Title: Of Hammocks, Car Accidents and Lazy Afternoons – Part 2

Author: Isabelle

Rating: PG-13

Disclaimers: I do not own anything.

Summary: His feelings are a long run-on sentence written on his forehead whenever he looks at her and, despite his best efforts to hide them, she always sees them – but in moments like this, when she sleeps and he watches, he admits she's changed him. And there's no going back.

Spoilers: Any aired episode is game.

A/N: Special thanks to Tati – who is an awesome BETA. To all my reviewers, you guys are so very fantastic, I can't say it enough!


His feelings are a long run-on sentence written on his forehead whenever he looks at her and, despite his best efforts to hide them, she always sees them – but in moments like this, when she sleeps and he watches, he admits she's changed him. And there's no going back.

It started on a December night when they both decided to stop being fools; fools in love, but fools nonetheless. She lay with her eyes closed, resting her soft head on his arm. His arm tingled because he dared not wake her from that spell. She was breathing slowly, with a slight smile on her face. Her breasts were exposed and she looked completely relaxed.

He inspected the small freckle on her neck – the one inches from her collarbone. That freckle knew him well. He loved that freckle. He bent forward and kissed it softly, a mere whisper of a kiss.

There by her neck, he inhaled her scent – not that perfume she wore – but the scent of her skin, the scent of Blair. It intoxicated him until he couldn't think. Her scent was strongest by that freckle on her neck, in the inside of her elbows, behind her knees and, of course, between her legs.

She shifted a bit and he paused, staring at her lashes… she didn't move any more, but her hand carelessly moved and tangled itself in his hair, pulling him to her. He complied and laid his head as close to her as possible so he could watch her sleep. Because this time it was real, this time he wouldn't mess up, because a life without that freckle would be no life at all.

It was a lazy afternoon and they were on her bed. She opened the window to let in the Spring breeze, and he began to doze off. Because having her next to him on her stomach, with her bare feet playing in the air as she bit delicately on the tip of her pen, her attention on the Anatomy book, made him happy.

He felt happy and relaxed, thinking he could spend the rest of his life like this. He attempted to play with her hair, but she reminded him he had a final the next morning. So he began to doze off and, before he knew it, she had given in and crawled next to him, placing her head on his chest. His chest swelled with what one could call love, and he held her close to him, kissing her head. Before he knew it, she was asleep.

So he studied her hand, because he could study her when she was like this. She was limp in his arms, completely trusting and completely vulnerable. He grabbed her hand and kissed her fingers. Her nails were painted a soft pale ivory-pink that reflected the most ladylike taste. It reminded him of his mother; always the lady. Her thumb was a bit stumpy and he knew she hid it because she didn't like it. So he kissed it because he liked it just the way it was.

She mumbled into his purple shirt and he held her closer. He would never admit to enjoying just holding her, but he did. He just couldn't help himself.

She had freckles peppered all over her skin, and he liked to play a game with them. Count the freckles and make a shape. Once in a while she would catch him, and he would lie flawlessly, but her hidden smile told him he was crap at lying.

He liked her skin this time of the year; it was pale and pure – like alabaster. Once the Summer came, she turned into a golden tone that, though he loved and appreciated, was not as perfect as the pale shimmer her skin naturally had.

Sleep slowly took over him and the last thing he remembered was her soft hair tickling his fingers.

She dragged him to Paris for the Summer, and he attempted not to protest too much because the prospect of spending an entire Summer together with the UES far far away was still very frightening to him. But the thought of hurting them like he did last year was even more frightening so he conceded.

He hardly recognized her in Paris, at her father's vineyard that was so far from civilization and prying eyes. She wore jeans around the house with small little shirts, flowing shirts that revealed her smooth stomach. He realized then that she was so very soft and supple. She was not rail thin like most girls he had had in his bed. She was slightly filled, her skin was soft, and he liked squeezing it because it removed any stress he might have. He told her he liked her just like this – that he didn't ever want her to lose weight, and she stared at him for a while.

He noticed that she was eating a bit more and enjoying it. She laughed when he almost set his hair on fire attempting to turn on a Bar B Q. They were relaxed and happy, and he couldn't believe how young and alive he felt. They took slow walks as the sun set and talked crap about people they both disliked and made up fake plots to bring those people down. He even chased her once as they raced to the house's entrance. He fears that the peace was ending, because he was enjoying himself too much.

Harold had a hammock by some plum trees, and they were packed with fruit. So he grabbed some, and they lounged in the hammock together, her nearly on top of him as he fed her the plums he'd been cutting up. Her laugh was soft and melodious, and he thought about how he'd never loved her more.

When the last of the plums were gone and his hands were sticky with their juice, they let the breeze lull them to sleep. He thought they both were asleep. When he woke, he was missing parts of his hair and he threatened to leave her in Paris while he left for New York. He knew she was sorry that night after a stop at a hairstylist. He now had hardly any hair and he didn't want to talk to her. But when she crawled onto him and kissed his back, he sighed and gave in, pulling her to him. She fell asleep in his arms, and he was tempted to cut her hair and see how she liked it, but he loved those sun-kissed curls entirely too much. Her knees were curled to her chest as he held her from behind.

He noticed she had a bruise right above her knee and remembered her bumping into the table as she stood up some nights ago. The pads of his fingers softly played with her bruise. He kissed the tips of his fingers and brought them down to her skin.

She murmured that she loved him in her sleep, and he was able to sleep once more.

He followed her to Yale, because what else was he supposed to do? It was apparently to no one's surprise that they broke up a few weeks into their freshman year. He was miserable for over two months. Just miserable. He couldn't go back to being Chuck Bass, because no one gave a damn that he was Chuck Bass. Nathaniel and Eric had gotten tired of his whining, and he was getting tired of drinking. It was a few weeks later that they could be in the same room without wanting to kill each other.

So they begin a tentative friendship, and he thought he loved her more than ever as she talked about random things. He watched her in class, taking furious notes as his own paper remained blank before him. He watched from afar as random guys thought they had a remote chance of getting in her pants, and he pitied them.

It was near finals when he realized he was failing, and she was the best student in class. He swallowed his Bass pride, and she agreed to help him. He didn't know what it was about them and a bed that apparently led to cuddling the way them in a limo led to sex.

He woke to her arm protectively surrounding his head, and he wanted to keep it there. His cheek was resting on her soft chest and he closed his eyes because he wished they were back in France where nothing could touch them. It was an odd feeling that filled him. He wanted to marry her, like grown-ups say. He realized then that he wanted her to be it. The one. The one that changes him and makes him grow up, the one that he could laugh with, plot with, love with, grow old with.

That thought scared him so much that he was shaking. When they're both awake, he left he finds comfort in someone who was the opposite of her, and he felt he could breathe again. He found comfort for many weeks in others who were nothing like her.

Once their slimy bodies were off him, he drank. That was when it happened – she got a boyfriend. Nate the third, which is what he was calling them. Enumerating them.

Nate III was tall, with tousled blondish-red hair and a sharp jaw. He wore Lacoste and was the captain of the crew team. He looked like someone shook him out of a J-crew catalog, and Chuck hated him. He held her hand and led her around school, and Chuck had to prevent himself from chucking his phone at the man's obnoxiously large head.

One afternoon, he rounded a corner and saw Captain Crew sitting on the arm of a chair, and Blair leaning into him, her hands in his hair and smiling down at him adoringly.

Chuck felt like dying because it should have been him she was smiling at. He wanted her back; he wanted her back so badly that he couldn't breathe. So he grabbed one of his many comfort girls and started making out with her on top of his limo.

He was at his apartment, watching the girl get dressed when Blair called him. He picked up the phone so fast that he didn't even care about sounding desperate. But it wasn't Blair. It was a nurse.

His stomach felt empty and hollow. The woman told him that he was Blair's number one speed dial and she had been in an accident.

He honestly didn't even know how he got there, how he even made it there in one piece. When he saw her on the hospital bed, he was pretty sure someone was going to have to put him on some type of medication because he was close to losing it. They were a couple of hours away from their friends and family, so it was up to him to sit by her bed. He never left her side; he held her hand and looked at her bruised face. He watched the rise and fall of her chest, and there was a permanent lump in his throat.

It had been a few hours, and she still hadn't woken. He would never admit to crying. A bit later, he woke to find her looking at him, and he wondered if she watched him the way he watched her.

He was so very gayishly emotional that he held her against him and let the fear of losing her completely wash over him. She didn't say anything about the wetness in her hair. He told her he loved her and didn't want to be without her. And there was a smile from her cracked lips, and he swore he would try his very hardest to be that man for her. To be that man for himself. Because she made him want to be a better man. He had been running from what she bought out in him for so long that he couldn't remember stopping. But he was done running, not when running could do this to her. He just couldn't.

Because he wouldn't know how to go on living if there wasn't a sleeping Blair to watch. He would never see the freckle, never love her stumpy thumb, never appreciate her winter skin, never watch her curls in the setting Parisian sun, never feed her plums, and never love her with his body and soul.

He just couldn't. It wasn't an option. Because she was imbedded into his soul; she was tattooed there, and he couldn't get her out no matter how many women he slept with, how hard he scrubbed his skin, how much he claimed to hate her – she was part of him. She was the part his soul was missing. The better half of it. The part that made him human and not some callous teenager with too much money and a cold father. In the end, Blair created the real Chuck Bass, redefined him and made him happy. He once told Nathaniel that happiness was not on the menu. It was the only thing he could see on his now.

She fell asleep in his arms after he asked her to marry him. She was happy – he made her happy.

His feelings are a long run-on sentence written on his forehead whenever he looks at her and, despite his best efforts to hide them, she always sees them – but in moments like this, when she sleeps and he watches, he admits she's changed him. And there's no going back.


The End

a/n - someone suggested I write Chuck's POV so here it is.