The Last Truck Stop
Story Summary: He'd always be her Chu-Chu Chuck. Bittersweet ChuckBlair.
Author's Starting Notes: Okay, so, I've been meaning to write this chapter since I updated the last one. My go to for this was that Chuck talks to Bart and it prompts him to action. Somehow, I ended up with this. This chapter is rated PG, or PG-13, for mentions of eating disorders that came from nowhere.
Time Stamp: Posted December 1, 2008
Of all the things Bart Bass had never done for his son, or had kept from him, this has to be undoubtedly the worst. How could he keep Matteson from Chuck? The girl is precious. She is everything a guy could ever want in a daughter. And Chuck has already missed so much. Her first smile, her first laugh, the first time she ever opened her eyes, her first haircut, her first everything almost. Every little occasion that makes up being a parent in those early stages has passed and gone without him. He feels as empty as the promise he had made to Blair to call every day back when he first left. He knows that the only way to fill the void entails spending time with his daughter and the love of his life. He also knows that doing so will only remind him more of all that he has missed. He settles for questioning his father.
"Why didn't you tell me?" he asks loudly, pushing through the door to his father's bedroom. Bart looks up, unamused and unaffected by Chuck's presence.
"Tell you what, Charles?" Bart inquires
"That I had a kid! Why am I just now finding out? After I missed so much of her life," Chuck proclaims
"It wasn't my place to tell you," Bart explains
"Why isn't it anyone's place to tell me about my daughter?" Chuck roars
"Because it's your place to know. When your mother was pregnant, I knew," Bart says
"Probably had her pee checked every few weeks knowing your tendencies to control everything," Chuck mutters
"That was uncalled for," Bart chastises
"So is the secrecy! When did Blair tell you? When did you know that you had a grandchild coming your way?"
"Four months in," he answers
"Four months! You couldn't just drop a hint to me that maybe I should come home? Was my happiness so unnecessary to you?"
"You always seemed happy to me, Charles."
"I was never happy! I spent a year thinking that Blair had moved on and was dating a fricken doctor! How could I be happy thinking that the woman I loved was interested in someone else?"
"Why didn't you return then?"
"I wanted her to be happy. It didn't seem like I was in that picture anymore."
Bart rolls his eyes.
"And here I was thinking college would make you smarter," Bart says, "You are an idiot, son. That girl has been in love with you for as long as I can remember."
"Right, and she was just fawning over Nate to make me jealous," he says
"She might have been. I could always tell that there was something between you and Blair that went deeper than her and Nathaniel. Even back when you two were just two middle schoolers flipping through magazines and eating ice cream, I knew. But do you know what really cemented it?" Bart asks
"The sonogram she probably showed you to convince you," Chuck suggests
"No. It was the day I came home early from a business trip when you guys were fifteen. Harold and Eleanor were fighting a lot that year, and she was hiding from them at our place," Bart recalls, "You remember."
Chuck nods absently. He can remember a lot of things from those days. He remembers one particularly well.
Chuck Bass would always be Chuck Bass. Through every obstacle he faced, he would still have his scarf and his trademark smirk. He even slept with the dignity and pride he sported daily. He was just the kind of guy that didn't break down for any one thing. The only thing that even got pass the surface layer was a young brunette who was sleeping right beside him. Or used to be.
The flush of a toilet roused the boy from his sleep. He looked towards his bathroom. Usually, girls just left his home. Since when did anyone use his bathroom? He was tempted to call for some help from downstairs but halted himself when he caught sight of a familiar slipper on the floor.
He nodded to himself slowly. Blair was staying with him. And, from the sound of it, she had needed to use the restroom. He leaned back, collecting all his jokes about bed-wetting and bathroom breaks. This task also fell apart when he had the sound of retching. He was no stranger to the sounds of hurling, having done his fair share when he first started drinking.
"But Blair doesn't drink," he mumbled, "She also didn't eat at dinner."
A thought came to him instantly. He wanted to shake it away and pretend it could never happen but two words were dancing before his eyelids like a drunken Georgina.
He pushed himself from his bed and darted to the bathroom. He flung the door open just in time to see the girl with the pretty brown ringlets forcing her finger down her throat. She looked up at him.
"Blair, what are you doing?" he asked. Her eyes widened, as if his voice was a sign that everything was really wrong. She scooted closed to the wall.
"Go away!" she commanded
"No," he told her.
"I don't want you to come over here," she said
"It's my house," he reminded her. She stood up to look threatening. Her mission failed instantly with her puffy eyes, shriveled fingers, and short height, but she didn't take mind. She glared at him. He stepped closer. They repeated this until he was only a few feet away.
"Stay away from me!" she shrieked. He stopped and stood.
"How long has this been going on Blair?" he asked
"What been going on? Nothing is going on," she insisted
"You're making yourself sick in my bathroom. Of course something is going on," he said
"I'm not making myself sick! I had some of the tuna your chef made for dinner and felt sick. I shouldn't have tried the fish, that's all," she said
"Radolpho made tuna yesterday. He made soup this evening, especially for your loss of appetite."
"I'm fine, Chuck."
"I never said you weren't."
"Then what are you saying?"
"Nothing. I'm just wondering how long you've been doing this to your body."
"I'm not doing anything to my body."
"Blair, tell me," he pleaded
"There's nothing happening!"
"Blair," he warned
"Fine, Chuck! Two years. Ever since Mom and Dad started fighting over me," she admitted begrudgingly, "They are always fighting about me! I started the flood gates for fights about everything. Mom would always say how fat I was and how I was making problems for her line by not being perfect. Dad would say that I was. And, they would just fight more about other stuff. It's all my fault. They're going to divorce, and it's all my fault!" Blair shrieked.
Chuck shook his head.
"It's not your fault," he told her. She rolled her eyes at him furiously.
"The hell it isn't! I ruined my parents marriage. They would be better off without me. But, because I can't kill myself. I'll just look better. When I'm prettier, they won't fight about me anymore. And, Eleanor will compliment me, and Daddy will take me to the ice rink where we'll skate like there's no tomorrow. Everyone will smile and watch us, because I'll be so beautiful."
"Blair, you are beautiful. You're the most beautiful girl I've ever seen," he complimented truthfully.
"Yeah right. You've been with women twelve times better looking than me. I'm surprised you haven't already left me for Serena. She's pretty."
"Serena is okay, I guess. But, you, Blair, you're amazing. Your body, spirit, and mind are gorgeous."
"I don't believe you," Blair stammered
"But it's the truth," he stressed
"It never is. All guys lie. All of you, even Nate. He told me he loved me today. He doesn't. He loves Serena. I know it, and I accept it because she's beautiful. When I'm like that, he'll tell me again. He will," Blair said
"Fine, Blair, I won't tell you you're beautiful anymore. If you're not going to listen, I won't waste my breath," he said
"Can we at least go back to bed? We have school tomorrow. Last day, it'll be fun," he said without the typical happiness. She slowly nodded.
"Fine, but this conversation never happened," she hissed pushing passed him back into his bedroom.
"Fine by me," he mumbled following behind her.
He laid in bed, minutes before his alarm clock would go off to wake up the sleeping girl next to him, confused and frightened. Blair had a problem. Blair had a big problem. And, he didn't know if he could help her with it. She had sounded so sure of everything she said, like she was explaining something simple and true instead of made up reality. He knew there wasn't much he could do. No one he could talk to, except…. He grabbed Blair's phone, going to her fourth speed dial.
"Hey, Dorota? Uh, no, this is Chuck. Look, I have to tell you something about Blair…. You may want to sit down. You're not going to like this one."
"Charles. Charles. Chuck!"
Chuck shakes his head to clear away the memories.
"Uh, sorry," Chuck mumbles
"Did you hear anything I said?" Bart asks, obviously frustrated
"Everything, sir," Chuck says
"I said that Blair always cared for you. She would never do anything meant to harm you. And, you never intended to hurt her. Like that time I was telling you about," Bart says
"What time was that?" Chuck asks
"The time where you spent the entire day helping her when she was sick. It was almost nauseating for me to be near the girl. She sure did have a weak stomach back then," Bart adds. Chuck contains a smirk. It looks like there are some things even the great Bart Bass doesn't know. And, some things that the good Chuck Bass doesn't want to. Just thinking of what followed his little flashback makes his blood chill. All the fights, delusions, and therapy sessions he listened to, heard about, and was a part of. The sound of vomit brings a pain to his chest these days. Maybe there was one good thing that came out of the secrecy after all. He isn't so sure he could have taken hearing his Blair throw up every morning.
My Blair? Is she really mine? Surely not after all this time. She's got to be busy with some other man now. But she did say that she hadn't been with anyone after me. Does that mean that maybe I still have a chance? I can win her back. No, I have to win her back. We've been apart long enough. It's time for this train to pull back into that old station, once and for all. And, I know just how to do it.
©Dezi. While I wrote everything above, the basis for it does not belong to me. I don't own Gossip Girl, The Upper East Side, or its characters. I do, however, own the plot, which grows with every single review I get. If I were you, I'd start commenting.