DISCLAIMER: DON'T OWN ANYTHING. Not GG nor Sweet Home Alabama.
Author's notes: The writers suck. I'm aware writing for tv is different than writing for the stage; tv writers are motivated by events/story, with no serious consideration for its parallelism with characterization. I'm aware GG is a teeny bopper, and the writers and producers could care less if what they're concocting is plausible or in line with characterization, but I still hoped. I hate how they made Blair hypocritical. She did sell out Chuck in 3.06 too. But apparently, Chuck has more faith in their forever. What the hell? For a girl who clung to her boyfriend who was apparently in love with her best friend and slept with said girl, I think this quote from Sweet Home Alabama is befitting:
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Stella: For somebody who's been holdin' onto somethin' so hard, seems pretty quick to let go.
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I never really knew readers pay attention to the author's notes. X_x I think my previous author's notes stirred readers to review instead of the fic itself. =_________________________=
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Butterflies and Wedding Day Blues
Summary:
[Set in the future] Blair's not running away anymore. She's going to turn back and chase the elusive butterflies.
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Chapter II: Recluse Chuck
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Chuck still kept their official couple photos in his safe. And even after they parted ways, he always made certain to acquire any picture of her at any social event she attended, and some stolen shots provided by his P.I. from time to time. When he would receive the photos, he would glance at them and put it away, never taking another peek except for that initial look. Those photos of Blair were his most prized and treasured collection. They were all kept in brown envelopes which were stored away in the safe, just like his memories and feelings were shut in a vault in his heart.
A week before the wedding date, Chuck locked himself inside his childhood suite after informing the board of Bass Inc. of his indefinite absence. Lily had agreed to take his place for the time he was away so he had no compunction in taking a sabbatical.
Chuck took out all the photos of Blair that he had collected, and began documenting them, tagging them at the back according to what date, what event. He then separated the Chuck and Blair from the Blair only.
He decided to compile all the photos and make a scrapbook. Chuck wouldn't have thought of it if he hadn't been on the same elevator as this little girl who was punching out paper butterflies. She had a decorative paper puncher, and the design so happened to be the shape of a butterfly. While Chuck was riding the elevator with her, she was merrily using the puncher on a colored paper, scattering butterfly punch outs on the floor. Out of intense curiosity, Chuck asked where she bought the decorative puncher, and she named some school supply store before arriving at her floor and getting off. The next day after work, he set off for the mentioned store, and bought the same decorative puncher as that little girl. He also caught sight of a decorative paper, tinted white embossed with butterflies. He bought packs of it, along with assorted colored papers, glue, and scissors. For some reason, he stored what he bought at his old suite in the Palace, 1812. With materials bought on a whim, he decided that maybe scrapbooking might actually help him get through the week he had been dreading.
Call him stalker; the romanticist in him preferred secret admirer. Call him effeminate; the romanticist in him preferred bittersweet.
It took him two days to properly tag about five years' worth of photos. Afterwards, he decided to start scrapbooking the Blair photos, and he considered sending it to her as a wedding gift. It took him five days. He saved the Chuck and Blair photos for last, which he would keep safely hidden.
He hadn't left the suite for the week. So consumed with his personal project, he could not even bother with communication outside the suite. He wouldn't have bothered to eat if the room service didn't come to automatically provide him with meals (courtesy of his stepmother's orders to the Palace staff not to stop knocking until he took in the food prepared). The only personal task that had him pausing in his project was grooming. He still continued to bathe and shave everyday as he refused to appear dishabille; he felt like he still had to look respectable when facing Blair, even if it was only her in pictures.
Chuck also drank, but never heavily during the day, only enough to create a buzz in his head. It was in the evenings (it reminded him that his personal doomsday was looming closer) when he would imbibe himself in alcohol so he would be able to fall asleep later.
If he was drunk, he could pretend that the headache numbed the heartache, as if the sordid pounding of his hangover overwhelmed the longing pain of his heart. He could not suppress it anymore, and figured if he were to move on in acceptance, he needed to start grieving.
Chuck had gone to visit his father's grave just last month with the customary bouquet of yellow roses. Bart's epitaph had become a sort of confessional for Chuck, and as he sat in front of the stone slab bearing Bart's name, he found himself crying as he talked about giving up Blair even though he didn't want to. Blair was the only subject he spoke of to his father's grave (he never spoke of Blair outside the cemetery), and it usually comforted him (he wasn't sure if it was due to the subject or the recipient of his monologue). But that time, he had learned that Blair was getting married, and all forlorn hope disappeared like the smoke of a dead candle. He felt embarrassed at the show of tears, in front of his father's grave no less, but when he stood and wiped away the evidence of crying on his cheek, he went off in peace with the world, in a resignation of sorts as he admitted defeat. He could never let her go, but he could just let her be.
Chuck then made arrangements the next day to get Blair the opening in the Plaza Hotel, the very thing she was agonizing about in all her wedding preparations (he had heard from Eric during brunch). It would be like prom night all over again, he decided. He would just sit back in the shadows, content with the knowledge that he had a hand in her happiness.
On the morning of the BIG DAY, Chuck started drinking the moment he woke up. For the first time, he called room service and demanded for éclairs to be brought up. He remembered that his choosing the dessert as his favorite had nothing to do with its taste but more with its name.
He continued on with his project of course, sorting out their pictures together and punching out butterfly holes on bare spaces of the photos. He let the butterfly punch outs spread on the floor simply because he liked it; it served as a comfort to be surrounded by butterflies.
He never glanced at the clock, but with its ticking, his heart tightened its grip on despair, but he kept on with his project, punching out butterflies on the corners of their photographs while downing sip after sip of Scotch to act as anesthetic. Johnnie Walker Black Label, to be exact, was his choice of toxic mithridate for the day, as he had selected vodka for the preceding days.
He continued drinking while making butterfly holes in the pictures, until he finally had to surrender to the lethargic effects of scotch in his system. Trudging to the bed, he fell on the mattress, sleeping only on the left side because her side of the bed was occupied by photographs and butterflies. Dozing off, he decided to resume his scrapbooking venture if he woke up.
It was the soft press against his lips that stirred him into semi-consciousness. It was the tang of salt on his lips that made him wonder enough that his eyelids struggled to open under the weight of drunkenness. Even in the haze of alcohol, he could see her clearly. He wondered if this was what a mirage felt like for a man deliriously desirous of something that existed out there in the world but was not within sight or reach.
Chuck wondered if he was dead, if his unhealthy alcohol consumption had finally induced cirrhosis to kill him. He couldn't decipher if this was heaven, because there she was, so lovely drabbed in pure snow white, or if this was hell, because she was crying most probably because of him.
"You're here…?" Chuck whispered groggily.
Blair was hovering over him, her brown curls creating a curtain of privacy between them. She nodded slowly, and more tears fell from her eyes to land on his cheeks and dribble down on the planes of his countenance.
At a loss due to disbelief and inebriety, Chuck's left hand lingered in the air, afraid to reach out to the image in front of him lest it should vanish. But the feel of her tears were too real, so he dared to feel her cheek with the tips of his fingers, and he wiped at the damp trail left by her tears.
Blair placed a hand on his cheek and leaned down to capture his lips in a soft kiss before pulling away and beaming at him, her smile a rainbow through the drizzle of her tears. "I love you too," she whispered, gazing beyond Chuck's brown orbs and deep into the depths of his person.
As Chuck's breath caught in his throat, he thought the world had paused in just a second of refrainment. Or maybe, he had finally started to breathe, after his heart had been in a standstill since five years ago.
With a hand on her nape, Chuck pulled her face to his to connect their lips in a fervent kiss. For the life of him, Chuck could not remember his first kiss, but he always thought kisses with Blair were what first kisses should be like. Because, in many ways, she always felt like his first, and he was definite that she would be his last.
Unwillingly, Chuck gently urged Blair's lips away from his with his hands on her cheeks. He stared at her familiar brown eyes, as if seeing if she would disappear like a mirage, but it did not take him long to convince himself that Blair really was here in his suite, in front of him, kissing him and saying those words that was so precious to them.
Sitting up, Chuck, without letting go of his hold on Blair, leaned his back on the head board for support. Blair adjusted to his new position as Chuck's hands went from cupping her face to enclosing over her hands and laying them on his chest. He looked down at her left hand and ran down his forefinger over her ring finger, noting the significant absence of a certain piece of jewelry.
"You're not married."
Blair shyly averted her gaze to their hands. She flipped her hands so their fingers could fill the spaces in between each digit like a puzzle piece, and just like that, it gave her a sense of completion.
"The man at the altar wasn't the one I wanted to run to."
"So you ran away from him?"
A corner of Blair's mouth tilted slightly. "I'm here, aren't I?"
Chuck swallowed and nodded, and his eyes watered, but it may be the alcohol aftereffects still muddling his mind or the absolute relief at having her here with him after all the years of waiting that he allowed himself to be vulnerable in front of her. He wanted to sag against her, a moment of reprieve from the past five years of having to hold himself up after losing her.
Chuck realized that this was it. He had resolved years ago that if he was ever given an opportunity for her to listen, or another chance to be with her, he would definitely speak with his heart in his throat. He was going to be honest, and tell her everything unspoken, words unsaid that echoed in the emptiness in his heart, that he still kept in his breast pocket.
"I'm sorry, Blair. I'm so sorry," he whispered hoarsely, feeling the tears clog his throat as he prepared to bear his bleeding heart on his sleeve.
"We fought with each other so much, but when the time came, we didn't even fight for each other."
Blair shook her head. "I was weak, Chuck. I used you and hurt you too. I did the same thing, but you still stood by me. I did it to you so many times, even before we were together. But, when the situation was reversed, I bolted instead of trying to resolve everything. I was acting so self-righteously but I was such a hypocrite. I'm sorry too."
Chuck nodded, acknowledging that he heard her, and accepted her apology. But he would not let it deter his determination to speak his part. "I strove so hard to prove my father wrong, that I ended up just like him. But I didn't feel victorious. I was wrong, Blair—"
"Chuck—"
"No, Blair. I shouldn't have done that to you. My father's dead but you're alive. You're here with me. You believe in me and my father didn't. It's time I stop pleasing the dead. I can't change his mind anymore."
"You don't have to forget about him. You just have to make peace with his memory. I understand all too well about wanting to earn your parent's approval."
He looked down in shame and tightened his grasp on her hands, as if to ensure that she wouldn't be able to draw away from him and leave. "I stepped on your heart to reach higher. I did that because I didn't want to end up as my dad expected. I exploited your love and I was conceited enough to think that I was entitled to do it because of love and that what would happen afterwards was just a little tiff we could get past."
"You don't need to be better than Bart or show that you can be just as business brilliant as he was. Chuck Bass is fine by me."
Blair understood why he did it. It wasn't that he took her for granted, but when the time came to choose between her and Bart, Chuck had chosen Bart. Chuck had always believed that his father died, bitter at his own son. And Chuck, who had the utmost respect for his father despite the man's parental misguidance and neglect, did all he could to oust his father's negative notion of his son's capabilities. Chuck never told her, but she knew it was the only way Chuck could think of to at least redeem himself to his father. But no one could gain a dead man's forgiveness or approval.
"I know now that I can prove him wrong in more ways than in business," Chuck squeezed Blair's hand to express his resolution. "I can be the man he never was."
He had destroyed the one person who meant the most to him, all because of his father. He was the reason Chuck didn't go to Tuscany, and he was the underlying reason Chuck sold her out for a hotel. Chuck's issues with his father that were never going to be resolved were what drove him to consider the offer for the dirty deed. But he was done. Chuck was done blaming and loathing a dead man. It was time he faced the consequences of his actions instead of looking for the rationale behind his decisions. He had to start coming up with solutions instead of aimlessly searching for a cause or motive to justify his course of action. He wouldn't deny how lowly he had sunk; he would instead make up for it with the present and the future. Because that was all he could do. He could not erase the painful past, but he could try as much as he could to compensate for his past mistakes in the present and ensure that the same would not happen in the future.
"If you choose me, I swear that everyday of my life will be dedicated to being that man. Because I can't be that man without you," Chuck gently pressed his forehead to hers. "I'm not Chuck Bass without you."
Blair smiled and felt tears overcome her vision. "And I can't be Blair Waldorf if I'm not with you."
So this was what it felt like, to cry in sheer happiness because all the sadness carried in the heart finally come pouring out. Chuck had never cried in happiness before, and he would later learn that Blair had also never had such an experience until that moment.
Chuck let go of her hands to place his hands on her nape to pull her head closer until their lips met in a fervid kiss with traces of a salty sadness that was slowly ebbing as a result of rekindling the heart with a former flame.
Chuck broke their kiss but did not let much distance come between them as he nuzzled his nose to hers, taking a moment to breathe in and savor the tranquility of the moment of reunion. "Can you say it twice?" He requested with a shy grin. She giggled and declared those precious three words, eight letters in between pecks on his smiling lips.
"I missed you," Chuck whispered as he inhaled the scent of plumeria [1] from Blair's brown curls as he held her close. "I love you, Blair Waldorf. So much, that it consumes me."
"Chuck Bass, I love you," Blair whispered in his ear, relishing in their embrace, and silently thanking whoever orchestrated the miracle of sending the butterflies to guide her back to him.
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A/n: Last part! Meant this to be a one-shot, but became longer. XD I must say, I have never been so fixated on details before. I have to say, I did my best to make sure that every single thing had some deeper layer of meaning. =_______= whew. Very difficult to write in the sense that I had done some extensive research and consideration on a lot of details. I might consider an epilogue for the morning after or maybe after several years. XD I'm not sure. I'm still in the grueling process of writing my thesis (I got 1 play down, 2 one-act plays to go!) so I'm trying not to imbibe in fics too much.
And damn, the new PROMO for Chair. I am so goddamn PISSED. It just made me more irate because of the new guy, but better him than Dan, I guess. FUCK FUCK FUCK THEM!!! The production must be having budget cuts if they're starting to hire amateurs to write for them. And fuck the producers. They have been so off-key with how Chuck and Blair deal with problems, that I feel their dynamism slipping. The show is ruining Chair! I am so outraged that I actually cried at some point while writing this fic because of the new promo! I'm so horrified of how affected I am! I didn't think I was so emotionally invested in Chair. T~T I'm so frustrated with how pathetic the writers made them to be after all the suffering they went through before getting together! ARGH!!!
CHAIR FANS (esp fanfic writers) KEEP THE CHAIR FLAME ALIVE!!! ~Because, quite apparently, the inept writers and producers can't. Ugh.
[1] The flower meaning of Plumeria:
Hawaiian Meaning
For Hawaiians, plumeria represents perfection and the bond between everything good. In addition, plumeria is the symbol of new life, springtime and re-creation of the nature.
Chinese Meaning
In China, plumeria flowers are tokens of love. In China, it is not accustomed to share personal feelings, but giving a plumeria flower to your sweetheart has the same meaning as saying "I love you" or "You are special."
Hindu Meaning
In Hindu culture, plumeria flowers represent loyalty, and young brides wear plumerias in their hair on their wedding day to show their loyalty to their new husbands.
SOURCE: http(:)(/)(/)www(.)ehow(.)com/facts_5562857_meaning-plumeria-flower(.)html
*Constructive criticism is most welcome, since I didn't edit this chapter as dutifully as the previous chapter because I wanted to post this ASAP.