Discarded heels, lingerie, and chocolate wrappers littered her floor. Unable to gain the energy to pick them up, she had even demanded Dorota not to touch them- it was a reminder that her life was a wreck; she might as well have been in a trash can, in the lost and found bin, forever lost under all those piles of useless crap. She did not leave her room. Her food was brought to her, where it sat; untouched for hours, until a cursing Dorota took it back out of the room. The sun was shining straight through her curtains, and though her door was locked, Blair was unsurprised when someone seemed to find their way inside. It was just a matter of time until Serena weaseled the key out of Dorota, especially with Dorota pregnant and engaged- she was just so damn trusting. Blair was surprised, however, when it was not Serena sliding through her door, but Nate.

Nate and Blair had hardly spoken to each other over the past few months; this was especially obvious after Serena and Nate started dating. The two of them had no problems with each other, but had reached a comfortable derision where the two took their time away from each other- falling in and out of love so many times had made them a little rough around the edges, Blair scared to reach out to him, Nate more than willing to accept this cautiousness and repay it in kind. It seemed Nate wasn't going to worry this time, wasn't going to be concerned with the way they had recently played their friendship, when he kicked off his shoes, pulled up her silk sheets, laid in bed with her, and curled his pinky finger into hers.

The angry words Blair had almost spoken were immediately diminished; she felt like she had been doused with cold water. Nate hadn't shown any sign of affection toward her in years- she wished she could tell him to go away, that he was dating her best friend, that he was a pig for this, but not even she could defile the moment that way. She knew Nate Archibald. She knew more than anything that he was not being affectionate on a romantic level, but on the level of someone whom you love very, very much.

At first, neither of them spoke. Nate, surprised he had made it this far into the room and metaphorically into Blair's mind, had to plan his next attack carefully. He had heard Dorota's complaints; saw all the empty candy wrappers on the floor… He knew Blair was sick, but this wasn't something he could just bring up in pleasant conversation and not expect to get barred from the room. He was worried, worried about Blair, worried about what Blair might say or do, what Blair had been doing holed up in her room for days, and he couldn't just start asking her how much she had eaten.

"I can't go back out there." Blair said after a long period of time, and her voice cracked from no use. Nate knew she meant "out there" to mean the world as a whole- he couldn't figure out what Chuck could have done that would have made her this hurt. However, an idea quickly formed in his mind, and knowing Blair, he didn't know how she could pass it up.

"I'll make you a deal." He promised, looking up at her ceiling. "Something happened to me… that I can't tell Serena. I'll show you mine if you show me yours. Nothing will leave this room. Deal?"

And in response, Blair squeezed his pinky, promising him no breach of trust, something she hadn't done in years. And deep in her mind, she had to think that it felt nice.

Only a few dollars coercion managed to tell Blair that Jenny was still at Eleanor's shop, working on a laundry list of tailoring for a bonus. Only a few more dollars made sure that no one was in the building with Jenny, and this was the only thing that managed to get Blair out of bed. Texting Jenny from her mother's phone, Blair reminded Jenny that she should go out and get dinner, she deserved a break. Using her best friend and worst enemy, Blair secured with Gossip Girl that Little J had left the premises. It felt different to be doing this, like she was in an old skin. She felt both ridiculous and powerful. She hadn't used Gossip Girl to her advantage in years, and it was nice to see that despite people letting her down, some things would never change.

When Jenny returned to the office, grateful to get out for a while, she returned to see the rack of clothes she had been working on; she watched them burst into flame. She stared, shocked, unsure of what to do, until Blair Waldorf stepped from behind the brilliant fire.

"Did you forget who created you, little J?" Blair teased, a smile on her face. She looked absolutely flawless- others might have seen her and thought she had never felt better. Maybe she hadn't. "You think because I took a break from being the crazy bitch of the Upper East Side that you can take my place? Do you think I don't have eyes everywhere? Did you let it into your blonde, ditzy little head that I would allow you to kiss my best friend's boyfriend and, despite the innocence you feigned, let you get away with it?" There was a flash of green, and in Jenny's shock she noted that it was almost sea foam green, and Blair was standing under an umbrella. "Know your rank. You are nothing without me, and if you ever pull something as ridiculously stupid as that again, I will make sure that you go back to a world with a metro card and a big, big dream. The rightful queen bitch is back, and don't make me remind you again."

The smoke finally activated the sprinklers, the water cascaded over both of them, over all of Jenny's flaming hard work, and Blair was gone, heels clicking across tile, not looking back. Jenny ran toward the clothes, finally able to move. As the water drenched the charred remains of all her hard work, Jenny registered that these were not Eleanor's designs. Blair at her worst still would never torch her mother's clothing. No, these were Jenny's clothes- her best attempt to fit in, gone. Blair was reminding her of her place. Jenny was furious.

Despite the victory, despite the promise of a war, despite the knowledge that soon she would be thrown into enough social turmoil to keep her occupied for weeks, despite falling back into the world she had created-

Blair had never felt worse in her life.

Serena and Nate had cleared Chuck's suite of any alcohol they could find, bribed his employers to the point that Chuck had to threaten to fire them if they did not bring him more, and had not stopped a barrage of harassments since the moment they had realized of Chuck and Blair's fight. It was now that Serena sat, trying to discuss what Chuck should do, and Chuck accepted it with little grace. Leaning back into his couch he closed his eyes, tipping his head back, ignoring everything she said. He had no reason to listen to her. Blair had made her intentions clear, and he had no reason to push his limits. He had realized he had crossed a line that had never been invisible- a line bright red, inflamed, a line so obvious only a blind man wouldn't have seen it. And Chuck must have been blind.

Serena's phone pinged, a mention of a text message, and Chuck took the moment to drawl, "Your boyfriend calling for you? If you must leave, I understand."

"Yes." Serena said, standing up and looking for her coat. "Yeah, you're right, I have to go." Chuck could tell from her movements that something had happened- her words were cold, could've pierced through him like ice.

He stood up too, suddenly more alert, the haze he had placed himself in dissipating within seconds. "Serena." He muttered, reaching for her wrist, closing his fingers around it, almost pulling her. He didn't know what else to say. He knew it was Blair. It had to be Blair.

"She's sick, Chuck." Serena snapped, and the words burned him like an electric shock had gone through him- he pulled his hand away and stumbled uselessly through a mumble of words.

"What do you… sick… she…"

"She's sick. She's always been sick." Serena permitted a glare at him, unable to not unleash her fury on the closest recipient. "She hasn't done this in years. You did this to her."

"I have to…" he started, and he was already looking around for his phone, ready to call his limo, uninterested in the fact that he was still in his pajamas and hadn't showered, let alone left his home, in days.

"You said she doesn't want to see you." Serena snapped, shaking her head. "You can't decide to speak to her just because she-"

Chuck was no longer listening to her, to her words demanding he stay in his place. Chuck Bass never did anything he didn't want to do.

"This is Mr. Bass." He said smoothly, his words like liquid gold. "I'll need a limo pulled up immediately. Please make sure while I'm gone that Serena Van Der Woodsen does not leave the premises- in fact, please make sure she doesn't leave my suite."

He did not turn to look at her, did not flinch as he put on his coat over his pajamas and walked to the elevator. Out of pure fury at being outnumbered, Serena threw her handbag at the back of his head.

Pressing her face to the cold tile of her bathroom floor, Blair cried. Sobbing, she grabbed at her bathtub for support, pulling herself up. She curled her body underneath her. Her clothes were thrown across the room, left in her underwear, her tights and her heels, she pressed her forehead to her knees, shaking so hard she was unsure what hurt worse, crying or breathing, breathing not just the fluid motion of air moving into her lungs, but the action of being alive, the reminder that her heart was cracked and no good to anyone. This was one thing she couldn't wrap her mind around. It was over, her future was over. This wasn't just about her loss of trust. A painting of a life she had wanted so dearly had just been set aflame, and now she was no good to anyone, a burden on those who had to take care of her. Despite her sobs, despite being unaware of anything else in the world, she heard the footsteps, steady and cautious, and she knew. As she had always known.

Sitting Indian style in front of the door, he pressed his palm to the door. He did not attempt the doorknob- he did not want to attempt entrance. He felt like a stranger, someone who had been allowed into a world that they did not deserve, a peeping Tom horning in on a special moment.

She turned, facing the door, and she pressed her forehead against it. She was still crying- the tears were silent now. She did not speak. Neither of them spoke.

"You are perfect." He whispered, and he was crying too, and he didn't know if his words would make a difference. "You are more than I ever deserved."

Neither attempted to open the door, both scared to try. Palm to forehead, they pressed the door on both sides, wishing more than anything that they hadn't built the barrier between themselves.

Not once did he stand up. Not once did she move. Too scared to try but unable to leave, they stayed in their virtual hells, he knowing a person who would have loved him unconditionally had been broken and she knowing the only thing she had ever held so closely had been shattered.

And for better or worse, even though at that moment neither of them could feel the complete power of it, they were in love. And they would always be in love.