Words Out Loud (1/1)

[earlgreytea68]

Title - Words Out Loud (1/1)
Author -earlgreytea68
Rating - PG
Characters - Ten, Chuck Bass from Gossip Girl
Spoilers - Through JE; through S2 for GG
Disclaimer - I don't own them and I don't make money off of them, but I don't like to dwell on that, so let's move on.
Summary - What changed Chuck's mind about saying "I love you"?
Author's Notes - I promise more cruisefic is on its way, but once I got the idea for this story (pretty much in a dream, I confess), it just demanded to be written. These aren't two fandoms that seem to have much overlap, but I figured I'd post it just in case there was anyone else out there who adored both these shows.

Thanks to Kristin for the read-through and the encouragement over trying to write a difficult new voice.

Very much not in the Chaosverse.

 

 

Some bars, thought Chuck Bass, were better than others. Such things were self-evident, of course, and you couldn't expect to find quality Scotch in some no-name town in Germany that made Brooklyn look positively cultured. Then again, under normal experience, you wouldn't expect to find Chuck Bass in some no-name town in Germany. There were things he could blame for this, of course. Things and people who all had nothing to do with Blair Waldorf. He preferred to blame Blair Waldorf.

The man slid onto the stool next to him, as he was downing his Scotch, and said, “I don’t suppose you’ve seen kind of a buzzing, tweeting, meow-ing creature, have you?”

Chuck gestured to the bartender for another drink and looked without interest at the man who had addressed him. “Is this some kind of riddle?” he asked.

“No. Welllll. Maybe? Of sorts?”

Chuck accepted his new Scotch and shifted slightly, hoping to discourage this man from further conversation. He’d like to get up and leave but he was stranded until the private jet was fixed and this Scotch was better than nothing.

“So have you?” continued the man.

Chuck sighed heavily and looked at him. “Have I what?”

“Seen one.”

“A buzzing, tweeting, meow-ing creature?”

The man nodded.

“No. I haven’t.” Chuck took a sip of his Scotch. “Unless you’re just referring to a woman, in which case, no, I haven’t seen one of those, either. At least, not one worth my time.” He took another more generous gulp.

They sat in silence for a second.

“I’m the Doctor,” said the man, finally.

Chuck looked at him, irritated but begrudgingly impressed by the authority with which the man introduced himself. That took practice, infusing the saying of your name with enough power to make it the answer to every question. “I’m Chuck Bass,” he replied, after a moment, eyeing him. “And that’s not a bad suit. I especially admire your choice of footwear.”

The Doctor stuck out one Converse-clad foot and wiggled it about. “Why, thank you.”

Chuck took another sip of his drink and hoped the conversation was over.

“I like your suit as well,” remarked the Doctor. “It’s…an interesting color. What would you call that color?”

“Fuschia,” answered Chuck, and glanced at the Doctor again. “And you ought to knot your tie more carefully, it’d be more impressive.”

“Really?” The Doctor felt his tie. “You don’t think I’d look like a banker?”

“It’s all in the color palette,” replied Chuck.

The Doctor eyed Chuck’s suit again. “Fuschia, huh? Might be a bit too daring for me, but sometimes I think, oh, what the hell, maybe I’m tired of brown and blue. Maybe I need some fuschia. Maybe I need a change of pace.”

“You, too, huh?” said Chuck.

“Are you looking for a change of pace? Is that how you ended up in this place?”

“I ended up in this place because my people apparently can’t keep my jet in proper repair.”

“Air travel,” tsked the Doctor. “So inconvenient.”

“Yeah.” Chuck finished his Scotch, waved for another.

“Does it work?” asked the Doctor.

“Does what work?”

“The alcohol.”

Chuck thought for a moment, regarding the fresh Scotch. “No,” he said finally, and tipped some more back. “So how’d you end up here?” He wasn’t sure if he was curious or if he just wanted to forget in a way the alcohol didn’t let him.

“Oh, just passing through,” replied the Doctor. “Looking for a buzzing, tweeting, meow-ing thing. It’s got scales, you know. Are you traveling alone?”

“You’re barking up the wrong tree, Doctor,” Chuck told him.

“What? Oh. No. I didn’t mean it that way, I meant…Traveling alone. That’s how you end up in dreadful bars drinking heavily, isn’t it? Traveling alone. It makes you go mad, after a while, all that aloneness.”

“Trust me,” Chuck informed him, stiffly. “I’m fine.”

“Sure you are. So am I. Perfectly fine. I always am. Tell me something.” The Doctor propped his head on his elbow, turning to him with interest. “Is it about a woman?”

Chuck regarded him evenly. “Is it any of your business?”

“No. I suppose not. I’m just curious. Because I do not understand women. I keep getting all mixed up with women, and I don’t understand them. I think I need a break from women.”

“Seriously, barking up the wrong tree.”

The Doctor sighed and scrubbed his hand over his face. “I don’t mean it like that, I really don’t. Never mind.”

There was a long moment of silence. Chuck stared into his Scotch, suddenly not wanting to drink it anymore.

“The thing is,” the Doctor began, suddenly, “I don’t think it was the woman. I think it was losing the woman.”

“Did she make it complicated?”

“Did she what?”

“Make it complicated.” At the Doctor’s blank look, Chuck continued. “Mine made it complicated. Was determined that I should tell her I love her. But that was so…She already knew. She told me she already knew. So why make it complicated?”

“They like to hear it said,” said the Doctor, sadly. “Women like to hear it said. Given a choice between two identical yous, a woman will choose the version that says he loves her.”

“But there’s only one me. I’m Chuck Bass.”

“You never know when the next biological metacrisis might happen.”

Chuck had no idea what that meant. He ignored it. “Yeah, well…” He finished his Scotch.

“I should go,” said the Doctor. “I’ve got the buzzing, tweeting, meow-ing creature to find. I should really get going.” He slid off the stool, and began to walk away, and then abruptly turned back. “You should tell her. Really. Tell her. Tell her those three words, out loud. Tomorrow she might fall into a parallel universe and you’ll hate yourself for not saying it. Will you trust me on that?”

“Blair Waldorf’s head already is a parallel universe.”

“Tell her,” said the Doctor. “Really. Tell her. Don’t you want to be done traveling alone?”

Chuck watched the Doctor walk away. And loosened his tie a bit.