Well, this marks the final chapter of my fic. It's ridiculously long (an error on my part) but I hope I did the characters justice. I'll follow it up with a short epilogue later just to tie everything together, but other than that, thank you sooooo much for sticking by this! It was a lot of fun writing about Chuck and Blair's story but also making it a backdrop of sorts to Blair and Dan's. So with that, I hope you enjoy this chapter (regardless of its crazy length)!
Both pairs of eyes, in varying shades of hazel, stared intently at the idle machine. Apprehension was in the air, as both men silently waited for any sudden movements that would spurt out the documents their hands were itching to take hold of.
"Damn it," Chuck hissed impatiently, as he raked a shaky hand through his hair.
"He said he'd fax them any minute now," His calmer counterpart offered, though his own heart was beating rapidly in anticipation.
It took everything in Chuck's power not to lift his eyes away from the fax machine and send an icy glare in Dan's direction. Of all the people he knew, it was this overzealous imbecile he never once regarded as more than a nuisance, who voluntarily put his life at a standstill for him.
And for that, he was thankful.
Yes, for the first time in his life, Chuck Bass was thankful to have Dan Humphrey standing next to him, metaphorically holding his hand, as they both awaited the news that could change his life forever.
Suddenly, an all-too familiar sound chimed from their cell phones, effectively wrenching Chuck away from the privacy of his thoughts.
"Gossip Girl?"
Dan shook his head as he frowned at the message. "No. It's your P.I."
Heart pounding, Chuck snatched the phone from his hand and scanned its contents fervently.
"So she's alive?"
Chuck's shoulders hunched over as he turned away from Dan's penetrating gaze. His jaw clenched and before he could stop it, the dreadful word fell from his lips on its own volition: "No."
"Avery Thorpe really did lose her life that night," Andrew Tyler sighed. "The document you're holding now—that was the only one I could find regarding her death."
"So it was suicide," Dan uttered, though his words made his own blood curdle.
He heard another barely stifled sigh on the other end of the line. Chuck's BlackBerry was perched on the table between the two men, purposely on speakerphone, with Andrew's voice filling the tense silence that persisted.
"I managed to extract some info from two of their former employees—one was a maid and the other, a nanny—and they vaguely remembered what it was like in the Thorpe household. Day and night, they heard screams and lots of furniture breaking; in fact, they likened Avery and Russell's relationship to an abusive one."
Dan immediately glanced over at Chuck, wondering what could possibly be running through his mind. But just as he expected, Chuck's cold, expressionless look gave out nothing. So with trepidation, he marched on for the both of them. "Is that why she ended her life?" He asked Andrew nervously.
Another sigh was heard.
"Well, you also have to put into account the gravity of the attention that followed their family's bankruptcy. For a long time, Russell had been misappropriating money from Bass clientele. When Bart—your father," Andrew added in, because he knew that he was on speakerphone, "—found out, Russell begged him not to say anything to the authorities. So he and your father struck a deal. He would repay every dollar he embezzled even if it meant having the banks foreclose his properties in New York and Long Island and in return, Bart wouldn't say a word. But by the time your father had managed to wipe off any traces of Russell's embezzlement, word suddenly broke about it among their peers and, I suppose, everyone else who mattered in New York. Since there was no evidence though, the only thing the board could do was to strip Russell of his position and excommunicate him entirely."
When Dan looked up from the phone, he found Chuck staring out the window. He could tell he was having a hard time trying to register all this information. And this fact alone had caught Dan wholly off guard, because for as long as he had known him, he never fathomed Chuck's life to be so complicated. Upon learning who he was and what he had done to Jenny back in their junior year, he quickly wrote him off as another spoiled WASP who sought his immense wealth as justification for his scathing, pompous disposition towards the world. But seeing Chuck now as he tried to digest all this information being thrown at his face, Dan realized that every notion he had once held about the man sitting beside him was truly nothing but mere assumption—a hasty conclusion, an unfair portrayal of a man scorned. Suddenly, Dan felt an unnerving feeling at the pit of his stomach. It was guilt, he realized in agony. For the last few months, Chuck had been grappling with so many things: an identity crisis, his surging business, and the vultures who circled around it fervently. And when all of these were slowly eating him away, Dan only served to be the salt in his wound, never ceasing to rub his blooming friendship with the love of his life on his face.
"Hello?" Andrew's voice treaded uncertainly.
Realizing he was still on the phone, Dan cleared his throat.
"What about the fire in the building?" he asked, his face bearing all the seriousness he could muster.
"Well, on the same night Russell was fired from Bass Industries, Avery visited Bart at his building site. I can't comment on the nature of their meeting, but I do think that Jack Bass is right about her begging him for help, because she left the building shortly after, clearly distressed. You see Russell's dismissal was now far beyond Bart's control and he couldn't help the Thorpe's even if he wanted to."
Dan could already discern the flexing motions Chuck was making with his hands, though his face was still stripped of emotion.
"Approximately two hours later," Andrew continued solemnly, "when both Bart and Avery had long exited the premises, the building blew up in flames—confirming police reports about the accidental gas leak—and your father's security guard lost his life. As for Avery Thorpe…she died of an overdose at her penthouse apartment."
"Overdose," Dan repeated quietly to no one in particular, his body experiencing a foreign numbness.
"Yes. She was verbally and physically abused by her husband for so many years that by the time he lost his job, both had probably reached their boiling points. So I assume, to ward off any more negative attention, Russell kept her suicide hidden, which explains why he and his daughter Raina, an infant at the time, left just mere days after Avery's death and relocated to Chicago, where he later established Thorpe Enterprises."
A long silence passed, until to Dan's surprise, Chuck spoke up. "My father…he had nothing to do with this. Any of this."
"Nothing," Andrew said seriously.
Another silence unfolded, giving Dan an inkling that Chuck no longer had any desire to continue. Instead, he sat still, calm as ever and seemingly unaffected by the gravity of the news. So with slight hesitation, Dan took the bait, "And how does this go back to Jack exactly?"
Andrew cleared his throat. "Well, four months ago, Jack Bass was spotted at a bar in Chicago with Russell Thorpe. Russell's name was also listed numerous times in Jack's call log for nearly a year now. I don't want to make any conclusions here and there, but if you want my honest opinion, given recent events, I doubt they're up to any good."
Suddenly understanding everything, Chuck stood up and grabbed the phone from the table. "Thank you, Andrew."
"I'm always at your service. Have a good day."
"Louis!" Blair greeted, displaying the brightest smile in her arsenal. She quickly unlinked her arm from Serena's and strode into the Prince's open arms.
"Bon jour, Blair," He whispered cheerfully into her ear, before gently kissing her cheek. "It has been too long, but as always you look trés exquis."
"Merci," She murmured coyly, before extracting herself from his embrace just in time for him to greet Serena.
While the two exchanged the customary kiss on each cheek, Blair took in the wealth of her surroundings. It had only been a scant number of months since the last time she had been here, dividing her time between reading snippets of Colette under the Parisian sun and dawdling through the Musée d'Orsay. But now, the sun was gone and tourist numbers had dwindled dramatically—save for the few, like her, who couldn't possibly tear themselves away from Paris for too long—leaving behind just the crisp, chilly November weather and the contented locals, who were glad to have their city once again bereft of fannypack-yielding tourists. Though a fresh wave of excitement ran through her body, Blair had more in her thoughts than just the mere prospect of sipping frothy espressos in Drouant and purchasing wool-lined leather boots from Vivier.
The reality was that she simply could not escape the unsettling feeling that somewhere in these ostentatious streets of Paris, Chuck Bass was moving on with his life.
No, Blair silently scolded herself. No more Chuck. If this is the life he chose, away from her and the rest of his family and friends, then she should go right ahead and move on with her own life.
Equipped with a newfound rush of determination, she clasped her hand around Louis' and flashed him another pearly smile. But to her surprise the only response she got from him was the slight apprehension that flashed across his face. She was about to open her mouth to speak, when his expression suddenly shifted to a warm smile, putting her nerves to rest.
He's probably just shy, Blair told herself.
"I see you drove yourself again," She proclaimed, noticing his sleek, black convertible parked on the side of the curb. Her heart dropped as it brought back memories of their awful date, so much so that before she could even stop herself, her eyes were already surveying his attire for the same pesky, little driver's hat that had served as the first bad sign that night. It was only then that she realized the extent of her relief upon finding not a single trace of it on his body.
"Well, I know how much you like the view in the front seat," Louis joked lightly, as he gently let go of her hand to load their suitcases in the trunk.
When Blair sent another inviting smile in his direction, to her dismay, he quickly looked the other way and appeared to be suddenly absorbed in the functions of his windshield.
"Is it just me or is Louis acting strangely?" She whispered to her best friend, furrowing her brow in both confusion and annoyance.
Caught off guard, Serena managed to restrain at the last second the mischievous smirk that her bright pink lips were itching to betray. With great effort, she dawned her blankest look and replied, "He seems perfectly fine to me."
Before Blair could press her even further, Serena quickly climbed into the back seat, hoping to close the door on their conversation.
"Why does he want to meet here?" Dan asked perplexedly, as the rest of him drank in the impressive sight of Gare du Nord station.
"He's coming from London" was all Chuck said, before he picked up his pace and scanned the crowds. He could already sense, from the way his heart sped and the way his mind reeled, that he was powerless to the sudden influx of memories into his head. He could almost feel Blair's presence in the station. Just like that, flashes of a rich, bright red overtook his mind; he saw the dark, voluptuous curls that cascaded her neck, and even then the glassiness of tears that shortly stung her eyes.
No. Focus, he ordered himself. He couldn't do this right now.
"Is that him?" Dan suddenly inquired, squinting his eyes at the horde of recently arrived passengers.
Chuck followed his gaze, and lo and behold, it was Jack Bass himself, standing against the crowd, an arrogant smirk etched on his face.
"That's him," Chuck confirmed through gritted teeth.
"Chuck!" Jack called chirpily, when he recognized the familiar face. "I must say you're looking rough." He feigned concern for a second as he studied Chuck's odd attire and then when he was finally just an arm's length away from his nephew, he stopped in his tracks; Chuck was not alone. He recognized the boy standing next to him and immediately blanched. "And…you're Humphrey's son right?"
Dan angrily narrowed his eyes at him, ready to lunge at him at full force, but fortunately, Chuck was there to grip his shoulder tightly and refrain him. It was as though he himself could already sense the tension in the air.
Chuckling lightly, Jack rambled on. "So what's on the agenda, nephew? I say we paint the town red, do as the Bass' do."
Then, the fake concern was back on his face, as his voice dropped. "And tomorrow, we'll talk, yeah? About everything: Bart…what I did to you last year with Blair and Elizabeth. I…I was messed up back then, Chuck. I was jealous and hurt and for that I apologize."
He extended his hand out, but the young gentlemen knew that his honeyed words and overly contrite manner only served to lull their suspicions.
"Cut the bull shit, Jack. I know you set me up."
Chuck soaked up the shock that instantly appeared on his uncle's face. The bastard at least had the decency to act surprised, he thought darkly. However, it wasn't long until the arrogant grin found its way back on Jack's mouth.
"Finally figured it out, huh?" He drawled casually, no longer holding unto any pretenses at civility.
"You were working with Russell this whole time. You knew about the fire—knew what it meant to me," Chuck sputtered out, as his chest heaved.
Jack's face remained unmoved. "The daughter was a nice touch, eh? She's a vixen, that one. She just jumped at the chance to 'seduce and conquer' the great Chuck Bass. And you know what? All her hard work paid off. Russell just called to tell me that Raina's next in line for CFO."
Chuck looked away momentarily and tried desperately to hold unto his reserve. His nostrils flared as he spoke, "I get his end of the bargain, but what's yours? Why Thorpe?"
"Why not Thorpe?" Jack exclaimed with a devilish smirk. "He's the perfect pawn. He hates Bart just as much as I hate you."
"Haven't you destroyed me enough?" Chuck suddenly yelled. "Are you set on taking everything away from me?"
"No, Chuck, just the things that were never yours to begin with," Jack seethed, as he brought his face close to his nephew's in a threatening fashion.
"Well, you've lost," Chuck spat out, unaffected by his gesture. "I already sent the documents to Bass headquarters. Russell's offer will be rejected, and hell will have to freeze over twice before Raina can even think of getting that position."
Though his heart was racing, Chuck managed to draw a triumphant smile. "But most importantly, Uncle, once the board knows what you've done, how you've managed to put to shame the company my father built with his own two hands, they'll strip you of your current post and make sure you never get a job in any part of the world Bass has stake in."
It took Jack a moment to collect himself as he drank in his nephew's words. But somehow, to both Dan and Chuck's surprise, his condescending mirth had returned.
"That's quite the speech, Chuck," Jack declared patronizingly as he clapped his hands slowly and gaudily. "You only left out the part about your so-called evidence being wholly and undeniably circumstantial."
Chuck's breath suddenly hitched in his throat.
"Yes, the Thorpe's will probably lose their deal and be forced to leave town, but rest assured, I will come out of this entirely unscathed. You have no proof. Just some meetings and phone calls that your P.I. hastily dug up."
"Well, I'll still tell everyone the truth!" Chuck stammered.
"Do you really think the senior board members at Bass will listen to a glorified amateur, who's half their age and has a fondness for skipping town whenever he pleases? It wouldn't be the first time after all. Face it, Chuck, you're not cut out for this. Your legacy is nothing but an elaborately gift-wrapped box of nepotism."
"You c-can't just—"
"Who's going to listen to you, huh?" Jack taunted with a cruel laugh. When Chuck didn't respond, he prodded him even more. "What—is the coward a mute too? Tell me, who's going to listen to you?"
"Actually," Dan suddenly spoke up, ignoring the way his legs trembled as both heads turned to face him. "Everyone will."
With adrenaline pumping in his blood, he pulled out the cell phone he had been using to record the whole conversation with and waved it around for both men to see. "Especially when there's credible evidence to back him up."
Chuck's face instinctively broke out into a cheeky grin, while his uncle on the other hand stared back, completely aghast.
"Y-you recorded this?" Jack demanded unsteadily, as his knuckles grew white.
"Yup," Dan replied with a satisfied smirk. "And now I'm sending it to Lily, who I'm certain will make sure that it gets the proper publicity." Without giving it any further thought, he pressed, "Send," the action sending bolts of exhilaration down his spine.
When he finally looked up from his cell phone, Dan found himself locking eyes with Chuck Bass. He saw the gratitude in them, however faint.
"You bastard!" Jack yelled, suddenly lunging at him.
But before he could even lay a hand on him, Chuck blocked his line of vision and hit him square on the jaw.
Jack stumbled unto the ground almost instantly, crying out in pain.
He was already staggering to his feet, when Chuck hovered over him and spat out, "You're done here, Uncle."
"How do you even drink this stuff?" Dan asked, making a face as he examined Chuck's open flask, the contents of which he had unknowingly consumed.
"I'm sorry if it doesn't meet Brooklyn standards," Chuck drawled sardonically.
"You know, I thought hanging out with Blair would thicken my skin a bit, but nope, you proved me wrong."
He and Chuck were now perched on the indoor balcony overlooking the rest of Gare du Nord, mostly to digest what had happened earlier but also partly because Chuck insisted. It had a "calm feel to it," he said.
Dan's first response was to arch his eyebrow; "calm" was the last word he would use to describe one of the busiest train stations in Western Europe, where crowds of foreigners and businessmen thronged every inch of it. But after a couple of sips from Chuck's flask, which Dan surmised was his version of saying "Thank you," he, too, slowly began to feel more at peace.
"A Humphrey-Waldorf friendship," Chuck mused expressionlessly, as he grabbed the flask from Dan's hand. "Didn't think the world would ever be ready for that. But I guess it makes sense."
Curious, Dan prompted him to continue. "What makes you say that?"
"It was bound to happen. You both love film and art, have real academic endeavors. And the Cabbage Patch dolls should've been an indication back then."
Dan let out a laugh. "You know what, Chuck? You're probably the first person to say that."
Chuck smirked.
"No, seriously. My dad thought I'd gone mad; Blair's minions were pretty much shell-shocked, and Serena…" Dan suddenly broke out into a grin.
Chuck narrowed his eyes at him. "How did my sister take it?"
"She was livid," He replied, not even bothering to hide the dopey smile on his face.
"Thanks to Blair's scheming, I presume?" Chuck asked, a small smile akin to nostalgia grazing his lips.
Dan nodded somberly, realizing that this was the first time all evening that he'd seen Chuck Bass let out a genuine smile. "You really know her, huh?" He asked him quietly.
Chuck studied Dan's face for a moment. After a long pause, his gaze settled on the open flask in his hand as if it were the source of all his answers. "I know her better than I know myself," he said vacantly, before swilling down a healthy gulp.
Shaking his head, Dan turned his eyes back to the distance. He'd never understand those two, he said to himself.
Sighing, he decided to continue, "Well, now that we've put to rest your pathological liar for an uncle, all we have to do now is patch things up with you and Blair."
Chuck's mood immediately darkened. "Just like that I remember exactly why I hate you."
"You love her. And she, against her better judgment, loves you. It's so simple. You two just decide to cloud everything with drama and schemes and…on occasion my sister," Dan added in, unable to help himself.
"Humphrey," Chuck warned, throwing in an icy glare for good measure. "I gave you an invitation to drink not to talk."
But midway through his response, an idea emerged in Dan's head. Excited, he started rifling through his pocket. "Hold that thought." He reached for his wallet and, with giddy excitement, unfolded two wrinkled slips of paper. "Here, take these."
"'Joseph Beuys Guggenheim exhibit,'" Chuck read aloud, furrowing his brow at the two tickets that were haphazardly deposited in his palm. "What am I supposed to do with these?"
"It's one of the exhibits Blair and I are set on attending next week," Dan explained chirpily, "I think you should take her instead. It's simple, easy, casual. Not at all along the lines of your weird 'Chuck and Blair, Blair and Chuck' vibe—which, frankly, gets you two nowhere these days. I figure you could put these tickets to better use."
"You seriously think me taking Blair to an art exhibit would magically make everything better?" Chuck countered in a deadpan tone.
"No, but it's a good start. And it's the best advice I got, so take it or leave it."
Strange as the idea was, Chuck found himself conceding, because whether he openly admitted it or not, Dan was right. The only determinate thing left in his relationship with Blair was toxicity, and all his attempts to bring things back as to how they were before had failed thus far.
Suddenly, as if he were deliberately in the midst of conjuring good memories—perhaps out of a sudden need to balance out the unpleasant ones that were currently occupying his thoughts—his mind drifted back to their brief moment at the steps of the Metropolitan Museum of Art. It was simple, easy, casual. He remembered laughing for the first time in a long time. He remembered the way her lips curved into a goofy smile and the shrill in her voice as she accused him of destroying her skirt back in sixth grade. Then, just as they were settling back into their usual exchange of banter, reality reared its ugly head, and soon, he and Blair were jostled back to their muddled mess.
It was at that point when Chuck's memory ended, his mood suddenly darkening all over again.
With only a terse nod as his response, he silently stuffed the two tickets in his pocket and focused his gaze back at the distance. Dan raised his eyebrow, curious as to his sudden mood shift. But before he could prod the brooding figure, his phone silently vibrated in his pocket. In a clandestine fashion, he tilted his body away and tried to read the text, hoping not to catch Chuck's attention. His eyes immediately widened when he reached the end of the message.
"OK, I'm just going to go the, er, toilette. I'll be right back," Dan said uneasily, as he strode away without so much as another word.
Blair let out a sigh of exhaustion.
Immediately after landing, she and Serena were thrust with a long list of things to do.
For one thing, Blair had to drop by Eleanor Waldorf's atelier earlier that afternoon, partly to say "hello" but mostly to assure her mother that her impromptu trip to Paris was not in any way a result of "a mid-life crisis." Then, if that wasn't harrowing enough, Cyrus came along and insisted that she and Serena join him for some coffee. What was supposed to be a light and easy caffeine fix turned out to be a long, torturous ride to some obscure, dingy part of town that Cyrus swore with all his life was home to the best French roast he "ever had." With only a few hours left to prepare for Louis' dinner plans that evening, the two were forced to drive back all the way to the other side of the city just to make it in time for their dress fittings with Eleanor.
So now, with clasped hands, giddy smiles, and two couture gowns—a coral, Grecian number for Serena and a dark velvet gown with heavy floral embroidery for Blair—the two found themselves comfortably wedged in a town car with Louis, who, too, was aptly dressed for the occasion. After all, this wasn't any other gala; the crème de la crème of France, so to speak, were to be in attendance, from French diplomats and President Sarkozy to members of Europe's oldest royal families. Louis promised Blair all of these things, including an introduction to his mother, Princess Sophia Grimaldi herself.
Now and then, however, as Louis would shoot excessively comforting glances in her direction, Blair couldn't help but be overcome with a sudden feeling of uneasiness. Like he knew something she didn't.
Similarly, Serena would squeeze her hand from time to time and give her that look, which was an odd mixture of sheepishness and supportiveness. Whatever it was, it filled Blair's stomach with even more knots and twists.
But before she could further scrutinize their odd behaviors, the car came to a slightly screeching halt. And since she was wedged between Louis and her best friend, she had to crane her neck towards the window to see where they were.
Blair's mouth instantly fell.
There was no red carpet, no flashing cameras, no limos depositing well-dressed men and women.
Instead, there were honking cars, drifting backpackers, and businessmen whizzing past crowds.
She was still gaping, as Louis opened the door and helped her out of the car. She was now standing across from the entrance of Gare du Nord station, a place she was positive she would never visit again. In an instant, memories flooded her head, one by one replicating the night she had first stopped Chuck from running away.
"What are we doing here?" She demanded breathlessly. She looked from Serena to Louis and then back again at the old building.
"Last summer, you told me you were running away from your real life back in New York," Louis said with a twinkle in his eye. "Well, Blair, I think it is time you stop running. The man Serena spoke of, he is in that train station as we speak."
"I can't believe you. Is that why you invited me here? Serena, you—"
"Yes, me. And Dan too. He's inside with Chuck," Serena said with an encouraging smile.
"Dan's in Paris?" The brunette exclaimed in surprise.
"I am."
Immediately, all three faces turned towards the figure standing behind them.
"You! You're supposed to be in Hudson!" Blair cried disbelievingly, pointing a fierce finger at his direction.
"I may have gotten a little sidetracked," Dan joked, as he walked over to shake Louis' hand and give Serena a one-arm hug.
"Look, I don't know what you people are up to but this is not funny!" Blair declared, purposely interrupting their sudden display of camaraderie.
Serena smiled faintly. "Chuck doesn't know you're here."
"What do I care? I'm not going in there, S. It was his decision to run away. He doesn't want my help. And he's hurt me way too many times…"
"We know," Dan said solemnly as he walked over to grip her shoulders reassuringly. "There's no excuse for the things he did to you. He's reckless. He's a coward. He runs away and doesn't think about the repercussions. But Blair…you're running away too. You've been running away from what your heart's been telling you this whole time."
Then, his face softened when he noticed her eyes tear up. "You can find every reason not to walk in that station. You can point out all his flaws and say that he'll never change…but we both know that the real Blair Waldorf, the woman who never cowers away from anything—that Blair Waldorf would strut in that station with her head held so high that everything else was made beneath her."
"WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU?"
Jolted out of his reverie, Chuck immediately went still. It took everything in his power to turn around and face the source of the thunderous voice, but the moment he did, he thought his heart would explode.
She was here.
Wearing the most elaborate and intricate garment and the most infuriated expression, Blair Waldorf was actually here, standing before him, in Paris, France.
"Blair," He breathed out in surprise.
This was no dream. She was here in the flesh, looking more beautiful than he remembered. Suddenly, Chuck began unconsciously closing the gap between them, utterly helpless to his sudden desire to feel her in his arms.
But before he could come any closer, she held her hand out to stop him.
"Do you have any idea how embarrassing it is to be duped by Humphrey and Sunshine Barbie over there into going to this stupid country just to make you see the light?" She barked out.
"Blair, I…"
"—Or how crazy it's been back home, with Lily and your stupid company being in uproar, and Gossip Girl and the rest of Manhattan thinking that you had somehow fallen off the map?"
"Look, I can explain—"
"No, the only thing you'll be doing is getting on the next flight home! So pack your belongings, call your blonde femme légère—I don't care! Just go home, Chuck!"
"Now wait a second!" Chuck shouted desperately. He had forgotten just how stubborn she could be. "If you're referring to Eva, there is no Eva! It would be an understatement to say that I messed up, but whichever Gossip Girl post you got your information from, none of it's true. I didn't come here for Eva. We just ran into each other…She's engaged, Blair."
"And I'm sure you're now in mourning—"
"No!" Chuck exclaimed, raking a hand through his hair. "Look, she's going to marry some guy—some guy I don't even know, which further confirms that I know nothing about her, that, this whole time, she's been moving on with her life, completely unbeknown to me. She has a happy life ahead of her, Blair…and for once I'm going to let myself believe that I do, too."
She stared pointedly at him for a moment, and then brought her gaze to the floor. "So why'd you come here then?" She muttered quietly, deciding then and there to trust him.
Chuck let out a relieved sigh. "To be perfectly honest, I'm still asking myself that question. I could've gone elsewhere. I could've made sure that no one would find me. But I don't know; maybe a part of me wanted to be found this time."
"Yes, because you're a total masochist, and I have a lot of Air Miles," Blair pointed out.
Chuck laughed. "So are you going to add this to the list then?"
"What list?"
"The list of Chuck Bass' fuck-ups."
Almost immediately did she break out into a grin, "Please, I ran out of space on that thing a long time ago!" Then from under her eyelashes, she jokingly chided, "Selling me for a hotel took quite a few spaces."
Chuck burst into laughter, unable to stop himself. He knew it was awful and way too soon to laugh about, but he couldn't help himself. Blair, too, recognized the dark, twisted humor in her words, as she began to echo his laughter.
Her body grew warm at his smile. She always loved it when he smiled. He rarely did as it was, but when he did, she was sure it was for her and only for her.
When their laughter died off, she nervously bit her lip.
"But, seriously, Chuck. You should go home. Everyone's worried about you. Bass Industries is—"
"Safe. My company's safe…and I suppose I have Dan to thank for all that," Chuck said, visibly uncomfortable. Thanking Humphrey was still entirely too new to him.
Blair's eyes twinkled in amused understanding. "He's a good friend. I may hate him tremendously right now, but he's a good friend."
Chuck let out a small smirk. "Who would've thought Humdrum Humphrey to be so clever?"
"And Serena too!" Blair declared disbelievingly. "They're both outside, probably reveling in the afterglow of a well thought-out scheme."
They exchanged smirks for a moment, both grateful that any traces of ire and hostility from before were long gone.
Then, as though he couldn't hold it any longer, Chuck let out a sigh and stared intently into her eyes, momentarily getting lost in the sea of brown.
"Blair, I know what you said before…but if there's any chance at all, if you've had a change of heart…will you ever find it in you to forgive me?"
Blair's mouth fell and her heart began racing again. There was so much sincerity and trepidation in his eyes that for a moment, both feared what she would say. Quietly, she murmured, "I don't know." Because she knew she had to be honest with him—that after running away from her feelings for so long, she knew she had to finally own up to herself.
When Chuck took in her words, he felt the same wave of grief crashing over him. His gaze fell to the ground and all he could do was curse at himself. How could he possibly think that she'd forgive him just like that? He didn't deserve her forgiveness; he didn't deserve any part of her. He began to breathe heavily, when he felt her hand enclose against his in a firm grip.
Instantly, his back grew rigid, as he stared speechlessly at their clasped hands. When he finally looked up, he saw Blair's eyes twinkling in mischief.
"But…we have time," She said vaguely, the hint of a smile capturing her lips.
Chuck's face immediately softened.
"Well, during that time," He murmured breathlessly, as he involuntarily traced circles on her palm. "Do you mind accompanying me to an exhibit at the Guggenheim this Wednesday?"
"At a what?" Blair asked in a confused tone.
Her eyes widened as he extracted two crumpled pieces of paper from his pocket and placed it on her open palm.
Sure enough, they were tickets to a Guggenheim exhibit—to the Joseph Beuys exhibit to be specific. She furrowed her brow as she looked up at him with questioning eyes.
"I know you've been wanting to go," was all he said, his eyes glimmering under the dim light of the station.
"Yes…with Dan. He already bought the tickets," She said slowly.
A cross look briefly flashed across his face. He was getting mighty tired of all this "Humphrey" business. "Well, maybe you could go with me instead," he said a little sulkily.
Blair's mouth fell in shock. "You, Chuck Bass, want to go to a Joseph Beuys exhibit?"
Almost as if it were a reflex, Chuck's defensive side switched on. "Yes, is that so hard to believe?"
"Let me get this straight," Blair proclaimed, as she pulled away from him. "You're saying that Chuck Bass, the person who, in the third grade, boasted about going to the Louvre because he got to see the topless Venus de Milo up close, is actually serious about attending a German artist's exhibit this Wednesday?"
Chuck gaped at her, completely affronted. "First of all, I was eight at the time. And second, I don't know whether or not your Ivy-League Art History class has somehow done the impossible and made you even more of an art snob than you already are, or if perhaps you've just been spending far too much time with Brooklyn, but I'll have you know that I happen to like Joseph Beuys."
"Oh, really?" Blair challenged.
"Yes, really," Chuck snapped indignantly. "He's one of the world's most influential pedagogues of art. He…he showed art's potential to transform society. And for that, I have nothing but the utmost respect for his work and just generally can't wait to see it in person."
Blair roared with laughter. "Oh my God, stop! You're being ridiculous! Go back to 'Normal Chuck!'"
But the seriousness remained on his face.
"No, Blair, Dan's right," He protested through gritted teeth, "You deserve to be with a person who shares the same interests as you. If it's art and history that you want to base a relationship on, then I'll do my research. I'll go to exhibits with you, watch documentaries about French orangutans—I'll do whatever you want, just as long as I get to be the one to do them with you!"
The ardor in his words hung in the air. She was bereft of speech, and so was he. But just when he thought all hope was lost, she stepped closer to him with an inexplicable mixture of warmth and tenderness in her eyes. He held his breath, as she cupped his cheeks and positioned her face close to his, to the point that he could feel her breath on his skin. He closed his eyes momentarily to revel in her touch, when suddenly, out of nowhere, he felt her nails dig into his cheeks. She didn't give him a second to open his eyes, when she hurled an unexpected blow to his shin, courtesy of the satin Manolo on her foot.
Instinctively, Chuck let out a yelp, as spasms of pain throbbed down his leg. His masculine bravado was the last thing on his mind as he reached down and clutched unto his now bruised shin, letting out a string of curses that echoed throughout the station.
"What was that for?" He hissed sharply.
Impervious to the ire in his tone, Blair batted her eyelashes innocently. But as he noticed the overly sweet, dimpled smile on her face, Chuck had a sneaking suspicion that she was enjoying every wince and contortion of pain he let out.
"That was for being a complete idiot," She declared haughtily. "I deserve only the best, Chuck. And judging by the way you've practically trashed your closet"—Her eyes gave his attire a scathing once-over—"and used my love for modern German art in a half-assed attempt to one-up Cabbage Patch, I can see that all you've done is pretend to be someone you're clearly not."
Blair proceeded to fold her arms in annoyance.
"Don't you see that I want you completely as you are?" She asked incredulously, causing his eyes to widen. "I don't want Henry Prince or another Dan Humphrey. As crazy as it sounds, I don't event want a Grimaldi on my arm!"
"A Grimaldi?" He asked in perplexity.
"—The point is, Chuck…I want you. All of you and only you. If you have at least one shred of respect for me, you'd stick to being the man I fell in love with in that limo four years ago—nothing more, nothing less."
Heart racing, she paused for a moment and sighed.
"So…no, I don't want you to accompany me to the Joseph Beuys' exhibit on Wednesday. I don't want you to sit through documentaries about French orangutans with me either."
Gently, Blair took him by the hand and let her gaze fall on their interlaced fingers, his large, slightly calloused hand juxtaposing the softness and daintiness of hers.
"There's only one thing that I want from of you," she murmured, her tone softening, and her lips parting ever so slightly.
"And what's that?" Chuck breathed out, because he had learned too late that he had lost his voice.
"Kiss me, Chuck Bass."
And that he did. In one swift motion, the remaining gap between them was lost in their tight embrace, and Chuck's hands were cupping her burning cheeks, their lips locked with a passion so strong that it reverberated across their bodies. It was the kind of kiss shared only by the Greats—so much so that Chuck and Blair were suddenly Paul and Holly kissing under the rain; so much so that suddenly, they were Gatsby and Daisy locking lips as Nick sheepishly looked the other way; suddenly, they were Rhett Butler and Scarlet O'Hara; Odysseus and Penelope, Vronsky and Anna Karenina; Dexter Haven and Tracy Lord; Heathcliff and Cathy.
And as they watched the glowing couple from the distance, their own hands intertwined, the writer in Dan and the romantic in Serena decided then and there that yes, it really was all those kisses in one.
The end.
I'll have an epilogue on this thing by next week! Hope you guys liked the ending! :D