I won't suffer, be broken
Get tired, or wasted
Surrender to nothing
I'll give up what I started and stop this
From end to beginning
A new day is coming
And I am finally free
Runaway, runaway
I'll attack
-30 Seconds to Mars-
When one of the wealthiest men in Manhattan, and consequently the world, who just so happens to be a notorious womanizer has a bachelor party, one can safely assume it is going to be an event to remember. Most likely, this is not going to be a one night only affair with a keg and a stripper, but a week long romp across continents featuring the most lavish locales, an abundance of exotic and very willing women, and enough drunken debauchery to make the devil himself blush. It's what one expects, and in the Upper East Side, those expectations are usually met and often exceeded.
Except, of course, when they aren't. At all. Because that wasn't the goal. Because the groom actually loves his fiancée and had messed up with her too often already and didn't want to give her any possible excuse to balk again, not ever, and especially not days before the wedding.
So at this particular bachelor party in Monte Carlo, the scantily clad women are nowhere to be found. There is no alcohol overindulgence, and no inappropriate activity of any kind. There are, however, meetings with various members of the hotel's managerial staff, inspections of their facilities, examinations of their bookkeeping.
Because to Bart Bass, 'bachelor party' is apparently synonymous with business trip.
Naturally, Chuck had known this already. He knew his father. All work, no play. But he'd hoped that when his father's secretary had faxed over the itinerary, it had meant more than Bart wanting to bring his son along to pour over receipts and tax records, so he could micromanage him and prevent him from screwing up his relationship with Lily while he was absent. Foolishly, Chuck had thought that perhaps the slip of paper carefully detailing the travel arrangements for their trip had signaled that he'd have a chance to spend quality time with his dad. That they'd be able to share a drink, or lounge by the pool, or play a round of golf together, as father and son, while the Bass family still consisted of two, Bart and Chuck, before it expanded to become Bart and Chuck and Lily and Eric and Serena.
He should have known better.
Bart was always so stiff and formal with him. Constantly a father. Never a dad. And this trip had proved no exception. Truthfully, he'd been surprised he'd been allowed to go at all. After Bart had unceremoniously kicked him out, he had assumed his invitation had been rescinded along with being his father's best man. He'd been wrong, obviously, as the fax had so impersonally informed him. It hadn't been an apology or a request for him to move back into the penthouse. It hadn't even been an olive branch really. More like a twig. But it had been enough. For him it may as well have been the whole goddamned tree! It gave him hope, encouraged him to dream that this time things would be different between them, that maybe this mini vacation would be a new start for them both.
But no. The trip had ended without them so much as spending more than a few strained meals in each other's company and now they were somewhere over the ocean on the way back to New York, flying in silence because Bart had taken sleeping pills to minimize his jet lag upon arrival. It's something Chuck was prone to doing himself, but still he cannot help but be resentful. Even on the ride home, his father refused to converse with him.
Fucking typical.
Climbing out of his seat, Chuck makes his way to the bathroom. In the cramped compartment, he splashes water on his face and scrutinizes his reflection in the tiny mirror. The white dress shirt. The expertly tailored suit. The paisley silk knot at his throat.
He looks good. For someone flying, he looks extremely good. And yet, he doesn't really look like himself. His appearance is different.
It's the tie, he concludes with a grimace. It isn't his usual bowtie, but a real tie. Knotted and straightened and clipped to his chest in a conscious imitation of his father, in the hope that he'd notice, that those steely blue eyes would hold something other than disappointment for once because the past week had been emotionally draining. Because there was only so much disapproval Chuck could stand before it wore him down and made him feel worthless. Because he'd been stupid enough to think the bachelor party might be an opportunity for them to bond.
Tearing the offending tie off, he tosses it into the sink and is making his way back to his seat when his cell rings. Glancing at the caller ID for a second, he flicks the phone open with a smile.
"Hey little brother," he greets. "What's up?"
Eric's voice comes over the line, soft and strangely detached. "They know."
"Huh?"
"They know," Eric repeats. "Mom and Serena. They just found out."
"Found out what?"
"That… that I'm gay," Eric whispers, some emotion causing his pitch to rise, making him sound terribly young.
A tingle of foreboding uncoils in Chuck's belly, but he tries to disregard it, praying that he's just hearing the younger boy's half of the conversation incorrectly due to the distance. "So you told them then?" he asks.
"No," Eric says. "No, Georgina did."
"What?!?" Chuck exclaims, and if his father hadn't been sleeping a drug induced sleep, he would have certainly woken up. "Georgina's there?"
"Yeah, she came over for dinner," Eric confirms. "And she just announced that… that I'm gay in front of everyone and… and it was bad."
Goddamn it.
Chuck should've known the hell spawn hadn't given up. That getting rid of her had all been too easy. That the reason his private investigators couldn't locate her abroad wasn't because she'd adopted a new identity, but because she hadn't ever left! She'd been hiding out in the city somewhere, biding her time until a suitable opportunity for destruction presented itself, and rather than come against him directly, she'd gone after those around him, those less able to defend themselves, those trusting innocent bystanders… like Eric.
Sadistic bitch.
Why the hell hadn't he anticipated she'd do something like this? He'd been careless, had assumed that if Georgina went after anyone other than him, it would be Serena and so he'd only prepared for that eventuality, calling the reformed party girl almost daily while he'd been in Europe to make sure the whore wasn't using his absence to wreak havoc upon her former protégé, and all the while the evil slut was just waiting to go after his unsuspecting little brother.
God fucking damn it!
This is all his fault. He'd let himself become distracted by the prospect of one-on-one time with his father during the bachelor party and vain attempts to make amends with Blair before he'd left for the trip, and now Eric is suffering for it, and it isn't like either scenario had panned out anyway. The bachelor party had been a total bust and his every attempt to apologize to Blair had been met with frosty silence, murderous glares, and on one occasion when he had made the mistake of grabbing her arm to prevent her from storming off so she'd be forced to stay and listen to him, a rather impressive bruise on his shin, and now Eric, open and honest and accepting Eric, had been shoved out of the closet by Chuck's own personal nemesis way before he was ready to be out.
"It was really, really bad," Eric continues, his words interrupting Chuck's mental rant at himself. "Mom… she wouldn't even look at me."
"Is she still there?" Chuck grinds out, raking his fingers through his hair, wishing desperately that he was there with Eric right now instead of trapped over the Atlantic in a private jet.
"Who? Mom?" Eric asks, his confusion evident.
"No," Chuck replies quickly. "Georgina. Is she there still?"
"I don't think so," Eric mumbles. "I'm in my room, but I'm pretty sure she left."
"Good," Chuck sighs, relieved that the bitch wasn't there inflicting more damage. "Now, about your mom," he says, switching back to the matter at hand. "Lily loves you. You know that. She was probably just caught off guard and wasn't ready to be told yet."
Eric snorts bitterly. "Well, I wasn't ready to tell either."
"Yeah, I know," Chuck winces. "I'm sorry about that. Georgina can be..."
"A bitch?" Eric deadpans.
"My thoughts exactly," the older boy laughs. Then his voice turns serious. "But you let me tell her that, okay? And if she happens to come back to the suite tonight, you call me and put her on the phone. Got it?"
"Sure."
"And don't worry about your mom," Chuck asserts. "Give her time. She'll come around. You'll see."
"If you say so," Eric remarks skeptically.
"I know so," Chuck counters, praying that it is true. "Now try to get some sleep. Our plane lands in a few hours and I'll be there first thing in the morning."
"Yeah, okay," Eric murmurs, nearly inaudible.
"Hang in there. Goodnight, Eric."
"Bye."
After waiting for the line to go dead, Chuck slowly shuts his phone. It is only once the mobile clicks closed that he realizes the hand holding it is shaking with barely contained rage, his knuckles white and bloodless. Tension radiates along his whole body, utter loathing churning his stomach, making him taste bile at the back of his throat, and as he swallows the acid back down he comes to a decision.
Something seriously needs to be done about Georgina Sparks.
A/N: Sorry for the shorter chapter. I'm a stickler about keeping canon details correct, and there are some major continuity issues between episodes 1.16 and 1.17 that I just did not want to deal with. But I promise the next chapter will more than make up for the shorter length or this one. Non-judging Breakfast Club anyone? :D
