"Is it true?" Eric stopped his mother. She could hear the slight wariness in his voice - and the hope laced underneath it. "Is Chuck coming home?" And, when Lily glanced at him in surprise - "I heard you telling Larissa to make his bed," he admitted. "They're really letting him out?"
Her expression softened. "They are."
She still wasn't sure as to the exact details of Horace and Bart's agreement - but apparently it was buried. And, since she could tell Bart still wasn't entirely happy with the idea of his son being released, she had to wonder if the therapist had made it one of the terms. That, and sessions for Chuck with Horace himself twice a week.
"He's coming home tomorrow morning." She paused; "But obviously Serena doesn't know yet." She looked at her son carefully, pointedly. "And I will be the one to tell her."
Eric nodded. He knew Serena's reaction wouldn't be easy (his insides were already knotting with unease) - and he wasn't a fool; he knew this didn't mean Chuck was suddenly better. But he remembered just how relieved he'd been to get out of those walls, and however bad his brother was, he knew the Ostroff center wouldn't be making him feel any better.
"I'll wait till she knows before I tell Nate," he offered.
Lily smiled in gratitude. "Thank you, darling." Sometimes she didn't know what she'd do without her youngest son. God knew he was the only in the entire house who was capable of keeping peace.
Bart had been increasingly tense, and she was sure his brother's presence at the Palace wasn't doing anything to improve his mood. She still didn't know what Jack wanted - she wasn't certain Bart did, either - but whatever it was, it couldn't be good. And her husband didn't need a failing stock in Australia on top of everything else at the moment.
There was the sound of footsteps on the stairs, and both knew it was Serena before she'd even appeared.
Eric glanced at his sister as she came in; there were rings around her eyes that he knew, for once, didn't come from another night of partying (hadn't done in a while now), but she smiled fondly at him, grabbing herself some orange juice.
"Morning. What's going on?"
Lily exchanged the briefest look with him, but her eyes were on her daughter as she exhaled. "We've got some good news, darling."
This was not good news.
"Father. You're home."
Bart was supposed to be in Australia for the next week (on business, of course; nothing absurd like visiting his brother. Sometimes Chuck wondered how it was possible for the two men to even be related). But his father was standing in the foyer of his hotel in the middle of the week, bags already being taken upstairs.
He'd been in the middle of talking to one of his staff when Chuck had seen him. He glanced at his son, now. "Where are you off to?"
Chuck paused. "I'm seeing Blair," he answered guardedly.
He knew his father was aware of his relationship, but it wasn't like they ever talked about it. They didn't exactly talk when Bart was around - and especially not about soft topics like girlfriends. He doubted his father even believed he was capable of a girlfriend. The most they discussed was Chuck's failures, which was why the idea of discussing Blair with the man somehow made him uneasy. Like he was setting himself up for another fail.
Bart simply lifted a brow. "Eleanor's happy with her going out on school night?" he asked drily.
Like Eleanor knew - she'd been in Paris the past week. Still, Chuck couldn't help a slight smirk as he answered, "We're studying." Bart already knew he wasn't being serious.
Although Blair was in fact planning on studying. She had a French presentation the next day that she'd been obsessing over for the past week. Chuck already knew she'd be word perfect - he had his own plans for relaxing her.
Bart gave a little eye roll, but there was another member of the concierge vying for his attention now. He turned to deal with the man, sparing his son one final glance.
"Clear you schedule for Friday."
Chuck blinked, staring at his father. "Why?"
The man was already turning away - "Dinner. Bring Blair." He went to move off with his employee, and Chuck's mouth had actually dropped. In a dumbfounded expression that was definitely not fitting of Chuck Bass.
He recovered himself, unable to stop from lurching after Bart - "Wha - why?"
Bart's gaze flickered to him, clearly impatient to be on with business. "You've been going out for a year now, haven't you? I want to meet the girl."
"But it's Blair," Chuck said stupidly. "You know her." He couldn't help it; Bart had actually thrown him. He stared at the man, trying to work out what the trick was, if he was in some sort of trouble.
"And she's actually made you commit to something." Bart arched an eyebrow again. "I noticed there hadn't been any calls from the precinct lately. No requests to meet with the principle." His voice was crisp as ever. And Chuck was still staring.
Was it possible that his father was praising him?
"Dinner. Eight o'clock." Bart had returned for the employee, and for a moment, Chuck stood there with an actual grin on his face. Just a second. He was quick to wipe it off as he remembered himself and headed out of the foyer to his waiting limo, but he couldn't stop it entirely.
He almost didn't notice Jack outside, his own bags being brought in.
"Uncle Jack." The grin shifted a little as Chuck moved towards the man, pleased. "I didn't know you were coming back too."
Jack's smirk back was the usual as he tossed down his cigarette. "Just for a couple of weeks. Business with Big Brother." He gave the boy a nudge. "And where are you disappearing to?" he winked. "House call?"
Chuck returned the smirk, though it was a private one underneath. "Something like that." He doubted his uncle would believe him either way.
"Dirty nephew!" Jack laughed. "Don't do anything I wouldn't." He tossed another wink, sauntering back into the Palace. House call. Chuck climbed into the limo, still smirking as he pictured Blair's face when he referred to it as such.
He'd heard the rumor that, under all those plaid skirts, Blair Waldorf had to be incredible in bed if she'd actually tamed Chuck Bass. It had made him grin, imagining her outrage - not that anyone had dared say it to his face. Much less hers.
They hadn't slept together yet. Because of Big Deals and Waiting and Not Being A Slut - but mainly because Blair was still freaking out. She'd always decided sex was about control, and the amount of times she'd come so close to losing it, just kissing him, was practically making her do back-flips. He'd threatened to take her in the back of his limo if she didn't stop spitting about Expectations and Perfect Moments. Only for her reaction, though.
He'd come far closer to losing control than she had - and probably more times, too - but he'd been expecting that. (This was the guy who got turned on just watching her tie her hair up, after all). He already knew sex with Blair wasn't - could never be - just sex.
No, he had a much bigger fear.
He'd never been one for brooding - he took what he wanted there and then - but he knew he was still waiting, secretly, for him to fuck up. He'd expected resistance, even though he'd known the whole time that he'd do anything for her (hold her hand, go to those stupid parent-teacher events as her date) because if she was happy then he was. And no, he'd never tell anyone that. She was the only person who was allowed to know, because in that much he didn't have a choice.
But he was waiting for the other shoe to drop. Because Chuck Bass screwed up, always. Inevitably. He'd convinced himself the best thing about Blair was that she knew he'd never change - but it was also the most terrifying. Just sometimes. That she saw him. Because the truth was, he trusted her far more than he trusted himself.
(And one half of him was waiting for the inevitable push, when she stared up at him from the ground, unbearable hurt in those brown eyes).
He could forget about that for now, though. He'd be seeing her and probably kissing her in less than ten minutes - and Bart had praised him. Bart wanted to have dinner with them. And even if it did unnerve Chuck a little (a lot), he couldn't contain that secret thrill.
"So what's he like, your father?"
Chuck gazed over at the wall - he'd already been told this was the last he'd see of that muted brown. His bags were packed, and this was his last therapy session in the room before he went home tomorrow.
He talked in these sessions because it was easier. Like white noise, a temporary filler from the silence. He considered Horace's question, detached. Once upon a time, if anyone else had asked Chuck Bass about Bart he probably would have answered, snorting, a bastard. Or if he was actually being honest (which, let's face it, he wouldn't) - like me. Only older and meaner.
But now he felt more disconnected from the man than he ever had before. Chuck Bass had been like his father - Chuck Bass might have succumbed to the Bass curse. But he'd surpassed lonely, bitter, miserable. Surpassed older and meaner. (Which left him with empty).
He wondered vaguely if that was what Bart had felt after Evelyn. Nothing.
"I thought that he hated me for causing his beloved wife's death," Chuck answered at last, dully. "And that that was the worst thing in the world." His lip curled without any real malice.
"And now?"
Now he realised that his father blaming him meant he'd at least felt something. Now he wondered how Bart had even had the energy to hate his son, how he'd bothered with the time, when all Chuck could ever think about was her.
"He's just a man," Chuck replied blankly.
There was a silence; but Horace regarded him without judgement.
"Why did you think he hated you?"
"I screwed up. Caused a lot of trouble," Chuck muttered distantly. "It's not that much of a shock."
They were lining up for assembly - Chuck had slid in at the end after finishing a quick wake and bake with Nate. His best friend had followed him not quite as subtly, but no one suspected the golden boy. Blair was already at the front with her minions; he could make out her headband even under the rows of taller heads. He knew she was aware of his eyes on her - she sent him a swift smirk, almost imperceptible, before returning to berating Iz about something.
He felt Nate flinch slightly at his side - and he turned to see Serena, late as ever. He didn't miss the look between the two of them; and Nate balked, muttering something about needing the bathroom. He disappeared before Chuck could stop him.
Chuck had an inkling of what had happened last weekend - Nate had tried, again, to confess his feelings to Serena - and she'd whirled away, again, confused (scared, Chuck knew, and unable to believe, even under all her wildness) - and ended up sleeping with Carter Baizen. Serena trusted Nate like she didn't trust any other guy; but the problem was, Serena didn't trust guys. Too many stepfathers and boys that couldn't get past being blinded by her golden light. And in some ways the fact that it was Nate made it even worse, because she couldn't fuck this one up. Couldn't afford to. (And didn't Chuck know what that was like).
He didn't miss the way Serena's face fell instantly. Or the smell of alcohol.
"Little early to start hitting the hard stuff, isn't it?" he drawled. "Even for me."
"Why?" she grinned back. "Jealous?" She was definitely trashed; and he suddenly realised she was also holding a little glass bottle. Her grin widened as she moved closer, waving it in way she clearly thought was hidden from everyone else. "Want some?"
His lip curled, slightly amused for a moment; but he pushed it, fluidly, out of sight. "Watch it, S. You might want to try not letting every teacher see."
She laughed. "What? Come on, Chuck," - she elbowed him, clumsily - "Since when do you stick to the rules?"
He'd brought in his own hip flask plenty of times, but he was always discrete. He didn't stick to the rules, but he didn't get caught. That was usually the point. It was needless hassle from the school otherwise; under the radar had always been his rule.
She swung the bottle up once more, still grinning. He rolled his eyes and tugged it out of her grasp. Regarded her. "Why are you drinking at nine in the morning?" he asked idly. He knew something was wrong - and he could take a guess.
She laughed again - the noise was starting to grate. He knew what a mess drunk Serena was. And it wasn't something he particularly felt like dealing with this early, either. "Why not?" She suddenly leaned closer, giggling as she flung an arm around him. Not hard, when she was practically taller than him. "Honestly? We have that French presentation thing, and I sort of forgot about it. I didn't have time this week. And I swear I speak much better French when I'm drunk," she giggled.
She tried to reach for the bottle again, but she was only drawing attention to herself. Chuck did a swift survey - Blair was already disappearing into the hall, the line starting to move. If she saw Serena, he knew, she'd be back there in a flash. And of course there was no sign of Nate. Just great. If Serena went into assembly like this, she'd be found out in seconds.
He rolled his eyes again. "Come on."
She was quite content to be dragged along - he managed to yank her round the corner and out of sight of everybody else. A giant stumbling Serena was almost impossible to maneuver.
She spun away from him, still laughing. Stumbled closer. "Are you trying to seduce me, Chuck Bass?" She was still unsteady on her feet as she wrapped her arms around him.
He disentangled her with a flicker of irritation. Serena was the most exhausting drunk.
She blinked at him, blue eyes still somewhat glassy. "Come on. You don't want me?" He could tell she wasn't really speaking to him, but she moved closer again, reaching for his lips.
"Serena." He pushed her away, pissed. She was going to regret this, and he'd have to put up with her wailing about it as soon as she did.
And, just like that, she suddenly seemed to realise what she was doing. Who he was. Her own face fell in sheer horror, now, as she stumbled away from him. She looked like she wanted to throw up - and he sidestepped, instantly, because the last thing he wanted was Serena's vomit on his Dior loafers. "I don't know what-" She started to cry, just like that. "I'm sorry," she sobbed. "I didn't mean it. I don't know what - I don't-" She collapsed a little, against herself. "I didn't mean it," she cried.
And the thing was - he knew. He knew train wreck Serena. He knew the blind need for another body, another mouth.
"Nate hates me," she whispered brokenly. She didn't even seem all that aware of Chuck any more. "And it's all my fault. And now Blair's gonna hate me too."
He didn't say anything to that. (But they both knew that Blair could never hate Serena quite as much as she loved her).
"I don't understand," Serena mumbled. "Why do you get Blair?" She wasn't even trying to be spiteful; just genuinely lost. Confused. "You were supposed to be even worse than me. Why do you get her?"
He was silent for a moment. Because the truth was that he knew exactly what she was meant - and who had expected to see Chuck Bass in a functional (if not exactly ordinary, because it was Blair) relationship?
Not that Serena was expecting an answer - she just kept crying.
Chuck was about to tell her to snap out of it, when a stern voice interrupted both of them.
"What is going on here? Why aren't you two in assembly?" Chuck turned - but it was too late. The teacher's eyes widened as they landed on the bottle in his grasp. "Principle's office. Now."
Serena had started her crying again as they waited outside. "I ruined everything." She did make a sorry sight; blonde head lowered, mascara running. "They're gonna call home, and we're meant to be going to Paris, to Disneyland - but only if I don't get into any more trouble. It's Eric's birthday." She'd been the one to convince her mother - technically they were both too old for Disneyland, but Eric had missed out. She remembered Harold taking her and Blair when they were six - the sugar and goofy grins and princesses and castles, Blair's yearning look at the tiaras as she clasped the smaller girl's hand, the two of them giggling as Serena dragged her through the parade - and she wanted that magic again, for Eric.
And now she'd messed it all up. "He won't get to go," she whispered. "I ruined everything. Just like always."
Chuck knew Eric van der Woodsen, of course.
He finally spared her an exasperated glance. "Just keep your mouth shut," he muttered. "It was my bottle." She opened her mouth to protest, confused for a moment, but he cut her off with an eye roll. "Don't fuck it up."
"What are you doing?"
Lily glanced up to see Serena standing in the doorway of Chuck's bedroom, eyes narrowed and arms wrapped around herself as she surveyed her mother.
"Serena, now is not the time."
"What?" Serena demanded. "I'm just asking. It's not like I get answers for anything else."
Lily closed her eyes. She could hear the edge in her daughter's voice; the raw wound underneath that never stopped bleeding. The pain under all the anger. "I don't know what to do with the photos," she sighed at last. Almost a peace offering - but mainly because she really was at a loss. Exhausted. And she knew Serena was too. "If I should leave them, or..."
Both their eyes fell on the Blair in the picture next to Chuck's bed.
Serena pressed her lips together. "Whatever." But there was still the burn of tears underneath it as she stiffened her shoulders, hugging her arms even tighter. "It's not like he's ever bothered with what anyone else wants, mom. Don't waste the time."
"Serena-"
"I'm going out," her daughter scoffed in disgust, and she turned on her heel. (She was still on the verge of tears, though).
Lily shook her head, tiredly, and closed her eyes in the silence.
"Did you ever feel like you hated him?"
(Chuck Bass would once have laughed himself senseless at the idea of sitting down to talk about his daddy issues.)
Blair could see Chuck's shoulders getting tighter and tighter across the table. She could feel his tension, and it was making her own stomach twist unbearably.
"Could I get you some drinks while you wait for Mr. Bass to arrive?" The stupid waiter who'd been hovering around their table for the past thirty minutes was back.
"No," Blair answered tightly, before Chuck could. "Thank you."
It would be just like his father to show up after Chuck decided to start downing scotch. (The restaurant would have no problems serving two fourteen year olds alcohol when their adult was Bart Bass). She wasn't about to let that happen.
"Do you have any idea when Mr. Bass is likely to arrive?"
Did this idiot have any manners? Did he know the meaning of service?
"He's coming," Blair snapped. He'd better be coming. She couldn't stand it, the look on Chuck's face. The forced indifference. He said nothing, but she could see the faint clenching of his jaw as he tried to convince himself he knew Bart wasn't coming, and he didn't care. Doubt wrestling with the hope that refused to die, however much he forced it down.
The minutes stretched.
It was almost nine when the waiter reappeared with another offer of drinks - and this time Chuck bit out a scotch. Blair bit her lip hard. That was it - she'd had enough. She pushed out her chair, reaching for her bag.
Chuck watched her.
"I'm going to find out where he is," she answered, since she knew he wouldn't.
He caught her wrist, at that, as she tried to get past him, with a low growl of, "Waldorf-"
"I'll be back in a minute."
She slipped out of his grasp. She still had the number of Bart's secretary saved on her phone (she couldn't even remember from which scheme), and she stood in the foyer of the restaurant impatiently, dialing.
"I'm sorry, I'm afraid Mr. Bass is in a meeting. He won't be able to make it..."
When she got back to the table, it took Chuck a single glance to work it out. Probably he'd already guessed. She saw him steeling himself, telling himself he'd known all along, and it twisted that little bit further inside her.
The waiter brought the scotch, and he downed it without a moment's pause.
"Chuck."
He tried to look away from her, signaling the waiter over for another scotch. So she reached out over the table, catching his hand. She snapped at the serving boy to leave and forced Chuck's attention back to her. Gripped his larger hand in her small fingers as she held his gaze fiercely.
He just glowered; but, finally, his shoulders slumped a little.
"Come on." He got to his feet, pulling her up after him. "We're not staying here." His caught her waist, hand on the small of her back as he guided her out of the door. She could feel his anger radiating next to her, his grip hard.
She let him lead her out before turning on him. He was still trying to push her into the limo - she had to grab his arm to physically stop him.
They faced each other, and she could see the furious shame etched on his face - the warring emotions that twisted her stomach further. Humiliation for letting himself hope Bart would show up. They were both used to that; and they still never seemed to learn their lesson. Like Blair believing her mother would actually want to spend time with her when she got back from Paris.
Her phone rang then - and she wondered for one crazy second if it was Bart, especially when she saw that the number was unknown. She knew Chuck had dismissed the thought as soon as it entered his head (even as it lingered like an infection).
"Blair! You need to get here now!"
Her heart sank as the very loud and very disjointed voice of her best friend rang in her ear. Serena was either drunk or high.
"S," she sighed. "Can I call you back?"
"B! I miss you! Where are you?"
"Look, I'll call-"
"Are you mad at me?" Just like that, the laughter in Serena's voice disappeared, replaced by anguish. "B, please don't me hate me. I don't know what I'd do if you hated me too. I love you, B. I love you so much."
"Serena-"
"Please, Blair," she sobbed, "You can't hate me!"
Blair felt an instant flicker of concern at the tears - her best friend wasn't in a good state. But her eyes were still on Chuck, silent and rigid.
"I'm not mad at you," she said firmly. "Ok? I love you too. I'll call you back."
"Wait, don't go! B, please don't go."
Blair could just about make out male voices in the background over her best friend's disjointed sobs. "Where are you?" she asked, worry increasing. She glanced at Chuck, seeing that he had his own cell out - he must have just got a text.
"I went to Butter," the blonde slurred. "And I think I had too much tequila. And I took something, and I want to go home. B, I did something so stupid. I'm so stupid. And I love you so much- and - I want to go home."
Blair closed her eyes. "I'll be there in five. Stay where you are, and don't hit on anything." She hung up and turned back to Chuck, who had read whatever it was by this point. "We need to go to Butter." Then, immediately, glancing at the phone in his hand - "Who was that?"
"Bart." His voice was tight. "He wants me home, apparently. Now."
Blair felt a bit sick too. She couldn't let him go home and face Bart, not in this state.
He glanced at her then, reading her expression; "Go pick up blondie."
"Chuck-"
He allowed her hand to tangle with his, shaking his head to cut her off. "Go. You know you'll somehow end up being blamed if she ODs in the bathroom." His mouth curled faintly as he said it, with an eye roll - but she could see just how bad he was underneath that.
But he ushered her into the limo without giving her an option.
"I'll drop you off, Waldorf."
"When did you start thinking he blamed you for your mother's death?" Horace asked. His voice was low and gentle.
Chuck half closed his eyes, blankly. "When my uncle told me the truth."
After helping Blair pull the half prone blonde out of Butter, he'd sent them both off in another car - Serena could barely form a coherent sentence at that point, let alone walk - and gone back to the Palace. He could tell Blair was tense, unhappy with the outcome - she'd grabbed his sleeve before they'd parted, instructing him to call her. (He hadn't; she'd spent most of the night calling him).
He'd climbed into the elevator still shaking with anger and more than ready to confront his father.
"I thought we had dinner plans?" Because it wasn't just Chuck he'd stood up - it was Blair too. And that he would not allow.
Bart's gaze had been cold, though. Unaffected. "And I thought I had a meeting at lunch today. But I had to reschedule it for tonight, because I was called in for a disciplinary hearing." The expression on the man's face was one of sheer displeasure. "Drinking on school property? How stupid are you, Charles?"
It had been what he'd said next that had really stung, though - every time I think you might be improving, you find some new way to disappoint me. I should have known.
He'd gone, then, for a conference call, leaving Chuck alone and seething in his suite.
Jack had stumbled in a few moments later, clearly just finishing off (or starting) a good night. It had taken him a second to notice his nephew, the glare on his face.
"What's wrong, kiddo?"
Jack always had been good for complaining about Bart - it was something Chuck actually bonded with his uncle over. Bart's shared disdain for them. Something Jack always encouraged.
"I just don't see why he hates me so much," Chuck had spat.
Jack had just snorted in answer. "Because good old Bart never lets go of a grudge. You should know that by now." His uncle had rolled his eyes - "Him and his precious Evelyn. I tell you, that man does not know how to let go."
Chuck had stopped instantly at the mention of the E-word, which is why it took him a second to process - grudge? What the hell was Jack talking about?
"Hey, kid, it's not your fault. Everyone else knows that. What kind of a freak blames a baby?"
Chuck had listened to Jack say things like long-term birthing complications, Evelyn being rushed to hospital just two months after her son was born - but he'd refused to accept them. Numb with horror and disbelief. They couldn't be true. Evelyn had died in a plane crash. Bart had told him.
"Why would he lie?"
A shrug - "Who knows why Bart does anything? He likes messing with people's heads. Always has done."
Chuck hadn't confronted his father. He couldn't. Couldn't deal with seeing it in the man's eyes - and it fell into place, all of it. He'd gone straight to the safe instead, called his PI, done everything possible to confirm the story without going anywhere near Bart.
And it was true, all of it. He'd killed his mother.
He'd holed himself up in his suite after that, sick to his stomach, Blair's repeated calls ignored.
He rode the elevator up to the penthouse with Lily and Eric in silence. Bart had picked him up from the Ostroff before heading to work, and Nate was coming over later.
Leaving those walls should have been a relief, but the air outside had been dull; the fleeting noise of the city a muffled blanket. The familiarity of the entrance foyer, Vanya the doorman, the marble floors and smell of expensive floor wax - all of it fell flat. He was a stranger in his own home, and he knew why - because he knew where home was, and it wasn't the building where his family lived.
Lily was asking him what he wanted for brunch, telling him his laundry had been done; his answers were automatic and easy. Half remembered. Chuck Bass had always loathed being the center of attention. There was a reason he stuck to the shadows. A reason that he drank by himself when he was angry, traveled to parts unknown when he was miserable. Being worried over, told where to go and watched at every step - it would have been Chuck Bass' worst nightmare.
But perhaps he needn't have bothered running or hiding all those times - because he'd never realised just how easy it was to be in the same room as someone and still not be there.
He felt it too, though; the stabs of guilt. Dull, through the blankness - guilt from Lily's careful glances, Eric's anxious eyes (too much; he carried too much), from Nate's worried looks that he thought Chuck couldn't see.
The elevator finally dinged to a stop, and Chuck followed them out.
Lily ushered him straight to his room for a change of clothes and a proper shower - and he caught a flash of blonde from the corner of his eye just before he went in.
He caught the glare, Serena staring at him silence.
Then her bedroom door was slammed as she disappeared inside.
Marie was still going over the photos of the scrapbook when she noticed something. Near the last page, against Blair Waldorf's dream wedding, was a piece of paper that the investigator had initially passed over. There was a number written on it - she'd paid it no attention because most of the numbers written down seemed to be for florists or venues or dressmakers to help perfect each date, cotillion through to twenty-first birthday party.
But it caught her attention next time round when she realised that the paper this particular number was written on was different material to the rest of the scrapbook. And, on closer inspection, didn't actually seem to be stuck down.
She'd examined the entire book; and if Blair Waldorf was anything, it wasn't careless. She wouldn't have allowed a scrap of mismatching paper to float about, loose - not as a part of the book. Which suggested it might have been shoved there, or perhaps caught up in the pages.
Which could have meant nothing, obviously.
Except for the unbelievable neatness of Blair's room, the sheer organization. Everything had its place - and this particular scrap didn't.
And Marie was nothing if not meticulous. She entered the number into her own cell, pausing as she listened to the dial tone - but the answer was farily prompt.
"Fairview Treatment Centre. Can I help you?"
A/N - Thank you so much for your reviews! Sorry this is a shorter chapter.
Also, just to make something quite clear: the Chuck/Serena scene in the flashback is NOT a hint of any (romantic) relationship between them. I intended it to show how messed up Serena was; don't hate her! It's about Blair, and Serena's feelings for Nate - not Serena's tendency to sleep with her best friend's boyfriend, heh. I promise, no Chuck/Serena.
