You're The Only One Who…
Summary: My final drunk-dial between Chuck and Blair in season one. This one takes place a week after the end of "Much I Do About Nothing" and is my attempt to wrap my head around why Blair asked Chuck for those three words, eight letters in the season premiere.
Author's Note: I didn't create Gossip Girl or Chuck and Blair. If I had, they would be much happier, but much less interesting.
knows exactly what i mean
Chuck glanced wearily around his new bedroom in the Van der Woodsen-Bass apartment. Everything around him was new and shiny, but inside he just felt used and broken. What the hell was his problem? He had ditched his beautiful, brilliant Blair on a whim—a mere 10 second stretch of panic caused by his father's well-meaning but ill-timed speech on responsibility.
Was it somehow more responsible to leave Blair waiting for him and break her heart now than to go with her and let her heart break even worse later on? He liked to think he was being a martyr. He knew that once she spent long enough with him, she would see just how worthless he was, and her precious brown eyes would fill with tears, thinking about all the time she had wasted on him. It was definitely better this way.
He had tried to completely sever his ties to Blair by sleeping with the interior decorator, whatever her name was, but that most certainly hadn't worked. In fact, it probably wouldn't have worked even if he had been able to go through with it—which, of course, he couldn't.
The moment he had he led her to his room, he had received another text message from Blair herself. Plane's taking off. Miss u already, it had said. He had never hated himself more than in that exact moment. What had he been thinking? Was he really going to be just another Nate? Was sleeping with someone else—cheating on the most perfect person on the planet—somehow going to make him feel better about himself? He had dismissed the stick figure woman without another thought and immediately took to drink. And he hadn't stopped since.
It had been a week already, and he was still just sitting in his room, ordering room service and an endless supply of scotch. He had only gotten up to shower and use the restroom. Serena had stopped by at least once a day to try to knock some sense into him, but she had not succeeded in the least. She had finally left for the Hamptons yesterday, asking him to please join her there if he was going to keep being 'a pathetic coward and a pain in my ass.'
His phone had buzzed quite a few times over the last five days with text messages and voice mails that he knew must be from Blair, but he couldn't bring himself to listen to them. They would just make him want to be with her, go after her and explain how much she meant to him, and then never leave her side again. But men like him didn't deserve women like Blair Waldorf, and by now, she had probably figured that out.
Tonight, though, he was feeling particularly lonely. He knew Blair had probably already made it to her father's chateau by now. Tonight marked the end of what would have been their first vacation together. Who knows how many shared memories and photographs they would have had: what gorgeous Italian gifts he might have bought her, what ridiculous landscapes she would have insisted on dragging him to see, how alive she would have made him feel.
Rolling his eyes at his own weakness, he slowly reached for his phone and pressed the number one on his speed dial. He'd just call to see if she had made it okay. See if she missed him at all anymore. Maybe he'd be able to explain to her why they just weren't right for each other. Well, more like why he wasn't right for her, because God knows she was the only woman in the world who could ever be right for him.
Blair lay under the covers of the bed her father had picked out especially for her, trying her hardest to forget all about boys whose names began with 'C.' She had been doing very well on the plane ride to France, focusing her attention entirely on the lyrics to various Destiny's Child songs. But when she stepped out of the baggage claim at Charles de Gaulle, the first thing Harold had said was, "Welcome, sweetheart! How was your trip with Charles?" And the tears had come rolling down all over again.
Okay, that was a bit of a lie. Maybe she had leaked a little bit of liquid remembering the name of the airport itself. But she had completely composed herself in time to greet her father and Roman. And then everything had to go to pieces all over again.
Roman had offered to 'kick that Bass' boy's ass' and Blair truly appreciated the sentiment but, despite how wimpy Chuck was in the first place, she doubted Roman could really do much damage.
She couldn't believe she had already wasted a week of her summer pining over Chuck fucking Bass. She had barely done any sightseeing, and her hand had been pressed to her phone the entire time, not wanting to waste a single second in case he decided to call.
The first day or so, she had been worried something terrible had happened to him. In his haste to be by her side, he had obviously just taken the first plane he could find, which had crashed over the Atlantic Ocean. She would have to mourn him for the rest of her life, wear only black, and never look at another man again. She couldn't decide if she would have preferred that to the reality of the situation.
When she finally gave up trying to contact him and called Serena for some information instead, the shock had been enormous. But then again, what had she really been expecting? (Other than her perfect fairy tale romance, but with the dashing villain suddenly turning into the dashing antihero with layers upon layers that, when stripped, revealed an enormous heart that beat only for her. But never mind that.)
"I'm sorry, B," Serena had said into the phone, speaking in barely a whisper. Probably because that Chuck Basstard was around there somewhere and could hear what she was saying. Mother Chucker. "He's not dead or injured. He's just… not coming."
Blair covered her face with a pillow to stifle her screams of rage as she remembered how she felt when she found out that Chuck hadn't labored heroically and overcome immense obstacles to come to her side and instead had simply stood her up. She didn't want her father to come checking up on her; she just wanted to be left alone in her misery.
She busied herself by scratching behind Cat's little ears and whispering, "You love me, don't you, Cat? You think I'm beautiful…"
Her attempts to extract something other than bored indifference from her new pet were interrupted by a very familiar ring tone that she had not heard in at least a week.
She debated whether or not she should pick up—he had left her stranded on the other side of the world, for goodness' sake! She had no reason to speak to him ever again, and no desire to, either.
Unfortunately, that was a lie.
Some small part of her, the part that would never give up her stupid hope of white picket fences (even though she planned to live her whole life in New York City) and 2 children (even though she planned on skipping the 'giving birth' part entirely), thought that maybe he was calling to apologize. To tell her he had made a huge mistake and that he was on his way over now. In fact, he was already here. He was standing outside her doorstep in the pouring rain, waiting to be let in. Despite the fact that it was perfectly dry and sunny out.
So she picked up.
"…Hello?" She whispered breathlessly into the phone, hating how needy and desperate she sounded. Well, at least she hadn't shouted, Please come here now or I need you. It was a start, anyway.
No words emitted from his mouth in response. There was nothing but silence on the other end of the line. Silence and the sound of his ragged breathing. It sounded very much like he had been drinking. Well, at least he feels guilty. Not that it was much comfort.
"Chuck, I can hear you," she said with a warning in her voice. "I know you're there."
Still nothing. Perhaps he had opened his mouth to speak, but had quickly closed it once more.
"Fine. I'm going to hang up, then," she said in frustration, almost positive that she wouldn't go through with it. She would just sit there and listen to him breathe and pretend that he was breathing next to her. And hope that it would make her feel better to know that he was feeling bad.
"Blair, please… Wait," Chuck finally spoke up in a throaty, parched voice. For all the scotch he had been drinking, he had forgotten he might need some water from time to time.
"What do you want?" She asked in what she hoped was her harshest tone. But it really came out as more tired than angry. "Where are you?" She crossed her fingers and hoped against hope that he might name a small European country.
"…I'm just…here. At home," he replied after a long pause, already knowing it was the wrong answer. But, then again, that's all his life was: a test with a series of multiple choice questions. And he always picked the wrong one.
Blair sighed and closed her eyes. "Why are you calling me, Chuck?" Her voice was a little broken, as if she might be holding back tears. He wanted to reach out and touch her face, but he had a feeling he would never be close enough to touch her again.
"I wanted to hear your voice," he explained as simply as he could.
"Well, you've heard it," she snapped. "I hope you're happy now."
He shook his head and slumped even further down on the couch. "No. I'm not happy." He let out a long sigh and nearly crushed his phone with his death-grip; so strong was his desire to be near to her once more. "I'm sorry, Blair."
"Sorry for what?" She sat up in her bed and clutched Cat for some emotional support. "Sorry for standing me up, or sorry for making me care about you and then pulling the rug out from under my feet at the first possible moment?"
"I'm sorry for everything," he said truthfully. "I want to be there with you. I wish I was there right now."
Her features relaxed and her voice softened. Now they were getting somewhere. "Then be here. Come as soon as you can." She did not voice the silent please, but instead added, "I'll wait for you."
"…I can't," he answered in a low voice, and he sounded so lost and defeated that she almost couldn't hate him. Almost.
"Why not?" She pleaded, not bothering to wipe away the tears that were falling, nor to disguise the sound of the small sobs escaping from her throat.
"I want to," he assured her desperately; unable to believe he was making her cry. If he ever made promises to himself, he would have promised to never make Blair Waldorf cry. "But I can't. You don't understand…"
"I don't think you know what you want," she accused him bitterly, sniffling and wiping her face with her sleeve.
"Blair, when you come back… Can we start over?" He asked, as if he were a little boy asking his mommy if he could ride on the carousel one last time before leaving the amusement park.
Blair took a deep breath and felt her eyes flash. He refused to come to her, and yet he expected her to return to him with open arms? "You're going to have a lot of work to do. You have to prove yourself before anything can happen between us ever again."
He shot straight up, hope filling him once more. By Labor Day, he was sure to have straightened himself out. Then he could prove himself to Blair and pick up where they left off, pretending this summer had never happened. "Tell me what you want. I'll do anything."
"There's not a lot that I'm asking from you, Chuck. From anyone, really. But especially from you."
"What is it?" He hated guessing games.
She smiled sadly. "If you don't know what it is, it's probably because you don't have it to give to me."
"Please, don't worry about it," she replied hastily. "You're going to pay when I get back," she added in a more cheery tone. "And then you won't feel so bad about hurting me, because you'll be too busy being the one in pain."
Chuck couldn't help but smile at this threat. He knew it wouldn't be an empty one, either. "I'll see you soon, Blair."
"Goodbye, Chuck," she responded. Once she heard the dial tone on his end of the line, she whispered, "I love you."