Title: Always Wanted But Never Was
Character/Pairing: Chuck, Chuck/Jenny (mentions of Nate/Jenny, Blair/Chuck)
Summary: Chuck doesn't feel. At least not anymore he doesn't.
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 1,700
Disclaimer: I own nothing. Title from Heart by The Pretty Reckless

Chuck doesn't feel. At least not anymore he doesn't.

Sometimes, when he lays awake at night, eyes wide open, no tears stinging behind his irises, the burn of rum tingling in his throat, he thinks about the numbness his body is succumbing to, a numbness that's plagued his heart on and off for years.

Making it official is easier: he's dead inside. The end, no story there. It just is.

Blair is gone. She's tired of working so hard at the impossible.

Nothing was futile before. Nothing was Chuck Bass.

He remembers her promises, laying broken and scattered on the ground. Tear-stained cheeks, light mascara ripples, eyes filled with blue. Her hair falls on her shoulders, she pushes at it angrily, vows this is it.

It's real this time, he knows.

(It's not her fault; it's always his fault.)

The flowers wilt and die, the petals fall off. It's the circle of life.

It's the circle of death, waiting for him in the wings.

Serena ignores his calls. The phone only rings twice before going to voicemail.

He doesn't try again. She's picked her side.

(She's always been on the other side.)

He can't blame her. Blair's her best friend, they exchanged now ratty and worn bracelets and practiced kissing at slumber parties and braided each other's hair.

He's just Chuck Bass.

He forgets when that became a curse instead of a (twisted and corrupt) blessing.

Everything blurs together.

His soul shrivels up in his chest, a massive black hole attempting to suck the life out of everyone he in his vicinity.

(You'll always be a whore, Serena.

How does it feel to know Humphrey's a better lay, Nate?

Blair, come on. I never loved you.)

That is, if he had a soul to begin with.

It was probably an illusion, a trick of the lights.

He attempted to rip it out, unnatural and diseased, clawing at it with unsteady hands until he realized it wasn't even there.

The scar tissue remains though.

It's all too real.

Nate forgives him first.

Because he's an idiot. Because he's Chuck's version of Serena.

He moves back in, but his judgmental eyes and his frowned lips spell hatred bubbling underneath the surface.

Nate tells him that he's going out to dinner with Jenny.

Chuck nods, downs the last of the vodka and kicks his feet up onto the coffee table.

(Bring her back if she wants a real lay.

Nate shakes his head, anger burning in his eyes. The always present hatred welling up in his throat as he chokes out raspy and heated, Goodnight, Chuck.)

Blair gets engaged to some smug bastard and her face smirks up at him from the newspaper.

It says she won.

Chuck didn't need to be told.

When Jenny picks up Nate up one night, he's not ready yet. He asks her to wait a minute. His eyes say he's sorry that Chuck's home.

She fidgets awkwardly by the door, running her hands up and down her arms, quelling fresh goosebumps. He's surprised by the thin, brown eyeliner around her eyes and the light, glossy pink of her lips, the soft curl of her hair on her shoulder.

She refuses to look at him.

He bites his tongue so hard it bleeds, coppery liquid filling his mouth.

Later, when he vomits up his lungs, Chuck thinks about how if he wasn't already numb, he'd feel more alone than the night that ruined his life.

He blames her. He dry heaves. Blair's face flashes through his mind.

Blair invites him to the wedding. There's something poetic about the cruelty of it all, of Jenny being the one who designed her dress.

(White, Chuck sneers to himself, How inappropriate for both of them.)

He doesn't attend. He knows that'll be enough satisfaction for her.

He stopped playing her games.

Jenny and Nate stumble in, drunk off their asses, clutching to each other, smiling sickeningly.

He jerks off to her low moans, eyes rolling back in his head, condensation dripping down his shot glass, sweat trickling down his brow.

(It starts somewhere in the middle.)

(You think of me when you're fucking Archibald?)

She raises her eyebrows, looks at him with disgust and surprise, drops her plate into the sink. A long crack appears down the middle.

(You're a dick.)

She squares her shoulders, looks at him with cold, dark eyes. He pushes off the couch easily, stands directly across from her like this is a showdown. He's the only one playing, this time.

(What's it like, being a Serena replacement?)

He erases the space between them, runs his middle finger over her cheekbone. She slaps him hard across the face, leaving a dark red mark, brushing at the edges. She's stronger than she looks.

But he notices the shiver that travels down her spine.

(He throws the plate into the trashcan, it breaks in two.)

Jenny starts leaving her clothes in Nate's room. Her perfume begins to tickle at Chuck's nostrils all the time. It's fruity; it doesn't remind him of her. He wonders if the real Jenny is still in there somewhere.

One afternoon, when Nate goes to work-responsible, grown up, everything that Chuck's still not, Jenny rubs his back as he dry heaves into the toilet. He's too drunk to think about it, not drunk enough to care. The tips of her blonde hair tickle his neck, her hot breath warms the air around him.

He feels like shit.

(It's more than he's felt in over a year.)

When he's looking for a condom-the Swedish triplets won't wait forever-he stumbles across the ring in Nate's dresser.

He kicks the women out, inhales Scotch like it's air.

Jenny brings him aspirin in the morning.

(You're better than this, Chuck.)

(No, I'm not.)

One day: I'm sorry.

A second chance at forgiveness: I know.

Redemption pushes at him like a wave, washing over him and threatening to knock him over.

(Baptism is too strong a word.)

(Jenny rips him open, fills the black hole with something else, stitches in a heart. He pleads with his body to accept it. Just this once.)

Jenny moves in. Permanent and real.

Her finger's still bare.

(Chuck allows himself to exhale.)

He gets used to having her around faster than he'd like to admit. They eat Thai food on the sofa, watching foreign films without subtitles.

(He doesn't understand a word, but he's not paying attention anyway.)

Jenny's laugh echoes in his head. It reminds him of her slow, shallow breathing all of those years ago, her eyes pressed closed, her hips arching into his.

(He doesn't regret it as much as he used to. His biggest mistakes transforms itself-not the act, but the aftermath.)

He hears yelling, loud and unavoidable She's gasping for air and Nate's sighing in frustration.

Jenny's the one Chuck finds on the couch in the morning.

(It makes him bleed.)

They've been fighting for over a week. Chuck hears her sobbing in the living room.

He offers her a glass of vodka. She grimaces as she swallows it down. She smiles, tears still rolling down her face.

(Thanks, she whispers.)

She hugs him, fingernails digging into his back, desperate and hard.

(I love you, the heart she sewed into him starts.)

He breathes in deeply, rubs circles awkwardly into her back. Chuck's not used to comforting people (not this way).

She sleeps in his bed. He doesn't dare to touch her, even if she feels so close. Her heart is aching inside his chest.

Nate's away on a business trip; Jenny's eyes are ringed with exhaustion.

When she kisses him, her heart tears at his ribcage, threatening to leave him black and blue.

(Jenny, what are you-)

Her hands bunch in the fabric of his shirt, her breathing is ragged and her eyes are dark, dilated.

(Please, she doesn't have to say it.)

(She's the Jenny he remembers, cracks beginning to show.)

He's never been a good guy. But he doesn't feel so bad when his teeth tug on her bottom lip.

(He knows his own biography front and back. This won't end well.)

Nate apologizes. Jenny says she's sorry, too.

It doesn't stop her from crawling into Chuck's bed when Nate's gone, lips turned down, eyes overflowing with feelings Chuck doesn't care to recognize.

(You're beautiful.)

She stills over him and shakes her hair off her sweaty forehead. She smells like sex and vanilla.

(Don't.)

It's the beginning of the end. Inevitable.

Blair's divorce is all over the papers.

(Chuck is surprised by how much he just doesn't give a shit.)

Jenny ignores him for a week. Nate looks at him with pitying eyes.

(Chuck is surprised by how much he misses her.)

There's a diamond sparkling on Jenny's left ring finger.

She walks into his room cautiously, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear.

(So, it's Nate?)

It feels like history's repeating itself: Blair loved Nate first, more. Jenny loved Nate first, loves him more.

Chuck reminds himself it's his own fault.

(Please don't do this, she chokes out.)

Chuck grabs her face, kisses her hard. Tears prick at his eyes and the world is crashing down around him.

(Again. Always.)

Jenny pulls away. An apology resonating in her eyes, a plea for him to understand.

(Please don't do this, it's his turn to beg.)

Chuck doesn't go to the wedding. When Nate asks why, Chuck ends the call.

Jenny calls a few minutes later. Leaves a voicemail. Chuck plays it over and over.

(It was a mistake, and I'm sorry. Don't do this to Nate. He loves you.)

Her meaning is clear: she doesn't.

His body rejects the heart precariously planted in his chest, leaving him with decay, killing all the healthy organs surrounding it.

Jenny Humphrey: causing him heartbreak all the fucking time.

She's not all Nate cracks her up to be.

(It always comes back to her though.

She's everything.)

Chuck doesn't feel. At least not anymore he doesn't.