A/N: So I was watching Planet Terror when I should have been studying (whatever)- the first feature of Grindhouse, if you've never seen it, which you should, and Cherry and El Wray are just so Chair (in my mind, because everything relates to Chair) so I had to do something with it. I think I might have started something like it a while ago, but I think this came out a lot better. It's shorter than most of my other stuff but its sort of a wrapping things up sort of fic. It's a couple years in the future (maybe five.) It's not really clear. It's just Chuck and Blair finding each other again because they're meant to be. Not really original, but I just couldn't resist.
Summary:He sees her for the first since he can remember at some dive. He doesn't know what she's doing there of all places or why she's alone but then again, it's Paris.
Disclaimer: Inspiration comes from Grindhouse's Planet Terror and characters, as always and of course, are Chuck and Blair which also do not belong to me.
He sees her for the first since he can remember at some dive. He doesn't know what she's doing there of all places or why she's alone but then again, it's Paris, and he knows to her, Paris can do no wrong.
He hesitates behind her for a moment. He struggles for what to say because there really isn't anything. So he says the most obvious thing.
Her eyelashes flutter to her cheeks for a moment as she closes her eyes against him as he sits without invitation. She looks at him for the first time since he can remember and he knows it's worth it, even if she ends up walking out on him again.
"I haven't been called that in a long time," she murmurs. Her voice is without venom and he hates that she is giving off the impression that she's over him.
But she can't be.
Because they are never over.
"Shame," he says, giving off his own air of indifference. "That was always your favorite part, if I recall correctly."
"Maybe you shouldn't be recalling anything," she retorts.
And there is the girl that he remembers.
The girl he knows he still loves.
"How long have you been here?" he inquires curiously because he told Mike to not tail her anymore after he was sure her love for him was dead.
He hears something different. He hears the whole time. And he wonders how long it would have been since he stumbled upon her in some Parisian bar. But this is more like them.
"Did you have my jacket for awhile?" he finally with cool pointedness. She looks down at the jacket that reaches her knees but looked regal on him. She just shrugs, knowing that the answer is obvious.
"I looked for it for two weeks," he says pointedly.
"So about a week and six days more than you looked for me," Blair shoots back.
"Well you made it blatantly clear that you didn't belong to me," Chuck says. "But the jacket did."
She worms her way back into his life like she never left it and it only takes a moment for him to realize it as he looks at her sitting primly on his bed that she never left it.
Even when she did.
"Thanks for the ride."
For a moment, he wishes it was lift home instead of ride. Then he remembers it's his house, not hers, and there are so many ways he can use ride to his advantage.
"It was my... esteemed pleasure," he says in his natural drawl as he sits on his own bed next to her. He takes it as a compliment that she doesn't shift away from him anymore.
"Is this how you've been living?" he asks. "Moving from place to place. Using charming strangers to your advantage."
She laughs and it makes him feel marginally better.
But only marginally because her face is downcast again and he would do anything to make her happy again.
Even when he couldn't.
"Forgive me if I find your use of 'charming' and 'stranger' highly amusing," she scoffs and he's missed his girl.
"That sounded vaguely like a pointed comment, Waldorf," he says.
"Nothing seems to escape you, Bass," she parries.
"If you are implying that I am anything but charming, I have news for you," he instructs, wanting to prove himself to her just one more time.
She finally looks at him with those mesmerizing dark eyes. "Prove it."
Her smile has a mocking tone to it and all he can remember are summers where he dared for her to prove that she was over him.
They lost on both counts.
"You are really asking for it," he drawls, sidling close enough to her so he can smell her.
He wants to kiss her.
He wants her to want him to kiss her.
She's still wearing his jacket.
"That's my jacket," he finally says at her cool silence. She rolls her eyes and he knows no one can be as beautifully blasé as she can.
"I looked for it for two weeks."
"I got it the first time, Bass," she says in annoyance.
"I liked that jacket," he says.
He doesn't mention that he likes it better on her.
Especially when she's not wearing anything underneath it.
She finally does pull away from him.
"You have as many jackets as you do suspenders," she says, her annoyance cresting. "I'm sure you didn't miss this considering your wardrobe is more extensive than mine."
"I looked for it for two weeks," he reiterates.
"Listen," she said curtly. "I was making a point. I was walking out on you because you were being a possessive jerk. I took your jacket. Deal with it."
"Did you find what was in the pocket?" he asks quietly. He observes a slightly perceptible change in her demeanor.
"Look for it," he says and he thinks that she must know what he's talking about. Her face is too stony for her not to.
She feels around in the right pocket.
"The other one," he says, memorizing its placement, even after all this time. She slowly reaches into the left pocket, fishing for what he knows is there. With a shaking hand, she retrieves the velvet box that he had since he was 19.
"Open it," he says huskily in her ear. Not a seduction technique as he was usually prone, but something more vulnerable and real that she has to do what he's been wanting of her since they were teenagers.
Since he fell in love with her.
Since she left him.
She slowly lifts up the elaborate top and the box expands to accommodate the modest diamond. Her hand hovers momentarily before removing it. Like he wanted.
"Read it," he says, hoping it doesn't come out like the plea that it sounds in his head. Her eyes narrow at the inscription.
She is smiling slightly.
He doesn't ask.
He doesn't ask because it was never a question. He plucks the ring from her fingers and takes her left hand in his. He rests it in his lap.
"I was going to give it to you," he says. "I decided I wasn't going to be a coward and ask you anymore. Finally. But you walked out on me."
"Finally," she whispers.
"I looked for that jacket for two weeks," he says again, embellishing it. She looks at him and he definitely wants to kiss her. She's not pushing him away and he isn't going anywhere. This is how they are.
"I've been shot for this ring," Chuck continues. She needs to know. "I would have died for it. For you."
His eyes are closed but suddenly he feels her soft hand against his face. Her left hand his still clenched in his own as no words pass between them. Her nimble fingers caress the back of his neck, toying with his hair.
Like she never left.
"Why did you leave me?" he asks, the question that's been gnawing at him since he saw her. Her fingers twitch in his hand but she doesn't remove them. It's enough for him.
"Because I couldn't be that person who loves him more than he loves her," she whispers. "I couldn't be that girl again."
"You never were," he says. His fingers brush at the juncture of her neck and shoulder, sifting her hair from his neck. She smiles lightly.
He always liked her neck.
"I was afraid you were slipping away," he says. "But you were never that person. Not with me. You may have loved me too much but that was exactly the way I loved you. Obsessively. Compulsively. Completely."
"And you were a jerk," she says pointedly.
"You knew that from the beginning."
"Yes," she says softly and their foreheads connect. She knows her hand is still joined with his and she knows that when she looks back down at his lap, his ring will be there.
Be there forever.
Where it belongs.
He brings her left hand to his lips, laying a kiss to her knuckles.
She shrugs out of his jacket.
"You can have it back now."
"It looks better on you," he smirks.
She shakes her head. "No it doesn't."
"It does when you have nothing else on underneath."
He's pleased he actually got to use that line.
Her hands are on his face again and he knows there isn't anything like it in the world. She's fumbling at her own clothes and he stares at the pale shoulder that is bared to his hungry eyes. He brushes back her hair again, not confident in anything but what is real and what is here.
It was a twist of fate that he had come to Paris that night. That he had found her at all. Her lips are right and perfect against his and he knows he was born to be encased in her warmth.
It is a twist of fate that her hand is in his. His diamond sparkles at him.
"It's not like before."
His jacket is sprawled at the edge of the bed and she isn't running, even when they are in the most intimate way that they can be.
"We're not like before."
"We were alright before," Blair whispers back, tracing the scar that he will always have.
"I won't make you hate yourself anymore," he tells her.
"You never did," she answers. "It was me."
"You never loved me more than I loved you," Chuck says. "Never. But I know you deserve better. Even better than me. But I'm too selfish to let that happen again."
"So am I," she says into the crook of his neck.
So are the both of them.
a.n: So one of many engagement fics of done just because... GAH HE WAS GOING TO PROPOSE. So be warned, there is another one to come. I've already written it.