Smooth Criminal
Title: Smooth Criminal
Fandom: Gossip Girl
Pairing: Chuck/Blair, Dorota
Rating: G
Spoilers: Takes place the morning after 2x18; though there are references to the episode, I don't really consider any of them particularly spoilery. But heads up, just in case.
Disclaimer: Dorota, Chuck, Blair, Eleanor, and all other characters mentioned here are the property of The CW, Josh Schwartz, Stephanie Savage, and College Hill Pictures. I make no money from this work of fiction, and no copyright infringement is intended.
Author's Notes: Written as part of a meme I ammended from a friend's, involving OTP's preforming common household chores. Except that you know
~*~
Dorota can always tell when Chuck has spent the night. On her own, Blair is a peaceful sleeper. That scheming brain of hers takes over, leaving the rest of her body with no choice but to follow suit. Blair's small body slips between the mountain of covers, and when she emerges in the morning she leaves behind only a small dent in a bed much too large for a single teenage girl.
Most of the Waldorf estate is too large for a single teenage girl, really. Dorota herself is used to its grandeur - one can hardly be a maid in New York City, after all, and keep staring at such opulence like a wide-eyed schoolgirl. She got used to marble flooring and gold-plated everything quite some time ago, because it's her job. But Blair's job is to be a bratty, bitchy teenager that's still learning her way in the world, and a part of Dorota wishes that she was growing up in a small house in the country with a white picket fence and a mother and a father who are always around and maybe even a little sister and a puppy.
But the professional part of her, the part that wants to keep her job, shuts her mouth and delivers Eleanor's dry-cleaning to her closet, then follows the hallway down to Blair's room to make the bed. She expects a whirlwind of sheets and duvet, Chuck's cologne hanging over a darker, mustier scent that she refuses to dwell on (she crosses herself and thinks briefly of her sixteen-year-old niece). But when she swings the oak door into the interior of the room, she sees that Blair's bed is undisturbed. In the armchair beside the bed, however, rests Chuck, his suit as creased as his brow.
Dorota hesitates, loyalties to Blair and Eleanor at war within her. She is the maid - not the nanny, not the counselor, not anyone who has any right to get involved in the Waldorfs' affairs. But Chuck has about an hour to get himself out of the house before Eleanor discovers him and Blair is in big trouble. Dorota drags her feet and "accidentally" bumps the door into the wall in hopes that it will rouse Chuck, but he only shifts in his extremely uncomfortable-looking resting place.
Dorota peeks down the hall. Eleanor's door is firmly closed, no shadows visible in the light spilling from beneath it. She wrings her hands and curses in Polish, finally closing Blair's door behind her and moving across the room to shake Chuck's shoulder firmly.
"Mr. Chuck," she hisses. Nothing. He reeks of booze and B.O. Dorota wrinkles her nose and pokes him harder. "Mr. Chuck!"
Chuck starts awake, jerking ramrod straight in the chair. He glances wildly from side to side, seeming to calm when he figures out where he is and sinks back into the leather.
"What time is it?" he asks.
"It is past 7 am. sir," Dorota answers dutifully. Her heart is hammering. If Eleanor catches her covering for her daughter's indiscretions, she could very well be out on the streets tomorrow.
"Where's Blair?" Dorota's heart breaks for him in that moment, and she wishes that Blair could see what she sees. She bites her lip, not wanting to answer. But she's just the maid - doing the dirty work is what they pay her for.
"Miss Blair did not come home last night," she reports. Chuck's eyes open.
"Did she call?" It's a silly question, and they both know the answer before she says it.
"No, no call." Chuck's eyes narrow, hardening into the familiar mask of the uncaring Chuck Bass, so much his father's son. He rises from the chair gracefully. He towers over Dorota by several inches, but after he's straightened his tie and brushes off his suit jacket, the look he gives her is nothing but that of a broken teenage boy. Dorota glances surreptitiously at the clock on Blair's nightstand. 7:18. Less than 45 minutes until Eleanor will be awake and expecting her breakfast, her messages, and the morning paper. She needs to get Chuck out of the house immediately.
"Would you like a coffee, Mr. Chuck?" she asks. He slips his coat over his shoulders.
"I should really be going." Dorota nods.
"You could take it with you," she offers. Chuck sighs wearily.
"Alright, if you insist," he replies. He follows her down to the kitchen, Dorota avoiding the stares of her co-workers. They won't tattle on her, she knows that, but if asked they will not lie - Eleanor Waldorf is like a one-woman polygraph. She feels so ridiculous - she's a maid, for God's sake, smuggling her employer's teenage boyfriend out of the house, not aiding and abetting a fugitive. She wonders for a moment why she ever let her mother convince her to move to New York.
In the kitchen, Dorota nods to Bobby, the chef, and pours Chuck his coffee. She gestures towards the cream and sugar, but he takes a sip of the scalding liquid with no additives. He bounces from foot to foot, clearly eager to leave, so Dorota leads him towards the back door.
"Mr. Chuck," she calls after him. He turns. Dorota points to the cup in his hand.
"Miss Eleanor will want her mug back," she says. Chuck frowns. "I think maybe then you have a reason to come back." Chucks frown melts into a smile - for someone who believes themselves so skilled at deception and manipulation, Dorota's got him pegged.
"Thank you," he says, and his voice is shockingly sincere. Dorota watches him disappear into the morning before she turns back to check on Miss Eleanor's breakfast.
Fandom: Gossip Girl
Pairing: Chuck/Blair, Dorota
Rating: G
Spoilers: Takes place the morning after 2x18; though there are references to the episode, I don't really consider any of them particularly spoilery. But heads up, just in case.
Disclaimer: Dorota, Chuck, Blair, Eleanor, and all other characters mentioned here are the property of The CW, Josh Schwartz, Stephanie Savage, and College Hill Pictures. I make no money from this work of fiction, and no copyright infringement is intended.
Author's Notes: Written as part of a meme I ammended from a friend's, involving OTP's preforming common household chores. Except that you know
~*~
Dorota can always tell when Chuck has spent the night. On her own, Blair is a peaceful sleeper. That scheming brain of hers takes over, leaving the rest of her body with no choice but to follow suit. Blair's small body slips between the mountain of covers, and when she emerges in the morning she leaves behind only a small dent in a bed much too large for a single teenage girl.
Most of the Waldorf estate is too large for a single teenage girl, really. Dorota herself is used to its grandeur - one can hardly be a maid in New York City, after all, and keep staring at such opulence like a wide-eyed schoolgirl. She got used to marble flooring and gold-plated everything quite some time ago, because it's her job. But Blair's job is to be a bratty, bitchy teenager that's still learning her way in the world, and a part of Dorota wishes that she was growing up in a small house in the country with a white picket fence and a mother and a father who are always around and maybe even a little sister and a puppy.
But the professional part of her, the part that wants to keep her job, shuts her mouth and delivers Eleanor's dry-cleaning to her closet, then follows the hallway down to Blair's room to make the bed. She expects a whirlwind of sheets and duvet, Chuck's cologne hanging over a darker, mustier scent that she refuses to dwell on (she crosses herself and thinks briefly of her sixteen-year-old niece). But when she swings the oak door into the interior of the room, she sees that Blair's bed is undisturbed. In the armchair beside the bed, however, rests Chuck, his suit as creased as his brow.
Dorota hesitates, loyalties to Blair and Eleanor at war within her. She is the maid - not the nanny, not the counselor, not anyone who has any right to get involved in the Waldorfs' affairs. But Chuck has about an hour to get himself out of the house before Eleanor discovers him and Blair is in big trouble. Dorota drags her feet and "accidentally" bumps the door into the wall in hopes that it will rouse Chuck, but he only shifts in his extremely uncomfortable-looking resting place.
Dorota peeks down the hall. Eleanor's door is firmly closed, no shadows visible in the light spilling from beneath it. She wrings her hands and curses in Polish, finally closing Blair's door behind her and moving across the room to shake Chuck's shoulder firmly.
"Mr. Chuck," she hisses. Nothing. He reeks of booze and B.O. Dorota wrinkles her nose and pokes him harder. "Mr. Chuck!"
Chuck starts awake, jerking ramrod straight in the chair. He glances wildly from side to side, seeming to calm when he figures out where he is and sinks back into the leather.
"What time is it?" he asks.
"It is past 7 am. sir," Dorota answers dutifully. Her heart is hammering. If Eleanor catches her covering for her daughter's indiscretions, she could very well be out on the streets tomorrow.
"Where's Blair?" Dorota's heart breaks for him in that moment, and she wishes that Blair could see what she sees. She bites her lip, not wanting to answer. But she's just the maid - doing the dirty work is what they pay her for.
"Miss Blair did not come home last night," she reports. Chuck's eyes open.
"Did she call?" It's a silly question, and they both know the answer before she says it.
"No, no call." Chuck's eyes narrow, hardening into the familiar mask of the uncaring Chuck Bass, so much his father's son. He rises from the chair gracefully. He towers over Dorota by several inches, but after he's straightened his tie and brushes off his suit jacket, the look he gives her is nothing but that of a broken teenage boy. Dorota glances surreptitiously at the clock on Blair's nightstand. 7:18. Less than 45 minutes until Eleanor will be awake and expecting her breakfast, her messages, and the morning paper. She needs to get Chuck out of the house immediately.
"Would you like a coffee, Mr. Chuck?" she asks. He slips his coat over his shoulders.
"I should really be going." Dorota nods.
"You could take it with you," she offers. Chuck sighs wearily.
"Alright, if you insist," he replies. He follows her down to the kitchen, Dorota avoiding the stares of her co-workers. They won't tattle on her, she knows that, but if asked they will not lie - Eleanor Waldorf is like a one-woman polygraph. She feels so ridiculous - she's a maid, for God's sake, smuggling her employer's teenage boyfriend out of the house, not aiding and abetting a fugitive. She wonders for a moment why she ever let her mother convince her to move to New York.
In the kitchen, Dorota nods to Bobby, the chef, and pours Chuck his coffee. She gestures towards the cream and sugar, but he takes a sip of the scalding liquid with no additives. He bounces from foot to foot, clearly eager to leave, so Dorota leads him towards the back door.
"Mr. Chuck," she calls after him. He turns. Dorota points to the cup in his hand.
"Miss Eleanor will want her mug back," she says. Chuck frowns. "I think maybe then you have a reason to come back." Chucks frown melts into a smile - for someone who believes themselves so skilled at deception and manipulation, Dorota's got him pegged.
"Thank you," he says, and his voice is shockingly sincere. Dorota watches him disappear into the morning before she turns back to check on Miss Eleanor's breakfast.