Will Not Remember, Cannot Forget

By dawn, Chuck’s private investigator has supplied him with more than enough information.

Vanessa Anne Abrams. Seventeen. Budding filmmaker. Transplanted from Vermont. Newly emancipated. Currently residing in an apartment building which should be condemned, whose rent almost exceeds her wages working as a barista full time. Recently applied for an arts grant to supplement her income and support her documentarian dreams.

He knows girls like her. The ones who act like money isn’t important, but the truth is money is important to everyone, especially when those who have none to spare. Ten thousand dollars could really make a difference in her life, and that is what he’s going to offer her in exchange for the video.

Before heading to Saint Jude’s, he has Arthur swing by Vanessa’s place, but she has already left. Puzzled as to where she could be, he rifles through the rest of the papers the PI faxed over. Her next shift at the coffee shop isn’t scheduled until this evening, but maybe she got called in unexpectedly. It isn’t like she has to attend classes. The dossier indicates she’s homeschooled. So what else besides her employment could have possessed her to leave the confines of her dilapidated studio this early? Surely not hanging with friends because her only real associates are the Humphreys, and obviously she cannot be with them as they are at school.

Not knowing where else she could have gone, he has his chauffer take him deeper into the heart of Brooklyn. It’ll mean missing first period, but he doesn’t pay attention to speech and rhetoric anyway. The musty professor cannot possibly teach him more about verbal sparring than he has already learned under the tutelage of the Upper East Side’s master manipulator.

Psychotic bitch.

Arriving at the tiny café, Chuck strolls inside expectantly looking for the boho brunette. The woman at the register, however, is not her. Neither is the one behind the counter making the drinks. Well, piss! He came all this way, only to find she isn’t here, and he can’t even order a damn latte because he is not ingesting anything that was made at an establishment with a menu drawn in chalk. That’s just asking for food poisoning.

He stomps back to the limo, assuring himself on the drive to school that it’ll be safe to wait to present Vanessa with the bribe. After all, Blair could not have been more successful this…

Shit!

There they are. The two of them. Chatting in the courtyard in front of the steps. Perhaps he had grossly underestimated the her resources.

Fighting down a surge of panic, he analyses their body language. Queen B is tense. Always a reliable indication things aren’t going in her favor. The wannabe Michael Moore, on the other hand, seems relaxed. Another good sign.

As they continue conversing, Blair grows increasingly stiff. Then with the fake smile she usually reserves for him, she turns and walks inside sans tape, a model of outraged dignity, leaving the other girl alone on the pavement.

Chuck almost laughs. Watching her fail spectacularly gives him so much joy.

He doesn’t exult in her letdown long, however. Quickly, he approaches his target, hiding his elation behind a disinterested veneer. Barely two minutes later, and it is done. The transaction goes remarkably well. Vanessa Abrams now has enough cash to cover her expenses for quite some time, and Chuck Bass is in possession of the recording Blair Waldorf claimed she could get on her own.

Amateur.

Next on the agenda? Finding the right opportunity to rub her face in it. Lunch perhaps? He has been meaning to stroll past the Met…

Until that time, however, he supposes he should go to math. He hates the subject, but at least he shares a table with Nate, so it isn’t as horrible as it could be. They always spend the period passing notes. But when he gets there, the golden boy is nowhere to be found, although the other guys inform Chuck that he had been present for the first class. Strange. It isn’t like Nathaniel to skip without some major persuasion, usually of the herbal variety.

The minutes until noon drag by slowly without Nate to provide a distraction from the boring professor yammering on about cosigns and tangents. But before the bell rings to signal the hour of freedom, an announcement blares over the intercom. Apparently there’s going to be another assembly of the junior class. Fucking Queller. The hag is seriously on a witch hunt. Too bad it’ll go nowhere.

Shuffling into the chapel, the boys take their seats on the wooden benches. “Nathaniel!” Chuck greets when he sees his friend already occupying a row. “There you are. Doing a little mid-morning wake and bake without me?”

“Not exactly… I was talking with – ”

Just then the girls from Constance Billard start filing in, the headmistress leading the group. “Tell me after, okay? Wouldn’t want to give Queller another excuse to bust our balls. Bitch is out for blood,” Chuck advises as the woman in question makes her way to the podium.

Turning away from Nate, he risks a peek across the aisle to where Blair sits with her minions. Seeing her so near, he cannot suppress the urge to gloat, even as the hawkeyed headmistress starts to admonish them concerning some mistake or other. Surreptitiously, he pulls the tape from his jacket pocket, holding it up in a way that catches the ice princess’s attention. “Proof worth every penny,” he taunts softly when she glances over, reveling in the way her composed façade slips for a second. She should have known better than to bet against a Bass.

Facing towards the front once more, Chuck attempts not to blatantly yawn as Queller lectures on about Saturday’s spontaneous pool party. “…but someone came forward today and claimed responsibility,” she drones. “For a crime he did not commit.”

Huh? Who would be that stupid?

“And although I appreciate his self-sacrifice, I don’t abide dishonesty, and I think it’s time you all know how serious I am,” she continues, her tone summoning all the authority she can muster. “Nathaniel Archibald is…”

The effect is instantaneous. Shock ripples through the pews even as the words leave her mouth.

“…suspended from Saint Jude’s, and yes this will go on his transcript. Effective immediately. Mr. Archibald, you know where to find the exit.”

Chagrinned, Nate rises and makes his way outside.

“Watch him go students. Who wants to be next?” Queller asks. “Until one of you comes forward, we’ll keep going until every last one of you has walked out that door.”

What the hell, Chuck thinks when they are released shortly afterwards. Why would Nathaniel do that? Had he at last realized Serena was behind the break in? Was he acting all noble for her? That must be it. He’s trying to protect Serena. That moron! He should have stuck with the plan! Now all he’s done is alert the headmistress that people do know who is responsible and gotten himself suspended in the process.

Goddamn it!

Wishing he had known what Nate intended so he could have prevented it, Chuck stalks out into the quad. What he sees there causes resentment to flare in this chest.

Blair is talking with Nathaniel! Probably comforting him and telling him what a chivalrous white knight he’s being. Did she not understand that her precious boyfriend is an idiot? That he’d basically betrayed her again in favor of her blonde haired BFF?

No. Of course not. Nate is a gentleman. Nate is perfect. Nate is… Nate is an asshole! Why does nobody see it? It is so obvious! How does he keep managing to fool everyone over and over again? Because he’s athletic? Because he’s handsome? Because he’s old money?

Fuck!

What else had Blair said to him about Nathaniel? That he was easy and honest and open? Fine! If that’s what she wants, that’s what she’ll get. Only not from the golden boy.

She wants easy? No more games then. Honest? Nothing but the truth from now on. Open? Goodbye posturing. She thinks she’s seen the real Chuck Bass, but she has no idea. No one has seen the real him since… since…

“Since me, Chucky?”

He shudders, shoving Georgina’s cruel phantom voice away. He wishes he could deny it, but he cannot. It’s true. The whore’s words rarely are, but in this one instance she is correct. Nobody has been allowed to see the real him since that night long ago. He doesn’t let people get that close, doesn’t want anyone seeing him vulnerable ever again. Only she, the hell spawn, knows the real him, and it’s an honor she does not deserve to hold alone anymore.

It’s a gamble, he knows. A huge gamble that’ll expose himself to Blair’s possible ridicule, but he has to decide what’s most important to him: keeping his pride and getting nothing, or taking a risk, and maybe, maybe having everything?

Chuck makes up his mind before she even leaves Nathaniel standing by himself in the courtyard. Time to let operation easy and honest and open commence!

He catches up with her just as she goes to head inside. Moving in front of her, he effectively blocks the entrance. “Three o’clock, Waldorf. My suite. Non-negotiable.”

“Screw you,” she hisses.

He smirks, fingering the hem of her skirt. “Wear something this short,” he promises, “And that can be arranged.” With a disgusted noise, she slaps his hand away. “See you later, princess.”

Okay, maybe the snarky innuendo wasn’t precisely what he’d been aiming for, but at least she’s coming over. He’ll work on the other stuff. Baby steps. Besides, revealing hidden aspects of himself should be easier in the safety of suite 1812 anyway.

He attends a couple of his next classes, but decides to cut his last one so he’ll have more time to prepare for Blair’s arrival. Dashing towards the street, he collides with Serena. “Hey!” he complains as he stoops to pick up his fallen book bag. “Shouldn’t you be in class?”

“I could say the same about you!” she retorts.

“Touché,” he grins. “So why are you skipping? Reverting to your wild ways?”

“Hardly,” the fair-haired waif explains. “I’m turning myself in.”

He cannot have heard her correctly. “What?” he scoffs. “Have you been mixing valium and Ritalin again? I told you that was a bad idea.”

She ignores his comment. “It’s the right thing to do Chuck.”

“It’s the stupid thing to do,” he counters. “Serena, Queller will expel you!”

She shakes her head, golden tresses bouncing. “I bet she’ll go easy on me since I’m admitting my guilt voluntarily.”

“She’ll go easy on you?” he mocks, grabbing her elbow. “Are you nuts? She’s going to make an example of you so nobody else steps out of line!”

Serena jerks her arm free. “You’re not talking me out of this, Chuck. I’ve already made my decision and I’m sticking to it.” With that, she marches determinedly towards the building.

“Your funeral then,” he calls after her.

What is up with the self-sacrificing blonde brigade today? First Nate. Now Serena. Was it something in the water? This… This is why he sticks to scotch.

But joking aside, what the fuck is Serena thinking? There is no way she won’t be kicked out of Constance for the late night swimming incident, and with her record, they won’t let her back in. She’ll have to attend boarding school once more, which means he won’t get to harass her on the daily basis to which he has grown accustomed. Worse, if she’s gone, Blair will be essentially friendless. She isn’t close with any other girls besides Serena and if she’s not around, Blair could turn to him, but would most likely cling even tighter to Nate. That cannot be allowed to happen.
.
Climbing into the waiting limo, Chuck whips out his phone, presses 6 on his speed dial.

“Yeah,” a blunt male voice answers almost immediately.

The sharpness in that tone never fails to make him inwardly flinch. “Good to hear your voice too, Dad.”

“What is it Chuck?”

“I… I just…” he swallows, suddenly nervous.

“Chuck, I’m tired. I’m jet lagged. And I have a lot of work to get done before the dinner tonight,” Bart sighs, his irritation coming through the line quite clearly.
Still, Chuck cannot help but be curious. “Dinner?” he asks.

“Yes,” his father clarifies. “My secretary should have called you about it. We’re having an engagement dinner at – ”

“Engagement dinner?” Chuck repeats dumbfounded. “So Lily said yes?”

“Of course she said yes. Now I’ll see you at 8,” Bart says brusquely. “Unless there’s something else?”

His father’s exasperation causes the words to lodge in Chuck’s throat. “Well, I…”

“What kind of trouble are you in?”

“None,” he grimaces, wishing that just once his father wouldn’t think it unimaginable for his son to want to sit and talk with him. “It’s... It’s Serena.”

“Serena?”

“Yeah. The headmistress was threatening to expel everyone,” Chuck explains. “So Serena decided to confess about breaking into the school pool.”

“Great,” Bart groans. “I’ll take care of it.”

“Thanks Dad, and – ” he breaks off, hearing a distinctive click as his father hangs up without so much as a goodbye. “Good talking to you too,” he mutters to himself cynically.

His father never cares enough to get angry. He expects Chuck to fuck things up and need to be rescued. But when he finally is not calling for himself, he is still treated like a nuisance. And now Bart is getting married, and he had told his secretary before his own son!

But now that there is going to be a new Mrs. Bass, his father might be around more often. Maybe he’ll stop looking at Chuck like he killed his first beloved wife, and be able to forgive him for being born as she died. Perhaps they can finally be a family. A real family of Chuck and Bart and Serena and Eric and Lily. Mom, Dad, and the kids.

It’ll be… perfect.

Lily isn’t the greatest parent, of course. She has flitted from relationship to relationship and left her own children for countless days on end, but she is a mother, and after the wedding she’ll be his mother. Well, technically his stepmother, but that is just semantics. She’ll still be his. The first mother figure he’s ever known. So it doesn’t really matter if she isn’t the best mom. She’s a mom, soon to be his mom, and that is better than nothing.

Then there’s Serena and Eric. He’ll have a little brother and an older sister. He won’t be alone anymore. They can do sibling things. Like… well… stuff! What they do isn’t important, just that now he has people to do them with! People that have to stand by him through thick and thin because they are family and families stick together.

It’s more than he had ever dared to dream.

He blinks, eyes unexpectedly filling with tears. He wipes them away, laughing at himself. Today has just become one of the best days of his life, and it is only going to keep improving because Blair will be over this afternoon. If things go especially well, maybe he’ll even invite her to the dinner.

Although he had left school early to organize everything before she shows up, he nevertheless runs out of time making sure his plan will run smoothly. He barely manages finishing his preparations before she knocks at his suite.

Showtime.

“Still in that skirt, I see,” he observes drily as he opens the door and gestures for her to come inside. “I seem to remember mentioning what might happen if you were. You must be rather eager.”

“You wish,” she glowers, brushing past him. “I’m only wearing it because your orders didn’t exactly allow me enough leeway to go home to change. Otherwise I’d be in pants.”

“Why?” he goads, unable to help himself. “Worried you can’t trust yourself around me?”

She rolls her eyes. “Hardly. You’re the one who can’t be trusted.”

“Maybe you should switch to Catholicism, Waldorf,” he says, his mouth twitching in amusement. “I hear they’re big on martyrs.”

“Cut the crap, Bass. Why am I here?”

He grins. “We’re going to watch a movie.”

She looks like she’s going to kill him. “You blackmailed me into coming over here so we could watch a damn movie?”

He doesn’t even try to hide how pleased with himself he is. “Yeah,” he nods.

“Fine,” she snaps disgusted, throwing her stuff down petulantly. “Breakfast at Tiffany’s it is then.”

He shakes his head. “No. Not one of your favorites. One of mine.”

This he has decided is going to be his first revelation about the real him. Something nice and safe, but surprising nonetheless.

From the leather couch, she scowls. “If you think I’m sitting through Debbie Does Dallas, you’re quite mistaken.”

Smirking, he offers her the popcorn he had made in advance. “It’s highly overrated, anyway. Deep Throat is much better.” He cocks a brow. “Wouldn’t you agree?”

“Like I would know,” she denies, snatching the bowl from him.

“Well you were the one who brought up porn in the first place, princess,” he points out smugly. “Why is that I wonder? Little agitated lately? Having to take things into your own hands?” His smirk deepens. “You know, I’d love to help you out with that…”

“I just bet you would, you pig,” she glares. “But can we hurry this along? I don’t have all day.”

He gives her a faux bow before padding to the entertainment center. “Whatever my lady commands.”

“I’m not your lady!”

He glances briefly over his shoulder at her, expression arrogant. “Yet.” A couple seconds later, a pillow hits him in the back. He turns around, almost laughing. “Real mature, Blair, resorting to physical violence. You really are frustrated, aren’t you?”

She bristles. “I hate – ”

He holds up a hand, cutting her off. “Spare me. I know the spiel. So sit back, relax, and enjoy the film.”

“I still don’t even know what we’re watching,” she sulks.

Popping the disc into the DVD player, he tosses the case to her playfully. She stares at it as if in shock.

“You’ve got to be kidding!” she deadpans. “Gone With the Wind?”

“It’s a great film. I think you will really appreciate it,” Chuck assures her. “See it’s about this girl, beautiful, spoiled, spiteful, who keeps throwing herself at this guy who doesn’t want her, while treating the guy who does care for her like crap. Then when she finally realizes she’s loved this other guy all along, it is too late and he tells her to fuck off.”

“I believe the line is ‘Frankly my dear, I don’t give a damn!’” Blair responds sarcastically.

“Oh good,” he winks “You have seen it. I was worried you’d have to take notes to get the meaning.”

Her lips curl into an approximation of a smile that does not look the least bit happy. “Subliminal message much?”

“Whatever works.”

“Well, try again, because in this you’re wrong,” she gloats. “Nate does want me. He loves me. He told me so before he left school today. He tried to take the blame for the pool thing because he thought I was behind it. That’s love Bass. Not these sick games.”

“Just shut up and watch the TV,” he whispers.

Goddamn fucking Nathaniel playing hero, sacrificing himself for Blair. How the hell is Chuck supposed to compete with that? He isn’t Prince Charming. He is flawed, tainted, insecure. He’s made mistakes, and he will make them again. He is not perfection, and he cannot begin to vie with the fantasy she has constructed around Nathaniel, especially now. Nothing, not sleeping with her friend, or sneaking behind her back, or breaking her heart, or hooking up with a random blonde can tarnish the golden boy’s image, so what chance can he possibly have?

Pessimistic, he wads up the quilt from his bed, walks behind the sofa, and drapes it over her head. She pulls it off annoyed, but does wrap it around herself as he sits on the opposite end of the couch, using the remote to bring up the DVD menu.

“We’re seriously going to watch this?” she says incredulous.

“Yes.”

She exhales in evident weariness. “You don’t actually expect me to believe you like this movie.”

“Why not?” he asks, tension radiating down his arms.

She shrugs. “You’re… You’re Chuck Bass.”

His jaw clenches. “So?”

“You don’t have a romantic bone in your body,” she states, so confidently that he cannot prevent the leer that transforms his face as his gaze drops to his trousers deliberately. “Least of all that one,” she snorts.

“Perhaps you don’t know me as well as you think you do,” he counters bitterly, rotating on the leather cushions, stretching his legs out and into her lap.

Instantly, she tries to push them off. “I don’t want your feet on me!”

He sneers, “There’s plenty of floor.”

“I am not going to sit on the floor.”

“And I’m not going to move, so deal with it,” he retorts, dismissing her look of outrage by tapping a button to start the film. A moment goes by during which she purses her lips. Then her finger deftly runs along the sole of his foot. He flinches, his knee jerking from the contact. “Do it and die, Waldorf,” he threatens.

She meets the challenge in his eyes with false innocence. “Do what?” she inquires, a second before she grabs his foot.

“That’s it,” he growls. He lunges for her, upsetting the bowl of popcorn, dumping all over the floor. With a shriek, Blair tries to flee, but Chuck seizes the blanket entwined around her, using it as leverage to pull her back down. “How do you like it, huh?” he shouts, tickling her through the fabric as she squeals, her whole body thrashing, attempting to tickle him back until she pushes him off the sofa.

He lands with a grunt, dragging her down as well. They roll across the carpet, crushing popcorn kernels into the rug, neither willing concede victory. Then with a enthusiastic cry, he traps her with his weight, pinning her wrists above her head. Hair in total disarray, grinning like the sixteen year old boy he is, he looks at her in triumph, both of them breathing hard and laughing. The second their eyes meet, however, something alters.

Chuck becomes acutely aware that she is lying beneath him. Her skirt has ridden up, exposing the tops of her thighs in their pale grey stockings. One of her legs is hooked around his waist, inadvertently pressing him closer.

His hold on her arms loosens, and she tugs one hand free to cradle his jaw, searching his eyes. A flush is high in her cheeks, her rosy lips parted slightly.

“Blair,” he croaks, his voice strangely hoarse, his body already reacting to the proximity of hers.

Feeling his growing arousal, she gasps, arching into his hardness. “Kiss me,” she commands, and with a harsh intake of air, he obeys.

His mouth captures hers, tongue claiming her as his while her fingers twist in his hair, deepening the kiss.

“God, I’ve missed this,” she moans as he palms one of her breasts through her shirt.

Hearing her words echo in his mind, his hand freezes. Shoulders tightening with dread.

She’s missed this. This. Not him. Of course not him. Why would she? She doesn’t care for him. He’s little more than a means to an end, a way to get off. That’s what she misses, and if Nate had known what he was doing, she probably wouldn’t even have missed that. She wouldn’t have spared Chuck a second thought ever again.

Coldhearted whore.

Sensing the subtle change in his demeanor, she nuzzles his neck. “We…” he breathes, mastering a shiver as her lips graze his ear. “We shouldn’t do this.”

In response, her tongue darts out against his skin as her hips rub against his erection. “Come on, Bass,” she purrs. “Don’t play hard to get now. It’ll just delay the inevitable.”

Hope flutters faintly in his chest. Propping himself up a fraction, he looks intently into her face, her irises darkened to ebony pools of desire. “Are you saying we’re inevitable?”

“Just shut up and kiss me!” she says trying to bring his mouth back down.

He gets up abruptly. “No. No, I can’t do this.”

“What?” she cries in confusion. “What the hell kind of game is this?”

“It’s not a game,” he hisses. “In case you forgot, you’re still with Nate.”

“Didn’t stop you before,” she accuses.

Guilt flashes through him along with resentment. “Well it’s stopping me now.”

“Great,” she laughs callously as she stands and rearranges her clothes. “So now you decide to develop a conscience?”

“I’ve always had a conscience, Blair.”

“Could have fooled me,” she says, her tone biting.

“Yeah, well we’ve already established that the things you don’t know about me could fill a book,” he grinds out, temper flaring to match hers for a moment. Then all the fight drains from him. “Now please leave,” he mutters so softly he’s scarcely audible.

“Excuse me?”

“You’re excused. So let yourself out. Go back to Nathaniel. Do whatever you want from now on,” he sighs, heart constricting. “I won’t stop you.”

“You’re just dropping this? The whole blackmail thing? Even though you have the tape?” Her gaze narrows suspiciously. “Why?”

“Because…” he begins, but his voice trails off.

Because Blair doesn’t see him as a person. He’s a thing, a monster, a womanizer, a deviant, a devil. He isn’t human, isn’t capable of feeling. He’s Chuck Bass.

Because Nate is his friend, his best friend who trusts him implicitly, even though he shouldn’t. Who has stood by him, offering nothing but acceptance, and who does not deserve to have that lifelong loyalty rewarded like this.

But mostly, because if you love something, you should set it free, and maybe, just maybe, she’ll come back to him on her own.

“Because,” he says again, clearing his throat. He moistens his lips, glancing away, avoiding her eyes. He is an expert liar, hadn’t had a choice but to become one. A matter of survival in the realm of Georgina Sparks, but he cannot lie to her. Not now. Not about this. Not if he looks at her.

He swallows, turns, gives her a view of his back before he retreats into the bathroom and the door shuts in her face. “Because I’m bored.”