July 7th, 2015
To the outside world, Chuck Bass was the picture of coldness and detachment. Emotions never seemed to touch him; his dark, sharp eyes were always obscured by a veil of indifferent boredom and his lips hardly ever curved into a sincere smile, something different from the arrogant, self-satisfied smirk he notoriously faced life with. He was famous for having no qualms. People would have described him – whether with admiration or fear – as a merciless, intimidating man, and he surely would have welcomed such a portrayal of himself with barely contained satisfaction and pride.
Though, behind the privacy of the walls of his townhouse, where he lived with his wife and son, he was a very different person. Genuine smiles and loving glances often showed on his face, revealing his most tender side and the happiness his heart was full of. There, in that place he liked to think of as his castle, he wasn't The Great Chuck Bass and he wasn't the threatening Mr. Bass: he was Chuck, sometimes Charles and, ever since nine months ago, he was daddy.
As a daddy, the usually rigid, controlled man had even learnt that he could sit on the carpet of his son's newly arranged and furnished playroom without cringing at the thought of crumpling the pastel blue trousers of his fine cotton summer suit.
And this is exactly how his wife found him, when she got back from work on that particularly hot July evening. The scene, although it might have looked shocking to many, didn't come as a surprise to her. Entering home, Blair had headed directly to Henry's playroom on the fourth floor, knowing that she would have found both him and Chuck there, as she had every day of the last two weeks, ever since the room had been completed. Playing on that carpet was a new habit they had soon fallen into.
She stood on the doorstep observing them. A wide grin spread across her face when she saw her husband placing a soft block over a tower of similar pieces and Henry joyfully clapping his hands.
Chuck smirked satisfied. "Do you like building?"
Henry squealed happily in response. Then, all of sudden, he decided that Chuck's still perfectly knotted tie was far more interesting than the cubes the man had been entertaining him with. He leaned forward and grasped it, pulling its end and laughing. Chuck let him enjoy with the silk strip, chortling, which made Blair giggle as well.
"Who knew you could be so careless with your ties," she commented to announce herself, as she entered the room. Chuck immediately looked up and smiled back at her. "I thought no one but you could even get close to them, not to mention touch them," she kept on, sitting down on the crème sofa and placing her briefcase next to her. Her husband's obsession with his clothes – and especially accessories – was something that still amused her, other than good material for teasing him.
Chuck shrugged, taking Henry in his arms and settling him on his lap, so that he could toy with the light lilac tie more easily. "He likes them," he simply stated, as if that was a reason enough to allow his son to ruin the delicate, precious fabric he usually cherished so cautiously. "How was work?" he asked her then, changing the topic.
Blair had gone back to work a month ago, but she had only gotten back to her full schedule over the last fifteen day. With the September New York fashion week getting close she was busier than usual and she tended to get home later than Chuck, which was an uncommon circumstance that she deeply despised, since she didn't get the chance to take care of her family the way she liked to. By the time she arrived, Henry had already eaten and was almost ready for his bedtime routine – a bath, a bottle of milk and then sleep.
"It's been a long day," she replied with a sigh, not hiding a gloomy note in her tone.
Chuck, being aware that she was having an hard time getting used to stay away from their son that long, nodded, his lips curving into an thoughtful smile. "Henry was perfectly taken care of," he said, letting her know that he understood what was bothering her. "He had already eaten his dinner with his nanny when I got back. Right, Henry?" he glanced down at the baby again and gently turned him so that he could look in his mother's direction. "Tell mom that you were a good boy while she was busy with work," he pointed at Blair and Henry, following his gesture, beamed at her, clumsily stretching his arm towards her to indicate her as well.
"I'm sure he was," Blair stood up and stepped over to where her husband and son were sitting, determined to take Henry and get him ready for bed. Usually it was something Chuck liked to do, but she had spent such a little time with the baby today that she was feeling like taking his place for once. "I wonder when he'll actually say something," she added then in a blasé voice, letting the words hang, as she sat down next to her husband.
It was something she liked to discuss a lot lately, impatient to know which was going to be Henry's first word. Much to Blair's dismay, everyone was convinced that their son was going to call his father before her. According to their family, it was inevitable; Henry adored Chuck, in a way that, although she would have never admitted it, made Blair extremely jealous. No one managed to have his attention when Chuck was around. Whenever her husband entered a room, Henry demanded to be picked up, even when she was already holding him; he'd outstretch his chubby arms towards his equally enamored father and babble at him cheerily, before clinging to his neck. And at that point there was no way to convince him to leave that protective embrace he felt so safe into.
In spite of these signs, though, Blair kept on proudly affirming that there was no way her son wasn't going to say "mom" first, whenever she got the chance.
Chuck never replied; he preferred to keep his thoughts and expectations to himself. He had an inexplicable feeling that Henry was actually going to disappoint his mother and say "dad" first, but he had never voiced this sensation. He wouldn't even have dared to call it a hope. Even if he felt his heart swelling with bliss at the mere thought, he still wouldn't let himself believe that he was going to have the priceless privilege to hear Henry calling him before anyone else. Somehow, he didn't feel like he deserved such a joy.
At the same time, he knew better than to contradict Blair in these cases. He was following the same strategy he had used during the first months of Henry's life, which his wife had spent stubbornly denying the fact that their son was quite noticeably the spitting image of his father – except for the shape of his eyes, which he had inherited from her.
"He'll say something when he's ready, Blair," Chuck cut her off, wrapping an arm around her shoulder. He leaned over, capturing her lips in a furtive, stolen kiss to distract her.
Henry, never happy to be ignored by his parents, started jabbering loudly, using those incoherent sounds to draw their gazes. Blair interrupted the kiss pulling away from Chuck's mouth and grinned at their son. "Are you jealous, little Bass?" she laughed softly, reaching out to pick him from her husband's arms. "You're just like your father," she darted a playful glance at Chuck, who frowned. "He's incapable of sharing mom's attention."
Chuck's solemn reply to that joke ("Bass men do not share, Blair") got ignored. Henry had stolen all of his mother's attention, bringing his tiny hands to her face and giggling as she nestled him in a hug. She turned her head and kissed the petite palm cupping and patting her cheek, squeezing the baby in her embrace. "Let's go prepare your bath," she uttered softly as Henry wrapped his arms around her neck. "Mom will tuck you in tonight."
Chuck, knowing that she was longing for some time with their son, didn't object. He stood up, ready to help Blair do the same. He reached out to let her take his hand and, grasping it, she got up from the floor holding the baby.
Once Henry realized that his playing time was over, he started to fuss and whimper in protest, gesturing towards the other side of the big room that, even though maintaining the same regal style as the nursery, they had turned into a toys wonderland, a perfect place for their son to play surrounded by colorful paintings and family pictures.
"No, Hen," Blair shook her head, her eyes staring at the spot the baby was pointing at. "No giraffe. It's time for bed." Standing while holding on to the enormous stuffed animal that Nate had purchased for him last Christmas had become one of Henry's favorite games. He still couldn't walk, but they could tell that he was progressively getting close to that milestone and, being prepared, they had promptly made sure that each of the five floors of their townhouse had been properly child-proofed.
"Come on, Blair, let him be," Chuck interjected, an evident smirk on his lips. "Five minutes won't make any difference. He's getting more confident standing up, we need to encourage him."
Blair huffed. "Spare me the excuses you give yourself to spoil him, Bass," she said strictly, turning to face him again. He had a falsely innocent, puzzled expression on his face that made her roll her eyes. "You just don't like to hear him whine. You turn soft. Which is something that, I can assure you, he already understands perfectly well."
Chuck, who was trying to smooth the now crumpled fabric of the suit without success, stopped rubbing his hands on the trousers and wrinkled his forehead. "I'm not soft," he retorted. "I'm not soft at all," he repeated more stubbornly when he realized that his wife wasn't paying attention to his firm statements. She was already pacing to the door. "You forget who you're talking to," he kept on protesting, following her out of the room and into the hallway.
Blair's only comment was an amused, ironic laugh. She headed to the elevator they had recently gotten installed without turning to look back at him; soon both she and a still fussing Henry had disappeared behind the gilded automatic doors. Chuck stood still in the middle of the corridor for a couple seconds, before shaking his head and making his way to the stairs instead. He was going to defend his dignity over dinner, he told himself, an offended frown still darkening his expression.
An hour later, which Chuck had spent trying to keep himself busy with work, his desire to proudly prove his lack of softness had ended up fading, replaced by an indefinite sense of melancholy.
In spite of his good intentions not to intrude Blair and Henry's time together, he was struggling to keep himself at a distance. He was actually starting to feel a bit jealous. Preparing Henry for bed and then watching him falling asleep was the one moment of the day he always looked forward to with more enthusiasm. It was a ritual that gave him a sense of immense serenity and that he cherished; he always did his best to get home in time for it and he couldn't help but feeling terribly guilty whenever he didn't manage.
He missed it and he had a feeling that Henry missed it too; just like his mother, the baby was a creature of habit and, knowing it, they always tried to respect the routines they had so carefully gotten him used to.
Chuck checked on his watch and sighed. It was almost half past eight. A slight, unconscious smirk curled his lips at the thought that reminding Blair that dinner was about to be served was a perfect excuse to join her and Henry. He put aside the notes about tomorrow's meetings that he had been going over and slid his chair back, standing up. He came out of his home office and crossed the hallway in the opposite direction to where he knew his family was.
In a bunch of seconds he was entering the nursery. He closed the mahogany door behind him to keep the bright sunset light which was gilding the corridor from dissolving the semi-darkness of the room and took a couple of steps towards his wife.
Blair, who was sitting on the rocking chair in front of the four-poster crib Henry was already settled down into, closed the book she had been reading to the baby and eyed Chuck for a second. She then heaved a long, resigned sigh. "He was waiting for you," she said in a low tone, indicating the crib with a nod. "He's obstinately refusing to give in to sleepiness."
Chuck glanced down, not able to repress a small, timid smile as he approached the crib. He was well aware of the fond, affectionate expression showing on his face now, but this time he didn't do anything to hide it. "I would have come sooner, I just thought you wanted some time alone with him," he confessed, looking down at Henry, who was now babbling softly.
His son's big, dark eyes were still open, but Chuck could tell that he was about to fall asleep from the way he was holding on to the light sheet his mother had tucked him under. Even if only half-awake, Henry smiled back at him and Chuck reached out stroking his soft cheek.
Blair stood up and came close to her husband. She slid an arm around his waist, squeezing his hip. "Oh, but we knew daddy would have showed up eventually, didn't we, Henry?" Although she spoke to Henry, she guided her free hand to Chuck's face, stroking his jaw, a simple gesture to tell him that she didn't mind the intrusion. "Because we both know daddy can't stay away from you. He's too jealous and he does turn soft around you, even if he's too proud to admit it."
There was something of a smile in Chuck's eyes and Blair thought she had caught a certain hint of acceptance in the long, cryptic look her he shot her, but she never got to hear him saying that she was right. Her son took that satisfaction away from her, choosing that very moment to bless them with a precious gift; the random syllables he had been jabbering for a couple of months finally came together to form a word full of clear meaning – literal and not.
"Da-da," Henry called his father for the very first time through a sleepy, placid smile that said a lot about how loved and secure he felt there, under his parents' dazed gazes. They stood speechless in front of him, listening as he repeated the word again and again, willing to let them know that he was very serious about what he wanted – which was clearly Chuck to pick him up. "Dada," he pronounced again, sitting up and stretching his arms towards him. "Dada-dada."
Chuck, his lips still parted in surprise, turned his head slightly to look at Blair, eyes wide open and already glistening with tears. "He said 'dad'," he uttered in a shaky, amazed murmur that sounded more like a question than a statement, as if he was looking for a confirm that he had heard right.
"I think he did," Blair replied weakly. She had an indecipherable expression on her face, but Chuck didn't notice the disappointment she was trying to hide. He could only focus on the sweet sound of that syllable repeated twice.
He moved a step forward closer to the crib, freeing himself from Blair's hold and leaning over. Dad, the amazing word escaping his son's lips so effortlessly now, was such a foreign, blurry term to Chuck; he had used it only a few times in his life – Bart had always been "father" to him – and never with the certainty that the person he had called for would have answered.
But Henry was never going to say it in vain, he told himself, picking him up. He would have always answered him, reached out to him and offered him his support – a hug or a comforting chat, a paternal pat on his back or a sincere advice. "That's me, Henry. I'm here, I'm your dada," he whispered to his son. He placed a kiss on the top of his dark haired head. "Dada loves you so much."
Next to them, Blair wiped a moved tear away from her eye. The scene she was witnessing was more powerful than the natural, inevitable disenchantment she had felt realizing that Henry hadn't called her first. It had warmed her saddened heart almost immediately. Chuck's voice, even if broken by the emotion she could see blatantly on his stunned face, was so joyful to manage to shake her and force her to take the step that separated her from him.
When he looked back at her, beaming, a bright, instinctive smile curved her lips; a single tear of pure happiness was streaming down his face as well, slow and as beautiful as his unconcealed delight. She reached out and rubbed it away from his cheek. "I knew in my heart he was going to say dad before mom," she told him, admitting it both to herself and to him, her free arm clinging tight to his waist once again. She moved the hand still cupping Chuck's face to Henry's head and ruffled his thick hair. "He's been a daddy's boy from day one."
Chuck, who didn't seem to have the words to reply, bent his head and kissed her in a way that didn't have the greed and possessiveness his lips always longed for hers with. It was a gentle, delicate kiss; a kiss that spoke to her about devotion and gratitude – for the unexpected life she had granted him, for believing that he could be a person worthy and ready to be called dad.
The deep, almost exclusive relationship Henry and Chuck shared was a fascinating truth that she would have had to deal with all her life long, Blair accepted yet again with a sigh when they parted. Now and then, unavoidably, she would have denied it and given in to jealousy, but most of the times the special bond between her son and her husband would have made her feel proud and, most of all, thankful for having had the chance to build a family with such a wonderful, loving man.
Notes:
[1] Most of babies say 'mom' first, I know. I didn't! I said 'dad', and my mother still likes to complain about it. Anyways, in my head-canon, Chuck and Henry have this kind of really close and even exclusive relationship and, according to this idea, it only made sense that Henry's first was going to be 'dad'.
[2] Both Chuck and Blair are jealous people and yes, I do imagine Blair being a bit jealous – as well as Chuck, who eventually can't renounce to the rituals he built with his son. I hope this didn't offend anyone; it is, after all, just a point of view on two flawed characters.
[3] English is not my first language, I'm Italian. I apologize for possible mistakes.
[4] A big thank you to my dear Daphne for trusting me to write about this beautiful and delicate topic.