"Chuck!" Blair strode into his room, and he felt the bed dip where her warm weight bounced down right next to him. "Rise and shine!"
He grumbled wearily, still half asleep.
She leaned over him, stroking his collar, rubbing his arm. Excited.
"Come on, Bass. Wake up!"
Eyes still closed, he wrapped a hand round her wrist, suddenly pulling her down on top of him.
"Mmm," he groaned, opening his eyes to kiss her, mouth curving up. "Morning, Waldorf."
She tried to wriggle away, though she didn't quite manage to resist kissing him back. Then she shook her head, firm, as his hand crept up her back.
"Oh no," she insisted, "We don't have time for that. It's Thanksgiving tomorrow. We have a pumpkin pie to perfect. I've brought over everything we need, but..."
Chuck suddenly registered what she was saying, and she was cut off as he sat up, frowning, and she almost fell off him onto the floor.
He caught her before she did, pulling her back up.
"Wait. You mean the Waldorf pumpkin pie?"
She rolled her eyes at him as she managed to regain her balance. "What else?" She sighed, exasperated. "I know you've never been around...slash, sober...for Thanksgiving, but the Waldorf pumpkin pie is a tradition-"
"I know it is." Anyone who knew Blair, knew that. He stared at her. "You want my help to make it?"
She raised an eyebrow. "Of course."
He arched an eyebrow back. "In the fifth grade," he reminded her slowly, "When you used to make us play Thanksgiving the entire time" - the closest Chuck had got to an actual Thanksgiving, in fact - "You gave Nate a timeout if he even offered to help."
She opened her mouth to protest, but he went on.
"And when you were nine, you didn't speak to Serena for a week because Harold let her mix the pastry."
Blair scowled at the memory. "It was my mother, actually. And she interferred in our tradition, and made me give Serena the best job."
Chuck smirked. "And the next day you asked me to help you plot Eleanor's downfall."
Blair sighed. "The first one of our schemes to fail."
He grinned ruefully.
She glanced at him. "Well, I want your help now," she said softly. Simply. "I want to make it with you."
And at that, he couldn't help it; he was suddenly smiling like an idiot. Jesus, it was just a pie. But his grin didn't fade.
She grinned back, threading her fingers through his as she got up, struggling to pull him to his feet.
"Now come on. We only have twenty four hours!"
