Blair reached her room to find a blonde sprawled across her four-poster bed, snoring.
She repressed a sigh as she shifted Serena off her side, tucking her best friend's hair behind her face and rearranging the covers over her. She could smell the alcohol on the other girl's breath, cigarette smoke on her hair and expensive perfume. At least there was no scent of a man's cologne – and at least she was fully dressed. It seemed that she'd had a party of her own in Blair's absence.
(Another thing to blame Chuck Bass for, Blair reflected with a faint scowl).
She slipped out of her own clothes and into her nightdress, sliding into the bed with her best friend. Serena stirred a little at the warmth next to her side, reaching out across the mattress. Her blue eyes were hazy as they managed to focus on Blair, her smile vague and happy.
"B."
She pillowed her head on the other girl's, blonde hair tangling with brown as Serena hugged her close.
Blair sighed and let her. She lay in the darkness, surrounded by Serena's snuffly breathing – and perhaps it was the taste of champagne still in her mouth, forbidden, that made her last thoughts flit to a pair of aggravating dark gold eyes.
Carter was waiting for Chuck by the time he arrived at Gimlet. Of course. The other man gazed at him over his glass, eyebrow cocked.
His voice was little more than a drawl. "Care to explain what that was, Bass?"
Chuck just rolled his eyes.
Gimlet was a long way from winding down, despite the late hour – most of the men gathered round its tables and booths had only just started drinking, half-dressed dancers sprawled on their laps.
The thought crossed his mind that Blair Waldorf was probably already tucked up in bed. Which led to rather enticing images of her in a slip, her warm body against silk sheets - although her nightgown of choice was far more likely to be yet another Puritan creation, and she probably slept with the covers pulled right up to her chin. Still, those long lashes would be closed and her lips pursed or even half open...
"Bass?"
Irritated, Chuck shook away his fantasy of Little Miss Frigid and fixed Carter with a cold glare. "What the hell were you dong following me, Baizen? You couldn't have picked a worse time to interrupt."
He knew damn well why Carter had followed him – but whatever his suspicions, his friend couldn't prove anything about Victrola. Especially now Chuck had sold it.
"I wasn't aware there was anything to interupt. I thought you'd given up on Waldorf?" Carter reminded him idly. "Set your sights elsewhere?"
Chuck didn't like the knowing lilt to his voice.
"I changed my mind," he snapped. He grabbed the bottle of scotch from the table and poured himself a glass as he dropped down into their private booth.
As if Carter would let him leave it there. He was still regarding him over his own glass. "Why?"
Chuck shrugged. Why was he bothering with her, again? Because the Eva plan had failed?
No, he'd pursued that date because Bart had as good as said that little miss Waldorf was nowhere near good enough for him. Because he'd had the bitter burning urge, like always, to knock the disdainful look right off the old man's face. Just imagining his expression as he watched perfect, perfect Blair walk down the aisle to marry his failure of a son...
And he'd done it because it seemed he couldn't help himself around Blair. Call it a buried instinct from childhood; but the need to challenge her, to best her, seemed to kick in whenever she fixed those dark eyes on him. It irritated him, but he responded to it still.
Once he'd won, it would irritate him no longer. He was sure of it.
In fact, he realised that the thought of Blair Waldorf sinking to his level – of having her – gave him far more satisfaction than the thought of tricking another insipid debutant into marriage.
"Bart doesn't think she'd go for someone like me," he answered evenly.
Which, really, was all he needed to say.
Carte'r eyes narrowed in triumph. "What did I tell you?" he smirked. The old man had as good as set the bar himself. If Chuck wanted to prove himself worthy of his trust fund, then Blair Waldorf was the answer. "So how did the lovely date go?" he pressed. His amusement was evident.
Chuck thought of her little tongue darting out to catch the cream on her skin, and the champagne glass pressed against her lips, the whiteness of her throat as she swallowed. And of her gaze as it swept Victrola, and the sudden tightness in his chest as those brown eyes rested in all the same places his had when he'd first seen it – some kind of longing for her to see the same thing he did -
He shrugged again. His face was quite blank; because the longing had passed, as sudden as it came, like everything did – and it had meant nothing.
This was Blair Waldorf, for Christ's sake.
"It would have gone much better if you hadn't turned up."
Carter didn't bother apologising; he tilted his head instead. "You can't seriously think you would've got any action from her?"
"I would've got closer," Chuck snarled. "But you as good as drove her out of the room. I'm not going to convince her of anything if you keep popping up."
His best friend snorted. "What were you doing, revisiting the good old days?" His tone turned mocking; "'You bring me back, Blair – the innocent little Chuck I used to be! I swear, only you know the real me!'" He was laughing now, and Chuck suddenly wanted to hit him.
"I've never been innocent," he responded icily. "And neither has she."
For all that she pretended.
His tactic, therefore, would have to be to bring out the bad Blair. He doubted he'd be able to convince her he was anything but bad. So he'd drag her down to his level – perfect Blair and her perfect pale skin and those brown eyes that were nothing of the kind.
Yes, he liked that plan.
Blair was rudely awoken by her maid's urgent voice.
She sat up, frowning, as she smoothed her hair and tried to focus on what Dorota was saying. It wasn't like she'd even had that much champagne the night before, but she hadn't slept as well as she should have done. Dreams, she remembered - she'd kept having faintly disturbing dreams. Gold and black and champagne, a smirk -
She blamed Serena. The other girl was taking up most of her space, even now as she stirred.
"Miss Blair," Dorota hissed. "We have problem. Mr. Archibald is downstairs."
Blair's gaze shot straight to the blonde. Last night's make-up was still smudged on her face - she had yet to even wash. And the guilt would be written in every inch of those blue eyes. Serena had never been much good at lying.
Blair was fully awake now as she swung herself out of bed and reached for her robe.
"Why didn't you get rid of him?" she asked Dorota, irritated. She was already checking that her appearance was presentable.
"He refusing to leave."
That was not a good sign. Nate was usually the easiest person in the world to get rid of - if he was acting determined, something was definitely up.
"Make sure Serena stays here," she instructed the maid in an undertone. Then she fixed a smile on her face and headed downstairs.
Sure enough, Nate was standing in the foyer; and he did not look in a good way. Blair took in his rumpled blond hair and creased suit - yesterday's? - with some concern. This was not a good sign at all.
Still, she remained quite calm. "Nate. Can I help you?"
Nate wasn't in the mood for pleasantries. "Where is she, Blair?" His gaze fixed hers, almost begging. But this wasn't pushover Nate - it didn't look like Blair was going to convince him to leave any time soon.
"You mean Serena?" she paused, frowning like his demand was susprising.
"She's not at home, and Lily has no idea where she is. So don't lie to me."
Damn. No, Blair definitely wasn't going to get rid of him. Sending him on a wild goose chase usually did the trick so well.
"Lie?" her frown deepened anyway. "What are you talking about, Nate? She's here, of course." She gave him a look - "And you're seriously relying on Lily to know Serena's whereabouts?"
But Nate didn't smile. "I want to see her."
Blair arched an eyebrow - now he was ordering her about in her home? "She's asleep, Nate."
"Where was she last night?" he demanded.
"Where do you think? She was with me, of course. We felt like pampering ourselves-"
"Don't lie to me, Blair." He just stared at her, and those blue eyes full of pleading were so like Serena's that she felt a little sick. "Please. Just tell me what's going on."
"Nothing's going on, Nate."
He shook his head. "I know you think I'm clueless, Blair. And I know you think you're protecting her - but this is me." He took a deep breath. "Look, things haven't been right since Eric..." He couldn't bring himself to say it, but he carried on. "She needed space. And I gave it to her. I thought I was helping her - but this isn't doing anything. I'm worried about her, Blair. You covering for her every time she gets drunk or-" he flinched, a little, "Goes to another man-"
"Serena hasn't been with anyone else," Blair interrupted very sharply. She'd made damn sure of that.
There was a brief glimmer of relief in Nate's eyes, but that look soon replaced it. "The point is, she's spiralling. And you know it." They both knew Serena. He took a step closer, voice low and insistent; "I don't want to be kept in the dark. I want to help her, Blair."
Blair bit her lip. What did Nate think she was trying to do? (And deep down, maybe she should have known, really, that Nate would never judge Serena). He was right - this was Nate they were talking about. Perhaps only Nate knew Serena well enough to forgive her for going that far off the rails. Not even to forgive - to understand.
She could see it in his eyes now; he really did just want to help.
"Nate?"
The bewildered voice drifted from the top of the stairs.
Blair froze. Could Dorota do nothing right?
But it was too late - Nate was already bounding up the staircase, pushing past Blair as he reached his wayward fiancee and caught hold of her arms.
Blair stood in the foyer as she listened to Nate's firm, gentle voice; to Serena's half-asleep guilt-laden protests, and then to the sound of the girl's weeping and Nate's steady comfort, his own voice cracking - and finally, Serena's sobs muffled in his jacket and, even worse, the sound of kissing.
This was why Serena needed Nate.
Serena needed a partner who wouldn't judge her. Who knew her, better than anyone else. In all her daydreams of Nate as her own prince charming, Blair reflected, she'd never wanted him not to judge her. To forgive her. Because she'd wanted to be beyond judgement; beyond forgiveness. She'd wanted to be perfect - in his eyes, at least. And maybe that wasn't what true love was after all.
But Blair neither wanted nor needed true love. Serena might have made mistakes - but underneath it all, she was a good person. Blair wasn't. Mistakes could be forgiven. Inherent badness? Coldness, selfishness, vanity and the desire to hurt people? Nobody could love that.
So it was a good thing that all Blair wanted from marriage was money.
Women were not supposed to have eyes coming out of their mouths. It was unnatural. It was odd. Quite simply, it was not art.
"It's...extraordinary."
Chuck, watching concealed from a nearby pillar, glanced at the picture too. He repressed a snort. If Blair's prince honestly believed that was enthusiasm in her voice, he was an even bigger fool than Chuck had originally thought. Which was saying something.
Louis smiled as he stood beside her. "Isn't it?"
"You know what I really want to see, though?" Blair beamed back up at him. "Some of Picasso's more recent work. I hear it's amazing."
And not cubist.
Blair liked beauty and symmetry. She hated cubism. So she wasn't a fan of Picasso in general - but she'd been hoping they'd at least be able to boycott this part of the exihibtion and take a look at some of his newer art.
Unfortunately, Louis actually seemed to like this pretentious trash.
"It's just like Monsieur Braque says," he was explaining eagerly, accent thickening in his excitement, "Ze colours and ongles-"
Blair kept smiling and nodding as she tuned him out. How soon could they move past this part of the gallery? If she could distract Louis enough they might avoid the paintings on the other side and head straight for the blue door -
She stopped, abruptly, as she saw the figure leaning against the pillar. Hat tipped down, collar turned up at a jaunty angle like he owned the place. Even his nonchalance seemed planned to her. Her eyes narrowed - and he smirked over as he caught her gaze. He was watching her, quite unabashedly. His eyes flickered up her stockinged legs, over the stylish blue dress she wore, roving her waist and the pearls at her neck before he settled back on her face.
I know, he was smirking. I know you're bored out of your mind.
He was looking at her like it was a particularly amusing joke to him.
She glared and turned back to Louis as she fixed a brighter smile on her face. And she turned back to him just in time to catch his last sentence, which made her smile disappear straight away.
"Eva?" she repeated, sharp. Why the hell was he still banging on about that French trollop?
Louis didn't seem to have noticed. "...You really should come to France so zat ze three of us can go to Monsieur Braque's gallery - I know he would be glad to meet people who love his work as much as I do!"
Eva? Blair wanted to scream. He wanted to invite Eva on their next date? What was wrong with him?
"I didn't know Eva was a fan of cubism," she snapped.
Louis looked a little confused. "But she was telling us all about it at that gala-"
Of course. Of course Eva liked cubism. She was a prostitue who'd probably never seen real art in her whole life. No doubt she loved Picasso's blue period too. And of course Louis thought it was adorable.
"Would you excuse me a moment?" Blair bared her teeth in some aproximation of a smile before she stalked off. She doubted Louis had even noticed - he was still gazing at the picture. Probably still thinking about Eva, too.
She made her way straight past the grinning Basstard, who followed her round the corner and out of the prince's eye sight.
"Having fun?" he drawled as he stopped her in her path.
"I was before you turned up." She gave him a look of disgust. "You're following me now?"
Chuck just shrugged, glancing around the gallery. "I love Picasso. Almost as much as you do, I'm sure." He leaned a little closer with that still knowing smirk. "Great taste, your beau."
She rolled her eyes, but she wasn't even in the mood to defend the French moron. Eva. Ugh. "Was there something you wanted?" she sighed.
He smiled arrogantly down at her. "You're in luck. I'm here to rescue you."
Well, he reflected, he did enjoy that scornful glare of hers. Far better than the fake smile.
"Rescue me from what, exactly?" Her voice was cold with amusement.
Chuck glanced the length of the gallery again and gave a little snort. "You're aware that the next four rooms are all dedicated to the cubist movement? That's over a hundred paintings."
Her face was inscrutable, but he saw the brief glimpse of horror that crossed it at the mere idea. She'd soon folded her arms instead, brow arching. "And what makes you think I'd prefer to spend time with you?"
His grin was wide. "After how much you enjoyed our date?"
"It wasn't a date," she pointed out primly. "It was a dinner that you forced me to attend. And if you think I displayed signs of enjoyment at any point, then no wonder you have a different conquest every night." She smiled unpleasantly. "You're clearly completely oblivious to what a girl wants."
Chuck, however, paused in delight. Had Blair Wadorf just made an innuendo? Was she saying what he thought she was? Yes. Yes, she was. He took a step into her, forcing her to move back a little so that the space between her and the wall decreased. "I can assure you," he purred very softly, "I know exactly how to give a girl what she wants." He gazed down at her, mouth curving upwards as his eyes roamed her face. "I could show you, if you like."
She smartly pushed him off. "Enough, Bass. I'm going back to my date." She went to brush past him; he didn't move out of her way, but didn't try to stop her either.
He waited till she was nearly at the corner. "How about I come with you?" he called idly. "I haven't spoken to Louis since the gala. Maybe I can pass on Eva's address to him?"
Blair froze. He saw her shoulders tense, the stiffness of her spine as she slowly turned back to him. She just about managed to keep her fury at bay and her expression cool.
"Go on, then. I doubt he'll be interested once he realises exactly what she does for a living."
Chuck tilted his head. "Really? I heard Louis was a very generous man. A people's prince." He said it with particular relish. "I'll bet he loves playing the hero."
"Not to a whore," Blair hissed.
"Maybe." Chuck remained unaffected as he looked over at her., still smirking. "But is that a risk you're willing to take?"
Blair sat in Chuck's car, lips pressed tightly together and her hands clenched on her lap. Louis had been a little perplexed when she'd claimed a headache, but she'd managed to put it down to the excitement of so much Picasso, and got him to promise to another date tomorrow night.
And now she had no idea where Chuck was taking her, and no desire to ask.
She'd been tempted to storm off rather than get in the car with him; but had reminded herself that revenge was a dish served cold. She needed to find out what he was up to so she could scupper his plans like he'd scuppered hers. She had a plan of her own now.
Chuck watched her - and that damn smirk still lingered on his face - without speaking either. It was like he was waiting to see if she would crack. Well, he had a long wait coming. She gave him a sweet smile.
The car finally pulled to a stop; she even took his proffered hand climbing out, allowing her fingers to rest briefly in his. And then her brow wrinkled when she saw where they were.
"Central Park?" There was obvious disbelief in her voice as she glanced round at him. She couldn't stop herself. "Please don't tell me you brought a picnic."
That did make an actual smile twitch at the corners of his mouth, just for a second. "Please." As if. He nodded over at the park. "I just remembered your favourite place by a certain duck pond."
Her scowl was instant. "My favourite place when I was five, Chuck." Not this again. She couldn't stand him trying to win her over by bringing up their childhood. It just felt - wrong. It made her feel oddly vulnerable, and she hated it.
He gave her a little look - had she really changed that much? "It's still got to be better than that gallery," he pointed out at last. (He shook himself inwardly; of course Blair Waldorf hadn't changed. She was trying to spite him - and what difference did it make if she still liked a stupid duck pond or not? None.)
He held out his arm, concealing his surprise when she actually slipped hers through it.
"Lead the way, then."
He wasn't stupid enough to think she'd given in that easily - so what was she up to? And she wondered the same thing about him as they followed the path arm in arm. What exactly did he hope to gain by bringing her here? Arm in arm, and they couldn't have trusted each other less.
The truth was that neither of them had been to Central Park in years. But the duck pond, for some reason, Chuck remembered.
And he felt an odd twitch of deja vu as they stood at its edge, gazing out across the grey sky reflected in the still water.
Blair swiftly snapped him out of it.
"So." She glanced at him. "What's the plan now?"
His actual plan had been a quick visit to the pond to put her at ease – she'd always used to say that feeding the ducks calmed her - for the rooftop restaurant and then bar he was planning on taking her to later. But of course, she'd never let it be that easy. If anything, the duck pond seemed to be making her more on edge.
He cocked his head. He could be charming. "Well, what would you like to do?" There was that quirk to his mouth that suggested he was still making fun of her.
No one made fun of Blair Waldorf. He was going to pay. She considered it for a moment, looking up at him through her eyelashes. "I want to get a row boat," she pronounced in the end.
Whatever he'd been expecting - it wasn't that. She saw his smirk darken for just a second. "A row boat?" he echoed in actual disgust.
She smiled narrowly. "Yes."
He glanced up at the sky. "You are aware that it's the middle of autumn?"
And her eyes slanted in satisfaction. "Then you'd better ask nicely."
Chuck Bass could not believe what he was doing.
He'd considered, approximately twenty times now, giving this whole thing up. Particularly when he glanced across and saw that smirk on her face.
Of course, it being November, there had been no one to row the damn boat for them. Chuck Bass did not do manual labour. Chuck Bass did not roll up the sleeves of his two hundred dollar suit to sit in a rickety wooden craft on a stupid pond and row.
Chuck Bass was going to enjoy every second of her demise. The her who sat at the other end of the boat, hands in her lap as she quite happily watched him make a complete fool out of himself. Oh, he was going to enjoy taking her down. The image of that serene face and perfect white body, horizontal and sweaty underneath him as he used her - as she knew he'd used her, degraded her because she wouldn't get any prince once she'd sunk to his level - that was the only thing keeping him going as he struggled to work the damn fucking oars.
"You should try moving them at the same time," Blair prompted sweetly.
"I think we should turn back now," was all he growled. "It looks like it's about to rain."
Blair smirked as she held up the umbrella that had come with the boat. Just one, naturally. "I think I'll be all right."
He was going to make her moan. He was going to have her begging, crying and screaming his name. He was -
Losing control of one of his oars. He let out a string of curses as it stuck in the bed of the pond, trying to jerk it out. He yanked too hard and lost the whole damn thing, snarling in anger as it drifted away from him.
"Well done." Blair's lip curled.
He shot her a look, and she was pleased to see the irritation replacing his usual cold smirk. That white expressionless face actually looked human for once.
"You should try getting that," she commented. "I doubt we'll get far with just one oar."
But it was too far out of his reach by now. "Give me your umbrella," he snapped, glancing at its hooked end. And, to top it all off, it actually had started to rain now. He could feel large drops sinking into the expensive fabric of his suit. His silk shirt would be ruined.
Blair had noticed the rain too; her lips thinned as she clung to her only protection. She was not about to destroy her hair. "You're such a gentleman," she sneered back.
"Not for the rain," he snapped. He rolled his eyes in frustration; "Just give it to me."
Did Blair Waldorf let anyone order her around? Least of all, Chuck Bass?
"I don't think so." Her grip tightened on the handle and they glowered at each other.
She was right, though. Chuck Bass was not a gentleman. So he leant over and proceeded to try and pluck the umbrella from her grasp - she jolted back, enraged, and snatched it away just in time.
"What do you think you're doing?"
"Just give me the-"
The boat rocked dangerously as he lunged at her again and she pushed back. But they were both too furious with each other to notice - he succeeded in grabbing part of the handle this time, and she yanked back even harder.
"You pig-"
"You stubborn, stupid-"
Their insults both turned to yells of shock as their final tug tipped the boat violently on its side, upheaving them both into the freezing water.
A/N - So, so sorry for the delay in updates! Things have just been pretty crazy lately. But thank you so much for your lovely reviews!
