Blair scanned the café, seeking a head of cascading blonde hair. When her gaze finally settles on Serena, she pauses, unsure of how to begin. Blair doesn't do this, she doesn't ask for advice, she doesn't even know how to form the words pertaining to the insanity blossoming in her mind.
I think I'm losing it. I'm out of control, S. Worst of all, I have no idea what to do next.
Serena raises her hand, waving her friend over with a smile. Blair loathes and envies this girl. She's pulling her life together for the first time, and people love her for it, praise her rehabilitation, her shedding of the past. If (when) Blair falls apart, she will be measured by her previous standard of perfection. Eleanor will sneer a little as she advises her daughter to 'go easy on the carbs,' S's face will continue to twist into an expression of pity when she finds out—
"Blair, I wasn't sure if you'd make it! I called your house when you didn't answer your cell, and your mom said you got in late." She smiles as Blair, the smile of you and me are the same, as she adds, laughing, "Of course, I got in a bit late myself."
Blair takes the hint, sitting primly and asking casually, "Ah, yes. And how was Prince Charming? GossipGirl mentioned he came thundering in for the rescue last night. Did he care that your life ambition is to 'bed as many billionaires as possible?'"
Serena practically glows as she gushes about her escape with Dan into the city. Blair nods and smiles in all the right places, wondering how and when she became a porcelain doll.
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She slips off her shoes as she enters the house, praying that her mother is out, praying that if she is in, she will just leave her daughter alone.
"Blair! I need to speak with you at once, young lady."
Screwed. Blair pauses before turning, composing herself. When she faces her mother, her face is a polite mask of innocence.
"Yes, mother?"
Her eyes fall to the dress in her mother's hands, her cotillion dress Nate tore.
Still affecting nonchalance, she tilts her head and smiles. "Is there something wrong?"
"Wrong? No, dear, there's nothing wrong." Her mother sets the dress aside, picking up the newspaper sitting on the coffee table. "I merely wanted to congratulate you. The Times has nothing but excellent things to say about your debut. Apparently, Nate acted less than gentlemanly, but the article claims he was defending your honor." Her mother sounded amused, glancing at her daughter briefly before continuing. "But, the line was shown off well. Given your late homecoming last night, I assume that you and Nate have reconciled somewhat?"
"I'm not sure," Blair truthfully responded, surprised by her mother's interest.
"Well, dear, he is an Archibald. Plus, rehab is practically the equivalent of buying a Mercedes these days. The family will recover from the scandal, and then, who knows?"
"Yeah," Blair said, turning to head up the stairs.
"Oh, and Blair?" Her mother called after her, "Next time don't turn so far into profile. You look a little pregnant in this second shot."
Blair fights the urge to slam her door like a petulant five-year-old.
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She stands before her mirror, watching herself struggle against her tears. Her last therapist labeled her a control freak, or at least politely wrote Blair is obsessed with keeping her future, both immediate and long-term, under her own personal command on the form she handed her mother. Seemed like a wasted half-hour, as Blair could have easily told anyone that she wanted to know everything about everyone, the problem was she couldn't always keep up. When she fell behind, pieces fell out of place and her plans crumbled. Nate, her father—both gone because of a lurking variable—Serena, her mother—she hadn't foreseen. If she could just know it all, she could plan accordingly, she was nothing if not a master manipulator—
--an ice queen.
The words sprang unbidden from her memory. Blair made a face, tossing her hair and turning from her reflection. The words had been high praise in his eyes, he'd laughing called her an evil genius, a criminal mastermind.
He'd never given her enough credit before, she remembered. She had been surprised at his reaction to her dark side, his response to her cool assessment and ruthless determination. Of course, she reasoned, Chuck Bass always managed to serve his own ends. He did nothing that didn't interest him or serve his own plans in some way.
In retrospect, she'd never been able to quite guess his ultimate game plan. Their brief liaison fit nowhere in his typical schemes, as a fling with her would virtually destroy his relationship with Nate (should it ever come to light). His little speech about goddamn butterflies was touching, but made no sense. Chuck didn't do romance, he did business.
Blair bit her lip, mulling over the events leading up to and including Cotillion. Brushing off the tear she hadn't noticed herself shed, she considered this latest twist, her own personal imaginary number: the motives of one Chuck Bass.
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Blair is waiting at The Palace's bar for Serena when she witnesses Chuck's return, sees him dragging himself through the foyer and leaving his luggage for the bellhops. He sees her and changes paths, sauntering toward her. She stands, smoothing her dress and abandoning her Apple Martini. This is a fitting place for their reunion, Blair reasons, very public and formal.
"I'm charmed, Waldorf. Shall I order you another so that we can toast my Moroccan success?"
"Do I even want to know what that means?"
"What are you doing here? Surely you aren't waiting for me."
"If you must know, I'm waiting for Serena." She pauses, glancing around him at the fleet of elevators. "We're going shopping," she adds, to fill the silence.
"Ah, of course."
He looks as though he's about to tell her something when Serena appears, gliding out of the elevator and looking around for Blair. Blair starts toward her, not wanting Serena to spot her and Chuck together.
"I didn't tell him," Chuck calls after her.
She turns back, hesitant, "What?"
"My Moroccan success. I didn't tell Nate anything, despite my level of intoxication."
For the first time since she told him not to touch her at Cotillion, their eyes meet. His face is tanned, but he's still the Chuck she's always known. His eyes don't convey any sort of deep longing or emotional damage, and his lips curl into the same pitying smirk he's always reserved for speaking to women.
"Hope the half of the trip you can actually remember went well."
Her retort is too late and too pathetic to sting, and she knows it. Still, she manages to walk away with the scraps of her dignity intact. Nate doesn't know anything, she has tabula rasa and can easily begin again with him, their lives falling into sync once more.
Serena catches sight of her face as Blair approaches and cocks her head, her expression growing concerned.
"What?"
"Nothing, B. It's just that you look, kind of, disappointed. Is today a bad day for a shopping extravaganza?"
"No, it's just the end-of-holiday blues. Can't believe classes are starting up again in two days, can you?"
As the pair heads out into the chill January air, Blair can't help but agree with her.
I'm disappointed. Disappointed that Chuck Bass doesn't seem to care—if he ever did at all.
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