The living room was bright with sunshine and Blair blinked as the rays reflected off the shiny surfaces of the mirrors in the front hallway. It was almost as though she'd fallen through the rabbit hole, but this wasn't any Wonderland she'd ever dreamt about.

The empty bottle and broken glass from hours ago had both vanished, and the suite was picture-perfect. Fresh hydrangeas adorned the coffee table and a cart with breakfast sat near the couch, as if the room was waiting for her to wake up and quite literally smell the coffee. She sat down hesitantly and lifted up the silver covering on the tray, expecting toast and eggs. The cream envelope that awaited her instead was an unwelcome surprise.

Her name was lettered across the front in Chuck's fine, straight handwriting. Her hands were shaking as she ripped it open quickly, but she paused before she unfolded the card.

"Dear Blair," she imagined out loud, "I am now a billionaire and don't need you. Love, Chuck."

She continued, standing as she paced around the room, the unopened card in her hand.

"B," she said, "You may be a queen, but I'm ruling solo. XOXO, Bass."

"Blair," and she forced herself to imagine the worst. "I'm not in love with you. Please leave me alone. Charles Bass."

She walked over to the windows and looked out at the city. It was a cold winter's day in New York, gray and windy, but there was still greenery in Central Park and the gardens would be back soon. It was so much easier, she thought, to be miserable in January.

She opened the card.

"Waldorf," it said, "I hope housekeeping didn't disturb you, but the bedroom's now soundproofed for obvious reasons. (The night after your seventeenth birthday, the hotel got thirty complaints about a woman in the throes of ecstasy.) Present in the front closet for you. When you're ready, call Sven at 431 on the suite phone and tell him you're ready for part one. See you soon. – C."

She could not contain herself and let out a squeal. Yesyesyesyesyes, her heart drummed out as she sprinted to the front closet. A dress? Jewelry? Chuck himself? Or maybe…

A shapeless brown canvas work jacket and pants and a construction hat.

"Ew."

***************

Sven was a short, portly man with a Burt Reynolds mustache. He had arrived at 1812 after Blair's call and escorted her to a private elevator that opened to a hidden parking space where the limo idled quietly. She sat in the back, nervously, as Sven smoothly guided the car through the New York streets.

She opened her purse and put on a fresh coat of lipstick. She'd made the horrible outfit work by cutting off the bottom of the jacket and turning it into a belt. The new cinched waist and flipped collar gave off a sort of Audrey-at-the-end-of-Tiffany's vibe, she thought, and fortunately Chuck had chosen fitted pants that she'd paired with flat Tod's riding boots courtesy of Serena's closet. If she was getting dumped, she wasn't going to look dumpy, she reasoned, but her heart was still racing from the words in Chuck's note.

The car stopped suddenly and Blair peered out the window. They were, once again, in an underground parking garage. Sven opened the car door and she stood up.

"Mr. Bass requests you join him at floor 88. Continue down the hallway to the double door."

Blair nodded. Sven was creepy, like a robot come to life. She waited for more information, but he just kept looking at her until she turned and stepped into the elevator, pressing 88. The only buttons, she noticed, were 1 and 88, but the elevator rocketed upward before she had time to process this information.

The elevator doors opened and Blair peered out. The hallway was quiet and carpeted with blue tarps. Fresh paint covered the walls and various tools were littered on the floor. She recognized the high, arched ceiling and the massive double oak doors at the end of the hall. This was the top floor of Bass Enterprises.

She maneuvered delicately over the spilled screws and nails on the floor. What was up with everything attacking her shoes today, she wondered idly. She ducked underneath a loose tarp tacked onto one wall and realized that the windows on the floor were taped off. Blair waited a moment and pressed her ear against the doors, but there was no noise from inside. She pulled her wrist inside the canvas jacket and turned the paint-flecked doorknob with her fabric-covered hand.

Chuck was standing at the desk with his back to her, and when he turned and gave her a slow smile her tension melted away. He was there, he hadn't run away again, and whatever he was doing here, he had invited her along.

"Waldorf," he drawled as he walked toward her. "How do you make such a terrible outfit look so delicious?" He tugged her belt and her body was flush with his.

"Well, Bass," she flirted, her skin tingling under the un-organic cotton, "You don't look so bad yourself." And he didn't, he really, really didn't. The construction suit was sculpted against his shoulders and streaks of dried paint spotted against his chest. She gently touched her fingers to a thick white dot and smiled up at him. His eyes were clear and warm, and his clean hair was back to his old Hollywood style. "But why did I need to wear the hat?"

"For my amusement," he said and kissed her. It was another ordinary kiss for them, and her toes curled like always as he nipped at her bottom lip. He rested his forehead on hers before taking her hand.

"This," he gestured at the room, "is my new office. My father's office, although I can't keep it as he did." His voice shook over the words and she squeezed his hand. "I was wondering if," he swallowed, "if you would want to help me."

She knew him well enough to know he was nervous. "What do you need?"

"I can't stand interior designers," he said, "And I can't think of anyone with better taste than you. But I was hoping you might be willing to do beyond art selection and furniture grouping."

She waited for him to continue, but he broke away from her and walked toward the one uncovered window in the room. The balcony outside was covered in fresh snow.

"I have a meeting with the Board of Directors next week," he said, softly, and he confirmed what she'd suspected since she entered the office—he was still scared. She moved toward him and removed the hat, laying it on the desk before she stood beside him. "And they think I'm just a seventeen-year-old kid. And they're right. I'm not ready for this."

"Bass," she said, and the name sounded like a prayer in this room. "You're a Bass. The Bass. Your father left his company to you because he knew you could do it." Chuck looked down but she gripped his hands and continued. "Look at the Victrola. You did that, Chuck, and you can do this. And I will stand by you."

His eyes were shining at her, bright and soft.

"I'm sorry I didn't come sooner," she whispered.

"I've been in that room," he said dully, and he was instantly somewhere else. "I made some phone calls and got this project going, but most of the time I was just existing. And no one came."

"Chuck, no one knew you were there!" She turned his face to hers. "I thought about you every minute," and a tear slipped down her cheek. "Every minute, I was wondering where you were, if you were safe, if I would ever see you again. We all want to help," she said, and he bowed his head at the reference to their friends. "Let us."

She kissed him tentatively, and his mouth moved against hers with more force than before. He lifted her up onto the desk and she wrapped her legs around him as he kissed a trail of warm kisses down her throat. She brought his mouth back to hers and whispered his last name again, and Bass, Bass, Bass escaped from her between kisses and she realized that it was a prayer, that they were bringing life back to this office and building something new together. She wrapped her legs tighter around him and leaned back onto the desk and he traced his tongue down, unsnapped her horrible jacket and kissed the edge of her lace camisole.

There was a sharp knock at the door and she jerked upward, knocking her head on Chuck's.

"Shit!" He exclaimed and they both clutched at their skulls before grinning at each other. He was flushed and breathing heavily and she hastily snapped up the jacket as Sven entered the office.

"Mr. Bass." The name was a statement in Sven's monotone voice.

"Yes, Sven," Chuck drew out the name and Blair hid behind him, giggling.

"We've reserved the space you requested."

"Excellent."

Blair peeked out from around Chuck. Sven was standing in front of the door, with ramrod straight posture.

"That'll be all, Sven," Chuck said, his voice gravelly.

Sven saluted and left.

Blair could not contain herself. All her nervous energy was bubbling out of her and she could not stop laughing. Chuck turned back to her as she wiped tears from her eyes. "He…" she gasped, "he…" and Chuck was smiling, open-mouthed at her, "he saluted!"

"What can I say, Waldorf?" Chuck murmured against her hair. "I'm a very powerful man."

She wrapped her legs around him. "Oh, Mr. Bass," she teased. "I know."

"Mr. Bass?" His breath was warm on her face.

"Chuck," she whispered. "Charles."

"Yours," he finished, and he hadn't said those three words, but she felt the eight letters dancing around them.

"I must inquire," she said, "What is part two?"

"Shopping."

She grinned and wrinkled her nose. "But not in these clothes, right?"

He looked disgusted. "God no."

***************

"You did not close down Bergdorf's," she said, peering out the limousine window.

"Blair," he drawled, "Just shut up and come with me. The furnishing suppliers are meeting me here as a special favor."

"How special."

"I'm Chuck Bass," he said, but his eyes crumpled a little at the corners. She moved toward him and took his hand, lacing her fingers in his.

"Maybe a new suit," she murmured. "And a bow tie, of course, and I'll get a bow headband."

"Maybe just a bow headband for you," he growled, "You in a headband and nothing else…" He dipped his head to kiss her neck.

"Don't be ridiculous," she purred. "I can't wear just the headband."

He pulled her closer.

She nipped at his ear and taunted, "I'll need Louboutins, too."