tampered | (no subject)

(no subject)

When; Evening, April 30th
Rating; PG
Characters; Blair

basstardchuck
Summary; After it all, they were still the only ones who knew each other best.
Log;

She must have forgotten to lock her apartment.

After staring at the slightly open door for awhile, Blair finally decided that the best thing to do would be to check if there was anything missing. She had a mind to call Arthur, in case the intruder was still inside, but soon remembered that the tournament was tomorrow and he could use all the rest he could get. Besides, treating a Crown Prince like a manservant was definitely not the way to go. She pushed the door open and went in.

The apartment was dark, just like the way she left it, and there were no signs of burglary. She walked as silently as she could, keeping her eyes and ears alert. Noticing the lights turned on in her bedroom, all the alarms in her head went off. She clearly remembered turning them off this morning. Her heart raced from the adrenaline, her breath held as she walked closer to the bedroom, but then she saw a patchwork polka dot scarf thrown on her sofa. Chuck Bass. She knew of no one else who would wear it.

Blair let go of her breath in relief, fear subsiding to mild annoyance. He knew perfectly that it would irritate her to no end to have him visit like this. Knowing Chuck, it was probably the main reason why he was here. She let out a huff, dropping her handbag on the sofa and stomping over to the bedroom.

She had expected the figure sitting on her bed, although the slumped shoulders looked uncharacteristic of him. She was more used to seeing him all smug and acting as if he was on top of the world --which he probably was but she would never admit it. "What do you think you're doing here?" She asked curtly, walking over to him.

The look on his face startled her. He looked almost sad, and those bags under his eyes made him look almost tired. Almost, he must be acting. Still she felt a sort of pain in her heart at the sight.

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He was slightly drunk, there was no denying it. The alcohol subdued the pain a little, but he was still painfully aware of the fact that he was alone now. The events of the day were still clear in his head, no matter how much he tried to make them go away.

Lilly, flaunting her Brooklyn beggar in front of everyone, at the funeral... There was a lot Chuck Bass could forgive and forget, but this was the ultimate betrayal. And then the files Bart's PI gave him... This was too much to take. He couldn't trust anyone, nobody would be there for him. Not anymore.

He didn't really remembered getting to Blair's, but it felt like the only place where he would be able to rest. With no reminders of his father, Van der Woodsens, Brooklyn nobodies... He wasn't on the best terms with Blair, but she said she loved him. It had to count for something.

He heard steps and Blair's annoyed voice asking him what he was doing there. He looked up at her. He tried to come up with a witty response, something to rile her up, make her bite back, make him feel like Chuck Bass again.

Nothing came to his mind.

"He's dead," he whispered instead and looked away. The reality came crushing. His father really was dead. There was no mistake about it. He was dead and now Chuck really was alone.

Blair had prepared herself for him to throw some well-chosen words at her, all designed to hurt, but the whisper had taken her back. That hurt more than any smarmy remark he could ever come up with, but that was no surprise to her.

She could not exactly tell who it was he meant, but she could guess. For all the fame and glamor, Chuck Bass only had very few people in his life, and fewer still that he genuinely cared about. Bart Bass was gone. She did not know what to do, or what to say. They were so used to this game of trying to destroy each other, of bringing the other down, that comforting was something alien. There were a million hateful things she could say in reply and none that could remotely heal.

So she did the only thing that she could, quickly gathering him in her arms, holding on to him so tight in fear that he might slip away. He smelled strongly of alcohol, but she could bear that for his sake. She wanted to let him know she really cared, that despite all the things she did, and he did, they were still friends. She would still be here.

Chuck closed his eyes. The warmth of Blair's body was slowly taking away the cold he felt. He didn't know what he was expecting to find here, but right there and then, he was just grateful she didn't throw him out. She had every right to do so.

Instead, she kept holding him, warm hand rubbing his arm. He reached up, touching her skin. Holding onto her arm like it was a lifeline. He couldn't say the words, but he hoped that she understood the silent plea. He didn't want to be alone. He wasn't ready to face the Upper East Side just yet. Or the world.

He allowed himself another moment, or two, of this silent comfort and he'll leave. Just another moment or two.

No, she was not letting him leave, not like this. With how drunk she knew he was, he could kill himself by simply walking out the balcony instead of the door. It sounded less funny than it should, knowing Chuck's affinity for taking the view from the top, and how hard he must take Bart's death. They say that the child who weeps the loudest is the one who had been most ungrateful to the parent, and she thought now that there was some truth in that.

But she did not blame him, could not. Self-absorbed, utterly hateful parents were the norm of their society, but the children still craved for attention. She wondered now if all his past antics were all done to keep reminding Bart that he had a son. And now it was all meaningless.

Blair held him tighter, because she could feel the cold too. She already knew all the darkest corners of him and she knew she still wanted to stay, because he also knew all of her and he stayed. "I'm here," she croaked, swallowing the lump in her throat. "I'm here."

"I can't go home," he whispered, still unable to let go of her. Home... Now it was just a place, full of complete strangers. People he had no connection with. Not anymore. And he didn't want to face Lilly again. If he did... He would say too much, possibly try to punch her lover again.

"If I see them together again, I might try to kill them..." he muttered, unaware of the fact that he actually spoke the words. Too lost in his emotions, trying to control them as much as he could.

Blair furrowed her brows, in worry over his blabbering and also in confusion. She knew he went home for awhile, that Bart is dead, as he said, but what did he mean by them? Serena and Dan? Eric and Jonathan? Either of them would make no sense at all.

She hushed him instead, muttering comforting words to his ear, rocking him back and forth like she would a brother. He should sleep off the alcohol first. She could hear the story tomorrow, when he was sober. "Stay," she said, "you should stay."

If he could not go home then he could stay with her for however long he needed. She would have a lot of explaining to do to Arthur, but she knew he would trust her. She could never forgive herself if he ended up hurting himself while he was like this. As for killing himself, she could not remotely imagine a life without Chuck Bass, and she was quite sure she did not want to.

He squeezed her hand, thanking her for saying things he wanted to hear. He wanted to stay. He needed to stay. Whether or not Eleonore Waldorf would let him stay in her daughter's bedroom was another story.

"Your mother will probably throw me out soon," he told Blair. "For crashing the party downstairs..."

He sat straight again, pulling out of her arms. Hating the cold that once again threatened to take over. He couldn't bring himself to look at Blair, knowing that she would be the only person who could see through his careful mask.

She thought he must be very drunk indeed, to be talking about her mother and a party when there were only them in the whole apartment.

Blair let him pull out of her arms, still sitting beside him and watching his every move. She had never seen him so haggard, so broken down. He had always seemed indestructible to her, and now he was here with no one else to go to, speaking nonsense. "There's only me here," she said carefully, in case the fact that he imagined a party strike him too hard.

She reached for his hand, taking it in hers and holding it tightly. "No one's throwing you out."

He couldn't not look at her hand holding his. It took a moment for Blair's words to finally get through to him. He frowned and turned his head, looking at the doorway. He listened for a second, but the place seemed completely quiet. No muffled sounds of conversations and laughter coming from downstairs. It really seemed like he and Blair were the only ones here.

Was he so drunk he imagined everything? He looked at Blair, confused. Then he started to look around. Blair's bedroom was one of those places he memorized long time ago. He knew the layout better than that of his own room... This... This room had nothing familiar about it, apart from being undeniably Blair's.

"Where..." he started but couldn't finish the question. "The City?" he asked, recalling a blurry memory, a dream he had after he came back from Yale. Was he so completely out of it, he was escaping to the imaginary world?
He looked down, Blair's hand was still holding his. That felt real, he squeezed it, reassuring himself.
The alcohol was messing with him.

Blair narrowed her eyes at him, trying to gouge the source of his confusion. She hoped it really was just the alcohol. "Yeah, the City," she said with a semblance of a nod, "you went away a couple of days ago, now you're back."

It must be horrible, to have his father die and then find himself back in the City. She never really knew how he felt about the place, but finding oneself in an unfamiliar place after such an ordeal would still be difficult. Either way, she hated seeing him helpless like this, she wanted him to be alright again so that they could go back to throwing snark comments at each other, always sure that it would never hurt either of them.

"Don't think about it," she managed a smile for him, squeezing his hand in return. "Why don't you get some sleep first?"

So it wasn't a dream... But Chuck had only vague idea of what his stay in the City looked like. He was too tired to distinguish the real memories from tricks his mind was playing on him.

He pulled Blair closer, afraid she might leave him alone. "Stay," he asked her quietly. She would keep him from going home. Or back to the Upper East Side, if the City really wasn't just a bad dream.

Arthur would understand, she kept thinking, of course he would. Chuck was a friend in need, and there was completely nothing between them. She would be completely honest, she told herself, she would tell him everything he wanted to know so that everything would be clear. She was doing nothing wrong.

Blair held him in return, "I won't leave."

He nodded. He didn't believe her, not really. But for tonight he could play along. He looked at the bed. Few minutes of sleep, that was all he needed. Blair would probably be able to give him that much.

He finally gave in and took his shoes off.

"Just a minute," he muttered and put his head on the pillow.

It smelled like Blair and he took a deep breath, before he realized he did it. Just a minute and he would leave her alone...

Blair watched him, concern clearly etched on her forehead. Chuck was never one to plead. Whatever he wanted he would claim for himself. The world was his and he never let anyone forget that. Yet now he was begging for a minute of her time, and instead of making her feel smug, it made her feel utterly sad. Everyone wanted so bad to see them fall, and that made her think that she should help him climb back up, now that he had fallen from the heights. They were birds of the same feather after all, no matter how fervently she might deny it.

She shifted herself onto the bed, lying down behind him, propping herself up on her elbow. He looked like he was already asleep, or he dozed off from all the alcohol he drank. Gently, she brushed strands of hair from his face. She wanted to go get changed, but he might wake up and freak if he found her gone. She did say she would stay. No, she would make sure he was really asleep first before going to change. She lied down, watching, thinking about what she could do to make it better.

But the only thought that came to her mind was how she had wanted to tell him she loved him in Tuscany, because it would be sweet and romantic and perfect. But then he never showed and she had wanted to die.

The sleep brought the long awaited rest. And when Chuck woke up few hours later, the pain he felt was somewhat smaller. Instead, even though he woke up in an unfamiliar place, he felt warm.

He opened his eyes and the events of the last few hours started to come back slowly. The funeral, calling Lilly a whore, burning the file with all her secrets, going to Blair's...
And somehow he ended up back in the City. With a different Blair holding him through the night. Blair who never told him she loved him.

He gently moved her arm and got out of bed. Slowly, doing his best not to disturb her. She was obviously asleep and he thanked God for small mercies.
He stood up and looked down at Blair. She looked peaceful and amazing.

Without thinking, he put blanket over her to keep her warm. He should leave, he was painfully aware of that. Didn't change the fact that he didn't want to.
He watched Blair sleep a moment longer before he decided enough was enough.

He was about to leave when something made him stop. He looked around and found a notebook, he tore one of the pages out of it and wrote a quick note, putting it next to Blair, on the pillow.

Thank you

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