose into his shirt, encircling her arms around his neck.
"I hate you," she murmured delicately, "I honestly do."
Chuck laughed heartily, the emptiness filling so rapidly that it bubbled over. He had finally captured home, no amount of imagination or memory could do her justice. The way her auburn locks fell around her shoulders in broad waves. The rouge lipstick she had coveted since the beginning of her freshman year in July, pronounced the subtle curves of her lips as they stretched across her teeth in a glorious smile.
A face that hid behind his lidded eyes every night that he drifted to sleep alone in a foreign country, empty of emotion beyond the insistent bliss brought on by the thought of her standing in front of him as she did then, his only home.
Chuck drummed his fingers on the oak paneling of the elevator anxiously; it stopped a floor below the penthouse. Chuck placed his silver key in the lock below the floor numbers and it rode the last floor up, opening its doors to reveal his entryway. He stood; listening intently for any indication that Abigail would be home, the only sound reaching his ears was the soft crunch of maid's shoes against the floor as they worked.
He stepped out of the elevator, quietly placing his jacket on the circular glass table before walking into the foyer. A briefcase heavy in his hand, weighing down just about any kind of free time he could fathom having in the next ten years. Taking the grand staircase two at a time, he ventured down the hallway on the second floor, searching out a suitable place to drop his briefcase, maybe even burn it when she pulled him into the guest bedroom, pushing him eagerly against the door.
"You're home!" Abby exclaimed, fingers working to undo his dress shirt as she talked, "How was work?"
"I closed a dea-"
"Oh that's wonderful darling!" Her hands running up his bare chest seductively before maneuvering the leather belt around his waist, through its silver buckle.
Chuck closed his eyes, home.
Blair appeared, an unpleasant scowl across her face, as if she was disapproving of him in every way, he had caused that frown, brought it to life, she was so real and yet she was not. Chuck's eyes blinked open swiftly, he backed further into the door while Abby looked up from undoing the zipper on his pants.
It was then that he took in his surroundings, the wallpaper in the guest room had been ripped off and painted over in a soothing yellow, a white sleigh crib was pushed against the wall while an antique rocking chair sat in front of the window behind the sheer violet curtains'.
He pushed Abby off with a little extra force, his pulse quickening as he stepped away from the door, closing it behind them.
"What's this?" He gestured towards the guest room turned infant nursery, "do-" his voice cracked, "you have something to tell me?"
"Don't you like it?" Abby defended innocently, pushing him up against the wall behind the door, "I had the maids working all day to get it ready."
"Ready for what," his voice was razor sharp against her fluffy mannerism, as her breath warmed his cheek.
"I just thought," she whispered, the tip of her tongue trailing the shell of his ear, "that you might want to change things soon," His skin shivered as she placed kisses down the bare of his neck "and I want to be ready."
"You thought wrong, we've talked about this."
"No," she corrected, "I've talked. You," she stabbed her index finger into his chest, "you say no and then that, that, is supposed to be the be all end all of the fucking conversation."
Chuck's legs twitched, he wanted to run; the walls were contracting, threatening to close in and crush him, swallow him whole.
"But maybe, MAYBE I want a child." she held two fingers up "Two years, TWO years we've been married and for a whole year now I've been saying the same thing. It's like you don't want to make me happy, like you don't REALLY want me other than for sex and show. Would a child really be too much of a commitment for you? Is that what it's all about? Because that's really funny, marriage is supposed to be a commitment, all we do is sleep together, that's ALL we do."
"We agreed," he snarled, his instincts kicking in as she attacked.
"Things change, they always change. I love you Chuck Bass, I married you didn't I?"
"True," he grabbed her left hand, pulling the four carat engagement ring between them, "and you met with so much refusal." He turned, opening the door and walking towards the stairs as she followed behind, "Do not walk away from me Chuck, do not walk away from me." He ignored her, the enraged twinge that morphed all the emotion in her voice barreling over his head as his feet met the foyer floor.
He clenched his jaw, buttoning up his dress shirt as he waited for the elevator to reach his floor, slinging a jacket over his broad shoulder. He stepped onto the lift, the crash of a vase against a distant wall ringing loud as the heavy doors sealed all but the emptiness around him.
"Be careful!" Blair called over her shoulder as she hurriedly tied Henry's shoelaces. They had arrived in front of the studio minutes before rehearsal was scheduled to begin and the stress was starting to coil tightly inside her stomach as Tula did plié after plié in the middle of the busiest sidewalk on the Upper East Side. Henry hopped from his seat moments later, handing his mother her purse before she dipped into the limo to retrieve Tula's backpack. Pulling a shaking hand through her auburn curls automatically she grabbed her children's hands ushering them inside the studio, praying with unbound hope that she had not forgotten anything of importance.
Tula ran past the receptionist, waving avidly before disappearing inside the dressing room with her backpack in tow while her mother and brother continued down the hall towards the theatre.
"Ah!" The ballet teacher gasped, a tall woman with straight black hair and emerald eyes. "Bonjour Madame Hutlen, salut Henry!" she clasped her hands together, her golden bangles clanking together with force. Blair upturned her lips in an encouraged smile, struggling to drain the chagrin from her words. " Bonjour Mademoiselle Vivienne, comment alez-vous?"
"Je vais bien, et tu?"
"Trés bien merci." Ever since Mark had let it slip in a past conversation that Blair was an avid French speaker Tula's ballet teacher had insisted upon conversations that drifted between English and French as often as possible. Henry slipped into a seat, playing contently with his transformers action figure while they conversed about the recital and the rehearsal, a gaggle of girls already on stage awaiting instruction. Tula pranced down the aisles, stopping in front of her mother in her bright pink tutu and white tights, hair twisted into a perfect bun.
She bent to drop a kiss on her forehead," You look absolutely gorgeous my love," A lustrous smile crept across her daughters face, "A bientôt Tula." She nodded in understanding, hugging her mother quickly before running down the aisle and clambering onstage in search of her group.
She stood up, casting her brown eyes at her son, "Allons-y Henry," she said, straightening her back and offering him her hand.
"Well we must be going, my husband and I will see you tonight Vivienne, good luck with your show."
And with that, Blair and her son and exited the theatre, entering their limo bound for home if only for a few hours.
"Blair?" Mark talked into his cell as he fished the keys out of his pocket, turning them in the ignition, "Blair, can you hear me?"
"Mark? Hi," She sounded tired, and he was suddenly struck with a solid wall of guilt at being so elated.
"I've got news," He breathed, trying to turn onto a side street with one hand, "BIG news."
"What is it, hold on - Henry, drink your milk, stop playing with your food and eat it." She sighed before turning her attention back to the call, "Sorry honey, what?"
"He agreed to invest!" He cried blissfully, "We have an investor!"
There was silence; it dragged on for half a minute before Mark looked questioningly at his phone, checking to make sure the call had not been lost.
"Blair, did you hear me?"
She cleared her throat, "Uh," static interrupted the conversation as she moved for something, "that's, that's amazing. I'm so proud of you!"
"I'm so happy it's hard to talk, God I miss you." He confessed, "God I miss the kids. How has the day gone so far?"
"Oh, it's been fine" she choked out, her voice faltering, probably straining to contain her extreme excitement at the news.
"He wanted us to come over for dinner tonight but I told him I had a previous engagement."
"What did you say?" Blair's voice escalated slightly, a tinge of something undetectable in her question.
"I just said I was previously tied up, he said it was fine though. No need to worry. I said 'rain check' and he agreed. Don't worry about it honey, don't even fret for a second. I've got this in the bag."
"Oh, okay. So he didn't ask about your wife or anything," she prodded; it was unlike her to flush the details out of him over the phone.
"Oh, he didn't really ask. Just the standard 'are you married?' I didn't take it beyond that. We talked business mostly. He said something about how he wants to talk over drinks in a few days though. I suppose that's when he'll ask me if I'm a family man."
"Right - Take your plate to the sink please, and go change out of your uniform - Listen, I have to go help him get ready," She declared, "I hope you're heading home."
"I am," he answered, "Good, I'll see you soon then, love you." The line went dead.
"Love you too," Mark replied to the dial tone, snapping his cell shut he glanced at the passenger's seat, the fresh bouquet of pink peonies flapping against the side door as he entered Brooklyn.
A/N : You guys are SERIOUSLY fantastic (: I hope that this chapter answered a few of your questions, any thoughts, feedback?