Will Not Remember, Cannot Forget

S –

Hope you like your presents!

Coming back to town.

G

Instantly, Chuck’s eyes fly to Serena’s face, a twinge of unease unfurling in the pit of his stomach. Already his pulse is beginning to race. “Why don’t I make you a drink?”

He mixes her a gin and tonic, and she takes it from his shaking grip without commenting on the apparent tremble. “Oh God,” she mutters between gulps. “Georgie can’t be coming back. She can’t.”

“You two used to spend a lot of time together,” Chuck nods absently, cold sweat breaking out along his skin as he imagines her cruel phantom laughter. “Drinking, dancing, conning men into buying your dinner. It seemed like you mostly enjoyed her company.”

“Yeah, well I did. Georgie was… fun.”

Chuck flinches at the word, remembering exactly Georgina’s ideas of fun.

Serena doesn’t notice his growing dread. “But she doesn’t have a limit, Chuck!” she exclaims. “She doesn’t stop, and everything gets out of control and there is no refusing her. She has a way of making it so you can’t say no and she… She gets you to do things you don’t want to do, things you never thought you’d do, and it… it…”

“It stops being fun?”

“Yes,” she whispers, meeting his eyes grateful for the understanding she sees mirrored there. “That’s it exactly, and if she comes back, she’ll ruin everything I’ve worked so hard for. I’m not that girl who parties until dawn anymore! But you know her. She won’t accept that I’ve changed, she’ll insist I’m still the same inside, that I can’t go back after what I’ve done, and I… I’m afraid that if I’m around her, she’ll end up being right.”

With the clarity that only horrors can bring, he recalls Georgina saying almost the exact same words to him. “But do you really think you can go back?” she had insinuated years before. “Just stop and forget about everything you’ve done to get here? You didn’t infiltrate this world, Chucky. You became part of it. You’re one of us now. Congratulations!”

He shudders, feeling adrenaline surging through his veins filling him with terror. But now is not the time to panic. Panicking only leads to rash decisions and poor judgments. Georgina thrives on inducing panic. So breathe, Bass, breathe. Think. What would she do in this situation?

Why find out if it was true of course! It could just be a ruse, a ploy to freak out Serena. It isn’t like the evil bitch has never sent vindictive items disguised as gifts before. He still remembers receiving flowers, a button, and a card from the whore, followed shortly afterwards by a call to see how much damage she’d wrought with the merest memory of her brutality. Perhaps this is like that.

So first things first: figure out where she is now. If she’s close, well then they might have a serious problem. She might actually intend to visit. And if she is not, if she’s on the other side of the planet, this could just be some of Georgina’s famous mind fuckery.

He moves past Serena at the wet bar to open a drawer and pull out a piece of Palace Hotel stationary. With an unsteady hand, he begins hastily scribbling names.

“Here,” he says after a bit, shoving the paper at Serena.

“What is this?”

“All the aliases I know she’s used. Have I missed any?”

Her blue eyes scan the list, reading a few out loud. “Monique, Christina, Svetlana… How do you know all these?”

He crosses his arms across his chest. “I make it my business to know.”

“Well you missed one,” she shrugs, taking the proffered pencil and adding it at the bottom. “Angel. Sometimes when partied, I went by Tiffany and she went by Angel.”

“How ironically inappropriate,” Chuck grimaces, whipping out his phone and pressing #3 on his speed dial. “Hey,” he commands in clipped tones when the other line picks up. “I need you to find the location of Georgina Sparks again. Pull her file, and I’ll be faxing you an updated list of aliases in a minute. It is urgent that you track her down.” When he hangs up, he discovers Serena peering at him strangely. “What?” he barks.

“God, Chuck you’re more freaked out at the prospect of her returning than I am!” she accuses. “Why is that?”

“It’s nothing,” he lies, attempting to brush her off. “Doesn’t matter. Don’t worry about it.”

Serena stares at him until he shifts uncomfortably under the weight of her obvious curiosity. “But you’ve hardly seen her since… since you two...” She stops, pursing her lips in thought. “It didn’t happen like she said, did it?” she finally blurts out.

Chuck hurries to pour himself another scotch, not liking the direction this conversation has taken. “What are you talking about?” he mumbles, stalling for time.

Please God. This cannot be happening. Not now. Not ever.

“When you slept with Georgina,” Serena presses. “You didn’t force yourself on – ”

“No,” he snarls, his blood turning to ice.

Oh sweet Jesus! He needs to get her out of here right now before she –

“Did… did she – ”

Oh fuck!

He cuts her off quickly. “It’s been nice catching up, Sis. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Chuck – ”

“Let it go, Serena,” he begs suddenly, hating the way he cannot quite look her in the eye. He knows if he does, she’ll see the answers to her questions there and he isn’t ready to have to deal with the inevitable pity that will follow such a discovery. “Just forget about it. Please.”

“If that’s what you want – ”

“It is! Believe me it is.”

As if she loathes leaving him, Serena slowly walks to the exit and lets herself out. Only once the lock clicks back into place does Chuck slump against the wall.

A girl, a scotch, and a smoke. That’s exactly what he needs to forget this nightmare of an evening. A petite girl with brown hair and brown eyes who reminds him of Blair. Someone he can pretend is Blair if he’s drunk enough, which he will be before the babe gets here, and after fucking her senseless he’ll get incredibly high, so high that he won’t care that the body nestled beside him is not Blair and will never be again.

Sounds heavenly.

Taking swigs of scotch straight from the bottle, he dials his preferred escort service and within forty minutes, a prostitute arrives. In a rush, he leads her inside and tumbles her onto the bed. She nuzzles his neck, teeth scraping his skin in a sinful torment, but he cannot fully appreciate it because she is not her no matter how drunk he is. Plus his cell keeps vibrating in his trouser pocket. Annoyed at the distraction, he pulls it out with one hand, fisting the other in her hair to draw her up for a kiss. His tongue wars with hers before he glances at the caller ID screen. The name causes him to stiffen, and abruptly he is shoving the brunette away, flicking his phone open hastily.

“Blair?” he whispers, thinking this has got to be some trick. “Is that you?”

“Hello lover,” she drawls before breaking into a giggle that is so decidedly un-Blair.

“Are you… Are you drunk dialing?” he asks dubious, struggling to hear her over the throbbing music coming over the line. Her only response is to laugh hysterically. “Where are you?”

“You know what, Bass?” she says, ignoring his question. “You and Serena were right all along. This is more fun!”

“Blair! Blair, please where are you?” he demands, climbing off the mattress, searching for his shoes.

“Do you remember the first time you saw the real me?” she breathes, her voice a seductive caress he has to strain to catch. “That Blair that danced for you that night at Victrola? The Blair with none of the hang-ups, none of the frustrations? That’s the Blair right here, and I like her, and she… she likes Toby.”

“Toby?” he chokes.

“Yes Toby,” she purrs and then Chuck’s fingers clasp around the cell so hard his knuckles turn white as the unmistakable sound of kissing comes over the line. “Bad Toby!” she squeals when the kiss ends. “He thinks I should grace him with a dance, but I don’t know if I – ”

“Where the fuck are you Waldorf!” he shouts, but the line goes dead in his hands. “Goddamn it!”

Pushing the brunette whore out of his suite, he dials the one place he knows where Blair would be able to perform another striptease.

On the third ring, the manager of Victrola answers. “Hello Mister Ba – ”

“Walter, I need you to find Blair Waldorf,” Chuck growls as he jogs into the elevator and pushes the button for the ground floor impatiently. “I think she’s in the club. 5’4”. Brown hair. Brown eyes. Probably wearing a headband. Very intoxicated. If you want to keep your job, do not let her leave!”

Flicking the phone shut and then open again, Chuck hits the speed dial for his chauffer as he races across the marble lobby and onto the sidewalk in front of the hotel.

“Arthur. Limo. Now,” he orders.

“Right away sir. It’ll just take me a moment to – ”

“Piss!” Chuck yells, sticking out his free hand to hail a passing taxi. “Just meet me at Victrola.”

Fifteen minutes later, Chuck is climbing out of a cab in front of his club. He breezes past the velvet rope, and straight inside where an anxious Walter waits.

“Where is she?”

“At your table Mister Bass,” Walter cringes. “She insisted on sitting there when she first came in.”

“I just bet she did.”

Stalking towards the stage, Chuck spots her familiar curls and feels the vice that had clenched around his heart with her phone call ease. Then an unknown guy leans in, kissing her like he owns her, and all Chuck can see is red.

Oh hell no! She is not getting hot and heavy with another man in his goddamned private booth!

“Shoo! She’s taken,” Chuck hisses, pushing this strange male away as he grabs Blair’s wrist to hoist her to her feet. Of their own accord, his arms curl around her possessively.

“Chuck!” she beams blearily, swaying against his chest, gesturing broadly to the guy who’d been all over her a moment before. “This is Toby.”

“Tony,” the jock corrects her, standing and visibly sizing up his competition.

“He just bought me another drink,” she slurs as she lifts a concoction to her ruby lips, sloshing some of the neon blue liquid over the rim.

“Wasn’t that thoughtful of Toby,” Chuck sneers, shooting a scathing look at the asshole. “Because you obviously haven’t had enough.”

“Dude, leave her alone,” the guy threatens, like he is the epitome of chivalry. “She’s been pretty clear about wanting me tonight, so why don’t you back off before you get hurt? She doesn’t want you.”

“That so?” Chuck arches one brow in challenge at the wannabe Don Juan. Then he pulls Blair swiftly against him, kissing her with all the pent up frustration of the past three months. Her lips open under his almost without any coaching and it is her tongue which invades his mouth. The fingers of one of her hands twist in his hair, and she wraps her other arm around his shoulders, pressing him closer, grinding into his pelvis in such a way that his groin instantly hardens against her. When he eventually raises his head, Blair is left clinging to him, nearly breathless, making soft mewling sounds of desire. “Was that clear enough for you?” Chuck smirks at the jock. “Or would you like another demonstration of how much she does in fact want me and not you?”

The muscle head glares. “Fucking cunt.”

“Excuse me?” Chuck says, moving Blair to the side. “What did you say?”

“I said she’s a fucking cunt!” the guy snarls.

“That’s what I thought you said,” Chuck nods solemnly, thoughts of other faces flashing through his brain. First Serena, followed by Bart, Georgina, Blair, Nate, and lastly this cocksucker, and before he even realizes what he’s doing, his fist collides with the arrogant prick’s nose.

For a second it is as if time elongates. Chuck is aware of pain exploding along the knuckles of his right hand. It hurts much more than he had anticipated something like this would. The movies always make it seem like it is nothing. But this? This is something. It feels like he broke a fucking bone!

And Blair is staring at him, her chocolate eyes huge with shock and… pride? No. No, surely not. A trick of the light perhaps. But she is making a move towards him, screaming his name, telling him to watch out for –

Then he’s being tackled roughly to the ground so hard the air is forced from his lungs as blows slam into his kidneys.

It’s all over before Chuck can even begin process what is going on, let alone defend himself as his highly paid bouncers rapidly pull the punch happy douche bag off their boss and kick him out into the street.

Wincing, Chuck drags Blair out of the club as well and into the recently arrived limo.

“You should have Arthur take you to the hospital,” Blair says once the door shuts behind them

“I’m fine Waldorf,” Chuck spits.

“Well you should have a doctor look at you just to be safe,” she fusses, trying to see how much damage the other guy had inflicted.

“No,” he growls, sliding away from her on the leather seats. “I’m a minor and they’ll have to contact Bart and believe me, that is the last thing I need right now. I’ve had a bad enough night as it is.”

“Oh, so it’s all my fault you had a bad day?” she bristles.

“Did I say that?”

“You – ”

Teeth clamping together so hard his jaw aches, he turns to stare at her with barely restrained fury. “Did I specifically say it was all your fault?”

“Well…no, but – ”

“But nothing!” he roars. “I did not say it was all your fault, but you immediately took it there. You always assume the absolute worst from me.”

Her mouth drops in outrage. “Well it isn’t like you haven’t given me sufficient cause!” she shrieks.

“Right, of course I have. I’m Chuck Bass,” he shouts. “Always up to something nefarious. Giving you that necklace at your birthday party was just to get you to part those pretty thighs! Being concerned that you might be pregnant with Nate’s baby was just covering my own ass! Dashing down here because you were drunk and I was fucking scared something could happen to you was just me… I don’t even know, but I’m sure you’ll come up with some ulterior motive! You always have to make everything I do part of some larger scheme instead of just accepting that maybe, just maybe I actually give a shit about you!”

“I – ”

“And what’s more? I shouldn’t even be surprised!” he retorts before she can even begin to form a comeback. “You always do this. You have to make everything all about you, except of course when it happens to involve me!”

“I do not!” she cries.

“Yes you do, and you don’t even realize how unbelievably selfish and fucking blind you are!” he declares. “Not everything in this world revolves around Blair Waldorf, but when it does, when it absolutely does princess, you refuse to see it!”

“How dare you – ” she snaps.

“No! No! How. Dare. You,” he grinds out. “You think I want to feel like this? That I appreciate being deemed an asshole and a monster just because I’m not your darling can-do-no-wrong Nathaniel? That it didn’t fucking hurt being your dirty little secret because you were too ashamed to let anyone know you were with me?”

“Chuck I – ” she starts to reach for him.

“No, no fuck you Waldorf!” he sneers, slapping her hands away. “You want to know why I’m having a bad day? Bart kicked me out. He chose Lily, and Serena, and Eric over me, his own son. So I had to move back to my suite, and that was followed by yet another crisis with Serena and almost as soon as she left, I got a drunken call from you and had to rush to Victrola to rescue you from Mr. Douche Bag Date Rapist and ended up getting my ass kicked for the trouble. And then you have the audacity to go all sanctimonious martyr on me and accuse me of things and play these Goddamned games yet again, so forgive me if I think I’ve got a fucking reason to be upset this evening!”

Stunned by his outburst, she stares at his in total silence until with a curse, he buries his face into his hands.

This day just keeps getting worse and worse.

Inhaling deeply, trying to regain his composure, he detects the faint sound of her scooting closer to him across the leather upholstery.

Tentatively, she places her palm against his back. “Chuck, I’m sor – ”

He recoils from her attempt at comfort. “Don’t touch me,” he grimaces. “I don’t want your hands anywhere on me ever again.”

Despite his protests, she presses her fingers more firmly into the wool of his sweater, massaging. “I don’t believe you,” she whispers. “Not now. Not after you kissed me like that at the club.”

“Yeah, well that didn’t mean anything,” he swallows, feeling some of the tension in his shoulders fade away as she rubs his taut muscles. “I was just trying to get that fucking bastard to leave you alone.”

Snuggling into his side, she pushes him upright so that he’s looking at her. “So what would happen if I kissed you right now?” she dares. “Would you pull away?”

Not wanting to play this game, Chuck turns his face away. “Blair…”

“Would you?” she repeats.

“Probably,” he snaps in irritation, glaring at her.

She narrows her eyes in amusement. “And if I did this?” she taunts, sliding into his lap, straddling him. “Would you stop me?”

His breath catches in his throat as his traitorous hands creep under the hem of her dress, skimming her legs, stroking along the silk of her stockings, inching ever upwards until abruptly his palms meet bare flesh.

Oh sweet Jesus. She’s wearing garters!

Hardening in response, he manages to whisper, “Possibly not.”

She smirks, feeling his growing arousal. “And this?” she mocks seductively before she lowers her mouth to his neck, nipping lightly at the tender flesh there until his hips arch up into her with a muffled groan.

“…no.”

“Why?” she inquires, tracing the ridge of his ear with her tongue. “I seem to recall you saying you didn’t want me anymore.” She lifts her head and meets his intense gaze, smoldering with desire, electricity crackling between them.

Fuck it.

“I… I may have been exaggerating slightly,” he admits as he reaches up to bury his fingers in her chestnut curls so he can claim her lips with his.

Before he can however, she tilts her neck away. “Don’t touch my hair.”

“What?” he blinks, annoyed at the interruption now that he’s given in. “You never objected before.”

“Yes, well only my boyfriend gets to touch my hair,” she explains, leaning down to kiss him.

Chuck turns his head away, denying her. “But I…” his voice fades for a second, deliberating. “I used to touch your hair all the time.”

She draws back slightly. “I guess you did.”

“So what does that mean exactly?” Chuck says, his tone a gentle command. “That we were…? That I was...?”

She clears her throat, glancing away. “I… I don’t know.”

His mouth twists in derision. “Real convenient for you not to know.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” she exclaims.

“You know, maybe I thought you were ready to tell me how you really felt, but obviously it was just another one of your games,” he jeers. “You don’t really want this Blair. You never did.”

“Yes, I do.”

“No. You just think you do because you’re drunk, but if we did this, you’d hate me in the morning. It’d just be another thing you’d blame me for, and sorry but I’m done being your whipping boy.”

“Fine!”

She shoves away from him, falling onto the floor of the limo, crawling to the mini-bar. Within seconds she returns, shoving one of the tiny bottles of tequila to his lips. ““Here. Drink this. Then we can be together and I can’t blame you. Nobody’s at fault since we’ll both be drunk.”

“Blair, I don’t think – ”

“Just shut up and drink it Bass!” she cries, upending one of the tiny bottles against his lips, forcing him to gulp or let the alcohol spill everywhere.

“I don’t need these to want you Blair. I always want you,” he confesses as she reaches for another bottle.

“I… I know… I just…” she sobs suddenly. “Please, for me. Do it for me.” She presses another one to his mouth. “I need this.”

And he understands finally that she does. That falling for Chuck Bass was not on her agenda but had happened anyway. That she isn’t ready to admit it to him, let alone herself, although it is undeniably true. The alcohol is just an excuse to give in to what she feels without having to face the stark reality of it. That’s why she’d called him in the first place, knowing he’d come to her rescue.

“I’d do anything for you, princess,” he whispers, cradling her cheek. “But not this. I can’t do this.”

“But this is what you want!” she wails.

He smiles sadly. “No. You know what I want, and I’m not going to settle for less. I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorry too,” she whimpers, tears beginning to fall down unchecked down her face as Chuck draws her into the circle of his arms. “What happened? When did everything get so screwed up? This isn’t how it’s supposed to be. I don’t know who I am anymore, what I’m supposed to do. I feel so…”

“Lost,” he finishes, feeling the exact same way.

“Yeah,” she murmurs against the safety of his chest.

“Well I don’t know what to tell you Waldorf,” he admits. “I didn’t count on this either, and I’m just as confused and afraid as you are. Maybe more so, but we’ll figure it out.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Definitely,” he promises, fingering her tousled waves to see if she’ll complain. When she doesn’t, he drops a kiss into the disheveled curls with a grin.

She probably won’t remember any of this in the morning. But he will, and what was it she had said before? That only her boyfriend gets to touch her hair?

He likes the sound of that.