Gossip Girl: Fic - Five Times Blair Waldorf Wore Jeans [3/5]
[3] Christmas Shopping
Chuck wasn’t entirely sure how he had arrived here.
It had begun at breakfast, when Lily had swept into the sitting room and interrupted his meal. She desperately needed a second opinion on the fir that the porter had just brought up, and could he take a look? He’d downed his Mimosa and smiled at the bushy green monstrosity, wondering why the decorator hadn’t handled all that tinsel and lights stuff.
Eric further destroyed his solitude an hour later, bursting in to exclaim that they were all hanging ornaments and stockings-and didn’t he want to help? The sight of Serena carefully bending hooks onto the tree made him glad he’d embraced the idea of Christmas spirits.
But there wasn’t enough liquor in the cabinet (or possibly, the world) to assist him in winding the evergreen garland around the fireplace. Already pressed to his limits, he felt the walls start to push in on him when Lily started agonizing over about the gross oversight that had led to a starless treetop. In the politest tone possible, he had excused himself, grabbed a coat, and run for the door.
And somewhere between getting out of the limo for some air and avoiding tourists laden with cameras, he’d wound up on the top floor of Macy’s.
It wasn’t really such a terrible place to be, he mused, surveying the scene before him. In the rush of Black Friday, no one was paying him much attention. The lighted displays afforded the kind of fascination that can only be manifested in endless staring, and the trees needed no further decoration-they were already perfect.
He remembered coming here, once, as a child. He had been with an au pair; they had been doing some of her Christmas shopping. Chuck had been permitted to choose one thing from the Christmas floor as his reward for being good. After a complete examination of all that Macy’s had to offer, he remembered choosing a snow globe. The miniaturized image of Santa in his workshop had captivated him. He turned it over and over on the ride back to the Palace, simply watching the snow fall.
Shaking his head and returning to the now, Chuck pushed through the assembled crowd. Upon finding a table of snow globes, he found confirmation of his lost youth-the tiny scenes bring only a wistful smile to his face, but no lengthy interest. He is not a wide-eyed child anymore. At some point, he reasoned, we all learn that the snow isn’t really snow, it’s just useless flakes of metal with attached meaning that escape when the glass cracks and the water flows freely.
But that’s the past, this is the present, and it can’t be helped.
So he’s startled when a harried-looking salesman dressed as an elf asks, “Is there something I can help you find?”
And he responds, almost in a daze, “A star-for the top of the tree,” like that’s what he came here for all along.
Following the general direction indicated by the man’s outstretched finger, Chuck strides through the store with confidence until he sees her. She’s balancing a purse, two shopping bags, and a woolen coat on her arm as she scans a message on her cell phone.
And with the worst (best?) timing in the world, Blair Waldorf glances up and spots him.
She hesitates for a split-second, biting her lip as he smirks, imagining her internal tug-of-war. He loves catching her off-guard-though, he’d prefer it if he wasn’t also surprised in the process.
She marches over, stomping her boots and tossing her head before saying, “Bass.”
“Waldorf,” he nods at her in greeting, “Fancy meeting you here.”
“I could say the same. Doing some shopping...or just here to bah humbug in public?”
“Escaping Christmas, actually.”
She smiles, gesturing at their surroundings, “Funny place to do it in.”
He shifts his weight, suddenly uncomfortable. Blair leans in to hear him over the buzz of the shoppers and piped-in Christmas tunes. He takes a breath, to calm himself, inhaling a thousand cinnamon-scented candles. She is so close it’s killing him, because he’s not reaching out and threading his fingers through the belt loops on her jeans-because this isn’t Chuck-and-Blair going shopping-
“I was looking for a star,” he confesses.
She looks puzzled for a moment, cocking her head slightly. The crimson bow in her hair makes her look like a Christmas present.
“For the top of the tree,” he explains, to fill the silence.
She nods, adding, “They’re over there.”
“Thanks.”
She takes hold of his sleeve, pulling him to a shelf with dozens of stars-gold, silver, big, small. It occurs to him that he doesn’t know what kind of topper Lily ordered, or even what would look best on their tree.
Blair is watching him; he can feel it. He opens his mouth to say ‘forget it’ and walk out the door on this Christmas mess of décor (again), but she speaks first.
“It is a big tree?”
“What?”
“The tree, it is tall or short?”
“I’m not really sure.”
“Bushy, with the long needles that make ornament-hanging nearly impossible?”
“Blair, I don’t really-“
“Does it have to be a star?”
He turns to look at her, willing her to understand that he doesn’t fucking know and that he isn’t good at this Peace on Earth crap.
“Because you can really get away with an angel on anything. Just get a small one with big wings like this one,” she points, lips pursed in thought.
Thirty minutes and one long checkout line later, he has a tiny red bag with a huge logo emblazoned on its side. He pushes the revolving door for her, and together they squint into the afternoon sun.
“We should have waited in line to see Santa,” Blair pouts, starting down the sidewalk.
“No point,” he declares, falling into step with her, “There’s no way you made the ‘Nice’ list.”
She shoves him in mock outrage, never breaking her stride. Her boots tap out a rhythm on the concrete, and her long, denim-clad legs mesmerize him more than the window displays. She’s dressed for warmth, not style-buttoned into her heavy jacket and bundled into a scarf and hat. Still, after a few minutes her cheeks and nose take on a rosy flush, making her look very, very young.
“Let’s get hot chocolate,” he says abruptly.
To his delight, her eyes light up, so briefly he nearly misses it. Dignified as ever, she merely nods at him, taking his arm as they walk along.
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Happy Holidays, to anyone celebrating anything!