You're my ... what?
Troy Dyer: You can't nagivage me. I may do mean things and I may hurt you, and I may run away without your permission, and you may hate me forever, and I know that scares the living shit out of you because you know I'm the only real thing you've got.
Chuck Bass could rarely think of a time in his life when he'd felt truly content. Up until now little regard had been held for the buttery flies of attraction that everyone claimed would fly about in one's stomach. They were signs of a certain inevitable and very permanent desire that he had done everything to avoid. Existing within one night stands and fleeting encounters was a lifestyle rather than a series of choices. The simple truth was that women never held his attention much longer than they could physically hold his body in their hands.
If he had learned it anywhere it was through the constant and yet discreet, love affairs of his father.
Bart Bass, the crisp corners of expensive suits and a gravelly voice that boomed throughout any room. Chuck had always considered his womanizing nature a bridge to fill the gaps. If neither man had anything else in common aside from basic DNA, that they had.
Childhood days in the Bass household had begun with breakfast, often alone in the grand dining-room and almost always ended with tangled lullabies under starched sheets. The coos were always broken words and awkward gestures of several nannies who saw the tiny boy, void of his families love, trying to treat him as their own. It had never worked.
All Chuck could recall of his father during his early years were walls of newspaper and golden cufflinks. The mention of overseas business was more frequent than conversation or interest in his young son and then one day he would be gone as quick as he had come.
Still, he had been desperate for his father's approval then, neck craned as he struggled to catch glimpses of the man who shared the same sharp jaw and muddy eyes he did. Even now, the weight of expectation remained in every inch of Bart's stare. But, Chuck was no longer shamed by the disappointment that trailed after anymore, only bored by it.
With Blair however, the simple fact that she expected nothing more from him than what he could give, made him want to conquer the world. Stand atop it triumphantly. And, the buttery flies - pesky attractions that thrashed about his stomach, were no longer drowned in alcohol.
If anything they were embraced. Reasons enough for his hand to linger a little longer on hers, for the kiss to deepen, the silent smiles and bashful stares to stretch just slightly further across the table.
Just then, piercing his film of thought, Blair sauntered onto the balcony, draping herself over his lap. He rounded his arms across her backless dress, inhaling the perfume that lingered on her skin, fresh apples and lilies. He pressed his lips to the hollow curve of her neck.
Time slowed and sped up as they sat, eyes fixed on the Eiffel tower, the colourful buildings of landscaped architecture poaching the clouds.
She traced her finger along his wrist, pulling up the sleeve. And, after a while she turned slightly, enough for Chuck to see her profile, lips in a thin line. He waited on her words, tightening his hold, knowing then that she wanted to say something.
The right side of her face was lit by the milky glow of the crescent moon.
"What is this?" She whispered, a beat passed. "What are we?" and then she slipped from his grasp and glided towards the railing. A curtain of brunette curls falling in her face. "I mean, I need to know - no, I have to know what this is because if I don't then I might make it into something it's not and I'd rather spare myself the hurt."
The words were rushed. The meanings were thought-out enough that when she finally turned to him, the plains of her face begging for explanation, Chuck was speechless.
In true Waldorf fashion she had been hiding her feelings, watering down her insecurities. But, he reminded himself, this was Blair and she always needed all the pieces.
He opened his mouth, awkwardly closing it when he realized there was nothing he could say. All the appropriate words had escaped him.
The ties that bound her to him would remain escapable if he didn't do anything, something. She was the only thing that mattered, he couldn't drive her away.
Her delicate features skewed as she watched him, trying to taste the air, absorb his thoughts without their obvious presence.
"What? You can' tell me..." She prompted, "I'm not going to freak out. You asked me to come with you and I willingly followed, I know that." She was pacing now. Not meaning what she said, he could tell by the hysterical tinge in her voice.
Couldn't she see that he was the one who would always be following her? Blair could lead him to the ends of the Earth and he would trail after her, always.
Yet, his mouth was try and his thoughts were spinning. He couldn't coax a single syllable off his tongue.
She frowned, turning away. He heard her sigh, a deep exhale and then she ran back into the bedroom without another word.
Chuck groaned, rubbing at his eyes as the bathroom door slammed. After a few seconds and a couple murmured words, he stood up, shaking the tension from his shoulders.
He had never really learned this, how to be with a woman. Bart had only ever told him how best to keep from being vulnerable nut, everything in a real relationship called for that weakness to be brought into light. It was the true meaning of love, to be flawed and still wanted.
Chuck knocked his fists against the door, his limbs heavy. "Could you just listen to me for a minute?"
"Please Blair?" He was begging now, feeling every bit useless and horrible.
Hours seemed to pass in just a few seconds by the time the door creaked open. Blair held her chin high, the tear tracts underneath her eyes smudged black, the beautiful heart-shaped face. He grabbed her wrists, walking them both onto the terrace once more, his lungs filling with the brisk evening air.
He swallowed hard. "I --"
She held up her hand, silencing him. "I get it, you're Chuck Bass, I don't need the speech."
She had it all wrong. "No," He insisted, "You don't."
"What is there to get then?" She pulled her hands out of his, shifting her weight. "You think I didn't know that coming into this?" She deadpanned. "This was a gamble anyway." Blair mouthed something he couldn't make out.
His breath hitched, a swarm of buttery flies spewing inside his mouth, words seemed next to impossible. It was now or never.
"Blair, this isn't a fling and it's not whatever you think I think it is." The last rays of sunlight as they dipped behind blue clouds shone down on the city. "If I said we were a couple it wouldn't be true because that's not us. We're not what everyone else ... you're the only wo--" If this is what tongue-tied and tripped up meant then he definitely didn't enjoy it. "I really care about you and I think - I think that I need you."
When his pathetic swooning address was over he exhaled and ran a hand through his hair nervously. It was the most devotion he had ever expressed or even wanted to express, in the entirety of his life. Her expression was blank, her hands locked into fists. He said finally, "We're just Chuck and Blair, what other way could we describe this?"
Slowly she came back to life, mouthing the words, fitting them between her Cupid bow lips. Chuck and Blair.
He watched, judging the moment, wanting to fill the emptiness between them with something more. There couldn't be anything else to say. Carefully she unclenched her fists and her muscles seemed to relax as though she were allowing herself to process the drifting words.
Chuck caught her in his arms, her breath against his chest, steady.
They weren't there yet but it was the most he could to do promise her that they were going somewhere and not just aimlessly holding onto each other for the sake of it.
No, this meant something – everything.