Never Be Free Chapter Nine
Title: Never Be Free
Author: Noirreigne
Pairing: Blair/Chuck & Blair/OC
Rating: R for language and smut.
Spoilers: Through 2x17
Summary: Except you enthrall me, never shall be free. Future Fic.
Previous Chapters
Blair bustled around the London townhouse, blowing out the candles the staff had lit for dinner. Hitting the light switch, she removed all hollows and tender shadows from the room, flooding it with bright artificial light. She huffed in exasperation as she noticed that the place settings for dinner had been placed intimately close to each other. Stubbing her Manolo clad toe against the walnut dining room table leg, she gathered up the heavy, solid silver and monogrammed, bone china. Hurrying, she rushed to arrange the place settings at the opposite ends of the table, as far apart as possible. Normally when she and Cedric were staying here, they dispensed with the formality of dining across from each other at the antique, twelve-foot, trestle table. Instead they chose to sit next to each other, making it easier to share dishes and converse. Tonight, however, talking and lingering over dinner were the last things she wanted to do. The plan was to dine as quickly as possible, fulfilling her obligation of dinner with Chuck. To further facilitate this, she had ordered the meal to be served family style, and she had made sure to include the most vulgar dishes she could think of. There would be no lingering in between courses, no excuse for in-depth conversation. As soon as dinner had been eaten, her end of the contract would be fulfilled and she would be able to send him scuttling out the door and back to the web he came from.
Promptly at seven he arrived, entering the room as the last chime sounded on the old mantel clock.
“You’re on time,” she said disappointedly, glaring at him in disapproval. She couldn’t help moistening her lips a little as she took in his appearance. As always, he was perfectly attired in a black Italian custom suit, with his usual touch of rebellion in the form of a lavender paisley ascot and pocket-handkerchief.
“Did you really think I would miss even one second of the time you so graciously allotted for our dinner?” Chuck said, smirking. “There seems to be a missing component to this little affair. Where is your husband?” He looked around the room, faking wide-eyed confusion. “I can’t believe he would miss dinner with his wife’s cherry popper, the plucker of her lady flower, the guy who stamped her vadge badge-“
“Enough, Chuck.” Blair hissed, her eyes narrowing dangerously.
“Has he given up already, then? Given us his blessing?”
“Hardly.” Glaring at him, she took a deep breath before seating herself at the table; a subtle hint, proving she was far too mature to give into his juvenile behavior. “Cedric will not be joining us. He is not doing very well today. He had another round of chemotherapy yesterday.” With a trembling hand she reached out for her crystal water goblet, hiding her anguish in the mundane ritual of drinking water.
His face fell slightly, all malicious joy fading from the cynical lines in his face, tiny pinpricks of pity in his eyes. “I’m sorry, Blair.”
She nodded, looking at him in puzzlement over the edge of her goblet. To say she was shaken at his unusual consideration of her feelings was a shocking understatement. His momentary kindness tore at wounds already raw and throbbing. “I didn’t expect to see you. I thought you would give up, find something new and shiny to distract you,” she reasoned, stiffly returning her glass to the table.
“Ah, yes, I suppose you are referring to the bevy of beauties that have constantly hounded my every step, throwing themselves at me. While I do have quite the reputation in the bedroom, never before have I had so many women begging for a night alone with me. I’ve been practically forced to hire a bodyguard to keep them off me. Another one of your little games, my dear?” Striding confidently to the bar, he helped himself to a scotch, pouring the amber liquid into the waiting tumbler appreciatively.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” she grumbled.
“Really?” He raised one brow mockingly. “So it just conveniently happens that none of the very willing ladies sent my way happens to be brunette? I’ve had women of every race and every hair color, save one, practically salivating when I even look in their direction. Funny how none of them resembles you in the slightest: red heads, blondes, dark hair and light hair, but none with coloring that in any way resembles yours. What are you trying to prove, Blair?”
“Nothing,” she said sullenly, refusing to look him in the eyes. Her knuckles blossomed white as they gripped the arms of her walnut, Queen Anne chair.
Drinking deeply of his scotch, he drained the glass, his eyes never leaving her face. “My compliments to your husband. He has excellent taste in Scotch.”
Pouring another one, he slowly made his way to her side, standing behind her, as close as he could get without breaking the back of her chair. Leaning in, his lips hovered over her ear, his breath feathering the wispy curls that had escaped her tightly rolled chignon. “I think you’re deliberately trying to set me up to betray you and yet at the same time ensuring I don’t,” he chuckled. “Test me all you want Blair, send me a perfect copy of you right down to the La Perla’s. It won’t matter. You’re everything I’ve ever wanted, everything I’ve dreamed about and I won’t do anything to jeopardize our future. I’m not the same person you remember.”
“You’re exactly the same childish, selfish and arrogant asshole I remember. I have continuously made clear how I feel, but here you are, buying your way into my home,” she countered, her mouth pursed in frustration.
“I wouldn’t have to if you would just give me a chance.” His lips brushed across her earlobe like fairy wings, the muscular length of his body pinioning her to the dining room table.
Wavering, her body responding to his gentle attention, she focused her mind with sharp clarity on picturing him enjoying the attentions of every one of the very expensive prostitutes she had sent his way.
“You were supposed to sleep with at least one of them. They were the most skilled and expensive I could find,” she said with irritation, her fingers now clasped tightly together in her lap. “They should have been all over you. I offered a bonus to the first one to prove she slept with you.” She couldn’t help the sharp pang of desire that flooded her, crashing into her from the top of her head to the tips of her painted red toes as he continued his tender attention to her ear, the hollow behind it and the tender curl of sensitive earlobe. Her eyes fluttered closed, her mind already drifting into a world filled only with Chuck and the pleasure he gave. “Those women were gorgeous. What was wrong with them?”
“They weren’t you.” He reverently placed a kiss on her shoulder, slipping the Harry Winston necklace from the Opera Benefit around her neck before she had a chance to notice and protest. “I see you remembered to save a place for my gift,” he smirked.
She shuddered as the tiny clasp clicked shut like the door of a prison cell, her heart fluttering like a trapped bird in an ornate, Victorian cage. “My lack of jewelry had nothing to do with you. I just happened not to have anything that matched my outfit.”
“Your dress is black, Blair,” he pointed out, amused.
“Perfectly fitting for our little dinner of the damned,” she said tartly.
“I’m perfectly willing to spend eternity in hell if I can spend my life with you.”
“Chuck-”
“Don’t, ” he interrupted. “Let me enjoy this moment for just a minute before you start with the arguing again.” He painted her neck with kisses, lingering in just the right spots to set her skin aflame, to make her weak in the knees.
“Chuck,” she sighed. Her body, thick like molten lava, pulled devastatingly slowly and reluctantly away from him.
He leaned in further to place a kiss like a melting snowflake on her delicate shoulder, before burying himself once more in her neck. Inhaling deeply her sweet and familiar scent, he acceded to her plea, giving in to maintain the uneasy peace that temporarily lay between them. He counted the seconds, promising himself five blissful moments before he untangled himself from paradise.
She waited perfectly poised, her mask once more in place, the ice around her heart solidifying into a glacial mass once more. When he finally rose, she found that no matter how much she hid her heart, hardened it to him, the loss of his nearness was a painful stab she couldn’t fully prepare herself against. No matter how hard she tried, she would just have to accept that she would never be immune to him. Accepting this was going to kill her.
Chuck appraised the dinner spread with an amused look. “Really Blair, snails in angel hair pasta with hotdogs and…is that a jello salad?” He shuddered in horror. “I would be worried that your pregnancy hormones had run amuck if I wasn’t so certain that this was your passive aggressive way to curtail the dinner experience before it began.”
“Dinner not quite up to your standards? Are you sure you don’t want to try even a taste?” She taunted sarcastically even as she began to turn a bit green herself as she contemplated the food.
“I find there are other things I would much prefer to taste,” he leered suggestively.
“Those are not on the menu,” she said primly, the corners of her mouth falling into a perfect, red, petulant frown.
“Maybe not tonight, but I won’t wait long.” Noticing her slight color change, he strode to the other side of the room. Seating himself on the burgundy tapestry settee, he gave her a reason to change scenes, to get away from the dinner table. His move allowed her the illusion that it wasn’t weakness that caused her to move away from the revolting dinner. This way it would seem like she hadn’t lost any ground, even when he knew she had. He smirked in satisfaction when she followed him and stood near enough that with a few steps, he could catch her in his arms if he so chose. He peered at her through dark, cloudy and calculating eyes. If he couldn’t get what he wanted; physical intimacy, he would settle for another type, one that he would abhor with anyone else; emotional intimacy.
“Tell me about the baby we lost.”
She turned to marble before his eyes. Her hands clenched the taffeta fabric of her dress, bunching it between her fingers. The sound of her nails snagging the delicate fabric rustled in the air. The dress would forever now be ruined.
“There is nothing to tell.” Her voice, while calm, hinted at the turbulence of emotion that lay buried in waters that were not as still and icy as she pretended.
“There is everything to tell,” he said angrily, his voice like flint. “You, Serena and even Cedric have all wronged me by conspiring to hide my child from me. Even if for the rest of you this is all in the past, for me it happened just days ago.” His voice was hoarse with emotion. “Maybe all of you can pretend that this all happened so long ago that it doesn’t matter, but to me it means everything.”
“Let it go, Chuck. Nothing good will come from dredging up the past,” she said wearily, her fingers massaging her temples tiredly.
“You owe me.” His countenance became rigid, raw emotion lurking in the hard planes of his face.
She sighed, her heart cracking like ice in an early spring thaw. She had gone years without speaking of the child she had lost, and now it seemed like it was all she spoke about. The last thing she wanted to remember was the baby she had never wanted, that had become her sole reason for existing during those few short months eight years ago. “I really don’t want to talk about it,” she said sharply, the familiar prickle of tears threatening the corners of her eyes.
“Please,” he rasped, a cry of hollow pain.
It was the ‘please’ that undid her resolve. Chuck never begged. Not for anything and not to anyone, and yet here he was, pleading for her to tell him about their child - a child she was sure he had never wanted. She remembered vividly all of his admonitions to Nate about always taking precautions, and his horror at the possibility that some woman might take advantage, using a pregnancy to control him. He had always joked that if he ever found himself in that position, he had a very private doctor on speed dial for exactly these types of situations. She had always had no doubts that this was the decision he would have forced on her; something she wasn’t sure she wanted at the time, something she later decided she could never do.
She walked over to the window, the heavy, gold, damask drapes not yet drawn for the evening. Staring into the empty, dark, desolate garden below, the trees like gangly skeletons thrashing at the moon, she made up her mind. Tightening every muscle, straightening every bone, she fought the whirlwind of emotion she knew would come once she started reminiscing.
“I was almost seven months along when I lost him,” she said simply, blankly. The lack of emotion in her voice told him exactly how much it still affected her.
“We had a son.” His voice was full of awe, like he stood before a holy relic. He went to stand beside her, not daring to touch her, afraid to jeopardize this unexpected change in their relationship.
“Yes.” She smiled faintly into the dark, as she remembered her greatest joy and her greatest pain. “He was perfect in every way. Ten fingers, ten toes and the tiniest tuft of fine dark hair. I always thought I wanted a daughter, but when I saw him on the ultrasound, kicking and swirling, I realized that I never wanted anything else in the world but him.”
His mind slowed like molasses on a hot day as he processed this new and precious information. It was true he had never wanted a family, had never dreamed of being a father, in fact done everything in his power to destroy any possibility - except that one time, by accident, that he didn’t even really remember; the night of Eleanor’s wedding. Yet today he would give everything he owned to have his son alive. He thought of all the things he would do differently to his father; the love he would shower on his son, the relationship they would have…
“What happened?” He asked, even though he wasn’t sure he wanted to know. He knew that whatever came next would be a blow to his heart.
“I don’t know. He just stopped.” Her voice splintered like a broken china teacup. Taking a deep breath, she steadied herself before continuing. “He had always been so active. I swear he never slept. He kicked from morning ‘til night, until I was sure I was bruised everywhere inside, and then… one day it just stopped. I had an ultrasound almost immediately and it was obvious to the doctor that he was gone. They didn’t know why. With my age and the bulimia, it was a high-risk pregnancy to start with… although they were quick to reassure me that sometimes these things just happen through no fault of the mother’s,“ she said distantly, her mind in another time, another place where sadness dwelled.
“I’m so sorry, Blair.” He meant it. He desperately wanted her to know how much he meant it. He stood and walked towards her, stopping just inches away. He lifted his hand to touch her shoulder, only a wisp of air separating them, only to let it fall back at his side. He wouldn’t push it, couldn’t push himself on her now. He needed to let her come to him if they were ever going to get anywhere.
She turned to face him, her eyes shining with unshed tears that glowed like dying stars. “That wasn’t the worst of it. I was so far along I had to carry him to term, give birth as if he was still alive. It was the worst few months of my life. You can’t even begin to imagine the pain and horror of it. I think I would have died if Cedric hadn’t been there.”
“Blair…” Her name on his lips was a cry of pain or a maybe a plea for forgiveness for not being there, he wasn’t sure which. He held out his arms hoping, praying ardently that she would finally accept his comfort, allow them this time to grieve for what they had lost.
She didn’t hesitate. The next moment she was in his arms, his shirt muffling her sobs, her fingers clutching his lapels. His arms enfolded her as he murmured soft, soothing sounds in her ear. He couldn’t bear to think of her alone and suffering for his sin, while he cursed her name in a drunken haze from within the arms of so many women, whose names and faces he could no longer recall. He made a vow then and there that she would never be alone and unprotected again. He would do everything in his power to cocoon her in a world of silken cotton, ensuring that she would never be broken again.
The minutes ticked by slowly and still he held her. Taking directions from her heart over her mind, she gave in to the relief he offered. She was boneless in his arms, her soft curves fitting perfectly in unison with his hard edges as his hands rubbed her back soothingly. For the first time since she could remember, she let him, Chuck Bass, give her a rare moment of solace.
“When he was born, Cedric wrapped him up in the Errol ceremonial blanket and let me hold him. He was so beautiful. He looked just like he was sleeping. He was so tiny he fit in the crook of my arm.” She said, choking through her tears, barely able to continue. “They let us spend time with him, say our good-byes before he was buried in the Errol mausoleum.
Chuck waited for her to compose herself before asking the question he had often wondered about since finding out about their baby. “What did you name him?”
She rested her head against his shoulder turning so her lips almost grazed his neck. “Edward Bartholomew Harold Errol.”
“After my father?” He asked, looking confused. He never would have thought that after everything that had happened, everything she had gone through, that she would have granted him this concession.
“Yes,” she hesitated for only a moment before continuing, “I wanted your son to have a piece of you and somehow it felt appropriate.”
“Thank you.” He took it as a compliment or an apology of sorts, so he conveniently overlooked the insult that was his son’s last name. “Why Edward? I understand Harold, but Edward?” He asked, scrunching his nose disdainfully.
“After Cedric’s father. I thought it was obvious that the name had a father theme. And what’s wrong with Edward?” She asked haughtily, beginning to pull away from him. “It’s a perfectly respectable, English name. There have been seven kings named Edward,” she informed him factually.
He cupped the back of her head with his hand, pushing her gently back into the safety and warmth of his arms. “Nothing. There is nothing wrong with it. It is a wonderful name,” he yielded. He would agree to any name being perfect; anything that would keep her close to him.
“Perhaps it wasn’t my first choice, but there is a tradition to be upheld when naming a future Errol,” she pointed out diplomatically.
It was him this time that pushed her away. “I wish you would stop forgetting that he was not, is not and never will be an Errol. He was a Bass. If you had any sense you would never have run off to France and gotten married. You would have stayed where you belong and we would have gone through this together.”
She bristled in shock and anger, her eyes narrowing into coffee colored slits. “What fairytale are you living in? Do you even remember what state you were in when Jack brought you back from Bangkok? You were practically an opium addict.” Her anger quickly evaporated, her shoulder slumping wearily as the stress from the last few days became too much to bear. “I honestly thought I was making the best choice for everyone concerned. You never gave anyone reason to believe that you ever wanted to be a father, and I didn’t want you trying to force a decision on me that I wasn’t sure I wanted.”
He regarded her sadly, his own anger dissipating as he remembered what a mess he was then, how he had never given her any reason to suppose he would be there for her. “Maybe you’re right, but I still should have been told. What Serena and you did, what Cedric did, giving his name to my son, was wrong.”
“Maybe…” After all this time she didn’t want to admit she might have made a mistake. To look too closely at her decision then would force her to take an even harder look at her present decisions - something she was not prepared to do.
“It’s not too late. We’ve been give a rare chance to undo the past,” he said urgently, his eyes searching hers for a way in, a chance to connect. “Maybe karma’s offered us a way to right a wrong, given us a chance to redeem ourselves.” He reached out tenderly to grasp her hand, threading his large fingers through her dainty ones. “We can get it right this time.”
She looked down at their entwined hands, mesmerized by the two halves that had become a whole. “I’m tired, Chuck. Let it go for now. Give me some time,” she said quietly.
Chuck stood still, his gaze never leaving Blair’s for a moment. He silently took in the ashen tinge to her skin, the dark circles that were just hinted at under her eyes. She was still beautiful, but there was a shadow that hovered over her. She needed rest, and so did their baby. He didn’t want to leave, didn’t want this evening to end. He wanted to stay close to her, love and cherish every inch of her, but he knew that that would only force her further away. They had gotten somewhere tonight, somewhere he hadn’t expected, and he was willing to be unselfish for once. She needed rest and she wouldn’t get that with him here.
“Alright,” he said softly, unhesitatingly.
She stared at him in bewilderment, a question hovering over her lips that was never voiced.
“I’m not the ogre you think I am. I can be surprisingly merciful to those I love,” he said sarcastically.
She nodded, ignoring his attempt at humor, and slowly let go of his hand. “Thank you. I won’t forget this.”
“We’ll talk again soon,” he promised.
She stared at his back warily as he casually, and with regret, slowly left the room, making sure to walk as far as possible from the dinner that now lay cold on the dining room table.
Author: Noirreigne
Pairing: Blair/Chuck & Blair/OC
Rating: R for language and smut.
Spoilers: Through 2x17
Summary: Except you enthrall me, never shall be free. Future Fic.
Previous Chapters
Blair bustled around the London townhouse, blowing out the candles the staff had lit for dinner. Hitting the light switch, she removed all hollows and tender shadows from the room, flooding it with bright artificial light. She huffed in exasperation as she noticed that the place settings for dinner had been placed intimately close to each other. Stubbing her Manolo clad toe against the walnut dining room table leg, she gathered up the heavy, solid silver and monogrammed, bone china. Hurrying, she rushed to arrange the place settings at the opposite ends of the table, as far apart as possible. Normally when she and Cedric were staying here, they dispensed with the formality of dining across from each other at the antique, twelve-foot, trestle table. Instead they chose to sit next to each other, making it easier to share dishes and converse. Tonight, however, talking and lingering over dinner were the last things she wanted to do. The plan was to dine as quickly as possible, fulfilling her obligation of dinner with Chuck. To further facilitate this, she had ordered the meal to be served family style, and she had made sure to include the most vulgar dishes she could think of. There would be no lingering in between courses, no excuse for in-depth conversation. As soon as dinner had been eaten, her end of the contract would be fulfilled and she would be able to send him scuttling out the door and back to the web he came from.
Promptly at seven he arrived, entering the room as the last chime sounded on the old mantel clock.
“You’re on time,” she said disappointedly, glaring at him in disapproval. She couldn’t help moistening her lips a little as she took in his appearance. As always, he was perfectly attired in a black Italian custom suit, with his usual touch of rebellion in the form of a lavender paisley ascot and pocket-handkerchief.
“Did you really think I would miss even one second of the time you so graciously allotted for our dinner?” Chuck said, smirking. “There seems to be a missing component to this little affair. Where is your husband?” He looked around the room, faking wide-eyed confusion. “I can’t believe he would miss dinner with his wife’s cherry popper, the plucker of her lady flower, the guy who stamped her vadge badge-“
“Enough, Chuck.” Blair hissed, her eyes narrowing dangerously.
“Has he given up already, then? Given us his blessing?”
“Hardly.” Glaring at him, she took a deep breath before seating herself at the table; a subtle hint, proving she was far too mature to give into his juvenile behavior. “Cedric will not be joining us. He is not doing very well today. He had another round of chemotherapy yesterday.” With a trembling hand she reached out for her crystal water goblet, hiding her anguish in the mundane ritual of drinking water.
His face fell slightly, all malicious joy fading from the cynical lines in his face, tiny pinpricks of pity in his eyes. “I’m sorry, Blair.”
She nodded, looking at him in puzzlement over the edge of her goblet. To say she was shaken at his unusual consideration of her feelings was a shocking understatement. His momentary kindness tore at wounds already raw and throbbing. “I didn’t expect to see you. I thought you would give up, find something new and shiny to distract you,” she reasoned, stiffly returning her glass to the table.
“Ah, yes, I suppose you are referring to the bevy of beauties that have constantly hounded my every step, throwing themselves at me. While I do have quite the reputation in the bedroom, never before have I had so many women begging for a night alone with me. I’ve been practically forced to hire a bodyguard to keep them off me. Another one of your little games, my dear?” Striding confidently to the bar, he helped himself to a scotch, pouring the amber liquid into the waiting tumbler appreciatively.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” she grumbled.
“Really?” He raised one brow mockingly. “So it just conveniently happens that none of the very willing ladies sent my way happens to be brunette? I’ve had women of every race and every hair color, save one, practically salivating when I even look in their direction. Funny how none of them resembles you in the slightest: red heads, blondes, dark hair and light hair, but none with coloring that in any way resembles yours. What are you trying to prove, Blair?”
“Nothing,” she said sullenly, refusing to look him in the eyes. Her knuckles blossomed white as they gripped the arms of her walnut, Queen Anne chair.
Drinking deeply of his scotch, he drained the glass, his eyes never leaving her face. “My compliments to your husband. He has excellent taste in Scotch.”
Pouring another one, he slowly made his way to her side, standing behind her, as close as he could get without breaking the back of her chair. Leaning in, his lips hovered over her ear, his breath feathering the wispy curls that had escaped her tightly rolled chignon. “I think you’re deliberately trying to set me up to betray you and yet at the same time ensuring I don’t,” he chuckled. “Test me all you want Blair, send me a perfect copy of you right down to the La Perla’s. It won’t matter. You’re everything I’ve ever wanted, everything I’ve dreamed about and I won’t do anything to jeopardize our future. I’m not the same person you remember.”
“You’re exactly the same childish, selfish and arrogant asshole I remember. I have continuously made clear how I feel, but here you are, buying your way into my home,” she countered, her mouth pursed in frustration.
“I wouldn’t have to if you would just give me a chance.” His lips brushed across her earlobe like fairy wings, the muscular length of his body pinioning her to the dining room table.
Wavering, her body responding to his gentle attention, she focused her mind with sharp clarity on picturing him enjoying the attentions of every one of the very expensive prostitutes she had sent his way.
“You were supposed to sleep with at least one of them. They were the most skilled and expensive I could find,” she said with irritation, her fingers now clasped tightly together in her lap. “They should have been all over you. I offered a bonus to the first one to prove she slept with you.” She couldn’t help the sharp pang of desire that flooded her, crashing into her from the top of her head to the tips of her painted red toes as he continued his tender attention to her ear, the hollow behind it and the tender curl of sensitive earlobe. Her eyes fluttered closed, her mind already drifting into a world filled only with Chuck and the pleasure he gave. “Those women were gorgeous. What was wrong with them?”
“They weren’t you.” He reverently placed a kiss on her shoulder, slipping the Harry Winston necklace from the Opera Benefit around her neck before she had a chance to notice and protest. “I see you remembered to save a place for my gift,” he smirked.
She shuddered as the tiny clasp clicked shut like the door of a prison cell, her heart fluttering like a trapped bird in an ornate, Victorian cage. “My lack of jewelry had nothing to do with you. I just happened not to have anything that matched my outfit.”
“Your dress is black, Blair,” he pointed out, amused.
“Perfectly fitting for our little dinner of the damned,” she said tartly.
“I’m perfectly willing to spend eternity in hell if I can spend my life with you.”
“Chuck-”
“Don’t, ” he interrupted. “Let me enjoy this moment for just a minute before you start with the arguing again.” He painted her neck with kisses, lingering in just the right spots to set her skin aflame, to make her weak in the knees.
“Chuck,” she sighed. Her body, thick like molten lava, pulled devastatingly slowly and reluctantly away from him.
He leaned in further to place a kiss like a melting snowflake on her delicate shoulder, before burying himself once more in her neck. Inhaling deeply her sweet and familiar scent, he acceded to her plea, giving in to maintain the uneasy peace that temporarily lay between them. He counted the seconds, promising himself five blissful moments before he untangled himself from paradise.
She waited perfectly poised, her mask once more in place, the ice around her heart solidifying into a glacial mass once more. When he finally rose, she found that no matter how much she hid her heart, hardened it to him, the loss of his nearness was a painful stab she couldn’t fully prepare herself against. No matter how hard she tried, she would just have to accept that she would never be immune to him. Accepting this was going to kill her.
Chuck appraised the dinner spread with an amused look. “Really Blair, snails in angel hair pasta with hotdogs and…is that a jello salad?” He shuddered in horror. “I would be worried that your pregnancy hormones had run amuck if I wasn’t so certain that this was your passive aggressive way to curtail the dinner experience before it began.”
“Dinner not quite up to your standards? Are you sure you don’t want to try even a taste?” She taunted sarcastically even as she began to turn a bit green herself as she contemplated the food.
“I find there are other things I would much prefer to taste,” he leered suggestively.
“Those are not on the menu,” she said primly, the corners of her mouth falling into a perfect, red, petulant frown.
“Maybe not tonight, but I won’t wait long.” Noticing her slight color change, he strode to the other side of the room. Seating himself on the burgundy tapestry settee, he gave her a reason to change scenes, to get away from the dinner table. His move allowed her the illusion that it wasn’t weakness that caused her to move away from the revolting dinner. This way it would seem like she hadn’t lost any ground, even when he knew she had. He smirked in satisfaction when she followed him and stood near enough that with a few steps, he could catch her in his arms if he so chose. He peered at her through dark, cloudy and calculating eyes. If he couldn’t get what he wanted; physical intimacy, he would settle for another type, one that he would abhor with anyone else; emotional intimacy.
“Tell me about the baby we lost.”
She turned to marble before his eyes. Her hands clenched the taffeta fabric of her dress, bunching it between her fingers. The sound of her nails snagging the delicate fabric rustled in the air. The dress would forever now be ruined.
“There is nothing to tell.” Her voice, while calm, hinted at the turbulence of emotion that lay buried in waters that were not as still and icy as she pretended.
“There is everything to tell,” he said angrily, his voice like flint. “You, Serena and even Cedric have all wronged me by conspiring to hide my child from me. Even if for the rest of you this is all in the past, for me it happened just days ago.” His voice was hoarse with emotion. “Maybe all of you can pretend that this all happened so long ago that it doesn’t matter, but to me it means everything.”
“Let it go, Chuck. Nothing good will come from dredging up the past,” she said wearily, her fingers massaging her temples tiredly.
“You owe me.” His countenance became rigid, raw emotion lurking in the hard planes of his face.
She sighed, her heart cracking like ice in an early spring thaw. She had gone years without speaking of the child she had lost, and now it seemed like it was all she spoke about. The last thing she wanted to remember was the baby she had never wanted, that had become her sole reason for existing during those few short months eight years ago. “I really don’t want to talk about it,” she said sharply, the familiar prickle of tears threatening the corners of her eyes.
“Please,” he rasped, a cry of hollow pain.
It was the ‘please’ that undid her resolve. Chuck never begged. Not for anything and not to anyone, and yet here he was, pleading for her to tell him about their child - a child she was sure he had never wanted. She remembered vividly all of his admonitions to Nate about always taking precautions, and his horror at the possibility that some woman might take advantage, using a pregnancy to control him. He had always joked that if he ever found himself in that position, he had a very private doctor on speed dial for exactly these types of situations. She had always had no doubts that this was the decision he would have forced on her; something she wasn’t sure she wanted at the time, something she later decided she could never do.
She walked over to the window, the heavy, gold, damask drapes not yet drawn for the evening. Staring into the empty, dark, desolate garden below, the trees like gangly skeletons thrashing at the moon, she made up her mind. Tightening every muscle, straightening every bone, she fought the whirlwind of emotion she knew would come once she started reminiscing.
“I was almost seven months along when I lost him,” she said simply, blankly. The lack of emotion in her voice told him exactly how much it still affected her.
“We had a son.” His voice was full of awe, like he stood before a holy relic. He went to stand beside her, not daring to touch her, afraid to jeopardize this unexpected change in their relationship.
“Yes.” She smiled faintly into the dark, as she remembered her greatest joy and her greatest pain. “He was perfect in every way. Ten fingers, ten toes and the tiniest tuft of fine dark hair. I always thought I wanted a daughter, but when I saw him on the ultrasound, kicking and swirling, I realized that I never wanted anything else in the world but him.”
His mind slowed like molasses on a hot day as he processed this new and precious information. It was true he had never wanted a family, had never dreamed of being a father, in fact done everything in his power to destroy any possibility - except that one time, by accident, that he didn’t even really remember; the night of Eleanor’s wedding. Yet today he would give everything he owned to have his son alive. He thought of all the things he would do differently to his father; the love he would shower on his son, the relationship they would have…
“What happened?” He asked, even though he wasn’t sure he wanted to know. He knew that whatever came next would be a blow to his heart.
“I don’t know. He just stopped.” Her voice splintered like a broken china teacup. Taking a deep breath, she steadied herself before continuing. “He had always been so active. I swear he never slept. He kicked from morning ‘til night, until I was sure I was bruised everywhere inside, and then… one day it just stopped. I had an ultrasound almost immediately and it was obvious to the doctor that he was gone. They didn’t know why. With my age and the bulimia, it was a high-risk pregnancy to start with… although they were quick to reassure me that sometimes these things just happen through no fault of the mother’s,“ she said distantly, her mind in another time, another place where sadness dwelled.
“I’m so sorry, Blair.” He meant it. He desperately wanted her to know how much he meant it. He stood and walked towards her, stopping just inches away. He lifted his hand to touch her shoulder, only a wisp of air separating them, only to let it fall back at his side. He wouldn’t push it, couldn’t push himself on her now. He needed to let her come to him if they were ever going to get anywhere.
She turned to face him, her eyes shining with unshed tears that glowed like dying stars. “That wasn’t the worst of it. I was so far along I had to carry him to term, give birth as if he was still alive. It was the worst few months of my life. You can’t even begin to imagine the pain and horror of it. I think I would have died if Cedric hadn’t been there.”
“Blair…” Her name on his lips was a cry of pain or a maybe a plea for forgiveness for not being there, he wasn’t sure which. He held out his arms hoping, praying ardently that she would finally accept his comfort, allow them this time to grieve for what they had lost.
She didn’t hesitate. The next moment she was in his arms, his shirt muffling her sobs, her fingers clutching his lapels. His arms enfolded her as he murmured soft, soothing sounds in her ear. He couldn’t bear to think of her alone and suffering for his sin, while he cursed her name in a drunken haze from within the arms of so many women, whose names and faces he could no longer recall. He made a vow then and there that she would never be alone and unprotected again. He would do everything in his power to cocoon her in a world of silken cotton, ensuring that she would never be broken again.
The minutes ticked by slowly and still he held her. Taking directions from her heart over her mind, she gave in to the relief he offered. She was boneless in his arms, her soft curves fitting perfectly in unison with his hard edges as his hands rubbed her back soothingly. For the first time since she could remember, she let him, Chuck Bass, give her a rare moment of solace.
“When he was born, Cedric wrapped him up in the Errol ceremonial blanket and let me hold him. He was so beautiful. He looked just like he was sleeping. He was so tiny he fit in the crook of my arm.” She said, choking through her tears, barely able to continue. “They let us spend time with him, say our good-byes before he was buried in the Errol mausoleum.
Chuck waited for her to compose herself before asking the question he had often wondered about since finding out about their baby. “What did you name him?”
She rested her head against his shoulder turning so her lips almost grazed his neck. “Edward Bartholomew Harold Errol.”
“After my father?” He asked, looking confused. He never would have thought that after everything that had happened, everything she had gone through, that she would have granted him this concession.
“Yes,” she hesitated for only a moment before continuing, “I wanted your son to have a piece of you and somehow it felt appropriate.”
“Thank you.” He took it as a compliment or an apology of sorts, so he conveniently overlooked the insult that was his son’s last name. “Why Edward? I understand Harold, but Edward?” He asked, scrunching his nose disdainfully.
“After Cedric’s father. I thought it was obvious that the name had a father theme. And what’s wrong with Edward?” She asked haughtily, beginning to pull away from him. “It’s a perfectly respectable, English name. There have been seven kings named Edward,” she informed him factually.
He cupped the back of her head with his hand, pushing her gently back into the safety and warmth of his arms. “Nothing. There is nothing wrong with it. It is a wonderful name,” he yielded. He would agree to any name being perfect; anything that would keep her close to him.
“Perhaps it wasn’t my first choice, but there is a tradition to be upheld when naming a future Errol,” she pointed out diplomatically.
It was him this time that pushed her away. “I wish you would stop forgetting that he was not, is not and never will be an Errol. He was a Bass. If you had any sense you would never have run off to France and gotten married. You would have stayed where you belong and we would have gone through this together.”
She bristled in shock and anger, her eyes narrowing into coffee colored slits. “What fairytale are you living in? Do you even remember what state you were in when Jack brought you back from Bangkok? You were practically an opium addict.” Her anger quickly evaporated, her shoulder slumping wearily as the stress from the last few days became too much to bear. “I honestly thought I was making the best choice for everyone concerned. You never gave anyone reason to believe that you ever wanted to be a father, and I didn’t want you trying to force a decision on me that I wasn’t sure I wanted.”
He regarded her sadly, his own anger dissipating as he remembered what a mess he was then, how he had never given her any reason to suppose he would be there for her. “Maybe you’re right, but I still should have been told. What Serena and you did, what Cedric did, giving his name to my son, was wrong.”
“Maybe…” After all this time she didn’t want to admit she might have made a mistake. To look too closely at her decision then would force her to take an even harder look at her present decisions - something she was not prepared to do.
“It’s not too late. We’ve been give a rare chance to undo the past,” he said urgently, his eyes searching hers for a way in, a chance to connect. “Maybe karma’s offered us a way to right a wrong, given us a chance to redeem ourselves.” He reached out tenderly to grasp her hand, threading his large fingers through her dainty ones. “We can get it right this time.”
She looked down at their entwined hands, mesmerized by the two halves that had become a whole. “I’m tired, Chuck. Let it go for now. Give me some time,” she said quietly.
Chuck stood still, his gaze never leaving Blair’s for a moment. He silently took in the ashen tinge to her skin, the dark circles that were just hinted at under her eyes. She was still beautiful, but there was a shadow that hovered over her. She needed rest, and so did their baby. He didn’t want to leave, didn’t want this evening to end. He wanted to stay close to her, love and cherish every inch of her, but he knew that that would only force her further away. They had gotten somewhere tonight, somewhere he hadn’t expected, and he was willing to be unselfish for once. She needed rest and she wouldn’t get that with him here.
“Alright,” he said softly, unhesitatingly.
She stared at him in bewilderment, a question hovering over her lips that was never voiced.
“I’m not the ogre you think I am. I can be surprisingly merciful to those I love,” he said sarcastically.
She nodded, ignoring his attempt at humor, and slowly let go of his hand. “Thank you. I won’t forget this.”
“We’ll talk again soon,” he promised.
She stared at his back warily as he casually, and with regret, slowly left the room, making sure to walk as far as possible from the dinner that now lay cold on the dining room table.