The Domino Effect (Chapter 4 of 'The Once & Future Bass')
"When you know that language, it's easy to believe that someone in the world awaits you, whether it's in the middle of the desert or in some great city… without such love, one's dreams would have no meaning." – The Alchemist
Author: Isabelle
Rating: PG-13 (language, adult situations, violence)
Spoilers: All of Season 1 & some Season 2 promos
Summary: In Season 2 Blair & Chuck finally re-unite after their break-up and that same night Chuck witnesses something that pulls him away from Blair. Years later he's back to save her and those he left behind.
Disclaimer: I own nothing that has to do with Gossip Girl; CW owns them along with their creators. Lyrics "Poesía de Amor" by Café Quijano. Translation at bottom of page.
--
"If good things are coming, they will be a pleasant surprise," said the seer. "If bad things are, and you know in advance, you will suffer greatly before they even occur." – The Alchemist
Five years ago. Five years ago, he would have been sweating, he would have been panting, he would have been in full panic mode—but not now. Not five years later. He had controlled his mind; he was in the 'zone,' or whatever you'd like to call it. But he was there. Because… because if he veered from the 'zone,' he would lose it. Just fucking lose it.
He was speeding down the busy streets of Manhattan faster than anyone should and was dimly expecting the sirens to be right behind his ass, but at this point sirens were not part of the zone. Only Blair and Blair's place were.
--
She breathed a loud sigh when she finally closed the door behind her. She answered a selective amount of Dorota's questions and managed to make it to be her bedroom and shut the door, sinking against the wood once she was done.
She was a big girl now. She knew Dorota cared for her, and she cared for the maid—but, like any other big girl, she could only take so many questions. She needed a bath. A long, HOT bath. One that would turn her to jelly.
She unzipped her yellow dress and carefully placed it over her chaise, leaving it for Dorota to pick up later. She cracked her neck slowly and stared at herself in her full-length mirror. She was so pale. Perhaps this was the year when she'd finally take that vacation.
She sighed and glanced at her closet. The box. The box was there, waiting for her. She loved that box. Reluctantly, she shuffled her feet to it and crouched down, pulling the box out. Yes, there were pictures but there were also other things. In the corner, a cloth was neatly folded—folded with love and devotion. She gingerly touched it and decided to pull it out. It had been a while since she'd pulled it out. At least a year.
A small smile formed on her face.
"It was one time. It was chilly."
He had loved his scarf. She smiled sadly. Poor scarf. It was never the same without its owner. She took the box and the scarf and placed it over her bed. Airing out the scarf was a good thing. It should be aired out. It looked wobbly. Like it didn't like to be kept in a box and wanted to be out and free, enjoying New York. Maybe she would wear it one day. Around her hair, maybe as a belt. No… she didn't think Nate would appreciate her ex-boyfriend's scarf around her waist. Much less her neck, as if his memories were still choking her.
She needed to let this Chuck thing go – it was disturbing her tonight more than other nights. Speaking to the dead in empty bathroom stalls… She was set for the crazy house. She rolled her shoulders and decided she should bathe before she went down memory lane found through photos.
Dropping her slip on the floor, she continued naked to the tub, satisfied that it was full and hot. She loved Dorota.
She pinned her long hair on top of her head and grabbed her I-POD 14XP. It held 250,000 songs, but there were a selective few that she loved above all others.
She didn't realize how long she had been soaking until she thought she saw a shadow move in her room. She pulled out her ear plugs and looked into her room from the tub.
"Dorota?"
No response. She shrugged. She was probably picking up the dress and her slip. She hated seeing things on the floor.
She had been soaking long enough. Standing up slowly, she reached for her silk robe and slipped into it, disliking the way the texture clung to her skin. She should've air-dried a bit first. She let her hair down and gingerly slipped into her satin shoes, relishing the warmth they gave her toes.
"Dorota, I accidentally stained-"
She looked around her room. No Dorota. She cocked her head to the side and then shook her head. She was completely losing it. First the restaurant and now 'shadows' in her room.
"Jeez," she muttered under her breath.
She opened the door to her room and looked over the banister.
"Dorota!"
No answer from the maid.
"Dorota!"
Nothing.
What was going on with Dorota? She grumbled and turned to go to her room when she felt the world go out from under her feet.
There, in front of her, was a man. A man all dressed in black looking at her intensely. Long blond hair was tied to the nape of his neck and he wore a cynical smile on his lips.
"You smell like lilacs," he said. His voice was calm, collected, and it chilled Blair to the bone. Her heart hammered in her chest and she involuntarily backed away.
"Who are you?" She managed to squeak. "What are you doing here?"
His smile simply widened and it made her want to faint and let it all be over.
"Four years ago, you wore a stunning blue dress. It showed off the curve of your back," he whispered, and she felt all the hairs on her arm raise to attention.
"You also smelled like lilacs then." His voice was slithery, and she was sure she had lost her ability to speak. This was it. She was going to die raped by this low-life while wearing satin slippers. How Lifetime!
"How much money do you want?" She whispered, her back was now pressed up against the wall. He was coming dangerously close to her.
"Money?" He chuckled, and she felt sweat running down her neck. She had to think. Think fast. Blair Waldorf, that's who she was.
And suddenly, the backbone that she had seriously been lacking for the past few years came to her in a lightening bolt.
She was Blair Waldorf!
Chuck would be appalled that she had spent the last five years of her life moping around, not matching her panties to her bra!
"I demand that you leave my house at this instance! I will call the police and have you arrested for trespassing and breaking and entry!" Her voice rose.
Apparently he enjoyed this.
"No wonder he can't forget you," the man hissed, looking her body up and down. She realized very quickly that he must've seen her bathing.
Oh, fucking shit.
"Who?" She demanded, now furiously upset. He had seen her naked! The nerve!
He chuckled, darkly, reaching out to touch a curl. She slapped his hand away.
"Too bad you'll never know, princess."
And there was something in the way he said 'princess' that she knew there was a finality to it. He was done playing with his food. Without thinking of the consequences, she bolted and began running down the stairs. He stood watching her for a moment, a smile that told her he liked the chase, before he went after her.
Her heart was beating but all she could think was: kitchen. Knives.
Kitchen. Knives. Stab his eyes out. Possibly cut off his penis.
But she never made it to the kitchen; her grabbed her from behind and bashed her against the wall.
She felt the wind knocked out of her as she gazed dizzily at the floor. The marble floor felt cold against her body and she struggled to get up despite the large bruise she felt forming on the side of her face.
Before she could even contemplate getting up, her hair was grabbed and she was yanked up and flushed against his chest.
"So pretty, Blair. So pretty." He touched her face and she scrunched away.
"Don't touch me!" She cried.
"No use in screaming, baby. The maid is out for a while," he hissed against her ear and licked he outer rim causing her to buckle against him.
"Dorota!" She yelled. "If you touched her, I'll–"
"How sweet." He smiled into her cheek, smelling her neck. "Yes… You smell incredibly sweet."
She managed to slip out of her shoes as he enjoyed smelling her neck and, taking a deep breath, she elbowed him as hard as she possibly could. She regretted not taking those Tae-Bo lessons with Serena last year. But it was enough to release her long enough for her to make a mad dash back to her room. If she could get to her room, she could get to the phone… and possibly barricade herself there until the police arrived. Her door was made of English oak, for Christ's sake!
Barefoot, she ran up the stairs, glancing behind her. Her heart sped as she saw he was right at her heels. That's when she felt him grab on to her ankle and pull her down. She lost balance; she was at the last step, and she fell face-forward onto the marble floor. She cried out when her mouth connected with the floor. She tasted blood on her tongue, and she began to cry as pain erupted in her mouth. Her heart was telling her to run, because Blair Waldorf would not die in her nightgown!
She felt his grip ease on her ankle and she began crawling to her bedroom. He was on his knees on the stairs and slowly standing up, smirk still in place.
"As charming as it is for you to struggle-"
She was almost in her room. If she was going to die, she was going to die in her room.
"-I'm tired of the cat and mouse game. The truth is-"
Half her body was now in her room.
"-if I wanted you dead already… we'll let's just say you'd be dead already." He smiled and studied her for a moment before he shrugged and bent down to grab her.
She was going to cry out, but before she could, she heard three gunshots and she screamed.
The blond man stared at her, then at his chest, and then down the stairs.
She followed his gaze, she would've been thanking her lucky stars that the police was here, but she was too busy having an outer body experience.
Oh, my god, she had died!
It wasn't so bad. She was in silk. Her hair was decent. Chuck was wearing all black and saving her from her attacker. Death wasn't so bad.
She welcomed death.
But, of course, death usually didn't include a body suddenly falling on you.
She screamed once more as the blond man's body slumped on top of her. She scrambled out from under him and looked to see if vision of Chuck was gone.
Only it wasn't.
He was now standing over her, real as can be, wearing black and holding a gun in his hand.
She let out a cry before he bent and looked at her eye-level.
"Did he hurt you?" He asked.
She just stared at him.
"Am I dead? Did you come get me?" She whispered.
He studied her face. His own face was dark and serious, and she didn't understand how a dead person could be so sad.
"Jesus, you're bleeding," he whispered.
"I'm dead. It's ok," she whispered back, eyes wide.
"I'm sorry, Blair," he said, and she saw such sadness in his eyes that she let tears fall from her eyes.
"For what?" She asked, drinking in the sight of him.
"For destroying your life," he said and his voice was low and calculated.
"I'm fine." She gave him a smile.
"You're not going to be fine anymore." He then grabbed her by the arms and stood her up.
His touch was so real that she recoiled and stumbled against the wall, backing as far from this person as she could.
Realization began to register in her face.
"I'm not dead." She stated, staring at him. "You're not dead."
It suddenly hit her full-force. He wasn't dead. He wasn't dead.
He was Chuck but a… grown-up Chuck. One that her mind couldn't have invented. A muscular, serious, sexy-as-hell Chuck that she had never seen. Wearing black fatigues.
"You're not dead," she repeated again.
"No," He stated finally and looked down, placing his gun in the holster stuck to his right thigh.
"You're not dead," she said this time louder. "You sick son of a fucking bitch, you're not dead!"
"Blair…" he began, but she had already slapped him.
"You're not dead!" She screamed.
She stared at him, eyes wide and willing him to deny it. She let out a sob.
"You're not dead," she whimpered.
"Five years ago," he began his voice low. "I saw something I shouldn't have… the morning I left you."
She chocked back a sob, burying her face in her hands.
"They faked my death. They made me join a secret sector of the government, and I was to have no contact with anyone I knew."
She stared at him, hate rolling off her in waves. She was trembling. She was nauseous. She still tasted blood in her mouth.
She saw his jaw twitch, and she let the tears pour out of her eyes.
"I've tried to stay away… because… they said that if I ever came near you. They would kill you."
She stopped crying and looked at him.
"But I saw you with Nate…" He became quiet and looked down at the floor. "I just… I just wanted to smell you."
She hiccupped.
"Tonight, I was careless, and they saw me. In the bathroom."
Her eyes went wide with realization.
"You were there," she said slowly and her eyes studied him. "The night that Russian man was killed-"
"I killed him. It was my first assignment." He said his voice low and dangerous. It sent chills down her spine.
She slapped again.
"I buried you!" She screamed in his face. "I saw your casket lowered to the ground."
"I was there," he said softly. "They made me decide as I watched you sob on Nate's shoulder."
She slapped him once more.
"Stop it!" He snapped and grabbed her hand.
"Do you know how many tears I have cried over you? How many years of my life I just wasted because I loved you?" She yelled, tears being replaced by blind anger. "Because my love was dead, and I just couldn't deal!"
He starred at her without saying a word.
"I hate you. I hate you so much that I love you," she finally said.
"I've never hated you," he said and clutched her hand for dear life. "I hated myself."
"You said," her face finally crumbled. "You said 'just a few hours'. I waited for you."
He was going to hold her. God, he wanted to hold her, but he gasped and looked down at his thigh.
Blair cried out as she saw a knife sticking out of it.
The blond man was smiling directly at her, blood dribbling out of his mouth.
"Bullet. Proof. Vest. Baby."
"Chuck!" She cried but Chuck was faster and pushed her to the side. She watched in horror as Chuck pulled the knife from his leg in a swift motion backed away into the room, never taking his eyes off the man.
"That was touching, Bass." The blond man limped yet still crouched, ready for an attack. "All these years. The boy and his torch."
"Jenkins. I always knew it would come down to this," Chuck told him.
"But you never did win any of the practice ones, did you?" Jenkins pulled out another knife, and now they both faced each other in her room with knives in their hands. "And when I'm done gutting you… I'll be enjoying the girl next."
Blair hoped that wouldn't make Chuck react rashly, but this was apparently a new Chuck because all the comment did was make his jaw twitch.
Chuck jumped on Jenkins, and she cried out when they knocked down her night table, getting lost in a flurry of arms, legs, knives. She placed her hands over her eyes, just praying that Chuck would win and kill the mother fu-
The police!
She bolted and ran to her phone, but her path was suddenly blocked by Chuck flying into her vanity. He broke it, and now she would have to get a new one.
"Stay back!" He barked at her as he jumped up and went for Jenkins.
She went into her bathroom and looked longingly at her phone on top of her bed. Oh, and Dorota! That son of a bitch hurt Dorota! She was furious! And worried. Poor Dorota! She made a memo to buy her some jewelry… if she ever made it out of this alive.
Her eyes were fixed on the fight before her. Apparently Chuck had certainly learned a thing or four, and she had to say she was impressed. Like Jet Li impressed. She should be horrified—she should be hiding behind her Ralph Lauren shower curtain, but it was… sexy. She studied his movements. He was slick, like a cat. He knew Jenkins' moves and knew them better than his own.
Her room was quickly becoming a disaster. They had destroyed half of it. Chuck turned to make sure she was all right, and they shared a longing moment before she yelled.
"Chuck!" She cried as Jenkins came behind Chuck with the knife in hand and a wild look in his eyes.
Chuck reacted and swiftly turned, dislodging the knife from the man's hands. Now both men were without weapons, so they faced each other, breathing hard with blood on both their faces. They looked around and began using her room as a weapon. Everything from vases her mother had gotten her in Paris to her mirror – oh, not the mirror!
Finally Jenkins hit Chuck sharply on the side of his head with what was left from her vanity chair, and he slumped on the floor. Jenkins breathed hard and then began kicking Chuck, making his boot connect sharply with his ribs. Chuck attempted feebly to block the attacks, but he looked dazed.
"Stop it!" She cried out, and quickly realized what a mistake that was, because Jenkins' attention was now on her. She backed up against the bathroom and looked around for something to hit him with.
Chanel.
A girl always needed Chanel.
She grabbed her bottle of Coco Mademoiselle and threw it with all her might, clonking Jenkins sharply on his head.
"Bitch!" He yelled, holding his head. She had cut him! G.I. Blair!
She felt a satisfied tingle until he continued towards her. His hands were nearly on her. She cried out and stepped over the toilet. That's when something red, maybe black with white, flew through the air and landed on Jenkins.
Her eyes went wide as she realized it was Chuck's scarf.
The scarf was then tightly pulled back and Jenkins landed on his knees with Chuck standing over him, pulling on his old scarf with all his might. Jenkins attempted to grab onto something—anything—but Chuck was pulling like his life depended on it.
The veins in his neck all popped up and Blair blanched, especially when his hands reached the end of her robe and began grasping for something to hold onto.
Chucked pulled harder, and Jenkins gurgled. He was turning some weird shade of purple, and Blair couldn't watch. She adverted her eyes, whimpering at his alarming noises, trying not to feel his hands against her skin.
Chuck gave one last yank and the man let out a guttural cry and was left standing limp with only the scarf supporting him. Chuck released the body, and it slumped forward as Blair scattered out of the way. Chuck calmly walked over it and checked this time to make sure he was dead.
"He's dead," he informed her quietly.
"You strangled him with your scarf!" She was appalled. She would never look or think back on that scarf in the same way again, no matter how good the sex had been.
"Don't mock the scarf." He gave her a sideways glance.
She didn't know if it was the entire situation or the fact that he had just saved her or that he was alive, but she threw herself against him and held on for dear life, letting out a sob.
"You're ok," he whispered, making her stand with him and holding her close.
"I'm ok? You're ok! You're alive!" She touched his face, a smile taking over her face. "I'm fantastic."
He touched her bleeding mouth gently and his face darkened. "We need to get out of here. Now."
There was a sense of urgency in his voice that made her decide not to question him.
"Where are we going?" She asked as he pulled her out of her bathroom.
He crouched into her closet and pulled out her small travel bag, tossing it on her bed and looking around her room.
"Grab what you need, just what you need," he said, taking in her lost expression. "I'm sorry it had to come to this."
"I don't care," she said and moved closer to him, staring at his bruised and bleeding face. "You're hurt."
"I've been hurt worse," he said nonchalantly. She nodded and walked to her drawers, pulling things out blindly. "Dorota!" She remembered.
"She's downstairs, drugged. She'll be fine," he said, helping her toss things in her bag.
Her mind was traveling a mile an hour. She was running away. She was running away with Chuck. It was scandalous, ridiculous, but she'd never felt happier in her life.
"Where are we going?" She asked again quietly once he had zipped up her bag and tossed it over his shoulder.
His jaw twitched, and he looked down at her. Then he reached out and caressed her cheek.
"Somewhere they can't hurt you," he said. She nodded and let him take her hand as they made it out of her room.
--
"What do you mean, 'she's gone?'" Nate asked into the phone, waking Jenny. "Serena, calm down. I can't understand you!"
He sat on the bed and pulled his pants up his slim hips.
"Ok, ok," he said, trying to appease Serena. "I'll be there in a minute."
He hung up and grabbed the nearest shirt, pulling it over his head. Jenny, fresh from sleep, looked at him worriedly.
"Blair's gone." He took a deep breath and glanced at her. "The house is a mess and there's… blood."
Jenny gasped and sat up, grabbing her robe.
"I'll go with you," she said quickly.
He shook his head and grabbed her shoulders. "I'll call you from there."
Jenny made a whimpering sound.
"Hey, I'm sure she's fine. Ok?" He said and kissed her forehead.
--
Blair now sat watching Chuck drive their fifth stolen car. They abandoned the cars every three hours. His leg was wrapped in a tourniquet, and he was focused, always staring straight ahead.
"You're tired," she said quietly.
He glanced at her. "You can't drive."
She looked down at her hands. "How long are we going to run for?"
"For as long as it takes," he said and then reached out to pull her towards him.
They were in a small pick-up truck, and she easily slid next to him, snuggling against him.
"I can't believe you're alive." She smiled into his shirt.
He pressed his hand on her head and pulled her against him. "I'm sorry."
"I feel like I've been living in a dream," she whispered.
They drove in silence for a few hours before he decided they needed to find a place to rest for a while. The hotel was small, dingy, and gross.
He wouldn't dream of ever bringing her to a place like this, but they had to lay low.
"We can sleep a few hours," he told her as she surveyed the room. The carpet was orange, the TV set looked dangerous, and she was pretty sure things were moving under the duvet. If you could call that a duvet.
She watched as he placed her bags down and unbuckled his utility belt, letting it drop to the bed. His leg was still bleeding and he had been suppressing a limp.
"We need to get your cut cleaned," she said, coming closer as he sat down with a hiss on the bed.
He carefully pulled his shirt off and Blair gasped. His torso was full of angry purple bruises, some were angry black already.
"You need to see a doctor," she insisted, sitting next to him and helping him with his shirt.
"I'll be fine," he said, tossing the shirt to the side. "No broken ribs, just bruises."
She took him in. He certainly wasn't the little boy she had last seen in high school. His arms were strong and defined, his chest was muscular and wider, his stomach sported washboard abs she had never seen on him.
"See something you like?" He drawled and, just like that, her old Chuck was back. She smiled and looked down.
"You look different," she said, smiling a bit.
"Yeah – I tried more athletic activities." He unbuckled his pants.
"Bathroom," she motioned, helping him into the yellowish room. She grimaced when she saw the tiles, but at least they had clean towels and running water. She had him sit on the toilet and helped pull his pants down. He let out a hiss when the tourniquet was released, and she had to hold back a gag.
"Grab my bag. I have an aid kit," he said through his teeth as she pressed a towel against the gaping wound.
She came back quickly with a large white bag and dumped the contents on the sink. She turned on the water in the tub and started filling it up.
"Not the way I imagined you and I being in the same room once more," he tried some humor as she helped him sink into the water.
"I don't care how I spend it, as long as I'm with you," she said honestly, kissing his forehead as he leaned back and sighed, enjoying the calming effect of the water.
Of course, she had almost passed out at the amount of blood, but he had calmly talked her through it. By the time his wound was dressed they were both beyond exhausted. She helped him to bed and took off her own clothes, leaving her in nothing but underwear.
He motioned for her to join him and she rested her head on his shoulder, looking up at him.
"I don't want to sleep," she whispered to him, touching his face.
He kissed her then, a soft kiss on her soft lips. Before he pulled away, he was asleep. She watched him for a moment; watched the slow rhythm of his breathing, the way his eyelashes fell on his cheeks. His hair was short, shorter than she'd ever seen it, but still as soft. He had an ugly scar over his right eye – another story, perhaps?
"You came back to me," she whispered to his sleeping face. "You came back. A few hours later than promised, but you came back."
She let a few tears fall as she stared at him. Then she fell asleep against her will.
--
Serena sat staring straight ahead in the Waldorf greeting area. Nate saw her and sighed, walking to her slowly.
It had been hours now. Blair was gone, no traces of her. No traces of the intruder. It was like someone had come in and vacuumed the room of evidence. Only Blair's blood was found at the top of the stairs. Her room was a mess but, once more, nothing. No evidence. An open box of full of pictures of Chuck was the only thing that made the dread build in his stomach.
Nate sat next to her and buried his face in his hands.
"If they find her… like they did Chuck…" Serena said slowly. "Please don't tell me. I'd rather live thinking she's somewhere out there. Happy. Alive. Free."
Losing your best friend. Now that was something Nate knew entirely too much of. He reached out and pulled his friend against his chest as she began sobbing. He had to be strong. He had to be the strong one. If Blair was really gone, then all that was left of their little Breakfast Club was just the two of them.
It used to be so simple when they were young. Serena was wild, Blair was elegant, Chuck was just plain bad and he, Nate, would sit back and enjoy it all.
Everything was just fucked up.
--
When he woke, he felt uncharacteristically warm and content. There was a pleasant sensation going through him. One he couldn't describe because it had been so long since he had felt it.
He opened his eyes slowly and met a pair of wide brown eyes looking down at him.
"You were watching me?" His voice was hoarse.
"I was worried. You've been sleeping for hours." Her voice was small and quiet.
"I'm ok," he assured her, and the tension in her neck visibly relaxed. She laid back down on his shoulder and wrapped her small, white arms around him.
"We should get going," he said after laying in silence, enjoying the feeling of completion that was spreading through him. It felt foreign, yet fantastic. Like the first time he had sex. Magical, even.
"You're still-"
"I'll be fine," he assured her. She leaned into him and kissed him. She kissed him like she wanted to make sure he was real.
When she pulled back her forehead was resting on his. "Promise me that you'll never leave me again. Ever."
He tucked a hair behind her ear. "I can only do that if we get a move on it."
The next car they stole was a 76' Gray Grand Am. She hated it, but loved it at the same time. As Chuck sped down the highway, she laid down on the seat and put her head out the window, her legs on his lap. She laughed as the wind tossed her hair every which way and he watched her with a smile on his face.
"Charles Bass!" She cried at him, and his heart felt alive and free.
"What?" he cried back, shouting above the wind.
"I love you, Charles Bass!" And she broke out in laughter.
He let out a laugh of his own.
Te quiero escribir una poesía de amor
que hable de ti, que hable de mí.
Serán versos en el aire que puedas respirar,
que te empapen el alma, que te empapen de amor;
"I-" And the words were so foreign to him, that he didn't know how to say it. He suddenly pulled to the side of the road, startling her.
"What happened?" Her hair was a mess, and she looked worried. He swiftly got on top of her, capturing her lips with his own, savoring the taste of her early in the morning.
When he pulled back she was flushed and glassy-eyed.
"Chuck," she whimpered at the loss of contact.
"I should have told you this a lifetime ago." He brushed back her hair and kissed her temple. "I love you," he whispered against the skin of her brow.
He carefully pulled back to look at her, apprehensively.
"Well, finally." A smile broke out over her porcelain features, and she pulled him back down, continuing their kiss. The leather felt hot and sticky against their skin, the bruises they both sported brought them pain and their tongue found the pleasure.
serán letras con verdad unidas en mi corazón
para decirte que te amo, que te quiero,
que te sueño, que te necesito.
It was uncomfortable; it was a tangled mess. It was hot; it was sexy. She threw her head back as he entered her over and over again, making gurgling sounds in the back of her throat. Pulling his hair down, pulling him to her – legs wrapped around each other, slipping against each other. Moans of pain from him as his bruises reminded him he was still human, but he continued, letting the pleasure take over the pain and conquer it. This moment would have to make up for a lifetime of tears, a lifetime of stolen glances, of verbal wars, of longing, of regret, a lifetime of fucking up that which one should hold most sacred. Love.
Her breath was hot against his neck as she clawed his back, pressing her breasts against the hairs of his chest. Moaning, yelling, and at one point crying out with pleasure and relief against his mouth, his open panting mouth. And they were shaking. Shaking against each other because surely heaven had nothing on this.
"We must have a thing for moving vehicles," he murmured against her belly, and she chuckled, running her fingers through his hair, once they had regained their senses.
Cómo puedo explicar lo que el alma intenta decir,
trato de entender que amar puede ser así.
Evitaré mientras pueda martirizar mi existir,
dejaré al azar la suerte de sentirte aquí.
"I want to stay here forever," she said wistfully. He would've kept her there for a lifetime, but he was conscious that he needed to keep her safe. Needed to keep himself alive in order to ensure her safety.
As night fell, he found them another motel, much the same as the previous one. She didn't make a face when they entered this one. She did go straight to shower while he found them some food.
They ate watching TV, her hands rubbing his back as he leaned forward to capture his dripping sandwich in his mouth. She made small comments about friends back home. It was intimate; like there was no need to fight, to argue because, really, was it worth it in the end? He didn't need to say anything, and she understood him; a small touch would signify an entire sentence and it would be understood.
"Can we let Serena and Nate know?" She asked after a while, as he washed down his meal with a beer.
He turned to her and told her 'no' with his eyes. She sighed and looked down, holding his hand in hers.
They sat in comfortable silence, and when he stood to shower, she pulled him down on top of her, invading his mouth with years of spent-up passion. He lingered there against her because she smelled like lilacs. She always smelled like lilacs.
He went to shower, watching her eyes dark with the promise of what would be waiting for him in bed.
The water felt amazing against his skin. He gingerly made sure his wound was clean. She had done a good job with the butterfly stitch. It was all they could do in the circumstances. He dried and the thought of finding her in bed made a rush go through him. No clothes needed. The towel was easier to drop and get down to the business of pleasure.
But she wasn't there.
His body shifted to killer-mode, and he crouched, eyeing the room.
"Blair?" He asked quietly.
His mind went wild. She wasn't there. She wasn't there.
He pulled the gun from his bag and walked carefully to the door. The door was opened, and he ran outside.
A young man with grungy blond hair was standing there, with beer in his hand a tie-die shirt. His eyes were wide and he looked pale.
"Dude, I think someone just took your girlfriend."
--
When Blair woke up, she felt like puking. Her body felt like it had been tossed around in a sac.
She couldn't remember anything. Did she get drunk? Was she still drunk? Oh, my god. She was been dreaming, She dreamt Chuck being alive. Making love to him in a gray Pontiac as he pressed her against the hot leather, cleaning his wounds, waking up in his arms, and tasting beer on his lips. She was completely gone. Because Chuck Bass would never drink beer.
She sat up, noticing that she was in nothing but bra and panties. And they didn't even match! She was standing in a sterile white room with not one bit of furniture. Was she in an asylum? Had she finally lost it?
"Good morning, Ms. Waldorf." A voice said and she looked around startled.
"I'm sure you have a lot of questions but let me clarify that none of them are to be answered right now."
--
To be continued
Lyrical Translations (thanks to Tati for doing the translation)
"I want to write you a love poem
That speaks of you, that speaks of me
There will be verses with air that you can breathe
That will fill up your soul, fill it up with love
There will be letters with truth united to my heart
To tell you that I love you, that I want you
That I dream of you, that I need you
How can I explain what my soul tries to say?
I try to understand that love can be like this
I'll avoid it while I can martyr my existence,
I'll leave it to fate and luck, just to feel you here again."